I had to put my beloved cat, Harley, to sleep last week. What a lousy experience. For anyone who has ever had to do this, am I alone in thinking 'is this the right thing to do?' I am pretty sure that in Harley's case the answer was yes, but at some level I think we all question ourselves. Who am I to play God, right?

Although for years I have been telling people that, according to the vet, Harley was 'well past his life expectancy' at 20-ish years old, it is never an easy thing to decide when your pet will die. In the end, Harley went downhill pretty quickly, not eating even the tastiest of kitty treats, peeing in my shoes (!), losing a lot of weight quickly and finally the last day of his life he wouldn't even get up and couldn't meow. Harley, who was named such after the motorcycle because of his loud and incessant purring, ceased to purr. Yes, although it was hard for me to believe, it was definitely time to say goodbye to old Harley. Just before I was headed out the door for work I decided that I couldn't leave him home to die alone, and I was pretty sure he would be dying this day.

Several times throughout the morning I had to see if Harley was even still alive based on his tummy moving up and down.I made the decision that this was no way for him to live or die and my sister called in for a mobile vet to come to my house so that he wouldn't have to make a last, stressful trip to the kitty doctor office. I had the choice - the vet could either come in the next 45 minutes or not for a few hours. I opted for the second choice, although that might have been unfair to Harley considering his condition. I just wasn't ready to say goodbye to him within less than an hour's time. I laid with Harley for awhile, talked to him, held his cold little paw, and then would clean the house or clear out my drawers, trying to pass the time before the vet would come. Found some good stuff while cleaning. It's been years since I organized a couple of my drawers in my bedroom. The good news is that I came across my Social Security Card which has been M.I.A. for years.

Incredibly coincidentally, on this day I also happened to find a clipping from the Reno Gazette-Journal that I am sure my mom gave to me years ago - it is in fact dated August 24, 1997, only a couple of months before my only other beloved pet died, a truly sweet poodle named Casper. I am kind of embarrassed that I have a 13 year old news article clipping within my possessions, but the odds of finding this clipping on the day my cat was dying was too interesting to not share.

The article was a 'Dear Abby' clipping with the title: Pet owners: Take time to read the 10 commandments. The article was submitted by someone from the SPCA of Texas who cared about abused and neglected animals but thought that all pet owners had something to learn from reading it. Here is what the article said:

Ten Commandments For a Responsible Pet Owner:

1. My life is likely to last 10 to 15 years. Any separation from you will be very painful.

2. Give me time to understand what you want of me.

3. Place your trust in me - it is crucial for my well-being.

4. Don't be angry with me for long and don't lock me up as punishment. You have your work, your friends, your entertainment. I have only you!

5. Talk to me. Even if I don't understand your words, I understand your voice when it's speaking to me.

6. Be aware that however you treat me, I'll never forget it.

7. Before you hit me, remember that I have teeth that could easily crush the bones in your hand, but I choose not to bite you.

8. Before you scold me for being lazy or uncooperative, ask yourself if something might be bothering me. Perhaps I'm not getting the right food, I've been out in the sun too long, or my heart may be getting old and weak.

9. Take care of me when I get old. You, too, will grow old.

10. Go with me on difficult journeys. Never say, "I can't bear to watch it" or, "Let it happen in my absence." Everything is easier for me if you are there. Remember, I love you.

This was just too coincidental. Did I seriously come across the article while my cat is dying in my living room? It was a message from above, I decided. I had been wrestling with if I would in fact watch my cat be put to sleep, leave the room, or how exactly I would handle this event and this was too great a sign to ignore. While it might be easier for me to not see poor Harley in his final moments, it would certainly be easier on him to have me there by his side. Isn't that what we all want? To die at home, surrounded by our loved ones there for us in a difficult moment? The mobile vet confirmed that indeed pets are aware of our presence, so with my dad there we watched as my little long-haired, orange baby took in his final breath and experienced the last of any pain he may have been experiencing. Then it was over. We kept Harley in his pink feather bed (he was a boy, but he didn't realize it was a pink feather bed and he just loved that thing) and put him into an old file box, then my dad took him home to be laid to rest with every other pet that has crossed our paths and needed a final resting place, the Ramos Family Pet Cemetary in my parents' back yard.

My memories of Harley are usually of him either being a sweetie and cuddling up to anybody who would have him, singing to Harley since he is the only one who ever really liked my songs (or at least couldn't avoid them), or him kicking some doggy butt. He was always kind of a feisty little guy who, despite being declawed in his front paws, never missed an opportunity to beat up on a dog that might be getting just a little too intimate for Harley's liking, including my sister's half Labrador-half Pitt Bull. I like to think of Harley up in kitty heaven still kicking some dog tail. At the end, Harley wasn't kicking anybody's tail and I think he knew it was time to say goodbye to this life and go up to his next phase in life and meet up with Casper or someone else that he can bully. Poor Casper, I wouldn't want to be him right now...

Harley was a good cat and he will be missed.

Typically as one gets older she becomes less concerned with subjects that as an adolescent really bothered her, such as how tall she is, her shoe size, width of her nose, etc. While I do find that I let small things bother me less, and I've learned to actually embrace some of my many quirks, one thing is actually wearing on me more and more over time. I am getting increasingly irritated with my name. You wouldn't think I would have these anti-Candee feelings considering my cleverly-named blog (really, it isn't conceit, candeeramos was all I could think of under the circumstances I started this thing), but here I am. Thirty years old and still worried about the same damn thing that has been around since the day I was born: my name!

So here is the scoop - I really am named Candee. Not Candace. Not Candelaria. Just Candee. That is my legal name. I even get attitude about it at the damn pharmacy.

"Here's my prescription, sir"

"Candee? Is it really Candace?"

"Uh, no, it's really Candee." and then I mutter and expletive under my breath. What I should say is, "No, I've paid my doctor to give me a prescription under my fake name. Now fill my anti-psychotic meds, or else!"

Even if Candee was my fake name and I've chosen to go by it, why is it anybody's concern?

I've told this story countless times, but here goes: My name rhymes with my family members' names - my mom is Sandee, my sistes are Brandee and Randee and my dad is Bob. Ha. It was funnier the first thousand times I told it and it's still good for party conversation, I suppose. And if that isn't cute enough for you, our middle names rhyme, too. Brandee Mae, Randee Kaye, Candee Raye. Gadzooks, we're adorable!

Growing up it was kind of fun, actually. I mean, who doesn't love candy when you're 10? But over the years I've heard far too many candy jokes, about me being sweet, if I have any candy to give, if I like Snickers bars, everything from the somewhat charming to the downright filthy. It doesn't help that I'm from Nevada. Even my college roomate looked me up before we met and she admitted that she was incredulous... Candee. From NEVADA! Wonder if she's a stripper?

In my cocktailing and Las Vegas days it wasn't easy to meet new people without them needing me to repeat my name, then giving me the eyebrow raise, oh... Candee! Wink, wink. At first I wore my real nametag while cocktailing: Candee from Reno. I took so much jesting about it that and when wearing heels and carrying a heavy tray for 8 hours at a time, my 'tude grew to massive proportions. I even tried out a fake nametag when I was a cocktail waitress and it read Maria. Even as Maria I heard the question asked what my real name was (believe it or not people, not all cocktail waitresses use pseudonyms, even though at that moment I was in fact using one... hmm, ironic) and when I would answer 'Candee' it always got a laugh. I think when people believe that I am making up the name 'Candee' then it gives them the idea that I am a working girl looking for a John. Why else would I make up this fake, kinda silly name, afterall? All girls named Candee must like to party!

So here I am. Candee. Thirty years old and you would think getting more confident and accustomed to the name game but alas, I think people are actually becoming more rude. Either that or I am just hanging around the wrong places. I don't like meeting new people because inevitably they ask what my name is and I have the uncomfortable delivery and explanation that it is my real freaking name! Just writing about it makes me angry! Yesterday I met a group of people and as I introduced myself to the woman I said 'Candee, and that is my real name.' She smiled and then as the man next to her met me, he did the same old thing where he asked what my real name was. I turned to the girl I'd just met and gave her the look like, 'doesn't my intro make a lot more sense now?' People don't believe how frequently this happens to me, but it really is tiring and wearing thin. My sister Randee and I went out in Las Vegas together one night and I was explaining to her my apprehension of meeting new people for this very reason and she said I was over reacting - nobody ever gives her attitude about her name and it's bloody similar to Candee. So we go out and sure enough the first person we meet makes some comment like, "Candee?! My name is Hershey Bar!" Not only was that not funny or clever in any way, but my sister couldn't believe that this indeed happens to me everywhere I go. The old ball and chain.

I wonder how the other Candee Ramos feels about her name? I Googled myself and I found that there is indeed another Candee Ramos! She lives in New Jersey or something and she writes about the plight of those dealing with bi-polar disorder. I wonder what she goes through on a day-to-day basis and how she feels about her name? It's a very personal thing, how you feel about your name. Not to downplay the very serious disease of bi-polar disorder, but I sometimes feel bi-polar about my name. Some days it works because it's memorable, and I guess at those times it's a good thing.

I do feel bad hating on my name so much. I feel like I am being mean to my parents or something. They didn't know when I was born and was a crusty little baby that people would torture me endlessly with my given name and I don't think they meant it to be a source of such angst in my life. I've considered changing my name and going by something cute like 'Andee' which still goes with the family flow but isn't quite so annoying as Candee. I've been given the suggestion to go by 'Dee'. Or maybe my middle name, Raye. Raye Ramos. A little stuttery if you ask me.

Eh. I guess I've outgrown all of that now. I need to work on accepting my name for what it is. There is a belief that before we are born we pick our life circumstances in order to give our soul the chance to grow into all that it could be. So maybe my soul thought it would be fun to give me a funny challenge in this lifetime, like putting up with constant ribbing about my name. It could be worse, I know. My soul could have picked something really difficult to deal with so maybe this is me trying to learn to have a sense of humor, or just be taken seriously in spite of my name.

I think I create half of my own drama surrounding my name. People can sense my discomfort when we meet. So... Here is my public vow: for the next month when I meet somebody new I will say with utter confidence my name, no explanations and no uncomfortable look on my face. Let's see if people treat me differently. And since inquiring minds want to know, I'll report back with my findings!

Sincerely,

Candee

Maybe I ingest too much pop culture, but frequently I experience moments in life that remind me of a song, movie, or sadly, an episode of Seinfeld. GIGO. Garbage in, garbage out. I had a music lyric moment recently that didn’t resemble garbage too awfully much though, so I will paint the scene…

I was out on the town watching couples and singles shake their groove thangs on the dance floor at a place called Mustangs Dance Hall and Saloon. With a name like that, does it get any more country? Well, there were no peanut shells on the dance floor and it is smack dab in the middle of a casino, but there were plenty of cow folk there to keep me entertained and plenty of Coors Light available for the masses. I was perched in a highboy on the rim of the dance floor with a smile on my face, truly enjoying the live music and the scenery of human mating rituals. The dance. As I watched the people go along, moving in sync if line dancing and the couples all choosing the same dance to the particular tune, part of me felt like I was left out an entire movement. How did everybody know the exact dance to do to the song the band had selected? Hmmm… fascinating. I am a big believer in the theory that if you are open to it, you learn something new every day and for me on this day the lesson was that there is a huge country dance culture that I have been oblivious to while I’ve been hanging out in my cave. For somebody who thinks that Dwight Yoakam is the hottest thing since Pop Tarts came onto the scene, this culture looked like it could be a lot of fun!

It was obvious that some of the couples had been dancing together for years; every move was perfectly in step. Some couples would add in a little jump here and there, some would add in a suave move where the guy removes his cowboy hat to go under the gal’s arm as they twirled around. Yeah, you heard me. Gal. I got caught up in the moment, really enjoying watching the boots on the floor and Wranglers all around me and then I heard it. The voice in my head that hasn’t spoken in a really long time. The moment when I thought to myself, ‘I wanna dance with somebody.’ While this appears as though it could be just any moment, it was actually a breakthrough for me because of my recently negative attitude regarding romance. But at that moment, with the music filling the entire casino, watching the couples moving together like one, solid unit I had the thought that I’d really like to have that someday. The type of relationship where I can learn dance moves with a partner and practice them til’ the cows come home. Pardon the expression ma’am, I was in a country bar.

So there I was, watching the couples dancing together so naturally and having these Whitney-esque thoughts and then I realized the obvious metaphor for the situation. I am sitting on the sidelines when I could certainly jump into the dance, both literally and figuratively. There were plenty of singles out there, too, working their magic in the middle of the floor while the couples danced the outside ring. Just because at the moment I don’t have somebody to dance with, the fact that the idea of possibly doing so someday doesn’t disgust me is a huge step - maybe even a two-step – in the right direction. Now if only I could avoid the Bobby Brown type...

I have a new girl crush. Not the sexy, can't-stop-thinking-about-you kind of crush, just the wow-you-are-supercool-can-I-be-like-you kind of girl crush. The object of my affection is author Karen Salmansohn.

Karen writes self help books specifically for those who, as she describes, 'wouldn't be caught dead reading self help.' That doesn't exactly describe me as I have plenty of self help books lying around my apartment and have spent many a Sunday afternoon in this aisle at Barnes & Noble. Love that aisle. Not only does one have the opportunity to display what exactly their problems are (want to lose weight?! going through a divorce?! come stand in front of my section and tell the world!) but one also has the chance to mix with other people suffering from a variety of dysfunctions. So I was at Barnes & Noble recently and I saw all of the books in the self help aisle and I felt bored. Like really bored. How many times before have we looked at these books and read them and promised we would take the advice only to find ourselves in that same self help aisle yet again in a month? This is the part where I let out a long, painstaking sigh. No more trips to the self help aisle.

