Three weeks in and nary a Yorkshire Terrier in sight!

I'm sorry I haven't been keeping a blog so far. The first week here, we basically had an orientation week that consisted of one two-hour meeting. I went into York a lot and cried a lot. I haven't made many friends because the English kids are very reserved and don't really go out of their way to get to know you. Because of this, I haven't been doing much or seeing many people, so I didn't feel like I would have much to share with you until now. After three weeks, I feel as if I'm up for it. Ready... break!

I still am having a hard time in York. I like certain things about it, but mostly I'm not very happy. WHY must I always be like this?? It took me like two years to be happy at Oxy. Now I have to do it all over again. I guess this is the point of studying abroad, but for some reason, god chooses to make my life hard and make it almost impossible for me (just me) to adjust. Francie's having a great time! So is Caroline! And Katrina! Why must I suck so bad?

Last night, my friend Genevieve (from Oxy) and I were walking to the bus stop in the freezing cold and there was a homeless guy singing "Wonderwall" by Oasis with his guitar. And his voice was freakin' AMAZING. Seriously, I almost think he did a better job than Oasis. So I scooped up the loose change in my purse (who really uses two-pence pieces, anyway?) and deposited it onto his guitar case. He seemed grateful. I had "Wonderwall" stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

I love the city of York. I almost love the city as much as I hate the loneliness of the university. It is so walkable and compact, a welcome change from the crowds and traffic of L.A. The roads are put together in no way that is sane—they just all kind of branch off one another and you just sort of head in a vague direction if you want to get somewhere. Luckily, the York Minster (the biggest and tallest church in England) kind of looms over everything, and since I know that it is north, I can look at where the spires are and get my bearings. There are also certain landmarks that help (everything from H&M to the entrances to the ancient walls of the city).

People talked about how York has one pub for every day of the year and I kind of laughed at it, but god, you can't walk a block without finding a pub. Some of them are a little sketch, but most are those old carpet-and-wood-beam places with the familiar smell of grease, cigarette smoke and hops. I was once walking in Pasadena and stopped and said, "It smells JUST like England." I looked to my left and saw an "authentic English pub" that I had never noticed before. It weirded me out that I knew the smell well enough to recognize it 10 years later in a city that is basically as opposite from England as you can get.

Genevieve and I have made it our mission to find all of the thrift stores in the area. Thrift stores are just fun to begin with, and when you add the crazy English prices, they are practically a necessity. We ended up finding two yesterday, which made us very happy. Genevieve had a lot more luck than I had because she is naturally a lot thinner than I am and most English girls are too. But then we were going into all the stores that were open after 5:15 p.m. (there were like two open—whyyyy? It's not like people are going to bed or anything!) and we found one called Warehouse that was originally very expensive but still had remnants of a January sale left over. I found a beautiful long wool pea coat that was plum-colored and looked amazing on me. Originally 100 pounds (about $200), it was marked down to 40 pounds and I bought it in a heartbeat.

That is one thing I have learned here: warm coats are basically your lord and savior. I bought a really nice brown down coat in Sacramento as well as a green pea coat, thinking I would probably use the latter occassionally, the former hardly ever (down keeps you so warm, too warm in Sacramento). Then I got to England and understood that you can't get away with just a sweatshirt everywhere. I think I still believe that everywhere in the world is like California, which I know is kind of childish, but so far, the world for me HAS only been like California. I've only ever lived in Sacramento and L.A. for more than a month. Even traveling in England when I was little, we always went during summer vacation so it was always very warm. Now it takes me about 10 minutes to dress. (What t-shirt do I want to wear? What long-sleeved shirt? What sweater? What jacket? Is it cold enough for mittens today? A hat?) I have to remember to pack my umbrella. (One day I forgot to and hail came down the size of peas.) I have even considered buying earmuffs and probably would if I still didn't associate it with like, nerds from bad '90s sitcoms that wear them inside even when it's June. (I have no idea where that came from.)

Because I have to wear a coat every day, I've already gotten sick of the ones I own and I'm constantly on the lookout for new ones. Normally, I would find this impulsive and not very cost-conscious, but this time I know that I will more than get my money's worth out of it. It's OK to splurge on coats because I will probably be wearing it every other day until about April. It sucks because I am so far behind the already stylish English girls. They have had an entire lifetime to create a collection of cute coats and hats, I have had three weeks.

