Turbulence!

the inaugural wedding blog

2009-03-10T15:53:00.000-07:00

Okay. It's set in stone.

SEPTEMBER 26, 2009 is the big day. At the Millenium Hotel, overlooking the float planes. There will be booze, food, tunes, and merriment. Best of all, there will be a reunion of friends and family. Tragically, one of the people I was looking forward most to having at our wedding was my Aunt Eva, who passed away on February 22, 2009 and will be forever remembered and loved. See my previous blog for details on my beloved Aunt Eva. I know she will be there in spirit, and I plan a toast in her honour.

The wedding party is as follows:

BRIDE & GROOM

Duh.

Bridesmaids:

Sarah Torgerson: We met when I was 3 years old and she was 2. We have been neighbours ever since and as close as sisters.

Amanda Jorgenson: We met in the fourth grade and discovered amazing similarities between the two of us. People always mistook us for sisters, and our favourite talent was speaking with one another in German so no one else could understand us.

Amberrose Thornton-Metzger: We were ski instructors at Alyeska when we were 16. She and I got ourselves and each other into great amounts of trouble. We fought like sisters but fiercely defended each other if the situation called for it. We've seen each other through pretty much the worst of times.

Magdalena Harrer: My closest cousin, living in Vienna, Austria. We would always play and frolick together in our younger years when I visited Europe.

Sarah Friedrichs: My soon-to-be sister in law. Kevin's brother proposed to her while they were in Mexico. She lives in Minnesota, and, as you can see, is buckets of fun.

GROOMSMEN:

Bryan Trinka: Kevin's brother. He is older by just a year and a half and is an air-traffic controller in Minneapolis Center.

BJ Kirschhofer: One of Kev's closest friends, as well as mine. I met BJ through Kev and he lived a couple floors below me in the dorms. We'd spend every weekend drinking jugs of wine in his dorm room while he played Bob Dylan songs on the guitar. We still keep in touch and he recently came to visit us in Alaska en route to the Arctic Circle to conduct polar bear research.

Daniel: my brother, naturally. He brings life to any party and everyone is his friend, whether he knows them or not.

Joshua David Bleznak, as I like to call him. He is Sarah's boyfriend, and we've all come to be pretty good friends since he moved from Phillidelphia to be with Sarah. I love Josh because we get along like siblings and we are really blunt with one another. He and Kevin always have much fun (and rum) when they hang out. We love to dog-sit for his German Shepherd, Bromley.

And that's that.

Yes, there is one more bridesmaid than groomsman, but who the hell cares. I do believe Josh will get two ladies to escort him down the aisle or wherever the ceremony will be taking place. I just really wanted my cousin to be a part of the wedding party for traveling all the way from Vienna to be there, and I didn't find out until the other bridesmaids were notified so what the hell. It's my damn day and I'll do what I want to!!!!!!!! bwaaahahahahahaaaaaaaaa!

Location:

The Millenium Hotel, roundabout the time this photograph was taken (mid-Oktober 2007 - but a few weeks earlier). This is basically the view you get, but from a higher vantage point. The farmer's almanac predicts a warmer-than-ordinary fall in 2009, but this is Alaska and I'm not banking on anything, so pack a variety of gear, haha.

CAKE:

Bird cake, because of my love of birds and flying. Will be created by Superstar Pastry Design.

DRESS:

Valentino for Pronovias.

Okay, maybe not, as it costs upwards of $5G. But something with the same clean lines, simple fabric, and lack of embellishment.

I am now officially wedding-ed out. Signing off, --chantal

Aunt Eva

2009-02-23T12:16:00.000-08:00

My aunt Eva in Austria, a beautiful, worldly, chic, clever, and very loved woman, passed away last night.

This photo was taken in Austria in 2002 at a cafe in the lower Alps. Eva, my mom, and me sipping Eiscafe.

She is the mother of my two cousins Magdalena and Michael, to whom I am very close. She was only 56 years old, and leaves behind a 22 year old and a 24 year old.

This is Aunt Eva in 2004 giving Lila a taste of ice cream.
,
Eva was a flight attendant with Austrian Airlines for at least two decades. Her work uniform made her look fantastic. It was all red: Red pumps, red skirt, red nylons, red blouse, red jacket, red neck scarf, red leather handbag, and red lipstick, and the look was completed by a simple gold pin of the Austrian Airlines logo. She would fly to Moscow, to London, to Marrakesh, to DC, to Toronto, to Shanghai. She loved travel and exotic places and would collect elephant figurines from her various destinations.

She was considered the most fashionable of the three Schnuerl sisters. She had good style outstanding wardrobe that I always admired. Her hair was usually cut in a blonde bob, highlighted, and worn tucked behind her ears.

This is my aunt, me, and my mom in the Audi Cabrio we rented in 2002 to drive around the Austrian hillside with on her birthday.

Eva took over as 'mom' when my mother and father would go on long bicycle trips around western Europe. She would spend hours in the backyard of my grandparents' house with me and Magdalena, as we splashed in the pool, ran around the yard, and climbed trees. She made us delicious lunches and would take us to the Danube to get ice cream.

The last time I saw her was on my last visit to Austria in October of 2008. She looked fabulous and vibrant. She was my grandparents' caretaker, as they are getting older and needed her help from day to day remembering things. She was their rock.

I will miss her so much. I'm still in shock.

High School

2009-02-09T11:27:00.000-08:00

The beauty of being out of high school is encompassed in several factors:

1. You get to be on your own.
2. No 'detentions'.
3. Not having to hear the pledge of allegiance every day.
4. Not having to partake in stupid activities like pep rallies and spirit day.

I thought my days of high school revelry were over.

However, this is not the case.

For some reason, Dimond High School chooses to broadcast loudspeaker announcements outside as well as inside. Being that my dwelling is approximately 892 feet from the front door of the high school, my daily wake up call at 9:45 a.m. begins with,

"Good morning Dimond! Please stand for the pledge.

I pledge allegiance-
to the flag-
of the Unitedstatesofamerica.
And to the Republic-
For which it stands-
one nation-
undivided-
with libertyandjusticeforall."

Monday through Friday, every morning. Then it's followed by announcements about the start of basketball season or the big game or upcoming spirit week, or, as it was last week, by a tinny rendition of an overplayed Motown hit of some sort, sung by 4 or more high schoolers, in recognition of a choir concert. Even the pillow over my face refused to drown it out.

On another note, the LSAT is done and over with, and the next three weeks shall be filled with a mixture of apathy and anxiety until my test score is received.

What's a girl to do?

2009-02-07T15:19:00.001-08:00

good band, strange music video, quite hilarious.

And damnit, the damn thing won't let me upload it so go to here and check it out.

2009 - a makeover

2009-01-02T12:32:00.000-08:00

My biggest resolution for the new year (although I typically don't bother with such trivialities) is to end the night EVERY night with no dishes in the sink.

Morning is already volatile enough without having to deal with crusty plates and milky glasses. So far, so good on keeping this resolution. I got a few days' head start just to practice.

Also on the resolution list:

-make the bed every day (this one has not been kept. No, not even in the short two days of 2009)
-remember to take vitamins every day (this one's not too bad - even though I take 9 vitamins, one for each ailment, real or imaginary. Biotin for skin health, B12 for circulation, Borage oil for joints, Folic acid for heart health, fish oil to counter dry weather, carrot seed extract for eye health, etc.)
-get up at 9:30 on weekdays.

Nothing on my list screams failure besides the bed making resolution. Somehow, I still can't see the harm in crumpled blankets all day. It's not like people come over to my house to ogle my bed. This is one habit that my parents were not successful instilling in me.

In other news, my boxing day was quite successful. Four boxes or rubbish later, my house is rather empty once more, much to the pleasure of my minimalist side. If there's one thing that gets me starting to itch, it's pack-rattish behaviour. There's nothing like clutter that makes one feel like she is providing kindling to a potential fire. The more things one has, the more one has to lose, and that makes me very uncomfortable.

Currently it is -4 outside and I'm off to walk the dog. In moonboots, because I have the worst shinsplints in history, thanks to a 12-hour shift on New Years Eve. Luckily, the spendhardy fools that splurged for dinner at Corsair tipped enough so that each server ended the evening in one night with as much as we usually make in one month. HA! Take that, economy.

the injustice

2008-12-18T01:07:00.000-08:00

I was fully looking forward to a relaxing night off of work, beginning with a day of snowboarding with my friends (accomplished), a delicious sandwich at the Bake Shop in Girdwood (accomplished), a beer or two apres-ski (accomplished), as well as a hot shower, a movie, and going to bed early (all FOILED!!!) Why were half my plans foiled? Because I was called unexpectedly into work. aaaaarrrgghhh. Then I threw a hissy fit in front of my coworkers, insisting on taking Sharice's* day off in return, but then felt like a lump of coal for my childishness.

Not only was I there for less than 5 hours, I also made enough money to pay for my ski ticket for the day, the sandwich, the two beers, and another few days' worth of equal or greater activities of the sort. I need to put things into perspective as far as this economy goes.

*names have been changed.

Europe: The Finale

2008-12-16T13:25:00.000-08:00

Okay i'm wrapping this damn thing up now after several months of having returned from Europe, but this is the best part.

Matt flew back home to Frankfurt after a wonderful lunch at a Gasthaus named Bonka, where we all indulged in Goulasch, Raeh, Apfel Strudel, and espresso drinks with the family (Mom, Per, Grandparents, Eva, Magdalena, Michael, Matt, and me and Kevin), for a kind of farewell celebration for all of us departing. Matt concluded his visit to Austria was one of the best weeks of his life, and he felt extremely at home in my lovely country, what with the classy people, the stylish couture, the extravagant castles, the expensive riches, and the fabulous food.

The next day (October 6, 2008), Kevin, my mom, and I took our bikes to Tulln, the next city over from St. Andrea, to complete my Euro-shopping trip (basically a gathering of things you can't get in the states). Obviously, Kevin quickly tired of my repeated trips to the changing room, but I was relentless. I don't care how crappy the dollar is compared to the Euro, EVERYTHING is cheaper, from clothes to food, than Alaskan goods. It may not hold true for the rest of the US, but our choices are both extremely limited, and far overpriced in the 49th state. I walked away with a chic leather jacket, a bunch of neon yellow tank tops and sweaters (my new favourite colour), some purple accessories (purple pom-pom hat, tights, earrings), and a strange necklace consisting of a bird in a little cage. Not sure when I'll ever wear it, but that's not why I got it.

The ride home from Tulln, along the Danube.

Well, we were riding our bikes home after this shopping extravaganza, and the most beautiful sunset was happening to our left, reflecting off of the Danube River. My mom kept slamming on her brakes to stop and take photos, causing Kevin to ram his bike into the back of hers, which I found funny but Kevin not so much. Anyways, the plan was to stop at the Yacht Harbour and drink some Sturm while the sun went down. My mom determined, when we got there, that she'd rather go home and help make dinner, so it was just me and Kevin. We sat there with our drinks as I pulled out my newly purchased wardrobe items, and proceeded to show them off to Kevin. THat's when Kevin said, "I bought something for you too", and pulled out a LITTLE BLACK BOX, with, you guessed it, a DIAMOND RING inside. That's when he asked "Will you marry me?", and me, without thinking twice, plucked the ring out of the box and squealed with excitement and I flung it on my finger. "I take it that means yes", said Kevin, to which I replied "OF COURSE!"

So there you have it. Nearly 6 years together, and we're engaged.

The beautiful sunset from the dock.

So. The rest of the story is simply the travel home, which was less than stellar, as we had to get up early, the airports were too hot, the airplanes were too hot, I elbowed Kevin in the nose trying to get out of our row so I could use the restroom, and we were extremely tired to the point of delirium until we finally got home, four flights later. The cat, needless to say, was fairly distraught at our long absence, and proceeded to lecture us with "meow"s until she made her point.

So that was the trip.

And this is the ring.

THE END.

EUOPE TRIP PART III: Matt's visit and Slovakia

2008-12-02T12:44:00.000-08:00

Shame on me. It's been over a month since the last update.

So... onward with the tale of Slovakia.

Matt arrived from Frankfurt by plane on Tuesday, and me, Kevin, and my aunt went to greet him there. While waiting, we picked up cappucinos at McDonalds, and surprise, they were delicious. I don't even think espresso is an option at American McDonalds, let alone good coffee of any kind.

Matt came out of the baggage collection area, and we all got into the car to drive back to St. Andrea. It was his first time in Austria, and he had the pleasure of seeing statues and castles that existed since the old kingdom existed. My grandmother made traditional Goulaschsuppe for lunch, and my cousins came to the house to feast with us. Since I wanted to show off parts of the town to Matt, my aunt offered me her Audi to drive up to the old fortress Greifenstein, about 10 minutes away, so naturally I jumped at the opportunity to drive wicked fast along the tiny winding streets. After searching for a parking spot along a crazy steep hill, and managing to finally park, without driving the car off the steep cliff, we got out and started the walk up a steep pathway to the fortress. It's nothing too exciting, because it was closed to tours on the inside, but the view of the Danube is pretty great, but we discovered that a gaggle of children had also decided to show up, and followed us wherever we walked. The sightseeing was cut short.

Our next destination was reachable by bicycle, so we hopped on the bikes and rode to the Danube yacht harbor and the old Danube lake. Matt had never tasted Sturm before, so we decided to get white and red Sturm and try both to see which was better.

We decided white Sturm was pretty damn good, but red Sturm kicked ass.

Sturm is made from fruit, usually grape or pear, but can also be made from cherries, apricots, apples, or peaches. It begins as a juice, and the juice is sold at roadside stands throughout the Austrian countryside, and also at the Heurigen restaurants, but at the end of the harvest season (October), farmers put the unsold juices away, in jugs, and let the fermentation process begin. Before long, it takes on a different taste, with a slight fizz, and becomes an alcoholic drink. I'm told the alcoholic percentage is pretty high, but it goes down like juice. It's easy to see how one can unintentionally get really drunk on three or four glasses' worth.

Matt announced he will one day make a living processing and bottling Sturm for American consumption, because it's the kind of drink Americans would drink for its taste and its ability to get someone drunk fast.

That evening, we decided we would catch the Twin City Liner to Bratislava the next morning, and explore all that Slovakia has to offer.

We woke up at 8am the next morning, with good intentions to catch the 9am Liner, but quickly realised that it wouldn't be happening (thanks to me.... the slowest in the bunch), so we decided to get the 10am Liner. To get there, we had to walk to the train station (5 minute walk), wait for the train (1-10 minutes), ride the train to Heiligenstadt (15 minutes), transfer trains (3 minutes), take the U-bahn to Schwedenplatz (5 minutes), and from Schwedenplatz, find the Twin City Liner boarding place (which, with three people, could take anywhere from 2 minutes to half an hour, depending on the amount of arguing, getting lost, and map-reading required).

It all would have gone well, had I not realised, at the train station, with 8 minutes until the next train left, that I left the U-bahn cards at home. So I sprinted, with a cappucino in my hands (courtesy of the bakery we stopped by at on the way there), back to my grandparents house, jumped the fence, threw the door open, and found the cards sitting right there on the table next to the door. I sprinted the whole way back, with a good two minutes until our train was to arrive. I sat there red-faced and sweating, taking off about four layers of clothes, while our fellow commuters looked at me like I was crazy. It seems not many Austrians run, jog, or sprint, regardless of the nature of the emergency. Let alone in a scarf and Danskos, holding a cup of coffee.

Without a hitch, we got to Schwedenplatz, and discovered that the boarding area for the Twin City Liner was right across the street, on a Danube canal, and we still had ample time to wander around Schwedenplatz before boarding, so we walked around, got more espresso drinks, took photos, went to a bank, and looked at graffiti before heading back. The Twin City Liner is named so because Vienna and Bratislava are a short 40 kilometres apart by way of the Danube, and are the closest two capital cities in all of Europe, and with population growth, they keep getting closer.

The ride on the liner wasn't too spectacular, there wasn't much to see, so we ate the rest of our delicious pastries and chatted along the way. An hour later, we docked at Bratislava.

Me and Kevin right after docking, in front of the Bratislava bridge.

We decided first off that we were hungry again, and walked straight up this big hill, towards the castle, figuring that it was the touristy part of town. Unfortunately, we didn't bother to look to our right, where, as we discovered later, was a beautiful long pedestrian zone line with trees, statues, fountains, restaurants, shops, and tourist info booths. That would have been the place to start.

Instead, we hiked up the hill, looking high and low for a place to eat. None of us had any SKK (Slovakian currency), so Kevin went to an ATM trying to withdraw money. The damn thing was broken, and for a second I thought it wasn't going to give his card back (Damn communist machines!). So we tried another one, and this one worked, spitting out a myriad of colorful paper bills. It turns out that it takes 30 SKK to equal 1 Euro, so Kevin wasn't quite as rich as we had hoped, with all his bills.

After a while we came upon an Italian restaurant (yes, Italian, in Slovakia, shame on us), and our hunger determined that was where we would eat. A while later, full of pizza and delicious wine, and more espresso, we were on our way to the castle Hrad.

Unfortunately, the castle was under construction and the workers made a terrific racket, so the sightseeing there was short lived.

An outlook from in front of the castle. The castle itself was covered up by scaffolding.

We walked down a different hill, through tiny alleyways, and back onto the main path leading to the bridge, when a strange fat man walked up to me and started rattling off in Slovakian. I must have looked confused because he repeated himself, so I said. "NEIN!" real loud, hoping he would understand at least that one German word, but no, he did not, and kept repeating one word in Slovakian, "Peevol? Peevol? Peevol?" So I just walked away. I guess I must look suspiciously Slovakian.

We finally came upon the beautiful pedestrian zone, with street after street of shopping, eating, and touring. I was sad we spent half the day wandering around and hadn't found this first. We decided we'd go into the first bodega we found and purchase the most typical SLovakian booze offered. We found ourselves in a sketchier part of Bratislava at this point, complete with tattoo parlours, sex shops, and the obligatory European punks, where, lo and behold, we came upon a booze, cigarette, and porn shop. The fifteen-year-old kid manning the counter knew exactly what to offer us, and pulled out a cheap-looking bottle of "Kofola" out from under the counter to use as a chaser to our newly-purchased "Borovicka". We found a nice park bench near a pretty fountain, and began a taste test. The result: Borovicka made a better taster to the nasty Kofola than the other way around. Kofola was like a fizzy version of watered-down Jaegermeister, minus the alcohol. I guess it's what Slovakians drink instead of Coke or Pepsi. NASTY. Borovicka tasted kind of like gin, but with an herbal flavour to it. By the time we boarded the boat at the end of the day, it was half gone, and by the time we arrived back in Vienna, the bottle of Borovicka was empty, while the Kofola still had over half of its contents remaining. We left the Kofola on the boat. Good riddance.

Back in Vienna, we were hungry (again), and went in search of a pizza and sausage stand, which isn't to hard. We hopped on the U-bahn in Schwedenplatz and arrived in St. Stephansplatz, the main square, where the church stands. It was super busy and crowded, even at 8pm, and before long we found our little snack stand, bought some food and some beer, and stood around eating and drinking, happy as clams.

Slovakia is pretty neat, and not as eastern-Europe as I expected. I wish we had come across a Slovakian restaurant at the peak of our hunger, but I still really enjoyed our lunch, and to our credit, we did drink Slovakian wine there. I advised my mother, when she and my stepdad traveled there, to skip the castle, and spend more time in the pedestrian zone, as I wish we had. All in all, I had a fantastic time, and Matt and I fulfilled our childhood promise that we would one day visit Eastern Europe.

Europe trip continued

2008-11-01T13:23:00.000-07:00

Part II: Austria

Kevin and I slung on our amazingly large travel backpacks, grabbed our carry-on, extracted the large map of Copenhagen, and off we walked, at 6am, from our hotel to the train station. We didn't exactly remember the way back, but figured it could only take us 20 minutes tops. Unfortunately, 6am seems to be a time of a lot of road construction, so that meant risking life and limb walking around the vehicles on the sidewalks and into the lanes of fast-moving Copenhagen traffic. After 8 blocks and a lot of sweating, we were on the train and on our way to the airport to catch a flight to Vienna.

My cousin was there to pick us up in Vienna in his BMW SUV (he's got big car fever and works for the dealership so it was probably marked down for him). We arrived right at lunch and caught lunch rush-hour (a big thing in Europe, to go home from work to eat lunch). After cursing and beeping at a car of foreigners ("Verdamte Ungarne!" = (Damn Hungarians), he shouted), we nearly rear-ended the car in front of us. It was close.

