Jamaica: Day 10

Our flight left Montego Bay at 11:50 am, but we spent the entire morning at the airport because Boyfriend likes to be prepared. We officially arrived at 9:40 am, and after having checked in and gone through the most thorough security check of our lives, we were at the gate a full two hours early. In addition to the plethora of time I spent roaming the 17-gate airport,  I was able to finish a third book on this trip.

These are some fun facts about Sangster International Airport I learned while grumpily passing time.

1. The five minute taxi ride from the Hip Strip in Montego Bay costs $18.00 (and four Red Stripe beers, in our case).
2. The departures portion of the airport is much grander than the arrivals portion. 
3. The exact same trinkets sold in the 394 stores on the Hip Strip can be purchased in the comfort of air conditioning at the airport for roughly the same cost--rates remain negotiable.
4. About every four gates, the concourse/hallway/walkway becomes a Duty Free shop. That makes about four in an itty bitty allotment of space. There isn't much more than alcohol to gawk at, and less rum that one might expect. Since we weren't checking a bag, there wasn't even a chance of shopping.  
5. Juici Patties are sold frozen in bulk. As to what you're supposed to do with 24 frozen meat pies before a flight, I'm not sure. 
6. There is a Cinnabon, Domino's, Moe's, Quiznos, Wendy's, and not one but two Auntie Anne's, Dairy Queens, and Margaritavilles in the airport (re: 17-gate airport). I was particularly excited about the DQ until I saw the cost of a mini blizzard runs $6.00 (instead of the $2.89 I recall last paying).
7. There are no water fountains to be found. That's particularly awesome, since no water is allowed through security and all flights leaving Jamaica are international (i.e., long). 

Our flight to Charlotte, North Carolina was packed with exhausted vacationers worried about the combination ice and snow storm sweeping the South. The second leg of our flight was equally packed, and we were thrilled to be on the one flight to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport that was not cancelled. We were due for some good luck, and we fully appreciated it after some miserable delays last leaving Kansas City, Boston, and Chicago.

After a sluggish Metro ride, we were home sweet home in a snowy city in time for Boyfriend's program--Jeopardy.

A Tough End to an A+ Weekend

Because my recent excursion to Chicago was based all around the marathon, it was very different from my usual go, go, go vacation. I'll need time before I can regurgitate the play-by-play, as it just wasn't what I'm used to. An ideal getaway involves eating and walking my way through a city, and while I got to do a fair bit of that, I relied a lot more on public transportation than I'm used to (i.e., to keep the legs fresh) and thought much more about what I ate than I do in even my daily life. I also opted not to do a ton of research before heading to out to avoid setting my self up for disappointment. Though I've been to Chicago, I know I missed much on this trip. You can rest those worries though, I was again able to eat plenty and enjoy much (in a not so efficient manner); the trip was organized day-by-day. But lest I sound depressed, this trip--for the marathon--was incredible; I had a stellar race with so much support to thank for being both there and there in spirit.

I intend to share my lessons learned from my first marathon in an upcoming post, for those interested. For me, the biggest "regret" is not running my first marathon locally. Washington, D.C. actually hosts one of the larger marathons and it would have been super nice to not have had the stress of travel added to the all-consuming marathon. But Chicago was so, so, so good to me with its perfect temperature, pancake flat course, and crowd support, I can hardly regret the outcome.

As someone who likes to travel, but also likes to forecast (i.e., control) my future, the return trip was one reason running the Marine Corps Marathon would have been more convenient. I built in plenty of time for things to go wrong heading to Chicago by choosing to arrive on Thursday, however, I thought nothing about what it might be like for things to go awry on the return trip when I was exhausted and sore.

At 1:30 pm CT on Columbus Day, I learned my 4:10 pm flight was cancelled. This was a curse I placed on myself after waking up to a gloomy Chicago and immediately wanting to teleport home. I had not slept more than two hours the night before thanks to the writhing pain throughout my body. Marathoners, is this par for the course? After arriving at O'Hare International Airport shortly after 2:00 pm, Boyfriend found Customer Service to discuss our situation. We'd been rebooked on a 9:08 am flight out on Tuesday, a WHOLE DAY LATER. I absolutely could not miss work on Tuesday, a rarity. I had already bailed on an important meeting Friday and felt terrible about the thought of missing another one. We'd had our fun. That's where my head was at. And oh yeah, I was exhausted and sore.

We were given standby tickets for a 3:10 pm flight. There was hope. After rushing through some fancy security line (e.g., no shoe removal, no liquid removal--I complain not), we found gate B11, where we saw we were two of many looking to standby. The flight left without us, obviously. Then we played this game of bouncing from Terminal B to C for flights to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport or Washington Dulles International Airport every hour following. And since my left knee disintegrated entirely throughout the course of 26.2 miles, this was super fun. At 6:30 pm we were on a delayed flight to Dulles, which is not nearly as convenient as Reagan, but more so than Baltimore Washington International Airport. With economy seat assignments, we boarded.

That's me on the "Cleared Standby" list on the top left, wahoo!

Then we sat on the runway. And sat and sat. And I'm being real dramatic because I had to go to the bathroom and in order to do that we had to be in the air at some 10,000 feet with the seat belt sign off. There were no announcements made as to why were were sitting, waiting, wishing. I was also exhausted (i.e., impatient) and sore. I don't think I've mentioned that. At 7:48 pm, we were suddenly taking off... on a rough flight. I don't think I would have noticed had I not stood almost the entire duration of the flight. I got up to relieve my bladder as soon as I was able. And I guess the crew started serving beverages simultaneously. My seat, being far up in the cabin, was blocked while all 38 rows were served. I did kindly asked to squeeze through to no avail.

