Monthly Archives: September 2014
My boyfriend and I have this little inside joke that my name should be Kat instead of Kate because I’m like a cat- I like warm, calm spaces and curling up under blankets; I value most the quieter moments in life (and the occasional cat nap). But it turns out that maybe my name should be Kat for a different reason altogether. Cats are notorious for their aversion to water, and as it turns out, I have a slight problem with it too.
And I took my old shelves and pictures off the wall, leaving me with an entirely bare canvas. The whole idea could have been a complete disaster, but I think I made it work! Here’s my advice on building a gallery wall yourself.
I’m still a little ashamed to admit that I spent my first two years in London (my study abroad year and the first year of my postgrad) going absolutely nowhere, much to the consternation of my American friends back home. “But it’s so cheap to travel around Europe once you’re there!” “Don’t you ever take any time off? You didn’t have any desire to go somewhere new?”
11th grade English assignments left something to be desired. There was the persuasive argument we had to write demonstrating our knowledge of ethos, logos, and pathos; there was the alternative ending to Kate Chopin’s The Awakening (where one kid wrote about how the main character’s head washed up on a beach in Louisiana after she was murdered); there was the “research” paper. There was also, apparently, an assignment where we had to make our own comic book story.
Seeing as I can no longer prance around the streets of London and pretend like I’m living the high life of a world-traveling musician, I’ve begun making myself appreciate the little things that are really great about being home. And one of those things, you guessed it, happens to be pepperoni bread.
There was the taxi driver ajusshi in Seoul who schooled me on how to drive in Korea, despite my frantic backseat driving in Korean. There was the time when Ben and I tried ordering ketchup in a restaurant in Porto, only to have the waiter bring us a drink that I’m almost certain was cheap Portuguese Super Bock beer mixed with port wine.
Was it taking my car in for service that made me feel weird? Or is the fact that I even have a car to call my own making me feel out of place? Was it my protracted confusion at the Harris Teeter over why the “cheaper” celery was a whopping $1.79?