Empty Cage

Likely, “Well, that’s to be expected…”

In case my song reference was a bit obscure (It wasn’t) Yes! I spent the weekend in Liverpool. I ‘past stalked’ the Beatles. I am now filled with the light of the holy Beatles, made my pilgrimage to the Cavern club, and just about ready to shave my head and retreat to the mountains humming yellow submarine to myself.

As is the way with coastal towns I came away from my amazing journey with a cold. I am now sniffling and sneezing and the girl at the next computer appears to want me to die. Might not be far off, girl at the next computer, wishing ill on me is bad karma in this condition.

I brief overview of what I saw in Liverpool. The childhood homes of George, John, Paul, aaaand Ringo, Penny Lane, the place where John met Paul, and (the site of my FIRST touristy photo) Strawberry Fields (somehow it just… didn’t seem real… and, I’m well aware I’m not funny) Tons of fun, plus me tour bus totally had the Magical Mystery Tour logo painted on the side. That was a little taste of win-sauce right there.

I don’t have much to write about, I did a lot of hand written introspective journalling in Liverpool, thus not being overly adventurous. I chatted with a street musician for awhile in the pouring rain, very strange… (I just can’t stop it it seems)

And I met my first person from the Isle on Man! I saw her crying at the train station and against my natural inclination to sit there and keep reading I went over, apparently she goes to school in Leeds and was homesick, so we chatted a bit and such. Intrigue.

To my commenters:

Amber, it is indeed Castaway where the guy talks to the volleyball, as I recall the only real redeeming factor of the movie.

Ange, I tried calling you a MILLION times in Liverpool because I know of your Beatles love but your stupid PHONE was off. I tried incessantly at Penny Lane. YOU SUCK! I’m still NFA, however if you sent things to the following address I will get it:

16 Bowling Green Lane,
London,
EC1R 0QH

Sweeney will not be coming out here until May 15th… Seriously, What the hell? It was set here!

And they have the GALL to call this western civilisation. Frontier territory, that’s where I am… I mean, what do they have to do? Translate it?

However, they do have literally shelves of the Battle Royale movie. No seriously, I have a photo. In the first section of HMV there were several shelves with Battle Royale on them. Definite shock there — thus I actually did take a picture.

I’m so bored and lonely. Honestly, only old people in my hostel, again I say, YOUTH hostel, not old-bloody-age home! I just need someone to spend some time with, you know, lone ranger skit is nice but complete isolation is going to have me chatting up a volleyball.

Hey! I’m alone on an island! It could totally happen!

Possibly Liverpool on the weekend. I should do my Beatlemania thing and past-stalk the Beatles. Maybe I’ll do Abbey Road tonight to get myself warmed up.

The noisy Aussies who hated me, the Indian who was probably  too ill to be in a hostel that night as she made the most amazing sounds from the moment her head hit the pillow until she woke up, the pant(and trouser!)less wonder, Team God Bless America… you certainly meet interesting characters in hostels. Then you meet people like KiwiClare, HottieMcScotland, and ‘I’m not in Mississippi anymore’, and suddenly you remember that hostelling isn’t really all that bad.

HOWEVER. I am going to KILL my only room mate this week. KILL HER WITH KNIVES. Call my BFF Jack, teh rippxxorzxcorelollerskates.

But seriously.

This woman is probablyyyy about 60 something or 70 something. Therefore lulling you into a false sense of security. You’d THINK it would be me pissing her off, after all, I am a strapping teenager full of vitality and life.

But no. Not at all in fact, night one, I politely introduce myself and say ‘I have to sleep now, I need to work tomorrow’ Does she shut up? No! Is it general chatter? Nope! Specific questions that I feel obliged to answer in the interest of peace in the hostel? Abso-bloody-lutely!

Now, generally speaking, talking too much is forgiveable in a hostel, last night is why I want to kill her.

I go to bed nice and early after talking to Stacey on the phone, I notice her bags and stuff are still around but she’s not in yet, I figure I should sleep any ways ‘Hostel Law number five hundred and twenty four states if thou gets to thy hostel after thy first person in the room falls asleep thou shallt get thy shit together silently in the dark, in the mercy of our lord, the manager’ Which I assume she does, because I didn’t wake up when she came in.

