When Am I Allowed to Bum Around?

When I started writing this blog, not when it originated (because it was a load of shit as a sports based blog), but when I really started writing, the purpose was to allow me to get away from my surroundings and make a little bit of sense of my life once in a while and blow off a little steam in the process. I have seemed to get away from that strategy lately and I think it might be time to fix it. Now, I don't want you to confuse that with a promise of regular posts, but I will make a conscious effort to feel guilty when I don't write a post once a week like I originally planned. Coupled with the fact my next few weeks/months are busy as fuck all, I don't think I could commit the time to write regularly and keep up with this smack habit I've picked up. Priorities, people!

Keeping with the format of giving you literally zero pieces of interesting and/or helpful information, here is a snapshot of what's supposed to happen in my life over the next few weeks. I give no promises of accuracy, though.

I'm fresh off a 12 hour work day (I know, b-o-o h-o-o, woe is me, blah blah blah – fuck you, I'm tired) so keeping that in mind, I'm really not looking forward to the next five work days for a few reasons. Monday and Tuesday (of this week) are the absolute worst days of my entire month when it comes to work related hell. Four times a month, I'm subjected to a torture known as “trap reporting” which means “cruel and unusual punishment” in Latin. Without boring you completely to tears - four times a month, I lead conference calls with all kinds of people who are excruciatingly more important than me with the purpose of making sure they fix the shit they say they will and finding out why they haven't fixed the shit they were supposed to fix. Monday and Tuesday are the more important version of these calls and the last ten days have been dedicated to making sure they go as smooth as possible. Let's just say I'm counting the hours until noon on Tuesday when I can officially be done with this horrific procedure for the calendar year.

After enduring my punishment filled week (or maybe two days, time will tell), my brother Josh and Ms. Hanni Berger will be making their way down from the frigid northwest to visit warmer climates for the weekend. Aside from the pops helping me move down here in September, this will mark the first visit of friends from Ohio and I'm looking forward to showing them around town. It will be a much needed break from reality and should be very beneficial to all involved. Let's hope for a quick work week and get on with the foolishness and shenanigans.

After the broseph and Berg leave from their weekend visit, I have one more week of work before I make my way back up North to the “fuck you, winter” cold of Ohio. This will be a bit longer of a visit than my trek last month, so I'm going to have to bring a few more articles of warm clothing to not freeze my bells off. It's not too late for you guys to come down here for Christmas, ya know! I'd be more than happy to “miss” my flight provided I don't have to freeze my ass off up there for a week. I'll let you think on that for a bit...just let me know. Anyway, after the reminder of why I moved South is over, I fly back to glorious, warm Florida to make my way to New Orleans, LA for New Year's Eve celebrations. The only solid plan I'm aware of regarding this trip is I will be in attendance as the Saints murder Carolina on their way to a playoff spot and probably a first round playoff bye. This will mark the first time I will witness Panthers action in person, so I don't really give a shit about the outcome, especially since they're well on their way to solidifying the #2 pick in next year's NFL draft ending the year at a stout 4-12. Oh well...at least they're not the Browns.

After New Orleans, it's another three weeks before the trip to China – but that's a whole post in itself, so I won't ruin the fun tonight. Oh, before you read this entire post, I just want to throw out a note that this isn't funny at all, so if that's what you're looking for you should probably move on. What's that – you already read it? Oops...guess I should have put that at the beginning. Suckers...

First Post From Jax

I had a few things on my “to do” list today. Writing this post was one of them, but then I started looking at Tumblr and it all went to shit. I'm not exactly sure what direction this is going to head, but then again, none of my other posts had a point either, so I suppose it works. Just to start things off easy again, I'll do my go-to format and do some kind of a list thing. So, here's what has happened in the three months since my last post:

1. After I left London, I moved to Jacksonville, Florida to work for Deutsche Bank. My job is nothing special, nothing glamorous, nothing spectacular, but it is a job – and for that I can be thankful. It pays the bills and then some, which is more than some people can say and I feel lucky to have it. On top of that, it's in fucking Florida, so I can hardly muster up enough gumption to bitch about it especially given the fact it's currently 65 degrees at 11 o'clock at night. Fuck. Yes. I went for a run today near my apartment while wearing a t-shirt and shorts. Outside. Yes, it is the end of November. No, my situation does not suck.

2. As a supplement to #1, I was just in northwest Ohio a few days ago for Thanksgiving and it was all I needed to confirm I made the right decision to move here. When I stepped off the plane in Detroit, it was somewhere around 40 degrees and colder than I have encountered in about eight months. I was ill prepared for the journey to say the least. I brought a few thermal shirts with me on the journey to the cold-as-fuck north as I figured it would be more than enough to keep me warm. Dead wrong. Not only was I shivering and swearing the entire time, I ended up sleeping in said thermal shirt to keep from freezing to death in my parents' living room. Then on a night out on the town, I was under the delusion I would be just fine in the “you-think-this-is-cold-just-wait-til-December” weather, wearing one of my flimsy shirts that would cause heat stroke down here. Lets just say I'm not looking forward to the trip back next month for Christmas. I'm starting my petition to have the family come down here for Christmas instead.

3. The only real gripe I have about Jax (for now) is the bitchin' traffic. I live something like five miles from work, which would take less than ten minutes to traverse in optimal conditions. On a good day, it takes around fifteen minutes to make the trek from my residence. On a bad day? Hours. I have never missed the London Underground more than I do while driving to work. The worst drive to work I have encountered was about a month and a half ago where there was an accident on every major highway/road around my area. Every single road had an accident taking up at least one lane, if not multiple. On this day, it took me nearly two hours to go five miles. I could have walked it in less time. Yes, I realize major cities have traffic jams and yes, I realize a lot of people have commutes that take an hour plus every single day. However, I do not care. It should never take two hours to drive five miles. Most days I long for the times when I could walk from home to work in fifteen to twenty minutes. But alas...

4. Traffic aside, I cannot think of a single complaint I have about this city. I'm within 30 minutes of nearly everything and there's always something going on if I feel the need to amuse myself. I suppose there is a striking lack of concerts here, but Orlando is about two hours away and has oodles of them for my liking should the need/want arise.

5. Future plans: I'll be heading to New Orleans for New Year's Eve (about an eight hour drive) and since I've never been, I'm very much looking forward to it. While I'm there, I will be in attendance as Carolina ends the season at 3-13 (linebackers or linemen in the draft, please!) and the Saints win the NFC South. Also, I'll be headed to Shanghai and Beijing, China at the end of January for the Chinese New Year...so who the fuck needs concerts?!

I guess the bottom line is this: I'm happy. It's been a long time since I could say that and actually mean it. I live fifteen minutes from multiple beaches, the weather kicks ass, and I have a great girl who is everything I've ever wanted and more. In short – life is good.

Last Post in London

Well, here we are: the last night in London. Fuck, it came quick, but that's what everyone (including me) said would happen. I guess I never realized how quickly it would come. Those last two sentences are just absolutely rife with sexual undertones...or is that just me?

One of the most common question I've been asked in the last few days is some variant of the following: are you sad? Answer: yes and no. Today was my last day of work at UBS for what I can only assume is forever. I have no prospect of continuing my employment for UBS in the States in the next few days/weeks/months, so the only logical conclusion is this chapter is closed and will stay closed. Sad? Not really. There are people I have met in the past year I will certainly miss, but those who matter won't really be going away; it'll just be months of potential planning to meet up which will eventually fall through and odds are I won't see a single one of them again. Always the optimist, I know. I do have some faith in a select few, though.

So, no...I'm not sad. I'm not really sure how to express what's going on right now, honestly. I'm at a loss for words. I knew this would happen eventually if I talked or wrote enough. At this point, it doesn't seem real. I know I'm leaving tomorrow and I know I'm going to have to say goodbye to some people who have become invaluable in my life. I also know I don't know how I'm going to react. The only solace is I know it has to happen and I can't do a thing to stop it. Every person I've grown close to over the past few weeks/months/year are from different parts of the world. Most are in the US which will make a meet potentially possible, but we're all going to be beyond busy the next few weeks/months and once we get around to it, it'll just be a “well...I guess I could, but why put in that much effort? Seems like a lot of work.” As with everything, time will tell.

Anyway, enough of that bullshit and more of the cynicism you come to expect from this page. Last night, I was at an event cleverly titled “leaving drinks” for a friend of mine. What happens at this event, you may ask? Well, drinks are clearly involved. The reason for the occasion? They're leaving! I know...I was stuck on that one for a while, too. It just so happened that this event was host to just about every person I have come to meet and loathe for the last fifty-ish weeks or longer. There are some I haven't seen or spoken to in months and there are others who I was friendly with previously where that friendliness does not exist anymore. I'm torn up about it, I swear. However, whenever there can be drinking and awkwardness involved...well, fuckin' eh, count me in.

I can sum this night up in just a few sentences: imagine being at a house party complete with three keg stations. In attendance are about two hundred people; one hundred and seventy of which you can't stand while the other thirty are absolutely shit-hammered while you're sober and trying to get to their level. Oh, and two keg stations just dried up.

Following the story so far? Ok, so here's what happens: you end up getting stuck in line with about a fucking million people you would rather have rusty, dirty knives shoved up your pee-hole than speak to, let alone be near in general. Sober. Fun, right? Here's what you can expect from this scenario: fake interactions with those you hate, some getting pissed you're ignoring them even though you've spoken maybe two words to them in your entire life, and fantastic over-the-top reconciliations from those you used to be friends with based on their having new people around them so they can save face and not look like a fuck/dick/cunt/bitch. Where are the people you actually care about, want to hang out with, talk to and see? Nowhere to be found...tumbleweeds. Get me the fuck out of here. Now.

Short story long: I left early after saying my goodbyes to the people I came to see. Shocking, I know...

