Empty Cage

I have a lot of ‘real life’ sort of updates today (including some web ones, but let’s focus on me haha) and, despite the fact that Syd, my laptop is not yet back from the shop, I can type fairly well on this IBM, even though it sounds positively terrible. It’s on it’s last legs for sure. So, let us begin!

I have finally started school first of all, which is tons of fun in and of itself. I am officially a Philosophy student at the University of Ottawa! A grand school in our nations capital the campus is beautiful, and I’m still a bit haggard from ’101 week’ which is what they call frosh week. I’m still a non-drinker (I hate the taste, though I have had a few drinks to keep the peace with some rambunctious drunk people), but it is so much motion, and so much meeting, that for someone like me it gets exhausting! I went to maybe half of the events.

Because I’m forcing myself not to be a social recluse here, as I usually am, my goal has been to find venues that I’m comfortable in and meet people, as well as trying to get to know people in my classes in an effort to if not find a ‘best friend’ have people that I could hang out with should I feel so inclined. So far I’ve had some moderate success in this — there’s a pretty nice looking guy in my Latin class who I talk to all the time, and a nice, albeit hyperish girl in my English class who has me in stitches the entire class.

I also try to go to the Thursday night Philosophy Discussion Groups, allowing me to observe people and their theories — this being the only venue that I drink at (if even this!) as we do hold it in the basement of a pub, and I get offered about thirty drinks a night, usually I pull what Andrew would call a ‘Sue Saunderson’ and accept one drink and nurse it all night. Normally I’d be all ‘fierce I don’t drink’ but I’m legal, and I find people get very standoffish and defensive if you just don’t drink, as if because you don’t drink you expect them to not drink. To be honest, I don’t really care too much, but it’s a subconscious thing, and I’d rather not have people be chilly towards me because of my choice. One beer over the course of about four hours once a week doesn’t really concern me too much. As far as I’m concerned it doesn’t even really count, I find I still have about half a glass by the time I leave, which someone else is more than happy to relieve me of.

Other than that, I don’t know if I mentioned on here, but I bought myself an electric guitar this summer! It’s a Seafoam Green Fender Squier, a good solid beginner’s instrument I hear, and I got it really cheap. Andrew provided an amp, and after getting some picks, a patch cord, and a headphone adaptor I find I can kill hours with it. I’m not really following a course or tutorial or taking lessons. In fact, usually I just dig up a tab, and try playing it until it sounds right. Mostly, though, I love to just sit, close my eyes and pluck the strings randomly and see what sort of sounds the thing can make, trying to come up with words for the sounds. If I didn’t have headphones I’m sure my room mate would commit suicide while I did this. Because it isn’t really music, just sound. So far my only accomplishment was finding a way to play power chords comfortably. While Dan showed me how to play them ages ago it was always a painful hyper extension for me, and I was worried my hands were simply too small for the instrument. Did I need a children’s guitar? God I would have lost it, after all, Andrew and Daniel always laugh, because I had to hold a PS2 controller with one hand hooked over the top to hit all the right buttons! Fortunately, after playing with the angle I held the instrument at, I managed to find a comfortable way to play power chords. All-in-all, I’ve really been enjoying learning to play the guitar, I’m absolute rubbish, and can only play things like ‘the intro to Daytripper, Smoke on the Water, and Smells like teen Spirit’ but it’s relaxing for me, and helping me with my goal of not always being on the internet.

My classes are all great except English. English is ‘essay writing’ and we’re currently reviewing nouns and verbs. Yes, seriously! In a University course I am learning that an adjective describes a noun. Other than that I have Philosophy Critical Thinking and Reasoning, History 1500s-1900s, Latin I, and Technical Theatre I. I’ll write more on my courses later, suffice to say, I’m in them, I enjoy them, and only two are big enough to be in lecture halls.

