Erm...Hello?

Somebody give me a minute so I can wipe the dust off this place, and make it look like it still functions.

It does still function. I just do a damn bad job of making it actually function like it should.

Anyway.

Hi.

This is either a revival or a resuscitation or a bit of both. But we'll give it a go again, because I kind of don't know how to quit or give up. It's great.

Right now I'm sitting in a coffee shop, wandering through the Manuscript Wishlist and sending out queries for both FROST and TWO FOR THE RENT. Fingers crossed on that front. I've currently just run out of coffee, I'm craving a pastry, at some point I need to get bread, and later on today I'll go to work because second shift. Second shift is a bit brutal, at times, and this might be one of those days when I don't get home until 3:30 in the morning. Happy Weekend!

So. Let's try again. Because everybody needs a revival now and then, and maybe I'll put some CCR on. Or I'll just stick with country music.

Striking Out (In a Good Way)

[Hi. I'm going to be utterly shameless and pretend that the past however many months of inactivity haven't happened. I hope you'll indulge me. If you won't, well, there's always bribery by baked goods, so maybe that'll work.]

I'd like to start off by saying, in an answer to the last post on my lovely blog, I didn't make it into Pitch Wars. I did, however, make it into Pitch Madness, and had both some success and some failure there. Overall I was pleased.

Except for when I thought I might actually get a contract with an agent and then got the email that dashed that for the moment. But hey, you win some, you lose some, and you spend more time in life doing an abbreviated cha-cha than probably walking in a straight line.

I have no idea if that made any sense, but I've already put in an hour and a half of overtime this week, and it's only Tuesday.

Good news! I got a job in my degree field (chemistry) and moved out of my parents' house. This is the start of my second full week in my little apartment and, coincidentally, the beginning of the second full week of my new job.

I am a performance grade (PG) binder technician. This has to do with asphalt, and what I do is that I look at the binder, or the stuff that holds what crews later put on the road together. I run lab tests on it (I get to use a blowtorch on a regular basis, how cool is that?) and I ensure that product meets certain specifics. So, if we have a batch of something the guys at the tank farm have made up, I get to certify that it meets certain requirements and can actually be used.

It's pretty cool. It's fun, it's definitely different, and I do enough different tests to where my days are probably not going to devolve into the pattern of "same shit, different shift."

Also, said job pays more than minimum wage (not that there's anything wrong with minimum wage, but let's be honest, minimum wage isn't a living wage, not in today's world), and has a full benefits package. I have my own health insurance. I'm twenty-four years old, a recent college graduate, and I have a job that's got benefits and a 401(k).

With all that good stuff comes the other side of it - I pay my own rent, and my own utilities. I caved in today (because Mother Nature has seen fit to dump snow on CNY like it's still January) and turned up my heat (because I don't need pneumonia), and I'll also pay my gas bill, too. However, I don't have cable, with no real intentions of getting it, either, but I did go get a MyFi from AT&T, because the whole living without internet thing? Yeah, not a big fan of that. I lasted a week, and then realized that I would probably burn through all of my data and going over that wouldn't make my mother happy.

So this is really the first time I've been out and about in such a way on my own. Yes, there was that little apartment my ninth semester of college, but it wasn't really mine. I had to give it back. Granted, if I move out of here I have to basically do the same thing, but it feels different. And that's the important part.

Do I feel like an adult? Eh, sometimes. Usually more so in the morning when I put coffee in a to-go mug, fight rush hour traffic, and park my little Buick between the massive pickup trucks everyone else in my building seems to drive.

I'm quite happy where I'm at, and content to take it a day at a time.

The Haul and Wait

Monday, December 2, 2013 was the submission day for the fabulous Brenda Drake's PitchWars. (To find out more information on what PitchWars is, feel free to click the link - it'll take you to her blog and she can explain things a hell of a lot better than I can at the moment.)

Bottom line, if you have a finished manuscript that you're ready to query with, you apply for a mentor. They'll read your query and your sample pages - sometimes even ask for more - and then they'll give you feedback on why they did or didn't accept it on December 11. I know that's only five days away, but it's going to feel more like a month away, really.

I'm not very good at waiting.

The last time I entered a contest like this was during my semester from hell (I think) and I entered Sage, and I totally botched my applications, in all honesty. It was awful. Last year I chose not to enter, because I didn't have anything that I really, really thought would be worth it.

This time I offered up Matt & Topher like proverbial lambs. I've had some success with them in pitch contests on twitter, and I've gotten plenty of rejections with them doing e-queries, so I'm really curious to see how they'll do. It will also be an opportunity to find out what I need to work on - because there's always something that can be improved - and that advice will prove valuable even if, ultimately, the boys and I go nowhere but back to the drawing board.

In the mean time, so I don't freak myself out totally while waiting and obsessively checking the Pitch Wars hashtag, I work at the hotel (for a rather funny picture from Wednesday, check out my Instagram feed for the chalk outline from the kitchen) and I work on getting a little further in Frost, my re-working of Jack Frost that I started three years ago. In other words, I keep busy so I won't go nuts. So far it's working. Hopefully the next five days will go much the same.

Happy Friday and have a good weekend.

The Windy City

To say it's been a while is an understatement. Rather than dump everything on everybody all at once, I'll go slow.

Back in May I submitted an application to the Illinois State Police to try and get in their forensic science trainee program. I figured it was a long shot - I wasn't sure which option that I would be qualified for - and it was the application from hell. My twitter feed can attest to that. But I sent it off to Illinois and hoped for the best.

Then I graduated from college with a BA in chemistry.

About a week, week and a half later (I think) I got mail from Illinois telling me that I had passed the education requirement and could come take my exams. It was like being accepted to college all over again, and I legit jumped up and down. Then figured out arrangements to get myself out to Chicago for a few days.

I took an AmTrak train for the first time.

One 11 hour train ride later I was in the Windy City for the first time, riding the L and trying not to get lost on my way to the hostel. My sense of direction is a little murky when I first get to a place, and I wound up taking a taxi from, well, the west side to somewhere a little more...safer. All the way to The Bean.

The Bean is really cool because it's this giant steel (I think) coffee bean-looking thing that, when you stand in front of it, reflects everything around you. It's really cool. It's a total head-screw when you go inside because you see yourself in fifteen or so different places.

I hadn't realized there was a time difference between Chicago and New York. Going back in time is not overly easy on the body, and I called it a night early. Mostly because I wanted to let everything just settle and sink before I had to take what was basically two civil service exams the next morning.

They went really, really well. The way that their tests work is that you get your score when you get done, but you don't exactly know your grade. So I walked out of there knowing how I had done. I took two exams because I'm qualified for two options. Then I had the rest of my time in Chicago to do whatever that I wanted before I got on the train that night. I took a water taxi out to Navy Pier, did the swing ride, and then walked the streets looking for a place to have Chicago deep dish.

Which is the best pizza I've ever had.

A couple weeks after I came home I got my grades in the mail. They were quite clear on the website that they only really offer interviews to those who make A's, which means you're extremely qualified.

I have an A on both exams. I'm extremely qualified and just waiting for them to call me to come back for an interview. It's a step. And now it's just a waiting game. Though I'll take any excuse to wander back to Chicago.

Summer Jam

The phrase Summer Jam has a few different meanings for me - one more rooted in heresay and secondhand stories than anything else, and the other as the core of this post. At one point, Summer Jam meant a huge concert series about two miles up the road from my house that brought tens of thousands of people to the area and basically shut down the county.

