Paradigm of the Post

If you've ever wondered how it could possibly be that a government service as efficient as the U.S. Postal Service could ever possibly lose an item of mail... perhaps this post will inspire you to hand deliver your own communications. Or not. Who knows? Who, for that matter, cares? Not I!

I would, however, like to tell you about the surprise in my mailbox this afternoon! It is a letter addressed to a woman named Christine who lives in Fort Thomas, Kentucky. "Woah, baby, not even close!" I thought to myself as I flipped through my mail. I read the assorted junk flyers including the ad for SuperCuts promising me a free bottle of Awapuhi shampoo (woo baby! rock on!) then I realized something ... strange. The letter was not postmarked.

So, now, my ever faithful servant of the post has delivered to me a letter posted just a few blocks away on Liberty Street. I suppose, in the long run, this makes more sense than a letter intended for Kentucky ending up on my doorstep in Pennsylvania... but it's disturbing nonetheless. I will, of course, place this letter back into the hands of my faithful friend tomorrow, where it will then be delivered, in all likelihood, perhaps a few more blocks down, ending up, eventually, somewhere in Kansas.

The problem that presents itself is, however, what if this letter had ended up in the hands of a less scrupulous Greensburg individual? Sorry, Christine, you ain't getting your letter! Yes, mistakes happen, of course they do! Even at the post office... but let me tell you a little story:

Once upon a time there was a girl who worked at the post office. Man, did she hate that job! But it turned out... with three ill-willed clicks on one little finger, BAM, a letter to, say, Australia is sent to Austria, Canada, maybe even Guatemala, never to be seen again. Not that said girl would ever admit to doing such a terrible thing... mostly because that would be admitting to a Federal offense, and HAHAHA, she's not that dumb.

Suffice it to say it's possible that bad things could happen to your mail. See, listen, here's the thing: where there is ONE distempered postal employee, there are 100's, nay 1000's, of others similiarly inclined.

Just a little something to think about on a Tuesday evening. Oh yeah.

Locks of Love

I thinking about donating my hair to Locks of Love. Locks of Love is a non-profit organization that uses donated hair to create natural-looking wigs for kids who've lost their hair due to cancer treatments or other medical problems. The minimum hair donation is ten inches: I just measured my hair and realize that would leave me with hair to my ears - yikes! I'm not quite ready to part with the luscious long locks just yet... but I know that when I get my hair hacked off (and believe me, that day will come), I'd like to donate it.

Has anyone ever done this? Know anything about the organization? Want to make a pact to donate with me? I have a hairstylist friend who offers free (& fantastic!) hair cuts to anyone donating to Locks of Love. Anyone game???

Lucky Ducky

Today must be my lucky day!

Last night I found out that I could retire: meaning that I could cash out my retirement plan with no penalty except a 10% IRS fee. Considering that there's $800 in my plan and no chance of adding to it since I left the job in question... well, $80 seems a small price to pay for another month of bills paid in full. Sweet! This gives me another month free in order to figure out what I want to do without being homeless.

Next, I went to the local fruit market this afternoon to stock up on fresh fruits and veggies and got offered my old job back in the process! If all works out, I'll be working three nights a week as a fruit wench. This works for my requirement of having a job I can put my heart and soul into because everyone needs fruits and veggies, its a local business selling local products (mostly), and it's close enough for me to get there without a car. Plus, it's temporary, ending November 1st, which still leaves me free to stress out about finals. Yes! Er...

Finally, the third minor, but no less miraculous, occurence of the day happened when I suddenly stood up in the middle of a friend's sentence and said, "I need to check my washing!" I walked outside to see if the clothes were dry and at that moment, it began to rain. And my clothes were dry. Kickass! Let the luck continue... :c)

Death to Alarm Clocks

There are some people who are morning people. There
are others who are, quite decidedly not morning
people. Then there are those, like me, who are
dangerous morning people. Oh, we're awake
alright. But while we lie there contemplating the new
dawn, we are also contemplating your demise, for about
five minutes, then we arise, ready to greet the day,
all anger released in five minutes of pure evil.

This morning, I awoke, way way too early, in my best
friend's home in Pittsburgh. According to Terry's
Computer Standard Time, it is 6:32 a.m. There is no
humanly reason for me, an unemployed bum, er writer,
to be awake at the, pardon my colloquial American,
asscrack of dawn.

In addition to being morning people, non-morning
people, and dangerous morning people, most
people fall into one of three catergories when it
comes to alarm clock usage:

Some people never use an alarm clock, instead bounding
out of bed in the morning, gleeful at the prospect of
yet another sunrise. These people are freaks.

Others, like myself, use an alarm grudgingly - only
when necessary and always with great disdain. When
the alarm goes off in the morning, it's usually the
first bout of those drasted mind-churning beeps that
rouses me into an angered stupor. I usually hit
snooze, but after nine minutes of steaming and
stewing, I am ready to shed my anger at not frolicking
in dreamland any longer to rise, like the phoenix,
brand new. After an hour or two, I am less delusional
and feel like a human being again.

And then there are those most despicable of alarm
clock users: the snooze button fanatic.