In my little web kingdom, I have (obviously) successfully moved hosts. My next steps involve filling the domain (still!) and changing the entry classification system (use a mix of tags and categories), moving Cursed onto a CMS so I’ll actually be inclined to update. It is my hope to get Cursed completely up-to-date with the finishing of the manga. I want it perfectly comprehensive so I can leave it alone. As well as a new layout. Next I want Loyalties to be a proper shrine, so it will likely also move onto a CMS. I’m looking at Chyrp, if anyone has any input on that. As Amber mentioned WordPress is pretty heavy duty. Finally, Wonderland, and Enigma are my last two on my immediate to-do list.

Anyways, I do have more to add, like my need to get a job, my trials getting into a computer course, my deepest desire to take driving lessons, and how badly studying for my A+ Technician exam is going, but I need to get ready for Latin. Cheerio.

I am at work. I was working up until a few minutes ago, when I finished and Rob (my boss) is nowhere to be found. I think he’s in a meeting. So, I’m working in a warehouse for my dad’s company, and let me make it perfectly clear, I did not and do not want this job. In fact, I would sorely like to pluck my own eyes out. I haven’t really had female contact in months, and no Andrew to bring out my feminine side (no, there’s nothing insulting about that, read it again). Everyone here is really pretty gangstahhh and no wonder, I’m in Scarborough… I seriously need some ‘peeps’ My job involved unpacking wireless access points (for large stores like Loblaws) labelling them, and scanning them. Rinse repeat. I’m supposed to learn how to progam these things eventually, but that’s taking a bit longer than planned. It’s an hour commute to and from work. I am not pleased. It’s nice to spend some quality time with dad in the car though. I guess. Albeit, not nice enough to keep the job, my eyes are peeled. $10/hour working 8-5… pain pain pain.

I have a new much loved band called ‘Mad Staring Eyes’ (look them up on mySpace — and while you’re at it visit Sean Dineley at Huck’s Fin) I got their album from a band member at Pearson International while I was picking up my bag, he asked me to come to his show, but I didn’t listen to the CD until yesterday so I missed them, now I’m disappointed! Hahaha! That’s where the entry title comes from by the way, it seemed oddly fitting.

I had my photos taken for some movie audition thing, it was most insane, the photographer was insanely complimentary, I often wonder if that is obligatory in photographers, flatter the hell out of everyone who comes near you. At any rate it was interesting to watch and participate in. They talked about how my face would work for a part if I had bigger bags under my eyes and I stopped just shy of saying ‘Give me a few more weeks at this job, and I’ll give you bags.’

Still no word from Jamie, I’m trying to decide if sending a second e-mail looks like obsession. I abhor crushes.

I almost worked on websites last night but I spoke to Samantha on MSN, and she happened to be playing Pokemon, and obviously I then had to get my DS, and I played it most of the night. So anyone looking for website updates, blame her! Not me!

I’m thinking of learning to play the acoustic guitar that has migrated into my room.

Well, a lot has happened and that is why I haven’t written for so long. In fact, I have to reread my last entry before I post this one. Not even that much time has elapsed, just a lot of stuff has elapsed, and I’ll never be able to do any of it justice on my journal, so, here I go, taking the plunge now.

Well, since the last entry I have broken out of my little social dead zone, in a rather huge way. You see, my dorm with good old Dominic filled up with two more South Africans and two Aussies. All male of course. Yes, I’ve been ‘one of the guys’ for the past — two weeks, which hasn’t been too terrible, as I have had people to talk to. From time to time at least. And only at the cost of having to listen to the lot of them snore in chorus. Seriously, they could have a choir group with their snoring. But other then that they’re all endearing, ish. That and the fact that everything is cold to them and it’s been really warm here lately.

But I need to start from the beginning, way back, what, two or three weeks ago now. Bloody ‘ell, time flies when you’re actually doing stuff. And I have actually finally been doing stuff. No, seriously, I swear! I’ve just been so unmotivated to write about any of it because I’ve been so busy actually doing things, shocking, I know, but there you have it.