It’s not until she turns her radio on at 3:55AM that I wake up. A talk show. First assumption is it’s a mistake, or some kind of seriously funked up alarm system, as the topic of discussion seems to be rice. Then I hear the volume and station being adjusted slightly, to eliminate static.

I am floored by this. As I try to decide if it is quiet enough to sleep through I decide I am too indignant to even try. I try to subtly get across the fact that I am no longer sleeping, by conciously tossing, and sighing. No avail. So I growl over my shoulder, ‘You mind turning that down a bit?’ She offers a gloomy half-arsed apology and turns it off. As though I am putting her out. Hello? It’s 4 AM, don’t funking mess with me.

YHA, Youth Hostel Association my…

Anyways! Ireland!

I was surprised at how ‘hardcore’ Dublin was. I imagine it has a much ‘younger’ population in London. I arrived after about 45 minutes on a plane and met up with Marilyn. Every sign is in Gaelic and English! My room at Marilyn’s was preeetty much like a hotel room (needless to say I was pleased)

Our day around Dublin was awesome, I managed to get all my touristy stuff down. The Book of Kells, Trinity Collage, and of course I am physically unable to enter a city and not see the official museum. And NOTHING makes you feel like a bad person for being English like an Irish museum. You know, every atrocity EVER was committed by the British. EVER. Nazi Rule? The Royal Family is German! You kind of feel like putting on an Irish accent just in case. The surname… uhm… O’Bagg… yes, that’s me, Caitlin O’Bagg, and of COURSE Caitlin spelt with a C and an I what do you think I am? British?

The worst part is I am Irish and I still felt bad.

After doing Dublin Marilyn took me out to the countryside to see the lambs. I nearly died of adorable overload. Especially the little black one, I relate to the little black sheep. I am the little black sheep.

Sunday was… amazing.

We went to this castle ruin. Only it wasn’t a ‘popular’ castle ruin, so I had the whole castle to myself. It was breathtaking, and to be the only one there. On the way down Marilyn and I met up with a local. I think he said he was going to be doing an archaeological dig there, but I didn’t understand a word with his thick accent and the speed he was talking.

We also went to a monastery and cemetery which I would have appreciated so much more if I wasn’t still in awe of the castle.

To my commenters:

Ange, some of the Hardcore Irish boys were pretty swoonable. My joke was most amazingly amusing! My jokes always are! You said so! You have to stop hanging out with me if my jokes stop being funny! You are ultra fabby (my Britishism) Huzzah!

Daniel, Do comment more, or I’ll set… Dana on you!

From the last entry:

Emmadawn, I needed you and your ‘le 1337 (un-trois-trois-sept) skillz francais’ in Paris. I was so happy getting to see Jim <3

If you want to send me le mail de escargot you can send it here:

16 Bowling Green Lane,
London,
EC1R 0QH

And I will get it <3

Bwahahah on the evil Yellow faces which I’m still trying to figure out how to disable.

To Crystal, I know D= I misses real internets

To Amber, I have a few pages for you to start with, how many do you want at once?

To Mah, no only dead people I hero worship get that sort of love. Syd’s next.

Well, I haven’t stopped in here in awhile. Internet access has been a pain, so I’m abusing the work internet for a few minutes. A responsible abuse, I can assure you. Thus, the entry may be short, and very sneaky.

Oxford, was there maybe last week or so, it wasn’t too bad, I mostly did (dun dun dun) shopping. So, I can’t tell you about the beautiful sites. Also, incidentally, it was pouring. I did get a copy of Memento and eat pizza though, so it wasn’t a total loss.

So! What else have I been doing? Working! YAY! A charming £9/hour with a 1 braincell/second tax. Angelena’s rant about going to school plays ad nauseum in my head daily. I’m just waiting for my Tell-Tale Heart moment when I shriek to the silent room “I GET IT! SHUT UP!” The office is as silent as a tomb usually, as I liken tapping on keyboards to rattling bones or something equally spooky.

