Wha...?

Yeah, that would be what my face looked like today. We had our company Secret Santa party today. It's a bit different that what I'm used to, but I don't know whether to assume that's a cultural difference or just some other coincidence. In my history, you find out who your Secret Santa was. Today, I found that you don't. Which is cool. No biggie.

Work Annika (WA) (we have to review for this story to have full impact) is different than Normal Annika (NA). NA talks constantly, laughs even more and is generally a fun loving person. Generally. WA is a workhorse. WA doesn't talk to people too much and doesn't attend social things at work unless she can be somehow behind the scenes baking or cleaning or setting up. So. The point of that is that people at work know a very different Annika.

My gift comes up. Thankfully, we didn't have the awkward everyone-looks-at-Annika-opening-her-present-what-face-do-you-give time. We just handed 'em out and opened 'em up. I got these two gifts: a Spongebob Squarepants notebook and fuzzy handcuffs.

I'll pause for that to sink in.

Now, I was mortified. In NA company, this would have been hilarious. But at work?! In what world is that an appropriate gift? I had no idea how to react. Plus, and most importantly, conjure up the mental image this person must have of me in his (it was totally a guy) mind. I am sure I turned 100 shades of red. Then people near me saw the handcuffs and they're being waved above my head. I knew going to that Christmas party was a bad idea. They saw me while drinking and then thought it'd be hilarious to make me horrifically uncomfortable in front of the whole building.

Well done, sir. Well done. :) You got me. But. I will find out the culprit. I'm just praying it's someone I actually talk to!

Oh, and um... I leave for the States in a couple hours!!! So this will be the last blog for a bit unless my internet addiction rears its ugly head while I'm on holiday. Otherwise, a happy holiday season to you and yours.

I'm Leaving on a Jet Plane

Well, tomorrow is the big day. Things are finally in place for the move, so I should be fine. I am going to work tomorrow in jeans and a Wisconsin sweatshirt and no makeup. You can take the girl out of Wisconsin...

I am excited to fly. I love flying, but this will be such a long flight. Of course, not taking fourteen suitcases (a slight exaggeration) like I did last time will be so much nicer. I have magazines to read, cds to listen to, medicine to combine with wine to make me sleep like a baby (totally safe, I assure you) and I just pray the flight doesn't wipe me out for days. Not that it will stop me and my mommy. :) Mexican food and shopping await me. I couldn't be more happy.

And I get to see the rest of my family and my friends!! Ah! Christmas is so underrated. :)

Moving Sucks

I am a bit neurotic. It's true. So, any of you who know me would assume that I have packed and repacked my stuff for the States about a week ago. Normally this would be true. But I am homeless. Now, I realise the callous nature of saying that when people really are homeless and what I actually mean is that I have two homes. But still. I still can't move all my stuff into my new flat until Friday. And even then, it's all thrown in a corner to deal with for when I come back. Sweet. I'm sure I'll be totally up for unpacking everything I own after my trip to the States.

Also, I haven't packed yet! I can't! Where is my stuff? But. I have not lost my Christmas spirit. I will overcome! :) I will be in the States in a matter of days. I will be on the plane, drinking wine and reading the brand new Cosmo I bought. I will be with my family in friends shortly. My mood remains high. I refuse. :)

For Instance

I suck at writing in this lately. Is it possible that I've run out of mundane things to say? Doubtful, for instance...

I am shifting flats tomorrow. Is that insane? Only because I feel like there's no way I've been there almost a year and also because it's insane that I move the same week (nay, two days before) I fly to the States. So I need to finish Christmas shopping (one present to go), completely move all my worldly possessions, unpack them (I hate to leave things unfinished), and cancel all my services, subscriptions and renew them for my new flat. Bah.

Oh and I need to get a Secret Santa gift. Shoot. So many things. And my final mundane detail of the day is that it isn't sunny, warm, or quite frankly, summer here. I was promised summer. It's winter in the northern hemisphere and I was told they were opposites. Unfortunately, I think that means that the shorter vs longer seasons are reversed. Now, am I the only one who thinks fall and spring are typically shorter than summer and winter? Perhaps. But here, it is a really long fall (which I adore) and then a really long spring (which I hate). Who likes mud? Well, I better.

While I daydreamed of jumping on a plane in shorts and tank tops to have to change into my winter jacket and gloves in MN... I will pretty much just have to add a layer to my wardrobe. Stupid summer promises. But! It will be summer when I get back I'm told. Either that, or it's all lies again. But who can think of those distant lies when I'll be in the States at the week's end!!

Mumbo Jumbo

It's true; I talk fast. I always have and I probably always will. I have gotten better, and people get used to me, but it's just a state of affairs. However, I do reasonably well in professional settings. When I teach, the kids have to get used to my pace, but everything turns out fine. I used to work drive through at the infamous Arby's and get commended on my pronunciation, etiquette and positive attitude (not that it was much competition considering the antics of my peers like the equally infamous Ghetto Fab). I can do professional talking, is my point.

Today, I had to order more coffee as I have had to several times in the past few months. I rang and explained who I was, where I was calling from, and the purpose for my call. I had to repeat myself four (count 'em: four!) times. Now, the first time, I'll grant you. You aren't expecting a rapid-fire American to be on the other end of the line. But the subsequent repetition? By the end of it, I felt like I was openly mocking him, drawing out each syllable to about a minute a piece. He didn't seem offended in the least, nor did he think it unusual for me to have to repeat myself unendingly. Weird.

So maybe after all that, my speech hasn't improved. What more can I do? You're just going to have to figure out a way to slow my brain down. I can think of no other logical solution.

Open Windows

Well, for the first time this spring/summer, I was able to keep my windows open all night. It was nice and even a little humid for me. But I realised why I don't like to sleep with my windows open. I'm far too paranoid. Again, the windows here don't have screens. There are many bees and flies that like to hang out, not to mention small birds that fly right around my windows as is. I just keep having flashbacks to when a bluejay got caught in the sunporch at the house on Courtney senior year. That bird went absolutely crazy and I couldn't do a thing to help it but hope it got out. I do not want a bird to freak out in my flat while I'm in it sleeping. Gross.

Also, and I realise this is odd sounding, I worry that people walking by will hear my sleeping. I mean, I know I sometimes snore. I probably make various other sounds too. The chances of someone walking past my flat, close enough to hear me at 4am are slim. Still.

But I found a legitimate reason for sleeping with my windows closed. The birds start singing way before daylight, which wakes me up way before daylight. At least, I'm blaming the birds. If I am waking up before 8 for no reason, I need to check into a loony bin.

And PS - of course I'll sleep with my windows open. It's going to get too bloody hot not to. But I will worry about birds every night! :)

Some More Goodies

I just think these are fun. Go Christmas.

I Think This Makes Me Morbid...

...but I still think it's hilarious.

Not Abandoned!

On the way to church, I saw a car that had its front tires missing and was stacked up on 2X4s. It looked like it was in quite the state and my ever realistic mind thought, "Sucks to be that guy." It is summer and apparently crime comes out in full force (or small town crime anyway) because all the students have gone and left their stuff in their houses as storage. I thought this was quite a new high to crime though. That's bold! But then, I saw the sign on the windscreen: "Not Abandoned!"

Poor car. Poor student. If your car is in such bad shape, you need to make people aware that you haven't been ripped off, you haven't just left your junker car to rot, and that you are in fact coming back for its tired remains, you have a problem. But at least it cheered my Sunday up a bit.

Oh! And we had the Christmas Parade! I took pictures, but I haven't gotten them online yet. Story of my life, I know, but I promise they're coming.

Sweet Aromas

I have decided I need a signature scent. I'm not typically a perfume (parfoom as the saleslady says) person, so it's hard. Plus, I am notoriously picky about everything I buy, so it's a battle for all involved.

Ever in an attempt to impress the Class Police (to no avail), I wanted to get Chanel No. 5. It's nice, but... the saleswoman said it was an old scent, which is factually true, but she followed it up with, "Not that only old ladies wear it -- I mean, they do! (awkward laughter) But not only old ladies... I mean..." Hm. I didn't like it really at first. I tried some other horrible putrid scents that resembled flowers dipped in alcohol and sugar. And I have never been able to match a scent with the whole baby prostitute line from Mean Girls until I smelled Paris Hilton's gem.

