Humiliation + Interview, whee

So today, like most days this week, I applied for a job! Several jobs in fact. But on one of the cover letters of one of the jobs I applied for, I made an egregious error. I wrote: Through a variety of customer service roles and my honors degree in English literate, I have developed superb written and oral communication skills.
Incidentally, I'm not sure if I used egregious correctly up there. But I know my charm will see me through. Also, please note that the italics are for your reading convenience.
In any case, of course I noticed this after sending the email. So of course I panicked. But then I wrote the lady back and said that I hoped she had a laugh, and not to hold it against me. And guess what happened, not even 10 minutes after I sent my follow up email! I got an interview! So I could be an 'information specialist' at a public health non-profit!
I am very pleased to have my first interview set up at a place I would actually want to work, despite my humiliating mistake.

Kansas City Here I come

Ok, so I have actually been in Kansas City for several days now. But whatever. Tonight I went to a local brewery for $2 pints (incidentally, have I mentioned how much I love America?), but what did I find there?
My former middle school's musical god, being their 'live music' which means crap john mayer cover band. Fortunately, I escaped unrecognized but my friend Julie was not so lucky. In any case, check out his awesome website: Musical God of the 8th grade. Allow me to say that I never fell for his charms. Perhaps this is due to the fact that we shared the 'most musical' award in the 7th grade. Fuck him, man. I may have no job, no digs, and be significantly older than I was a week ago, but at least I got a haircut today.

Oh, shit.

Literally. I just spent my fourth night in Kansas City scrubbing shit off the floor of the bathroom. Incidentally, it was not even my own shit. Not, of course, that I do such things. And even worse, not even not my own nevershat shit, but likely the shit of a teenage boy. Which teenage boy I can't say, but I feel confidant that the sheer revoltingness of this age group overwhelms any semblence of difference between shits.
So, I'm sure you'd like to know why this happened. About to go to bed, I head to the bathroom and notice that the toilet is not flushed. I flush it. It doesn't flush back.
Then, I try plunging it with what appears to be some sort of bellows that is sitting behind the toilet that I have never ever seen before. It looks like this:

Please note that it probably holds two liters in there.

I plunge away for about 30 minutes with no success. Meanwhile Michael calls. He is hard to follow. I decide, hell, let's just flush and see if it's ready. Wrong. It begins spewing all over the rather large bathroom.

I get off the phone with Michael. My mother wakes up. I am furious about having to use such a worthless plunger. Mind you, and my past roommates will vouch for this, I am a masterful and fearless plunger. But this job eluded me.
Instead, I ended up scrubbing shit off the floor.

24, Unemployed, and Living at Home

Just the way I always dreamed it would be!
The good news is, however, that I am the proud owner of a 2000 Mazda Protege. I think it's green, but I can't be sure as I have only seen it at night. But I am pretty pumped, as this is my first car made in the same decade I am to be driving it. Although it was likely made in the 90s. So perhaps better to say model year. Still, pretty awesome.
Also, my friends rocked at remembering my birthday. I know how to pick them for sure! Also, I am big on shameless self-promotion. And the Royals won for me yesterday as I knew they would (side note on the baseball game: Jess gave me a fat lip while trying to catch a flying hot dog, and there were no mint chocolate dip n dots to be had).
Tomorrow I begin the job search in earnest, as well as catching up on my shows. I figure for every hour of good job hunting and applying, I should be entitled to two hours of watching the sopranos, dead like me, six feet under, the l-word, the OC or any crime show re-runs. Also I could be persuaded to rent desperate housewives but I think Teri Hatcher is truly appalling. I will also consider Entourage, and I admit a certain curiousity with Rome. Really, I feel pretty flexible about this, and will consider most television programs and movies. Although maybe not movies yet as I don't have the attention span and, to be honest, I have seen most all of the movies.
As a side note, I do think that television rots most people's brains, but I am a critical viewer and am constantly learning and engaging with the television.
Also, I was incredibly moral for 4 months of television free existence in Ireland.
Basically, what I am saying is, don't judge me as I would judge someone for a similar blog post.

Land that I love

Home! I am finally home! After a week in Colorado, 1 day in the air, 364 days in Europe, and finally 3 days in Colorado, I am finally in my home state of Kansas! While Kansas is perhaps not the most exciting place on earth, I could not be more thrilled to be here.
Europe's grand and I can't wait to go back, but this is my country and I love it best. The space, the food (perhaps not as delicious as some cuisines, but variety is the spice of life), my friends, my family, the everything and the et cetera.
I mean, what is not to love about rest stops? Clean free toilets? Brilliant.
And tomorrow, I go to the Royals' final home game with all of my KC friends! And then the next day, I turn 24! So don't forget.

Red!

Whee! Yesterday Bill and I went to the famous Red Light District!
Now, those of you that know me know that I have a profound fascination with the sex industry, so as you can imagine, this was downright a dream come true! The girls are actually in the windows! Amazing! And most of them were quite good looking, though there was a wide variety of girls on display. I have no idea how much they cost, but to be honest, if they are reasonably priced I fear the extinction of girlfriends. I mean, I know that I'm a great girlfriend and all, but I'm sure you could buy better and never have to eat at a vegetarian restaurant or watch sex and the city again. So I may have to rethink my pro-legalisation stance.
In any case, I think my eyes were wide open the entire time I was there. I'm not sure though if the prostitutes were my favorite or the johns, as I think it's far more scandalous to go to a prostitute than to be one. But I couldn't stare as much at the johns, as they weren't in windows in their underwear. Also adding to the excitement of the whores were the large tour groups moving through the area and the abundance of young men offering Bill and I every type of synthetic delight.
I admit to being disappointed that we didn't see any obvious transsexuals or women going in for theatrics. One lady was dressed as a schoolmarm, but the rest were in standard 'sexy' clothes, ie lingerie, usually lacy although occasionally rubbery. I am quite sure I would go with some elaborate stage set and costume. I would have especially liked to see some lady dressed as one of the women Rembrandt painted. Surely there is a fetish for that? Tonight Bill and I will go staring again!

Amsterdam!

Well, Bill and I are now in Amsterdam! Very exciting. Yesterday, we went to the Sex Museum, where I learned that American women invented anal sex, and that women especially are fascinated by bestiality and find it quite erotic. Hmm. I am pretty sure the Romans invented everything naughty, and as for my alleged prediliction for bestiality, well, just know that Hello Kitty is near and dear to my heart. I also learned that the only thing that has changed in pornography over the past two thousand years is the hairstyles.
Of course, after learning such shocking things we had to clear our heads and decided to partake in Amsterdam's most famous legal substance. I was quite worried about this as I feared that I would totally love smoking pot and feel that the last 10 years of my life were wasted as I rarely take part in such activities. While I did get much higher much quicker than in the good old US of A, I can't say I felt too bad about my wasted, or lack there of, years. However, Bill is a big wuss. But I will not tell about his pansyassedness.
Before Amsterdam, we were in Bonn and Cologne with actual Germans! Very exciting. We watched soccer and drank beer as one does, very fun. I met Bill's London Eye friend Jenni, who was our fantastic host and insured that we ate chocolate and crepes, which is ideal in a host.
So, that's the news. I reach America in 5 days, and turn 24 in 10. Too much excitement.

Prague Schmague

This is what I say when I am disappointed.
Prague is nice but rancid with tourists and there just isn't that much to do here. I am having a hard time figuring out why everyone loves it that much. But it's nice.
In any case, tomorrow we go to Berlin which I could not be more excited about.
That's the news.
In Munich, Bill and I saw Bewitched. I love Will Farrell best.

Vienna, whee

Well, Bill and I are now in Vienna, which is fanfriggintastic. For instance, for lunch, I had fried, fried, with a side of pickles and Bill had a 2 meter long wiener! I don't even want to hear what Freud would say about that.
Then we went to the Staatoper where we saw Verdi's Don Carlos, which was so incredibly exciting I nearly peed in my pants (she said she liked it more than pirates of penzance) and not even because it was 5 hours long.
Tomorrow we will consume more rich, fattening and delicious Austrian food and culture in Salzburg!
Budapest was a little cruel to Bill and I, with much unexpected closings, bus cancellations, etc. However, we spent plenty of time soaking away our pains in their lovely baths and eating gyros and falafels. Without the remnants of Turkish occupation, I'm sad to say, Budapest might have been kind of crap.
Vienna, on the other hand, has consistently rewarded Bill and I's moral rectitude. I will recount its virtues.
Yesterday Bill and I realized, shortly before boarding our train, that, in fact, August has 31 days and our hostel booking was for the wrong day. So, we were en route to a city notoriously difficult to find beds in with no reservations. However, this turned out to be fine.
Then, we noted that the modern art museum was open late on thursday, so we headed there to find that not only is it open late on thursday, but its two sister museums, an exhibition hall and another, slightly less modern (19th & early 20th century) museum are also open and having a special 'art night' where all 3 are available for the bargain price of nine euro! Which is a bargain as that's the price for one. So, that was great! If we were in Budapest, we would have showed up, found out that it was free yesterday and is now closed for the season. But Vienna rewards us with loads and loads of contemporary art. 60 sq km of it!
And they have green foam boat things for you to sit in outside.

