Nostalgia Pt. 2: Ireland

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*The 2 Nostalgia posts were written in 2008 and I briefly and uninterestedly tried to polish them up and add stories that are more up to date. But since they're good, clean stories inviting you to laugh at my life, I figured they were worth posting, even if they're a little rough to read. I hope they are able to serve their purpose.
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Over the last 3 years, illness, injury and the worst kind of luck you can imagine have plagued me. Studying abroad gave me no reprieve, but I did learn one important thing while suffering without medical insurance: ibuprofen cures everything. Eventually.

And so...

I can't deny that I'm a clumsy person by nature, but this time I blame it on being terribly sick which affected my already questionable abilities to focus and balance. Luckily, the only people around to witness my appalling lack of coordination were the Members of Parliament...

Leaving the Irish Parliament building walking with my head down focused on my feet as I do, my senses alerted me to danger several seconds too late. My slightly inhibited peripheral vision caught something silver, but by the time I looked, my feet were several steps ahead of my forehead which was firmly embedded in a light pole. Yes, that's right folks, I ran right the fuck into a light pole. Smack on the forehead because I timed the impact to occur exactly at the moment I looked up. Talented, I am. Graceful, I am not. (I do not, however, have an excuse for the time in Camden last year that I tried to stop myself while swinging, caught my foot on the ground while somehow getting my arms pinned behind the chains of the swing and flipping off it with only my face to break the fall. I'm told it looked hilarious. I can only imagine. Big tree fall hard.)

Several other incidents like this occurred over the next week while I was still ill, which unfortunately coincided with my trip to Scotland. Turning too quickly and running into both a window and bed frame were the least of my worries though, as I spent half of my vacation huddled and shaking in my hostel bed with the cold sweats. Oddly, or perhaps as expected, I found the cure to my hacking cough to be cheap beer. Loved Scotland.

I did get to watch a movie. On a bed. In the back of a bar. While eating a muffin and drinking orange juice. It wasn't all landing head first into hard, immobile objects.


After my return to Ireland, my luck took an altogether different turn.
As you may expect, I have been taken to the Gardai (police) station. I was taken at 3 am to give a witness statement with my friend. I don't know if their intent was to make us feel like we were going to be arrested, but they put us in an interrogation room with the one really bright overhead light to wait. For 45 minutes. Well, hell. I can't sit through anything for very long without wanting to put my feet up. It was 4 am at this point and I was tired. Unlike the judge who made the bailiff reprimand me for removing my shoes and resting my feet atop the jury box during jury duty, the Gardai didn't seem to mind. Because, really, who's going to tell me to take my feet off the table? They're an unarmed police force. Ha!

During this encounter, I neglected to leave them my address for any follow-up. But being policemen, they somehow obtained the information. This led them to arrive at the door of the suite that I shared with 9 people not once, but three separate times asking for me. Nobody thought to inform me of their previous visits and I didn't find out about them until, confused and in my pajamas, I answered the door one day to be greeted by two detectives asking if I could spare some time to accompany them to the station. Awesome. Can I put a bra on first? Thanks.

In case of an emergency in a foreign country, this phrase should be employed: "No idea what you're talking about, wasn't there, didn't see a damn thing" It's my new go-to if ever again asked by police to give a witness statement. I just wish I wasn't such a terrible liar.

A few of the jerks that neglected to tell me about my visitors...

Nostalgia Pt. 1: Denmark

As I haven't made any questionable decisions lately I went delving into my memory to find further proof that ridiculous situations find me no matter where I am. Enter MySpace to provide me fodder for this blog via my old posts on there! Myspace, you are useful to me once again. Enjoy your short reprieve from obsolescence.
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New Richmond is a fairly small town. Even so, if we ever have a class reunion, I probably won't be able to recognize or name every single person there. But if 10 foreigners walked in like they owned the place, I will probably question it. Apparently that's not a universal sentiment. Maybe Danes are just more tolerant than I, but I'd like to think it's just because young, drunk, Americans are just more amusing to make fun of than to yell at. In any case, either their passivity or our ignorant brazenness led to this:

I got a chance to visit Ribe, the oldest town in Denmark, during my semester there. In pursuit of any kind of nightlife in this quaint, tiny, little, ancient town,

we happened upon a little white pavillion tent in the middle of the city. As there was only one other bar open we chose to be adventurous and try our luck with the tent. With our hastily purchased beers in hand, our group of 10 Americans headed to the front to dance. A few Danes here and there joined us but mostly it was...just us while maybe 50 people sat at tables talking and most likely laughing at us.

After a bit, a large group of men strolled in wearing ridiculous outfits reminiscent of the mid-90s (complete with floppy disks and VHS tapes slung around their necks) and we thought, whoa, someone just came from a theme party! weird. Add that to the 3 Danish songs in a row they then played we decided we'd overstayed our welcome and began our stumble back to the hostel.
As we exited we noticed the multiple flyers posted at the entrance that in our rush to get drinks we had somehow missed.

Some sketchy translating revealed to us that this was, in fact, the 1998 Ribe High School 10 year Class Reunion.

w.t.f.

I crashed. A class reunion.

In Denmark.
sweet.

At least we were right about the theme party?

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Oh! But it isn't just the ridiculous that follows me, but injury as well! After my first few trips to Urgent Care in Americorps I had a lot of questions as to whether I had always been accident-prone. I swore up and down I'd never been to the doctor as much as I had been in those 10 months. Which was true. I used to never go to the doctor. But examples such as the following remind me that maybe it was going a bit too far to say I never got injured. What can I say? I like to take my chances. And when none are presenting themselves....I go looking for trouble.

In this case I completely asked for it. No really, I literally asked for it. After challenging my Danish friend to a wrestling match, which his girlfriend judged, at the bar in the basement of my kollegium (dorm) and losing spectacularly on the concrete floor of the hallway, my pride demanded that I ask for a rematch. But screw wrestling, I'm terrible at it. I upped the stakes. I challenged him to a boxing match at a bar at the University of Copenhagen.


Despite my ferocity

I lost again.









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Eventually I'll post examples from my time in Ireland of both the ridiculous and lack of coordination that seem to define my life.

