Day Eighteen- The Man

The last thing any American thinks about is how susceptible we are when it comes to capitalist exposure. The system of free enterprise that apparently suits our country so well, is a flawed system with room for a plethora of errors. In short, America needs to get it's head out of it's ass and pull itself together. 

When I was a senior in high school, the biggest triumph at hand was the inauguration of our beloved Commander in Chief. It seemed as if hope was radiating out of every pore in his body. The freshman could be heard arguing over the deficit, when half of them weren't even sure as to the meaning. The sophomore's sat unscathed, passing notes or shouting obscenities in hopes of attention. Juniors, oh predictable juniors, proceeded with obnoxious and badgering racism. And my class of intellectually developed Neanderthals could feel a sense of change from our sweaty fingertips to our overanxious groins. 

When Obama came into the coveted throne of Presidency, hope swept the nation. American's had faith in their country again and the energy was nothing short of contagious. But as time went on, Obama began to lose the faith of his new followers. 

Popularity diminished as the age old topic of money came into play. As it stands today, we still owe China $1.164 trillion, out of 4.3 trillion that we owe to other countries. And according to statistics, we have spent $830.2 billion dollars on the war in Iraq and Afghanistan. Not to mention $77.1 billion dollars we requested in the recent supplemental that extended further funding to these wars, for a total of $907.3 billion dollars... $907.3 billion dollars we don't technically have.  

Besides the good and bad our country has been through in the years: through Clinton, Bush, Bush (AGAIN, don't ask me why) and Obama (the great black hope) America's capitalist structure has been assaulting and insulting its citizens. The banks write up loans, and pool the money into funds, decoupling them from the loan originator, and selling them on the open market over and over again.  The oil industry, the insurance industry, the drug industry, the food industry...I mean pick one and there's probably an obvious symptom showing that it's hostile to the common man.

According to this Engladian, America is going to the dogs. Advice- get out while you can or help reform this fucked up country! We are the voices of tomorrow and the less we speak out, the less influence our rights have. Use the rights that those old guys in wigs gave you! As for me, I will be checking up on the benefits of dual citizenship.

Day Seventeen- Unspoken Behaviors

The nice old lady in the grocery store secretly wants you dead because you took the last 2% gallon of milk. Your younger sibling secretly admires you, but they'd never give you the satisfaction of saying it out loud. And your best friend will scream at you inadvertently behind the boarders of silent cowardice.

Sometimes, no one will put into words what they are truly feeling... bottled emotions are easier to deal with than the brunt of raw emotions. Dealing with someone face to face is easier said than done when it comes to anything emotionally compromising; consequently, most of us try to avoid it.
Recently, I've been struggling with a friend of mine. I don't even think she realized the tension until recently. Amidst all the particulars, she treats me like crap. I've been ignored, demeaned, and yelled at for caring. I have defended her on countless occasions because she was my friend. On several occasions, I've had some strong words with A. about her, defending her blindly....until I couldn't take it anymore. I let her know that she needed to start treating me like a friend and contact me when she was ready. That was a month ago. And still nothing.

What hurts the most is that I defended her. And now I'm not even sure if she'd extend the same courtesy to me.

But through all the bull shit and drama, I still find myself missing her. I want to call her...apologize like I always do.... I won't, though. Not this time.

So dear reader, listen and listen good. If you have a friend, boyfriend, girlfriend, parent, or co-worker that doesn't treat you how you deserve, stand up and be heard. Don't think you have to take it. Otherwise the marks from the stampede running all over you, will be permanent.

Day Sixteen- The Normalcy

Last night....was a blast; and yet these Jagermeister sunglasses don't predict much bliss out of my morning. Freshly squeezed orange juice? Forget it....I feel like I've been freshly squeezed of all my energy. People calling in with their inane questions and needs but do my callers give a crap about my needs? No. Selfish bastards.