For the past few weeks I have been working at the Royal Infirmary doing stuff with their archives, the work is alright I suppose, and there is no asshole breathing down my neck about doing things faster. In fact, the only qualm about the job itself that I have is this: ‘They have no idea how they want these archives to be sorted’ Which, I mean, technically isn’t too big of a deal, except that they tell me to do it one way and then suggest a ‘slightly’ different way of sorting things which only takes a good day to finish. This would be fine if the job wasn’t only three days a week. The best part of the job was when the agency called me, the first thing they say, before when or where I’m working is ‘How are you with the sight of blood?’

Yes, so, riddle me this Batman, if I am working three days a week for £6.50 how am I making enough money to stick around here?

I’m not.

Here’s where I tell you all about the massive trip around Europe I have planned, but I’m not quite ready to share yet as the itinerary still needs some serious tweaking.

Okay, so, all that excessive preamble and still no goods about what I have been doing (well, besides working). I actually need to dig out my paper journal to figure out what I have done, it seems a bit blurry. Not due to substance abuse, keep your minds out of the gutter, simply a lot has happened.

I guess it was about Wednesday when I finally decided to get in touch with Jamie (Hottie McScotland), we planned to meet up on the Friday of last week, which had me a little giddy. Hello, school girl. Not that I planned to really flirt with him or anything, I mean, let’s face it, I was planning to leave within the week of meeting up with him. But, hey, it’s nice to see a friendly face, all-in-all the meeting went well, he’s one of those crazy musicians that I always seem to meet up with, and so we spent the evening hopping from pub to pub listening to the bands of his mates. A number of them were quite good, and while we ended on a hand holding cheek kissing kind of note, I keep reminding myself international crushes are a big huge no-no, they lead to amazing heartbreak AND ruin awesome countries for you, the double whammy of ‘suckage’. We’re meeting again this Saturday evening, so hopefully I can persuade myself that it is a one-shot crush and will vanish from there.

Despite the above being the sort of blushingly awesome part of the weeks, what’s been really fun about hostel life is my room mates, despite the fact that they were a bunch of idiot guys. One of the South Africans (Steve) and I hit it off pretty well and spent a lot of time just talking. He had just broken up with his girl friend of six years, and I was angsting about Andrew’s trek to northland. Because that’s what 19 year olds do, we angst, and we are damn good at it. So Steve and I chatted about whatever for a good most of the week at random points. Specifically about the wild and crazy ways of Canada. It’s amazing how thing like… skating on a pond, that are such an integral part of my childhood can simply… not exist in other countries. In Canada, we skate on ponds, in South Africa… well… they have lions.

Derek and Steve fed me a few times within the week, which, since becoming an international traveller really endears me to people. Haha. In reality the last few weeks have been fun, but not in a reportable kind of way, that is to say, those involved had a good time, but it was a lot of movie watching and Edinburgh wandering rather than grand and sweeping adventures that I try and report to you.

One evening we went to a graveyard to take photos (you must note this was Steve’s suggestion and not mine, and so, don’t be rolling your eyes at me) and it was decided that I would take no more photos of the trip as Steve and Derek got all touristy and dragged out the tripods meaniong they had nice pictures and I got to frolic in the graveyard. Seemed like a pretty fair deal to me.

Another interesting event was the hike to Arthur’s Seat, upon arrival, I had a massive allergy attack and headed back to the hostel, soon to be followed by my two South African friends. I’m not sure why they didn’t go to the top, perhaps it was too cold or something. Regardless, they actually beat me back to the hostel even though I left first, only because I was on the hunt for allergy drugs.

The problem with this entry for a reader is that it is all out of order, but my retrospect for the past two weeks is kind of funny, I remember things in chunks and not chronological order, let’s see if I can actually get everything in.

