I've done it. I've made it now.

There is nothing I can do now that will ever top the sheer posh-ness of what I have done: I went to the races. As in horse racing; as in I went to one of the most prestigious racetracks in the entire world and drank champagne and watched Brits bets on horses with dumb names. It was beyond fun.

For the past couple of weekends, I have been home in London bogged down with schoolwork (which of course, I do not mind, like, it's London boo hoo). I needed something to do that would feel like an adventure again and not just the every day of riding the tube back and forth from school. And then, like the clouds breaking to reveal the sunshine, my beautiful friend Claire from high school asked me to join her at the tracks. How could I say no?

To say that a day at Ascot is a British affair would be an understatement. There were Union Jacks stamped in every planter, twinkling accents everywhere, and many a sharply dressed man. It was incredible. I have never felt so weirdly out of place but perfectly at home at the same time in my entire life. We stood with women wearing extravagant fascinators and watched as horses worth millions of dollars, nay pounds, flew around the track at breakneck speeds. It was a tartan and tweed colored daydream.

And then we saw the Queen. In the flesh, in person, less than ten feet away. Impressions: she is very small and very sweet. She laughed good-naturedly when I waved at her with a stupid look on my face. Life goal achieved.

Please excuse the grainyness, but that is the Queen. That's her.