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The furthest place away from my home I ever traveled was England. I went on a whim because earlier that summer I acquired a British boyfriend for a short period of time and realized that I was really attracted to pale, bald men with accents. Sure, it may sound funny, but it’s true. Also, England is home to some of the best rock and depressing music of all time- so with those two reasons combined, I decided I must take a trip.  I secured a place to stay with a friend of a friend, and I flew across the “pond” (as those clever Brits like to call it) and landed in Heathrow Airport. I stayed in London for two weeks and spent most of my time going to random restaurants, cafes and bars. I had an affair with this one guy named Garry, who was studying for his PhD; we met off Craigslist.com. He was really good looking, but talked incredibly too much. I met another guy that took me on a road trip through the countryside and to Stonehenge. He was really attractive and a gentlemen as well. However, it all felt awkward as I forgot his name the entire trip. Ironically, it turns out the guy’s name was Guy. Anyhow, I hitched a ride with some hot South African Surfer guy to Brighton and continued on from there… It was a fabulous trip full of delightful memories, though I never met my pale bald dream man.