miss manners minds her mouth

something clean happened here

2010-09-07T16:48:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, Jessica over at ABIAT put her closet on a diet. It seemed like such a good idea! I was jealous! I have a messy closet! I need to get rid of shit!

So, very behind schedule, i present to you: a giant, boring blog about how i am messy.

Now, one might think, based on these photos, that i sent a small child into the closet to wreck it, just so i might compete on the same level as Jessica. Wrong. I am a messy messy slob.
There are multiple factors contributing to this mess. One is that when i moved home, there was no room for my dresser until our roommate moved out - therefore, no room for my clothes. (The space shown in that photo is LITERALLY all of the space i have for clothes.) Mainly though, it is that having too many clothes, & too little decision-making capacity, i will try on thirty things & then end up with a discard pile i don't touch for the rest of the month.

I started with shoes. I thought it was going to be a monumental task, judging from the box in my closet, and the fact that i had to brave my scary basement to retrieve another sack of shoes, including this lovely moldy pair.

Not counting slippers, it turns out that i had 33.5 pairs of shoes. That's right. I had half of a pair. That lonely heel! I was disappointed to only rid myself of 34% of my shoes, but then i realized that 22 pairs of shoes ain't bad for a lady! And, really, how much space does a pair (or seven) of balletesque flats require?

With shoes out of the way, that left only a mountain of everything else to comb through.

It was actually less of a mountain, & more of a mountain range - stretching through three rooms, possibly visible from outer space. It contained such jewels as:

- My gi for a martial arts class that i attended for one month.
- A hideous sweater that i have owned since i was five & refuse to get rid of, despite it being my beau's most hated article of clothing ever (now i keep it, not only because it is warm, but also because i am spiteful.)
- And my beat-up denim jacket from my punkier days that i can acknowledge that i will never wear again, but cannot bear to part with all the same.
I did not get rid of any of those items.
Hardest thing to get rid of that i actually did: Long, pleated, pastel, plaid, wool skirt. I love you wool skirt! But, in three years, i have maybe worn it twice. It was perfect in every way. Except that i could never find the right color/length/texture of shirt or shoes or tights to match it. However! So perfect was it that i didn't even get a chance to take a picture of it before Lauren snatched it away, off to a land where it will be worn & appreciated more frequently.
I guess i should rephrase. That skirt was the article that i got rid of that i wanted to the least. But, it was not actually hard to part with, in that it was a perfect example of why i had to get rid of so much stuff! Nice in so many ways, but if i rarely/never wear it it has to go. And, more importantly, if it only goes with one specific article of clothing, then i don't need it! No unitaskers in the closet!!

Twelve hours later, i had rid myself of only 28% of my wardrobe!

But, i am not disappointed. I think i had more of an organizational issue than a hoarding problem. And! There is an entire drawer in there that doesn't even have clothes in it anymore! Besides, i had gotten rid of a large number of clothes before i moved away, so thankfully, my problem wasn't nearly as dire as some people's in the first place. Does this mean i lose? Or was i a winner to start with?

let's go fly a kite (or not.)

2010-05-06T18:17:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, cute things happen that i take cute pictures of & then having nothing cute to say about them. Like the time Lauren & i drove out to the Dorothy Akin Memorial Prairie..

& we wanted to fly the cute kite that a friend had sent me while i was in the Keys.

Sadly, the wind did not care to participate. That previous shot was a fluke. The rest of the afternoon looked like this:

Which was still pretty cute.

spring is happening. thank god.

2010-04-09T18:30:00.001-05:00

A couple of years ago, i planted bulbs in the tiny 'yard' behind our house. Crocus & tulips mostly. Those that have survived the low-light, high-traffic location bloom throughout the spring. They aren't very impressive, there is no color scheme & the still young bulbs do not produce thick stands of blossoms, but i still get excited. I feel like they are saying, 'You didn't freeze to death! Great job!!'

The bulbs are the only thing that will grow back there. I am trying (once again) to grow herbs in terra cotta pots. My plan is to buy several of each & hope extra hard. I only have one basil, & i only bought the curry & thyme plants because they were cute & smelled nice, but i also have two different types of rosemary (which my being excited about makes for pretty boring blogging, obviously.)

I do not have any pictures of my herbs. Even the cute ones that smell nice. I do, however, have picture of the non-food plants in cute containers. Tropical plants do better than edible plants with the lack of light, so i keep a lot of them around to make me feel better about my other failures.

I plan to donate my greententions, my aspirations of tomatoes & melons & delicious delights, to my friends whose yards are more hospitable. Like my friend who accompanied me to the nursery & fell in love with the lemon tree.

After a couple coats of gold spray-paint, a layer of moss & violets, i was jealous, but too exhausted to wish i could have fruit trees of my own.

there's no place like home...

2010-03-30T10:44:00.002-05:00

This last Thursday evening, i hung out on my back porch with my gurlfriens, drinking box wine, enjoying the weather. Then, i walked behind the house to see my favorite band play. It made me glad to be home. In fact, i cannot remember the last time i was so glad to be anywhere.