Well, I 'spose, it's 'bout that time

16 days. 16 days until I leave Maryland behind. 16 days until I party all day at the airport from when they drop 200 corps members off in one fell swoop at BWI at noon until 6:30pm when my flight actually leaves. 16 days until I descend upon the (hopefully) snow-covered and welcoming Minnesota. 16 days until I relax in a bed that doesn't look as if it was found in an alley used to dump bodies. 16 days until I can sleep in late and wear whatever I want as long as it isn't gray and khaki. 17 days until I remember why I left in the first place and think longingly with a selective memory of the past 10 months.


But, for now, I'll think only of the next 16 days. Six.teen.days. 4 days trying to return Baltimore to its green, pre-colonized and pre-industrialized condition and the remaining 12 preparing for graduation and the mystical (and I assume fictional) "Life After AmeriCorps." A time which is rapidly bearing down on us screaming war cries and sending us into a blind panic. Despite the fear our impending unemployment brings to us all, we are running toward it with the exuberance of a dehydrated man stumbling through the desert who spots an oasis. We know the goal we're running for will most likely in no way bring us the satisfaction we are imagining, but we hurry toward it anyway with desperate optimism.




On Raven 5 we eat our feelings.














I know I'm going to miss this program and my team and the traveling and the projects, but right at this moment I'm over it and ready to be a capitalist for a little bit. With my massive student debt looming over me I feel pressure to begin to repay it and re-enter into a workforce that will give me monetary compensation as opposed to moral compensation. I've received an overwhelming number of heartfelt thanks for my work this year, but while my conscience is appeased, my wallet is not. Nor is my thirst for international travel which cannot be accomplished without an income. So, alas, I must regretfully leave this life behind and look eagerly towards the future and opportunities to come. I am ready for a change. I am (almost) ready to be a real person. 16 days!


While we've been in Baltimore doing good deeds we have, of course, been noticed by the media.

http://app.bronto.com/public/?q=preview_message&fn=Link&t=1&ssid=15161&id=5t0zjahzsfyh8d9n4df6e3ye2bqbz&id2=0ybjdu3cfa5ydguwcwbzyd0kajxkx&subscriber_id=atagihdctmpqopcflzgtaqkqvdfqbai&messageversion_id=auuwacajwfmhlbbgajxgdzbeerepbak&delivery_id=bxexlzumqcyzrigpytclckehegxabfp&tid=3.Ozk.KaXM.GTU.Wi0..qNQ.b..l.BRw.a.TM8cQA.TM8cQA.-9Xc-A
Click on Dirty Hands, Green Dreams. I wasn't interviewed because I was too busy planting trees, but my team is kind of a big deal. We're in an e-zine.


We're also must be a huge deal because we got our picture taken by strangers several times this past weekend. Okay, so maybe it was just my teammate and it was because he was dressed up as a gay Mexican grizzly bear for the Rally to Restore Sanity and/or Fear in D.C., but I'd like to think it was because we're famous.
That's right, I was among the mob of 215,000 people at the National Mall on Oct. 30th for the rally. It was pretty wicked cool because luckily I'm tall enough that I could see the giant TV screens erected throughout the mall and even part of the actual stage though nothing that was going on upon it... As expected we had a hell of a time trying to get out of the mall and back to the metro and this is where the real adventure began. I had to bright idea to get out of the national mall and head towards Chinatown to eat. Yeah, me and 50,000 others thought the same thing. Bugger.

So we decide to brave the subway. We actually get on with no incident but we were unceremoniously booted out two stops early due to track maintenance or some such BS. We crossed to the other side of the track where we were told a train would be coming for us. As we paced another train did come. To dump off another massive load of post-rally participants just as confused and irritated as us. It was when the third of these mobbed the platform and no trains had come to relieve the crowd that we decided that 3 miles wasn't that far of a walk and headed out of the subway. Thinking of the hour ahead of us was none too comforting as we began our trek, until...we stumbled upon a city bike rental kiosk.

Oh yeah, we rented bikes.

It cost $5.00 and cutting out 40 minutes from our commute seemed entirely worth it. Except for the $101 hold they put on your bank account in case the bike is messed up. The hold that stays on your account for 5 days. The hold that is over 60% of one paycheck. The hold that may prevent some celebratory end-of-program bursts of spending. Actually, this may be a good thing...


And lastly, 5 months later and an article posted by Gretchen Anderson lifts the shroud covering the origin of the horror I endured in the south.
http://www.commondreams.org/view/2010/09/17
Compare this picture to the one I posted ages ago of my horrible mystery Louisiana rash. I should probably do the American thing and sue BP. Right?

"Wait, free TREES?? Hahahaha, no thanks."

Although it seems like all I do is get injured and make sarcastic comments occasionally I do actually work here in AmeriCorps. Recently we've been "canvassing" which means being the person I usually hide from when the doorbell rings. Since I myself loathe answering the door to hear some political or informational crap, I knew this would be a challenge and maybe make me wish I was back in Lake Charles, Louisiana building houses *gasp*. When I heard we were giving things way I was still skeptical about our potential success. Free trees are a lot harder to get rid of then one might think.

To add entertainment to this task and elevate it above the Louisiana "experience" Kate and I came up with several characteristics of houses in which a "tree-hater" would dwell and therefore be unworthy of our time. These became more and more arbitrary as the afternoons wore on, but I still stand by their accuracy at predicting laughter, anger or a simple "no".

The list includes, but is not limited to, the following:
*They have stumps of trees in their yard. They obviously hate trees.
*The house is for sale
*They have more than one newspaper in their yard. Must be on vacation.
*Duplex/apartments
*Power lines in the backyard
*Unkempt yard
*Too well kept/perfectly landscaped yard
*Too many trees already
*Fenced and gated yard
*Beware of Dog/No Trespassing/No Soliciting sign
*Front yard is on a hill
*Church. We thought churches would be perfect places to plant trees but after one horrible encounter where the pastor told us he would cut down anything we tried to plant and he'd already cut down every tree on the property, we were too shocked and wounded to try another.


When we aren't forcing trees on the residents of Baltimore, we fill our hours with endless and pointless bickering. Amidst that we indulge in massive snack breaks during which we binge on everything. We eat our feelings to forget the pointless bickering and the fact that although we're all jumping at the bit to get out of AmeriCorps, none of us have been successful as of yet in the real world job market.

And until I trip in one of our tree pits and break a leg I have nothing more exciting to report. Until that time I will continue making this world a better place, one hole at a time.

