That Shit Was Bananas.

I have never spent any of the major American holidays in a different country until this year.  The holiday season is only really beginning, but it began with an epic All Hallow's Eve.  


Every year, I struggle with the idea that maybe 'this year' I will follow the crowd of females who decide that they simply must follow the ol' Slut-o-ween rule (as my sister calls it), and dress like a complete tramp.  Do I really want to walk the streets with my areola and vulva out for all to see and sniff?  The whole month of October, I contemplate what kind of hooker I should be?  Should I be a Princess Prostitute?  Or Perhaps a Pussy... Cat?  Maybe this Halloween I should just paste two leaves upon my nipples and tape a banana peel to my twat and be the biblical Eve?  (Glad I found a way to use the terms 'twat' and 'biblical' in the same sentence.)


However, every year, about a week before Halloween, my incessant will for attention gets the best of me.  If I dress like I'm trying to get-it-in, like everyone else, then I will not accomplish my goal of being the fucking atrocity of the night.  This does not bode well.  So I digress...


Being a banana for Halloween seemed fitting in more than a few ways.  (A) I would be big and yellow.  And unless somebody decided to be Big Bird,  I would be the biggest and the yellowest.  Fuck yeah.  (B) I could break out into the "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" song at any given moment, which I tend to want to do on a daily basis, sans banana costume, usually on the street.  (C) The sky was the limit in terms of what make-up I would accompany this get-up with.


This is what I did to myself...

The eyeslashes cost me 5 pounds.  So worth it.

This is Bebe Machine and me when shit got bananas.  B-A-N-A-N-A-S.

The night started out in Irish Stew's flat a block over from where my flat is.  All I can recall is that I made it 'Peanut Butter Jelly Time' for a good 75% of the time I was there.  There was one point when one of the Americans (dressed as an Arab, we will call him *ManBeard), came to the window of this flat.  Manbeard informed me that their was a party going on in Flat 4E.  I wanted to go, but nobody was coherent enough to finalize this migration towards said flat.  So, I decide to be a lonely, migrant banana.  

I was beyond smashed when I exited Irish Stew's flat without telling a soul.  This was an example of my infamous ability to pull an Irish Goodbye.  

For those who are not in the loop about Irish Goodbyes, listen the fuck up.

An Irish Goodbye is when a party-goer decides to leave without telling anybody.  If said Irish Goodbye-er gets caught in the act, you make up an excuse as to why you are leaving.  E.g. "I have to go get something... in my room.  Be right back."  It is meant for those who do not want to spend a half hour saying goodbye to 30 people who you may or may not see again later on in the night.  Even if you don't... whatever, I'm drunk.  

Anyway, back to my story.  I did not get caught when pulling my Irish Goodbye.  I waddled alone to the flat across the way singing Ke$ha's "Sleazy" to myself to keep myself from vomiting.  To an on-looker, I must have looked really special. 

Once I arrived at my destination successfully, I pushed open the door like I was God.  Eventually, I ended up in a corner with a balloon up my banana costume saying...

"This is where bananas come from.  And if I bang a Spaniard... this is where plantanos come from..."

I don't remember leaving this flat.  My next memory consists of me dancing at the Student Union Bar with the hood of the costume down.  For some reason, I thought it would be a fantastic idea to wear my nude heels with this outfit.  Obviously the idea came after a heavy consumption of vodka and other naughty things.  

Jersey and I decided that we wanted a kebab.  Why did I decide to wear these fucking heels?  I took them off and walked half a mile on the wet, cold ground with my red, technicolor tights.  My footsteps were the juiciest they had ever been.  I was not pleased with myself for choosing the nude heels.  Not one bit.  I mean, red tights and nude heels?  Really?

The night ended with a kebab in my stomach and a cold walk back to the student village.  I crashed into my bed woke up the next morning with glitter all over my pillow.  What made me decide to plaster my face with glitter?  Since when do bananas have glitter face?  I justified that they do when they are drunk... apparently.

That's the end of my story.  But here are some pics from my previous Halloweens:

Halloween 2010

This is me dressed up as my Puerto-Rican friend Joel.  

Halloween 2007

Britney Spears VMAs 2007 when she sincerely fucked up.  I had to.

Halloween 2007: For the Trick-or-Treaters

Don't ask...

Halloween 2008

I was what we would now call a zombie.  Too soon?

???????

I don't think this was Halloween.  But it's really fucking ugly.