Elvis Karaoke

2010-02-06T22:57:00.001-06:00

Elvis Karaoke
Originally uploaded by Herschell Hershey

This made my day.

o. hai.

2010-01-25T16:55:00.001-06:00

We moved to Big Pine, & i got a different (much, much better) job on Bird Island, i even had a truck for a couple of weeks. These are things that happened while i was away. They would have been great to blog about (if by great i mean fun for me & likely boring for you,) but i did not have a computer, & i was just too damned lazy to type anything up on my mobile browser.
Big Pine was great, & my new job was great. But, all great things must come to an end, & now i am living back in Kansas. If you must know (which i guess everyone must, since it is all i am ever asked,) it is freezing. Duh. No joke. Holy cow it is effing freezing. Aside from that, it is really wierd to be back. There is a nice young man who lives in the part of the apartment that was formerly our office, & all of my furniture is still at my parent's house, so it's strange to be both in my own house, & also kind of in someone else's house.
I have been home for about a week now, but haven't actually done anything. I've left the house a couple of times, but haven't looked for a job yet, & haven't unpacked at all. Except for my kitchen.
I suppose it makes me a little old lady, but it was amazing to cook with my own appliances & accoutrement. Who knew how much you would miss a knife? Or vegetable peeler? Oh! To have pots & pans again!! Yep. Nerd.
So overjoyed was i, that last night, i made (what is hopefully) all my dinners for this week. Maybe even a couple of lunches! After prepping five heads of garlic, six onions, four carrots, four potatoes, & six beets, i compiled a pot roast & a beet-pear casserole while making a pot of chicken stock (which also results in a whole cooked chicken!)
Tonight is yoga, so i started the pot roast a couple of hours ago, to be enjoyed in a few more. Hooray!

granma gifts

2009-05-13T12:31:00.000-05:00

My family has been flipping their lid because my granma shipped me a package using [GASP] the USPS! They were certain that it would never arrive, as if you can't send anything across the country without utilizing UPS or FedEx.

Of course, like every other package i've sent or received, it got here within a week. Obviously, i've been desperately curious: what could she be sending me?! Especially something that my mom is so concerned that i get? Clothes!! Which might seem a bit sarcastic, because frankly, who gets excited about clothes from their granma? Me. I do, that's who. Especially when they're clothes that you could not afford to buy for your new job with a 'conservative' dress code.

My granma is awesome. She's almost seventy, & when she isn't busy raising my youngest set of cousins or keeping an immaculate house, she gardens & paints. When i was small, & my both of my parents worked in the factory, it was our grandparents house (not that of a strange sitter) where the deep soft memories of my childhood were born. Green shag carpeting for plastic horses to graze on, grand spirea architecture arching against the pink quartzite fence, yellow wallpaper in my mother's old room. She taught me to paint, how to use which brushes & the importance of patient diligence. I remember canning tomatoes, picking wildflowers, harvesting rosehips, elderberries, morels. I will always know the names of every plant that grows in Kansas, as well as the best way to make a pie crust. And it was that same voice singing lyrical nursery rhymes, which also cursed like a sailor.

It was a perfect life, & i'm thankful for it all the time.

on being a stereotype

2009-05-09T00:14:00.000-05:00

In the Keys, everyone else, like me, is from another place. It makes it interesting: unlike Kansas, where everyone has the same easy, unaffected manner of speaking, each person you meet has a unique accent. Working at a resort employing three hundred people, i like to listen to the different dialects against one another. In the HR office, is a young Texan & a middle-aged Bostonian. My department, answering phones & manning the radios, is headed by a mother from Delaware & staffed with a grandmother from Michigan & a girl from Jamaica (among others, whom i rarely work with.) Early in the morning, as the sun rises, i ride to work with men from the maintenance department who are from South Carolina, Tennessee, & New Jersey.

It's also great for conversation. Asking where a person's from can easily segue into why they left, & what they're doing here. You can learn a lot about a person very quickly. Which is good, given that, for the first time in decades, i do not know everybody. Quite contrarily: i know no one, & have little in common with anyone. So i like being able to eat up minutes of small talk with that one question, & it's nice to get to know someone without needing to do much of the talking.

Obviously, this line of questioning usually veers next to where i am from. The love of Kansas is deep in my heart, & i am not embarrassed by my newness to this place. However, it's still awkward. I think the main weirdness stems from the fact that i seem to be the only Kansan anyone has ever met. Clearly, everyone has heard of the mythological state - Oz, evolution, tornadoes - but as far as i can tell, they assume nothing ventures to or from this bible-belt bread-bowl but wheat & beef. I go suddenly from feeling like everyone else - transplanted like a seed in the island breeze - to feeling like an overwhelming stereotype - Kansas farm-girl with a boyfriend back home.

Of course, no one knows about Lawrence. About Thai/Vietnamese/Indian food, or gourmet coffee. No one knows about my lip piercings, or that i break dress code with my 'extreme style' earrings: no one has seen me out of the 'island elegance' business-casual dress composed of all the clothes i own that could fit into the required category of 'conservative'. It is a strange feeling, knowing no one, & being unknown to everyone. To no longer be the girl back home, missing a few far away friends, but to now be the far away friend, missing everyone back home.

satisfied

2009-05-01T23:07:00.000-05:00

Today, i feel as though i accomplished a lot.

