Cold Feet

...No seriously, they're freezing. Someone decided to turn off the Summer in Maine, so it's rainy and 50 degrees. With eight days (not counting today) left to go before take off, I've finally decided to get off my ass and file the paperwork for forebearance on my second set of loans. Yes, I'm a silly bitch for not having done it sooner. Is procrastination my way of coping with...everything? Also yes. I think "in other news" is going to become my new slogan. It's such a perfect segue. Ahhem. In other news, my baby sister is now officially a college student. I sat through the president's speech, helped her move in, met her roommate and gave her a parting bottle of Tanqueray. Now comes the worrying. I won't write any more, because I don't want her to read this ever and get embarrassed or indignant, but not having her around is absolutely not the same. The drive to and from Connecticut was lovely, though. And my parents are bearing up relatively well, all things considered. I think it'll really hit them after I head out. Which, as we've discussed, is ridiculously soon.


Things to Do Before Take-off:

-cancel Key Bank account
-submit loan paperwork
-pay visa balance
-get wireless card
-uhhh...PACK
-get whatnot for the Fam
(Max, Angie, Peter, Grandparents, house gift for O-str.)
-visit with Grandparents, Mimi, etc.
-clean


...It seems relatively manageable, but then again, who'm I kidding. I know I'm missing something there. Or some thingS. Like time, mostly, since we're switched over to 12 hour days in bread hell and I have two days off before I leave. Yes, two. In other news, I got a really cute email from my German mentor teacher from last year. She invited me to come visit once I'm back in the Ha-Ro and stay with her. Ohhhh Petra. God love her. One of my students is already in the states for her year as an au pair. I wonder how that's going. Anyway, I think it's time for me to go put some socks on or something. Damn!

The mechanics do Sudoku

Yeah, I don't know what crosses your mind when you think "bread factory"--but there are some people I work with who go out of their way(s) to remind me that you can't just write off people who do blue collar labor. Most of our mechanics have been military men at some point in their lives, and one of them is always trying to get me to talk about Germany. He was stationed in Italy for eight years and did a lot of European travel, and needless to say, I'm usually happy to oblige him. Today he randomly asked me if the Salman Rushdie book I'm currently reading was the one that got him exiled. Which started he and one of the other mechanics off on a debate of US foreign policy in the late 70s and early 80s, which I must say was relatively informative. So they sit in the break room and share the Sudoku puzzles in the newspaper. I find this hilarious, I really do. Not because of who they are, but because this Asian mental math puzzle has swept over the fucking world. Celine did them with vigor, Stephan bought a book of them for the bus ride back from Wernigerode, Colleen loves them too...It's not just for math nerds. I'm astounded. I personally will have nothing to do with these little boxes and their numbers, but it's spread faster than the Atkins diet. I wonder if it effects your thought patterns. I'm sure it's as good as crosswords for warding off Alzheimers and toning up your brain synapses. Anyway, as with most trendy things, I plan on keeping my distance and then moving in for the kill when it's "over". I don't do this intentionally, it's just a pattern I've noticed. Especially with music. I catch these thing just a little bit later, usually.

Other things I've learned while working at the bread factory this summer include but are not limited to: why the "taint" is called the taint ('taint your balls but it 'taint your ass, either), how to de-code prison tats (the three digits are the area code of the prison and the letter is the cell block), that at Bob Jones University, you are not allowed to wear flip flops (I think it's because with that thong all up between your toes, you could get some pretty impure thoughts. I mean, don't you?) and that theoretically, it is possible to make a bowl out of an apple. H'm.

My iPod has been on the blink for the last few days--telling me all kinds of hogwash like it's empty when I know damn well it's almost full...and wonder of wonders, when I hooked it up to my computer, thinking that I'd have to go through the arduous task of switching everything over again, there was all my shit. Like it had never even pretended to vanish. Bastards. And by that I mean "I love you!". Obviously. In other news, I am allowed two 50 lb. bags by Air Canada, and will be fined a flat rate of $25 for any bags between 51 and 69 lbs. I am also allowed 4 oz. of KY Jelly by the TSA. Just in case. Mmmmhmmm. Right. Other than not being able to bring my own water on the flight, or any lip gloss in glossy form, it sounds like we're going to be all right, here. Unless of course, Logan International is the hell hole it tends to be. My parents, in their haste to have a house entirely free of offspring are putting me on the bus in Portland. My inner child is pissed as hell. My outer adult understands completely and knows that I am so man enough to navigate any airport on earth with 2 50 lb. bags, a computer, a carry-on and my 4 oz. of KY Jelly. Damn right. I closed 2 bank accounts today. One more to go. Up next: the visa bill. I am terrible at adult things.