On his second or third night, (this is back before Arthur’s Seat) Steve brought home a rebound fling to the hostel. He claims nothing happened, but let me tell you, awkwardness does not begin to describe sleeping in a bed beside two people who are uhm… quite obviously doing absolutely nothing. Nothing at all really. And the night before Arthur’s Seat, one of the Aussies, Zach had brought home a girl and they also did nothing I’m sure. The police showed up at the hostel in the morning because the girl’s friends had reported her missing. After being awoken by the police and assuring them that the fling was alive and well the two Aussies and the kidknappee started drinking wine, and they were still drinking by the end of the day when the three of us returned.

Steve and Derek were feeding me in the ‘Southern Hemisphere Kitchen’ so all of room 2 just sort of hung out there. Two sloshed Aussies and the South Africans about to bust out the Brandy and Coke.

But again, before I continue I should talk about what the Southern Hemisphere Kitchen is. Basically in the hostel there are two kitchens. The clothes dryer feeds into the one kitchen and it is always really stupidly humid in there, whereas in the other kitchen it is sort of generally chilly. Chastising me for being in the cold kitchen it was dubbed the ‘Northen Hemisphere Kitchen’ by my almost sneering room mates. If I didn’t want to be alone I was forced to go against my natural inclination and hang out in the Southern Hemisphere Kitchen.

Back to my tale though, though looking at it now there isn’t much to tell. Everyone got drunk and started laughing about god knows what. It whole incident was so politically incorrect I had to shield my poor Canadian ears. I eventually made an almost dramatic exit when an Aussie accidentally dropped a glass of wine in my lap. That was all she wrote for me, and strangely enough it wasn’t long before the chorus boys came back to sleep.

The next day we went to visit Rosslyn Chapel and the beach. Two total opposite ends of the city but we figured since we had a bus pass we may as well see all of the city that would require bussing. Rosslyn Chapel was, well, interesting I wished I had managed to get there before the Da Vinci Code had come out so I could actually see it. The chapel itself is under a tin barn like canopy, making it very unphotogenic on the outside and you are not allowed to take photos on the inside. The only good thing about the canopy is that there were steps along it so you could climb up and see the art of the roof of the chapel exceptionally well. We also hiked to the ruins of Rosslyn Castle and, apparently someone’s house. On the whole, the Rosslyn Hike, while a nice one and such sort of suffered in that it seemed very much like Canada, but Steve and Derek seemed to enjoy it. Only to be let down by the beach which they seemed to expect would be something like the beaches at home. This is Scotland, beautiful white sand is as common here as it is in Canada.

I finally got myself something from Scotland, it only cost me 50p so I don’t feel bad having bought it. A half penny from 1888. The person who guesses why I picked that year wins… something. I’ll think on it and decide once someone figures it out — it’s really easy and only took two tries.

Yesterday Steve left for Dublin, and the day before the Aussies vanished into thin air. Dominic (The old South African and my lifelong room mate it seems) is in London, so it’s just me and Derek now, and to be honest, I almost miss the snoring. Though not enough to ask for it back… trust me.

I’ll probably remember something I forgot to say as soon as I sign off this entry, so the next entry my be incredibly long like this one. Apologies in advance. Next entry will hopefully detail the itinerary for my last hurrah. I should be home June 11th 2008 and I expect 24 hours to sleep, and then people offering me gifts and love. Or gifts of love.

To my commenters:

Amber, glad you liked it! Despite the grammatical errors in it. I don’t want to leave yet, curse making the mature decision! Curse it to heck! Hopefully you’re feeling better since last night, lav.

Mom, naw, I would never make that face at you.

Val, Brazil was pwnt. But seriously, ghost tours are so much fun, I think I’d like to lead one.

Kassi, argh, I’m going to miss your return! I hung out with Will just the other day, we sort of wandered the Burgh and talked. I have to catch you later, maybe you should come to Canadatown.