After waking up early (a feat in & of itself) i thoroughly cleaned the condo. Degreasing the oven knobs, scouring the formica, hand-mopping the floor.. the deeply satisfying type of clean.

After dipping myself into the industrial-sized vat of spf55, i rode Roomie's bicycle to the supermarket. It's not terribly far - 4.5 miles - & considering that there aren't any hills at sea-level, it's a pleasant trip. Biking over bridges, under palm trees, dodging iguana. Satisfying.

Supermarket choices are: Winn-Dixie or Publix. We shop at Publix, which seems comparable to the newly remodeled Dillons back home. I can't complain, because they do have booze, & there is a smallish health-food section. They also stock a few organic options in the produce, & best of all, they have the best yogurt selection i've ever seen! Thankfully, since i'd say that these days, an easy 90% of my diet consists of yogurt & organic produce. However, the last decade in a college-wonderland, i have grown accustomed to some particular eating habits. Great Harvest bread, Vanilla-Blueberry granola from the Casbah (all within walking distance.) A luxurious life indeed. I found a granola that i thought would be good - anything with freeze dried berries can't be bad - but really, it was too crunchy & hurt my teeth.

So, if you're reading this, i sure would like some bread & cereal from back home!

floridian day

2009-04-27T09:09:00.000-05:00

Last night roomie tells me, 'Oh yea, you're goin with me to work in the mornin'.' I just go with it, & she tells me to bring my swimsuit. Which, seeing as how she works with dolphins, can really only mean so many things.
What it meant, was that i got to swim with a dolphin!!!
Roomie has worked at the research center for two years now (with an internship prior to that,) so i've been fortunate enough to squeeze in some dolphin interactions whenever i visit. In addition to a couple of 'meets' (a program where you stay pretty dry on the dock,) i've also been able to participate in a 'play' session, & i also had a 'paint' program, where a dolphin paints you a tee-shirt!! But never, have i been lucky enough to be in the water with a dolphin. Best birthday present ever.

I want to write this elaborate entry about the incredible experience, but, there's too many amazing things to write, & it's really a blog i'd rather leave to roomie.

But, almost as exciting, after she was off work, roomie & i played tennis! Now. To clarify, i have never played tennis. I was really concerned that i would just frusterate Roomie, with my lack of racquet-eye coordination, & inability to keep the ball in play. Turns out, she & i are equally great at tennis. And, to clarify again, by tennis, i mean, 'jogging at stoplights'. Realizing we weren't getting much of an aerobic work out, standing still while the other chases your serve, we just started 'keepin' up the hustle'. It was great.

So, i'm a real Floridian!

pigeon shenanagains

2009-04-26T01:21:00.000-05:00

Yesterday morning, there was a third pigeon on the balcony!! This one was smaller than Burt, sort of a white & brown mottled bird. However, like the other pigeon stranger, this one is also without tags.

This morning, both of the strange birds showed up together!! Well. A line had to be drawn somewhere, & this is where Roomie & i decided to draw it. No colonies of pigeons. It's one thing to feed one lost pigeon (since that's what these professional pigeon persons said to do when emailed,) & it's one thing to clean up one bird's poop from your balcony. It's an entirely different thing to be attracting random pigeons & surrendering your $800 view to the pecking & pooping of an ever-increasing flock. And besides, Burt doesn't even do anything! All day, he lounges around the balcony, pooping. Doesn't he have bird things to do? Get a job, jerk!! (The only advantage i have over Burt is that i don't poop in the apartment.. so at least there's that.)

And so, the bird battle began.

It took both of us five minutes just to shoo him off the balcony at all, & even then he would just fly back to the other side. Eventually, we wised up, putting on shoes & pushing all the furniture against the building, allowing us to run freely along the rail, shooing at him with our feet that no longer gingerly tiptoed around pigeon poopy traps. Finally, we started scrubbing this week's bird turds off the balcony (& table & chairs & chaise lounge) while Burt watches, concerned from nearby balconies & fire escapes. When he isn't cooing curiously from just outside of our reach, he's circling the building after his failed attempts to perch outside our rail.

Realizing that mere shooing would be unsuccessful in reclaiming our balcony, Roomie & i weigh our options: Adopt a Cuban homing pigeon, or relocate said pigeon.

We open the screen door, & he just saunters right in. Luckily, we thought to close said door, as our attempts to corral him into a box using tennis racquets failed & i snatched him up in a towel as he was fluttering against the screen. As nonchalantly as we could manage, we carried this pigeon in a box into the elevator & through the lobby. We drove a few islands away, maybe fifteen miles from our landmark of a building. When we opened the box he hopped around for a few moments before taking off. He flew in 5 or 6 increasing circles before disappearing. Now all we can do is wait.

busy morning on the canal

2009-04-23T10:01:00.000-05:00

At home, sitting at ground level on the porch, sounds came in a straight line, origin easily identified by their volume & directional line. Eighty feet above the canal, noise floods in from all direction, the waves lapping against the coral intertwine with screaming gulls, shouts of people in their million dollar homes on the next island, & the fishing boats carting tourists into the great Atlantic, building one solid wash of noise, a cacophony from only one direction: below.

