Edinburgh.

This past weekend it was decided that Edinburgh was the place to be, so that is where I went. Then it was decided that going to a Ceilidh (pronounced “Kay-Lee” like Amanda Bynes’ character in “Big Fat Liar”) was the thing to do, so that is what I did. I give in to peer pressure quite easily.

If you’ve never been to a Ceilidh before but you spent your younger days wearing unflattering vests that had various patches on them celebrating your ability to brush your Barbie’s hair, let me put it into words that you can understand: picture your 4th Grade Girl Scout Father-Daughter Square Dance on crack with a lot of accents and kilts. It can also be compared to that scene in “A Christmas Carol” where everyone is like: “Let’s dance this intricate dance that we all just happen to know and then enjoy a nice holiday ham without that pesky-penny-pinching Scrooge!” (Direct Quote). It’s basically the most exercise and sweat that has ever happened in the same room at one time. (Yes, I’m counting The Biggest Loser: Couples Edition). There is also a large population of smelly middle aged men, but I suppose you have to pick your battles. 

Needless to say, it is an endless amount of fun (except for when it ends about 2 hours later and you can’t really feel any of your limbs and you look like a wet rat). Even though I had absolutely no idea what I was doing half of the time, I still felt like a hero of mankind. I don’t really know how that makes any sense, but if you ever dance with over 30 different Scotsmen in one night, you will understand.

The Time I Went to Amsterdam.

Last weekend, I went to Amsterdam (just clarifying for you in case you’re one of those people who doesn’t read titles.. or directions at the beginning your MCAS reading comprehension questions). It was a successful trip, but I almost didn’t make it out alive. It’s not because of all of the wild and crazy soft drugs and the over-eager prostitutes that i nearly saw the face of death, it’s because of the bikers. And i’m not talking about Tim Allen in ‘Wild Hogs’ kind of bikers, I’m talking about a million Lance Armstrongs without helmets and without consciences coming to kill you in broad daylight. Let me paint you a picture: 

Not following? Let me use words: It is impossible to be a carefree pedestrian in Amsterdam. There is no where for you to walk. Everything is either a road or a bike lane or a tram track or a canal. So where does this leave those of us who don’t have a mode of transportation other than our Heelys? It leaves us fearing for our lives with every step that we take. Danger is lurking around every corner, and it is not willing to stop for an inexperienced tourist such as myself (although I do like to think that I blend in quite nicely with my dark hair and short stature).

They like to disguise these death machines with cute sounding bells that they ring when they are about to tragically take your life, but don’t be fooled. Heed my warning. Keep your eyes open. They’re coming for you.

Journey. (Not the Band)

This semester I am studying abroad in the Netherlands because I felt like it and I do what I want. But, let me be sure to note, this is not just any study abroad program, this is special. This is maggie living in a castle for three months kind of special. So, I’m basically a Disney princess. And I’m not talking about a Pochahontas kind of princess where the line is kind of blurry and she’s included but was never really a princess, per se. I’m talking about the real deal; Cinderella status. Try not to be jealous, even though that’s impossible. But I digress. 

In order to get to this castle and far off land, I had to take a plane 500344322 miles (that’s a made up number but I figured if i made it obscure enough you would be fooled). For those of you who have never been on a 7 hour plane ride, let me enlighten you: it’s the most miserable experience of your entire life. You are breathing air that has been recycled so many times it would make Al Gore stand on his head. Then you are watching a movie that you can’t even hear, but when you can, you can’t laugh because then everyone will hate you/ look at you (and I guarantee that you look like a hot mess so no one wants that). You are eating food that homeless people would refuse. And, if you are extremely unlucky, you are sitting on top of a strange old man who won’t stop talking about Vietnam and his long lost left knee.

AND THENNNN you finally get to your destination and it’s 8 in the morning but your head thinks it’s 2 AM. This is perhaps the greatest struggle of all. By the time night finally comes around, you don’t even know if you’re a human being anymore or just some kind of robot creation that one of those guys on the Big Bang Theory made in his free time when he wasn’t busy daydreaming about Kaley Cuoco. (that doesn’t make sense, but it would if you were without sleep for over 8 million hours) (*note: i’ve never actually watched the big bang theory, my life’s only regret). But I guess I can’t really complain… my life is pretty fabulous right now, much unlike that of Emma Roberts in her breakout TV role.