In a normal situation, it's best to move while flying. Perhaps this is not the case the day following a marathon, then walking one inside the airport? My legs swelled so much they got stuck in my normally comfortably fitting boots. I was sitting on the floor of the plane trying to pull them off to relieve the pressure and I could not budge them. This was a terrifying scene, if you're curious.

Though our captain flew us home quickly, we landed at 10:14 pm ET having picked up an hour. And we were on our running way to the 10:35 bus shortly after. But if you've never flown to Dulles, it's likely you've never experienced the worst "people mover" ever. This contraption is from the dark ages and progresses slower than Grandma. I was prancing around as if I had superpowers to will the mover faster because, as mentioned, we had a bus to catch.

We caught the bus, thankfully. And then caught an Uber because Metro was being it's usual inconvenient, holiday self. I was in bed around 11:30 pm, which should be considered a win... when I reflect on how much worse it could have been.

This is the phase that never ends.

I write this post from a bad place. I need to rant. And I need something to blame. I am going to blame weddings for my unhappiness, when I know this funk is a result of my job. On a public forum, I absolutely cannot vent about my current work situation. That would be real dumb. And I have not lost my mind... yet.

So with warning, my head, heart, and mouth are not on the same page--tread lightly.

This weekend I am going to Boston, Massachusetts, hometown to Boyfriend, for a wedding I have (unfairly) been dreading. (Have I before mentioned Boyfriend is from a cultish town where everyone has been best friends since birth?) At one point, I was very excited for this wedding. My own unhappiness has vastly altered my perspective. I will not know anyone outside Boyfriend's immediate family in attendance. I will have to meet a majority of his friends while still allowing him space to have fun. There will be more small talk than I care for. There will be wasted calories on wedding food. And I will be dressed in a 'non-me' outfit, feeling woefully out of place. Though Boyfriend has not been dragged to many of "my" weddings, he has listened too much venting on the front. I owe it to him to attend this wedding. And to put on a smile while there.

Here begins the 2014 wedding series. And a recently engaged friend added a second wedding to the 2015 spring agenda. With each friend taking that next step, my own poor situation is amplified. But, as a result of this funk, now is absolutely not the time for Boyfriend and me to pursue engagement. I want that time to be the happiest in my life, not a Band-Aid on my current situation.

My mom keeps telling me this back-to-back-to-back wedding trend is just a phase. Well, I want to debunk her theory. My first non-family wedding took place in February 2009, my senior year of college, and the “phase” is guaranteed to continue until May 2015.

Some stats:

• I was 21 when I graduated from college.
• I will be 27 next month.
• I have been in two-thirds of the weddings I have attended, estimated to be on the low end.

That is six years of wedding-ing.

Now, some basic math: divide 6 by 27. And we can conclude 22.2% of my life has been spent attending weddings and, for better or worse, wedding related events. The financial burden for these nuptials have been insurmountable. I have honestly enjoyed next to none of it. Sorry, friends.

 

(It is important to note, there will not be a wedding "for" me. The idea is nauseating, in my humble opinion. I warned my mother years ago. And I think we have compromised on a celebration of the life event that does not involved standards or traditions. You are all invited. You are most certainly NOT obligated to attend.)

I cannot count the number of weddings I have been in and/or attended at this point in my life. I am not kidding. I get weddings confused. I often cannot remember whether or not I was in certain weddings. On the upside, I have traveled to Florida, Kansas (twice), Massachusetts (twice), New Jersey, North Carolina, and South Carolina (five times). I am sure I am missing some. 

Next up is another trip to South Carolina in August, Georgia in September, back to South Carolina in April (2015), and New York in May (2015).

And before these weddings, let me fairly account for the three trips to Michigan for the weddings of my cousins. Thankfully, I only have four total cousins. And the last one, well, he just turned 15, so I will be most excited and ready to attend his wedding should he opt for one many, many years from now.

My savings are soon to be depleted soon. This phase continues...

An Apple Update Issue

This is a rant. And it might get technical. About a week ago, the messaging feature on my lowly iPhone 4 stopped working. Each time I attempted to text someone, there was no keyboard display to type my message. Rather ingeniously, I came up with a work around. I typed my message into the Google search engine; copied and then pasted into Messages; and hit Send. So you can imagine how long that took to get old? I finally accepted reality and updated my iPhone to iOS 7, five months after it was released.

Prior to updating, I backed up my phone--a precautionary step in the process. The update did its thing. And upon finishing, I was immediately notified that iTunes on my four-and-a-half year old Mac is no longer compatible with my phone. I naturally downloaded this latest--and greatest--version of iTunes. But after downloading, I attempted to install and learned my Mac needed at least OS X 10.6.8 to run iTunes 11.1. From there, I proceeded to do as requested and download OS X 10.6.8. What do you think happened when I tried to install? An alert said I needed at least 10.6 to run this update. I was real good at playing this game until I tracked down 10.6 and learned this convenient upgrade comes at a $19.99 cost.

I pooled my resources for advice. Through research, we learned the latest Mac operating system is 10.9. We also learned to get 10.9, I need to spend $19.99 on 10.6, $19.99 more on 10.7, and equal amounts on both 8 and 9. Further research later unveiled an additional challenge, my "old" laptop is not capable of supporting 10.9. Or running 8 efficiently. It might--at a $19.99--risk be able to handle 7.

So I have reached a cross roads. I could pay to upgrade to 10.6 and happily be able to sync my phone to my iTunes, iCal, etc. on my computer. This is what I will refer to as a temporary fix. I can adjust to living with my phone and computer as separate entities. This is what I will refer to as the likely option. After all, I don't sync the two that frequently. I will need to find another way to back up my phone, namely my contacts. That might be what the cloud is for? Or buy both OS X 10.6 and 10.7, hoping this gets me through this and the next inevitable iPhone update. This is the least likely option.

