Oh God Save Me From Your Followers.

It is with me everywhere I go. Walking down a crowded street or sitting alone at home. When I feel pain. And when I feel pleasure. It is a sense, an inkling, a untested basis of knowledge. No doubt exists that my body is an awesome thing. A thing that no one can deny. It is obvious I am a woman to everyone. I have breasts. A vagina. And all the necessary parts to be considered one of the female gender. I know my body inside and out. I can tell differences in smells, textures, pain, and pleasure. I instinctively know when something is wrong, when I am about to become ill or when a balance in my body somehow becomes unbalanced. I know my emotions and I know my bodies biological functions better than anyone, male or female. I know that my body is powerful. I feel its power when I menstruate and feel my body readying itself for another timeless biological cycle that I share with all women. And I feel its power when I press down on my breasts and feel the mammary glands beneath the surface reminding me of my body’s dual function of pleasure and biological practicality. I feel its power when I look in the mirror and notice changes in my body, when I see the surface of my skin change, and when I change my body’s appearance through shaving, plucking, or putting on makeup. I know that my body is powerful. And I also know this power can be used for me or against me. I know that my body is something I must protect. I have been through 8th grade and I have read Cosmo girl and I know how to label the parts and I know what their functions are, but I also know instinctively that they are mine. This is my body. I have lived in it for 20 years and I know everything about it. Everything. Surely, this body belongs to no one but me. Surely, I have the ultimate say in what happens in my body, to my body, for my body.

But this is a lie I must tell myself. Because now there are people, women fighting against me and against all women. They are fighting to make women’s bodies no longer their own. They are creating even more factions within the feminist movement and confusing young women as to what being a feminist really means. Equal rights for women. Treating women human beings, treating them the same way men are treated. Nothing more. But a woman’s body is the most important thing. You can take away a woman’s right to vote, work, own property, get married to whomever she wants, all of which has been done before and is still being done today. But when you take away her body. When you take away something that she knows so well, something that is one with her soul and the universe. You take away everything.

Abortion is a moral issue. It is a moral issue because it is immoral to deny basic human rights to any woman. The right to control your own reproductive system belongs to every woman regardless of race, economic status, or religious views. It is immoral to deny women these rights. The supreme violation of the basic right to have control over one’s body still exists today. Rape still exists today. Sexual slavery still exists today. Domestic violence still exists today. And sadly, the issue of whether or not women should have reproductive rights still exists today. We, as a people who claim our “democracy” for all to hear, can not allow this systematic “raping” of women’s rights by politicians. Women have their dignity stripped everyday. By working for less than men in the workplace. By not receiving the same benefits as men under their current health insurance plan. And by being continually discriminated against in other forms throughout the world. We can not let this last vestige of hope fall from us. We can not allow the right to have a say about what happens in our own bodies to be taken away from us. We can not allow this dignity to be shredded by the pseudo-Christian, pro-family base under which so many claim to be operating. Abortion is a moral issue. It is a moral issue because to deny women reproductive rights would be to deny them their rights as human beings. That is immoral. The right to have an abortion or gain access to information about other reproductive rights is not about "killing" babies. It is about giving women choices. It is about avenging the women who were forced to have children before they were ready. It is about avenging the women who lay screaming in agony on kitchen tables while they had their uterus punctured by a butter knife or a crochet hook during a "back alley" abortion. It is about avenging those women who were sterilized because of race or mental ability. It is about supporting the women today who feel alone or feel they have no say about their own bodies. It is not about fetuses. It is not about protecting the sancitity of human life. It is about human rights.

It does not matter if you agree or disagree with abortion because personal feelings are personal feelings. They do not reflect society or how it should operate under any sort of government. What a minister tells you from the pulpit on Sundays is personal opinion. Reading the Bible or any other religious or sacred text and using that as a basis for your life, is personal opinion. What you believe in, what you say, what you think, how you feel, and what you do is all personal opinion. Everyone has a right to that. But no one. NO ONE. No, not even God-fearing Christian women in pantsuits have the right to tell me or anyone that their beliefs should be forced upon me or any other woman.

