AU: Well, here we go again. Welcome to the totally re-vamped version of My International Slip Up!

Exciting, isn't it?

Expect to see many more funnies and more narratives, and it's all longer too!

Enjoy!

Also, join the group on Facebook!

I-Love-Darien-Byron !

On my FictionPress homepage, there's a link to the playlists I made on IMEEM when I first wrote MISU. So, yeah!

Music:

In A Cave - Tokyo Police Club
Without Reason - The Fray
SOS - The Jonas Brothers
Mr Brightside - The Killers
Baobabs - Regina Spektor

ENJOY!

My International Slip Up
Chapter One

I have a tendency to be left behind, both literally and figuratively.

For example, when I was in Kindergarten, we had a field trip to the zoo. Having accidentally wandered off, something that happened a lot because of my insatiable curiosity, I soon found myself stuck in the reptile exhibit, alone and wary of the strangers around me. That was the day my mom lectured me on not talking to (or accepting candy from) strangers.

Another example? Well, after stopping off at my house to get something, I went back outside to catch up with my friends (who were supposed to wait for me) and continue our way to the theatres—only to find that they had already left. Yes, they ditched me. Left behind once again.

Oh, but this example takes the cake. Brooke and Lance, my best friends after the theatre incident, were coincidentally my competitor and my crush. Unfortunately for me, during a little adventure in a crappy haunted house, Lance and Brooke confessed their undying love (in other words, hooked up) and left me behind to fend off college zombies and bedsheet ghosts by myself.

"Ariella, honey. We love you. Just not in that way."

That's what they had told me, during a rather dramatic confrontation during lunch at school. Needless to say, I didn't talk to them after that, ever again. (If you're wondering, they broke up about three weeks later.)

Although now, I have much better friends, my best friend, Audrey Kerrington, was not able to join me on this trip because of previous engagements. She did, however, remind me to get her a souvenir, preferably in the form of a human, male, and 'highly attractive'.

I told her I'd try.

But Audrey would come back into the big picture at a different time.

Anyway, so back to my trip.

What trip? you're probably wondering.

Though that beautiful country Canada offered an insane variety of multicultural experiences (Kensington Market, for the win!), I felt the need to explore even more. Following my brother's suit, it was a bit of my adventurous side coming out, since it had been shut up for awhile because of a rather traumatizing experience at the supermarket. Plus, I wanted to surprise Audrey, by visiting her at her relatives' mansion in Greece, where she was staying for the summer. And so, I decided to embark through a few major European countries.

Those countries include France, England, Spain, Portugal and Greece. Because of a small budget, I couldn't do much more yet, but I promised myself that I would, someday.

However, I was halfway through the trip, in Portugal, and left behind for the billionth time in my life. By whom, you may ask? I mean, I didn't go with anyone, so who could have possibly left me behind?

But really, it's what left me behind. And guess what it was. Just guess.

The plane.

That's what left me behind.

Uh oh, you're thinking. You're laughing, and trying to imagine what you would do if that happened to you. Trust me, whatever you're imaging, it's ten billion times worse.

I cursed, swore, ran around in a rampage and freaked out everyone from the big families going to Disneyland to the security guards, who attempted feebly to calm me down. I turned on the hysterics and began screaming, crying, yelling, all at the same time, and I did every single thing I could think of that would make them consider me enough of a nuisance to book something for me. (For free, of course. What, I'm a freeloader. Whatever.)

Finally, my (twisted) logic got me somewhere, and the attendants informed me quite exasperatedly that they were able to book me a flight to my destination, two days from now. Audrey would still be there, but it delayed my plans quite a bit.

And what else? What was the huge other-consequence of this that reduced me to tears every time I thought about it?

I had no place to stay, for those two days.

In other words, I'd be forced to stay at the airport for two whole days.

Fun.

After three hours, it was midnight, and I was pretty high on frustration, anger and exhaustion already. Bustling people annoyed me greatly, and their children only made it worse. I think that if I ever have to invent something, I'd invent a class that will be mandatory in all high schools, worldwide. 'How to deal with people at the airport'. The lucky ones would be taught by me, of course, assuming that I survive this ordeal, and—

Wow, I need a life. Maybe they should teach that in high school too.

Adding on to my continuously building frustration, I had begun singing and humming like a crazy woman. I racked my brain for random songs, and hummed them, sometimes adding words since I was no maniacal lyric person. Let me just add one detail for you, so you can imagine this better. A twenty-three year old woman, listening to her mp3, sitting at her spot at the airport, and singing songs that ranged from Twinkle Twinkle Little Star (Mozart's Variation, to add a little spice), to songs by the Jonas Brothers (they're my guilty pleasure, although they're supposed to be for teeny boppers. Yeah, I'm that creepy woman in the background who looks way too old to be at their autograph signing area. Beat it.).

(Oh, but you must admit, their songs are quite catchy!)

I glanced at the clock again, and figured out that it really had only been three hours and a half, and that I still had quite a few to go.

And I was already insane.

"Someone," I muttered, as I squirmed in my seat and eyed the young couple who looked as if they were about to elope make out as if their lives depended on it, "save me."

