Lost in:

Ok, after a bit less caffeine (which I *don’t* get to make in organic chemistry… drat), and rather more TimTams (mmmm chocolate) and a bit of a nap, I’m going to see things better, damnit!

The wind’s been blowing here a lot today (it’s night now, but…). I love it. It goes so well with the general fall-ness of the season, tho I admit to looking forward to yummy veggie thanksforgiving and yule/ x-mas, rather than the horrors of easter in autumn, but…

So I was walking to class (i do that a lot) and the wind just really picked up, swirling around, then changing, and whipping past me. The strong wind reminded me so much of standing at the lighthouse at montauk point. The wind there comes right off the ocean, and it’s been moving for a long time. it blows right in your face, so hard that if you’re me, or like me (scrawny little freak, I be) you can put your arms out, and in big clothes, you can jump up, and get pushed back a foot or two. Heck, without big clothes you (I) can just stand there, and lean wayyyy into the wind, and not fall down. Obviously there’s a point that you’re too flat, but… I usually wimp out before finding it.

Anyway, that’s the kind of wind there’s been here today, blowind straight up the hill by my place, so strong I felt like leaning into it, or pulling out my hairstick, saying the hell with the tangles, and standing there, at the top of the hill, the wind and my hair whipping around me, like some Waterhouse painting, only without the great clothes. not to get too off topic, but I am in love, desperately (this happens a lot, sorry) with Francesco Hayez (and here and here). How could you not lust after his work? I mean… the textures… I always feel like I could just reach out and touch the people, like the contessa’s dress… I want to steal it off of her, and just stroke the fabric.

But back on topic. Honestly. Things I like about it here-

strangly, a bunch of the stuff I love is also the stuff that was driving me nuts last night. The smell of the sea, the was it’s so soft, how it smells… Somehow, it always seems to smell wet. You know, that just rained smell? all clean, and green, kinda heavy/ crisp? like the snow smell, only softer. Which might have something to do with it being warm-ish, and nearly always raining, but I’m going to say it’s because that’s just the way it smells here. Damp earth, and plants, and streets… it’s just… I don’t know, this great kinda smell that never really seems to go away. Except when it actually *is* raining. But then it smells like that instead. With a bit of a fishy tang.

And the clouds. They’re always here. If I were one of those “gotta have blue sky” people, it’d drive me nuts. But… there are so many things you can see in the clouds. Even at night- watching the stars race across the patch of sky I can see between the trees and the roofs of the buildings… the clouds floating past going the other way. It’s great.

Mmmm. And Timtams. I worship TimTams. They are what I ate today. oh, and about a liter and a half of coke, but… I had a test, ok?

Whatelse. The courtyard here. It’s like something in a book I read, or maybe it was a movie. Heck, it could even have been a TV show. it’s a nice courtyard, between the different blocks of buildings in my court (hence “court-yard”- gotta love english- it’s like german, only worse). There are trees, of course, But I have no idea what type, and bike racks, and a couple of picnic tables (including the one I lounged on last night), all the stuff you need in a courtyard (well, no pool, pool table, beer machine, or hot tub, but….). And it has a great paving pattern.

Boring, I kow, but… lying out there last night, listening to sappy music (moon river,  the way you look tonight, pictures of you…) It’s all romantic, and sparkly, and… I don’t know. it has potential, ok?

Gotta say, the damp gives me nasty wanderlust, tho… I just want to go out, and walk through it, see what it does to the world. Like hiking through a fog bound forest, no matter how many times you’ve taken the trail before, with fog, it’s somehow… I don’t know, makes you think there’s really magic in the world, fairys, and unicorns, and talking animals. Wow, I’m a sappy romantic freak. How cute.

So back on NZ… hmm.. books available in the states…. here’s one, and…. something a bit thick… and… pretty pictures also available here (many of which I lust after, none of which I can afford- I know, everyone should buy neat books and mail them to me… as gifts!)…. and this looks interesting, but not a clue what it’s about. They’re just links people- used bookstores, libraries, whatever.

On a totally unrelated subject (what? another?) anyone coming this way anytime soon want to bring me strawberry chapstick and a shaker of tony chachere’s cajun seasoning? I’ll buy you a beer…
j.