So it's my last night...I'm done packing...all the flatmates are out of the house...and I'm sitting here contemplating the previous year in this fucked up thing we call life. Seems fitting, I think. This will be my last post written in London...next time you hear from me will be when I'm on US soil for the first time since April. I've said it before and I'll say it again...life's a fucked up ride. Hold tight, ride it the best you can (there's those goddamn sexual undertones again!) and see where you end up.

It's been a great year and for those who have stuck with me for this long, for those who have read occasionally, and for those of you who might be new readers, you have no idea how much I appreciate it. Here's to the next one.

Yeah, I Didn't Die

First things first...obviously, I survived Amsterdam. Sucks for you, that just means more pointless rambling and thousands of words you never wanted to read in the first place. But here you are anyway because I have a mesmerizing way of making you come back, time and time again, even though you really don't know why you click the link in the first place. Sucker...

My brief thoughts on Amsterdam:

1. It is fucking expensive. I was there for a little over two days and spent well over two hundred Euros and really have nothing to show for it. Before you ask, no – I did not buy a hooker and I did not buy any pot. As far as you know...

Seriously...ridiculously expensive. I also did not have a single drink bought for me...apparently I'm not the kind of guy gay dudes go for...oh well...

2. The easiest way to describe Amsterdam: think of Vegas on meth, coke, and ecstasy and throw in an alcoholic blackout session and you're getting pretty close. Then add hookers. Yep...that's Amsterdam.

3. Walking around Amsterdam was very confusing for me in many ways.

- First, there are so many fucking canals it makes it nearly impossible to know where you are without a map. Even with a map, it's pretty fucking difficult (as I found out Saturday night/Sunday morning) and as soon as the destination is in sight, it's like a ray of sunshine and rainbows and boners. I can't tell you how happy I was when I finally made it to the hostel on Sunday morning...I nearly wept because I was so happy after being lost for as long as I was.

- Second, that city is a total mind fuck for a man (or, let's face it...boy masquerading as man) because of the sheer amount of prostitutes in the red light district. Walking down a street or an alley is simply mind-boggling because of the nature of the profession. I just couldn't wrap my mind around it. Countless women standing in doorways showing off as much as possible in order to get you to drop your pants and what I can only assume is an obscene amount of money.

Between them knocking on the inside of the glass to get attention, the “come hither” finger curl, and the “fuck me” eyes, my mind could simply not process it. Call me old fashioned, but it takes more than a skimpy outfit, a sexy look and money exchanging hands to get this kid's attention. Okay, not much more...but still – a guy's got his principles. One of those principles just happens to be not paying for sex.

Enough about Amsterdam...I survived in one piece and of relative sound body/mind – just a little light in the wallet. It's vacation...that will happen.

Dammit! I always fucking do this...I totally had something else to write about after I was done with Amsterdam. Oh, got it!

London Riots:

Again, I lost what I wanted to say...I swear it was pointless and redundant, but I guess you'll just have to settle for me randomly rambling again. Basically, the riots aren't near the area I'm in at all and everywhere closed early because there were rumors of the riots coming near Old Street. Which resulted in my gym closing early, which in turn resulted in me being not happy and unfulfilled.

I really don't know what I'm talking about, but for what it's worth, it's really stupid that something like this has spun so out of control. I understand the reason for getting so pissed (for those who don't know, read the news instead of hearing my unsubstantiated claims) but it simply escalated to the point where the police could not handle it. Which made it spin even further out of control. Also, the looters and people setting the fires are complete fucks...we don't live in Columbus, Ohio, people.

Anyway, I'm pretty much done here, so do whatever you want now.

This Might Be My Last Post

Okay, kids...this might be my last post.

Before you get all teary eyed from sheer joy in never having to suffer through my ramblings again, I feel like I should explain. Tomorrow will begin my last trip in Europe as I have less than twenty days left in the UK. Since I have precisely zero days of vacation left and am rapidly running out of the pitiful stipend this company pays on a monthly basis, I simply don't have the time, finances or patience for any more visits to European countries. Therefore, it was decided a few weeks ago that my last trip this year would be to Amsterdam, Netherlands.

The reason this might be my last post ever is because I'm fully expecting to die this weekend. We leave tomorrow morning and are scheduled to return Monday evening, but I'm fully expecting to miss my return flight since I'll be dead. I have heard many stories about Amsterdam, but almost all of them involve painful amounts of alcohol and some other stuff as well. Before we continue, I feel like I should make one thing clear: I am not going to Amsterdam because a certain substance is widely rumored to be legal there. In fact, I have a very negative attitude toward this substance. I have never been interested in it and I don't think it's “cool” to brag about how high you are or have been in the past. This might be a surprise to some, but for those of you who know me, it really shouldn't be since I'm usually quite vocal in my opinion (shocking, I know). The reason I'm going is because I want my last trip to be as fun as possible and this seems like the right city to end on. Not only that, but I feel it would be socially irresponsible of me to be this close in proximity and not make a visit. It just seems...I don't know...it seems like you kinda have to go.

So why am I going to die? I don't really know...I just feel like it's a probability. I have no evidence to support my premonition much like the majority of my feelings and thoughts, but I feel like I have a pretty decent track record of my predictions. Ok, probably alcohol poisoning. Happy? So here we are, mere hours from my death...and I feel like I've given life a pretty decent ride. If it ends here, I'm good with it...I've done a lot and I can't point to anything I would say I regret, so I feel like that's a solid indicator of a good time.

On a side note, I was recently informed this weekend is gay pride weekend in Amsterdam (not that there's anything wrong with that), so that tidbit should make it even more interesting. Much like the majority of men in this world, I have never been in the circumstance where a woman who was interested in sexing me up buy drinks all night in an effort to seal the deal. As we all know, this is the man's job. That being said, I'm not above accepting some free drinks to make up for the hundreds (okay, dozens) of drinks I've bought for women in unsuccessful efforts to make me a tiny bit more attractive (let's be honest here, you can't polish a turd). Let me be clear here: I'm not expecting people to buy me drinks because that would be narcissistic and completely out of character (haha...riiight), but I will accept them without question. Before you get all judgmental, let's explore this for a bit. I can't tell you how many times I've heard this sentence come out of a woman's mouth:

“He's buying me drinks, so of course I'm going to keep talking to him. What? Sleep with him? Haha...don't be silly.”

Yes, I realize how sexist it sounds. No, I don't care. Because it's absolutely accurate. And none of you can dispute it. It's a widely accepted fact that men buy women drinks because they want to get down. If women have a problem with it, stop taking free drinks from strange men. Whoa...when did this get so serious? Ok...think of a dick joke...quick! Shit...I'm all out.

Anyway, due to the dubious amounts of alcohol I'm expecting to consume in the next 72 hours, along with the sheer dumbassery I expect to partake in, I pretty much expect to die. My liver will give out, my kidneys will quit on me, or I might get stabbed in the neck. Either way, I fully expect my clock to expire thus negating the rest of my travel plans and life expectancy. Like I said, it was a fun ride...and I very much appreciate all two of you who shared this experience with me.

By the way, in case anyone asks: Don't waste your money on a funeral or any bullshit like that. Just throw a gigantic kegger and pour one out for your ol' buddy Rufus. Oh, and Justin too...he'd like that. Also, make sure to hire The Used to play the wake...they might need the gig.

Later, fuckers...it's been real.

Alcohol + Awkward Situations = Hilarity

Holy shit! Two posts in three days?! Yep...better watch out, this might become a regular thing...and then you're all fucked.

Really, this shouldn't be a shock to anyone, but I've been drinking again (gasp!) and I have some thoughts on what just happened in the previous 6 hours. For the dense folks in the crowd (and new readers...could it be?!), the past 11+ months have seen me in an entirely different country than I am used to, living in London, UK (I swear, it's not a brag...this place kind of sucks) and working at an investment bank (sounds way more prestigious than it really is) while scraping a living and counting my pennies to survive. Tonight marked the celebration known cleverly as “leaving dinner” for the program I'm involved with and will be the last time I see or speak to 90% of the people I've come to loathe for the last year-ish of my life.

The point of this entire entry is the wonderful powers of alcohol. Inserted in the right situation (read: any) and consumed in moderation (excess), it makes nearly every situation tolerable. I had every intention of skipping this dinner since I have almost zero desire to see anyone in this program again, but I was persuaded otherwise by the promise of free booze. Turns out, the free booze was shitty wine (which I absolutely hate) and the only other option was a “half price” happy hour which featured prices one would only encounter in strip clubs of the classiest design. A regular bottle of beer cost a stout 2.40 GBP (roughly 4.00 USD) at half price. You're goddamn right I went straight for the wine with a hard and heavy fury.

Now, granted I'm pretty well off at this point, and there are a few people I do actually enjoy hanging out with who are scattered about...but for the most part I want nothing to do with anyone at this entire gathering. Don't try telling this to Rufus (my blacked out counterpart) because he's a fucking social butterfly. Just in case you're keeping track, a handful beers along with a few glasses of wine with no food equals Rufus. He doesn't give a fuck about anyone and will say any and everything that comes to his pretty little head. Suffice to say I had a bit of fun tonight with ol' Rufus' help and I can't imagine a scenario where they'll be sorry to see me go. The feeling is most definitely mutual at this point.

Now that I'm a few paragraphs into this entry, I forget what I was meaning to say. I don't remember saying anything in particular that would have pissed anyone off or that was especially inappropriate (unfortunately), but I do remember spending way too much money on overpriced alcohol. Those last few sentences make me sad...what good is a night out without multiple people absolutely infuriated with you over something you may not remember?

The lesson here is simple, as always: alcohol + horrible people + awkward situations = hilarity. Follow that simple formula and you can never go wrong. Trust me...would I lie to you?