We got to my grandparents house in St. Andrea, and the first thing I did was inhale and take in the scents of Austria I grew up with. There are some smells that bring back the strongest memory of youth, and one of them is the stone staircase leading to the upstairs apartment and the salon. The staircase, along with the cellar, are the only two components of the house that have remained unaltered since it was built. The house has stood for over a hundred years, has seen five generations of my Austrian family pass through, and has stood nearly undisturbed through two world wars. The cellar is a maze of over ten rooms, some of which were used to hide soldiers during Hitler's reign. The main floor is composed of a study, a piano hall, a tiny kitchen, a dining room, an inner bedroom with no windows, and a library area. Just outside is a "wintergarden", used for dining in the summer, and for storing plants, kind of like a greenhouse, in the winter. Halfway up the staircase is a small library/salon, and then the top floor is an entirely independent apartment, complete with kitchen, bedrooms, and living area, as well as a large balcony. I forgot to take photos of the house itself when I was there, probably because it's so set in my memory that I don't need photos to remember everything about it.

a corner of the wintergarden, and the tree that my cousins and I would spend hours climbing on when we were young.

The first few days of Austria were pretty mellow, we mostly stayed within the town, bicycled around along the Danube, ate Wiener schnitzel made by my grandmother, had a night out in Vienna at Cafe Leopold with Sophie, and drank Sturm at the Yacht Harbor. One day my grandmother decided it was time to trim the shrubs at the family gravesite, and said that a strong man like Kevin would be in charge of the heavy tools. So off we went.

We stopped at the Wiedermann gravesite, and my grandmother took the role of director. "Kevin, cut here," she would instruct, and Kevin would snip away at whatever she pointed at. An hour later, they were still snipping away, much to the chagrin of my grandfather, who would cringe at every clipped vine, at every falling leaf, and say, "no, no, no! That's too much! It looks so bare!", to which my grandmother would respond, "Well, we're here already, and I intend to get the job done." They ended up compromising and my grandmother agreed to leave a climbing vine that had snaked itself around the cross. It was pretty cool to see all the elaborate gravestones.

We also had an adventure in public transportation in an epic effort to retrieve my grandmother's had from a Huerigen in Vienna. A Huerigen is a seasonally open restaurant, based in a farm or orchard area, and are only allowed to sell what is produced by that farm or orchard. This particular Huerigen in Vienna had its farm somewhere in the country, and had the products sent to the city for preparation and sale. Apparently, this place was somewhere that took a couple train stops and a few blocks of walking to get to. Kevin, my grandfather, and I boarded the train in St. Andrea, took a 10 minute ride to Heiligenstadt, ran to the bus that was just leaving its station, managed to board, and rode about 10 minutes before my grandfather realised we were on the wrong bus. He ran to the front, consulted with the driver, and then we hopped off at the next station and ran to catch a street car going the other direction. We were on the streetcar for about 5 minutes before my grandfather wondered out loud, "This car isn't stopping at the station we need!", and ran up to the front to ask the driver where the heck it was going to stop. It ended up going about 3 blocks too far, and my grandfather decided we would give up and just walk the rest of the way. By that time, it was nearly dinner time, we were starving, and when we walked into the Huerigen it smelled so good I nearly salivated. The hostess implored us to stay and eat a bite, but my poor grandfather was so flustered he declined and said we had to get back home. But at least we got the hat. We did the whole route in reverse, minus the wrong bus ride, and boarded the train in Heiligenstadt, when my grandfather realised he'd left his Bank-o-mat card in the ticket machine in St. Andrea.

In the end, the bank card was retrieved and the hat brought to its original owner. It turned out to be educational for me and Kevin in the sense that now we knew how to use three different modes of transportation to get to and within the the inner four districts of Vienna.

At one point, we decided to go to grocery shopping at Billa. We took the bikes there, which meant we could only take as much as we could carry in two baskets and ride home, a fact that was apparently forgotten as Kevin and I grabbed various 6-packs of Austrian beer off the shelf and proceeded to fill a cart full of booze. We teetered home slowly, and I think Kevin was carrying a 6-pack under his arm while steering with the other arm.

It was pleasantly relaxing in Austria, just acting like we lived there, no schedule, no touring, no itinerary to keep. Every morning began with a trip to the Baeckerei (bakery), breakfast would be long and drawn out, with several cups of coffee, and lunch would include at least one beer.

But I couldn't wait until Tuesday, when Matt would arrive from Frankfurt, and the adventures would begin. More to come at a later date.

Europa trip part 1

2008-10-11T11:58:00.000-07:00

I note that the last time I wrote on my blog was precisely one month ago. This leaves me flooded with shame and guilt, and I'm sure many have given up and lost hope that it should ever be updated again.

However, I aim to surprise.

I have just returned from a trip to Europe with Kevin for two weeks (which was AWESOME. It's been 4 years since last I visited and saw my family there). Everything went smoothly, my German speaking skills were surprisingly expert, and the trip was fantastic.

I'll start at the beginning, and when I get to the end, I'll stop.

Part I: Departure

On 23.9.08 we awoke early, Kevin having not even packed yet (this is something I myself do not approve of because I have these weird dreams when I'm stressed that I am leaving for Hawaii in like an hour and haven't packed and find myself at the airport with a suitcase full of silly things like an iron, bedsheets, down coats, a flashlight, pots and pans, etc. Basically nothing that can be used on a vacation in Hawaii. So I packed the night before - which I suppose is still pretty short notice). At 8am my brother picked us up and we went to Snow City cafe to meet up with Sarah and Josh, and surprisingly my mother and stepdad got back from their trip in the Alaska bush to meet us there too. Without food at home and knowing that airport food sucks, and that any nasty morsel offered on the airplane would have to be paid for, we decided that breakfast at a cafe was probably the wisest decision. Not only that, but for my last American meal for two weeks I kind of wanted to go all out. So french toast, bacon, and sausage it was.

The flight to Copenhagen had its ups and downs. At first I was really stoked, it was the nicest airplane I had ever been on, with colour coordinated seats, pillows, and blankets, and tv screens on the back of each seat, as well as a mirror and a little pocket for putting things like iPods or glasses. The food was really good (surprise!), and they served free booze at least 3 times during the flight.

Kevin loves airplane food.

They had a bunch of different movies to choose from, so after we exhausted Kevin's iPod touch of all the Deadwood tv shows he downloaded, I watched Little Miss Sunshine, and guffawed loudly at the part where Dwayne goes crazy in the car. I believe I woke the girl across the isle from me.

THEN the plane got really hot. For the rest of the flight, it was as miserable as the Sahara. So I kept the booze coming, which was probably not helping my dehydration.

When we got to Copenhagen we tried to buy train tickets to the central station, but obviously the ticket machine only spoke Danish, so I pressed a bunch of buttons whilst simply guessing their translation, and after a while we were on our way with two tickets. Finding the hotel took similar faith in ones instinct, and after wandering for 10 minutes with huge backpacks on, and me nearly getting mowed down by a flock of bikers, we got to Hotel Fox, the coolest hotel in Copenhagen. It was designed by 21 artists from various countries, and each room had a different theme. Our was called "Tinkp Eepe", designed by Spanish graphic artists of the entity Freakclub based in Barcelona.

Our room in Copenhagen.

To see more rooms and to read about this sweet hotel, go here.

We ventured out to see Copenhagen, seeing that it was 2pm and there was plenty going on in the city. Unfortunately, our arrival was 2 days after the amusement park Tivoli Gardens was closed for the summer season, and two weeks before it opened for Halloween season. However, that probably turned out to be for the best, seeing that we only had two days and there was a lot of other things to do.

The first thing we did was go to the main walking square in the downtown district and drink a couple of Denmark's famous Carlsberg beer, which was delicious. I'm addicted to it and actually need to get to the liquor store here to pick up a 6-pack of it.

We walked around for a while, looking at an art photo exhibit and watching this crazy English guy put on a weird magic show. Then we went to a Danish 7-11 and got Danish candy. By this time it was 6pm and about 20 hours since we woke up. I am sad to admit it, but we went to bed at 7pm and didn't wake up until 7 the next morning.

The next day we set off to find the little mermaid, which is in the Nuehavn/Strogen part of town, a couple miles from the city center and our hotel. Along the way, Kevin had to pee and we found a very strange cement structure with no doors, but two urinals, so both of us gave it a try. My try was more like an awkward crouch trying not to touch the graffiti-ed walls with my buttcheeks. If something like that existed in Anchorage, there would no doubt be drug addicts shooting up and I would never go in. Nonetheless, I decided to cut down on eating Salte Fiske candies, because they made me thirsty and then I would drink a lot and have to pee. Americans got one thing right: free potties.

After a great deal of wandering, we got to the Little Mermaid, which was swarming with Asian tourists, so we left again and got a canal tour on a little boat, which was neat. Then we had lunch in a very Danish restaurant, very non-touristy, called Snaps & Tod, which specialized in Aquavit (a very potent Norwegian liquor almost like a liquorice whiskey, and I know I did my Norwegian stepdad proud by ordering a round for me and Kevin). The main purpose behind the Aquavit, for me, was to wash down the rather... fishy taste of the cold herring Snorrebroed I made the mistake of ordering, but it was an expensive dish and I was hungry so I crammed it down my mouth and commended myself for making an attempt at incorporating myself in the culture.

My cold herring Snorrebroed, Kevin's beef and horseradish Snorrebroed, two Carlsbergs, and two rounds of Aquavit.

400 Danish kronners later (about $80. - yikes), we were on our way.

The rest of the day, we (or more like I) shopped for cool Danish things, and of course made the olbigatory stop and Hennes Mauritz, aka H&M, for a wardrobe update. The next day, we were off to Vienna. More to come in the next few days........

POP!

2008-09-11T11:49:00.000-07:00

Some nights get a little bit exciting around my place, and often it's nice to break up the monotony of a dull fall day. This particular night included me sipping a White Russian and Kevin about to fall asleep on the floor of the study. I had just concluded a little reading on the internet about another (yet another) factoid about Sarah Palin (something about her attempt to ban library books - NOT OKAY with me. Censorship, in my opinion, is a HUGE no-no, especially since we live in the United States, a country founded on the basis of free will, free thinking, and an uncensored way of life) when Kevin pointed out a foreign object on the ceiling. Upon closer inspection we discovered this object to be a spider nestled among the texture of the ceiling, with god knows what intentions. Perhaps he planned to walk across my pillow and into my nose, like the ill-fated daddy longlegs, who only got as far as crumpled under my cranium in the middle of the night. Whatever he had planned, I had bigger plans for the creature. Hopping up and down on a chair, I hollered at Kevin to bring me paper towels so that I could dispatch it to its fate. With a wad of napkins, I reached up and smashed the thing. Its giant hermit-crab-like abdomen emitted the most sickening of "POP" between my fingers, causing me to let loose the most bloodcurdling of screams. My neighbours probably thought an ax murderer had found his way into the townhouse.

Some people disdain stepping on crunchy things because of how it feels under their feet. Some people dislike certain sounds because they are earsplitting. My personal phobia is now killing spiders. I'm sure a portion of the abdominal guts left traces on my skin and the memory is still fresh in my head, gory and fatal as though it happened two minutes ago. Apologies to my neighbours. I'm going to go close all my windows now.

Wassiphylis

2008-09-07T11:08:00.000-07:00

Sarah Palin is welcome to brag about her hometown, but judging by the four dreadful times I've driven through Wasilla, I've noted that it's the ugliest, most unwelcoming, strip-mall infested, meth-cooking dump I've ever seen. The only good thing about it is that Big Lake is around the corner.

when will summer end?

2008-08-26T00:27:00.000-07:00

this summer has been the summer of tragedy.

First the car accident with Riley and Danielle.

And now Madison has decided to end her life.

I'm really really worried for my brother. :(

If ever anyone needs support or to talk or has any bad feeling or is depressed and has ANY NOTION of suicide I am ALWAYS available. I never turn my phone off. 406-579-4920

Please pray for my brother. I am fretting.

not something you'd want to wake up to

2008-08-20T12:35:00.000-07:00

This morning was not so pleasant, for two reasons.

One, school has begun, and since I live right across from Dimond High School, that means that every high school jerk in his stupid pick up blasting music at the ungodly hour of 7am is driving past my bedroom window and waking me up.

Two, I rolled over in frustration and was about to stuff me face into my pillow when I notice a very crumpled daddy-long-legs on my pillow. It seems that fate had seen fit that rather than it run across my face in the night, I would smash my head against it as it meandered across my pillow. Not to worry, I kept my cool, and flicked it behind the bed. I think it was still partially alive, but not for long. There's nothing like a giant spider, all tangle of legs, two inches from your face, to awaken you in the morning.

That's all for now. I'll go thank my lucky stars that I did not wake up chewing spider bits. ew.

the bunny

2008-07-26T01:45:00.000-07:00

One would ordinarily consider the establishment at which I work "classy". One might even call it "fancy". Hell, at a place were waitstaff run around in tuxedos and the wine list boasts wines in the $10,000.00 range, one might figure that patrons are well behaved, nicely dressed, and are more or less wealthy.

And then you have an evening like tonight. For some reason, ten young men decided that it would be fun to bring their friend in, a future groom at that, for a bachelor party.

He was wearing a bunny suit.

This bunny suit was like any other that you would find in a costume shop - a fuzzy white onesie, complete with a hood and ears. And a bunny tail. This poor man confessed to be nearly 30 years old, and here he was, proudly donning a costume in the middle of a fine dining establishment. Luckily, their pit stop was short lived and their alcohol level still low, but they chose to skip dessert in favour of the strippers (after asking me which is better - Fantasies on 5th or the Bush Co.? I had to admit to never having been to the Bush Co., and suggested Fantasies. Yes, I've been there - long story, never to be retold. The moral of this unheard story is that 18 year olds should not be allowed in strip bars).
Then they suggested I bring my boyfriend to the strip bars, an offer which I declined. I admitted that it's likely that Kevin would not appreciate a lap dance from a 30-year old male bachelor bunny, as unbelievable as that may seem. In any case, they left on their own accord, presumable to Fantasies on 5th.

A lot has been happening in the world of Chantal. Yesterday I attended Riley McVitty's memorial, which was very touching, very beautiful, and very sad. I, of course, was waterworks like usual, but this time I came prepared. At Brent's funeral I had neither purse nor pockets in which to stow tissue, but for this event I had an entire compartment of my purse emptied out, and in an hour it was promptly filled with mine and my seat mates' balled up, soggy tissue. After his father finished speaking, I was dehydrated from weeping. Imagine your only child is killed in a traumatic car wreck. It would be absolutely devastating. I saw Riley's mother at the reception following the memorial, and hugged her forever. She had written a poem that her friend had read allowed to the mourning audience, and it nearly brings me to tears to think about it.

It's astounding how these tragedies put life in perspective. I had a customer the other day who was so indignant that her Ahi was "overcooked" that she sent it back and refused to order another dish, and watched, like a freaking martyr, as the rest of her family ate. She informed me that seeing such an overcooked sashimi ruined her appetite and she could not envision eating anything for the rest of the night. They left without tipping. 0%.

I wanted to scream at her, "WHAT IF YOUR SON JUST DIED, YOU CRAZY FUCKING BITCH? THEN I'D BET YOU'D LOVE EVERY SINGLE MORSEL OF OVERCOOKED AHI THAT HIT YOUR LIPS AT YOUR LAST MEAL TOGETHER!"
People just don't understand. They take family, children, spouses, parents, and friends all for granted. And then something happens to them and they long for their loved one to be there just one more time, overcooked fish or not. Never end a conversation on a bad note. Always say "I love you". Give your brother or sister or mom or dad an extra-long hug next time you see them, because it may just be the last time.

How dreadful that I sound so morbid. I've had more than enough of my share of tragedy. Why?

*sigh*

evil plague cast upon me

2008-07-22T11:54:00.000-07:00

I am ill with a bronchial plague that won't allow me to talk in any volume above a feeble whisper. I am riddled with guilt every time the phone rings and Kevin is not around to answer it for me. Friends, family, and colleagues call and I can do nothing but stare at the phone and answer in the form of a text message. Please forgive me. Slowly but surely I am recovering.

On another note, here is a link to Riley's obituary. It was nicely done. I plan to attend the service later this week. The crash was such a tragedy. I'm extremely wary of that highway as it is. Now I am all the warier.

As to neutral news, I have finally purchased a new digital camera. It is the tiniest Nikon, in an attractive metallic plum colour and very user friendly. THis was my gift to myself following my stimulus check. It shall be made good use of on my trip to Europe this fall.

I admit, this post is rather boring, but there have been far too many horrific events to even report. I'd like to keep them to myself in order to preserve the integrity of everyone else's (hopeful) good fortune.

Rather than burdening my gentle readers with misfortune, I will direct them to a locale of pleasant atmosphere and good food. Since the genesis of my employment with Sacks Cafe, I have discovered that it is a most delightful dining experience. The lunch offerings are good, but what I would suggest is an early or a late dinner (between the hours of 7 -8:30 p.m. it is simply too busy with tourists to be enjoyable). My suggestion is to start with a cup of tomato gorgonzola soup and side of focaccia bread, with a bottle of the Hahn Pinot Noir or Giesen Sauvignon Blanc, an entree of chicken and scallops with udon noodles and ginger cream sauce (sooooo good) and finish off with a chocolate pot de creme or gateau with a cream sherry. And perhaps a cappacino to wrap thing up. And all for a reasonable price. Give it a try.

Anyways, I'd better be off to recover. I think I will spend the afternoon spread out on the couch watching episodes of Grey's Anatomy, which I have gotten re-addicted to after a 3-year hiatus.

delia*

2008-07-13T01:57:00.000-07:00

This is a rant about a stupid bitch named Delia that I work with. She likes to spy and talk shit about me (yes! just me!) behind my back. She says the cattiest things and wastes more breath being sarcastic than if she just straight up answered a damn question. She is envious because she is fat and ugly and dissatisfied with her love life. Her hideousness already works against her and now she is adding to her misery by being a terrible person. May she live a long and miserable life with her equally miserable husband who is probably counting the hours until he becomes a widower. People suck today. Thank you. That is all.

*names have been changed, but only a couple of letters.

quite uneventful

2008-07-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

I really have nothing to write about. Yet I know that neglecting my blog is also neglecting my readership, and that is a rather unforgivable sin. There are two reasons I have not updated as of recent:

1. Nothing of spectacular interest has occurred in the last 3 weeks.

2. My computer mouse has come down with the most curious of diseases. I'll be typing away, when suddenly the curser decides to click upon wherever it happens to be. THis is the most annoying phenomenon, and it has happened precisely 3 times as of the completion of this sentence. That means, I'll be in the middle of typing something, when suddenly, *click*, I'll be typing in the middle of another sentence. In the most irritating of cases, the damn mouse highlighted an entire email and it just so happened that one nanosecond after it doing so, I inadvertantly hit "backspace" to correct a misspelled word, thereby erasing the entire email. This happened TWICE. Does anyone know the genesis of this frustrating occurance? Is there any way to stop it? AAARRRGH. It makes me avoid the computer altogether. Perhaps its Mac time. Not Big Mac, rather, Apple Mac. Versus PC.

On to bigger and better things. By some outrageous miracle, it so happened that I was granted the entire holiday of July 4th off from work. I suppose this is because my new job is a labour, union and we are granted paid holidays. I took full advantage of the day with a lengthy walk (as my knee is in less-than-stellar moods recently), and a pig-out fest at the barbeque. I ingested the best ribs I have ever tasted. Luckily, since most people are aware of my dismal cooking skills, I was put in charge of dessert, and came up with the most ingenious idea (actually, I credit Kevin more than me for thinking of it) = red white and blue shortcake. That is, a shortcake with strawberries, blackberries, and whipped cream. (Blueberries may have made more sense, but they're not quite as substantial. So I made the executive decision). Another outrageous miracle that graced the day was the non-shitty weather. I say non-shitty because while there was no rain, and it was mostly sunny, there was an annoying breeze that would push these wispy clouds in front of the sun now and then, giving the effect of forest-fire from afar blowing smoke in front of the sun.

The night ended with a half-stupid, half truly scary, scary movie called The Eye. Only bits and pieces were actually scary, but altogether it was quite silly. Particularly the part with the little boy in the poncho repeatedly crying, "Have you seen my report card? Have you seen my r.eport card? Have you seen my report card?" HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

Anyways, I"ll do my best to attempt to conjure up something note-worthy. Currently, the only thing happening in my life is a cold breeze and the downstairs neighbour playing the worst, most repetitive techno music in the world. And the ever-present amorous neighbours who were going at it at the most ungodly hour of six o'clock in the morning.

Speaking of amorous, an Anchorage columnist (gasp! local writers who actually entertain!) has a quite amusing take on sex in the form of coffee with regard to the latest box office hit, Sex and the City. Do read this for a good chuckle, and perhaps you can use it for a code word in place of "sex" in front of your kids.

I curse you, thin walls.

2008-06-16T11:23:00.000-07:00

I had a most restless night. It had the potential to be sleepful and pleasant, as I went to bed before 1 am for the first time in June; however, the amorous couple next door thought it appropriate to demonstrate to the neighbourhood the prowess of their sex skills upon one another.