…

About four months ago, I was sitting, well squatting, freezing my ass off halfway up the side of some dumb-ass mountain. Staring up at the wild stars you can see from the wrong side of the earth. There were so many, spread out actually like in a poem- diamonds on a velvet backdrop.

Now here I am, four months later, sitting on a picnic table in the middle of my hall courtyard, staring up at about the same sky, without my ass hanging out, I admit, and not really freezing, and with a nice warm room to go to.

But instead, I sit out here and think. Oh, and listen to sad and lovelorn music.

When I block the glare from the rooms around the courtyard, the sky looks the same here, almost the same clarity, just not so many stars. It’s kinda a shame.

So what am I doing outside, awake at 4:45 in the morning, writing and music listening excluded? I really don’t know. I could blame it on a serious overdose of caffiene, or maybe nerves- my first midterm is tomorrow, now. But I don’t think that’s it.

Well, the caffiene could be. maybe it’s the sappy music doing it to me. or maybe it’s homesickenss. But I dont think so, bevcause I really don’t want to go home. Maybe it is just stress. Or I could just be an idiot, or over rested from drugging myself to sleep with benadryl last night. Ah, sleep aides. Gotta love them- yes?

One great thing about bing outside at 0 dark thirty- I can watch the stars fall. Damn, I’m getting all romantic and sappy. I must be listening to lovesongs and romanti-goth music. Gotta stop that, it’s bad for the stomach. And the heart, too, I’m sure. If I breathe in deeply enough, I can almost smell the ocean. Not the sea, between here and Australia, I mean the ocean, the real one, on the other side of the island. Maybe 60 miles away? I’m not good with the distances yet. I wonder if there’s anywhere on these islands that you can’t smell the ocean, dream of taking off over it. Anywhere you can get away from it’s siren song of escape.

Ah, maybe that’s it. Escape. I am a champion at escaping. You name it, I’ve run away. Though usually in a slow, “look, look, I’m not running, not even moving backwards” kinda way. Running away. In my mind, and maybe in real life too. Maybe my dad is right sometimes. I didn’t give him this address, did I?

For years, maybe forever, I’ve been afraid of things that last, of commitment, of.. whatever. Perminance. Hell, I couldn’t even stick with a college program. Though part of that comes straight from my overwhelming fear of being a proven idiot. Don’t do anything, and it’s just a guess. If you actually work for it, and still fuck up, it’s your own damned fault, and you are obviously a moron. But at least some of it was fear of having to stick with one thing for years. I can’t do it. I’m not sure if I can do it here. What happens, for instance, if I am, in fact, a total idiot? The five years the program here lasts is nothing, if I don’t get in.

Hmmm… things I’ve run from.
Boys, school, jobs, life, home, places I actually like, things I could have done, if I weren’t so freaking scared. I’ve had opportunities offered to me that most people would kill for, and turned them down, because there was so damned much risk of rejection.

Pretty much every year now, I’ve chosen a song as a life theme song. I have picked the same song three or four years in a row now. And I still, no matter how  damned hard I try, can’t seem to do it. I almost wonder if I need to drink my fear into submission, but having seen how that works out for other people in my family. I think I’ll avoid it for now.

The song? it’s that garth brooks song, something like “standing outside the fire”? if that’s not the name, I’m sure you could find it.

Yes, shame, shame j. for picking a g. brooks song for a life theme. But it’s really a good choice. Listen to it. I’m not going to go on and on and on about how it talks to me (honestly, if songs are “talking” to you, you need a freaking shrink) but it has a good message. and one I keep saying “yes, that’s what I want, I want to foolishly throw myself into things, totally, nothing held back.” And yet, here I am, screwing myself over, yet again. Always. It’s my constant.

I don’t know if the mist is settling, or if it’s starting to think about raining, but there are now little bitty drops of water on my screen. Wonder if I should go inside. Nah, I’ll wait. The clouds will pass, they always do.

But man, I wish I were on a sailboat right now, with the motion of the boat rocking me, calming me, doing all that great stuff that rocking does- making life make sense. Making things less scary, even if just for a while. Mmmm Not homesick, but Lulaby(?) by Billy Joel makes me kinda that way. It’s sweet, and sort of floats.