Are we there yet?

Captain's Log. October 8, 2010. Baltimore. I appear to be near our neighborhood. There's a New York Fried Chicken. And a CVS. And a guy selling flowers and extremist conspiracy theory newspapers on the corner. Yes. We've got to be close. Wait, isn't that the park where we set up that tent that one time? Right. We are, in fact, nowhere near home. Must reevaluate landmarks used to indicate proximity to house. Previous markers have failed me. Also, not sure how to proceed in order to find road house is actually on. Hmmm. Must think. Signing off.

Captain's Log. October 8, 2010. Baltimore. Aha! Have found answer in technology. GPS believes we are a mere 10 miles and 16 turns away from our destination. Hope restored. Off.

Captain's Log. 56 minutes later. Baltimore. 3 miles left. GPS appears to be tired. Turned several moments ago and screen shows vehicle floating across Druid Lake. Nowhere near Druid Lake. Oh wait, there it is. But definitely still not driving on it. Should pull over to give GPS time to think. Off.

Captain's Log. 4 minutes later. Reverted to basic navigation skills. Must drive roughly towards sun. Off.

Captain's Log. Right. Forgot Baltimore is not on grid system. Impossible to follow roads logically. Very frustrated. New thought, must get to I-95. Must get to logical city. Must get out of Baltimore. Off.

Captain's Log. 2 minutes later. Oh. Found the house. Bugger. Stuck in Baltimore. Off.

Oh good, the boys want to get the groceries! Wait...crap.

Lesson learned: When boys are given the arduous task of buying groceries for the 9 person team for the week this is what you get---Steak-ems, Kool-aid and 3 bags of Doritos.
Day 1- we run out of Deli meat for our pack lunches. (We didn't have work this day...)
Day 2- All the chips are gone and we realize all the apples they bought are rotten.
Day 3- All meat is gone as well as the tortillas, salsa and most of the cheese.
Day 4- today. I ate a banana for lunch and refried beans for supper. mmmm.
Day 5- We enforce a mandatory bread and water fast.
Day 6- Anorexia becomes a reality.
Day 7- We succumb to delirium.
Day 8- We eat the weakest member of the team.
Day 9- Bad idea: we all get dysentery and die before we realize that today was the day our budget is refreshed and groceries are once again available.

Never again...

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Speaking of ridiculous boys I have another Rob story. I had heard from several team members about the infamous "String Incident" so I decided to follow up and get an explanation from Rob himself. So the basics of the incident are that one day Rob was in the kitchen with teammate Kendra when a pained look crossed his face and he retreated to the bathroom and shared the events of his adventure with Kendra.
Rob & Kendra are super close btw. Obviously as shown in this picture.

Apparently, among other things, a long string was a central component of that which was evacuated. Kendra was content to leave it at that and was sufficiently disturbed. I, however, am an ever-curious being. In the most innocent manner I could affect I asked Rob how he had accidentally swallowed a string of that length and in true Rob fashion he shrugged and replied "I was bored." ......

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Before we came to Baltimore for our 4th and final project we were allowed a 4 day weekend which constituted our "Fall Break." For mine I decided to invite my mother out to meet me in DC and have a lovely weekend showing her the sights. Well, it was indeed quite lovely and there was much walking and museum viewing. However. The entire 4 days I was plagued again and again with the same annoyance.

Automatic flushing toilets.

I just reached over to grab my purse, why did you flush!?! Why is my entire undercarriage damp with toilet water? Why does it have to spit angrily at my behind?? Is this a bidet in disguise? Because if it is then let me tell you, I imagined the water to be a little less, well, ...infused with urine.
There were times when my toilet would flush 3 times before I was actually ready to exit the stall. I'm sorry, I don't practice perfect posture on the toilet! Now, my theory is that I cannot be the only person with this issue. Automatic toilets cause more harm than good. In fact, I find that I am perfectly capable of flushing my own toilet when I'm finished with my business.

My solution is this: Hire a person to check the stalls at fixed intervals to flush any toilets that have been soiled by the lazies and incompetents that can't manage to grasp the concept of turning around and depressing a lever to wash away the evidence of their visit. Not only would this save money (Minimum wage vs. water and energy costs of incessantly flushing toilets) it would be ecologically responsible to flush a toilet only when necessary and not wasting precious water every time someone reaches into their purse for a tampon.

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P.S. First project in Baltimore? Digging rain gardens for 4 days! If reading Holes didn't convince you that digging large holes in the ground isn't as fun as kids seem to think, let me assure you, Louis Sachar wasn't exaggerating about the pain and the blisters and blood. But I can't imagine that it would be in any way possible for a kid to dig 5 feet deep and 5 feet wide everyday. 3 of us couldn't even dig 3 feet deep and 10 feet wide in a day...and then, oh and then, we had Physical Training after work. Once again in this program we ask Why, why, why??

Chinese Kosher Vegetarian Restaurant. In that order.

Best kept secret in Philly? Philly Cheesesteak...wait for it...eggrolls. I have eschewed the obligatory "Philly cheesesteak sub" in favor of the more obscure and surprisingly delightful deep-fried and flaky version. Who's shocked? Didn't think so. This discovery was made on my birthday while out on the town and I have since found an acceptable (but not quite as good) version in Chinatown. The only reason I have deigned to make do with a version less than perfect is the considerably lower price and the addition of drink specials too cheap to ignore. Although now it has been more than a week since we have been patrons of this establishment, I am determined to return to once more enjoy this unique Philly-style cultural fusion.

Since it has taken me a month to post this update I know I had several witty anecdotes but can only remember a few of them. But I assure you my life has been, as always, rife with one-liners and ridiculous situations though my short posts may be lacking as of late. Our access to wireless was abruptly taken away when our team leader realized our WiFi "restaurant" required an ID to enter...so internet has been scarce. Off the top of my head I have the following:

Situation-The team is doing what we do best, being completely awkward in our urban environment, and doing PT down by the waterfront. As we're lunging past the slutty Wednesday crowd that I'm guessing was gearing up for the Rihanna concert, one of the girls in a strapless dress runs up to our team leader "Are you guys like on a team? Do you always work out at this time? I'm in Cross Country and I run 7 or 8 miles a day," with the intent, it seemed, of joining us regularly on our workouts. Now my mind, of course, working slowly due to the stress of sweating, came up with several responses to "Are you guys like on a team?" but was too appalled at the ridiculousness of the situation to utter any of them. The best of these being:
*Yeah, we're in a bowling league in Cherry Hill, we're pretty intense about it.
*We're synchronized swimmers but a kid pooped in the pool so we're doing dry land training today.
*We do Chinese acrobatics. We're not very good.

