UK adventure in detail: part the first

Written on 12/23/05:

4 hours 44 minutes until we land in London. 2,612 miles. I'm not tired, which isn't surprising considering it's not even midnight Chicago time, but it's 6:30 AM-ish in London and I'm fucked if I haven't slept. Ambivelant about spending quite this much time with the family. I love them, but they are crazy. My parents both get obscenely anxious on vacations. My dad becomes even more intense and type-A than usual while my mom simply won't exhale until we're home. She's also the queen of Jewish Mother Guilt--subtler than the average bear, but still it's a constant, "No, no, don't worry about me, do what you want, really, whatever makes the rest of the group happy." Then we're selfish ungrateful brats for never doing what she wants to do. My sister should be more of a fun travel peer than when we were younger. Mark doesn't want us ditching him for pubs, but I would like to go out with Lynn one night while we're abroad.

Airline lasagne is wreaking havvok or havoc or have-vuck on my tummy. I'm all crampy. This is why I shouldn't eat dairy, like, ever, but I do. It is too delicious. Damn you, cows.

This airplane is quite spiffy. Each seat has its own little tv with 10 channels playing 2 hour-ish cycles of movies and shows. The armrests contain remote controls for the tv, light, flight attendant call button, and the flip side of said remote is an AirFone with credit card swipey thing on the side, and if that weren't enough, the whole thing also has buttons so if you hold it horizontally it's a video game controller. Brilliant contraption, really, though I don't see any available video games.

Jesus. Fart burp fart fart cramp burp buzzy brain.

3 hours 33 minutes left. Odd I should flip back to the flight distance monitor thing right then. 1,886 miles. That's another option on the little tvs: our flight path with maps, times, miles, and temperatures of various shit. There are also a number of radio stations including a non-sucky classical station, an entire station of classic rock songs that in some way reference travel, and a "nu jazz" station with both classic jazz greats and shitty awful smooth jazz assclowns.

We're apparently over the Atlantic Ocean south of Greenland, not that I can see outside. It's a two-aisle plane (Boeing 777) and I'm on the inside of the middle chunk, though without a person in the seat to my right. AA's diagram here, my diagram:

Written now about then:

After the plane trip, we took the from the airport to the Paddington Station of stuffed bear fame. My dad had a very difficult time with the ticket-purchasing machine because, while he is a very smart man, he is a complete moron when it comes to computers and doesn't know it. He insists on using the ATMs and other machines without help and then takes forever and gets frustrated and frazzeled as he fucks up such simple instructions as "enter number and press OK." He also still has it in his head that the best way to exchange currency is to bring lots of US dollars and go to the currency exchanges. This is not the case. I told him, my sister told him, but still he insisted on lugging around the Benjamins and, even dumber, going to the currency exchange counter at the airport. For those of you who have not traveled to ATM-filled countries with different currencies in the past 10 years, I will explain. Currency exchanges and banks all post their exchange rates. Some also charge a fee. The rate you get is much like gas prices in that they're around the same but they do vary and you can never be quite sure if a better one is around the corner. Now if you have an ATM card with any one of a few bazillion international ATM logos on it (chances are very good that you do, even if your bank is fairly local) you can go to any ATM that accepts said international bank logos. Most of the ATMs in the UK and urban Europe do. You use the ATM just like you would back in the good ol' U.S. of A. The bank then automatically converts however many pounds or Euros or whatever you take out into US dollars using the exchange rate posted in the Wall Street Journal. This rate is invariably better than anything you can find at a currency exchange, and so. much. easier. Even if they charge you a few bucks service fee.

That's enough on money.

The woman who had sat by my father on the plane was also on our train ride into London. My parents had been talking to her and then, half asleep, I also talked to her a bit. She's been living in Chicago for less than a year and lost her job and is trying to figure out what to do next. As we parted ways at the train station, my mother jumped in to say "you two should exchange phone numbers and get together back in Chicago!" At least it wasn't a Boy and I'm getting too old to be mortified by my mother. So I now have this random girl's phone number. She was perfectly nice, so if she calls me I'm happy to be friendly, but I do not want/need my mother setting me up with friends. I'd like to think I'm at least a little less pathetic than that.