So, in the event that is of any interest to you at all...

A List of Sounds Overheard from the Canal:

- construction

- spanish-speaking workers doing said construction

- a barking dog that lives in a near-by sail boat

- a boat captain discussing the following items with today's clients:

- the weather

- what kind of fish they'll catch

- accidentally spilling motor-oil into the canal the last time he was maintenanced the boat

- his new haircut

- "do it from the top, or you'll kink it!" (i think he was talking about a hose?)

- the color of his hands after this week's sunburn

- "it was nasty, but i had to do it.. it was just a bunch of muck." (i have no idea what this line was in reference to)

- and of course, the incessant screaming of birds

pigeons, plural

2009-04-22T13:59:00.000-05:00

Two days ago, i was in the apartment when i noticed a strange cooing from our balcony. By strange, i mean both a different pattern of vocalizations than what Burt (our Cuban racing pigeon) usually makes, & also a different pigeon voice. Upon investigation, i discover a much larger, darker pigeon chasing our much smaller grey pigeon around the balcony. I sat, quietly watching the scene, uncertain of what to do. Noticing that this new pigeon is without tags, i decided to put our tennis rackets to use, shooing the wild bird away.

The next day, the same thing happens again. Same cooing, same shooing.

This evening, Roomie & I sat outside, thrilled by the sight of two baby dolphins in the canal, when we noticed a sudden swooping of feathers around the building. It was Burt, alternatively pursuing & being pursued by the black pigeon. Curious, we watched, until Roomie finally suggested, 'What if Burt is actually a lady bird? A sexy lady bird?" Of course, neither of us know the answer to that question, but it has now posed the new question of what to do regarding this new visitor? (And, given the amount of poop one pigeon produces, this visitor is one we aren't hoping to encourage.)

pretty girl on the side of the highway

2009-04-21T09:00:00.000-05:00

I am tired, sunburnt, & completely discouraged.

Yesterday morning, I went for an interview at a swanky resort. It was really encouraging. Not only does this place have an HR department, but at my interview (which took place at it's scheduled time,) i was asked questions regarding my qualifications, interests, favorite & least favorite jobs, you know, interview questions! The polite, professional HR recruiter told me that there were two guest-services positions he had in mind for me, & scheduled an interview with the department heads for this morning.

Still without a car, & having reached the bottom of my shallow bank account (leaving me zero dollars for cab fare,) Roomie dropped me off a few hours early as she drove to work. This is fine, i still had the Kerouac to finish, & it gave me some solitude in which to conduct a private conversation with the Beau i left back home. What i didn't realize, was that the terribly weak cellular signal on the island was sucking the battery from my phone 4x faster than usual. So, a short, frustrating conversation later, my phone is already dead.

The interview its self was fine. I spent about 45 minutes talking with the resort manager in a very professional, interviewy fashion. Unfortunately, the department heads aren't able to make it to the meeting, so he'd like me to come back tomorrow & meet with them. Fine. A third interview is practically a sure thing, so. Fine.

Let's recap:

1. Phone is dead.

2. Money is zero.

3. I am stranded on an island 10 miles from the one i live on.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with the Keys, let me point out what makes this last bullet an issue. The major keys are connected by the Overseas Highway (or US HWY 1.) This means that you take cars (not boats) everywhere you go. Not having a car severely limits one's ability to get from one place to another. There is no bike lane, there is no sidewalk, in most places, there's barely a shoulder. It's a two-lane highway spanning across the ocean.

There's no one in the HR office for me to ask about the bus schedule, so i think i'll be a tough girl, & just walk the five miles to the next island where Roomie works. The beginning of the walk is fine, the first channel still has the original bridge intact, so i have a nice stroll far away from the highway. Unfortunately, after the bridge there is elaborate road-work that i am not tough enough to try & wheedle my way through.

Turning around, i walk back to the resort, where i find someone who knows very little about the bus schedule, but assures me that at 2:45 it stops on the highway in front of the resort. I kill the next two hours reading in a giant banyan tree, which helped make this day seem more like an adventure, & less like a disappointment. Sadly, it was by far the highlight of my day.

Not wanting to miss the bus, i walked back to US1, crossing the busy highway right at 2:35. Not wanting to risk standing on the roadway, & being too afraid to perch on the guard-rail, I took a seat on the coral boulders between the ocean & the traffic. Almost immediately, a man in a BMW with a thick middle-eastern accent pulls over & offers me a ride, which i obviously declined. Surprisingly, no one else pulled over while i waited. Instead, there was a steady stream of whistles, honks, & catcalls during the two hours i sat waiting for a bus that never came. It was horrifically humiliating. It was everything our mothers warn us not to do. It was awful.

Finally, at 4:30, i decided that i oughtn't risk my only chance to catch a ride home with roomie, & start walking. Thankfully, the construction had ended for the day, so i was able to walk along the side of a major highway with little impediment. Five miles later, the best thing that could have possibly happened, did. Parked in the lot of a keyzee general store, was my cab driver from yesterday. He recognized me as i walked by, & insisted on giving me a ride home.