This use of alarm clocks would not be so deplorable if
done only by those poor souls living alone in their
annoyances, but no! Most snooze button fanatics are
by day people people and, in turn, night people people
as well, ensuring that their misguided alarm clock
usage destroys the lives, well sleep patterns, of
those misfortunate enough to be nearby.

For a person who wakes up in an enraged stupor at the
incessant beeping of that blasted alarm clock, the
snooze - silence - ANGER pattern is enough to drive
one temporarily insane. One lies in bed, wide awake
after the first few bouts of beeping, silently willing
the alarm clock to shut up, for the love of all things
holy, shut up. Then, one contemplates standing up and
tossing the blessed thing out the window, then curling
back up under the covers.

The only thing that stopped me from committing alarm
clock genocide this morning was knowing the inevitable
chaos that would then ensue. Picture it if you will:
I stand up, hair sticking up in many directions,
clumps stuck to the side of my face, check reddened
from sleep. I stumble across the room to the evil
appliance in question. I pick up the alarm clock and
toss. I crawl back into bed. Before I can close my
eyes and fall asleep, I hear a voice, "um... Moira?
did you just...?" All chances of sleep are dashed.

Your alarm clock makes me want to die.

But maybe it's just me...

Ain't We Cute?

I just couldn't resist posting this picture of my brother, my sister, and me. I'm the one with the crazy glasses - the oldest, wisest, wildest, and coolest. Also the one with the biggest ego. Hah! In the middle is my brother Robert, the baby of the family with a wicked sense of humor and a penchant for playing video games all day. On the right is Fiona, the middle child, the first one in our family to graduate from college and move overseas (she's back now but still.. go her!)

Ain't we the cutest?

[p.s. we had our pictures done as a surprise for mother's day / our parent's wedding anniversary - if you need a good surprise for your parents, try it! Ours loved it!]

Back in the Saddle Again... sigh.

Being back in the states is seriously messing with my head. Three days on and I'm still suffering from jet lag - I figure the best way to deal with jet lag is to get lots of sunshine and to take short naps to recharge. I've been trying to get back onto a regular sleep schedule as soon as possible, but it's difficult considering that the apartment I sublet all summer is thoroughly uninhabitable at the moment:

a) it's disgustingly hot since my a.c. is in my best friend's bedroom until her boyfriend brings it over on Tuesday.

b) the house stinks. is it the stench of man or dirty dishes or unchanged garbage cans or kitty litter or a wicked combination of all of the above? i'm not sure. i changed the garbage and kitty litter, washed the dishes, and lit some incense. it hasn't helped. i may have to move.

c) the bathtub looks to be the victim of a gruesome mud bath - scrubbed the heck out of it and it's still not usable.

d) the refridgerator, oh the poor fridge - full of rotting food, chunky soy milk, and abandoned condiments. Two hours got that back to it's sparkling self but now it's empty and so are my pockets.

So now instead of chilling like the villian I am in my own rockin' pad, I'm crashing out in the cool oasis that which is my friend's living room, eating hot pockets and oven fries and reading John Irving's Until I Find You. So it's not all bad.

Only, resubmerging myself into American culture is something I am not looking forward to doing. My mom offered me the use of my father's car for a few months to get me back on my feet but I refused the generous offer, suggesting she buy me fresh fruit and vegetables instead. She also suggested getting a job at a nearby family restaurant to which I suppressed my urge to vomit and told her I'd figure it out myself.

The way I figure it, I'm living a life of enforced poverty. Why not? I've got my rent money for the month. If the phone gets shut off in the meantime (the meantime being between now and when I get money), I will celebrate because it means I won't have to hear countless telemarketers butchering the pronunciation of my name. And the electricity? Well... I have candles and a best friend living down the street. In short, I'll live.

I am concerned about how I will fund my next trip to Europe, meaning that I will have to come up with some consistent source of income, but I'm thinking more along the line of freelance writing / graphics work rather than being a cranky short order grill cook. I have so much to write about that I haven't the slightest idea where to start. I've got hundreds of super photographs, tonnes of insane stories (in my life, every moment is a crazy story waiting to happen - when you put me in a foreign country, the possibilities double), and all sorts of thoughts and musings running through my head.

However, right now my priorities are as follows: 1) make my house smell nice, 2) unpack my massive suitcases, & 3) figure out how to fix the chain on my bike that broke as I was riding from my temporary residence to my real apartment. ick.

Shakespeare Was Here

Today I felt a shiver run up my spine as I signed the guest registry at Shakespeare's birthplace in Stratford-upon-Avon. This house has held more famous people than you could shake a stick at including many famous writer's scrawls like Mark Twain, Charles Dickens, Alfred Lord Tennyson, and many more in addition, of course, to our boy Willie. I was sure to write my name neatly and completely because you never know, do you?

In other news, tomorrow is my last day in England and I feel emotionally unstable because I am sad to leave. Meeting my family has been a wondrous experience, a zillion times better than I could have ever expected. Now I feel a lack that I never knew existed... and I'm going home in a day!

I'll write more about both of these topics later. How's everyone in blog-land???