In this case, it means I heard some interesting music this summer, and want to review my favorites and the moments that will always be linked to them. Much like that line in Eric Church's Springsteen where he says, "Funny how a melody sounds like a memory/Like a soundtrack to a July Saturday night."

So, yeah. Here we go.

Call Me Maybe: This was my manager's ringtone at work, so whenever the gift shop called to let us know we had a new reservation, this would blare from her phone. There were also moments when we would randomly dance in the kitchen, singing this at the top of our lungs. This was also the pick-up line for many a night when there were attractive, single men. (Not for this chick, though, I had to worry about not dropping cheesecake trays and whatnot.) Sadly, we did not make a boat version of this video. We should have.

Brokenhearted: When you work enough Teen Cruises, and have a best friend who is more than willing to indulge in the idea of mix CD's with you, this is what happens. This kind of became our Monday night anthem. Along with the next video.

Whistle: When Em and I first heard this song, it more or less....I dunno. We became attached to it. It's catchy. It went on our next mix CD. 

Pontoon: This is a Legacy song. As in, I will always be reminded of breakin' it down in the kitchen, belting the lyrics we knew, and just...this will remind me of two of the people I've worked with the longest at my job, and make me smile throughout the rest of the year. 

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together: This is just catchy as hell. 

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my Summer Jam. There are definitely others that will always bring up a memory or two, but they also contain enough F-bombs to blow my PG-13 rating like a popsicle stand. Have a good weekend, and most likely the next post will be from my new apartment in Geneva on Sunday.     

Personal Infringement

Manager: "S is going to be my agent for when I publish my book."

Me: "Your bartending book?"

Manager: "Yeah. She's going to be my agent. She's going to organize my book signings and tell me where to go and everything."

Me: "It's....not that simple...."

Ever have those moments when you just want to reach over the bar, grab somebody by the front of the shirt, and say, "That's my dream, back the hell off!"? I understand that more than one person can dream - and dream big - but, it just makes a knot in the middle of my chest because being an author is something that I've wanted since I was six. It's not on my bucket list. It is, but not because it would be cool to do, but because it's something that I've been working toward for years. If you take that initial dream of a six-year-old and come up through to twenty-two, that's a lot of time spent reading, writing, and thinking of how damn cool it would be to see my book and my name on a shelf at Waldenbooks.

Which, I'm pretty sure I just dated myself gloriously.

I've spent nearly eight years working on one manuscript - that's almost finished - and over the past two and a half years, I've finished two others. I'm on page 197 of 362 in terms of editing and retyping Sage, and the sheer amount of work and heart put into finishing one novel, let alone two, makes this much, much more than a simple bucket list endeavor.

This could be quite petty of me. Jealously is not a good look on anybody, but I can't help but think, in the ensuing conversation earlier, that some people just don't get it. She wants to write her book in her spare time, well, fantastic. But it takes work. And then it takes querying.

I did feel slightly bad because the smile kind of faded when I went into how much work it is to query and then try to get an agent, and that the agent is responsible for dealing with publishers, and, oh, yeah, agents are kind of picky and will only take a small percentage of new writers.

That was probably petty. But it's the truth. I've got a stack of rejection letters to prove it.

I guess what bugs me the most is the natural assumption that it's easy. That once you've written the book, agents and publishers will fall all over you to take it and print it. But that's not the way it works. Her thinking that it's easy, that it'll be a great way to make millions, just sort of cheapens it.

And that is something I have a problem with.

In any event, I'll wish her good luck, periodically ask how the writing's coming, and hope that one day maybe the pair of us are in the same bookstore, looking at our work on the shelf.  

High Winds of Change

I moved out of that house on main street Tuesday back to the little hamlet that's always been home and breathed one hell of a sigh of relief. Another semester over. Two-thirds of senior year - because my senior year has three parts instead of two because I'm good like that - is over and hallelujah for that. The last three weeks got incredibly rough, including when my caffeine intake and subconscious anxiety decided to push itself over the normal threshold into something rather scary. I'm okay, but it seriously freaked me and everybody else out, so now your favorite coffee addict really only gets one mug a day, and to tell you the truth, decaf tea's not that bad. That and I'm making sure to keep a lid on my anxiety, which I hadn't considered a problem before now.

What's even more impressive is the turnaround my grades did in the wake of the semester from hell - Fall 2011 - to the point where even I'm proud of me. I sacrificed a lot to be able to put in the time and effort to go from a 1.33 to a 2.93 in a little under four months. I stayed in on my weekends (which, okay, not that big a deal because I didn't go out much on the weekends in general), didn't leave assignments to the last minute, and took my independent study as seriously as though it were a regularly scheduled fourth class. For the first time, I really felt like I had this college thing under control and was good at it. My exam grades weren't always great, but I had the material, and the professors could see I was working hard and all of it together was a combination that just worked.

My parents are incredibly proud of me for such a turnaround. And me? I'm happy.

Now if I can just do the same thing this upcoming semester, I'll be golden. But between then and now is a whole summer to fill with...Stuff. Work. Soccer. Refereeing.And anything else that comes up in between then and now. Mostly though we'll just roll with the punches and go with the flow. Which, you know, sounds great on paper and works ever better - or worse - in real life.

And, of course, there will be writing, querying, and whatnot this summer because I have a draft of a book and now it needs either an agent or a publisher. Hopefully both.

So. Hello summer. Bring it. 

File 404 (Among Other Things)

It's been a bit of a long week. Between working twenty hours as a waitress (which, I know, isn't that much) and substituting (I was a music teacher today, and no, I didn't sing - but I did have a flashback to my band geek days by conducting them this morning) and a soccer game tonight, it's been a little hectic. And kind of tiring. However, speaking of soccer games, I've got great news that makes me want to split my face with a grin every time I even think about it.

Heather, myself, and our mother will be attending the 2011 MLS All-Star game as they take on Manchester United, the reigning European champions next month in New York City!

So. Freakin'. Excited. If I didn't think it would completely screw up the rest of this post, I'd try to find a way to make that font bigger. Like, size of this screen bigger, as that's how flippin' excited we all are. Even mom. There are other plans around that date that are still up in the air, but we have tickets, I've put in for time off (which basically means I've written in the book that I'm not available that day - or three) and I think if I went squeeee as long and loud as I wanted, I'd frighten half the neighborhood.

Which isn't to say that the sight of my neighbor - my male neighbor - in uber-short shorts and cowboy boots cleaning his cement driveway off with a garden hose earlier this week didn't make me want to scrub my retinas. It did. Then I remembered what I wear when I mow the lawn and figured I shouldn't be that hypocritical, though my thighs are quite a bit bigger than his. Anyway....

So, when it comes to HTML coding other than the normal stuff, I'm a bit stupid. I'm thinking about changing up the look of the blog again, as I'm still trying to find something that makes it feel a little more like me. I like darker colors (I think they look a little classier) but people find it difficult to read. I'm kind of wondering what my 39 followers think - Should I scrap this whole borrowed layout thing I've currently got going on and start tweaking colors and whatnot, or do I keep looking for something that makes me go yes, this is what I want this representation of me to look like.

If anybody has any ideas or suggestions, drop me an email or a comment. Until then, I'll just amuse myself and see how many File 404 screens I can get to pop up while I do it. Or that long string of red HTML code that pops up with a Warning which basically means you fail.