I think out of the billion things I smelled, Chanel is growing on me the most. I just don't like perfumes really, but still feel I should have a subtle signature scent. I am taking suggestions, but I might just give in and get Chanel because at least I can say I wear it. I'm such a brand whore.

Bah Humbug

Now, I think it should be obvious since I posted like a month ago about missing Christmas that I do in fact adore Christmas. I don't know that I would say that it's generally my favorite all time holiday (I have to agree with my brother - Easter is nice. Our family gets together, has a meal, goes to church, etc. It's like Christmas without the snow, the five pounds you gain, and - his personal favorite - the tree.) But this year, Christmas is my favorite because I get to go home, at least for a whirlwind tour of the States. Now, people have been plotting to ruin Annika's Christmas. No, no, no. Not people I know (besides my brother and his anti-tree stance), but strangers or near strangers.

They went around asking people on Kiwi MTV if they cared about Christmas. A lot of people said no. A lot of people said they hated seeing their families, that it was all contrived, that it was very consumeristic. Okay, all that can be true. Then, I saw the company Christmas tree up at work; I oohed and aahed and was shushed by some people around me. "I don't see why we have to indulge in this crap here." Gasp! Whose hearts are not melted by the sight of a lit Christmas tree that you didn't have to put up, decorate, or take down? Then, a co-worker pulled out the doozy: "It's just a holiday created by card companies." What?! I'm pretty sure Christians had something to do with it! (I'm being religiously open-minded, you see.) But take out God, the baby Jesus, and all that for a minute. Christmas can be wonderful. You see your family! You get to feel the bittersweet passage of time, pick out 'the perfect present' for loved ones, cozy up on a couch and stare at the Christmas tree at night, and wake up with a knot in your stomach about Christmas morning like adults don't often get the chance to do! I mean, there is a lot more in it for Christians, but even if you ignore that - take advantage! You know?

Now, maybe other people's families suck. Maybe they can't afford presents or decorations, and it serves as a reminder of poverty. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But I still say that it's what you make it. So we've got some choices in front of us: bitter about how commercialised Christmas has gotten, etc etc etc or enjoy the holiday.

I realise I may have gotten on my soapbox for nothing. Maybe it's a Kiwi mentality (can Christmas just not get 'picked up' like that?) and the people who read this (primarily non-Kiwis) are gung-ho about Christmas. But I think it's a nice reminder. Once the idea of Christmas risks being unattainable because you've thrown yourself on the other side of the world, it seems a little less about the ritzy quality of wrapping paper and more about seeing people you love.

End of soapbox. Promise. :)

Pleasantly Surprising

Generally, I am what most people would call cynical about life, but I would prefer to think of myself as realistic. This means that I don't always assume people are bad, but I don't always assume they're good - realistic. Well, I had a problem in my flat. My neighbors are unpleasantly loud a good deal of the time. Luckily, they moved out for the summer about a week or so ago. Good times. Well, they are attacking me still. I woke up yesterday to a quiet, but persistent fire alarm. It was quiet enough to not notice right away, but loud enough to be able to pick out at any given time once you were aware of it. Now, my neighbors weren't there. No smoke, no fire. So now what? I figured that the alarm must be attached to the fire department in some way and the situation would rectify itself. Off to the gym I went. I came back and it was still going. I went to work, and various other places... still going. Alright. This morning it was still going. So that makes 24 hours solid of fire alarm with no one caring. I emailed my housing contact, unsure of even who to call. Clearly it wasn't an emergency, except that it was driving me slowly and steadily insane.

My contact is naturally out of the office today. Of course. But she included an email to contact "if urgent." Well, I declared it urgent. I emailed the random man who would surely not care and not consider this his duty (okay, slightly cynical). Then I went off to the gym. By the time I got back, the infernal racket had ceased, the man had emailed me to say that he was on his way, emailed to say he had been there and he had left me a letter and his business card in my door to apologise profusely for the inconvenience. I am pleasantly surprised.

Second and much shorter pleasantry: I put away most of the dishes at work because these people are useless at cleaning up after themselves. It's cool. I like to be the one putting away the dishes anyway - I'm better at it. :) As I was ducking and dodging through the people in the kitchen (who would conspicuously not helping put away dishes), a guy said, "Do you do a lot of dancing?" I assumed he was joking and laughed and gave some kind of affirmative answer. He then pressed to know what kind of dancing. If he had to guess, he would say ballroom. What? I had to apologise and tell him I was kidding. I had no formal training in dancing and was actually rubbish at it. He seemed surprised as well as those around him. I do not permeate an air of grace. I know this. But it's nice to know I'm getting better at hiding my clutzy nature.

Big Day Out

I am in shock! I was just watching Kiwi MTV, and they were talking about Big Day Out, a huge music festival that is mainly in Aussie, but is also in New Zealand. It's big. One of the two creators of the event just said that he got the idea after being at Milwaukee's Summerfest!! Shock. They just talked about Milwaukee on Kiwi MTV. That's awesome.

I am so cultured now because I'm from the elusive, musically inspiring Milwaukee!

Sunny Dunedin

When I first arrived here, I saw these t-shirts that say "Sunny Dunedin". I thought they were cute, though they cost $65. I didn't realise what a huge joke the shirt actually was. It rains a lot here. The past couple weeks had me fearing I would need to move up into the mountains to avoid the flooding. But, of course, it wasn't that bad and it was temporary. The sun broke through yesterday, also known as "Best Thanksgiving Ever." Yes, I realise it wasn't even Thanksgiving anymore, but honestly, who cares? I might have gone to the beach, but alas - Best Thanksgiving Ever required cooks. So, I woke up today fully expecting the storm clouds to have gathered while I slept. Not so.

The sun has stayed another day! It's amazing to me how much of a difference sun makes. The flies don't even bother me today. (Stupid flies.) I will celebrate by napping in the sun and reading. And also praying the sun stays a little bit longer this time.

So Full

It's a wonder I'm not currently puking. We brought Thanksgiving to New Zealand even if it meant cooking heaps of food for the two Americans in the vicinity. Mmm. I think I finally found a recipe for vegetarian gravy that matches (but doesn't beat) Jaime's mom's. A-mazing, friends. Spectacular. Wine, food, friends, movies. Wonderful.

I now must resist the urge to puke because it would be a waste of fantastic food. This year I'm thankful for... copious amounts of food and a holiday a world away.

Me: 1, Uni: 0

Okay, my title is misleading. I don't know that I've actually won something, but I feel victorious. :) We get heaps and heaps of junk mail. By 'we', I mean students as well as Kiwis. I think there's a law in the States against people just walking around and putting crap in people's mailboxes. That law does not exist here. Let's just say, for example, that I wanted to stuff every person's mailbox in the city with a flyer that said, "Annika rules". Because, well, I do. I could do that as long as I'm keen to walk all over the city to do so. This means tons of flyers telling me that evening's drink specials at approximately ten bars, pizza deals, flyers for every store in town and political newsletters that I don't care about. That's just your average pile of mail. I hate this kind of mail. I did not sign up to hear your daily drink specials, I am not a communist/socialist/green party/lefty/righty politically obsessed person. I can't vote here, so I don't care. And if you knew I was an American, I bet you'd keep your politics as far from me as possible. I don't want to order your dumb pizza, I don't care how much your new plasma TVs are on sale - I can't afford it. I don't want an advert for the hardware store; I own a hammer and nails, what else could I possibly need? And Green party, why oh why are you printing out mass quantities of paper ads that people just throw out without recycling (I don't just on principle there)?

My retaliation is simple. If I get any kind of mail that doesn't have my name or address on it, I throw it in a bin that is next to my front door. It isn't actually my bin, so it must be the University's. It is actually for mulching, I think, because the uni's gardening staff use it for leaves, branches and grass. They clean it out every two weeks and it has their mulch and my two weeks' worth of ads. This has gone on since the first week I arrived here in Sunny Dunedin.

This week, they took away my bin.

Now, I can see that this might not be considered a victory. Even if it is a victory, I don't know that I won over the university. But, I feel like it is. Because someone else was irritated by the rubbish too. I mean, technically, they couldn't ever prove it was me because there isn't any identification on the mail - hence the problem. Now, it's not just an issue of my annoyance. Is that a victory? I don't know, but I'll take it.

This Explains So Much!

