Sneezing, Snowing, Shooting...

I'm sick. I woke up yesterday with a severe head cold and migraine. Today, I can't stop sneezing. It's so annoying! I have to go to archery tonight, I can just see myself sneeze at the exact moment I shoot an arrow, and it crashes into the wall and breaks. Or hits someone. Hopefully everyone will be safe from my lethal sneezes.

My cold I'm sure was spurned on by all the cold weather and snow Britain has been getting. In the midlands, where I am, there is possibly 6 inches of snow and the whole place is in a deadlock. In Wales, they had over a foot of snow. They simply don't have the resources to deal with this amount of snow. This is the most they've gotten in nearly 20 years. There are salt shortages for the roads, and not enough machines to clear the roads of snow.

Yesterday, the one thing I did was order a new sight and string for my bow. The sight is slowly mal-functioning, because it's a cheap one. The string is slowly unraveling, and it's a safety issue to keep shooting with it. I was surprised today that it came. So quickly and with snow on the roads! The delivery man looked at my last name, and I got the comment, "That's an interesting name? Where's it from?"

Spain.

No I'm not Spanish.

I inherited the name from my half-brother.

No he's not Spanish.

It's a long story.

All the while I'm thinking, 'Just give me my package already. I have a strange last name. So what?'

My last name seems to be of endless fascination for the British People. In America, I barely get a second-glance at my name. And only then to ask how it's pronounced. Here, I'm grilled on it's origins, my ancestry, everything, by perfect strangers. It's so disconcerting.

Maybe I should have just sneezed on him.

OXFORD!!

On Saturday I was lucky enough to hitch a ride with the archery team and visit Oxford. Since I'm still getting used to my new bow, I didn't make the team, but seeing Oxford was fun.

After gathering at the Oxford Blue pub before the competition, I headed out to explore. I stayed on the high road of the city, but most of the buildings I wasn't allowed into, because I'm not a student with the university. I only had 3 hours to kill, so I had to hurry my sightseeing.


Queen's College:


Found Another One!









First stop I made was a bookshop that sold very old books, for obscene prices. There was even a local student that started to beg the bookseller to give him a discount on the book on top of the discount given to all the books. I found his begging strangely funny. Only in Oxford would a teenage kid haggle over an ancient book.

Next I went into an Antique shop. British antique shops always have the best stuff. I even found some really interesting coins, like the two that were from the reign of Elizabeth I. I would have loved to have one of those. They had a portrait of her on the coin face. A portrait in good condition is very rare apparently.

The last place I went into was a pen shop that sold calligraphy, fountain and ink pens. Some of the pens were selling for over 50,000 pounds! I got myself a considerably cheaper one. It's a pretty blue and writes like a dream. While I was in the shop I met an American Oxford student that was just as enthralled with the pens as I was. He was studying Neuroscience, from Minnesota, had greasy hair, wore his baseball cap backwards. He defined the American geek from the mid-west.

On the way back to Nottingham the team stopped at a restaurant where I had hands-down the weirdest experience since coming to England.

We went to an American-themed restaurant.

Yes, you read that right. It was called the Baltimore Bar & Grill. The plates had an American flag on them. There was an American Eagle statue above the toilet sign. They were proud to serve American beers. There was a see-through decal on the windows of American landmarks, like the Brooklyn Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge. Burgers, steak and Mexican-ish food was on the menu.

I was left speechless.

My Name is Not What I Am. Thank you very much...

Since coming to England, I've had more than a few comments about the origins of my name. Today was the strangest yet.

"Hi, my name is Monica."

"Moe-nee-cah. Sounds like an Indian name." Says the Indian girl.

This is the latest in a long-line of guesses to the origin of the name "Monica". Since September, my fellow students and British locals have guessed where I come from soley on the basis of my name. So let me set the record straight. I am not Spanish, Mexican, Indian, Arabic, Eastern European, Irish, Scottish, South African, Canadian, or South American. The only guesses I haven't got are Asian names, for obvious reasons.

Here's a description for any who may have doubts about where the name comes from.

MONICA
Gender: Feminine

Usage: English, Italian, Portuguese, Romanian

Pronounced: MAHN-i-kə (English)

Meaning unknown, most likely of North African or Phoenician origin. In the 4th century this name was borne by the North African saint Monica of Hippo, the mother of Saint Augustine, whom she converted to Christianity. Since the Middle Ages it has been associated with Latin moneo "advisor" and Greek monos "one". As an English name, Monica has been in general use since the 18th century.

