Through the Wind and the Sand

Blogging to you from a rainy morning in the Outer Banks...but it looks like the sun is about to come out, so I don't think this post will be too long.

I only have a couple more days at the beach and then I'm back into the rat race of sitting at a desk, pretending to work for my father. It looks like I'll be at the family company slightly longer than anticipated (when doesn't this happen to me?), as I'll be staying on for health insurance purposes while I (drum roll please)...

Work my new job as an Adjunct Professor of English at a local community college! (and the crowd goes wild- go ahead) Everything is official now, I only have to go in next week and fill out the paperwork. I have my textbooks and a sample syllabus to reference as I create my own. I'll be teaching two sections of English Comp for very little money...but it's getting my foot in the door, and it will let me see if this is something I actually want to do with my life.

In other news, I haven't had a single drop of caffeinated beverage since I've been at the beach. I figure lazy days when very little is required for me is the perfect time to attempt to go cold turkey. And since I never actually have to be awake, I've been experiencing very few symptoms of withdraw. The ultimate goal is to get to a place where I'll drink caffeine under certain circumstances of extreme exhaustion, but I won't need it to start my day.

And now I'm going to go lotion up for another day of unnecessary baking on the beach. There's a hurricane (Bertha) heading for Bermuda, so the waves will probably be pretty decent.

What do I want to BE when I grow up?

Yet again, I am faced with the near-existential crisis that accompanies graduation. Or being in your mid-twenties. Or simply being alive.

I strongly feel the question should be "WHO do I want to be?" but it isn't. I have to pick a job, because that's what people do. And I am supposed to pick a job that can turn into a career- that can go somewhere, direct my life, give me purpose for the next forty years or so.

Is it okay if I don't want to?

I don't like to work.

There, I've said it.

More specifically, I don't like having a job. It's not that I'm lazy, per se (I am lazy, just no more lazy than plenty of people who have jobs, careers, etc.), it's just that I don't want that life. Get up, go to work, come home exhausted, go to sleep so you can get up and go to work again. I understand that plenty of people who lead that life don't particularly want it. It's just what you do to be an American adult. But I don't want to do it. So, do I have to?

It's looking like the teaching thing might not happen, at least not this year. For about two weeks, this really freaked me out. I wanted a path, a goal, certain steps that would lead to certain other steps that would lead me down the road to respectability and old age. Then I stepped back and realized that I don't really care that much if I'm not teaching. I mean, I want to teach: if I have to have a career, I want one that I feel is contributing to the world and one that focuses on things I love (reading...books...talking about reading and books). But as I don't actually want a career, the not teaching thing isn't such a great loss.

A friend and I recently discussed my plans and put the "things I want to do with my life" in this order:

- Writer
- Own/Run my own bookstore/cafe
- Teach

And what I want most by far is to be a writer...so doesn't it seem silly to pursue another career in the meantime? Yes, I need to make enough money to live and make my student loan payments...but that's it. I don't need a job to become the center of my life when I would rather center it on friends, family, and writing.

So here's my justification for a possible future of bummin' around: all typed-out and easy to access.


In other news, no Madam President for us in the US. She's been losing for so long that it's not a shock at all, but it's still disappointing. Time to learn how to be an Obama supporter, I suppose.

Como se dice 'oops' en espanol?

I am supposed to be pretty much fluent in Spanish for my new job. Which I'm not. Not even close. But I've been muddling through with my book 'Mastering Spanish Business Vocabulary', the babel fish website, correspondence with my friend who IS fluent, and all those murky memories of high school Spanish class.

And the boistering thought that, if I fail, there's another part time assistant who can clean up after me.

Today I came in and logged onto my computer, which I share with the other part-time assistant. She had left the babel fish translator site up. The phrase she had translated was:

Hello, I do not speak Spanish. Please call back Monday.

Apparently, I'm the expert.

Speaking of Conslutting...

During my job search thus far, I have found openings for girls at foot fetish parties, phone sex operators, and something that advertised potential mistresses but seemed to be some kind of non-sex S&M role-playing gig.

No, I have not applied for any of the above.

But they sure do offer a lot more than the waitressing/assistanting type jobs I'm looking at.

Yes, toothpaste for dinner is hilarious.

No, this is not my goal for life in New York.

If that's Moving Up, then I'm...

T-minus (where did that come from) 3 days until I leave for the Big City.