But the slutmonster got away without the condescending comment she deserved. Sometimes I'm just too benevolent for my own good.

Situation-I leave for the weekend to visit a friend in Pittsburgh. Someone gets shot right in front of our house in Camden on Friday. No one informs me of this. Sunday, I decide it's okay to risk walking home the mile from the subway stop at midnight on Sunday. I make it with only one offer to sell me coke. Find out Monday morning about the shooting...wtf team?? Under the category of Things I Need To Know- deaths 5 feet from our front door. Thank you in advance for your future cooperation in this matter.

Situation-I hate the south. Next project Baltimore!! Huzzah! Point one for team itchy-fuck-the-south.

That is all.

Picture: "it comes in Pints?? I'm getting one!" Screw that, it comes in Liters! Damn Skippy.

"Male strippers are like clowns. Funny, sexy, clowns."

I. Love. Megabus. For a marginal fee I was able to make my traditional August visit to Boston which I thought I would have to skip this year. Though I only got to see 2/3 of my former Dublin cohorts it was a fabulous weekend consisting mostly of activities related to my friend Emily's wedding in October. These activities were including, but not limited to, a surprise bridal shower, suggestively shaped cakes in a hotel room, dinner in Boston, and culminating in the ultimate of bachelorette party festivities-a strip show. As Grace Duffy epically observed, it is not nearly as pervy to go to a male strip show because male strippers strive to entertain by being funny as well as sexy. They make fun of themselves as they provide lap dances to blushing brides that are designed more to embarrass the crap out of the bachelorettes rather than turn them on. Of course there was the requisite horny 50 year old intent on making every entertainer take their dollar bills out of her bra, but hey, we can't all be as pure and innocent as our dear Emily...


So in case you didn't come here for an account of our evening of debauchery I will turn to more mundane updates. Respond continues to spoil us-Tuesday they took us on a field trip to the shore to take pictures of houses for inspiration for our painting jobs and then gave us time to go to the beach (which was a no go due to the $5 fee for beach access. Stupid Jersey.) and bought us lunch at the Lobster House. The daycare center we're working on offers us lunch every day (though we rarely accept, does anyone remember daycare food?? ...yeah.) But the crowning moment of our week was when the homeless shelter that Respond runs found out what our food budget was and is now giving us their leftovers from Panera's donations. Oh don't worry, you read that correctly, we are pitied by a homeless shelter. and being given their leftovers. My. Life. Rocks.

New Jersey: Free to enter, $4 to leave.

Let's get this straight-- I am NOT on the Jersey shore. Nor have I met any guidos. I am across the Delaware River from Philadelphia, I have a beautiful view of the bridge and skyline from my top floor bedroom in the row house my team lives in. On Mondays we go to trivia night at The Pop Shop (recently featured on the Food Network). Tuesdays are free jazz concert nights on the waterfront. Wednesdays are salsa lessons/$1 taco and WiFi night at The Victor pub near the stadium. Thursdays....are GRE study nights... and Fridays are lounge in the first floor air conditioning and have absurd conversations with your teammates night.

Camden, New Jersey, home of the highest crime rate in the U.S., idyllic? Indubitably!
Sure, someone was arrested outside our house the second night we were there and maybe you can't walk a block without having to avoid the needles littering the sidewalk and yeah, it might be nice if my room didn't have the lingering smell of urine in the floorboards that intensifies after baking in the hundred degree heat on the 3rd floor all day, but hey-It still beats Louisiana, the scars from which I still bear physically and emotionally. But city life in the Northeast has begun to work its healing magic and my soul feels whole and renewed after one week here.
The truth of the matter is that it was love at first sight when we pulled into our neighborhood. Driving into Camden affords a gorgeous view of Philadelphia and even the deteriorated streets and the boarded up windows leading up to our new home felt comfortable. A couple of blocks down leads us to the bridge to Philly which is completely walkable. Not a neighborhood you'd traverse at night, but between cabs and public transportation(!), I'm not too concerned. (though I bet my mom will be once she looks up some of the stats on Camden...Is homicide usually on the top 5 list of causes of death for a city?) Let's see if an arrogant notion of my own invincibility is enough to get me through this round alive, at the very least it should be fodder for some good stories. (Bar + WiFi = weekly blog posts! Stay tuned.)
Kate paints over graffiti on a daycare. We love kids.

The body confirms what the mind knows

I tried. I really tried. Flashback to project reveal, "Lake Charles, Louisiana!" My face lighting up with the promise of a land I have not yet acquainted myself within this great country. I love a good adventure and Louisiana held a host of unknowns. The bonus of working with Habitat put this project in a position to reach true greatness. I tried to ignore any preconceived notions I had about the unbearable climate, though historically my body has made its aversion to heat well known. But after disaster in Mississippi I had adapted. I could, and would embrace Louisiana.

But alas.

Reality likes to crush ideals like a Hummer meeting an armadillo in the Mississippi Delta. Yes, it was hot. Yes, it was humid. Yes, I wrung sweat out of my uniform. This alone could not shake my indomitable spirit. Even the poison ivy, ringworm and yeast infection on my leg on disaster could not bring me down. It was Louisiana that killed my soul.

Upon arrival to this accursed state I broke out in an intensely itchy mystery rash that for a week I thought was ants biting and crawling over my hands and feet in the middle of the night. With no evidence of hills of ants crawling up to the top bunk which I called home I sought another answer. After looking at pages and pages of skin ailments on the internet my next explanation was heat rash. I directed my anger to the perspiration that ran down my arms and legs day after day. My home remedies improved the condition not at all so I returned to the ever useful world wide web searching for anything else that matched my symptoms. I came upon some photos of chiggers and thought this to also be a viable option, but there weren't any helpful suggestions on easing the suffering of the afflicted. So I suffered. Not in silence, as is my usual style, but loudly, frequently and annoyingly. I had finally snapped. I was allergic to Louisiana. I was uncomfortable every hour of the day I wasn't in a Benadryl-induced coma and couldn't wait to return to civilization where it is possible to go 2 hours without sweating.

