D-DAY! Travel Blog 1

June 22 into 23

I debated what I wanted to do with this blog when I transformed it temporarily into my traveling blog as opposed to my humor-based postings. And I decided that I'm just going to kind of share whatever happens and be open and honest about my experiences. And if it's funny, great. And if not, then whatevs.

So today. Or, yesterday. June 22. I woke up at like 5 a.m. and couldn't go back to sleep cause my mind was going a million miles a minute. All I had to do was pee, but once I was up, my brain was like, "Oooo no no no, don't go back to sleep! Think of all of the things that could go wrong, over and over again. Also, keep going through a mental checklist to see if you have everything. You do? Are you SURE? Do it again."

GOD. So, I didn't quite get my eight hours. And then that whole day I kept going back and forth between excited and nervous. And when we finally got to the airport, I was so so so pumped, and then as I was saying good-bye to family and boyfriend, this horrible dread of fear came over me, and I started crying like an idiot. And then I cried through security, and then I cried at the gate, and then we switched gates, and then I stopped crying for a while because I found the other guy on the trip that had the same flight as I did.

And then we started talking to this German girl who had just finished a five-month study abroad program and had had this horrible airport experience of having her flight canceled and spending the night in D.C. and then driving to ATL. Poor girl. But I learned from her that German schools go pretty much all year, and have six weeks off in summer, two in fall, two in winter, and two in spring. Sounds legit to me.

And then they started boarding and that's when the panic really set in. I can't describe to you exactly what it feels like when I have a panic attack, but it's pretty goddamn terrifying. And so I'm sitting there crying. AGAIN. And I texted family and boyfriend and I was like, ok encourage me. NOW. And they all did. Thank god for them. And I got on the plane. And I am so so so proud that I did not get off because I tell you, that's allllll my mind was telling me to do. I was so afraid.

But then I met Tristan.

When I sat down, I said hi to the guy sitting in the window seat (21A). And he kind of mumbled something I couldn't understand, and I was like, "Crap, I can't tell if he's German or not." And I sat there for like ten minutes and finally said, "Sind Sie Deutscher? (Are you German?)" And he hesitates and goes, "Ich....lerne Deutsch.(I'm learning German)" And I was like, "Oh, thank god you're American!" Ane he said, "Thank god I was so nervous for a second!"

And his name was Tristan and he is my new best friend. Seriously. He's awesome. We were also the same person. Well, sorta. He's 15, a rising sophomore from New Jersey, his dad is German (hence his flying to Frankfurt, visiting his dad's friends) and his mom is Korean, he plays violin and likes classical music, he is allergic to everything just like I am, isn't a huge fan of chocolate just like I'm not, plays tennis, and if he's not weird and crazy like I am, he at least laughed at me and played along instead of staring at me like I'm a psycho. Also, we both love rage comics. It was super cool. So, my extreme crippling fear turned into a new friend. We took a picture as we were landing in Frankfurt:

New BFF!!

So, all in all, I'm really proud that I made it here, no matter how many pills I had to take, or how much I couldn't sleep. It's a huge step for me. Studying abroad is something I've always wanted to do, as foreign cultures interest me, but now that I'm dealing with my anxiety, it's also become a kind of radical way to say, "Hey, yeah, I have this stupid and annoying disorder that messes with me frequently, but it doesn't have to control me, and I can do something that scares me. I can."

Hell, I stayed on the plane, didn't I?

The good news is I do still have a face

I have a story to tell you. Most likely the last before this becomes a blog of traveling.

So, before I moved in with roommate and suitemates and we all became bffls, I lived in a much different environment, with a girl who we'll call BWCM, for reasons that are irrelevant.

Now, in this room, and indeed in the room I moved into after, I had a great many things hanging on the wall. Photos, posters, cork boards, and also a star light that hung from the ceiling. Sometimes, I would get nervous that the star would fall on me in the night and land on my eyes and blind me with its pointy points of pointiness. Another example of my irrational thinking, I know.

But one fateful night, all my fears came true. It all started at about 4 a.m., when I woke up to the sound of something ripping and my giant poster of the Eiffel tower fell on my face. So I took it down. Then I lay there, trying not to think about how incredibly heavy the framed pictures above my head to the left were. And then I heard more ripping, and one of the framed pictures to the right of my head started coming off. And I just took it all the way off and put it on my desk. 