I was almost late to work this morning which started the day off on the wrong foot altogether. Wearing the same clothes I wore yesterday, I can sniff out that stale smell of beer and smoke. I left the boyfriend curled up in bed, sleeping peacefully which is where I SHOULD be right now. But instead I am booking people for tours that I would never have the money to take. (Little do they know I get them for free ;)

This brings up a topic that A. and I were discussing last night...and that is the concept of a perfect world. Out on the steps of my apartment building, we talked about how in our perfect world we would get paid just to be....or if we were able to backpack around Europe...I could sell my writings and we would be vagabonds... not having to deal with the harsh consequences that are realistically a possibility. Life without responsibilities, ties and unnecessary attachments.

Seriously, think about it! If we had the freedom to do what really made us happy and if we were able to get by comfortably, the world would be a much happier place. Artists and actors wouldn't have to worry about where their next job was coming from. Musicians would play just for the hell of it, ignoring the common cookie-cutter genres that limit today's tunes. The suits would have the freedom to lay down the cell phone and lap top and use the passion they ignored in business school. And women wouldn't feel pressured to be an over-the-top feminist or a busty bimbo.

If only the world were perfect. There would be no need for religion, politics, currency or Starbucks. But until our versions of the perfect world are made a reality we have to live in a state of constant imperfect. At least we have a few vices in there to help spice up the normalcy, am I right?

Hope y'all had a good weekend, readers. Over and out!

Day Fifteen- The Perplexities of the Average Female

In my line of work, women are the prominent sex and to be honest, I'm not sure how I feel about it. Travel agents, marketing managers, reservation agents, different cooperate businesses.... most times I communicate with these groups during business hours, a woman is on the other line of the phone.

A favorite radio station of mine reported that while women were assumed to be good bosses in the work place (more compassionate and empathetic) the statistics proved assumptions wrong. Most women who held management positions or ranks of importance were shown to have what is called, "Queen Bee Syndrome." This is when a woman gets protective of her position...she becomes bossy, irate, hard to communicate with as well as transforming into a back-stabbing bitch. Serious symptoms, eh? The conclusion to this state of mind is that positions of leadership in the work place are harder to find for women, so once they obtain that coveted title, they will do anything in their power to keep it.

In the time that I have worked here, I have seen good and bad examples of the average working woman. My bosses are bright, upbeat fashionistas who are friendly, keep the work place fun, and yet when it comes down to it, business is business. While I lucked out, some of our travel agencies have not. We deal with women who seem to be on a constant red streak, if you know what I mean. Mother nature was not kind to their hormonal balancing. (Maybe that's why so many women now-a-days are medicated). Some are quiet and non-assertive. Some have no personality at all.

I have very little faith in humanity, as most of my friends can attest. Occasionally, I hold even less faith in women in particular. Our logic makes no sense...we hold petty grudges, find competition in every woman we meet (especially in the work place) and we are rarely secure in the person we are. We find personal imperfections then become convinced that the person who we are is so seriously flawed that alteration is the only solution to obtain that perfection. This is why I lose faith. There is no confidence any more! Women need to find that balance between the self-obsessed and self-conscious. A happy medium of the self-aware.

So women, if you are feeling less than gorgeous, and high, and true, and fine, and fluffy, and moist, and sticky, and lovely ( <3 you A.K!)....I challenge you this. For each imperfection you find, you have to find something you would never change about yourself. Something totally rad, as A would say. Lets stage a revolution against self doubt! Viva la Revolution!

Day Fourteen- The Daring Duo

Tonight was a night that should be written down. Documented. Remembered.

When I got home from A's house this afternoon I wasn't planning to leave the house again. It had been a long day and I wanted nothing more than to curl up on my bed in that spot where the sun always hits at that time of day.

My cat nap was soon interrupted by my best friend and her boyfriend. I can't say I didnt have a smile on my face when he left. I was happy to have E. to myself.