This was not just a loud moaning and groaning - no, this was a proper wall-thumping, building shaking, high-pitched screaming of continued orgasm over orgasm. Mind you, I believe only high-priced ladies of ill repute can manage such enthusiasm over an hour plus of intercourse. No one has 8 orgasms in a row. There's no way it was real. When first I heard the shrieks, I thought someone outside was being attacked! Then the shrieks were followed by a loud giggle, and then I knew what was really going on.

Thanks for depriving me of my sleep, bitch. The couple followed their ridiculous "lovemaking" by a shower at 2am. Showers at 2am at my place are rather frowned upon because of the nature of the ancient pipes that inhabit these thin walls. The sound is of a rushing monsoon, and quite unpleasant, particularly at 5 in the morning.

Thankfully, the shower was the end of the night's racket. Please let it be the last.

On an entirely different spectrum, my weekends have a new twist to them: garage sales. For those who don't frequent garage sales, you are missing out on something spectacular. For under $10 last weekend, I found a crocheted plant holder at one garage sale, a purple vine plant to put in the holder at another garage sale, two spectacular prints mounted on wood to hang on my empty white walls, cat toys, a bird feeder, and a copper figurine in the shape of a simplicated swan. I also got a brownie from a kid tending a snack stand at one garage sale. Last week I found a brand new compact of Chanel eyeshadow, never-worn Puma running shoes in just my size, and two collapsable paper lanterns to hang from the ceiling. My total expenditure = $5.oo. It's great fun, too. Friday and Saturday mornings have morphed into sport-garage-saling, and something I look forward to every week. My newest task is to find furnishings for Josh and Sarah's new apartment. I've guaranteed to furnish it in under $200.00. Just wait and see.

a little more than stoked on this...

2008-06-12T12:09:00.000-07:00

The women's romper is back in fad. That means I can dress like a little kid, be comfortable, and be acceptably attired all at the same time.

Stoked!

only funny if you speak German

2008-06-11T11:29:00.000-07:00

I saw two awesome license plates yesterday during my drive throughout the city of Anchorage from my house to work downtown. One was posted on a red VW bug: "KAFER" (umlauts added manually above the 'A'). Perfect for such a car. The second was on a BMW of nondescript model: "ZERGUT". Javohl!

On another note, I made my hiking debut of the summer on a rather... soggy Alaskan trail, usually quite popular for the novice and lightweight hiker, but this time around it was apparent that only the gluttons for punishment would be found on the usually dry and typically pleasant shallow trail. Every 100 feet the trail turned into a snowfield, some spots of which were soft enough so that you sank all the way through. The only ones who truly loved the snowy conditions were the 4 dogs that we took with us, which were likely less than pleased at the bath that followed the fun. Nonetheless, I was the proud owner of some stinky wet hiking boots and sore, blistery feet at the end of the day, which was concluded by a cadillac margarita and chips & salsa at Las Margaritas. Even though its not quite summer, it's still nice to pretend.

The cast members

2008-06-04T12:14:00.000-07:00

First off, I would like to thank Emily B. for reminding me of my neglect to this blog. Seeing that I am no longer desk-bound, my hours at a computer have dwindled. I will do my best to redeem my faithful readers and update everyone as to the comedy of errors that life has recently become.

Since my work began a week ago at a restaurant I will call "Ye Olde Fancy Restaurante", in an effort to disguise its true identity, I have been privileged enough to witness amusing, strange, and often hilarious interactions between my colleagues.

Allow me first to introduce the cast members of this play. Names have been altered to protect both the innocent and the guilty.

The Owner - that's all I'll call him. He is there 7 days a week, sometimes until 6 in the morning. He seemed quite sane when I interviewed for the job, but as time went on he proved himself to be a little more than bizarre. His "work" consists of rubbing elbows with oil executives and CEOs of various large companies. His favourite thing to do is have a glass of wine with his customers. On the rare occasion that requires his help, he is crabby as all hell, and from there, the mood disintegrates. He meddles with the cook, who yells at the servers, who in turn scream at the dishwasher. Not very fun.
The Wife - the owner's wife, of course. Her title is "busser", but she's only really good at a few things: arranging carnations, slicing bread, and heckling a particular server. I'd describe her disposition as "passive-aggressive".
The Bartender - impatient, stubborn, but quick with a shot glass. Makes a mean G&T for me at the close of the evening.
The Cook - seems to have a personality disorder. Is very pleasant at the beginning of the evening and at the end of the evening, and something in between those hours seems to give him a bug up the arse.
And lastly, Sharice - again, names have been changed. She responds to The Wife's heckling by talking back. If there were a talent contest for talking back, she would win. Among her favourite names for The Wife are Whore, Bitch, Cunt, Evil, Psychotic, and Paranoid. If I had to choose, I like the name Whore of Babylon. Not for the accuracy,but more for the acoustics of it. Whore of Babylon has a nice ring to it.
Allow me to illustrate an exchange between the two:
Sharice: "I know how to do my job. You don't have to tell me what to do."
The Wife: "Well while you're sitting here stuffing your face, there's a table out there waiting for desserts."
Sharice: "That's YOUR job, actually. What the hell am I paying you tips for? To chase me around wasting time to tell me that I'm not doing your job?"
The Wife: "You always get crazy like this when it's time to close down. You're a nut!"
Sharice [sarcastically]: "You're never a nut."
The Wife: "Well you are. And don't talk to me like that."

This exchange would be followed by approximately 45 minutes of Sharice talking smack in the kitchen as The Wife bustles around, pretending to work but actually eavesdropping.
I walk into the kitchen and am greeted with,
"She's such a fucking whore. I think I will call her Cunt from now on. And I hate that word."
Sooooo I exit the kitchen again. From there, I can hear the jabber escalate in volume until it becomes a high-pitched constant stream of complaints that can be heard all the way in the dining room. Quite hilarious.

Enough about work. I'm already sick of hearing about it. On another note, my vacation was fantastic. I wish I could have been there longer. HOwever, for every day I didn't work, I was essentially losing $150 a day, by approximation. Needless to say, it's cans of soup and leftovers for me until the money starts rolling in once more.

Here's a visual summary of my trip to Oregon:

Me and Jamanda stoked on the Atmosphere show.

Me and Amanda drinking beer on a really hot day in Eugene.

Going to the aquarium at Seaside. This is Mr. Crabby.

Me, Amy and Shannon eating chocolate cake and drinking wine from the bottle at midnight on Cannon Beach...

Followed by skinny dipping in the ocean. hahahahahahahaha

Ahhhhh Oregon, I miss thee.

from Mars

2008-05-08T10:54:00.000-07:00

"Hey Euro", anthony_lemons_blogspot once told me, "you need to tune your tin foil hat."

In other words, I am obviously crazy.

overheard at the Snowgoose

2008-05-01T11:05:00.000-07:00

old drunk lawyer in suit: "You ladies are invited to my after party - open bar, live band at the Marriot Hotel, room 1814. The code word is George. That's my name."

Bargoing girls: "Ummmm okay." Make disgusted faces at each other after he leaves.

a savory lunch meat, or a chemical slab?

2008-05-01T11:01:00.000-07:00

I came across the word "baloney" today. Used in the context of calling someone a filthy liar. It made me laugh, and in the future I will do my best to fit that word into a sentence.

Not just good - good for you too!

2008-04-30T15:43:00.000-07:00

I have discovered (quite some time ago, actually), the best way to cure anxiety and pent-up anger is to vent your frustrations anonymously. No, craigslist.com is not the venue. It's TOO anonymous, and it doesn't provoke thought and discussion and intellectual discourse as much as my outlet. Rather, I go to Letters unfiltered at the Anchorage Daily News website, where accusations fly, insults abound, and rage seeps through sentences. Quite amusing, actually. Anyone can do it, too. You just have to register. And no one has to know your real name! I've actually made quite a few acquaintances on the site, among them a retired Vietnam vet who takes the People Mover everywhere (Frenchie), a snooty rich valley woman that brags about her wealth (AK_Lady), a liberal-hating truck-driving jerk (that describes a few of them - dollerhide2, Iceberg_01, probe2001, emerymcupples, the list goes on), an Eagle River assembly candidate (Anthony_Lemons, who has his own blogspot), an old native grandmother from a bush village (t_ysarren), a young married college girl (hannah6), a rude republican bitch who thinks she's always right (tundratess), a crazy psychopath woman who goes by two different identities and always complains that her ex-husband left her for the church pastor (goes by Linda_Fling, katty_jones, and wildfirewoods), and best of all, a cynical but liberal college grad who enjoys spouting off, and has the same opinions as me (shawnterachelle). These people are actually very fun to converse with, it's like a political chat room, without the immediate response. It's fabulous! I say everyone give it a whirl. My brother is skyhi_greenery1, and I am euro_smash. You'll find your day stress free.

single digits

2008-04-28T16:07:00.000-07:00

I am officially into the great two-hand countdown: 9 days left at work before I peace out! This leaves me relieved and also in a bit of a quandary, as I have only 9 days left during which I can earn money. After May 8, I'm a free agent and therefore, quite poor indeed. On the other hand, my days will consist of staying up late, sleeping in, drinking cheap beer, and eating like a pauper (which is not so fun). Nonetheless, the job search will begin... tomorrow. I've got a list of fine dining and my resume in hand, and I'm on a mission. Old tourists with matching sweatsuits, watch out. I might just mow you down.

In the meantime, a recent vacation to Girdwood, with a luxurious 5-night stay in the hotel complete with room service, spa, and martini lounge has given me time to think about my plans this summer. In an effort to organize my thoughts, I'll employ the use of bullets to better lay out the itinerary.

Hiking - the following hikes, and/or backpacking trips I aim to do.

Rabbit Lake, once it thaws out
Girdwood to Eagle River, via Crow Pass and Raven Glacier. This might entail an overnight stay at the cabin, or not, depending on vacancy. The weather must be excruciatingly hot, in order not to be overcome by the raging river.
Wolverine
Bird Ridge
Ptarmigan
Symphony Lakes

2. In-town

March of the Wild Salmon - track down each and every one
Oceans Festival - hopefully this time it won't be raining, AGAIN
the beach at Kincaid
attend at least one celebration in the city square
get a reindeer sausage from a street vendor
Sit in Resurrection Park during sunset
Visit Jewel Lake
mountain bike at Kincaid and Hillside

3. Outside Anchorage

Bear Paw Festival in Eagle River
Moose Drop Festival in Talkeetna
Forest Fair in Girdwood
Fishing at Silver Salmon Creek
Halibut fishing out of Seward
Bike Eklutna
Hike Hatcher's Pass
Alaska State Fair in Palmer
Motorboat and Jetski at Big Lake

4. Fly-in Destinations - Trina and I have an ongoing list, and hopefully we'll even make half of it happen.

Talkeetna
Homer
Seward
Kenai
Fairbanks
McCarthy
Iliamna
And this one is not a destination, but it's a goal: FINISH INSTRUMENT RATING BY OCTOBER 2008!!!!

5. Around the house

Pick up all the nasty trash around the parking area
convince Kelli to pave the muddy part so I don't always end up screwed over and having to park in that damn spot just because I work the latest.
Hang up the flower pot outside, with some actual flowers in it.
Make the carpet cleaner in the spots where the cat threw up
Wash the sheets for the first time in.... a year or so? (yes, gross.)
put up light-blocking curtains in the bedroom and living to make for better sleep and movie-watching, respectively
Purge the closet of unwanted clothes and shoes.
Wash the car, take it in for window treatment, and finally vacuum it out.

So. That's my list. Hopefully I'll get even half of it done. A lot of it is cost-prohibitive, considering the price of petrol nowadays. But it gives me something to look forward to.

a visual helper

2008-04-11T12:16:00.001-07:00

for those of you who do not know what an assault rifle looks like, here's a 42 mm:

Someone just carries this thing around town? And expects not to get caught? The clip alone wouldn't fit in anyone's pocket!

My neighbours, the gangsters

2008-04-11T10:26:00.000-07:00

You know you've had a spectacularly eventful Thursday night when you come home from work at 8pm only to find your block is barricaded off and there is a SWAT team surrounding your neighbour's house. Better yet, they come out with a suspect in handcuffs. One would assume the problem is solved when they've taken someone into custody.
Well, after several more hours of crime scene investigation and witness interviews, the 20 or so cop cars that had the house barricaded finally moved on, leaving me to relish a deliciously disgusting scary movie, Saw IV. With a snack spread consisting of popcorn and Twisted Zin, you can't go wrong. The movie wrapped up and I hauled myself off to what I assumed would be a peaceful wine-induced slumber.

RATHER, my head had hit the pillow for no longer than 20 minutes before I hear a popping off. BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM-BAM from outside my window. 10 shots in short succession, as though perfectly calculated. You know that half-sleep feeling, where you wonder if what you heard was just your imagination or your dreams? I honestly thought I dreamt it, until I heard the tires roar away. Thus initiating 911 call No. 1 of the night.
The cops stayed maybe an hour or more before acknowledging the manhunt was for naught, as the suspects likely hauled ass to their Mt. View hood or something, so the neighbourhood became silent once more.

Unfortunately, the silence was short-lived. Even more unfortunately, the blasts we heard this time were ten times louder and faster. No mistaking a fully automatic this time, probably 15 deafening shots in even shorter succession. Realising that machine gun shots have the ability to travel through plaster and drywall, we wasted no time in ducking down and calling the cops. Again. 911 call No. 2 of the night.
Well, being awoken for the second time by an assault rifle kind of ruined the sleep environment, so when the cops came knocking, I had my hair brushed and my jacket on so that I didn't look like a half-naked zombie.

Needless to say, the rest of the night was rather restless. All I could think was that if it was gang-related, retaliation could be swiftly forthcoming. Gang members relish nothing more than to snuff out the family of the eye witness to their crime. And it seems like I was the only one who even cared to look outside.

The next morning was a surprising calm, with highschoolers driving by and the sun out as though nothing at all had happened. The only remnants of last night's firefight was glass everywhere and little tags marking where the shells had fallen. No sign of the the assault-rifle wielding psychopath. No blood, no bodies, no crime scene tape.

I only hope they stay away tonight, otherwise I'm headed to mother's house.

Since when is Jewel Lake so ghetto??

People make me sick

2008-04-10T12:59:00.000-07:00

I was on Craigslist.com today looking at the community section for animals, just seeing if anyone was trying to find a home for an ACD (which, of course, I would have instantly adopted), when I found the following post. It made me ill with disgust:

__________________________________________________________

Found cat (Anchorage)

Reply to: see below
Date: 2008-04-08, 11:55PM AKDT

Young pregnant female black cat, has several distinguishing marks such as broken ribs, one eye damaged to the point of blindness, a fractured hip, broken tail, multiple burn scarings in the shape of a lighter head, if this is your cat please call so I can hunt you down beat the living shit out of you and make you feel a hundred times worse than this cat. Oh and get the $300+ I have spent on vet bills out of your sorry ass, but thats ok, you most likely dont have a job, cant afford the place you are living in but can always have money to drink or smoke or snort up your nose. You are probably some dumb ass who doesnt know the difference between an animal and a torture toy, I know I will teach you! You come over sometime and I will show you exactly what to do to torture toys by demonstrating it on you and how to treat animals by demonstrating on the cat. Oh and if you want your cat back, sure no problem if you can get to the door before I pull the trigger.

_______________________________________________________________

The woman who posted it was obviously outraged at the monster who did this. How can people be so cruel? What kind of person is able to treat animals like this? How could you look into the eyes of an innocent cat and burn it with a lighter, or stomp on its belly, or break its tail? How could one hold down a cat that is trying to escape and keep hurting it? Such people have bigger problems impending, if they have not yet surfaced. Such people are wife beaters and child abusers, capable of horrible things.

Luckily, the story ends on a much happier note. So many people replied to the woman's post wondering how they could help and how the cat was, that she posted updates on the cat's condition. The surgeries went well, the cat's vision might be saved, and she has found a home in the woman's house. I didn't hear how the kittens are or if they survived, but it definitely restored a little bit of my faith in humanity to see that one person's compassion could make up for another person's trespassings.

I hope the poor creature recovers fully, and I know that karma will eventually take its toll on the offender.

Ah! Scandanavia!

2008-04-07T10:41:00.000-07:00

At long last, I have finally scrounged together enough money to buy tickets for me and Kevin to hop over the ocean and visit the fabulous and glamorous country known as Europe. I knew if a few more months went by and I procrastinated more, the opportunity would escape me and ticket prices would surely rise. Seeing that the price of gas has already risen 10 cents since yesterday ($3.44! Ack!), it's probably a very wise decision that I decided to do it now. Scandanavian Airlines was found to be cheapest, so off to Copenhagen it is. Surprisingly, half the seats in the airplane were already taken. I had to make the decision between an exit row (lots of legroom, but no under-seat storage, likely to have babies crying in your row), and a more forward seat (seats recline, closer to bathrooms, but over the wing so the view isn't as good). In the end, the over-the-wing seats won out. It would be a pain in the ass to have to rummage through the storage bin every time you want something from your carry-on.
Nonetheless, two blissful weeks in September will be spent in Copenhagen, down to Frankfurt, over to Baden-Baden, further south toward Vienna and Salzburg, penultimately to Florence, and finally back to Copenhagen. I brace myself for delectable pastries and fine cappucinos and tender Wiener schnitzel. Ahhhh Mozart Kugel and Ritter Sport and Milka. German television and German toothpaste and Labello and all of the foreign things that I cannot get ahold of in America. Long-lost cousins and eager grandparents, winding rides down the Alps on the motorcycle, tours through castles, and ice cream stands. Glorious!
I think this marks the end of this particular doldrums. There always needs to be something to look forward to in life. Last year it was Hawaii. This year it's Europe. And Oregon. And quitting my job. And flying more. This summer promises to surpass the last two, guaranteed. Not only will I be making more money, I'll have yet another foot in the door to flying at PenAir. Hopefully, the weather will be magnificent, the camping will be fun, and the hiking plentiful.

Spring, on the other hand, has proven itself to be less than satisfactory. Just when I'd presumed to have wiped the last of the snow dustings off my car, and scraped my last windshield for the season, nearly a foot of snow dumped itself upon the Anchorage bowl. Word is that it was a record breaker. This made for a very slippery stroll along the sidewalks of downtown, where bar hoppers everywhere (especially the poor fools in heels) slipped and slid treacherously. The Saturday night bar scene, was, at best, interesting. Everyone was either older than us, military, or extremely rude. The best part of the night was definitely the early-night cab ride back home, in the back of a turquoise Crown Victoria, with a cab driver that was vulgar, blunt, and downright hilarious. We even laughed uproariously as he nearly rear-ended a huge SUV on C Street. Perhaps the funniest part of the night was his attempt to drive up the large hill and subsequently becoming stuck in the snow. We nearly wet ourselves as he spun his tires uselessly and became stuck. I think it was all a ploy to make the meter reading higher, as it cost 75 more cents just for him to make it up the damn hill.

Thankfully, although today is Monday, I have my rose-coloured glasses on. I have something to look forward to, and a good weekend to reflect upon.

my teeth hurt

2008-04-04T13:05:00.000-07:00

My oral fixation has reached a new low. I have discovered that sunburned fingertips peel skin very easily, which makes them very satisfying to chew on. In fact, I can sit here and chew all day. However, this prevents my fingers from typing, thereby keeping me from doing the work which I am paid to do. I have chewed so much, that my teeth hurt from clicking together. I am tired and irritable and grumpy, and lacking sleep because I chose to go to First Tap instead of go to bed early. This day is very restless, and when I think about what the number one thing I want to do today, it's to crawl into bed and sleep 20 hours. Hide away from the world.

I'm pissed at the terrible economy. I'm pissed at "our" shitty president (hey, he sure as hell isn't mine. I didn't vote for that clown). Grocery bills are skyrocketing, gas is skyrocketing, the world is shrinking, people are crowding other people out, spying on each other, tapping phone conversations, and killing each other. I wish there was less fried food in the world (gross), and more drinkable water. I wish I didn't imagine weird noises coming from my car, I wish I wasn't just one little person trying to get what's fair from my insurance company, and raking together my meager little savings account and trying to pay for school, which seems like it is never ending.
Today is extremely dissatisfying, particularly the fact that I am going to my OTHER work later tonight. There is rum cake in my fridge that is calling my name, which I shan't see until about midnight tonight.

In other news, I discovered a friend from college is pregnant, the first of the people I know to actually begin procreating after marriage. The thought is a little bit scary, particularly that this individual is slightly, no, hugely, overbearing and far too motherly for my liking. Which is why I shouldn't call her a friend, really more just Kevin's roommate's wife. Kind of strange to consider. The friends I have with kids already got an early start, pretty much in high school. yikes.