Ok, I'm going to be Hannah now and post a day or two at a time a week late. Now, I take a well-deserved nap and maybe wake up around 11:55 PM to watch the ball drop on TV and then go back to sleep until my body is happy again.

please return

Back in one piece. Good times had. So tired. Will write more later, but now I just want to pass out forever. My wallet went missing somewhere between London Hethrow and the pay phone at O'Hare. Not too much actual money was in it, but a pain in the ass having to get a new license and cancel all my credit cards and such. Right now the idea of making Freud wear a hat and drinking alone and going to bed by 12:02 AM sounds like the perfect New Years, and I'm not even kidding. So many more stories, but now I am too beat.

Edinburgh

I am in Edinburgh. Internet cafe. The family is waiting for me, so I must be quick, even though I spent the last long amount of time waiting for them, because clearly I am just a better person. I cleaned the mouse because it was being slow and annoying. I'm a silly goose.

Today we wandered around the huge friggin' castle in the middle of Edinburgh. We saw the working cloth factory mill and I spent quite some time staring at the spools of yarn all lined up and huge and strung into the giant loom thing in their pattern and the loom thing spun around a lot. I liked that part. I also liked all the castle stuff. Big and old and medieval and impressive. More on the castle later when I have time. Yesterday we shopped and shopped and shopped and shopped. I got a sweater and crap and extrodinarily expensive souvenirs for every one of my friends so if you get no expensive souvenir you are not my friend. Not really. But we just. kept. shopping. My mom and sister have incredible shopping stamina. We ate at a Scottish restaurant and I had the best food. Venison. Deliciousness.

London was also mostly shopping with a bit of time in the Tate Modern (mmm...modern art. Jill likes modern art). I need to find a photo of Lobster Telephone by Dali to post on here because it was my favorite thing ever. Also I loves me some Jackson Pollock and other stuff. Good stuff. Christmas dinner was nice, too. Christmas day was nicer as we went to Anglican services at the Westminster Abbey and that was gorgeous and amazing and I'll say more about that later, too.

That is all for now. I STILL HAVE NO FOTHERMUCKING NEW YEARS PLANS.

Home tomorrow night.

People no longer email me, they comment on my blog. I have no friends. Obviously.

Not so cheery Os

Thing my mom does that I find extremely annoying: says the "right" thing, regardless of if it's true or not.
Old but very good example: "We love and support you no matter what you choose to do" followed by obvious disappointment at my choice and much pushing towards her choice. Then she tells me I'm reading too much into things and that she's not actually doing/saying/meaning whatever it is that I think she's doing/saying/meaning. I know I do read too much into things, but it took a good 20+ years and many outside opinions from friends and therapists alike to make me realize it's not all in my head and she often is doing/saying/meaning what I think she's doing/saying/meaning. I'm overly sensitive, yes, but psychotic, no. I've gotten much better at telling her when she's upsetting me, but quite often she doesn't get it or flatly denies it and I get more frustrated and upset, but not telling her makes me frustrated and upset that I can't tell her. Frustrating. Upsetting.

Let's hope this fight was just getting shit out of the way before and not a prelude to the trip. We leave tomorrow evening for London, then a few very busy days in London before a few less busy days in Edinburgh and then back to the U S of A so I can watch the ball drop alone with my dog in my apartment on New Year's.

Stop. Bad Jill. I'm really looking forward to the trip and seeing my sister for the first time since this summer and feeling the dollar have its ass kicked by the pound but not really caring because my parents are paying for much of everything. I'm just ambivalent about so much Family Time as I don't do very well with large doses of it. I'll just need to make sure to find times to go off alone to maintain my sanity and perhaps quietly up my anti-depressants that I haven't even needed lately for the depression...makes you wonder...

Cheerio!

Brian Zeller: A Man of Many Mustachios

Narcolepsy

So much I needed to do today, but my head and/or body was having none of it. I can't tell if I was being sick, migrainy, or just withdrawing from caffeine, but I slept something like 17 of the past 21 hours. Now I have to do my laundry, do dishes, pack, go holiday shopping, mail all my bills, take Freud to the vet for his shots, and clean my apartment tomorrow before I go to my parents' house to spend the night and leave for London with them on Friday. Freud's being even clingier than usual, so I think I must be giving off "I'm abandoning you for a week" vibes.

During my 17 hours of sleep I had many strange dreams including one that starred people I haven't though about since high school and another in which Brian got to drive his family's old brown VW Bug. Mind you, Brian's family in reality owns now such car, but in the dream, it was awesome and looked almost exactly like this picture I found.