So, Please, Please, do not ask me this again people. Guessing where I'm from based on my name will get you no-where. My name does not tell you anything of my ancestry and my last name certainly does not help matters. I know and accept this.

I'm AMERICAN.

I'm allowed to have a mixed-up name with no perceivable cultural tie to my ancestry. Americans borrow other cultures, we're funny like that.

Epiphany...

So I had one of those moments. You know the ones where a thought enters your mind that simply leaves you speechless. I had one while riding the bus today. (I couldn't resist getting the rest of the trilogy from Trudi Canavan, her books are addictive. And I've finished the first one already.) the realization was...

Most of my friends are guys.

I know, I'm as shocked as you probably are. I'm generally a shy person who has the ability to fake being outgoing when circumstances demand it. Other than male relatives, I've never had one guy-friend before. So when I realized, since coming to England I have somehow acquired eight guy-friends and many more guy-acquaintances, needless to say, I was more than a little shocked at myself. Two of the guys are from my course, and the rest are from archery. And all I consider pretty good friends.

The next question you may have is, "Is there any romantic possibilities?"

Unlikely, since only 3 out of the 8 are actually my age or older. One has a girlfriend (which I don't mess with since I believe in Karma) another is a crazy-funny Indian and the last, a fellow American dating a freshman from archery (again, I do not mess with Karma). All the rest are either slightly younger than myself or undergrads ranging from 18 to 21 years old. I'm a few weeks away from 24, so that would be a "no" to the romance question.

The really shocking thing is that none of them are gay. Which is sad because gay-guy friends are the best. But I like my guy-friends in spite of their un-gayness.

I have girl-friends, only 2 though, and from my course. The girls at archery are more like acquaintances, than close friends.

Another event that happened on the bus: Sighting of a woman who's hair was a cross between a Mohawk and a mullet. She had whacked the hairs on top of her head and left the rest of her long hair alone. So the short hair stood straight up in the middle. Umm...okay.

So two shocks on the bus. One mental and the other visual.

Sugar Snaps and a Mouse

Today has been one of my favorites since coming to England. No pints of beer were involved or random snogging, sadly. I finished my paper early this morning, which was very satisfying. But that left the rest of my day open, and I did have errands to do.

At 8am I walked into Beeston for some food (grocery list in blog below if interested). It's nice on Saturday mornings at the store, because it's not really crowded and you can see the locals waking up, running their little errands. A man took his two children in for haircuts, the local florist was setting up the day's selection outside, the bakery's front windows were foggy with steam. I luckily all my groceries into one bag and lugged it down to the post office.

When I got there, an older man was standing in the doorway. I motioned toward the post office, "Is it..?"

He cut me off, "Not open."

"Do you have the time?"

He replied tersely, "10 till."

Okay, not a friendly one here, and I had ten minutes to kill. So I went across the street into the park, sat on a cold metal bench. Recently I've realized, I haven't ate anything green lately, and my culinary skills without a cookbook extend to cooking eggs and soup, so I had bought some sugar snaps at the store earlier.

While sitting there eating my sugar snaps, crunching each one with a satisfying bite, I saw something rustle in the bushes from the corner of my eye. I sat really still and eventually, two little eyes peaked out. It was a tiny mouse! Every time I sat still it would cautiously try to creep toward the bench, but as soon as I moved even slightly, It rushed back to its hiding place. We played this game for a while. I crunched on sugar snaps while playing hide-and-seek with a mouse until the post office opened, and I could get envelopes.

After this I went into Nottingham, wandered around Waterstone's. Drank tea, ate a ham and cheese panini. And yes I bought a book. I'm weak, but I rationalize this purchase by thinking it's a prize for finishing my work with time to spare. And if you're wondering, it's not a romance, but fantasy: Trudi Canavan's "The Magician's Guild". I'm only two chapters in and I'm hooked. I'll probably finish it before classes begin, so no worries.

I don't really know why I loved this day. It had a bit of everything, I guess. Finishing work, completing errands, book browsing (and buying), and tea drinking.

And of course, a bit of mischief with a mouse.