Whee Croatia whee coffee

Yeah, Zagreb rocks. It's full of lots of outdoor cafes where you can get a cappucino for less than a euro! Funny that it's a euro, not an euro, because that sounds stupid.
So, as it's Monday and everything cultural is closed, Bill and I are forced to drink cheap coffee and smoke cheap cigarettes. Probably soon we will have to get a cheap slice of pizza.
Now, Croatia is not as cheap as one might think, given the whole relatively recent war and former-Yugoslavia business. (Incidentally, my mom studied Socialism in Yugoslavia something like 90 years ago. Or perhaps like, 30 years ago. Isn't that weird? She has an MBA). While lodgings, nice dinners and internet cafes are no great bargain, consuming pizza, coffee, beer and cigarettes are tremendously cheap. Obviously, this is the most important thing. Another good thing to note, which we discovered on a rainy day in the beach town of Pula, is that Croatian TV is almost entirely in English! Indeed, we saw Harry and the Hendersons with Croatian subtitles. Also, a number of other forgotten series and movies. But also Boston Public, which, as always, rocked. Oh yes, I look forward to returning to Kansas where the best thing to do is watch my mom's fancy digital cable (and to think, she used to be a communist).
This afternoon, to Budapest and fancy baths!

More on the greatness of Ljubljana

Last night, Bill and I saw 3 free bands and one free play (which was a little boring, being in Slovenian). And when I say free, I mean, free! Not buskers! Glory!
Also, I am of the firm belief that David Lodge rocks. He's hysterical.

Ljubljana

is where Bill and I are at the moment. It is lovely. Yesterday we ate Mexican food here! We arrived from Venice which has already started sinking. Literally the canals were higher than the streets. And Piazza San Marco was about 4 inches (that's roughy 12 centimeters) under water, more in some places! Which could have been really fun, if I were still young. Indeed, I think 12 years ago there would have been nothing I would have liked more than standing in half a foot of water and feeding pidgeons. However, in recent years I have begun to prefer dryer feet.
In any case, today we explore the bustling metropolis of lovely Ljubljana and tomorrow we will perhaps head to the Julian Alps and Lake Bled, or perhaps the town of Split (in Croatia).
I hope that you know where Ljubljana is or at least look it up, I admit that perhaps I was unaware of this country and town a year ago, before I began reading my Let's Go Europe.
Whee Ljubljana.

Firenze Schmirenze

So here Bill and I are in Florence, which is basically closed. Or where it's not closed, it's got a line out the wazoo. sigh. I know Italy's supposed to be like, the worst country in the world to visit in August, so I was prepared mentally for this, but not emotionally. All my favorite stuff from when I studied here is closed, and man, life was much much better when the professors took us through the museums, etc. And a lot cheaper.
Still, it's nice to be here and the weather is beautiful.
Now we are trying to sort out Rome, etc. I am tired.

Brave New Girl

So, Bill and I just returned from the weekend of fun with our Spanish friend Pablo.
Saturday, we arrived in Mojacar, where Pablo collected us from the bus station, took us to the hotel and demanded we change instantly into swimwear to meet his friends at the pool.
We did, and then I met the 11 20something Spanish guys we were to spend the weekend with. In my bikini. The stuff nightmares are made of. As a Kansan, I don´t really consider swimwear to be regular clothes, like those from Florida or Spain. Indeed, I am quite uncomfortable with the concept. So I am brave.
In any case, we went to the beach, and then, in the middle of the night, had dinner, where Pablo and his friends ordered while Bill and I sat incomprehendingly. And, as it often is on the beach, dinner turned out to be seafood, and more seafood! Fish with their heads, mussels, calamari, all sorts of things that I never, ever eat. But I was brave again (emboldened, perhaps, by the many pitchers of sangria consumed) and in fact, even liked the fish. Especially, oddly enough, the fish with the heads still on!
In any case, after a long night of drinking that Bill and I had to wuss out of at 4 am, we spent the next day on the beach, then went to Mazarron where Pablo´s family stays during the summer.
There, we spent two more days eating, drinking, and playing in seas and pools. And I continued to be brave, attempting to speak Spanish to Pablo´s non-english speaking parents and trying even more seafood! Clams, fully dressed with eyes prawns, more mussels and calimari, crab, etc. But I was so brave and in fact discovered that I love clams.
Incidentally, Pablo´s friends and family are about the coolest ever and I could not possibly have had more fun. Murcia is the best province in Spain, it is true. Also, they have peaches there that are literally the size of grapefruits. And man are they good!
Now we are in Barcelona, which hopefully will not require so much courage.

Hot Granada

So, we got sunburned on the beach, but still Cadiz was very nice.
And Granada, well, blah. It´s nice, and the Alhambra was pretty cool... but not as superspecial as I was led to believe. See Bill´s blog on this issue.
Although he lies constantly.
In my opinion, Seville and Granada´s cool Moorish stuff have not successfully topped Cordoba's. Mostly because Cordoba´s was first, and also, it was less crowded.
Tomorrow we beging trying not to get sunburned in earnest.

Spain

Wheee! Cordoba is the prettiest, Sevilla is the hottest and most delicious.
Tomorrow, beach in Cadiz. Love cold water.

Madrid Dos

So, Sevilla it is, via Cordoba.
We wanted to go to Lisbon, but they only has 1st class tickets which, even with our Eurorail passes, were very expensive.
In any case, I am pleased with our plan.
So, Madrid has been very enjoyable. Mostly, we saw lots of art, and sat in parks or plazas in the shade.
This is the best thing, I think, about Madrid. There seems always to be a nice place to sit down every few steps.

From Madrid

So, Madrid is very lovely and not as hot as I expected. I have to say, though, that it feels more ´big city´than ´foreign country.´ Except of course, for the people making out on benches in parks, which feels a bit ´junior high´except that actually I am jealous because I had no boyfriends in junior high and well, Bill and I are a bit too American for massive public displays of affection, unfortunately.
In any case, for the additional info, please see Bill´s blog, as I don´t feel like rehashing the day´s events.
So, we will be in Madrid until Sunday probably, at which point we will either go to Portugal, or the sister city of Kansas City, Sevilla. Any thoughts?

Aloha from Paris

Dear all, Paris is lovely although humid and grey out so that sucks.
We arrived Friday and met up with our friend Ryan who is living here with his lovely Austrian girlfriend, Natalie.
Spent Saturday wandering about as we were exhausted from our 6 am flight. At the Arc de Triumph, bizarrely enough, we ran into a girl we went to high school with but moved our sophomore year. so we went kept her with us and then went to drink wine on the steps of Sacre Coeur, which was exciting. Then bar crawled near Bastille where Ryan lives which was very exciting.
In any case, spent Saturday on the Champs Elysee watching Lance Armstrong defeat the world, which was exciting though we couldnt see much. There were about a million Texans there, most of whom were in cowboy hats. I think I may have even got a picture of him, though its hard to say as they all looked about the same. Also did the Eiffel Tower which is always nicer than expected.
Monday and today we spent doing museums and other historic sites. I think my fave was St. Chappelle church and the Musee DOrsay. I cant get enough of that Manet, no sir.
So tomorrow, we head to Bordeaux where we will stay one night and drink lots of wine... then off to Spain on the night train, very exciting.
So, we are enjoying Paris very much, I had forgotten how much more attractive it is than most cities.

Tomorrow

begins the great european adventure!
wheee!

Grrr man.

It would be cool if this post was going to be about Germans and how crappy they are. Unfortunately, I've not really met any crappy Germans, although Monday some dickhead came into my work and was telling me about how much the Germans will hate me when I go there because I'm American. This may well be true, but at least they will have some decent food and reasonably priced cigarettes... I hope. Please tell me Germany is still sensibly allowing people to make bad health decisions at low cost.
In any case, I digress. Today some other dickhead came into my work and started talking to me about my typing speed, which is quite fast. But not, I'd imagine, significantly faster than most of my American peers.
Fine, compliment my typing, it doesn't mean much, but I'm pleased with it. But then he starts comparing it to playing the piano, which is weird. I mean, my piano teacher was always telling me to slow down when I played. So not the same at all. But then, even weirder, this dick starts telling me that you know, it's great I've found something so good at, and can have a happy career at, blah blah. And I'm like, what, as a typist? It's like, yes, I have traveled my way across the sea to make a career as a typist.
I definitely did some glowering at this. I suppose, though, when sitting at a computer hooked up to a dictaphone typing, one looks like a typist.

Some Bullet Points for Funness

• Saturday Bill and I went to a club with flatmates, friends, and lots of strangers oddly tanned considering the weather. This club was very hip, and they made this evident by projecting images on a screen of starving children in Africa while we got down to Billie Jean. As far as I could tell, the 9 EURO cover was not for an Oxfam benefit or something. Maybe it's to go with the African prints that are all the rage this season.
• Sunday Bill and I saw the Wedding Crashers, which made me laugh. I was happy to see an insanely stupid comedy which was not too revolting for my tastes. Also, I find Vince Vaughn very appealling.
• Yesterday Bill and I got to eat Laotian cuisine and cake at my friend Alana's, which was tremendous. In addition, she totally spoiled our little pants off by letting us watch Law and Order (SVU). I hadn't seen this one before. Where was Olivia (even if I hate her effing eyebrows, I missed her)? Maybe if you all are lucky, Alana will spoil you same when she visits the US in October!
• Today I hope to get my hair cut. Nothing fancy, just trying to keep myself well-groomed, which is increasingly difficult.
• Also today, my calendar notes that today in 1631, the English mathematician William Oughtred introduced the symbol for multiplication. I am shocked that this tidbit of information has surviced nearly 400 years, and that indeed, the x was ever such a big deal. Also I am curious as to what they used before.
• Yesterday, some dickhead came into my office and hassled me about travelling in Europe before seeing all of Ireland and told me about how everyone over there hates Americans. I bit my tongue and pretended like I thought he was funny. I hate having subservient jobs and the way middle-aged men talk to me.
• We leave for France in 4 days and oddly, all I want to do is buy stuff. I feel my shirts are woefully inadequate, and I don't know what I was thinking not packing any denim skirts.
• Fin.

