London Town.

Alright... so now that I have time to chit-chat about my stay in Europe, I'll do just that.
What better way to talk about things than with visual aids, correct?
I'll have Henry David Thoreau to show you around.

Today's episode will consist of my England stay, since it was the first place I hit when TravelinDin's Spring Break began.
Ready?
(Fuck, I just realized this one will be the shortest entry, since I only hung out in England for 3 days... well... more like 2... with only one of those days actually being fun)
Ok, so here we have arrived at Stansted Airport... a little too late to be driven in to London (well, at least too late for a reasonable rate), so we decided to sleep at the airport until 7 in the morning. We slept on the floor, below the departure flights sign, right next to the girl's bathroom.
All other locations at the airport had been claimed by other cheapskate students who were on break just like TravelinDin and Clemson (I don't include myself because I'm on break indefinitely), and reach the area quicker than our clumsy selves. We used our bags as pillows... and I must say... it was the most annoying/uncomfortable 8 hours of my life... in which I only slept for 2.
LAME.

Well, at 7, we take the... Easy Bus? I can't remember the name, but it was the cheapest transport into London (aside from having a relative drive you there), and it was raining... surprise, surprise.
The bus driver lady informs us that Victoria Station was closed due to "some demonstration," and Clemson asked "What kind of demonstration?"
Bus Driver: I think... it's a... St. Patrick's Day demonstration...
Clemson: Oh my God... what do they have against St. Patrick's Day over here? What's so wrong with St. Patrick's day?
I guess "Demonstration" is a Brit term for "parade." Way to confuse us, Brits.
Anyway, we were dropped off at some bus stop that was a couple of blocks away from Victoria Station--where we were originally going to be dropped off-- so we had to call my Bro to pick us up.
The weather looked like this:A little worse, though, because it was raining a lot, it was fucking freezing, we were wet, and there was wind. We stood around waiting for Bro to come pick us up for about half an hour.
We were not diggin' London at this point.

Once we were picked up, we purchased an all day ticket for "The Underground" (how cute... Underground... what ever happened to the word "metro?") for... I think it was 5 pounds... aka 10 bucks.
We headed to my brother's flat, and by now, my pants would fall down due to both being too large and the bottom of my pants being so incredibly soaked.
We met the roommates (who were all hungover and had barely gone to sleep after participating in some huge Pub Crawl the entire night), I changed clothes, hung my very soaked pants (poorly) on their heating system thingie, then had breakfast.
Everyone we bumped into at the building were nice, mature people. Huge contrast between the people in my sister's program... probably has a lot to do with the fact that the only people in the entire building are Notre Dame students... so there's no reason for them to be posers... no point in trying to impress others.
Anyway, after getting fed and whatnot, we headed out to meet London.First was Tate's Modern Museum.
We walked over that bridge you see to the left... I think it was called "The Millenium Bridge."
In the photo, we were leaving the museum, my brother's in the brown sweater behind HDT, and we turned right, toward a bunch of bridges.





This is London Bridge... you can't really tell, but HDT's rather disappointed.
No wonder they made that song about the bridge.En suite, we noticed Tower bridge ahead... so much better (Can you see how wet the floor is? The rain was incessant!).
We crossed Tower Bridge and hung out at the Tower of London. No pictures of that because, really, who wants to see something so depressing?
From there, we went to some store, where I purchased some Manchester United keychain that I was very excited about... only to fucking lose it on my way back to Vegas. I'm such an idiot.

Anyway, after that, we somehow got to Parliament Square, and I took my favorite shot of HDT:Big Ben is awesome... astounding... just... I stood there in awe of that ginormous clock. I couldn't stop thinking about Peter Pan, either.
We took tons of pictures there, but I'm only posting this one, since all others have my face in them... including the ONE picture I took of Westminster Abbey.

