Chicken Soup for the Abroad Student's Soul.

The Definition of Abroad:

Being abroad is about taking some of the most interesting and hands on courses, visiting and learning the history and culture behind the greatest monuments in the world, and really experiencing and appreciating a whole new society, leading you to have one of the greatest educational adventures of your life.

lolz. not really though.

Being abroad is...

• consuming more wine in a semester than water in a year.
• turning your bathroom into a rainforest because you have to do laundry in a sink for three months straight.
• hating everything about pounds. gaining pounds, british pounds, #pounds. knowing that pounds suck and will always suck.
• gauging how great a flight will be by if they serve free wine or not
• asking the critical "are there cobblestones" question before every trip to see if it's worth the risk to pack your stilettos or not.
• staring blankly at any flower or umbrella man who approaches you because you will never want, need, or buy a flower or umbrella from them...ever. 
• being sucked into a restaurant solely because it has free wifi.
• being unable to stomach nutella anymore because you've eaten it drunk too many times.
• knowing that no matter what city you're in, you can always find solace in an irish pub.
• getting funny looks from italians because apparently running outside is a completely foreign concept.
• pushing your beds together at night so that six girls can watch a movie on one 18 inch laptop screen.
• listening to enough celine dion and phil collins to last a lifetime.
• laughing at the concept of jet lag because literally nothing is worse than touring around all day after a nine hour flight.
• being in more churches in three months than you will ever be in, in the next thirty years.

Being abroad is...

• rocks. lots of important rocks.
• over drafting your account because of the euro conversion rate
• never unpacking your suitcase because you're in a different city every thursday.
• realizing you have to pay for towels at hostels...and realizing how much you hate hostels.
• knowing that nothing in your life will ever compare to a nutella banana crepe from Paris, and being haunted by that knowledge on a regular basis.
• believing you are fluent in italian after three glasses of wine...or one glass of wine.
• changing the lyrics to thrift shop to "having 20 euro in my pocket"
• never having euro in your pocket
• spending the day wondering when the next abroad album is going to drop
• having register workers open your wine bottles for you when you don't have a wine opener on hand
• thoroughly enjoying the fact that open container laws are non existent 
• smiling whenever someone mentions the pope like he's a great friend of yours because you were there when he was elected.
• scouring the world for a chipotle

Being abroad is...

• attempting to show your friends around your city and realizing after three months you still don't know where you are
• casually eating lunch on the pantheon and complaining about the american tourists because you're obviously not one of them. 
• realizing that zara will never be the same.
• labeling cities by the food that you ate there.
• knowing how to fluently yell "basta!" and "figlio di punta!" by week two. 
• coining the name "nightshift nightmare" by your favorite desk worker who works on the weekends.
• snapchatting cool abroad pictures and realizing that everyone must hate you for it. 
• listening to your electronics sizzle because of your converters
• finding discrepancies in the Lizzie McGuire movie but still scouring the country for Paolo.
• being in a constant state of owing people money and having others owe you.
• reading everyone's drunk tweets when you're sober and getting up for an early class. 
• creating a secret group online because you have too many embarrassing abroad pictures that can never see the light of day.
• forgetting you're underage at home.
• waking up to your room smelling like pizza on saturday  mornings because of the V.I.P. pizza box in the corner.
• being stopped at security every time because apparently no one understands that a curling iron is not a weapon.
• jersey chasing international rugby players but still getting a better table than them at the club.
• being convinced that you study better when you've had a couple glasses of wine than without.
• singing more american karaoke than you ever have in your life.
• landing in a country late at night, immediately going out, and still waking up at 9 to tour a new city the next morning.
• hoarding Pascucci money because it's the only thing that feeds you when you've run out of euro.
• learning not to ever, ever look at your bank statement.
• power showering on a regular basis.
• being on the precipice at all moments of the day.

Being abroad is...