So now i'm exhausted. Sunburnt. And entirely discouraged.

nosey old neighbors

2009-04-15T12:11:00.000-05:00

For the first time in my life, i live in a high-rise apartment building. Not New York style high-rise, but at 13 stories, it's the tallest building in the city. The building is full of privately owned condos, not rented apartments. Most of the residents are about ninety-million years old, & it seems that some of the condos are vacation homes which sit empty most of the year. We rent our studio from a guy who (we think) inherited the place from his dead parents.

Yesterday, as requested by the 'house rules' in the elevator, i introduced myself to the building manager. After my interview, i walk into the office, where there is a BB-gun on the counter (or at least, i hope it was only a BB-gun.) I explained that i had just moved into number blablabla & that Mr. Whosit, our landlord had instructed me to introduce myself & order an additional key for the building. The manager, younger than most of the tenants at a probable 65, seemed confused that there were two of us in the apartment, & further confused when he couldn't find my roommate's info card. He said he couldn't copy the key for me until after he spoke with our landlord, which i agreed was reasonable, & politely said he could reach my using the phone number on the card i filled out.

Shortly thereafter, I set out to walk to our nearby beach. In front of the building was a gaggle of old people talking with the manager. I shyly waved & said hello as i passed, & set out enjoying my sunny day on the beach.

Cut to my roommate coming home, having just received an email from Mr. Whosit, informing us that someone in the building has complained that there are two of us living in this apartment. To me, this means that either the manager doesn't like it, & he complained, or after i passed through the gathering of elders on my way to the beach, some nosey oldie learned of our situation through the manager & they complained.

Obviously we're pretty irate about the situation. The landlord's parents lived here together, for one thing. What if we were a couple? Would it be a problem then? Or maybe that is precisely the issue: they think we're a couple, & don't like the idea of two lesbians living in their building. That, or they hate poor people. Maybe both. We can't think of anything else that would be a problem. We're polite, quite, unobtrusive, what more could you want from neighbors? Would they rather a young couple with babies move in? Or an[other] elderly man that watches Wheel of Fortune at top volume? Apparently.

jobless

2009-04-15T09:53:00.000-05:00

It has become immediately apparent that my planning wasn't as thorough as it ought to have been before moving across the country. Mostly my financial planning. Not only did i just plain not save as much as i had initially intended, but i spent a lotmore getting down here than i had expected.

Additionally, i'm starting to worry about my employment prospects. Never in my life have i worked to get a job. I'm young, good looking, & smart, on the rare occasion i have to actually look for a job, i have no problem landing one that i want.

Before i left home, I had applied for a job taking pictures at the Dolphin Research Center. Having never had a 'resumé' before, i got over-intimidated & spent weeks perfecting it, editing it, sending it off for proofreading, re-editing it. So, by the time i sent it in, they had already started interviewing for the position & i didn't make the cut. Lesson learned.

I had been keeping an eye on the local classified ads, scanning the employment & cars sections daily for new additions. I was not surprised to see that most of the jobs said 'no phone calls' or 'please apply in person'. My parents taught me that how you apply for a job is just as important as how you interview: always look nice, speak with a manager when possible, fill out your application in house (don't take it home & wrinkle it all up,) so i always did, & when i started to be responsible for hiring, i would always take those things into account. So, I decided that i'd rather follow proper procedure & charm the pants off of these employers my first week in the Keys.

Wrong.

Firstly, there aren't a lot of jobs. Of any kind, not to mention those that i am actually capable of doing (although that ad for 'able bodied workers needed for lobster boat, NO DRUNKS!' keeps catching my eye, i don't think it's for me.) Plus, not having a car really limits my options. So, in addition to the gallery job in Islamorada that i never heard back from, my roommate drove me around Saturday to get applications of places that are within reasonable walking/biking distance: two of them. One of them, not receptive at all. Definitely not hiring. The other, a keyzee restaurant (where the waitstaff has to wear hawiian shirts,) seemed super receptive, the manager handing me an application saying, 'Why don't you bring this by tomorrow around 3 or 4 & we can have a chat, I'm sure we can find someplace for you.' Hooray! Exciting! No. Sunday, i pay a $10 cab fare to be driven to a place i can see from my balcony (which sounds super lazy, but it's on the next island over, so even though i can see it, & it's maybe a half mile from our apartment, it's a two mile walk to get off my island, across the canal, & down that island to the interview... & i didn't want to be sweaty!) I arrive, on time & adorably hirable, only to have him take my application & say, 'Thanks, we'll be in touch.' as he walked away. I tried not to act disappointed, instead, i saved all my self-pity for the 45 minute walk home.

Luckily, the walk turned my self-pity into self-motivation & i spent the next day & a half working out a complete (ten year) job history, as well as perfecting two different resumés, one for management, & one for service. Also lucky, a restaurant on the island where my roommate works had put out an ad for servers! I called the number & arranged (what i hoped was) an interview for this morning.