Two days and counting until the nine days of hell on earth are over.

Sixteen Days

Am I counting down? I am so counting down. Work is hell and the sweet born-again-christian girl that I gossip with got done today to go back to Bob Jones University. Yes, I'm serious. Honestly, though, I think I would talk to Dick Cheney if he showed up at the Bitchen Kitchen, I get so bored sometimes. My nine day strech of special hell is over in 3 days. I'm celebrating by taking my baby sister down to Conn-College in New London, Connecticut. I've also made an executive decision that I'm going to start pronouncing that subversive "C" that hides in there, waiting for you to not put it in and look like an ass. In other news, it's rained the last two days and I've been in a foul mood for the last...several, so I decided to spare cyberspace my pissy rantings. Stephan's birthday was Sunday and although he got to go out boozing girlfriend-free for the evening, he did a mean impersonation of being depressed that I wasn't there. I mean pretty impressive shit here, considering he's usually the human sunbeam. On the job front, despite my unbelievable set of qualifications for, well...life, no one is beating down my door to hire me. And because that would involve (for the most part) an intercontinental flight, I do not begrudge them this. But beating down my inbox would be nice of them. Reallllly nice. My eccentric uncle Steve and his 22 year old special czech lady friend are leaving the country tomorrow. I made them both promise to write me and tell me what hell security was like so that I can mentally and materially prepare myself. Bribes and sexual favors might be necessary. Or just a quick look at the Air Canada website. Either/or.

My grandmother came to dinner last night. In turquoise velour. And was told by my sister that I hadn't done laundry in the last 3 weeks. Which is a flagrant lie, ladies and gentleman. It may or may not have been two and a half, and I may or may not have been begged by my mother (why she's suddenly concerned is a mystery to me, I've done my own washing since I was nine), but I haven't yet run out of socks or underwear. We're still sanitary here, people. Besides, after having to obsessively track the laundry-token-girl of my apartment building all year so that I might have the privelidge of paying her to use the often broken, sometimes flooded laundry facility...la casa Mama has it goin' on laundry-wise. But anyway, my grandmother was in her usual fine form. As I may have mentioned, she's a little loopy from the Alzheimers, which pains me, because everyone always baits her with these little "reminders" like "Oh, you were up for dinner a few weeks ago, remember Mum/Gran/Mary?" or "You were out for lunch today, Mary, what did you have?" She doesn't! Asking her about it isn't going to magically make the dementia go away. If I were her, I'd've lashed out long ago with a fabulous "No, damn it, I can't remember! I'm eighty-fucking-four and I'm losing my damn mind, so let me do it in peace!" Because despite her difficulty in remembering who I am if I wear my glasses, or what year she was born in, she's absolutely hilarious. All she needs is the occasional straight man and she'll leave the table in stitches. That's how I want to go. Choking on coffee/gin/water as it comes out my nostrils while I'm laughing. Preferably at a ripe old age, but you know...whatever. She was talking about being cremated and she asked me if I could find a young hunk to bury with her. I told her I'd kill him myself and bribe the funeral home to cremate them together. No, nothing's sacred in our house.

All right. Enough procrastination. Time to see what the damage is, and how many cubic inches I'll have to empty my closet into. Hellooooo Canada Air.

The bone that I'm picking with cheap, international phone cards...

So I'm irritated again. Why? (I know, I'm concerned for my welfare, too...) Because my goddamn phone card access number is down. When I called tech-support, some man with an unintelligible southern drawl (I consider myself to be good with languages, but I seriously had to have him repeat every other word. All I was understanding was "Ma'am".) told me that some "system" was "down" and I could not use my phone cards (i.e. call my boyfriend) until tomorrow morning. This man obviously does not understand the wrath of a woman denied telephone contact with her Macker. I'm pissed off. So I bought another phone card, from another service provider of course (yaaay for plastic!) and am now waiting with baited breath for the PIN/access number to be emailed to me. (Yaaay for technology!) If this doesn't materialize within the next hour or so, I will be pretty irate. Nothing gets me going like tech failures. However, since I'm trying to distract myself from the fact that I am waiting (which I also hate), I'll tell you about my day.

Scene: Bread Hell, as usual.
Characters: Mosley and Me.