Then I'm trying to go back to sleep and the freaking star fell down. And it did hit me in the face, but even though it's pointy, it is in fact made of paper and thus no damage was done. Well, no physical damage. But the star falling scared the bejeezus out of me and I went on a rampage, taking down all of my pictures. Except the really heavy ones, which would just NOT come off. But that didn't ease my mind at all. Because the command strips could just be messing with me and they won't pull off, but they would fall in the night and break my nose.

And after all of this, I couldn't go back to sleep. Probably because my adrenaline was still going. And so I got up at 6:30ish and had two extra hours before I had to leave for class so I did mah hurr and mah makeup all purdy and went to class tired, but lookin' gooooood.

Here is the room I shared with BWCM, with all of the posters and pictures still hanging...before that terrible night of terrors that were terrible...

Allergic to the earth

Here is where I tell you about an exciting adventure in my life called being allergic to everything. Don't leave just yet—I promise it's funnier than it seems like it would be. First of all, please enjoy this picture of an example of my allergies. This is a reaction I had when a tiny tiny little bit of my shot serum got on my arm:

It blew up real big. The smaller square at the bottom is the actual shot site, which is a pretty big reaction in and of itself, but the giant square at the top outlines the reaction to the serum. It's kinda hard to see cause it was mostly just swollen and the redness had gone away at this point, but it took up half my upper arm. ANYWAY, just an example of the tragedy of allergies that I deal with.

So now the story begins...

I had this period of probably two years in high school when I was sick all the time. Literally, I just felt poopy for months at a time. And I would consistently lose my voice. Which is an issue, because I was in chorus, in plays, and in musicals. And after testing me for all the sicknesses, my dad was like, allergies? So we went to the allergy clinic.

Now, I'd had an allergy test once before when I was younger, and it was these rows of little needles and they pressed like five into my back at once. Which wasn't too too bad, cause at least it was over quick. And the needles were little. And I was only slightly allergic to cats and grass.

But hell opened up and swallowed me when I walked into this clinic. Shots are not my favorite, and by that I mean as an adult (pre-allergy shots) I would still get teary eyed whenever I got them. So, this hell involved 65 individual shots in my arms. No multi-mini-needle back pressers. No, no. Not this day. This was a day of terror.

So like, halfway through my second arm, I started feeling really funny. I was dizzy and felt like I was going to simultaneously puke and pass out, which would probably not be a good combination. And the nurse was like, "Lay back honey," and I was like, "What are you, crazy? Must. Keep. Self. Upright." But I ended up becoming semi-conscious in the chair and thus did end up laying back, and the next thing I know they're holding ammonia salts under my nose.

Yayyyyyy.

And then I had to go back to school in time for algebra class.

BUT not before the doctor came in and said, "Well...I do have some good news. (Not the best way to start a convo, doc) We're gonna get you all better. The bad news is, we tested you for 65 things, and you are NOT allergic to five."

So that was that. I went back to class with giant, red, bumpy arms. Super attractive.

And I was severely (not deathly, but pretty badly) allergic to trees/cats/dogs. Which is wonderful because I live with a dog and four cats. None of whom are allowed in my room anymore. And trees are, you know, everywhere. Maybe I should live in the desert.

So I got six shots a week for about a year, three twice a week, and now I'm FINALLY down to two shots every three weeks. Which is a massive improvement, because of my aforementioned fear. 

However, despite all my shots and daily doses of allergy pills, allergies still knock me on my ass at least once a semester. This past semester, I honestly thought I had the flu. I had a low-grade fever and felt nauseated and achy and gross and just lay in my bed and only got up to make soup. And when I finally went to the doctor, he was like, "Um, nothing is wrong with you. Here's some allegra. Take it."

And it CHANGED MY LIFE. Seriously, that shit was nuclear. It was a combo of allergy medicine and sudafed and it was 24 hours. I felt like a superhero. At that point, I could have joined the Avengers...as...The Girl Who Was Always Sick But Not Anymore.

So...um....moral of the story....if you feel like crap, take nuclear allegra, and you'll probably feel better. Unless it's like, the chicken pox. Then you are just up a creek without a paddle. Or a canoe. Or a flotation device. Metaphorically.

Remember that one time...?