That is the backstory. Please, indulge my rant. My laptop is four-and-a-half to the day. I was forced to determine the exact age today in the research portion of my update difficulty. I am someone who takes pride in meticulously maintaining my belongings. I therefore feel as though I should be rewarded with product longevity. Most often, this isn't the case; I went through my first three iPods in six years flat. But this time, my Mac has stood the test of time. And because of this, I'm punished faced with a slew of challenges.

I understand Apple wants to make products good enough to hook the customer but not so good that these items never need replacing. Long before today, I decided Apple's line of desktops, laptops, and tablets is not for me. I use my laptop for the most basic of functions. Simply stated, I don't demand luxuries the Mac affords. The Apple look is sleek. But practical? Not so much for me. When this laptop does eventually bite the dust, I will not return to Apple for a replacement.

The latest challenge should not surprise me. History repeats itself. In my immediate family alone, this is the third Apple product update issue. We first had a desktop (and still do) that hasn't been updatable for years. It hit the wall my laptop is near barreling into. These machines, again, are not capable of running the latest--and greatest--updated operating systems... or even the two platforms prior. So we're talking about functioning machines that are unable to maintains their health with updates and therefore render themselves (and the associated capabilities) useless. There was also my brother's iPhone 3, the one he paid all of a dollar for. The features quit working entirely when Apple stopped supporting the operating system his phone was running.  He was ultimately "forced" to invest another dollar in upgrading to the iPhone 4. And, again, after duly updating my phone, I exposed my Mac's inadequacies.

So Apple, why? Why, I ask, if I'm willing to spend the money to continually update my operating system would launching so far ahead of the older machines running older operating systems be smart? I have to believe I'm not alone in feeling as though a machine originally valued a two grand is not worth maintaining in time.  

After investigating, I realize I lost this battle. The fate of my four plus year machine is doom and gloom. I know I have no power to change the beast that is Apple. I do know that voicing my complaints here does me wonders. And hopefully allows another person--if only one--to relate.

Winter Blues

You know what I wish? That every Monday was a holiday. You know what I don't wish? That the Tuesday following the Federal Government would shutdown in anticipation of snow. I can plan a three-day weekend; I can relish in all that it is. I don't need an extra unplanned day. I thrive on routine. My ability to be spontaneous isn't what it used to be. And when the (anticipated) snow doesn't stick until late in the day, my eagerness to play sets with the sun. The three-day weekend allows for the right amount of relaxation and productivity with the added benefit that there are only four days of work following. The four-day weekend adds way too much in terms of lethargy.

(I might be the only one in the history of mankind to be thrown off, and therefore maybe a bit annoyed,  about a day off work.)

I really struggled to find my rhythm this week. Because it wasn't just Tuesday off, there was a two-hour delay on Wednesday. As work resumed, the temperatures remained evil on Thursday and Friday,  never rising above 20 degrees. It might be fair to say I lived in the South too long because I see zero reason to leave the apartment in digits that low.

After a few easy weeks, followed by even easier weekends, I jammed this past three-day weekend full. I wanted this weekend to hurdle me into each weekend for the remainder of 2014. But instead I'm here at home... still searching for this burst of motivation--the one that sends me into the plan, book, live, repeat mode. The more I go, the more I want to go. A 19-hour work week certainly doesn't leave me feeling as though I've accomplished anything.

So winter, I respect your plans. But I'm ready to reach a compromise. This year--2014--and I have plans, plans I intend to live outside the confines of my apartment, albeit warm and welcoming.

Earth and Birth Day

"The earth has a skin and that skin has diseases, one of its diseases is called man." (Friedrich Nietzsche)

I thought I would start by making you aware of the significance of today with an uplifting quote.

Retry: Happiest of Earth Days--to you and yours! This is like the best day of the year, a day to totally embrace our dying planet. A day that passes with so little recognition, this nature Nerd (yes, that is "nerd" with capital "N") almost forgets to celebrate. I often--as was the case this year--get too caught up commemorating the birth of my no longer little brother, born 23 years ago today. Yep, after 19 previous Earth Day events, my parents decided upping the population was the way to go as far as celebrating was concerned. They quickly planted a tree to offset his carbon footprint--even in the late 1980s, those two were aware of the impact C.D.H. would have on this planet. You are uplifted, right?

Final try: Happy Earth Day--to the Earth Day babies. C.D.H., please know on April 22, in honor of you, I repeatedly (year after year) neglect the earth to sing your birthday praises. That way you get ONE FULL DAY of attention... and I feel less pitiful disregarding you the remaining 364 calendar days. Keep your eye out for the untimely and environmentally damaging card, present, and phone call--each one will arrive a wee bit later than planned. I know, I am the favorite sister.

I failed to inspire you to care, much in the way our planet is failing to capture our attention. Sad Day. 

Not Today

Today was not a good day. I made the conclusion this day would be awful at 6:34 am. I got up, scurried around the house in search of my phone charger… mysteriously missing from my prepared belongings, and still managed to get out the house door by 5:09 and in the gym door by 5:25. My favorite teacher was absent, her sub was a noticeable four minutes late. The workout began at 5:34 am, yet managed to conclude at normal 6:30. I was done, absolutely spent; I could barely move. My body was screaming louder than any music I planned to run to could. To give up on an hour is unlike me; usually I proceed into the next hour with relative ease. Not today.

I climbed right on that treadmill, ignoring every signal in my body. I lasted a minute… barely… and I was walking. First the charger. Then the teacher. And finally an inability to numb my pained body. The day was shot. Never before have I craved my bed, even sweat soaked sheets from the night before—Hooray! It is 90 degrees in April, and we H’s like to conserve energy, ahem cut costs!—sounded more enticing than work. I needed an attitude adjustment in the form of a Panera multigrain bagel. Normally mood and hunger are positively correlated for me. Not today.