Let me go off on a tangent here: I've been practicing what are known as 'I Messages' in my counseling group. The point of these I Messages are to avoid giving advice to others, but rather to say how something they were talking about made you FEEL, no judgments. So for instance when I hear somebody talk about their boyfriend being a jerk again, rather than saying something like 'you should dump that loser' in an I Message term I might say something along the lines of, 'when you talk about your boyfriend cheating on you, I feel sad' or angry, or frustrated, or hurt... you get the idea. The creation of these I Messages has actually left me feeling rather stupid as I find my vocabulary for these emotion-related adjectives is weak. How many times can you describe a feeling as 'happy' before it becomes ordinary and not expressive?

But in any case, when I was in the self help aisle at B&N, in I Message terms, I felt BORED. So as I was walking away with feelings of contempt for every self help writer ever, I happen upon this book by Karen Salmansohn called Prince Harming Syndrome. I liked the front cover immediately because it has a ton of cartoon frogs on it and in the bottom right corner is a human prince. Ah, this book was made for me. I have kissed oh-so-many frogs and have yet to find my prince. I'm not exactly looking for love, in fact I have become quite jaded by the entire prospect, but the book promises to help you end bad relationship patterns for good. I flipped through it and in her typical straightforward style, Karen made me laugh at something that I previously did not find so funny at all - my total lack of ability to find a normal and stable relationship with the opposite sex! I blame myself, I truly do, and this book's aim is to help me discover why I choose the way that I do and to help me decipher between fake good guys and actual good guys. Quite a feat in today's world of phonies and sociopaths.

But this was not my first run-in with this author and it isn't the first time I felt like she was talking right at me, pointing out my flaws in a funny yet compassionate manner. Most recently, right after a devastating break up (prince harming, anyone?), I read a book by Karen called 'The Bounce Back Book'. The Bounce Back Book isn't a normal book with chapters, but rather a collection of pieces of advice with drawings and all kinds of hilarious anecdotes learned by someone who herself had a devastating event happen in her life. I bought this book on what I would consider the worst day of my life so far and it was just what the doctor ordered.

Within The Bounce Back Book, which I read thoroughly during my period when I wouldn't get out bed except for breaks for chain smoking and to avoid bedsores, there were several pieces of advice that really hit me. The first helped me on an immediate term that helped take me out of my deep depression and put me into a middle depression. The piece of advice would be to act as though you are in a movie and you are the heroine. Rather than be so 'in the moment' the advice is to step back and pretend as though this is some dramatic event that has just happened in a character's life and say something along the lines of, 'wow, I wonder what will happen next?!' This was always easy to do with characters from All My Children so I decided to try it on myself. I thought, maybe I am like Bridget Jones in the moment when she finds out the scandalous Daniel Cleaver has been shagging another woman behind her back, all the while she is falling more in love with him. There she is, in the tub, crying, feeling sad, drinking wine and vodka, listening to Chaka Khan. And then what? She gets her shit together, that's what! This little bit of advice from The Bounce Back Book helped me to put things in perspective... the movie, a.k.a. my life, has only just begun and yeah, so I just took an emotional beating. It will get better, it has to! What kind of movie is this anyway? It certainly isn't a tragedy and my character deserves something good to happen and so it will.

The second piece of advice that Karen offered that helped me on a more long term, self-analysis basis was to look at my life as a Wheel of Fortune. Not the kind with the giant-headed television host, but in the game of life. Karen's advice is to create your life based on a balanced wheel of fortune that includes romance, family, career, friends, health, wealth, spirituality and fun stuff. She creates a diagram like a pizza and each of these areas of life create a slice of the pie... together they create one, well-rounded wheel. When you put all of your energy into one area of life, let's say career, and then you lose your job, you feel completely freaked out and your wheel doesn't exactly roll so smoothly.

This, I realized, is what had happened to my wheel of fortune. I had put all of my energy, giving up basically everything else in my life, for a romantic relationship and when it ended I felt as though my life had ended. What else was there? Career? No, I had given that up for this relationship. Friendship? Well, I moved away from my friends in order to make this relationship happen. Wealth/Finances? Uh, I didn't exactly have a great career during this period of my life so that went tits up. Family? On the rocks! Can you guess why...? Even my health wasn't so great as I drank quite a bit more and gained some weight throughout this relationship, not to mention my mental health. No, I certainly didn't have a balanced wheel of fortune and after seeing it laid out so clearly in Karen's book, I promised myself to never place all of my eggs in one basket again. A painful yet valuable lesson, taught so effortlessly by my girl crush.

And so I've taken the wheel of fortune piece of advice and am trying to run with it, take the plain dough and turn it into a pizza pie. I'm working in my field again and being challenged career-wise in a really cool company that might have a future for me long-term, socializing with friends and family again, going to the gym quite a bit and working on releasing endorphins in my brain as well as toning up my bod, went to the doctor recently and got an exam so I'm working on the health aspect in addition to the regular counseling sessions with a real life therapist, I've quit smoking altogether and haven't had so much as a drop of alcohol in weeks, and have even started to have fun again! I've been going country dancing and out to dinner with friends, hanging at my apartment and basically just enjoying the space I have created for myself. All in all, my wheel of fortune is coming together and I am continuing to build upon it. It's rolling more smoothly now, that is for sure. Goodbye Daniel Cleaver, I'm making way for Mark Darcy!

So, now you are also in love in Karen, aren't you? Well, she is wonderful and I have already learned so much from her books. I gotta read more! Learn more! Grow more! And count on my balanced wheel of fortune whenever I feel a part of my life is in jeopardy.

Just when you think nobody's looking, somebody does. Last week a friend mentioned that he had visited my blog and it occurred to me that I haven't updated my little online journal in quite some time. While it has been about five months since my last entry, that's not to say that I haven't had a lot going on in my life or in my head. In fact, the lack of writing is a problem caused by issues residing at the opposite end of the spectrum - too much going on and most of it too personal to share in a public realm. It's mind-boggling to think how much can change in that short amount of time and for me, so much has changed since July of 2009.

First, I have moved back to my hometown of Reno from Las Vegas. Same state but miles apart in both geography and mindset. I made the move in August of this year when I was offered a position working within my desired field and in an area that I have some experience: golf marketing. So what is old is new again... back in Reno, back in golf, back in marketing - in fact, even back working for my old boss that I worked with when I was just a young twenty-something. But they say you can never truly go home again because it is true; it's not that Reno has changed, but somehow I have.

The job I am doing right now is actually pretty awesome and it's been a long time since I've been able to say that and mean it. The work is surprisingly stressful and busy considering I am planning a one-week event that won't occur until next July, but I am enjoying the challenge. It seems I appreciate everything in my life so much more after my period of unemployment and subsequent depression while living in Las Vegas. It's sincerely fun to complain about work or the frustrations that come along with committees (too many chiefs and I am the only Indian!), and at the end of the day I would rather have that to complain about rather than how I just can't seem to get rid of that ring around the tub, which was my main complaint when I was a wannabe housewife. Oh yeah, having money for simple stuff like putting gas into your car or buying milk is also a sweet deal.

So... back in Reno. One great thing about being back home is I don't get lost all of the time because I grew up here and know the town. It's a real switch from when I was in Las Vegas and knew my way to about two places without becoming utterly disoriented. It's nice to have my old favorites; my favorite milkshake joint, my favorite martini bar, my favorite Mexican restaurant... I have them all back in my life and it's nice to have some comfort and joy after going through so many changes. And of course this being the Biggest Little City in the World, when I am at said locations I typically run into somebody I know which can be positive or negative depending on my energy level and if I have my Dr. Pepper lip balm on me. Somehow it always brightens my day and if I do say so myself, my face.

I also have great people back in my life, friends I've known for years and years and with whom I am so glad I maintained a connection throughout my two years of craziness. Not to be a complete cornball, but this is where it's at - home really is where the heart is.

In my first couple of months back in Reno I bunked with my sister and brother-in-law. That was pretty nice of them to let me crash at their house, feeding me, letting me play with their pets, etc. But as of mid-November I have my own place again. It's strange living alone. In my early twenties I did it for years but it has been quite awhile since I have been all on my own. Although it's been slow-going, I am getting reaquainted with living la vida sola. This has been good for me because for so long I wasn't really myself. Living alone makes you be yourself... who else are you going to be and for whom? As a ritual to not only bless my new apartment but also to rid myself of all of the negativity that has been swirling around me, I decided to have a smudging party. At this point you may be thinking, WTF is smudging?

Smudging is a Native American ritual where sage is burned and the smoke is then inhaled and rubbed all over yourself and also wafted throughout the place that you wish to bless. A description I read was that it is for emotional, psychic and spiritual purification. Sounds good to me! The hope is to rid yourself of negative energy, of which I have more than my fair share recently, and bring in positive spirits, perfect for the ending or beginning of a new relationship or moving into a new house or apartment. That describes me perfectly, so I went for it, trying to really concentrate on the good and hope of bringing more balance into my life and cleansing all of the negativity, allowing it to dissipate like the sage smoke. It's only been a day since my smudge party, but I am already feeling better so believer or not, the ritual helped me and I hope that the positive path I am headed down will continue. I also had about 30 friends over to see my new place and take part in my ritual. It was fun and there were jalapeno poppers which just screams of a good party.

Speaking of Native American rituals, I also invested in a dream-catcher and hung it above my bed. Truth is, for those who have not seen me and noticed a dramatic change in my appearance, I have these giant dark circles under my eyes because I simply do not sleep well anymore. Lots of bad dreams wake me suddenly and I can't get back to sleep (Dudes, Roseanne reruns on Nick at Nite are awful!), or even worse, good dreams that make me depressed when I wake up and realize they are just my mind playing tricks on me. Again, it's only been a couple of days but since I hung my dream-catcher, I have only dreamt about work! For most people that is a bad thing but for me, it is fantabulous. I would much rather dream about some sales brochure I am stressing about or going to the gym at 5:45 a.m. or something mundane like that than anything that will cause me ongoing trauma throughout the day.

At this point you know that I have sage-burning smudging rituals and I sleep with a dream catcher above my bed. So it probably won't surprise you that I also recently made a trip to my favorite tarot card reader, Teresa. She is amazing; honestly I love her. Even if she is making everything up as some friends have accused I believe that the money I pay her is well spent because she gives me peace of mind and some guidance on what to do next in this crazy world. It's much better than that darned 8-ball I had a slight obsession with a few years ago, so I'll take it.

During my recent session my tarot card looked at me with sincere and deep concern and told me that I had drawn the 'hell' card - the card that meant I was going through hell and it was some seriously bad stuff. She then said that I had been going through this for quite some time and I considered it and thought, not really... it's only really been a couple of months of what I would consider true and honest HELL. Then she said, 'it's been like 3 years.' This is incredible considering the previous week I told my brother-in-law that I just wanted to know when my run of bad luck would come to an end, that I've been feeling as though I've had a dark cloud hanging over my head for 3 years. Strike the Twilight Zone music, because Teresa was dead-on. The best thing about the entire reading is that she then told me that the light at the end of the tunnel is near, I am almost at the end of this lousy period of my life and that bright times are on the horizon, if not by the end of this year then by the spring. Dear Lord, I hope so! I don't think I can take any more of this... Teresa also said that I should celebrate my dark period and coming out of it because it only took me 3 years to learn my lesson and it takes some people 20 years. Okay, I'll take that. I certainly feel as though I have paid some serious dues recently and it's gotta turn around sometime.

So with the smell of sage still fresh in my home I ask you to wish me luck! For you anti-pagans out there, also know that I pray quite a bit. I pray for wisdom, healing, forgiveness and blessings, not just for me but for those around me and my so-called enemies. Even enemies bring something into your life, right? What would soap operas be without the villian? What would my life be without some real teachers of important lessons? I try to live my life by frequently saying it's all goooood!

All in all, I am hanging in there. I didn't think it would happen for awhile there, but it is... it's like I am coming out of a fog and back into life where I belong. Things are going to be just fine and with 2010 being a new decade I just know that although there may be challenges ahead, I am so much better prepared to handle them now. So if I don't login before January 01, 2010, here is a cheer to all things bright and good and earning wisdom from all things dark and not-so-good :)

Much love,

Candee

I just quit my job and boy, are my arms tired! From doing the happy dance, of course! I feel as good as you think I might feel... I was able to clean the house, have lunch with my sweetie, watch some lousy tv, go to the gym... ah, life is sweet when you don't have that meddlesome thing called a job! However, I also feel some of the anxiety that comes along when one quits her job. Such as, where is my next meal going to come from? What is my resume going to look like? Will I ever buy a new pair of shoes again? All in all, I am quite pleased with my decision to leave my job and in the end I did take away some valuable pieces of information from my previous position.

My job was in sales; a job I swore up and down I would never do. I've been a cocktail waitress in a casino and worked in Africa, but somehow a job in sales seemed more painful to me than walking 10 miles a night in 3 inch heels or fighting off cat-sized spiders in the blistering African heat. Why? Because I was deathly afraid of the cold call. The feeling of rejection when you get the dreaded 'no'. I pictured the conversation going something like this:

Me: Uh, hi. Is James Sul - Sulle, uh, I'm not sure how to pronounce his last name...

Receptionist: James? Oh, you mean Jim Sulelulequine? May I tell him who's calling? (annoyed tone... this call isn't going well!)

Me: This is Candee from XYZ Corp.

Receptionist: WE DON'T WANT ANY!

Me: Um, Okay (insert sobs of rejection here as phone hangs up).

My boss: Why didn't you ask them why they didn't want any?

Me: Am I fired?

My job in particular was very sales-y. I won't go into detail, but I felt a little bit like a telemarketer/email spammer. When I would meet new people and they would ask what I did, I would say, "I'm a telemarketer!" The person would frequently laugh because spammer types aren't usually so candid, but that is pretty much what I was, and that's okay. There is supposed to be a special place in Hell for people like me, but everybody needs somebody to loathe, and I was that person. I took it with a grain of salt that people dreaded my phone call and when they heard my voice on their voicemail they either immediately deleted it or thought, 'Geez, when is this lady gonna give up?!'

