Fight some fools

I'm sorry, but I hate unions. Didn't they die after the labor laws of the 1930s came through? Isn't the CIO-AFL just a name that looks cool for when it's campaign season and presidential candidates want to look lower class supported? NO? Well color me surprised.

As a Zonie, I don't think I realized unions really existed and/or had a purpose past the 1930s. The Knights of Labor, the International Workers of the World, and all the other unions I learned about in history class are dead. Long gone. (Though I still like to make Wobblie references from time to time.) I figured it was safe to assume labor unions were dead by the time I graduated college. And in Arizona, where if you're not conservative you keep your political preference under wraps, we don't talk about unions. If there was a teamster union thing going on in the factory areas around town, who knew! Actually, we don't have factories. There is no industry in Arizona. Which would explain the lack of a prevalent union.

When I moved to Washington, holy cow unions were everywhere. Especially the Boeing union. Those guys are so freaking spoiled, it makes me sick. I still blame them for the delay in the 787. Our economy could have kept moving, but noooo, they had to strike about not getting enough medical benefits. You have more than me (which is none), so get over it! Just do your damn job! Every other year I swear those people strike.

When I started getting into the local political movement, only then did I really realized the prevalence of unions in this state. We have a lot of industry, especially at the coast, so I guess it makes sense to have some unions still in existence. The Longshoreman and the Teamsters are probably the most important. What their actual union names are, I'll never know. But good for them! I contemplated getting in contact with these groups to help with the political campaign I was on, but that never happened. Because I sucked at being a political organizer. (When you don't care, you just don't care!)

I started hating unions about the time I started working for Macy's in Olympia and after my sister had to deal with them at UC Irvine as a lab manager. (Yes, UC Irvine unionizes their lab workers AND their grad students - lame) When I was working in Oly, I heard about the union strikes at the Tacoma Macy's. I heard they were losing business and how workers were not coming in, etc. I was a gift registry person, so we picked up a lot of their registries while they were off striking over god knows what. Seriously, what does a RETAIL UNION have to strike about? Olympia is a very liberal place, but I found it was easy to make fun of the Macy's union with my co-workers. I asked my manager why Macy's Tacoma was unionized and we weren't. She said it had something to do with them being an older store and back in the day, that's just what they did. There were even stores in Seattle that were unionized.

Which, unfortunately, I did not remember her statement until I was sitting in the HR office at a Seattle's Macy's, filling out new hire paperwork, and being presented with a piece of paper for a union. My heart clinched and my stomach dropped. WE'RE UNIONIZED? WHY? Why would a part-time employee want to be unionized? And why the f*ck did I have to give them $100 for initiation fees, plus another $25, plus $15 a month? WHAT THE F*CK?! That's money I can use to pay for my bus pass! THEY ARE TAKING MY MONEY!

When I talked to my sister about the initiation fees, she laughed at me. She said I am now a voting member of the union. F*ck that shit! I don't want to be part of the union! That's going to look terrible on my resume.

Do you know what I get for being part of this union? NOTHING. Ohhh I have the choice of taking either a 30 min lunch or an hour lunch on Sunday. So exciting! I mean, what am I going to do with this benefit of being unionized? Apparently the union used to help people get the core schedule that they wanted if someone left their department. But guess what. We no longer have core schedules. Soooo, basically, there are no benefits to having the union. Except for the lunch thing. If I'm working 6 hours, I can take an hour lunch instead of the 30 min lunch you're supposed to take. Or, you can take 40 mins. Or 50 mins. Oh my god! I'm so glad I have a union to help me get a longer lunch on Sunday.

The only thing I get out of this union is seeing the name of the union pop up on my pay stub and getting $15 taken out at least once a month from my measly paycheck. So awesome.

Tell me you'd like unions after being unionized as a part-time retail employee. Go on, I dare you.

In conclusion... UNIONS ARE DEAD! They serve no purpose in our modern society! It's like they take you back in time. It's like living in 'the Pajama Game'. It's like they don't want you to succeed and would rather take your hard earned money instead. Which I always thought was wrong. The union is just a more organized way for a foreman to get rich while the workers die trying. It's bullshite!

(I know I'm missing facts, but this is just how I feel based on personal experience. So, don't get upset or anything. At least I'm not completely misinformed like Republicans.)

Colbert Report

I have found a new love and appreciation for The Colbert Report. And that's pronounced 'ra-por', by the way. Classy, right? I think his show is better than Stewart's Daily Show. Despite the fact Colbert is supposed to be playing a "conservative" character. According to research (props to Dr LaMar of University of Michigan, I believe), college students that identify with conservative political belief are the most likely to believe Colbert is conservative. I think liberals know he's lying, so that's why they (also meaning me) like him. Or maybe it's because those who are liberal always laugh at anything conservative based... (Note to self, maybe research this some day?)

Anyway, I love this guy. His show is hilarious. He does make fun of conservatives. He made fun of Congressman Aaron Schock of Illinois and his "summer of fitness" promoted in Men's Health Magazine. As Colbert said, it'll help people get in shape, but by September, we'll all become "alfredo sauce" again. WAY TO GO! Haha. Like a summer of fitness will stop anyone from having health issues. (Or needing Medicare/Medicaid - IDIOT) It's called eating right and getting regular check-ups, too. Which some people need state-funded health care in order to do that. I think Rep. Schock just wanted an excuse to show off his six-pack abs. It is almost campaign season again, after all.


Anyway, this dude... He's just... Okay, watch Colbert's interview with Aaron Schock a few years back, oh my god. SO FUNNY. It's like this dude has never heard of Colbert before. He knows something of Colbert (I'm sure his college buddy that serves on his crew told him), but still, is SO unaware of what/who he is. Perhaps he's one of the college students who said they believed Colbert was conservative...

Anyway, it was so so funny. I have to share it.

The Colbert Report
Tags: Colbert Report Full Episodes,Political Humor & Satire Blog,Video Archive

(the interview starts at 1.50)

He's the youngest member of the current Congress and SO CLUELESS. So clueless as to Colbert, his reasoning, etc. (Also, he's clueless on the fact the Constitution doesn't support life. NOPE. It does support right to bear arms, which is probably the only correct thing he can list from the TEN AMENDMENTS. Which is not the Constitution. Which I feel the Second Amendment has been taken out of context in the modern times. But that's another story for another time.)

Now, when I become the youngest member in the House, I will be READY for Colbert. Unlike this chump. Who does have nice abs, for a Republican, by the way.

I have decided I will a) laugh, b) smile, c) be sarcastic and not at all serious (uhhh when am I anyway?), and d) ask for a hug at the end of the interview. I will show Colbert that I am not afraid of his interviews. Which are meant to confound people. I will be ready for him. And actually, the idea of being interviewed by Colbert because I'm the next youngest member of the House makes me excited to start my campaign.

So, if it's true Washington is being appropriated a new Congressional District, say hello to your 2012 Democratic candidate. BOO YA.