Lost and Found

The past hundred hours of my life have not been dull, let's just say...


I decided to mosey on down to Gibraltar for a long weekend to go visit EnglishBloke and ended up being fucked up beyond repair for most of it, in an assorted amount of ways.  However, the escape from the bitter cold weather of Derry felt so good on my skin.  I felt like a vampire when I felt the sun upon my skin for the first time in about a month.  


Gibraltar is an interesting place in the world.  For those who know nothing of such a city, here is a tid bit of geography for your asses.  Gibraltar is essentially a summer paradise type of place on the southern coast of Spain.  However, it is actually part of the UK and has a fuck-ton of history dating back to God-knows-when.  The entire city is located around an infamous rock.  This rock is pretty fucking cool.  Little apes live there. There are palm trees and sunshine for most of the day until it starts to rain on and off every twenty minutes.  


EnglishBloke brought me to a bunch of really great restaurants.  We all know I am always eating, but let's just take a moment for the scrumptious food that I ingested...


Let's start with the brandy-soaked chorizo on the first evening when I arrived... It can only be described as a happy-ending in my mouth.  We ate the freshest fish on my last night there, as well. I know we had an English breakfast in there somewhere as well. There was also a dish of pear and ricotta ravioli with the creamiest parmesan sauce I have ever experienced.  I mean,  I made that shit my bitch...


The entire trip opened my eyes just a little bit more with understanding how people in Europe live.  Gibraltar has a Spanish town bordering it so there is a lot of Spanish speakers within the town, but most of them are English, like I said, because it is part of the UK.  I had only seen those kissy-kissy European greetings in movies.  I mean, I knew it existed in the real world but, really, how many Europeans have I met before this year? 


When at the top of the rock, one can see Morrocco off in the distance and other parts of Spain.  When the fog cleared up on the rock, I finally got to see the Mediterranean Sea for the first time in my life.  The world is so fucking amazing.  Why is it so expensive to see all of it.  It should be free.  We are all people of the world, no?  ---Wow that sounded like the most brainless statement I may have ever made.


Let's get to the real meat of this adventure.  


The skies decided to barf rain when I need to take my flight from Gibraltar to London-Luton Airport.  Monarch Airlines decided that it was safer to leave from Malaga Airport an hour and a half away into Spain.  So from Gib Airport, all the passengers pile into three buses.  For some reason we did not move for a half hour and when we finally got moving, we had to get off of the bus five minutes later because the smart-asses at the Spanish border decided they were not going to let a bus through with our luggage inside.  We had to walk in the pouring rain across the Spanish border.  When I say 'we', I mean like about ninety people, most of them were older people.  It was a fucking mess.  Guess who cared if I had luggage or a passport?  No one.  I love the taste of pointless in the morning.  


Somehow, I was the only one getting pissed when we finally got back on the bus and it did not leave for another half an hour.  Normally, I could give two fucks about delays, but when this little lady has a connecting flight in London to Derry that she has already paid for, she wants shit to get rollin'!  I slept most of the way up to Malaga Airport.  However, I did catch glimpses of Spain in the rain and fog.  


When we got to Malaga Airport, not one of the Airport employees knew what to do with us.  So they checked our bags and what-not and I got felt up by a dirty Spaniard going through security.  The plane took off at 4pm.  My flight back to Derry from London-Stansted was set to leave at 4:50pm.  Nothing like missing a flight in a foreign county... alone... when it's fucking cold as balls out.


I did not arrive at the London-Stansted Airport until about 8pm and found that I had to purchase and expensive ticket to Belfast for 7am in the morning.  Like, mother-fucker, I just wanna go back to my flat!!!  Here is where shit hits fans...


I took my journal out of my suitcase when I was in the bathroom because I was going to write in it and ended up leaving it in a stall and did not realize it until about an hour later.  So I ran back to the stall.  Like, of course it wasn't there?  Have I ever been that lucky? 


I broke down crying in the dead-center of the airport. GET IT TOGETHER, DANNY!


The journal was bought for me by my mother.  This journal is a soft, cognac leather-bound book with music notes inked onto it.  It is beautifully hand-crafted from Tuscany and I fucking lost it.  I tucked myself under a pillar, cried for about a minute and then decided to watch the new episode of Dexter and eventually nodded on-and-off for a few hours.  It hit me when I woke up that I had been praying in my sleep that I would find this journal.  Low-and-behold: Lost and Found---is the best thing that ever fucking happened on this night!