Hmm… maybe I’m just depressed. At least that would excuse the dratted poetic-type stuff. Anyone want to send me posters for disaffected college studnets? I think I could manage to be one, if you buy me the poster and pay the shipping….

Gotta say, tho, the last time I felt like this, I got in the car and drove too fast to half-moon bay, parked outside the beach, hopped the fence, and just watched the waves break. No car, tho, and no half-moon bay, and the nearest waves worth watching are about 10 miles away. Oh, and it’s starting to rain.

j.

parents- don’t read this part–

what you fantasize about is supposed to be what you find most attractive/ sexy/ whatever. I fantasize about really sexy supernatural men, and otherwise non-existant types. I guess what turns me on is total unavailability. Or something like that. And no comments from the peanut gallery about me being a vampire. I do go out in the sun. Honest. Someone even saw me do it once. Wait! R. saw me do the outside under big ouchy ball of death thing. Ha!

So, Easter break (that’s spring break for those of you on the top of the planet) is coming up, right round easter, oddly enough, and I have to decide what to do.

So far my choices seem to be

a) stay in palmy, and do stuff here (like study for my o-chem mid term)

b) Spend one week in palmy, studying, and one week travelling around NZ

c) spend both weeks “studying” *while* travelling around NZ.

A. is no fun, C is a really bad idea- no one studies o-chem while they have anything better to do, at all.

So it looks like choice b is it- only…

Ok, I’m going to be here for 5 years, right? And I am living on student loans, and pretty much maxed out my credit cards to pay for the first semester of classes, and get over here, so that’s not good either. So… do I travel, and spend more money, which would be fun, and cool, and all that, or do I go to plan d-

change visa to allow working, find job, and cheaper off campus housing, close to job, and work/ study my easter break away.

Unfortunately, option D is the best for me. C is the worst, and b, I guess, is ok…

Or I could just blow my loan money (which they still haven’t given me- almost 5 full weeks into the school year) on beer and boys.

Nah.

So most likely, I’ll end up blowing 2 or 3 hundred dollars wandering around NZ for a week. Now I just have to figure out where I want to go. Or check my student visa, see if it’s already changed. That would kick butt. Ah, sweet money, that would allow me to pay my credit cards off, even if it will take me at least 2 years.

j.

“heaven, I’m in heaven….”

yeah, so I was running late for class today- not that that’s new, or anything, and stopped in at the student association convinience store, looking for notecards to make into deamon o-chem flashcards, and while I didn’t find those, I did find something better.

I found chocolate.

What? me? find chocolate? never, I hear you say. But yes, I found it, and I bought it, and I ate of it’s yummy flesh.

So for $3 I getted (or gotted, or got, if you insist) a “cadbury dairy milk tripple decker” bar that is described on the side as being “dairy milk milk chocolate, dream real white chocolate and a layer of caramel flavoured confectionery”

Oh, and a cream egg. They are expensive here, and the yolk is runny. And about half of them seem to have a choco wall splitting the hemispheres of the egg. And have I mentioned the wrongness of pagan fertility festivals in the autumn? Time to flip the holidays, people, really.

j.

So John Clease thinks the town I’m in is very boring, and I don’t know if I agree with him, but I will say it’s no New York. But not everywhere has to be, right?

I admit- I am a bad little traveller. I’ve been totally broke- like, $10 to last me three weeks broke, and so haven’t been doing much. Add to that the whole “supposed to be here for school” deal, and suddenly my time really isn’t my own anymore.

But I’ve been told to blog more, and so I shall. I are sick. Note really bad, I gots a snotty nose, and an outer ear infection. You know, like dogs get? where you have to chase them around, hiding the drops behind your back, and hold the dog firmly, to keep them from running away? And then you put the drops in, and rub the ear around, and the dog makes either the high pitched yelpy “ouch” noise, or the arrgggrrr, rrrrr happy ear noise, before shaking the ears and sneezing twice?

Yeah, I gotta do that… only I don’t chase myself around for 20 minutes, and tricking myself into not knowing I have the drops doesn’t work too well… but I make the happy dog noises, and masage the ear.