That's another thing that gets me here. The girls. I read on a website called americangirlsareeasy.com (I kid you not) that English girls are basically a less-attractive version of Sporty Spice. This is not true. AT ALL. They have the most impeccable style, and I don't really mean designer clothes (although I'm sure they have some of that). Their style is the kind where they throw together clothing pieces that almost clash but somehow blend together seamlessly to make an awe-inspiring outfit. (I have literally been left speechless by some of them.) It is quite intimidating because they are all like this—I have yet to see one that is dressed more casually than I am.

I myself could never create such outfits. It would just look like I had dressed myself in the dark. Throw in my already casual California style and unstick-like figure, and I feel like a crippled kid in the Running of the Bulls—it would be stupid to even think I could compete with the rest of them, so I might as well watch happily from the sidelines, doing my own thing. Although L.A. makes me feel this way somewhat, the emphasis there is a lot more on showing skin and cleavage and the hottest new trends and all that. In England, it's just, "Wow. She looks AMAZING." Even their makeup seems to be better. It worries me a lot because I'm scared that boys will be turned off by me because I don't wear a striped dress with a braided leather belt and um... a cashmere beret. I just wear simple, comfortable clothes, and while I'm not in sweats, I still feel downright boyish sometimes. Being an exotic American can only help you so much in this country.

My class (yes, singular) is going well so far. At the start, you only take one class a term (next term it's the humongous number TWO). It's Early Renaissance Literature and we've just been reading "Othello" and "The Merchant of Venice" in the past few weeks. My seminar leader is a very nice, gentle, kind of quiet yet extremely smart English guy with a ruddy complexion and really curly hair. The other students in my seminar talk so much that I can barely get a word in edgewise. Some would find this frustrating; I love it. I have survived too many of an Oxy class to know that silent peers are basically my worst nightmare—I end up talking too much to fill in the silence (Country Day taught me well) and end up saying nonsense after a while or I stay silent as well, scared about lapsing into said nonsense. I developed a crush on one of the English boys in my class almost solely on the way he pronounces the word "love," only to find out through Facebook that he is gay. Crap!

My room is nice. It is on the top floor, luckily one away from the bathroom, and it has an attic window (sort of on a slant). It is right next to the playing fields, so I have a view of the wonderful green and a gnarly old tree that is beautiful in its twistedness. There are not one, but two playgrounds—both with swings. One day I want to go out there and swing for like an hour (swings are my crack, along with trampolines). The kids in my house (9 in all) weren't very friendly to me at the start (basically just introduced themselves and left it at that) but are now being nicer to me. I have run into two boys while making dinner (one named Tom and the other I am ashamed to say I forgot his name) and it's been fascinating just to talk to them. They are both tickled by the fact that American girls really DO turn to jelly at boys with British accents.

It was weird... it was almost like they had to get used to my presence in the house before they opened up to me, which is the total opposite of how Americans would be. Americans would be all nice and talkative at the start to make you feel comfortable and then kind of tone it down later on. But I absolutely adore that the English kids will just sit and talk to you for hours on end and not be all "IHAVETOSTUDDDDDY" like most Oxy kids are. That's what frustrates me the most about Oxy students—they are all obsessed with schoolwork and getting it done and I feel like it hurts other areas of their life like their social life. Here, they take school a lot less seriously and it's such a relief. Other people like me!

One last funny story: I was walking to class at 9 in the morning (actually, kind of running because I was late) and I kept sliding on the pathway. I looked at the asphalt and there were shiny spots all over it that looked like tree sap or something. I finally realized about ten minutes later that it was ICE. My friend from Ohio laughed at me that I didn't know this. I still kind of see the ice as a novelty—when I'm walking back to my college at night, I will go slightly out of my way to step on various crunchy ice-covered puddles and giggle like a schoolgirl. When the lake in the middle of the campus started to freeze over, though, that kind of freaked me out.

I realize I've written a lot, so I'm going to stop for now. I promise I will fill you in on the gaping holes in my narrative later on. And now for my eight-page paper on "Othello" that I have left myself one night to write...