Rules Don't Apply to Bicyclists

Okay, we're starting this way off topic, but my elation was just at a daily high and then squashed in the span of three minutes. What I was going to start this entry with was something along the lines of: “in this moment of time, for me, there are few things that make me happier than walking into a roommate-less flat.” For approximately three to four minutes, I was bouncing up and down on the balls of my feet like a spastic rapper at the thought that right now I am alone in this residence. Sweet, intoxicating solitude...but alas, it was not to last. Not ten seconds after I sit down to write this entry, one of the roommates struts in to ruin my happiness. Oh well...there's always hope for tomorrow.

Now, on to the meat of this entry: I hate bicyclists. I'm not exactly sure where I first heard this little anecdote, and I'm probably totally butchering it (I'm para-phrasing, here), but here it is: in regards to usage of roads and sidewalks, motorists hate pedestrians, pedestrians hate motorists, but fucking everybody hates bicyclists. If anyone knows exactly where this came from, let me know so I can properly credit this person/entity.

Anyway, from what I can tell, the rules do not apply to bicyclists in London. I'm not going to sit here and pretend I know anything about bicycle laws in this city or country. However, I'm pretty sure there are rules about running red lights, cycling in the middle of the road, cycling on the sidewalk, going down the wrong way of a one-way street, etc. I have seen each and every one of these instances on a daily basis on my walk to or home from work. I only know one person who cycles on a regular basis (I'm not sure he reads this, but I'm calling you out, Smitty), and I don't know if he follows the rules of the bicycle code, but I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Aside from the aforementioned friend of mine: fuck you, bicyclists...fuck you.

As with everything that happens on this page, a story prompted this entry. So here it is: while walking back from the gym tonight, I find my normal path through the graveyard has been closed off (early, I might add – you fuckers) so I end up taking the alternate route. As I'm crossing the street in a heavily construction affected area, I'm nearly completely decimated by some fuck-face cyclist. Now, here's where I would normally say “it totally wasn't my fault; that guy's a prick,” but I'm not going to say it. I might be completely at fault here, I don't know. I had my ear-phones in and turned up to “I'm definitely going to be deaf later in life” volume so I probably didn't hear his stupid fucking bell that all riders have (I'm so jealous though...I want one for walking so people get out of my damn way) to warn pedestrians they're about to fuck their world up. Also, I failed to look to my right to check for on-coming traffic because I was lazy and stupid. Basically, if this guy would have plowed his bike into me, I pretty much deserved it.

At this point you should be asking yourself one question: why is this guy a fuck-face? The answer, dear reader is the same reason why I'm taking partial blame here: I don't know the rules for cyclists, so I just assume he was breaking them. Here are the facts: I could be (read: probably) wrong, but last I checked, you're not allowed to drive the wrong way down a one-way street right in the middle of the fucker. Maybe cyclists are immune to that little-known rule. Also, after he nearly took my leg off with his front fender, he did not stop and say anything...nothing at all. If it were me on the cycle, I believe I would have stopped and apologized profusely even if it were not my fault. The least I would do is stop to make sure the person is okay and not having a fucking heart attack from their brush with near death. Not only did this guy not stop and see if I was mid-coronary, but he flipped me the bird while simultaneously pointing to his head profusely as if to say “get the fuck out of my way you dumb-shit pedestrian. I'm on a bike, you should know better than to get in my way because I ALWAYS have right of way.” At least that's what he said in my head. It may not have even been the middle finger...he could have just been pointing to his ear implying that I shouldn't listen to my music so loud or I could get destroyed by a cyclist. I don't care, I prefer the former. He's a dick.

However, after I got over my near bone-crippling encounter, I starting thinking about how awesome it would be if I was actually hit by that guy. I have nineteen days left on this continent and have yet to be injured in a way that would require a hospital visit. With less than three weeks left, it would be sweet, pure hilarity that I would probably, at the very least, have a broken bone or two after making it through the year relatively in-tact. I can see the headline now:

Stupid American forced revered British citizen to hit him with his bicycle. The cyclist is alive and well; we think the American is still in the road somewhere.

Okay, that's a long headline, but can't you just see it? I can...

Anyway, I'm done with the cyclist. I don't like him, he doesn't like me...but I'm pretty sure neither of us know the actual laws of cycling.

Side note: I've been meaning to write about this for a while, but have you ever noticed people with baby strollers can do whatever the fuck they want with no repercussions? Next time you're around someone with a stroller, pay attention to what they do and how little regard they have for others around them. I've seen this phenomenon in three separate countries, so you can't tell me it's just an American or British thing. The only example I have right now is what happened after that dick on the bike almost shattered my pelvis. Going down yet another construction riddled road (they're getting ready for the Olympics, so I'll allow it), a woman with a stroller and two kids in tow sees me coming up a very narrow sidewalk and busts it in there right before I get to her sidewalk entrance point. The next fifty feet are spent weaving back and forth looking for an opening like the driving scene with Borat and Will Ferrell in Talladega Nights. Zero regard for strangers...because she has a stroller. Seriously – next time you're around someone with a stroller, pay attention. I promise you won't be disappointed.

As always, questions/comments – you know what to do. I have seriously been lacking in responding, so my apologies. I promise I'll do better.

Get Over Yourself Already

It's been a while...too long, in fact. I've had a fuck of a day thus far, but you know what? Let's play “story time” because I have one to tell and you're bored enough to read it.

Fair warning: I've had a few drinks (of the alcohol nature – gasp!) and this might come across as a little more aggressive than I intend...but for those of you who have read before, it really shouldn't be anything new. So, without any further ado, the story of the night:

I went out for drinks with some co-workers tonight because a fairly important person was in London doing some business that has something vaguely related to a process I perform on a daily basis. Fine by me, I'm all about free drinks and making an ass out of myself after ingesting a few adult beverages. Prior to embarking on this adventurous evening, I was slightly nervous because this person could potentially have some kind of impact on my career in the future since he works in New York and has a little pull in who gets hired and who does not. I was naively thinking since I am one of five or six people in the entire world who know how to do this process, this person might have some interest in keeping my services at the company I currently work. It became extremely obvious early in the evening this would not be the case because there are very few positions available in the US, especially in my given area of “expertise.”

So, here we are a few drinks into the night (compliments of mystery NY man, thankyouverymuch) and I have yet to eat a single morsel of real food since lunch and the stories are flowing like a freshly discovered period. The people in attendance are Mystery NY man, two co-workers, and my boss's boss. At some point, Mystery NY man tells a story about his recent adventures on the tube (London's underground subway system for the slow people in the crowd) and how he was sweating balls carrying his unnecessary luggage around. Eventually, a random stranger (is there any other kind?) offered him a seat as he can be considered an older gent and might require a rest as to avoid a coronary. This prompts me to recall a story where something similar happened a few months prior involving an older (but not really that older) man when I was cursing myself for riding the tube back from Heathrow (fucking again) after depositing yet another visitor in the safe hands of Overpriced Airline.

I begin my story by saying I'm riding the tube back from Heathrow and some random woman notices a middle-aged man who might look like he's having a little trouble standing. Upon noticing middle-aged man, she turns to me (earphones in and turned up to near ear-bleeding status and reading a book) and tells me I should give up my seat because he looks like he might need it. As I'm recounting my story, I reference my boss saying “this guy was young, probably middle-aged like you” and didn't seem like he needed any charity in me giving up my seat. Not for nothing, but if this woman was so concerned about this guy sitting down, why not give up your own damn seat, you selfish bitch? End of story...except not really. Apparently “middle-aged” isn't a term thrown around lightly as my boss seemed fairly disturbed and potentially offended by the categorization.

As far as I know, my boss is late 30s and has a few fuck trophies (kids) as well. Let me ask you, dear reader...what would you consider “middle-aged?” From what I can tell, middle-aged is mid to late thiries to mid to late forties. Am I wrong? Please tell me...I beg you...I implore you...if I'm wrong – do tell. Give me a viable definition that tells me I'm incorrect in my assessment and I will walk into work tomorrow (or more likely Monday) and sincerely apologize to my boss for calling him such a dirty word.

As you can well imagine, the rest of the evening was spent telling stories with the preface of “Well, since I'm middle-aged” and “Oh, I can't do that anymore since I'm middle-aged.” Fuck. You. Get over yourself already. People get old...you're not special. Just because you're clinging onto your last semblance of hope of being considered “young” does not mean you are. Why not throw on some Dickies and a Quicksilver shirty with a flat-billed fifty-nine fifty Dodgers hat while you're at it? When I'm 40 and employing little shitheads such as myself and buying them drinks since they can't afford it themselves, I expect to be called old because I fucking am.

Do me a favor, readers (all two of you), if I ever lose what small sense of humor I have, especially if it involves me being old as fuck all, just kill me. Take a shotgun and blast me in the face. You'd be doing everyone a favor and you have my personal guarantee I will not press charges. Because when we lose our funny, we might as well be dead anyway...

I'll probably regret posting this tomorrow (whatever, at the end of the day, we're all attention whores anyway) but fuck it...it's written and I haven't posted anything in a while. Plus my last 15 posts have been depressing as shit anyway, so here's a little light hearted post to let you know your life is and always will be better than mine.

Questions? Comments? You know what to do...

You Can't Get the Pretty Without the Boom

When I left you last, I was on the cusp of welcoming the entire family to London for an entire week of visit-related fun. I really don't have much to say about it other than it went as near to what I expected as possible and I think it's safe to say we're all glad to be back to whatever level of normalcy can be expected from our daily lives. Without going into much detail, there were a lot of fun times, some yelling, a lot of annoyance, but overall a successful visit, especially since everyone made it out alive. If you want stories, ask someone who was there to give the top three moments (they're probably all the same) and I'm sure they'll have no problem giving their version of what happened...myself included. That's about all I have to say about that...