I have literally written everything that has happened to me since I arrived in Northern Ireland inside of this book.  Poetry, lyrics, stories, stupid moments, flight schedules, etc...everything that I have thought to be important to me has been jotted down inside of it.  My heart sank into my pancreas when I thought it was lost.  It would only be more embarrassing if somebody had read it and knew it was mine. 


So, now, I sit here in the only open cafe in the airport in London-Stansted Airport with the linger hives that I got on my wrist from panicking.  Missing flights is a scary business.  Especially if you are alone and not in your own damn country.  And, like, no one really wants to help you out, but they will because they get paid to.  But, shit, they are not happy.  I suppose I would hate my life if I had to be at work at 3 am waking up travelers who sleep on the floor.  I was one of those hobos on this night.  I guess I just have to chock it up to a "Put your big girl pants on, Danny" moment.  Focus: Get home alive.


Fuck, man, I need some coffee.

Somethin' About This Place...

It has been a month since I'd arrived in Derry, Northern Ireland and I could not love it anymore than I already do.  I have since made a pretty solid group of friends that I feel quite close to already within the short time I have been here.  They are really all I have got in this place.  It is like we have created a family. We are all in this alone, but we do not have to be loners.


Studying abroad is sort of a once-in-a-lifetime experience and it is the people who make it better.  So, I must ask the question to those studying abroad who sit in their rooms and do nothing... Why the hell are you here?  Taste the fucking beer, dude!  Talk to people!  Eat some weird-ass food!  Find pieces of home in another person!  What are you doing in another part of the world if you do not want to be part of it?  How is the world so uninteresting to some people?  Wake up, mother fuckers!!!  Every part of the planet has the potential to be blasted off of the face of the Earth by nuclear weapons in a matter of a seconds and you are sitting in your room absorbing nothing from this!  That is what I call 'fuckin' stupid'.


Since I have been here, I have planned to make my way around Europe as much as I can afford.  I have experienced the Giant's Causeway in all of its majesty.  My eyes really could not comprehend it when I first experienced it.  I have never actually seen such a big, open piece of Earth so I think my brain had trouble processing its clarity and beauty.  I have images of it burned into my mind.  Photos really do not do it justice.  It sincerely was the most epic thing my brain has ever had to deal with, aside from stupid boys with their commitment issues... but that is a horse of a different color.  A stupid color.  At least this time, the 'epic' was all positive.  


I meandered over to Belfast for a day with Bebe Francais, Bebe Machine, Jersey, The German and Bebe Bordeaux.  Belfast is a pretty interesting city, but it had the same things to offer as any other city.  I think I really enjoyed the historical sense of Belfast.  We toured by where the Titanic was built and the White Star Line buildings stood.  Here is where I will say I was not impressed.  It was so industrial and crumbly looking that it took away from how I imagined it to look.  I expected too much, but it was still cool to just be in the presence of where all these crazy ships and ideas were born.  


Walking the city wall in Derry always leaves a haunting feeling within my soul.  I know that I don't even know half of the events, battles and wickedness that occurred upon that wall, but it is still amazing to be walking on a piece of history.  It is so old that it is essentially a permanent part of the geography of the city.  The little shops and boutiques within the wall are so beautiful.  They are essentially everything you would want to see inside a walled city.  There is a tiny craft village within the wall with a place called The Boston Tea Party that I have yet to try, but it is definitely on my list.  I bought my little, silver claddagh ring inside of this little craft village.  It really is nothing special, but the fact that I purchased it at the right place and the right time will always mean something to me.  Passing pieces of my life down to the next generation of people I will love will always be important to me.  Whether it be my children or both of my sister's children.  


My future travels include a trip to Gibraltar, Spain which is happening this coming Friday on October, 21, 2011.  I will be meeting up with a good friend, who lives and works there currently.  He left the U.S.A. earlier this year when he could not find a job in America as a U.K. citizen.  Ha! Americans cannot even find jobs in our home country.  The next trip after this one will probably be a weekend in Dublin.  I am in Ireland.  How dare I not see Dublin.  I might decide to get my tattoo there.  I am trying to decide what I would like to get printed on my body and where.  I was thinking the word 'nathaí' would be appropriate for me.  It means 'wit' or 'wiseacre' in Gaelic.  I have also toyed around with the word 'ainmhí' which means 'animal' in Gaelic.  However, if I somehow make my way to the town that Damien Rice grew up in which is Celbridge, in County Kildare, then I will finally get my favorite lyrics from his song "The Professor" inked onto the outer side of my foot.  It will say "What makes the animal runway?"  This lyric is so powerful to me in that it has to do with a lot of my experiences in life.  So why the fuck not?