The United States is a country of many. Not just WASPS. And not just any other group so easily categorized. When people begin to think they can operate our government, our country, and our lives according to a belief system that, in reality, not many share and is contested hotly among the factions of Christianity, people are alienated. Unfortunately in this country those who are alienated, women and minorities, are those who need their basic rights the most. To me it is so clear, that it is hard to put into words.

Our country can not be run under a theocracy. God can not be used as an excuse to elect someone over another (just as race and sex have no place in the current political commentary). The right wing party has hijacked God and made religion to be a rally cry. But God does not support right or left wing candidates. And religion is a belief system that has no place in political rallies.It is devastating to me that God, my God, the Spirit I used to turn to in times of anguish and thanksgiving, the Spirit which I used to praise and humbly ask for help, has become a campaign tool. The spirit of God, the life of Jesus, a prophet to not only Christians but also Muslims, have been used and abused by these zealots who seek only to abuse their status or membership of a religion or denomination in order to further their own greed, power, and corruption. Their gall amazes me. The ease with which they speak of family, God, religion, and Christianity alongside ugly words like war and socialist while continuing to allow their supporters, and indeed members of their own party, to perpetuate racism and sexism not only reflect badly on their character, but makes me wonder if they were every buying into the “Jesus saves” crap at all. It has been said that actions speak louder than words. It is a trite phrase, but true. Do not let talk blind you from the actions of these people. Do not let your own beliefs determine what you believe is right for everyone. Do not turn religion into a marketing tool by allowing these sick examples of Christians to profit off of others fears and beliefs. Do not turn your back on millions who will suffer under this so called Democratic form or theocracy. It must be stopped.

"Find out just what people will quietly submit to, and you have found out the exact measure of injustice and wrong which will be imposed on them, and these will continue till they are resisted with either words or blows. The limits of tyrants are prescribed by the endurance of those whom they oppress." -- Frederick Douglass

On The Road

Wow....where to begin. First of all I am at a library in Amsterdam and it is sort of hard to type because the keyboard is a little different and  I am using a mac which is always kind of funky for a PC girl like myself. So I have been traveling for... 7 days now and it's been pretty fun.  Missing our train to Amstersm was a lowpoint, but we were able to get onto a later one without problems. Ok...Paris sucks ass. I have never felt more depressed than I did in Paris. If I wasn't almost getting scammed by gypsies I was fending off unwelcome (extremely unwelcome) advances from sleazy men who spoke little English and probably wanted to kill me. If I wasn't hearing homeless women begging for money on the street,  I was seeing homeless people so deep into their addictions that one man sat all day in his wheelchair in front of a grocery store drinking half pint after half pint of vodka. If I wasn't fearing for my life in my hotel, which ironically was named Hotel Perfect, I was walking past pimps on the world's biggest road full of sex shops, strip clubs, peep shows, and God knows what else. Needless to say I was glad to get out of there. City of Lights, my ass. And it looked so much nicer when Whitney and Lauren went there on The Hills.  Caen was cool. We were able to take a 5 hour tour of the landing beaches at Normandy. Because the beaches cover 60 miles, we weren't able to see them all, but we were able to see Juno (British) and Omaha (U.S.) and the U.S.  cemetery. Omaha was the bloodiest beach and we were able to walk down on the beach so I got some sand. It was also raining for a little bit before we got there so when we got on the beach there was a beautiful full rainbow over the Channel. Even though it was at high tide (the Allies landed at low tide) it was an amazing experience and one of those things I wanted to do before I died. Which is ironic considering the beach was the last thing that some young men saw. The cemetery was awe-inspiring and seeing almost 10,000 graves is so much more captivating and emotional than any book or movie about World War II can ever be. Though we could only stay at the cemetery for about 45 minutes I was able to see the chapel, and the memorial as well as walk among the graves. As I was walking I read each name I saw to myself so that those men (and boys) could be remembered by someone, even if just for a moment. It was a humbling experience to see the names of soldiers who died at 20 (my age) or younger and it made me more appreciative of the things I have in my life, especially because the things I have now, those guys never got to experience. Microwaves, computers, the Internet. I have so many things they would not have even imagined and I do things they will never get to do. All these men and women who served and died really wanted to see was the war come to an end so they could go home. I hope that someday that happens. I hope that someday the ideals that they fought and died for will come back to the U.S. Just the thought of it all is completely staggering. 

