Stress in the City

Hello people. Sorry for the delay. I'll try and update this thing more often b/c I know how eager you all are to hear about my extremely exciting life. I heart sarcasm.

So not much has happened since the disastrous spill a few weeks ago. Oh wait, no, that's a lie-my knee's scabbed over and I can walk properly now. It's still bothering me a bit though, so I think I may have to see the doctor. Thumbs up to that.

On another note, I've been effing stressed over my boxes , both of which were sent over a month ago, both of which hold my art supplies/bedding/dvd's/and my beloved Rosetta Stones, and BOTH of which are M.I.A. I've been told that I may not get them for another 2 months, so to put it bluntly-I want to cop a bitch. Not only will I have to endure several more weeks worth of pain-stakingly uncomfortable sleep, but I have to buy new art supplies-EXPENSIVE art supplies. Why it should take USPS 3 months to ship an express delivery is beyond me, but what I do know is that I will never rely on the mail again. NEVER. DID YOU HEAR THAT USPS? GO EFF YOURSELF.

Sorry.

Speaking of annoyances, the thing that bothers me most about the UK is the lack of help. No matter how hard you try to figure something out, nobody can lend a helping hand. So, for example, in my auto cad class at uni, if I ask the professor how to do something (which he's being paid for mind you), he can't tell me. He WON'T tell me rather. I'm beginning to re-think this whole "school" thing b/c of this, and am feeling like maybe working for someone in the field would benefit me a bit more. At least I'd learn more, and I'd be getting paid...

Ok, so on to bigger and better things. I went out for Halloween this weekend, and have never been so hungover in my life. I don't know if it's b/c I mixed liquors, or if it's b/c I have barely gone out/drank since being here, or if it's just b/c I drank too much (which I will deny...naturally), but I woke up Sunday morning to a battle zone. All of my drawers were open, a pair of gloves I've never seen before were on my floor, and all the lights were on...? Luckily I didn't manage to lose anything, other than my dignity. Oh wait, no, scratch that-I actually DID lose something...100 pounds. And not of weight, mind you, b/c if that were the case I'd be really freaked out. Especially since there were mysterious black gloves on the floor... But getting back to the money, I took a cab home, and I guess I gave the cabbie 100 pounds...? Seriously, Jess, what were you thinking? Clearly you weren't you moron... But I've basically concluded that I'm never going out again, although, as you and I both know, I'll probably go out this weekend....

What else, what else? Oh, well the other day some english guy ran up to me on the street and told me that I was beautiful and blah blah blah...and then, I THINK, an accomplice of his tried to rumage through my purse... Quite the modern day Artful Dodger or whatever. I suppose I will never really know what his intentions were, b/c nothing was missing from my bag (although things were moved around), but if a random guy named Peter ever comments on your looks and your outfit, I suggest clutching on to your possessions for dear life. Especially if that possession is your first born child, or something of extreme worth and value (random...). He's a ruthless son of a biatch that Peter is. I mean, seriously-it's one thing to disrupt my fast paced stride, but to then try and either 1) go on a date with me and/or 2) steal my wallet makes me sick.

Le sigh.

Funny enough, later that same day this Spanish guy in my neighborhood, who can never seem to 1) leave me alone and 2) catch a hint, started asking me about some guy named Charlie. The conversation went a little something like this:

Spaniard: Excuse me

Me: WHAT?

Spaniard: Do you like Charlie?

Me: WHAT? (with even more sass then before)

Spaniard: Charlie?

Me: WHAT???

Spaniard: Charlie means coke.

Me: What...?

Spaniard: If you ever need coke, let me know.

Me: (Cricket Noises).

Keeping in mind that our "talk" is a bit blurry to me, and that other things were said and whatnot, I'm a bit distressed. Not so much that I have a creepy stalker who's into drugs than the fact that I look like I do coke...a "coke whore" if you will. The bags under my eyes are from lack of sleep (thanks to usp EFFING s), not substance deprivation, ok?

This country's weird yo.

Ok I think that's it for now...I must be off to work.

Jess