I rode to work with my roommate & walked to the resort [sidenote: Amazing walk. This island has a bike/walking trail separated from the highway by a wooded area, so it was like walking through a jungle! It made my day.] Intentionally, i arrived about 15 minutes early, only to find the restaurant locked. Undeterred, i sat & read, assuming that the guy would show up closer to interview time. When he did not, i decided to call his mobile after the girl at the front desk said he would be out of town for a week. He was on his way in, if i didn't mind waiting, so i sat back down to read. Moments later, i hear some lady with a thirty-year whiskey-voice calling the same guy, with the same concern. Discreetly, i looked at the balcony entrance to see a keyzee lady (too tanned, fake blonde hair) in a tee-shirt, shorts, & sneakers saying that she was scheduled to meet him at 11:00 or 11:30 (it was 10:35.) Moments later, she shouts at me from the balcony, "Who's the author of your book?" Politely, i replied, "Kerouac, i'm reading On the Road." Her reply, "Oh. Is that like, a mystery book, or a romance novel?" And then proceeds to ramble about how much she likes to read & where am i from because i am obviously not from around here because the color that my legs are & oh she's from iowa but hasn't been back there for twenty years, multiple times apologizing that she didn't mean to interrupt me, but then just continuing to talk until the manager arrived. Needless to say, she was a bit confused, & maybe disappointed to realize that this young woman in a nice sundress was interviewing for the same position as she was. It was an awkward 15 minutes.

But, to end on an upnote, while i was on the beach today (trying to adjust my leg color to a more 'local' tone,) i got a call from the keyzee restaurant on the next island, setting up an actual interview. Let's hope it goes just as well.

white girl lost in miami

2009-04-12T11:29:00.000-05:00

I keep oscillating between hopeful excitement, & doomed terror.

Example: The night before my kid sister leaves (after spending twice as much on a rental car as initially expected, & plane tickets, & food for our apartment,) i panicked, realizing that i can either pay rent, or buy a car, not do both, as i'd expected. I hysterically called my boyfriend in Kansas, sobbing about how i'd made a terrible mistake & what was i thinking & my roommate doesn't want me here & how will i make money & what am i going to do?! Spitefully, when he said how bad he felt for not having money to send me, because he just wants to take care of me, i shouted about how if that were true, he would have taken care of me while i was home, & i never would have left in the first place. It was a pretty traumatic phone call in general.

By the next afternoon, i felt leagues better. I had decided that i can rough it without a car, all i need to worry about is getting a job. As long as i can take care of myself, my roommate will be glad i am here. Besides, this whole experience is good for me.

So, i dropped sister off at the airport in Fort Lauderdale & hop on US HWY 1, headed south to the Keys. We'd rented a PT Cruiser, & i had the Cuban jams bumpin' through the stereo, i was feelin' pretty fly. Suddenly, confusion starts creeping in as i realize i'm no longer on US1, & now am on Dixie HWY. That's cool. I recognize the name, it'll still get me there, i'm still headed south. More confusion as i panic in the middle of a 6-way intersection, nearly causing an accident & realize that i'm no longer on any highway at all, just a southbound divided roadway.

I'm not stupid, i know that this is the point where i buy a map, & effortlessly locate myself & my escape route. However, i wasn't too trusting of these shady Miami gas stations, & decided to drive on until i found a nicer one. Instead, everything keeps getting shadier & scarier until i am pretty certain that i'm in the dankest ghetto my Kansas ass has ever seen. After about 45 minutes of driving cluelessly southbound, my facespace updates progressing from 'whee, driving in miami' to 'oh noes, lost in miami', text a girlfriend back home with instructions to 'google maps my ass outta here!' She calls right as i'm stuck at a red light, crippled hobo on one side, angry youth on the opposite corner, effing ambulance rolling it's lights behind me, & some dummy stopped directly in front of me in the middle of the intersection. Bless her sweet Nebraskan heart, I was on that freeway in ten minutes. Which was nice, because it got me started on the four hour drive (which normally takes two hours) towards my new home.

lost: pigeon

2009-04-07T11:53:00.000-05:00

At the beginning of the month, before my scheduled arrival, my new roommate announces that there is a bird in her apartment. Further updates reveal that it is a homing pigeon that has decided that her open door is an open invitation.

After a couple of days, she does a little bit of internet investigation. Using his tag numbers, she discovers that he is most likely a racing pigeon from Cuba. The organization that he probably belongs to doesn't have a website, or any way for her to contact them. But, some of the other people she found online (because apparently pigeon racing is big sport) said that it's not uncommon for them to need a little bit of food & rest in the middle of a race, which can be upwards of 600 miles! Following their advice, she puts some water & raw brown rice on the balcony, for which he is obviously grateful.

Now, it's about a week later. The pigeon is still here. He leaves for hours, but always comes back. We don't mind him, or really even the poop all over the balcony, but we are concerned. In the course of her investigation, she has learned that often, if the birds aren't any good (too slow, often lost, whatever makes a homing pigeon 'bad') are euthanized. It seems apparent that this guy isn't going to win whatever race he's supposed to be participating in, what would happen if we miraculously found a way to send him back?!

Or, maybe like a lot of Cuban athletes, he's defected, & we're providing him political asylum.

nine days

2009-03-27T15:18:00.000-05:00

Nine days left. Needless to say, i'm a little overwhelmed.

