Today I spent 20 minutes at the DMV and the whole rest of the day crying. Although it's a truism at this point that the DMV is a drab, disheartening, soul-crushing place, I can't really blame today's breakdown solely on the Department of Motor Vehicles. What happened is that I went to register my car (after putting it off for only 6 months), got to the last step of the process, the part where they make you pay $230 for what is ostensibly nothing, and then had to admit to myself and the annoyed cashier lady that I didn't have enough money in my account to cover that cost. "Sooooo, you guys don't like take credit cards or anything? Can I pay some now and the rest later? I see. In that case, can I just crawl into a hole and die now? This is the DMV, surely you must have a pit of despair somewhere on the premises."

As soon as I got back to my car, a whole string of familiar thoughts began swirling in my brain. It begins with not having enough money to register my car, then that I don't have enough money to pay for anything in my life right now, that I've never had an actual full-time adult job, that I'm unqualified for everything, that I'll never be able to support myself without asking my mom for money, that even if I do find a decent paying job I will probably hate it like I hate everything because I have no career goals and no direction in my life. Basically, it begins with not getting my car registered and ends with me being a worthless human being. Yikes. That is when the crying began.

The truth is, it's been a rough couple of months and money woes are just a small symptom of a bigger problem. Without going into too much detail, I've spent the past few months feeling at the pit of my soul that I am unworthy of everything. Unworthy of love or happiness, unworthy of good friends, unworthy of a decent job, unworthy of pursuing my dreams, unworthy of even having dreams to be honest. It's a feeling that says I have nothing of value to offer anyone, no original thoughts inside my head, no skills or ideas, and basically that I offer no reason for anyone to care that I exist. It doesn't matter how much my brain reassures my emotions that I do in fact matter and have worth; feelings care not for your puny logic.

Therefore these feelings have, understandably, resulted in a lot of crying. In recent months I've done a lot of crying alone in my room and in front of those awesome friends that I don't think I deserve. There's been crying in the car driving to work, crying before I walk into the grocery store, really seriously almost crying in front of my elementary school class (nothing makes you feel crazier than almost losing your shit front of a group of innocent children), even crying in the bathroom at restaurants before going back to join my friends and pretending that I had definitely not just been shaking uncontrollably while snot ran down my chin in front of the vanity mirror at O'Hoolihans (not a real place, but you get the idea).

This isn't the first time I've been depressed to be sure, but it is the first time that I've fought so hard not to let it stop me from living my life, which may explain all the crying in public places. It's the first time that I've let friends and family see just how sad I am instead of retreating into a cave of blankets in my room. It's the first time that I haven't allowed myself to skip work or classes or stop going to church or any of the other things that I know I have to do whether I feel like it or not. This is the first time I've still made myself run and eat (semi)healthily and not drink my feelings away. It's the first time that I have prayed and prayed and read my Bible until I've fallen asleep with Psalms stuck to my face.

All that is to say that I'm doing better than I have in the past, believe it or not, and that's something, but it's not good enough. Sometimes you can try to do everything right and it still doesn't help. I really don't know what will help. I know that I'm determined to see a counselor this time and to actually stick with it, not just to see someone once and stop going like I've done in the past. I know I'm determined not to retreat from everything and everyone and just wait for the fog to pass eventually, hopefully before it does too much damage. That's not going to cut it this time. I don't have any answers or words of encouragement yet because I'm sort of still in the middle of this thing, but I just thought I'd say that I'm not giving up. I just thought I'd make it perfectly clear that I will go back to the DMV tomorrow and pay $230 for two pieces of aluminum because that is what a healthy well-adjusted adult would do, but I can't guarantee that I won't cry a little on the inside.

Well, it's 2012 and it's the last official day of the holiday break. Granted, I've had a longer break than most, what with school being out for two full weeks, but tomorrow it's back to real life. I tried to make the most of my last day of freedom by sending out as many resumés and cover letters as I could stand to write (turns out that number is three). Once that was accomplished, I spent an immensely enjoyable afternoon in downtown Portland browsing the shelves at Powell's Books then retiring to Starbucks (because I have gift cards, don't judge me) to write. While I did get some writing done, I spent most of my time perusing my old xanga site, looking for entries I could use for sort of a writing compilation that I'm working on.

