I’ve been getting a fair share of critical comments and emails for appearing overprivileged and “jet-setting” all over Europe, which would actually not bother me so much if it weren’t for the fact that neither is true. Contrary to claims made by commenters on my blog, I don’t come from a wealthy family (which is why I qualify for HFAI) so Harvard is pretty much my only claim to privilege. As far as claims go, I have to admit that I’ve got it pretty good, but simply going to an Ivy League school doesn’t make the rest of your life. It’s not like I showed up to Harvard and suddenly, I was given the trust fund I’d always wanted. Before this year, I worked during every summer since age 15 and during every academic term since college began. But after my last job ended in December, I vowed to concentrate more on my writing, so I decided to ditch paid-by-the-hour internships in favor of freelance work and personal projects. I completed my most recent assignment a week and a half ago, in the days between my London and Spain trips. Sure, I’m awfully lucky that I get to run around Europe, but writing remains a huge component of my life and I’m pretty much always working on columns or my manuscript here.

And though this is beside the point, I think I’ve made it fairly obvious that the majority of my time here thus far has been spent in an un-air-conditioned dorm room with my sometimes-suicidal best friend. Her roommates are probably wondering when the hell I’m going to leave. It’s not like I’m rocking out in lavish hotels. I’m essentially a squatter in student housing, not the Marie Antoinette these online snarks are looking to stone. I mean, when I was hungry today, I had to go into the kitchen to steal someone else’s cake and eat it. Seriously.

Anyway, I’m writing this somewhat defensive entry because I find it irritating that there’s a stereotype of Harvard kids as being spoiled brats who have had everything handed to them in life. Certainly, this holds true for a portion of the population, but on the whole, the students here are probably some of the hardest workers I’ve ever seen, and there are plenty of them who aren’t working for money but rather for causes and beliefs that don’t even benefit them. Occasional pretension aside, my peers deserve a lot of credit for that. Of course, plenty of us — even someone like me whose annual family income qualified her for free school lunches back in the day — have had inherent advantages, be they particularly supportive parents or the necessary college prep classes. Still, those advantages shouldn’t discredit the many things we have earned for ourselves. In my case, I think this summer of travel has been well-earned, given the fact that it’s the first leisurely summer I’ve had since … just about ever.

Unlike comments about my sexual history, I take criticism about perceived privilege and exorbitant spending (of other people’s money) very personally. I consider “brat” far more insulting than “slut”, because though I don’t believe there’s anything wrong with sexual appetite, I do think that ignorant wastefulness and entitlement are major character flaws. Besides, the truth is that I do feel bad about not working this summer. I put myself through enough guilt without needing commenters to remind me about it. And this guilt is definitely an irrational manifestation of the capitalistic, work-a-holic system in which I grew up. Why do Americans feel so bad about taking a vacation!

This autumn, it’ll be back to work for me … and it’ll be much more work than usual too. I’m taking the year off from Harvard, and I’ll be the Boston area, close to friends and lover (note: that was singular, not plural). I’m looking for a part-time gig to balance out my freelancing. Having my own hours as a writer is fantastic but at my age, at least, it’s no way to pay the bills on the regular. So ideally, I’d like to be working at a non-profit that deals with women’s issues, LGBT advocacy, or disadvantaged youth. Come September, I’ll be more than ready for real life and the comfort of work. I wouldn’t trade this summer for anything, but I wouldn’t extend it either. Besides, when traveling becomes a full-time occupation, it ceases to be a vacation.

I tend to hate the photos taken of me next to my laptop. I’m a blogger, so naturally, reporters ask me to pose with my weapon of choice. I don’t mind acquiescing, especially since I’m not a photographer myself and it’s not like I have a suggestion for a better shot. Still, I can’t help thinking that the more obvious setup the setup, the less meaningful the picture. It’s strange that the easiest portrait to shoot is the one that appears the most contrived. I never look natural in my photos next to computers.

But this one I like for some reason. He took it Saturday night. We’d just gotten back to the hotel from coffee on the Lower East Side. I was looking at my Tumblr dashboard when he shot this (you can tell from the screen it’s Tumblr). I didn’t know until we scrolled through his photos later that he had taken anything at all.

An actual candid of me. Pretty rare.