I still don't know what the raised and inflamed bumps dotting my extremities are though they have begun to improve...slowly. My hope rests on the healing powers of a basement pumping out A/C at a ridiculously unnecessary rate for the 7 days I am on summer break in Wisconsin. And only then, when evidence of the horrors I befell in the Bayou state cease to bear vivid evidence on my skin, when the worst of the sores have faded to scars, maybe then I can reflect on the happier moments of the latter half of round 2.

Until that time, I remain bitterly yours, the marred and scarred Hojo.


And for those of you jerks that dare to doubt the discomfort of my condition, here is a photo. Mind you, this was taken a full month after the condition first attacked and is also only a portion. The same enveloped my hands and wrists and up the back of one leg and on my lower back as well. Ew.

We've got the Mississippitch

The "Mississippitch". A term describing the constant state of being in Mississippi. That state is, of course, being itchy. There are a number of irritants that thrive here in the Delta. Most of us have contracted Poison Ivy, been swarmed by fire ants, eaten alive by spiders in the night and bitten by a number of mystery bugs that we swear are invisible and undeterred by clothing. I myself was sitting in the van yesterday only to be alarmed by a sudden case of the Mississippitch on the left side of my, for lack of a more polite term, ass. Upon inspection back at the dorm I discovered 6 distinct bites all over that rather sensitive area. How something that bites managed to crawl into my tucked in shirt, into my pants, into my underwear, while I was sitting on said area, and still somehow have room to maneuver and viciously devour my skin is completely beyond me. This is the phenomenon now known as the Mississippitch. Say it, feel it, love it, and stay the hell out of the south.

How am I to say goodbye to all this glamour?? Alas, I must, for the Miss Disaster Rubble Rousers are about to be disbanded. Far earlier than we anticipated FEMA has decided to close the Disaster Recovery Centers that we got our work orders from and therefore our project is done. Though we were only a team for 2 weeks, we bonded and got shit done for America. Everyday we busted out worksites leaving for the day in uniforms completely soaked through with sweat. ...needless to say, our van smells rank. 90 degrees and 70% humidity? Fuck it, Clarence needs these bricks moved, grab another batch. Can't walk in a straight line anymore? There's only 16 loads of shingles left in the back, we got this! What do you mean you're going to fall over? Y'all are lucky it's not hot out yet.

And yet, it was hella fun. And most of us are extremely disappointed that we have to leave, myself included. The upside is that since we still have a month left in the round, we will all be sent back to our teams instead of Perry Point. The downside to this is that I will be sent to my team directly from here...meaning I packed for a disaster and not for a regular project. I have one civilian outfit. I have one pair of pants I can possibly wear for PT. I have no personal comfort items nor my laptop (we have wireless internet in Lake Charles). bugger. But as usual, I will adapt and move on.

I get to (finally!) build something instead of ripping things down and removing debris. Habitat, I hope you're ready for this. Please have my nail gun ready and waiting. I leave next Tuesday or Wednesday and hopefully get to spend a little time in New Orleans on the way! Huzzah suckas

Guess what guys! Disaster season has hit! Yay!

Nowhere but on an NCCC campus will you find so many people excited for an active disaster season. For us it means teams are ripped apart and relocated on composite teams sent to anywhere and everywhere disaster strikes. Raven 5 was preparing for our Habitat project in Louisiana when we found out Michelle would be leaving us for disaster in Nashville. We all lamented that she would not join us for the Barbie fashion show nor for the anticipated drinking sessions outside the Exxon station. Little did we know, more disasters were brewing. This morning at the All Corps Meeting unbeknownst to Team Leaders and Corps Members alike, a team had been chosen to pick up where the Mississippi campus had left off in Yazoo City leaving tomorrow. With 24 hours to pack and kiss our teams goodbye, myself and 12 other individuals pulled from teams across all 3 units were called to serve our country. This will involve a lot of sacrifice, but this I am prepared to do in order to get things done for America. I am to say goodbye to my beloved Raven 5, goodbye to internet, goodbye to free time, goodbye to civilian clothing.
Our mission? To clean up after a tornado that hit on April 24th, leaving behind many trees and debris that need to be cleared. We will be working 8-10 hour days, 7 days a week. 30 days is supposed to be the max FEMA deployment, but really, this is FEMA, so I'm going to take that with a grain of salt. As for the rest, this is all the information we've been given. We'll find out more when we get there. Which just adds a bit of fun to the whole thing, yes? I'm not bringing my laptop so who knows when I'll get to update next, but rest assured I'll have a lot of great stories in a month. Until then, my phone still works, so keep in contact!

Isn’t it ironic? No, really, is it?

Alright, so everybody uses the term irony wrong, so this is an anecdote that may or may not be ironic but could be described by a term related to ironic:
So we’re about to head out to find some internet and go to urgent care to find out if Rob’s oozing belly button is life-threatening and I’m running a little late so I dash out the door. As I slam it shut and try to hurry down the stairs, my middle finger is left behind, crushed in the door jamb. I thought it was just stunned so I shook it furiously as I tried to suppress my expletives. It wasn’t until my team leader made an exclamation of disgust, “You’re flinging blood everywhere!” that I realized this might be a bigger problem than I had originally estimated. Sweetheart that he is, Josh ran up to the house to acquire paper towels to stem the flow of gushing blood. Upon his return he immediately applied his acquisition to…the front seat of the van which I had apparently flung blood upon. We all stared at him dumbfounded as my more concerned teammates dug into the first aid kit while blood flooded underneath my fingernail. To sum up, in my haste to get to the internet I injured myself badly enough that when we got into town I had to go with Rob to the urgent care and ended up getting no internet at all. I would say the positive side of this is that I got a prescription for 20 vicodin, but vicodin doesn’t work for me so after taking it for several days to no avail, I switched back to ibuprofen. Although, my prescription did come with a coupon for giant rotisserie chicken and until we figured out that Giant was the brand name, we were pretty frickin excited.