My horoscope for today, under the heading of love, said this:

"For the first time in this lifetime, Jupiter is getting cosmic support from Uranus as he moves through your romantic sector. This will last for the next 5 days and will be repeated again next May and August, for a few days and then never again. Expect serendipitous moments, choreographed by fate."

Well, no wonder! So fate hasn't been backing up my love life. At all. My one shot at fate-destined love is for the next five days, another five days next year... and then never again! You know, considering horoscopes are a lot of crapola anyway, wouldn't you put something optimistic? Do I really want to read this one again? "Quick - find true love in the next five days, or start buying cats, crazy lady!" Sigh.

Lord of the Flies

I used to be more grossed out by bugs than I am now. I saw my first (surprisingly red) cockroach in Fiji crawling on my luggage. I was more impressed by seeing it than grossed out. Several spiders are now aware that I won't kill them, so we now hang out. The bees here are huge, but don't really bother me. They're like small birds. The one thing that does gross me out is flies.

They are also giant. They are about the size of the last section of my pinky. That's huge as far as bugs go, I think. Bees look almost fuzzy, dancing around the flowers. Flies just look big and black and oddly shiny. I mean, seriously, are they wet or something? Gross. This past Sunday, on the way to church, Kelley and I happened upon a small black pile of something. Turns out, it was flies. Gross. They were covering a small chicken bone or something, but the sound they made was absolutely disgusting. A whole heap of flies suddenly buzzing around, disturbed by our footsteps. Gross. Then we happened upon another mysterious pile of something. I'll call this one a large batch of what could have been chili, but with bigger chunkier bits. We didn't look long. The flies wouldn't even touch this one. On our way back, the birds had found it and were pecking away.

I'm not usually too squeamish. But sick. So now I think of flies as smaller vultures. And c'mon. Who doesn't think of the flies buzzing around the pig head from Lord of the Flies when they hear that much buzzing? I repeat. Gross.

Day Three of Rain

Would start to build ark, but fear it's too late. Sick of rain.

Harry Potter

First, I would like to start by stating my displeasure at the fact that Harry Potter hasn't come out here. And secondly, yes, I do have tickets for the screening at 12.01 am of the day it comes out (Wednesday night/Thursday morning).

I read an article today saying that the movie has made significantly less each sequel that has come out. I would like to point out that it grossed (in the States) $101 million opening weekend. Yeah, sounds depressing. That is of course not to mention the overseas sales that it will be bringing it. Apparently, the last movie (the worst one yet, then) made over a billion from overseas tickets alone. Seriously, are we that worried about J.K. Rowling?

But seriously, I can't friggin' wait for this movie. I think I will get there super early so I can get a good seat and buy candy and popcorn because I want to revel in the childhood wonderland that this is. I can remember finishing this book, chewing on my nails, sitting tensely upright on my parents' bed. So what if I was in college... that, my friends, is reading. Getting so excited by the ending that you can't stop reading, no matter what time it is, no matter what you have to do. And the movie can be an extension of that reading experience. Sheer joy.

I can't friggin' wait.

I'm Psychic!

I say there's going to be Fiji pictures and here they are! :) I am still working on getting all the pictures and then putting them in my photo website, but for now, this will have to do. Above, we are on the Seaspray and most likely yelling BULA! Because it is fun to say.
Here we are mixing booze and boating. I hear that's intelligent. In all seriousness, this is moments before we all jumped in the water to go snorkeling up to the island that Castaway was filmed on. Loyal blog readers will recall that we were battered on the coral there. How happy and unknowing we are here. :)

Soccer Team Booze Cruise

Well, it's a bit belated, but I just got some pictures from the soccer team booze cruise. The rate I'm going, I'll even be able to put up some pictures from Fiji before the year is out. :) But this is us at a vineyard in Central Otago somewhere before we had consumed too much celebratory booze for our spectacular two goals all season. :) Huzzah! And yes, I am sporting the Chi Omega bar crawl shirt in a country with no concept of Greek life except Animal House.

Strange Bedfellows

I have always had a small bed. It wasn't until college that I even realised that I was completely unaware of how comfortable a bed could be. When suddenly everyone sees your bed and your comforter, then it starts to be important how it looks. When your bed also doubles as your couch, its comfort suddenly becomes important as well. My early years at university found me collapsing into drowsy sleep on top of books, (clean) laundry, homework, and other random pieces of life that wandered onto my bed during the day.

Senior year, I had my nest. A heap of down blankets and pillows that you could ooze into. I still had the odd book or two in there, but mostly it was soft down. Blissful. Still, it was tiny and I felt comfortable in my small space.

At home and school for the past 20-odd years, I have had a teeny bed with lots of such crap on it. When I got to New Zealand and my partially furnished flat, I found a huge bed. A queen size. At first, I still slept all in one corner, getting used to this ocean of sheets and blankets. Now, I lounge, basking in the room. However, there is still way too much room for one wee girl. I woke up this morning to realise how much I use my bed as a hobby table. I woke up to find that I had been sleeping with knitting needles (two different sizes) a ball of wool, scissors, two books, my remote for my TV, and my glasses. The foot of my bed held my workout clothes prepared for the morning. It occurred to me that this just might be unusual.

I could outline the reasoning behind each of these objects in my bed, but I won't. The simple explanation might be that I like to be almost suffocated by my own things. Yes, that's cryptic and all-encompassing. Perfect.

Well, I Never!

A while ago, I was introduced to getting free samples of things online. All you have to do is submit yourself to some silly email lists and you get free soap, free face cleansers, free lotion. Good times. And if you put down an inaccurate email address, so much the better. But I must have put my real one down on at least one. I got an ad today from NZgirl (which I had thought was for preteens) that said:

"Legs are being bared, tank tops dragged out of hibernation and toenails painted in anticipation of sandal wearing season. The weather’s heating up but how are things between your sheets?"

Gasp!! It went on to describe, in intimate detail, some key ingredients for spicing up my love life. Ew. This had better not be for preteen girls! I felt a little off guard and I consider myself partially adult-ish. And what a segue, right? Summer's here, get ready for sex! Seriously. Spam, you shock me.

Culinary Explosion!

I like food. I also rather enjoy weird food. Some of my favorite dishes have come about in my living alone. It's great not to have to excuse what you're eating. Of course, freshman year, I had no issue eating a can of peas for lunch, much to the chagrin of those living nearby. It did smell, I suppose. But many of my meals come from throwing things that I like together and seeing how they taste together. Such as: crossing peanut butter and honey with tuna fish and cream cheese; mashed potatoes with spinach and frozen corn and sweet Thai chili sauce; eggs and veggies baked into pita bread. I like these things. I wouldn't serve them to other people, but I am not other people.

New Zealand has catered to my weird food fetish because they have weird food in general. Yesterday I bought some spicy apricot hummus. Yeah, think about those aspects combined. I also got onion and chive pita bread strips to eat the hummus with. I cannot express to you how delicious this combo was. I mean, really. I think when I eventually depart this country for good, I will miss the random things I can readily find in the grocery store. Luckily, I have another year or so to enjoy my crazy food combos.

Jogger's Nod

I used to be a runner. This may shock and astound those of you that do know me. In high school, I was on cross country. I hated it and it hated me. I was awful. You have to get to the point where you don't focus on the fact that you're running, but rather on the meditative quality it can offer. I was not a meditatively minded 14 year old. Whatever.

I gave it up after the season and didn't really look back, aside from the running Lisa and I did (with the sidestops to get ice cream at Lucky's on the way). Today, I was sick of the gym. I mean, it can get monotonous. So I decided to run. I know. This in itself is shocking. But I went and enjoyed it. It was meditative. I hit a rhythm and enjoyed it, but I didn't go for too long. Keeping it a positive experience of course. :)

But the real cool part was that I got to see the quiet botanical gardens. Since it had been so warm and rainy here, everything has that earthy green glow to it. Not many people were out and about and I only saw one other runner. She gave the jogger's nod. I felt like someone had just slipped the secret handshake of a secret club. Ha! I passed for a regular runner! I think that in itself was fun.

Botanical gardens... 7am. Be there or be c.

The Nutcracker

I saw The Nutcracker today!! I used to see this play when I was younger and adored it. But you know how such things are - you rarely remember much other than a fondness. I couldn't really tell you the story line other than it's a Christmas Eve where the toys come to life. Okay, actually that's a pretty good summary, but you know what I mean.