Anyway, other than the family trip, things have been fairly hectic for me as well. After finding out the work offer had been revoked (I swear, the last time I'll mention it), I started my own job search with a frantic quality only seen in meth addicts. In the last few weeks, I have secured my very own recruiter based in Chicago and New York, my bosses have massaged a few leads (also in those cities), I have acquired a UBS lead in Chicago, applications/resumes/CVs have been feverishly sent to nearly thirty jobs in about a half dozen companies in four or five cities in the States. As you would probably expect, I have yet to hear from anyone regarding an interview or even the slightest interest in my services. Insert the normal excuses about the job market, timing, relocation costs, etc...but I do realize I have a few months here still and shouldn't really be worried too much..at least not yet. But the word “yet.”

Lets get away from the boring job stuff now and talk about something more fun...or at least what I would consider fun. The last few weeks have seen me in more different countries than probably the last 8 months combined, which is nice and also annoying at the same time. It may sound strange, but I'm not really the biggest fan of traveling...at all. It just seems more of a hassle than anything and I enjoy my comforts of home entirely too much to leave them very often. However, as I now only have a limited time over here, I feel like I have to take advantage of it by going as many places as possible in the next few weeks before the job search consumes my entire thought process. As a result, a few weeks ago I went to Poland and the Czech Republic over a long bank holiday weekend and last night I just returned from Spain. A few highlights of each place:

Prague, CZ: I was in both Prague and Krakow for a few days over the last bank holiday weekend with two of my flatmates, Art and Brian. We left on a Thursday afternoon getting into Prague around 10PM. Upon arrival of the hostel, we discover there is a bar located on the ground floor where we sampled the local offerings almost immediately. Another member of our program had been in Prague for a day earlier and we met up with him near the bar area. About a half hour later, Brian was scanning the bar when he turns to Art and me and says he recognizes a few of the girls from the end of the bar. Turns out, a few girls he went to college with in Texas were randomly in Prague the same weekend we were and two of them are doing a study abroad program for a master's type degree, or maybe the CZ equivalent. Naturally, we end up meeting them at another bar later on where all kinds of madness ensues, especially since the Czech Koruna is an extremely weak currency compared to the British Pound, meaning a beer at a higher end bar/club is about the equivalent of a pound and a half. Madness indeed...

The next night we partake in a bar crawl which starts at our hostel, takes us to one of the same bars we were at the night before along with three others. On the crawl, we meet a multitude of people, many being from the US on vacation. Side note: casual readers of this blog who may not know me personally might not know what happens sometimes when I have a bit too much to drink. I have what I call an alter-ego named Rufus who kind of takes over my psyche under certain circumstances and generally speaking...it can be quite interesting. Rufus has his own back story that completely differs from mine and there are quite a few people around the Bowling Green and London areas that know me only as Rufus. It's almost like split-personality disorder, except I know it happens and allow it...does that make sense? Eh...who cares, nobody's listening.

Anyway, there was a particular person on this bar crawl that made it known she graduated from Penn State. It was at that moment that Rufus decided he graduated from the University of Michigan and took it upon himself to completely belittle and destroy this woman's Alma Mater and the opinion she held it in. Don't ask me why...it's just kind of what he does. Safe to say she's not a fan, but that will happen. Aside from this woman coming up and repeating the same sentence about fifty times (“I really enjoyed my college experience”), the night proved to be extremely fun. The last club on the bar crawl was a five-story joint right on the river which supposedly had a different vibe and type of music on each level. Needless to say, I didn't stay very long as it's not exactly what could be considered my “scene.” On the way out, we caught up with one of the crawl tour guides named Yon (not too sure on the spelling) and he decided we shouldn't be done just yet. He proceeded to take a small group of us to four additional places (all of which I couldn't find again if I were paid) which sent the night into a spiraling downward slide. We ended up so far from the hostel it was necessary to find a cab to get back, and we were given the tourist “discount” (a mere 500 Koruna!) to travel the mile and a half back. The next day we took it easy, did some tourist junk and caught the over-night train to Krakow, Poland.

Krakow, Poland:

The train was something out of an Agatha Christie novel all the way down to the seedy train operator and impending sense of doom. It was an experience...that much is certain and despite having a sleeper cabin, not much sleep was had between the three of us. No, not like that...perv. We didn't have much of an agenda and not much happened while we were in Krakow except the obligatory trip to Auschwitz. The entire reason we went to Krakow was because of Auschwitz and it may have been the most psychologically and emotionally powerful place I've been to in my entire life. There is no need to re-hash the details, but I will say this: if you ever have the opportunity or means to go...do it. You will never be the same. It is my opinion that every single person should be required to go and see this place because you will never interpret your life the same again. Whether you were personally affected by what happened at this hellish place or not, it will alter you in one way or another. Definitely a must in my book.

Other than Auschwitz, we had the required food staples: Polish sausage, perogies, and vodka. Being as picky an eater as I am, it was food heaven...you can't get much better than kielbasa, meat and potato filled perogies and bread. It gives me half-stock just thinking about it...

Barcelona, Spain:

Last night at 11:30PM, we landed at London-Stansted airport to weather one would normally expect from London: cold and rainy. Normally this wouldn't be a big issue as those who have been around this city for an extended period of time would know it's inevitable, but I had just flown in from Barcelona where it was an incredibly amazing mid-nineties and sunny every day. Three glorious days where I saw the sun in its full force for the first time in eight or nine months. Barcelona was just about everything you could expect from it: superb weather, great food and drink, and many relaxing hours on the beach. The events in Barca would take an entire post in itself, so again, the highlights:

I met up with friends from here and one of their friends from the US on Wednesday (they had been there since Monday) and we undertook the prerequisite bar crawl. Again, I won't go into many details (mostly because I don't remember, although I believe Rufus made an appearance again), but there were many bars, many drinks, many laughs and more embarrassing dancing than I would care to admit. The night ended with a long walk back to the hostel after most of my party were yelling at the crawl organizer for not taking us to the amount of bars he promised (he took us to four...and four were promised, for the record) while he was slinking into a cab. The two girls were staying at a swanky hotel on the beach while the two guys were at a seedy hostel in the city, so we walked the girls to a common meeting place (the backward statue of Columbus) and sent them on their beach journey while we stumbled back to the hostel. As we were walking up La Rambla, on three separate occasions, the hoards of prostitutes walking the streets decided to take their chances and see if I was desperate enough to get herpegohnasyphiaids and hand over some precious monopoly money. Sorry ladies...it wouldn't happen even if you paid me. Just a few blocks later and I was able to melt into my bed for the next 10 hours, attempting to ward off the inevitable headache and/or hangover.

The next day, we met up with the ladies and had a nice quiet day on the beach. Well...quiet isn't exactly the word. Literally every three to five seconds this was heard a few feet from where we were laying: “beer, cerveza, fanta, co-cola, co-cola light” or “massage?” by what seemed like hundreds of “vendors” walking the beach trying to make a quick euro. Fuck. You. Stop ruining my beach experience with your senseless chatter.

The night wasn't much better. We met for dinner (which was nice) and then went down to the beach where apparently the entire city of Barcelona met and set off obnoxious fireworks while getting loaded. Yes...normally it would sound like a pretty sweet time, but I was not in the mood for it and literally hundreds of thousands of people + alcohol + fireworks + me = not good. We walked the entire length of the beach (while one member of our party had her hands to her ears the entire time) and afterward, said our “see you laters” and made the walk back amid the firework blasts that sound oddly like gunfire. The only solace of the night was we were far enough from the beach where the fireworks didn't cost me any sleep, but that may have just been because I was so tired from the heat and walking a few miles that day.

The next and final day in Barcelona consisted of typical touristy crap, trying to kill time till the flight left at 10PM. After a long day of walking, we made it to the airport, waited, made the flight to London and discovered the cold and rain. Another lovely night in London...

Well, that's just about all I have on this today – it was a bit longer than I wanted, but if you made it this far down, thanks for reading and as always, any questions/comments/etc, go ahead and put them where you see fit.

The Final Chapter...and the VanAusdale Clan Comes to London!

Well, here we are everyone, the final chapter in “Justin is a whiny bitch” is finally here. This is the last time I will be writing about the permanent position in London because a final decision has been made...and I know it's a final decision because I'm not the one making it. So here we are: the end. I know, I know...it's about damn time, but you really should know better by now known to stop reading ages ago.

Some of you have heard this story since it happened a few weeks ago and I've been too busy to broadcast it to the world, but for those of you who haven't heard, here it is. Those of you who have heard it...tough shit, read it again. A few weeks ago, I was sitting in my work area, minding my own business and toiling away at yet another work day when I get an email notification from one of my bosses for a “catch up” meeting. As soon as I saw the notification, I knew exactly what it was about: they finally figured out their end of the visa/job situation and this was the meeting that settled once and for all if I was staying in London or leaving for some unknown part of the US.

So, as I sat there over the next 27 hours wondering what the outcome would be, contemplating my unknown options, I John Kerry'd the fuck out of the decision as is my usual style. I went from being certain I would be taking the offer if there was one, to being certain I would decline, to completely indifferent on the situation as a whole, and back to just seeing what would happen and taking it from there. Pretty much the last 3 months worth of thoughts and worry just rehashed in a shorter amount of time.

Turns out, it was all for naught as they said what I had been expecting for months: the visa would be impossible to get and therefore, I would not have the option to stay anymore. They offered their apologies, blah blah blah, and I didn't have to be the bad guy and tell them I was having second thoughts about staying. Basically, it worked out for the best because it would not come down to me making a decision. The decision was made for me and I'm happy with how it happened because I'm a little bitch who can't get his mind right enough to make a final choice. Regardless, I now get the added benefit of them taking the blame for the situation, so they'll be helping me get a job somewhere in the States with UBS should I decide to go that route. Turns out everything I wrote and the hours I spent agonizing about this decision were all for nothing...but it can always be worse. So, congratulations, USA, I'm coming back to stay after all. I'm sure you'll all agree with me when I say I'm glad this whole fucking mess is behind me. No more talk about this...I'm done.