This morning, i bought plane tickets for my little sister & i. Originally, my plan was to buy a car for the two of us to drive across the country. However, after weeks of scouring the classifieds & craig's list, i came to this conclusion: any car in my price range would not make the drive from Kansas to Florida. I imagined it would lead to some grim scene involving the two of us sitting prettily atop my vintage suitcases along the side of some backwater highway in Alabama (great for cinematography, bad for personal safety.) So, after factoring in the billions of dollars i would spend in gas, i finally decided to fly.
When i first went to Southwest's website, i found a nonstop flight for $70 ($90 after taxes.) Right before purchasing, i called my mom to try & beg a rental car out of the deal. Ten minutes later, my flight was no longer available at that price. Naturally, i freak out & i spend the next ten minutes on the phone with my sister, searching for cheaper tickets. We found another set, even cheaper on USAir, but after factoring in the $25 charge for your first checked bag, we would only be saving $10 over the SW flight. So, $10 seems like a pretty good deal to take 2x the luggage & avoid a layover that would add 3 extra hours to our flight time.

Flying puts a concrete restriction on how much of my belongs are making the move (a restriction that factors in both weight & area,) four full-sized suitcases (50 lbs each,) one carry-on suitcase, & a purse. Wow. While that does seem like a lot, especially as i am moving into a studio apartment (already occupied by my best friend, her belongings, & her landlord's belongings,) ponder the complications of specific items i had planned to move:
- sewing machine
- juicer
- violin
- record collection
- typewriter
- books
So the next week is going to be like a giant puzzle. How to evenly distribute the weight between my four suitcases, while still leaving room for my clothes. I'll grant you it's frivolous to take these things rather than clothes & towels, but lightweight boxes are cheap to ship, & a sewing machine is not lightweight. And what about my violin? It would have to be my carry-on, which would eliminate that as suitcase space. But i am not panicking. I am just going to look at it like a nintendo game. A fun game that will determine how much of my stuff can live my new life with me.

escape velocity

2009-03-10T12:59:00.000-05:00

In the twenty-six years that i have been alive, i have lived within twenty-six miles of where i was born. From four to seventeen, I attended the same school district. My parents & grandparents still live on the land where I was raised (where my own mother grew up.) The past nine years are the only i have spent living in a city, a college town of about 90,000.

Now, i am in the process of extricating myself from Kansas to live with a friend in the Florida Keys.

Anyone who has ever lived in & moved from a little oasis is surely empathetic to my situation: excited to leave, terrified to be gone, & effing tired of talking about it. Obviously, the constant dialogue about the perfect weather & the ocean view is helping to keep my spirits high, & is a definite nudge towards optimism. However, working as a barista in a busy Downtown coffeeshop, i have started to feel like a broken record.

Besides the obvious resident-turnover that will accompany a Big-12 state school, there is a constant ebb & flow of townies who all have the same Dorothy desires. It is expected that you will move. And when you do move, it is expected that your take-off attempt will fail, & you will return, tuck-tail to the motherly embrace of her limestone alleys.

Unlike a lot of others who have come & gone in the years i have been here, i love this town. It cannot be overlooked, the obvious drawbacks of living in a university town: alumni, greeks, basketball, football, freshman, art students, business majors... Undeniably, the suffocatingly exponential expansion of the 'west side' is only getting worse. And, a small town, is a small town, is a small town. We may not be rural, but Downtown is tiny enough that everyone knows everything, personal & otherwise. The frequent farewell parties all share the same refrain, 'I'm just so tired of this damn town.' & 'I can't stand any of these effing hipsters anymore.'

Ridiculous. I have the most incredible life i could ask for here. I haven't owned a car in seven years, everything i need is within a five block radius of my amazing apartment in a pre-civil war house, & there is convenient & reliable public transit for the rare occasion when i am required to leave Downtown. We have a lively (albeit wheezy) art scene, & most importantly, the ability to sustain one's self by 'living locally' (groceries, restaurants, shops...) It's a town where you can barter! A community where you all live & work nearby, therefore, you know everyone! I lead a blissful, luxurious life here. I fully intend to come back someday to grow old here.
While I have yet to make any kind of decisions concerning kids & career, I feel safer assuming that someday I could have one or both of those. So, why wait until having them binds me irreversibly to the Midwest? I am aware enough of the passage of time to recognize that the now is an opportunity to save myself from becoming an elderly woman who settled down without exploring her options.

Mostly, I just hate winter. I hate being cold. I take it as a personal affront. As if every bone-chilling breeze, & soul-crushing ice-storm is an attack on me, as an individual. For a third of the year i wear long-johns, thermal socks, undershirts, sweaters, gloves, boots, a coat, & a thick scarf. It's suffocating! Not just the scarf over my mouth & nose (or the frozen air when scarfless,) but the layers & layers constricting your movement & rendering you as unsexy, & uncute as possible.
Do you know where they don't have winter? The tropical islands known as the Florida Keys.
And what they do have in the Keys, besides beaches, palm trees, sunshine, & crystal clear water? Weather that allows me to wear sundresses for two thirds of the year.