Actually, no, I know I should start at state level. Which I'll do that after I get my next MA. Or PhD. School is still so important to me. But, with a MA/PhD in Communication and focus on political comedy and voter behavior, I will be the smartest and the wittiest of the candidates! All interviewers will bow down to me! I will turn the interviewer into the interviewee! Oh yeah, you heard it here first. (She says sarcastically... So, no, you can't quote me on this later. I will sue for libel if you do.)

Le sigh, it's good to be a journalist and almost-political communicationist. (I just made that up. COPYRIGHT! Haha)

Anway, I will be ready for Colbert. And I will brush up on all his work so I will be PRA-PARED. Like Ross and his uniagi. Or Rachel and her salmon skin roll. It's gonna be, in the words of Draco Malfoy, totally awesome.

(Draco Malfoy as played by Lauren Lopez in 'A Very Potter Musical', that is... Here is the Youtube video. Educate yourself!:

*Song starts at 3.42, says "totally awesome" few seconds later. It's well, totally awesome!*)

I am in misery

Abby adopted a boy cat from the Seattle Humane Society yesterday. He's seven years old and all black. The SHS called him Halloween, but we re-named him Lenny. Abby wanted to call him Lennon, but I thought that was weird and suggested Lenny. Also, Nicolle thought Abby was saying Lenin (she's weird, I know), so Lenny stuck. We tried out other names, but Lenny stuck. So, he's called Lenny.

When we first brought him in and set him up in Abby's room, Rory wanted into Abby's room so badly. She wanted to see the new arrival. She even stuck her paw under the door and tried moving the door. So, we opened up the door, I held on to Rory and Abby held on to Lenny and they saw each other from across Abby's room. Rory was clambering to get to him, but of course we didn't let her. Now, ever since she's seen Lenny, Rory's been moody and weird.

I don't know if getting another cat, especially a boy cat, was such a good idea. We originally went in to adopt Joey, but was told by the adoption specialist that Joey had to be an only cat. He was aggressive with other animals and was quite a tough alley cat. Remind you of anyone? I thought 'hey, perfect, Rory and Joey will both hate each other and they'll cancel each other out! no relationship, no problem'. But the adoption specialist didn't want us to risk it. So, no Joey.

We found Lenny in one of the cat condos, just chilling. He was very loving from the get go. Purring and trying to sit with us. So sweet. He wasn't phased by the other cats in the room with him. So we thought, this might be the cat. We brought him home. And now Rory is pissed.

I feel like a terrible pet parent for putting this stress on Rory. She's hissed at me at least three times and walks around like she's afraid to see what's around the corner. She won't walk past Abby's door to go into the bathroom. She hides in Nicolle's room or sits on the couch. She slept with me last night, which was a good sign, but she's afraid and more aggressive than normal. But, she doesn't want to play, isn't really eating, and won't even willingly eat her treats. She loves treats.

I know she's stressed out and this could all go away. But I don't like it. This isn't Rory. Rory is finally the dominate cat of the household and now she's reverting to bottom-of-the-food-chain-but-I'm-gonna-fight-my-way-to-the-top mode. I'm afraid of what she's going to do. And that goes from not eating and losing weight, to getting a UTI from not going to the bathroom, to excessive grooming, to being more aggressive.

We're going to get some felaway defusers and see if that helps. Rory has her own kitty nip toys and so does Lenny. I wash my hands after touching Lenny so Rory won't get mad at his smell. I will try my hardest not to visit him in Abby's room so Rory knows I love her the most. I will do all I can to make her comfortable and establish she is head of the household. She'll never be queen (that is Sassy's title), but she's prime minister of the house. And if all else fails, we'll go back to my mom's. Where she knows she's the bottom of the pack and likes to fight like she's not. Or, at the very least, in a year and a half we'll be living in our own place as I start grad school again. Just her and me. I think for the rest of her life it has to be just her and me. Unless, a kitty chooses us. Then we can take them in.

And you know what, it's weird and depressing to go to the Humane Society. I wanted to take all of the cats I met home. I cried last night about them when I was talking to my mom. She asked me why I was crying and I said it's because it's just so sad that these cats were given up. One cat we met was called Winnie. She was 12 and was given up because she housesoiled. One cat was called Chase. She was 10 and her owners surrendered her to be euthanized. Over a skin allergy. Chase was SO sweet. She was about Rory's size. But we knew Rory would be so mean to her. She was fragile like Sassy. And Nicolle would have hated Abby for picking a cat that was Sassy-like. I just want her to get adopted. I feel so guilty we couldn't take her. See - it's depressing to go to the Humane Society!

Plus it's weird to pick your cat. The only cats we've ever picked were Randy and Sassy. We found Randy via an ad for free cat to good home (the family rescued cats for a living) and we found Sassy at Petsmart's adoption center when we went to get Randy more Science Diet food. Randy and Sassy were fate. Nothing felt wrong about picking those two. But picking a cat the other day felt weird to me.

Maybe it's because we were in the kitty condos, where they keep a few cats together in a comfy room. You see more than one cat at a time because of that. Almost all want your attention. It's hard to give them all attention at one time. And it's hard when you have to leave them. And it's even harder when you have to leave with just one. And it's even, even harder when you leave with that one cat from the Humane Society and question if you've made the right choice. Not just about the cat, but about bringing that cat into a home with Rory. Time will tell, I know, but I'm just worried for Rory. I'm a worrisome pet parent.

Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur...

I'm staying with my sisters right now and they have my evil cat Rory. She can be cute and is very hyper/playful, but randomly attacks me, so evil. She's also evil in the sense she's a terrible playmate. She was SO MEAN to my beloved cat Sassy (a few days before Sassy passed, Rory jumped on top of her and pinned her down - I swear she was trying to smother her. See - EVIL), she's tortured my dad's cat Tiggy (who is twice her size) so much to the point she wouldn't leave my dad's room, and fought like a crazy alley cat with my mom's cat Missy. Missy was the only one who could handle her. She'd beat the crap out of Rory. She would just stare down Rory, which would cause Rory to start chattering and looking all crazy like she wanted revenge, then she'd high tail it and run away from Missy. Missy always got the last word in with Rory.

Now Rory is an only cat since she left my parents' house. Since we no longer have Sassy with us, she's definitely alone. She has never been the only cat. And despite being so very evil, she likes being around other cats. She just won't admit it.

By the way, if Rory was Stitch from 'Lilo and Stitch', her badness level would look like this:



That badness level has not changed. Even though she's been by herself since September of last year and has two to three people paying attention to her at all times.

Now, my little sister wants to get another cat. We've been contemplating if it would be a good idea for this to happen for the past few months. Believe it or not, Rory gets really sad when she's left for the day. She HATES being alone. She's a very contradictory cat. So maybe another cat would be a good idea for her. One that is younger than her (she's 6 years old at time of press) and can keep up with her. And possibly, a boy. She seems to hate her fellow girls, or something.

The more we've been contemplating adding another cat to the household, the closer it comes to being true. My little sister was looking through the Seattle Humane Society website at the cats available for adoption and she found a cat she really would like to meet called Joey.