A shocking view

So this is what I saw when walking home from work Tuesday. I would, obviously, have uploaded these Friday but stupid blogger was down. To set the scene, you should be listening to the Genius of Komeda... which you should own if you don't, as it's one of my top 10s of all time, or rather would be, were I male and prone to making such lists. In any case, I am walking down the street, at about 5:30, when, at a major intersection, behind a chest-high wall of the sort people like to put in front of parking lots here, I see this middle-aged man strangely close to the wall moving his arm in a suspcious fashion. When I cross the street, I can see behind the wall and what do I see but this:

Scandalous! He's totally yanking it at a busy intersection in Dublin's poshest area behind the wall of a funeral parlour!
For the third time in my life, I see some random old guy diddling himself in public. The two times, incidentally, occured at or near the shopping centre across the street from my middle school, when I was 14. Those times were more gratifying as I was with friends thus we could have a giggle about it. This time I had to just send a text and wait.
Now that I've told the story all weekend, it's not nearly as fun to post my pictures.

Perfect Mix CD Tracklisting

• Lali Puna- Faking the Books
• Dresden Dolls- Girl Anachronism
• M83- Run into flowers
• Les Georges Leningrad- Sponsorships
• - Soopa Doopa
• Interpol- Obstacle 1
• Radiohead- A Woolf at the Door
• Belle and Sebastian- I love my car
• Frou Frou- Let Go
• Azure Ray- Across the Ocean
• Camera Obscura- Let me go home
• Elliot Smith- Pretty (ugly before)
• Goldfrapp- Bedlam to Brooklyn f/ Turin Brakes
• Sondre Lerche- Sleep on Needles
• Lali Puna- Micronomic
• T-Rex- Cosmic Dancer
• Scissor Sisters- Laura
• - Filthy/Gorgeous

3.2 miles and the mix cd

So, as of yesterday, I have a new job at a law firm on the other side of town from where I live. I live 30 minutes by foot southwest of the city, this job is 40 minutes southeast of the city. The job is fine (although they use dial-up, what?!?), but public transport leaves much to be desired, as the buses only go into the city and out of the city--never through the city or, as I would prefer in this case, under the city. In any case, I refuse to pay E2.60 to ride two buses, one in and one out, so I am now, as of yesterday after work, officially walking to work, as although my house is exactly 3.2 miles from my job, it still takes less time to walk here than it would to wait for two buses and ride on them in city traffic. Instead, I get to walk alongside a fairly disgusting but still pleasant canal, listen to my Discman, and hopefully look better in my new bikini when I hit the Eurobeaches during my upcoming travels. I feel very proud of myself for making this decision.
In any case, this morning I selected for my Discman a CD my dear friend Michael made me for my birthday last year. He also mailed it to me in England which makes him a lot better than most of you. And this CD was perfect--the absolute best thing for a morning walk. And even better, most of the music is new to me, and I realized that all the CDs Michael makes for me are like this. In fact, for the past 10 years now Michael has been making me mixes of genius. As I walked to work this morning, I thought to myself, Man, could this mix be any more me? I thought not. Then I thought, hell, I'll even write about it in my blog today! And then maybe more people will send me mix cds. But then I had the sad (in this case) realization that I will only be in Ireland for another 11 days, not enough time for such CDs to arrive to me. Which is too damn bad, really, because I have very few here with me and as I'll be spending much of the next two months on trains and buses, really too damn bad. So it turns out I can't even use this opportunity to hit you all up for music.
Of course, my next birthday is only 2 months and 2 weeks away... and I will be restored to my home state by then.

Sad, sick, and worried.

London, you are in my thoughts.

End of an era

Man, I can't believe they just pulled my knox email out from under me like that. Lucky I spent yesterday reliving the good times and deleting everything before Sean Reidel could get his grubby paws on them. I will have to retrain myself entirely.
In any case, my new primary email is ruth.evans.mylastname@gmail.com
isn't it grand?

Square, part 2.

So yesterday after work I did a bit of shopping for Bill's birthday (still in my suit). I stumbled into a record shop I had never been to in Dublin, Tower Records. Now, my father, being way more hip than I, has always insisted Tower is above and beyond the average high street multimedia emporium (I have never been able to tell the difference, not coming from the land of Tower Records). And indeed, I thought Virgin or someone similar took over Tower recently.
In any case, this Tower was obviously different, and far different from the HMVs and Virgins that dominate here, which make it pretty much impossible to acquire an album off the top 40.
So, Tower Records was all hip, with poorly groomed men too old for such appalling hygiene, listening to the Beach Boys and the Ramones. Also their John Mayer sidewall-thing had Nick Drake and Jeff Buckley albums lining the side, obviously assuming that one whiny guy is the same as any other (so not!). Although I certainly have tried same with my brothers, even going so far as to mold them to like music that I myself have never much cared for, but thought might make them a bit better if they listened to (i.e. oh you are listening to Blink 182, well, let's give the Sex Pistols a try).
In any case, I felt like such a freaking dork there, but also wondered at what point I started assuming that the record store clerks were probably not that cool after all. Probably when people I knew from high school started working in record shops and I realized that their haircuts were more important than their tastes in landing such a prestigious job.
Nevertheless, I felt like a massive tool, and that I had to buy something to restore my credibility. Thus, I wavered between looking for something very old, to show that I've got cred, and buying something brand new, to show that I'm hip to the scene. All this despite the fact that they didn't have the album I was looking for to begin with (this MIA album I keep hearing so much about--although I just read a review that totally lambasted it. Still, I would have liked to listen).
In any case, every time I remembered something else that I had vaguely wanted to buy, they didn't have it. At this point, I'd spent like 30 minutes there, aimlessly browsing and debating whether or not this was a cd that I would want to join my 30 or so trip CDs for the next 3 months, of which a few were major mistakes (Black Box Recorder, Momus, Princess Superstar), and I can hardly bear to listen to with the frequency having only a few albums in your possession demands.
Ultimately, I ended up leaving, walking 5 feet, coming up with a nice present for Bill, and decisively returning to the store and making my selection(something old, can't say until I give it to him, obviously). Then I saw something new that I wanted for myself--the new Smog album. Gave them both a little listen, made my purchase, and continued home.

Dress-up

Today, I started yet another new temp job (this time for a law firm--busy and easy, with internet, my fave, everyone's nice, in the city centre, blah blah, sadly just for 3 days). As one does when one starts a new temp job (for the uninitiated and thus, unsuffered), one wears a suit. Thus, I am wearing my suit (my fairly cute suit that I bought in the after Christmas sales in London--it's a bit wintry, but it's not the least bit summery today anyhow so who gives a fuck?). In any case, whenever I wear a suit, I just feel like such an impostor. I feel like a dorky penguin girl. And it's like I feel suits are for squares, I see girls my age wearing suits, and I'm like, show'em sister. I want to be a cool suit girl, and not feel like I'm dressed up like my mother.
This brings me to my second point. My advanced age. As you may know, my sugarplum is turning two dozen tomorrow. Ancient. I will follow in September. I'm not entirely comfortable (or really, at all comfortable) with my age transformation.
For example, Sunday, we had a barbeque. My flatmates invited their friends, etc, Bill and I invited our two friends, respectively, mine couldn't come, but Bill's brought extras so, fine. In any case, my flatmate Niaomh (rhymes with Eve), who is doing her Ph.D. introduces me to her 'friend,' a sociology professor. So I talk to him for a bit, waiting for him to do something professorly, like, I don't know, ask about my classes or something, until I realized that, in this new post-college world, we are peers. And indeed, I even have the option of looking down on him for living in the posh world of acedemia whereas I have a real job and actually work for a living.
I mean, can you imagine? Looking down on professors? I have this option now, and not even in the collegiate way of oh, poor professor thinks it's ok to wear socks with sandals...
Like going out to dinner as friends with a 40 year old. Maybe this is all very redundant, and maybe I should have figured this out years ago, but I literally just can't handle it.
I need to go back to school as to narrow my place in the world.

As it turns out, I am a better person than my employer.

When I started my job, and entered data from HR, I noticed that despite the fact that this is a distribution centre, nearly all of the employees have Irish/English names. I thought that was a bit odd, as the labour is certainly low-prestige and relatively unskilled, and in the US, I'd imagine similar jobs are staffed by non-native speakers to be sure. Certainly, all the stockworkers at my old Nordstrom are of Latin American descent, though the cleaning staff seemed generally Eastern European.
However, early this week I noticed that, in fact, there are loads of Eastern European men working the stock, as they would show up in reception from time to time and well, definitely not speak English. But it turns out they are from a temp agency. Multiple agencies, actually. And indeed, every day I sat up in reception, a few more showed up to work.
Then I thought, well, jeez, why don't they actually just hire these guys? Then I thought they must be bigoted dickbrains. And then I thought, well, I'm a temp and I'm not temping because I'm discriminated against, I'm a temp because I wanted short-term, low-commitment work. Then I didn't think anything of it.
Until yesterday, when I began writing about 1 million letters to former residents of the former Soviet Union and its neighbors, as well as a few dozen Africans. Also a handful of Irish women. To be fair, in these million letters were also a few rejections for Mr. Brian O'Brien and Ronald McDonald, but most of those were either 16 or 61 years of age.
In reading their CVs and cover letters, I was literally heartbroken several times, as nothing is more poignant than bad English. I mean, when I write a cover letter, I do my best to sound like I don't desperately want this job, but in fact, have come to the realization that the company desperately needs me. But lacking proper English skills, these wanna-be lads write "I am good worker I very work hard" while their CV lists a master's in engineering back in Nigeria or Lithuania. And there is nothing more devastating than the truth. My cover letters never resonate like this:
I wish I could be given the opportunity to work in the warehouse. I promise to work to the best of my capacity and to display my talent in picking and loading area of the warehouse. I really believe I have the experience in those area.
says an accountant from Nigeria who also has an Irish certificate in forklift driving.
I would totally give him a job.
Then I realized that I am excited to go home and start looking for a job where I don't get to feel so self-righteous all the time.