Saw a doctor for it and everything- those of you who actually know me, and my doctor avoiding ways should be making “wow” noises about now. If the insurance didn’t cover it, the doctor visit would have cost me $15NZ, I think. I think I can claim back my ear drops too ($23.50nz) and have that money for beer, when drinking won’t make me fall down. Well, when drinking one beer won’t make me fall down… ok, fine, when my equalibrium is back to the point it normally lives at, where I don’t generally fall down while leaning against a solid, stationary wall.

j.

Tonight (March 7th) is census night in New Zealand. Everyone (*everyone*) gets to fill out this little bubble form, and drop it at some spot- in my case the same place my rent would go if I had money- by 9am, and they use it to do all that censusy stuff.

I get the feeling they do this every year, too. This excersize is much easier if you already know the answers in NZ terms. I don’t. Heck, who can accurately multiply their pre-tax earnings by the exchange rate? Not me, I can’t even add them together.

They do look much more impressive in NZ$’s, though.

In other news, this lazy monster should have money in two or three weeks, and maybe then I’ll make it out of town. Or maybe not.

But for now- things to do in Palmerston North!

There’s a rugby museum- Haven’t been, all I know about rugby is that it hurts.

There’s a rugby/ sporting complex. Have been there- school gave us free food.

There are a bunch of really neat parks- in and around town are all sorts of little and big parks, each with it’s own sort of feeling.

Hmmm.. there’s this really cool library, but somehow I suspect the whole “no free internet” thing will kill the interest in that one for most people- but they do have a cool collection of  NZ, Maori, and Polinesian books- plus books in a bunch of different languages- Oh, and you can get a visitors card- that lets you take out, I think 3 books at a time.

Can you tell I like the library? Hey, it’s free.

Also, there are three grocery stores of varrying cost, something called “warehouse” and two little import shops- one with a nice chinese guy at the register who speaks pretty good english- for a shop where everything is in chinese, and the other a sort of cross between a whole food store and an international market- with all your take away restaurant needs. You need it, it’s probably imported? You’ll find it there- and at only $18 a kilo, has the cheapest brazil nuts I’ve found here yet.

And there is a sneaky rumor (or rumour) that there’s a whole/ health food store here somewhere. I don’t believe it. There’s also a K-Mart, for any NAmericans feeling homesick (they have K-mart in Mexico, don’t they?).

j.

I’m not quite sure what’s up with this. Perfectly attractive young men, all of them, so far as I can tell (and some of the not so attractive ones too) seem to have decided, for some un-bobly reason, that the fauxhawk is a great hairstyle, and they should all wear it.

All of them. From the little school leaver-types of 17 or so, to the lab demonstrator, who’s got to be at least as old as I am.

Not that I’m old. Just not 18.

So yes, every guy I’ve come across here (excepting the ones wearing uniforms) has had this, well, for lack of a better word, thing growing out of the top of his head. I don’t know if it’s because a real mohawk is too hardcore, or if it’s a NZ emo thing, or if they’re just so afraid of their parents that they can’t do it right, but…

Of course, for all I know, it’s this great international guys hairstyle, popular everywhere, and I just missed it because I am, to put it politely, not fashionable. And even if I were, i doubt I’d spend any time researching guys fashion further then- hmmm, he’s cute, and his jacket/ shirt/ jeans show off his shoulders/ chest/ hip cut/ butt really well. I admit it, I am a bad person. I look at men like pieces of meat, only with the intention of trying to lure one home with me- a motivation I rarely have with meat.

But the faux hawk, and the whole “most of them are just out of school” thing really throws me off. Well that and the whole shorter/ thinner than me thing. It’s like boys who are prettier- it just doesn’t work. But I can still look at shorter guys, even be really interested in them. The dratted bad hair thing, though, that really throws me off. I can’t even look at them in a lascivious manner, I nearly burst out laughing. Not, I’m sure, that they want me leering at them. After all, how many 18 yo boys would be happy being leered at by a female of twenty-mumble years. Rephrase- a geeky female of 20-something years.

Ok, fine, most guys aren’t offended by being leered at by anything younger than their grandparents.

But I don’t get to leer at them, I’m too busy trying not to laugh. argh.

So what does this teach us? Class? Anyone?

Exactly, the lazy one needs to get off campus, and out into town, or out of town. Maybe someday. And perhaps when I get there, there will be better hair.
j.