It is 12:21 and I have effectively gotten one document typed.

Mother Hen at her roost

2008-04-01T10:43:00.000-07:00

Ahhh the winds of freedom hath blown upon my soul! I feel it no more than a finger's reach away! As of 5 weeks I will have the privilege of sleeping in, going out on a weeknight if I want without the consequence of an early morning hangover, and being able to conduct my personal business during actual business hours because I won't have to be at work during that time.
I will be doing more flying and less stressing.
I will make more money between fewer hours.
I will be outside hiking on sunny days, and inside working on rainy days.
I will go to bed early and sleep in late.
I'll take vacation when I WANT, not when the trial calendar dictates.
I'll be, once again, a student, instead of a working professional (bleh. what a title).
Rather than interacting with dumpy welfare rats, I'll be mingling with high rollers.
The very thought tickles my fancy. Then I come down with short timer's disease, which certainly doesn't help my workday pass any faster. Sometimes just picking at my nails is more interesting than typing a motion. I can't help but daydream about this summer, which is sure to be more carefree than the last two. It doesn't help that my co-worker is often babbling on the phone with numerous boyfriends and family members, or begging me for cigarettes. Ummmm I don't really smoke. Darlin'.

All this excitement for change has caused somewhat of a cavalier attitude in me. I become more reckless and undiscerning. I spend $14.00 on a bottle of J.Lohr (believe me, that's splurging. I'm the queen of frugality). I go out to lunch AND dinner. I buy luxurious leather sandals even though it's March. Then afterwards, I feel as though I've been binging, and it makes me quite sad. Therefore, I've taken up spending in a different manner, in a way to benefit my poor droopy wallet. A new kind of spending. It's called INVESTING. Quite surprisingly, it is nearly as satisfying as a new pair of shoes. Certificates, Money Markets, Mutual Funds, Stocks, IRAs, Roth IRAs, Bonds, the words thrown around like high-fashion designers at a couture show. They are my little chicks and I am the mother hen, sitting on them, observing them, following trends, buying selling, trading, investing, withdrawing, watching the roost for chickenhawks and foxes. There's nothing quite like it. Maybe I should have been a stock broker. Who knows.

Bad news from abroad

2008-03-28T11:37:00.000-07:00

I had a horrible dream last night. I dreamed Sarah and I were at some sort of convention and won an award for something or other, then hopped on a bus to go back home. Anchorage, instead of being a little city, grew to a giant metropolis, and supposedly that travel time across town was a couple hours long or something. Anyways, I saw from the bus window a giant mushroom cloud at the port.
"Look, Sarah! And explosion!", I exclaimed. Everyone turned to look. Nobody seemed too concerned, so we just sat back.
Well, it turns out the mushroom cloud was the result of a nuclear explosion in factory that had gone awry. Needless to say, it was time to evacuate. Luckily I was able to meet my family at the "refuge", which was actually a huge health club with some really good coffee. Oddly enough, my dad wasn't there, but I didn't notice. Somehow, it turned out that we ended up all separating different ways, which was upsetting in my dream. Somehow I ended up at Liz's house to cat-sit. Bizarre?

Anyways, I woke up wondering if it were real. It was pretty realistic.

So after that rattling dream, I'm at work and mum calls. My Grossvati is very ill and in the hospital. My Grossmutti discovered him this morning unresponsive, 105 degree temp, and called the ambulance. They still can't figure out what's wrong. He is on a ventilator and IV. That's a lot of physical stress on a person who's 83 years old. Mom was crying, I was at my desk, frozen in place. The entire family is gathered around the hospital bed, and no one knows what to expect. The entire family except for us in Alaska. It feels so damn far away now, and I only wish my Europe trip was happening sooner now so I can be there, too. Who knows what will happen in September? Will I get to see my Grossvati one last time? It's been four years since I last saw them. Luckily, by the time my aunt called my mom (nighttime, in Vienna by then), he was awake and interacting with people, so that gave me a little hope. I sent a get-well card straight away.

On a lighter note, my slumbering seems to have been quite eventful, apparently, sometime before or after my bizarre dream, I stuck my foot through the blanket, illiciting a loud "RRRRIIIP!" and it half-woke me out of sleep, giving me just enough lucidity to utter, "hhhmm. Rip." and fall back asleep. According to Kevin. This morning, I could not find the rip anywhere, so it was likely velcro from my comforter. And then, I dreamed Kevin had a bunch of baby chicks sitting on his chest, and he was trying to keep them safe, but he pushed me to the side in bed, so I woke up and told him, "But I can't move. I'll squish the baby animals". He doesn't remember this. Very amusing.

SAAAH!!

2008-03-25T11:04:00.000-07:00

"SAAAH!!" The sounds that a bat makes. According to Matt. And sadly, the Northeastern bat appears to be dwindling in numbers. Going extinct! That was only one of the multiple headliners that made me want to run for the tornado shelter and hide out until it's all over. Except I don't have a tornado shelter, and who knows when all this SHIT will be done with?
Here are the headlines I saw in the Anchorage Daily News this morning:
"Robbery and Carjacking Suspect Shoots Self In Mobile Home"
"Search for Missing Boat Crew Called Off"
"Northeastern Bat Population Declines - Biologists Search For An Answer"
"Cost of Groceries To Rise Over Next Ten Years"
"Influenza Epidemic Raises Ethical Questions"
"Housing Market Sees No Recovery in Next Year"
"Democratic Bickering Risks White House Loss"
Okay, what is going on here? All I saw was doom and gloom. In fact, I think I searched an entire page for one positive headline and found none. What kind of world are we living in? I remember looking forward to a booming job market around the time I graduated from college, but found little promise in the bigger picture. In fact, unemployment is rising, middle class breadwinners are losing their positions or being demoted, and well-paying jobs are dwindling. How is one to stow away a nest egg for the future, for future times of need? Sadly it seems this is a time of need, but for those of us right out of college, there hasn't been opportunity to build savings enough to create a cushion. We spent tiresome hour after tiresome hour laboring at college, all of our savings on housing and tuition, and we're fresh into the workforce only to be greeted by a cold economic slap in the face. It makes me wonder if I should hold onto a job I'm not so fond of simply to secure my status quo.

However, that is out of the question.

I am succumbing already to the poor student life. In fact, I just signed part of my summer away to the Instrument and Commercial Flying classes. I reserved several hours a week for the simulator. I have a box full of Instrument flying videos and CD Roms to look over. I am officially a victim of bettering myself. Luckily, Ryan gave my refresher flight highest marks as to accuracy and proficiency. Well, nearly highest marks. I think I was a little shaky after he took the yoke and did a nosedive with full flaps toward the ground. I could see Home Depot come closer at roughly 1500 feet per minute. At one point I could nearly read the license plates on the cars in the parking lot. Is this kid crazy? Naturally, the landing was smooth as butter, but my knuckles were still a little white. haha.

In other news, it is spring here. How do I know? My shiny clean car is once again filthy. Waste of an $11.00 carwash.

superfood

2008-03-17T15:40:00.000-07:00

Okay, this is the last I will ever mention of Superfood. If I say another word, Kevin is likely to find a whiffle bat and beat me until my nose goes numb from the smell of cheap plastic. But I will swear by it, should you ever get sick. I'm already on the up and up! Unfortunately, Superfood is a thick dark green sludge that looks like either baby poop or thousand year-old seaweed. But ignore the color and it's superb. It's like passionfruit-grape smoothie, and it works miracles to one's body. This juice has relieved me from my bed and another day of watching Sex and the City DVDs and cup after cup of green tea. Sadly, this means that I am at work, zoning out, and still counting the days (hurry hurry hurry! 39 days left!). The clock, uncaring, ticks on slowly, never to be rushed (until the weekend rolls around, of course. Then the minutes dash like a racehorse round and round the track. Then, before you know it, the work week is upon you again.)

I'll ignore the fact that it's Monday and focus on the fact that it's St. Patty's day. Seeing that I am not in Butte, Montana for this years' festivities, I'll resign myself to the fact that I'll just have to head to McGinley's (which is happening, yes - but not near as happening as Butte) and partake in some sing-along to songs I don't know the words to, and, yes, a car bomb. Make that two. My brother is still trying to teach me how to chug. It usually works - I can get a whole glass of liquid down my throat - but the trick is swallowing it. Actually, I'm told, not swallowing it. Supposedly, if one wills it to be, one's throat will open to the point of making the act of swallowing moot - It's like a straight tunnel to the stomach, without the checkpoint in the middle. I thought swallowing was supposed to prevent choking, but some people seem to have the ability to disable that vital function. I don't know if it's worth the effort of learning. That is, I didn't, until little Sarah drank me under the table once. 50 pounds smaller, one pint the fuller.
Speaking of car bombs, the next great thing I have to look forward to this year is, indeed, a car - a TRAIN car. SKI TRAIN!!!!!!!
Just when Anchorage was basking in balmy spring temperatures, along comes a northern blast to preserve the last snows and re-ignite enthusiasm for skiing. Not only skiing, but hopping on a train with a polka band, drinking yourself blind, making a grand (and embarassing) attempt at skiing, then hopping back on the train to drink yourself stupid while making a fool of oneself while trying to dance the polka. Again. The only one drawback is having to get up early. The mornings, my nemesis. Especially, a 5AM morning. Nonetheless, I can expect a terrific time will be had by all. Particularly by those in the party car. With a theme of "pirates".

frowny face

2008-03-12T11:39:00.000-07:00

I really truly enjoyed the beginning of March this year. I even wore my Chacos outside. Today, however, one look out the window told me it was a moonboots and parka day, which made me even more grumpy, considering I'd only gotten 7 hours of sleep and had to go to wurrrrrrrk, which as of recent, I've grown to turn my nose at. What do they call that, short-timer's disease? Wanting to get the F out of there?!! that's what I've got.
The countdown is excruciating. 44 work days left.
Here's how I break it down:
35 pots of coffee to make (seeing that my boss will be having 9 days of these 44 off)
3 trials to prepare for
280 phone calls to take (more or less)
96 phone calls to make (more or less)
44 lunches to scrounge for
7 extremely early mornings
1 dreadful arbitration
Followed by two weeks of blissful time in Oregon.
In the meantime, I'm doomed to trudge through 8 inches of snowfall and slide around on the slippery road, dodging moose and scary drivers as though playing a game of pinball.
The only thing I look forward to the whole day is my allotment of beer, a single pint at the closing of work, the cherished moment where I sip at a craftfully brewed ESB, a hoppy delight of IPA, or the malty goodness of a pale ale. Perhaps the wheaty aroma of a witbeer (cleverly named "Hoegaarden" - could have easily been named after my high school), or a smooth dark porter ale. Of course, even that pleasure was interrupted by the drunken goons whom we could not pry away from the bar. They seem to have had an affinity for staring at me and Abby. Seeing that we were the only girls in the bar, it's hard to blame them. Or maybe it's my Tyra hair, which got chopped the other day. I'll admit it. I like Tyra. I like her hair. And somehow, my hair managed to emulate hers. Maybe I'll be famous too one day. Then I'll have someone else making MY coffee.

chronicle of a Tuesday night

2008-03-05T12:54:00.000-08:00

Tuesday turned out the strangest of days so far in this short week. Particularly Tuesday night, upon my arrival to my second job. My first customers also turned out to be my last. Allow my to chronicle the strangeness:

1. First table consists of two lawyer-folk. They pound 3 beers in less than an hour, and insist on round after round for the next few hours.

2. Hillary takes Texas??

3. A woman from London comes in for a steak and a beer. She tips well. Very strange.

4. A family with an autistic 13 year old kid comes in. The kid is allowed to run amok in the restaurant and asks Melanie if she likes to hang dogs by their necks until they die. "Because it's fun". Parents take no notice that later on he's outside prancing in the rain.

5. Mila, a young flirty asian, asks if I want to have sex. Then she asks if I'm gay and says she wants to bite me.

6. The lawyer folk, a man and a woman, clasp hands. They look depressed. The woman starts to cry. Oh, the man starts to cry too!

7. Mila leans in like she's trying to kiss me. I brace myself. Her boyfriend says it's time to go. So she stumbles after him, mouthing, "I want you baby". Not tonight, darling.

8. Lawyer couple kisses intimately. This is when I'm informed the man is married (to a woman that is not the one he is kissing) and has children. His family also frequents this establishment. Is he trying to entangle the entire waitstaff in a love triangle of guilt?

9. Hot girls strutting their stuff come in to hear the music. They see autistic boy and try to get him to dance with them. He bluntly declines.

All in all, the night was particularly disturbing. It seems my place if work is breeding grounds for affairs. Last week we had one culminate as well, between our assistant brewer, and the representative wine distributor, who is also married.

Why do people have affairs right out in the open, where other people can see it? Why do people have affairs?

how we treat each other

2008-02-26T11:06:00.000-08:00

I went skiing at Alyeska this weekend for the first time in many weeks, on a chilly but sunny February day, which made for a pleasant way to spend the weekend. The snow was perfect and the music compilation on my iPod fit the mood excellently.
But standing in line at the lift station and observing people made me think about how shitty people treat each other. When someone comes crashing down the hill and falls on his face, there's sure to be a group of teenage boys laughing about it. Few people will actually go and help the person. Then there's the inconsiderate chairlift rider, who without even asking, swings the bar and footrest down before anyone is actually settled, and usually ends up conking someone in the head and smacking other people's skiis and snowboards while trying to hoist his own onto the footrest. On the way down the hill, there's always some crazy hot-rod who whizzes past, or rides your bum the whole way down, or the show-off who snakes jumps when a line of people are waiting to hit it.
And when you take these scenes and apply them to the world at large, it's rather disheartening. I see it all the time, every day. Greed rules all. People care only about themselves and actually revel in another's misfortune. People cutting in lines. Backstabbers. Those who look down on others (like the guy who said, "What am I asking you for? You're just a waitress in Alaska", when asking me about the quality of public education in Anchorage), and the worst of all, THIEVES. People who steal will all go to hell, I hope. They are by far the worst. How could you take someone's wallet, open it, take all the cash, and not wonder, "maybe she needs this to pay the electric bill or buy groceries"?
Anyway, this revelation is paired with my new resolution to help people more and be a less shitty person. I've already applied this to driving, where I'm attempting to reduce road rage and let people into the lane I'm in. Maybe this small turn of actions will cycle into a greater good, who knows.
Goodness. An attractive Italian bloke with a hot accent just walked into my office. I don't even know why he's here, but Italian accents are sexy.
Off-topic.
Nonetheless, I will end my rant right here and now. It's definetly lunch time.

the Dragonfly

2008-02-21T12:31:00.000-08:00

I read something written in the guestbook for Jeremy Stark's memorial that was thought provoking, and even made me happy. It was comforting and uplifting, and its something I think would help a person in a time of loss.
___________________________________________

The Story of the Dragonfly

In the bottom of an old pond lived some grubs.
They could not understand why none of their
group ever came back after crawling up the
stems of the lilies to the top of the water.

They promised each other that the next one who
was called to make the upward climb would return
and tell what happened to him.

Soon one of them felt an urgent impulse to see
the surface. He rested himself on the top of a
lily pad and went through the glorious
transformation that made him a dragonfly, with
beautiful wings. In vain he tried to keep his
promise. Flying back and forth over the pond, he
peeked downward at his friends below. Then he
realized that even if they could see him, they
would not recognize such a radiant creature as
one of their numbers.

The fact that we cannot see our loved ones or
communicate with them after their
transformation, which we call death,
is no proof that they have ceased to exist.

Fly, loved ones, fly...
_____________________________________

Doesn't that make you feel better already, no matter what kind of day you're having?

I say!

2008-02-06T13:31:00.000-08:00

I do say! -14 degrees Farenheit for 5 days in a row is simply and irrisistably detestable. And whoever keeps unplugging my car plug from the side of the house shall have wrath rain upon them like a scorned moat monster.

I believe -14 degrees Farenheit was the reason for the invention of the Hot Toddy. Which I shall sit back with tonight and leisurely sip at while I try to make amends with myself for living here. The funny thing is, I can bundle up and run 6 miles in such temperatures and not have to wear gloves because it's so balmy, but when I'm locked out of my car at 7AM my toes turn blue. (yes I actually did that. With the car still running, no less. After two hours of "heating up the car" and $55 later to the locksmith, I was on my way to work).

What really makes me cross is to wake up to the radio alarm, not to hear a song or an advertisement, but the announcer reading off the thermometer; "Well, folks, the weather reader here indicates -13 today.
Oh, my mistake, that's actually -14. We'll be cooling off as the day continues, with a low of -20 degrees."

Just keep repeating the mantra: Barbados in April. Barbados in April.

getting the F out of dodge.

2008-02-04T15:47:00.000-08:00

My mum is getting married to her gentleman friend, at long last. Certainly an occasion that requires a trip to somewhere tropical. BARBADOS! So very fascinating.
And if I'm lucky, I too shall be in attendance.
Me in Barbados! Oh the thrill! (the only trick is finding a way to plant a money tree and harvest it before April 21. However, where there's a will, there's a way).

Off to the tropics! Finally, a spring break! (Well, I suppose 4/20 is a little late for spring, but what can you do. Work is work is work. blaaaaaah!)

Seeing that I haven't left the damn state in 6 months, I would call this trip LOOONG OVERDUE. Not just that, but my trip to Montana was to play the part of honorary bridesmaid, and no bridesmaid goes to a wedding expecting to kick back and relax. No, such trips require searching for the perfect wedding night negligee at Victoria's Secret for the future couple, filling bridesmaids' flasks with whiskey, preparing hair, fitting dresses, attending rehearsals, and calming the frantic bride-to-be as she realises what the hell she's about to do. Seeing that, indeed, this Barbados trip is to attend a wedding, it is important to note that my mother's would be a small wedding, and she would not expect a flask of whiskey in her garter, is perfectly capable of choosing her own negligee, and will not become frantic, I consider the wedding a mere distraction from the beach, surfing, and kicking back I expect to be doing. Then again, it's my mother's wedding. I certainly cannot expect to miss it for the world. Even if I have to beg on the street for my flight ticket.

a wild beastie!

2008-01-30T11:47:00.000-08:00

there is a wild beastie in my head clammoring to escape. The beastie is actually a rather evil thought, but if it stays in my head any longer it might eat my brain. I can't even outrightly say it, but I can certainly hint at it.

I am free, ABSOLUTELY FREE, in 105 days.

There. I said it. I had to. The stress of life as if recent is driving me insane. I can't wait to escape to Oregon for a couple weeks and visit my beloved grandmother, who may not be well for much longer, and visit my dear friends, and THAT, dear readers, shall be the beginning of a life of peace and carefree-ness. I notice my demeanor every morning growing more and more despairing, which, in the work world, turns me into an evil viper. Everyone that doesn't know me hates me. And I'm completely fine with that. I am not cut out to be a telephone robot or a computer-staring zombie. I need to fly the skies!!!!!!! And soon, I will do just that.

my new baby Star

2008-01-28T10:57:00.000-08:00

Somehow it seemed that's the only name that suits her. I don't know why, or how, the name cropped up. Maybe it's the celestial blue. Who knows. Anyways, 2.5 litre, 4 seater, Impreza Sport. And it goes way faster than the ol' Hyundai GL. The funny thing about this situation is, that at first, some chump laid claim to it an hour after the seller posted it. Luck would have it, however, that he was a flake and didn't get the money together in time. The fates brought us together at last! (yes, the dramatics are warranted after all I've been through with automotives in the last three weeks, and still more to come). Anyways, it's quite refreshing to sit in the driver's seat.
It makes a trip to work that much less tortuous. And tortuous it is. The hardest thing in the world is getting up early. A bright and early 7AM. I know, how pathetic. But truly, 7AM in the pitch dark is waaay harder than 5AM on a sunny day. I know this, because the summer before junior year of high school I awoke at 5AM six days a week to go to swim practice, at Bartlett High School no less, all the way across town. By the time I returned at 8:30 AM most days, the rest of my family was still in bed. For some reason, it never felt like 5AM. More like 9. But 7AM in the middle of an Alaskan winter feels like 3AM. Time is all relative.

defying parental gravity.

2008-01-24T12:09:00.000-08:00

Oftentimes, my father is the best individual to come to for advice, if you have 2-3 hours to hang out and listen to everything that comes out of every nook and cranny in his thoughts. But truth be told, it is good advice. Sometimes, my father is overly cautious and sometimes even paranoid of the world. He takes baby steps in a world of leaps and bounds. Usually I follow his lead.