Friday is my last day at work here. In honor of this momentous occasion, I am sharing my phone quotes (I'm a sucker for keeping track of funny quotes, no matter where I am).

My funniest phone experience ever (though also kind of creepy) was when someone called me up at my restaurant receptionist job to talk about my feet (and offer me money to lick them...I considered it). I also had some very funny moments working in the Box Office at Theater on the Hill. And then there were the funny convos at my current place of employment...

Caller: What's your name?
Me: (my full name)
Caller: I hope there's a man deserving of that name.

Caller: Is JR in?
Me: No, he's actually not going to be in until next week.
Caller: That communist.

Caller: Why don't you get up, go down the hall, tell him I'm on the phone, and slap him?
Me: I really can't do that.

Me: Good morning, (company name).
Caller: Hi, who's this?
Me: (my name)
Caller: What's your name?
Me: (my name)
Caller: And you're with (company name).
Me: Yes.

Caller: When you slap somebody, what do you generally do: slap on the cheek or the arm or what?
Me: I don't generally slap people.
Caller: But if you did?
Me: Uh...the cheek.
Caller: Self defense lesson: if you want to slap someone, slap 'em in the ear. They'll go down.
Me: I'm going to see if Bob is available yet.

A couple funny conversations, face to face (funnier, I am sure, if you actually know the people):

JR: Now, who has an adding machine?
Di: An adding machine? It's right next to my abacus.

Me: What do you call the color of that shirt?
Todd: Flamboyant.
Me: I think it's mauve.
Bob: It's mauve. Let me never see you wear that shirt again.
Me: Is that a cheerleader on the pocket?

Jaimie (on phones): How can I hold you?
Caller: Uh...

Me: There's a lot of things you can't take into Preakness that you used to be able to.
Todd: Like guns?
Me: Yeah, you can't take guns.
Todd: Aw, I can't take my arms!

Goodbye, oh office-o'-mine. It's been a good run.

Writing, writing everywhere (and not a drop to get published)

At work I am supposed to be working on the things they pay me to work on and not my own work. I understand this concept.

Yet I have a sneaking suspicion that I follow it even less than previously imagined.

Case in point:

Today, I decide to do some of MY work for just a little while, because I am tired of working on this marketing power point presentation. So I log onto my other email account and pull-up a baby novel I emailed myself (baby because, at this point, it is still only about five thousand words long). I look over what I have in the email- not even everything I've written thus far- and decide screw it, I want to work on something else.

So I open a new word document and start typing about my favorite heroine (probably because she's not even remotely based on me, except for being short and blonde and loving books, because most of my heroines end up being short and blonde), Narnia Jones. And I can't remember what her ex-boyfriend the reporter's name is. Is it Tad? I feel like it's Tad. Why do I keep naming things Tad? It's a very stupid name. Am I really sure it's Tad?

So I click into My Documents (which includes, among other things, a file called 'The Tad Show' which is the first non-work related piece I wrote in this office and consists of an interview between me and a fictional talk-show host named Tad about my job in commerical bidding) and I have five files about Narnia Jones saved. Five. And that is only a very small percentage of the non-work related writing in this file.

Oops.

Also, his name is Tod Lear, not Tad. Thank goodness. Tad is a very silly name.

Of course, then I got to worrying (for some reason) that Tod Lear was the name of Elizabeth Wakefield's boyfriend in Sweet Valley High and I unwittingly copied it and, if my book is ever published, people will mock me mercilessly.

But no, his name was definitely Todd Wilkins. Aw, Sweet Valley High.

In other news, the title of this post is a lie, as I am about to have my poem Your Women published in the Poetry in Baltimore.com anthology. Not sure how much of an accomplishment this is, as I believe less than three hundred people were eligible to submit poetry to this anthology. Still. I love Baltimore. I love my poetry. It's pretty cool.

Ow, my jaw, oh, god, ow...

I'm awfully tired of the words 'ball valve'. Luckily, I started a brand new job search today. The beginnings of job searches are fun. You're hopeful, there's a ton of options out there, and you get to update your resume.

Three weeks down the line, when you're stil listening to 'ball valve', they are decidedly less fun.