I found a Newsweek in Caen and was reading all the political crap. It makes me so tired sometimes. I just want to shake some people and say WAKE UP. Look around you, look at the world. People are talking about this election in London, Paris, everywhere. And now I am beginning to hope. My asbentee ballot is in the mail marked with Obama's name. The polls say Obama is ahead. They are posters of Obama in the London underground stations. I had hope before when George Bush was re-elected. But this is a different kind of hope. It's the hope of desperation. The hope that is so broken that the only way to verbalize it is to say "God, don't let it happen again." With less than two weeks left, I am still hoping. 

Well it's getting late and I am getting hungry. I have no money so I should probably find an ATM. I will blog later about specific events on this little vaca later. Tomorrow we have a sort of full day buying sex toys and weed so I'll blog again when I get back. Mackenzie and I have also been video blogging during our trip so those will be posted when I get home (London) as well. I would say goodbye in Dutch, but I don't know how to pronounce adlaaowersgyurtz.

Ashley and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Actually the title of the book is Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day. An excellent book if I do say so myself and I do empathize with little Alexander. However, unlike Alexander, who wants to move to Australia, I am already thousands of miles from home. So I will have to come up with a better solution to my bad day. Actually, today isn't a bad day really. It's a revelation day. I have had a couple of these days in my life. Days when things really become clear and I can see things for what they really are. But today it was tough, because revelations aren't always happy. So today was not a happy revelation.

I hate stupid phrases. Like the ones that Daisy puts under the foil on their cartons of sour cream, but today I'm all for sappy phrases and I keep repeating this one in my head that I probably heard at some graduation or wedding or God knows what: "the only people you need in your life are the ones who need you in theirs." For some reason this is just ringing so true to me today.

I've said before that I do not have good friends, and that is pretty much true. I don't know if I just don't let people in or I have some personality flaw that completely turns people off, but I really do not have many good friends. Most of the people I associate with are friends and little more than aquaintances. Though I may share things with them, the things I say to them, conversations we have, I could pretty much have with anyone. No one really knows my past, besides my mom and my dad and some things about my past I can't speak of except to my mother. Some things I can't speak of except to myself. Sometimes I feel angry that I let my past affect me so much, but what has happened in my life has made me who I am today so I can't ignore my past. But sometimes it's just too painful to confront and it gets to be a heavy burden. My mother once asked me if there was any way I would ever be able to forgive my father and her for things that happened in my childhood. I said no. In some ways I feel like I shouldn't be allowed to be so upset about what happened when I was a kid. I had food, clothes, and shelter which is a lot more than what some children have. But I am entitled to feel. I used to allow people to make me feel bad for feeling the way I wanted to, but I don't allow that anymore. Anyway, when I was in therapy I looked at my actions and tried to determine why I did the things I do and discovered a lot of my personality traits, nuances, etc., etc. are based on previous experience. So I guess in a sense, if you don't know my past, you don't know me. But recently I've been trying to break out of this cycle of the past affecting my present to much. Physically, I can. Physically, I will never let myself be dependent on alcohol, I will never stay in a marriage where one partner only takes and another only gives, I will not associate myself with people who drink to excess just for the sake of drinking, I will not give up my dreams for anyone or anything. But it's tough to break this cycle mentally. I'm trying though.