I’m in love. I’m finally here, and I’m in love. They don’t make you go through security to get on your plane. No digging in bags, no strip search, no taking off shoes you’ve been wearing for three days straight. I love NZ.

And the weather ain’t bad, either.

But wow, some stuff’s expensive here. I might have a different spin on this than most of the people who come here to visit, because I’ll be here for a good long time (if I don’t screw up in school). But really, 13 dollars a kilo for limes? isn’t that a bit much? More than 4 dollars for the little jar of icky old el paso salsa. Dry beans are like 2.50 a pound. It’s crazy.

And not a single pile of easter chocolate for less then 4 dollars. Bunnys start at like 8, and for something worth snacking on- it’s closer to 20.

But it’s pretty, and I can live quite well on lentils and potatoes, and noodles and stuff. I’ll just be really healthy. Ick. Healthy.

The town itself (Palmerston North) is very colorful, and for a place with less than 80k people, very busy and built up. With big tall buildings and everything. Just about anything I want I can probably find here, or if not here, it’s only a short-ish bus ride to wellington. I’m told it’ll get boring eventually, but… as I said, it’s only a short bus ride to wellington, and there’s a train to Aukland, and flights leave the local airport every hour or two. If I get bored, I can go somewhere else.

Ok, This is from a couple days ago, I admit, and I’m nowhere near there right now, but it’s probably about as caught up as I’m ever gonna get.

Not me, again, but something more important. My passport. Bad in normal circumstances, nearly killed me today. It’s the 11th of February. I am in San Jose, California, because the best free flight I could get brought me here last night. Not bad, right?

Note to people who answer phones at hotels for a living- When someone asks if there is any way to get to your hotel without taking a taxi, don’t tell them that the taxi is the only way when there is a bus to a lightrail station, which has a stop (on the same line no less) right in front of the freaking hotel.

Me? Bitter? Over paying 16 dollars for a taxi trip that would have cost me only 1.75 if the freaking lady would just have told me how to get there on the very good local public transit?

But I’m wandering. I stayed (courtesy of dad’s Marriott points) in a very nice room at the Downtown San Jose Marriott, and because I guess dad spends way to much time at hotels, I was a “very special guest” (no, not little yellow bus special) and got chocolate truffles, coffee, tea, my choice of soda, water, wine or some other drink I don’t remember, and my choice of cheese and cracker plate, fruit and pretzel plate, or… um… Don’t remember the other option, actually. All for free. Nice, yes? and because they love my daddy dollars so very much, I also got the w00t! l33t! concierge level, which means really nice soaps and shampoos and whatnot.

Which brings us up to this morning. When I checked out. With my passport. I know I had it, because I checked. It was (important word there- was) in the pocket of my cute jacket. So I dragged my heavy duffel bag (which is carry on size and only really weighed 11.2 kilos), and the backpack I brought to Africa, and my little black backpack, that I also brought to Africa. All jam packed full of stuff. If I were allowed two whole carry-ons and a personal item, I would be able to do it. Damned changes.

Picture this- Tall Skinny girl wearing, oh, two full layers of clothing, because I like the jacket, and don’t have room for the skirt, like the pockets in my jeans, and it’s a bit too chilly not to wear a shirt. Over this I put on the duffel, with the strap over my left shoulder, and the bag in front of me, looking very full, and feeling very heavy, the backpack went on over that- and here is my critical gailure- with the waist-strap cinched over my jacket, and indeed, over my passport. On my right shoulder, I put my little bag- full of computer, and book, and slowly de-charding cell phone, because I didn’t think to bring a charger. With all this, I lumber (lightly) down to checkout, and then across the street to the previously mentioned light rail station. Where I get on the wrong train. So I get off at the next stop, and walk toward the San Jose main train station, Dridion (i think that’s the name, anyway…). I just happen to pass another lightrail station, this one only serving the line I need, so I sit down and try to wait for the train.