If you're someone who's ever kept a blog or journal for more than about a year (I've been keeping both fairly consistently since middle school) then you know the myriad emotions illicited by reading old entries (including but not limited to: nostalgia, immense embarrassment, giddiness, longing, joy, nausea, and of course the emotion of vomiting). Aside from being surprised at all the raw emotion I put out there for all to see in my past blogs (public displays of emotion, eegad!) and embarrassed at the huge amount of complaining I've done in this format, I was also amazed to read about past goals and desires I've expressed that I have actually accomplished since the time of their writing.

I am someone who tends to get discouraged easily and constantly feel as though I never do the things that I want to do. So imagine my surprise when I read entries from my past expressing an immense desire to do things like live in a foreign country, join the Peace Corps, run a marathon, and move to Portland and realizing that I have done those things. Whatever those things mean to me now, they were once a strong desire of my heart and I accomplished them.

Rather than doing an end of the year wrap up or a "What I Learned in 2011" type thing, I'd thought I'd go back a little farther and share some old entries about things that I used to pine after, complain about, or aspire to and gladly report that I did those things. You might be surprised at things you've accomplished and never taken the time to reflect on. If you think of any, give yourself a pat on the back, because you deserve it.

I have lived alone.

October 29, 2006 - I just like being alone. I like knowing with certainty that no one is going to enter my home without my express permission. It's not as if I do things differently when I have the place to myself, it's just a state of mind. I like it. I want to live alone sometime in my life; 100% alone, maybe with a cat, but I'm still debating whether I want to clean the litter box.

Of course, now I enjoy more than ever living with amazing roommates, but I would never have known that without living in my own apartment and realizing the hermit-izing affect it had on me. Bad idea, but hey, now I know.

I joined the Peace Corps.

March 27, 2007 - Have you ever, umm . . . ok wait. Do you ever like uhh . . . are afraid to pray for something because you're afraid that God might actually want you to have it? No, that sounds dumb. Let me start over. Last night around 2:00am I finally finished all 2 billion questions, 3 thousand essays and 50 letters of recommendation and submitted my Peace Corps application. Now I'm terrified that they won't want me and I'll miss out on what could be the greatest opportunity of my entire life. I'm also afraid that they will accept me and within 9 months I'll be living in a hut in Africa with no water or electricity struggling to get by with the precious little French I know. I guess all I can do at this point is decide to be satisfied with either outcome and just let things happen. The problem with that plan is that it doesn't seem to give me a whole lot of control over my future. Is that what it means to "give it up to God?" I always get confused with that Christianese lingo. I am so bad at this.

Yup, I remember the incredible excitement and anxiety I felt over Peace Corps, how badly I wanted it and how scared I was. It may not have turned out exactly I how I'd hoped, but I'm glad I did it. And I never have to wonder, "What if . . . ?"

I ran a marathon.

February 28, 2007 - Yesterday I ran 6 miles which is the farthest I've ever run without stopping, and it made me feel goooood. Then I thought of the thousands of people who will be running the marathon this weekend and it made me feel inadequate. Then I remembered when my goal was to be able to run for 15 minutes without stopping and considering that I've now reached a full hour, it made me feel better again. And then I remembered that running a marathon sounds to me like the equivalent of voluntary torture, so I felt rather smug and superior. Consequently, my new goal is to run a marathon at least once before I die, or before my hips break . . . both of them, simultaneously. I figure that's how it'll happen . . . while I'm crab fishing . . . in the Bering Sea. If you gotta go, go out with a bang.

Yeah, I will probably never run another full marathon in my life because it takes too long and my knees were pissed at me afterward, but I can brag about it for the rest of my life, and I shall. Also, I was watching a lot of Deadliest Catch on The Discovery Channel at this juncture in my life, which explains my fantasy of dying at sea.

I learned to love cooking.