The version that I saw was actually an adaptation that threw in some new stuff and took out some classic stuff (no mice!) but all in all, it was great to have some Christmas spirit here. Yes, yes. I know it's some time off, but you gotta fit in so much Christmas stuff into such a short amount of time. There's also just something about live theatre. I have always admired dancers especially because I have absolutely no talent for it. They are dainty and graceful - two things that permanently evade me. Then again, after seeing (oh my God, I am shocked that I forgot its name! We watched it endlessly at Valpo!) that dancing movie, you can see how it can become hardcore and overwhelming.

Still, even though it's a show seen in the hectic holiday season and it's all a pretty illusion on the stage, it's a wonderful illusion. I want more. :)

Business Savvy

Yeah, I rule. This is really just a note to relish in the fact that I no longer have to work really long hours anymore. Student life, here we come. It's summer; I'm only allowed to work 20 hours a week; the sun is out and craving my attention.

Also, I worked so many hours in the past few weeks that I will be getting paid like I am working like a hoss, but will in fact not be working like said hoss. I rule.

Sorry for being so blatant about my coolness, but it's rather undeniable in this situation. :)

Class Act

Summer in Dunedin might not be so bad. I mean, I get restless when I'm in one place for too long and this is, after all, a smallish town. Yes there are things to do, but not a whole lot of them are new.

One thing I have wanted to do since I got here was eat at one of the restaurants in the centre of town outside and people-watch. Specifically, I have wanted to do this accompanied by good friends, fine wine, and some breads and cheeses. Today was that day. It was fun, though we weren't actually all that classy. Laughing and storytelling unfortunately don't make for tangible sophistication, but they do make for a grand ol' time. Then, the class-factor really went downhill.

I went to the toilets and discovered that one of my favorite restaurants (the one we were dining at) shares a big glass wall with the art gallery. I suppose I sort of knew this. But I hadn't taken in the view of the darkened art gallery before. Of course, to those seeing me from the dining area, I just looked like I was staring at a blank wall. I went into the toilet for such purposes as it is designed, and washed my hands. The burning water prevented me from completely getting the soap off and the hand dryer was impossible. I ended up using my skirt to dry my hands. I will allow a moment of shame. But you couldn't tell, and no one had seen me. Still. It's moments like that you realise how class has no room for a person in a bathroom alone.

Roly-Poly Yanks

I read an article today about Americans being fat. It was one of the oddest articles I have ever read; I am sure it is propaganda, but I have no idea what I'm being persuaded of. (And I stole this picture from the article... just felt I ought to include that.)

Basically, it discusses the opposing camps of dieters and fat people. Both sides want the other to be converted to a Zen like understanding of weight, beauty, and food. I find it all a little odd. I mean, I can understand that being fat is bad even taking away any notions of beauty, it's just plain unhealthy. But why is it my business if you're fat or vice versa? The dieters apparently are boycotting the fact that America produces too much food, that fast food places have supersize options, and that "a third of the country is currently obese... the fat are fast becoming a majority." Ignoring the horrible maths skills there, I still don't see where this has anything to do with me. Just because the food industry makes food doesn't mean I have to eat it. Just because I can supersize my food doesn't mean I am forced into obesity. And mostly, it just plain has nothing to do with me. The article also mocks the new McDonald's policy that posts its caloric content on the wrappers of the burgers. Our author thinks it's preposterous that you must first pay for the food before you find out it's 730 calories. Ah yes, how many of us have been similarly deceived: What?! This isn't a non-fat, soy burger? This thing dripping with grease and cheese is... gasp... bad for me?

As for the fat camp, they are trying to say that dieting only makes you fatter, as "one activist" says: "The way to fatten an animal is to starve it and then re-feed it. Your metabolism slows down when you're eating less. People on diets are predisposing their body to gain more weight." Now, again, I am not sold on this at all. Dieting doesn't mean starving yourself anymore than the existence of supersized meals creates fat people. The logic is horrible. The thin are yelling at the fat for being fat (for what reason again?) and the fat are yelling back at the thin (again... why?) and everyone's yelling at The Corporation for making us all so unhappy.

I'm all for health, but since when is it anyone's business? If people want to eat themselves to death, who assigned you Saviour? I don't want people telling me how to eat - and that goes for the thin and the fat. Don't call me a sellout because I try to eat healthy and don't call me crazy for sometimes ingesting (God forbid) pizza. I'd say the real crisis here is how much influence we feel that we can make in other people's lives. Well, that and the horrid writing of the article.

Happy Holidays?

Apparently Father Christmas has arrived. I went shopping recently and discovered a whole section of my local department store decked out in Christmas trees and lights and ornaments. It actually stopped me in my tracks. It's getting warmer here and it's been increasingly hard to remind myself that Christmas is a-coming. Plus, Christmas is taking on new significance for me because I (ever so briefly) am coming home (whichever of the 17 locales I will be inhabiting that is "home")!

I took the opportunity to wander through the pretty section of holiday decorations. Actually, I had the same look on my face as a four year old perched on his father's shoulders looking at the decorations. Hey, I like small, shiny objects, what can I say?

But at least this year, I think I will have finally re-created the anticipation of my younger days. As you get older, holidays become less fun as they are tedious and harried. But this year, I have to get all my presents bought early (so I can take them home with me), and am looking forward to the trip home as well as the actual holiday.

So although there isn't the bliss of the year's first snowfall, or the brisk cold that is winter, I am enjoying my tribute to another time and place - a hot chocolate out of a Santa mug. So before I get caught up in the million things I need to do before I get on that plane (let alone thinking about that crazy long flight), I am taking a moment to remember why I used to get so excited about the holidays.

• friends and family!
• snow
• ice skating
• Christmas carolling with illegal hot chocolate and peppermint schnapps
• did I mention friends and family?
• Christmas movies
• the nutcracker
• Christmas music
• friends and family!
• cookies and cakes
• my mom's broccoli-cheesy-rice goodness
• my aunt's veggie pizza
• Christmas morning lounge fest, complete with omelettes, pancakes, and enough coffee to drown several horses
• Christmas eve service and my dad singing "hark, Herald, the angel sang.." and me giggling like a four year old
• driving around and looking at candy cane lane (before it got ghetto)
• FRIENDS AND FAMILY!

Sigh. I know it's a month and a half away, but why wouldn't you want to revel in those things for at least that long?

Privacy

I am a relatively private person which may or may not surprise you. I mean, I like to write about most everything that happens in my little life, but then again, it's only a selected section. I am quite reclusive and enjoy my private life, but not to a creepy extent. :)

One place that I didn't realise I was private about is the gym. I went to the gym today, as I do, and hopped onto the wee bike with my book, also as I do. After a while, I popped my head up to have a look around and see who my work out friends were. There are people that you always work out with at the same time, though you're not friends. You say hello and nod, and that ends the relationship, but these people have been let into a bit of intimacy because they see you first thing in the morning, sweating like a pig. Then, I noticed someone I knew. Actually knew.

One of the contractors that has been helping CFI get relatively central heating was pumping away at a bike near me. I was mortified. I can't even explain why. This guy and I are on friendly terms at work, chatting frequently throughout the day. We didn't really acknowledge each other and he was finishing his workout as I was starting mine, but it felt supremely uncomfortable for me. Why would this person be any different than the other twenty or so people who see me equally grubby every morning?

I think the gym is just a place where you want some privacy, at least from the influences of your normal day. I don't want to see coworkers at the gym any more than I'd like to see my professors at the gym. I haven't had time to prepare my "professional image" perhaps. I wonder if I can ask them to ban people I work with? :)

Sticky Situation

There are times that I like to pretend I'm an adult and there are times I like to pretend that I'll never grow up. (The trick is, if I'm pretending in both cases, then what am I really?) The recent past has been an effort to be adult. I have been obscenely productive in my life as of late and that always makes me feel grown up. Also, working copious amounts of hours contributes to the adult feeling.

Imagine my chagrin when I got a big kick of "childish" in the rear this morning. I woke up and had some toast with jam (apparently eating prior to working out helps my working out stamina - who knew?) while catching up on reading blogs and away messages. Yes, it's a sad life, but it's grown up! :)

Then, I ran to the bathroom before heading out to the gym, looked in the mirror and noticed I had jam in my eyebrow. Yes, my eyebrow. And yes, jam.

It's rather hard to maintain adult dignity when you have purple jam on your face. I don't even know how I did it, though my mom did used to make fun of me because I couldn't eat chocolate without covering my face in a moist brown residue. We all have our weaknesses. Apparently mine is eating.