The night flew by in a typical fashion: make some food, watch a movie...and then when we were participating in a favorite illegal pastime, we decided to take a spur of the moment trip to the store then out to our favorite look out point over the ocean. It's summer here so the sunsets happen at one in the morning.

As soon as we parked, we cracked open the snacks and proceeded with our previous amusement. Not 5 minutes later, flashes of blue and red reflected off my rear view mirror and immediately sent my nervous system on a frenzy.

Trying not to move our upper bodies, we moved our hands to cover evidence. I could hear the chips getting crushed in the rumpled Safeway bag, but then again, every sound was piercing my ears.

A knock on my window. Shit

The cop proceeded to tell us that the parking area was closed. We handed over our ID's. As I passed over my insurance, I prayed to god that my check for this month's insurance had processed.

"Do you have a driver's license, Miss?"

My heart froze. "Is that not it?"

"No.."

I shuffled through my wallet. Nothing.

"Do you have a current drivers licence?"

"Yes." I just didn't know where it was.

He returned to his car and with each step he took, my heart slowed a beat. I glanced over at E. Her eyes were that of a deer-caught-in-head-lights. I imagined my face looked about the same.

Long story short, we were let off scott free. We promised him we'd vamoose, but he didn't have to know we were doing a victory dance as we did so. So back at home are we, and I....am now going to look for my drivers license!

Day Whatever- Being a Good Person 101

Parents do their best to instill in us how to be good people, fully equipped with a spot-on moral compass and impecable integrity. When we pass on into our schooling years we are trained to follow instructions, how to memorize, and the beloved phrase "STOP! and think!" was drilled into our heads. As we grow older, we realize that these are simply guidlines we were set up to follow from infancy. Whether we follow them accordingly isn't really an issue. It's an implied standard.

Today, I have been a good person. Well, according to my exterior I have.

My boyfriend and I had been planning on attending this BBQ our friend was throwing- a couple beers, some steaks...sounded like a good time so we said yes. Today, A. texts me informing me that he wouldn't be going-he wanted to go out and get trashed with a couple of co-workers. And I know you're thinking to yourself, "oh poor you *insert sarcastic eye roll here* suck it up" and I completely understand. I would probably say the same thing to me. But what upsets me more than anything is that now I am a gimp again- crutches, badanges around my foot, limited mobility and anitbotics being pumped through my chest via wires. When A. came to see me during my hospitalization, you could tell it really upset him to be there.

Thinking nothing of it, here we are a day after my discharge and he would rather be out drinking. I think I've pinpointed the reason why- I, Grace the invalid, am no fun.

When A. didn't invite me to drink with his buddies, like he usually would, it suddenly hit me that he can't forget about work when he feels he needs to keep me happy. Keep me from feeling sorry for myself, cheering me up, etc. He needs a chance to forget his worries and he can't do that with me there...not like this.

In the hospital, don't get me wrong, I WASN'T any fun. I was depressed I was there AGAIN. Tied up from being social and healthy. I hated it. A. tried to comfort me, "You'll be out soon," "You'll be ok," yada yada yada. It just made me feel more helpless.

I understand where he is coming from without him having to say it-he's too sweet to say it outright. So, as an attempt to be a good girlfriend and person, I told him to have fun. On the inside, I hate that I'm alone tonight. Sacrifice or lack of lady balls?

Neither. He works hard and deserves fun. I just hate that I can't give him that right now...

So- the key to being a good person? Apparently today it consists of more bottled feelings and forced smiles

Day Thirteen- Oh Tourists

Tourists are an interesting breed. They ask questions that seem completely ridiculous to locals. As a reservation agent, I hear a lot of bizarre questions every day that I thought some of you might find funny.

*Foreign lady- "I don't get bananas...why are there so many na na's?"

*Texan tourist; "What do you call these white birds out in the harbor?"
  Local: "Well usually we call them sea gulls when they're out at sea, but since these are in the bay we call them 'baygels'.

*"Oooh! Honey, look at the moose terd!"

*"Do you spray paint your glaciers blue?"