So, as some of you may remember, I wrote a column a little more than a year ago about the terrible ways that people tend to clothe themselves. And I wanted to bring this up for a couple of reasons. First: even though I know everyone that reads this are my friends and understood the humor, I just want to set the record straight about what the dang thing was about and debunk some myths. Second: I wanted to share with you this amazing email that I received from a man named…we’ll call him…Cherry. Third: I wanted to share some experiences surrounding the column with you lovely folks that you might not have known about. Anyway, you can find the article here: theplainsman.com, or if you google my name. That’s hilarious, googling my name.

By the way, this is on my mind because I finally made a memoriam of the column. I’ve wanted to do it forever and include the column and all of the things surrounding it. Picture: 

The reason it’s on an H is I’m spelling out “Laugh,” individually crafting each letter in a different way because I’m so damn creative. And the last letter is a decoupage of all the column stuff I could fit on there.

PART ONE: MYTHS

Myth #1: The column was an attack on the Greek community.

Truth: There was less than a paragraph regarding sorority shirts with frockets, and a single section (out of four) that addressed frat boy dress. That is all. If the Greeks were the ones that got offended about the article in general, then that just means that they’re the ones who dress that way. Not my fault. 

Myth #2: It was unacceptable to publish such heresy in a newspaper.

Truth: It’s a column. NOT an article. Read: it is opinion. So there’s that.

Myth #3: I took a stab at anorexia.

Truth: I was taking a stab at the unnecessary attention girls pay to their figure, and the pressure to be thin is even higher in a sorority. Anorexia isn’t funny. Counting calories is a little funny.

Myth #4: I’m a bitter girl that didn’t get a bid.

Truth: I didn’t rush. I just did not.

To conclude the myths section, I would like to say that I have NOTHING against sororities and fraternities. I care not if you are involved in them. I have tons friends in sororities and fraternities (even now, I might add). This was a column about clothes. CLOTHES. CLOOOOTHES.

PART TWO: CHERRY’S EMAIL

Ok, so here is the greatest email that I received. And believe me, I got a crap ton. This email, from a man named Cherry, was the funniest thing to ever appear in my inbox. So I have decided to share it with you, accompanied by some helpful corrections and comments, which are in red.

From: CHERRY

Date: Thu, 27 Jan 2011 18:58:31 -0600

To: ME

Subject: Kelllllyyyyyyy

         You honestly just suck at life. And I'm glad you're "peice (piece) of journalism" (column) was published, because it shows how much of an asshole you really are. That "peice (piece) of journalism" (column) was completely unprofessional (nay good sir, for it was merely opinion). I know you are trying to "throw your name out there" as a journalist (just trying to be funny), but the pictures on Facebook of you have already done that (my pictures put my name out there as a journalist?). Way to piss off half of the student body (not even 30 percent). The student body that makes Auburn, (there should not be a comma there) exactly what it is. 

        Did you not get a bid? (Nope. Cause I didn’t rush) Well it really isn't that hard, well, for most people (that’s not even a sentence). But most people aren't like you. Most people aren't arrogant assholes (good example of irony). Most people have friends (I have no friends *sarcasm*). Most people don't try to piss of the greek student body. (Not the goal) After reading your article (column), it screamed one word at me. INFERIOR. You're the girl that didn't get a bid (*sigh* didn’t rush). You're the girl that no one likes (The feedback I received was overwhelmingly positive). You are the girl, (again, comma splice) who wants so dearly to be like those girls rocking the nike shorts (Nike should be capitalized)(also, no). You are such an unprofessional journalist that I'll use some visuals to help you (what follows is words, not visuals. If I could see only in visuals, this would actually be extremely confusing for me).

FRATERNITY BOYS > YOU

SORORITY GIRLS > YOU

ME > YOU

MY DOG > YOU

MY PLEDGE PIN > YOU

THE DIRT ON THE BOTTOM OF MY FRAT ASS SPERRIES > YOU

          Oh Kelly, I'm sure you are crying right now (I was. From laughing), wishing you would have never done this (Are you kidding? I got like five job offers from legit newspapers. Guess I really am a horrible journalist...). No one likes you now (So many people agreed with me it was insane. One guy actually proposed). Well, no one liked you in the first place (false), but people who don't even know you, like me, well, they hate you too. As I conclude my email, you're (really?) portion about sunglasses and croakies made me think of one thing, one website that I, along with many other successful, well-rounded individuals thoroughly enjoy (here, I think well-rounded may refer to beer belly).