I have not written in ages, mostly because this weekend about a hundred things apeared out of nowhere and tackled me with the fury of a raging… Heelan Coo. (Scottish Joke… go google, but interestingly enough, not wikipedia that.) I have moved rooms twice this weekend.

First of all, for your classic teenage girl (still 19, suckers) rant, I am here to say I quite dislike men. Seriously. I was in the kitchen minding my own sweet business without a care in the world (besides money, but let’s pretend that doesn’t count), and likely whistling off key (Yes, the Kill Bill song!) when some guy comes in. This is not at all uncommon as the kitchen is public, however, I am in the small out of the way kitchen that few people frequent, so, I do what anyone would do in my half-starved situation grunt something that may or may not have resembled ‘Hello’ and carry on my merry little way. He starts conversation and I reply in monosyllables which I am known to do when tired, hungry or both. A few minutes later a couple come in, I’m stuffing my face gracelessly, and so I give my introduction as I’m feeling a bit less half-starved and deranged. Turns out they are from Quebec, and the first guy is from Brazil (and before anyone gets these visions of some tanned football player, no, pasty white geek) the four of us chat, before a fifth, an American joins our little party, thus finishing the ‘other side of the pond’ gang. We talk for ages about whatever strikes our fancy, until about 1 o’clock (in the AM) when the French Canadians go to sleep as they have an early departure. Ryan, our American friend also floats off to get some sleep, and I decide to walk down to the castle that evening, just because it is awe inspiring at night. Brazil asks to come with, I size him up and determine in a fight that I would win, and therefore agree.

Once we get to the castle I show him one of the best views of the city as well as the armed guard, he, as expected gets very… in my face. I give him an elegant shove and just say ‘No thank you.’ and think ‘I will sic Andrew on you SO BAD!’ because even if we aren’t dating Andrew will still crush people for me. I’m sure. So, I storm back to the hostel and he follows me apologizing. No dice thinks I. I know he is leaving the next day, so I lock my doors and sleep easy. The next morning I am due to move downstairs to a six bed all girl’s dorm, which is made of win, because it isn’t so awkward going to sleep and wondering which guy in your room is going to attack you. After my move I talk to dad on the phone for awhile, and decide in due time to go get some groceries because for the past few days I had been eating ‘anything I had in the fridge that was about to expire’ I really am a student eater now. Anyways, who is in my kitchen but Brazil guy, he tries to talk to me, but anyone who knows what it’s like talking to me when I’m feeling obstinate knows that was akin to talking to a brick wall with a frowning face painted upon it. I return to my room, my new room, and at this point have met a few room mates, one answers the door, and guess who it is.

He needs to check out and wants to leave his iPod in here rather than in storage with the rest of his luggage, and then asks beyond the room mate at the door if I can show him where Cowgate is. Knowing Cowgate is a crowded street at the best of times and if he tries anything funny all the hungover Uni kids will jump him I agree. I walk him down to Cowgate and turn to leave and he asks if I’ll stick with him for awhile because he doesn’t know where anything is in the city. Feeling safer during the day and having no real excuse to speak of I miserably agree. By the time we have reached the castle (for the second time and during the day) I have had enough (I have this unnatural thing against guys being gentlemen and asking to hold my coat and paying for me and stuff, which is really stupid…) and make the usual ‘feeling really sick’ excuse and jog back to the hostel and lock myself in my room. Only to remember his iPod is still there. Exuse the language but this was all I could think “Ah, fuck.”

Fortunately, I was saved by my room mate Jill from Ottawa! (Billowing cape not included) Who invited me to go on a ghost walk with her. I quickly agreed and off we went, I unceremoniously dropped the iPod off at reception saying some guy from Brazil had left it in my room. I would never see Brazil Guy again, he seemed so upset when I left him up at the castle part 2 but by that time my Care-O-Metre was down in the negative numbers.