*"How far is the dock above sea level?"


Comment with stupid tourist blips that you have heard in your area...I want to see if Alaskan tourists are just as stupid as other breeds ;)

Day Twelve- "The Working Poor"

My mother told me, when I began my life as an independent woman, that I was the perfect example of the working poor. I asked her what she meant by this and she told me that no matter how hard you work and how much money you make, unless you set aside money you will always be living from pay check to pay check. I hate that she knew exactly where I was at in life.

My mother has always been a perceptive individual. As much as I hate to admit it, she's one of the three people who fully understands me. And I didn't want to admit that she was right. But... well.

I have never had more than a couple cents in my bank account when the first week after payday rolls around. I begin to get desperate: gas, food and other necessities become precious commodities and my ego plummets to my gut, proceeding to fall out my ass.

Yesterday was one of the worst days yet. My gas light turned on as I went to work. A. called me to pick him up from work, once I got home. In a desperate attempt to make it to A., I faked crocodile tears so a very large black man would spare $5.00 for gas. Once I picked him up, my summer tires began to loosen. I texted my best friend for someone besides A. to  talk to, but she didn't answer. Sunglasses did a poor job at hiding my tears of frustration and no matter how I tried to hide them, A. caught sight of them.

Once we got home, he made me tea and just held me. He proceeded to tell me how much he loved me and how we would keep each other afloat. I suppose he meant well. As much as I wished his words would bring me comfort, they made me feel even weaker. Staying afloat didn't sound stable to me. My life itself isn't stable I suppose.

I think at that point, I didn't even have to tell him my "crocodile tears" were 100% genuine.

When I got home that night, I walked past my roomate and her boyfriend, bid them goodnight and crawled under the covers, clothes and all. Cacooning myself in my sheets, I began to sob into my pillow. Why did everything bad have to happen at once?

Please, dear reader, don't mistake me.  I don't want you to think I ask for pity. And my situation may not even seem that bad to some of you that have gone through worse. A factor in all situations however is that sinking feeling of hopelessness.

What I do want to try and convey to you is that you are human. Shit happens. But no matter how frustrated you get, remember it could be worse. Surround yourself with people who love you. Drink some tea. Smoke a cigarette. Just let go, relax and keep your head up.

Or listen to Bob Marley ;)

Day Eleven- Routine

Routine is a word that can comfort one person and yet completely disrupt another.

 I like to think I straddle the line. I love coming home from work to relax for a period of time. Heading to the gym. Pushing a pencil. These are the things I like garunteed in my life.

And yet, I still love the adventures taken on pure whimsical fancies and spontaneous moments of life.

Last night, I was hanging out with my roomate and best friend, E. We were exhausted from a day of doing nothing all afternoon and our eyelids felt weighted down by anvils. Then I got a call. A. informed me he was on his way over. I glanced over at my laptop: 12:30. I had to work at 7am this morning. What could he possibly need at this time of night?

"You'll see," was all he said when I questioned  his motives.

Ten minutes dragged on. Tick by tick, I fidgeted awaiting my man. Finally, he rolled his old Ford into the driveway. As I buzzed him in and turned the corner to meet him, I saw a Safeway select pizza and a boquet of a dozen red long stemmed roses. I could feel the stupid grin spread across my face, but I made no attempt to supress it.

I could stay awake for this.

What makes this situation even better is in the first six months A. and I were dating, I bought him roses in an attempt to be romantically spontaneous and non-conformist. I left them on his door step with a love letter. He still has the dried roses.

For those of you who are convinced there is not one romantic bone in your body, please stop reading at this point.

But in all seriousness, I have never felt this way before. Waiting on pins and needles just to hear one word. One whisper from this person. You can't wait to see them even though you can count the hours you have been apart on one hand. Heart strings still get tugged, letting loose the butterflies that have been inhabiting your stomach from day one. And knowing that they feel the exact same way? It brings such a state of bittersweet bewilderment and assurance. It's a good feeling.