Funny that

One Polish Bachelor from Nowa Ruda writes on his CV that he speaks German at "a need intercourse level."
My bit of work funniness.

Me and the lads

As it turns out, I am not free. I (luckily?) get to keep this job until Friday.
This job is at a distribution center in the middle of nowhere. As primarily there are truckers, loaders, pickers, etc, I am one of the few girls here.
Incidentally, the workers here are described as such:
Lads (the manual laborers)
Girls (the female office workers)
Guys (the male office workers.
There are probably around 250 people that work here. 90% are lads. 5% girls, and 5% guys.
In any case, twice today a 'lad' has introduced himself to me and mentioned that he's 'heard' of me. And on Tuesday, a 'guy' asked me where I was from and said that he and the lads were talking about me and couldn't decide on my accent (apparently, the consensus was not American). This isn't too surprising, though, as most Irish seem to travel to New York, Boston, and the rest of the Eastern Seaboard quite frequently to visit their kinfolk. Thus, my steadfast insistence on the pronunciation of Rs is probably quite confusing (though I acquired this skill in years of speech therapy to punish me for being taught to speak in New Jersey) to Irish ears polluted by our countrymates in the Northeast.
On one hand, I realize that as probably the only female under the age of 30, I am quite a novelty at work. It is understandable that they wish to converse about me. On the other hand, I am disturbed and slightly intimidated by myself as an object of conversation. Yet, on still another hand, I find myself wanting to wear short skirts and display copious amounts of cleavage, in hopes that someone will give me a candy bar. Perhaps I should do this tomorrow. I feel quite sure Bill would not notice my wardrobe change (even though I am writing about it), and it's not like I'm after anything more than a couple Kit-Kats.

Freedom

Today is the last day of data-entry/soul-depletion. Good, except tomorrow brings yet another day of Irish unemployment. Puke.
Maybe I will run around being clever and then write about it and my public will love me.
Without books, a charming boyfriend, and frequent trips to Lidl, life would not be worth living.
Today is the hottest day so far, according to my coworker. I'd estimate it at 75 degrees. The airconditioning in my work is set at probably 60. And Europeans are better than Americans? Fuck that, Jimmy Carter moved the White House thermostat up to 69 ages ago.
Also one of my flatmates (Irish) leaves the lights on all over the place.
mm hmm. European arrogance be damned, we will all go to hell in the same handbasket.

Such Indiginity...

I have to ask some lady for the key to the bathroom here! And not just one lady, like, any lady because my wardens all have keys and I do not! And the bathroom's crap, not like some awesome posh bathroom. Where is Amnesty International when you really need them?

Solitary Confinement

Have job, am locked away in the middle of nowhere in a small room by myself with nothing but a computer, an overactive air conditioner, and a shitload of data to enter. The firewall won't let me read my email or do anything nice except read and update my blog. I have nothing to say, except that I hate working and look forward to lunchtime freedom. Data entry makes me want to die and I go all brer rabbit on them. "Have you ever done data entry before?" they ask... bastards. One finger at a time, I'll do it. In between changing every "the" in every document on the shared drive to "bananaramadingdong," I'll enter how many sick days poor Bobby McGee took in 2004.

Bullet Points

• Saturday Bill and I came home(slightly tipsy) to find the window panes in our lovely wooden kitchen in our lovely wooden house covered with termites. Bill, armed with whiskey, all the junk mail in the house and a spray bottle of all-purpose household cleaner/poison, took on the invaders while I laid in the room wanting to die and/or vomit. He seems to have defeated them, though a few ugly bastards present themselves for slaughter from time to time. Of course, our Irish housemates/landlords are out of town at a wedding, so we've been left to fend for ourselves.
• I have not found a replacement temp job. This is bad for a number of reasons. I need the money for my travels which begin in just over a month. I also cannot register with another agency as I have done during previous dry spells as no one wants me for such a short time. Argh. I am positive I will have something for Monday, but I am not thrilled about being out all week if that's what it comes to. Though I am being very productive.
• Speaking of productive, yesterday I bought my first piece of totally impractical clothing since beginning this madness 9 months ago. A pair of sea foam green peekaboo toe heels. They are adorable and have a gigantic bow at the front. They were on sale for €8, so no major harm done. Of course, I can't even really walk in them as my foot is not entirely healed from rolling my ankle a few weeks back. But that's cool, they are a lot more fun and exciting than the practical clothes and shoes I have been wearing for ages.
• This morning, however, I shed a tear about how much I miss my lady friends as I was thinking who would borrow them and who would make fun of them only to want to borrow them a few months later... This made me really sad as I don't know when my friends will have access to my closet again and vice versa, as there is no city in the world that has any majority of them. Or even a sizable minority.
• Speaking of cities, it is time for Bill and I to begin the official European Extravaganza plans. So, if you are someone I know and will be in Europe from July 23 to roughly September 23, please contact me and we can make plans to kick it Euro-style (i.e. smellier and hopefully thinner!)

The Madonna and Child

Today marks the last day of my contract with Satan. I think I still have a soul, and yet, I have a strange craving for fois gras and veal...
In honor of my last day, I have illustrated something that I will miss. My daily bus co-riders. As the company I work for is based somewhat out of the city, I tend to ride the bus with the same folks each day. The couple I have illustrated here, the kid-hating trophy wife and her extremely adorable daughter, catch the bus just a few stops before I get off for work. Every morning, I see the mom, wearing a ridiculous amount of makeup (note her excessively orange skin--the mark of an Irish girl) for 8:10 am (the time we collect them), along with very trendy and revealing clothes, sulking just a little bit aways from the bus stop, while the daughter cheerily flags down the bus (holding her arm out as soon as she sees the bus until it stops for her). Then they board the bus, and the girl chimes, in her adorable little kid voice "one child please." That's the end of their cuteness.
In any case, here they are.

I'm pretty when you're stoned.

Yesterday I went out for drinks with my one friend, Alana. That is us above. We sat outside, as it was nice out. You might notice that I am wearing a cowl-necked sweater. It is nearly summer. Fuck them.
In any case, the man pictured (the airbrush feature is meant to be dirt) stumbled over to us and said "I wouldn't come over, except that I am stoned out of my mind."
Alana and I are like, errr, you totally can't have our bottle of wine, if that's what you are asking...
"but," he continues, "I just wanted to say how pretty you both are." And then he said some other stuff that was relatively incomprehensible and wandered off. But none of it sounded like begging or sexual harassment!
I figured it would make a nice picture...
Also, notice that my love-biscuit has entered the world of blogging. You will find the link to the right. Enjoy.

Last night I had a dream. Like most of my dreams, everything was exactly the same as my normal life except for a few key details. In this dream, Bill and I were living in Chicago with Amy (I suspect she took a starring role because I got a proper letter from her yesterday, making her a damn sight better than the rest of you jokers) and I picked up some vaguely newsy magazine like Newsweek or something, only to discover that there is a small article about me on one of those blurby-pages in the front stating that I am the most original mind of our century (just exactly like my normal life...). And I'm like, what, I haven't done anything at all! In any case, I look up the author (which incidentally I just typo-ed as the other...) and the article was written by a Knox alum, class of '97, named Nathan Odim who had listened to a talk radio show I did on good old WVKC back at the turn of the century (i.e. my freshman year). Much like in reality, I was like, no I never did a talk radio show although that would have been cool. Unfortunately, I say like too frequently to be of use in that respect. Anyway, this guy wanted to turn me into a celebrity, a bit like Dolly Parton in Straight Talk (incidentally, that is also in Chicago) but also thought I should write fiction. So we have a long talk about my insecurities as an English Lit major and how I'm simply not a fiction writer. Amy is very supportive on this front and through her encouragement I acquiesce and am turned into a celebrity (actually, I am guessing on that because the dream is totally hazy from this point forward). In any case, one can only assume that I am now yapping away on WNDY, driving my pink convertible to book signings and the like. Of course my books have matte covers. I am probably a celebrity writer like Toni Morrison or something although obviously I have overcome less.
One wonders, if, a year out of college, one begins to lose their critical thinking skills.

Sigh

Despite the fact that this has been a very fun week, and I have had many horrible and amusing things happen while at work, I cannot think of anything to draw you all. Indeed, I just spent half an hour or so working of a few different pictures, but all of them were crap. I just can't seem to capture the vibrancy of my early months. I trace my lackluster performance to a variety of things, all clustered around the same few days. I am unable to isolate them. 1. Coming to Ireland. March 22nd. Downhill since then. 2. Turning 23.5, March 26th (something not one of you commented on). Downhill, which, I think, suggests I should really be dreading 57. 3. Easter. March 27thish. Maybe Christ and I are on some sort of pulley thing. He goes up, I go down. ba dum chink.
There was of course, that fantastic cat burglar picture but I believe it is the exception that proves the rule.
Right now I am trying to translate a letter from Spanish to English. I have never studied Spanish. This is fun. Also, today and yesterday I was asked to shred a few thousand pages of confidental documents by hand (we have no shredder). Also fun, but it hurt my hands.
This weekend I am taking a roadtrip. I am driving. Pray for me.