Today was a not shaping up. With an empty plate, I attempted to configure my multi-state taxes, those ones due today. Fail. I am worthless. My spirits dampened further, I telephoned Pops, the man responsible for filling them out, to inquire about a late penalty. He relieved me… or said we can assemble them tonight—I am not worth much, which I suppose translates lightly in the slap on the wrist department. (And in Virginia, I will not even be late!) This looming task will nevertheless irk me till completed. I got to work, excited to have an assignment boldly waiting for me in my inbox. After interpreting I was even more excited I had a tiny clue what to do with the task. But I should have known… not today.

I googled and googled and googled to no avail. Then I worried I would be fired. I used to have nightmares. Now I have daymares. At 10:00 I realized NASA's Discovery shuttle was going to be flying over my office (a photograph received from a witness below), but with most my team out, I was unsure what protocol was on spending a non-lunch hour on the office building lawn waiting for something I thought was fascinating. So like anyone paranoid of being fired, I researched right through it. Already frustrated I had almost nothing to show for this hour of time, headquarter distribution emails of the plane/shuttle combination start dinging in my inbox. And then there was pizza for lunch to celebrate. There was nothing to celebrate. Not today.

The rest of the day continued angrily and bitterly and stupidly. Nothing could salvage today. I made that clear to myself as the sun rose through the gym windows. Here I sit, wondering how I survive with my four-year-old behavior patterns. I am seriously inconsolable… unless, on days like today, I get exactly what I want, when I want it--a rarity. That could have been many things. My bed around 7:00 am. A second attempt at a mid-morning run in the 70 degree sun… instead of the stuffy gym confines circa early bird hour. An extra large black iced-coffee this afternoon—in my hand as Louis chased his friends at the dog park. Or a king-size bag of Peanut Butter M&M’s and on the couch in time for ESPN’s Pardon the Interruption. Unfinished workout, unfinished taxes, incomplete work, leftovers, and an early bedtime will instead mark today. There are no repeats in this life. There is tomorrow.

Taking Steps

This year, 2012, is about taking steps, right or wrong, in some direction. I have been fortunate enough to be living under my parents roof for nearly 24 years and it is (past) time to branch out on my own. To achieve this major goal, landing a job will be upmost important. I am optimistic my time is coming. In the meantime, my immediate goal is to pass the time with purpose, as cliche as that sounds. I am confident in my ability to transition onto the "Adult Frontier," although equally confident there will be the inevitable slew of mistakes. One can hope these mistakes will be minimal.

Opening the year in The Crescent City was no mistake. I had a wonderful time ringing in 2012 with volunteer friends... taking a step in the direction of reintegrating--this time, with friends--now that most of us linger stateside. I want to recount the experience here, knowing full well I will not do the week-long trip justice.

I have been home from Central America for a week now, and I am not overly enthusiastic about writing. There are an overwhelming amount of joys to share; I cannot even begin to wrap my own head around the backpacking excursion. Part of it, I realize, is that truthfully I am horrible at adapting to change. It takes me a entirely too long time to reacquaint with friends, readjust to my surroundings, and reestablish my routine after breaking. My imagination (and a little bit of my heart) has this vision of myself as someone seizing the life of unemployment with zest. Someone 'taking steps' towards a career in the field--providing clean water to all of Africa's children--with the idealism of an inexperienced and spry young adult. Then there is the me I actually am: Someone amongst many with a college degree and limited talents seeking an income. Someone with a ton of passion battling to find my way onto the "Adult Frontier."

Leaving America for an extended period of time with the sole purpose of evading The Real World was also no mistake. The getaway has done wonders for my motivation. These sorts of concepts floated through my mind while away: Concept A) Traveling cost money. Money comes from employment. You need a job.; Concept B) I function much better on my own. To be 'on your own' you need an apartment. This cost money. You need a job.; Concept C) I thrive internationally, yet I like to have purpose when abroad--beyond "hike Maderas Volcano today." To work internationally, you need experience or a graduate degree. To get experience, you need to work. To get a graduate degree, you need to go to school. It is not that I have not been thinking along these lines for quite sometime, it is that I am thinking them a lot more now. This would be a step up in motivation. I digress.

At the encouragement of friends, I will give this recapping business a go. I was unaware of my popularity, and since I have always strived to be an audience-pleaser... I guess that means keeping up. I can handle it.

Now hopefully you understand why I have not blogged. No, not because I do not have time, but if I stop for awhile, there is so much more to write in order to catch up. I know that I do not have to, but I am genuinely excited about prospects of this year. OK, so maybe it also has to do with the fact I sometimes obsess over random and unimportant details. Maybe. 

Morning Adventures and More

I met Latte Woman early this morning to carpool to the 8:30 am kickboxing class at her gym. We had to be there half-hour prior to start to stake claim in the combat zone, apparently gym going women wage war over classroom positions. Instead of guaranteeing front row, mirror seeing territory, we might or might not have slowed for a game along the way... which inadvertently would set the mood for the morning of adventures.

For the sake of ease, I often reply, "District of Columbia," when questioned on my place of residence.  What I really mean is way way way out in the country--long windy roads, quite a distance from sprawl, an area flooded with more deer than people. Though, you could argue, my town is disguised suburbia, with the added excitement of many dirt roads. And on these dirt "roads" are ice-covered ponds. True story, no exaggeration.