So, today dear reader,make time in your routines for love. It can't be planned so don't bother penciling it in. Just let it happen.
<3

Day Ten- Success

My wonderful roommate and best friend has proven to be a walking archives of useful information. Last night, just as the night was winding down, she gave me a packet that her boss had given her earlier that day.

"A lot of useful tips in there," she said.

The "packet" was four pages folded over to mimic a book. The title read: Secrets to Success. It spoke about self-motivation, positivity, and being a go-getter (except it sounded less archaic and cliche). It recommended setting goals for yourself and doing everything in your power to accomplish them because "your biggest asset and hindrance in success is yourself." So, here are my goals.

One year from now
1. Finish my book
2. Work for the University paper one more time
3. Save up enough money to get a place with A.
4. Go back to school
5. Make enough money not to worry about bills
6. Lose 25 lbs.
7. Be a better sister/girlfriend
8. Sky diving
9. Hot air balloon ride
10. Get another tattoo

5 years from now
1. Living with/Married to A.
2. Living in British Columbia
3. Backpack Europe (or at least Ireland)
4. Visit St. Paul's cathedral where Princess Di got married to Charles
5. Drink a Guinness in an Irish or German pub
6. Own a truck
7. Write a best seller or an erotic novel
8. Speak another language fluently
9. Teach piano lessons
10. Get another tattoo

Haha quite the to do list eh?

Anyway, dear reader, I want you to do what I just did, or at least get an idea of what you want to accomplish personally. Balance out personal goals with work goals and success will be biting at your heels. At least that's what the packet told me. And that's what I'm hoping for. So good luck! I'm off to work on my list....right after I finish my coffee....!

Day Nine- R.I.P

I am sick and tired of all your bullshit! Yes! America, I am talking to you! It has gone on long enough and frankly I feel the relationship died long before this, so if you look at it this way, I'm doing us a favor. There's just nothing left between us anymore (besides my annual PFD check).

But seriously, I am fed up with America. The cooperate business structure based on failing capitalism, president's set up to fail (thanks Congress), budget cuts, embezzlements, health care and racism...I could go on and on about all things (America )I hate but when it comes down to it, almost ANYWHERE is better than here.

If you're white and you're reading this, you're probably thinking to yourself, "Oh it's not that bad." I have some news for you. The American dream is dead and so is almost any chance we had at a decent future as a country. Our divided political powers are so preoccupied with matters that should have been closed ages ago, that they don't notice the corruption happening under their noses.

America is racist
America is facist
America claims monogamy
Promotes polygamy

Don't be deceived
Don't be pulled in
This country, tossed out
Garbage bin

As a close to my rant I ask you, the younger generation of America, to get involved in your country's affairs. Everyone else is screwing it up, but instead of just pointing fingers, let me use this as a wake up call to remind you that we are next on the chopping block. If we mess this up, we are no better than our current heads of state.

Otherwise, it's R.I.P. America

Day Eight- First Impressions

I am thankful that first impressions aren't always right. For instance, a new girl has recently joined the office forces of the reservation agent flank.

We'll call her S. S. and I went to high school together and although we never inhabited the same social circles, one was aware of the existence of the other. She hung out with the typical preps: always holding a coffee, American Eagle attire, that brown-slightly-tinged-orange skin, messy buns and manicured nails. I hung out with the drama/music geeks: always humming, over-expressive, loud and goofy. Needless to say, our circles rarely mixed. Pictures of her in her senior slide show outnumbered my pictures 10-1. So, what does any popular-but-not-popular-enough-to-really-matter girl do in that situation? Naturally, I grew to hate S. Guilty by association, that's what I said.

A couple years have passed and S. has crossed my path again. She was recently hired by the company that I work for and she was set to work along side me. I was hesitant at first, whether or not I could like her. After all, it was her group who exiled me to a life of slightly-less-than-popular. 'High school is in the past' I had to remind myself. With strained maturity, I began to talk to her. Her warm smile and easy going attitude were a complete surprise to me and when she asked me to hang out outside of work, my jaw nearly dropped.