Another interesting photo (from our coffee earlier that evening). I started taking pictures of him with my cell phone and he responded by snapping me with his digital camera at the same time. It was war.

Got back from New York this morning after sleeping at some atrocious hour last night. 72 hours in New York. Christ. Things I did this weekend (with helpful links):

* Got two dresses at AuH2O, this fantastic East Village clothing store with one-of-a-kind pieces made from recycled fabrics. Kate, the owner (who’s only 23!), is doing a custom piece for the Guy. New York fashion students, intern for this woman. She’s responsible for cool, creative, affordable stuff like this Metrocard dress.

* Had a cup of New York’s best coffee at Abraço

* Best meal of the weekend: dinner at a great French place in the East Village called Antibes Bistro. The desserts are amazing. What I recommend: butternut squash ravioli and the chocolate terrine.

* Brought the Guy and the dog along for a fascinating meeting with a downtown production company.

* Visited the International Center of Photography. Really enjoyed the Glenn Ligon exhibit critiquing Robert Mapplethorpe’s The Black Book (a volume of homoerotic images of black men)

* Saw a lot of people, just generally. Consumed a lot of coffee and Haribo gummi bears, just generally (the latter brought back from Germany when I visited Kennedy over spring break).

* Hung out at night with the Guy’s sister who studies fine arts in the city. Wound up in Williamsburg both Friday and Saturday night after disliking the pretentious crowd at Plumm and D’Or. Jules (my down-to-earth NYC companion from last summer who was the only person I knew who lived in Brooklyn) would’ve been proud.

* Took plenty of candid photos and video, somewhat against my perfectionist will, but oh well.

Good drive. Good company. Great weekend.

I just got back to the States two hours ago. This is what I learned:

If you suffer from irrational fear of flying, it is probably not a good idea to go back on birth control, skip your period, and become a hormonal mess the same month you fly upwards of 30 hours.

Yes, your nipple piercing will set off the airport metal detector. Yes, that large Greek woman did just feel you up.

Brief future travel companions on what to expect when vacationing with you: mood swings, middle-of-the-night dry heaving and sobs, obsessive webcamming with guy you’re seeing back in the States, mysterious mid-vacation disappearances to other foreign countries.

Just because you scored a discount on the five-star resort you’re staying at does not mean you can afford to eat at the five-star resort. Corollary: Euros look like monopoly money but they are not. Put down that piece of cake. It’s $20.

The Acropolis is fairly historically significant, so bring a book on it if you’re not going to pay for a guide when you visit. Otherwise, all your Facebook photos will be captioned “old, important-looking building.”

When in doubt, just get on the damn plane to Germany. You will not regret going. You will regret not going.

No, that guy wearing the scarf is not gay. He is just German. Corollary: Yes, those guys holding hands are gay. It is not a “German thing.”

In Greece and Germany, there is no difference between ice cream and gelato. All ice cream is gelato. Fatty, American ice cream does not exist. Corollary: There are no fat people in Heidelberg.

“I don’t speak German” is not an effective way of turning down men. Everyone in Germany speaks English. Corollary: Repeatedly saying the German word for no, “nein”, is also an ineffective way of turning down men. You best start making out with your female best friend instead.

Things the concierge at nice hotels will do for you include: retrieving you new contacts when you leave yours in Germany, make international phone calls on your behalf, get anything and everything short of endangered creatures delivered to your room, stall taxi drivers you’ve kept waiting for 20 minutes, turn the other cheek when you bring home strange Greek men. Things they will not do: tell you where to score drugs.

Murphy’s Law goes into full force during foreign travel. Your best friend will have a breakdown the day before you leave. She will not be in the “right” country (meaning the country you are in) when this happens. You will lose all your credit cards. The New York Times will depict you as some Ivy-educated, modern-day Suzie Wong even when you are not in the country to defend yourself. You will miss your flight home. Every form of transportation you use, including the CDG train, the RER, the T in Boston, and others, WILL BREAK DOWN. When you think you’re finally safe on American soil, YOU WILL LOSE YOUR LUGGAGE. So really, next time time you vacation, you should just buy a one-way ticket, make zero structured plans, and hope for the best. You will probably wind up in the exact same position anyway (that is, rocking back and forth in a ball in a corner of Terminal E in Charles de Gaulle).