So weaving over the ponds and through the woods--to the gym--Latte Woman and I went... when a royal blue Honda Fiat started to tailgate us. Erring on the cautious side,  Latte Woman was not having this. She slowed from 10 to five miles per hour for the next mile. The Fiat Man continued to push the limit as she pushed the brake. The end eventually came. We are laughing hysterically, knowing we had agitated this driver. (Not exactly nice. Do not tell Santa. I am counting on those gold glitter TOMS!) The right turn on to civilization had not even been completed... and he was in motion to pass. (He is dumb. This is a dirt to pavement turn. On a solid-lined curvy road. With heavy school traffic in both directions.)  We were given the middle finger... which only fueled our giggles. This reaction was classic. (Predictable people bore me!) The middle finger was not enough--he proceeded to angrily fist-shake for as long as he remained in sight, which was a short time as he sped off; he had much ground to make up.

A bit guiltily, at the expense of the emotionally poor Fiat Man, our ultimate goal--fun, ahem safety, was accomplished. The classroom was filling as my nerves settled in. I am a stick-to-what-you-know girl, specially when exercise is involved. New experiences have potential to be grand, be that as it may, I am easily frustrated by the learning curve of new skills--ones that take a bit more work. I was going to be brave, swallow my pride, for this hour of kickboxing. I survived. I was far from perfect. The quick-paced routine did not jive well with my lack of coordination. I felt insure going left when the group was punching right. As a child everyday is about navigating the ropes of new activities, rules, subjects, etc.  I aspire to embrace the patience, and often encouragement required, to increase my comfort level for the unexplored areas of life. And while I certainly ruled 'kickboxing instructor' out of my future, I am not opposed to giving the student role another go. (I had to tuck this nugget of 'lessons I'm learning' in. A new experience can be classified as an adventure.)

When class ended, we climbed on the StairMaster. My relationship with this machine was over before it started. This is quite a different muscle group from the running set. Drenched in sweat, we departed for Global Food... and could not pass up Starbucks on the way. (Hooray for reusable mugs!)

Here, I knocked over a perfectly displayed shelf. If the noise of bouncing plastic was not loud enough to demand attention, the laugh from Latte Woman was. Together we managed to repair the shelf and not-so-neatly display the contents... when Latte Woman mimics my klutzy maneuver. We were not well received, for the second time today.

The coffee was supposed to put us at ease. It might or might not have revved up my enthusiasm, already at a high--I have been dying to explore Global Food. (We, the H's, are running a three-drivers-to-one-car operation. My nonexistent paycheck makes me a low priority on the totem pole.) Latte Woman is a local at Global Food, but she happily futzed through each isle with me.

I might or might not have said, "in Lesotho... " one too many times because at one point I was demonstrating 'my life in buckets' when I found the exact replicas. (Lesotho was not actually being represented, business in Lesotho is predominantly Chinese-owned. If you are in the market for some cheap, brightly colored, plastic I recommend purchasing these in Lesotho, the price tag, in dollars, is read in Rand over there. The exchange rate is not 1:1, not even remotely close.)

As I jumped in the bucket with Starbucks in hand, Latte Woman shouted, "They do NOT have Starbucks in Africa!" The Store Manager promptly addressed business in our isle. Not before we had our fun:

Other highlights: Being read to in Farsi. The discovery of guava paste. Impressively low priced produce. And an introduction to Latte Woman's favorite Korean dish.

Then we continued with her errands, which became my errands, before deciding we were hungry and should make headway home....

To this discovery in route:

The Virginia Department of Transportation made the executive decision to administer a lesson in karma. Caffeinated to an extreme, we took the teaching in stride. The 30-minute delay passed with excess laughter and 100 pictures to document the occasion. This might or might not have been the funniest thing ever.

I am still laughing... envisioning Fiat Man's extended finger... and remembering the delightful tone this set for our morning.

From Me to You

Happy Halloween. I hope you have spent 44 dollars--the estimated amount per household--on candy this October. And, 10 months into the year, I will assume you are well on your way to eating the 24 pounds of treats--the per capita consumption of candy by Americans per year.

(This is not an original carving. Statistics courtesy of The Biggest Loser.)

Pets Over Children

In all areas, sans shoes, I have self-control when it comes to shopping. When I hopped off my parents payroll for the big wide world of independence I learned the true price of materials. Hooray for "making it on my own" and being responsible! Yeah--not so much, or at least not all the time. I quickly began translating everything to hours of human-sitting.* At this point, my career was well underway--I was making eight whole dollars an hour, 13.3 cents every minute. Parents don't be late.

*I prefer this term to babysitting because in this age of the helicopter parent, with half my life of experience, I am rarely trusted with actual babies. By the time I am left in charge, they are hardly children--they're tipping on the verge of teenagers. More excellent than making money for being a (topnotch) big sister is landing the mother's friend, ahem mother's helper, gig. There is nothing is more fulfilling than having Boss Mommy ignore my loaded resume--equipped with positions from full-time nanny to camp counselor to normal human-sitter to after-school-care-worker to church nursery experience to academic tutor. As a matter of fact--I am incompetent; there is only way to prepare Cascadian Farms Organic Cinnamon Crunch Cereal for Johnny's mid-morning snack. I have certainly ruined the chance of any future human-sitting employment. No? I am still for hire, if you want to pay me--I'm yours. To the original point, each age class--whether mother, teenager, child, or baby--can be safely categorized into the 'human' group. Let's agree on that too.

As I sat down to write this post I had a clear direction: arts and crafts. And now I am 280 words deep, having wrapped up my rambling, urg ranting, on the proper terminology for watching mother, teenager, child, or baby while parent(s) stay in or go out. Instead of admitting I have lost my voice--I will change direction to equally fascinating, semi-related, realization. 

The going rate for pet-sitter is higher, much higher, than that of human-sitter. This says a lot about our society. That is all.