But I'm a scientists - Naturally, I like experiments.

Six and Eleven

I haven't worked on composition book eleven of my six-year-in-progress novel since January. Which translates into Louise hasn't worked on the novel since her grandfather (in every way but actually being my blood grandfather) passed away shortly before I was due back for spring semester last year.

Writing is a way to pull the frayed edges of myself back together. When it serves the purpose, it really helps me to relax, unwind, unload, and remind myself that I'm an optimist when it comes to life and that there is a good side to practically everything. There are certain things that are exceptions to that, but for the most part, there is a bright side. Sometimes it's tarnished and dull. Still, it's there waiting to be found if you've the right mind.

You've got to want to find it to find it when it doesn't want to be found.

I'm not like other writers. I'm not going to force myself to get something out onto paper because I haven't written in a week or two. Hell, I haven't written in ten months other than some Murphy or maybe for the blog. I've written little snippets of stuff that comes to mind, but in terms of working on the novel and progressing and finishing it - it hasn't been there. I know better than to force something that's not there and doesn't want to be. If I've got nothing, there's a good reason for it. Probably more than one, too.

In a lot of ways ending this novel will be like ending a part of myself. Never do I mean in a self-harm kind of way - I don't do that, I never have, and I never will - but I mean in a sense of a stage of my life coming to a close. We know that we're different people when we're children. There are things we grow out of to grow into, and things that stick with us through those times into the young adulthood that we all face. And there was a time six years ago, that I traded a part of myself - a part of my innocence - and I couldn't get it back. The following two years were not the easiest. Freshman year of high school, this big damned secret, the shame, the fear, and me being one of the best internalizers that I know, kept everything bottled shut.

Except for when I would write. I wouldn't write about what happened, but I figured that if I was in such a shambles - and trust me, there were days when I would sit in class and think about what had happened and half expect him to come through the damn doorway into the classroom, and then just cry - then someone else's life didn't have to be. I needed something to do, something to take my mind off of reality when it got a little too heavy. And then it just went from there, growing into something bigger and more than I had originally intended it to. I couldn't stop its growth because in a way, I was growing with it. I grew a lot in two years. In ways that most people wouldn't expect.

And I realized that maybe I'm pretty good at this whole writing thing. I used to, when I was little, stand outside with a soccer ball on a string (I cannot for the life of me remember what exactly it's called, but that's the main idea), look at the gnarled apple tree against the little runoff creek, and think what would happen if it was a house. Who would the people who lived there be. What were their names. What were they like.

A boy and his grandmother. Sometimes he had a dog. At one point he had a dragon.

Ralurick lives with his grandmother for most of The Crossing. There are mentions in the beginning - though brief - of the time when he lives with both his parents and everything is quite hunky dory. For the rest of the book, when he's not wandering with Jack through foreign countryside running from some magical creature or the villain of the book, he lives with his grandmother.

There are similarities. There have to be. I'm not good enough to keep every little bit of myself out of my own writing. The times when Ral can't really handle being emotional? Been there done that. Jack trying to figure out why exactly he was on Typrien and what he was going to do with his life, once he reached a certain age? Been there as well.

In some ways, their story is my story. And my story is theirs. It's been six years. And while part of me is quite anxious to get this over with, to end this remarkable journey that these three have come on, part of me isn't quite ready to be completely at ease with shutting the door on a part of my life that's so largely influenced who I am overall.

Maybe it's not so much shutting a door but turning to a blank page. Some of my toughest days were hashed out in those pages. The days I stayed home from school because of whooping cough are in those pages as well. My own broken love affair is scattered through Anna and Richard, Jack and Kayley, and Ralurick and Bella.

It's a lot. That's an understatement.

I've had people tell me - through the Inkpop message boards, actually, which I haven't visited in months - that the fact that I see the story I want to write as a movie in my head isn't real writing. It's copying. That I'm not creating anything. Yet I have something real and tangible in my hands. I have composition books with writing, with characters, faces, places, words, and meaning. You have this drive to have your project be number one in the lists, to be on a publisher's desk. I've got that, too. That's what I want as well. When I think it's ready.

When I've finished it.

I'm pretty decent when I've got something half-assed written. The finished product? I want you to remember me for the stories that I can tell. For the depth that I have as a writer and as a person. For what I can create.

Writing is personal for me. It's not mechanics and sentence structure. Well, it is, but it isn't. It's no the main focus. It's me taking you somewhere and you going on a ride through a bit of life that, while in places, might not be grand, but still real. Life can be glorious and big, or it can be simple. Easy and difficult.

Most important is that you don't get to decide - you get to deal.

I only get serious and slightly insightful when I've got good reason. Paying a visit to Dylan Thomas's writing shed and the boathouse where he used to live would be what spawned that because for the first time in months I wanted to write when I got back on the bus. Actually, I wanted to break the lock on the door of the shed, sit at the same desk as he did - which is still exactly how he left it - and start writing. I probably would have gotten arrested and it would have been bad manners, and I would probably be packing for New York instead of writing this, but it made me want to continue. It really made me want to finish what I had started. To continue and to gather the spread threads of this long story and weave them together. To finish the tapestry.

To finish a part of me.

Things to Know XV

- The stripes on my shoulders at work don't mean a damn thing. As I said to one of my tables earlier, we're all in the same boat.

- I cringed for nearly eight minutes after that last one.

- I was laying in bed this morning, listening to the traffic and wondering why it sounded like everybody was doing at least 65 by the house, and then realized it's NASCAR.

- Some people in this world, no matter how hot it gets, really need to keep their shirt on in public.

- There is such a drink as a "Vodka Relax". Whether it actually helps you reach your goal, I'm not sure.

- When a customer says to you, "When you get a minute..." they rarely ever mean for you to get them what you want in that minute. Because you rarely have that minute to yourself.

- Not a big fan of the phrase "When you get a minute..." since they usually want it right then and they wouldn't ask for it if they didn't want.

- Twenty-four people is a little much to have for a full four course meal.

- Then again, rock it.

- Greg laughed at me (after jokingly ragging on me) about my look of sheer horror as the spider dropped from one of the ceiling tiles to nearly land on some poor kid's shoulder on his way out.

- I am not a big fan of spiders. Seriously.

- Though Greg looks at me funny when I smash them into the wall, even though I tell him I'll clean it up (and always do).

- I've been reading a bunch of Age of Sail novels (Lord Ramage, anyone?) but I don't really know that much about actual sailing (schooners, sailboats, anything not run with a motor) so I've been asking Greg and Tony, who are a wealth of interesting if slightly useless (at times) knowledge.

- Greg drew me a little diagram on a piece of paper with an explanation about how a ship tacks.

- I'm still not sure I fully understand and the diagram got thrown away. I think.

- Some days I feel like Wonder Woman. Other days, more like I'm a bug and I've gone twelve rounds with a windshield.

- I really don't know anything about wines.

- Especially the differences between a riesling and a pinot grigio.

- Both of those, however, are white wines. That much I know.

- Other than that, you're on your own.

- I am completely craving bread pudding right now. The kind they make at the restaurant - homemade covered in some sort of icing, chocolate, and caramel.

- On that note, I think I might go get some sleep.

Working Girl

There's this woman. Her name is Patricia - Patty - and thirty-six years ago she got married to this man named Michael. Thirty-two years ago they had their first child. Her name is Heather. Twenty years ago (almost twenty-one) they had another child. Her name is Molly.