Now that we're all done with that, the news of the hour is the VanAusdale clan is currently at the Columbus airport about to make their way across the Atlantic (notice, I did not use the bullshit cliché saying that EVERYONE makes...it's tired...let it go) to visit for the week in London. If everyone makes it out of here alive, I'll be truly shocked. All six of us in one city for 10 days in VERY close quarters is going to take its toll on all involved. I'm certain we'll all be glad to get back to our regular lives after this time is over.

The last time we had a family vacation, it was July of last year consisting of visits to Philly, New York city, Boston, and Niagara Falls (USA side). Lets just say tempers flared just a tad during that week and we were all glad to get back to normal life and some kind of solitude. Now add the mental mindfuck of international travel, the complications of a different currency, one of the most expensive cities in the world, and everyone being completely out of their comfort zone and I'm fairly certain we can expect frequent and more spectacular fireworks this time around. It will be an interesting week, that much is certain.

Now, don't get me wrong. As regular readers of this shitstorm I call a blog will know, I'm a big fan of my family. However, we are all very strong willed individuals, fairly argumentative, and quite bull-headed in our opinions especially when we know someone else has one that differs from ours. So, I offer a metaphor of sorts: picture a gigantic barrel of dynamite with six sticks of varying amounts of gunpowder (does dynamite have gunpowder? It does now...) and different lengths of fuses. London is the match that has been thrown into the barrel and at some point, one or more of those sticks will ignite and blow everyone to smithereens. It is a fact...this I promise you. Once the explosions are done, we can then examine the fallout, pick up any survivors, and start repairing the damage.

And now, we have a live update, breaking news, if you will...holy shit, this is my first live blog. History in the making, everyone! I have just been informed their flight from Columbus to Newark has been delayed by 30 minutes which gives them a stout 10 minutes to catch the connecting flight to London. This is the equivalent of pouring a gallon of gasoline into the aforementioned barrel and chucking an old school vampire search party torch in there for good measure. One can only hope their seats on the flight aren't booked next to each other, otherwise we may have a new record for vacation temper explosions.

So, in case you're wondering, (I'm sure you're not, but you're reading this far down, so you kind of have to finish...sucker!) the events for the week are as follows:

Saturday: Flight (tentatively) arrives around 10AM GMT, then check-in at the accommodation and probably a light day, just checking out some of the bigger touristy areas downtown.
Sunday: Potentially going on a hop-on hop-off bus tour of the major sights.
Monday: No plans as of yet (this is a trend), but hopefully something like St. Paul's cathedral or checking out Churchill’s War Rooms.
Tuesday: Train to Windsor for Windsor castle and more tourist crap.
Wednesday: Free day, potentially going to a concert, but nothing set in stone.
Thursday: Stafford/Stoke-on-Trent to see some family heritage stuff. We even have our own local tour guide!
Friday: Free day, potentially another concert (Escape the Fate) at the Underground Garage and if not, hitting the town with the brothers.
Saturday: Most likely taking it easy, tourist stuff again since the flight leaves early Sunday morning.
Sunday: Flight leaves at 1PM GMT, arriving in the States at around 3PM. Grocery shopping for me, more travel for everyone else, then driving back to their respective residences thanking christ they're still alive and kicking.
Monday: Back to work...with a smile on my face.

This is long enough for now, but in other news, I just got back from a trip to Eastern Europe to Krakow, Poland and Prague, Czech Republic. If I get bored, I'll write up a detailed report on the happenings...it was a pretty interesting trip, and definitely one of the best I've gone on thus far.

Until then...you know the deal...any questions – leave them in the comments.

Quick Hitters Vol. 1

I have noticed my last few entries have been as depressing as hell, so I'm going to try and lighten the mood a bit on this one with a few random things I've noticed over the past few weeks. I'm going to call it “quick hitters” because the stories will hopefully be short and sweet. I think we both know that won't be the case, so you may as well settle in for the long haul here. Without much further ado, here we go with the first installment of quick hitters.

“Icing”

The cultural phenomenon of “icing” might be the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard of in my entire life. In case you're unaware of what it is, “icing” is when someone is handed a Smirnoff Ice alcoholic beverage and as per the social norm, said person must get down on one knee and chug the entire bottle of sugary awfulness. I'm told in some circumstances a salute of some kind must be made while getting diabeetus from this horrible excuse for an adult beverage.

First of all, whoever made up this game needs to get jabbed in the throat because it's just flat out dumb. “Hey, here's a malt beverage almost nobody likes...and you have to drink the whole thing on one knee.” “Umm, dude, that sounds really fucking stupid...why?” “BECAUSE I TOLD YOU TO AND IF YOU DON'T, EVERYONE WILL MAKE FUN OF YOU FOR BEING A BITCH WHO DOESN'T LIKE CHICK DRINKS!” “Yeah, man...I'll pass. Have fun with that, though.”

Second of all, if anyone is ever thinking it would be a fun idea to try this to me, I would advise you to think twice. I will have one of the following reactions to an “icing” attempt:

1. Following in the footsteps of Daniel Tosh, I would find the nearest hard surface, most likely a counter top of some kind, Happy Gilmore the fuck out of the bottle and brandish it wildly until I hit skin, preferably the tiny bit covering one of your major arteries. Next time you'll know better.
2. If I'm not feeling particularly homicidal, I would simply say “Yeah, no thanks...that game is fucking lame” and walk away.

“Icing” is stupid. Please, for the love of all things sacred, let this frat game die. Don't let them win...remember kids, whenever you fall victim to a fratty game, Chad Kroeger makes more money, and therefore thinks he needs to release more shitty music. Think of the children, please.

Bathroom Etiquette

Sorry, ladies...this section is aimed more toward the men in the audience as I know nothing of bathroom etiquette in the ladies side of the crowd. Although it may humor you to hear the lengths we as a species go to avoid another penis, so by all means, read on.

A little background information: the bathroom at my workplace has three urinals and six stalls. Clearly, there's a lot of shitting going on at work, especially since most of the time nearly all the stalls are fully occupied. Since work's version of TP has a similar feeling to a heavy gritted sandpaper, I try to do most of my business at home and stick to a strict #1 only policy at the office. With this being the case, I pay a lot of attention to proper bathroom etiquette when it comes to the urinals. A few days ago, I walked into the bathroom, business as usual, and noticed the only person at the urinal station was occupying the middle position. I did not notice anyone leaving as I was entering, so I came to the conclusion this person must have chosen the middle position of his own accord. Later that same day as I was washing up from another successful visit, someone else was faced with an empty trio of urinals. He chose the middle position again. This is highly unacceptable in all social groups and settings, therefore I felt like questioning this person at length to see why he was blatantly breaking the most basic of bathroom rules.

As a measure of transparency, here are the rules as I understand them when it comes to bathroom etiquette for those who are unaware:

When confronted with an odd number of urinal stations:
-Always leave one station between you and another patron.
-If, for example, there are three stations and the outer two are occupied, use the nearest stall. If a stall is unavailable, wait until one of the outer stations or a stall is available.

When confronted with an even number of urinal stations:
-If there are two and no suitable divider is installed, same rules apply as above.
-If there are two and there is a suitable divider, both may be used freely.
-If there are four or more, leave a gap or use a stall.

The only times when it is acceptable to use all available stalls/troughs in the bathroom:
-Sporting events
-Bars

So once I saw the blatant disregard for the rules, all I wanted to do was take that fucker by the back of the neck and slam his head into the wall in front of him, all while screaming “see! You see the consequences of fucking with the rules!? Next time you'll know better, you fucking prick.” I think I may have some anger issues to work on...

British Cars

Today when I was walking back from the gym, I noticed that most British cars are stick shift, which makes them inherently better than their American counterparts. I'm not sure what brought on my curiosity, but it did not prevent me from being a huge creeper and peering into every car I passed like George McFly just to check out the gear shaft. Turns out, the winner is stick shift by a wide margin, which means British people are just flat out better drivers than Americans. Here's a short social survey you can put out there: ask your American family, friends, co-workers, etc. if they know how to drive a manual car and most of them will give a look like you just finger blasted their pet. “Why would I need to drive a manual car when they have perfectly good ones that do all that shifty stuff for you?” Just seems like more work...and we all know how much Americans love their extra work.

Now, for the few of you who may know any Brits/Europeans, go ahead and ask them the same question. They will most likely look at you like you're an idiot because to them, who doesn't know how to drive a manual car? In this respect, Britons and Europeans have a huge advantage over Americans because stick shift kicks fucking ass to drive. You can literally beat the ever-living shit out of a manual vehicle and it will come back with blood on its mouth begging for more. How do I know this, you ask? You'd never guess, but I used to own a manual car and even though it was a pussy four cylinder Chevy Cavalier, it still had more balls than any car I've owned since. I can't tell you how many times I've peeled out of some floozy's driveway going 40 in 2nd gear and then slapping it right into 4th while cracking 70 in about two seconds. It gives me wood just thinking about it...

The Warm Beer Phenomenon

As many of you know, I was back in the States a few weeks ago and the question I got most, other than “what the fuck are you doing here?” was some derivative of “how's the warm beer over there?”

Now, I'm not disputing the fact that there may be warm beer somewhere in the UK/Europe, but I have yet to encounter it. I've been to my fair share of pubs/bars/clubs and not one had beer that was supposed to be served warm. The closest thing you'll get to that might be a cast beer, but that's just a beer with less carbonation and might be a little warmer than ice cold. I'm really not sure where the rumor started or how it did, but unless I'm going to the wrong places, it holds little merit.

One item of interest regarding warm beverages though: ice is a little used commodity in the UK. The reasoning is simple, really. The less ice you have, the more beverage in your glass. In a country where free refills are few and far between, more of a room temperature beverage is better than less of a cold beverage. I can definitely get behind the minimal ice custom if it means not paying for another drink. Sure, call me cheap...but those fuckers add up, especially when you're on a limited budget.