• realizing that coins are legitimate currency and loving them for it.
• having more scarves in your closet than actual clothes
• listening to the ryan air flight completed song and silently thanking the lord for making it safely
• ordering wine for the table because it's cheaper than water
• illegally downloading all movies and tv shows because the fact that Netflix doesn't exist is a scarring realization.
• forgetting what dollars look like.
• never knowing exactly what's going on with your friends at home no matter how hard you try
• strategically packing every outfit for a weekend so you can make it fit in a ryanair briefcase
• somehow ending up with more carnevale costumes, rave wear, spacesuits, and thrift shop items than actual souvenirs.
• seeing some of the most amazing sights and architecture on a run around the city than on an actual tour
• sharing every article of clothing with your roommates to make one suitcase last three months.
• spending more time trying to split up the check than actually eating
• getting dirty looks when you go out without tights on but doing it anyway and having no shame. 
• knowing all promoters and bartenders by name to get the best deals on the weekends.
• being best friends with a man named Alfredo. 
• getting your heel stuck in the cobblestones, leading to a Wedding Planner traffic-stopping moment
• going over your pit and peak of every day and realizing that most days are pretty damn peaky
• getting sent home from the Vatican because your skirt is too short.
• being woken up by the ghost that lives in your wall every morning (we'll miss you Julius)
• eating more gelato than you'd think is humanly possible...and still being unable to refuse the Fridge. 
• collecting shot glasses from every country because it's the most stereotypical college collection you could acquire
• creating the most dysfunctional twerk team known to man.
• laughing when someone says your life is a joke, because honestly that's exactly what it is.

being abroad is having a truly messed up family dynamic with your five best friends and realizing you've spent, from the very first night together, ninety days at each other's sides.  It's about drinking too much, studying too little, seeing more than you ever could've imagined, and falling in love with every country you set foot in. It's about listening to Forever Young and knowing you're on top of the world. It's meeting your friends for the first time in January and wondering how you're going to function without them come April.  Being abroad is claiming a city for your own, and wondering how you're ever going to leave, and planning exactly when you're going to come back. It's listening to Bittersweet Symphony and having the intro describe your city.  It's being an orphan, and loving every second of it. 

The Definition of Abroad: the best ninety days of your life. 

MRS Dropout.

It's finals week.  I don't know why I think finals week is so funny, but it is. At home it would be early May hinting at summer, but in South Bend who really knows, it could honestly be snowing and I wouldn't be surprised.  I would be locking myself in Madeleva, filling up the whiteboards, turning the room into a wallpaper of definitions, concepts, and charts.  Charts of everything.  Charts for school, countdown charts, charts of all the boys we think are cute.  We'd write down these charts over chips and queso and endless cyber combos because at this point does eating right actually matter at all? And we'd laugh because we'd spend more time watching Friday Night Lights and charting exactly how hot Tim Riggins is than actually studying.  Finals week is spent stressing out because it's fun to complain about how much work you need to do and then not do it.  It's spent taking shots in Madeleva because the added bonus of drinking in a classroom building is just to great to pass by. And it's spent listening to Disney Pandora because literally nothing is more motivating than Hercules' I Can Go the Distance.  Study breaks are trips to Fisher, the Wikipedia Game, and watching How to Train Your Dragon. Finals week is spent focused on relearning the classes I've worked so hard through and being so excited to finally be done, finally have summer at the tips of my fingers. But right now, for once in my life, I don't want summer one bit.

So yea, finals week is hilarious, because let's face it, it can't actually be finals week.

Let me give you a brief description of a finals week Rome style:

Its sunny and seventy degrees. I wear sundresses everyday. I eat lunch on the Pantheon and study (people watch) on the Spanish Steps.  My study breaks include walking to the Vatican, getting gelato at Frigidarium and shopping down Villa Del Corso. I spend more time taking an Italian cooking class, brushing up on my MRS degree, than actually studying for any one final.  The only chart I write on is the Crazy Brian Kelly Drinking Game (yes, this is a real thing).  So in my mind, finals week doesn't actually exist. Rome takes away the stress and sanctity of South Bend finals week.  My reality at this point isn't the exams I'm supposed to be focused on...it's a different kind of finals week for me.

