Just touched down in London-Town

Last night I was told by my mother that I was not allowed to stay in a hostel during my work-sponsored trip to London this July.

I realize I'm new to Blogger and all of you, but quick refresher: I am 22.  I work and have health benefits and everything.  I even have dental!  That screams adult to me.  More importantly, I studied abroad in London for a semester, meaning I kinda know my way around the joint.  I love London so much my friends have begun to hate it out of spite (and jealousy because I love it more than I love them).

London: it has my name on it.

Anyways, I'll be in London for three nights on my own before meeting up with the tour I'm joining.  Now, despite all of my benefits talk before, I am still pretty damn broke, and the idea of being able to afford a hotel in one of the most expensive cities in the world is hilarious.  Since I would like to be able to move out in the near future (August! August! August!), the most logical and financially-sound option is a hostel.

I understand that to adults the word "hostel" brings up images of seedy almost-homeless shelters, with drug-addicted vagrants curled up in corners just WAITING to steal from the young, bright-eyed American girl sharing their bunk.  But look how cute! 

I can just tell that nothing bad has ever happened there, ever.  Plus it has a red door, like a Talbot's, which means it is classy.

This is the hostel I decided to book, and at $33/night, I couldn't be happier.  It's in the perfect location, and I booked a female-only room so I have some level of protection against skeezy Europeans looking for a wife.  Unless you are Irish.  Then...when can you move in?

Making these reservations wasn't easy, though.  My mother flat-out told me I wasn't allowed to stay in a hostel.  I'm sorry, "allowed"?  Who's trip is this, again?  Who is paying for it?  I understand she is looking out for me, and the thought of me on my own for three days must make her nervous, but I gotta ask, how old am I?  At least I'm being responsible enough to know that I can't throw a whole paycheck away on this.  By all means, Mom, if you want to put me up in a fancy-pants Holiday Inn, I won't say no...

But instead, I waited until I was at my happy place (work) and used the my whole day to research, find and, eventually, book my hostel.  Eeee! I do a little jig whenever I think about it...I am going back to London!

We'll be together again soon, Benjamin.

The best part, however, was when I got home tonight and could look my mom in the eye, full of confidence, and say:

"I booked my nights in London.  At a hostel."

And the 13-year old who lives in my head had her hands on her hips and her tongue stuck out.  Take THAT.