Well, that's all for now...as usual, any questions – leave them in the comments and I'll answer them when I have a chance. Thanks for reading...

Snap Decisions...

Ok...here we are. It's been a while since my last entry and a lot has happened since, so I'm going to attempt to bring brass tacks and leave little to the imagination.

This will essentially be the third installment of the saga of my “will Justin stay in the UK after his bullshit internship is over in August” story. As you have read previously, I was offered a job to stay and I have been wrestling with the idea of staying or leaving once my year is over. I have previously mentioned I would be a complete fucking moron for leaving this offer on the table, as I still think might be valid, but based on the current circumstances, things have changed. As far as I am aware, the offer is still on the table, but new items have come to light, specifically the visa requirements and my own salary needs.

First things first: visa restrictions have been established where it is near impossible to continue to work in the UK without being a resident. I understand the requirements as unemployment is at an all-time high and they would prefer jobs to go to residents rather than assholes such as myself. Another consideration is the salary requirement I would need. In order to work and live here beyond this year, I would need to be paid far beyond what anyone in the industry would consider fair. The normal starting salary for my position is not enough for me to live comfortably and also be able to pay all bills, etc. on time. It just isn't possible. This is one of the things I never fully considered when thinking this was possible in the first place. Maybe it was based on over-confidence, or thinking they need me more than I need them, etc. but the fact remains, my potential offer will be less than I will need to live comfortably, or at the very least able to pay all bills and attempt to live with just a little money left over.

Now...when it was first presented to me, I was fully on board. I was there...no questions asked, I'm there. After a few months of thinking about it, the novelty has worn off. I think I was caught up in the “new-ness” of the whole thing, thinking it was cool that someone thought enough of me to offer a job to stay without thinking of the long-term effects. Granted, most of the people I talked to were all for me staying and confirming my thought of being a complete fuck if I were to turn it down...which helped at first. However, eventually I came to the realization that I don't really want to stay and it was all just hype based on the original offer.

It took quite a bit to convince myself I didn't really want to stay when I was previously entirely committed to it. Essentially, this is what it came down to: I went back to Ohio for a week, saw people I haven't for a few months, etc. It ended up being a pretty good week as a whole, but once I was back in London, things were different. Saving you from complete boredom, my decision came to this: I was waiting for a friend of mine to let me in to Tower 3 at Ability Towers when I saw a few of the new intake of interns speaking freely and making it obvious they were new to the program. After it became exceedingly obvious they were in the new intake, I thought to myself “wow...they're new and they have the entire year in front of them...fuck...that really blows for them.”

Given my thoughts on the situation, how can I possibly expect myself to stay after the year has ended when I feel sorry for those who have just one more year left? I can't...therefore I cannot, in good conscience allow myself to stay beyond August. Which means I need to let my bosses know I have to decline any offer they may still have outstanding so they can offer it to another intern or give another full time position in my place.

I've been thinking of writing this for a few days now and I had a lot more I wanted to say, but a lot of it has fallen away because it's really not that important. The fact is, a job was offered, I wanted it...thought about it...and then decided it wasn't for me. That's it. Now, I have to decide what location is best for me, and that will be exceedingly difficult. It means choosing between multiple locations including Chicago, IL, Charlotte, NC, Raleigh, NC, Jacksonville, FL, San Francisco CA, Los Angeles, CA, Phoenix, AZ and Northwest Ohio, among others. I don't know what I'll choose and I don't know what will come of whatever I choose, but I do know whatever I do choose will be interesting and I look forward to starting a new life when I leave here.

Until then...

Sneaky Beers, Anyone?

Hello friends...it's been a while, no? Let's go ahead and give this another chapter, shall we? Like it or not, you have no choice...

Since I last left you, I had been contemplating on if I should take this job that was “offered” or not. Well...as I'm sure you can imagine, circumstances have changed...on their end and on mine. Let's focus on their end first since my end is a bit too much for me to handle right now and I don't want to even begin to contemplate the options. I think that's better for all involved at this point.

Anyway – back to the issue at hand. Nearly a month ago I wrote a post that was entirely too long and disgustingly boring (probably both happening here as well, suppose you're used to that already) outlining my situation. In a nutshell: job was offered to stay in London for the foreseeable future and it was up to me to take or leave. I did neither. I said I was interested and to give me all the info possible and only then could I actually make a decision whether to stay or not. I have no additional hard information, only information that makes it seem as though I have slightly misunderstood the situation.

Shortly after my then boss made it known she would like me to stay after my initial year, I was to be on holiday since my brother Jared and our friend Nick were coming to my humble abode to slum it for a week. Without going into too much detail (I'm sure either Jared or I have gone into entirely too much to anyone actually reading this), it was a really fun week and I'm really glad they took the time out to make it out to visit. So once they made their way back States-side, I unfortunately (or fortunately) had to go back to work the day after they left. Once I was back, I was informed our work group had radically changed and we were now reporting to a different executive director and would be moved to a new group entirely. At the time, I was so overwhelmed by the amount of work I was supposed to be catching up on, I wasn't able to give it much though. Only after a day or so was I able to sit back, breathe for a second and actually wonder what the fuck it actually meant for my situation.

My question was answered a few days later: it meant nothing as far as I was concerned. Well...according to my boss, it meant nothing. A few days after the news was given, the higher-ups met with the new ED and my situation was discussed. According to the boss, the new ED was/is on board with keeping me past the year and is working on getting things in line. Call me skeptical, but I'm not buying it. Yes, stranger things have happened, but all I've heard for the past month is how difficult it is to get a work visa for the UK. If this is the case (I have no reason to deny), I have my doubts about the sincerity of the offer as it stands especially since they would be wasting this sacred piece of clearance on a small-time intern from operations. It seems as though they should be reserving these documents for people of some higher importance than I can bring to the table...but again – stranger things have happened.

I am a terrible story teller – my apologies, but I need a bit of a rewind. Prior to my holiday, I was asked to set up a meeting with our now former ED for a “catch up” which essentially means an informal review given a few times a year. This guy is pretty high up and for someone like me to get a one-to-one with him is pretty rare, so of course I was obliged to set it up. I originally took it as a kind of impromptu interview for my potential new position, which was somewhat confirmed by my now former boss. OK – rewind over. The meeting was set for today at 3PM. These meetings usually go a little something like this: meeting scheduled for 3PM, reminder goes off at 2:45, 2:55 and 3PM on the dot. Around 3:05, a chat message pops up from the person you're supposed to be meeting with asking if the arrangement is still necessary and also where this massive waste of their time is taking place. 2:45 hits and I get my first reminder about the meeting. I start to prepare myself for the inevitable chat message and attempt to find my meeting partner on the company chat program. I search for his first name and cannot find it among the results. OK...I've seen this before...guess I'll just have to search for the last name. The search comes up with zero results...hmm...interesting. Quick question for the boss...”hey – is Ian (that's not his real name) still with the company?” “No – why? Did you still have that meeting?” Awesome...

Now I have zero idea what to expect. I have a few predictions though...well – just one, really. They forget about everything. They forget I'm sitting here waiting for someone to say something, waiting for someone to let me know what's going on, waiting for anything...and I'm just going to sit and wait too. At this point, I'm fine with the waiting game because I don't think anything will really come of it anyway. There are times when I wish they would just come out with it and say they've redacted the offer because they simply don't have the room to keep me on or have the visa to waste. I'm waiting for it...I'm expecting it...then again – I've never been the most positive person in the world, so it's really not a new thought process. My expectations for them: nothing happens and I leave mid-August for a job in the States I've secured on my own with no help from anyone, which is just as well since I would prefer to do it myself anyway.

I'm still going to leave my end alone because I don't know what's going to happen and would rather try to take things on as they come to me. I know it isn't going to work like that, but I'm going to try my best to let it. We all have certain expectations on how things will work out, but it rarely goes the way we want. I do want my expectations to work...and the only way I can think to have it happen that way is to not do anything, just let it all fall the way it will. Generally, everything has a strange way of working out in the end regardless of what we do or what we prefer...so that's what I'm doing – I'm going to let things happen and do my best to not worry about the fallout. Yes...that's all you're getting...yes, I know - I suck...

As always – any questions, I'll do my best.

If You're Going to Read This, Don't Bother

Let me start by saying I'm not sure where this will end. I don't have a real topic, I just feel like writing...so here goes. Unfortunately, the fact that I feel like writing does not mean I feel like writing the bullshit essay I have due for pretend school in a few days, it just means I'm going to ramble for what will probably seem like an eternity. Also, instead of taking a snapshot of my brain and splattering it on this computer screen, I probably should be sleeping, or at least attempting to sleep. However, that's the thing about sleep or at least pretending to sleep: when you have an endless supply of questions with no answers and scenarios with no resolutions gunning through your head at a thousand miles an hour on a daily basis, sleep is nearly impossible. In fact, I can pinpoint down to the exact week the last time I slept through the night with zero interruptions...and the only reason I did is because I was so exhausted it would have taken a marching band playing at full volume in my room to keep me awake for more than five seconds after hitting the bed.

I'm not sure this entry will ever see the light of day (let's face it...you're goddamn right I'm gonna post it, but let me just pretend for a moment) and I'm fairly certain it will have a bit of a different feel since I'm not in a very “humorous” mood...if what I normally write can be considered humorous in the first place. Basically, this post exists just so I can try and sleep tonight because I'm tired of thinking about things that I've spent the last month talking about and beating to death a few dozen times. Maybe if I get it out on paper it will help clear the cobwebs...but I highly doubt it. Also, there are only so many times you can repeat the same things to the same people before it gets to the point where they will literally choose razorblades to the eyeballs as a preferred activity to speaking to you about so-called problems. So, instead of torturing them with the same issue I've been wrestling with for far too fucking long, you get to hear it instead. How lucky for you!