Dammit, now I feel all dehydrated and hung over and I've been chugging water like a fiend but I'm craving fruit but I'm tempted to just go to bed for the night and make the most of tomorrow. Monkey penis.

Things you do until you drop...

That's it, I'm sending my upstairs neighbor abstinence pamphlepts.

I need to do holiday shopping. I'm going to be very tacky here and ask that if you think we are exchanging gifts and you are not a completely obvious person with whom I exchange gifts every year, let me know. Otherwise I'm likely to be the idiot who didn't get you anything. And if your present is late this year, it means one of two things. Either a) I'm intending to buy you things in London and/or Edinburgh or b) come on, how often do I give presents on time? I still have Hannah and Jeni's leg warmers from last Cranukah that will most likely be included in this year's package. Amy's bachelorette gift is hopefully going to show up in January (if all goes according to plan...). I'm a terrible person in this regard, I know, but I'd rather a gift be right than right now. On target than on time. Smelt it than dealt it. You get the idea.

Netflix

I'm back actually watching my Netflix movies. Season 1 of 24 has been on CBS late Saturday nights and I have been watching and enjoying it quite a bit, so now Season 2 is on my queue. I actually have 117 movies on my queue, though a bunch are full seasons of TV shows (Muppets, Sopranos, 24). Basically anything I ever want to see ever is on the list and I move things to the top when I want to watch them sooner rather than later. Anybody else (besides Brian) a Netflicker so I can add you to my friends? Real friends only, please--random strangers who stalk my blog need not reply. Also, anyone (including random strangers) know how to put an RSS feed into my blog or on the side of the template or something? Because I wanted to put my queue in here and it is already in RSS form (thank you Netflix) but I have no clue what to do next.

My body is achy in all sorts of random places and I don't quite know why. Maybe I was beaten by aliens and had my memory erased. You'd think they would have probed me, too, but I guess I got lucky.

I hate the McDonalds commercials with a fiery passion.

Tag THIS!

So Amy "tagged" me. That skank. Apparently this requires me to list five facts/habits about myself and "tag" the following five individuals to do the same (sorry to the following individuals):

1. Toph
2. Brian
3. Lynn
4. Hannah
5. Harley Eiben
   

My weird facts/habits*:

1. I have a chicken pox (chicken pock?) scar to the right and a little up from my belly button.
2. I pick at ingrown hairs.
3. My freezer currently contains two different types of frozen waffles and two different types of frozen chicken pot pie.
4. Since high school I've carried in my wallet an UNO Wild card I randomly found on the sidewalk. I used to also carry a Jack of Hearts but I lost it at some point in the last year.
5. I am still a virgin.

Rough day at the office. I left the students with parents and Elizabeth for 12 minutes after lunch recess (I had to dismiss the JK while the teachers were being appreciated) and the kids apparently went nuts. Elizabeth had never been in charge during the day and the parents didn't know what they were supposed to be doing. Probably my fault for not giving more specific instructions before heading upstairs. They got yelled at by the custodians for moving the tables and then by the temple for being too loud and crazy, so a parent came and found me and I went down to the room they were having recess in and within two minutes the kids were silently sitting on the floor. I should feel special for being needed and having the respect and, but mostly I just felt frustrated that I was the only person capable of doing every single simultaneously necessary task. And just when I wanted to strangle something, they gave us presents. They so didn't need to give us presents. 95% of the time the school is just a big warm squishy happy place where I am grateful to be. The afternoon went smoothly, as did my three hours at Nettlehorst. Ran errands and came home and had to walk the dog 4 times in 5 hours because he gets frozen before he can finish his business. Mediocre TV and Pirate's Booty and now I'm headed to bed.

*I originally put down habits, but I was being very mean to myself and wasn't sure I really wanted to share such things, so they got changed to facts and I ended up sharing more.

memory corndogs

I'm having weird loneliness issues, probably stemming from a combination of purposefully reliving my middle-school-aged years (for a potential musical...that better not jinx it), hanging out with Zach last night (funny how good times can make you sadder afterward), lack of sunlight, and general personal dumb-ass musings about loves lost and never had. According to one excellent West Wing episode from several seasons ago, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is when you can't think about the trauma without reliving it. If that is the case, I think I have PTSD but the trauma was just the entire growing-up experience. It's the problem with having a good memory: I can remember and refeel pretty much everything from the past 6ish years and a whole lot from the past 10 and even a good number from the past 17 and a few things back to before I was 2. I know that's supposed to be biologically impossible, but I have a distinct memory (brought on by the smell of Zwieback biscuits) that my mother confirms makes sense with my experience in my first apartment that we moved out of when I was less than a year and a half.