From there, we walked on over to St. James Park, where I took tons of pictures because you could see the London Eye in the background, there were cute squirrels everywhere... well, it was just awesome. The rain had stopped... so I wasn't even cold.
Anyway, in the distance, I saw this little cottage thing... so I decided that it will forever be known as HDT's home: (white building to the right)We then walked a little further to see, of freaking course, Buckingham Palace.
(Clemson's the girl in the hat)That wasn't even a good shot. I'm actually standing on the cool monument that is in front of the Palace... the very pretty roundabout.
The Queen was in, because the flag was flying high... and as we walked and checked out the gates, some giant hummer limo strolled by, with some rapper, filming a music video.
We pretty much stood there, dumb-founded, at how the hell they ever thought of filming a video there.
As we stood, glaring at the limo, TravelinDin noticed some little kid inside the palace looking out the window closest to us.
"There's fucking little kid in there!!" she said.

I just love how she manages to add that great descriptor in there... when referring to a child.
Anyway, we walked some more... and reached this very pretty church:The exact name I can't remember... but it's a Catholic one.
They were celebrating mass, so Brother and I listened a bit... but not too long, since TravelinDin and Clemson were standing outside drinking their expensive ass Starbucks.
We then decided we were hungry as hell... so Bro took us to a Chinese buffet.
8 pounds... for... tame Chinese food.
Blah.

We ate until the sight of food started making us queasy, and we headed for Trafalgar Square.
Before we reached the square, Brother took us to his school... which was lovely... the old French Embassy that Notre Dame purchased.
We got a very funny inside joke thanks to that... right, TravelinDin? haha.
I met some of Bro's classmates/friends, looked through their books... stared at their aquarium... just... stood in awe for a bit... then headed back out (my brother's such a lucky punk).

Upon reaching Trafalgar Sqaure, we realized we had forgotten something:
London was celebrating St. Patrick's Day...
They had closed Trafalgar Square to hold a "demonstration," i.e. a concert celebrating St. Patrick's Day.
They somehow knew we weren't Irish (call me crazy, but I think it was thanks to my bro's brown sweater that read "Hecho en Mexico"... and the fact that both Bro and I are pretty damn brown in comparison to white people), so they were like "keep walkin'" and pushed us away, as they let some drunken white kids walk in there without a problem.
Alright. Whatever. Fuck you.

Sooooooooo. It was some sort of concert only white people were allowed to attend... white people rocking green.

We then walked a bit more... it got dark... we saw Big Ben lit up, The Eye was also lit, as were other monuments.
We checked out some sort of stable before we called it a day and headed back to the flat.

At the flat, I watched Flight of the Concords... laughed... then fell asleep as if someone had hit me upside the head with a bat.
I only woke up once a group of Brother's friends were in the room, laughing, and making plans to go out.

Bro's Friend: So, what pubs are we hittin'?
Us (Clemson, TravelinDin, and Me): None.
Bro's Friend: Why?
Us: We're leaving...
Bro's Friend: Like... tonight?
TravelinDin: Like, right now.
Bro's Friend: Ah, well... that sucks... I thought you guys were doing the crawl with us tonight.

Yeah, life sucks like that... he was pretty decent looking, too.

So, at 10:15PM we head out to the bus stop... only to see on our ticket that our bus was supposed to arrive at 10:20 PM.
The bus never showed.
We had to buy a 16 pound train ride to the Stansted airport... and we were all pretty pissed.
We hugged Brother goodbye... got a little teary eyed... then left to the airport, where we slept until... 9 AM?
Our plane took off to Rome at 10 AM, and that's how we said goodbye to good ol' England.
(of course, at the airport a ton of stupid shit occured... like, the people working at the cafe began recognizing us, we reassorted our luggage contents, the cunt at the entrance of the security checkpoint worried me by telling me I could only have ONE piece... I had to somehow shove my purse into my carry-on... when everyone else was fucking walking around with a purse AND a carry-on... this in turn made me get in a nasty fit with Clemson... who was being a moron... but I bit my tongue because I think there's something wrong with going off on a girl 4 years my junior, etc, etc)

I'll end it all by saying:
I loved London... even if it's expensive as fuck... even if my problems with Clemson began to escalate from there... even if I only really saw it for a day... even if it was cold and rainy as fuck... even if the stupid cops were racist douche bags... even if the streets were taken over by drunken people of Irish ancestry.