Smile Pretty!

For you loyal, longtime blog readers, you'll recall that people frequently yell at me for looking angry and mean if they pass me on the street. I have an angry face. It turns out my work face is the opposite.

I have been called the following in the past week: Sunshine, Smiley, Mona Lisa (the computer screen covers up a bit of my face from far away), Giggles, Miss Goodside (because I don't have a bad side to get on), and Wonderful. This is utterly preposterous.

This past week, I have had to do lots of jobs at work that I don't like. Cleaning out a storage cupboard, putting little tags on every key we own that say CFI, and continually cleaning up after people's mess in the tea room. I am now working on figuring out the location, use, and ownership of every key in the building. I don't even know how to use Excel and I have to make a spreadsheet of all this information in varying cross reference-able formats.

I slammed my knee into my printer today leaving a limp, a mark, and a bad mood. I got yelled at that the milk isn't rotated in the fridges and for not alerting my boss of a meeting he had the next morning when it wasn't on my calendar and I didn't know I was meant to remind him of his appointments that are on his calendar. Yet, still. Today alone I got Smiley and someone told me I was born for work with people.

I must be a good actress. I don't really get all my new responsibilities, I am tired of working, and my head hurts from all the incompetencies of my peers before me. So apparently, if I look happy, I probably hate you and if I look angry, I probably love you. Now you know.

Fire Envy

I found a way I am jealous of the undergraduates here. I walked past this nasty flat the other day and saw papers strewn about the lawn. I thought, "Ugh, what pigs" while conveniently forgetting what my house's lawn looked like senior year. :) Then I figured out what the papers were. They had had a bonfire of all their notes from some class. I actually felt a distinct and real pang of jealousy.

I had classes this year that I hated. One in particular. I would have loved to torch all the stupid papers and all the stupid articles and especially all her idiotic comments on my papers. But I can't really do that at this stage. I mean, some of the articles are really good and applicable to my life as a teacher. Her comments on papers are important for my developing academic (and hopefully publishable) writing. Plus, where would I have this fire? :)

I miss the days when I could acknowledge that classes were a true waste of time. Astronomy. Lord, I hated that class. Fun lab group, but otherwise, a big black hole (pun intended) of educative experience. Greek and Roman Civ. God, I struggled. I know nothing about history. I spent the first half of the class frantically writing down everything the professor said and rereading all the chapters a billion times then finally giving up and realising this stuff wouldn't stick. Naturally, I picked up my frantic reading a week before the final. None of this stuff has ever helped me again. Those classes, I could torch the materials to. I could, without guilt, give a big "Screw you!" to the profs of. These classes, bah. I need to use this crap for furthering my professional experience, blah blah blah.

I miss when I could say, "School, you matter not." It will make me feel better when we have our beachside bonfire this weekend. No papers, but burning will be involved. Maybe it will satiate the pyro inside.

Roar

I've been having some crazy dreams lately and felt I at least ought to write them down somewhere. First, I need to say that I have this talent for when a dream gets too scary to wake myself up. My dreams are pretty messed up sometimes and it's really a necessity. I don't like being chased, and there can be some pretty intense chase scenes in my dreams. And as I've mentioned before, I have no problem dying in my dreams, contrary to folklore. I don't like it very much, so I wake myself up when it gets too scary.

Dream is as follows, from where I remember it: I am sitting on in a cabin-esque hut, on a bed next to the door, waiting. I can look over to where my family has been mauled by something, except for my mom who is kind of still alive. She tosses me one of those big two spronged fork things to add to my weaponry collection of one big knife. I am in pouncing position waiting for the perpetrator to strike again. I can hear tremendous growling outside the door. In jumps the largest lion I have ever seen (because my experience with lions is vast). I sit, tense with anticipation, but hope I can just run away. But, I sneeze (this is clearly taken from a commercial I have seen) and the lion leaps at me. I am stabbing relatively calmly at the lion's neck, but he is starting to eat me. It hurts tremendously. I most certainly am about to die, but I am struggling to take this lion down with me for killing my family. I wake myself up.

My side hurts tremendously from where I dreamt the lion took a huge bite out of me. I mentally shake off the dream and go back to sleep. Then, I am walking in a field with friends. We are laughing about something, but I have that feeling. The feeling something is behind you, and it's trouble. I simultaneously shove my friends into a little dip in the woods and turn around to fight the lion I know is there. This time, I kick said lion's butt. Of course, this time I only have a tree branch that I am frantically beating it with. I (gore coming...) finally stab my lethal tree branch through its exposed heart (I warned you) and turn to look for my friends. But I had accidentally missed the fact that while I was killing my lion, its friends were eating my friends. I wake myself up.

I shake it off, fall back to sleep and am in Fiji walking in the waves. Ah. It's dusk and I am sublimely happy. I sit in the waves and just watch the sun go under the horizon and just when it does, a lion eats me. It hurt a lot. I woke up. I sense a trend. Why am I dreaming about lions killing my loved ones and myself??

Tick Tock

I have not exactly taken a restful time for myself after finals were over. I mean, technically, we had the following Monday off work because it was our Labor Day. But, besides that, I only took on more hours and more responsibility at work. So now, work is not the ease of computer playtime (though obviously, still some because I am at work at present) and is now burdened with order forms, invoices, voicemails and various other interruptions and complications.

The other day, I also had several meetings to go to in addition to my rather full work day. I went to the office of my financial aid person (who is actually helpful, shock of shocks) and saw her "Perpetual Year Calendar" on the wall, totally erased. I thought it was odd to see her typically full board empty and told her so. She told me that she just thought it best to start making the next year's schedule and have a normal calendar to keep her up to date for the next couple months. She needed to start planning for March at the end of October. While this in itself was quite astounding, I was also struck by the title of the thing: perpetual year calendar. Good Lord.

I would have preferred Perpetual Calendar, Reusable Calendar... but no. Perpetual Year. The forever, ongoing, unstoppable force of time; the one event (Happy New Years!!) that marks that passage of time was wiped away with a little Windex. I suddenly felt like watching some Office Space and doing absolutely nothing.

Instead, I went to work like a good little worker bee. To make me even more disappointed with myself, when I got my official staff ID card today, I was giddy as a schoolgirl. I am wearing it even now, though it hasn't been activated yet. I am a sad, sad little worker bee.

Modern Romantic

My brother pointed me to this article by Maureen Dowd. She's a woman discussing feminism and the idea of being "woman" over the years. It's really interesting (albeit a big long) the comparisons she makes with being feminist. For instance, the number of women who take the husbands name in marriage has gone up in recent years. This is apparently an obvious cue that women have lost their self respect. I am oversimplifying her article a bit, and I do encourage you to read it yourselves, but it begs an interesting question: what does it mean today to be a romantic?

I guess I am implying this from a female perspective, but me wanting a boy to buy me dinner and bet he one driving makes me non-feminist. And I think that realising it's an opportunity to get a free meal and not worry about driving makes me more masculine, stereotypically speaking. So think of all the traditional romantic gestures, flowers, chocolates... none of them challenge the mind that I ought to acknowledge having.

But then, the apparently "ideal" courtship of equals that Dowd describes requires me to have a witty, biting "salty battle" that is reminiscent of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie in Mr. & Mrs. Smith (note that she did take his last name). So I am to have exhausting intellectual banter constantly to remind him that I am his equal? Please.

Is there a politically correct way to have romance and love? Then my brother pointed out oh-so-cynically that marriage doesn't even work out a lot of the time anyway. Which is true and he should know from his days spent in the courthouse (working, not being a client). With divorce and prenups and name changing battles... I believe I am getting frustrated.

Perhaps the point is that if two people are lucky (and I do mean that it takes a certain amount of luck) to make it work, do we really need to challenge that with what example they are setting for the rest of the world? And perhaps that makes me the modern romantic. I still think there are a few lucky ones out there that can make it work. I don't know if it makes me happy to be a romantic, or pity the world because I am a romantic by its definition.

Huzzah!

Just a quickie to say that my brother now actually writes in his blog. Do check it out.