April 17, 2007 - Every once in a great while, in between my nightly ritual of eating an entire bag of Oreoes, I take a great interest in what exactly I am putting into my body and go on what I like to call a "health binge." Today just happened to be one of those days and I started it off in clear going-way-overboard Karen style by throwing out all the food products I owned which contained the slightest traces of trans fat, high fructose corn syrup, or hydrogenated vegetable oil. So, seeing as how I had no food left, I decided to head to the grocery store and load up on delicious heart-healthy products. After filling my cart with apples, oranges, soy milk, and bananas, I took a look at the vegetables. Now here's where I got a little stuck, because as much as I love pretty much any kind of vegetable you can throw at me (please don't throw vegetables at me though) many of them require cooking. Cooking is incredibly time consuming, what with the chopping and peeling and what-not, which then leads to dish washing, which leads to your hands smelling like old sponge for several hours. You can see why I'd want to avoid that, thus making the problem of how to get my daily dose of veggies seem insurmountable.

This post goes on about how I bought a can of V-8 and how it tastes like "foot juice . . . mixed with ketchup and shipped directly to you, the consumer, causing mass vomitting and hysteria." It then ends with the statement, "Evil only breeds more evil." My goodness I can be histrionic. I don't even remember writing that, but it makes me laugh now considering how much I enjoy cooking, and not just the eating part of it, but the actual process of chopping, dicing, and all the other stuff I once complained about. Yay for growing up.

I moved to Portland.October 25, 2007 - I realized today while cleaning out my closet that I've been unconsciously stocking my wardrobe for winter. I've been knitting scarves, getting flannel pajamas, and even buying boots . . . sweater boots. That's right, sweater boots - little sweaters for your feet. They're awsome. There's just one problem . . . I look like a retard walking about with sweaters on my feet when it's still 80 degrees outside, and I seem to have a natural aversion to looking like a retard in public. So this brought me to another startling conclusion: you know the old saying "Dress for the job you want, not the job you have," well I seem to be dressing for the life I want. As much as I've been trying to avoid planning for my future, seeing as how I'm waiting for a future assignment for the Peace Corps, I must admit that I've thought about it. So, here's how I would picture my life if I weren't waiting to hear from the enigmatic Peace Corps: First of all I would move. Right now in my imagination it's between Boston and Portland, with Portland being a much stronger choice since it's closer and my mother might be moving there soon. So anyway, in my dreams I'm living in Portland, getting some kind of a teaching or writing job and going to grad school for psychology. Next, let's pretend for a moment that I have money (afterall this is my fantasy life) so I that I could get a cute little apartment all on my own, preferably with hardwood floors. I'm not sure how cold it is in Portland, but I'm guessing it's colder than it is here, so I of course would be walking around in my sweater boots and hand-knit scarves, wearing my flannel pajamas and cuddling with my adorable puppy, Ralphie (granted cuddling with a boyfriend would be better, but even in my wildest fantasies I tend to keep things within the realm of actual possibility).

Ha, this one is particularly embarrassing. Yes, it seems idiotic to want to move somewhere just to be able to dress differently. Even at the time, I knew that a place can't make your life perfect, but I did move to Portland and a lot of those images I had came true, and you know what, I'm sort of loving it. Of course, that probably has less to do with being able to wear sweater boots (which I don't, because they would probably just get soggy from all the rain) and more to do with the next item on my list . . .

I found an awesome church community and I got involved.February 23, 2007 - I'm tired of my life. I don't umm, whatchamacallit . . . sleep. I don't sleep anymore. I miss nature. I honestly think that being deprived of any kind of tree or grassy area or even large open space of dirt or mountain for the past 4 years has had damaging effects on my psychological well-being. I also don't really go to church, and I have class during Bible study, so it's like, no more of that then. I miss when the church was the center of my life and social activities involved singing worship and talking about God. This city drags me down. I wish it didn't. I guess I wish I was stronger than LA, but I'm easily dragged down. Too much cynicism in me. Not good. I do however enjoy the funny it produces. So the last episode of The O.C. was a giant steaming pile of badger turd, eh? Not that it was ever Shakespeare, but ouch, not a good way to go out.

Come to think of it, there are a lot of complaints in that post that have actually been resolved. I live in an amazingly green and lush place, with immediate access to forests, rivers, mountains, and all that coveted nature stuff. I've made the effort to seek out an amazing group of friends who love God and gotten involved with the high school youth group at church. And I've definitely stopped watching The O.C. - all things which have made my life immensely richer. This entry is particularly satisfying since a lot of time I feel like I don't know what I want, and as it turns out, I do know some of the things I want and the rest I'm figuring out.