Mike and Patty raised two only children (there's a twelve year age difference that was quite evident in Molly's younger years, believe me) and when they reached a certain age, they instilled in their children certain values. Values like doing what's right, even if it might suck (though said much more eloquently), that sometimes there's not that definitive line between good and bad (though there should be some days, because it would make life so much easier), and when you have a job, you do your job to the best of your ability because it's easier to do it right the first time rather than half-ass it and then have to go back and fix it.

They also tried to help their children deal with finances. Namely, this how much money you need to make if you want to have this amount to spend a week while you're in college.

Ultimately, this was the birth of the Working Girl.

Coincidence that both their girls were waitresses? Well, one was (and stopped when she was heavily pregnant because it was hell on her ankles and feet) and one still is. But they're very different waitresses - one flipped tables and made a small fortune in ones every night, working temp jobs during the day and then closing the restaurant at nights. The other gets the same group of sixteen to twenty-four (depends on how many we add before we leave and who else is on that night) people for three hours. In the first five minutes, you either make yourself or break yourself between the time that they sit down and you serve soup. You have three hours with these people. You piss them off in the first five minutes, you have to deal with them for two hours and fifty-five more.

I don't flip tables. I've never flipped tables in the three years that I've been a waitress. I've opened more bottles of wine than I can count, spilled more wine on myself than I really care to admit, and even fallen down the stairs.

And I can fully classify myself as a working girl.

My job's not a traditional 9-5. I don't live in a cubicle, and I don't have an internship for the summer. I bypassed even applying for summer research because I could make more than the stipend offered by the chem department. I've made more than the stipend, actually, not that it's a big deal. I work doubles when I'm scheduled to (or when I'm not, depending on where I've picked up a shift or two for someone) and mostly, I work nights. Not graveyard shift or anything, where I go in at midnight or something (like dad - our father goes in to work at midnight and gets down around two in the afternoon, and the man just turned 62) but my evenings are shot. Rarely do I get to eat dinner with my family because I'm usually shoving off from the dock at the time that everybody's gathering around the table. I missed Madaline opening her presents and blowing out her candles on her third birthday because I had to go in (though I opted to be cut from the shift because there wasn't enough people for the amount of workers we had on). My Monday nights are spent looking after 150-200 screaming tweens and teens with thumping pop/rap/new hits music (and then Krispy usually blows a speaker and things get interesting, or he overloads the amp and everything goes quiet, which is more entertaining). The rest of the nights I'm serving prime rib, scallops, Cornish game hen, and vegetarian pasta (which is actually Stouffers, but don't tell anybody, it still smells good) and trying not to slop on myself in the process of serving dinner.

Which is an epic fail on the nights when you spill au jus all down the side of your face and it winds up in your bra. Actually, that night I wound up smelling like a three course meal, vodka martini (straight up, a little dirty) included. I wear black pants, a button-up, short-sleeved white shirt with epaulets (which, yes, as you can imagine, gathers spots and stains to it like a moth to an open flame) and I have a love affair with my apron. I can tell you the difference between the reds and whites on the back page of our drink menu (cabernets and merlots, rieslings and chardonnays) but ask me anything about any listed on the inside of the menu, and you might be up shit creek without a paddle. Which is fairly funny because I've been doing this for three years, I live in wine country, and I'm not entirely sure on the subtle differences between one winery's riesling and another's, and there are some that I'm still not sure how to pronounce.

All of it, every little detail, is okay because I really do enjoy my job. I meet people (and those who return year after year usually remember me) and I try to make their special occasion - be it an anniversary, a birthday, or a middle of the week getaway - a little more special. Doesn't always happen, but we still try.

Summertime, to an extent, isn't my time. I don't get personal time because there are things that I'm saving for. One of them is books. My paychecks buy my books for the coming school year. They also provide my "fun" money - those movie nights with the girls, ice skating adventures, that ski trip that sounded like a good idea at the time, but as Heather pointed out, I'm no Shaun White, and anything else that might come up and need adventuring in - and give me a certain budget a week for the year.

In short, if I don't work, there's not really any money during the school year. Makes the budget a little tight.

I'll admit that there are days when I get up, and I really don't feel like going to work (usually a Wednesday lunch, when we know there's going to be a bus group and that's usually pouring coffee and taking salad bowls back with the croutons still there because their teeth might come out if they eat them) but I go anyway. And I slap a smile on my face and be cheery, chipper, and a good host while they're aboard because that's my job. My cell phone - not matter how badly I want to Tweet about anything - stays in my bag as soon as I punch in.

My boss is not paying me to be on my phone. He's paying me to do the job he hired me for.

If some of my coworkers could remember that little gem of advice....

This weekend will be interesting, much like IRL weekend. I'll be up at the track selling souvenirs during the day, and then, in the early afternoon, head home to kind of mellow out and get ready to spend the next six hours working as a waitress. We need workers to man the stand, and I'm a worker.

It really is as simple as that. It's always been that simple.

So, I'm a working girl. A working girl who likes the simple things in life - running barefoot in the grass, dancing in the rain, and playing monster and princess with a certain three-year-old - and knows that good things come from working hard and being honest.

Know what? I'm pretty proud of that.

Wordless Wednesday

For a little explanation, because some of you are probably wondering what exactly this is, this is the pier that I jumped off of, on the right. Of course, it didn't have all those people on it (this was taken back during the Waterfront Festival, and the place was packed, as you can see) and if it had....

Anyway, near the bottom right of the picture is where I actually went swimming in this post.

Also, this is what I see every day when I go to work (except the multitude of people).

Still Kickin'

This appropriately says it all.

HaBryerton:@MollyLouise10 who are you again? My sister used to tweet under this twitter ID, but she's been strangely absent lately from here and her blog

Said sister has been, well, a workaholic for the past week and a half.

Not quite a regular 9-5, but still enough to put 37 hours for a week. Makes for one hell of a paycheck. I don't mind working - I like my job. Sure, the heat is a little more than bearable when you're doing nothing at home besides reading borrowed library books, and running up and down the stairs of a moving boat doesn't look all that appealing to anyone with more than a little bit of logical reasoning capabilities, but it's the job that I have, and the job that I will do.

I just drink 64-96 ounces of water a day as a result. More than half of that while I'm at work.

Another thing that hasn't helped both the blog and new installments of Murphy, has been this:

HaBryerton:@MollyLouise10 does that mean I should stop strapping him into the car seat & taking him to work with me? It likes the office AC [Regards to my missing Focus.]

[Side note: I'm watching Robin Hood (the BBC version) and Djaq is basically telling Will Scarlet that she loves him and I cannot handle this, and it reminds me how much I love this show. Though my favorite is and probably always will be (other than Will and Robin) Allan a Dale.]

I am so sweaty and disgusting that it's gross, even for me.

Keeping with the Robin Hood theme, the new movie? You must see it. Absolutely have to, because it's very reminiscent of one of the best series of books that I've read in quite a while. Stephen R. Lawhead took the legendary tale of Robin Hood out of Sherwood Forest in England, and dropped him into Wales. Gave the story a unique twist, and made it one hell of an interesting read that I chewed through in little under a week last year while in Martha's Vineyard. There's three books in the series - Hood, Scarlet, and Tuck. I strongly recommend you read them. All of them.

In an update about things happening across the pond - or trying to get there - the visa application processing center received my application. And I'll get it back (or have to send more information) sometime between the next two to twelve weeks. Hopefully it'll be along the lines of two.