I am allowed to listen to music, but my ears actually hurt from two weeks straight of having ear buds in them. So I’ve gone unplugged today (buy the album) and kind of want to gouge my eyes out. No particular reason, but it might alleviate the boredom.

Some nice things about my job — well, not the job specifically, but they are more work related than not. The nearest Tube (Chyuuuube) Station is St.James’ Park. I work on the short street between the Chyuuube Station and the actual park.

I talk to mom quite a bit because I get so bored at lunch, see example below.

April 1st:

“God, mom, the weather here is bloody TERRIBLE! I have never seen anything so miserable.”

“Tell me about it, at least there’s something in common!”

“APRIL FOOL’S! I’m sitting on the grass in the warm sun in the park surrounded by flowers!!”

Wasn’t that a funny April Fool’s Prank? I thought it was hysterical.

My new pals the Kiwis don’t get it. But then, they’re so far south they frequently get cut off the bottoms of maps.

Ah! I haven’t mentioned my new found knowlage of New Zealand, and love for all things Kiwi! New Zealand is the Canada of the Southern Hemisphere you see. Always getting bullied by stupid Australia!

I learned much about the Kiwis after meeting Clare the Kiwi in the Earl’s Court Hostel, then finding out my fellow bored temping co-worker James is ALSO a Kiwi! We hardly talk for fear of hurting the silence, but when every one else was in a meeting I found the ideal ice breaker.

“Am I the only one who wants to KILL myself?”

“Yea, I’m on Facebook.”

“Fair enough.”

So, he was on Facebook and we had quite the talk about how little work he does. Thus, my rebel-blogging!

I went pub hopping with my Kiwi Pal Clare, and a (quite good looking) Scottish guy named Jamey. Andrew and I are finito (again) and so I am allowed to look at cute guys. I have his phone number so I win. Told me to look him up if I was in Scotland. He’s 22 so there’s no prayer, I’ll just gaze dreamily off into space.

Thank you to my beloved commenters, I’ll reply to them on the next entry. I’m off to Dublin tonight!

Sorry the details of Paris have taken so long!

To all the people who have been to Paris and not been to Pere Lachaise you really did miss the very best part of Paris. Fifteen minutes out of the way was completely worth it. But let me start from the top, shall I? I left for Saturday evening, the bus was packed actually. Amusingly enough, the guys beside me were a group of Canadian backpackers. I talked for a lot of the 10 hour trip with one of them, just about Candianisms and stuff… he kept falling asleep on me and I kept poking him awake, it was rather amusing. As he left he gave me a big west coast hug and said maybe he’d see me in Paris, I said I doubted it, and we parted, I didn’t get his name or anything and so that ended that.

It’s funny how ‘Canadian’ you become when you get over here — I’m hardly an overly enthusiastic nationalist, but I’ve been stopping just shy of singing the national anthem in the street (en anglais et francais!) since being in Europe. My french served me surprisingly well considering how terrible I thought I was. So, after I got to my hostel, I dumped my bags and went straight to Pere Lachaise. It was about 7 o’clock in the morning local time, so there was quite literally no one there. I saw Sarah Bernhardt which was completely unexpected (my grandmother used to compare me to her, so that was very touching), I also saw Chopin (not reeeeally that exciting for me because I’m not a huge classical music buff, but I guess it’s pretty impressive all things considered) Next was Jim, of course, he’s tucked in behind a number of bigger monuments so I had a lot of trouble finding him… however there is a large temporary fence around him, on top of the plot was flowers, cigarettes, questionable looking substances and pictures. The inscription on his headstone is the latin translation of ‘True to his own spirit.’ When I read it I really did hope someone would think to write something like that on my headstone, moreover, I want something like that to be true of me. Jim’s grave, a journey I definitely needed to make.