So Mosley, a friend of my estimable little sister and a co-worker of mine (and of course, an all-around swell guy) tells me today that the guys that work in make-up (factory jargon for the men who make the dough for the rolls I package) had a bet going as to whether or not I had children. Apparently they called in Mosley to be judge and jury, because they knew we chatted occasionally. Me. With kids. I nearly choked. Now it's become an inter-departmental joke. My supervisor asks me how my children are doing. I suppose I'd be far more offended if I didn't work someplace where most people had their first kid when they were 20 or under. In Lewiston, Maine being a Mom at my age is relatively normal. While trying to console me, Mosley was like "Wait...doesn't this make you a MILF?" I still can't believe someone would be silly enough to mistake me for a mother. I mean, yes, I currently look like I haven't slept in months, but I still clean up okay damn it! And who the hell am I trying to impress at the bakery anyway? Fuck them for taking the little fun out of having one's boyfriend be across the Atlantic. Bastards. Today was my first day of my nine-day working streak. It's going to get a lot worse than this, I fear. Tomorrow's pay day, though...and let's be honest. That's always a bright spot in my week.

In other news, the Staples guy was apparently unable to install my memory that I bought for my computer. Can the hard drive being too full effect that? I know there's no bloody room left, but what am I supposed to do? It's all important!

...And still no PIN. With my luck, the "system" Mr. Southern was telling me about effects distribution of access numbers as well. Perfect. Oh well. I'll distract myself with more handbag.com.

What's up, pussycat?

...Nothing much, very little.

My pet hates right now are the new airport security measures. How not excited am I at the prospect of having to carry all the whatnot I need for an 8 hour flight in a clear plastic baggie? ...Oh yes, that's right. Not excited at all. Call me self-interested and short-sighted, but I find this all just a wee bit extreme. I mean, if I were a suicide bomber and I'd gotten caught (oh, did you hear that? There's my FBI file starting...Now), I would make up the most ridiculous things to say. Such as lipstick being involved in the "plot". Or earring backings. Or pantyhose. Banking of course, on the reaction of the Decadent West being to ban the shit out of all those items, thus making the soft, evil, corrupt citizens of these countries even more irritable and uncomfortable. I mean, look at the ease (and by that I mean 'lack of public resistance and outcry') with which the Patriot Act passed. People over here don't care about their major freedoms. They care about having their iPods and eyeliner on their persons during their intercontinental flights. Somehow, I just have the nagging feeling that people are missing the point. I'm not ready to posit any kind of concrete suggestion as to what The Point might be, but I feel almost certain that it's not cell phone batteries, saline solution or nail scissors.

While I'm on a roll here, something else I find delightfully intriguing is that Joe Lieberman lost the Conneticut primary as an incumbent. Now, anyone who sat through electoral politics with Professor Elliott had it hammered into their psyches in that very special Elliott way that it is nigh on impossible for an incumbent (SENATOR!!) to lose his or her seat. There is really next to no turnover in the Senate. People vote for the names they know and love. Seniority is rewarded in the Senate. The Voting Public likes the familiar. Really, it requires something akin to fathering a bi-racial baby with a transvestite crack whore with no green card and then lying about it to un-seat an incumbent Senator. Or, apparently, backing the war in Iraq to the extent that Lieberman did and being a Democrat. Innnnnnnteresting. I mean personally, I think it's about time. He was a shoddy Democrat anyway--and it's good to be rid of him. Perhaps this incident will give the rest of the candidates, incumbent or no, the chutzpah to take decisive stands on the crap policy decisions the president has been making. Maybe even in fabulous areas entirely unrelated to Iraq--like stem cell research or something. But let's face it. I'm probably being overly optimistic again. Ahh well. I was reading an interview with Linda Evangelista, I think...One of those fabulous supermodels that was big when we-all were young, and she was talking about how much she loves fashion and why. Her reason was primarily that she found it terribly exciting how everything changes every six months. I think I understand that. As frustrated as I get with American politics, I love the fact that it's so changeable. Iraq is really so five years ago. Everyone knows Iran is the Iraq that should have been and that Lebanon is just a cheap knock-off distraction. Of course, it's maddening to know that at the time, when everyone else is touting the "clear and present danger" presented by Saddam Hussein and you're getting headaches thinking about the potential repercussions, but that's why, deep down in that dark part of my heart, I am enjoying Lieberman getting his comeuppance. It's called schadenfreude. However, we'll be the ones trafficking in damages if he runs as an Independent, splits the demographic and the Democrats lose the seat. Which is extremely plausible. I mean, honestly--what has he got to lose? If he's been cussed enough to back the Iraq war for this long, how good are the odds that he's suddenly going to grow a spirit of solidarity with the Democratic Cause and bow out like a good sport? Mmm-hmm. I'm thinking slim-to-none. Stubborn bastard.

