Lizzie's 3 Easy Tips on How to Have a Ball at the Ball

Friday night was DRA Ball (David Russell Apartments) which was basically a free dance for all the DRA kids involving free ice cream, dj, live music, etc. Basically a chance for people to dress up, drink champagne, dance, and socialize with their neighbors. But Balls can be hard work. Here are some things Cinderella forgot to mention:

1. Always remember to bring a cell phone and cash to a ball. Although the ball may be free and feature free ice cream and free champagne, the champagne will go fast, the ice cream melts, and you will need that money by the end of the night. Cash is useful for coat checks, ca-ching, cash bars, ca-ching, and taxi home when you cannot wait in the bus queue any longer. So unless you want to spend the night parched, hot, and impatient a few quid will be helpful.

2. Cinderella may have danced all night in her glass slippers, but you will not be able to, so ladies, always were some sort of hose to the ball. There will come a time (around the second hour) when you feet feel like they have been smashed with a hammer in your high heels. Solution? Take off those blasted shoes. However, if you ball happens to be in an old barn with iffy wood and cement floors, then you will need some sort of hose to protect those dainty feet. Barefooting it is not an option. Take my advice, wear flats or wear hosiery so you don't end up crippled and hobbling around the dance floor on your broken feet.

3. Do not make eye contact with the drunk people. Yes, it can be fun to people watch, and I advise you to do so, but do not accidently meet their eyes. Say you are in a crowd looking for your friend, make sure to keep your eyes lowered so you do not draw the drunk attention. Cinderella only made eye contact with Prince Charming, but at a ball not all men are princes. I accidently made eye contact with a very inebriated young man who then decided to introduce himself, although he was so drunk I did not catch his name as he was shaking my hand. The same guy then approached me on the dance floor. It was awkward and your friends will tease you with the "he likes you" comments.

So if you follow this advise you will have a ball at your ball. You will be able to dance until that clock strikes 2 with your Prince Charming and not some random drunk person while you cannot feel your feel and long for a bottle of water. See, success is yours for the taking if you listen to your Fairy Godmother Lizzie.

Home Sweet Home . . . if you like llamas

For my Homestay, they sent us to the small village, Glenfarg. It was literally a village. Stone houses, friendly people, one store, one hotel where the one pub is located, and one church. It was cute. Surrounded by mountains and sheep and llama. So fun!

Wendy, my host, lives in an old Barley Mill, which she rebuilt and revamped all by herself with her ex-hubby. Like the two of them (and then their children) lived in a camper on the land, using the stream to mix the cement and longs to roll stones. They even lived off what the land grew--chickens, eggs, veggies, and goat milk. Yeah. Wendy still has chickens who gave us eggs for our breakfast. It was intense. Hard core. Very cold. The house was heated using wood burning stoves. brrrrrrr! Yay nature!

Getting to Glenfarg was an experience all on its own. So my abroad group sent three girls from America out on our own to travel there by public bus. None of us were very familiar with the bus system. All we had was the bus time, money for tickets, and one line of instructions saying to get off at "Milnathorp, south street, opp the RBS." THAT WAS ALL. And I was the group coordinator. Great. So we blunder our way through buying the bus tickets. Then we are on the bus, cruising along. Everything is fine, until we realize that we should be getting OFF the bus soon. So the other girls and I are looking around us at the dark, snowy, unfamiliar Scottish country side. We see a sign: Milnathorp.

Okay. But the bus is speeding through. We see a town. We are literally on the edge of our seats looking for our only landmark the RBS. We see one, but it is not OPP the bus stop but next to one. Is that our stop? Are we there? How do we get the bus to stop?

We passed it. One of the girls I am with goes and asks the bus driver, tells him where we want to go. He has no idea what we are saying. She comes back then tries again the next time he stops. He finally figures out where we want to go and is like "get off my bus. we passed that." So the three American girls get off the bus. We manage to get on another bus, and finally end up where we were supposed to be. YAY! It was a disaster.

Not fun. Then we were coming back--again Bus drama. The bus was late. The stops mismarked. The town was a bit on the iffy side. Luckily, this time Wendy was there to help! So yeah . . . public transportation was not so much fun :)

So yeah--I experienced rural Scottish life. I bonded with some LLamas. I am a llama magnate. Walked the hills. Froze in my sleep. Not something I would want full time. . . I mean I feel self-sufficient when I manage to go to the grocery store. Growing my own food . . . a little too extreme for me : )

Hallelujah! Part 2

It is a commonly acknowledged fact that I cannot cook. It usually ends in disaster, fire, and smoke. However, tonight. . . tonight I became a functioning member of society. I had three friends over--I use "friend" in the loose casual--and made dinner. I cooked very tasty chicken on the stove with salt and pepper, put it on top of a pesto cheese sauce (made by combining pesto sauce with cheese sauce), added my own steamed broccoli (that I made ON THE STOVE NOT THE MICROWAVE), and served over pasta.

It was epic.

It was genius.

It was edible.

My associates applauded my work, blissfully crediting me with the ability to cook.

So today, dear friends and family, today is a momentous occasion. Mark TODAY in on the calendar as the day Lizzie learned to survive on her own.

I would like a medal please.

Hallelujah!

I. TOOK. PUBLIC. TRANSPORTATION. . . to get to class. I can now commute using something besides my feet.