I have learned a thing or two about life and sales from my experience. Read on for enlightenment:

1. If your name is Candee, try to make your phone call sound more professional by using both your first and last name. This way, you could possibly pass for an account service representative rather than the chick from the bar the previous night. It doesn't help that my return number is a Las Vegas area code, so I try the best I can. Maybe I'll even throw in a "Candace" every now and then even though that isn't my real name. And to think people lie and say their name is Candee!

2. Blame it on your sales manager. People are always asking you to budge on your price and I like to blame everything on my non-existent sales manager. 'Hmmm, I'd better see if I can get that approved by my sales manager, please hold.'

Doobie, doobie doo... hey, I better check my Facebook page real quick... back on the line:

'You're in luck! He said okay to that outrageously low price you proposed!' If I were feeling slightly feminist for the day, my sales manager would be a woman sometimes, too. Or I could also say, 'my sales manager said that price is just not going to work!' This keeps me in the clients' good graces and I still get to receive a paycheck at the end of the month.

3. Which brings me to point #3 - it is okay to negotiate! Before I was in a sales position I was in a role where people sold to me. They would name a rate and I would either have it in my budget or not. Perhaps I might try to get a lower price per-purchase by bundling, but I never had the cajones to throw out a ridiculously low number. Since this has been done to me oh so many times over the past 6 months, I feel more comfortable doing this when I get into the position of a buyer again.

4. Deliver what you promise, period. It makes for a much nicer relationship after the product is delivered if everyone was on the up-and-up in the first place!

5. Telemarketers are people, too! It's almost as though people on the other end of the phone forget that salespeople are called salespeople because they are people that sell. All we want to do is tell you about a product and if you don't want it, that's fine, but there's really no need to be such a meanie! Also, sometimes on the other end of that line is a telemarketer picking his or her nose. Picture that the next time you get a sales call!

6. Just say no! Not just to wearing horizontal stripes, but if you don't want a product or service, simply state your decision as such. Please cut the salesperson some slack and just answer your phone or reply to the email and say thanks, but no thanks. If this were in the world of romance, obviously I would get the hint but since I am paid to continue calling you, you are going to continue to receive 'checking in' phone calls until I hear either way. Just say no. It's a lot easier than avoiding the salesperson and this way, everyone can get on with their lives.

7. Although it is primarily a desk job, being a telemarketer is absolutely exhausting! It's emotionally and mentally draining. I wouldn't have thought this and neither did my boyfriend who actually expected me to still cook or do stuff around the house. I don't think so!

I had a lot of fun being in sales actually, and perhaps it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. I feel so much more comfortable picking up a phone and asking for just about anything now. What's the worst they can say? Er... I have some actual responses to what is the worst they could say, but this is a family blog so I will keep it clean.

Wish me luck on my next endeavor!

I've spent several Saturday nights at home in recent times. No, I'm not a card-carrying member of the Lonely Hearts Club, I've just never been the party type and luckily I have found a partner who is almost as much of a homebody as me. We spend a lot of time at home, even on Saturday nights in razzling dazzling Las Vegas. And that is just fine with me.

So what do I do with my time at home? I don't listen to classical music or even work on that book I've always wanted to write. Rather, I watch complete trash on television. In watching the terrible programming available Saturday nights I have noticed that at least the networks are trying to make you feel good about being at home on Saturday night. After all, it could get a lot worse. This is exemplified famously on the program 'Cheaters'.

In case you aren't familiar with the show, Cheaters is a program hosted by a black leather jacket-wearing Joey Greco. First, I must say that I love the name Joey Greco. You can imagine that at any moment he might pop out a, "Yo, m'name's Joey Greco. Wha'chu gonna do 'bout it?!" but alas this never happens and leaves me only hoping for that special night to some day come. You've foiled me again, Mr. Greco!

Instead, Mr. Greco has the enjoyable task of presenting evidence to suspicious people that their sweethearts are cheating on them. This evidence is collected by investigators employed by Cheaters who stalk the suspects and typically find them opening doors for the other woman, expressing PDAs, sending flowers and other actions never bestowed upon the cheater's actual girlfriend/boyfriend. Of course this is all caught on those creepy night-vision cameras that make everything look green and then shown to the devastated (in)significant other. Because this is reality television and unscripted material you might think that each situation would be different from the week before. Au contraire. This is what inevitably occurs: the girlfriend/boyfriend confronts their sweetheart who is at that very moment in the presence of the other woman/man, the other woman/man gets in the face of the confronting sweetheart, the cheater runs away with the person they are cheating with, and the cheatee is left with Joey Greco asking how they feel with only his leather jacket shoulder to cry on.

At first I found this exchange amusing and an interesting look at American love rituals. In the middle of the confrontation I will sometimes look over at my boyfriend, innocently playing a video game or reading one of his (lame) fantasy books and think, aw, what a good boy. I know just where he is, what he is doing, and while he isn't taking me out to wine and dine me every Saturday night, he certainly isn't a terrible boyfriend like the kind you find on Cheaters. He is in fact a very good boyfriend. This is a real relationship and while that isn't dramatic, it is comforting. And sometimes exciting... just not so exciting that we end up on syndicated programming. Then I realized - this is the point of the program: to make people like me who are home with their significant other realize that life may seem run-of-the-mill sometimes, but it's sweet and innocent. Or for those who are home alone on Saturday night and up watching telelvision, possibly feeling sorry for themselves that they aren't in a relationship. Well, cheer up oh precious singleton - look at what life could be like! In other words, appreciate your own circumstances because your romantic life could be a lot worse and show up in slime green digital imaging.

But it isn't all bad news. If you are looking for Mr. or Mrs. Right then you are in luck. That is because Cheaters has its very own dating site - www.nocheatersdate.com. Users of this site take a pledge that they are single and not currently in a relationship. Call me old fashioned but I thought single status was implied when one begins dating in the first place? In any case, Cheaters is a great program and I recommend anyone - in a relationship or not - to take it in the next time you are home on a Saturday night.

This has been a truly interesting year. Not a prosperous year, mind you, but interesting. A year ago I was in Africa with, to put it politely, severe gastrointestinal problems. I woke up with watery diarrhea in my only pair of pajama pants is the not-so-polite way to describe my state of health in December 2007. Having 35 strangers around me and sharing two bathrooms added to the fullness of the experience. The sentiment of the moment was... you got it, shit!

I think back and wonder, did the entire Peace Corps experience really happen or was it just a dream caused by my psychosis-inducing anti-malarial medication? So, rather than label the experience as being good or bad, positive or negative, I will simply say that it was interesting and will affect the way I see the world, the act of charity, grocery stores, electricity, education, nutrition, language, societal relations, myself... everything, for the rest of my life. One day I will sit around the fireplace with my grandkids and tell then what a silly young woman grandma once was.

Guinea was just the beginning. Or perhaps the end of what my life once was and where it is headed. As mixed as my feelings are about the experience, joining the Peace Corps and eventually dropping out was certainly the starting point of my marathon of self-discovery, and I'm still running. Well, run-walking. Short of breath, wondering what I've gotten myself into and counting my steps to distract myself from the gnawing question of how much longer, and am not sure when I will cross my finish line of learning. When do I get to just return to my normal life? Or move on to the next great thing? Right now, I am in limbo, or some might say, in the midst of the journey. I figure there must be a lesson in here somewhere, as though life was just too easy and so somebody figured I needed a challenge. Not a fun challenge, like how-to-get-the-cute-guy-at-the-bar-to-talk-to-me kind of challenge. No, we're talking major self-doubt, poorhouse, why-am-I-here kind of challenge and, frankly, it sucks. Again, the sentiment of the moment is... yep, shit! At least my pants are clean this time.

A few years ago there was an influx of "quarterlife crisis" books, and I admit I read a few. These books book a spin on the midlife crisis that 50-year-old Corvette-driving men across America have endured since Mick Jagger and Steven Tyler made it cool, but the target audience was thirty-somethings struggling through their first major "who am I" life bump. First comes college and career plans, then some good jobs with some major responsibility leaps in short order. But then - nothing. Just a lull in learning, responsibility, money - everything that makes a young woman question herself as to why she doesn't feel satisfied with where her life is at age 27. The women who wrote these books were not only published authors, but had also gone to top business colleges and were in management of major companies - obviously they had bright futures. My thought at the time was basically unsympathetic to these very successful women. Yes, the feeling is universal; why aren't I where I thought I would be at this time? If I am where I thought I would be at this age, then why aren't I happier? But their problems of which New York hotspot to hit up so they can rub elbows with exactly the right crowd didn't exactly apply to my life or professional problems. "But I have real problems!" I would exclaim.

But, alas, I didn't have real problems. And as much as I think I have real problems now (um, hello - no job and a boyfriend who is getting tired of supporting my catatonic butt!), I know that in reality, I have no real problems. Problems are when you are nine years old and have no idea whether your parents or siblings are alive or dead like my neighbor in Faranah, who, by the way, wasn't even a Guinean native but from Cote d'Ivoire as a political refugee. Or when you get your clitoris excised at age 11 because... well, that's just what they do where you live. It makes my problems seem small and stupid.

Yet, they are still my problems and are ever-present in my mind. Like a marathon runner who only has her thoughts and the road, my unemployed self only has my thoughts, self-doubt, and worries. And maybe some hope. What does it all mean? Where am I going in life? Will I stay in the same career field, or change altogether? If I change, what will that mean long term? I try to think back to my quarterlife crisis books in times like these and remember all the wonderful women named within who didn't figure their lives out until they were 40, 50 and older. When will I figure it out? Maybe this is the kind of challenge I need and am up to facing. That guy at the bar isn't really that cute and I have a great boyfriend, anyway.

I've decided that I have nothing to live for. This is the statement of a very depressed person, which I have never considered myself to be depressed before, but here I am. Deathwish.

I never realized how important having a professional life was to me until I did not have one. While not having a job might not seem like that big of a deal to many people, and I have gotten many laughs and jokes from people telling me they wouldn't mind not working for awhile, it certainly is a big deal to me. Yes, I eat regularly and I have a roof over my head due to the generosity of my boyfriend. But is that good for me? Is that good for my relationship? I think not. But it goes beyond merely having a job...

Without a job in my new city this means I am:

without friends

without a professional network

unable to try and find a professional network because attendance at networking events cost money and usually one needs a business card to hand out

unable to purchase clothing for interviews, temp jobs, or even just for fun to make my depressed self feel even slightly better

completely dependent upon my boyfriend for EVERYTHING material including cat food (not for me, promise), friendship, entertainment and human interaction

also getting quite fat sitting around the house acting all depressed, which brings up the question why I would even want new clothes?

I have dreams all the time about not being able to make ends meet or feeding grandma's dog for a few bucks (both of my grandmothers have passed on... not sure where that dream came from or why I was a redhead in said dream). In short, being unemployed completely and totally sucks. Don't ever try it.

I don't know how women in the 1950s did it. Somehow I do not find personal fulfillment in picking up my boyfriend's underpants off the bathroom floor every day or mothering my two cats. I do not find joy in creating that perfect meal that combines the major food groups all while under $3 per serving! I do find joy in having a job I enjoy, feeling self-sufficient, meeting new people and making friends and professional contacts, having the energy to workout regularly so my ass doesn't get quite so huge... generally having a life that consists of more than four walls in an apartment.

I used to try The Secret but now I am pretty sure that is a crock of bull because I have been thinking positively for months on getting a job only to be completely disappointed time and again. Lately I have gotten to the point where I feel as though I shouldn't even bother spending hours applying for work because it isn't going to lead to anything (very anti-Secret, I know) and then I realize that this kind of attitude won't find me work either. So now what?

This is my "poor me" blog entry, but it feels good to get out what it really feels like to be unemployed. No more jokes about how you would like to be me!

Hard as I may try, I have been unable to ignore the plethora of books and articles lately promising amazing results by adhering to some ridiculous plan for a set period of time, typically a year. I'm not talking about drinking water or exercising everyday to measure the results. I'm referring to the books about some random idea that someone has so that they can then sell their story.

I don't actually believe that these folks believe that their lives would change in some dramatic way, but actually believe that their life would be transformed because they would then publish a book about their year of living in a certain fashion, thereby making a few bucks and having the bragging rights of being a published author.

Here are some examples of what I am talking about:

- Living Biblically for one year, adhering exactly to the teachings of the Bible including the stoning of sinners. That actually sounds pretty cool... hope I don't cross paths with this guy during this year.

- Living Oprah, per all the tips that Oprah provides. My sister passed this one on to me since she knows I laugh not only at people who follow unusual publicity stunts but also those who hail Oprah as the new Lord. I bet the Bible-following guy would stone all of those people for worshipping false idols. The point of this woman's quest is to discover if her life would sincerely improve if she lived according to Oprah's teachings for one year, following her relationship, spiritual and health advice. I think the chick who is following this path was actually pretty smart since appearing on Oprah's show and discussing your book will make you an instamillionnaire and, of course, Oprah will have one of her disciples on the show.

- Living on minimum wage for a year. Now that would really suck. Although... with me not having a job right now and all, a minimum wage job sounds like big pimpin'. Sign me up!

- Having sex every day for 90 days. I've seen versions of this including 365 days in a row which I'm sure is laughable to one of my brothel-residing sisters here in Nevada. The couple that I read about said that it would sometimes be a chore to have to have sex but they did it anyway for the experiment. Gee. Sounds romantic.

- One of my favorite books actually goes along this path which makes me feel a little bit like a sellout, but it's a good book! It's Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert. She spends a year traveling to countries that begin with the letter "I" - Italy, India and Indonesia - practicing total indulgence, total discipline and then trying to combine the two into one balanced life. It's a good book even though it's a gimmick. I like to think it started this trend and didn't follow it.

I actually have an idea for my own book adhering to the "one year" craze - how about I make up an idea of things for people to do for one year and sell that as a book? Each day of the year I will make up some new idea for someone to follow for a year. Here are some of my thoughts and because you are a subscriber to my blog, I'll hook it up for free:

* Act like a soap opera star for a year, including dramatic pauses, quivering lipstick-stained lips and the compulsory extramarital affairs. With an in-law or ex-lover if at all possible.

