JESUS TITS AMERICA

So I'm finally in Tübingen. My flight got delayed because of weather in Chicago, and by the time I got to Chicago, of course there was no one there to help, and naturally there were no more flights to take to London. I had to overnight in Chicago, which wasn't that bad actually. Then I had to sleep in the Heathrow terminal because 1) my flight was the next day and 2) a hotel would have cost more than my flight. On the flight to London I met an insurance salesman (looking back this should have been a warning sign). As we started to talk I noticed that his hands were shaking as he read his book. Personable little me, I actually talked to him for a while. He took up the entire armrest, which at first kinda pissed me off, but I figured I could cut a guy who is either afraid of flying or has Parkinson's a break (looking bad this was my first mistake). Sometime around the Denver omlette they served for breakfast, his hand ended up on my leg. Now, at this point I thought "maybe he has some sort of arthritis and he can't feel his hand on my leg," and then I rationalized it with "I always complain about how Americans are so afraid of being touched by a stranger and it's so stupid." Armed with these lies I let his hand sit. Somewhere around Iceland, his hand had travelled partway up my leg and was now resting dangerously close to my junk. I decided that I had had enough with this BS. I say that very forcefully but in reality I just started a passive-aggressive war where my hand slowly tried to win back the territory I had lost. During this time, in true passive-aggressive fashion, we had held on a polite conversation. He was flying to London for a meeting and then on to Budapest, for no apparent reason. I told him of my tribulations at the Chicago airport, and he offered to share his London hotel room with me, adding rather ominously that when your abroad you have to try everything. I nearly vomitted, but I held it together because he could have killed me and dumped my body out of the Airplane bathroom across the glaciers of Iceland. You do what you have to do to stay alive.
By the time I was in Germany I had decided that I could wait to call my family and that they would understand that without a phone or internet, such things were difficult. This proved to be very wrong. My mom assumed that because I hadn't phoned (in my sister's words) "You had been killed in some Euro-trash alley." In her hysteria, she phoned my uncle who lives in Germany. Together they spend a day and a half calling O'Hare Airport, Heathrow Airport, Stuttgart Airport, London Police, Tübingen Police, The Wohnheimverwaltung (housing adminstration), and every dorm in Tübingen (there are about 30). As I walked carefree and rested into the Bus Station BurgerKing to check my facebook and email, they were about to file a missing persons report with the Federal Government. I would like to point out, and this is nothing against my mom specifically, that the word "Hysteria" comes from the Greek word "Hystera" meaning uterus because they thought it was caused by a disturbance in that organ. Women are Crazy.
In Tübingen things are going pretty good. I don't have internet in my room yet, so I'm writing this from the Afro-Café or something like that. And the room itself is kind of depressing, it's furnished but not very colorfully or happily. A little bit of advice to anyone who wants to study in Tübingen: familiarize yourself with the bus schedule and a map of the city. I was lost for an hour because I thought the busses weren't running and I tried to walk to my dorm. The other three times I've gotten lost in this city have been because I decided to just set out on foot somewhere.
My Sprachkurs has begun and so far I've met lots of people from England and the USA. It's nice to speak with them, but it kinda feels like cheating when I speak English. I'm also very critical of the other Americans because they are what people see of the whole nationality. I can only be so funny and cool, I can't make up for all of us!