I was in London to celebrate St. Patrick's Day... in the company of kids from a school that have "the fighting Irish" as a mascot.
Fuck. Yes.

Learning

(Yesterday after church, waiting outside for Mom to come out, my mom's sister hugs me after seeing me for the first time in a month)

Aunt: AnoMALIE! You lost weight!
Me: Really? (internally) It's only been a month... how the hell did that happen?
Aunt: Yeah... your face is like... your cheeks are caved in... your head's longer.
Me: Oh... well... thanks.

Sweet way to put it, I say. I now know where I get my (lack of) eloquence. Ha!

Anyway, at US customs at LAX, the immigration officer in charge of letting me back in the country asked me one question before stamping my stuff:
Officer: Italy... Spain... England... France... interesting places you visited. What did you learn?
Me: (internally) Fuck... think fast... tell the truth... don't... I was supposed to learn something? (spoken) That the French are RUDE.

The officer stoically goes about looking through my passport and reading my declaration of things I'm importing.

Shit... is he of French ancestry? Fuck! I must have pissed him off... way to go, AnoMALIE... way to put your fucking foot in your mouth... Now you're going to get checked and you only have an hour to get to your gate!

Officer: How about Italy?
(I read his badge. Officer Stewart. Great, what kind of fucking name is that? What are you, white man?!)
Me: Nicest people I've ever met.
Officer: Spain?
Me: ... well... they're my ancestors...
Officer Stewart: So they're good people by default.
Me: Isn't that the way it works?
Officer Stewart: And England?
Me: Loved it... absolutely amazing. My favorite place.
Officer Stewart: Thank you Ms. Dos Santos, welcome back.

As I waited for my flight time to come, and as I flew (and wasn't too busy cursing the day those fucking bachelor party guys' parents met), I kept wondering:
What did I learn?

Here's what I've come up with so far:
- I like the idea of a metro system (although, we all know if that existed here, people would fuck it up ASAP)
- I am a total nature freak... ok, that sounds harsh... more like, I enjoy nature way more than the average bear.
- Green fields relax me.
- I'm totally blessed... and not to sound conceited or anything, but God really, really likes me... like... he takes care of me more than I give him credit for (so many stories I have regarding the many ways I could have died, but didn't... because of something more than sheer "luck").
- European old people, especially Spanish old people, are freaking adorable and super nice! I love them!
- I'm popular with old men... and no, I'm not talking men 10-15 years older than me, I'm talking 35+ years... like... old people. They think I'm so freaking fantastic and amusing... they make me feel like a star. I was born in the wrong generation, damn it.
- Europeans cuss a lot. I love it.
- Given the choice between eating or cleanliness, I will ALWAYS choose cleanliness (ex. pay 8 Euros to eat somewhere, or 15 Euros for detergent, I will ALWAYS choose detergent. I'll just... eat... leaves or something for the next couple of days...)
- I never fully appreciated America's beauty. While I don't really care for architecture in America, nature here is awesome... and I miss it when I'm away (I'm talking ALL of America, not just the US).
- I never knew I liked sandstone so much...
- I take water for granted.
- American tourists are the fucking stupidest tourists ever. So fucking ethnocentric and retarded... they made me ashamed to be American most of the time. By "American" I mean "United States."
- US people are really disliked in Europe... like... really disliked. I've never been so glad to be "Mexican-American." Most of the time, I just said I was "Mexican."
- I really HATE drunks. I despise them... and the nastiest part of me comes out whenever I'm criticized for not drinking... I get MEAN.
- I don't drink (here I though I'd drink it up while away from the folks... but no... I just don't participate in that activity. What a relief).
- I get really offended by people who aren't willing to help. I get driven to tears. I'm such a pussy.
- I'm too emotional.
- It doesn't take much to make me happy.
- I can see the beauty in almost anything.
- A ton of my... well... customs... come from Spain... and it makes me very happy when I realize each one... even the bad ones.
- I love my siblings... love them a lot.