Joey is an alley cat who was brought in by a good samaritan. He had an eye condition and the vet clinic at the Humane Society had to preform surgery on him to ensure his eyelashes, which were curled in, wouldn't scratch his eyes. Just looking at this little boy makes me want to cry and hug him. He is such a trooper.

I would love to add him to the household. He's younger, so he could keep up with Rory. He likes to fetch and catch, just like Rory. He's like a male version of Rory, but sounds a little nicer. He requires a lot of care though because he needs eye drops a few times a day. But that's okay. The problem is, is he's a cat. And I'm afraid of what Rory will do to him.

Joey is an alley cat like Rory, so he can take care of himself. Maybe that'll help them get along. Rory is settled as head of my sisters' household, so may that'll help too. Rory is also older than Joey, which is good. It'll make her feel even more like head of the household if she knows she's older. All these things should mean Joey would be a welcomed (and maybe ignored by Rory) addition to the household.

Yet I can't help but fear her being evil. I mean, you see how bad she is, per the Stitch drawing. That is an accurate portrayal of Rory. No joke. Obviously, this level of evilness worries me. If a new cat joins the house, I'm afraid she'll get jealous and act out terribly again like she did when at my parents' house. She has calmed down a little since being on her own. She purrs now (she never used to) and is more cuddly. As I write this, she is sitting next to me on the couch. Before, she'd only sit by me if I was asleep. She's come a good long way from where she used to be, but still. She worries me. And any cat that is welcomed into the household needs to be able to take her on. I'm sure Joey could give her a run for her money, but I still fear for him. Or any cat my little sister might adopt while living in the same house as Rory.

I don't want a sweet cat like Joey to suffer at the paws of Rory. He's been through enough already. But, he needs a home. We're more than capable of helping Abby provide a home for Joey. He looks so cute and he needs love. (So does every cat at the Humane Society... I want to take care of all of them!) He needs to roam outside of his cat cage at the Humane Society. But is roaming at our house a good idea for him? Especially with evil Rory around? I don't know. I just don't know.

I already feel terribly guilty for what Rory did to Sassy. And what she did to Tiggy. And what she did to Missy. I can't love her as much as I love my other cats because of what she's done. I love her as much as I can. I don't want to feel more guilt and lose more respect for her if we allow Joey to coincide with her and she beats him up all the time. I couldn't live with myself if she did that. It's not fair. I just don't know what to do. Or what to feel about this situation. This is tough. And I feel like a terrible pet parent because I can't control Rory.

What should I do? Give Joey a chance? Or shelter Rory from other cats? I want to give a loving home to another cat, but I also want to protect them from Rory. I want Rory to be comfortable, but I don't want her to be alone. This is so confusing. I know in the end, I won't make the decision about Joey. Abby will. Which is what's right. But I still don't know how I should feel about this.

The Kennedys and my family

Today while I was waiting for the Caroline Kennedy book signing, I realized my family has paralleled the Kennedys' for three generations.

Generation One: Grandma saw Bobby Kennedy speak in Oregon.

Generation Two: Uncle, son of grandma, also saw Bobby Kennedy speak.

Generation Three: Grandchildren meet Caroline Kennedy.

There could have been four generations because my Great-Grandpa attended a Inauguration Ball (for being an outstanding Democrat and union man) in the 1960s, but it turns out it was LBJ's Ball. Not Kennedy's. But he attended the 1964 ball, which could have been Kennedy's if he hadn't died. And LBJ's ball wouldn't have happened in 1964 if it wasn't for Kennedy dying. So... Kind of a fourth generation exposure to the Kennedys - yes?

I love politics. And famous people. And paralleling. Paralleling is a good word too.

This is the song that doesn't end

One of my favorite TV shows when I was a kid was 'Lamb Chop and Friends'. I loved little Lamb Chop and her animal friends! I also loved the closing song, "This Is The Song That Doesn't End." Whenever I get it into my head, I bounce around the house like a 7-year-old, singing to it. I even got my cat excited about it today. We had fun. And we never have fun. She just bites me. (Evil kitty!)

But listening to that song does stir up bad memories. Like how I wasn't allowed to watch it because it came on before 11am in the summer time. And in Arizona, to save electricity, we have Peak and Off-Peak times. Up til 11am was considered Peak time, so the company (SRP, the bastards!) could charge more money. Lamb Chop came on before Peak time ended. So, I'd have to sneak into the dining room and turn on our mega old, little tiny TV, position the antenna just right, and try to quietly watch Lamb Chop without waking up my dad. Some times that didn't work. Some times he was up before me. Some times I would defiantly watch the show anyway. Um, that never went over very well. My dad always yelled at me and switched off the TV. It was never pleasant.

I hate dealing with my dad. And dealing with my dad when I was younger was worse. He was way harsh. I don't understand how a tiny TV turned on for 30 minutes takes up a lot of electricity? What I really don't understand is why he had to treat me so poorly over something so simple as letting a child watch a children's show. I was always berated for my attempts to watch the show. Always put down. Constantly meant to be made inferior. That is no way to raise a daughter.

Despite the harsh memories, I still love Lamb Chop. And the song. Maybe I love it because it reminds me that no matter what, I was once a kid. A kid who deserved to watch Lamb Chop.

Neither here nor there

I just finished reading Bill Bryson's travel memoir, "Neither Here Nor There." The book is a hilarious, rightfully exaggerated account about his travels through Europe in the early 1990s; as well as including tidbits from a European trip he took in 1973 with his best friend, Stephen Katz. He basically re-followed his trip from 1973 for this book, but with some added stops and different accounts.

It's interesting to see how different traveling Europe was in 1973 compared to 1990. And how different traveling can be when you have money. I personally hate the idea of back-packing Europe. I know, I know - it's the thing for American kids to do. But really, who thought it was a good idea to spend a vacation in Europe being smelly and gross? Who says to themselves "Yay I can't wait to pitch a tent on the side of the freeway in France"? I know I never thought such a foul thing. Once a friend suggested that very idea to me. I nearly hit them.

Europe is a place meant to be explored and experienced. Not a place that is meant to stress you out while you smell up the place. Traveling is stressful enough. But isn't it nice to come back to a hotel with your own bathroom at the end of the day? It seems Mr Bryson relished in the fact he could take a shower in every city he stopped in. He detailed every hotel he stayed at, whether it was worthy of his time and money or not. He even divulged into the properties of the hotel more than he did the city he was visiting. I find that interesting. I guess that's what older people with money do when they travel Europe. And if I travel Europe and stay at hotels instead of hostels or tents by the side of the road, I'd do that too.

Another thing I noticed about Mr Bryson's book is the way it can convince the reader to fall in love with a town or hate it. He is so descriptive and clever with his words about any town. And after reading this book, I can tell you there are now some cities I will never visit. Istanbul, for one thing. I've never warmed up to the idea of a Turkish holiday (though the Europeans love it), but now I know I never want to go there. I have personal bubble issues and fear of purse-snatchers enough as it is. Send me to the Istanbul described in Mr Bryson's book and I'll have a heart attack. It's irrational to base an assumption of a city on an account someone wrote down in 1990, but to me, it makes sense. If one American can hate the city, then I can too. So, no Istanbul for me.