September 27, 2011

The day for follow-up had (finally!) come; I proactively made the first of what would become several additional phone calls. Had everything gone according to plan, none of these phone calls would have been necessary. For all intents and purposes, I patiently waited the entire 10-week processing time prior to follow-up. Shame on me for being fooled twice.

My copious notes recall the first phone like this:

Automated Voice gives a grandiose introduction and continues with a multitude of options. "Press one for _____, two for _____, three for _____, ....., twelve for ____." My question most definitely required a teller for an answer... and teller was not option one, seven, nine, or 12. After careful instruction from Automated Voice, experience with _____ has taught me there is no cutting in line. I listened to all twelve options and punched a number at random because, again, the take-me-to-teller-now button was nonexistent. The number eight, my random choice, gave me eight more to chose from--still no teller. This time, selecting the most appropriate choice, 13 options followed. The 'select superior option' method was repeated. This is when I almost hung up...

but persevered because today was about being proactive(!!!). And, thank goodness I did--option six was getting me somewhere... that is, to nine more choices. Applying my successful line of thinking I picked number four to guide me through minute 17 of my time with Automated Voice. I'm partial to the number four; it rarely lets me down. Sound effect. The words "service representative" were listed. Hope. Light. An end! I was checked-out (understatement of the year) and missed the number though. SOOOO all seven options were read again--my prayers were with the Service Lady behind number five.

If you are ever dealing with _____ and you want to speak directly to Service Lady. The code is eight-three-six-four-five. Write it down; you'll be glad you did.

You're completely lost. You do not even know what I'm talking about. Two. 14. Six. Three. Seven. Yes, favorite numbers.

Not. Being. Funny. Trying desperately, maybe?

Service Lady tells me all the paperwork has been received but not processed. Hmmm, 10 weeks for processing... wasted. Yes. Okay. No. My organization needs to complete the remaining two pages of the document. Long, awkward, speech-composing pause. "Ummm, like, could you contact them? You see, like, they are over me and this might be more efficient if you touched base with them? Like, I really do not enjoy communicating with them, and you're could be the third party solution to the ongoing saga. You could do this great big favor, be rewarded by the heavens, for doing this. This is the difference between me and my next ulcer. Help a sister out. There would be extra please and thank you and everything, from now until forever if you took a step to prevent me from hating life more than I already do. Pleeeeeeease!"

I actually said all those words in an equally desperate tone. The conversation was recorded. You can request it from _____. She hung up on me. I hit a low point. I can forgive her for thinking I had lost my marbles... but hanging up! Not acceptable.

I grew up and called headquarters. Bless Jane Doe on the other end of the line for answering her phone.  Ms. Doe confirmed my worst fear--this isn't over.

This conversation lead me to another call with _____. When I had to call back, Automated Voice and I only exchanged words a total of four minutes before I was back with the endearing Service Lady. This time, before hanging up, she directed me to the next level of help--unable to answer my original question. See folks, I am better than Automated Voice. Next Level did not answer my phone call or call me back within four hours, which is greater than the extent of my patience.

HQ suggested I re-fill-out the 40 page packet, fax it to them from the office I don't work in because I'm still unemployed; they will take it from there.

And then they will request I give them 10 weeks to process. And I will not. I will call daily to ensure paperwork is being moved along. In the midst of yakking with Service Lady and chatting with Jane Doe there was much revealed. The paperwork, my end perfectly filled out, has been sitting incomplete at _____ since the 17th of July. During the processing period ZERO people called to tell me there was a missing component in the file. This is after additional paperwork was submitted a month later.

This is a serious case of my being ill-informed. This is a serious case of my having faith in humanity. This is a serious case of an awesome day.

In the midst of all this... it rained for the the 100th day in September. Figure that math.

And the Braves are lost by six to the Phillies.

This is my life. It is not a sitcom.

Blog Spam

Spam, in any form, is awful.

These bits and pieces, complied into random postings, tell my story. The casual, real people feedback has been and is always welcomed. Having "an audience" forces me to continually work on strengthening my writing, reminds me to capture events normally undocumented with photos, and encourages me to share honestly the emotion of each season... I am, however, over the spam comments that come along with blogging.

The millionth repetitive, non-relevant comment by a automated stranger exposed a new level of rage. First their was one, then there were many. Such is spam. Well, recently, all on my own--a technological feat--I altered the settings of Explore. Dream. Discover. to prevent future spammers access. As an added bonus, removing spam ensures I see each new comment almost immediately.

Nothing will be overlooked.

Bank Of American't

This morning during my routine monthly bill paying session I was alarmed to see a 12 dollar 'monthly maintenance fee' withdraw from my checking account. Twelve dollars? This is the first of what I expect is several to come. Joy, 144 dollars a year I.don't.have. Thanks to my pathetic status of unemployment, entitling me to a payroll monthly direct deposit of approximately zero dollars. I, already poor, will become poorer.

Do you know what kind of interest rate my savings account earned in this very same month: 0.0000529 percent(!!!). At least I know how to make myself laugh. Even I am old enough to remember the day when banks were picked based on interest rates. Both accounts linked at Bank of America, it's clear to me who the profiteer is.

Bank of America is "the nation's leading financial institution and home for all your financial needs," that is, if you are willing to pay exorbitant fees. Further research led to the discovery Bank of America suffered an expected nearly nine billion dollar loss in the 2011 second quarter. I'm using the word "suffered" very loosely. And the natural follow-up to that: why? In order to, according to the New York Times, "dole[d] out huge payments to settle legal claims related to it's troubled mortgage division."

Our beloved Bank of America messed up, made costly mistakes; we all do, except we hopefully right-the-wrong ourselves; they instead chose to leave you and me, the consumer, to pay. Literally. Tell me that isn't the best news you have heard all day; it topped my list.