That being said, I would say that I have one good friend, who knows just about everything about me and although unfortunately I only speak with her about once every one or two months and see here even less, our friendship is strong enough to survive us going to school 5 hours apart. And I love her for that. But just because I don't have good friends, that doesn't mean I don't value the friendships I do have, because my friends are important to me, they keep me sane and assure me that I am not alone even when I feel the most lonely. I always thought that the reason I didn't have friends was because I wasn't social enough or like I said before, I just put off bad vibes. But maybe that is just who I am. Maybe the saying is true. Maybe enough people just don't need me in their lives.

I have this need for approval sometimes. It's not necessarily any tangible approval either. I just want to know that someone, somewhere is getting what I am saying or doing. Most of the time I get that from my friends, people who (for the most part) are on the same page as me. But I also have a fear of not meeting that approval. A fear that nobody, nowhere will get what I am saying or doing. I think that is why I hide a lot of my feelings from people. Why I don't tell my friends what I am truly thinking or feeling. Some of my friends just don't really care how I am feeling, which is ok. Not everyone has the same type of personality as me and not everyone has the ability to care about others' feelings more so than their own. It sucks sometimes, but I deal with it, or at least try to. I get afraid that if I tell people how I am feeling I will be called "immature" or "highschoolish," which is how one friend referred to me. But I can't worry about that anymore. I can't not be the way I am because someone thinks I should be another way. I tried that. It doesn't work.

I had to write this super ridiculous statement, to be submitted to my International Studies director, about living in London and what I have learned. It was mostly cheese whiz and I made it as sappy as I could, but I did tell the truth about one thing. London has changed me as a person. I am more independent. And not independent in the sense that I am paying rent, buying a car, etc. Because I am not doing those things (although I did buy my own toilet paper for the first time). Living here has made me more independent in that I do not need people who do not need me. I do not need people who don't care, take enough time, or do any of those things that makes someone worthy of being in my life. I can't wait around for people. I can't wait around for anything. I have to do what I have to do when I have to do it. I don't have to go to grad school at Dominican because I am too afraid to go somewhere on my own. I don't have to move to Peoria after graduation because I feel I would be out of my comfort zone anywhere else. I don't have to do anything simply because I have fear or because I do not think I will be able to make it. If I spend my whole life looking down, making sure I don't trip and fall on my face I will never be able to look up and see what's around me. I can't be scared to take chances anymore. And I can't fear change as something that will radically alter my life. I have to be who I am or else I'm nothing.

But this revelation comes with big responsibilites. It means that I have to make changes in my life, make decisions that might be hard to make. I have to re-think where I want to go to grad school, where I want to live, where I want to...everything. If I am no longer letting things hold me back, my life looks a lot different. And the people in it may change too. It's hard to realize that people in my life may not necessarily want to be there. That maybe they just got pulled in for one reason or another and now I won't let go of them. It's a tough realization, but this weekend has made that more clear, I think. Though this day hasn't been great, really the past two days haven't been great, I think in the long run it's just one of those things....I'm not sure what I'm going to do next, where my next move will be. But in some ways that only adds to the chaotic beauty of it all. I'm not worried about who I am or who I will be. That will work itself out.

But if I'm still eating Top Ramen when I'm 35. Then we've got problems.

God Bless America

This picture is exciting for three reasons: 1. French's Mustard 2. Michelob Ultra 3. French's Mustard and Michelob Ultra together. But before I can explain how this blessed event occurred, I must go back to the beginning.