The Wedge

So, everything is really great, blah blah. Bill and I went to Galway for the weekend and had a blast-- spent almost all of Saturday in various pubs, sitting outside with our Murphy's or Guinness, etc, watching the tour groups tread down the lovely cobblestoned streets.
Sunday my friend Amelia from my study abroad program arrived in Dublin. She was doing some teaching exchange thing in Wales and decided to pop over to bonny Ireland for a visit. In any case, she's here for the week which should be a blast as I am dying for someone to shop with...
You see, the wedge is back in town. I don't know if it's the case in America now, but every damn shoe store is filled with wedge heels here. And honey, there ain't nothin' I love more than a nice wedge. My closet at home is FILLED with wedges of all shapes, sizes, and colors (I love them all, baby). But of course, as I am traveling, I have nothing but the boringest black and sensible shoes here that I've been wearing for over 8 months now.
So, you are probably thinking, Ruth, you make good money working for the devil, go and buy yourself a nice pair of fuschia paisley wedges. Teeter about those rainy Dublin streets. But you would be thinking wrong. For one, I plan on two months of backpack-style travel beginning at the end of July. The kind of wedges I am thinking would probably fill a third of my 60 liter pack. Either that, or I'd have to pay to send them home or something, which would be pricey. And let's face it, Europe is no longer the land of superspecial shops. Anything I can buy in Europe you can buy in America... usually for a lot less. Fuck the VAT and the shoddy social services it provides to every goddamned foreign national but myself. In any case, I digress. The point is, by the time I return to my own shores, it will be late September and the American versions of these sexy sexy wedges will be on sale! Plus it'll practically be too cold for open toe.
So this, far and away, is the most difficult hurdle I've come to since being abroad: to buy the wedge or not to buy the wedge.

Working for Satan...

So, yesterday I began a new job. It appears that I will have plenty of time to update and draw pictures. This is the good news.
Friday, my agency calls me about a job as a secretary for a whiskey-maker! And it pays €2 an hour more than my current job, so I am like badass, even though I despise whiskey with every fiber in my little being. But Bill really likes it so since I was like, yeah, I'll do it. Then the temp agency says to me: Great! It's a small family company, and they also own another company based in the same building called African Diamonds!
So, that sucks, but I had committed to the job and I consoled myself with the fact that I would be making whiskey, not you know, being evil.
Then I come into work on Monday and am shown to my desk. In front of me is a sheet of paper listing all the companies chaired and directed by this family, though they are publicly traded, etc. Essentially, the list is pure evil. The whiskey production is the only justifiable sinning. I will go down the list with their mini-descriptions that sits in front of me for you. I will use the actual company names to prove that I do not care if I am discovered.

• Cooley Whiskey: "The Only Irish Owned Whiskey Distillery"
• Pan Andean Resources: "Oil and Gas Producer and Explorer in the US and Bolivia"
• African Gold: "Gold Miner and Explorer in Ghana and Zimbabwe"
• Petrel Resources: "Oil Exploration and Development in Iraq"
• MINCO plc: "Gold in Siberia, Silver in Mexico, Zinc in Ireland"
• African Diamonds: "Diamond Exploration in Sierra Leone, Botswana, and Guinea"
• Persian Gold: "Gold exploration in Iran"

!!!! So I have agreed to be the secretary to the financial director of all these companies! I'm in the head office! The bunker, if you will. But, like the protagonist of that Downfall movie, I'm just a secretary, I don't know nothin', right? Sure...
Really though, as evil as this company is, I've sold Nikes at Nordstrom (although I always pushed New Balance...) who sell diamonds and loads of other jewelry, probably mined in Africa.
I feel this is an opportunity to learn. I've shopped at Walmart, eaten at McDonald's (but not for many years!), and committed a multitude of sins. And I consider myself a conscientious consumer. So let ye who has not sinned cast the first stone, eh. This is a learning experience. And besides, I'm not REALLY working for Satan. I'm just a temp.

If I only had Paint...

I would totally draw you two pictures: one, my lovely library; two, the massive amounts of foundation worn by Irish women.
Instead, I will settle for telling you about them.
First of all, I live very close to a little library with a little Irish librarian. She is so sweet and cute and knows my name, as I am here 2 days a week for sure. Also, judging by the return cart, I am the only person who seems to read any books without embossed lettering; I assume this warms her heart. In any case, she looks just as a librarian should, with a salt and pepper longish bob, and nice cardigans and loafers. Sometimes she wears shimmery eyeshadow, which is precious.
Second of all, the Irish are massively into fake tans and bronzer. Literally, my new work place is filled with women with cracking faces. Today, I got a look at my boss's hands and was absolutely shocked to see that they were paler than mine. I honestly couldn't stop staring at them, as her face was about the color of a nice horse saddle.
And last week, when I was doing the market research stuff, the scientist in charge had about the orangest face I had ever seen. And coming from the suburban midwest, that's saying a whole hell of a lot. And she was a scientist!
So that is all. But just imagine what beauteous pictures I would have drawn for you.

6 Yogurts and a Free Bottle of Wine

Yes, it is easy to find a job in Dublin. It is, however, apparently impossible to find a job with free internet access! Devastating!
For the past week, I've been working for this university standing on a street trying to make people come inside and taste 6 yogurts, for which you got a free bottle of wine. Obviously, a really awesome deal. Even for someone like me, who finds yogurt wholly gag-worthy. While the job totally sucked, it was an interesting opportunity to interact with strangers. I only wish I could draw you a picture, but I am at a stripped-down library computer. I also made my first friend here that does not live in my house, so a major bonus.
Basically, this is what happened all day:
Me: Excuse me, did you have a few minutes...
Them: No
Me: to try some yogurts?
And from 5 feet away, they would look at me like I was a madwoman, laugh, and continue on their way.
Of course, this university is in a rather dodgy part of town, so there were lots of unsavory characters about, so I tried not to say free bottle of wine too loudly. Still, this was an exciting sociological adventure. The Irish are a good bit more touchy to strangers than Americans, so that was disconcerting.
I am really not feeling this update, so I will stop. I promise to regain my wit and glitter soon.

Belfast

Well, Bill and I went to Belfast for the weekend. It was pretty wild. As you are probably aware, Belfast is/was the centre of the IRA vs. British Nationalist-related violence for the past 40 years, although it officially ended in 1998.
In any case, Belfast felt largely like any other city of its size in the British Isles (which I am saying to include Ireland although I don't know if that's proper). Except for when Bill and I went off to see the murals, in the areas where the violence primarily took (and still takes) place-- two lower income neighborhoods on either side of the 'peace wall'. And this was far and away the most memorable part of the trip. The murals on the Protestant side of town featured quotes from such glorious Protestants as Oliver Cromwell saying things like "kill all the Catholics" and had pictures of their militia, men in black hoods holding gigantic guns. The Catholic side of town's murals were a bit less aggressive, with mostly painting of their martyrs, like those that died in a hunger strike during the 80s and children that have been killed by rubber bullets, which the police shoot at them sometimes.
Also, the Catholics had some murals of other oppressed people that they identify with, like the Kurds and the Palestinians and some others, I can't remember which. And of course the obligatory anti-Bush mural.
In any case, the Shankill Road (Protestant side) area looked like a war zone. First of all, there are these rows of 'terrace houses' (what we call townhouses, at least, what I do) and they all have murals on the ends, leading to a big grassy field. You would think, as it was a beautiful Saturday afternoon, that people would be outside playing or something. But no, completely empty.
The Catholic side of town was a bit more lively, but I just couldn't believe it. We saw two prisons that had 5 foot thick walls, with more barbed wire than I had ever seen in my life. And the peace wall is just this monstrously tall concrete and barbed wire structure. It was truly frightening. I took pictures of course, so eventually I will post these.
And certainly, the conflict is far from over. Right by our hotel, there is this new office building going up, and already, the scaffolding features UFF murals, and the curbs were painted red white and blue. In a lot of ways, the UFF and IRA seemed like slightly politicized versions of the Crips and Bloods.
Sunday, Bill and I wandered around the city centre, when all of a sudden, a parade! Loads of old men wearing derby hats with orange fringey scarves around their necks. Now, orange is the color of the Protestants, so we figured this was them. But I was thinking this is probably some sort of Kiwanis thing for the Protestants. But alas, I was wrong, as sure enough there was a drum that said "Shankill Road Defense League." It would be so much cooler if American gangs marched around in bowling hats.
So this is a very disjointed update about Belfast. I was just surprised to see how present the violence was. The UK elections are, as you may know, in about a week, and the whole city had loads of signs up about various candidates, and literally, every single candidate (except for a few stray socialist flyers) featured the UK or the Irish flag. Apparently, everyone votes along these lines. Labour and Conservative have virtually no presence in Northern Ireland.
I suppose I could babble on about my reactions to the city for days, and indeed, have been. I will go ahead and leave it with this this though.

Not dead.

I am glad that none of you worried too much about my potential bedtime slaying.
On the plus side, I have a new job that has allowed me to complete Nelson Mandela's autobiography in 48 hours. No mean feat, considering it's 600 and some more pages.
However, the big negative is that I have no internet access at work which I consider to be truly abusive. An example of the unfair treatment temporary workers are subjected to. However, the job should end on Friday and I should then have something better. And by better, I mean pays more money and allows me to dick around online unencumbered.
This is all very sad for you because I had a fairly eventful weekend that would have made nice pictures. Alas, no Paint for me.

Drama

You are bad, ungrateful people. I have had several requests for photos from my abroadlife, and then when I put them up, at great personal cost (€1.99 for the CD and obviously such clever captions were mentally taxing) and what do I get in return? Nary a comment.
But alas, I am a benevolent and forgiving god, so I will not punish you. In fact, I have even drawn a few more pictures, because...
Yesterday Bill and I had AN ADVENTURE. Not really the good kind, but you know, the acceptable kind. I will relay the story now:
Around 10:30, Bill and I stepped into our backyard for a breath of fresh air. When we came back into the house, our front door was wide open. Our front door that locks automatically. No one else was home. I've illustrated our looking out the door.