And we're down to 66 days before I depart on a plane for three months across the Atlantic in a tiny town in Wales.

I'm doing that odd combination of crying and laughing because I can't believe that it's almost here. Less than, what? Three months? Two months? Sixty-six days. Sixty-six days before I pack up, get in the car with mom and dad, take a drive to the city, and go through airport security and stand there before that final barrier until I can give them one last hug and go through that last checkpoint. Sit there by the gate and wait with no phone for the plane, hope to find people that I'm going abroad with, and start to build something incredible.

When you think about it that way, it stirs something powerful and unidentifiable within you. Something that you're excited about, and scared of at the same time.

[Side note: Those Jillian Michaels commercials - nobody looks that freakin' good when they get done with a serious workout. Their hair is not down in perfect curls and they are definitely not smiling to that degree. It's more like a grimace because your muscles don't want to work properly. Or that could just be me and everybody else after Ralph gets through with us...]

Probably not the type of post that you were hoping or thinking you'd see from me, so I'll end with something a little out of the ordinary. The stuff that I'm currently reading for fun, most of it borrowed from the library.

Rising Phoenix, by Kyle Mills
The Imperfectionists, by Tom Rachman
Ramage, by Dudley Pope
Byzantium, by Stephen R. Lawhead

Whacked

Louise's year of firsts continues.

Earlier in the year (the actual year 2010, not the school year, though that's how I tend to think of years anyway, since I'm still in school) my turn signal had bit the dust. Not so much the entire thing, just the clicker, the thing that made it automatically blink. So you had to toggle it when you drove to have any semblance of normal. Which is all well and good, mostly during the day, but there was that fairly memorable occasion when Em and I were coming back from a concert in Rochester (the director the Campus Community Chorus was directing a chorus and orchestra in Rochester as part of her graduate degree, and Em sings in that chorus, so therefore we went - it was really good, too) and were by the Lady of the Lake statue, going to go the back way to Dunkin' Donuts to get some coffee and a doughnut before heading to Relay for Life. There was a fairly liberal amount of swearing as I pulled over, a few Oh, shit's from the passenger seat, and the distinct chance that I was going to throw up over the local cop that had pulled me over. In the end, he told me to get it fixed (Being at school is no reason not to get something like this fixed) and sent me on my merry way. Well, my merry way that also including freaking out a bit more, and then a medium dark roast from Dunkin' and a doughnut.

In the end, everything turned out just fine. And I got the turn signal fixed during the six days that I was in NYC and wouldn't need my car.

Yesterday I wrote a post between the first teen cruise (my own school district's eighth graders on for their semi-formal) and then went back to work for the second of the night. After that fiasco (ninety-seven high school kids that have graduated earlier in the day from the middle of nowhere at 12:30 in the morning....) I figured that I would drive down and see my dad for a couple minutes at work, before heading home. Hadn't seen him in like a day and a half because of the way his schedule is (he goes in to work at 2, I work dinner shifts, so there are times when we don't see each other for roughly a day and a half, or two days, which is really interesting in itself since we live in the same house), so I was going to go see him.

I didn't see the deer until it was off of my left front fender.

Hit the brakes and then hit the deer. Which promptly slid off the hood, rolled on the pavement, and then got up and ran back into the swamp. And left me sitting there in a sort of shock, staring out the windshield and realizing that I've just gotten in my first MVA.

This was the first thing that I've hit that's bigger than a squirrel.

Naturally I was a little freaked.

Dad was calm about it, telling me that it was okay, wanting to know what had happened to the deer, and then called the village PD to send someone to do an accident report.

I didn't actually break anything on my car. My headlight is still intact, though slanted inward, toward the right one more, and the grill in the middle has a corner that's got a crack in it and came away from the housing. The headlight still works - high beams, too - and the hood is still functional (you can open it). So it's not like I smashed the entire front end of my car in one go. If anything, this proves that my car (my sister calls it a death trap) is more tank-like that I had thought.

Does that mean that I think it's invincible and that I'm invincible? Hell. No. I'm human. I'm mortal. It was a deer, but it was still an accident and something that undeniably stresses you out to a certain degree. Probably why I'm still pretty tired, middle of the night work shift aside.

It's the first, probably not the last, but it still unsettles you a little bit. Nothing life-threatening in this case, just something very different and more than a little scary.

And while it didn't scare the shit out of me on a literal level, I can't say the same for the deer - I've got two little piles sitting on my hood.

On a better note: I sent paperwork across the pond to Wales today, including a photo for them to make my student ID card with. It should take about five to ten days for it to get there, and while I need to double check that it actually makes it, they're forms that could probably be filled out there as well; Fitness to Practise and Needs Assessment. Basically they want to know if I require anything extra due to learning disabilities or disabilities in general. Next on my agenda is, when the time is right, to start my Visa application process. Which is fairly long and more than slightly complicated.

Once that's done, it's a matter of counting down the days until the flight leaves. There's a bit more to it than that, obviously, but it's something to look forward to and be very excited about.

Head Space

June might as well be declared as teen cruise month at work. We do a lot of them - semi-formals, senior class dinners, senior class overnight trips - so we shuffle a fair amount of pizza, soda, and rap music through the vessel. We do a fair amount of cleaning as well. Yes, you heard that right. The waitstaff is responsible for cleaning the boat after we dock. Which, honestly, is much better than how it was a couple summers ago when I first started working, and two of us would come in on a Tuesday morning and clean. Now, with fifteen people, it goes a lot quicker. And I don't need to get up at seven, clean, and then run to my car to get my uniform.

The thing about doing teen cruises, though, is that I have time to sit, think, and otherwise be stuck in my own headspace. This is both - predictably - a good thing and a bad thing. Especially with me.

Tonight was the eighth grade semi-formal. It's quite funny - not funny haha but funny chucklechuckle - since my grade was the first time that we had the dance on the boat. And it's been done on there ever since. Naturally it reminds me of when I was that age, and that same dance. It was before high school, before everything went to shit that summer (yeah, that was that summer), and then people started leaving. Nez left for California after our first year of high school; Erin and Troy left, too, heading to Ohio; and senior year Jackie headed to South Carolina. She and I have since mended that fractured bridge (it was in danger of burning to the ground in a mass of flames and a mushroom cloud) and have a sort of....well, we don't really talk anymore. But when we do - I get emails every now and then - it's on good terms and there's a bit of a better understanding between us than there was when we were both in high school and everything was happening a little fast. I'm friends with Erin and Troy on Facebook, though it's not like it used to be (eighth grade was the '3 Skis' in the front row, due to the 'ski' on the end of our last names), and I haven't heard, seen, or really even heard mention of Nez since he left. Which is still an interesting - and slightly confusing, of course - situation for me.

Of course thinking about eighth grade leads into thinking about high school, and while there's some nice thoughts there, there are also some.....not-so-nice ones. Then there's the whole situation that Will Not Be Named; the prom photos will stay stuffed away the white BonTon box, and life will carry on as normal.

Until the next teen cruise arises and everything dredges itself up from the depths of my mind to be thought about again, like it's something brand new. And I can hash and rehash every decision that I've made in terms of my personal life from near graduation onward. Sounds like fun, doesn't it? Standing on the bow, freezing, and thinking about nearly everything that's gone wrong or at least some semblance of pear-shaped, in your life for three hours while listening to songs and vaguely wondering why it is that you don't go out more often and dance and get energy out of your system. Why you're not really bothered that standing there with your arms crossed over your chest or midsection doesn't make you the most approachable person out there, and you're both mildly alright with that, and furious with yourself that you can't seem to loosen up.