After that, come late November, I will be taking a flight up to Glasgow, Scotland with Jersey to go see Lisa Hannigan play.  Then, Jersey and I will be bussing it to Edinburgh for a few days of relaxation and breathing in some of the city.


If you are wondering if this little hippie is going to make her way to Amsterdam, then you have wondered in the right direction.  The Frenchies, Jersey and I are spending five days in the center of the city before Christmas.  Yeah...I know...


And it will be quite a Merry Christmas for Jersey and me for we are going to spend it with Bebe Francais and Bebe Machine in East France.  I am literally going to eat my way through Europe.  We are most likely going to venture into Germany and Switzerland since they both live very close to both countries.  They are so lucky to live where they live.  They get to have the best chocolate in the world right at their doorsteps.  


Anna and I are going to finish off our travels in Paris for New Year's Eve.  Now, I am an agnostic, but I feel blessed in so many ways to be able to do any of this.  Europe is definitely more in-tune with real art and the savory things in life.  America takes advantage of the wonders we have.  I can recall the lyrics, "Big paradise, put up a parking lot..." and that is how I describe living where I have grown up.  I will never hate America because it is my home, but I think those who run it have forgotten the purpose of our country.  We are so throttled by what we have done to ourselves that we cannot figure out how to get out of it.  Europe has its pros-and-cons but at least art is still important here.


Finally, my family, sans the middle sister Stiney, who I wish could see this place, are coming to Derry!  The four of us are going to tour the Republic of Ireland for a week and then I am off this little island and back to the U.S.A. for another semester at WCSU.  I dread the idea of being back there.  This place is such a high.  That place is the bottom of the ocean in my mind.  However, I am starting to miss my friends so fucking hard.  I just wish they could all be here.


I feel at ease in this country.  I think I may have found another place to call home.  My parents may have to drag me by my hair to get me out of this country.  Maybe, I will just lose my passport on purpose, like a day before I leave.


Fuckin' smart!

Stalk-ward!

So, about a month ago, I posted a little blurb on the Duncreggan Student Village wall on Facebook about how I was going to be arriving on a certain date and how I could not wait to meet everybody.  Many people responded including this chick from New Jersey, whom I had stayed in contact with on Facebook up until we finally met on arrival weekend.  I figured the transition to a different country would be eased by knowing someone from my home and Jersey seemed like a cool enough chick to canoodle with.


My French room mate, Baby Francais, discovered me as well on Facebook before we even knew we were room mates.  I have yet to meet a few people who I have been in contact with, but I am sure I will get around to it.  


One of which has turned out to be a "wee bit" of a nightmare.  Stalker found me on Facebook and I barely spoke to him.  Maybe once or twice.  But nothing too in depth.  And it was not conversation anybody would really remember in the first place.  Sort of like a "Hey, there!" or "Can't wait to be in Derry..."  type of shit.  


On the first day that I was here, I was so pleased to find that my little dorm inside my flat had a window facing the Rugby field.  It stares out at a little pavilion where the smoker's tend to congregate and scream at all hours of the night.  I am on the second floor and I call my window "The Rapunzel Tower" because it is, like the perfect height off the ground for a sexy, Irishman to climb up.  If I had hair as long as Rapunzel.  Which I don't.  So, my ridiculum continues...


On the second night that I was here, I was invited by NewCastle and a few of his friends to go see a movie.  On this night, I met a few new friends including Banbridge, a first year and Belfast, a music student.  Jersey and I decided to tag along with them and walk about a mile down the road to the theater.  As we were exiting the student village, my facebook Stalker laid eyes on me.  He picked me out of a small crowd of people as we were walking towards the gates.  Jersey had located some people she had mingled with previously and shouted to them to come along, which I seconded.  Stalker took it as his invitation to come along.  


Normally, I am quite sensitive to people who have a social awkwardness or a very slight mental disability.  I did grow up with Attention Deficit Disorder (ADD) and was a complete space cadet for a majority of my young adult life.  However, I was never socially awkward, just a bit shy in my younger years.  Perhaps, I have always been a bit of an introvert, but I overcame it when I discovered the wonderful world of theater and performing. Suck on that, ADD!  Look at me now...I'M GITTIN' PAYPA!!!!