I have yet to find a chemical that gives me a break from getting stuck inside my head. TV comes close, but I still can't help thinking. I need something simultaneously non-stressful and all-consuming. Any suggestions? Please?

To bed. Long day tomorrow with helping out at school during the teacher-appreciation lunch and afternoon with the first grade, then to Nettlehorst for another 3+ hours.

Shut up, brain. I need to fucking sleep.

You (plural) know who (plural) I (singular) am talking about

Cerebral people and emotions. Difficult mix. Seems like we should be able to out-think and logic our way through our feelings. And then we can't. So we look for the logic in why we can't and we expect answers and they are not there. It's all just a big giant sucky that's probably really good for us so we don't move into our heads too permanently but goddamnit we are not used to this whole logic-defying piece of shit.

Yes, it is always about me. God that's annoying.

Also yes, I have been drinking. Not that much, but apparently enough.

Cutest thing EVER

My student's blog. He's 7. Just. so. cute.

Also, Zach is on his way over and we are going for weeknight drinks. He just got back yesterday. My dreams are obviously psychic. Obvi.

food, computers, dreams, writing, and food (in that order)

Red meat is a wonderful thing. So is having groceries in the house.

One of my students apparently has a blog. Now I want to find it, but I was unsuccessful in stalking him, so I'll have to ask tomorrow. He's 7. When I was 7, we had to wait for the server (which was a large box on a table in the corner) to go around and load each Apple IIe in the lab (two people to a computer) so we could play green monochrome Reader Rabbit with pixels the size of Legos. My little brother's generation doesn't remember life without computers.

I had one of my psycho dreams last night. Diana and Zach were both prominently featured, so if you guys are reading this, my subconscious says "hi." There were opera auditions on a boat and I wasn't even auditioning but I ended up getting a non-singing part because the director liked me and I was somehow also helping re-write it and there were pirates both in the opera and around the boat and I kept losing my clothing in the waves and climbing these things on the interior and exterior of the boat that were kind of like fire escapes. Lots more weird crap, but perhaps that is enough for those of you who aren't me.

I'm trying to follow through with all of my half-finished projects, particularly my article. I bought Esquire and Vanity Fair so I can get the tone to write them pitches. Get this motherfucker sold already so I can actually write the final thing and be an accomplished human being. Much of this has been inspired by my starting to write a musical (sans-music...that's Brian's job) and needing to believe it won't be just another permanently in-progress project, though having a second person holding me accountable should help tremendously.

Hannah's away message on AIM today reminded me of the time on North Pleasant when we microwaved Peeps and they caught on fire and ended up in a fascinatingly gross little pool on the plate that then sat there for months before we threw it out. Good times, good times.

Why are there no chocolate covered pretzels in my apartment?

hug

Big hug to Amy. May the rainclouds be lifted from the Eiben household.

Miss Goodbar

I officially have a "going to a bar and chilling" friend in Chicago! This is very exciting for me.

Would I be a bad person if I took my laptop to Borders and used their magazine section for research to write more pitches for my article? I might buy something, just not likely a magazine. I'd go to the library, but it closes at 5 PM, while Borders does not.

Later I will add my big frustrating story about a Bad Parent run-in yesterday.

burden

It is a difficult life, being vastly superior in every way (except sports) to most of humanity.

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

I just spent half an hour making visually witty signs involving arrows. Tomorrow, 24 children will pass through the care of Kids Klub between noon and 6 PM. I made a schedule/chart of what we are doing and when everybody is coming and going. My migraine was better today, but not without the use of caffeine, so my fridge is stocked with Frappuccinos. I think the caffeine is why I'm still awake and calculating how much more we're raking in for the JCC tomorrow vcre3222222222222222222220999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999999999999999
99999999999999999999999999

That was from Freud. My laptop is on my bed and he decided the best way to get my attention was to stand on it.