This entry will be completed on Tuesday during the next internet run as we will (hopefully) be finding out our next project tonight which I want to add to this week’s blog. Also, that gives me more time to think of stories that are both amusing and not centered around my injuries…
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With 1 week left here in Virginia our next project has been revealed to us. On May 12th we have a 22 hour, 2 day drive to look forward to as we head down to Lake Charles, Louisiana! Now…Louisiana has never been really high on my list of places to live but I find I’m rather excited for this new venture because we’re working for *dun duh dun!* Habitat for Humanity! Oh yes, that’s right, Ima learn how to build houses from the ground up and if we’re really efficient we’ll learn how to side’em and roof’em too. Huzzah! Now that you’re all good and jealous I can tell you the best part—I’m living in a double-wide. That’s right, one bedroom, nine people, no secrets. Just the way I like it. Rob likes to wake up early and talk loud, EJ goes to bed late jamming out to her (loud) stereo. The kitchen is separated from the bedroom by an island. There is one light for both rooms. One bathroom indoors plus 4 showers in a nearby trailer. We’ve already broken so many boundaries in this team that I’m excited to see what more there is. Kendra and I share a room at the moment and stopped shutting the door while we use the bathroom 2 weeks ago, Kenny, who led us in "awkward" PT,--Hip thrusts, groin stretches and chest isolations to say the least--has been lobbying for “Naked Weekend” for quite some time and today we had to change out of our herbicide clothes after work before we could load up the van and the people who forgot to bring extra just jumped in sans pants. Since “team-cest” is against the rules I’m not sure how we could get much closer but we’re creative, we’ll find a way.

Raven 5? yeah, we're close.


Along this vein, “Team Spoon” has been suggested as a team builder. …and so has playing Dungeons & Dragons. By the same person-Rob.
This brings up another important topic: Team Mottos. Most of which are variations on a theme:
“Rob, Don’t.”
“Rob, No”
“Rob, Get Off Me”
“Don’t touch me, ew”

This is Rob.



The last few motto suggestions are in relation to our work at Mason Neck. Between 15 tons of garbage dragged out of the forest to sweating with chainsaws on the plantation to breaking nearly every tool we come in contact with we find ourselves frequently repeating the following:
“Why? Why? Why?”
And my personal favorite-
“Raven 5: Ya done fucked up.”

Everyday we ask "Why, why, why?"

Okay, you can all dry your eyes, I have returned to the internet after a 17-day hiatus. And oh the updates I have. The day after my last post will forever be marked in history as The Day It All Went Wrong or the epic April Fools Disaster. It started off with some harmless boot-hiding and lunch swapping which escalated as the victims plotted against the perpetrators. It ended with a mattress thrown outside over the side of a hill and an expensive ring missing and nobody willing to take credit. Shouting and threats ensued and 3 members packed up and left for Perry Point for disciplinary hearings. Eep.
And then of course there is me being me and getting hit in the back of the head with a log I was carrying with Kenny.

Don't ask how this happened, I have no flippin clue. I am just that coordinated, I assure you.
I rock at life-4 stitches and I couldn't wash my hair for 5 days, ew.

We recently were informed that the if we write any of our sponsors' company names that they have programs that e-mail them to let them know they were mentioned on the internet. So I would hereby like to formally welcome the representatives of AmeriCorps NCCC, For Love of Children Outdoor Education Center, and Mason Neck State Park to my blog. I hope you enjoy it and I love you all.

And now I feel the need to preface this with the disclaimer that this may sound derogatory towards Mason Neck, but really, it's just funny.

3 members of my team (1 being myself) independently began calling our work site "The Plantation" which has spread like wildfire and been officially adopted by the whole team. A) We're in Virginia. B) There is no shade in this field. C) We're chainsawing dead trees wearing thick chaps over thick pants, helmets with face shields and earmuffs and thick leather gloves. Mmmm sweat. D) It was 80 degrees at least all that week. This name is deserved.
Even so, our scale "Tiny" insists that none of us are losing weight. I doubt the rice & beans we ate on Sunday are contributing to this problem. The pizza our sponsor bought us for lunch after walking in on us eating the aforementioned rice & beans for supper might be a reason...

Andddd I'm out of time, out of stories, out of my mind.

"I mean, I’ve lived here for 3 years so…I drink bottled water"

For those of you who for some reason don't intuitively know things I haven't actually written, I am now in Lorton, Virginia. Our spikes are 8 weeks long and the first 2 weeks we were in Harper's Ferry, West Virginia and the last 6 we'll be here at Mason Neck State Park. We arrived on Sunday and after being introduced to our impressive 4,000 sq. foot housing situation we discovered the order in which we got to pick our rooms. Who got 2nd pick? That's right, this girl. How was this order chosen? We drew a map of the trail system at our first project and the most accurate won the privilege of choice. Now, I know that many of you have witnessed my drawing skills and may be wondering how I managed to rank so high. Firstly, I beat 3 of my team members by putting my name on my paper. Win. Secondly, screw you, I rock at drawing. And I happened to have looked at the trail map intensely the previous day as I attempted to make my own trail by walking along a stream through the middle of the forest and got to know it pretty well.

So, back to the blog title, we have begun a tradition every night to have a water chug before you can serve yourself. The water in our new home, suffice it to say, is not pleasing. It's more than the heightened iron content, it has an almost stagnant quality to it. It just isn't right. Unsure whether or not we would have to just get used to it, we asked the head park ranger if the taste was something that would give us cancer in ten years or just provide us with a few extra daily minerals. His reply, of course, was "I mean, I’ve lived here for 3 years so...I drink bottled water" Comforting. Necessity drives us to repulsive acts sometimes and after 3 days of strenuous manual labor we all caved and embraced our only source of hydration. Although it took me nearly puking on my chainsaw to admit that this water was probably better than death. Barely.

So that was my uber-casual way of mentioning that I am now trained and certified to operate a chainsaw (at least within the boundaries of Mason Neck State Park). Huzzah! The saw is heavy and the chaps are hot, but there is something so satisfying about destroying nature. In the name of conservation, of course. Also, it might be that when I chainsaw I get to break from cleaning up the dump piles that have been sitting in the forest since the seventies. But hey, at least I'm outside! And the exhibitionist in me secretly loves stripping down outside the back door to shake my clothes out to check for ticks. And that mental image is my parting gift to you all this week. Enjoy!