Oscar Wilde was pretty awesome too, his grave was covered in bright lipstick kisses, mostly from gentlemen I’m sure. I adore Oscar, and the whole visit made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. After I visited him I just toured the cemetery, and it was amazingly stunning, all old and cryptic, but beautiful as well, I felt inspired to write but couldn’t come up with any words once I found my journal. From there I did “the rest of Paris in thirty seconds” The Eiffel Tower, the Arc d’Triomph, and Notre Dame being a majority of my hit list. The poor people were VERY aggressive so I did these places quickly because I wasn’t in the mood for being hassled. The tower wasn’t as epic as I had thought! But the arc was beautiful, and so was Notre Dame, I definitely like English architecture better… ehehe.

I went back to my room and met the incredibly sweet room mate Hallie from Mississippi. Great to talk to, we shared THE BEST CHOCOLATE ON EARTH. 70% Dark Chocolate and Raspberry. I could have bought a case of the stuff. I really liked Hallie, she was in a similar position as I was last year (if I had gone to France, that is) kind of at a loss for the infamous ‘what happens next?’ I’m hardly one to give anyone advice but I like to think I’m at the very least an example of options. Apparently you don’t just have to go to school. We had an Austrian girl in the room too, the three of us when out for drinks with some of Austrian girl’s guy friends, it was fun, the language barrier led to some hysterical conversations and of the seven of us I was the only one who spoke even a word of French. I had a Cappuchino and Hallie had one beer while our Austrian friends got wasted, their English got more and more strained as the evening continued.

The next day I went to Versailles, which, wouldn’t you know it, was closed on Monday. Yes, the whole Palace was completely closed, and under contruction. I did get a chance to wander the grounds without anyone there though. The fountains were off and it was a bit cold, I did the Louvre instead.

I took a lot of pictures of paintings and things. Things like the portrait of the princes in the tower, Joan of Arc and Napoleon of course! Actually, I started laughing like an idiot in front of a painting of the battle of Thermopolae, all of the Spartans are nude, and I thought to myself “And people thought they were under dressed in the movies!” I saw the crowd surrounding the Mona Lisa and maybe caught a glimpse of the tiny little painting it’s self. It’s far less impressive than expected I also saw the Venus de Milo. Though to be honest I would have preferred to visit a more history-centred museum than an art one… plus I couldn’t read any of the museum cards!

The next day I went to Versailles again to actually see Versailles. I took the wrong train, or at least, a train that took me to the wrong Versailles and ended up spending an hour and change on transit to Versailles. However that turned into a real blessing in disguise, as the the incredibly huge line up. I met two Americans studying in Vienna, they were amazingly nice and I spent the evening with them. Versailles, I eventually decided I would have been hard pressed to make leave if there were a fraction of the people there as it stood, I was a bit uncomfortable with the whole thing because of the legions around.

After Versailles my Vienna friends and I wandered Paris, I was actually able to translate the menu! And I could even speak relatively decent french! They wanted to go clubbing afterwards, but we didn’t find anything really, and I had to leave on an 11 o’clock bus back to London, so we parted ways.

The bus ride to London was long (obviously) but I did see some signs off to Vimy, and I got to ride the Ferry! I even saw the white cliffs of Dover! They really are white!

I also started my job, it’s incredibly boring of course, but it’s only for a few weeks, and hopefully I’ll find a new job while I have this one.

I also got two amazing books I’ll review soon. Grotesque and the Black Swan.

I have some abstract stuff I really want to write about right now, but I’m feeling a bit tired… maybe tomorrow!

I woke up this morning and there was a small finch-like bird fluttering around the house. Now I hate netspeak and all the but surprisingly I could practically feel the thought bubble burst above my head.

“WTF?”

It took me a clean hour to convince the little thing the door was open… I imagine it had probably fluttered into the glass desperately a number of times already. I just want to know when it got in… it was either when Mike left for work this morning or had been in overnight!

I’m booking my ticket to France for tomorrow because the agency just called because they forgot to mention I have orientation for this new job on Thursday. Gee, what a bloody thing to forget. Anyways, I’m still going to France and trying to come up with somewhere else to go over easter. Maybe Edinburgh. As much as I wanted to throw the phone at a wall I think I was very mature about having to completely shift my trip due to a bit of a stupid mistake on their part. And maybe I’ll get to see another new place (or old place that I love) thanks to this largely unplanned break in the trip. Maybe even somewhere closer like Oxford or something. I’ll be paid for the orientation, so I can’t complain too much.