* Watch nothing on television but PBS for one year. Not only will you know how much an antique chest of drawers would cost in Great Britain (pull out your Pound converter!) but you would be exposed to all of the very odd things your toddlers are watching. This could be tweaked to include no television at all for one year, but that is just madness.

* Don't shave anything on your body for one year and see what happens. This one is just for fun and I bet my boyfriend would really like it if I took up this little chia pet project.

* Become a paparazzi for a year and practice your best, "Hey Britney!" I am thinking those guys just hang around in Hollywood with a camera so it doesn't seem like a difficult field to get into. You could not only sell your pictures and stories (hopefully someone famous would punch you in the face for the fun and sue factor) but after a year you could write your memoir, "my year as a celebrity stalker and other musings of a freak."

Even though I am slightly annoyed that everybody seems to be jumping in on this bandwagon, I suppose I can understand why people do this. I think they just want to examine their own lives and ask how it can be improved or just how can I not be so bored? Who am I to judge if someone wants to do something really silly for a year and sell a book about it? Hmmmm, I seriously might become in vogue and write my own book about my year of insanity (2007 - current, hopefully ending soon and promptly followed by a book signing at a Barnes & Noble near you!).

One request dear reader... don't tell Oprah about me making fun of her followers on my blog since one day I hope to go on her program and discuss my life-altering book. A girl's gotta eat, afterall.

Throughout the years that I have been a marketing professional there has been some confusion as to exactly what it is that I do. Am I a telemarketer? Do I wear a sandwich board and tell people to visit a tune-up and lube shop? No, I must be in sales! Well, actually none of the above is true despite what many people tell me I must mean when I say "marketing."

Because I have been looking for jobs online lately I have seen the multitude of job announcements that pop up when I enter the keyword "marketing." I now understand why there is so much confusion surrounding the word and career choice - there is no clear-cut job description out there that says 'a marketer does the following...'

Here is just a small sample of the kinds of "marketing" jobs I have seen advertised:

- Cold Cooler Stock man, must be able to lift 50 lbs.

- Administrative Assistant and Receptionist

- Telemarketing (a.k.a. harassing people and being subjected to abuse 8 hours a day)

- Pay some up-front fee and you get to work for somebody that offers you nothing in return (Cool! I might do that just so it doesn't look as though I am still unemployed to future employers...)

- Warehouse employee able to push, pull and lift

- Registered Nurse (no idea how that got in there!)

None of these jobs have much to do with marketing as I perceive it. Furthermore, I don't exactly see how marketing and sales got lumped into one bag because to me they are different careers altogether. I know that I would not be an effective salesperson whatsoever because I am not aggressive enough to make the push for the close and I don't enjoy making the cold call to set up an appointment in the first place. My experience in marketing has included brand strategy and advertising creation, advertising placement, budgeting, collateral development and inventory, web site copywriting and coordination of the web site creation and updates, newsletter creation and distribution, proofreading, public relations duties such as press release writing and distribution and event planning. In short, I have never had to move cold items from a truck into a cooler or to change somebody's IV. But at this point, I would love to have some sales skills because that is where the jobs are.

In addition to the variety of meanings for the word "marketing," the job search experience has been very enlightening to me, as well. I have always been fortunate enough to have a job and should I want to leave that job, I had enough time to search for a new job that would usually come easily enough. Now that I am unemployed and in a new area I have no credibility within my new city. Additionally, I look like the biggest flake ever on my resume: working for a mortgage company and getting laid off, working as a waitress for a few months, joining and then quickly leaving the Peace Corps, returning to Reno and then doing nothing until I relocated to Las Vegas where I am apparently also doing nothing. If I had the chance to explain to my future employers I would say that I saw the layoff from Lake Tahoe Mortgage coming (who didn't in 2007?) but that I was hoping to stick out that position until I got my impending Peace Corps invitation. No such luck. But I didn't want to get another professional job when I knew I would be leaving soon, so I took up with my old boss and began waitressing at the 19th Hole Restaurant at a golf course to make my way through until I left for Africa. Because I would be speaking French in Africa, I went to Montreal for three weeks to practice the language before returning to the States and preparing for my departure. I hated the Peace Corps experience and wanted to leave, so I did and returned home to diffuse for about a month. I was offered a job in Reno that would start in August, but by the time August rolled around I wanted to live in Las Vegas instead. I sincerely believe if I had began looking for work in Las Vegas back in March I would have something by now, but on paper I look completely undesirable and unhireable. I am trying to think positively but it is getting harder and harder to do so... I guess that is when it is most necessary!

Another thing I have learned from my job search is that I am not that competitive of a candidate, especially in the field of marketing in a recession. I have an undergraduate degree in my field, but that trumps very few other applicants. I also have several years of "generalist" marketing experience as the in-house marketing agent but no supervisory experience and very little graphic design skills. This experience has made me do some serious thinking about returning to school for an MBA or Masters degree in Marketing/Communications and to take some computer skill courses. If I only had the money at the moment... I would also be attending more networking mixers (that cost money to attend), join local professional organizations (that definitely cost big money to join), would sign up to be a part of a job web site that seems to have good jobs available in my field. The site teases you with the title and a small job description, but if you want to apply for it you have to pay to join the site. What the hell?! It's as though job searching is for those who have the money to play the game, and at the moment, I really don't.

So, that is my rant for the day. Updating my blog when I really should be looking for work. I consider this a time of transition for me. Hey, I was bored with the old me anyway. My sister recommended I join a web community for people in transitional stages in their life. They can share experiences, give each other pep talks, show off their "before and after" photos, etc. I just joined and then remembered that the book I am currently reading (Boomsday) uses the word "transitioning" to describe moving from life to death through suicide. The suicide part of the stories don't match well, but in a way, I really am becoming an entirely different person or entity, practically unrecognizable from the person I was a year ago. Let's hope a year from now I will be unrecognizable to myself again, because right now... yikes!

I have been on a roll lately making ch-ch-ch-changes in my life.

The recent plethora of changes began with a minor prompt: I wanted to remove my mother from my bank account access that I had granted her while I was in Guinea. The changes have snowballed from there and I find myself today, well... ch-ch-ch-changed!

I was finally able to remove my mother from my bank account, but only because I was forced to close that particular account. I was inexplicably heartbroken at the idea of closing my checking account because I have had it for twelve years, I know the account number by heart, and I have check records going back to when I used to write $2.00 checks for a muffin at the Barnes & Noble Cafe. I had to say goodbye to the girl with leopard-print checks and hello to the woman who actually gives combinations of quarters, nickels and dimes for miniscule amounts instead of writing it out. Well, I guess I'm not a "woman" yet if I still pay in change, but we're gettin' there. But I digress. I switched banks altogether as part of my change, no more Wells Fargo, bring it on, Bank of America! And most importantly, my mom doesn't see all of the stupid transactions I make, such as debiting $.78, and my poor sister doesn't have to hear about it.

I have also changed my cellular phone number. I have had the same phone number for years and years, with numerous one-time dates having that number, old contacts with whom I am no longer friends, old jobs, old doctor's offices, the Kerry/Edwards campaign... the word in common here is "old," as in, no longer part of my current life. So, they are now in my past with my old phone number and I have moved on with a 702 area code phone number. A big leap for womankind if you ask me, because for the first time in my life I have my own account with my own bill coming in. That means no more explaining why I called New Jersey to my mother, or why I sent a text to an international phone number. Just me, that is all I have to answer to. It's almost... ALMOST... like I am a grown up now.

In addition to separating myself from my mother's phone account, I have also moved all of my furniture from her storage shed to my very own storage unit. I now have my very own Public Storage hole in Reno, Nevada with my belongings that I currently do not need. Somehow having the storage unit seems very much the move of a divorced, middle-aged, chain-smoking man. I don't know why, it just does. I just remind myself that I am none of those things and that this is a short-term option. I also think to myself, this is a good move. I'm not so dependent on my parents anymore because having this storage unit exhibits a separation from them. Something most 29-year-olds already display, but for me it's a big jump. Hey, don't judge, I'm the baby of the family.

To really show myself and the world what a new and improved person I am, I decided to can my old e-mail address, too. I got my old email address from an ex-boyfriend when we broke up and I had been using it much more than he had. It was "eRACEr" which demonstrated my ex's fascination with video racing games, but considering that we broke up about six years ago and I still receive penis enlargement and Nigerian investment opportunity ads for my ex, I thought it might be about time to change e-mail accounts and get something that described me, not him. So now I'm the very descriptive 'candee.ramos' and no longer receive questions from new friends such as, "so what does 'eracer' mean?" A very small part of me feels somewhat sad to say goodbye to eracer, not because of any feelings associated with my past, but because it is yet another part of me that no longer exists, an old me that was apparently dependent upon others. I'm now Candee.Ramos, sing it!

And perhaps most importantly, I have moved cities and have actually changed mailing addresses with my contacts! I moved from my hometown of Reno, Nevada, where I have mostly resided for the past 29 years, to Las Vegas. In the past I have kept my parents' mailing address for everything from magazine subscriptions to bank statements to invitations from friends. But for the first time I am actually giving out my new mailing address information to anyone who asks. Why? Because this is the new me, a grown woman with an address, phone number, bank account, etc. that isn't associated with my elders for once.

Oh yeah, and I turned 29 the other day. Turning over a new year and a new leaf. And with all of these changes in my life, one thing that hasn't changed is my need to get annoying songs stuck in peoples' heads, such as David Bowie's "Changes." For my birthday instead of you giving me a gift, I'll give you one... the lyrics to Changes, by David Bowie!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pl3vxEudif8

I still don't know what I was waiting for

And my time was running wild

A million dead-end streets

Every time I thought I'd got it made

It seemed the taste was not so sweet

So I turned myself to face me

But I've never caught a glimpse

Of how the others must see the faker

I'm much too fast to take that test

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

(Turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-Changes

Don't want to be a richer man

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

(Turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-Changes

Just gonna have to be a different man

Time may change me

But I can't trace time

I watch the ripples change their size

But never leave the stream

Of warm impermanence and

So the days float through my eyes

But still the days seem the same

And these children that you spit on

As they try to change their worlds

Are immune to your consultations

They're quite aware of what they're going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

(Turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-Changes

Don't tell t hem to grow up and out of it

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

(Turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-Changes

Where's your shame

You've left us up to our necks in it

Time may change me

But you can't trace time

Strange fascination, fascinating me

Changes are taking the pace I'm going through

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

(Turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-Changes

Oh, look out you rock 'n rollers

Ch-ch-ch-ch-Changes

(Turn and face the strain)

Ch-ch-Changes

Pretty soon you're gonna get a little older

Time may change me

But I can't trace time

I said that time may change me

But I can't trace time

This might not go over well with readers in general, but here goes. I have been known to have a really bad attitude toward Canadians. Not Canada the country - hey, I love a good beer and smothering my pancakes in maple syrup as much as the next guy. It's the residents - the Canadians.

Let me explain... this bad attitude goes back several years to the time I was backpacking through Europe. While I was backpacking I found a lot of animosity being directed toward me from Canadian backpackers. I would meet someone in a youth hostel and having an American accent, they would excitedly ask where I was from. Could it be I was from Canada since the countries share such a similiar accent? The moment they discovered I was American there was an instant and obvious difference in their attitude. Ew, get away you Yank. You imperialist bastard. You polluting, uncouth, warmongering, one language-speaking, non passport-carrying loser. Don't you even know where Manitoba is?

Actually, I am uncouth, that is true and a fair assessment of me, but not of all Americans. But I did have a passport. And I was in Europe to learn a second language, so why all of this anger? I learned that it was because there is a general disdain for Americans in the world and when Canadians travel, they are often thought to be American because there are more of us, we look the same, talk the same, act the same... the only difference is they have little Canadian flags sewn onto their backpacks. Why? Because the distinguishing characteristic about Canadians is... that they are not American. I think the Canadian defense mechanism is to disassociate themselves with Americans by joining the opposing group - "Hey, we hate Americans, too! Now let's all go eat at McDonald's and watch a Hollywood movie." Pant, pant. Okay, I have a lot of residual anger from my 6 months abroad.

Okay, I admit it, I now have the same disdain for Canadians as they did for Americans back in 2002 Europe. Here is the difference: while I know that I have a bad attitude toward many Canadians, I try to wait until I meet each individual one before I say whether I like them or not and try not to judge them on the actions of their government or the last Canadian I met. All in all, many of the Canadians I have met as of late are a-okay.

Now I can start my story: I just returned home from Canada. Prior to my departure, everyone I told about my impending trip said something along the lines of, "You? But you hate Canada!" This isn't altogether true and I put on my best attitude for each Canadian that I met, and it turned out fine! Besides, Canada wasn't the scary part (cue the Jaws music) - I was going there to meet the boyfriend's family.

I spent two weeks in a very small town called Restoule which is in Ontario above Toronto. It was a big step in my relationship with my boyfriend because we would be spending two weeks with his parents in their cottage on a lake that his family has been visiting since the 1950s (he only since the 1980s, he's not that old!). Two weeks in a cabin with my boyfriend's parents whom I had never met (they live in Ohio). No television. Just lots of family togetherness! I admit, it was a frightening proposition spending two weeks with my boyfriend's parents, or as I call them, Mr. and Mrs. K. What if they hated me? What if I went stir crazy doing nothing for two weeks and began making up new lyrics to popular songs, one of my favorite boredom pastimes and a surefire way to ensure that they hate me? Turns out, it wasn't so scary and despite Mr. K's denial, I think they liked me.

The house in Restoule is darling and in a great location on the lake. Mr. and Mrs. K have one of the best property spots in the area, the cabin being right on a point in a bay. We spent a lot of time doing outdoorsy things, which was tough for me because I am an indoorsy type, more likely to be found scrapbooking adventures than actually having them. We kayaked (wow, I am really bad at that), canoed (still pretty bad, but better than kayaking), took the boat out for sits in the sun and water skiing (didn't even attempt!), took nature hikes where the mosquitos had an all-they-could-eat buffet on my blood, sat by the fire and had s'mores and beers, played board games, learned card games and even played a horseshoe-like game called Cornhole. I am somewhat afraid of open water, but with the help of a very tight life vest, I did a doggy-paddle around the boat and was pretty proud of myself. We spent a great deal of time with actual Canadians who turned out to be very nice and welcoming, always inviting me in for a beer no matter what the hour. Maybe they are nicer on their own turf with no Europeans around to see.