The list may go on... cause dude, did I learn things!

Dirty Girl

Back.

That ride sucked.

Two of my 4 flights were delayed.
(Warning: Long post!)

My flights in Spain were all on time, however in Heathrow, it was a different story.
Let me start off with my flight in Barcelona.
Upon arriving in Barcelona from Bilbao, I only had 1 hour and 15 minutes before my connecting flight to LHR took off.
So I land with only a five minute delay. Lucky for me, I had been to BCN earlier this week after the Barcelona game. I knew where to go... but when I arrived... I was a little confused.
I had to exit the airport, come back in, check in at the British Airways counter... and when I walked to the counter, I saw a huge nightmare: a gaggle of Brit kids (about 30 of them between 12-14 years old) making line to check their luggage.
I started getting unnerved... even after reaching the counter, because the lady was so damn slow. She gave me my seats for both the BCN-LHR flight and the LHR-LAX flight.
Afterwards, I had to run through security checkpoint, where I stood behind 3 of the most senile 20-something year olds; slow as a motherfucker... and also this one lady that wouldn't remove her fucking jewelry. I wanted to slap that damn woman on the fourth time she walked by the metal detector and alarmed.
TAKE OFF YOUR FUCKING JEWELRY, RETARD!!

I was on my A game, I was wearing no metal... not even in my bra (I learned that fucking lesson.Wear a sports bra, genius!), and I just passed on by.
I ran to my gate, and reached it right as they began to board.
However, before getting into the actual plane, I had to pass by customs. I was asked about my trips, the officer was a little skeptical about my actual date of entry (people stamped my passport all jacked up when I traveled for spring break), but finally stamped my passport and let me on the plane.
I was middle seat. Booooo.

There was turbulence getting in to LHR, but I survived.
I made perfect timing for my LHR-LAX flight, boarded, took my seat, watched an episode of "Flight of the Concords" (I LOVE that show now. I watched it at my brother's flat back in London, and couldn't stop laughing), but noticed the plane wasn't going anywhere after the episode was over.

OK... what the fuck?

Turns out some pilot guy was lost... there was a huge storm going on somewhere near Greenland or something... and, well, point is, we sat in the plane for 2 whole hours. I watched all of "Brick Lane" while waiting for take-off, for crying out loud.
Once in air, I was pretty chill... if it weren't for the lady sitting in the window seat of my row. She took ownership of the seat next to me, and went as far as put her feet ON me as she slept (and she also took my complimentary pillow!!).
People would confuse her for my mom... which dumbfounded me, since she was Indian (from India), wearing a sari... and I think I look pretty damn Mexican, damn it! How do I look Indian? Is it my eyebrows again? Sorry, man, I couldn't find a threading place while in Spain... wait... people who thread eyebrows are Indian... my bad... ok, now I get it.