At exactly three o'clock in the morning, or three hours later, most of those bustling people who annoyed me to no end had died down. The kids were limited to sleeping babies in carriages and portable cradles, and the people were either seniors or lovey dovey newlywed couples. (That was a personal observation.)

Though I probably could've called home and asked my mom to send over more money for a hotel or hostel, I decided not to, knowing that my explanation as to why I had missed my flight would be laughed at by my sister and brother and my parents.

Plus, maybe this will teach me in the future to not stop at yummy road side food stops, and not to spend huge amounts of money on food and souvenirs.

Or something.

Anyway, I had just changed my position on the 'comfortable' chairs, and took a deep breath.

But then, it hit me. I hadn't been expecting it at all. No, this wave… this current of…

Hunger.

Buddha, I was hungry. And when I was hungry, I kicked things. The two come hand in hand in my head, and do blame it on that time in grade two when I kicked Billy Thornburg and successfully saved Martin Dwayne from being beat up when I was on my way to my cubby to get my sandwich. Yeah, I was a hungry beast back then too. Deal.

Anyway, though the two urges were equal, I had successfully ignored the one that told me to kick something, and so my attention had been shifted to that rumbling growl in my stomach and my brain which begged me to eat something or I would die of starvation (though it wasn't as if I hadn't eaten the whole day).

Another loud gurgle sounded from me, begging and pleading me to go get something to eat, and the gurgle had actually made this one couple look in my direction as they got up to board their plane.

What? Yeah, I was hungry. Really hungry.

And so, before the urge to kick something came back, I jumped up from my spot and began to search blindly for food.

I came across an array of stores, most of which were closed, but a few were open. Even so, they were bookstores and clothing store. I didn't want to eat paper or fabric, thanks.

I continued my search.

As I wandered, I wondered how those people ended up with jobs like that. I pitied them too, so even though I would've usually gone into those stores just to irritate them, I decided not to. I mean, they already dealt with enough hungry people like me. I'm not merciless.

But my search for food began to seem hopeless. Each growl became louder and louder, and the kicking urge was back too.

And then, I remembered, ahah!

In my bag, which was hopefully still in my seat, was a bag of chips I had bought in Barcelona! And I'm not talking about any random bag of chips; I'm talking about a jumbo size, bbq and ruffled chips, from some unknown brand.

They might've been slightly stale, and the unknown brand was slightly shady, but who cares! Food is food!

Ariella, dear, I could hear my mother's voice in my head as I began to run back to my spot.

God, knowing your luck, something bad's going to happen real soon, the sarcastic voice of Audrey Kerrington cut in.

Ariella, young lady, you'd better slow down and act more diplomatic! You're in a foreign country, representing your own! Mother again.

But in my frantic running back to my seat, I neglected to really understand what those voices were trying to tell me, and to watch where I was going. I also neglected to see a 'Caution, Wet Floor' sign, which I had only caught sight of after I started sliding in s-l-o-w-m-o-t-i-o-n (or what seemed like it).

And finally, to my utter surprise (but probably not to yours), I raced headfirst into some guy. Some guy with dark shades, a black baseball cap and more black apparel. What, was he trying to be a ninja or something? Or maybe he was a ninja. But I reprimanded myself soon after. Ninjas would never be as foolish at to let themselves be run into. They'd use their super ninja cool skills and jump out of the way onto the ceiling or something.

As I gathered my thoughts on the slipper, cold and wet ground, my thought tried to mature themselves and think logically (for once).

"Sorry about tha—"

I then realized that whoever I had run into was quite… still. My eyes widened. Because of many doctor-shows (like House and Grey's Anatomy), I knew immediately to check his pulse. (Actually, I probably should've known that generally… but oh well.)

Yup, there was a pulse. Thank goodness, because my head probably couldn't have handled another dose of insanity (I mean, come on, I missed a flight and was stuck here for a few days, that was horrible, especially for someone like me who has a very short attention span and patience… span…).

My eyes swept over this person, trying to find out if he had any other possible injuries, but it didn't really seem like it. I assumed that this person was male, after surveying his… physique. Pursing my lips, I wondered what I could do. I knew indefinitely that staying on the (slippery, cold and wet) ground with his awkward position would make me seem very suspicious, so I decided to drag him back to my seat.

However, to my utter dismay, two factors made my (already horrible) day even worse.

I had dragged him back to my seat, and found that my bags were nowhere in sight.

(So, no chips.)

Also, as I positioned him in the seat next to me, about to cry because of everything that had happened, this guy took a hold of my arm and snuggled into my shoulder.

That was the worst day of my life.

One hour later, it was four in the morning (and not the song), and I was just as hungry, if not hungrier, than I was the previous hour. I had turned off my mp3, in an attempt to get some peace and quiet, and to try to focus without Regina Spektor singing into my ears.

An old woman (one of those elderly people I had mentioned in my personal observation from a few paragraphs before) sat down in the seat opposite to me, and looked at me and the stranger (who was still cutting off my circulation, mind you) with an envious look.

"You two make a dashing couple!" she squealed, as she got up when her flight was called.