But sometimes his lead is simply too slow for my patience. In this case, the assessment of my burned up car is too damn slow. So, against daddy's pearls of wisdom, I got myself an auto loan to by an auto with. It is a lovely auto, relatively new, and, I'm proud to say, not American made. Photos to come when it actually arrives in my grubby little hands. But I haven't told my dad because I have no doubt that he would berate me for such a rash, hasty, and foolish act. I'll have to park at the bottom of the street and walk up to the front door for the next week or so until they actually tell me my car is for real KAPUT. :(

Dear Harvey

2008-01-18T14:28:00.000-08:00

Sorry for being impatient with you, Mr. Insurance Adjuster. I just don't want to look at the corpse of my burned car any longer. Please cut me a huge ass check so I can go out and get a pimped out Excursion with spinnaz. Just kidding. But not about the check.

I am learning an unwanted lesson about patience today. It began with the dentist, who was insistent that I not have a dental cleaning without antibiotics. And then had the nerve to charge me $300.00 to clink around on my teeth and take some x-rays, without actually cleaning them. Not to mention that the dentist is probably next to last on "things that I do in life, from most enjoyable to least enjoyable." The very last thing on my list would probably be waiting for a test grade. Or trying to replace a car that has gone up in flames. Literally.

The second lesson on patience was actually yesterday. I'll just go ahead and say it, and sound like a non-patriot. I do not enjoy waiting on military people. They do not tip well and have unreasonably high expectations. THE BAR AIN'T THE BARRACKS, PEOPLE. Tips are pretty much compulsory. 20% is the new 15%.

Another thing I don't like is when I'm getting my hair cut and the hairdresser jerks through my wet hair with a fine tooth comb. Hello? You just cut the split ends off! Don't you know combing wet hair with a fine tooth comb makes more split ends? Maybe that's their money-making scheme. Luckily, little Jenna, the new hairstylist, is a gentle touch. I'd still rate getting a haircut near the bottom of my "most enjoyable to least enjoyable" list.

Since I've just allowed myself to complain so much I'll go on to counter with a few of the items from my "more enjoyable things in life" list.
1. Snow
2. Sun
3. Being right when someone else is wrong. ha!
4. New trends - among the most recent, orange eye shadow and orange lip gloss.
5. European chocolate. Even if now they sell Milka, Linz, Ritter Sport, and Toblerone in Blockbuster. It still tastes better after having sat in the European air.
6. Puppies and kittens
7. Salty Dawgs and dirty martinis. My two new favourite drinks. Vanilla vodka w/ coke fell to the wayside. Too much sugar to fit in with 2008. 2008 is more the year of the salt.
8. Excusing myself from one day of working out.
9. Complaining about things. Especially with Emily. She out-bitches me on frequent occasions.

Okay that's all for now. I'll just bide my time and wait for Harvey to call back so I can grovel at his feet because I feel like an impatient, uneducated member of the public, who just sits on her arse and eats bon bons all day in between complaining about the world's events.

For the 19,048th time.

2008-01-17T11:20:00.000-08:00

the bane of my existence, the sustenance of life. Fingernails. Used for many a purpose, among them scratching, screwing in small screws, painting on, and looking glamorous. In my case, however, fingernails are used to banish boredom and provide something to chew on for a while. For the umpteenth time, I will try to stop biting my fingernails. This is during a particularly volatile time in my existence, considering my car went up in flames this week and the second person in a month has quit at the law firm (what's up with people?? too weak to handle lawyers??), and I am trying to figure out finances in a way that would allow me to purchase a new Audi or Subaru (haha. time for a *$&%^#@$! loan). Usually this would give me an excellent excuse to nibble and bite to my heart's content, but recently I've done that to the point where it pains me to stretch my fingers out all the way. I will resolve to turn my life around, beginning with fingernails. I'll keep everyone posted. And so far it seems like the ring fingers' nails always grow the fastest. What's up with that?

2008, you bastard.

2008-01-14T12:38:00.000-08:00

So far, in 2008, the year has proven itself very trying. Patience has finally worn itself thin, and it's time to cleanse the palette of the shitty offerings 2008 has already brought. The best way to cleanse, you'll see, is to list things off, one by one. It's a good purging of the soul.

1. My neighbour died. The poor young man. I feel even sorrier for his roommate, who found him.
2. It's been BITTERLY cold. Minus a good ten degrees.
3. I haven't been snowboarding this "year". I went on X-mas eve, that was the last time.
4. My car exploded.

Obviously, the only way things can go now is up. Unless something of a catastrophic nature occurs. But I shan't jinx myself.
This all brings me to the subject of karma. Most things that happen to people, I believe, are directly related to a karmatic situation. One action triggers a reaction; in most cases, you can almost pinpoint what got you there in the first place. In others, it might take some soul searching. So now I'm left attempting to figure out what I did that deserves my car catching aflame. It could be all those years of road rage. Maybe it was when me and Kevin were driving southwards by the Sullivan and refused to let those jackass punks in front of us because we were waiting for like half an hour and they just pull up with a screech and expect everyone to let them in. So we didn't, and they shook a fist and screamed swear words at us, immediately after which they were forcefully rear-ended by an irritated high school girl who knew that daddy would NOT be happy with the damage. I laughed right in their face as they peeled out in fury. So they experienced instant karma. Mine may have been waylaid from that exact incident. Except I believe I made it up, karma-wise, by letting someone else in front of my yesterday.

I honestly can't think of much else. I've led a pretty peaceful, good-karma existence in the last year. All I know now is that I have a crispified engine in my driveway and a new car (AUDI! or something like it) on the way. Everything happens for a reason. Maybe an Audi Quattro is the reason this time.

The dark side of Disney

2008-01-10T17:21:00.000-08:00

The thought occurred to me that if life were Disney, my friends would likely be all the weird or evil characters. So I compiled a list of my closest friends and assigned them each a character to represent. I daresay some, if not all, may be offended by the list, but even I got an evil character, so may we all have a good chuckle.

I began with myself, naturally.

MALEFICENT! Evil, graceful, beautiful, sickly looking, and starved. She comes with a pet raven that does all her bidding and perches on her tall staff. Unlike some Disney villainesses, Maleficent is a dark gothic beauty, as opposed to a hideous whore (think: Ursula, Madame Mim, Old Hag in Sleeping Beauty).

2. Kevin = Captain Hook

Kevin drinks rum, has 5+ pirate flags, and loves ships. He was Captain Jack Sparrow two Halloweens in a row. This was the only option I could possibly imagine he would be.

3. Daniel = Caterpillar

This is too appropriate for words. Albeit the caterpillar is grouchy, he imbibes in his very own hooka, is clever as hell, and lives in a crazy forest. I think he's friends with all the flowers too, which isn't too different from my dear old brother.

4. Amanda = Cruella Deville

Okay. I know she doesn't smoke cigarettes from long holders or wear sable coats. Yet the similarity is striking - outrageous, dramatic, impatient, maniacal driver. I could imagine her driving wildly off of a cliff in an effort to cut off her nemesis on a bridge below her. The couture dress doesn't hurt, either. Anything to get those damn mongrels!

5. Matthew = the Merlin

This one took some brainstorming. I really couldn't think of one particular character that matched his personality. But that, of course, is attributed to his very unique personality. I chose Merline because he gets into a wizard's duel and reduces Madame Mim ever so cleverly into a virus. The caveat to the wizard's duel, you see, was that you could turn the enemy into any living thing. Madame Mim may have been a quick witch, but no match for the smarts of the Merlin, who was a genius like no one in his time. I debated between the Merlin and the Sorcerer in Fantasia's "The Sorcerer's Apprentice", because he looks so evil, but the sorcerer didn't have the character and presence of the Merlin.

6. Saaar = Ursula transformed

Sarah, obviously, was more physically suited for the role of Aurora, the Sleeping Beauty, or Cinderella. But those who know her know WHAT LIES BENEATH! Ursula, granted, is hideous and fat. But she becomes a beautiful sea nymph that steals Eric by hypnosis from the youthful, painfully naive Ariel, and causes all HELL to break loose on the wedding voyage, when the animals create battle with her. Sarah, while not truly evil, would put little innocent snits in their places. SHE WOULD!

7. Megan = Tinkerbell

Megan fits this role because she is, for one, small in stature. Secondly, she is sneaky, defiant, cunning, and cute. She's not evil, but she's not innocent. She flits around at random, but always knows her place, loyally next to Peter Pan. In Megan's case, her place is Alaska. She'll never forget her roots.

8. Amber = Alice

Alice is the exception to my evil list. While Amber is by no means innocent like Alice, she is crazy and up for anything. I can see her following the white rabbit down a tree and meeting all sorts of people along the way. Amber would for sure invite herself to a crazy tea party with two people she doesn't know and carry on with them, and she sure as hell would try the magic mushroom. One thing she wouldn't do, though, is sit down on a rock and cry because she couldn't find her way. She'd probably also kick the Queen of Hearts' ass. No one talks down to Amber. But this is the best fit I could think of, because the Little Mermaid is too sissy.

So that's my compilation. Instead of perishing in the endings, however, my Disney friends would gather at the Disney castle and get down at the end of the day. We'd party and figure on how to kill those damn do-gooders.

makes me mad

2008-01-08T13:56:00.000-08:00

Something that just happened - I used to pay $71.89 per month for car insurance (comprehensive). With the new year, it fell more than a dollar to $70.12 per month. I was just informed that because I am no longer in school, a good student discount no longer applies, so it goes up to $80.00 a month. FECES! DAMNED FECES! what kind of rat fink agency is this, anyways?! I'm even poorer now that I'm not in school (okay - not really. I just can't afford business class tickets to Europe or a down payment on a house), but I do have to pay for school, which is flight instruction but apparently doesn't count because it's not "university". Rat finks! That's why I work for a plaintiff's attorney. So we can sue the devil out of them and force them to one day lower our rates.

my childhood dream

2008-01-08T10:26:00.000-08:00

It's always been my wish - ever since I was little - to have a house full of animals. When I was 6 years old, Megan, Daniel and I were playing in the backyard in May, when suddenly there was a fluttering of wings and leaves, and chirping, and I ran over to discovery a baby bird had fallen from a tree and could not fly. I cupped my hands around it so it couldn't escape, and called Megan and Daniel over to see. Being young, we decided we would play with it first before we turned it over to the adults. We brought it to the sandbox and put it in the back of the Fischer-Price dump truck that was in the middle of building a hill. I don't remember exactly what we did, but when we brought my mom out to see what we'd found, she was aghast, and thought we'd hurt the little creature. She brought out a towel and made a makeshift nest, then brought it to the veterinarian who lived down the street to see if it would survive after having human contact. We were kind of put off that she'd taken the bird away from us. I hope the bird survived. The memory makes me sad now, because I hope we didn't do anything to injure it.
I remember watching the news when they went to a place in the valley to document animals abused from cramped quarters and neglect. I think I shed a tear. i think I was at the gym, too. Animals have always captured my heart, even the little hamsters I used to have. But what I always wanted was a dog. Now that I'm out of my pop's house and have my OWN place, one with a yard and a trail system nearby, I can make the decision for myself. I have nearly ruled out the puppy option, seeing that I do not have time every half hour to do potty training, so I think the next best option is to get a dog that knows cats. Just so Isis isn't put off by the mongrel. As of now, I've narrowed my choices to just a few. Not that it's final, but just as an idea, I've posted a few that are up for adoption at various Alaskan facilities. Here they are:

1. Young female Akita/husky mix.
Enjoys the outdoors, can handle the cold, loves to run. May be too high energy for the cat to tolerate. Doesn't require a lot of food. Can't be let off the leash.

2. Karelian Bear Dog, young female.

Same physical properties as the husky. Probably slightly less energy level. Also sheds a lot.

3. Boxer, female.

Can't be left outside. Obedient, loyal, learns commands. Gentle with children and smaller animals. Downside, boxers like to jump on people. Would have to train it not to.

4. Puppy black lab, female.

Everyone likes labs. They're cute, fun, love to play, obey commands, and are friendly to everyone. Can't really find a downside, except if she's still somewhat a puppy, might have to be house-broken, and learn not to chew on shoes.

5. Small husky, male.

sheds, high energy, leash necessary. But I love huskies. I keep coming back to them.

Some of them may already be adopted out, but it gives me an idea to think about. If more eligible options arise, they will go up on the consideration board as they occur.

a flawed plan

2008-01-03T17:32:00.000-08:00

I never thought I'd make it to Sarah's house, the 8 mile quest for food, 1 hr. 30 minutes of walk/running, and I finally dragged my feet to her doorstep. It was quite the trek, considering I'd taken the long way. In fact, the next day, i swear I saw another protruding rib as I stepped in the shower. All this in my determination to save money. My newfound resolution is to save as much money as possible, while also saving the earth. This includes walking/running everywhere I go, even if it's 10 miles away, and to save money by not spending it on health club memberships, I also choose to go the long way to most places, in order to kill two birds with one stone. Wise, eh? The problem with this is, is that my money-saving extends into grocery shopping, where I pinch the most pennies, and for two reasons:
1. I don't know how to cook, so I don't buy ingredients for anything
2. There's not many healthy options that are ready to eat, so I really don't buy anything at all, besides sprouts and bagged salad, so I end up hungry.
This, combined with my resolution to walk everywhere, ends up with a very hungry person. Even if my money saving by walking to my mum's house to eat dinner ends up with a 7 mile walk on an empty stomach. blecch. Sometimes I feel like Scarlett O'Hara.

In any case, on one of these journeys, I happened upon a woman with a dog on the end of her leash. Said mongrel was a husky bitch, which I was desperately attracted to. This was the exact kind of dog I've been looking for, so I did the only thing I could think to do, which was stop and ask where she'd got it, and lo and behold, she'd gotten it from a friend whose bitch had a litter, and they were giving the puppies away free of charge, shots included. I took down the lady's number and ambled on my way.

Maybe it was too good to be true. Free purebreds, at that. It turns out in my hurry to record her name, ("Dani"), I must have misheard the number, or she's lying scum. Either way, the number doesn't work. DAMN IT ALL TO HELL. There goes opportunity number 4. Maybe in the springtime, I was told my FFB (favourite female boss, as we affectionately joke), when the spring puppies are born, which is an excellent idea, when hopefully I'll have a fence built.

Nevertheless, I'll enjoy mourning my loss while I still can. I love a terrible attitude now and then. I sit at home and stew in it, usually drinking a martini (a beer just wouldn't do - hard alcohol is just more manic), and watching tv shows on the internet (another portion of trying to save money - no cable. so that makes for less tv time, more time either in the Great Out Of Doors, or in front of the internet.) Besides, I don't know that I've had a good pout since 2008 began. Maybe it's the diamonds.

farewell old man 2007

2007-12-30T14:47:00.000-08:00

Seeing that the baby of 2008 (isn't that what it's called? Or the new years baby?) is approaching, I decided I'd ponder over the things of 2007 that served me well. Just so I can count my blessings and stop bitching about petty things like having to get up early for work or the fact that I don't live downtown (aka further from the bars) anymore.

1. Number 1, of course, is that I got my pilots license. That tops them all.
2. Moving into a non-ghetto townhouse on Jewel Lake, where I can go bowling and it's within a walking distance.
3. Making a substantially sustainable amount of money, therefore feeling like a contributing member of society, as well as being able to afford ridiculously extravagant shoes.
4. Expanding my wardrobe to include socially acceptable garments that are approved for the work environment.
5. Being promoted to office queen. I control the entire palace of Kelley & Canterbury law practice. Besides the Kelley & Canterburys themselves.
6. Getting a king size bed. Oh-so-luxurious.
7. Finally going snowboarding again, and rallying. My back-and-knee-injury fears are abated, so it allows for better performance on rails. GRRRRRRIIIIIIND!
8. Replacing my old nasty bras and underwear with Victorias Secret ones.
9. Sarah moving back to Alaska.
10. FINALLY figuring out what I want to do with my life. I have a life plan, a future career, and a plan to earn money.

Now that I have that out of the way, I can look forward to my new years goals:

1. Try not to drink alcohol every night. It's all part of working in the beverage industry, it makes you an alcoholic.
2. Getting my dog. Kevin's apprehension about mongrels will subside when he actually sees the little sweetie at the pound. Black and white border collie. I already gave her a name too.
3. Getting my Instrument and Commercial licenses within a half year so I can begin flight instruction by my 25th (gasp!!) birthday. oh my god. 25 is ancient.

I can't think of much else to improve myself. It's the truth!! I'm pretty satisfied overall, beside the fact that I want to RUSH RUSH RUSH my education so I can go flying every day. Not just that, but it's pretty satisfying to tell people that you fly airplanes for a living and they're actually impressed, as opposed to sitting in a desk typing all day.

ugh. and now i'm sitting here feeling slightly ill and sluggish, because I crammed my mouth full of french toast at Snow City this "morning". If noon is considered morning. Seeing that I stayed late at work just to drink 3 shots of beer and a glass of wine in an effort to try and figure out what "Miss" in Italian is with Abby so we could try and feel accomplished at completing crossword puzzles. Really, who voluntarily stays at work later than they have to?? Well, unless there's alcohol involved. And ridiculously nerdy bosses making plays on words that were so ridiculously appropriate to the situation he didn't even know.
Now is the deciding moment where I either barf from too much food or go run it off. Even though I can't count on NOT throwing up while running. But I'll do what I can.

a worthy investment

2007-12-10T12:11:00.000-08:00

oh the satisfied feeling of a sturdy plastic pilots license. How genuinely gratifying. Step 1 of 5 is DONE!
Step 2. Instrument rating
Step 3. Commercial license
Step 4. Certified Flight Instructor (CFI)
Step 5. CFII (instrument)

This should be a fine tea party. About $25k later I'll have a real aviation job. hurrrah. !

icy bite of death!

2007-12-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

Things that have happened since I've moved:

-one earthquake
-two machete killers (one next door, no less!)
-a lost pair of glasses, a lost earring, and a lost flight computer
-a pile of clothes on my floor that is nearly as tall as I am, still not put away.
-a disasterous hauling of a super-king size mattress which resulted in many cuts and scraped.
-a horrific realisation of how much junk is in my possession.

Moving all one's possessions puts things in perspective. They look so small and meek closed away in the closet, put away in drawers, and stacked side-by-side in a bookcase. The monstrosity exposes itself when the items are packed, box by box, and hauled up, step by step.
The good part is, when moving from a small apartment into a larger townhouse, is that there's more room to stow these many possessions away. That is, when there's time to put things away. Between working both jobs and studying madly for the much-dreaded first check ride, most things are still in boxes. And my beloved new pair of glasses have vanished to Narnia, or something like it.
In the meantime, while losing 5 minutes of daylight a day, the giant king size bed beckons temptingly. I'm considering a Carribbean vacation these days. Get me out of here.
The worst part about the dark and cold is checking the fuel in the airplane. The instant it touches skin, it's like instant frostbite. In the hot summer, it was kind of a welcome cooling element to the hands. Now it's the icy bite of death. AHHHH, Alaska.

Killing Spree ends after 26 hours

2007-12-04T10:22:00.000-08:00

It makes me wonder what happened to the town I grew up in.... just bazaar. And the guy is SO creepy looking. Not just that, but the third victim was shot at THE EXACT PLACE where I go jogging. I always see creepy people on the coastal trail and around Westchester, but never would I suspect one of them is going to shoot me. The story is quite disturbing, especially one week after a machete attack by a different freak.

Monday, December 3, 2007 - Mat-Su Valley and Anchorage

Christopher Erin Rogers Jr. says he hacked his father to death with a machete in Palmer, stole his dad's truck, fled to Anchorage and continued a 26-hour crime rampage that left two dead and three others wounded because he was angry with his family, according to charges filed Monday.

Christopher Rogers Jr., told police he was angry with his father and his father's girlfriend. Many of his family members thought poorly of him, he said, and treated him badly.