Anyway, I arrived at LAX an hour and a half later than expected, and by the time I passed customs, it was 8:45 PM... my plane to Vegas took off at 9:45PM.
So I get on this stupid ass shuttle, once in there, I realize it's taking people to lot C, not the terminals.
So I plead to get off at terminal 7, the terminal the was after the terminal I had originally exited from.
I stood around waiting for the damn airport terminal shuttle until 9 PM, once it didn't come, I just said "Fuck it," grabbed my two 44-pound suitcases and hauled ass... to terminal 1.... at LAX... with some very fucking stupid people who'd just stand there in my way.
I ran... a lot... and I mean a lot, by the time I reached terminal 1, I was covered in sweat, regardless of the 60-degree weather. My blue track jacket was looking black, with my all-encompassing sweat stain on the back.
My hair was greasy as shit, my eyes were blood shot from the lack of sleep (I once again watched movies until my eyes hurt. "The Savages" made me cry... I liked it even if I couldn't hear a good amount of the movie [maybe I'm biased to like Laura Linney. She's pretty rad]. "Walk Hard" just irritated me, sadly.), a white toothpaste stain on the right (boob) side of my blue shirt (why must I do that whenever I'm in a hurry?), and once again, I was pretty damn incoherent... oh, and I was panting, obviously... and my shoes squeaked a lot.
Once I reached the check-in counter, the stupid girl checking me in was taking her sweat ass time... talking with all her fucking stupid buddies... I was so fucking irritated.
They pretty much thought I was some crazy person (yeah, like that's some sort of fucking novelty in Los Angeles... stupid fucks) and I even got this bizarre stare from the guy at the security checkpoint (you know, the "What the fuck is wrong with you?!" look. What, you mean you don't get those?) because I hadn't shown him my boarding pass (suck it, old man. Fuck you, you'd be panting and greasy and fucked up if you had been running around, in-and-out of airports for 23 hours, give me a fucking break!).
I ran to my gate, saw they were boarding... showed the lady my ticket... she screamed at me
"This isn't your flight!"
which made me stand there in huge confusion.
Umm... it says Las Vegas... it's Southwest... it's 9:45 PM... it's gate 13... what the fuck? Don't tell me I missed my flight!
Turns out "my flight" had ben delayed until 10:30 PM.

So... I took a seat... scared the cholo sitting next to me (that's right, I scared him)... I don't know... maybe it was my newly-acquired European funk... and I whipped out my cell phone.
Ah yes... I'm in AMERICA! God bless you, American continent!
I sent text messages to my heart's content, and waited for the time to fly by.

In the plane, I sat next to some Rico Suave who was going to head straight to the club from LAS... and all around me, these stupid ass fucking retarded pricky white boys took up 6 seats... screaming, laughing, talking shit about everything, talking about how much money they have...
"Wooo hooo! VEGAS BABY!" "WE OWN THIS CITY!" "I've been there like, 3 fucking times, dude, I KNOW this city!" etc.
Turns out one of the guys (20 years old, mind you) is getting married in two weeks and the other guys decided to throw him his bachelor party in Vegas.
They were sort of friendly, I guess... maybe it was the beers in them.
??
But anyway, they talked... and talked... and shared so much fucking information (ex. "This guy, man, he's getting married in two weeks! To his sister [points to the ONE cute guy of the bunch] and you know what? He's probably the only fucking virgin on this flight! I can't believe I'm in the presence of a fucking virgin, man! A GUY virgin! This girl is REALLY going to be his first everything"... to which I thought "Holy shit, a GUY virgin!? OMG... I can't believe it either!"), I wanted to punch them in the back of the head after a while.

And, at 11:30 PM, I finally reached Las Vegas, saw my folks holding my luggage, hugged them and looked very uncool kissing them and whatnot, in front of the bachelor party, but whatever.
We got lost in the parking lot (my folks forgot where they had parked) where I became somewhat upset and muttered
"What the fuck?! How the fuck?! Shit man! What the fuck? You guys really ARE old!"

Then I felt bad because I think I hurt daddy's feelings (he walked away, and when he found the car, parked a floor below, he only called us to let us know, and stayed seated in the car).

Poor dad... I don't see him for 4 weeks... he's been through a lot with this whole hepatitis scare... and I call him "old" and drop the f-bomb like I'm getting paid for it right in his face.

I'm so bad... I'm giving the French people a run for their money.

Goodbye (hello?) Sunshine?

I was groped... and I mean GROPED on Tuesday when heading back to Bilbao from Barcelona.
I always forget my bra will alarm at checkpoint...
I hadn't gotten searched before at the airports... but this time the woman looked all pissed... motioned for me to spread my arms and legs... and bam... she got to work.
When she touched my chest, I was like "Whatever, man, like that's never happened..." (in Barcelona, the men were so fucking touchy-feely.... and they stared down my chest as if it were some sort of public property... like a park or something... shamelessly... weirdos), then she straight up groped my crotch... which made me "whoa, there!" out loud.
C'mon, lady, I wasn't being introduced to a jail or anything... why go that far?