I only have five full days left here.  I can't even comprehend that at this point.  It's like when you're trying to read a paragraph from a book but your focus melts into the edges and the margins and the words just don't stick. No matter how many times you stare at one letter, you don't know what it means.  Five days. Five days until I leave a country that has been my home, and who know's how long it will be until I come back.  Five last Pascucci sandwiches, five last days in front of the Pantheon, five last nights sleeping in my orphan bed.  To make it easier I think I trick myself into thinking that I'm just going home for break.  I'm so excited to see everyone, my friends and family that I miss more than the world, but I'm just going to stop by, get my fix, and come back.  Back to the streets of Rome, the city that is all mine.  I think that's why I'm so attached to this place.  Rome is the first thing I did on my own.  It's my city.  It's where I learned how to start somewhere new, without any help or anything comfortable.  I was literally on my own and built a life for myself here, so there's no way I'm leaving, right?  I just have to repeat that over and over, "I'm coming right back."  Otherwise I don't know if I can bring myself to get on that plane early Wednesday morning.

Five days and tomorrow it'll be four, and still I feel like I have so much to do. Many things are jokes here. Orphans are jokes, Portia Prebys is a joke, classes are jokes, exams are jokes, my life for the past three months...joke.  But leaving Rome is not a joke, and no matter how excited I am to go home, it doesn't take away the fact that I will never be able to relive an experience like this ever again.  I don't think I've ever been so sad for an ending to come, and for that I know I'm truly blessed.

But on the bright side, I will finally be reunited with my many loves in South Bend in one week's time. Regatta week will be one for the books and seeing my friends and family for the first time in ninety days makes me so happy I don't think anyone can even understand.

So on that note, wish me luck on finals week, and no I'm still not talking about the exams.

London Captain Jersey Chasing.

You know how one of the scariest things in life is a blank word document? Or maybe you don't. I guess it may not be a universal fear, maybe just an English major thing...or just an MJ thing...but blank word documents suck. Everything about them sucks. You have all the words in the world, but you have nothing to say. It's blank. And white. And stupid. And you just keep seeing the curser blinking at the paragraph indent and it makes you cringe.  Imagine a person incessantly poking your shoulder, or even worse, a Facebook poke, its annoying and all you want is for it to go away immediately.  Well, as I'm trying to write about my past weekend in London, this blank word document in front of me is the most brutal thing conceivable. It's definitely a Facebook poke; stupid and I want to punch it in the face. I can't decide if it's because I'm still too exhausted to form words, mentally drained from finals week, or have so much to say that I don't know where to even start, but for some reason this past weekend is surprisingly hard to write. Maybe it's a good thing I'm going home in eight days...I don't know if I'm much of a blogger in general.

I figure that I like London too much to even know what to say about it.  It's like having a middle school crush.  You know when you liked someone in middle school and you'd see them in the hallway by their lockers and you'd blush and mess up all your words. You never could articulate exactly what you liked about them, but still, you put hearts around their name on the back of your trapper keeper and promised to love them forever.  Well apparently I have a middle school crush on London town, which I guess there are worse crushes in the world to have, so I'll struggle through it.

From our hostel, to the booze cruise, to eating an orange (thanks Joshua), London was a trip of firsts.  Erin, sitting next to me is now demanding that I start with our hostel experience...because for me and my bougie friends it was definitely...well, not so bougie. "Write about how much I HATE hostels and how I am NEVER staying in one ever again." Ok Queen Betch, I will just for you.

Hostels are like staying at summer camp...but without the summer, and the camp...and the fun. Creepy Brazilian men sleep in your room, the pillows don't have pillow cases, your feet are constantly dirty, and there isn't even a wine opener. That's not living. Even typing this out, I know the boys are going to roll their eyes and hate us for this paragraph. Yes G01, we know we're princesses, but you have a pink hair dryer in your room (ahem, Logan), so are we really in the wrong here?  But really, hostels should not be a thing.   I will probably be bougie till I die and I'll stick with hotels and apartments and other bougie places of the sort.  But the nachos were good there so I guess it wasn't all a complete loss.

Besides the hostel, my middle school crush called London treated me extraordinarily well.  Out of all of Europe, I haven't seen a city so eclectic and alive as London.  It was the beauty of an old European city integrated with the youthful vivacity of the New York streets...with a British accent bonus to top it off.  Between the out door markets, the flashy night life, and extremely diverse foods (for the first time in three months I finally had chinese food, thank god), London really has everything you could ever ask.  It's almost ironic that I chose the most Americanized city to visit the weekend before I go back to America, but I really wouldn't have had it any other way.  It was the best last trip we could have asked for.  With my orphans and G01 Direction at my side, this group successfully conquered three countries in three weeks together, London being the finale to the greatest study abroad experience I could've ever imagined.