Halloweenie

I would just like to comment that while everyone I know that isn't in New Zealand is celebrating Halloween with candy and ridiculous costumes, I do not get to celebrate that holiday. So here are the things I miss:

• candy corn
• watching all the girls dress up like whores because it's socially acceptable
• costume parties
• little kids trick or treating
• the fact that it's really truly fall by that time and the smell and the leaves
• fake spider webs everywhere: stores, daycare, house windows, restaurants
• candy apples
• pumpkin patches
• hayrides

Things I don't have to miss: the halloween specials of the Simpsons. Sweet relief.

"Thanks!"

There's a commercial over here about a kid who is trying to print off a picture of his dog. The basic gist of the commercial is that the little boy needs help with everything... except how to use this technology for printing out this cute picture of a dog. When the man who's been helping him says, "Nice picture", the kid replies, "Thanks!"

Now, this commercial might well be international. It occurs to me that I couldn't even tell you right now what kind of accent they have. But even if you haven't seen this commercial, picture a kid that's about 5 or 6 saying (and really meaning), "Thanks!" It reminds me of my days working in the daycare because you get to to hear the language with a strange kind of impact. When a kid calls you a doo doo head, he means it. Try and think of the first time you heard this horrid insult. Then the first time you used it because you were so incredibly angry. Granted, it starts to lose some meaning over the years as you hear more appropriate terms to express your anger (albeit just as silly). But then you can hear the times when a kid is first learning to say, "Help." Not the scream for assistance in an emergency, but when she is trying to stack these blocks with all her might and they keep falling and you get a look that could melt the Grinch's heart and a weak little, "Help." You somehow know you've never heard a "help" that meant it more than that little girl did.

The same goes for this little kid saying, "Thanks!" He truly means it. I think the world might be a better place if we didn't randomly spit out phrases like thanks, you're welcome, how are you, and sorry. Imagine the power of our language if we spoke like kids first learning what the denotation of words is and using them appropriately. I hope that every thanks I ever say sounds more like this little boy than like a former cashier who was paid to say please, thank you, and come again to every person who entered the store.

Or this commercial just had really good casting. You know, whichever.

Annika the Accountant

It's finally happened. Someone has put me in charge of a company's finances. God save us all.

To recap, I work at CFI:NZ (that's a little CSI joke) as the lunch time receptionist. The full time receptionist just took a job in a different division of the company. While she studies for her finals and trains for her new job, I am taking over for a wee while. Also to recap, I don't know how to do anything here. I answer phones, reply to email messages and book our seminar rooms. The big part of the receptionist's job is invoicing and billing. I got a quick training session on how to do all of the invoicing and billing in two hours yesterday. Today I had to do the rest of the billing that had piled up over the past few weeks. It was really scary.

Fortunately, I think I actually know what I'm doing. The funny thing is, I don't actually do anything with money. I just file this, make two to four copies of that, highlight this line, add these numbers, and repetitively file it all away on Excel. These are not my strong suites, except for highlighting. I aced that class at uni.

Again, as silly as it sounds, I love it. I feel very knowledgeable. I know the financial coding for everything (it's on a list), and it feels somehow important. But, I realise this puts me in a non-positive light considering I am Orwell's prime candidate for surviving 1984 - I just file and forget. Some things I shred, some things I keep, I am a little machine.

Whatever, it's my first real job besides teaching and I like being a productive cog in a machine for once. :)

Flight of the Bumble Fly

The weather in Dunedin is finally nice. That means open windows and that means more killer flies. Well, honestly, they aren't killer flies. They are just massive, which only increases their ability to annoy with their equally massive buzzing. New Zealand doesn't believe in screens on their windows, and I have to say, I am starting to agree with them, except for these huge flies.

This morning, I opened my kitchen windows to let in some fresh air. As I was sitting at my desk, I heard that stupid buzzing. Sure enough, some huge, dimwitted fly had wandered in through the kitchen window, but liked to slam its head against the (closed) windows over my desk in mad attempts to get out. Sigh. Well, I tried to help it out by opening the windows above my desk, but the fly still slammed into the closed portions of glass. I tried to help shoo it with a piece of paper, but it just thought I was trying to kill it. It scrambled into a spider's web (so that's what happened to Snerdly) which was just comical because the fly was at least three times larger than the spider. Then, I kept yelling, "Up! Go up! UP!!" As if the fly could understand me. Now it just saw a human screaming and coming at it with a piece of paper. It fled from me back into the kitchen. Since my kitchen is tiny and me-free, I closed the door and hoped it would just figure its way out. I sat at my desk and saw it stumble out into the free fresh air again and I cheered it on, "Good fly, good boy!"

Can you tell what happened next? You know you can. You can almost feel it.

As if now my voice were comforting to the fly, it wafted back in through the windows I had opened above my desk. Such profanity was let loose on this poor fly. They'd be quite easy to kill, but I figured it wasn't his fault that he was big and dumb and annoying. So I shooed him again into the kitchen, closed the desk windows and prayed he'd go away. It's gonna be a long summer.

Little Brother

Sayeth my brother: "At the home-coming game, graduating law students throw canes over the crossbar of the goal post in a pre-game ceremony. If students catch their cane, legend claims they will win their first case. If the cane is dropped, the case will be lost. The custom originated at Harvard and came to the UW-Madison in 1910. The attached picture is what I looked like shortly after catching my cane this past Saturday. For more history of the tradition, go to: http://www.law.wisc.edu/lore/cane.htm"


How can I not be proud of my brother?! And who doubted that he would win his first case? P.S. - This makes me miss Wisconsin.

Go Rockstars

I've been catching tidbits of some pretty crap shows recently. I like to have noise in the flat and when I don't feel like having a CD on, I toss the TV on and hope for the best. But after shows like Rockstar INXS, NZ Idol, some show where Gene Simmons is telling little kids how to rock out, etc, I realised a very important quality of successful musicians - it's all about sex.

Or at least, it's all about being sexy. I would try and put up some examples, but I fear it would expose the limited and dated amount of music videos I see here, so just think about any music video that comes to mind. I can think of a couple that are more angry than sexy, but they still incorporate a different kind of "mean and angry sexy". And yes, that's a technical term.

My new idea is that we should have a person who is a phenomenal singer, but not obviously male or female. Like, at first, the song should be on the radio for ages, then another one (and naturally this singer must be a success). Then, when the video came out, everyone would think, "Wait, is that a guy or a girl?" Which basically means, which of my friends and I are to think this person is attractive? Who is to lust after him/her? Give me some direction!

Also, I don't think it should be blatant enough to be a gender bending "Statement", because that puts all these political pressures on it. Maybe it would just be vague enough that it would be like a real life Pat from SNL situation. No one wants to ask the biggest rockstar of the day what he or she is packing in the pants. It would change the concept of successful musicians today... for like two and a half seconds until some paparazzi found the singer out of costume and ruin it all and change the whole point. But still...

SIDENOTE: This reminds me of when I (probably shouldn't have at my conservative Catholic high school, but did anyway) taught my students what ambiguous meant based on the Ambiguously Gay Duo of SNL. They didn't know what it meant. They assumed it meant "really obvious" or something because of the way it was done. They were laughing and they didn't even know why.

I'm not Lost

In case you were wondering where I had vanished to, it's pretty much my bed. You know that cruel twist of fate that pushes you directly out of finals, deadlines, and stress into your sickbed? Yeah, that always happens to me too.

So while I am celebrating the long-anticipated end of the school year, and that I finally have a decent flat for next year, and that it's actually sunny and warmish today... I am also basking in my warmer still bed. Sinus meds are my favorite.

So fear not, my (probably three - and they're all related to me) blog readers. I will be back with what I think is clever writing soon enough. But for now, I sleep.

Heart Attack

I almost had a heart attack today. I printed off my hefty thesis and took it over to The Print Shop to get bound for turning in. Kelley and I picked them and wandered over to the education department to drop them off, discussing how odd a sensation it was to turn in such a massive document. As I stepped into the elevator, I scanned to the back of my paper... and it ended on page 34! It was meant to end on page 59.

Gasp! Heart attack! Where were my pages? Crap! (And other "crap"-like words!) Luckily, it all worked out painlessly and all, but I hate having those heart attacks. We turned in our whopping papers and then I ate a tuna and cream cheese sandwich. Because if that doesn't merit a tuna fish sandwich, I don't know what does.

Surreal

Today is surreal. For several reasons. I have been working on my 480 (minithesis) since March. It is now done. I mean, it still has to be bound, but it's done. My first ever 60 page paper. And it's done. Done. People talk about it being like child birth and it is. I have spent about 9 months preparing this thing and now it's just going out into the harsh world. That's a weird feeling. Done.