In the meantime, I'll search, and try to figure out what is wrong with my jaw. The left hinge hurts a lot, and it hurts even more when I tilt my head to the right. The following diagnoses have been offered:

- Heart Attack (my friend Lizzie, who apparently does not realize that my slight hypochondria combined with the awesome search powers of google, will take this idea and run with it)
- Hypochondria (my mother)
- Tooth infection (my mother...her solution: floss)
- Contagious jaw disease ("I don't know, but your sister has the exact same thing.") (my father)
- Forgetting that I accidentally kicked myself in the face earlier today (my cousin/co-worker...the kicking being the cause of the pain, not the forgetting)
- TMJ (my uncle. and Lizzie). This apparently stands for Temporomandibular Joint Disorder (thanks, google). I would have sworn the 'J' was for Jaw.

I am Jack's throbbing jaw hinge.

In other news, I now know my new address in NYC, so if you're the sort of person who needs my address, let me know!

Just Call me Oddjob...

Ah, this is the life.

I've upped my hours at the office to cover the phones while the receptionist recovers from surgery. I'm still doing my marketing work. I've picked up an SAT tutoring gig ($45 an hour). I have a big old check in my purse from my freelance work at the Baltimore Opera company. This weekend, I will get paid for handing out flyers and bartending.

If I could only stop ordering Indian food, I might be able to break even...some day...

Probably not.

But the point is, I love doing this: having my hand in many different pies, or whatever the expression is. I think this is why I'm so suited for life as a permanent student: as long as I'm taking a couple different courses, I feel fulfilled. When I'm just doing one thing- one type of job, for instance- I get terribly bored. I need my life made up of as many little different pieces as possible.

Lately, I've been working on selecting some of next year's little pieces; I've been picking out my schedule for my first semester at NYU. In college, schedule time was awesome. The day our course booklets came in the mail was kind of like Christmas. This might be partially due to the fact that I was (and still am, let's face it) an Honors Kid.

My friends and I would take our course books and gather in someone's common room. Probably a rerun of The West Wing was on. And we'd sit there for hours, exclaiming over our choices and planning and planning.

Registration for NYU has been a little more frantic. The already enrolled students got to start registering on April 17th. So yesterday, when I got my registration info, I took about half an hour to read over my choices and then I just started clicking on courses. Currently I'm registered for two: my mandatory MA seminar and a class on the American Renassiance, which I'm pretty sure I don't want to take. I'm waitlisted for The Novel and the Culture of War (started as number eight on the list, and I'm already down to number six!) and I'm in an email discussion with a professor about whether I should take a class on Seduction in the Age of Revolution that generally only Phd students are allowed to take.

Absolutely no one is interested in all those courses except me (and the people ahead of me on the wait list), so if you are still reading, I'm impressed.

I shall reward you with a little song.

What do you do with a B.A. in English?
What is my life going to be?
Four years of college and plenty of knowledge
Have earned me this useless degree.
I can't pay the bills yet,
Cuz I've got no skills yet.
The world is a big scary place...
But somehow I can't shake
The feeling I might make
A difference to the human race!

~ Avenue Q

And I'll be even more useless with an MA in English!

The Lost Years...

Am I going to look back on these two years between undergrad and graduate school and think of them as the 'lost years' of my life?

There is certainly evidence to support this idea, as I:
- worked in menial positions in the family business
- formed no real romantic relationship but had my heart broken
- hardly broadened my horizons
- got rejected from graduate schools and by publishers
- had absolutely no sex
- wondered how much I've grown up at all
- lived at my parents' house for a year
- spent a lot of time in my hometown

But then again, I:
- learned to understand my father much more as a person by working with him
- learned to appreciate being single...and certainly got a lot of fodder for writing
- traveled in Italy and Budapest. And Spain (haven't gone yet, but I will before grad school). And I ran a half marathon. So...how broad did I want them?
- got accepted into graduate programs- one of which I am sure is right for me. also, wrote a lot of poetry and my first novel. And took some great classes at the local community college and at Loyola College- The Absurd in Life and Literature has probably changed my life
- contracted absolutely no STDs
- learned a lot more about what being 'grown up' means
- got to spend a lot more time with my family, who I appreciate more than ever. Plus, I eventually moved out and learned to live in my own place
- viewed my hometown through more adult eyes- and figured out how awesome it is. Realized how much I love living in the country with its wide open spaces, field parties...wine festivals...grass...

Plus let's not forget that, for the most part, I've had a really great time.

I've had two entire years of my life with very little direction. But you know what they say: "all who wander are not lost".

And who knows what's ahead?



Did I create this entire post just to have a place to put fuzzy little koalas? The world may never know...