While everything about London was amazing, from the pub crawl where...

1. Catie and Morgan crowd surfed in a pub.
2. we danced on couches and poles.
3. I was forced to carry Sharkbait from pub to pub.
4. Erin got head butted
5. the bougie betches (and JRodge) decided to take a cab because they got sick of walking
6. and Bait tried to sell me for 20 pounds

...to all the touristy sights where 

1. we learned all about art (thanks to Tammy and Dave)
2. took hipster phone booth and Big Ben pics
3. learned without a doubt that London only has one eye
4. had the best burgers and oreo shakes imaginable.
5. and joined a space suit crew (still no regrets about this.)

...the real highlight is, and will always be, the Booze Cruise. 

Cheers to the Booze Cruise and the captains that organized arguably the best night abroad ever imagined, you all deserve to be sailer jersey chased after that one of a kind experience known as the junior-year freshman dorm party. For one night, we dressed to the nines, looked like a wedding party, and raged on a barge while passing underneath the London Bridge...so I label that as a success.  I don't even think I can put in to words the visual anomaly of such classy looking 20 to 21 year olds reverting back to their freshman year debauchery phase, but it was unreal and we loved every minute of it. So many DFMO's, so much Blink 182, and so many captain hats circulating around the dance floor, made for a night we can (hopefully) remember and put down in Smick/Domer history. Between the unbelievable view of the River Thames at sunset and the tuxes, dresses, british flag sunglasses and bow ties donning the dance floor, a prettier picture really couldn't have been painted. So cheers to classy pictures, paparazzi, cosmos and appetizers, dougieing, arrests (the greatest story known to man) and the elevated surfaces that made up booze cruise 2013. May you go down in Facebook album tag history (you're welcome for the documentation). 

Now sitting here, procrastinating through finals week, facing many blank word documents, and trying to recover through the shambles i've put my body through for three months, I couldn't imagine my last trip any other way.  I already miss my middle school crush named London and the boys that made it so memorable. I'm jealous that you guys have a couple weeks left abroad while I'm currently facing the challenge of trying decide whether to pack or wear my spacesuit on the plane ride home, but we'll see you all soon enough. Can't wait to take on our fourth country together, America we're coming for you.

Now it's time to sleep through my last religion class, suffer through hell week, take on the no carb left behind challenge and eat the twelve euro gelato at Giollitis. Get ready for the last week of the best semester of my life with my forever love, Roma.

Barca Betches meet the Boyband.

So what do you get when you put four Romans, one Grecian, three Londoners, a Tammy, and a Janjanproblem in a four bedroom apartment in the middle of Barcelona?

You get a struggle to survive, the Barca Betches versus the city. An endless fight against the tapas, disposable cameras, 8 am bedtimes, sunny days, hours of beach time, and of course tequila. And while we struggled through our weekend, fast forward four days and let me just tell you now,

Barca wins.  Barca always wins.

Let's run down the daily Barcelona routine:

Waking up around one in the afternoon we'd put on some Phil Collins and get ready, the girls taking significantly longer than the boys and the boys yelling at the girls for taking significantly longer. After about an hour of this, ending in the boys leaving until we can catch up, we'd stroll around the wide streets of the city, scouring for breakfast in our shorts and skirts, while unconsciously making our way towards the spot where we would decide to lounge around, doing nothing for the remainder of the day.

Forgoing any touring to watching the sun set behind the coast, we'd eat baguettes and brie, talking and laughing at each other, and drinking wine straight out of the bottle.  I think that's one of the things being abroad has taught me, when you're young you can drink wine straight from the bottle and make a day out of sitting around doing absolutely nothing, and it's perfectly fine. It's even good. Wine straight out of the bottle is good because it's what you aren't supposed to do, and people will look at you and think you're just a bunch of reckless, ridiculous college students. And that's what we are, so its ok. It's ok to be lazy and irresponsible and drink wine out the bottle because we won't be able to forever. So while some may not (sorry any parents out there), I complete condone our lazy days sitting in the sun in Barcelona and our bottles of white wine, uncorked by the laughing register workers in the grocery stores, because even though it's stupid and carefree, it's exactly how we should be acting and how i want to spend my time while i still can. And anyways, glasses are expensive and plastic cups are bad for the Earth so really we're just being good citizens.

