"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.