When it gets dark, it looks like anywhere else...

Tomorrow morning, I will be leaving cold, rainy Maryland around 8:30 AM to hang out in warm, sunny San Antonio, Texas for almost four days.

The highs will be: 78, 81, 80, and a glorious 83.

I keep getting extremely excited about this. I packed my birkenstocks.

And then I remember: I will be inside a convention center for all of the day light hours.

The life of a bear seller is not as glamorous as it seems. Sure, I jet around the country on the weekends. Sure, I make decent cash. Sure, I sell teddy bears to cheerleaders in garish eye make-up.

But I don't get to experience the different places I travel to. When we land tomorrow, we are going straight to the Convention Center, where we will stay until nine. The next day is six AM to nine PM...as is the following day.

Sunshine? No, just the artificial lights of the convention center (this one is the Alamodome, which is pretty funny).

Local cuisine? If you call cold convention center french fries cuisine. I do not.

Night life? Well, we'll probably go back to the hotel and collapse in exhaustion. We'll order take out and watch television until we crash. Then we'll get up at five the next morning and do it all again.

I like my job. Don't get me wrong.

I just want a little sunshine, dammit!

Glorious Choices

I did not come into work until 10 this morning. I took off 2 hours for mental health.

I think it is important to take off in the middle of the work week, every one in awhile. I think it reminds you that no matter how unpleasant you may find your job, it is your choice to be there. You choose to get up and go to work everyday. And though you may not always enjoy your choice...the fact that you get to make it is pretty cool.

I almost chose not to go to grad class last night, I was so stressed out. But I'm glad I did, as I got a pretty good ego boost. I read the first page of my short story (draft 3) outloud in class. Everyone laughed in the right places and when I was done, there was a silence.

Then my professor (in all his quiet James Spader-eque glory) said: That was very good. You've written short fiction before?

And all felt wonderful and good in the world.

New favorite thing: My Eats, Shoots and Leaves 2006 calendar that I couldn't help purchasing at the Literacy Works, Inc. Book Bash that I volunteered at on Sunday night. I'm in no way a Grammar Nazi- I suspect that sometimes my loose relationship with grammar embarrasses the rest of the writing community (or at least it would if they knew I existed)- but this woman is hilarious! Also, me volunteering at a Book Bash is like a sex addict completing his/her community service by helping out at a brothel.

If I ever get married (and I probably will, I seem like that kind of girl) I want peppermint patties in the room with me and my bridesmaids while we're dressing. I find them very soothing. Of course, I won't find it very soothing if someone grinds chocolate into my dress...

Sleeping with my Laptop...

Today I got my bags and golf balls with the new tournament logo on them. I designed everything. It's very exciting. I think I could have a lot of fun working in Development as long as I was a higher up and didn't have the job where I just had to call people and ask for money all the time.

Lately, I've really been wishing I'd chosen a major that lends itself to a particular profession. Paleontology. Museum Studies. Education. Nuclear Physics. But no, I had to pick something nice and ambiguous like English. But I loved my liberal arts education. Obviously, as all I want to do now is go back to school...

And write, of course. But I don't have time to write! I'm training for a marathon and working full time and working part time and taking class...so I only have time to write when I'm doing my writing for class. And that's fun...but what happened to my poetry? And my novel? And my blogs, for heaven's sake? I've totally lost my dedication to blogging.

Writing takes time and I just don't have it.

And J.K. Rowling (I know, it's funny that I've chosen her as my writing guru here) and other such successful writers will tell you that you make the time for writing, if you really want to- that they raised seven kids and got up at four in the morning and wrote while the kids were still asleep and walked to their desks uphill in the snow both ways. But I get TIRED, dammit! Really tired. Last night I was trying to write, and I just keeled over and fell asleep next to my laptop, at 10:30. No joke.

Anyway, the Harbor Tunnel in Baltimore was closed today for 'security reasons' a.k.a. suspected terrorism. Then afterwards they said the source was unreliable and it was probably nothing. I understand we are trying to be very careful, and I appreciate that. But if we keep getting 'unreliable' warnings, evenutally we are going to get a real one and ignore it. Not that it matters, as I'm pretty sure pissed off Mother Nature is going to wipe us all out pretty soon anyway.

Gah, that's scary.