ANyway, I leave tomorrow morning... back on to Vegas... from what I hear, it's pretty nice.
Mom wrote me (she uses the internet now!! how fucking cute!) to tell me about the weather... and how he front yard is covered in roses... how delicious it smells... and our backyard smells delicious as well, with our orange and lemon trees (citrus trees are fucking awesome).
So... I'm pretty glad to be heading back to my city... to America in general...

I'm not happy to be leaving my sister, though.
Poor girl... she's going to have it rough.
The kids she has to live with are fucking assholes...
Fucking 21 and 22 year olds that behave like goddamn 16 year olds...

They get shitfaced at least twice a week... and they think anyone who's not into drinking is a "loser."
I hope they keep thinking that way when they're on some street corner asking for change, holding a sign that says "Why lie? I need a beer."

Last night they threw a "dinner party" and invited everyone (from their school program) to the thing. Everyone but my sister.
I didn't really give a shit... but if that's what they're going to be doing to her after I'm gone, I'll make sure to give them a sweet asskicking today.
NO ONE mistreats my sister... and especially without reason.

I wish the poor kid didn't have to stay here alone...
I wish these punk ass stupid fucks would be upfront about their goddamn problems so they could actually resolve some shit...

Fuck... I hate drunks.

They stole my heart

So... it was my last full day in Barcelona today... and all I have to say is this:
I love it here...

I now know what my tattoo will look like... and I am excited to get it (I didn´t get it here because I don´t trust the needles...).

I´m sad to be leaving this place... but my heart will always belong to Barcelona.

P.S. Thing I don´t like? they treat Columbus like a God... and Native Americans like dogs... NOT cool.

Barça!!!!

BARCELONA IS BEAUTIFUL.

I love everything about it... even their confusing metro.
People and places are a little eccentric... but Jesus, do I love it here!

I never thought I would be someone to say this, but, ever been to a place and just felt like you belonged there? That is exactly how I felt upon arriving at the city... even if it was a drunken hippy who greeted little sister and me with an ¨Hola guapa!!¨ and then tried hugging sister like he knew her.

Gaudi... that man...
And yesterday I hung out at the Guggenheim (sp?) and checked out their art (US modern art and world wide surrealism) and found myself yearning for home. The US really is beautiful... I just grew jaded to it (why the fuck do I miss Utah and Arizona when I grew up in neither place?)
Anyway, tomorrow I watch Barcelona play at Camp Nou... living one of my sister´s biggest dreams.
Then I come home Tuesday morning ( Home being Bilbao) then to HOME home, Vegas, on Friday night.
Crazy 4 weeks I have lived so far...
I am so freaking stoked!

How I spend my day

Eric Clapton- seriously, it takes you seven fucking minutes to sing about a damn girl called Layla? Fuck.

I've been listening to some music I would never have imagined... Eric Clapton being one of them (not something I enjoyed).

I've also had conversations like this one:

TravelinDin: Dude, I think *CuteItalianRoommate* is using my scrubber…
Me: Okay… ??
TravelinDin: No, not okay! Whatever I use to clean my genitals is not okay for you to use to clean your genitals!
Me: Eww… good point…

Little Sister cracks me up sometimes.

My time here is dwindling down, and I seem to be a lot more upset about it than I had originally planned (maybe I didn't "plan" on being sad, but I expected to be a bit sad once time to say goodbye came around).
Last night I sat around with TravelinDin for hours, lamenting my pending departure.
The weather probably has a lot to do with it as well. It had been raining for 3 days… cloudy ever since Sunday.
Saturday was amazing… warm, and sunny. We took that shit for granted.

I wish I could come back to this place as often as possible, but we all know that will never happen… this was all just… a lovely little dream I’ll never get to relive again.
I'm almost home... yucky.