Uhm, in other news, I talked on the phone to Terri last night, and it was pretty much awesome. I’ll probably call Ange or Stacey tonight, because I’m not racking up roaming charges on my phone by calling people from France. Sorry guys, you aren’t worth that much to me after all! Bahahahahahahahah~~! I kid, I kid, but roaming charges means I cannot afford to bring anyone British Sweets, so choose your battles wisely.

Other then that– anyone who has any suggestions as to where to go for Easter send me a Comment… and don’t say Isle of Wight, I hear the place is booked solid, the whole island, during Easter.

Well, the employment agency sent me back a lovely e-mail saying they should have a job for me on the 25th. Fusked! So I have decided to go to Paris for a week. The job will be Dullsville data entry, but on the bright side I can listen to tunage while I do it. I have a feeling it will be a lot like inputting invoices at the bookstore. Regardless, it gave me an empty week which I have decided to fill with the French.

The fare will be about £44.00 via train to Paris. So, I need to go buy myself some Euros.

Nothing else done today as usual. All the best to my beloved commenters!

Ange, there’s a reason why Sugilove was first D=

Amber, I got Cyndaquil fanlist at TFL, it’s taken at TAFL, but I was never a fan of the anime so there =3

The first thing you will notice about employment agencies is that absolutely everyone is so painfully cheerful that it’s scary. I mean, the agency is cheerful to impress the client, the people looking for jobs are cheerful to impress the agency and the agencies clients are cheerful because they know that for a small fee they are on top in this particular establishment. Everyone smiles constantly, post-agency-face-pain is likely a common side effect of being in too many of these places. I’m surprised how amazingly few hospitals there are in Oxford Circus to accomodate for this.

Okay, so I’m registered at the agency, the smiling agent would like me to know that with my skill set I should be looking at a job before the end of the week. I hope she didn’t take the twitching eye of smiling discomfort as me being an escaped lunatic. I snuck a look at her notes on me as she left for a glass of water. She wrote me a rave review, fooled another one Daddy! I type 46 words per minute apparently, that is when I’m copying out a passage about American commutes, which I pretty much fell asleep while typing. I also, for those who have never had the pleasure of watching me type, only use two fingers (well, and one on my let hand to press shift). She that’s mighty impressive.

The other day (Friday, I am tempted to say…) Mike and I headed to the V&A (Victoria & Albert) Museum, which is a pretty amazing little museum, it’s stuffed full of interesting, but less famous items. Like, you won’t find the Rosetta Stone, but you will find some amazing Renaissance artefacts, the Medici are not mentioned very much though(!) Are they a Zimmer hyperbole(!)? Regardless, Mike finally learned the true extent of my museum addiction and cut me off before I got too carried away, and showed me Hyde Park (Yes, I did think of Sweeney, so shoot me) From there we headed back to Milton Keynes. I highly reccomend V&A I neglected to mention, it’s a low key museum with a lot of sculptures, and everyone except me seemed to be running through it which was disappointing because there was a lot of cool stuff.

I have finally experienced British rain, this is the first I have been out in the rain since coming here believe it or not. And, of course, the only day I did not pack an umbrella in my purse, which I’m considering upgrading to something bigger once this job thing hopefully pulls through. I can’t fit anything in it.

One thing I am going to start kicking people about is my friends and replying to my entries… all my mom’s friends, and my friend’s parents are replying, but none of my chums seem to be able to find it in their hearts to reply to me. So, loves, expect some nasty e-mails involving ‘Comment on my posts or die<3′ To the parents replying to my blog I thank you… at least I know some people love me.

And to commenter:

Crystal<3 I hope Sweeney and Jack join me, we can dance around in happy hippie circles until the sky goes out. You should come down and visit, by now I feel like a regular Londoner. Love! No, you see the trouble with poet is how do you know it’s deceased — Try the priest!

As the title suggests, I should be well on my way to the city by now, but before I go I want to write a quick blog. I have been terrible for getting them out lately because in my overwhelming ANGST!: The Musical (My favourite injoke of all time apparently) the days have all blended into an intermeshing superday.