It's so easy to feel like we're not moving forward in life. I imagine in the years to come it may feel more and more that way as I cease to make big moves, less hugely dramatic life-changing decisions, and attempt to settle in to a more stable period in my life, perhaps even this thing called "adulthood." But that doesn't mean that we're not moving forward and growing in so many ways. It's been fun and encouraging to reflect on where I've been and how far I've come, so if you're feeling stagnant you may want to read an old journal, think about where you were this time last year or the year before that, or reminisce with a friend if you're memory fails you. You might be surprised at what you discover.

“I think, therefore I’m single.”

Let the record show that I do not endorse the above phrase, nor any other cutesy, repugnant phrases of its ilk. It's simply a statement that I remember from a poster on the wall of my high school AP Literature class and it got me thinking about singledom. I think we can all agree that the above phrase is totally the worst, but the teacher who owned said poster turned out to be one of the more memorable teachers I’ve had in my life. Her name escapes me, and it hardly matters anyway. Let’s just call her Ms. Wigstein.

Ms. Wigstein was in her early 50’s, as I recall, never married, no children, and taught AP English and Latin at a Las Vegas high school. She also had fiery red hair with a streak of white in the front (yes, exactly like Rogue). She had a different outfit and perfectly matching shoes for every single day of the year, if not more. I never saw her repeat so much as a pair of earrings my entire senior year. Ms. Wigstein’s favorite novel of all time was Heart of Darkness, which as we all know is a rather unapproachable and yet totally bad ass novel. If Heart of Darkness were a drink it would be a scotch, neat. The point is, Ms. Wigstein didn’t take shit from anybody. She was tough and unapologetic. She had many varied interests and accomplishments. She had swagger.

When I was voted "Most Shy" in my senior yearbook it was Ms. Wigstein who said with genuine surpise, "Who? Karen? She's not shy. She's just playing it coy." "Yeah, that's right. I'm not shy. I just don't want to talk to most of you turds," is definitely what I thought in high school. In any case, I liked Ms. Wigstein. She seemed to have a full and satisfying life and yet at the time, and even now when I consider her (and I don’t think I’m alone in this), I can’t help feeling a bit of pity. Even through all the bad assery I wonder if it was just a front, if maybe she wasn't a little sad and lonely behind all her matching pant suits and heels just because she hadn't found a husband.

As someone who is currently and chronically single, living with a stupidly adorable married couple, and watching a growing majority of friends get married around me, it gets a little tough not to feel that single person pity towards myself, even though I know I’m totally fine. I know that I have friends and hobbies and passions to pursue. I even know that I’m a tried and true introvert and genuinely enjoy being alone half the time, if not more (like 55% of the time). And yet there’s a little part of me that looks at myself, like looking at rogue Ms. Wigstein and thinks, “Aww, poor thing.”

It’s not that I wouldn’t love to fall in love and make googly eyes and kissy faces at someone for the next 60 years of my life. When or if that ever happens I’m sure I’ll be on board with it. It’s just that, well, there are things about being single that are pretty rockin'. So why the pity?

For one thing, and this is a big'un that I just came to realize, when you're single music sounds better. It means more. It affects you on a visceral level that you may have been blind to when you were all smoochy and happy with some dope. Let’s be honest, 99% of music out there in the world is about unrequited love, broken relationships, being lonely, being angry at someone who made you lonely, or (my personal favorite genre) rubbing it in someone’s face that you’re totally better off without them. This genre would include your basic “I Will Survives” or your “Since You Been Gones” and probably all of Adele's next album because that dude sounds like the worst and she totally showed his ass.

My best friend is getting married this April and we recently sat down to try to find some excellent romantic songs for the walk down the isle and various heartfelt dances at the reception. And let me tell you, if you’re paying close or even half-assed attention to lyrics it is damn near impossible to find an optimistic love song that hasn’t already been ruined by use in a diamond commercial and/or Twilight movie. Every single song we listened to started out sweet and then ended in one person being buried in the ground, two people meeting awkwardly after years of separation, or just a straight up car crash and someone flying through a windshield. It’s rough out there for love songs.