The ghost walk was amazingly awesome though! Well, it was a bit short, but I got to go into the Covenanter’s Prison which was cool. For those who like to have a bit of background, the Covenanters emerged around the time, I think, of Charles II though you probably shouldn’t quote me on that. Essentially what happened was they were not happy about the idea of the King being the head of their religion so they signed a pact with god (I will avoid making atheistic references here about gods and holding pens). The King was none-too-happy as you can imagine, so the covenanters were put into a prison which is credited as the world’s first concentration camp by the Scots. The prison was overseen by the King’s Advocate George Mackenzie — Bloody, or, to be really Scottish about it, Bluidy Mackenzie. Any ways, apparently Mackenzie still haunts the prison, and there have been ‘no fewer than 300 attacks’ says the brochure. I saw no paranormal activity, however I did throughly enjoy seeing the inside of the prison. I’m such a nonbeliever it hurts, I’d love to be able to do more research there and see it during the day. Alas, it is locked to everyone except the tour I was on.

The next day, after being assured the iPod was gone, I was moved back into a mixed dorm where I am right now. (Not something I am happy about) Jill invited me on a free walking tour, it being a bank holiday and having nothing better to do I go with her, the free tour is three hours which is amazing (the one I paid for being 1.5 hours) it gave me a good once over of the main sights of the city. On the tour we met a guy from Toronto who was studying in Paris but in Scotland for the 3 day weekend. After the tour, and wandering the Prince’s Street Gardens, followed by Prince’s Street, then the very same hill where I witnessed my first pagan festival the ‘bad idea’ was borne. We left the hill on the wrong side and came upon Holyrood House (The Queen’s Residence in Scotland) which is very close to Arthur’s Seat. I had to meet someone (Mrs. Ross the great aunt of the Lindsay kids) at 5. At a leisurely pace I imagine walking Arthur’s Seat would have been lovely, but, as I said to my companions who were throwing themselves up the hill ‘This reminds me of Gym Class!’ The view was stunning at the top, but I was too busy staring at my watch in horror.

After gracelessly making our way down the hill and me all but flying back to the hostel to change and get ready to visit Mrs. Ross. That that it mattered. I was pointed in the wrong direction leaving the hostel and pretty much saw all there is to see of South Edinburgh. Dinner with Mrs. Ross was nice, but I felt very uninteresting. ‘Yes, uhm, so, I’m Caitlin, and I’m from Canada. Nice, uhm, country you have here.’ Regardless she lent me a beautiful copy of one of Sartre’s earlier writings which I am salivating over.

So that was my eventful weekend in all of it’s glory. I did not slow down the whole time, I hardly remember my name anymore. Of course, the next question is what I am going to do next. You see, I am now at a crossroads at this trip.

It should be blatantly obvious by now that I have had heaps of trouble finding a job here for whatever reason. Everyone seems to be ignoring me, which makes me pretty much furious, and the money is (as expected) running low. My original return ticket is set for something in the middle of June, I had orginally planned to push that back into July, however, I have a few reasons why it would make sense for me to keep it where it is, and now I’m not quite sure what to do. So far the plan is looking like this, if I get a solid job to fill my next three months until the end of July then I will stay here, if, by the end of the week I don’t have a job I will take every cent that I have fly to somewhere in northern Europe and travel my way down to Italy, have no money left in the bank and start working as soon as I get back. I would also get my G2 and take my grade 12 math credit if I came back.

While about 96% of me wants to stay here and find a way to just never leave this country that I have fallen in love with. (Yes, despite everything I am still not turned off of living here, in fact, if anything it has made me want to live on this batty little island all the more) The mature, adult part of me, which seems to have been birthed quite suddenly and quite recently knows that for practicality’s sake maybe going back to Canada earlier rather than later is a good idea. I have to get ready for school, I have to think about all of the important stuff which is going to be coming up in the next few years, and even if I want to stay here so much it has the potential to drive me completely mad, I have things I have to do at home and I have to keep myself thinking about the future, and if I want to end up here I need to have some sort of way to generate the pounds. The whiny petulant side of me doesn’t like this at all, let me tell you. If I clean out my account, and get back midJune I can probably accumulate maybe 2 thousand dollars, plus getting a loan and a job on campus, I should be able to actually get my act together for school.

