So this is what happened Part I

I got dumped.


And it all began with a stern talking-to from a border control agent with crumbs on his tie about the fact that I'd been living in London for a year (in and out, not working I swear!}. The little man put a warning stamp in my passport and I was told in no uncertain terms to get the fuck out. For the duration of the period in question I'd been flying back and forth dating and later shacking up with Michael. It was very romantic and even though I couldn't work legally I'd made a little home for myself and learned to cook a decent meal. Leaving that was devastating.


So I got sent home, left all my things thinking we'll sort it out, I'd get a visa and everything will be peachy. Ten months later, still no dice. The laws kept changing and money got tighter and tighter. Finally we threw our hands up in the air and I returned to England without a visa - This after months of me begging him to just marry me for the fucking visa and the discomfort you can imagine that caused him. Miraculously, I got into the country with no difficulty.


We had a pleasant week, it was fantastic to be home, as by then I'd long given up on the idea of him wanting to get married so that tension was gone. On week two a psychic he visited a month before called Michael to announce that she has spoken with the dead and I am not the girl for him. Remarkably, he listens. On his request I packed up the remainder of my things.


It's a ten hour flight non-stop from Heathrow to IAH and I cried for about eight, a thin blue blanket over my head and my knees curled up against the back of some poor man's seat. As the plane hit the tarmack it occured to me that going home would only garner expressions of "I told you that foreigner was no good!" and scrambled for a plan. "Friends" was the first thought I had and then realized I'd abandoned most of those good people for life in Britain. On one hand I counted those who might feel sorry for me and take me in like a lost puppy, preferrably with the ability to perform ex-boyfriend exorcisms.


Shannon stood out in my mind as the only person with the patience and understanding it takes to deal with the debbie downer I'd certainly be, so I called and asked if she'd welcome a visitor. Thank god she said yes because I was already on my way to Juarez.

Lucky Traveller or Hooker?

Being an adventurer has it's perks. Over time friends learn to stop expecting things of you and before you know it they've replaced annoyance with your unreliability (because you were kidnapped by a Colombian gang and held for ransom, too bad you couldn't make that office party) with resigned curiosity. They'd like to trade places for a day but will settle on hoping a boulder will fall on you, after which they'll say "I told you that was dangerous."

The problem lies in the folks who think you should be sensible. And it's always your family. However, if by chance they met an unrelated adventurer they'd be rapt with admiration for their fearlessness - an Australian boy they ran into who was hitch-hiking his way across America with no money, maybe. I can't tell you how frustrating that is. If it's you though, you're just a lazy good-for-nothing because everyone is just dying to know how you can afford your travels. Whatever it is, it can't be honest.  

My family thinks I'm a hooker. Really though, I'm just lucky.