Secondly, I volunteered for a scientific experiment at work. So every three hours, I have to drool into a container for a full minute. That makes receptionist work difficult. My boss covers for me as I drool in his office. Weird.

Thirdly, I am at work all day. I don't work full days because of the restrictions of my student visa, but I am working and also working on papers. It's weird to be in the deepest mode of revising and hear, "Excuse me, can you tell me how to order more paper for the photocopier," or "Annika, it's time for your saliva again!"

It's an odd little day. By dinnertime tomorrow night, I'll be done with my first year of grad school. My responsibilities will include five hours of work a week (on the books) and knitting. Sweet relief.

Stress Dreams

Alright, I don't need to re-emphasise that I am in the finals days of revising my mini-thesis. But stress levels are reaching an all time high. I mean, these are rivaling my days as an AP/Honors high school senior. (And you people think I'm high strung now... you talk to my classmates from high school!)

I have been keeping myself level-headed by working a lot. By logic, that would mean that I am too busy to be worried and working on the paper makes me less nervous. Well, perhaps. But anytime I am not working on my paper, working out like a madwoman at the gym, or deliriously into some crappy nighttime drama in a desperate attempt to calm down before bed, I am a little preoccupied with deadlines. Last night, however, the stress dreams began.

The dream was that my brother and I were trying to find a place to hang out on New Year's Eve and for some reason were unable to find anyplace. We met up with a kid that I went to grade school with (but won't mention because we weren't ever friends really and it's weird that he turned up in my dream) to help us on our mission. We were apparently in Chicago because we ended up hanging out at Oprah's house for a while because we went way back from a time I had done her hair or something. Her living room had a cool feature where the floor would scale away and it was ocean, complete with scary fish. So my brother, kid from grade school and I picked individual fish and had them fight each other. They were all scary looking with big teeth and there were sting rays everywhere. We were dangling off the couch watching the fish compete. Well, the fish got a bit competitive and jumped up. I (of course) flinched by rolling over, aiming my face away from the big sharp teeth of my brother's fish. But it bit my arm, hard. I woke up and realised that I had been sleeping on my arm and my fingers actually did bite into my other arm because I'd actually flinched. Now, my left arm hurt as tiny drops of blood started forming in four neat crescents and my other arm started stinging with pain because I'd been sleeping on it for ages. My neck also cramped up from my sudden jumping. I was in quite the state.

Maybe TV isn't the answer to peaceful sleep. Perhaps I should invest in some fine, aged Bourbon.

USA, I Miss You!

Even though I hate to admit it, even I miss home from time to time. While these are the years where "home" is highly questionable (Is Milwaukee home? Valpo? Dunedin? Anywhere?!), I still feel that I will, at some point, come back to the States. Today is a day in which I miss my home country. Before I list off a couple of things I miss, I would like to make this disclaimer: I am ecstatically happy here in NZ and am very much looking forward to the year-ish I have left year; but, c'mon, it wouldn't be healthy if I didn't miss home a little bit.

1. Jimmy John's #6 with no tomato (they always fall out of the subs). Ah, provolone and avocado... And that big ol' pickle??
2. Having a car; and more so, having a reason to have a car. I miss driving a half hour to Beth, Bath & Beyond and then to Barnes N Noble for a coffee. Just because.
3. The idea of distance. Here, an hour drive is far. Back home, that was my daily commute to and from work.
4. I miss having a couch. Now, I suppose I could have one here, but it just isn't practical in a single person flat. At least in mine this year.
5. Mexican food. We've been over this: they don't do Mexican food here. The first thing I want when I get into the States is a cheese enchilada. STAT.
6. Proper vegetarian food. Okay, well, processed vegetarian food. Remember veggie corn dogs? Veggie burgers?!
7. Decent shampoo that doesn't cost fifteen dollars. Scratch that... decent anything that isn't exhorbantly priced. Towels, toothpaste, mouthwash, makeup... forget about it!
8. Mostly, proximity and contact with family and friends.

Oh, lists. But seriously, I am doing fine and loving NZ; perhaps paper writing has finally gotten to me. It is a rare day that Annika admits missing anything. Maybe you can help me out though... where do I miss??

This Just In...

It turns out, after much debate, that I am not cool. Though it is questionable whether I have ever been cool in my short existence, it is certain that I am not anymore.

My neighbors, however, are extremely cool. I can tell because they do cool things like have parties until the wee hours of the morning for the past three nights; hang outside on a blanket while tanning, drinking beer, listening to music, and chatting each other up - in front of my window. It'd be weird for them to do it in front of theirs. So they sit and watch me write my papers and struggle through finding books and articles while turning the music up to cover the sound of the gears grinding in my head. They also play sports inside. I'm not sure what sport it is, although I am sure it involved repeatedly throwing a ball into the wall we share.

I try to think, "Oh, they're just kids. They're enjoying their youth and their collegiate experience." But instead, I think, "You ungrateful criminals! You are so bloody lucky that I live next door instead, well, anyone else!"

At first, I was cool. I thought that they must be having the time of their lives. Now, I know that I am not cool because I think they are being awful and I wonder how their studying is getting done - after all, finals are quickly approaching! Maybe it's a good thing the stupid, biased university rules are making me move for next year. My uncoolness vibe might rub off on the whole building.

Another List!

I realised that it's been a while since I updated my massive readership on my latest obsessions. Actually, this just may be the second time ever. But I was reading a book today about a crazy old man (this is really peripheral to the plot) kept a journal full of nonsense that couldn't have mattered to him in his daily life, let alone to any other readers. So, naturally, I thought, I should update my obsessions list!

And no, I didn't miss the point.

1. curry flavored ramen noodles: in all fairness, these are Yum Yum noodles, but they are super cheap like ramen. I can eat this for lunch and dinner in the same day. And have for the past several days. Worry not, I supplement with vegetables.
2. cinnamon raisin bread: It reminds me of cinnamon raisin English muffins that I used to eat with my dad when I was little. They are not English muffins, but these pieces of toast don't even need butter they are so delicious.
3. anti-condiments: I don't like condiments in general as they tend to add salt, fat, or sugar where it isn't otherwise, but I am especially anti all condiments right now except for soy sauce. It's a classic.
4. books: You may be thinking, "Annika, you've always loved books, you book lover, you." Well, you'd be right. But I have been choosing books instead of watching the Simpsons, sleeping, and sometimes second helpings of food. Ah, back to the good ol' days of appreciating a book.

Well, that's it. Don't you feel so updated now? And I feel better for having informed you.

Skinny Dipping

I debated whether to tell the skinny dipping story, although it is in no way indecent. So here I go. Sorry, parents.

It all started innocently enough, with people at the backpackers sitting around after dinner, drinking. (Doesn't every skinny dipping story start that way? Or is that horror movie?) I need to say that I wasn't honestly drunk; I'd had only a couple beers. But the subject of skinny dipping came up.

A brief interlude: I love skinny dipping. I love everything about it. This wasn't my first experience hurling myself naked into an ocean and I daresay it wasn't the last. There's something nice about going to a new place and really getting into it. Nothing between you and this new experience. That being said, I shall continue.

Keep in mind, these are people that have just met that day. When skinny dipping came up, I said, "Oh yeah! Later on, we should do that." (Some people need a bit of liquid courage - but not enough to make jumping into the ocean dangerous.) Well the group had that kind of tension that implies this internal dialogue for everyone: "Well, I'm on holiday... but I can't go skinny dipping; I don't even know these people... but I don't even know these people, what harm can it be?" That kind of tension is enough to make me happy anyhow; you can hear people's horizons being broadened.

Later on, we all decide to go down to the beach... and only three of us jumped in. With a whole crew of people armed with flashlights and cameras stayed ashore. I lost my new anklet to the oceanic gods (chalk another one up to the ocean), but it was so much fun!! No indecent pictures were taken; I inspected them carefully. And it was a good moment to see the group that was heading down to do something adventurous and to be able to place yourself into the smaller group that actually jumped (and have a great story to tell from it)!

Moral of the story: go find a large body of water; remove clothes; jump in.