After the best hours spent doing absolutely nothing, we'd head down for dinner around eight, sharing tapas and sangria around the table until we're so full the thought of going out makes us cringe. But do we go out you  may ask? well yes, yes we do, and after another long struggle to get us ready to go in time and scaring the boys out of ever living with five girls ever again (sorry about that guys), we'd head out to the Barcelona clubs to dance with our London boy band and make friends with multiple bartenders, DJs, and Edward Scissor Hands. Fast forward to six in the morning, we'd stumble home with iPhones full of pictures and the sun trying to rise before we're even ready for the night to end.

Wake up repeat. Barcelona wins.

Some of Barcelona's bests:

• The day spent sitting around on the beach was exactly what being abroad should be about.  Remember those long summer days in high school where you'd sit around a bonfire with your friends doing nothing and yet, at the time it all seemed so important? Well thats what the beach was.  It smelled like summer and easiness and while we sat with our feet buried in sand and our heads on each other's stomachs, singing acapella songs out of tune (really out of tune), and getting lost in the hours we really couldn't be any happier. It was an escape from everything for an afternoon. Like we were in our own little world where no one could bother us until we were done being high schoolers again for one last time. And even though it was a nothing sort of day, it was one of the best I can remember and we have the endless concert videos to prove it.
• Milk was one of the most amazing breakfasts I have had. If you ever go, order a breakfast burger, wash it down with a couple mimosas and make sure you eat every bite because hungover brunch really doesn't get any better than that.
• Family dinner is amazing for a number of reasons. 1. we proved our domesticity with, what I'm still convinced is, the best meal ever cooked by tipsy college kids. 2. wine, cooking, and wobbling in the kitchen with your best friends while the boys try to sleep is always a fantastic thing. 3. Tammy became one of the betches, and what more can you really ask for out of life than that?
• The best drink definitely goes out to the 13 liter Pippermints creation.  good work on finishing that team, good work.
• Spontaneous boat rides should always happen, especially when free champagne and 70 degree weather is involved.
• Giant rocks are good for sitting on for hours at a time, especially when you just want to be lackadaisical with the afternoon. You may not believe me, but I want you to trust me on this. Also, if you have the chance play Forever Young while you're up there, it'll be like you're on top of the world and someone will undoubtably almost cry (ahem Tara). So it's worth it.
• Stock Market bars + spotlight makes for quick best friends and embarrassing confessions and so it's basically the perfect combination.
• Staying up all night listening to The Gambler by Fun and looking at old pictures before a 7 am flight may sound like a bad idea at the time (and seem like a bad idea when you're about to die in an airport from exhaustion) but its not a bad thing at all, take Tara and I's word for it.

So in the end Barcelona won, and we couldn't be happier about it. It was a great trip with too many pictures, too many drinks, and too many memories to even try to write about. So shout out to the Orphans, Londoners, Tammy, and everyone else who tried to conquer Barcelona, because even though we failed, we had a hell of a time trying. 

FSB '13

An Open Letter To FSB 2013

Dear Fake Spring Break,

You did us well FSB, and for that we salute you. Many important lessons were learned this week, and I'm definitely not referring to what was said in the classes we literally dragged ourselves to every morning. For example, we now know that British boy bands can easily begin their careers with karaoke in an Irish pub, Combine Harvester is a top notch musical number, 21st birthdays are a celebration/dance party for all, Domers travel in packs, and just because you live in a city doesn't mean you can't get lost in it...twice.

I would just like to say, you've successfully left our lives in shambles and for that we thank you.

So cheers to the Londoners who brought on FSB 2013. Based on photo evidence and social media alone, it was a pretty great time. Hope to top it soon in Barca/London.

Sincerely,

The Orphanage

P.S. to any adults reading this, never fear. We basically just sang karaoke four nights in a row. but really, because when it comes to Celine, thats what you must do.

Do You Hear the People Sing?!

I know this is a short post and a week overdue and yes, I am currently siting in my religion class with Father Mark in front of me, in his tweed sweater and Burberry coat talking about marriage (smick problems), so I’ll make this brief.