He did make me want to visit Rome more than before. I would love to see how Italians park their compact cars in non-existent spaces and gesture rudely at each other first hand. At first, his account made me second guess ever visiting the majestically ancient city, but by the end of the chapter, I was all set to take a Roman holiday.

Despite it's sore spots, as described by Mr Bryson, Europe seems like the best place on Earth. Only there can you travel a few hours and find yourself in a different country, surrounded by different food, customs, and language. Only there can you expect to be treated either like a local or brushed-off like a foreigner. (And no matter how hard you try not to be a typical foreigner in Europe, people will disregard you anyway! They know) Only there can you experience history first hand. The cities Mr Bryson visited were made to awe people. Churches built so significantly large it made its worshipers tremble in fear. Cities built so beautifully and richly it made poor people cry. Yes, the degregation of modern society has sent cities spiraling downward when it comes to beauty and awe, but the meaning is still there.

I've only been to three cities in Germany, but I can tell you, based on this book, that there is no place I'd rather be than Europe. And one day, I intend to return.

Why do you do what you do to me

I think privacy in the Facebook age is no longer existent. For instance, I keep getting friend requests from people I don't know, but apparently we have friends in common. But my privacy settings are as private as they can get. Yet, I probably still pop up on the right hand-side of people's Facebook page as a friend suggestion. How am I private if that's happening. I feel so violated. I didn't join Facebook to be friends with everyone. I joined it because it was a university network and it was a way to keep in touch with my uni friends since my Myspace page was super blocked.

(A side note: why do people follow friend suggestions? Do people look at friend suggestions and think "sweet, someone from high school I don't have on my friends list" and do it for points? Or do they think "I like the way they look and my friend knows them so, swish, I'm in!"? I've had people from high school try adding me that a) I never knew, b) never liked, or c) forgot. I've also had people I have no idea who they are try to add me. It's ANNOYING. Stop the friend suggestion madness!!)

Also, privacy in this age is gone in the sense that our family and friends all know what we're doing because of Facebook status updates, Tweets, blogs, etc. I can't even say "HOLY COW WHY DO I WANT TO BE FB FRIENDS WITH (enter person here)?!?!?! Denied!" without it getting back to them. You know, if my dad ever joins Facebook (or Twitter), I'm screwed. All the shit I say about him will come back to me. Like my new running joke of "Dad's quote of the day." That is funny stuff. But if he knew I was mocking him on a national stage because I was friends with him on FB, oooohhh big trouble. Even if I just posted the joke on a friend's page, he'd probably still see it. THANK BOB he's not on Facebook (or any social networking site), otherwise I really would be screwed. So, for now, I can at least enjoy some privacy with my joke.

Other than that, privacy is a joke in the modern age. Girls cannot gossip (which was evident by an incident with some MA Mag Journos a few years ago - let's just say the bully couldn't take being the victim!), boys cannot share inside jokes, sisters cannot complain about parents, and friends can't swap details for someone's surprise birthday party without someone finding out about it on the Internet. I blame Facebook for this.

I don't blame them just because they connect us all together (more or less), but because they have degraded the value and privilege of privacy on the World Wide Web. Thanks a lot assholes. You know, all those people I didn't like in high school, now they know where I am. THANKS. Only bright side is I don't have to accept their friend request. Which, that my friends, is becoming a more popular form of power than privacy.

Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

I'm changing things around. I was inspired by my best buddy to create this blog. This blog will encompass my old posts from a previous blog from when I was abroad a few years ago and when I came home. It will also now encompass anything new in my life: music, school, etc. My general place to muse, if you will.

Here's hoping I can keep up with this blog!

Cursed still?

Turns out I am cursed. Sassy has bone cancer. It was confirmed Monday. This all sucks so much. Now the proof that I'm really cursed will come in four years time if my other cat Missy comes down with some deadly disease all of a sudden. She'll be 15 in four years. Fantastic...

But we're not giving up on Sassy. We're taking her to an oncologist to see about radiation treatment to shrink her tumor. I can't accept the fact she would die from not being able to eat or take in fluids because the tumor is obstructing her mouth and throat. That's not fair. If it's spread to her lungs and is affecting her organs (which I don't think it has because her blood work last month came back fine; oddly enough) then we can prepare for her to leave us. But I think we can slow this tumor down. At least I hope so.

I know not only may she not respond well to the radiation, but it'll be expensive. It'll cost more than my sister's car is worth. That's scary. And she may only live another year or so if the treatment is successful. Is it worth it? ... But wouldn't you do the same if it was your mother or sibling that had cancer? Even if the treatment only secured an extra year of life? I think so. Sassy is family and we're going to try to do everything we can to help her. Besides, she's still acting like her normal self. She's bound to be healthy enough to take on radiation treatment, right? Crossing my fingers.

Am I cursed?

There are two beings I will always love more than anyone in this world: my cats Randy and Sassy. Randy was brought into my life via a newspaper hunt for a cat 'free to good home' when I was nine-years-old (1994). Randy was three, going on four, when we found him. An outdoor kitty rescued by a family who rescued cats for a living (they had 30 cats!), he was adorable, easy-going, and was found sitting atop a Little Tykes art easel when we walked into the family's home. We knew he was the cat for us the moment we said hello. We took him home that night and from then on, he was my best friend.


(Me and Randy, 2005)

About five months later, on a warm winter's night in January 1995, we went to Petsmart to buy Randy some of his fancy food (Science Diet) and while my parents went to look for his food, my sisters and I were overcome with joy and curiosity as we say the adoption center had cats to adopt that night. We walked in, just expecting to look at some cute kitties and then we found her. A tiny little six-month-old kitten named Snuggles. She greeted us as soon as we came up to her cage. We were allowed to hold her and apparently, she bit my little sister. My twin said she knew right then we had to have Snuggles because she bit our little sister. We sent the youngest to guilt the parents into coming over and looking at Sassy. Needless to say, as soon as they met Snuggles, they knew she was the best kitty to add to our household. After all, Randy needed a friend.

Snuggles came home with us and was content to stay in the parents room while we waited for the right time to introduce Randy and Snuggles. Oh and we changed her name real quick from Snuggles to Sassy. Probably the next day. My twin was obsessed with 'Homeward Bound' and named our cute new kitten after the cat with Sally Field's voice over. Sure, my twin denies this but I think she's just forgotten. And boy oh boy, was she a Sassy. I remember a few days after she moved into our home, she jumped on top of the washing machine and tried to bite me when I attempted to move her off of it. I remember saying "You sure are a Sassy..." when I finally got her down.


(Sassy, 2008)

And from that day forward, Sassy became my twin's cat and Randy was mine. We moved a lot and Randy and Sassy were our constant companions as we learned to adapt to a new schoolyard of friends and new neighborhoods. There were plenty of times when my asshole of a father tried to get rid of the best cats in the world just because he didn't want to pay a pet deposit, but they stayed with us. I would have probably gone out on the street with Randy as opposed to loose him.