Okay, lady. You can't even see his face, so how could you know?!

But I smiled graciously, and winced inwardly. Nice old lady, just a victim of my inner thought attacks.

Two minutes after the lady had boarded the plane (she had also looked back and waved to me), I slouched down in my seat, trying to relax, and accidentally shook his head off of my shoulder.

He awoke with a jolt.

"What the—"

I don't dare continue writing down the sentence, but I assure you it was full of pretty and colourful words.

Also, his voice, even while he swore, sounded slightly familiar. It was deep and gravelly, but at the same time commanding. Oh, and he had an accent. An English accent. I'd always had a thing for English accents (and English guys, English things in general, really) especially after I had seen that movie, Canterbury Falls, with Eric Williams the actor.

He was hot.

Ahh, sorry, let's get back to reality.

"Look, I accidentally crashed into you and knocked you unconscious. You were out cold, so I dragged you to my seat and just, put you there." Great wording, eh? "And then, you grabbed my arm as if it was a pillow. And now it's numb. Everyone loses, now go home."

I closed my eyes and massaged my temple, and tried my best to ignore my still growling stomach.

"Um, excuse me? Hello, miss." He said it slightly pompously, and I could tell he was just as annoyed. "My name is Eric Williams."

He emphasized his first and last name as if I was supposed to know who he w—

Wait, Eric Williams? As in, the guy I was just daydreaming about? As in, starred-in-a-movie-with-Marina-Paracova Eric Williams? As in, People's Number One Rising Star, Eric Williams?! As in, the current-display-picture-on-my-MSN-account Eric Williams?!

He took off his glasses to prove his point, and that familiar face I had Google-imaged so many times was right before my eyes, closer than it had ever been before. (Except for, maybe, that time I saw a life-sized cardboard cut out of him at some store. That was a tad bit unnecessary.)

My mind went into a dull shock that lasted who knows how long, and I vaguely registered him waving a hand in front of my face a few times and doing some weird gestures, but I just couldn't take it in.

Eric Williams. Really?

"Holy fries. You're Eric Williams?"

"In the flesh." His voice was slightly duller and less whimsical than I would've imagined.

And then, as a result for not eating for more than ten hours, and as a result of the plethora of horrible events of this non-eating day (and trust me, not eating makes me cranky and spazzy), I…

I blacked out, okay? Yes. I fainted.

Happy?!

When I woke up, I could've sworn I was kidnapped. I didn't dare to believe that I had run into (no pun intended) Eric Williams at the airport, and thought it was all a dream. I mean, come on. It was the kind of thing you'd dream.

So now, I'm probably at Audrey's, or on the plane, and I didn't miss my flight because I wanted to buy some more food…

I tried to figure out where I was. I was lying down. I waved my hands around; no constraints or shackles. Cautiously, I sat up. My head kind of hurt, but I ignored the calling pain.

My stomach growled loudly.

I was still hungry.

A door opened, and it seemed to be a washroom light that flooded into the hall of a hotel room. The furnishings of the room further proved the point.

I squinted slightly as the light flicked on, and adjusted with as little whining as I could withhold.

"Hungry?"

Eric Williams (who was standing, still in black apparel, near the washroom door) gestured to a cart full of food. Ravenously, I attacked it, not caring that Eric Williams was there and that I was probably hallucinating. Right now, I'm probably eating (or stealing) mountains of food from one of those random stores, but those clerk-y people are ignoring it and haven't had the will to live for hours.

But as I continued wolfing down the cart (I probably wouldn't have eaten the cart itself too, if I'd had a gigantic saw), it seemed real. I looked around the room. A hotel room, yes, I was right, and it was definitely one of the deluxe suites. Humongous bed, which was slightly dishevelled because I had been squirming around on it. As I stuffed my mouth, Mr Williams watched me, scrutinizing me.

Believe me, I would've asked him many questions, but hunger will always win over my (little) crushes on actors.

When I was somewhat done, I stared at him blankly. Eric Williams.

Okay, that's pretty cool. I've seen his interviews and stuff, he seems like the James Bond type.

I was about to ask him if he wanted some food too, but he said something first.

"You're a fangirl, aren't you?" he sneered. "Fine, you want an autograph?" He took out a notepad and pen, and signed it quickly, ripping the page and throwing it at me. It fell lamely to the floor and I read it upside down, out loud.

"To that girl who ran into me at the airport. Eric Williams."

After a bit of silence, I spoke again. "That's a little platonic, isn't it?"

"You should consider yourself lucky, girl. I don't usually give ou—"

I took the page from the ground angrily, surprised at his demeanour. I ripped the paper into as many pieces as I could, and stomped on it as I stood up from the bed.

"Hey, Williams. Yeah, stop making assumptions. It makes you look like an imbecile."

I wiped my mouth daintily and brushed past him towards the door, stopping for a moment.

"Thanks for the food." I remarked casually, and walked out the door.

I would never look at a poster or picture of Eric Williams the same way ever again. And I would hopefully never see him again either, in real life, too.

To my dismay, this was certainly not the case.

R&R and I will jump on my table and start howling.

(How's THAT?! xD)
-chewyyy.