Pros and Cons, blah. Grown up, or not. I never want to grow up, but nature is forcing me. We’ll see what happens this week and then I’ll know for sure.

To my commenters:

Amber, done <3 Sorry it took so long Word Press was giving me a rough time. I got Sakaki back, apparently they mixed up my removal or something?

Crystal, it is crazy like that sadly. I feel your heartings from here though.

Mom, it might as well have been a rave. Mrs. Ross was quite nice.

Ange, my Texan friend XD. If you want me to call, say, 8AM my time I wouldn’t have too much of a problem with that, I’m sure you wouldn’t either.

I have attended my first pagan festival. Yes, officially I have been to a pagan festival. And just typing that makes me feel far cooler and more primal than I actually am. I was like a British explorer stumbling upon native Americans, in a kind of entranced horrified awe at the grotesque beauty of the whole thing. I just abused adjectives like no body’s business there. It had almost everything you could want from a pagan festival, people dancing naked, and fire.

From what I could understand from the swiftly moving events there was some sort of war between the people who were painted red and the other colours. And when I say painted red I don’t mean dabbing on the face, I mean full body scarlet. The director’s eye in me found the organic dancing with the very inorganic drumming (they were using modern drums, not ones with real skins) a little abrasive, but only stage geeks would notice, the energy of the event was fantastic. Though I still find huge the crowds disconcerting. I went with a new friend from work, Carrie, and two of her friends.

You could really get washed away in the vibrant motion of the whole thing, and right at the climax it started to rain. Rather than hinder the event it just got all the more impassioned. This was around the point I fled.

Other than a pagan festival, I have been working for a complete asshole the past three days, and yes, I said it. Carrie and I beat around the bush in conversation saying we were sure he was a nice guy, but I say ‘No.’ and no one will ever take that away from me, this is my blog, bitching ahoy. He was a mircomanaging git, and I will never work for a charity again, because apparently working quickly is more important than doing things right. Ugh!

And a quick update on my websites (the briefness of this whole entry being the fact that it is 2AM and I am officially tired) I plan on getting Sakaki Haruto Fanlisting and Midoriko up as soon as possible. Amber has given me the Ravens Fanlisting which should also be up soon. Nayru finally transferred Mrs. Lovett over to me so if you are a fan of that crazy Pie Maker go join. I’m revamping mom’s website because I hated the old one with a fiery passion aaaaaand I’m writing content all over the place and not uploading it so if all my websites seem incomplete and disoriented they probably are.

To my many commenters who make my life so happy:

Emma Dawn, we will talk more on MSN but HOLY SHIT THAT IS THE BEST NEWS EVER!

Val, I put a few pictures on facebook to tantalize the masses, so enjoy, and now I can stalk your blog. Bwahahahahahaha!

Crystal, Eh?

Maureen, I suppose it would do well to scope them out and see if they are as deranged as we are.

Mom, I am resisting human contact. See the resistance.

I had had more than my fill of being poor in London. And that’s not to say I dislike the city at all, it was simply that I had no money, and I didn’t want to feel like a poor colonial cretin any more. I will go back one day and become a proper Londoner, until then I have moved to Edinburgh.

But I have so much to write about! My last entry hardly covered everything that has happened. It didn’t really even scrape the surface.

My last week in London (for now, I still have to see the Jack the Ripper exhibit at the Docklands exhibit, as well, I WILL see the Phantom when I get more money) was so full of stuff I’m still reeling from it. It’s amazing how much you still want to do once you realise you’re leaving.