And yes, our house is that color. The curtains are a little off, I think there is also green. Also, Bill and I look literally nothing like that. Especially as we have bodies. And that's art on the wall behind us. It's not original, it's a print. Also, the cat burglar may or may not actually exist. The rest of the post will explain.
So Bill walked around the house looking in all the doors and yelling hello. I stood by the door feeling like a girl.
In any case, Bill turned up nothing. So we left the house and set the alarm, figuring well, if someone's in and they try to leave, it will go off. If it's our flatmates, they'll turn off the alarm.
But when we leave, we see a suspicious looking mini-van. Mind you, our street is literally narrower than most American drive-ways, and it's a dead end. Why the mini-van? A mystery.
So, we wait outside for a while, thinking it's possible one of our flatmates ran home and then ran out to get something and didn't shut the door all the way... But no flatmates. So, Bill makes us call the Garda, which is like the police except Irish.
And they come and declare our house safe. This is one of them. The picture is entirely fictional as Bill and I met them at the street. Still, I felt like this was a multiple image story.

And of course, as they leave, my Spanish flatmate comes home with his non-english speaking friend. So I am sure that amused them. I am quite sure I heard them call us gringos and stupidos and americanos. Except, do the Spanish call white people gringos? They are white too. Well, so maybe none of the words sounded like that and I am imagining things.
In any case, I could have a ghost! Or, someone could have tried to rob us! Who knows!
So that was the yesterday adventure. If I am murdered in my bed tonight, expect no further updates.

My exhibitionism reaches a new level

I have elected to post pictures from my life here. Actually, they extend as far back as roughly last flunk day until last weekend. So about a year. However, they are edited and in groups, so peruse at your leisure. Please note that they were taken with the sort of digital camera that comes free with a printer. a $30 printer. Hence, the 'special effects.' Also, the London pictures are in reverse chronological order, so for those who place great weight in chronology, start at the end.
Look at my little life!

Should I stay or should I go now?

Most of you are probably aware of my next few years plan, as you know, I adore planning and talking about planning. But lately I've run into a serious conflict. One part of me is really dying for a more permanent lifestyle... you know, I'd like to paint my walls, expand my CD collection, these sort of materialistic pursuits that I adore... It's obviously not worthwhile to do these things here. I'd like to live on the same continent as my friends, or even in the same city. And I really miss Chipotle. Where's globalization when you really need it?
On the other hand, it's fairly easy to procure Irish sponsorship. And, if you are under 35, you can get a full year's work visa for New Zealand. And the commercials for New Zealand look really grand. Plus, I've made several friends from Down Under, and while they are all in England now, they won't always be. And I would love to see that part of the world and I could go travel around Asia fairly easily. Of course, I'd have to learn to like fish more than I do.
I meet so many Europeans and Aussie/Kiwis who have literally travelled the world and they don't seem any worse for the wear not starting their 'actual life' until later. But it's a bit different too, for them, because it's much more a part of their culture. And they have loads of friends abroad.
I wish I could do both, you know, go back to the US and get a month's paid holiday to go running around seeing the world like many people I've met do. Alas, a month's holiday would be unlikely.
In any case, I'll almost definitely go home to Kansas City in September, once the Irish visa runs out and the travel money runs out.
Ideally, all of you would say, yeah, fuck it all, let's move to New Zealand and we can all go be friends together. And then we'd hold hands and skip.

I'm grand, thanks.

Everything's grand, in fact, because that's what they say here and that's what it is!
Bill and I had a terrifically exciting weekend!
We bought insanely cheap grapes and tomatoes on Saturday and then went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art (which is, incidentally, around the corner from my house) where Bill discovered his new god, the American artist Laurie Anderson. They had a huge exhibit of her work there and it was truly awesome. It's really rare that I feel so strongly about those jack of all trades contemporary artists, but man, my socks were totally knocked off. Also, they had a Fred Tomaselli exhibit that was great, as well as a Jasper Johns post-1983 exhibit that was pretty cool too as he had lots of paintings that incorporated the optical illusions old lady/young lady, face/vase, rabbit/duck etc, which is really cool. Also, I encountered a new artist that I thought fairly interesting, some Dutch guy named Mark Manders.
And if that wasn't enough culture for a day, we saw an underwhelming production of Hamlet in the evening by some Irish troupe called Guna Nua or something like that. But it featured two men and two men only, so fairly interesting in that respect.
Yesterday, Bill and I went to nearby Bray Bay, where we walked around a mountain, and then directly up to the top of the mountain. This was great fun, except the going directly up to the top part. This hurt my calves considerably, but I suspect was truly excellent for my ass.
And then we threw rocks into the ocean. Or rather, I threw them in and Bill skipped them around on top all fancy-like. He even managed to skip this huge boomerang shaped rock several times. He is a real man and I am lucky to have him!

Central Asia

On Wednesday, I read the news for the first time in several weeks due to the fact that I've been moving, etc. I learned several things, including that there is a country I swear I have never ever heard of in my life-- Kyrgyzstan. I looked at it on the map I wondered who these people are and what they do.
I then realized I have a deep fascination Central Asia and perhaps ALWAYS HAVE. This is due to the fact that in the 9th grade, I asked my World Geography teacher what race far eastern Russians were (which, indicentally, my teacher didn't really answer. dick).
Also, one of my favorite restaurants is a Mongolian barbeque.
So, last night I literally could not fall asleep I was so obsessed with Central Asia. Like, why haven't I learned anything about these countries? Why do archeology and artifact type museums have nothing from Central Asia?
Also, a few months ago there was this article in the New York Times about Mongolia's push to make English the nation's second language.
In any case, I've spent like all day reading about various Central Asian countries. Apparently, it's quite difficult to travel to those CIS countries, but I really want to go there. I literally cannot imagine anything more foreign than those countries (which I am not spelling out due entirely to laziness and uncertainty). I mean, for chrissakes, they play a sport involving a headless goat that somehow looks a bit like rugby.
Has anyone been to Armenia? Azerbaijan? Kazakhstan? I just cannot imagine it, though I've spent much of the day looking at pictures and reading about drinking fermented mare's milk. I am disappointed, Jubin, that you aren't going to go to Kyrgyzstan as I would really like to hear about it.
If anyone else is fascinated, I found www.eurasianet.org to be a nice resource. Also, Lonelyplanet.com.
Really, this is a plea for your wonder and wanderlust.

Ireland

Well, I am now settled in Ireland and will resume regular updates with sporadic drawings.
To bring you all up to speed, I am living in Dublin (not Galway as previously hoped--apparently, they are like a gazillion young foreigners there taking the kind of jobs that Bill and I would be after). Bill and I are living in a lovely and central flatshare. It is an orange cottage with hardwood floors, a garden, and two bathrooms. Very luxurious. We are living with an Irish couple, Naoimh and Andrew, a French girl, Emilie, and a Spanish guy, Diego. They all seem very nice so far. We moved in Saturday.
And yesterday Bill and I both started work. Temping. In seperate places. But it's fantastic as we get weekends off!!! So if anyone has any visit Ireland suggestions, pass them on! My plan is a trip every 3 weeks.
In any case, the Irish are truly as fantastic as everyone says they are. I have never been in a friendlier country. Seriously, you can't so much as look at a map without someone volunteering to help you. Already I have had more conversations about actual things with the Irish than I did in my entire time in London with the British. Of course, that could be because I am living with an Irish couple, but whatever. These people are chatty and nosy. I love them.
Also, they line up at bus stops which is adorable. I have chosen to illustrate this.

5 minute tipsy blog post...

So, to wrap things up! am currently done working in London, moving to Ireland on Tuesday. Am getting paid for the first time in my life for not working, do I ever love holiday entitlement!!!
My family visited Saturday to Thursday which was really nice. Highlights include Tropicana at the Shunt Vaults and Apple Crumble at St. Martin in the Fields.
Monday I saw Wilco for free and got free beer afterwards which made me feel like a real poseur but was cool anyhow.
Today, the weather is beautiful in London and I spent the afternoon in a canalside pub! Perfect!
Also, I saw the Joseph Beuys show, which was pretty damn good. Not everything stood out, but there were a few pieces that were capable of knocking one's socks off. Caravaggio this weekend!

Indications that I won't like you.

Note- This blog post is inspired by a comment left by Bogdan on Stefanie's blog.

Those of you that know me know that I am filled with hate and rage. I will now provide an abridged version of things that make a person hate-worthy.

-People that won't eat spicy foods. This shows a lack of character and adventuresomeness. You don't have to love spicy food, but you have to try it. No going out for Thai and asking the waitress to tell you which one isn't spicy.
-Women (or men, for that matter) with excessively long hair. Excessively long for women means anything longer than mid-back. This shows a fear of change.
-Excessively long fingernails. This is impractical. This shows that you prioritize beauty over practicality. However, this argument does not under any circumstances apply to footwear.

These are the big three. However, there are more and I will proceed.

-People that wear excessive jewelry, particularly rings. Generally speaking, more than 2-3 rings are too many.
-Men that freely show their armpit hair when not engaging in athletic activity. Strangely enough, female armpit hair is not nearly as offensive.
-People that are louder than me.
-People that are more melodramatic than me. These two are why I rarely, if ever, like theatre people.
-People that touch their bare or stockinged feet in public.
-Men that wear plastic, athletic inspired sandals. It's not male feet that are the problem, but those damn sport sandals that I find completely repulsive.
-People that leave closet doors open.
-People that do not like Sex and the City.
-People that say Sarah Jessica Parker is ugly.
-People that unashamedly like things that are marketed for their demographic. For instance, Garden State, David Sedaris, etc. for the majority of my readership, I'd imagine. Again, theoretically there is nothing wrong with liking these things (I haven't read/seen them), but just be aware that it's you that they are trying to make love it.
-People that love Wes Anderson or Quentin Tarantino. Not that they haven't made good movies, but I won't abide by adulation. See above for my reasoning behind this.
-People that do not like Madonna or equivalent 80s pop (as if there is any). Lighten up for chrissakes.
-People that make snotty noises while watching reality television or equivalent mindless programming. Again, chill.
-People that cannot go a day without showering, make up, or similar activities. This does not apply to brushing one's teeth, which is essential.
-People that do not like baseball. Obviously this only applies to North Americans, Caribbeans and Japanese, as the rest of the world remains largely unconverted.
-Women (and men, really) that won't call themselves feminists. Either you are horribly ill-informed or a total dick. Either way, I probably don't like you.