I am a female human Sagittarius. There are many, many paradoxes within me, as I'm a fairly complicated creature. I'll admit this. Readily.

What I won't readily admit is how much and how deeply that I feel things. It's a part of me, as much as my smile or the fact that my eyes are green, but it's one of those things that's both lovely and annoying at the same time. Lovely in that it makes me a better writer because I can understand people a little better, and get a deeper sense of emotion to give my characters. Annoying in that, in some ways, I'm a sympathy crier. (I'm not a sympathy puker, for those who have heard that term before, though I plenty of people who are.) Hell, I cry every time I watch the movie The Patriot when Heath Ledger's character Gabriel dies. I also cry at the end, too.

I cry during a lot of movies, actually. I'm not ashamed to admit that.

What I hesitate to do is examine those parts of me that don't really want to be examined. The deeper emotions that are dredged up with the memories of high school, and summers, and decisions that seemed like good ideas at the time, and have come to not quite fruitful gains. It's difficult not to chalk things up to mistake or regret because I don't want to regret anything. I mean it. I want to regret absolutely nothing when I'm ninety and remembering the glory days. Hell, my glory days might be my late eighties. Who knows. I sure don't. And I won't until I get there.

I hesitate, sometimes, to look unabashedly at myself. I know the forms that I can take, the moods, and abilities, and the emotions that come with me. There's good, and there's bad, and then, on occasion, there's really, really absolutely fugly. I wouldn't be me without both parts - beautiful and fugly - but the tougher stuff is a little more difficult to look at. And practically impossible to understand.

And maybe there's a reason that we can't. Maybe there's a reason that humans don't have everything figured out in a way that makes perfect sense. Maybe that's a definition of human nature, to be something so different and at times unpredictable that not everything makes sense. Hell, everything might not even be anything resembling logical (I have those moments, more frequently than other people, probably, but I still have them) and yet you've still got to deal with it. Or deal with it the best you can. Which might not be anything special. You might be drowning.

Drowning in any sense (unless it's a good sense, and I know you can think of those examples - shove your mind in the gutter if you have to) isn't good.

Being a water-dwelling mammal and drowning is ironically painful.

Much like life, in a way.

God will only give you as much as you can handle. No more, no less. A fairly wise woman said those words to me on a five hour car ride and all I can think, at the moment (and probably then, too) was that someone needs to find me a bigger bucket. That way I can carry my tune and anything that life wants to chuck my way safely through any construction on the road ahead.

Better break out the hardhat, hadn't I?

I've been assured that it gets better. Eventually, everything gets better. Though as we all know, hearing is one thing, and believing is another. Believe in the road that lies ahead, however many potholes and Jersey barriers that it contains.

Well. Throw on the Converse and let's get goin'. Maybe we'll think about the compass. Maybe.

Catch Up

Okay. Probably the last time that you checked in with me - if you checked at all - I was still in Jackson but getting ready for the last push and definitely ready to come home. Well, I came home exactly a week ago, and it's been an interesting week. I think I probably need to start with last Monday.

Last Monday - in the middle of finals - my parents were supposed to come and pick up the big stuff - bike, fridge, stuff like that. Only, after going to the wound clinic (my dad had burnt himself in late April, a few days before I left for Toronto - pretty badly, I might add) they were shuffled (my mom who had taken my dad to said clinic) over the emergency room at the hospital (not our local one, but the one about forty-five minutes to an hour away - it's bigger [and also the one I was born in]) where he was later admitted. So, things didn't really go according to the plan that we had expected. Which is okay, because mom showed up on Wednesday with my grandmother's van (which is bittersweet, because it reminds me a lot of the man - a grandfather in every way but by blood - who the family had lost in late January) and we packed that (my car was already packed, which, my mother complimented on) and home we went. Then it was off to the hospital to visit dad. We were thinking, originally, that he was going to come home on that Saturday. Erm...he ended up staying until Monday. In the meantime, back on Wednesday, I had a sightseeing cruise to do, and then the following day was a lunch cruise. So it was back to work for me, which, I was (and still kind of am) really excited about. So he comes home on Monday; I play some soccer with the U-19 girls for fun on that same day (which turns into a joint practice with the U-14 boys because the girls only had three show up to practice, plus me and a friend who also plays [only he plays for the U-19 boys, somewhere]) and from said friend - who is also my boss's son - I have a wonderful bruise on my lower leg/backside of my shin. It's probably not going to get very colorful (I don't really bruise pretty colors unless it's been something fairly major) but it's faintly blue, I think you'll appreciate how big it is. It was made when his knee ran through the ball, and I left my left leg - and my bad left ankle - hanging out to hopefully do something constructive, and got nailed for it. He didn't do it on purpose; he's not that type of guy.

Is he fairly good-looking? Yes, yes he is. Ask my sister, and she'll probably say something else there because she's seen him, and she knows me, but I'm trying to keep this fairly general because I'm not entirely sure who's reading.

Monday was also the day that I started working out again. Which explains why if I stop moving for any length of time, I get really, really stiff muscles and it's almost comical to watch me try to move. It hurts so much that I laugh. That's what happens with me - when I'm physically hurting so badly that most people cry, I laugh instead. It's the oh-my-God-what-the-hell-friggin'-OW! kind of laugh, but still. It's a laugh.

Now, I love irony about as much as the next person, and I'm not lying when I say there are days when I'm first in line to be Mrs. Murphy, step on up and have the good go vaguely off-kilter (because things don't ever go really wrong, only partially). It's starts with my soccer buddy and gets better from there. Namely, the guy that I was pseudo-dating (this were slightly more than a little complicated that summer, before I went to college) and/or seeing (there was also another one, at the same time [don't freakin' look at me like that, as there was nothing concrete with either of them and you should know me by now to know that I don't do shit like that]) is now my coworker. I went to work today, saw someone heading with a shirt like mine (the type I wear to work) and thought, you have got to be kidding me and then decided that somebody Upstairs really enjoys getting a laugh out of the life and times of one Molly Louise. It's fine. I mean, things were a little rough around the edges because I made a choice I thought I had to make - sorry, but I'm seeing someone else -which wasn't quite true in the sense that I would have liked (and I'm still the back up option, which I'm not only quite aware of, but I know that I don't have to be the back up option for anyone) and then went away for college. Well, two weeks of preseason, and then classes and medical shtuff (the h in that phrase is on purpose) and in the end, everything more or less turned out okay. Really, it did.

Well, okay, maybe there's some residual stuff floating around in my head from soccer a year ago, and the whole boys thing, and some more soccer, and some other stuff, but it's no worse than usual. And, on the bright side, I'll work through it. In one way or another - via the blog, the book, or the journal (yeah, I keep one of those) - I'll get through it and everything will eventually (hopefully) make some sort of sense. In the meantime, he's just my coworker (soccer buddy included, because he's also employed there) and I'm still just me. A college junior (now) who enjoys waitressing because she's people-friendly (fairly) and really, genuinely likes going to work.

Needless to say, it's going to be an interesting summer. At the least.

Things to Know XI

- I watched a 3-D movie last night for the first time: How to Train Your Dragon with two girls from my floor.