You see, Randy was my best friend not only because I never had a stable best friend throughout my childhood; but because he was there whenever I was upset. Upset that I was being ignored by my family; upset when I had a bad day at school; upset that my parents were fighting yet again. He was always there to greet me with a head-butt and a purr. I could never imagine my life without him.

In 2002, Randy became ill. He had a urinary tract infection. We spent the next few weeks rushing him to the hospital to get IV fluids and getting special food to make sure he was okay. His UTI became so bad the only option to make it stop was to re-route his urethra (apparently boy urethra goes in a loop and a girl cat has a straight one, which they wanted to reroute his to be straight) - a $1,000 surgery. My parents wanted to give up and put him down. He was only 11-years-old at the time. After everything he had been through in the first four years of his life before he met us, I knew we couldn't give up on him. My whole family pitched in to get the surgery done.

To this day, I still think something went wrong in the surgery. Something affected his kidneys. We took him to different vets for opinions, but no one had anything to offer. The one year I didn't take him for a check-up (2004-05) is the year things became much, much worse. By March 2005 I knew something was wrong. And by April we were told 75% of his kidneys had failed. He couldn't go to the bathroom, he wouldn't drink or eat anything, and it killed me. We had no choice but to put him down. A decision I will regret the rest of my life. I didn't try hard enough to save him. Maybe I did and maybe I didn't. He was 14 going on 15-years-old when he left me.

And now Sassy just had her 15th birthday. She's had her health problems over the past few years. Pancreatitis, IBS, and other stomach issues. My sister has spent so much money on making sure Sassy's pancreas and IBS was under control that we never imagined any other health problem would pop up. But a new health problem has popped-up. A bone tumor, about the size of a candy Gobbstopper, sits on her lower jaw. On the jaw of a cat who has been as tiny as she was the day we took her home. What was once a little nodule has become huge. It's grown tremendously over the past three weeks. Where did it come from? Why is it so big?

On Monday, we will find out if this bump is bone cancer. If it's bone cancer then my other best friend will be sick with something just as deadly as Randy was when he was about 15. This would mean my cats are all cursed to fall to some awful peril at 15. It's silly to contemplate I'm cursed, but I feel like it. I feel like I'm being smited for trying so hard to take care of my cats. For loving my cats above anyone else. I can't help it.

An indoor cat who has always had their immunizations, been seeing the only internal medicine vet in Southern Washington state every six months for a check-up, and been fed the best food should not become ill at 15. It's not fair. Randy may have not been taken care of as well because we never had the money to take him to the vet every six months. I only have myself (and my parents, really) to blame for that. But for Sassy... it just doesn't make sense. It just comes down to the fact I'm cursed.

I'm hoping and praying I'm wrong. That 15 may be a time when something bad happens, but it isn't the cause of the downfall. It isn't the time when they'll leave me forever. I'm hoping this bump - cancer or not - can be treated and soon. Sassy deserves to live another five years. Besides, I told her before she has to live til she's 20. And she owes me the five years Randy lost (he was also meant to live until 20), so she has to be a minimum of 25 when she leaves this Earth. I refuse to settle for any less! And I refuse to be cursed!

I know that evidence is going to suggest that I will let you down

I. Hate. Boys. Frustrating, infuriating boys! 20-year-olds "knowitalls". HA! Wankers. No one ever, ever, ever gets away with dissing my MA. Ever. And no one ever gets away with dissing UK! What an idiot.

I haven't let a guy wind me up like this in a while. And no, I do not have any sort of crush on the guy in question. Sure I thought he was all right looking when I met him, but really. He's a wanker. It may be fun to talk to him and I know he's never serious; however, he really gets on my nerves. He knows how to push my buttons. And I hate that. Hate it. I always win. I'm always right! My defense mode is excellent by now. Somehow he's made it past the shield. Dammit.

Okay, so I do make fun of him for his attempts at getting with girls. (I tell him he'll never be able to get with a girl) And I make fun of his hair. He had Jim hair and then buzzed it all off. Now he looks like a potato with a bit of fuzz on top. No girl is going to go for that. Sorry. Hahahaha.

Maybe he's getting back at me for being so mean... Nah. He's just a tosser! Plain and simple.

I think the biggest thing here is the fact he's 20 and immature. I've met two 20-year-olds, one 19-year-old, and one 18-year-old guy over the past few weeks and it's amazing that I even talk to them. They're a lot younger than me. And a lot more immature. Way more immature than the 24-year-old guys I know now. I think when guys start reaching the 25-year-old range they start calming down. But these guys have years to go. Years. And I don't know if I can talk to them much longer knowing they have years to go until they reach the calming down age range.

I was once 20 and I remember how boys were then. They were very frustrating, but I think I handled it a heck of a lot better then than I do now. Now, I try to outsmart them. And it's kind of hard to with these guys because they're pretty educated. I had an argument with one of my 20-year-old guy friends about LBJ and his Great Society. Any guy I knew when I was 20 wouldn't have been able to argue that with me about that. So these youngins I know now are a bit smarter than the 20-year-olds I knew four years ago. Maybe that's why they're more impossible to deal with!

I hate it when people - especially young boys - question my knowledge. And argue with me. I already argue enough with the most immature person on the planet (my dad) on a daily basis; so I don't need to be arguing with some full-of-shit 20-year-old bloke on top of that.

Whhyyyyy. Why me. Stupid boys. Stupid, stupid boys. Stupid for thinking you're all smart even though you still have so much more to learn. (Which I know we all have more to learn in life, but they're four years behind!) And they're stupid for just being a boy. I already thought boys were stupid because they operate in stupid ways. Stupid with their drunk text messages filled with weird sayings and being all secretive. Stupid with the way they seem interested, but then they're not interested. (And sometimes its because they're f-ing taken. What is that all about?!) Stupid with the fact they always have to f-ing flirt. (Because you don't!) Stupid with thinking girls are more difficult to figure out then they are. (HA boys are way harder to figure out) Stupid! And toss on the 'smarter than thou' symptom and you've got a real mess. A recipe for pissing me off big time!

AGH. This is why I don't talk to younger people and/or boys. They just piss me off. That's it. After my OFA stint, no more talking to younger guys. They're just full of it.

Holy shnikes!

It's been so long since I've written on this blog. So many ideas have flown through my head over the past few months on what I could write on here, but I never make it to the computer to do so. Yes, I'm lazy. But I need to act on my inspiration as I feel that I am becoming well, stupid.

I was discussing the idiocy that is Hitler and his book Mein Kampf with my sister tonight and I found that all the words I used to throw in those types of conversations have evaded me. I am the Holocaust history buff. I wrote a 30 page thesis on the local coverage of the Holocaust in three regions of the U.S. and compared the coverage to local isolationism sentiment to rate how much people in each area really knew about the European atrocities being committed by the hands of the Nazis during my senior year of undergrad, for cheese sake. (WHEW try saying that five times fast) If I can't bring in simple words related to my historical topic of choice, then it clearly means I'm becoming stupider with each passing day.