If you miss your flight and do not have a credit card to buy a new one, the following will not convince French airline employees to put you on a plane: crying, begging, flashing, saying please in Spanish. No, they will not be impressed at your high school level grasp of a European language.

If your MacBook stops detecting wifi and you have no phone or calling card, the best idea when stuck in the airport is to LATCH ONTO AMERICANS FOR DEAR LIFE. No one else in Europe will give a damn about you, honey, and even the midwestern boy you’re crying to is only vaguely moved.

Guys who bail you out of tough situations (like getting stuck in France with no money or phone or dignity) are keepers. Especially if they promise you amazing sex once you’re on the same side of the Atlantic.

Money can be wired, plane tickets can be purchased, but dignity cannot be regained. Double-check you brought yours along for the return flight, because if you left in France, the French are not giving it back.

Saturday’s kundalini session with Evelina at Golden Bridge was exactly what I needed after a less than peaceful first weekend home. It was taught by Gurmukh Kaur Khalsa who is a world-renowned instructor and co-founder of Golden Bridge (which also has a location in Manhattan). My experience with yoga thus far has been limited to one hour and under sessions at the University gym or really intimidating and difficult sessions at local Cambridge studios. This was pretty different for me, since kundalini involves significant meditative elements and is as much a spiritual experience as it is a workout. It was during the two-hour session that I released a ton of negative energy from the past few days, de-stressed the fuck out, and finally shed a few much needed tears.

Evelina has been amazing in the aftermath of the photo scandal. She’s listened to me whine, gone with me to file a police report, taken me to a meeting with an agent, and introduced me to the aforementioned kundalini yoga. She’s also agreed to accompany a friend of mine — who is SORELY in need of emotional release — to Golden Bridge after I go back to school. I highly suggest that anyone feeling emotionally yuck go yoga it out. Here’s a photo of me and my girl:

Anyhow, I’m off to Vegas for New Year’s and going to San Francisco immediately after that. Since I haven’t been back to my birthplace in a year, I wrote up a list of things I wanted to get done:

1. Picnic somewhere scenic with something ethnic.
2. Eat a cookie at Blue Chip Cookies on Pier 39 (Ahh, just learned it was closed down! How disappointing)
3. If time permits, catch a movie at the Metreon, probably Sweeney Todd or Juno
4. Run around the Castro and check out SF’s queer scene (definitely not something my parents have encouraged over the years)
5. Touch the Pacific and watch my last sunset before heading back East.

The schedule as of this morning’s phone call with the male parental:

Saturday, January 5:
Arrival to Oakland International at 8 a.m.
Breakfast + bonding time with godparents
Partying in the city for the first time ever

Sunday, January 6:
Dinner with father
Visits to aunts, uncles, grandparents, the gamut
Partying, continued

Monday, January 7:
Celebrating “Take a Blogger to Work” Day?
Possibly invading the Googleplex and running around Mountain View
Partying, continued

Tuesday, January 8:
Wreaking continued havoc
Dinner with godparents
Getting on 9:15 p.m. flight

Wednesday, January 9:
Arrival to Logan International Airport at 6 a.m. EST

January is going to be an amazing month. I have a midterm on the 10th and a paper on the 12th. On the 13th, my friends and I are going to watch Rent. On some other date, I’m planning a boy-girl mixer between my pals and a group of guys. From the 22nd-29th, I’ll be in Switzerland with Tara, Tiffanie, and Cooper. I’m REALLY looking forward to skiing (i.e. flailing around helplessly) on the Alps and meeting up with Geneva boy.

Also, though I’ve effectively moved into Tara and Tiffanie’s apartment, I think I’m going to relocate back to the Quad for the duration of January because my best friend Kennedy is leaving for Germany next semester and these are the last few weeks we can hang out. (She lives in the House next to mine and is not going to be here when I come back from Switzerland). I want to hole up and spend some quality time with her before she departs.

At the moment, my spring break (end of March) plans involve Europe. But maybe Tiffanie and I should just road trip it around the East. Hmm…

Skiing (or attempting to) with Tara and Tiffanie over intercession. I was deciding between this and the safer choice of San Francisco. Decided to hell with it and just bought the ticket. I’m so psyched!