Some GDI walked up to me at the bar and asked why I had my sunglasses around my neck at one in the morning. I told him because I drink til the fucking sun comes up. TFM (How proud you must be, Cherry)

          Well Kelly, I hate to break it to you, but every single one of those frat boys that has croakies on is drunk as hell (…ok…why did you have to break that to me?). Sleeping through their classes, texting their slampieces, looking at their stocks, well you get the point (Again, such pride. Also, that was a fragment). While you try really hard to become a journalist one day, all of us are having the time of our lives. But the really sad part about it is that no matter how hard you try, we're happier (consistent drunkenness will do that to you), were (we’re) gonna make more money than you (doubtful, if you sleep through your classes), and were (we’re) better than you.

Your email screams Inferior. (I actually did not send Cherry an email)

My email screams Superior.

TFM

Wasn’t that enjoyable? Thanks for brightening my life, Cherry. I wish I’d had room to include that email on my H, but the other stuff pertained more to the column.

PART THREE: STUFF MOST PEOPLE DON’T KNOW ABOUT

I was asked in Fall semester of last year to do an interview. The email told me, and I quote, that the interviewers were from a “new student newpaper.” And I was like, aight. I’ve wanted to do an interview about this for a while.

Anyway, like halfway through the interview, the girls got super accusatory with their questions, and I felt really uncomfortable. And I asked them what newspaper this was for, and they told me it was for a Greek student newspaper. And they insisted they had told me that in their email, but I was like, “Listen, I have the email. You did not tell me.” So I left. I said, “You can publish this if you really want to, but I would prefer that you didn’t.” But of course they did. I thought about pressing charges, because they didn’t have my informed consent. INFORMED being the key word, because it is the legal responsibility of a reporter to tell the interviewee the title of the newspaper—or magazine, whatever—that he/she is from. But I didn’t press charges, because ultimately, their article made me look good, and the snarky comments they made them look bad. You can read it here: theodysseyonline

That was a really long blog post, but I never got the chance to really clear the air about any of the stuff that went down after my severely misinterpreted column. Bottom line: the column was a big fat sarcastic poke at the way people dress, and it was meant to be funny. I figured I’d offend some people, but I was NOT expecting death threats or entire websites dedicated to bashing me when they don’t even know me. People need to learn to take a joke!

But all in all, most messages I got were people telling me that they loved the column, and that was awesome. I have zero regrets. My only wish is that I had made my facebook private prior to all this…

Life at high altitude

So this past week, I spent a couple of days with my mom, my little brother, and two of his friends at my family's cabin in Gatlinburg, TN. Even though Pigeon Forge and Gatlinburg and Dollywood are suuuuuper hokey, I always have an excellent time. You know me, though, and no experience ever happens in my life without its "WTF seriously" moments.

WTF seriously moment 1: 

I forgot all of my medication. Like, all of it. Birth control, anxiety pills, allergy pills, everything. So, after two days without all that, I felt like utter shit. I got up Friday, felt dizzy and groggy and sick to my stomach and proceeded to lay on the couch all day until we left. And driving in the car I felt totally fine, because the world actually WAS moving, and it wasn't just in my head. Lord.

WTF seriously moment 2:

I had a "dream"that a spider fell from the ceiling onto my pillow. I am deathly, deathly afraid of spiders. Like, I'm a level or four past arachnophobia. It's bad. And this "dream" seemed very, VERY real. So anyway, there was this shot of horror and disgust that ran rampant through my body and I thought, Must. Get. To other side of bed. To turn lamp on. And find spider. And kill it. Can't turn the lamp on over here. Don't want to be near the spider. 

So I fumbled my way across this king-sized bed to a lamp that doesn't actually exist. There is no lamp on that side of the bed. And so I'm groping the bed post looking for the goddamn switch and it's not there. Because it's not actually a lamp. And I am FUH-REAKING OUT at this point. Like, hyperventilating. And I get halfway across the headboard before I realize that the lamp does not hang over the bed, so I am not touching the lamp, and in fact there is no lamp, so I am touching the headboard... This is the first point that I realize that I'm awake. I literally had crawled across the bed. That was not a dream. And somehow, all the pillows were on the floor. All of them. They were on the bed when I went to sleep (45 minutes earlier. I should have been in deep sleep...WTF). So I got to the overhead light switch and turned it on and spent a good half hour looking for the dream spider. I did not sleep well that night.