Arm and Hammer Toothpaste.

One day, I came home from college to give my scholarly-answer-seeking-brain a rest for the summer. Unthinking, as I was preparing myself for a well deserved evening of slumber in my own bed, I grabbed the toothpaste nearest to me on the sink to begin my elaborate nightly teeth cleaning.. a regimen that would make Hermie proud. Now, for as long as I can remember, my family has been loyal to the Crest brand, so you can imagine my surprise when I placed my toothbrush onto my back molars and had the displeasure of tasting an unfamiliar flavor. The flavor that would become known to me as Arm and Hammer Toothpaste.

You’re probably thinking to yourself: “how bad could it be? toothpaste is toothpaste!” But you have obviously never tried THIS toothpaste. How can we trust a brand that makes paint, cat litter, deodorant, and baking soda? The malicious plot put in place by my father, that was clearly aimed towards eliminating dental hygiene in the household, who had put the toothpaste in place had struck its victim. From the moment I realized my mistake on, everything went downhill. First, my mouth started to dry up leaving it to feel like the inside of a raisin. That’s right, not a raisin, but the inside of one. You don’t think you know what that feels like until it happens to you. Next, my mouth began to reject the toothpaste leaving me to look like a rabid dog. Then, I realized that each time I brushed my visible bones, it felt like I was rubbing them with sand, which is a very unpleasant feeling. Finally, I finished and the pain was over, but the scar never healed.

Naturally, after going through this traumatic experience, I went to find my sister. I told her of the many struggles that I encountered while trying to complete a routine task, but I felt that words were not enough to express my true feelings. So, for the good of her understanding, and the appreciation of art through reenactment, I set out to recreate the events that transpired only moments before. I showed her, step-by-step, exactly what had happened and I described the sorrow that I was going through along the way. She felt sorry for me, but mostly she just laughed. I guess no one will ever really understand what I went through that night, kind of had to be there.

Allergies.

Spring is a super-fantastic season. It’s when everything that was ugly decides not to be and becomes pretty. Well, mostly everything, sorry, Steve Buscemi . Spring does have a flaw, though. With all of the flowers and joy and jump rope… come allergies. Allergies are my number one biggest enemy of all time. I still hold a grudge with them for keeping me back from becoming a member of the Justice League. I was so close… but i digress. Allergies and I have a yearly boxing match in which they usually win.. and by usually I mean always.

First, they hit me POW! Right in the kisser with a nose bleed coming seemingly out of nowhere. (ok, so it’s not exactly the kisser..unless you’re an eskimo) This is a warning shot. It means: you had best begin to medicate yourself. So I do. However, the medicine is no match for the powers of nature. So, then my eyes begin to get itchy, it feels as though they are going to fall out of my head like one of the fates in Hercules,  making contact-wearing nearly impossible. This requires me to pull out the glasses and pretend to be intelligent in order to keep up with the glasses wearing stereotype made famous by Steve Urkel. THEN my nose begins to run faster than the Kenyans in the Boston Marathon (with the wind helping them out). This is one of the most difficult symptoms of death to deal with because I am often caught in a setting where tissues are nowhere to be found! This begins a rapid search mission for any disposable-napkin-like-object. Some missions are more successful than others, I’m sad to say.

Finally, my immortal enemy finishes up the job by eliminating my throat. Confused? Let me explain. This is not just any sore or scratchy throat. This is a completely closed airway. How I am currently alive is a mystery to me. Perhaps I am not alive, and just dead. That would explain the lack of pigment in my skin and why Haley Joel Osment keeps talking to me. Liquids cannot even pass through this wall of pain, i might as well not even have a neck.. like the guys on the restroom doors. At least sleep would be an option then. But for now, I lie awake, unable to rest until this battle has ended.

Wisdom Teeth.

Over spring break, I went to Florida and got really drunk, tan, and may or may not have met Lindsay Lohan at an upscale night club. Just kidding. I got my wisdom teeth out. Way more the coolest. A few weeks have passed since this fateful surgery, but I have finally mustered up the courage to tell my tragic tale: As the date of my doom was approaching, I was certain that the tooth demon would accidentally take my brain out instead of my wisdom teeth, leaving me dead on the table and unable to see the season finale of Pretty Little Liars. Since my priorities are in order, I had to stay alive. But how? What could I do the ensure my safety in this vulnerable state? My mind began to wander as they left me alone in what could possibly have been the last room I would ever see.