The specific situation at hand is one which a multitude of people would probably kill to have and really wouldn't consider it a situation or problem at all. In fact, if this same scenario were proposed to any of a few million people who fit a certain demographic, they would probably karate chop my groinal area for even considering it a problem, let alone having to think about it or to even potentially turning it down. I think I've strung this along as far as possible, so without much further ado, the “problem” I have is introduced as follows: I have been offered a permanent position at UBS in London, UK by my direct line manager.

Yes, yes...I know, please refrain from the curses and childish name calling...like I stated above, any person in their right mind would not hesitate to accept straight away...but there are so many aspects to consider prior to actually accepting, which we'll get to in the tenth or eleventh page of this post, but for now, I suppose I should give some details on how this happened. A few weeks ago, the boss and I were having a fairly generic, casual conversation about the specifics on how I was hired in at UBS in the first place when out of nowhere she asks what I plan on doing when my year is completed in the UK. I have thought for some time that a permanent position might be offered at one point or another, but never really seriously considered it. Everything I had heard from previous interns made it fairly obvious it wasn't really that reasonable to expect, especially given the status of the bank and visa considerations. However, I had given it some vague thought just for the “what if” factor, and for a long time, I never thought I could actually go through with it for a multitude of reasons, the biggest being I wasn't sure I could handle living in a foreign country for an extended period of time or in this case, indefinitely. My response to her question of my future plans was probably typical of any other intern: potentially looking for jobs in a major city in the US, a la New York, Chicago, and/or San Francisco. Then she dropped the bomb: would I consider staying in London once the year was up? She's a tricky one to read and therefore I don't usually attempt as it can sometimes go horribly wrong, especially in a work situation, so direct questions usually work best. Can I consider this an offer? Deadpan – straight in the eye – yes.

Fuck.

Like I said, she's a tricky one...and totally caught me off guard. I told her I'll have to think about it and will let her know when I can. She says she wants to know by the end of the week...this is a Tuesday...not a lot of time to consider, right? Turns out there is a very good reason for the hurry. Fast forward to Friday, the boss brings the whole team into an impromptu meeting in which she informs us she is resigning in three weeks to travel for about six months with the husband. Ahh...now it all is starting to make sense...cobwebs from the last 3 days are starting to clear out...the timing sucks and is very hurried, but I now get it.

So here I am: over the last few weeks I've told a few people from the States and have spoken to some extensively about this as well as quite a few people here, including my entire team. The consensus: while there has been some hesitation from a few from home, and rightly so, I would be a fucking idiot to turn this down. I like to think I'm not an idiot...so for now I'm going to take this like a normal person would take a new relationship...very slowly. I'm not committing to a damn thing without numbers in front of me coupled with a hard offer. Let's take this to the next step: yes, I am interested, so formulate a formal offer and we'll see how it looks and take it from there. So, that being the case, I have a one-to-one meeting with the executive director of my team (he's kind of a big deal) to determine what the next steps will be and what I can expect over the coming months.

Now, the specific issues at hand:

1. Can I live on my own in a city of six million plus people in a foreign country knowing only a handful of people within my work and only a few that will be staying after the program year ends?

Yes. No issues here...I think we're all familiar with my outlook on other people (not that big a fan), so it's really not an issue. I am completely fine with retreating back to my hermit ways as long as I have a room to myself. I will know enough people where if I want to head out on the town, I can with little issue. But if I don't want to go out? Nobody will be pressuring me to cross my self-imposed boundaries.

2. Can I be thousands of miles away from family and friends from home for an indefinite period of time?

Here's where it starts getting tricky. Indefinite? No...fuck no. A defined period of time is entirely different. A few more years would certainly be manageable, but any longer and I'm not convinced I would be able to handle it. Most of you know my family is much more than just a word to me. As much as I can sometimes be annoyed by the little things that go along with the family experience, I couldn't ask for or create a better family situation. I'll be a little sentimental here and say I consider myself infinitely lucky to be a part of the family I have (I know...most people say the same, but this is my blog, dammit...and my family is so much better than yours because I said so...deal with it).

On one hand, my parents have never been anything less than 100% supportive of anything I decided I wanted to try as a profession or hobby. Normally this wouldn't be that big of a stretch for parents, but some of my choices have been questionable at best: musician and professional poker player are two of the more radical choices I've made in the past. Regardless of the potential stigma, they were beyond supportive of my decisions and proved it by purchasing guitars, amps, microphones, PA equipment, personally booking shows for the band, providing a space to practice, teaching me card games, talking strategy, talking over bad beats, talking me off the ledge when losing significant amounts of money, etc. I'm lucky...and I know it...and I'm extremely thankful...and I definitely don't express it enough.

On the other hand, my brothers are not just my brothers, they're my best friends as well. I don't know what I would do without their unwavering support and everything they've done for me as long as I can remember. They have been my band-mates, my sounding boards, my poker buddies, my crying posts, and everything in-between. A person could not ask for a better family...and I cannot be convinced otherwise. Like I said...I'm lucky...and I know it. Being away from my family would be one of the most difficult parts of staying here if it came down to it.

As far as friends from home are concerned, I've said this a few times to quite a few people, but if there's one thing I've learned over the last seven months, it's now much easier to determine who my friends are. I have made myself infinitely accessible for any and every person to contact me from the town where I used to store all my shit and there are few who have taken the initiative in keeping in contact. There are only so many times you can send messages via myriads of platforms with no response before you give up. I realize people are busy...I'm exhaustively busy myself...but it is quite evident there are certain people who make an effort over those who don't. Before you go and throw a pity party for me, know that it doesn't bother me in the least, I just have a better understanding on who I can count on and who I can't.

3. There isn't really a 3 – I went over the biggies...the only other stuff is trivial such as where to live, how much money I'll make, etc. Essentially it comes down to one thing: is it acceptable to be selfish to improve my professional situation when personal situations will suffer because of it? I don't know the answer to this question. A few months ago I had a pretty good idea what I was going to do when I was done over here...but even the best made plans can be thrown into disarray when the circumstances change. As of now, it's a wait and see game...wait until the meeting with the ED and see what he says can happen. Unfortunately, I won't have any answers for myself or anyone else until after that meeting regardless of how much I want them. I would kill for a preview of my future to see which way I should go, but unfortunately life doesn't quite work that way. One thing I can say for sure is it's gonna be an interesting ride...

As always, any comments or questions are encouraged and I'll do my best to respond. Also, my apologies for boring you if you actually got this far down...I promise I'll try to make the next post a little more cheerful...

Learning Lessons With Ryan Air

I had been planning on writing this particular entry for a little over a week now, but simply couldn't seem to find the time to get it out. However, since I'm out sick from work today (thanks to bitchin' multiple-day migraines and little aliens in my stomach (think Spaceballs) courtesy of possible food poisoning) and really don't foresee myself leaving this bed for the next 5 plus hours, let's go ahead and give it a shot now.

Ryan Air can go eat a bowl full of dirty, diseased assholes. A mere single encounter with this cheap fuck of a company is all it takes to avoid it at all costs in the future. If I can help it, I will never fly with them again even if it means paying more for my flights. Now, those of you who have dealt with them in the past will be nodding your head furiously right now, but for those of you who have no idea who Ryan Air is, the following story should help put the pieces together for you.

A few months ago, my brother Jared and our friend Nick decided they may want to grace me with their presence over here in London for a multi-day trip in March. March means a lot of things to a lot of people, but for some of us, March means St. Patrick's day. What country is just a short flight west from London? IRELAND! So, as soon as they mentioned March as a possibility, I immediately thought “how bad ass would it be to spend St. Patty's in Dublin this year?” I don't care what you're doing for St. Patrick's day...if you go to Dublin, you win. Vegas? New Orleans? Chicago? Yes, that would be a lot of fun and I'm sure it would be very memorable, but those locations do not hold a candle to spending it in Ireland. I really don't mean to brag...but it's going to be beyond awesome...actually, I do mean to brag. Sorry. The next few months found me forcefully pushing this opinion on Jared and Nick because if I'm only gonna be here for a year, there's no effin' way I'm missing St. Patty's in Dublin...even if I have to drag them with me. After a few months of persistent badgering, they relented (I mean, come on...no brainer here) and I started making plans.

Here's where it gets interesting...and also where my fury with Ryan Air begins. Now, let me preface this with a gigantic “I'm a huge moron/idiot/imbecile/stupid SOB” because this was my fault to begin with, but this company certainly did not help the situation at all. I did my due diligence regarding places to stay, flights, sight-seeing, bars, pubs, and all the similar stuff and started to make bookings. So I booked our flights (all three since it just would be easier to have it all on one card) and hotel for March 16th – 17th. Anyone see the problem here? St. Patrick's day is March 17th, not the 16th. Yes, I am a complete and total dumb ass for not double and triple checking the dates...and I take complete responsibility for that dumbassery. Now here's where you would say “why don't you just use the tickets as they are and leave Dublin the night of the 17th instead of the 18th?” I would normally agree with you and it wouldn't be that big of an inconvenience since we would technically be there for the day in question. However, Jared and Nick are arriving late evening on the 16th and our flights for Dublin are booked for early afternoon on the same day. So unless you have a close personal relationship with Doc Brown, I'm gonna have to make some other arrangements.

The best part of this entire thing is I had both the flights and the hotel booked for one day earlier than I should have and didn't even realize it until I was typing out an email to the guys with the itinerary attached. I started typing “the 16th,” something clicked in my head and all the sudden it didn't sound right...and I had that sinking feeling in my gut like when you wake up at 9AM on a Monday when work starts at 8. I immediately pulled out my calender to check the dates and right there in black and white on the 16th “Jared and Nick arrive – 9PM.” I'm instantly infuriated at myself for not checking the dates before hitting “submit” on the website, especially Ryan Air, and quickly take steps to try and fix my blunder. The hotel was a non-issue because it seems they understand that plans change and people sometimes make mistakes, so they had a free cancellation policy up to 3 days prior to arrival. Ryan Air? Not so much...