WTF seriously moment 3: 

Turkeys. There were just turkeys outside our cabin. Here is a picture. 

It's just a fucking turkey. Walking around on top of a mountain like it's no big deal. He had a couple of turkey buddies but they had run ahead.

WTF seriously moment 4: 

As I said, Dollywood is a hokey place. Full of rednecks and bald eagles in a cage, etc. But really, Dollywood? A TWELVE-POUND pizza?? And I thought the pizza slices at the Village were big...but these bastards were a pound each:

Also, there was a thing called the "Twelve-pound challenge" where if you and a friend can eat an entire pizza in an hour, you get a season pass. That's it. One measly season pass, for what I'm sure would be the worst 24 hours of your life. Because let me tell you, that shit is greasy.

Also, I don't know if this counts as a moment, but my brother's friends are rather large men. So is my brother. So I, at 5'7", walked around Dollywood all day with a football player, lacrosse player, and former swimmer, all of whom are more than 6'2". Maybe I looked like a lady pimp. Cool. 

T-minus 14 days

So...in case you didn't remember, I'm studying abroad in Austria this Summer. It's happening. It's actually happening two weeks from today. AHHH! I'm freakin' out. Like I'm super excited, but super nervous too.

Anyway, I think I mentioned this before, but just wanted to remind you lovely beautiful readers of mine that my blog of hilarity will become a blog of travel starting June 22 and will resume normal hilarity on or around July 30, depending heavily on jet lag. Which hits me harder coming back from Europe for some reason...

But anyway, if you only like me for my funny (in which case YOU ARE NOT A REAL FRIEND) (But I still love you cause you read my blog) then I totes understand if you don't want to read my travel adventures.

But let me tell you folks, it will be full of epicosity, to quote Toby Turner. And if you want to follow my super awesome fun time (but still studying German!) life in Vienna, Munich, Prague, Budapest, and Salzburg, it's happening. I'ma document it. With lotsa pictures. 

Good. Ok well...that's all I wanted to say. Don't worry, I will have more blogs of funny before I leave. Promise! : D

Solstice?

My last name is Tsaltas. It is Greek, but I am only a quarter Greek. Three quarters of the time, though, people mispronounce my last name.

Mistake number one: Solstice.

How does that even happen? I know I don't have a normal last name, but come on. There is clearly no "s" after the "l." That is a simple literacy problem, not a difficult last name problem. I think Solstice is probably the most common way people mess up my name...sad.

Mistake number two: Tuh-saltas. 

I understand this one at least a little more. Because there is a "t" there. I get it. But it doesn't actually take up a whole syllable. Speaking of that...

Mistake number three: Saltas. 

The "t" is not silent. My dad always says, "It sounds like the word 'it's' without the 'i.'" I guess a lot of time if there is an extraneous-looking consonant at the beginning of a word, it's silent. But Tsaltas isn't one of them, so stop leaving the "t" off of my name! Poor lil consonant : (

Mistake number four: Saltazz. 

As in, rhymes with jazz. Just, no.

People also frequently misspell it, most of the time on awards when it is engraved into metal. So I have an array of things that say, "Tsaltis," or "Saltis," or "Saltas." People are going to think they're not my awards! Curses.

Restaurant reservations, etc., prove exceedingly difficult as well. Sometimes we'll just use first names. Because we're so damn tired of spelling our name, only to hear, "Wait what?" Yes, there is a "t" AND an "s." And prescriptions...Walgreens should know by now, but there is still the occasional mistake where they'll say, "We don't have a prescription for that name." And even though we already said, "Tsaltas, T-S," we have to repeat it. And lo, they have found the prescription! 

Anyone else have a difficult last name? I know boyfriend's name is pretty intimidating as well. And one of Suitemate's. Share yo stories with meh, friends!

PS: I've made it super easy to follow this blog with Email updates!! I didn't realize that you had to like make a profile to follow me. So check the sidebar to enter your email and find out when I post! I also link on my facebook, if you're friends with me, my twitter @ktsalt, and my tumblr generalmelon.tumblr.com.