R5-So colorful, we fill the box

It is official. We are the Raven 5 Creepers. This has been confirmed by our sponsor. It began when we noticed that the most oft uttered phrase within our team was "you are such a creeper!" and escalated when our sponsor (who is fairly eccentric himself) actually commented on our collective creepiness. There are few boundaries that we have yet to have violated with not even the shower remaining sacred. For example last week I was asked to stand in the boys' bathroom to chat with Rob while he showered. Yesterday all the girls packed into the communal shower room so that Rob was trapped behind his curtain until we all left. We offered to bring him his towel but he said he preferred to walk around naked and would wait for us to leave so that he could still enjoy his moment.

Alright I have so many random updates so this is going to jump around:
-We are doing trail maintenance work this week in W. Virginia which is mostly raking and lopping and moving logs. To get to work we have a 30-45 minute commute. And by commute I mean hike. I have to hike uphill to get to work and the hike gets longer everyday as we move along and clear the trail. FML. This wouldn't be so bad except I am the largest, slowest member of the team and they have a "Leave no member behind!" policy so they all have to stop every 200 ft to wait for me. ack. Also, for those that don't know, I lack grace in every aspect of life and fell really hard on my knee almost two weeks ago and messed it up so I'm also hiking with a bum knee, which is what everyone else kindly blames for my tortoise pace. I am not quite so delusional.
-While we're on the subject of graceful, this weekend I split my thumb open while cutting frozen meat for the fire. To add to this carelessness on my part, we also neglected to bring the first aid kit camping with us in the middle of the property this weekend so Josh had to run back the 20 minute hike to the lodge to get a medical bag all the while I'm bleeding profusely all over the picnic table. It's a pretty nasty cut but the skin flap is still there so it's slowly knitting back together...but it lined up wrong so it looks kinda weird with gaps on one side and overlap on the other.
-I have now peed in the woods!! This is actually related to our work site because of the 45 minute hike the only place to go is to step off the trail and drop trou. Kendra has extensive experience with this and taught both myself and EJ the proper technique. I understood and stepped away to do my thing, but EJ needed a live demonstration. As I stood on the trail to be the look out, EJ and Kendra squatted next to each other. Kendra clearly articulated the need to HOLD ON to a tree but EJ leaned a little too far back and sat directly in her puddle. I don't know what more to say about that except I probably scared the two members 100 yds ahead of us on the trail with my resonating laughter. EJ just pulled her pants up and continued working, what a trooper.
-Of all people, I was chosen for the first random drug test of the year. (What a waste, right?) Only 6 people are chosen out of 210 and all of us were from the Raven unit (there are 3 units). Also since they're confidential we're supposed to go alone, but they cheated and had me riding with one other person. And if you like improbability statistics here's the set-up: of all the 22 year old females that get pulmonary embolisms from birth control in America (not very many...) there are 2 that are in AmeriCorps, on the Perry Point Campus (240 people), on the Raven Unit (70 people), chosen for the random drug screening (6 people), and riding in the same van to get to the drug test (2 people). Please, tell me, what are the odds?


I look like I know what I'm doing, right?

Team Charter: No extensive fart conversations.

Before we deploy on our first Spike (spike=projects where we live off campus) our team developed a Team Charter in which we outlined rules by which we must all abide. Sadly, we were forced to put into words several standards that are usually naturally expected and unspoken. One of course being the aforementioned ban on fart conversations. Our motto is claim it, excuse it, move the fuck on. This was an issue for some of my team members on mini-spike.

---Informational Side-bar~Mini-Spike was 3 days of manual labor in the Delaware State Parks raking leaves at a zoo, moving branches in a park, and painting a nature center.---

On a gas-free note, we've officially been inducted into Class XVI here at Perry Point and have completed training. I think I need to mention that the speakers for this event with 240 people were more impressive than the speakers from my graduation from St. Kate's. Sorry to everyone that sat through that last May...
So now that we are all Corps Members we were all set to leave. The van was packed, the perishables eaten and the team assembled to head out to West Virginia, the site of our first project. Take a journey with me--we're playing the alphabet game, I'm kicking ass as usual, and the team phone rings. "Hi! ... Yeah, we're on our way, what do you need? ...what? Flooded? ... We're halfway there. ... On the highway. ... Turn around? Are you sure? ... Right, maybe you should talk to our team leader" The ending to that story is that we are back at the dorms which, I must admit, are a lot creepier when they're empty and it's dark and raining. The fact that it used to be a VA nursing home has all of a sudden become a lot more apparent. We may be able to leave tomorrow if they get the entrance to our housing in W.V. cleared sometime soon... The consolation to this is that the people that are at the park we're going to are trapped inside. So I'm having a little schadenfreude moment with that knowledge. We did get to listen to the mix I made for the van and most of my selections were met with approval though it may have been a little heavy on the pop-punk genre. Also, the choice of Date Rape awarded me one kudos and more than a few questioning glares. Read the lyrics, it has a good moral, I promise.

Lyn, I don't need your judgments. And just for you *Disclaimer-inappropriate material following, Mom, you will be uncomfortable.* Penis=Ham&cheese sandwich, You're welcome, Excalibur, Meat&potatoes, Schlong, Ding-a-ling, Johnson, Willy, Unit, Bizznizz, Tool, Rod, Member, Shaft, Peter, Sausage, One-eyed monster. Vagina-Cooter, Coochie, Box, Pootang, Vadge, Pooter, Snatch, Wet-wet, Twat, and the ever-offensive Cum Dumpster. Thank you Healthy Sexuality.

Eye contact is no guarantee.

I haven't posted for a bit but I don't have time to write more right now. P.S. I'm leaving for West Virginia on Saturday!! Spike number 1 then commences.
3/01/10
Once again, the lessons we learn in specific trainings tend to apply to life in general. In this case van driver training has taught us that eye contact is no guarantee that other drivers and pedestrians actually see you and your BF van. (For those of you not up with the lingo BF is old people speak for big fuckin’). This truth seems to especially relevant during those late night extra-curriculars that those of us over 21 partake in on the weekends. Eye contact is no guarantee. We went over this concept extensively in a lovely seminar called Healthy Sexuality…
As I am attempting to make this suitable for all audiences I will say nothing more about this lecture than that my knowledge of slang terms for the human reproductive anatomy has been augmented considerably.
3/5/10
Alright, so the team leader (TL) once again tops this week’s quotes with “No, I DO the love thing” but is even better when placed in context. The setting was what I like to call “awkward teammate question time” but was officially called the Gatorade Hot Seat. We all had a Gatorade and had to answer questions for as long as it took to drink it which led to one vomiter and 7 bathroom breaks. In many cases the questions that were asked were more revealing than the answers from the hot seat. For instance, a disproportionate number of questions had to do with bodily functions and dating histories, two seemingly incongruent topics, one right after another.