The list could go on and on. These, however, are the majors. Obviously, a person can win my affections if they possess a few of these traits. And of course, I left off the political hatreds, as this was meant to be a bit funny and there is nothing funny about voting for Bush.
But now I have to go back to work, which is where I do my best hating.

Yawn.

Well, blah. Not a lot worth updating about at the moment. The problem is this crap job, it sucks the life force right out of me. BUT the good news is that Friday is my last day working in the UK, then my mom and brothers will be here, and I will have a week off to play before moving on to Ireland.
This job is so draining that I cannot even be bothered to take the stamped and addressed postcards out of my purse and into the mailbox that I walk by several times a day.
However, Monday I got my haircut and that is really exciting. The lady that cut my hair looked a lot like Little Bo Peep but she sure knew what she was doing! I feel pounds lighter and am literally £40 lighter... my most expensive haircut by far but, I think, worth it. It's my first grown-up haircut, albeit grown-up in that hip London way. No more twee bobs or scraggly ends for me, oh no, I am all piecey and layered and sophisticated. In fact, yesterday 3 people stopped and asked me for directions, probably because I look so worldly. Or they just wanted to get into my pants. Who can say?

A poll!

So, I've been a little lazy about the updating lately. This is because I have a new job that keeps me busy hating others. I am doing 'data entry.' This really blows. But alas, it's just for a week and the pay is acceptable, so I can be brave.
So, no pictures because Paint doesn't look like Excel or Access. Blogger is a bit sneakier.
Bill and I had a lovely time in Glasgow, but it was not touristy enough so I couldn't EVEN FIND a dorky tee-shirt for Bill. They have a necropolis in Glasgow, which is strange. Like a cemetery, but better! Not as exciting as a crypt, to be sure, but with a better name.
In other news, two exhibitions have just come to London that I can't decide whether I should go to them or not. One, at the Tate Modern, Joseph Beuys. The other, at the National Gallery, Caravaggio. Now of course I want to go to both, but they cost approximately £8 each! That's like $15! And the thing is, I saw a lot of Caravaggio in Italy, so it will probably be a lot of repeats for me. Not that one can ever have too much Caravaggio, especially when you are filled with hate like I currently am. Joseph Beuys, on the other hand, I'm not sure if I even really like. I don't know very much about him. However, if I saw this exhibition, I would know for sure!
So, to keep things fun for my readers, I have made a poll. Please take it!

What should Bill and I do?

Both Beuys Caravaggio Neither

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Hopefully, next week I will be happily bored at work so I can draw you more pictures.

The Celtic Tiger

Well! Bill and I have tentatively decided where we will be moving to in Ireland in March! Galway, the fastest growing city in Europe, where there are over 650 pubs for 70,000 residents. I can't wait. There is little basis for this decision as neither of us have ever been to Ireland. We just think it might be fun to forgo the metropolis for small town pleasures. Certainly, your input is welcome. I, for one, am easily persuaded.
Tomorrow Bill and I are going to Glasgow for the weekend, to celebrate Bill's Scottish heritage. This will no doubt involve Bill drinking whiskey and me trying to buy him insanely dorky t-shirts with the Loch Ness monster in tartan plaids or something. Expect postcards with a similar theme (if I have your address).

What's next, detachable shower heads?

Can anyone with a background in law explain the constitutionality of this please?
I realize this is my second post in as many hours, but come on!

Working with Americans

I am drinking my Earl Grey out of the Working with Americans mug. Even though it's rare for someone to look at me or take notice of what I am doing here, this is very amusing for me.
In the downstairs library (i.e. bookshelf with medical journals and the yellow pages), there is a copy of a book with the same title. Which I think I will start reading today. After all, I am virtually assured of working with Americans when I return to the U.S.
Nothing particularly bad has happened in the past two days. So my unlucky streak appears to be over; thus, there is little to draw about. However, it has snowed in London the past few days which is really funny as these nutty Brits get real worked up about snow that doesn't really stick to the ground. To be fair, there were patches of snow on the sidewalk this morning when I walked to the tube station, but there is nary a flake on the ground here in Piccadilly Circus. Nevertheless, this has of course affected the underground train service.
I found this picture on the Guardian particularly amusing, as I hope my friends who are familiar with the midwestern or northeastern winters will as well. Mind you, the picture is not from London but from the northern-most part of England, North Yorkshire.
I did a little picture of what London looks like when it's snowing...

About the same as usual but people are more confused and in the way, also more grey.

And so it continues...

To continue with my streak of really bad luck I burned my flatmate Stephane yesterday on his birthday.
Because I am a fundamentally nice person despite frequent lapses in judgment and a hatred of excess zippers, I baked Stephane a cookie cake on his birthday, spelling out "HAPPY B-DAY STEPH" in chocolate chips. I then proceeded to drop the hot-from-the-oven-chocolate-still-bubbling cookie onto Stephane's hand, making Stephane's 26th memorable, if for nothing else, the lasting scars that he will have on his hand.
Stephane, ever the gentleman, proclaimed the cookie excellent, after running his hand under the tap for a long time, while his hand was wrapped in a towel.
Today begins a new week, at least on some people's calendars, so hope for the best.
In other news, Bill and I saw The Aviator on Friday. Blech. I found the movie completely unspecial, though Leonardo Di Caprio really out-did himself in unwatcheability this time, and Scorsese upped the ante with excessive strobes and other major annoyances. I cannot figure out for the life of me why anyone would like this movie, unless they really like planes or perhaps unbearable Katherine Hepburn impressions. Anyone who is impressed by Cate Blanchette's impression of old Kate has obviously forgotten that Kate Hepburn was appealing.

Speaking of Scorsese and misogyny... I am currently reading Easy Riders Raging Bulls, which is about all those cool young directors of the 1970s. Rather surprisingly, it's almost the exact same as the chaos book I read last week. I.E. eccentric white men with immigrant parents (ideally, Italian or Eastern European Jew) changed, no, fuck changed! Revolutionized! the world while taking no prisoners. Obviously, genius and common decency are mutually exclusive. Just as female and genius are.
I mean, the 70s were a great decade for movies. And chaos is really cool, and yeah, so many great ideas. And really, it's not like these guys were that much nicer to their male associates than their female ones, although I think the motivations are different...
I guess the question I am left with is is it necessary to fuck all to perform at such a level? Can you put someone above your art or your discovery to really succeed? And is this the reason that women less frequently top the genius lists? (Obviously there are other reasons independent of their ability or ambition, but...)
Ultimately, though, these directors toppled down from the pedestals they placed themselves on, with the exception of maybe Scorsese.
I am uncomfortable living in this world, desperate to curl up and ignore it, and dying to change it.

And I was punished.

As my previous posts have plainly established, god is clearly not a fan of me. Let me explain. On Wednesday, I took a face first dive in the reception area of my office for everyone's entertainment. It hurt a lot and my head isn't moving with the same readiness it used to. I will not draw a picture of this because if you've ever seen me you've seen me fall so you know what it looks like.
So, last night I decided to take a leisurely bath to make my neck feel better. And what does god decide to do for shits and giggles? That's right. Michael, the tool, walks in on me! And of cource I had my head underwater so he didn't see me until he saw me. Still, I am so chill about it. Yeah, fuck clothes. Nevertheless, I won't be drawing me in the tub, as I don't want anyone who happens upon this site getting the wrong idea.
And then, to further prove that couches are the only safe place to be, I got stuck in the elevator this morning when sent on an urgent errand for my boss. So, I waited there for a about 20 minutes to be rescued, after which I rather undiginifiedly crawled out. I did draw this one.

So, what other mean tricks are in store for me today? I don't know! It's barely afternoon yet! But rest assured, as long as my fingers have full mobility, I'll let you know.

Now you will know what a bad person I am.

So, as some of you know, I live with 4 boys. My nice boyfriend Bill (US, 23), my two Australian flatmates (Corey, 23, and Michael, 28) and my French flatmate Stephane (26 on Sunday).
And the thing is, I really hate Michael. I know that it is bad to write about hating him, but the only person I can complain about him to that actually knows him is Bill. I have drawn a picture of Michael so you can see how he sucks. This is it.

There are a number of reasons for this. He is an explainer, and like so many explainers, prefers to force this upon girls. He is constantly explaining really boring stuff to me, which is usually highly inaccurate. He likes Slipknot and the Insane Clown Posse. He doesn't eat spicy food. He is a writer.
These are all minor things, I realize. But there are two hugely major things: he completely lacks any sense of irony. If make a sarcastic comment, he explains to me why I am wrong. He takes himself desperately seriously. This appalls me. You cannot, under any circumstances, wear spiky bracelets in 2005 without irony.
I have, I think, a fairly high tolerance for pretension, being rather pretentious from time to time myself. But, you can't be pretentious about things that suck. For instance, Michael hates School of Rock and Jack Black. There is absolutely no acceptable reason for this, particularly when you think The Ring was a great movie.
And hey, I liked The Ring OK. But Michael doesn't like things that are bad. Oh no, if Michael likes it he will tell you why it is brilliant. For hours. The bottom line is, no one else's opinion has any authority with Michael, no matter what which makes him about the worst person in the world for me to know as I have a lot of opinions.
The thing that really pisses me off about this douchebag (and yes, that is the proper term. "Tool" also works) is that being around him makes me absolutely miserable. Because there is no point in disagreeing, as he is always right. And having to talk to Michael (or rather, listen to Michael) makes me be mean to Bill, which is a crime as Bill is very nice.
And here is the worst part! When we watch CSI or Law and Order, he points out CONSTANTLY what is wrong with the show, or how such and such isn't legal. But the thing is, he's AUSTRALIAN. He's never been to the U.S. even. And besides, it's fucking T.V.
It's like pointing out that the Insane Clown Posse didn't go to clown college or Marilyn Manson isn't actually a chick.
So that's my flatmate that I hate. The other ones I like quite well. I feel better now that I have vented, and now I will be able to mention little annoyances and you will understand.