I also was the recipient of proper English lessons, Mr. K being a former English instructor. I now realize that I wasn't "like, tired" I was just "tired." I blame my western roots for my affinity for the words "like" and "totally." I also learned that it is more polite to say, "pardon?" when you would like someone to repeat what they have said rather than, "huh?!" Personally, I like, "huh?" I find it separates me from the upper crust and keeps me grounded. In any case, Mr. K compared me to Cher from the movie Clueless and Elle from Legally Blonde, which I was just dandy with. Or is it, "with which I was just dandy?" I will have to call Mr. K to check. Mrs. K is a former physical education teacher so I think she was a little flabbergasted when she saw how winded I was on some of the easy nature hikes. What can I say? I am a couch potato. I blame it on my Americaness (the Canadians do it, so why can't I?).

In addition to all of the active things that the K family and I did, we also spent a lot of time reading, napping, cooking, eating and cleaning up. Everyone took turns and before each meal we would pray, and by the end of the second week I could repeat the prayer with the rest of the family. Additionally, we went to Catholic Mass on one of the Sundays I was there. It was an interesting experience because I felt very wholesome going to church with my boyfriend and his family. Nobody has ever invited me to go to church with them, and it seemed a very sweet thing to do with somebody even if I didn't have a clue what was going on for most of the Mass and even if my knees did hurt from the kneeling.

All in all, the two weeks in Canada were great and I got along well with my boyfriend's family. My boyfriend and I about bit each others' heads off each day as 24/7 was a little much for us to handle, but we are better now that we are back home with daily distractions such as work (for him), the Internet and television. We also don't have any Canadian topics to argue about, such as me having major 'tude in that area and him being part of the Canadian Progressive Party.

In just two short weeks I made friends with Canadians, learned where Manitoba is, and made up lyrics for two pop songs! Next week: the world.

My reputation as a movie connoisseur is practically legendary among my closest friends and family. Unfortunately that repuation is BAD because I have terrible taste in movies. The top films ever, according to yours truly, are Dirty Dancing, Bridget Jones's Diary (her spelling, not mine), Moulin Rouge, White Chicks and Charlotte's Web. If TBS is playing a mediocre movie that I have seen ten times already, hey, what else am I going to do with my time, read? I don't think so! So where am I going with this? Okay, I am no movie critic but since I do watch the same movies over and over again, I think I am entitled to analyze the films that I know well.

Until recently, something had been bothering me about the movies Bridget Jones's Diary and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason (part II). Something just didn't add up... In the first Bridget Jones movie, Bridget is a charming character who, despite her faults and clumsiness, is someone that many women can relate to. She wants to lose twenty pounds (me, too!), she makes a fool of herself in public (been there, done that), is a terrible public speaker (when's the next Toastmaster's meeting?), cannot cook whatsoever (I burn cereal), and becomes romantically involved with men of questionable character (uh yeah, no comment). But in the end, Bridget is the shero that we all want to be - she throws out all of her "what do men want" type of books, gets on the stationary bike to the Chaka Khan song I'm Every Woman, quits her lousy job, and when the jerky guy comes back to her in the end and says something along the lines of, "If I can't make it with you, I can't make it with anyone," Bridget responds with, "That offer's not good enough for me." Yeah, go Bridget! What dignity in spite of the fact that it was hottie Hugh Grant making the offer.

Skip ahead a few years and Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason hits theaters. Of course, in movie time it is only about 6 weeks in Bridget's life. She is in a good relationship with handsome, kind, successful Mark Darcy. Here is where the trouble starts - the character of Bridget Jones is completely different! In the first film, Bridget always said the wrong thing at the wrong time, but she was never so insecure as she is in the second film. Bridget is obsessed with her boyfriend, thinks he's cheating on her, and never has any witty comebacks as she did in the original film. I thought, why did they change her character so drastically if this is only supposed to be taking place 6 weeks later? So many women related to the original Bridget Jones, so I was disappointed to see such a change in character.

Fast forward a few years in my own life (movie pun intended) and I see that I am a total Bridge Jones part II fool! I have always related to Bridget Jones' lack of social graces and shared her desire to want to be the Rebecca type (see part II to understand who Rebecca is) but I think I am stuck with the pudgy, struggling Bridget part. I accept this, but until recently I thought it was ludicrous that Bridget would become completely insecure over such a short period of time and then... it happened to me. All of a sudden I am insecure, wondering about my boyfriend. Getting all anxious and lacking in confidence. What happened to the person who read the self-improvement or career enhancement books? Why is it that I now click on the links online that tease, "is your man hooking up at work?" or, "how to spot if your man is lying!" If men are supposed to find confidence so appealing (read that online, too!) then why are there so many articles meant to plant seeds of insecurity in women? So lame. They all say the same thing and besides, my boyfriend has nothing to hide. Unless of course he is working with the Rebecca-type. Note to self: spy on boyfriend at work.

So, alas, I understand the dramatic change in Bridget's personality and forgive the writers of the second film. I get it: with the lovely Hugh Grant she didn't have much to lose (although he does have a very pretty face and a "posh" accent) but with Mark Darcy... well, I guess the more you have to lose the more nervous you are to lose it. Still though, I really need to listen to Chaka Khan more and play on the Internet less.

Although it has been nearly three months since I departed from Guinea, I am still feeling the effects of my experience. I wonder if this experience will stay with me forever? Sometimes it feels as though it was the most vivid experience of my life while at other times when I speak about life in Africa it is almost as though it were a dream and it never really took place. Those anti-malarial drugs certainly are good psychedelics...

The three months that I have been home have certainly passed much more quickly than even one week in Guinea... I am pretty sure that the concept of time has an inverse relationship to the level of joy in one's life. December of 2007 aged me approximately 7 years.

However, it is not as though life in America is all roses as much as many Guineans believe it is. As the saying goes, wherever you go, there you are. The insecurities I felt while in Guinea have chosen to come home to America with me. Maybe insecurities prefer clean running water and electricity, too? In any case, they have taken up residence in my head and if you can believe it, I sometimes doubt my decision to leave Guinea and the Peace Corps. I know. I was miserable and wasn't doing anybody any favors by sticking around in a place that I disliked and could barely communicate, but it is true - sometimes I miss Guinea and the Peace Corps life. Nobody there ever commented on my sometimes prickly... okay, hairy legs. I had a good, prestigious full time job... the economy here isn't so pleasant and I am definitely feeling the effects of that. Gas prices? Please! No consequence to me when I arrived everywhere on foot or shared a taxi with eight other people. That pimple on my chin? No mirrors means no opportunity to scrutinize your every flaw. Ah yes, the simple life certainly has its pros even if it is lacking in the wide selection of cheeses available in America. Seriously people, enjoy the cheese section you take for granted!

Mostly I miss the shared experience with the other volunteers. I checked the photographs posted on the Facebook pages of my fellow Peace Corps volunteers lately and I admit that I became nostalgic. Everyone was together again at the In Service Training looking happy and well adjusted. If I had stuck it out, would I be adjusted by now? Would my French be better? Would I have learned how to get along with my counterpart and therefore, have learned how to better set boundaries? These are the unknowns that make me wonder if maybe I should have just stuck it out a little longer. I try not to let my mind get too wrapped up in the kind of thinking because I realize that we all make the best decisions we can given the circumstances presented to us at the time. So, I will just have to live with my decision and look at it as just another fork in the road on my journey through life.

Just as I was beginning to ever-so-slightly regret my decision to leave the Peace Corps, tears in the shower and all, I received some emails from my friends who are still abroad. One of them confided in me that she cries all the time and hides in her hut. Hmmm, that sounds familiar. Another friend was in the hospital getting a lesion drained of pus that she had received from a wicked staph infection while at the same time fighting an all-over virus that had stolen all of her energy. And then I found out that I, too, had come down with an African disease. I received my close-of-service medical exam lab results back from the doctor and discovered that I had giardia, also known as beaver fever. This is a bacterial infection that one gets from either fecal/oral contact or from drinking water from a source with a dead animal in it. Either way, I am pretty grossed out at the thought of what organism has set up his home in my intestines. Before I left for the Peace Corps I did an interview with my local newspaper, the Reno Gazete-Journal, and said it would be fun to get some kind of disease, something simple and non life-threatening. Well it happened and it certainly wasn't as much fun as I thought it would be - that was a statement of a girl before she found out that diarrhea kills and not everyone has access to lab tests and antibiotics. My second toe (the little piggy who stayed home) also came down with some freaky problem that even the doctor was unfamiliar with and yesterday my nail fell off! Right during sandal season, too... oh yeah, I guess there are bigger problems in life.

So... what's done is done and I have really no other option than to accept my decision as it is and take with me the life experience and knowledge that the Peace Corps provided me. Things I would have thought were funny six months ago are no longer amusing. Case in point, I was watching a highly thought-provoking film the other day called Jackass II and the "men" in the film were throwing raw eggs at one of their friends who was supposed to sit there and accept the barrage. I realized how the Peace Corps experience has changed my point of view on many things in life. Here we are laughing at a blatant waste of food and resources when eggs are a valuable commodity in the world. Will I ever see things in the same way? Actually, I hope not. I realize that I am shallow from time-to-time, but at least I have a greater awareness of this now and can begin to work on changing a few things.

The thing about making decisions, although the process can be difficult, is that once it is done you feel a sense of relief because at least you are no longer in limbo or wondering what you are going to do. When I was in Guinea and working through my thoughts on staying in Africa or heading home, I am somewhat ashamed to admit that I consulted my deck of tarot cards. While that might sound strange to some of you (I was called a gypsy more than once while in Guinea - not by Guineans but by other PCVs!), at least when I consulted the tarot I was able to sort out my true feelings based on what they said - for instance I asked the tarot deck what I should do - stay or go home. I pulled the card of Strength and I thought to myself, damn! That means I have to stay in this prison known as my life. But what this exercise really did was show me what my true feelings were and obviously in my heart of hearts I wanted to go home, otherwise I would have felt inspired rather than demoralized by the card of Strength. My eldest sister made me feel a little better by telling me that sometimes being strong isn't continuing along a wrong path, but sometimes making difficult decisions and dealing with the consequences is, in fact, strength. You all know what happened after that - I came home!

The interesting thing about this is that I used to be pretty good about making decisions. Yes or no, let's go, let's go, let's go. No time for waffling! However, I have never messed up my life before the way I did when this whole Peace Corps thing came about. I didn't leave my previous job in the mortgage industry even though I knew it was tanking because I was hoping the Peace Corps assignment would come through before I was laid off - nope, got laid off. Then I took this PC assignment that ended up not being all what I had hoped it would be and quit. It was in no way a mistake to join the Peace Corps - I am very glad that I did otherwise I would have always wondered about it and thought I was missing out. The PC isn't for everybody and now I know firsthand that it wasn't for me and I have no regrets because I certainly learned a lot about the world and myself. I also had to make a lot of tough decisions before I joined the Peace Corps beyond just the job thing, like to continue in the long-term yet dead-end relationship I was in or join the PC, to spend time visiting Montreal to learn French before I left or spend the valuable time I had left in Reno with my family, to accept the French-speaking PC assignment or hold out for a Spanish-speaking assignment even though I was unemployed and the assignment could take months to come. These decisions were all tough to make at the time and in the end I think everything works its way out on its own and I'm happy for each fork in the road and taking the path that I did. But the thing is, life usually works out for me and now things are getting a little shaky and, based on my last experience, I am now not so confident in my decision-making ability. I find myself feeling nervous and undecided a lot more than ever before. What if I make a bad decision? There are long-term consequences to poor decisions, believe me, I know.

My decision-making ability was tested recently when I applied for a marketing position in Las Vegas. I have a sister that lives there so I have a built-in friend and tour guide, the company I would be working for is fabulous with awesome potential for growth, and maybe I needed a little something different, like a new city. I spent eight hours driving to Las Vegas, purchased some new interview clothes and was on the brink of accepting this new position. Then I froze. What am I thinking? I can't move to a new city! Haven't I learned anything at all from my Guinea experience? Even though the residents of Vegas speak English (mostly) and I wouldn't stick out like such a sore thumb like I did in Africa (kinda - my body is all natural which is freakish in LV), this was still a very frightening experience to move to a new city, find a new place to live, make new friends, find my new favorite Mexican food restaurant, etc. I was sleepless and tortured over the whole thing and resorted to my old decision-making favorite pastime. No, not the Magic 8 Ball, making a Pros and Cons list! The Pros for moving to Vegas outnumbered the Cons, but the Cons were pretty heavy - like, hello, I'm scared! I just went through a very traumatic experience and I felt as though at this time I need my support network around me and that network is in Reno. So, I withdrew my application. Then that very night I met this really great guy - who lives in Las Vegas. I've spent so long letting my instincts guide me, is it possible my instincts are way off? I don't know how to trust myself anymore because I really am in a precarious position in life right now. No job, no prospects and a really flaky-looking resume due to all of the mortgage/Peace Corps drama. The Really Great Guy, or RGG as I'll call him, said that I should just do the opposite of what my instincts tell me to do, a la George on Seinfeld. So, that means trusting that he is indeed an RGG (really great guy) and not a BJ (big jerk). Besides, I consulted my tarot deck and it said he is indeed great and also that travel was on the way... to Las Vegas, perhaps? Maybe for a visit...

I left Conakry 10 days ago and it was pretty much a trip from Hell. The trip itself wasn't terrible (although I did watch Bee Movie twice - it's not just a clever name) but it was incredibly long... about 36 hours.