After two killings Sunday, he kept hunting because he "just wanted to kill a few more people," he told police.
The rampage came to an abrupt end Monday morning when Rogers, 28, carjacked an SUV and led police on a high-speed chase across Northern Lights Boulevard that ended with police ramming the SUV -- a violent end to the violent binge.
After his arrest, Rogers told police he was angry over his treatment by family members before the Palmer attack, but he said the attacks in Anchorage were largely random, according to a police affidavit filed in court.
He is charged with two counts of first-degree murder and three counts of attempted murder in the first degree, though more charges, including injuring a police officer, are likely after a grand jury examines the case, Anchorage District Attorney Adrienne Bachman said.
The mayhem began before sunup Sunday morning, according to court records.
5:25 A.M. SUNDAY
Christopher E. Rogers, 51, and his girlfriend, Elann Moren, 55, spent the day Saturday at home on Gunnysack Road in Palmer. Rogers' son, known as Erin, was with them. She and Rogers Sr. went to bed after dinner, she told police.
When Moren awoke, Erin was standing above her, slashing her with a machete and saying, in effect, "You made me do this," an affidavit filed by Alaska State Troopers in Palmer says. By the time Moren called 911 to report the machete attack, Rogers' father was dead.
Before she left for Mat-Su Regional Medical Center, Moren told troopers that she thought Erin took some or all of an unspecified prescription medication she had.
After his capture Monday, Rogers Jr. told police he was angry with his father and Moren. Many of his family members thought poorly of him, he said, and treated him badly.
Troopers arriving at the scene Sunday morning couldn't find Rogers Jr. or the weapon that inflicted the injuries. They contacted local police departments and told them to be on the lookout, Trooper Col. Audie Holloway said.
Rogers Jr. was already on his way to Anchorage in his father's black truck. He later told police that killing his father with a machete took a lot of energy and that he should have "just shot them" but he couldn't find his father's gun.
He did find the gun, and lots of ammunition, in his father's truck as he drove into town. He ditched the truck and the machete in town near a gas station. He kept the gun and went prowling for new wheels.
10:36 A.M. SUNDAY
Neighbors walking their dog along the 4300 block of Lois Drive found Jason Wenger, a 27-year-old graduate student at the University of Alaska Anchorage, slumped in his idling green Bronco in his driveway near Spenard Builders Supply.
They first thought he needed medical help, then called police when they saw he wasn't breathing.
Rogers told police he shot Wenger, who was sitting in the driver's seat. He planned to steal the Bronco, but the shots were louder than he expected, and he worried the neighbors might see him if he took the time to get Wenger's slumped body out of the Bronco and get himself in.
He "did not want to take on the whole neighborhood," he told police, so he ran away.
Neighbors reported hearing shots between 7 and 8 a.m., but they saw the idling car and dismissed them as possible backfire, according to court documents.
Wenger worked for ASSETS Inc., helping people with disabilities, his graduate adviser Jo-Ann Mapson said. A straight-A student, he was at work on his thesis, which he planned to complete in the spring.
A BREATHER
A fleeing Rogers made his way through neighborhoods on foot toward downtown, he told police. He tired and took a nap in some woods. When he woke up, he bought a pack of smokes and a bottle of beer, then set out to find another victim, he told police.
He wasn't worried about getting caught anymore, he said. He "just wanted to kill a few more people along the way."
7:20 P.M. SUNDAY
Elizabeth Rumsey, 33, was walking home on a bike path near Westchester Lagoon after volunteering for the Anchorage International Film Festival at the Bear Tooth Theatrepub, said her friend Rachel James, who was talking to Rumsey on her cell phone at the time.
"We were catching up on her weekend," said James, who is Rumsey's backcountry ski partner.
A law clerk for the Alaska Supreme Court, Rumsey had just won the Wilderness Woman Contest in Talkeetna, James said.
Rumsey was only a few blocks from her home when "she crossed paths with a tall, thin man who made her nervous," according to the charging document. Over the phone, James heard Rumsey tell someone the time.
"All of a sudden she screamed several times and the phone went dead," James said. She called a neighbor to go check on her friend, then called Rumsey's cell phone. A woman at the scene picked up and said police and medics were on the way.
Rumsey, shot in the back, was rushed to Alaska Regional Hospital, where she was initially listed in critical condition.
Rumsey's friends are keeping a round-the-clock vigil outside her hospital room and said Monday evening they think she is doing well.
7:05 A.M. MONDAY
Only a few blocks away from where Rumsey was shot, Tamas Deak, 43, walked out of his home near 16th Avenue and K Street to start his car and let it warm up while he was getting ready for work. Rogers was watching.
Deak is a landscape architect born in Hungary. He's married with two young children, said Michael Prozeralik, president of KPB Architects, where Deak has worked since 2002.
As Deak got out of his car to go back inside, Rogers approached him. He had learned from his earlier mistake, he told police, and this time around, he waited for Deak to get out of the car before he shot him multiple times in the arm and torso.
Rogers sped off as Deak lay on the ground, yelling for his wife.
A bullet "did nick a lung," Prozeralik said, but no major arteries were hit. "The prognosis is pretty positive," he said. Deak "should have a full recovery."
When police received the call about the attack on Deak, every available officer and detective -- at least 50 -- began the hunt for Rogers, who investigators were beginning to see as a part of the bigger picture, said Anchorage police Lt. Paul Honeman.
7:29 A.M. MONDAY
Anchorage police spotted Deak's gray 1990 Jeep Wagoneer at the intersection of DeBarr Road and Bragaw Street and began their pursuit, Honeman said. Rogers refused to pull over, leading them south on Bragaw to Northern Lights, where he ran a red light and turned eastbound.
With a growing string of cruisers in pursuit, it became clear Rogers wasn't planning to stop for police, and the decision was made to stop him with force, Heun said. Two officers rammed their cars into the Wagoneer near Northern Lights and Lily Street, just shy of Boniface Parkway.
One officer injured his knee during the wreck.
Rogers told police he intended to shoot some officers, but his .357 revolver "just clicked" when he pulled the trigger.
Police found five live rounds in the gun, and plenty more in Rogers' jacket.
WRAP-UP
Rogers, a construction worker who lived in Anchorage, has a lengthy criminal history here and in the Mat-Su area -- including charges of assault, harassment, reckless endangerment, driving under the influence, and attempted arson, according to court documents. Though he's been in and out of jail, he's never been in for long, according to the Department of Corrections.
Even before the Palmer attack, troopers had an outstanding warrant for Rogers' arrest. With 2,119 warrants to wrangle, troopers have to choose who to look for. A probation violation warrant is not at the top of their list, troopers spokeswoman Megan Peters said. The original charge in that case was driving under the influence.
A public defender was appointed Monday to represent Rogers, Heun said. He is being held without bail for the Palmer charges and on $1 million cash-only bail for the crimes he is accused of in Anchorage, Bachman said.
He is scheduled to be arraigned today in Anchorage on all the charges, she said.

Christopher Erin Rogers. Jr.

educashion, peoples.

2007-11-15T13:10:00.000-08:00

I would like to take this opportunity to educate the general public about optimum grammatical usage. While I do admit to falling victim to less-than-stellar use of computer-lingo (using lower-case i to designate I, as myself, is probably my favourite).
Back to the matter at hand.
I have an English degree. With honours, at that.
My English literature professors always impressed upon the students the significance of using the active voice in both writing and speaking. I was also told that military people are among the worst people to break the grammatical laws, being trained to phrase things so that there is no blame cast upon anyone (example: "The building was destroyed by bombing." Proper form: "We destroyed the building using bombs." Another example: "There was severe civilian casualty in the violent sectors of Takrit." Proper form: "The military instigated the deaths of many women in children by use of overbearing violent force." Okay that's probably an exaggeration, but one gets the idea)

In any case. One thing I notice VERY MUCH at work, sentence form used by less-educated people (usually the underlings at law offices. Lawyers have excellent command of the English language). Here is a prime example:

"I had faxed the document earlier this morning."
"I had called and left a message."
"I had asked several times previously."

"I had"???? NO NO NO NO NO! AAARGH! it bugs that crap out of me! You DID! YOU DIDN'T HAD!

Proper form would dictate the sentence be reconstructed in the active past voice:

"I faxed the document earlier this morning."

I see this misuse so abundant in the "don't take responsibility" crowd it makes me want to scream. Let's all abate this terrible misuse of passive voice and start being bold, aggressive, in all manners ACTIVE in the English language.

O, ye faithful hound.

2007-11-13T16:26:00.000-08:00

In the advent of a relocation, I have come up with yet another scheme (yes, I scheme quite frequently. It is a talent of mine). Due to a very welcome to a move across to town - "Dimond territory", as it were (yes, Jmanda - our very rivals. ha stupid high school rivalry). In fact, I'm directly across from Dimond High School. The cutest little townhouse, two stories, plush carpet, wooden kitchen floors, classy crimson accents, and GASP! a fireplace. I love fire.
Best of all, no drunkards.
No puking people.
No dumpster divers.
No raging maniacs.
No ghetto high school dropouts stalking me.
No more calling Community Service Patrol to drag the vagrants off my doorstep.
No more sirens late in the night.
No airplanes buzzing overhead (seeing that my place was directly under the downwind pattern for runway 25 at Merrill Field).
HURRAY!

It even has a nice extensive patch of forest, backed up by the Campbell Greenbelt, through which winds the utterly quaint Campbell Creek trail. This got me to brainstorming about the winter season, and the luxury of skijouring. As a result, I've been searching for adoptable Siberian Huskies (two of them, perhaps). The one hindrance is ISISSSS, her royal majesty the cat. It seems huskies and felines do not mix. This is one minor wrinkle that requires ironing before anything drastic happens.
Albeit dogs are quite the emotional and time investment (eeek. it's like marriage, but on a smalled life span. And you can't divorce a dog) I feel like my childhood wish is finally coming to fruition. A dog was the one thing I wanted as a child, and my father the then-dictator (as opposed to now cool dad), said it was an impossibility. I surrendered my dream many years later when I realised that he had spoken The Truth.

So, the search is on for shelter dogs. (I'd be a hypocrite if I actually bought a husky puppy from a breeder. I am completely against needlessly overpopulating this earth with beings of any sort when there are already beings that have greater needs, people included. And I mean people with like 10 kids. Who needs all that? There are probably 10 kids in Russia who need parents) Off my tangent. If anyone knows of a husky that needs an owner, I volunteer.

A welcome change of scenery

2007-11-06T17:15:00.000-08:00

Getting out of the ghetto. Sorry, there shall be no more detailed accounts of downtown's dredge making a mockery of my stair landing (upon which one week ago I discovered someone had thrown up, and to which day still graces my stairs. I take the far less convenient stairway down now).

I will be moving to Jewel Lake in 3 weeks.

Hurrrah!

stop talking. now.

2007-10-29T10:16:00.000-07:00

Does anyone else have a coworker who mumbles on, uncaring as to whether anyone is listening or not?? Very strange... kind of annoying.

Next week I turn 24. Wish me well, for I may not survive the shock of being nearly a quarter century old. Luckily however, this year it's an even number. Should turn out better than 23. Even though this year was surprisingly satisfactory.

strange people

2007-10-26T10:18:00.000-07:00

It's a terrible thing to be awoken at 3AM when one is trying to get a good night's sleep. It's even more terrible when the perpetrator is a raging screaming maniac that has found his way to your front door and is trying to stomp a hole through the floor.

Thus was my 3AM experience, after a noble effort on my part to go to bed on time in order to get enough sleep in order to go for a spin (not literally) in the airplane the following evening.

It was the most extremely bazaar disturbance I have encountered in a long time. Admittedly, i do not live in the most high-class of neighbourhoods, and my apartment is next door to the drunk park (which is cleverly disguised as a children's playground, but no child would dare set a foot into that ghetto), yet I believe I am deserving of at least a silent night. It began with a pounding and shouting of "FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOUAAAAAAAAAH!" and stomping around, and shattering of glass. I though it was the downstairs people having a fight, which is something that hasn't happened since Alex and Angela moved out, at the beginning of summer. The yelling became more fierce and more desparate, paired with ragged intake of breath in the manner of someone suffocating. Ever the cautious individual, I kept the door locked and looked out the peephole, but this suffering individual was out of the range of view. It carried on for 5 minutes before I called the cops, who said a few other people had already called, which left us only to wait until they showed up. The downstairs neighbour guy flung his door open and spoke to the poor guy.
"Hey man, are you okay? Where do you live?"
response [whispered] "noooooo. don't let her go. fuuuuck yooooooooh" [suffocated intake of breath].
"Hey. What's up? What's wrong? Who are you?"
"noooooo....... please. noooooooooooo."

And so it went for a couple minutes until downstairs guy gave up. This guy then resumed his tirade and carried on and carried on and carried on. I starting to become frightened, thinking he was going to kill himself and I'd be the unfortunate one to stumble across his corpse the following morning.

And then, as Murphy's Law would have it, the wailing and carrying on departed eastward and faded away, just as the cops showed up. I still don't know what became of this person or what was wrong with him. The only evidence of his presence this morning was a shattered ashtray in the parking lot.

The thing is, however, that this person didn't sound deranged or drunk or high, per se. At least, that didn't seem to be the primary cause for such behaviour. The sound of his voice wasn't normal. It was a sound of grieving and extreme loss. It was as though he had killed his own child on accident and couldn't bear the aftermath. There went the rest of my night, sleepwise.
The grief in his voice brought back the day of Brent's funeral, and while there weren't any screaming people, you could see the grief in their eyes. And all of this mess with Evan Alvarez being charged with second degree murder brings the entire tragedy startlingly back to the present. I don't even know what to think, except that I hope justice is served.

the backwoods, everyone!

2007-10-24T13:17:00.000-07:00

Anyone have a place in Girdwood that I can rent/buy?

okay, then.

2007-10-22T16:49:00.000-07:00

What's the point of it being 30 degrees outside when there's no snow? WHERE'S THE SNOW? We're all waiting with bated breath so that at least it can insulate the ground and make everything look refreshed. Anchorage currently looked like a homeless person slept in every corner. Rather bland, and somewhat disturbing. Speaking of which, I had a homeless person sleeping in my very own corner last week. Community Patrol picked him up by the pants and tossed him into the back of the van, but not before snatching away the 40 oz bottle of BOOZE he had tucked away. And what do you know, next time I walked down the same stairs, it didn't even smell bad. Probably because someone was washing their clothes and it smelled like laundry detergent. mmmmmmmm.

frowning at the cold clear sky

2007-10-16T11:01:00.000-07:00

hahahahaha i totally joked I would do it, but since I ran out of costume ideas for Halloween, I took it to heart. Since of course, I'll have to get used to such attire in the future. For real.

SHAAAAAAAAAAAMEFUL!

USually I laugh at skanky looking girls on Halloween. This year I guess I'll just swallow my pride and join their ranks. Except I'm no longer a fake blonde so I'm still a step higher on the totem pole than the fake bitch in the photo to the left.

For some reason I'm not that excited about Halloween this year. Come to think of it, I'm not particularly excited for my birthday this year either. That's probably due to the fact that I turned 21 a ripe 3 years ago, and since then, birthday excitement has waned considerably. In high school it used to mean a birthday bash, with cake and numerous presents. This year I've come to accept that I've outgrown the present tradition too. A lot of things have come to an end along with that, among them living at home and having my own bedroom at my parents' house. Not that I care that much. Living at home would mean having to sweep all the crumbs into the sink and washing them down the drain immediately after making a mess, and having to turn the fan on in the bathroom when taking a shower instead of letting it steam up (which I HATE! It gets so cold in there with the fan on....)

The last of the things that will cut the parental umbilical cord is yet to come, minor as it is. On my birthday I will have to get my own gym membership instead of my dad's family membership. After that I will be fully emancipated! (late bloomer, eh. Yet I'm sure there are still people out of college whose parents still pay their cell phone bill or car insurance or whatever. Perhaps its all relative.)

So I'm still winning my bet. It hasn't snowed in Anchorage yet, and I have until Thursday to lose. The stakes are breakfast at Snow City Cafe. Kevin still has 3 days to win the bet, but luckily the weather forecast is stubbornly dry. I remember walking around outside this time last year. It didn't snow until Halloween, of course, to all the children's chagrin. The princesses and batmans and ghosties all had to pull on bulky coats over their costumes. Oh the downside of living in Alaska.

Anyways. If your so inclined to get me a birthday present, I like red wine, new snowboards and vacations to the West Indies. Okay, I suppose buying a drink at the bar shall suffice.

Like the caffeinated beverage, but sadder

2007-10-08T10:33:00.000-07:00

Today I got a jolt during breakfast.

A jolt is not the best way to begin a Monday morning, particularly when I work at a place that isn't lucky enough to have Columbus Day, of all things, as a holiday from work. Then again, I need the money. Considering that this week was a $1,250.00 week, as far as flight training goes. (I like to consider it the same way I do tuition: a necessary part of living in Alaska. But ouch, $125.00 an hour.... makes for an expensive lifestyle.)

Anyways, this jolt:
To my chagrin, the jolt came in the form of a pang of sadness that I will be leaving next year. Where to? I do not know yet. But I was reading something in the newspaper about a couple that got married in Palmer at a farm with cows and peacocks and everyone wore mud boots to the wedding and feasted on Alaska salmon. Such an Alaskan thing to do. I was sad to realise that these are silly things I will miss if I leave again. The snow, the cold, the long winters, even the damn snowtire business I had to go through again this year, it's all worthwhile.

It's always the same lament. Every fall, I bitch about not doing something exciting like moving to an exciting place, and being cross about work. One day, however, I'll move back here from wherever, and buy a fabulous house in Bootleggers Cove, get a husky dog, learn how to fly fish, and invest in a Cessna 206 on floats so I can fly east west north south, wherever the wind takes me.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There she is! Look at 'er fly! ^

On that note, I did actually witness a Cessna 206 on floats being hoisted into the air at Lake Spenard, to free it from its watery prison. The thing was dragged onto land by a Hummer-crane thing so that its floats did not freeze into the lake come winter. Rather interesting, if I do say so. Shortly thereafter, being an imbedded member of the aviation community, I myself took a quick trip to the wonderful metropolis known as Talkeetna, in Rick's little 150 (not on floats). The trip to Talkeetna was a rather lonely one at that. Despite my continuous station switching between the Big Lake-Wasilla channel and the Talkeetna-Palmer channel, I seemed to be the only one flying the Mat-Su airspace. And the landing at Lake Hood! Unslightly, for sure, but the little airplane tolerated it well and we both made it back to the tie-down spot alive. In any case, flying through the Valley along the Little Su River and looking down at the yellow trees and little cabins felt completely natural. Then Mt. McKinley rose like a menacing giant, surrounded by Mt. Foraker and Mr. Hunter on either side, completing the breathtaking scene. It was enough to distract me from the control panel momentarily. That trip was the perfect end to a too-short weekend.

Perhaps Nessy doesn't exist, but this certainly does...

2007-10-01T15:25:00.000-07:00

I don't want to jynx myself. or jinx.

But I just have to put it out there. My chance at lifelong bliss.

I always talk about a dream job like it doesn't exist. But as always, I discover something new that strikes my fancy and for about 20 minutes and then it gets old. BUT in this case the ideas have stirred themselves around the ol' cranium for over a year, so this time it's likely to be more serious than a fleeting affair. More like, a long-term boyfriend. In job form. Which will hopefully materialize in about a year, when I've gotten my ducks lined up and everything in my life accounted for (a monumental task, let me tell you. I've just embarked with my father on an attic and childhood-room cleaning fest. I expect it to take several weeks until all keepsakes and trinkets are uncovered and the moths finally released from their dust prisons).

SURPRISE! It has to do with flying and Red Bull, my two favourite entities in the world. More or less.

Now, I'm not stupid. Naturally I don't expect to be flying airplanes around at Red Bull events through tall inflated structures. Red Bull marketing is something I would love to get into in the future. Seeing that I come from the land of Red Bull origin itself, I would hope to have the proper qualifications of Red Bull PR executive, or what have you. Like the Native corporations in Alaska that give foremost preference to Alaska Natives. If the Red Bull thing were to work out, I'd be living in Fuschl am See, near Salzburg. (Kevin finds this location most pleasing, as my cousin Magdalena disclosed to him that Saalbach is a beautiful ski resort and probably well suited to work as a ski patrol at). But I don't want to count any chicks before they actually hatch, so I'll still call it a dream before I turn it into an actual ambition.

The second piece to the puzzle is far more eyebrow-raising and seemingly less attainable. Then again, I've spoken with numerous influential individuals that have great expectations of my future at their beloved company. The mere thought makes me shiver in my boots:

Lucky for me, I have a great many connections through Lufthansa, Condor, and even Austrian Airlines. Connections alone mean little at all if you can't keep an airplane in the sky. Luckily, also, I'm well on my way to being able to keep an airplane in the sky. 8 flight hours away, to be exact (if all goes as planned).

I shall keep dreaming. And if all, indeed, goes as planned, I may be flying high skies next October. In the meantime, I'll gather my pilot costume (haha) and wear my wings on Halloween instead.

Walden is for chumps.

2007-09-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

I thought I was so savvy and ahead of the game. Sadly, though, I am now relegated to back of the pack.

I have no voice mail :(

If there were a graph depicting the state of things in my life, it would look like this:

/!/!/!/!/!/!/!/!/!/!/ (Imagine up-and-down zigzags, to imitate the moving graph of perhaps a medical patient with cardiac arrest. AH! He shall die!)

As one can observe, few plateaus and many valleys. Too many valleys. Just small stuff, but nevertheless, when compiled with other many things, overwhelming. LIIIIIIIIFEE SSUUUUUUUUUUUCKS. Sometimes I just like to drawl it out.

Making this big a deal over lack of voicemail? Tres pathetic. Somehow it just feels one step away from not having a cell phone. Maybe people wean themselves off these things by going into the woods for extended periods of time. Or to European vacations, where Verizon doesn't exist.
When i last found myself in Europe, I often found it difficult to breath without a cell phone close by. AAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRGH. Now I shall henceforth live in a voice-mail-less and computer-less world. It's like 4th grade again! mercy!