Sure, I read books, magazines and newspapers. I watch the news every night. (local news - agh, quelle horreur) I read the news on my iPhone and on my favourite pages several times a day. I watch TV shows that are entertaining and interesting. Yet, I feel stupider today than I did nine months ago. Maybe it's because I started watching 'Dancing With the Stars?' this season. That mush just might be attributing to my lowering IQ. You never know.

Or maybe it's the fact that I live in a boring suburb and am surrounded by nothing but a few commercial buildings, lots of housing communities, and SUVs driven by angry military wives? NAAAAHHH! (ahem, YES)

Yes, I live in a Washington suburb that is near two (count 'em, TWO) military bases but that surely must not have anything to do with the fact that life out here SUCKS. Nothing but houses. Sleeper communities, as they used to say. (don't know who exactly used to say that phrase, though) AGH need to be near life! A bar! Concert halls! Friends! Intellectual conversations and beings! Seattle has that, sure, but it's so far away! Damn. It.

In conclusion, I need to write more. Because clearly I have gone insane by not doing so.

I need this old train to breakdown

Who am I? Where am I going? -- these are questions I ask myself everyday. I've gotten to the point where I don't know what my purpose is anymore. Am I meant to be a journalist? A civil servant? A retail worker? A person who has to file bankruptcy at a very tender age?

Everyone I know from England (with an exception of some people in a course that wasn't journalism related) has gotten a bloody job or internship by now. People from my course and broadcast are in New York, yukking it up while I struggle to find something worthy of my MA degree.

I know the economy is failing. (quickly, might I add) I know I have limited journalistic experience except for my blogging habit and what I learned at uni. I know that these two issues are what's stopping me from getting a job. (And maybe because I don't have a license to properly operate a motor vehicle) But why are all these other people lucking out when I have a sharp mind and an eagerness to learn?

I've been looking for a job since December (just here and there) and super actively since August. I've had some interviews, but never any luck past that. It's depressing to be looked over for a job.

I don't know how chronically unemployed people do it. How they don't feel defeated when they don't get a job. They were probably never raised to believe in themselves and set goals, true, but still. Being unemployed sucks.

What I do to fill my days of unemployment is boring too. I apply to either retail or journalism jobs (after spending time searching), then I watch TV or aimlessly click through the infinite space of the internet until it's time to prepare dinner. Then it's back to doing whatever I can find to fill my time. Any opportunity I get to go outside is exciting. I even enjoy going to the grocery store now. I use to hate going to the store! But anything --anything!-- I can do to get my mind off the fact I have $0 to my name, bills to pay, and no job on the horizon is worth it.

I just want to go to sleep and not wake up. Until someone calls me with a fantastic job offer, that is. Then I'll be fully awake and ready to go. But for now I'm just going to bum around my house and think wistfully how life could have been different if only I had changed some things around.

I don't want to get involved, but...

...as a journalist I can't ignore this:

"The beating of two Japanese journalists by police in western China drew an official apology Tuesday, but Beijing also set new obstacles for news outlets wanting to report from Tiananmen Square in the latest sign of trouble for reporters covering the Olympics." (New Fears about Olympic press freedoms)

China is a communist country, I get it. It has limits on its press and their rules are not something you should take lightly. But don't offer to host an international event in your country, then (pretend to) fail to recognize that the press are going to want to get behind every angle of what's happening in the country before, during, and after the event takes place. The job of the press is to find an angle that is presentable to the public. You can't report mundane information like "China is smoggy. Olympics start Friday" every day of the week. You have to see chip through the exterior to see why the government is so uptight and what is occurring against the Chinese system. And if China thinks they can avoid the international threshold of what makes a story a story, well, then they've got another thing coming. Riots held by the press will be larger than those held in Tibet. Mark my words.

I want to give China the benefit of the doubt, really I do, because we should know better. We show know that any "promises" given by a Communist country are about as good as the paper their written on. And after 97 years since the Bolsheviks rolled in and communism took over Russia and Asia, we should know not to mess with Communist countries' long-installed rules. But, I guess us Westerners will never learn.

Things every expat should know

My time in Sheffield is coming closer to an end with five days until my departure. I have crossed a few things off my list of 'things to do before I leave', which is always a relief. One thing I did not put on my list was to learn more cultural things about England. It seems dumb to mention something like that, especially after living in the UK for 10 months, but I think it should be a high priority of mine. Why is that? Because a) I want to use slang that will confuse people in the US and b) I want to share what I acquire of British culture with my fellow peers so you don't look like such an idiot if you visit the UK.

With this said, I now would like to present to you my guide for Americans living in or visiting the UK:

1) Drop these words and phrases from your repertoire...:
-Garbage, trash can
-Pants
-Awesome, cool
-Hoodie
-Date/dating, make out
-Bar
-Yo, what's up, hey, hi
-Candy
-Excuse me
-Cell phone, call, drop-by
-Cute
-Tired
-Sneakers, tennis shoes
-Clean, do the dishes, laundry
-Grocery store, drug store
-Period
-School, class, teacher, professor

2) And pick up these words instead...:
-Rubbish, bin. Brits will make fun of you if you say garbage! (at least my flatmate makes fun of me...)

-Pants = underwear in the UK, so you can use this word for that article of clothing. Otherwise, be smart and use trousers or jeans when you're talking about the article that covers your bottom half.

-Awesome and cool are used, but rarely. Instead adopt words such as: good, nice, etc.

-Hoodie does not mean anything to Brits. Just call it a sweater or a jumper.

-Dating is kind of a foreign concept in the UK. They call it going out, which we Americans use this to describe a relation status...when we're 10.

-You made out with a bloke, eh? Well, you can tell your mates you snogged a guy or you got off with a guy. Which that last statement sounds dirty to us Americans, I know, but it's a legit form of our tired American term.

-Say it with me now: PUB. Not bar. PUB. Very good!

-You can say yo, hey, hi, what's up all you want, but you should probably drop the yo and what's up in favour of the good old fashion greeting of hello. If you're up North (like I am), you can say hiya!

-Asking where the candy is results in giggles. Asking where the sweets are means you will be lead to the aisle that is overflowing with Cadbury. (Best aisle in the store, if you ask me!)

-Unfortunately there is no word that can replace 'excuse me.' If you say this word, you get terribly weird looks. Instead, just smile or nod if you're about to run into someone and are sorry about that near-accident. If you're in a shop and a person won't move, a good ole huff oughta do the trick. Or you can just make room for yourself and get to whatever it is you wanted. Space bubbles here are quite small, so don't freak out. Which I did freak out when I first got here, but I'm over it now. Now, I run over people if they get in my way. Mwhahaha.

-I still tell people to call my cell phone, which Brits understand these terms because of the influx of American television shows and films into the UK; however, if you want to feel like a real Brit, tell people to ring you on your mobile. (pronounced mo-bile) And if you're going to drop-by somewhere, say you'll call at such-and-such hour. (By the way -- ALWAYS be on time in the UK. Especially if you're going to lecture)

-Kittens are cute. Puppies are cute. Boys are not cute. Boys you fancy (like, have a crush on) are fit, nice, good-looking, or hot. I got asked by a friend if it was true we say people are 'cute' when we're attracted to them and when I said yes, I was surrounded by the sound of laughter. Yeeahh...