You count.

Bwah ha ha. I have installed a counter to (hopefully) make myself feel really special and popular. Or, it will make me feel sad and dejected. I am hoping for the former.
In other news, I saw La Traviata with Leo last night. It was really fantastic though this time I didn't have the fortune of being able to move into ridiculously expensive seats, and instead remained standing. And Alfredo, the male lead, was pretty hunky for an opera singer.

Valentine's Day: A Recap

Well, as we all know, yesterday was Valentine's Day. I have drawn some pictures for you to show you what it was like for me. You are, by the way, really spoiled. Lucky my job is so damn boring I have time for this shit.
My day at work was fine and uneventful. However, Valentine's day was still really sad because Bill had to work until almost midnight so that Paul McCartney and his gimp wife could ride the London Eye. And a bunch of other happy couples. We did have a nice lunch together and Bill bought me flowers. So he is good, though the London Eye hates me.
Apparently, the London Eye is not the only thing that hates me, as my train broke down 2 minutes from home. So I sat in a tunnel for an hour and a half next to a rather large lady. It was not as unpleasant as one might imagine, and the British people on my train were really calm about the whole thing. As was I, I might add. Still, not the greatest way to spend your time. That will teach me to burn Ken Livingstone. I have drawn a picture of my suffering. I think my hair looks really good here. Though it didn't look like that at all yesterday. Being an artist is great fun.

And then, finally, at almost 8 o'clock, I returned home. To be by myself and sad. But alas, my flatmate had bought porn. So, I read that. British porn, mind, so not tremendously exciting. Here is me reading it.

And then, when it wasn't the commercials, I watched ER and cried because some lousy alkie died. Here is me crying on Valentine's Day.

Finally, I got ready for bed. And when reaching for my toothbrush, I cut my finger on my Venus razor. All three blades. So that was too bad.

Drawing was my lowest grade in college.

Due to popular demand, I decided to draw a couple pictures about my morning. I've worked very hard on these...
If anyone is curious about the verisimilitude of my appearance... my coat's buttons are not red, but black. My pants are indeed pinstriped, and my hair isn't really greenish. Also, I don't just have irises, but whole eyes.

and then I did this:

And then the fire alarm went off as soon as I got to work and I had to stand outside for a long time. . I had nothing to do with it.

And all this before nine o'clock.

The doldrums

I am worried about my blog being boring and am doubting my blog-making decisions.
I know that no one cares about the Jam Rings (I've had 3 packs of 3 today), but... there is no excuse.
The problem is, I think, that I am thinking too broadly about my days, etc, and what I need to do is focus on clever and/or otherwise interesting anecdotes from my day.
Any thoughts on this?

Jam rings.

I am massively in love with Jam Rings. They are totally old lady cookies but so good. I cannot stop eating them, which is bad.

gr.

Sometimes I really like to read stuff that pisses me off, instead of stuff that I agree with. For instance, I get a little bored reading www.commondreams.org because it's like, duh, I am so with you. However, I can read www.dradams.org until I'm foaming at the mouth. Which only takes about 30 seconds, but what I mean by this is that I've read through his archives and sit, filled with hate and rage, quivering at my desk. I did this last week, and have finished with him. he's a total tool, and if you read his bio you'll see that he actually is a complete moron. He's a criminology professor who brags about his low GPA. I mean, Law and Order is really cool, but criminology is hardly a real subject!
In part, I must say he gets under my skin because he rallies against liberal bias at universities. And deep down, I know it exists and is something about which I have a severe double standard and this troubles me.
But it's not like I love to hate him, I really just hate him. I think he is a complete dick, and his flippant remarks about date rape and feminism really get under my skin. Not to mention the sadistic pictures of him and the animals he's killed.

And then, there is www.askmen.com. Better, I'd say, because they at least don't pretend to be an intellectual like Dr. Adams. But man, do they seem to hate women! And it's not in that nice Playboy or Maxim way where it's actually funny. No, the men at askmen.com really are just misogynistic bastards. Seriously. Check out Be a Man. And you'd think, with such a nice title, it might be slightly ironic or funny, but it totally wasn't. Just really awful.
In any case, that's how I spent my afternoon. Let me know if there's anything similarly awful that I should read tomorrow.

Red, White and Ruth

Well, today sees me back at my boring job with a renewed commitment to blog-updating.
Actually, that's not really true at all. I feel compelled to update because that's what good people do, but I am not particularly interested in updating at the moment.
Much of my time here (i.e. abroad) is spent thinking about being an American. I don't know if this is everyone's experience abroad, but the two times in my life I have been abroad for more than a month have been times of intense political turmoil-- Spring 2003 and well, now.
Saturday night my French flatmate had his friends over for a little party. His friends, unlike Stephane, for the most part spoke perfect English and have been living in London for quite some time. And, like Stephane, are far more interested in football than politics. Nevertheless, 3 out of the 4 friends wanted to talk to me and Bill about the election. Which is fine, better to talk about it than have them think that Americans are united.
Most of the conversation at the party was in English, but at one point, one of the French guys (who has a deep and profound love for America stemming from 2 weeks he spent with a host family in Baltimore in high school) asked me "quel age as-tu?" Now, I know what this means but was totally taken aback to be asked my age (which, incidentally, was not related to anything we had been talking about before), so hesitated for a moment, probably with a dumbstruck look on my face. And he says " Ah, she's American, she doesn't speak any other languages." And my little feelings were hurt, as I can speak a bit of French (though, that, in itself is embarrassing as I studied it for nine years and minored in it) and also some Italian. So I said vingt trois, but was nevertheless sad.
Because of course, most Americans really don't speak another language. But the British seem pretty poor on this as well, and really, it's not like France is so great on speaking other languages themselves. They are so damn obsessed with their language they have an Academie ranting against the word supermarket or some similarly innocuous English word. And this is why English is a vastly superior language. Yeah, it's not as mellifluous as Italian, nor as frightening as German, nor as sexy as Chinese (disagree? Then you obviously haven't seen 2046 yet), but man, English is so completely shameless. You can do anything with it, borrow, steal, or lay it bare. It's an eager whore of a language. In any case, it's not like France is Sweden or Switzerland, where you seem to be required to speak at least half a dozen languages before leaving primary school. And of course they are morally superior for it.
And then, today, I get to work where "the Americans are coming," which means, so far as I can tell, that mass amounts of Coca-Cola and particularly Diet Coke are stored away as to satisfy the Americans' insatiable coke drinking. (Oh, as I write this, some frenzied secretary came down to find coke for the Americans--it's hidden away of course). And then I read in the International Herald Tribune about Americans who are actually living the liberal dream-- moving to Canada that is... which I don't understand, honestly. Yeah, I am frustrated, but frustration to me implies an obligation. You can never wash your hands of your nationality. I am more American here than I ever was.

Obsession

Bill and I have started working on our travel plans for this summer and I am obsessed by it. So obsessed that I am not even bored enough to update my blog at work I am so busy looking at backpacks and flights and railpasses oh my online. And the sad/exciting thing is that my obsession could very well continue until, well, we return to the states in September.

Fancy a trip to London, anyone?

So, this morning found me looking at fares on Student Universe and apparently, were you to leave in the next two weeks, you could totally fly to London r-t out of Chicago for $240! What a bargain! And yeah, it's a student fare but that doesn't matter, all they want you to have is a .edu email address. Which I know many of my friends have. So, come one come all.
In other news, I saw Turandot last night with my French friend, Leo(poldine). It was great fun. We bought the standing only tickets for £11 (or, approximately, 1/11th the price of flying roundtrip to London from Chicago), but for the third act, were able to move into the £160 really fucking awesome seats. It was amazing, and, incidentally, the happiest opera I have ever seen. Only one stage death! And yeah, it was a pretty girl, all the more tragic, but she wasn't one of our romantic leads! They triumphed! Instead, Turandot herself was one of the largest women I have ever seen-- Audrey Stottler, which got me thinking about how strange it must be to be a female opera singer. I mean, she's got this awesome voice, and she's obviously this immense diva (I have never seen anyone shine more during applause, she was nuts!), but then most of the time, she's just this really overweight woman. And god knows how society hates the morbidly obese, particularly women. So it must be really bizarre to be so revered in one aspect of your life, and then, so shunned in another.
In any case, her voice was fantastic, and the production was really stunning. Yay for the opera!

I'm wearing my new pants!

In the American sense of pants. They are red and so nice, I just look at them and smile, because I'm the girl in red pants.
Also, it's the first time in a few months my pants have fit.
Shortly after arriving in London, I was standing on an escalator up from the tube, and noticed that the people walking up the escalator had nicer asses than those that stood. I vowed to walk.
Lately, though, I've been really sad about the comparative sagginess of the ass of my pants and was afraid that all the walking up escalators I do here has not been able to counteract the ass-smooshingness of sitting for 8 hours a day in front of the computer.
Today, in my new pants, I see that it is not my ass but my old pants! These new pants work with my ass, they don't hang off it! So I am thrilled with my red, nicely hemmed, ass pants. Maybe I will have pictures soon.