- How to Train Your Dragon is a really, really good movie and reminded me of my cat. Okay, Toothless reminded me of my cat.

- Said cat, Pepper, actually resembles a pot-bellied pig more than a feline because she's been licking the fur off her sides.

- I took my best friend for a bike ride around one of the littler squares by where I live. She just wasn't sure it was that little.

- Pam works just as well on rusty bike chains as does WD40.

-I got a C on my physics test that I thought for damn sure I was going to fail miserably.

- I had NO H8 painted on my cheek, duct tape over my mouth, and my photo taken in protest of Prop 8.

- I was voted slightly without consent to be the layout editor next year for martini. They just verified that that was alright when I walked through the door at the meeting.

- They'll more or less have to wait for me to come back from abroad unless we want to trust the editions through the internet.

- I finally got my NYC blog post done. It is appropriately massive. And can be found here.

- We leave for Toronto in two weeks.

- The semester is almost over with. Uh.....

- I've got a bunch of free weekends now that I am not doing the sound board from the production of, Devotion to the Cross. Because I had too many evening conflicts that they apparently couldn't work around.

- I just instead have a 10-15 page paper to write instead.

- My sister is going to punch me the next time she sees me because I keep promising her Murphy and I haven't actually given it to her yet.

- That whole no procrastination thing? Yeah, gone out the window at the moment.

- There is a clothes island in the middle of my room. Therefore there is only one path from the door to the bed.

- I'm ready to go back to work.

- I am bad at being feminine - I forget to shave my legs for weeks at a time.

- I've had so much coffee in the past week that I'm impressed I haven't died of caffeine overload.

- Tonight is Relay for Life. Cue the voluntary all-nighter for the sake of hoping to one day abolish cancer.

- It's quite frightening - cancer, that is - because as a scientist in the chemistry and biology fields, you know exactly what happens in the body to form cancer, and you know the effects of the ways to fight it.

- In this regard the human body is incredibly resilient.

- Last summer I went out to visit my best friend for a week - not in her hometown but as she was vacationing on Martha's Vineyard. This year - and I need to have this talk with mom and dad - but I'd like her to come out for a week. Specifically the one where we're at the lake.

- The only snag in that plan is that I might have to work, and I'm not sure how many cruises I'll have.

- Did I mention I'm ready to go back to work?

- I don't know where I'm going to live next year. I'm more or less okay with this.

- Until I learned it was illegal to pitch a tent on the quad. Damn.

- Technically it was also illegal to go sledding on campus, but we did that anyway.

How It Goes

Last year, a month or so before my sister's birthday, she sent me a link to an L.L. Bean bag that she really, really wanted. Because I know when to take a hint, and because I'm a good sister, I got her the bag as a birthday gift, and kept the travel coffee mug that I had originally gotten her to engrave with the name of the college that we went to for myself, and actually, this year, I use it regularly. Anyway, I opened my campus mailbox on day and found that I had a package, from Heather, and it was a cloth-covered mead notebook with a ribbon for a place holder. Inside the front cover was a simple note that read:

Molly Louise
Just because. You know how it goes.
By the way - I ADORE my new bag!! [There is a smiley face made from the exclamation points.] It Rocks.
See you soon.
LOVE YOU!
Heather

I taped that note inside the front cover so that whenever I opened it, I would see it, read it, and know that my sister is always with me. As for the notebook itself - I debated having it for a poetry book, and instead, actually, because it seemed fitting, settled on using it for a journal. I don't remember to empty my head every day; there are some things that need to rattle around for a little more, ferment a little better before they get dumped out. There are occasions when I update regularly [much like the blog, if you could see that comparison] and there are times when I forget that it's there. There is a side of me in those pages that is deeper, and a little more personal than the blog that I'm currently typing [and you're currently reading]. And that's the way it should be.

However, there are times when I bare as much of myself as possible [not in that sense, thank you very much] and give people a little more depth to me that I might otherwise not let you see. Then again, that's probably just me.

I actually got this idea from Connie, over at The Young and the Relentless, which was inspired by her Connie Diaries, which are snippets of her younger days from (I'm assuming) her diary.

I've given you snippets about what happened in Philadelphia last summer, but I haven't actually given you the whole story. And, as a prelude to a post that's still rattling around in my head that might take a little while to actually hash out, I wanted to share with you something more personal, and slightly out of the archive. So, instead of me telling you what happened in Philly, and making it all nice and pretty and snarky in places, I'm going to give you the "original" version. Which, for the most part, is nice and pretty and snarky in all the right places naturally. But you get the idea.

And maybe kickstart a new series in the process. No idea about that, though, because I don't censor my language as much in the journal as I do on here, mostly because I should be [except on occasions like this] the only person who reads said journal] and I try to keep the blog as family-friendly [teenie-bopper-and-up-friendly] as possible. I try, which isn't the same as succeeding, but I do try and for the most part, haven't failed epically yet. Yay! Points for the home team.

Oh, and anybody playing with the idea of keeping a journal or a diary? Do it. Find yourself a comfortable place to write things [I'm talking about the book or notebook, and if you're like me and can't write on a blank, lineless page without slanting, then get one with lines, there's no shame] because it's a marvelous thing to have to track your emotional and personal trials, tribulations, and growth. Also, those vacation memories you have, the stories that don't necessarily correspond to the pictures, this is how you remember them. Sometimes I wish I had done a better job of writing about things while I was in Hawaii, New Zealand, and Australia, but, I was twelve at the time and it didn't seem like that big a deal. And who knows? Twenty years from now, if I ever have kids [or grandkids, which is a really scary thought] they can read about the adventures [the good ones and the no-so-good ones] that I had when I was their age [or a little older]. Might even be a trip down Memory Lane worth strolling someday.

The Point: Keep some sort of journal or diary. Trust me, it's a good thing.

So, [trying to get back on topic here and failing miserably, as usual] here's the low-down on Philly, and maybe the start of something a little different and a little special. Just because, well, you know how it goes.

This was written the following morning from when I was actually supposed to fly home. Names of the airports that I should have been flying into have changed ['cause, you know, I'm slightly paranoid] but everything else has been left the same as the original entry. And I think that's all the stage-setting that you'll need.The name of my job has been abbreviated. And that, I believe, is the last service message that you should need. And yes, usually the morning after a stressful, oh-my-goodness-am-I-ever-going-to-get-home-I-just-wanna-see-my-mama-and-sleep-in-my-own-bed night is brighter and a little better. It also opens a period of time for reflection. Or sufficient ranting. You pick.

August 1, 2009 8:11 am, Philadelphia, PA

As you can see I never made it home. There's a reason.

The woman at the service counter never took my name and put it on the Ipthama list. So that wasn't an option. I go back to the Epthama gate and they keep moving that back. Now, instead of leaving at 8:50, they leave at 11:15. And I'm not guaranteed a seat. After all the people with seats have sat, she starts calling [names] mine. She not only butchers it, she doesn't say the entire thing. So I go and tell her this, and she says go. There were 2 people ahead of me, and they sat and the flight attendant looks at me and says, "Sorry sweetie, I'm out of seats." I get off the plane and they realize that someone got on who wasn't supposed to. I was not about to pull someone, already sitting, off a plane. I have more...no idea what I have but I couldn't. I wouldn't feel right. Even though I just wanted to go home.

I got a distress form from the airport, took a shuttle to a Holiday Inn, stood around some more in line, and got a room.