-You can say you're tired, but it's much cooler to say you're shattered or knackered.

-Don't say sneakers and ESPECIALLY don't say tennis shoes. Yikes. Always, always, always say trainers. And when in doubt, just say shoes!

-If you're going to clean your room, then you're going to tidy your room. If you want to do a load of laundry, you're doing the washing. If you want to offer to do the dishes, say you'll do the washing up.

-It doesn't matter what store you go into -- they are all called shops. WHSmith, to H&M, to Tesco Express. Grocery implies you're going to the green grocer, which is like a market. And if you are going to a huge grocery store, call it a supermarket.

-Yes, I know what you're thinking. They have another word for that time of month? No no, don't be silly. It's the same word in the UK, Germany, Canada, whatever. But if you're talking about the dot that goes at the end of a sentence, then it's a full-stop.

-Going to school means you're five. Going to uni (university) means you're going to an institute that teaches people 18 and up. (And don't say college -- that's part of their high school system) And you can't go to class in uni, but you can go to lecture or seminar. Need to talk to your teacher/professor? Well, you'll find a teacher in secondary school and a professor has a PhD, so you need to go see your tutor or course leader.


Well that's all for my cultural guide today... But check back tomorrow for a continuation! Whoo. I'm still learning things so I have to prolong the publication of my list, you know. So, see ya tomorrow kids.

I want you to stay and I guess I could give you a line

Today I went to Oxford. Since I started my obsession with everything British at the age of 14, I've wanted to go to uni there. I almost applied to the MA in Classics there, but I changed my emphasis in history to Holocaust, so that kind of went out the window... But it was nice to see the city and university of a place where I once wanted to study. And it was nice to see another British city. I've only been to like, five of them and train stations in two other cities. How sad is that? I've been in England for eight months and I've barely travelled. Yes, money and time has a lot to do with that conundrum, but I should have travelled more. I should have done more British things in general anyway.

So, with less than two weeks left to go, I have made a list of things I need to do before I leave.

Things to do Before I Leave:
1) Have a roast dinner
2) Go to Chatsworth House in the Peak District
3) Participate in a pub quiz (which I'm doing on Monday!)
4) See a local band live
5) Go to the coast
6) Have fish and chips (I've only had chips...)
7) Travel to Scotland
8) Track down Alex Turner! (lead singer of Sheffield hereos, Arctic Monkeys)
9) See a castle
10) See more of London
11) Go to Manchester and Leeds - properly!
12) Have a traditional British pudding
13) Have high tea
14) Go to Sherwood Forest
15) Flirt with more nice British boys. Met some cool ones recently, but they're all taken. So basically, I need to do some more harmless flirting. Gotta get back in the game before I go back to the US, yeah? (even though I do not want a US boyfriend! gross)

There are more things I need to do before I leave, but I cannot think of them. If anyone has any suggestions, let me know.

I promise this is not a test

I went with my flatmate Ama today to find the primary school where she was supposed to vote at for the local elections today. It was one we had never heard of, but it was apparently very near by. We went, found the school, were shocked and amazed at this little area that we never knew existed. The school was built in 1875 and it was just beautiful. It looked like it could be a castle. Or something out of Harry Potter. Sometimes this city just takes my breath away.

When Ama and I walked back to our flat, a realization came over me: I leave in two months and 10 days. I'm leaving Sheffield probably forever.

And as we walked past the distinctive British parking meters, dashed through traffic driving on the wrong side of the road, and walked past Devonshire Green, I became sad. I won't be able to find these kinds of things ever again. No more Division Street, no more Starbucks where the cute guy barista knows my drink, no more Forum and the taxis that sit outside it after its dark, no more usage of public bins... Nothing that's distinctively Sheffield/UK will be around me ever again.

AW MAN. Why? I hate getting attached to things because then I get sad. I don't like being sad!

This time last year I was packing my things up and doing a happy dance because I was FINALLY getting out of Tucson. Away from the constant cloud of dirt that surrounded my line of vision and away from people I once considered my best and oldest friend, then only to leave with the mind frame to never ever speak to her again. I was so glad to graduate and be done with my undergrad career. When my family showed up at my front door on graduation day, I wanted to collapse into my mom's arms and cry. I was so happy to be going back to where I belonged--the Pacific Northwest.

Now that I'm in Sheffield, I have found where I truly belong. I think I was meant to say 'hiya' and 'cheers'. No one says things like that in the US. While some Brits may be a helluva lot bitchier than people in the US, I find that I don't mind. Saying excuse me and having to be verbally polite all the time is quite exhausting. A smile can go a long way here. That's how it should be. Then again, I do love those looks of "what are you like?!" when I say "excuse me" to get past someone. Ah, classic.

Over seven months of my live have flown past me and really, I don't know where they went. I still feel like I have more to learn, more to see, and more things to experience. I don't want to go! I <3 Sheff!

While my course and course mates do drive me crazy and experiencing homesickness sucks, I find that I don't want this to be over. My entire life I have been waiting for things to speed up and past me because I couldn't deal with them any longer. Now, I can't get my life to slow down! Time does goes by a lot quicker as you get older. I have definitely noticed such a trend.

I will apply for jobs in the UK so I can try to create some grasp on to the things that have been uniquely comforting to me these past few months. I think the main reason why I want to stay is because of my friends. Who else is going to drink Starbucks everyday with me? Who is going to have an essay research cram session with me? Who is going to ask me "is this true about America?..."? Who is going to sit in the kitchen and chat with me over a brew?

I know I have American friends who will gladly sub into these roles, but... it's just not the same. It's not the same if they don't have a cool British or German accent. (AWWW I'm going to miss my friend from Munchen SO MUCH!!!!!!!!!!) I miss my US friends and my friends here could never sub into their roles. It works both ways. God, when I came over here I told myself I wouldn't get attached. HMPH. Too late for that now.

Just cross your fingers I don't start becoming withdrawn, depressed, and a bitch over the next few months. I tend to do that when I know I need to remove myself from somewhere. Which sounds stupid coming from the girl who has moved 21 times. I'm used to just living my life and then all of sudden be somewhere else and starting over. Well, I guess I can't do anything about my new habit. We can thank Tucson for it.

Ode to Sheffield, I love you so! You have given me lots of things to have (H&M!) and to hold (err--an umbrella). I'll never forget your dodgy streets and moochers of the state. I'll never forget the fact you introduced me to my best mates. The new vocab you have supplied to me will come quite handy whilst in a row with some guy called Joe who doesn't believe I ever lived here. The plane ride home will be torturous, oh... but don't forget that one day I'll be back.

(don't ever let me write poetry ever again. what were you thinking? jeez. lol)

M&Ms and Goldfish

(Are the two things I'm eating right now--at 1.30 in the morning. Ye-ah, I'm gonna gain weight if I keep eating as much junk food as I am now)

Anywho...

I can't sleep. I was inspired by my lil sis to make a list of things that are happening/have happened here in Sheffield.