The blood pressure taker thing periodically tightened on my huge-super-strong bicep, attempting to win in a battle of brawn, but I came out on top each time. Finally, the undertaker entered the room, injected some magic potion into my veins, and before I could say “bippity-boppity-boo”, it was lights out. I was helpless. It was all up to them. I awoke half an hour later in a completely different room; how I got there was unknown to me, but it seemed that the surgery was a success as I was not completely dead. My mom kept laughing at words that I can seldom recall saying, meanwhile the nurse laughed and said “she won’t remember any of this”. Little did she know, the only thing I remember is her criticizing my ability to recall things. Good try, lady. Not so smart, are you?

When I got in the car, I texted my friends saying “I feel like James Franco at a Paul Simon Concert.” What does that mean? I don’t know. But, at the time, it seemed to sum up my state of mind. When I got home, it was time for medicine. Never have I ever felt so weird as I did on oxy. It felt like my head did not exist and my body was not anywhere near me. Imagine my struggle when it came to moving from the couch; a task that I find most difficult even when in the right state of mind. Needless to say, TODOS television shows were watched by me in the next couple of days. For those of you who aren’t as well trained as I in the Spanish language, Todos means All.. i think. But the story does not end there. For some reason, I thought it would be wise to go see my high school’s spring musical even though I was hardly in a state to exist at all.

From what I could tell, the show was wonderful and well done, but… I couldn’t really tell. They did Little Shop of Horrors, which has a giant man eating plant in it. I’m sure you can imagine the paranoia that set in to my drug induced mind when people started getting teared apart limb from limb. I knew I was next. I had to escape as soon as possible after the show ended for fear of being victim to the hungry greenery. I made it out alive, luckily. But who knows what would have happened if I had waited another second. So, basically, if you’re going to get your wisdom teeth out, stay away from realistic looking props that could potentially have you for dinner.

Lady Gaga Concert.

An unexpected series of fortunate events led to my attendance at the Lady Gaga concert that was held last week. To say that it was an interesting experience would be like saying Hot Rod is a good movie, a colossal understatement. I have never seen so many sequins, rhinestones, and fishnets in my life. The crowd was about 24% female, 27% male, and whateverisleftcausei’mnotgoodatmath% mystery. But that’s ok, cause now I get to draw them.

At first, i was horrified. I did not know what strange universe I had entered, but that was nothing in comparison to, my fellow concert-goer, Kate’s reaction. She goes to BC, so the fact that everyone was not sporting a Northface and Uggs threw her for the largest of loops. She had to take a second to make sure we had not met up with Doc Brown and taken a ride in his DeLorean. I don’t really know where we would have traveled to get to a place with people dressed like this, but I figure it’s good to throw in a Back to the Future reference whenever you can, Calvin. So anyway, we get inside the arena and there’s this small girl on stage dancing with a bottle of Jack Daniels in hand.

My first thought was: Danger, Will Robinson! but then it got to be a fun game. How close can she unknowingly come to the edge of the stage? When will death come? She came quite close, but managed to sneak by. Then, the opening band came on, and their clothes came off. This had me nervous. Where was I? What strange homosexual land had I traveled to? (not that there’s anything wrong with that..) But we made it through. Time went by, the young women in front of us got more and more intoxicated, and gaga had not shown up yet. Kate and I were starving, but unwilling to pay the large price that these industry giants charge you for a bag of chips, so we waited. Finally, the show started. And, oh my, was it a show.

There was more razzmatazz than a person with no bones in his arm could wiggle a stick at. (it’s weird, but picture it, that’s a lot of times) If it weren’t for the creep that was next to Kate who smelled like a perfect combo of sweat, scotch, and body odor, and the spoiled tweens that were screaming next to me while calling their friends on their iPhones (seriously?) it would have been comparable to the Backstreet Boys experience of 2010. But alas, can anyone really compete with the soothing tones of Nick Carter and friends?

Arms.

Arms are pretty nice. I generally enjoy them as body parts. They help you reach cereal that is on the top shelf at the grocery store. They help you do cartwheels (if you can do cartwheels, if not then never mind about that). And, most importantly, they give your hands somewhere to go. It would be weird if your hands just came out of your shoulders. It would also be challenging to grab things without contorting yourself into some strange position..