Aaannnyyyywaaayyy...


Getting back to Stalker.  I understand that he has a sort of disorder and I respect it, as anyone should, but I do have a right to feel safe and have my own personal space.  As an American in a different country,  I have come to the realization that the personal space bubble is a fuck-ton smaller than it is in the U.S.A.  People stand closer to you.  Some hover a bit, even... which generally makes me nervous, but I am now just getting used to it.  Stalker hovers in the bubble about 3x closer than the others do.  Of course I am not going to be rude to this person, because he is just trying to be friendly, but I am going to be totally fucking honest.  It freaks me THE FUCK out!


He has Neville Longbottom's teeth from Harry Potter and a bit of a nasally, Northern Irish accent.  He followed us to the movies and sincerely just made the air a bit awkward for everybody.  When we discovered that we were all late to the movie, we all just decided to walk back and go to a party.  Jersey and I headed for my flat before Stalker could realize we were gone.  I thought that would be the end of it, but the student village is small... and this is me, and my fucking life, that we are talking about.  


The next day, Jersey and I are walking back from the University campus only to run into none other than Longbottom/ Stalker himself.  We noticed it was actually him about twenty feet before he had head-on approached us.  Ah, FUCK!!!  Jersey had a grin on her face because she knew how awkward the situation was about to get.  I guess if the situation was in reverse, I would laugh at it all as well. But, Bitch, tha' shit ain't funny!


As we neared closer and closer to the entity that is my Stalker, he spritely spoke the words, "'Ello, Dahnny!" To which I replied, "How are you doing today?"  He lifted his hand up to give me a high five to which I returned it.  He then kept his hand up as if to ask for another.  I stared at it, not wanting to double my high five.  My high fives are very few and far between and reserved for people I find close to me.  It is always awkward to give a high five to someone you don't know very well.  What if you miss?  Then the both of you are stuck in this limbo of whether you try again or just go on about your life without a second thought.  I hate awkward.  I avoid it at all costs.


The very next day after that, I was walking back from the gas station market when I sensed a presence following my ass.  Guess who, Mother Fucker!?!?!  I put a bit of speed into my step but he caught up to me quite quickly and walked way too close as we made our way back to the village.  My American personal space bubble had not only been penetrated, but completely disregarded as he talked to me with breath that I can only describe as drunken poopy pants breath.  Not only did his breath smell like my world was going to come crashing down, but his very own body odor was one of those smells that will stay in my nostrils for the rest of my life and be triggered by other relatable unpleasant aromas later on in my life.  So, in a sense, the memory of this odor may ruin me.  To the core.


Later on that evening, Jersey and I were invited to go out to a club and pre-game at our new friend Banbridge's flat that is block over from where mine is currently located.  About a half hour into our bottles of wine, Jersey and I are chatting about some nonsense in Banbridge's common area when Stalker sees me through the blinds and taps upon the glass window.  Jersey nervously laughs and says, "Oh my God, what the fuck!?" 


I wave awkwardly.  My morality wants to be a good person and smile and wave to this other person that is inhabiting the planet.  I do not enjoy giving the cold shoulder to a human being that has not done me wrong, but my self-awareness and creep-radar was sounding like fire alarm in my soul. My heart started pounding out of my rack.  


Years ago, when I was still attending community college,  I used to get followed to my car every other night when I would get out of one of my late-night classes.  One night, there were two guys leaning on my Jeep with a demonic look upon their faces as they stared me up and down.  I hit the panic button on my keys, but it only aggravated them to push me against the back windshield of my car and minorly assault me until I chopped one of them in the throat quite hard and kneed the other one in the ballzinis.  That nigga was on the ground, like whoa! And I say "nigga" with full belief that this nigga was a fuckin' rapist-type nigga.  I ran into the college building and reported it to the campus security and police.  Nothing was ever done about it except for the fact that those guys were not allowed to ever come near me or my Jeep again.  Don't mess with my Jeep.  Or my knee caps.  Nigga!


Flashbacks of being followed to my car started to flood my brain a bit when Stalker decided to enter my friend's flat without an invitation.  Guess he wasn't a vampire?  Not that this notion would make me rest any easier.  He entered the common room and walked straight up to me and stared at me with his hand in the air.  Jersey and I looked at him with our mouths half-open.  Oh, Dear Lord.  He waltzed right up to me and right through my personal space bubble and leaned over me.  My body odor nasal memories had just been activated once again.  