I don't like one of my flatmates. She happens to be my roommate and I have to put up with her slobby, unkempt side of the room as well as listen to her talk about all the sex she has with strangers. She also comes home drunk, eats my cold leftover pasta out of the dish, puts it back in the refrigerator and doesn't tell me (I received pasta information from another flatmate). She is loud. Wastes enegery by never turning off lights. Turns up the television blaringly loud. Screams into her cell phone. Doesn't shower when she comes home from bars and makes our room smell like booze and cigarettes. Never keeps up with her homework and then bitches about not having enough time to get it done. Constantly talks about boys, their peens, and other relevant body parts. Complains about her body quite often. Calls other women "fucking bitches" with alarming frequency. And shows an all around lack of respect or concern for other human beings. That being said, I mostly completely ignore her ramblings and do my best to stay away from her at all costs. I also can't masturbate as often as I want because I now have a roommate, which obvs is hard for chronic masturbator like myself. But because I share a room with her it is hard to get up, get ready and not have to answer the inevitable question of "what are you doing today?" But for the past two days I have been lucky and been able to spend some days without her.

Which leads me to mustard, sort of. I have a love affair with mustard. And its tangy vinegary taste has been sadly lacking from my palate this past month in London and though I have searched high and low, mustard has yet to be found in London. Of course, London has some mustard. London has french mustard, which looks like baby poo and tastes like syrup. And they also have English mustard which was so hot, I wept while eating it. All I want is mustard. Wonderful yellowy mustardy sauce which is great on just about everything. And today I got it.

I went to Greenwich today to get some contacts, which included going to the Royal Observatory where I was able to "see" the Prime Meridian. It was really exciting...

After seeing the National Maritime Museum (snoozeville) and going to another art gallery we went to the Greenwich Market where I got Ethiopian cuisine from a street vendor and Habiscus juice (!). Then, after seeing the Old Royal Naval College and going down the the banks of the nasty smelly Thames, we (Jenna, Mackenzie, our adopted flatmate for the weekend Bethany, and I) went to back to the Greenwich Market, found some awesome vintage clothing stalls, talked to a vendor about Sarah Palin and Barack Obama, and went to a candy store where I spent about $8 on gummi sugary things and turkish delights. After all that you would have thought we would be pooped. But we weren't. Not by a long shot.

It all started on the Tube when Jenna, Mackenzie, and I were talking about burritos and Jenna and mine's shared love of Chipotle came up and as we were speaking of the hot and spicy goodness of a delicious burrito from the motherland we obvs had a craving for mexican. So we decided to go. The next day we were to make our attack. I found it hard to concentrate. All I wanted was that burrito and I bemoaned my need with several "burritos! uhhhh...burritos..." throughout the day. Until we came home and found the burrito place to be closed. At 2:30 in the afternoon.

So we planned an attack from another angle and tonight we made our move. After our fun in Greewich was over we took the Tube to Canary Wharf. Where we found it. Chili's. American grill food at Great Britain prices. Nothing could have made this moment better. But then I saw it. I could see it's bright yellow bottle twinkling in the distance. My heart skipped a beat. I pointed and exclaimed "Mustard!" as though I was a sailor at sea, the first one to spot land after a long and dangerous journey. And as I was lost in my euphoric state over the unexpected find of these golden treasure, I looked at the menu and saw that they served Michelob Ultra. My favorite beer in the U.S. I was overcome with emotion and immediately knew that I must have both. So I did. And it was delicious. And though I paid nearly $22 for my meal, it was worth it because everyone needs a little taste of home. The day was nearly perfect. Until we left the restaurant. We missed the bathrooms and almost lost Mackenzie as she attempted to climb up a down going escalator to get to use, but eventually we all made it back to the tube station. After going our separate ways (Mackenzie and I home and Jenna and Bethany to a movie) Mackenzie and I transferred at Moorgate and got onto the Circle Line. Only something wasn't right. And it took us a total of 4 stops to realize we were going the opposite direction on the line. Now, this would not necessarily be so problematic if the circle line going in the diretion in which we needed to go to get home wasn't delayed 20 minutes. And of course while waiting 20 minutes for the correct train we saw a man with a Puss in Boots hat (complete with the feather), a man with a rather large tongue ring licking his girlfriend's face, and a variety of other characters that combined to make our journey one mugging short of horrific. However, I can not really complain. Because I have been to the promised land. A land of bright red neon signs. A land where hot fajitas are brought to patrons tables still sizzling in their pans. And a land where mustard and michelob never leave eachother's side.