So, now I'm writing from the 10th floor of a Holiday Inn in Philly. I probably look like shit, I'm most likely not awake, and I'm hungry. My flight now leaves for Ipthama, at 12:15 this afternoon. I don't know how long I'll be in the air, don't know when I'll land, and I definitely don't know if I'm going to work tonight. My mom has to call C.W. and tell them I'm still in Philly.

And since my stomach is making noises, I'm going to feed it. And I don't care if it's white bread.

Still no idea WTF my luggage is.

Did I mention that I can throw a stone and hit the stadium of the Philadelphia Phillies?

Things to Know X

There is one week left before spring break.

Said week cannot go fast enough for me.

Why is it so difficult for me to do my lab reports?

I'm a chemistry major who's back up plan in life is teaching, doesn't have a first-plan, and hates being in the lab. Is there something wrong with this picture?

I go to NYC in approximately two weeks for class.

This will require me to move my physics lab - namely, out of my section (the night) into the afternoon. There is a good chance that Fizziks boy will be there.

I can't seem to find Murfee. I have no idea where he's hiding, or even if he's still at this end of the lake.

I had forgotten how much I like to ice skate.

It's becoming really difficult for me to make myself do homework.

I was a bad person this afternoon - I went to Subway to get some dinner because I'm more or less living in the publication sweet tonight, and got Dr. Pepper to drink.

This is only an issue because I'm not supposed to have carbonation.

On the scale of the three things that I can't have that cause pain when I do, soda is somewhere between a little bit of white pasta and a whole lot of white bread.

I filed the next batch of paperwork required for going abroad.

I am now in possession of an International Student Identification Card (ISIC). The photo is absolutely horrendous.

My room is a mess and I have no ambition to pick it up. It's a week before break.

Found out yesterday that my ex-boyfriend is dating the girl who lives at the other end of the hall on my floor.

They're both wonderful people and I have nothing against them but it was a little difficult to see for the first time.

Still haven't figured out how to respond to comments that people leave on my blog.

Would be helpful, when responding (or trying to) to said comments, if I actually looked for them or had some system of notification. One had been sitting in there for a couple of days.

Jimmy Buffet and Zac Brown Band's rendition of Margaritaville is absolutely lovely.

I blame my soccer coach for my being a half-assed Parrothead. That, and that CD on the boat last summer that was all Jimmy Buffet. I think I can blame that on Greg.

I love my job. Which reminds me that I might need to stop down and see if they got my message because they haven't gotten back to me.

I'm ready to go back to work.

I'm more than ready for Easter because I. Need. Coffee.

A trip to NYC isn't going to be complete without stopping at a Starbucks, and if we do, I can't get coffee. I'll have to get hot chocolate. Not bad, but not exactly a mocha, either.

Getting an education doesn't necessarily mean just college - I had the privilege of a crash-course in 93 Oldsmobile tail lights, replacing bulbs, fuses, where the fuse panel is, how to replace them, where the ticker is for the turn signal, where that is, how to replace it, and dealing with auto parts people.

Irony - Your car won't start start in the parking lot of Advance Auto Parts.

Rewind

I'm well aware it's Wednesday and I haven't added one of these things in pretty much a week. My bad.

Saturday (four days ago) was the first day that I went back to work for the summer. It was a rather uneventful dinner cruise. Sunday was much better. Now, between this summer and last summer, there were a couple of really remarkable cruises - some good, some bad - and Sunday's was the best of the best. We had a big group on, about 100, and they were all a choir. No, this wasn't some old-ladies Church type thing - they were from parts of the UK, lived in Canada, and were doing a tour of sorts. They played in a town not far from mine the night before and were celebrating. And what a way to celebrate. Not only did they have kickin' accents because they were mostly from overseas, but they also drank. It was one of those nights for me where I had hit every table of mine for drinks before I made it downstairs to get the first round. The result was returning with basically half the bar and handing it out. Two of my tables, at the fact that my name is Molly, burst into rounds of "Molly Malone" which should have clued me in for the mayhem to come. Now, Sunday night dinner cruises have live entertainment (live singing) and, toward the end of the cruise, when the paid music took a break, the folks we had on deck, namely, the people in the seats paying for the cruise who were also in a choir, started singing. I heard one of the best versions of "Sloop John B." that I have ever heard in my life. They were SO GOOD! Not to mention, about 50+ in age and holding their beer remarkably well. Before we had even set sail, they had taken the napkins from the table and fashioned hats out of them. My six-top, before we'd even left, had taken the spoons off the table and started playing the spoons. Needless to say, it was the most fun I have had on that boat from a cruise ever. There's big shoes to be filled this summer if another "3 Hour Tour" is to take over first.

Monday was a day off, of sorts. I went to weightlifting at 6 in the morning and when I came back, crawled back into bed and snuggled in with the dog for a few hours. The cat being in the chair in my room, it was like I had a small zoo in my room. And there's still on the piles of stuff from college - clothes and such - that I haven't had any desire to deal with and therefore haven't. Monday was very uneventful. We did laundry.

Tuesday I slid back into a sort of routine. When I came home from weightlifting, I didn't go back to bed. I stayed up, made myself some breakfast, and watched SportsCenter. Yeah, I watch SportsCenter. Used to when I was in high school, before I went to school. Before that, I watched CNN. And then basically just killed time before I had to be anywhere, thinking that before I went to work I would go down to the parts store and get a heater knob for my car. My car is missing its heater knob. No idea where the hell it went, but it's not in the car and because I don't have a knob, I have neither heat nor defog in the vehicle. Not that I really had heat before but the defog is kind of important and I do kind of need that. Well, I left my lights on trying to get someone to turn in front of me because otherwise they were going to hit me in the rear end if I turned first and then turned into my driveway, and it drained the battery. I opened the door and didn't even get a dome light. So, my dad had to come home, jump the car, and then I went for the part. They didn't have one, but sent me somewhere else. Of course, I have twenty minutes before I have to be to work. I'm almost stopped at a stop light, I'm the first car there, and my phone rings. Damn good thing I looked up because there was a State Trooper in the other lane on the other side of the intersection practically staring me down. He was a couple cars behind the first one, but he was giving me the stink-eye. It was great.

Work that night wasn't bad. Except that we had on a bunch of college kids on their Senior Week and I had a tab sheet (drinks) that I couldn't find at the end of the cruise. They took it. And then proceeded to argue with me over the price I had charged them for drinks. So, I had to drop the overall total by $6 to please them (after talking with my boss who then talked to me about the fact that it wasn't so much that the tab was out, but that you thought it was in and paid) and the night just really didn't end the way I thought it was going to. Other than that, it was a great cruise. Walked away with $42 in tips so it wasn't all bad.

And now it's Wednesday. And my entire body is pretty much sore. See, lifting yesterday, it seemed like a good idea at the time to use a 25 pound weight and do declined crunches. Today, not so much. But sore is apparently good and I do feel stronger. Tomorrow I'll test my max's on my squat and my bench. This is almost hysterical - My benchpress maximum is 85 pounds, bar included. For my fitness test in August, I have to benchpress 140 pounds. My squat didn't really change much. 165 isn't that far away from my body weight, which I did last year, so I should be good to go.

I've already decided I'm going to resemble either a football player or Ahnold by the end of the summer. I'm strangely comfortable with that.

And considering that I have some errands to run after I vacuum the stairs, it would be wise for me to get off my ass and be productive. But I am definitely stopping at Dunkin' later. Most definitely.