Whew. That was exciting. However, what I really ought to be doing is finishing the rest of my post cards, wrapping up my pseudo-insurance paperwork and getting dressed so I can run errands this afternoon. I'm off today, so of course the weather is bleak, grey and humid. I love it. Starting tomorrow, I'm working the next nine days straight. Helloooo overtime. And back aches and blisters and open sores on my hands. Okay, maybe I can't call them "sores", but little painful spots where the skin has worn away from touching so much bread without gloves is just a little too long winded even for me. Anyway. I'm signing off for now.

my new-old addiction

I've relapsed. I'm ashamed to say I've reverted to my addiction to celebrity gossip. Weird things happen when I can be online as long as I want. One of which is that I start to care...well, okay, maybe not "care" but perhaps show a disproportionate amount of interest in how much Lindsay Lohan's new director hates her partying and/or whether or not Dave Navarro is boning Jenna Jameson. It's a sickness; I realize this. But just in case some of you share this dark, asinine passion, I've found some fabulous links:

- www.thesuperficial.com
- www.jossip.com
- www.handbag.com

People magazine's website is okay for beginners, and I like their slideshows and all...but they're always after you to subscribe. Anyway, spare me the hate on how shallow I am, it's boredom. Really.

Oh, but if you like a hint of glamour with your gossip, check out www.hintmag.com. It's divine, dahhhling.

So yeah. This was supposed to be my profile picture, but I guess it's too big. So says the error message I got. H'm. I'm working on getting a link to my snapfish gallery in here--I realize that for the average individual, this would be no problem whatsoever, but I'm techtarded, so these things take...time. Thus far today I've attempted to be productive and failed countless times. None of which were my fault. I'm less than impressed with Bank of America's business hours and the time it takes their online bill-pay service, though. I did get Zen & The Art of Motorcyle Maintenance and a book by Salman Rushdie at the used book sale this morning. Whee! I look forward to enriching myself slightly. I tried to spell "imitated" today and couldn't remember if doing so involved one "m" or two. And I felt stupid over it. More books must be read to combat this! I should do laundry. It's windy outside, so it would dry pretty well...but it's already so late...damn. I'll compensate by applying for jobs instead.

in the beginning there was...

So. I have a lot of spare time and internet access on my hands. As well as a travel habit which takes me a away for months at a time. Etc. Enough with the justifications--there are a few of you who have lived through my misfortunate previous blog attempts. I think this one will be better. I am, after all, older and wiser. Somewhat. Anyway. An update for those of you with whom I've been out of touch for ages (Sorry--this will hopefully help with that, for those of you who haven't given up on me entirely): I did the whole year of Fulbright thing, and it was fabulous and amazing and full of wonderful people, bizarre meat dishes and just generally (east) German culture flying around all over the place. It was so good in fact (and people's real-world stories so disheartened me) that I thought I'd try to do it again--without the benefit of J. William Fulbright or his fellowship. So right now, I'm home in Maine in the process of applying for any type of job which will keep me fed, clothed and housed in Berlin/Rostock--but mostly Berlin. No, I don't have a visa yet. No this isn't about what I'd like to be doing, it's about where I want to be and who I want to be with (more on that later). So. Now we're all square here.

That was the prologue and the update. Other than that, I haven't got all that much to add. Today I applied for translating jobs at two different companies, and have continued to not apply for the job at SONY International. Probably because it's an HR Manager job that I am in no way qualified to do and would therefore never get. Certain people would say here that I'm being defeatist. I prefer to call this "realism". I've got tomorrow off from Bread Hell--on the docket so far: banking, used book sale at the library, more job applications, potentially a visit to the Grandparents and maybe some laundry. And/or the mailing of things. Or the compillation of impressive lists of Things to Do/Be Acquired. As if this is in any way relevant to much at all. Mmmm, not so much.

Albums getting heavy play right now: Taking Back Sunday, louder now.
*I was also disproportionately pleased when Such Great Heights came on my shuffle this morning. Granted, I was driving through misty fields at around 5:30am on my way to work as the sun was rising and all, but yeah. I was thrilled. It's official: I need a life.