Appearances

Do you ever have those days where you really look in the mirror for the first time in ages and you think, "When did that happen?" I'm not saying that I am suddenly 43 years old or that I didn't realise I had a bruise on my face or something. I just realised I was a lot older than I used be. You look at yourself in the mirror daily, but it's always in a deconstructing fashion - brush hair, brush teeth, put on eyeliner. I just saw myself today and thought, "I might need to stop saying I look 12."

Then, as I was walking to work this morning, I looked up at the construction that's been going on up the hill since I moved in. There's a huge building there! Now, this might sound like I should have noticed, but it was so gradual. The only constant in life is change. Hm.

Then, all this surface thinking made me remember a comment of my dad's: you are always sending a message with the way you look (he usually followed this up with "make sure your statement isn't 'I'm stupid.'"). I then realised that it's super easy to pick out my type of guy. Look for the scroungy-hippie-hipster-esque looking guy who is contemplating the sky, a tree, or a book and I'm pretty much sold. I then naturally tried to figure out what message I was sending and who I was attempting to attract.

Unfortunately, I think the system is flawed because my message is "I'm cold." I have been having a very hard time adjusting to the cold again. I think it takes some time for the cold to seep back into your bones. So I have been wearing enough layers to make my mom warm ("Nice and warm!"), which is really a measure of practicality rather than attraction. So maybe I'm attracting nice, practical guys.

Boo.

Oh No, You Didn't!

I am going to take a slight detour from my Fiji adventure stories to bring you an everyday one. We do know how addicted to telling stories I am. I was multitasking at the gym, as I like to do to distract myself from the fact that I'm, you know, working out. Also, in a recent effort to save money, I have decided all magazine reading must now be done at the gym, for free. So I was reading up on some notes for a meeting I had later that morning, reading over material for my 480 (mini-thesis paper), and reading a magazine. Now, my opinion might be biased because I had been reading such academic, dense reading prior to it, but I fell in love with this Kiwi magazine, Next. It had articles that were actually about something besides hair and nutrition, but they also kept my attention. They still had some pages dedicated to fashion and home decor, but it had achieved perfect balance. Then, I saw an article that referenced Sex and the City. I was home.

In case you've never met me and never read any of my previous blogs, I love, nay adore, Sex and the City. I can also assure you that no women's interest magazine I have ever seen has discredited the show in any way (ah, foreshadowing). I started reading the article, whose complaint dejour was that there is no singles life in New Zealand. You basically need to be near a cultural, technological center and all those are imbued with young students. There is no NYC of New Zealand. "Amen!" I cried, inwardly. Then it started inquiring about how we understand the "singles scene" as a culture. Then it went into a diatribe of how my favorite show ever demeans women, perpetuating the myth that single life must consist of meaningless one night stands, alcohol-drenched faux pas, and chain smoking. It snidely commented something like, "You don't see that happening on Dharma & Greg or Mad About You... because they happen to be married."

Now, I understand my bias for the show. Still, I must insist that these comments come only from commercials and not from the content of the show as a whole. Honestly, I think the attitudes on S&TC are a bit more honest about life in general. One night stands happen; there are still smokers out there; people do use drinks to socialize and network in the real world. Also, these characters do not imply that their way of life is utterly glamorous and/or desirable. Instead, they flounder through mistakes, hoping to learn from them and from each other. They ask a fundamental question: What constitutes "growing up" if you don't have the typical benchmarks of ring, dress, baby, and mortgage?

Perhaps Next magazine has an issue with the fact that they don't substitute career as their meaning of life. The question of S&TC really is an important one to discuss and I don't think the writers are claiming an answer. But considering the magazine did acknowlege that cultural norms tend to ignore the fact that many young people in the Western world are waiting until their 30s to get married, maybe we should allow more than one voice to answer why.

Ocean 2, Annika 0

Alright, paper is handed in, flatting situation is underway, all of which means I have time to write again. So, needless to say after my first snorkeling expedition, I was less than thrilled to toss myself again into the merciless ocean. However! I am not a quitter, so I decided to try again. Different beach, different water, no scary fish (hopefully). I grabbed a facemask, snorkel, and flippers and waddled out to the ocean. I jumped into the water and immediately got a mouthful of salt water. Ew. Hm. I tried again, only to be again mouth-deep in water. I decided something had to be wrong with the snorkel and got another from the large bin of snorkels (hygenically pure, I'm sure). Same scenario. After again peppering the air with some well deserved language, I regained my composure and decided to try again in spite of the fact that nothing is more disgusting than a mouthful of dirty sea water. (It must be dirty; fish pee in it.)

I decided that Kelley's super duper fancy flash snorkel must be better so I got that. Better. But alas, there were no real fish, plants, or anything of real interest near this beach. Blast. Snorkeling had conquered me again. But then we went aboard the Seaspray, a booze cruise with all drinks and food included in the price (Did I hear a challenge to overeat and drink the price paid? I think I did!) on which we went to see the island Tom Hanks filmed Castaway. Because we had stayed on a boat for a night as part of the tour and I had not leapt from the boat into the ocean (mostly because I'm a coward, but I blamed bikini distrust), I decided the time was right. A few of us decided to jump in from the boat and snorkel in to the island. I stepped up to the edge... and was pushed. :) Either way, I got in the water, but again salt water invaded my mouth and, unfortunately, my stomach. More obscenities. "Why is it impossible for me to snorkel?! Why?!" I did the swimming equivalent of stumbling in towards shore.

Well, let me tell you, I do not pity Tom Hanks' character. Being washed up on shore here was no treat. I was bashed, literally bashed, onto coral from the waves. I was scratched everywhere! It was so shallow and the coral was so high that it was impossible to get in (at least anywhere near where we came in) without donating approximately two pints of blood to the ocean. I sat on the beach, but still in the water, letting the ocean clean out my newly perforated body and cursing the day I decided to love water.

Kelley, God bless her, decided that I could not come all the way to Fiji and learn to hate snorkeling even though I insisted snorkeling hated me. She took me out, cut free, to the drop off where I saw a blue (and I mean blue) starfish and she brought a sea cucumber up for me to see (they are gross). Fish did swim near me, but none attacked and I felt bad for being anxious about some fish that swam quite close. They seemed perfectly nice, looked nothing like my fish attacker, but still... they were so close! So the moral of the story is: the ocean is too big to attempt on your own. And it hates me.

Pout

I need to take a minute to pout. I realised I was first pouting when a person sitting next to me at the library, a complete stranger, said, "Wow. I've never seen someone actually pout like little kids do." After a hefty glaring, I realised that yes, my lower lip was protruded, quivering dangerously. And so my story begins.

I have a paper due at ten am. It is currently 4pm and I am approximately half finished. It will not take much longer, but my goal is to be done by 5.30pm in time for class. I don't like writing when it's dark out. Usually, I can do this with no problem. I hole up in the library with my legal-Napster-like-program blasting some Bright Eyes (perfect for studying) and go at it. Well, today, I had to get my keys out because they have my removable drive on which my entire life is saved. As I was getting it out of my purse, I saw the piles of Fijian sand still stowed away. Pout. This time last week? Asleep on a hammock in the sunshine, waves splashing at my feet. Today? Writing a stupid paper for a stupid class for a stupid degree. (Feeling a wee bit bitter today.)

Then, I am typing away at a mad pace when my computer just turns off. No warning, nothing. Off. Well, after hitting the on button and muttering strong enough to make sailors blush, my computer is up and running again. I lost about half a paragraph, but that's it due to my incessant clicking of the "save" option. I start typing again, and my computer shuts off again only about ten minutes later. After resisting hurling my laptop down to the floor below me in front of the tech guy's desk, I took a walk to sooth my anger. After the third time of such spontaneous shut down, I went down to the tech guy who proudly proclaims, "Prolly a virus!"

I have had three viruses this year already. I have two different virus detectors, one of which updates itself, then runs a check every morning at three am. I also have spyware that I run on a weekly basis if I'm not feeling too paranoid, otherwise two or three times a week. I do NOT have a freakin' virus. He pokes around my computer for approximately two life times and says, "Nope, nothing obvious. Hope it doesn't happen again." Ever cool, calm, and collected, I said, "You'd better hope not. Or I'm using your computer to write my paper while you figure out what's wrong with it."

So, now, here I sit, convinced that my Napster-like program is malfunctioning, convinced my computer will shut down on me again, convinced I will be writing til the wee hours of the morning. No music, no Fiji, no fun. Just me writing for ages in the dull library noise that I detest. So my lower lip protrudes a little bit; so sue me.