Thank you, Steve Perry. Thank you.

So I was listening to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and I'm pretty sure I had a life changing moment. People are always asking me what I want to do, what am I going to do, how am I going to make a living...blah blah blah. And I always tell them that I am going to go to grad school in social work. But that isn't really an answer, it's just something I tell people to get them to shut up. Because the truth is, I don't know what I want to do. I have no motherfucking idea of what I am going to do, how I am going to do, and with whom or what I am going to do it. Jesus, my foot is falling asleep, I don't even know if I am going to be in the same bodily position in 5 minutes. And people expect me to know what I want to do for the rest of my life. Until I die. See the thing is, there are too many things. Too many things I want to do. I want to be a lawyer and work on civil rights cases. I want to be a social worker and work in the inner city developing communities or work as an adoption counselor helping kids find families who deserve them. I want to work for the state department, maybe work in a U.S. embassy or consulate somewhere. I want to work for the CIA condensing and typing massive intelligence reports. I want to live on a hippie commune and not eat refined sugar for a year. But here's the conundrum. In all of those statements I said that I wanted to "be" this and "be" that. But I already am somebody and something. Should not who I am reflect my choice of career? So who the fuck am I? I guess the question really is: to be or not to be? But fuck Shakespeare for a sec and honestly ask yourself if it is realistic for a 20 year old to know what he or she wants to do? There are so many opportunities and possibilites that it's completely overwhelming. I guess being in London and having so much to do in so little time coupled with the fact that I will be graduating in a year and half (!) has made me totally paranoid about my future. I've tried lots of things to remedy this problem. I have prayed, made a pro and con list, talked to my parents, talked to my friends, cried. But nothing seems to work and I really don't think Jesus cares where I go to grad school. So I am stuck. What do I do. Do I Robert Frost that shit or do I conform and just do what people expect of me? Go get certified as a teacher and spend the rest of my life helping third graders make pilgrim hats out of construction paper? Or teach smart ass junior high kids about the branches of government? I keep telling myself that Pocahontas went down the winding river and it took her on the right path (you know except for her dad trying to kill her boyfriend and then her dying at 21) and Elle Woods went to law school and she only had a degree in fashion. But these examples aren't comforting anymore. I have to grow up and decide for myself what I want to do. So I was listening to Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'" and I had a life changing moment. A revelation if you will. I realized there are no revelations. You do what you do and if you're wrong then suck it up and keep going. I can't waste my time waiting around for my parents, friends, or advisor to tell me what I should do. I have to go this one alone. It's not going to be easy, but I believe in God or something like her. Some Power of the Universe pulling the strings and tripping you up when you need it. I just need to open myself to the Power. Let it guide me where I should go. I can't waste time on regrets and the "what ifs" if I really want to change where my life is going. I'm sure Steve Perry has been right about many things in his life and although his belief that mullets are attractive was not one of those things, I think he spoke to my heart tonight. I can't stop believin' and you know what, I do have to hold on to that feeling. So thank you Steve Perry. Thank you for showing me the light. Although now. I kind of want to join the Red Sox too

What's the Story Morning Glory? How I almost saw Liam Gallagher jogging and other stories