My travel partner and I had to leave for the airport at 4 p.m. and the Peace Corps was nice enough to arrange for a vehicle to deliver us, even if during the journey the PC driver did ask me for my cellular phone. Upon our arrival at the airport, two men came to our car and helped us with our bags... well, they helped us wheel our carts carrying our bags. I didn't have many Francs left, so I was digging to see what I had and before I even gave the tip to the men one of them said no, that isn't enough. I had a hissy fit and said that if it was too little then he didn't need to have anything at all. Can you tell that I was at my wits end with Guinea and its residents? After a little bit of arguing I gave the Guinean man the tip I had intended on giving him and wheeled my bags the rest of the way to the check-in desk.

In the airport I had to pay an extra $101 to get my third bag home, containing a cool Guinean miniature stool that I had purchased off of a street vendor. That is a LOT of money considering I have been earning Guinean Francs lately! But, I had the cash and soon I was on my way... to the snack bar where I waited for another few hours for my plane to arrive. I had another fun experience in the ladies restroom of the airport when a Guinean woman, traveling internationally and well-dressed with a pretty large derriere (or "butt" for you and me Anglophones) approached me and said "give me money so I can eat". I really wanted to reach out and touch someone, but instead I just rolled my eyes and brushed past her. She obviously wasn't poor if she was traveling internationally, was dressed as well as she was, and pardon me, it looked as though she had been eating just fine. If I could have expressed myself in French I would have told her that it was people like her that was making this decision to leave very easy for me. I am just not culturally sensitive enough to be okay with feeling constantly targeted and I can't help but feel that it is ironic that Guineans fought against colonialism and yet as soon as they see the only white person in the airport they feel the need to approach me and request money or my belongings. Agh, it drives me crazy!

Eventually I left Guinea and flew to Senegal, then to Brussels, then to Newark, then Houston and finally little old Reno, a.k.a. Home. By the time I arrived I was incredibly tired and, let's face it, pretty smelly. My family was waiting for me in the airport each holding individual signs that said "Welcome" "Home" "Butch" "!" (Butch is my nickname - long story). It was great to see them. They all said I looked healthy and tan. "Healthy" meaning I didn't waste away to nothing while in Africa. Yeah, yeah, I get it. It's not easy to lose weight eating rice and potatoes all of the time!

So, I've been back in the good old USA for over a week now and wow, I never noticed how nice this place is. I mean, I am a patriot and all, I just never realized how much we really have our act together until seeing how the "other half" live. Regular garbage pick-up, running HOT water, grocery stores filled with beautifully-polished fruit and cereal galore, and most of all... people speaking English! Ah, I love speaking English and being able to communicate my needs, feelings and thoughts. The best thing about the whole Peace Corps experience, besides all of the really wonderful people I met, is that I under-appreciated everything in my life before I left and now it's as though I've been reborn. The other day while I was driving I looked up to see a flock of birds flying, just starting to go into a "V" shape. Birds just doing what they do. As far as I know, the birds didn't have a conversation to discuss who was going to fly in front and when they would rotate in order to get rest. They just do what comes naturally. And I smiled. Then on my way to lunch the other day I decided to take the long route and went down Reno's main drag, Virginia Street. The Reno Arch was spread out before me and I was lucky enough to be stopped in traffic so that I could take in the beauty of the Arch for a whole minute. The Biggest Little City In The World - Reno is so cute. And I smiled. The mountains, although they have always been here, I've never celebrated them for all that they are, covered with snow with the white making a sharp contrast against the bright blue Reno sky behind them. This is my home and I'm glad to be here with the people I care about.

I am currently living with my sister and brother-in-law, and in exchange for room and board I am their butler. They even call me "Jeeves" sometimes which is pretty fun. I'm looking for a job - a good job that is right for me - but in the meantime I am having all kinds of fun exploring the world that is the Internet. I am going to sign up for all kinds of groups on Facebook, Google everybody I know, look up recipes, Wikipedia-surf, and I am even considering becoming an independent wine tasting consultant. It is kind of like a Tupperware lady, only I would go to peoples' homes and throw wine-tastings and then they buy the wine off of me. Sounds pretty fun and like a good way to keep myself entertained between jobs. And I dig this whole blogging thing. I get to spout off and nobody can tell me to shut up! I think I am going to continue with my musings so stay tuned. :)

When a dream dies, it is as though a part of your soul has died. All of the hopes and expectations and even silly images you have in your head - dead! It's not as if somebody killed my dream or anything, and I take full responsibility for this slow and painful death of my Peace Corps service, it is just that the dream did not match up with reality. In many cases this experience exceeded my expectations - there is a palpable richness to the life here and you just can't make up the stuff that has happened to me over the previous three months. But at the same time, I found that my day-to-day existence here became unbearable and soon I would be a chain-smoking, sun-spotted, 30-year-old.

I am leaving Guinea and returning to the United States. I never thought in a million years that I would ET (Early Terminate) from the Peace Corps, yet here I am, ETing and leaving the country on Wednesday. Six months ago it would have been difficult to find someone more excited about the Peace Corps than me. I even handed out these little anchors to all of my fellow trainees so that if the chips were down and they needed a reason to remember why they had joined the Peace Corps in the first place, well, there was a solid reminder. I thought it would keep them strong, and me, too. In theory it is a nice idea, but when the reality of your life in Africa hits you in the face, a little pink stone is not going to do much for your state of mind.

There is so much to tell about my Peace Corps service, as short as it was. Not all of it bad, but since the topic of this entry is me going home, here is a brief overview of some of the reasons I decided to Early Terminate:

Faranah was a bustling city - more bustling than I would have wanted as I prefer the village life to the cities of Africa. I find that in cities while I am not any less anonymous, the Africans are much more anonymous and therefore feel it is okay to harrass me. I began avoiding an entire street near my house and taking the long way around to the marche so that I could avoid a string of barber shops where young, rowdy men liked to hang out and call out to me, Fatoumata Conde (my new Malinke name)! The problem with being a Peace Corps Volunteer is that you are taught you have to be nice to everybody because you are always being watched and judged, so when the group of men call you over, do you go? Do you ignore them? In the United States I would never approach a group of men calling me over, but here life is different and while I felt no more comfortable approaching the group of men, I felt as though it was part of my job. This was in addition to the weird guys who knew where my house was and due to the lack of electricity it was pitch black outside of my house when I would go inside during the evening. One evening a guy that I already had a bad feeling about left the public area 20 yards from my house just after I did, following me to my house. I felt really afraid and was trying to get into my house quickly, but my door isn't exactly a good one. I got inside and nothing happened but I realized how much of a target I am and how nobody would hear me screaming over the loud music in the public area where I had just been. Strike 1 - cities are frightening.

The company I was working with, while they had the best of intentions to improve the community through working with women's and youth groups, I found that our ideas of what was a normal employee/employer relationship were completely mismatched. I lived in the front yard of the president of the company, and I'm sure you can see where this is headed... how many of you would want to be neighbors with your boss? In addition to the proximity, there was also a real lack of boundaries as to when I was working and when I was not. One evening the president of the company came to my house and said we were going to his wife's house for dinner - this was not the first impromptu dinner I was made to attend. I was pretty hungry so I said okay. We got in the car and stopped not at his wife's house but rather at the Governor's house. And UNICEF was there and the Christian Children's Fund was there. I had no idea we were going to a meeting at the Governer's house and was thus, not dressed appropriately or really in the mindset for working in French. After the meeting I requested to be taken home because it was 10 at night, but the president insisted I go to his wife's house despite my insistence I be taken home. While there I was reminded for the hundredth time that I would need to give Fanta (his wife) English lessons. The complete lack of privacy and being on-call 24/7 to the president of the NGO that I worked with was probably the most "culture shock" I experienced while I was here. The relationships are just so different here, and Guineans are quick to point out how rude you are that you haven't already gone shopping with their wife (although you don't know where she lives and only arrived yesterday). Strike 2 - I came here to learn about another culture, but I'm still really American.

My French is really terrible. I mean really, really terrible. It is very difficult getting around in a completely foreign culture and city when you can communicate. Throw in there not understanding 60% of what is going on or being able to communicate only about 30% of what you want to say and it adds in a whole 'nother element of difficulty. I tried to get a French tutor, but even trying to secure a French tutor with my lousy language skills made the goal of improving my French that much more difficult. However, I never realized how good my French skills were until people would speak to me in Malinke, which I know even less. I found out a NOT good way to teach someone Malinke - repeat the same words over and over, more and more loudly because eventually they will NOT know what you are trying to say. Soon, I just wanted to hide in my tiny hut and cry. Or read. In English. Strike 3 - My language skills suck!

I came here with good intentions to help Guineans with their businesses. Perhaps I was naive but I really did hope to make a real impact. I thought all it would take would be a little creativity, some new energy and a positive mindset, some formal education skills, and just being around the American commerce system would make me a good volunteer for the people of Faranah. I didn't realize that the kind of help I was willing to offer was not exactly what the people of Guinea wanted to receive. Peace Corps Volunteers come as human resources, not monetary ones - that is what one of my fellow PCVs said to an organization we had just given a presentation to on how they could improve their business when they asked for the rich Americans to give them money. Yet as soon as I would walk down the street or go into a boutique someone would say, "give me a euro" or "give me your shoes" or something like this. One guy tried to grab my bag. Within my last day and a half at site I had someone ask me for my shoes twice, cash for new shoes, my camera, my headlamp, my body soap, money in general, my bike... all after I had given away my pots and pans, a bunch of food, my towels and some buckets. It was almost as though as soon as I started giving things away in preparation for my departure, the vultures came to feed. This was so overwhelming to me that while I had a few doubts in my mind of doing the right thing by ETing, this solidified my decision in my head. There is no way I can live every day with people constantly asking me for things, which I think is just plain rude. Strike #4 - I'm not a walking dollar sign.

The animal situation here is a little wacky. I mentioned in a previous entry that I had received a chicken as a gift for moving to Faranah, who I named Monsieur and who is very handsome. It wasn't long until my family kept saying they were going to kill him and eat him. I said he was my companion and that I didn't want to eat him and they said well that's too bad, we're going to kill him tonight. Then I would see him the next day and they would say tonight is the night, we are going to kill him and eat him. Then the next day and the next. It was like they were toying with me psychologically that they were going to murder my pet. I understand that chickens are food here and not pets, so that is fine and I don't really know how to take care of a chicken so I told them they could eat Monsieur if they truly insisted, however I would not partake. But it's all of the other ways that I find it to be cruel and unbearable to be here. There is a dog at my compound named Patience and he is very attractive for a Guinean dog, only he has really bloody ears which he constantly scratches because hoards of flies surround him at all times. Nobody takes this poor creature to the vet and it's hard to even be around poor Patience because I have so much sympathy for him and his bloody ears. My host brother said he's been like that for 8 years, although I never truly know if what people is saying is the truth or if I understand it correctly. Eight years is a long time to have flies eating at your ears. Last night another volunteer told me about the time he was at the beach and a group of people were chasing a rabid dog and they finally killed him with a brick. I cannot stand the idea of seeing things like that. That, along with the chickens tied by their feet to the trunks of cars and hanging upside down, lifting their heads up so they can get some air in the extreme heat. I eat chicken all the time, and perhaps we treat animals like this in the United States, I just don't ever see it in my face the way it is here. Strike #5 - the animal situation is unbearable.

I'm only going to do one more, just because I mentioned the animal cruelty I will also point out the way they treat children here is hard to witness. Now I am the first one to say I don't exactly love children - I am the youngest in my family and perhaps because I never grew up around children or babysat much I don't know what to do with kids. In any case, I don't hate children, either, and the way they are slapped around here is so hard to watch. The other day I was at a community soccer game where the announcer kept saying, "this is for the rights of children" and many things about how this whole 10 day soccer event was for the children of Guinea, let's protect them, etc. Then a guy in the stands starts whipping the children with a cord. He was angry because the cord to the speaker had gotten disconnected and so he started wildly swinging this cord and whipping all the children. The kids had so much fear in their eyes, and I was so afraid of him I hid behind my host brother. After the third time of the man whipping the children I told my host brother that I couldn't stand it anymore and to be honest, I was afraid to even be near this man because he was acting like a rabid animal. He just laughed and told the man to stop because I didn't like it, so he did. It was as simple as that. One person had to say it wasn't okay and he stopped (with the whipping - he still got up and chased the kids threatening to hit them with his hands). I found it incredibly ironic that I was at an event that was for the rights of children and while there is child abuse taking place in the stands, right next to the announcer, nobody thinks that perhaps this is infringing on the rights of children. But that is just how it is here - everybody hits each others' children and that doesn't seem to be a problem with anyone. You make kids listen by hitting them here, even if they are too young to even understand what is happening. This wasn't the first instance of child abuse that I saw in Guinea, but I hope it will be the last. Strike #6 - I just couldn't take it anymore.

So, like I said, there were many positive and funny instances in Guinea. But I wanted you to understand just some of the reasons why I felt I needed to come home. I'll be in touch again - probably from America where the next chapter of my life will begin.

Soon I will no longer be a Forecariahn, but rather a Faranahan. Yes, I am moving to Faranah where there are more mud huts than I can count and the children yell "Toubabu" instead of "Fote" - ah yes, the joys of Haute Guinea. I am actually excited to start this new prospect although I am filled with self doubt and fear at the same time.

I had a short visit to my site last month and was even able to stay in my very small house. It is cute; freshly painted turquoise with a giant bed in it, slightly sloping floors and even an indoor toilet (that doesn't flush, but who's complaining?)! A tall person could reach his arms out and touch both walls but since I do have the luxury of an indoor latrine I will just say that I am living large in a small house. I live in a concession with a bunch of other people nearby which is good for safety and also the feeling of a surrogate family. While in Faranah I gave a short English lesson to my host brothers and taught them the difference between "Thank you very mush" and "Thank you very much." Teaching English will most likely be a secondary project for me, as will be working with young girls on self esteem and the importance of family planning. My primary projects, of course, will be in small enterprise development since that is my official duty while in Guinea.

