Hide yo’ kids, hide yo’ wives…

And hide yo’ husbands, cuz I’m writing all my blogs about them (no, jk; but I was trying to fit in a way that you could still sing it.  This blog is still all about me).

Ohhhhh my.  Hello friends.  It’s been awhile.  I see you’ve been growing out your beard.  It doesn’t suit you; get rid of it.  Also, some of you might have forgotten that I exist, as I tend to go in and out of people’s existence  (obviously I don’t mean in single instances; I’m not a ghost.  Clearly this is in reference to the multiple times I enter and leave countries).

Now that that’s done with, let’s talk Bristol!

Here’s an unrelated shot of my street for all those who are bored with words.

As some of you know, I’ve been places.  A lot of places.  This year.  Last year.  Possibly the year before, but my memory has started to fade, and checking my passport would require me to move my arm two inches to open my drawer, and I am actually that lazy.  The point is, I have been a lot of places, and yet Bristol was by far the hardest one to get to in all of my experiences.

Let me give you a little insight into my timeline from the past few months.

Aug. 9: (In Vietnam, prior to returning to Japan) Find out student accommodation filled up, and thanks to an acknowledged system glitch on the university’s end, I must begin searching in panic for private housing.

Aug. 20: Return to America!

Aug. 21: Find out the visa application is a bit more complicated then I expected, and $500 more expensive than I expected (okay, maybe $300 more than I reasonably expected).

Aug. 23: Told by the school that I need the loan letter from the university to prove that I have enough funds to attend school, and once I finish the credit checks, it will take 4-5 days to arrive.  When it does, I can send in my visa application. No problem, I do the checks, and e-mail the representative back to let her know I’ve finished, and to e-mail in the case that there was something else that needed to be done.

Aug. 29:  There was something else that needed to be done.  After a (loud) audible groan, I finish these as well and prepare to wait another 4-5 days to send off my visa application.

Sept. THIRTEEN:  Get letter.  Immediately send application off.  Since it is Friday, and the consulate is closed on the weekends, I arrange for the app to get there Monday morning.  Pay $150 to get a response within 48 hours.  Double check that nothing is forgotten, as everything has to be done just so for me to leave by the following Saturday.  Also, would hate to pay $650 to be rejected.

Sept. 16: Get e-mail saying application has arrived and is being processed, but is missing a prepaid, printed return slip (I had included a prepaid written one for next day delivery), and while they will continue processing, they will not be able to conclude until after they receive an electronic return slip.  Immediately send email with slip.

Sept. 17:  Approved!  Hurrah!  My heart leaps for joy as I read, “If you included a return shipping waybill when you sent your application to us, your package will normally be shipped within 24 hours.”  Then it sinks as I read, “If you provided a return shipping waybill after sending in your application, your package may take up to 72 hours to ship from receipt of this e-mail.”  Which would mean that my visa could arrive anytime at the latest…on Saturday.  Day I want to leave.

Sept. 19:  Receive email that visa has been shipped.  With tears of relief, I book a plane ticket for Saturday.

Sept. 19: Confirmation email that I have booked flight through Faregeek.  See this in email: “Although your reservation is confirmed, it will need to be verified before ticketed and sent out, at which point they may request a credit card authorization form. In an unlikely event, if your tickets cannot be processed for any reason you will be notified via email or by telephone and your payment will NOT be processed.”  Errr…what?  Check credit statement.  No sudden $1,300 charge.  Read horrible reviews about Faregeek.  Freak out.  Use confirmation number on email to check airline website for confirmation; can’t confirm.  Call airline; no record of my booking.  Email website, they promise to send an e-ticket soon.

Sept. 20: Still no e-ticket, but credit payment has been made.  Call airline again; told the numbers on confirmation are never used by airline.  Try calling company; direct to voicemail.  E-mail company again.  They swear everything is fine.  I beg for them to confirm somehow.  Try to call airlines, but can’t get through.

Sept. 21: No e-ticket, but e-mail from Faregeek tells me to use a different number to check with airlines.  I do, and they confirm I am scheduled for flight that day.  Sigh in relief.  Take a bunch of Xanax, get on plane.  Relatively less stressed after that.

Sept. 22: Arrive in UK; find out airlines lost both of my checked bags.  Arrive at hostel.  Live in capsule-style bed until Thursday.

Sept. 26: Finally get university housing (after going in to the accommodation office everyday since arriving).  Move in.

Sept. 27: Get sick.  Haha.

Oh yeah; did I mention that all the women’s toilets broke one day at the hostel?

Looking back on all that, I feel some phantom stress.  And this is the condensed version (though my regular readers, i.e. real friends, are probably thinking, “There is no such thing as a condensed version when it comes to you, J-dawg,” which I concede.  Also, don’t call me J-dawg in your thoughts; that’s weird).  I feel like I need nap after writing that.  So I might just leave you with this nice story of the time I was still staying in the hostel, and thus spending a lot of time on buses.

My bed.

What my hostel space looked like. Cute, but cramped.

There was this woman next to me at the bus stop who asked me if I smoked; I replied in the negative as I sat down.  I happened to be quite hungry, so I pulled out the rest of my onion and cheese sandwich, or as I like to call it, the “I’m confident I’m going home alone” sandwich.  The woman said, “Oh, a sandwich; that’s what I’d really fancy now.  Got any more of that?”  I looked down on my snack; I’d already torn the crust off (because I like to get the less than savory bits over with first), and since it was the least nutritious white bread stuff, my fingerprints were already leaving deep imprints in the bread, so I felt a bit weird offering it.

A middle aged couple came up to check the bus times; the woman asked the same “do you smoke” question, to which the woman-half of the couple replied, “no, sorry; I don’t have any vices,” to which I replied in my head, “Now that’s just an outright lie.”  I also thought it was pretty faux noble of the lady to act like she was all high and mighty and non-smoky.  Just say, “Sorry love,” like all the rest of the British do; pretending they have love for strangers when clearly; they all hate public (or private) displays of affection.  Actually, now that I think of it, I haven’t seen a single bit of public affection besides a hug, which is quite wonderful, really.  The last thing you want is to see strangers making out and picturing all their horrifying British teeth hiding behind their lips.

Anyway, the faux-no (as I called her in my head) wandered to the side, and I continued to eat my sandwich next to the smoke hungry lady.  Then, without any preamble, she ripped an incredibly juicy, unashamed fart right on the bench next to me.  I’m not usually squeamish about this type of thing, but this one I felt infiltrated my very sandwich.  Now every time I think of my Bristol hostel days, I can’t help but thinking of that lady and my polluted sandwich.  I won’t ever be able to eat a cheese and onion sandwich again (actually, I really probably shouldn’t anyway).

Also, for those of you who are like, “Shouldn’t your blogs be a little better edited/written (or just mature) now that you’re in grad school, I will reply…with a smile on my lips and a wink in my eye.

Which is face language for, “No way, Jorge.”

And now, a picture!