High school is a fleeting blip in our lives, when examined with a realistic perspective. But for something that doesn't last, and something that really shouldn't matter to anyone, it never really ends. There is always that voice in the back of your head, feeding you everything self-conscience and negative. The social food chain is always there to remind us that no matter how we try to deny it, we will always have a sweaty-palmed teen inside of us. But in this situation, I saw S.'s relationship with me as progressive. Maybe they weren't all bad.

I am not the best human being. Maybe not even one of the better one's. And that's fine with me. But the fact that I was able to change my mind about someone I had once hated, increases the faith I have in myself as an individual. Just goes to show you, you don't always know as much as you think you do.

Day Seven: 4.20

Yes, ladies and gentleman, boys and girls, stoners of all ages, tomorrow comes the long awaited 4.20!

One day a year, American's unite to celebrate a common past time. Marijuana has been around since god knows when, but was brought to America for recreational use by Mexicans, who transported it across the boarder and into our lifestyles. Half of the memorable music we listen to is made by musicians under the influence. People are constantly coming up with excuses for substance abuse and to that I say: God bless America!

Medicinal purposes, relxation, remembering, forgetting, creative outlets, musical inspiration, peer pressure: there are so many reasons why people do it but the base reason is always the same: it's fun.

When asked which people preferred more, Californian residents claimed to enjoy marijuana more than they did alcohol. They said that while alcohol is fun occasionally, you lose more control of your inhabitions and it causes trouble, illness or addiction more often than not. When stoned, you're inhabitions are still lost to you occasionally, but you become to complacent to do anything about it.

Tomorrow, I wish you a happy 4.20 whether you smoke or not. Be happy, be merry, and remember that crack kills. Not pot :)

Day Six- Potential

When I went back to my old high school, I was approached by a younger classman of mine and he said "Oh it's so good to see someone who's gradutated doing so well for themselves!" I tried to suppress a smile because in Seward, it's hard not to see someone as "doing well". In my mind, I was doing anything but. My classes were dull, my grades were average, and my job at the time payed no where near what it should. I'm sure if someone were to see me now, they would say the same thing and yet I can't bring myself to agree with that.

I am not going to school as my parents hoped I would. I am not traveling, as I hoped I would. Disappointments to myself as well as my parents. Don't get me wrong, I am not doing too bad for myself. Reservation agent jobs pay more than people give them credit for and I am in the process of getting a book published. The best man I know is in love with me, and I with him. Plus, an airy two bedroom apartment with a fireplace and appliances for less than 500 a month is nothing short of ideal for a girl my age.

If I could be anywhere else in the world right now, I would be hitchiking the country roads of Ireland, selling my writings and poetry along the way for bread money. Drinking a Guiness with some washed up Irish sailors. Or maybe I'd find myself in Notre Dam, getting lost in the architecture and catacombs. I might raise some hell with the rebels in Egypt. But instead, I am in an office, left to dream of where I could be.

So, dear reader (whoever you are), remember the dreams you once had and incooperate them into the dreams you have conjured up lately. See if you can find a happy medium so you can meet your personal potential as a human being in general.

Day Five- Ruh Oh

Rosie was only 17 years old when she died due to lethal injection. She was so full of life and energy. She lit up a room whenever she pranced through it. Her personality endeared her to all and even in her last few moments, she forgave those who injected her because her nature wouldn't have allowed otherwise. There was no one more loyal, more comforting and more willing to love.

Rosie is...was...my family dog of 17 years and while young in our years, dog years allowed her at least 119 years.

I was at work when I found out the news. My mother had dutifully sent me an email as she does when any family event takes place. Granted, she had given me plenty of warning. I hadn't seen her more than a week ago when she told me that they had decided to put her down. In her old age, Rosie had developed arthrytis, loss of hearing and nearly the loss of her sight. She stumbled around the house aimlessly and hardly ate. I suppose it was the most humane choice. But even though it wasn't done by me personally, I can't find myself willing to come to terms with killing my own dog.