Therefore (rather, on another note), in an ironically symbolic gesture similar to an attempt at Thoreau's "Walden", I am trekking to a faraway land known as Talkeetna this weekend with the Boss Lady for work. There, I will find myself surrounded by too many lawyers and a few mountains and moose. Rather than shutting into a one-room cabin, however, I will bask comfortably in a room all my own with my own bathroom and my own king size bed ALL BY MYSELF, and be able to read books and wear facial masques to my hearts content. (Until the lawyers summon me away to perform my executive duties as the Association of Trial Lawyers of America bid me to do. Including but not limited to making sure everyone has a bottle of wine in his and her rooms, and ensuring each lawyer goes to the right place at the right time. hehee). In any case, it is an unplanned and liberating escape from the metropolis. Or wannabe metropolis, I suppose. Also a chance to let my gentleman lover, or Kevin as others know him, play those damn video games to his heart's content. To each his, and her, own.
Now the only thing left to do is cross fingers that my cell phone works there.

Dan Green

2007-09-08T21:46:00.000-07:00

Here's the lovely photo of the state of things at the Abilities and Jennifer Johns show. As one might surmise from my expression, not all was well preceding this shot.

This blog is dedicated to Dan Green. It is also dedicated to all those people who change, and never tell anyone. I knew someone named Dan Green in high school, someone I looked up to as a mentor, who taught me how to ride the halfpipe and would ride down the North Face with me when everyone else was too lazy or too cold. He gave me some self confidence, a sense of worth, when he told me, a self-consious 15-year old that I was cool and that we should hang out sometime. He was someone soft-spoken, deep-thinking, talented, and religious. I respected him for not giving in to the fancy of numerous groupy-type girls who chased snowboarder guys.

Fast-forward to yesterday's Zion-I, Chali2Na, and The Grouch show at the Anchor. It was a good time overall, particularly when considering that I didn't have to pay a dime for anything, between drinks and tickets (haha... harking back to my previous blog about getting something for nothing. I wasn't trying. I was merely invited). I happened across a guy with short hair wearing a hat and after he said "Hi, Chantal", it literally took 1 minute of playing along and staring at him to figure out it was Dan Green. Last year he didn't even recognize me at the Atmosphere show, so I guess the tables turned.

I'll end the story there, but I have to express my astonishment at the subsequent smooth moves, which struck me as very un-Dan-like. In essence, I had to explain to him my relationship status in order to stop things from escalating into something inappropriate. As Amber recalls, he "paid" her to go get a drink at the bar in order to leave us alone..... I was sad to discover that my excited hug of reuniting was interpreted as sensuous, and that his impression of my character was different. There was literally a portion of time spent un-wrapping fingers from my torso and dodging mouth contact, and I stood there thinking, "This has to stop... Kevin would be pissed." This all had to stop at once.

When do people change so drastically? Every time I come across an old friend that's suddenly become too "cool" or alternative or indie or emo or what have you to interact like we used to, it makes me want to crawl back into my mother's womb or something. I believe that's a Freudian intention, and I can't believe how accurate it is. I know life changes, but there are times I'd just like to put a halt on it. I wish people didn't change like that. It made me wonder where my old friend was.

free drinks, just get naked!

2007-09-06T11:20:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm on this rant about how the way things SHOULD be, I think it would be nice and dandy to continue on it.
Now that my sole colleague is gone in his 3rd day of unexpected absence, I am again left high and dry. This is, once again due to a free airline ticket that allows him to fly standby. I, who am less monetarily fortunate and very thrifty indeed, spent nearly an entire paycheck on an airline ticket to reach Bozeman, Montana, on a mere weekend trip. This brings me to the realisation that Americans have an entirely different mentality of how things should be, versus the mentality that I was brought up with, which may or may not be more or less American, or just ethically different than that of many people I've come across. That mentality has to do with getting something for nothing.

Here's an example. I have a "friend" (unnamed for this purpose) who will go to a bar and somehow make friends with the bartender. Within a few hours, she will finangle her way into 3-4 free drinks. I don't know how this comes about, but it's something I would blush to ask for. I hate seeming like a mooch and I will avoid it at any costs. It's downright embarrassing. Now, when it comes down to things like airline tickets, you get what you pay for.
In this case, I suspect it was a desired delay. I'd also rather be stuck in the California heat waiting for a standby seat as opposed to back at work in Alaska, where it's cold. That's what pisses me off.

I think this getting something for nothing mentality goes hand in hand with work ethic. I'm not quite sure why. Maybe it has something to do with having a real perspective of the value of time and money and applying that to, for instance, a bar where you would buy drinks. It's not fair to ask the bartender for a free drink, because he relies on tips from those drinks in order to make money, and to turn the tables like that and try to weasel out of shelling out money is cheating.
Also, it's putting a price on the things you like. Getting a standby ticket to Montana to attend one of my closest friends wedding is taking a risk of missing a flight there. It's like saying, "Well I'm too cheap to really want to go to your wedding, so I'll just cross my fingers that I get on the flight." AAAAAAAAAARRRRGGH! And here I am, grinding fingers to the bone day by day and scraping together every precious cent in order to do the thing I love the most: fly airplanes. In between, I have to pay rent, pay health insurance (that's a tangent I won't even begin to touch on), and all other bills and shit I have to do.

Anyways. I just can't see how people can lack such pride in themselves to, oftentimes, whore themselves out for free things. Girls will get naked to get things for free. It's disgusting. I've seen it, right on MTV spring break Cancun. More often then not, they'll get naked and somehow incorporate whipped cream just to get free drinks. How do they look at themselves in the mirror and NOT think "Wow, I'm a slut?"

Now that I've thoroughly disgusted myself and ranted to my heart's (halfhearted) delight, I'll end the tirade while I'm ahead.

i am NOT 10 years old

2007-09-06T10:46:00.000-07:00

i HATE it when people call me "hun" in the patronizing, bitchy tone. "Hun" being short for the supposed nickname of endearement, "honey". There's no better way to turn me into a blazing evil machete than to call me "hun". The lady on the other end of the phone line has efficiently made her way to the top of my hit list, and I don't even know what she looks like. If anyone ever calls me "hun" again, or any variation thereof, including "sweetie" or "kiddo", they shall be answered with a glare of most vile degree. "Dahrling", however, is exempt when said in a haughty tone because it's snobby and classy and overall LAAAARDY.

happily ever after?

2007-08-30T13:21:00.000-07:00

I feel like it's X-Mas. I just got done opening all the presents and now they're just sitting there, uncovered, and the entire holiday is over. In this case, X-mas is my trip to Montana. All in all, the trip went entirely different than expected. Not in a bad way, but it was just different. I feel like I lost one of my closest friends, because she now "belongs" to someone else. Not only that, but Michelle had so little time while preparing her wedding, that we didn't really get to talk, which left me a lot of time to hang out with Amy and Shannon, which was very fun.

Truth be told, all this wedding crap made it very tempting to be married. Just for the attention and the bossiness. Michelle was queen for a day. Or 3. Additionally, she was the recipient of 3 very HOT pieces of lingerie that the bridal party purchased for her. If ever I should get married, I'm appointing Amy as the head of my wedding. She's had enough practice as Maid of Honor.

Anyways, all this transition gets my head spinning. Even just walking around Bozeman and thinking about how things used to be and how I could hop on the bike and pedal to La Perilla for a burrito or sit on the couch in the front yard with a beer and a can of chew with no one batting an eye made me long for the past. Here in Anchorage even a jog around the nieghbourhood makes me feel dirty, what with the homeless and drunk people milling around, while in Bozeman everyone is young, hot, and attractive so it's nothing special to see someone go for a run.

Contrarily, when Shannon began a rant on her roommates and how they never leave the house and how they always help themselves to her pot of coffee and take too long in the bathroom, it gave me pause and I reminded myself how lucky I am to have a roomie that's also someone I love dearly.

I'm glad to know that nearly everyone I know that's my age is caught up in huge life indecisions and don't know what to do with themselves.

Next time I'll bring my own damn gummy bears

2007-08-21T14:37:00.000-07:00

I'm still trying to decide whether or not the movie Superbad was worth $9.50.

Since it takes me approximately 15 minutes to earn $9.50 at the Snowgoose. For instance, if I have 5 tables on the deck and the rotation is one table every hour, with an average bill of $50.00, and an average tip of $8.00, that's $40.00 an hour (minus hourly wage, out of which taxes are exctracted), then the $40.00 an hour is divided by 60 minutes, that's 66 cents a minute, times 15 = $9.99 every quarter hour. If the particular table is several old people drinking ice tea and requesting malt vinegar with their fish n chips, then that's more effort on my part. Same with several young people from out of state whose IDs I have to check. When a young child is involved the work load doubles. So depending on the demographic of the customers, my work could be a breeze or very trying.

So -- Here I spent my Saturday night at a two-hour movie costing $9.50 during which the F word is used more than in Scarface. Drawings of penises in various charicatures rolled at the credits, before which the life and times of hormonally charged and socially inept high schoolers behaving most foul graced the silver screen. I shan't go into the details.
I'd describe it as a mix of American Pie, Date Movie, and Old School, gone awry.

Trying to place a value on one's working time and then compare it with the price of a silly and dirty film (albeit a few chuckles rumbled from my throat -- particularly the part where someone got punched out, which is always funny), is a futile practice in time auditing.

I must admit, however, the gummy bears were good snacks throughout. Even though I embarassedly (is that a word?) tried to finangle the man behind me in line for 14 cents because I was 14 cents short of the grand total. Why the hell didn't they have a scale at the damn movie theatre so I didn't have to scrounge like a rat? $3 to my name and they had to dump out 14 cents worth of gummy bears to even it out. Bastard movie theatres and their cheap policies.

the great escape from the great North

2007-08-20T16:36:00.000-07:00

So I finally get to escape AK for a few days for the first time since I left for Hawaii back in February. The thing about escaping Alaska is that you get to leave, but even better, you get to come back. It’s different than going to college, a time during which, as I remember, I would utilize my last remaining days to do all the things I know I’ll miss: going to the Fair, eating breakfast at the Bake Shop, going to the beach (something it was never warm enough to do this summer), a last drink at Sub Zero, a moose pie at the Moose’s Tooth, a last hike to Crow Pass or Flat Top or Wolverine or Bird Ridge, or whatever. But living here, it’s nice to get away now and then. Too bad Montana is shrouded in forest fire smoke, though. I was kind of counting on a tan.

Either way, my short-lived visit (5 days long) will consist of

1. River floating in an intertube with a 6-pack of something nasty like PBR. But in 95 degrees PBR can’t be that bad.

2. Doing the west-to-east bar trip down Main Street. i.e., Start at the Pourhouse, cross over to the Eagle, cross back over to the Legion (aka Sleagion), down into the Zebra, hop over to Rockin R, onto the cowboy headquarters the Crystal, and then wrap up the night with popcorn and pool at the Bermuda Triange of the Molly Brown, the Scoop, and the Haufbrau, maybe the sleaziest bars in Bozeman. Or we might do it the opposite way around and start dirty then end up at the fancier ones.

3. Wake up hopefully semi-straight and hike somewhere.

4. Have a BBQ

5. On Saturday, the wedding day.

6. Unwind post-wedding.

This whole wedding thing is rather interesting. I think since college has adjourned for me, 6 of my friends (that are my age) have gotten married. What’s the rush? Then again, what’s my hesitation? When I read about the top reasons marriage fails, the first one is always something about financial woes. Since I, personally, have financial woes, and Kevin, too, has financial woes, I would find it unsavory to combine them and double the stress. Am I the only one with financial woes? Between a ridiculous monthly health insurance premium and keeping up with rent, utility, cell phone, and car insurance bills, I still have to find $3,000.00 a month to pay for flight lessons. And I have to 87546321 jobs! I watch my bank account be sucked dry like a well during a drought. Eventually, the bucket will come up dry.
I can’t wait until I’m an actual airline pilot. Nobody sasses the person carrying your life 20,000 feet in the stratosphere. Plugging along slowly but surely is starting to try my nerves, because 40 hours seems like a drop in the bucket compared to the 1500 minimum I need to be considered for a majors position. Jaarrgh. Life often makes me cross. Like right now.

Addiction

2007-08-13T11:04:00.000-07:00

That would be me way up there in the aeroplane. Just me, all by myself. Austin suggested that I take my little yellow platypus, Shela, with me to put in the passenger seat. Lacking sufficient time to dash to my dad's house, I had to fly, quite literally, solo, platypus or no.

Even Rick admitted to bringing some sort of teddy bear up there with him for his first solo at age 16, having logged 250 hours or more in his early teens.

However, there I was, minus stuffed platypus, taxiing by myself past Spernaks to runway 25, the entire family waving me off.

"Merrill Tower, Cessna 2467 Juliet, holding short Runway 25, ready for takeoff for touch and go's."

"Cessna 2467, cleared for takeoff, Runway 25."

And there I went. Full throttle, carb heat in, airspeed 75 KIAS, and.... LIFTOFF!

Once I got off it was hard to come back down. Not physically difficult, of course, because each landing was better than the one before it. Just hard to come back to earth because it was so awesome being up there alone, despite the fact that Rick left me in the cockpit with these words, "So, if anything happens when you're up there, it's real. I wouldn't mess with you, not on your first solo." eeeeeek. All I could hope for was to be above the highway in event of engine failure.

Anyways, after about 8 touch and go's, finally made a request for full stop. There on the ground stood my brother and Garvin, (other family had to catch a plane back to Europe) and Rick, donning scissors. The shirt-cutting ceremony commenced, and that was that. Totally stoked. Total addiction to flying.

A great many good things are coming together. Among them:

1) The obvious, making my first solo flight. Now I have 20 or so hours left until I'm a true pilot. Until then, nearly all of my flights will be solo, until I have to go cross-country.

2) CAKE concert. Very much awesome, including the part where the crazed fan ascended a very thin tree in the Moose's Tooth parking lot, and the poor thing gave way, bending and falling, tossing the guy into the crowd.

3) Bozeman P.D. called me back and informed me that they erased the info of my arrest from their online records. Now I can apply for dream job in good faith. All that remains is the assessment of my eyesight.

4) Made the appointment at Anchorage Tattoo studio.

5) Have an appointment with Jenna to make my hair back to normal. I'm not sure how long this phase will last, but sometimes I get bored with blonde. I'm like the ever changing colour-scale. Besides, blondes are teased about being dumb too much. Plus, natural hair feels much softer and shinier. Rather, it looks shinier, not feels shinier.

6) Going to Montana next week! I find that exciting. This time I will trust my instinct and stick with my friends, so I don't make another stupid mistake like last year.

7) No more Snowgoose, which leads me to the downside of less money. However, I won't have to put up with tourists and stupidity and cops. The cops showed up last Friday and fucked my day up when they asked for every servers' TAMS card, a document which I don't carry on my person. Somehow, by some miracle of god, I slipped from their mental radar, even though they looked right at me. Perhaps I looked more like a lowly busser than a server. The other guy without his TAMS card got sent home for the day.

It must be the good karma I have stored up.

the empty right seat

2007-08-06T10:22:00.000-07:00

This week is it; the week I will be soloing my first flight. Trina gave me this bit of advice:
"Just don't focus on the empty seat to your right. It will just make you realise all the more that you're all alone up there." I get jittery thinking about it, but then rationalise the worry by reminding myself that if mother can fly an airplane, I can do it too. She said that her first cross-country, to Talkeetna, it was so windy that the Mac trucks below on the Glenn were outpacing her in the air. HAHA!

Yesterday me and mum and my aunt Sissy, Uncle Uwe, and my littlest cousin Clara (13 years old) went shopping and out to lunch. It just made me realise how nice it must be for people whose cousins live in the same country, rather than across the world. I wish I was closer to all my cousins. Luckily, I get to see all but two of them in just one summer. That's because one is interning for an ambassador in Brussels and the other is an au-pair in Toronto. Michael came up in June, Clara is here now, and Magdalena will arrive with her BFF in September, to stay for a month. Then it's my turn to visit them (*sigh* one year from September).

On a different note, I have 2 weeks left at the Snowgoose, and 11 months left at Kelley & Canterbury. Then what? I know I'm moving elsewhere, but no clue where to. A few months ago, the idea excited me. But just today, it made me sad. Riding my bike to work, I gazed at the distant blue sky at the horizon, which was nearly shrouded in rainclouds. But I could tell that somewhere, far away, it was sunny. Maybe at the Kustatan River, where dad and I went fishing last week. Where does one fish in Germany?
Fall is my favourite season. In Alaska, though short lived, fall is nevertheless very aesthetically pleasing. Everything turns yellow and red. Even while I was in Vermont, the fall was comparable to Alaska fall. Then again, I was told that Hurricane Katrina's migration up north was partially to blame for the wet clumps of still-green leaves turning brown on the ground.

I know I'll come back to Alaska after the move. I know one day I'll die here. A true Alaska girl never forgets her roots.

keen observation

2007-08-03T10:21:00.000-07:00

Sharice told me yesterday, "I can see you beating up a homeless guy and arguing with a retarded person." Now, I wonder where she drew that conclusion?

no use for the teakettle

2007-08-03T10:10:00.000-07:00

There's this large lump in my throat. The kind that developes when you know you're getting sick. It hurts to swallow and it hurts to breathe. Tea has proven itself ineffective against such malady, as has beer. I sat on the couch after work yesterday drinking a beer and thinking how crappy the beer made me feel, while at the same time I was drinking it. I think I was sitting there feeling sorry for myself because Austin and Chad moved out after only 3 days of staying over. Austin must have gotten accepted to the apartments in the McKinley Tower, because I came home late last night to find that 3 bikes were removed from my small apartment so it looked really empty. Plus that left me no protection from the night predators in the downtown area, because Kevin is braving collapsed bridges in Minneapolis. Not even that cat wants to sleep with me. She struggled out of my grasp and ran away to go sit on the windowsill and watch the drunks outside.

So here I am, blahh and sick feeling. And Rick is making me get up at 7am on my day off so I can learn about Anchorage airspace. Perhaps it's all for the best, since the downstairs people seem to have an affinity for vaccuuming early mornings. Vacuum. Vaccum. How the hell is it spelled, and why 2 U's??

downtown life

2007-08-01T13:58:00.000-07:00

I went running this Monday, starting off the usual route down 11th, right on Cordova, then along the Parkstrip, where I encounter the least number of stoplights and ogling motorists. Along the Parkstrip, many an interesting observation is made on a daily basis. That would include the requisite pair of drunk homeless people dragging their feet down the sidewalk, the group of punk rebel kids hanging out on their bikes next to Pete's City Gym, and the giant Chinese dragon kites flying the skies. Then, of course, if the time is right, one can come across the tree filled with parrots as the bird owner sits in his chair and reads the paper, allowing his beloved avians get some fresh air. Not just little parakeets, but huge tropical parrots in a lot of different colours. Further down, you'll see a man walk Star, the reindeer, on a leash down the sidewalk. Star's little bells jingle happily with each bobbing step. Turn off down to WestChester Lagoon and onto the Campbell Creek trail, the inevitable moose stands by eating trees as passerby jump, startled, from the path. The impervious moose casts a sidelong glance and continues chewing.

Oftentimes, there is nothing of noteworthy importance lingering in the trail, but a run downtown is incomplete without Man Whore making an appearance, complete with cutoff denim short shorts, knee-high socks, a cut-off midriff-length wifebeater, and binoculars around his neck, arms akimbo and sticking out his pelvis as though purposely trying to fend people away from the area. I defiantly take the long way around.
The T.V. is bland and boring compared to the downtown scene.

High heels, low couture?

2007-07-25T14:29:00.000-07:00

Last Saturday, when Saaar and Deb and I were at Bernie's, the remainder of the red carpet was being rolled up and taken out, the end of fashion week in Anchorage. We're no Paris, London, or Milan, but I would have to say that slowly but surely, the metro population of Anchorage is learning how to dress. That said, the night life and the trash started rolling in. People watching is nearly an active sport at the bars, considering that a too-obvious once-over could start a fist fight. We observed a girl in short shorts and high heels flouncing across the rocky area around the fountain, and I feared for her wellbeing as she teetered on pebbles to get to the bar. It only reminded me of my all too recent crash just a few metres away on the two-step elevated area just 4 weeks previously. My arm still hurts.
We saw a 40-somethings lady in a newsboy hat and cut-off-fingers gloves greeting friends that streamed in.
A hip young thing with black and white dreadlock-braids, black fingernail polish, slut boots, and a tattoo of Starbrite on her arm.
An attractive metro guy with a casual business suit on and aviators shielding his eyes.
A girl with the shortest skirt EVER, high high heels, too much makeup, and platinum blonde hair that towered above her forehead, and fastened into a ponytail.
Saaar admitted then that she wished she wore no makeup at all in an effort to set her apart from the entire crowd. Admittedly, I'm glad I was for once wearing a hoodie and camo pants, rather than tight jeans and a low cut shirt.