I went out clubbing (I use the term extremely loosely here) with an American girl I met in the hostel named Cassie. We headed to some pub first, where she starts drinking and I peacefully drink my coke. (I swear people who read this must think I’m insane or a complete liar… I assure you, it is the former) So, we invited the Belgian girl from our hostel and she came along later, with, oh yea, six Spanish guys in tow. Well, permit me to correct, five Spanish guys, and one guy from “nowhere” (that’s actually where he told us he was from) but he was twitching seemingly uncontrollably, and kept saying weird things, he left early, Danke Gott.

Initially the main language used by the group was English, which is lovely, because it’s the only one I’m completely fluent in. But then some Dutch guy comes to our table and asks if anyone smokes, Cassie does. So she leaves. Belgian girl lived in Spain for three years, guess what happened next?

=D

Yes, we all started speaking Spanish. Well, they all started speaking Spanish, I started counting the bubbles in my coke. One of the Spanish guys (who I think was probably sweet on me as his hands kept accidentally finding it’s way on my knee or shoulder… Andrew told me laws of seduction lesson one, casual physical contact is key) gave me play-by-play on the conversation ‘Now we’re talking about sports’, and ‘Now we’re talking about the English’ I nearly politely excused myself, but then, I guess Canada came up as the topic of conversation, as I was left all alone, (Cassie is now sitting with the Dutch guys laughing and carrying on) I had to try and decipher broken drunken English as the Spaniards pelted me with questions about North America, then got frustrated because I was talking to fast and speaking ‘too well’ I kept my cool, but when the bar closed and they invited me ‘dancing’ I politely declined, and fled with guy-crushing-on-me and Belgian girl in tow.

It’s funny, they could not believe I had never learned a word of Spanish. I think I got asked a hundred times ‘Never? Not even once?’ ‘No. I’m Canadian they teach us FRENCH. You know, ‘bonsoir’, ‘fromage’, ‘pomme’… Blame the Quebecois.’

The next day I played tour guide in central London for Cassie. It’s amazing how quickly things become unimpressive when you live around them. “There’s buckinghampalacethereswestminsterabbeyandbigbenandtrafalgarsquare yayz’ I feel so spoiled.

So that evening I was supposed to see Mama Mia in the Leicester (Lester, damnit) Square cheap seats with Hong Kong room mate and Belgian Room Mate, but we lost Hong Kong girl and I didn’t feel like spending £20 to see a show I’ve seen in Toronto all by myself. So I went on a Jack the Ripper walk.

Strange days. I met a trainee tour guide while on the Jack walk and so I chatted with him the whole time about who I thought the Ripper was and all of my little theories. He said I should be doing the ripper walk. We went to the Ten Bells after the tour, (a favourite hang out of the victims apparently) and they played the Doors there all night, which felt oddly wonderful. Myself and this guy just sat around and talked Jack and Diana and JFK.

I left the hostel for Milton Keynes and from there hit Edinburgh where I am now. Night before last I met up with Cassie again and her friend from the city, again the loosely termed ‘clubbing’ she was already plaaaaaastered beyond concept, so I sat and sipped my coke and watched real-live sexual tension between the two (British guy has a girlfriend in Wisconsin, but seems to have a crush on Cassie as well) by the end of the evening Cassie was proclaiming that she was going to call BUNAC the next day and get her VISA. Okay.

So other then that, calling agencies and stuff is the next step, I plan to stay in this lovely little hostel (with free Wifi) and temp from there. Ah, bliss and easy stuff.

Last night I went to a Chinese restaurant, it was a bit more expensive than my usual fare but worth it. I came out of the place feeling like a princess. (Back to my weekend hostel which smelt terrible and was right in the middle of the party district so it was loud all night and the blankets looked like they were pulled out of a dumpster)

Regardless, I feel somehow happier.

To my commenters:

Mah, yes, I suppose that is a job suited to my talents.

Amber, Danke lav.

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

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!