Also while at Faranah I visited a nearby village where an entire meeting was conducted in Malinke, the local tongue of Haute Guinea, and the only words I could understand were "Fatoumata," "Ameriki," and "Nevada." The small room was filled with over 40 men and they sat on each others' laps to avoid sitting next to me on my large leather loveseat. At one point during the meeting a chicken was brought into the room and I had the sinking feeling in my stomach it was going to be sacrificed for me or something bloody was about to happen. After what seemed like forever of sitting pretty with a stupid smile painted on my face, they presented me with the rooster and 7000 Guinean Francs as a gift. I was so moved by their gesture that I wanted to cry. Seven thousand Francs is not a great deal of money, but the gesture that they had taken up a pool for me and also gave me a chicken, a great sign of respect, made me realize that these people who have nothing are willing to give what little they do have to me. I truly want to be a great volunteer for the people of Faranah and its surrounding villages. Unfortunately I am still just American enough to be a spoiled brat and insist on keeping the rooster as a pet rather than eat him as was intended. I now have a pet rooster in Faranah named Monsieur and he is adorable.

The feelings of insecurity are... what if my new community hates me? What if they say, "that Fatoumata is really stupid - why is she here and why did we waste a chicken on her?" My counterpart already is short with me due to my lacking French skills and I really, really don't want to cry in front of him. And yes, the spiders are back. I killed four giant spiders and one hearty cockroach during my site visit and had a discussion with them on how this was my house now and since I was coming to live here that it was me or them. Part of me wants to believe that they hear this message and that they are not secretly ganging up on me to attack me in my sleep.

All of these hopes and anxieties await me only days away... I left the comfort of my host family behind and will be sworn in as an official volunteer on Friday. From that point I will start my two years of service. Two years. That is a long time. So long, in fact, that I kept having miniature freak-outs while on my site visit. I kept reminding myself that I don't need to get through the next two years, I need to get through the next hour or the next day. Little by little, petite a petite, or as they say in Malinke, DoniDoni. That is my new motto and I think the only way I will be able to get through the next... not going to think about it.

I never really noticed before how nice it is to be anonymous. You know how people like to feel special and as though people care about them? I don't really feel like that anymore. I now officially represent America and apparently, white people everywhere, even though I am technically Latina.

It is funny how the Peace Corps told us upon arrival that there is no such thing as a small event if a bunch of Peace Corps Volunteers were going to be there. Once word gets out that we will be attending an event, it is as though we are giving our blessing, so if it is a political event or something that can be perceived as such, we should really try and avoid attendance. At the time, I didn't belive what they were saying or at least realize to what extent they meant this piece of advice. I thought we were just being conceited or thinking that everyone cares about us because we are Americans when really they are happy to go about their own business. I was wrong. They care and show up in droves when they hear the Peace Corps is coming.

This was especially apparent at a recent soccer game that Peace Corps Guinea participated in against the team of a town near my training site. We thought it was going to be an average afternoon with a fun community game of soccer, but again, we were wrong. There had to be more than a thousand people in attendance, the opposing team came in their best soccer uniforms, there were announcers with amps, and the Prefet came and watched on her own couch while sipping Fanta. While you probably don't know what a Prefet is, this is a big deal and would be equivalent to a Senator coming to a soccer game, only I think Guineans have more respect for their Prefets than even a Senator receives in the United States. We were in awe at the amount of attention we were receiving and it definitely drove home the idea that there is no such thing as an action by an American that goes unnoticed here. On a personal level, throughout the entire soccer match I was crossing my legs and doing the pee-pee dance as I really had to use the restroom. But as I have noticed elsewhere in Guinea, there aren't exactly facilities around every corner and the tall grass surrounding the soccer field began to look more and more tempting as a possible escape. This is problem number two with being a conspicuous white person in an African nation - you can't just run off into the field and squat because you definitely draw a lot of attention to yourself just on the walk over to the field and children are likely to follow. I never thought that squatting in a field would be interesting to anyone, but here it is very interesting that an American would do such a thing. As a good American should when representing her country, I was finally able to locate a squat-toilet restroom, so this story has a happy and patriotic ending.

My trash has also taken on a much greater importance that ever before. When I want to throw out my garbage, I now realize that I must burn in immediately or else my family or neighborhood children will hop on it the second I leave, rummaging through it to see what interesting item I may have left behind. Unless used dental floss is a hot item here, I think they will be greatly disappointed.

The thing is that I don't blame the Guineans for being so interested in us. I find that I do it myself when I see other white people in my training site. It is strange - the thing you hate more than anything, being pointed at and called "Fote" all the time and the first time you see a white person who isn't another volunteer you are fascinated and think, who is the Fote (white person) amongst the sea of Fore (black people)? It is weird to even think about, but I have a desire to reach out and wave and find out what they are doing here, how the ended up in Guinea, and what has their experience been like? It made me empathize with the Guineans who yell out to me, because I share their interest in this stranger who has come to this town and is paying attention to a country that receives so little.

It is going to be strange when I return to the western world and discover that I really am not so special afterall. Maybe I will long for the days when people wanted to rummage through my garbage and spy on me while I urinate. Maybe I will hire a stalker to help me through my transition.

Honestly, has it only been 10 days since my last blog entry? This is surprising to me in two ways - first, who knew I would have Internet access so often, and two, it seems as though it has been 10 months, not days.

Life in Guinea is supposed to run at a slower pace, that is what I had read before my arrival, but I had no idea it would go this slowly. An "ancien" Peace Corps Volunteer who has been in country two years told me that each month of his service has passed more quickly than the preceeding one. That is good news, otherwise I will come home looking like a very old woman. African Sun + Stress = Vielle.

My days are all pretty much the same - wake up to the mosque music, go back to sleep for an hour or two and then wake up again to my digital watch/alarm clock/night-light, realize that I am indeed in Guinea and that wasn't some strange dream, analyze the strange dream I did have due to the malaria medications I am taking, take a bucket bath, treat my random wound that I inevitably have, get dressed and head to school, hours of French lessons, eat rice or bread in the marche, go back to school, walk home to the screams of children, sit in the yard/kitchen of my house and say "ca va?" with my family, eat dinner alone at the table in my house, take another bucket bath to wash off the day's sweat and red-dirt stains from my ankles, and either watch the old Mexican soap opera that plays for 20 minutes or read a book (in English - c'est un faux pas!). All in a day's work for a Peace Corps trainee. Life is supposed to change dramatically once I arrive at my site - February 10th, my sister's 30th birthday!

I received my site announcement last week and although I wasn't completely thrilled with it at first, I am coming around to the idea. It is supposed to be a very cool university town and I may even be one of the few volunteers with electricity and running water, at least some of the time. Also, my job description is somewhat vague which means that I will have the opportunity to turn it into what I'd like it to be. And best of all, I will be able to eat what I want and how much I want! My host family truly is wonderful, but I can only eat a small portion of bread in the morning but every day there is the struggle of how much I will receive. They like to feed us a lot here and sometimes it is hard to eat that much with the heat and the nausea.

The sad news around my maison is that our rooster ran away. I think that I am the most upset by this news because the rooster and random chickens are honestly what have been getting me though the past two weeks. I can sit in the yard/kitchen and just watch the chickens do their thing as my family speaks Pulaar to each other. In my opinion, our rooster was the most handsome one in all of the village and my family is not sure if he went crazy (I think that is what they meant by "deranged") or if he was stolen. I think he ran away as he made a break for it the other day when all we saw was his red comb over the weeds far, far away in the yard. So, while I am happy for being able to sleep in a little bit in his absence, I am sorry for our family's loss. In other fowl news, a chicken found its way into my bedroom the other day. I heard a nose and when I looked over to see what it was, hoping it wasn't a rat or something of that sort, I saw that a chicken had wandered in! I tried to shoo her away but she ran under the bed and I had to have my father come and take care of the issue. As we say often amongst ourselves, Only in Guinea!

Another issue I recently had to request my father's help with was that I sliced my left thumb open with my Leatherman knife while using the saw tool. My father had specifically warned me about this particular tool and I know better than to cut toward myself, but sure enough I cut pretty deeply into my thumb. It is numb right now and the nurse informed me today that I may have cut a nerve but it will grow back. Thank goodness for my neighbor, Neil, another trainee. I ran to him for help when I wouldn't stop bleeding and I didn't know how to explain myself or my needs to my host family in French. He had the good head to grab a few items from his medical kit and come with my father and I to the Peace Corps bureau. You find out in times like these not only how you do not keep a cool demeanor in times of trouble (blood everywhere!) but also that you really can depend on your fellow trainees and volunteers to get you through.

If I haven't said Merry Christmas yet it is because it doesn't feel like Christmas here. The whole Peace Corps family is together, trainees and volunteers alike (and a few Mali volunteers just traveling through), and we had a big spaghetti feed. While the togetherness is nice and very Christmasy, it just isn't Christmas when it is 90 degrees! However, Merry Christmas to all of you people with snow and the like!

This will most likely be my last blog entry until at least February when I will be sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer before I go to my post site.

Missing everyone lots!

XO,

Candee

Yes, the honeymoon is over. When I first arrived in Guinea I was informed that actually I was in the honeymoon phase and that this would pass and that eventually culture shock would set in. Culture shock has officially set in.

It's not that Guinea is a bad country, it is just a hard country to adjust to. The people here are incredibly warm and welcoming, running up to shake your hand and ask your name, saying "bonjour" to you everywhere you go. The problem is that I am having an incredibly difficult time adjusting to my new environment - the heat, the food, the illnesses, the smells, the language - everything. I knew this would come, I just didn't realize how hard it would really be or how difficult it would be to focus on the positive aspects of my new life.

My stage group left Conakry last Saturday and was transported to a town called Forecariah where we met our new Guinean families. There was a ceremony with the Prefet giving a beautiful welcome speech and then we danced and found out who our families were. My parents are very nice - their names are Ibrihama and Aissatu and I also have five sisters and two brothers. My new name is Fatumata even though most children in the town just call me Fote, which means white person. Although constantly being around 36 other Americans can have its challenges, namely 37 people with major intestinal and stomach issues and 4 restrooms, I did not want to say goodbye and leave with my new family. Although they seemed very nice and our family used spoons to eat out of the communal bowl at the ceremony (other families used their hands) I still felt very nervous moving into a new household where I would need to use my limited French skills to express my needs, hopes and desires.

In my new home I have my own bedroom with a locking door and I get to use the indoor restroom to take bucket baths. A bucket bath consists of me, a bowl, a big bucket of cold water, my personal products I brought from the United States and a stinky towel that never dries off completely. The toilet in the family home looks like a traidtional Western toilet except there is no seat, so technically one must still utilize the squatting method when using this particular toilet. I am not complaining - this beats the hole-in-the-ground style any day of the week. Also, I still have a supply of toilet paper that the Peace Corps provided to me, but I am evaluating my options once this supply runs out. To assimiliate or not to assimilate, that is the question.

Although my family is extremely warm and welcoming, nobody could help me my first night in my new home. I have never been more sick in my life and to add insult to injury, there was a spider approximately the size of a small child that was terrifying me to no end each time I made it down the hallway to the restroom. I'm not sure if I was shaking uncontrollably because of my loss of water and nutrients or because of my fear of the spider. I'd better toughen up, that is for sure. If a girl wants to stay in Guinea, she needs to know how to take care of herself when she gets sick and to show those spiders who's boss!

The good news is that I am feeling better for the most part - still adjusting but not nearly as sick as I was before and I am more accustomed to the style of cooking over here... done outside on the ground over a small fire with the occassional chicken running by my food. I also get to help with dinner sometimes, which is acceptable because I am a woman, but not a good Guinean one unfortunately. The women here peel potatoes with a dull knife in a matter of seconds but luckily my family is patient with me when it takes me two minutes per potato to do the same. So far my diet has consisted of baguettes, eggs, potato, rice, peanut butter, a variety of vegetables thrown in various dishes, meat (I don't want to know what animal it came from!), Laughing Cow cheese, spaghetti and Fanta.

All in all, I feel that although I am having a difficult time adjusting that I am growing leaps and bounds from this experience. I not only know more about the Guinean way of life and its politics, but I actually care because I have a first-hand concern as to when this country is going to provide electricity for its people. I saw a mere mouse-sized spider the other day and scoffed in his face. My French is really coming along. And more importantly, the other day when the rooster crowed at 5:30, I just rolled over and went back to sleep because that is a normal part of my morning now. Slowly but surely, I am adjusting to my shock level and feel that with a little patience, a huge dose of humility and some good health practices that I can make it through.

I shall be writing again if not on Christmas then at some point in February when I will be sworn in as an official Peace Corps Volunteer. The only way that I have Internet and electricity right now to update this blog is due to the fact that I bit into a rock that was hidden in my rice and chipped my back molar and had to be transported to Conakry via a rooster-filled bush taxi in order to see a dentist.

So, while the honeymoon may be over I feel as though I have signed up for this "marriage" for the long-haul, warts and all. I am going to try and love my new spouse for what it is and accept this as my new circumstance. Don't forget that traditionally the first year anniversary gift is paper, so should you feel the desire to send me toilet paper, I would be obliged.

Candee

Wow! That is the one word I would use to sum up Guinea so far. Although I have only been in the country for one day, I am already fascinated by Guinea and its people.

My group of 37 Peace Corps Volunteers arrived yesterday at the Conakry airport after a very long trip (3 hour bus ride from Philadelphia to New York City, flight from JFK to Brussels, 4 hour layover, flight over the Sahara from Brussels to Senegal, touch down to refuel and then another short flight to Conkary - geesh!). Despite being extremely jetlagged, our group was still excited to be in Guinea at last. I was touched by the Peace Corps volunteers and staff who were at the airport with a big banner who cheered and clapped for us. What a warm welcome to an extremely warm country. It is in the 80s here and is quite humid, especially for a girl from Nevada. The drive from the airport was a small taste of Guinean life in the capitol - people and action everywhere, on bikes, walking and running in the streets, carrying baskets of breads and other things on their heads, setting up little booths lit by candles and selling a variety of items... did I already say wow? This is Africa!