There are times when you appreciate having a good gag-reflex.  Like, for example~ this moment... and giving blow jobs.  However, blow jobs were the last thing on my mind at this particular second. *Shutter*


I looked at Jersey, whom, at this second, was masking her laughter by sipping on her wine bottle as she looked away.  The room was silent.  This was more than an opportune time to use my favorite excuse to get myself out of awkward situations...


"I have to pee." Got up.  Exited the common area.  Hid in Banbridge's room. 


One-by-one, several people that were already inside of the flat came into his room, asking who this strange kid was.  At one point, there were about ten of us in his small room with drinks in our hand, whisper-talking and questioning about this awkward-as-fuck kid.  Banbridge was standing in front of me as I sat in his computer chair, slumped like a snail, hiding from the infamous bubble-burster.  Not only was he blocking me, but a few others joined in the blockage wall as well when Stalker came to his doorway and started talking to the people inside.  The awkward-turtle air was filled with eye-talking and nervous smiles as he chattered on with my friends and tried to locate my whereabouts.  


About ten minutes later, he left the flat and I was free to wander, but I kept getting the feeling that he was staring at me through a window from the outside.  I closed all of the windows and blinds that I was able to find.  Eventually, the night progressed to a finale of going to the night club and dancing like a G6, sans the creeper.


The next morning, as I fiddled about on my computer (that sits by my Rapunzel window) I noticed him walking by and looking in.  I quickly leaned into my desk and behind my curtain.  I stayed there for about ten seconds and slowly bent backward to see if he was still there.  He was there.  He was still fucking there.  I could have vomited right that second, but instead, I gasped and hid under my desk.  There was a moment where I closed my eyes and wished him away.  I crawled on the floor and out of my room and into the flat's kitchen.  I macked on some Nutella for a few minutes and then crawled my way back into my room to find that he was finally gone.  I checked the walls around me, in hopes that he was not climbing up a gutter with his teeth, or something.


Now he knows where my flat is...


I unfriended and blocked him on facebook.


If I wake up to the the smell of his tooth breath... I will surely perish.

Welcome to Belfast International Airport

It took 10 minutes for the people at immigration to agree to let me through even though I had like a million documents inquiring as to why I am in their country.  It took the girl in front of me approximately one and a half minutes to get through by saying, "Just visiting..."

...Like, cool?

So, there I was, pretty much sitting there at the airport at 10 a.m. waiting for my shuttle to Derry which is at 1:30 p.m.  I pooped in a different country for the first time about 20 minutes before I wrote this post.  I didn't hate it, but the toilets here are oddly shaped and take a little longer to flush down.  These are important things to take note of, I suppose.

I wrote a poem on the plane.

"Tomorrow"
      I am going to be in a place
where it is already tomorrow
     People here are tucking their children into bed,
others are out at bars
Mingling
with the unknown.
However, I am venturing to a place where all of this happened last night
     These people are sleeping
or performing various acts of an insomniac
     Soon, they will wake and eat breakfast
if a God permits them with the grace of food.
     They have already lived the hours of this date
while I am still present in them
I sincerely cannot wait to see tomorrow.


The Irish people that I have seen so far have a distinct look on their faces.  Almost like you can hear their accents just by looking at their faces.  When my tan fades I will probably blend in a little bit better.  Scratch that...I never blend.

All I really want right now is to get into my little home away from home in Duncreggan Student Village on the MaGee campus of the University of Ulster in Londonderry, Northern Ireland.  I want is to sleep.  Log-style.

It has not hit me yet just how much I am going to miss my family.  I know at the first sign of trouble I will break down and cry at the thought of hugging my mom.  And let's be honest, I might vomit-cry at the site of a mustache.  The song "You and I" by Lady Gaga might put me into a spin because I will think of blasting it in my Jeep (already miss driving) with my sister Bunny.  My celeb smut magazines still smell a little bit like they have been in my sister Stiney's possession.

I already miss all of my friends as well.

However, whatever is to come is meant to, I suppose.  I have no idea what the people are like there.  I have heard only good things about their hospitality and warmth.  This will be a change from the hustle and bustle of the very concentrated part of New England that I am coming from.

Fucking, bring it.