Ryan Air, I find out, has a “no cancellation” policy. Maybe I don't have very much experience with airlines and they might all have the same policy, but I found this to be fairly surprising. Ok, fine – no cancellations, but what about modifications? Yes, they do allow modifications, but I hope you have a lot of room on that credit card because you're gonna be using up most of it. In order to modify a flight, it costs an additional 25 GBP per person, per flight. For those of you keeping score at home, that would be three people modifying six flights in total for a modification fee of 150 GBP. Yes, you read that correctly. In order to change the flights from the 16th to the 17th, it will cost an additional 150. The total cost of the original flights was only 200 GBP for all three combined! Then I had the crazy thought of trying to sell the tickets to someone who might be going on the dates I had already booked if by some crazy coincidence that person existed. Turns out, it costs 100 GBP per person just to change the name on the ticket – so that's out as well. After looking at just about every possible combination of where to fly into or out of on those dates, I have come to the conclusion that I'm fucked and am just gonna have to bite the bullet on this one and swallow a 150 mistake. The only thing that can happen in order to make this a little less of an ass raping is if I can somehow find flights on the correct dates for less than I originally paid, which is about as probable as finding a sunny, non-rainy weekend day in the UK.

Moral of the story? Two-fold: one – don't be a dumb ass and make sure the dates are correct before booking flights. Two – avoid Ryan Air at all costs. After I found out I couldn't cancel the flights and the modification fee was as high as it was, I did a quick Google search and found many of the same sob stories about booking wrong dates, names, etc. There were a few options to try and get a refund or a cancellation from the airline, but none of them worked. The most likely, which I had high hopes for, was calling my bank and try to cancel the transaction before it went through. Unfortunately, this was not to be since apparently debit cards are guaranteed transactions which cannot be canceled once submitted and accepted by the merchant. Who knew?

As of this writing, the entire situation has not been resolved, but I'm going to have to get these flights re-booked pretty quickly and I suppose today would be as good a day as any since I'm bed-ridden for the foreseeable future. Consider me fully Ryan Air educated...and I have definitely paid for it.

As always – any questions? Ask away and I'll do my best to answer.

Must be Nice to be a Royal

Have you ever wanted to live in a castle? Here's an easy way to achieve that goal: marry a member of the Royal family. Scratch that, have you ever wanted to have a castle as a vacation house? Now you can marry a member of the Royal family and that dream will be a reality.

Yesterday I went to Windsor to check out Windsor Castle, which is the vacation house of the Royal family and has been for the last 900 years. Some people have time shares in Florida, others own a cottage in Michigan or Colorado for skiing or just to get away from their lives for a weekend every once in a while, and others still have entirely separate families living on both coasts, but unless you're disgustingly, filthy rich, you don't have a castle as your vacation house. By all accounts, the Royal family is rich, but from what I've heard from co-workers, they shouldn't be classified as “disgustingly, filthy rich.” How much money are they worth? I've heard somewhere around three hundred million for the entire family, which yes, sounds like a lot, but that amount of money could potentially be blown in a lifetime. Do you think Bill Gates or Steve Jobs could spend their fortune in their lifetimes? Even if they gave it a good, solid try, I don't think anyone could throw away a few billion like a trailer-trash lottery winner would with a few million.

Granted, my “facts” about the Royal family are not backed up by any real research, just by hearsay coming from co-workers, but they've lived here their entire life and probably know what they're talking about. My question is this: is the three hundred mill their entire net worth including houses and possessions (including all the priceless paintings, tapestries, rugs, china sets, and other furniture/furnishings) that were either bought or stolen over the last few centuries? I read yesterday there are 600 rooms in Buckingham Palace and after my visit a few months ago, I can say with first-hand knowledge that each room is packed to the brim with enough artwork to sustain any person for a lifetime if it were sold (save for that trailer-trash lotto winner, of course), let alone all the other stuff in each room that is worth more than my life. I would guess the furnishings of the houses are not included in the net worth of the Royals just because many of the paintings and pieces of furniture are priceless and just could not have an estimated worth because they will never be for sale.

Either way, if the houses, etc. are added to the net worth of the family or not, I don't believe they are all that rich because three hundred million for a family of that stature and longevity should conceivably be worth as much or more than any individual in the world. Since they're not even billionaires, they're not in the same discussion as the Gates', Jobs', or even the Waltons. Even a low-level dumb-ass prince in Saudi is probably worth more than England's entire Royal family.

I'm getting off topic...wait – there's a topic? Yes, albeit a loose topic which seems to be jumping all over the place. The point is: it must be nice to be a Royal. I spent 15 pounds to walk around and take a tour of someone's vacation house yesterday, WITH a student discount. It just so happens that “someone” is the Queen of England. I wasn't the only one either, the place was packed with people wanting to look at all the stuff this place housed. It has to be expensive to keep it running with all the guards, employees, curators, decorators, etc. not to mention utility bills, so I understand having to charge a fee to check the place out, but the only reason people wanted to see it is because it belongs to the Royal family. Same goes for Buckingham Palace. It's only open for a few months out of the year when the Queen is out of town for official meetings, but those months where it is open to the public, a constant stream of tourists and residents ambush it and pay their money to look at stuff normally only seen in a museum behind bullet proof glass. The difference is, this stuff is actually used on a fairly regular basis, such as a solid silver tea set the Queen uses a few times a year worth a few hundred thousand pounds...would anyone else even consider using it? Highly doubtful. As one would expect, Buckingham Palace is incredibly magnificent and blows Windsor Castle out of the water in all categories. Would I pay my 15 pounds to visit again? Maybe. It's that incredible. The only reason to visit is because it's Royalty related. Would anyone want to pay that amount of money just to check out some rich guy's house? Maybe, but not the volume of people who visit Windsor and Buckingham every year.

Not only do you get to live in awesome houses and look at and own pretty much anything or everything you've ever wanted, but your job is to be Royalty. You have no other responsibility other than don't be a disgrace to the Kingdom and go to charity functions, parades, and live the life of what the public perceives Royalty to be. I know, I know – it's way more complicated than that and it's probably a very stressful life, which explains why Prince William is already going bald. However, I can't help but notice Prince Harry running amok, pretty much doing whatever he pleases with little to no repercussions simply because there is no chance in hell he's ever going to be king. Once the Queen's reign ends, normal succession would be that Prince Charles takes over the crown (even though he should take a pass and hand it down to William instead), rules for a few years, then William takes over and has a reign probably as long as Elizabeth has had. Since Harry is the wild child, he'll probably die from some freak motorcycle or hang-gliding accident and the entire country will mourn, but won't really be that upset because nobody wants him to be king anyway. The crown will then pass to William's eventual child and the country will rejoice because they all love Bill and his choice of wife. I wonder if anyone has the balls to call him Bill or if that's an acceptable nickname? I'll say I would try it, but not only would I never have the chance, I would also chicken out at the last second fearing public beheading.

Speaking of William and his inevitable children, this Royal wedding is being whored out in every direction and everyone is making a huge deal out of it. All kinds of memorabilia is being sold, such as calenders, photo books, kitchen magnets, coffee mugs (complete with photoshopped faces!), and even tea spoons. It reminds me of street vendors in NYC when it started raining heavily on a recent family vacation. The street vendors had umbrellas for sale mere seconds after it started raining trying to capitalize on the stupidity of tourists (and it worked...they made a killing that day). Same goes for souvenir shops all around England now selling all kinds of merchandise related to the Royal wedding. I'm sure it's a big deal because the future king of England is getting married, and maybe because I'm only a visitor I don't understand, but at the end of the day, it's only a wedding. We've all been to weddings...some good, some bad. Granted, this will be one of the largest and most expensive weddings in the history of the world (putting a dent in that meager three hundred million net worth), but it's still only a wedding. One item related to the wedding I am very thankful for is the extra bank holiday we get because they chose a Friday to get married. Thanks William and Kate!

Anyway, that's about all I have to say about the Royal family that won't get me thrown in jail or deported, so we'll just stop there while we're ahead (or even) and call it a day. Regardless of the amount of wealth, it probably wouldn't be the worst thing in the world to be English Royalty. Then again, it probably wouldn't be the best either because of the constant spotlight and criticism. They didn't ask to be born into Royalty, but then again, nobody asks to be born into their current situation, so we deal with it. But that's an entirely different topic for another day...

One last quick story before I go: While we were looking for the entrance to the castle yesterday, we went up to one of the exits where a group of guards were standing holding impressive looking guns (the first time I have seen a gun in England since not even cops carry them) and sporting angry eyebrows. As we approach, the apparent leader separates from the pack and says something along the lines of “Can I help you?” with a shit-eating grin on his face which leads me to believe he actually wanted to say “Can I fucking help you?” I can just see the wheels turning in his head as it is very obvious this guy has had a not-so-great day. “Try something...please, I'm begging you...try to make a run for it or something, I'm just itching to break somebody in half today.” Much to his dismay, we were simply asking for the way to the ticket office so we could enter the castle with no intention of being broken in half. Sorry, lead guard dude...I feel your pain, but I would rather not have you take it out on me...I just want to pay my money and go in like a regular tourist causing no trouble while I'm on your post. Feel free to exercise this frustration on someone else while I'm watching though, that would be some real entertainment and well worth the entrance fee.

Oh, one more thing (I know, annoying...): I saw the changing of the guard at Windsor yesterday and if Buckingham's is anything like this one, I'll pass. It was extraordinarily boring and would really be awful if that was my job and I had to do this everyday while people were watching and taking pictures. OK, I'm done now. Until next time...