Dear lord I need to go to bed NOW.

more migraines

Migraine's back. I missed work for the first time since having this job. I've been extremely bored and restless all day, but it was clear I couldn't do anything as any light at all felt like it was burning holes in my eyeballs and I almost killed my radiator for being "too loud." I slept a lot and I'm feeling a bit better again, though I'm still not great and I have so much HeadOn on my forehead my skin is starting to burn. I'm also ready to punch Freud in the face. He clearly senses something is wrong so he wants to be all clingy and cuddly. I am cranky and have been indoors too much and want him to entertain himself for five fucking minutes. I've been looking into health insurance for myself for when my COBRA thing runs out in six months, and some form I filled out online went to every insurer on the planet and they have all been calling me the last few days. It's more than I can deal with right now, so I just turned my phone ringer off. At least there's good TV on at 9, with Boston Legal and Law & Order: SVU on oppposing channels.

Animals

Boston Market's fucking "Turkey gobble gobble" song is in my head.
Just. So. Annoying.

Today's high was 18 degrees. I bundled Freud up in his Charlie Brown sweater and spacedog coat and he still lasted about 2 minutes outside before his feet froze. Kind of defeats the purpose of going for a walk if I have to carry him in. Silly pungent creature.

Migraines 90% gone. Huzzah.

If I ever run a freak show (yes, I know, I am the freak show, oh you are just so clever), I will call it the Bizarre Bazaar.

in no particular order

Today I:

1. had a migraine
2. beat the web version of Zuma
3. came up with potential gifts for my immediate family
4. did more research on health insurance for myself and became thoroughly convinced that whichever option I choose will be "wrong" and waste money
5. talked to Joel on the phone for the first time in ages
6. was disappointed by West Wing
7. refused to shower despite the fact that I can now smell myself
8. talked to my sister and cousin on the phone before they went off to a bar together in Munich
9. ate two waffles, an apple, and half a pizza
10. took Freud out even more than usual despite my aforementioned migraine

Title

Brain's still shitty but getting better.

It snowed a bunch today between when I walked Freud and went to the ATM around 5:30 and when Freud next emptied himself around 11. It's quite beautiful.

I ate an entire large free challah over the course of about 26 hours.

I don't make enough money.

Soul Train Christmas Starfest was a wonderful program until they let Michael Macdonald on. I fucking hate that guy.

My dream last night involved this huge bizare mind-bender teamwork quest game thing that was quite interesting. Now I'm currious about the other parts of the solution to the level I was in.

Freud keeps trying to push me off my pillow while I'm asleep, but it wakes me up and pisses me off. Stupid dog.

Flip-a-dee-doo-dah

I'm high on caffeine and low on energy and my migraine's on its way back up to problematic but more caffeine is just a horrible idea. My brain has been thinking about reincarnation. More specifically, why people who think they've been reincarnated always claim to have been extremely famous people in past lives. They were Mozart or Shakespeare or George Washington. No one wants to have been an unknown accountant or janitor or housewife. No one even goes for the lesser known and/or loved celebrities. Verdi or O'Henry or McKinley. Where are their reborn embodiments? Also interesting to note, the Dali Lama had several siblings. How much would it suck to have your younger brother be the reincarnation of the Dali Lama while your past lives mostly involved collecting taxes or raising chickens? Would it be better or worse to have actually been a chicken? And was Bach so terrible in his life to be reborn as an out of work musician in Brooklyn, or Martin Luther King Jr. a self-righteous college kid who happens to share his birthday? I hope not. I was probably a secretary or switchboard operator in my grandparents' old house just outside Philadelphia who never married or had kids of her own though her nieces and nephews called her "Aunt Pee" because she insisted on using some overpriced coldcream product that contained deer urine. I read a lot and smoked more and had a long and mostly unpleasant affair with the principal at a local high school.

Wow. No more caffeine for Jilly. She's flipped her noodle again.

Fother mucker

3:15 AM and I wake up. Why? Because my migraine drugs wore off and my body needed to redose. This is not good. I have to drop off Elizabeth and my time sheets at the JCC before going in to at 7:30. I'm then doing the every-other-Friday thing with JK and recess and lunch duty and whoever needs me in the afternoon until 2:30. Then I get to run over to Nettlehorst for another 3 hours of relative chaos. I've done it several times before and survived, but never whilst in the throes of a full migraine battle. We'll see how I feel when I get up for real (ah, poetry) and if necessary I'll guzzle coffee to get through today and spend the weekend recovering. Blah.
Have 15 minutes passed since I took the first half of my nose squirt dose? I forgot to check the clock. I'll go pick at the tiny little hair that grows out of my cheek mole and then squirt again and go back to bed.
Don't you love these TMI entries?

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