Upon arrival to the Peace Corps house, guarded by Guineans employed by the Peace Corps, our group (also known as G15) had dinner with the Country Director at his residence. Great food - called Shwarma or something like this - basically flatbread with beef and onions in it and we had hummus on the side. Yum! A cold bottle of Fanta and then it was off to my mosquito net-lined bed. It is unfortunate that I am still experiencing the side effects of jetlag and woke up for a few hours last night, only to have a night terror shortly after falling back asleep. I am not sure if this is a result of the crazy experiences I have had lately or because of the malaria medications that I am taking. These have been known to cause nightmares, but I think my experience last night was possibly just in my head because of my fear of the side effects. Beyond the malaria medications, we are also due for about 11 vaccinations over the next month. And I've already had 4!

So far we are staying in Conakry beside a beautiful beach, but on Saturday I will leave for a town called Forecariah where I will be adopted by a Guinean family. I will be expected to eat with them twice a day on weekdays and for all meals on weekends. One of my first assignments is to ask a female member of the household how I can wash my clothes without the assistance of a washing machine. The job of the family is also to help me practice my French as well as the local dialect (not sure what this is yet) and to help me integrate into the culture here. For instance, I am already practicing not eating or touching things with my left hand as that is a major no-no in Guinea. If you don't know why, let me know and I will fill you in... For the next nine weeks I will have training in language skills, technical training in business (my job is small enterprise development), health and safety training, and cross cultural training. What an exciting adventure I have before me! Pre Service Training, as this period is known, is supposed to be a very challenging time for volunteers because of all of the new things we are learning and we also do not have the autonomy or privacy that we are used to in the United States. All in all, I am excited to have the opportunity to live with a family and have them take me under their wing as a member of their own family. These families have been selected through a choosy process and apparently it is a great honor for them to host the Peace Corps Trainees (PCTs).

I can't wait to meet my family, purchase a complet (very cute two-piece matching dress pieces here) and begin learning French! I will write again when I have computer and Internet access, which fortunately is more likely for me after training than the other volunteers due to my job sector.

A bientot!

Candee

This is the message I just sent to some of my friends. Practical information on how to contact me. I'll miss everyone!

Hello Friends!

Hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. :)

If you don't already know, I am leaving the Biggest Little City on Friday, November 30th for a period of 27 months. I will be a volunteer in the Peace Corps working as a small business adviser in Guinea, a country located on the west coast of Africa. I have started a personal blog about this experience at http://candeeramos.blogspot.com if you wish to check it out! I also have a page on Facebook where I will post this information.

Unfortunately I don't yet know how much Intenet access I will have, if any. This also means that if I do have a moment with the Internet, I probably will not have time to read forwarded emails and jokes, but please do send me regular emails if you can!

The best way to contact me is the old fashioned way - mail! Please note that my new mail address will be:

Candee Ramos, PCT

Corps de la Paix

BP 1927 Conakry

Guinee (West Africa)

This will be my address for at least the next three months - which is quite possibly how long it will take for mail to be delivered to me. Sadly, I am not joking on that one, so please do not become offended if it takes me a very long time to write back. In fact, some mail may never be received at all. This is especially true of packages containing anything desireable whatsoever as the local mail workers tend to go through packages taking what they would like.

If you do write or send anything, you may wish to also use red ink on the packaging (for some reason this freaks out the locals) and you may also wish to put Christian crosses on the package or put the words, "Dieu regardez vous" on the package, which means "God is watching you" - this also may make them think twice about opening the package or stealing anything. Also, please number your mail to me so that we will know if anything goes missing - as in, "To Candee: #1". Then, if I receive a #3 next, I will know something has gone astray.

Please note that I am also going to be turning off my cellular phone very soon, but will write with my new phone number should I aquire a cell phone in Guinea. If you want to send me your hard-copy mailing address, I would love to have it so that I can write to you.

I love you all!!!

Candee Ramos

775.843.0854

Today is Thanksgiving! I admit that I have been focusing on the food part of the day even though it is supposed to be about being thankful. Give me a break, I'm moving to Africa for godsake! No turkey, no wine... just lots of rice and nice people there.

Okay, but I do realize that this is a great day to reflect on all we are thankful for, and so I'm going to write a ditty about the people for whom I am thankful this 22nd day of November 2007.

First of all, my parents celebrated their 34th wedding anniversary yesterday! That is a rarity and I am incredibly thankful that each Thanksgiving there is no arguing or drama surrounding which parent to spend the day with. My parents are the best and have set a great example for me on how marriage should work, how parents should treat their children, and what it really means to be a family. Bob and Sandee Ramos are the greatest!

Also, my sister Randee drove up to Reno from Las Vegas with her cute, old dog (Luke) so that we could all be together. At dinner I will have the opportunity to look around the table overflowing with food and see the people I care most about - Bob and Sandee, also known as Mom and Dad, Randee, Brandee and Pat (my brother in law). It really is about the people in our lives, not the things, so no matter where I spend the holidays I know that I am rich with the love of my family. I know that sounds incredibly corny, but I believe it is true.

I am also thankful for all of the things I take for granted every day - having that enormous amount of food displayed on the Thanksgiving table to eat, having my health, being able to read, being a woman and still having the opportunities of a man, living in a clean and safe environment, and even having the chance to explore the world and volunteer. I tend to think that volunteering is for the wealthy... if you have fulfilled all of your basic needs then you can go out and give more of what you have to offer. Having an abundance of whatever it is that I have to give means that I am wealthy, despite growing up in the biggest trailer park in the world!

Going through the process of applying to join the Peace Corps has also made me realize how thankful I am for everyone around me and their generous spirits.

Dr. Elizabeth Hutson's office (Reno Gynecology) and her wonderful Nurse Practioner, Laurie Smith, gave me a sample pack of birth control pills for my first three months in service as a volunteer, saving me over $150. That is on top of their already professional and quick job of filling out the loads of paperwork that the Peace Corps asked them to fill out for the medical portion of my application. Dr. Robert France, an excellent dentist in Reno, was there for me during the thorough dental analysis the Peace Corps needed done, and he did the check up, filled out the paperwork, and completed 18 sets of dental x-rays all for free because of my PC applicant status. And he did it all with a smile and an eagerness to truly help me in my endeavor. For that not only am I grateful, but I have been recommending him to every Renoite who brings up dentists!

And of course I am thankful for the three people who filled out paperwork for me during my initial PC application process. The Peace Corps needed three people to write information about me as a former employee, a former volunteer and as a friend. Jana Smoley of LakeRidge Golf Course filled out my paperwork because she was my previous boss - although she could have been either my friend or my previous volunteer supervisor as she is all of the above. Pat Jarvis, a teacher at Truckee Meadows Community College and a longtime family confidant took the time to be a true friend and fill out the lengthly paperwork. And Joe Hansen, co-publisher of RLife Magazine, filled out the paperwork as a volunteer supervisor to me, but he could also double as a previous employer or a friend. All three of these people have been influential in my life and on Thanksgiving it only seems appropriate to Thank them from the bottom of my heart.

Is it possible that one person could be so lucky in life? Despite whatever problems I think I have, I am pretty thankful and couldn't ask for more. Well... no cellulite would be nice, but I'm a realist... and also ready to pig out on Thanksgiving dinner.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Love, Candee

For those of you who think, 'gee, does this chick ever shut up?' rest assured, I will most likely not blog as often as I do now once I leave for the Peace Corps on November 30th. Yes, that's right - my leave date has been moved up one day. This is because I am in the west and I need to be at a class in Philadelphia starting at mid-day on December 1st. One less day to spend with my family, soaking up Reno in all of its Renoness.

So, the past week has been spent on an emotional roller coaster of feeling sick and nervous to excited and ready to take off on my new adventure. Is this common? Perhaps before any big endeavor it is normal to have wide swings in emotion. I compare this experience to having a baby. Note: Please, if you are a mother/father don't post a reply along the lines of, "nothing compares to being a parent - it is the most wonderful and difficult job in the world and until you are one you cannot comment." I am not comparing the entire experience of the Peace Corps to having a child (although who cannot say about both that it is the toughest job you will ever love?). What I am describing is the moment leading up to the birth of the child. It is this exciting thing that you wanted, that you have nurtured and grown for months, worked hard for - I even had to go to the gynecologist for this, too - and now that the "birth" is right around the corner, I can't help but feeling very nervous. What have I gotten myself into? I've gotten everything I asked for, yet now that it is here I think, am I strong enough to handle this? Why did I want to do this again? I am just going to keep my eye on the prize and the reasons why I wanted to join the Peace Corps in the first place to keep my head straight. What makes me feel better is whenever I speak to a former volunteer who served in Africa or anyone who is from Africa and knows the continent well, I hear the same thing over and over - the people are wonderful. They look after you as if you were their own community member or even daughter. They want you there and are happy you are there to help.

With only 15 days to go... I think I will learn the art of breathing to keep my head straight. Anyone know a good birthing coach?

XO,

Candee

During training I found out that my address will be:

Candee Ramos, PCT

Corps de la Paix

BP 1927, Conakry

Guinee (West Africa)

Put a little accent mark above the first "e" in Guinee, s'il vous plait. Now you can send me cool stuff, like suppositories!

xo,

Candee

Hello! My name is Candee (yes, that is my real, legal name) and I have created this blog so that I can hopefully stay in contact with my friends and family while I am in Guinea, a small country about the size of Oregon in western Africa. I have joined the Peace Corps and will be leaving for Guinea on December 1st, 2007 and will serve as a volunteer for 27 months. My job will be a Small Enterprise Development Adviser helping Guineans with anything business-related from marketing, accounting, bookkeeping to working with them on cooperatives, requesting grants, etc. I will find out the full scope of my assignment once I arrive in country and begin training, but it is my understanding that much of my job will come from the creative ideas that the locals in my village and I come up with together. What an exciting prospect! In Guinea I will be learning French as well as the local dialect of the community where I will ultimately be assigned.

People are curious about the Peace Corps, what I will be doing, where I will be going, etc. So here is a list of some of the most frequently asked questions about my assignment and my decision to join the Peace Corps. I love talking about the Peace Corps, so please contact me if you have any questions!

Why did you decide to join the Peace Corps?

There were many factors that went into my decision to apply to join the PC. For one thing, I enjoy a challenge, both personally and professionally and I can't imagine a more challenging experience (or exciting one, for that matter) than moving to Africa for 27 months. Sometimes in an office environment I feel as though I am going through the motions - 9 to 5, Monday through Friday, happy hour, power lunches... and the list goes on. While I enjoy my life very much in Reno and the amazing friends and associates I have made here, I am looking for a little more adventure in life. Additionally, I enjoy traveling, but as a tourist I often feel as though I am looking at the world from the outside in. Although I know I will not fully assimilate into my new community, my hope is to make friends in Guinea, speak their language, learn their culture, and work with them to create lasting relationships that allows me to look at the world from their perspective. And of course, the idea of being able to make a sustainable difference where it is truly needed sounds like an incredibly rewarding experience.

Where are you going?

I am going to Guinea, a country in west Africa. This is not to be confused with Papua New Guinea, the country by Australia. I know... I hadn't really heard of Guinea before, either!

When do you leave?

I will leave Reno on December 1st, 2007 for Philadelphia. I will spend three days in Philadelphia at an event called Staging where I will meet the other PC Volunteers who are also headed to Guinea. We will all meet, bond, sing Kumbaya (kidding on that one - I think), and fly over to Guinea together. At this point we will begin our immunizations, our health and safety training, language training and technical training.

Will you be alone?

For the first 11 weeks I will be with my fellow PCVs in training. We will each be living with a Guinean host family during this period, so I will not be alone as either an American in my community or when I go home at night. After training, I will depart to my new community where I will then spend the next two years. At this point, I will most likely live alone and be the only American in my village, although another PCV is never too far away and the Peace Corps checks in on me often.

Aren't you scared?

Yes! And excited. The great thing about being scared is that it forces you to move outside of your comfort zone, and Guinea will be waaaay outside of my comfort zone. What an amazing way to grow, learn about myself, the world, and how to make something out of nothing but opportunity. I think that if I am brave enough to conquer this experience that when I return to the United States I will purchase for myself a black leather jacket and a motorcycle to show the world what a true badass I am! Joking on that one... I am more of a Vespa girl. So yes, I am scared but I think anxious and excited are more descriptive words of how I am feeling right now.

What are you going to do when you come back?

I don't know. The PC opens so many doors and after two years living in a developing country, I think that I will have a better idea of what I want to pursue in life. That might be graduate school (the PC has a great network of universities that provide affordable grad school!), trying to have an international career through another governmental agency, returning to my career as a marketing professional in the United States... I don't know what I will do, but I have 27 months to figure this out. Any door I choose, I think I will be pleasantly surprised! Now I know how the contestants must feel on The Price is Right.

What are you going to miss the most?

My family! I am very close to my family and it is hard for me to imagine being away from them for so long. However, they have promised to visit me in Guinea. I am also going to miss Reno and the Sierra Nevada area in general - I am a desert dweller and Guinea is a hot and humid country so that will be a big change. Also, I think I will miss the food. I know that might sound a little simplistic, but I have been away from home for extended periods before and there is nothing like mom's cooking! Or a good old Peanut Butter and Jelly Sandwich. Oh yeah, and I will probably miss electricity, running water, traditional showers, western toilets, television and speaking English. BUT - what an opportunity to read, write, speak with locals in my new community, and do all of the growing I hope to do!

Are you crazy?!

Maybe a little bit! But let me tell you this... every person that has tried to talk me out of the Peace Corps or has come to an event with me because they are concerned about my safety has eventually said something along the lines of, "Hey, that might be pretty cool - maybe I'll join the Peace Corps!" It's addictive and exciting!

Can I send you stuff?

Yes - just nothing too juicy or exciting or it may not end up in my hands. I will update this page with contact information before I leave.

I hope that this has answered some of your questions! My friends and family have been so wonderful and supportive even if they don't fully understand what I will be doing or why I want to go, so thank you for that. I am the luckiest girl alive!!

More to come...

Candee aka Butch