1. I didn't go on the London trip with my course and broadcast today. Am I a bad student? No. I'm a smart student for staying behind. (Plus if I have to see another hostel ever again in my life, I will hurl)

2. I'm features editor of the electoral magazine my course is doing in honour of the upcoming local election. It's going to f-ing rock. And the course is lucky I stayed back because otherwise, this magazine wouldn't reach the catalyst level of awesome it's meant to reach.

2b. This sounds snotty--but I'm SO GLAD I'm feature editor because let's face, it'll look FANTASTIC on my CV. I want to be a current affairs magazine journalist anyway. (And I'm uber organized and totally freaking awesome so uh, yeah. This magazine is going to look beauty-ful!)

3. I changed my return plane ticket from 25 August to 11 July. I'm going home in July now. I have about two months and one week to go until I leave. I am super super sad. I <3 Sheffield so much. The city doesn't have TONS to offer, but it's offered me a lot of good times as it is. I met some friends-for-life here, had great laughs and times with my mates, and seen some good concerts. What more can a girl ask for in life? Maybe a MA course worth giving a shit about would be good...

4. I wrote an AWFUL essay this past weekend. I'm proud that I got it done in a weekend, but really, it could have been better. Maybe if the essay prompt hadn't been written so horribly or been so broad, I could have done a better job!

5. I saw We Are Scientists au concert last Thursday. Blew off an entire day of research so I could get ready for the show. I haven't properly gotten ready for a concert in ages. It was brilliant. I loved every second of the show. And, since I left my hair curly, it didn't look like shit when I got out of the concert! I was quite chuffed. Sure, I looked cute for no one but it made me happy to look presentable (and very British like! woo hoo!) for once.

6. I did a proper interview last Friday with Gemma--nanner nanner boo boo! (Whose an awesome journalist now? OH I think I AM!)

7. When your friend asks you "so do you like my brother?" WHILE sitting in her dining room, studying, knowing her brother is going to come home from work soon--it's OKAY TO PANIC. Which is what I did, last Friday. Except I gave a panic-ed answer. Stupid, stupid, stupid. *Note to self: fix this in the near future*

8. I'm going to apply for lots and lots of jobs this week as I enjoy my break away from my course mates.

9. I'm going to cut my hair soon. Between this week and two weeks from now. I might go in to a salon (don't know which one yet--there are like, a GAZILLION of them down my street) and just say "give me the coolest style possible" and see what happens.

10. It's a bank holiday on 5 May. My first UK bank holiday! Oh I have to tell my parents I love them on that day. I told them I only love them on Tuesdays and bank holidays. (For those of you who don't know, the 'Tuesdays and bank holiday' thing is a line from Lilo and Stitch)

11. Last but not least--I passed Law and Magazine from last term! I found out last week. Yeah, four months after I turned in stuff but, whatever. I passed!


Heeeeyy whadda ya know! I'm sleepy now. Bon soir! Gute Nacht!

With the lights out!

When I was younger and lived in Arizona, the power would usually go out during a summer thunderstorm. My family would gather in the living room with the few candles we had and the huge camping flashlight and sit there, doing nothing. The power outages would last maybe one hour to three at the most. Maybe sometimes longer, but I can't remember. These were fun times for us. I couldn't tell you why, but there is nothing like a power outage to bring the family together.

Yesterday we had a power outage at Victoria Hall. Except it wasn't windy or raining. And it was just our hall that lost power; the two dorm halls behind me still had their power. The city around us still had power. It was strange, but fun at first.

At first when the lights went out at 6pm, I thought my lightbulb went out. I was watching a DVD on my computer so I figured that's what happened. Soon I was able to push past my blonde moment and realize that my laptop had a battery to run on AND it was impossible that both my desk lamp and the light on the wall conspired together to go out at the same time.

I picked up my cell phone and used the backlight to poorly guide my stumblng steps out into the hallway to make sure I was not the only one to be plunged into sudden darkness. There I found my flatmate Cindy checking the fuse box and Ama dashing into her room to gather her flashlight. It was really a power outage! This isn't the first time its happened to us; however, the power flickers we've been exposed to previously never lasted for longer than a minute. We concluded we must be the only flat without power and opened the front door to find light in the stairwell. Problem was, all the flats across the way were dark also. And then our neighbour came out to see what was going on. Her power was out and so was everyone else's.

Me and my flatmates gathered in the common room and stared at each other. Conversation was hard at first. It was not a normal power outage. At least, for me it wasn't. I mentioned my memory of power outages and no one seemed interested. I left it at that.

Eva stumbled into the flat an hour later and began panicking. She's a student teacher and needed to make her lesson plans for the next day. She soon left us for the Information Commons. The only amusement she brought to our situation (before her departure) was the fact she went out into the hallway and expected there to be light, burst back in saying "I can't see!," grab a candle and dash off.

By 7.30, I was falling asleep. Ama and Cindy were hungry. We decided to go to Pizza Express. I went along to contribute to more witty conversation and to see if they had dessert. I ate ice cream while Cindy and Ama had pizza. Cindy fell asleep as she was eating her pizza. It was quite amusing.

But not as amusing as sitting in the living room with your parents, watching the lightening roll through the black sky.

We returned home and played Taboo by candle light. Our evening started to pick up--despite the fact we did not have electricity--but by 11pm we were tired. That's right, I went to bed at 11pm. I don't think I've done that since I was ill. Or in high school. Ama spoke to the porter to see what was going on before I went to sleep and reported to us that an underground power cable burst and the engineers weren't coming our way until 10pm. OH MY GOD! Cindy's friend John (who lives in our complex and came over to play Taboo) thought it was a conspiracy. He's quite the conspiracy theorist.

I was able to get ready for bed by the LED light on the back of my phone (without stubbing any toes, thank you very much!) and I soon fell asleep. I was awoken at 7am when the porter came in to flip on our fuse box. I silently gave a shout of glee and settled back to bed.

After that whole experience, I've decided I don't like power outages. Our food all went bad (and I had been grocery shopping that day and the day before with new food in the fridge and freezer) and that was a lot of money lost. I don't think the stupid energy company or the dorm hall understands how much money I lost! And how much good food I lost! I lost microwave chips, for Pete's sake. Chips! My favorite food besides ice cream. Oi!!

When I was younger, I never paid attention to the politics of a power outage. (Yes there are politics to such an event) I used to sit in a candle-lit living room and do nothing with my family. It was like the only time we would come together as a family. Maybe that's why I liked it so much. Now, being without power is like being tortured by an enemy in a dirty POW camp. You can't open the fridge or freezer because you'll let the cold air out. You have to toss the food in the fridge/freezer out if the power is out for over three hours. It's impossible to see where you're going or know who you are in all that darkness. Thinking of things to do that does not require power during an outage is horrible. Relying on candles that may burn your house down is nerve-wrecking. You can't access the internet or use a cordless phone. And all you can do is go out to eat or go to sleep. Yawn.

If this happens again, I'm going to find the cause of the problem and fix it myself. I hate power outages.