This being said, I love my team. Another glimpse of why: After an invigorating PT session at the YMCA (bench press max 105lbs, booya!) 4 of our members helped a Y employee chase a client’s dog into the woods. And just to prove how hardcore we are one chased it through thorny brambles and came back with scratches and dry blood all up and down her legs while another returned frozen and wet because she jumped into a stream to catch it. Unfortunately their heroic attempts were a massive failure, but I am hella proud of this motley crew for jumping out of the Ameri-van to assist before the TL could even finish asking anyone if they could help this woman.

3/9/10
My team keeps asking if they’re in my blog so I suppose I should introduce them by using the words we chose for them during a team builder related to their initials.
Josh Kerber (TL) Jolly Jogger, Kindhearted.
Kendra Chamberlain- Kind & Caring!
Kate Myler- Kind, Mercury (Apparently this was because she’s a Biology major)
Mary Del Savio- Master Deforester & Sawyer (to be. She’s a firefighter)
Michelle Giglio-Miniature, I don’t remember what her G word was.
EJ-ack! I’ll just make one up now, she is justifiably energetic.
Brandon Clark-Balky, and some random word from the thesaurus.
Kenny Morales-Manly, and some k-word
Rob Echerd-Really Eccentric!
Cory Payne-Crazy Party animal
Oh and mine was Honest & Jolly. :D and Just a bit forgetful, I might add.
So now that you are intimately acquainted with my team I shall refer to them casually by name from here on out.

"Once they are unconscious, they have given consent"

In case you thought NO means NO, the Red Cross has this alteration--No only means no if they are conscious. Once the person passes out, consent is automatically assumed. Of course this rule is mostly in reference to choking victims who refuse help, but I think it is a lesson that can be applied to across the board. So after 7 hours of CPR/First Aid training this is what I shall forever remember- Unconscious=consent. Please, may I help you with your emergency?

So far it seems most of my training has been cause for concern in those who know me well, but beware, the worst is yet to come.
Power tools. Oh yes, I will be allowed near expensive machinery and you'll have to take my word for it that I am indeed competent at this.
Wait, wait, that is not the worst. Here it is, I have been taught the skills to....
Communicate Peacefully.
Instead of analyzing this myself I challenge you all to test your creativity when adding some commentary to that.

I know this is a pretty pathetic excuse for a weekly update but not much goes on during training. I'll do better if you do better at leaving comments. Seriously people.

Addition!!!!
I forgot to add in my team leader section this week. This is what Josh has assigned to us for the weekend:
Read the Cat in the Hat cover to cover. There will be a test Sunday morning at 4:45 AM. Cheers!

Confusing hint leading up to our project reveal or playful jest? Considering his sense of humor, I can't be sure seeing as he also revealed a trick he likes to play on teenagers reluctant to defecate in the woods and wipe with a leaf---Basically I will never drink anything presented as Josh's Breakfast Brew since it will most likely be laced with dishsoap-thereby eliminating the right to choose when and where one would be willing to relieve oneself.

“I’m touching him but he’s not saying anything!!!”-Diversity Training

Sooo my plan to lose weight because I’d have more limited resources for buying food during AmeriCorps has failed miserably. I’m eating better than I have in years (sorry ma…). Apparently a huge number of people my age do, in fact, know how do cook and are only too happy to exchange this service for me cleaning up after. CURSES!! So let’s hope PT will do something to make up for this miscalculation.

Speaking of PT---

Here we have a story involving two of my favorite things: proving my ineptitude during exercise classes and inappropriate laughter. Now, I think I can guess what you are anticipating, but no, I did not fart at any point during the work out. Just so you know.

Continuing on, our PT has everything- stretches, jumping jacks (which we call side straddle hops…???), push-ups, sit-ups, “ameri”-squats, flutter kicks, and for a finale some weird bicycle twist things. It was during this final exercise that I finally broke down. The instructor started counting double time and I had absolutely no hope of keeping up so instead I busted into hysterical laughter because, in my opinion, of the absurdity of the task that had been set us. The team leaders near me were either not paying any attention to my not-so-silent convulsions or inclined to agree with the sentiment that the pace set was too ridiculous to take seriously at 7 am. I’m fairly certain it’s the latter. They seem to have a good sense of humor.

Speaking of Team Leaders---

“I don’t know the politically correct way to say this…but my crotch is a magnet for food.” –Josh, my team leader (Raven 5 ftw!)

Speaking of politically correct---

I promised to inadvertently offend someone, and people, I am true to my word. I was having a conversation with a large group and at one point turned to the person next to me to lament over the fact that it was going to be hard to replace our temporary teams once we got our permanent placements because my current teammates were so open and never insulted by anything I said. I continued that I hated when people were overly sensitive and got offended easily. She gave me a nervous half smile, turned to someone else and hasn’t spoken to me since...

Speaking of people not speaking to me---

LEAVE ME COMMENTS. Ask questions and whatnot. The most oft asked (and frustratingly vague) question I have received is "what have you been doing so far?" So, once more, it is summary time:

-PT has begun *ominous music*

-"Diversity" Training. Please don't ask me to explain this.

-Physicals--creepy male doctor taught me how to do a self breast exam...awkward. In related news I don't have TB, drugs in my system or a baby in my uterus, hoorah!

-I am officially a member of Raven 5 and our van Gimp(y). I named it but it hasn't quite caught on yet, but oh, it will. Trust me. The slider door doesn't open from the outside and there is a pretty intense air of general dilapidation about it.

-I am now a certified Red Cross volunteer! Along with this training came "child-friendly spaces" so I'm trained to set-up and run a child care area in a disaster shelter. muahahahaha

-And then there is free time....which gave birth to the following:

New epic Apples to Apples win. Lucky=Anne Frank "Well I mean, she survived right? She wrote books about it!" Raven kitchen beats all.