There is a problem with arms, though. This problem becomes apparent on a daily basis. Picture this: you are exhausted from your long day of having the most fun ever, being awesome, and impressing your countless fans with your greatness. (this may be a stretch to imagine for some, but i’m not trying to relate to my audience, i’m just talking about myself.) You collapse on your bed excited for the great night of sleep that you are about to encounter. Sleep is not an option for you; it is a necessity. You roll on to your side and start to get comfortable, but there is an obstacle that lies in your way. It is not a loose spring digging into your side, or even a sandwich that somehow landed in your bed, it is your good friend: the arm.

At the time, you think that sawing off your arm seems like the best decision, but then you think of all the top shelf cereal that you will be missing out on, and the fact that it might pinch a little bit, so you decide to keep your limbs in tact. After crossing that quick fix off your list, you aren’t left with many choices and you have to suffer through it. You try hiding your arm under your pillow, as if you can trick yourself into thinking that it isn’t there. But you’re smarter than that, and you find it immediately.

You eventually fall asleep, after much struggle, and rise in the morning pleased that you still have your arm. But seriously, it’s really annoying when you’re trying to sleep.

Lakers Come to Town.

So yesterday, Kobe and the gang came to my school to have their little pre-annihilation practice in our gym. It sickened me. How any Boston school could allow the Lakers to prepare for their game in their gym is a mystery. But anyway, I caught a peek of their practice and they were whining about Paul Pierce and how big and scary he is. I can only imagine that any real athlete looks pretty intimidating to a guy who’s making unisex perfumes with the ugliest Kardashian sister in his spare time. That’s right, Lamar, I’m talking to you. 

I watched them for like 10 minutes and they weren’t even doing anything. A sign of things to come tonight? I think so. They need to step up their game if they even want to compete with what the Celtics have been serving up these days. Sure, the Celts have their weak moments, but the Lakers are having a weak season. What happened to the finals team last year? I hate to complain, but let’s see some competition here. These are supposed to be good games. Andrew Bynum is playing softer than that teddy bear you’re going to forget to buy your girlfriend for Valentine’s Day. Throw Tracey Morgan out there for him, no one will be able to tell the difference and he’ll pull down way more rebounds.  While you’re at it, why not throw Steve Blake out there against Robinson. See if we can’t make some memories. I don’t want them to beat the C’s, I just want my Thursday night to be a little more interesting. Celtics by 10..easily.

Laundry Parties.

As a college student.. I have learned, rather quickly, that laundry is the devil and it must be avoided at all cost. Unfortunately, I have also learned that it is impossible to avoid once you run out of clean undergarments.. so it must be done. By the time the laundry becomes a necessity, your little 5 by 5 inch room has been completely covered by mountains of about 4 loads of dirty clothes. This means that you are required to give up an ENTIREEE afternoon and evening of your fun, unpredictable, exciting, mischievous, whirlwind(?) life to clean clothes. Talk about lame.

There is hope though! This hope lies within two words: Laundry. Party. What is a Laundry Party you ask? Well I’ll tell you.. it is a party where you do laundry. Wild, crazy, and outlandish, i know.. but you get used to it after a while. It is suggested to invite at least one friend to the party so that when ‘crashers’ show up.. it’s not as awkward. It is also highly suggested that you do not blast music that would make hallway walkers question your sanity and come into the laundry room to investigate. Some songs to be avoided include dream’s ‘He Loves You Not’ and any of the particularly offensive tracks on the Lonely Island album. We learned that one the hard way..

Another important aspect of the party involves where you choose to sit. Where you sit in the laundry party can say a lot about you. For example.. I like to sit at the windowsill so that I can admire nature.. and stare at random people across the way in their natural dorm habitats. Creepy, I know.. But Shia Labeouf did it…as well as Jimmy Stewart, for my more cultured readers. So I think it’s ok. On the other hand, my fellow partygoer, Caitie, likes to sit on the strange table shelf wall-extension situation thing on the other side of the room. This allows her to see who is about to enter the party.. so she’s kind of like a bouncer.. this is a really hip night club now..

So what this all boils down to.. is that I just opened a really crazy cool super awesome night club in Boston.. good luck getting in..