So, what’s new? Well, I applied for the most amazing job ever that I would have been perfect for… but by the time I got to it it was filled beginning the theme known as ‘my luck’. I’ve never considered myself particularly unlucky before, and maybe I’m only unlucky in the UK. Regardless, the bitter optimism is forcing me to be cheerful, I am not going to hate this trip — damnit!

The perfect job was at the bookstore at Westminster Abbey, and the lady I spoke to was incredibly nice, she said some of their hires would be leaving at the end of March. A running theme, I’ll have ten jobs once April rolls around. I’m reeeeally disappointed about missing out, but I’m keeping with my optimistic theme by saying maybe I’ll get a call April second (not April first, I wouldn’t be able to take it if it was April first) and work the rest of my term at Westminster.

To add to my employment luck, I got another few e-mails with ‘the position is filled’ and one e-mail with ‘Please call me!’ I’m thinking ‘Yes, finally someone appreciates my talents!’ Only to find both numbers provided are not in service temporarily. This is just getting hysterical. If I don’t laugh I’m just going to burst into tears, so I’m laughing.

I finally got out to see some of the sights the other night. It was late and I was on the phone with my Pangeous friend and I decided to wander back to Trafalgar Square (Have I mentioned I love that word? Trafalgar, sounds so epic and archaic, I love it!) From there I wandered down to the Parliament buildings and over to Westminster Abbey. It’s amazing seeing the sights at night.

And for the very first time I was glad I didn’t have a camera. (I think I told Ange this on the phone). Last time I was here it was like looking at the sights in a book because it was always through my camera that I saw anything. I never really looked at and admired all the things I was seeing. I mean, holy crow, for those of you who have seen Big Ben and Lord Nelson all lit up at night laa-dee-dah to you. But to those who haven’t, it’s something amazingly breathtaking. There you are standing in front of something so old and so beautiful, Ange and I listenined to the clock strike 9 before we decided to end our chat.

Big Ben gets this brilliant orange glow to it, and all the shadows cast on it emphasize how imposingly and elegant it is, you almost feel guilty looking at it, as though it is very stern and unhappy to be caught awake at such an hour. Elegant, as I’ve probably thought a hundred thousand times is the best way to invision it.

And Lord Nelson in Trafalgar Square seems to just glow in the dark. I want to know how they light him up like that, he’s so high off the ground! Something very imperial about the lions at night too, I’m reminded of some Jim Morrison Lyrics:

Lions in the street and roaming 

Dogs in heat, rabid, foaming 

A beast caged in the heart of a city 

The body of his mother 

Rotting in the summer ground. 

He fled the town. 

He went down South and crossed the border 

Left the chaos and disorder 

Back there over his shoulder.  

One morning he awoke in a green hotel 

With a strange creature groaning beside him. 

Sweat oozed from its shiny skin.  

Is everybody in? The ceremony is about to begin. 

I don’t really know why. Probably the first and last lines only, or a Beast Caged in the Heart of the city… That’s me. However, it’s what I thought to myself as I looked at the huge lions at the feet of Nelson. The Abbey is a bit of a sore spot I’ll describe later.

So, there you go, what I’ve done so far. Actually, while I was typing that sentence a recruitment agensy called me back, they may have a few jobs I can do. Isn’t lovely how forced optimism really works. It looks like a grimace but I assume you, it is a smile. I’ll be doing stuff ‘Similar to COIP’ Smile. It’s a job. Shut up and smile. Maybe until Westminster calls and asks where I’ve been all their life. Anyways, tons of love, I’m sending out post cards tomorrow, so e-mail me your addesses everyone or you won’t get one!

To the commenters of this entry and the last one:

To Crystal, now it’s not just Sweeney and Jack the Ripper I have to fear, it’s Youtube abusers D=

To Amber, isn’t that link awesometastic? It kept me amused for ages!

To Mom, I will, I will I promise I will!

To Ange, I totally should as it would be friggan awesome! Do your essay! Ahahahahah! Call you again soon because that was wicked awesome talking to you <3

My Anophelosis is starting to get unbearable.