I now worship the devil because that is all I can equate this corporation too.

For Life, eh?

There is no pressure for me to be part of the disgusting rat race society forces college graduates to partake in. And I'm thankful I feel this way... because I'm still trapped.

The third of each month continues to be a major hurdle--getting to, through, and over. I have become good at slowing down and bracing myself for sleepless nights come that time. Let's be clear, this is NOT to say I do not think about the event or T.C.M. every single hour of everyday. No worries, that has not stopped going on. It's the third and around that time, the intrusive memories are particularly challenging.

With time my sleep pattern is improving, or it is becoming just that--a pattern. The night before, the night of, and the night after the 3rd of each month are usually troubling... with a few spastic early mornings or difficulty falling asleep sprinkled throughout the month. It's manageable. For the most part I feel like a functioning human again.

And whenever you get comfortable, life mixes the structure I worked desperately to establish right up. This time with a combination parasite and sleepless night attack. Three days of parasite funk--details I'll spare the audience of. It's unpredictable cyclical un-fun-ness! Throw that on top of six nights and counting with less than three hours of sleep; I want to pull out my hair, expect it already falls out at an alarming rate--thank you parasite.

The storms in (my head and stomach) NoVa have passed, hopefully leaving gorgeous hot sunshine for the weekend. Even in my most insomniac state I can handle laying out by the pool.

Your voices

There's nothing better than a good phone call with your brother, a relaxing weekend with a dear friend, lunch with a old acquaintance, receiving a letter, or a long walk to no specific destination with curious children. Human relationships drive my well being. What could be more important than stopping to listen to a friend or taking time to make a new one? I consider myself fortunate to be at a comfortable place with the people in my story. I am at a point where fully expressing myself is natural. I know who to call when I need advice about a bump in the road or have exciting news to share. These same people think of me when they come across things they think I might like, call me when they have news to share, or simply want to vent. I genuinely care about what's going on in the lives of my friends and family, heck with their families too. In addition to having relationships with people my own age, I seek wisdom and find pleasure in connecting with those older than me, along with further developing the relations with the youth in my life. After all, they are the next generation, in which I can only hope for better results.

My own generation intimidates and at the same time, very much scares me. Those from an older class might argue it's too early to dismiss what my generation has the potential to accomplish. I disagree. We care about all the wrong things. The conversations I overhear and sometimes have to partake in dismantle me. I'm not ranting because very few people are not on board with my tree hugging ways or want to chatter endlessly about the developing world. The obsession over the materials we possess, clothes we wear/how we look, and last or tomorrow nights activities are ridiculous. They're repetitive and never ending. I consider myself to be an overall joyous person, maybe not all the time but for the most part. My goals in life are simply more open ended, a get there when the time seems right kind of a deal. All the dissatisfaction with my generation is the constant comparing, trying to be something they're not, looking but never playing the part.

We're generation 'seek approval.' A huge part of this is a result of the all the wonderful information directly at our fingertips. Thank you desktop computers with dial up internet to sleek new laptops with wireless internet and now on to smart phones equipped with 3G internet. I have no doubt that in my lifetime televisions and cars will be internet savvy. All this access is overused and abused.

Besides all the immature conversation I'm forced to tune out, there is more background noise than ever before on the internet. We spend countless hours social networking. I check Facebook everyday, only to find the same boring surprises. I question while trying very hard not to judge the purpose behind posting you went to the gym, you're away on vacation, or you're having a baby. The pictures are fun, until a certain point. I don't need to see every single picture you have ever taken--especially when they are blurry or cut someone out. It seems to me, this is all a huge cry for attention, a portrayal of an image for the way life is supposed to look.

As a result of being 'plugged in' I carry with me this heavy burden. I am not so sure why I am convinced there has to be a method to all this madness. I'll admit the internet (and how far it has come) is genius, but can we find a happy medium between the real world and the internet? What are we all trying to prove? Whether your point is to stay connected with friends, make connections with new friends, send out party invitations, or compete about who has the most amazing life, it doesn't need to be broadcasted everywhere. Stop streaming it and live it.

After reconnecting in person with people in my book and spending countless hours yapping away on my phone (for those temporarily too distant), probably all too often voicing my complaints in the ever changing world I'm still very unhappy with it all.

My grievance extends to cell phones too. Though my smart phone and I are very tight, I refuse to be a slave to my phone. We are all so busy, well you might be--I'm not. You're not busy enough to get ample pointless internet time in each day, but so rundown that an eight minute phone call seems taxing. Or even worse, having to spend real time in the company of others. It's quite clear I have no solutions. Basics requests though, for sure. When I'm living life, in person with you I don't want to see your stupid phone. The point of this period we carved out is to spend time together, not to keep up with the rest of the world.

I value relationships, new and old. As much as I value the human relationships, it's the stories and new ideas that come along with each person. Time spent in the company of others or connected through a phoneline is when I'm the happiest. I realize this does not stand true for everyone.

When your broadcasted all over the internet and you have nothing left to say that I freak out. If all of our concern is in our outward appearance, how we look online or on paper... what's left to live and share?

Toughen Up

I believe medication is a sign of weakness and therefore never pop pills for minor aches and pains (or the more serious discomforts like wisdom teeth). I would like to totally rid my life of doctors but that will not happen until the Peace Corp releases their control of me. By taking decent to good care of my body it performs like well oiled machine. Lucky for me! Oh and my brain tells me when I am experiencing aches and pain... which then signals me I might be tired or dehydrated or somethings a tad more serious. It does not signal me to pop a pill! Pills simply hide the issue instead of handling the cause from the source. Pills also obstruct the bodys natural ability to combat disease by relaying bogus messages to the brain. Did you ever think for just one second you may be stuffing yourself with junk, rarely drinking water, missed out on this great part of life called sleep, or prehaps indulged in too much alcohol last night? Girls, sure you get cramps... but did you ever think about child bearing? Oh no, you didn't, cause there is medicine for that now too.