So, I will leave you, on a happier note, with lyrics from the song I am currently listening to from Nunsense 2: Back in the Habit, the first show I ever ran spot op for:

What would Elvis do
if he were in my shoes?
Would he stand and fight
or would he sing the blues?
What, what would Elvis
shoo-wop-a-doo-wop-a-shoo-wop-a-doo-wop-a do?

Ash Girl At Computer

Today I've been thinking about a volcano erupting over my office building- all of this buried in layers and layers of hot ash and perhaps lava. Years later, there would be guided tours and the nice tour guide would point out my body, hunched over the computer for all eternity. "It seems that the inhabitants of this building spent much of their time on these primitive computing devices."

Certainly not what I want to be remembered for.

I'm going running after work today. When did that become and exciting thing? And I'm going to my parents' house for dinner (read: to watch the tape of last night's LOST episode so I can figure out what all the fuss is about) and my Mom says she is making something she has always wanted to make for dinner but my father wouldn't let her.

My mom...not the world's best cook. So this could be exciting or massively sketchy.

Anyway, while searching for the above pic of Mt. Vesuvius, I came up with this picture of the David's ass. Whoever posted it was one of those annoying people who used their cameras in the Academy, even though there were many signs in many languages asking us not to do so. Not as bad as the people who took flash photos of the Sistine Chapel, but still. Respect the art. Respect the rules of the art.

I see you, David. Shakin' that ass...

Also, every time I say 'g drive' at work, I feel like I'm saying something dirty. It makes me want to giggle.

Winning at Losing...

Work, work, work.

These days it seems that everyone is the most tired, the most busy, the most stressed, the most overworked. It's a contest I never meant to be in the running for. When I was young and lazy (-ER, as I'm still young and lazy), my Dad would yell at me: "Someday, you're going to have to work hard all day, every day, like I do." I said: "Not if I can help it."

I still mean that. Not to be trite, but there's more to life.

Anyway, I suppose my weekend was 'the more', but I refuse to live just for weekend respites. It was a birthday weekend. Friday was my college roommate's birthday, so we went to the O's game (my first baseball game in years...they suck) and dinner and drinking. There was no dancing, but there was Naked Woman Memory. And how can that not be a good time?

Saturday was mostly reliving my college days- sitting around with two of my best friends doing absolutely nothing. Then getting up and ordering take out food, so we could continue to do absolutely nothing. Doing nothing with your friends is so much better than doing nothing all by yourself. The sad part (one of them) about growing up and leaving college is that you have to get up and go somewhere to effectively do nothing. Or have people come to you. Either way, it involves a lot more effort than it used to.

By the pricking of my thumbs...

I feel my afternoon would best be spent outside, twirling around like a ballerina. Instead, I am in my cubicle, surreptitiously hijacking the internet for personal use. Ah, the pirouettes and arabesques I could have done! I also would have found some nice dried leaves to kick, even though it isn’t quite dry leaf season yet.

I don’t know how I feel about the coming Fall. Summer was longer than usual, since I’m out of college now. It was fun. I love the warm, sunny weather. I love my tan, and it’ll be sad when I have to fake it again. And, after fall comes winter, which I canNOT get excited about. Ew. But summer was starting to feel stagnant. Fall is going to bring so many exciting things. I hope.

I want to be a witch for Halloween this year.
Just a plain, old fashioned witch with stringy hair and a green face. I have never been a witch before- too boring. I don’t own a witch costume or even a witch hat. But I’m going to have trick or treaters this year- for the first time EVER!

This is because I am a country bumpkin now living in the middle of an apartment complex. I have seen children in the area- real live children. And where there are children, there is trick or treating. So, for the first time EVER, I have to stock up on candy and get run off my feet opening the door every two minutes. And perhaps I’ll cackle and say things like: “aren’t you a cute little fairy princess?” It will be just like the trick or treating on television. I am so excited.

And maybe I’ll have Hocus Pocus playing in the background, too.

When I was a kid, trick or treating consisted of dressing up (always my favorite part) and getting in my Mom’s car. We would have a five to ten minute drive between each house. Most of the time, the homeowner would invite my Mom in and she would have a drink and they would chat, and my sister and I would sit at the kitchen table, bored and trying not to eat all our candy. We would hit maybe fifteen houses in a night. Our friends would come to school with pillowcases full of treats the next day. We would each have a Tupperware container. Our Halloween experience seemed somewhat lacking, though we did always have extraordinary costumes.

This year I will have an ordinary costume and an extraordinary amount of trick or treaters. Woohoo!