In anticipation of my exciting trip to Ireland and the UK tomorrow, I found myself at a local bookstore perusing the “literary travel” section. I was looking for a funny book about traveling. Okay, to be more specific, I was looking for a funny book written by a down-on-her-luck, clumsy young woman who travels to the UK to find herself. Even more specifically, I wanted this book to have a chapter about how this girl falls in a puddle in front of Prince Harry, completely shattering her one chance of dazzling him with her charm and endless supply of Arrested Development quotes to the point where he proposes to her on the spot and in a whirlwind she becomes part of the Royal Family, and subsequently stirs things up a la Disney’s Princess Diaries by slouching in chairs, cursing in public, eating McDonalds in her evening gowns and then divorcing Prince Harry (assuming the pre-nup was somewhat in her favour) to return to her previous lover, her computer programmer boyfriend. This book would explain that she had hoped to do all of that simply to gain enough notoriety (ie. tabloid fame) to have her books published no prob and also so that she could afford to buy a comic book store just for her and her friends to play Dungeons and Dragons in. To my surprise this book did not exist. Not only does this very specific book not exist, I didn’t see a lot of funny female travel memoirs in general. Sure, we’ve all pretended to read Eat Pray Love for a book club before, but that shit is too heart felt for me. I want embarrassing stories that take place on a foreign continent. Upon realization that I couldn’t find one of these books to take with me on my adventure I started feeling rather sad and down-on-my-luck. But then I realized that I am a down-on-her-luck, clumsy young female about to travel to the UK to “find herself” (ie. find out how many days she can walk in a row before dying) who has a track record of embarrassing herself in front of celebrities (May 2014, Empire State Building, Trip and Fall in front of Philip Seymour Hoffman). Do you know what that means, loyal readers? THAT MEANS THAT I CAN BE THE DOWN-ON-HER-LUCK AUTHOR OF THAT BOOK!
So I plan on writing during my trip to see if I can come up with enough hilarious and self-deprecating travel stories to at least start my funny travel memoir – that is if there will be enough room in my luggage for my notebook and pen between all of my prescription pill bottles, ankle braces and travel canes. Seriously, if I forget to buy a luggage tag on my way to the airport tomorrow which, let’s be honest here, will probably happen, and if my untagged luggage goes missing, chances are West Jet will return it to some old age home somewhere.
I just finished packing my luggage and I have managed to fit enough stuff for two weeks into a rather tiny backpack. One thing I realized while packing is that I have put far too much effort into creating this effortless backpacker look. I have the Blundstone boots, the cute military jacket that screams “I love adventures!” and the state-of-the-art backpack that makes it look like I probably don’t have a home address because I’m just such a free-spirited nomad that I don’t need one. I guess I am hoping that this very false persona that I’m disguising myself as while on vacation will really rub off on me and turn me into someone so adventurous that she can walk up a slight hill in Edinburgh without needing ambulance service waiting for her at the top. Blundstones, you better work miracles so you will be worth the $225 I charged to my credit card for you!
I won’t really have access to the interwebs while I’m off finding myself in the UK, as I plan on roughing it like it’s 1997, so try not to miss me too much while I’m gone. I’ll be living it up for the next two weeks – limping through Dublin, getting pushed up hills in Edinburgh, doing a lot of sitting down places in Manchester and probably begging old men for a lend of their wheelchairs in London museums. I know, you’re jealous. I would be too.
I assume that if my muscles don’t kill me on this trip then my fake British accent that comes out unintentionally when I’m excited will. So, if I don’t make it back alive I will to you, my loyal readers, the rights to make a movie about my life so that I can be posthumously famous.
Excuse me while I go watch instructional videos on how to apply kinesiology tape to every muscle in my body.
SEE YOU IN TWO WEEKS! Hopefully…