For those interested, you can fit a lot of stuff into a really small bag, and if some of it is books, and you look like me (bones sticking out where maybe they shouldn’t) it doesn’t take much for the backpack/ duffel/ purse weight to be too much. So I took a break and hoped a train would come by. None did- Saturday schedual, you know. Gave up after a while, and walked the last half mile or so to the main train station, to buy a ticket, and catch a train up to the airport in San Fransisco. Which I did, getting on the 1pm train with like 15 minutes to spare. Got settled down, and checked my stuff to make sure I had everything and whoops, guess what was missing.

Yeah, my passport. 6 and a half hours before I get on a plane to go to New Zealand. For which I need my passport. On the floor across the aisle is the ticket stuf from my flight last night, so I search the floor- not there. Search my bag- not there. Ask the other people in the car if they’ve seen it- nope. The guy helps me, as I grab my stuff and go to the car I came in, to check the train- not there. Get off the train and about a minute later, they close the doors, and it leaves. At this point, I am, to put it mildly, trying very hard not to freak out totally, while also trying to convince myself that it’s just back up the tunnel, at the ticket counter, that I dropped it there, and someone found it and handed it over to them- but nope, nopt there either. But in my super lucky favor, the nice lady at the ticket counter lets me leave my stuff back in the ticket office, while I run around like a (by then) crying headless chicken. I go out the doors, and down the sidewalk, cross the street, twice, and don’t see it. Call my father, by now failing at the “not freaking out” thing. A lot. In public. Go in every open place and ask every person I seeif they’ve seen it, while my father calls the hotel, and I call the VTA- the popel who run the light rail- and the police, to see if that’s who I call to report it lost.

For the future help of otherpeople, you can file a police report, but you have to do it in person, over the internet, or by mail. The people you really need to talk to are the USPS (closed on Saturdays) or the State Department, who issue those nice reports on which country is safe. They say this one is, and everywhere else in dangerous. Obviously they need to have a chat with the honeland security people. who say everywhere is dangerous.

So, no calling went on after that. I ran back to the hotel. Checked the Hilton next door, checked the convention center, still on and off crying, and all the time getting calls from dad, who is talking to the hotel, which didn’t find it- didn’t think they would. Oh, yeah, everywhere back to the hotel? Hadn’t seen it. Like it disappeared. But there was an all points bulliten on my passport on the lightrail trains. Cool, eh?

Yeah, so there’s totally freaking out, dejected me talking to dad on the phone, who was looking for a hotel for me for about a week- the minumum time to replace my passport, and get a new copy of my freaking visa- which I need to take my flight, because NZ doesn’t let most people in on one way tickets. Dad was also talking about calling Air NZ to switch my flight to a day I might be able to get on it, but… yeah. So I headed back to the train station, on foot. And totally freaking out has taught me that I might, in fact, hreally have asthma, since I couldn’t breathe. Still can’t. Here I am, gasping for air, and I’m not flipping out anymore, I don’t think.

Right, so there I am, and I walk all the way back to the place, am within easy viewing distance of both the lovely arena, and the trainstation, when mom calls. I talk to her, and she tells me to calm down, and I hang up. I promise I’m not usually this crazy, but… Yeah. So I get to the last street I have to cross before the train station, and there, sitting in the middle of it, is this suspicious blue square.

No, I think, no way I walked right past it an hour and a half ago, I am not that stupid. So I walk over, and, with a bit more road rash there, indeed, was my passport, complete with visa. I am so Happy. I am so stupid. I call mom, because I just got off the phone with her, and I know she has her phone on, and should answer it, and ask her to call dad and tell him not to change the ticket, that I found the damned thing. Then my phone tried to die, so I turned it off. Went into the train station, told the really nice lady that I found it, grabbed by bags, thanked her, and got back to the platform in time for the 3pm train, which should get me to the airport (I hope) with two hours to check in and whatnot.

I am the luckiest and unluckiest person on earth. That bastard is deep in my purse, now and not getting lost again

Still in cairo. Really enjoying it, just wandering around, getting lost, finding stuff.

I might be having more fun, but- opps, I’m sick. Fever, chills, headache. With my luck, it’s probably malaria. As long as I can stand up, though, it’s ok. And I have more fun this way. And, after about a week here in cairo, I think I have finally figured out how to navagate. I just follow some random small road, to a random larger road- towards the sun in the morning, to get away from the nile, and back towards it in the afternoon or evening to find my hotel again. Works like a charm, almost every time.

j.