RIP Rosie. You will be missed

Day Four- Conflicted

Any average American female is conflicted with thoughts of the future. These women could either become wonderful mothers, taking kids to soccer games, attending PTA meetings and rearing the population of tomorrow. Or...they could become fearless business women, schrewd and successful. Or at least those are the only two options we give ourselves.

For some time now, I have contemplated my future and where it would go. I settled on the idea of becomming a writer, traveling the world and living life to no ryhme or reason. But, as most plans go, they were altered almost as quickly as they were made. About a year ago, a wonderful man came into my life. I never thought I would have to share my future, but I've found that I don't really mind so much. In fact, I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with A. And while he is always in my day dreams of the future, the dreams tend to change.

In my first dream, we live in a house, out in the middle of the woods. In the back yard we have a coop for A.'s chickens (yes he wants chickens lol), a beautiful kitchen for me, and a separate room nestled in the back of the house serving as my studio. I'm a writer that works from home and A. lives the life of a specialized

entrepreneur. Possibly a few kids running around. Money never seems important and although we may be poor as church mice, we are perfectly content. And as we get old, we'd sit on the porch drinking ice tea, watching the sun go down.

Another dream I have is considerably different. No kids. No house in the woods. Imagine, if you would, a large, modern apartment. The ceiling is high and every room has a large glass window, allowing natural light to pour in during the day. I have a black desk, sleek and professional. Glasses are perched on the end of my nose as I peer down at my latest manuscript and a free lance article I have just written for Vogue. My passport is full of the places I have traveled with A.: England, Germany, Spain, Fiji, Egypt, India, and Russia. Trophy's of our travels hang up in the living room including a Russian fur hat A. has had since his bachelor pad days. A. has his study on the opposite side of the house. Bookshelves lined with history books and his Canadian hockey player head perched on a mantle piece. His computer is always undergoing changes as he picks it apart and puts it back together again. Money is never an issue and we are able to retire early.

Both of these dreams can be subjected to different variations but the core dream is always the same. Life may not decide to give me either dream. And as cheesy as it sounds, as long as I am facing the world with my man by my side, I'm not afraid of the uncertainty which is my future.

Day Three- Co-Workers vs. Co-Dependents

"There are few whom I love, and fewer still of whom I think well." Jane Austen has always been an author dear to my heart, but with this Pride and Prejudice excerpt, I think she hit the nail on the head.

I can count on one hand, the people whom I would take a bullet for out of love. But when I was in highschool, I was an "I-love-you" whore. I used the words consistantly. I used it with friends, aquaintences, teachers even. Now, after some experience and reflection, I know that love is something sacred. And if I were to go around telling everyone that I loved them when I didn't, not only was I a hypocrite but I would have made no progress since high school. And that thought is nothing short of terrifying.

When I first started at my current job, I took advantage of the fact that no one knew me. For instance, I wear a gaudy $1.49 ring from Forever 21 to ward off the average creep. When I sat down to my first day of training, my boss assumed I was engaged. I didn't tell her otherwise. In a few days, every reservation agent and supervisor was congratulating me on my upcomming wedding. My boss, let's call her J., peppered me with questions: what were my colors? Who were my bridesmaids going to be? Where was it going to take place? Small? Big? As a newlywed, J. was excited at anything pertaining to that fleeting and yet binding sacralige we call marriage. I haven't told her the truth. And I don't think I will.

Co-workers vs. co-dependents. Which would I rather abuse? I now supposedly have a soon-to-be co-dependent, but I'm lying about it. So I am abusing the facade the Holy Church calls marriage. At the same time, I am lying to my co-workers about something, to be quite honest, I wish was a reality. That gaudy piece of glass I wear on my left hand has grown on me and I find part of myself wishing I was genuinely engaged. Usually, I wouldn't care either way who I was abusing, as horrible as that sounds. But the conscience instilled in me by loving yet overbearing, republican Christian parents, won't let me enjoy this little game I created for myself. You could say it's grown over time.