So last blog was a little odd and revealed way more information that I intended, but I'm leaving it up anyway. So there. Ok so it's 1:15 a.m. My roommate is off doing whatever, or more likely whoever. And I have a shit load of stuff to do tomorrow, but I am determined to stay up and watch the Vice Presidential debates, which according to CNN.com, should be live streaming at 8 p.m. so by all accounts I should have a good 45 minute wait. I know I am screwing myself because of all the contacts I have to go to tomorrow, but fo shiz I can't wait to see Palin fall on her face. And if that actually happens while she's walking up to the podium I will piss my pants laughing. Actually I was reading an opinion piece in The Times today that was saying middle America would like Palin because she is at their level as far as political knowledge goes whereas Joe Biden is obvs way above the average American in terms of political know how and people are put off by that. I don't know if that's true, but for some reason I still think Sarah Palin is a complete moron and the fact that she calls herself a feminist because she believes in equal rights for women and she shoots animals and eats them is beyond insane. Oh and can I just dispute her feminism for a sec. Obviously feminism takes on different forms and right now there are debates concerning first and second wave feminism, but feminism is not just believing in equal rights for women, it is the fundamental belief that women are on the same basic human level as men and should be treated as such. Yet Palin believes women should not have the choice whether or not to have a baby. Men have that choice. Men leave single mothers everyday. But women should not be able to decide for themselves whether or not they should carry a fetus INSIDE THEIR OWN WOMB for nine months. No, that should be left up to the states. Wow. Sarah Palin. You're feminist views are so progressive. Being pro-life isn't against womens' rights. Wanting the government to take on your own personal decision based on your own personal faith in God, a diety not everyone subscribes to, and in doing so denying women fundamental reproductive rights is against womens' rights and dangerous for everyone. Anywho enough about that massive pile of idiocy. This blog isn't meant to be about her. This blog is supposed to be about how I almost saw Liam Gallagher. Jogging. Believe me, it's true. Just ask the paparazzo.

It was super cold today and my nose was running, that really has nothing to do with anything just an FYI, and the group and I were taking a walking tour of Hampstead. Along the way we sort of saw Dame Judi Dench's London home, we saw Russell Crowe's house, and other houses where other famous (mostly dead) people lived. So we are travelling along and as we are turning into the street where D.H. Lawrence used to live (obvs he's dead) we all see a guy with a big camera, you know the ones that can see Paris Hilton's cooch from miles away. And our tour guide asked him if we were blocking his way and he says," No, you just missed Liam Gallagher." WHAT!? We were shocked and excited and pissed all at the same time. Apparently he was on his morning jog. According to the paparazzo, who was a total creepster, he jogs every morning about that time for about half an hour. Unfortunately, our tour guide said we could not stay to see him come round again. Boo. I'm sure Liam (I think this almost encounter qualifies us to be on a first name basis) would have loved to see his many fans.

Ok some men in suits are telling people in the audience for the debate to turn off their cell phones and telling them when to clap. Oooohh this is so exciting. Back to business for a bit.

I have been in London for a month already. Two months left. I really am getting sad about leaving, but for reals it's stupid to worry about leaving and not enjoy the time that I have left so I am going to shut the fuck up about that. So these are the things I am excited about. I am super stoked about my trip with Mackenzie, obviously excited to see the beaches at Normandy and where Anne Frank wrote her diary among the many other things to do in France, Amsterdam, and Brussels. Although I am not exactly sure what there is to do in Brussels so scratch that. Fuck Brussels. I am also excited about going to Liverpool for a couple days with Carter to see everything Beatles. And I also want to go to Limerick (go Frank McCourt!), but am not keen on traveling by myself so we'll see how it works out. And these are the things I am bummed about. I am kind of bummed that my roommate is such a slutty slut bag, I mean a lovely young woman who has made different life choices than I have, and feels the need to share the gory details. I am bummed that I am no longer associating with an obnoxious ass who is on the trip with me and it makes group outings uncomfortable. I am also bummed that we have so many contacts due in such a little amount of time. And I'm bummed that I don't really have any good friends. It seems like everyone I know is little more than an aquaintance. But all in all the goods outweigh the bads and I'm having a pretty good time.

So there it is. Good times. Almost time for live debate. Some lady just introduced the moderator. I want to live blog the debate, but I also want to put it full screen on my computer. What to do. I'll figure something out. Goodnight Liam, wherever you are.