Ha.

2009-03-09T11:31:00.000-05:00

Remember that time i decided to start a blog, & then immediately abandoned the idea?

Oh yea, that was last year. Don't worry, i really mean it this time.

summer sundays

2008-06-02T01:52:00.000-05:00

I live in a kickball town.
Now, i know that Vice has talked trash on small-town, hipster kickball leagues. And until this spring, i'd never been to a single game (despite having worked jobs in multiple business with kickball teams in the last 5 or 6 years.) A couple of weeks ago, i was lured to the night-time game at our Municipal Stadium to watch a rousing game of the drunken sport.
When school lets out (as our town can also be called a college town,) my city is laid-back & generally more easy-going. Most obviously, a certain percentage of the town packs up & leaves, much to the relief of we that live here year round. More importantly, the weather in the springtime is amazing, especially in sharp contrast to the brutal wintertime we all feel lucky to have survived. So, true to our college town stereotypes, when the weather gets good, the good get drunk. Here, we get drunk at a public park while we make fun of our friends falling down when they attempt to steal second & lose their still-lit cigarette in the dust.
The circa-1947 stadium is only a few blocks from my house, so unlike most of the fans, balancing coolers of PBR on their bike handle bars, i can walk over with the dog as dusk starts to settle into the tops of the trees. Some weeks we come armed with coozies & a case of beer, but there have been a couple of glorious evenings filled with jugs of homemade sangria (perfect for a hot summer night.) Which is not to imply that it's about drinking. Sure, it's fun to get drunk with your friends, but it's also fun to sit around in a crowd of people who are all excited about the same thing. Everyone has been doing this for a few hours, so we're sharing in this community moment that lasts all afternoon. And that's what i really like about it., that feeling of camaraderie, especially amongst drunken compatriots.

spring? is that you?

2008-03-29T19:51:00.000-05:00

Spring has been very slow in arriving this year. Not that i ever enjoy winter, but, when it drags on so long, & so bitterly, it leaves me... bitter. Thankfully, the days are consecutively above freezing now, & alive things are starting to appear. This afternoon, to celebrate, my boyfriend drove me out into the country so i could go to a nursery where my family has taken me to my entire life. For the most part, all nurseries & plant farms produce a similarly pleasant nostalgia, which tends to result in unnecessary hours (& dollars) spent maintaining this green bliss. However enjoyable a trip to a nursery is, no other place can compare to the utter nirvana represented by this plant farm. Two-hundred acres of farm: over a dozen greenhouses, sheep (another blissful childhood memory,) burros, cats... everything alive & happy & beautiful. Bliss.
Sadly, i did not inherit my mother's green thumb. I cannot grow things. At all. I'll admit that it's largely due to a complete lack of sunlight in our antique neighborhood, but even house plants are hit & miss for me. I don't always kill everything, don't get the wrong impression, but it takes a pretty tough plant to survive my lifestyle. The ones that do, last forever. Knowing this, i buy lots of plants, every year. Probably two-thirds of them die, so i like to keep my odds high by getting a large number of them.
To date, the only successful gardening venture at this house has been my spring bulbs. This is the second year for them to bloom, which is enormously rewarding, since i don't have to do a damned thing, & they'll always reappear. One afternoon of hard work, years of enjoyment. It does make me a little mournful when i consider the reality that, once i've left this house, & it is occupied by other, more careless tenets, the tulips & daffodils & muscari that i love so dearly, will be forgotten & trampled beneath cigarette butts & PBR cans. Consistently, i remind myself what an important lesson in zen living this is: Sometimes, after planting a garden, you will abandon it.

a lot.

2008-03-27T20:32:00.000-05:00

I talk a lot. A lot. It's not intentional, or something i'm unaware of, it's just something about myself that i have yet to discover how to control (like not flinching when there's a rubber band pointed at me or laughing when people fall down.) Every thing i do, i do a lot. I take photos. A lot. I love a lot. So much, a lot. So completely, entirely, a lot. The only plausible (preferable) explanation that i have happened upon is that i just have to much clutter in the brain box, & not enough organization to conquor it.
I used to write a lot. Constantly, a lot. Until one day. It stopped. I was glad for it, in a way, because, while i had lots & lots of words (like, loquacious,) & a lot of interesting ways to use them, i never really had very much to say. Sadly, this is the same way i would categorize my speaking habits.
SO! In comes a blog. Which, despite the idea of anonymity (of which i am so fond,) has been nearly impossible to write. Nothing to say, i suppose. I have the hardest time starting anything. The idea of finality is paralyzing. I can never name pets, or start sketchbooks. I have half a dozen address books that i've never written an entry in! 'What if i lose that pen?' 'What if he doesn't turn out to be much of a Berlioz?'
But now this is done, typed. So perhaps, talking (a lot,) can become blogging a lot. It's still writing, & it's still communicating. Let's hope it works. Blogging. About nothing to particular, to no specific style or subject. Plenty of room to grow & talk about art &/or world issues &/or how dumb everyone is &/or sex (well, maybe not, because nobody likes a negative nelly, & world issues sure are a downer, debbie.)