Last weekend I was in Paris, trying to dig up that old dusty box labeled high school French from the shelf labeled Useless Knowledge in my brain, and eat as many nutella crepes as humanly possible. Even now, a week later, I continue to ask myself if it is possible to actually fall in love with a city, because I honestly am convinced that’s what happened.  To quote first grade MJ, “if you love it so much why don’t you marry it?” well, sounds like a plan to me. I’ll marry Paris, eat crème brulee, shop down the Champs Elysees, lounge on Sundays in the Luxembourg Gardens, and be happily Parisian for the rest of my life. …sounds like a plan first grade MJ, sounds like a plan.

I was enchanted by it all.  I mean have you ever even heard French? It sounds like cursive, that’s really the only way to describe it.  It sounds like cursive and the steam off of hot chocolate.  Everything about it is beautiful, but I guess everything about France is beautiful too, so it makes sense. All I know is, when Adria and I were reunited on the streets of the greatest city in the world, everything was perfect.  If I could live anywhere, that’s where I would be; sitting in a café, eating crepes, and reading by the Seine forever.

So for some basic touristy information that I’m too distracted to put into paragraphs slash its hard to do this while pretending to take notes on the papal conclave (kidding mom, of course I’m paying attention in class…)

PARIS IN A NUT SHELL:

1.     There is nothing better in life than a nutella banana crepe, and this is actually not an exaggeration. They changed my life. Food will never be the same after the moment I took my first bite. It’s magic. … if you think I’m lying I dare you to prove me wrong. You won’t be able to, but you’ll get a French nutella banana crepe out of the deal so I’d jump on this if I were you.

2.     The Eiffel tower sparkles. And when it does it looks like a princess dress. So props to you Eiffel tower, you are a monument of my own heart. Plus perspective Eiffel pics are hilarious to take.

3.     I ate snails. From the girl who didn’t eat bread…give me some credit for this.

4.     Notre Dame is stunning, even when abroad.

5.     I think I could live inside the Louvre, never see the light of day again, and still not be able to see everything inside. But the Mona Lisa has a great smize (if you don’t know what this is, go watch America’s Next Top Model).

6.     If you want to go under the Arc de Triomphe, let me just tell you now that the entrance is across the street, through an underground tunnel …but apparently sprinting through the busy street works too, if you’re Frogger.

7.     At the bottom of the Seine, right off the Pont des Artes live thousands of keys, breathing beneath the running water.  I know this for a fact, for one is mine.  And all those keys are promises to people, mine for my best friend in the whole world.  Millions of promises, locked on that bridge, whispering to one another from the bottom of the river.  It’s pretty nice isn’t it, almost like magic.  And on that sunny day, closing my eyes and throwing that key, that’s how it felt too, and I graduated from wizard school in Schoolcraft, so I’m an authority in matters of magic. So Cori, cheers to you and I, cause we’ll be friends forever thanks to Paris.

8.     Singing, “Do You Hear the People Sing” around the streets of Paris may seem like it makes sense but people will stare at you, I promise you that.

9.     There is nothing like a sunset from the steps of Sacre Coeur, as the city blinks it’s eyes open to a million lights and the night stretches around you, that moment is perfect.

10. NUTELLA. BANANA. CREPES.

Paris, I’ll be back for you. One day, I’ll return, especially since you have Chipotle now, I think we can make this marriage work.

Orphanages Updates #3

Twerk Team (Sunday Edition)

1. White Houses- Vanessa Carlton --- theme songs don't die
2. Snap Yo Fingers- Lil Jon --- SNAP YO FINGAS
3. Hard Knock Life- Annie --- if you don't understand this yet, just go.
4. Coming Back to Me Now- Celine Dion --- there are two types of people in the world, people who jam to celine and people who are not our friends.
5. Boxer- Mumford and Sons --- nap playlist staple.
6. Colt 45- Afroman --- in honor of FORT WAYNE'S FINEST 
7. Chain Hang Low- Jibbs --- myspace song circa '06
8. Titanium- David Guetta --- Baby Spice jam.
9. Bohemian Rhapsody- Queen --- because that was an amazingly embarrassing snap vid.
10. Photograph- Nickelback --- WHAT THE HELL IS ON JOEY'S HEAD

to be continued...