Stop and think for just one second about the millions of chemicals in each little pill you pop? Yes, they have been approved by the Food and Drug Administration... but they also approve of Aspartme, that messed up chemical found in all those diet pops you drink. Would you jump off a cliff if someone told you to? No, your brains says that's idiotic. And in every area of your life you listen to your brain... except when it comes to over the counter (heck, even prescription) treatment. You pop pills, cover the symptoms, add new symptoms to the list (thanks to the medication), and you repeat. You my friend, do not make sense.

For me, it's not just pills I refuse to take. It's vitamins and minerals too. Maybe if we stopped eating all the nonsense we shovel into your systems we would have room for foods that naturally give us the vitamins and minerals we need. It's hard to believe, I am not prefect. A life without meat means a life without iron. Okay, not really, but I really struggle to naturally find enough iron for my diet although I will not be defeated with an iron enriched vitamin. Last stop beets, not too bad, but I just can't eat enough of them. I need more iron. The search for natural iron continues...

So there you have it weaklings, whether you are out to lose weight, maintain your perfect health, fight off a head ache, or sleep through the night.... stop and think about that pill you are popping! May we all be freed from magic we call medication.

Signing off, Perfect Me

Water You Thinking?

There are few things in life worth stressing over. This list excludes automatic flush toilets! They are so wasteful and more than unneccessary, a major concern for the conservationist in me. They flush when you might not be done, they flush when they are not being used, they flush flush flush whenever they want to. Besides the extremely lazy folks, germ-a-phobes might also be a fans of these flush happy toilets. You see, I am not a germ-a-phobe so grabbing that lever to flush the toilet does not bother me at all. Oh to only have concern for myself! Except it's not only concern for me, its concern for water. The new and improved toilets require 1.6 gallons of water per flush, but the older models still use approximately four gallons of water. Yikes, I could bathe in that. If I controlled public bathrooms there were be signs stating, "If it's yellow, let it mellow. If it's brown, flush it down." Let rid ourselves free of the flush happy toilets and save a few gallons by not flushing that sterile cup of pee.

Even the writers of Two and a Half Men agree, "Automatic toilets are terrible, everything is gone before you turn around and check to see how you did!"

I like my Apples green.

Unlike the rest of America I am not 100% on board with Apple and all of their products. That's fantastic since I just purchased a brand new Macbook Pro. Not too mention it came with a nifty iPod Touch, and I already own a regular iPod. Apple prides themselves on being this environmentally friendly company yet their products do not last. In a truly green society shouldn't we encourage longevity in our products... not products that need to be replaced after the warranty expires? Everyone in my family's first iPod committed iPod suicide after two years. The iPods realized (like their American peers) the next generation was so much better they pulled the plug before it was pulled on them. My second iPod just had it's second birthday, we did not do anything big to celebrate. Maybe we should have, now it seems little bit ill... or obsessed with a particular song. Even after manually removing the repeat setting my iPod refuses to stop repeating the first song of a playlist.

That is just prefect since I planned on taking it to Lesotho where I would be able to introduce all the villagers to Tea Leaf Green, Animal Liberation Orchestra, and the Beatles! Yes, I have an iPod Touch (thank you Apple... although I still have not received my rebate!!!) but it seems a little strange to take an iPod whose features will not work without WiFi. Apple wants to charge me $29 dollars to talk to someone on the phone and $34 dollars to talk to someone in the store. God only knows how much to fix it, if if if the problem is fixable. An [Apple] genius told me I would be best buying a new iPod, and he could dispose of the old properly. Dream on, you think like an America! Buy, Use, Dispose! Repeat, as many times as needed. I fell twice and I will not fall again. I do not want the brighter, more storage, newer, classic iPod. I am (or was) content with my aged iPod... until IT STOPPED WORKING! I am not making another $300 investment in a product that will not even last my stay in Lesotho.

I am not totally knocking Apple, comparatively they are a relatively green company. They are expanding their recycling program so I was able to dispose of my old ThinkPad properly. My new Pro has a longer-lasting battery life and meets the EPA's Energy Star Rating. I am also equipped with an aluminum body (recycle friendly) and many harmful toxins have supposedly been eliminated from the processing of new computers/iPods/iPhones. Apple as a company also disclose their annual corporate carbon emissions and show you how exactly it is distributed. That is actually awesome to see (for the few of us who care).

Apple, you bring some longevity and I will bring business.

Fat Factory

Dear Olive Garden,

I would like to personally thank you for contributing to obesity in America. In all honesty it would be hard to gain weight without you. I could not think of a better restaurant to dine at (especially for feeling miserable afterwards, significant amounts of weight gain, and affordable-ness). After all for $8.95 I can get unlimited salad/soup, breadsticks, and pasta. Your pasta bowls are so small, only like the size of a crock-pot, so it makes me comfortable knowing seconds come free of charge.

You also really contribute to the backwards American way of life. If you are considering global expansion you might want to take this next suggestion to heart. When I choose to dine at your restaurant with just one other person (two total people, for those keeping tabs) you serve us three breadsticks. Earlier I mentioned these breadsticks are unlimited. Last time I checked, that meant if I wanted more I could make that request with the waiter/waitress. I also know that forty-three tons of food waste is thrown out in America every day. Serving two breadsticks might be more appropriate. Or hell, keep the wasting up, and give us fat couples four.

Sincerely,

A Very Concerned Customer