To add to all of this, I do have a special someone. One of those people I'd take a bullet for.

The way I see it is that I have to live with the daily reminder that I am not what I say I am. That is my consequence. I just can't bring myself to expose a game that, while wrong, is still fun.

Day Two- My Box

Pushing a pencil is never the life someone sets out acquire voluntarily. As kids we want to be firefighters and ballerinas and princesses. When we reach our early teens we want to be rock stars, to be rich and famous. Then when the junior year of high school rolls around, no one has a clue. Drift forward five years or so and you will see these same individuals working the typical cubicle. But you see, it's OK. At least for me. Because I won't get stuck here.

I guarantee you that the most potential America can tap into is A) it's children and B) the office drones... the pencil pushers. If half of these people put forth the ideas they dreamt up in their office home that consequently smells like coffee and cooperate ambition, the world would be an entirely different place. And I firmly believe this.

My office is clean. Organized. Everything has its place. But unlike my office, my dreams of "the outside" as I like to call it, are messy, unpredictable and a constant source of pleasure. The best way to describe this, I suppose, is a memory box: filled with tokens and mementos of places you've been, people you've loved and dreams you used to cling onto. But instead, this box is filled with tokens and mementos of places you will go, people you will eventually love and dreams you have yet to conjure up.

My box contains a book or two I have written by dim computer light, Broadway tickets to Wicked, tasteful black and white wedding pictures, plane tickets to Fiji, Ireland and the Netherlands. Possibly a baby photo or two. Whenever the office life gets dull, as it will, I pull out my box and think of what I want to add to it. The list continues to grow.

So today, this Engladian has decided to add yet another thing to her box: a label off of a German beer bottle, which I ordered in German at a German pub. What to add next?

Day One

Not everyone noticed at first. Days would pass as a child that I could go completely undetected. But as I grew older, it became more and more obvious. Finally, here I am at the end of my teens, and I bet you even a deaf man could hear it. No matter how I tried to mask it there it was, a thick accent that made it difficult for me to be understood by anyone.The Engladian accent I was cursed with from birth that progressed with age and maturity as I did. My mother had trouble as I was reaching my early teens. My dad lost all capabilities in understanding me when I started wearing make up and consequently wasn't daddy's little girl anymore. My brother, having grown up with it, is more used to it than anyone I would imagine. Now if one of you were to greet me on the street, you wouldn't notice it at first. But were I to stop you and ask how your grandmother's bridge player's son was, you would find it near impossible. So, although I am no great writer, I am going to attempt to help you acquire a taste for it.


Now you may be asking yourself, "What's an Engladian?" Well, it's exactly what you'd think it to be: the offspring of one Canadian and one Englishman. There is where I lay the blame. Mother and Father. So stereotypical and yet so unconventional that there was no other choice but to produced a child of the same standings. It would stand to reason. In some ways, it's made me lucky: my unconventional life lead to who I am and thats all well and good. But for the things I can't change (my hair color, hot temper, similar expressions, and a nagging conscience I can't shake) I will place all the blame on their shoulders. It just suits me that way.


My parents met at an Alaskan bible college back in the 80's. Dad was in prime seeking a pastoral licence and mom was going for her nursing degree. He was a redheaded ex-seaman recently free of a drinking problem. She was a blonde haired-blue eyed woman in her 30's whose idealistic morals kept her pure. What they found in common I have no clue but after a year or so, they did share one solid, eight pound thing in common: me.


Here I am, 19 years later and still dealing with my accent. Very few people have taken the time to understand it (my boyfriend, best friends, and a few spare others) but that isn't enough. Which is why, I have taken it upon the challenge of expanding and befriending you...whoever you are.