All this reminded me of my horrifically boring Excel class that I took back in October or so. Attendees consisted of administrative professionals, secretaries, personal and office assistants, and office techies. I looked around at those seated around me, sipping bland drip coffee with powdered creamer, chewing lamely on doughnuts, and realised that if I were to walk into the room not knowing what the occasion was, I would waste no time in guessing that it was a secretary's conference. I could not pick out one single unique individual in the entire bunch. There was a lady walking past my table with this bland expression on her face as though she were perfectly content being the most plain person in the world. No care to style the hair or wear an accented piece of clothing or accessory. A few people even looked sloppy, not in dress, but in body maintenence, as though they didn't care what they saw in the mirror when naked. I was aghast. I couldn't help but think to myself incredulously that there were actually people on earth that didn't care what they saw in the mirror.

My opinion may seem incredibly shallow and snobby. Actually, the point is not that these people were ugly or unattractive, which, for the most part, they were -- my point is that they simply didn't seem to take pride in themselves or their bodies. There's more to pride in image than looking good to others; it's advancing oneself in the professional world by standing out of the crowd, both in accomplishment and image, it's having a healthy appreciation for beauty, and it's a reflection of good mental stability. I'd be depressed too if I look like hell.

Back to the bars on that Saturday night. These people, while some were dressed like SSSLUTS, were at the very least, very aware of their physical being, almost to the point of self-consciousness. Some may have been prettier or more noticeable, but being a meek observer in a room full of peacocks was far faaaaaar better than being suffocated in a room of little brown wrens, so to speak.

I decided yesterday I'd go shopping for some clothes that make me more peacock-ish and less brown wren-ish. I also returned the neon orange-and-white Nike shoes I bought at Nordstrom because they were too "sporty" looking on my feet. i even took a chance and tried to wear them to the gym and risked stinking them up before making my mind up for sure whether or not my feet would eventually aesthetically adapt to them.
Anyways, quest to find my peocock clothes. I came across an exquisite hoodie [location undisclosed] with velvety embellishment and a violet interior. It was as comfortable as a new Bentley. I left with a small wardrobe of vintage-inspired style, and a thinner wallet.

Also, I have a few new financial resolutions, what with my two-week notice now officially written into the Snowgoose schedule book:

1. NO MORE BARS! In fact, Saaaar says no more drinking for the rest of the summer. I, on the other hand, cannot imagine venturing to that extreme. I'm European, for Christs sake. My bar excursions will be limited to Shelly's bachelorette party in Bozeman, and my alcohol drinking will be done, cheaply and safely, in the comfort of my own home.

2. LIMIT EATING OUT AT RESTAURANTS BY 80%. That means no more buying food at work, no more coffee-stand espressos, and a two-item limit when dining out.

3. SELL UNWANTED ITEMS TO PLATO'S CLOSET, TITLE WAVE, AND E-BAY. Better than tossing the sh*t out.

That's all I can think of right now. With flying lessons still in the cards, my funds are dwindling. Any assistance in not spending money would be greatly appreciated. When I become a true pilot, these resolutions will relax slightly -- 22 hours and counting down!

To the bowels of Hades, I condemn me!

2007-07-23T16:26:00.001-07:00

blahhh. i will show everyone what a real shit show looks like. Photos to come soon.
I'm a terrible friend who left my dearest in the hands of a formerly despised fellow high-school cheerleader and her cohorts, and she ended up being dropped off at the VILLAGE IN, of all damn places, by someone whom she doesn't even know the name of. At one point, she surmises, she was probably keeping company with the strippers at Fantasies. AAAAHHHHHHH! how could I let this happen, what in the haste of going home to sleep warmly next to my beloved Kevin??? I shall burn in hell.
Rather, I shall one day find myself wandering deep into the forest, drunk and shoeless, and fall asleep with the indigents as a payback for insufficient friend-watching.

move one inch and it's your head!

2007-07-20T15:29:00.000-07:00

A big round of applause to the couple at the Snowgoose last night who told me I gave them the best service they'd ever had at any restaurant. Considering they're a retired couple that travel the world, I was relatively flattered. Even more so when they requested the manager to tell him how much they enjoyed their evening because of my hospitality.
Nothing like an uplifting compliment to overwhelm the spirit of a lost little lamb.
And as I speak, I'm counting down from 4 weeks -- thereafter, my presence at the Snowgoose will be strictly that of "GUEST" status. My days of service worker are trickling like a stream in a drought.

On the other hand, the Snowgoosers planned a near walk-out the other night when disaster hit the brewing room. We rapidly found ourselves without any beer at all, let alone the typical 8 available out of 13 total selections we offer. Things were looking grim. Was it time to fire another brewer? It's a dismal prospect for a server to approach her table with the bad news: "Sorry everyone, we're out of beer for the night." Abby was not a bartender to get chummy with that night, seeing her battle with foam and spraying beer here and there, half-filled pint glasses crowding up the beer "window". And the more urgent things got on our side, the more displeased and evil the patrons became. It was Tyler's idea to start the walk-out. We were temptingly close to actually making it happen.

Allow me to dispense some advice to make the dining experience most optimal for those that venture outside for their meals:

1. When a server says, "Hello, how are you this evening?", please respond, instead of making demands without so much as an acknowledgment. (Note - "Yeah, we'll need some waters straight away" is not an appropriate reaction to "Hello.")

2. Rattling and empty glass at a server is no way to get a refill. I don't know about anyone else, but I will summon my best blank look of ignorance. What? You're trying to do the rhumba with ice cubes? Also inappropriate ways of summoning a person to your attention will most surely get you ignored. Whistling, snapping, head-jerking, and finger-curling is what you do to dogs and children. Giving a wave of the hand or making eye contact is the way to go about this.

3. 20% is the new 15%. Don't be cheap. We put up with way too much shit to do this work for minumum wage. Show a server you appreciate their good service. Not only that, but terrible food is NOT the servers fault. We don't cook it! If you don't like it, say so and we'll do our best to remedy the problem.

4. Don't hemmm and hawwww over the menu when we're standing there taking orders. Either you (a.k.a. the entire table) are ready to order or you aren't. Time is of essence.

5. We're not clones. Remember what your server looks like and ask her name, if you wish. It comes in handy. Yesterday some old jerk stared at me for a minute or so as I was intently putting in an order until finally uttering a startling "Excuse me!" "Yesss?" I hissed back at him. "Are you our server? Because we need something now." "Umm, no I am not. That would be Shannon and I'll let her know you need something," I responded.
Huh? Since when do I look remotely like Shannon? Okay we're both tall-ish and thin and had our hair up. That pretty much sums up every girl that works there except for Melanie and Rebecca.

arrrggh. Dining out is often awkward for me because of the way the people I go with treat the server sometimes. While the money is indeed very useful, I find myself grumpy ALL THE TIME at work, unless Cole takes it upon himself to pour me a vodka/coke or three before the night begins. awesome.

regretting youthful stupidity

2007-07-17T17:25:00.000-07:00

My carefree youth has caught up with me, and I'm seriously regretting (yes, even more than the day after it happened) what happened in May 2006, which effectively put my name in the Montana Court system.
Now that the record is destroyed, the Bozeman Police Department has taken it upon themselves to ruin my life by posting my name in their "public" records, ON THE INTERNET! I fear that once my application is happened upon at the headquarters of my dream company for my dream job, I shall be turned away, stone faced, like Judas at the pearly gates.

Lucky for me, my boss is a lawyer. In fact, I presented my predicament to him and he told me if I wanted his help to get this cleared from the internet, I'd have to be my own lawyer and do my own research on the statutes. Then I'd write BPD and the judge a letter, and he'd sign off as my attorney.

*sigh* In any case, it brought back sour memories. Kids, don't do drugs.

Now all I hope for is that my vision hasn't deteriorated to the point that I'm deemed to "blind" for my dream job. Not that it's that bad, it's just rather unperfect, considering I'd be carrying many lives in my hands.
Pray for my soul, and my dream job.

Showdown!

2007-07-16T17:12:00.000-07:00

Ghetto Carrs is aptly named, given the number of interesting events one can witness on an ordinary afternoon of observing. I think the Press even did a column on Ghetto Carrs. On the north corner, the usual collection of prostitutes and drunks, usually talking too loudly, always with a '40. In front of the liquor store stands a cop. Inside Carrs, also a cop. On the backside, a police station. And usually littered around the area, particularly on covered steps, sleeps an inebriate. Some businesses have a curtain of chains locking their entry way, and the apartments have bars over the windows and entryways.

Kevin and I got hungry and made the same trek up the hill for pizza and kitty litter (not to eat, the kitty litter. That was for the cat). No inebriates in the vicinity of the hill, just some juveniles gathered for a ceremonial smoking of marijuana. In and out of Carrs, walking in the direction of The Hill, when tough-skinned short inebriate stalked/staggered after us.

"You got fifty cents?" He shouts in our general direction
"Sorry, man" Kevin replies. We deal in credit cards, not that risky cash.
"Hey! You got two quarters?" He tries again, thinking we're stupid.
"Uh, no." I say.
"You all think we're crackheads. You think we're drunks and drug addicts." The creepy man mutters and walks faster. I AIN'T SCARED! I'll slap him with a frozen pizza. But this talking shit was getting me red-faced. The creep keeps talking.
"You have no idea what it's like! You ever been robbed? You ever had dirt rubbed in your face, you fuckers? Fucking spoiled white kids! Fuck you and your mom you assholes!"

That did it.

"Hey fuck you, you drunken, jobless dickhead!" I shout in an unedited, lowly comeback that made the man laugh and then fired him up even more.
"Yeah go home to your house and ROT you FUCKING SELFISH PIECES OF SHIT *#*#@&^!*#( $*#&$^%^@&*!*@#& &#^#*@)!&#^$&*(@!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" I can't even begin to remember his rampage at this point. I held up both middle fingers with the ferocity of a street fighter and pointed both at him.
"THERE'S YOUR ANSWER, ASSHOLE. NOW WE'RE REALLY PULLING OUT THE DOLLARS FOR YOUR WORTHLESS ASS! DIE IN THE STREET, YOU DRUNK BAST--"
Kevin grabs my middle fingers and tells me to shut up.
"Do you want to get shot? Shut up, Chantal."
The creep departs down the street, screaming at no one in general, and some warehouse workers taking a break on the sidewalk look at us and shoulders were shrugged all around.

Damnit those street people. One woke me up on my day off screaming obscenities at himself. ahhhhhh life downtown. beautiful.

reality show

2007-07-14T12:21:00.000-07:00

Nothing quite like coming home from a Del show and watch a real-life version of Cops unfold in one's own backyard. We counted -- one, two, three, wait! -- there's more! four, five, six cop cars, and one cop SUV, all screaming toward the park next to my place, lights flashing. I grabbed a glass of water and went out the door to enjoy the show. Neighbour, Derek, also outside, glass of something golden on ice, also outside. We laugh as one of the arrestees, a really drunk girl, stumbles to and fro along the fenceline, speaking in an exaggeratedly loud drunken voice and staggers forward. We wait for the sound of barfing. Not yet, I suppose.

Now, my thoughts on this situation are these:
1. Seven police units called to deal with two drunk people who couldn't physically aim a weapon, even if they wanted to -- completely unnecessary. A couple weeks ago, a girl was raped in a tunnel at 5am on the Campbell Creek route. Where were they then? Dragging their feet at some meager situation such as this one? Not sure what was going on, but it wasn't a shootout. Probably some lowly crack deal between inebriates or something.

2. This park next door has a playground and is intended for children. It's officially become a playground for crack addicts. Kevin and I walked through to get to ghetto Carrs one night to pick up pizza, and a guy was laying right there in the bushes, snoring.
When we got in the checkout line at Carrs, there was a crazy guy in front of us, who was licking chipotle sauce right out of a container and jumping and seizing like he had a nerve problem. He straight up stole a phone card out from under the cashier's nose, but she didn't say anything because he was really scary and she was an 18 year old girl. Ghetto Carrs is named such for a good reason.

Anyways, it was a good way to end the night. Also, Del is a good 4 inches shorter than me. It was a good show, minus the stupid girl who was trying to fight everybody. Step down, shorty. I could flick you with one finger. haha.

Still sad

2007-07-13T10:16:00.000-07:00

In Loving Memory of Brent Dix
June 29, 1984 - April 30, 2007

Happy birthday, Brent!. I put those awesome day-glo green daisies on your gravesite, I hope they lasted a while. I miss you lots and think of you daily. We all miss you so much.

Brent was born at Providence Hospital in Anchorage, Alaska June 29, 1984. He is a 2002 graduate of West Anchorage High school. He received his credentials as a Licensed Massage Therapist from Alaska Career Academy in 2005. Brent loved snowboarding, skateboarding, and fishing. His adventurous spirit revealed his love of life. His tender and caring heart impacted all who knew him. Words on a page cannot adequately express the treasure he is to us all. He will always be remembered with great fondness and love.

Evergreen Memorial Chapel handled the arrangements.

71 Comments »

please, sir....

2007-07-13T09:53:00.000-07:00

This morning's bowl of cereal and cappucino was joined by the scene of Man on Bike pedaling down 11th Ave, with a quick stop at the local Dumster next to my building. The poor soul must be searching for food!, I thought. My sympathies waned when he ripped open the rubbish bin that, just the previous evening, Kevin had deposited in the dumpster.

Man on Bike pulled out the empty cans of Miller Genuine Draft and poured the piss (=leftover beer) into an empty water bottle. Now, in my defense, I'd like to say two things:

1. I ordinarily recycle everything, except glass because you can't recycle glass anymore. However, cans aren't very frequently used at my place, so to designate a separate receptacle for 10 cans over a 2-month period would be a terrible waste of space and effort. So into the trash they went.

2. I do not drink Miller Genuine Draft, nor do I drink brew that comes from a can, with the exception of Rosie and Guinness. This was Kevin's purchase, not mine.

Truly, I do not know which is worse - drinking MGD, or drinking the leftover beer from the bottom of someone else's drink. Either way, this guy was doing a double-whammy. I tried to make a racket with the window open so as to drive him away, but no such luck. Homeless Bum on Bike was determined to have his beer, and drink it too. I had to brush my teeth to rid myself of the image. I was tempted just to hand Bum a beer straight out of the fridge, simply for my own selfish comfort.

By the time I left for work, Bum Riding Bike had chugged the whole bottle of piss water and pedaled off to his next destination. I drove to work listening to Woody talking about a "lady garden the size of a New York pizza". Mmmmmmmm..... ?

Rough engine, matey?

2007-07-12T12:44:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you about magnetos and spark plugs. In an airplane, there are two magnetos, each running independant of one another. The right magneto fires the top spark plugs, the left magneto fires the bottom spark pugs. Each fires in a timed rotation, and if one magneto fails, the other is there to save the day. An impulse coupling gets them to start, and eventually the propellor spins. The left mag is usually the one to fail, because the fuel sometimes overflows and floods the bottom spark plugs. If that's the case, switch the ignition to right spark plug, no big deal.

Imagine, now, a rough engine in mid-air.

Here I was on a routine touch-n-go at Merrill Field, coming around the downwind leg, and we bounced around in the wind. Rick, ever the wise instructor, looked at me and said, "You feel that?" Me, ever the clever student, winked back and said, "You're trying to distract me, huh". No such luck, the bumping felt more like we were crossing a cobblestone intersection than being tossed in the wind. I was still skeptical. Rick is known for his hat full of tricks, such as removing circuit breakers or taking the key out of the ignition mid-flight, or opening the doors during a take-off. It was rapidly becoming clear, however, that it wasn't a trick. After twisting the key in the ignition back and forth to left mag and right mag, we determined the spark plugs on the right mag were failed and put the thing down on the ground.

"This opportunity, Chantal", Rick was saying as he twisted bolts off, "is a good learning experience. Not many students get to feel what a right mag failure feels like." I peered beyond the cowling at the twists of wires and cylinders. I'm glad I was this lucky....? Truthfully, the hardest part were the questions in midflight.

"So Chantal --What drives the ball-and-needle turn indicator?"
"uhhhh...." (as I'm trying to get up to altitude)
"You started your turn late. So-- turn indicator? What drives it?"
"hhhmmm... battery?"
"Which is part of what system? Keep the nose up; we're not at altitude for the pattern yet."
"Part of... which system?" (as I turn to steeply, overcorrect, and the wind sweeps around)
"The battery is part of which system?"
(I take a stab at it so I can concentrate on flying) "The electrical system?"
(Lucky guess) "yes. And what drives the attitute indicator?"
"ummm, suction pump?"

See? A rough and tumble lesson today. Yet, as I'm told, very informative and instructional. Next time I'll be wishing for a radio failure I suppose?

hansel and gretel

2007-07-11T20:57:00.000-07:00

I wouldn't say I'm anti-child. I'm anti-brat, who hates having my car dented in by careless children. I religiously insert and dispose of my birth control in a timely manner, and care not to deal with those who didn't take the same precaution. Yet today, I had to shout at a group of juveniles who were playing some form of volleyball right next to my car, which is right next to an entirely empty field. The last straw came when the damn ball bounced off my windshield.

Then I looked over to the hill with the playground below it. The inebriates slumping down its slope in various stages of passing out. A brown paper bag with a vessel of some sort is the key to spotting them. Once Kevin and I walked through there and they told us we were "a perfect looking couple". Hurray! I've been approved by the slums!

Poor children, sending them to the streets to play.

One of my favourite scenes was the one with the three stooges, huddles behind the dumpsters. First came the two bottles of Colt. awesome. Each took a healthy chug and passed it to the next. Then they pulled out the cigarettes. Another wholesome dinner for downtown's less fortunate. I swear I'm not poking fun. I truly have sympathy. I compare it to my crash at Bernies. yes, hilarious, but you also have to feel bad. A double-edged sword. And I saunter past them to go to flight lessons, of which I'm paying $150 an hour for. oi.

I'll make a pitch for something real fun. If you're in the area, tune your radio to 100.5 FM and prepare yourself for a verbally dirty morning. The theme of today's show was new words in the dictionary. Aparently, "ginormous" is now a "real" word. Woody found use of it in the sentence "I took this chick home from the bars and she had a 'ginormous' ". ummm, it's not a noun. hhhmmmmm.
that's all for now. i swear.

JULIET

2007-07-11T20:25:00.001-07:00

She's giving me that look again....
REST IN PEACE, my little feathery friend.
I think of you when I'm flying the skies.

a wooly sweater

2007-07-11T19:56:00.000-07:00

All day today I've felt like my skin wants to come of and take a bath, be free from bones and muscles and nerves. My chair rubbed and scratched until I thought blisters formed. Every client that came in today wanting my attention was greeted with a stare of malicious intent. I did, however, get the satisfying job of calling an unnamed law firm to inform them that their secretary f*cked up royally and that they'd have to come to our office themselves to retrieve the mislabeled document they intended to sent to their whore insurance company. I laughed evilly inside, especially when the poor girl ("Melissa") called our office in a wavery voice thanking me profusely for saving her job. I don't know that I had much of a hand in it, but it made my turkey sandwich taste better knowing someone had groveled at my feet today, and I don't even know what she looks like.

On another hand, I was told to screw off by the woman at the liquor store in Costco the other day when she informed me my card was "up for renewal". (In this case, "screw off"= "That's $50 for a renewal ma'am") Here was my cart piled high with beer, wine, and, yes, Baileys. All this transpired before a friend of my fathers, who graciously extended his card to the irritated cashier. Here, Chantal, allow me to help you purchase alcohol. Just don't tell your father, haha.

So when I got home, the first thing I had in mind was a hefty glass of shiraz. I was greeted by the homeless dude digging Kevin's old shoes from the dumpster, and by the latino man across the street who wears arobic (think 80's workout videos) with too-high socks and too-tight lycra shorts. The funny thing is, he stands there with arms akimbo and pelvis thrust out. When I take my evening jog, he unabashedly stares. Not at me, just somewhere near my feet, like he wants to trip me because I actually run and not just dress up for it. Lately, however, the poor sneakers have found their way to a bookshelf and have been sleeping there for about a week. Next to the weights, which haven't had exercise since my crash down the stairs at Bernies. A lot of it has to do with not sleeping enough, a little has to do with the creeps wearing black who sit on the corner next to Pete's City Gym. One time being chased by a goth on a bike is sufficient. He couldn't remember his name, but he could seems to tell me that I look good running. I blinked twice and wondered if I was the only female he'd ever seen. The next time I went out, I made sure to wear my frumpiest of clothes. That was the last time. Now I've taken to avoid grocery shopping in order to save money and discovers that it also saves time because a lack of food means a lack of enthusiasm, and it equals becoming very hungry. So one sleeps more. The secret to exhaustion is starvation. Who knew?