What it comes down to is that sad songs are just so much more emotive, more heartfelt. Sure, you can listen to sad music when you’re say, happily married, but it doesn’t pack the same emotional punch as when you’re alone. Think of all the amazing break up lyrics out there:


I ain’t sayin’ you treated me unkind


You could have done better but I don’t mind


You just kinda wasted my precious time


But don’t think twice, it’s all right

Damn, that’s cold. And so deliciously satisfying. Unless you’re in a loving committed relationship and then it’s just sort of “meh.” Who wants “meh” music? Not me. I want punch-you-in-the-emotional-gut lyrics:

You were so pretty with your hands on my throat

Or how you start crying when I ask for my coat

I don't miss the parts I've forgot

I see nothing that’s here... and nothing that’s not

I just wanna get my fist through some glass

I just wanna get your arm in a cast

I just want you to know that I care

Bam! Dude was feeling it when he wrote that and now you're gonna feel it too. Unless you're blissfully thinking about your next date with your sweetie. Then you'd miss it. Then you'd also miss sitting alone in your room and being brought to tears every time this song comes on:

Who wants to miss that?! No one. Oh, sad music is so good.

Which brings me to my next point: being bitter is fun. Okay, so not actually being bitter, but getting to put on that facade and make jokes about being single and lonely. One of my favorite jokes (and one that I use at every single opportunity) is from 30 Rock when Liz Lemon has just broken up with yet another dude and is invited to a wedding and asked if she'll be bring a "plus one." Her response is something to the tune of, "Well, I could find a random date. Or I could just lean into it and bring a cat in a baby stroller." Ha! That is my favorite image of sad, lonely, hilarious spinsterhood. That kind of gold doesn't come from coupledom. This armor of faux bitterness also makes it acceptable to go "Ewwwww, gross!" every time another couple shows the slightest bit of affection in your presence. It truly is one of the few joys in life. I will be sad if I ever have to give it up.

My last point might be very similar to my second, and also one that is more applicable to fellow misanthropes, but when you're single, you don't have to sugar coat shit. The thing that baffles me about relationships and spending absurd amounts of time with one other person is how much your moods, mannerisms, and everything you say or do affects another person. That's a lot of pressure. It means that every time you're in a crummy mood, it's not just crummy for you, but you have to worry about how it affects your . . . mate . . . umm, partner . . . no, spouse . . . lover? (Don't even get me started on how stupid all the non gender-specific words for a significant other are.) It also means that you may be in a perfectly cheery mood, but if your special someone decides he or she is grumpy and is gonna be a pouty turd about it, then forget it, your cheery mood is shot. It's hard enough to be emotionally stable as a single person, but two people on the same wave length? I dunno. Good luck.

In the end, I am certainly not arguing that being single is better than being married or whatever. It just comes down to enjoying where you are at this ultimately brief moment in your life. Circumstances change so quickly and even things that seem sucky now might be the exact things you miss just a little ways down the road. Your future self might look back at your now self and think, "That was nice, not having to tell someone where I was and what I was doing all the time and being able to finish the whole pint of ice cream and never having to shave my legs." Okay, it's getting late and those last two examples were just easy cliches. While I have been known to finish an entire pint of ice cream, it has little to do with my dating status and more to do with the deliciousness of ice cream. In addition, I know it's winter and no one will be seeing, let alone touching, my legs, but I'ma shave 'em anyway. Just like Ms. Wigstein wearing a different outfit every single day - some things you just do for yourself.

Today I am grateful for . . .

. . . Joe Pug

. . . church. On days when I'm not feeling it, at least it gets me out of the house.

. . . zombie rom coms.

Me: All right, kiddos. Today we're going to learn about (dramatic pause) microorganisms! Specifically, we're going to talk about live things living in your food!

Kids: (Gasp! What?! Ewwwwwwwww!)

One Kindergartner: Meh.

Me: That's right! Let's start with bread. To make bread, you add a living organism called "yeast." Yeast is a fungi, like mushrooms, and it's whole job is to eat and to make gas.

One Kindergartner: (snickers)

Me: Let's do an experiment to find out what yeast likes to eat. I have some flour, sugar, salt, and some raisins. What do you think yeast's favorite food is?

One Kindergartner: Chicken nuggets!

Me: (Hehehehe) Good one, kid. We should totally hang out some time.

Seriously though. My job is fun.

On a related note. Anyone ever seen a mealworm in pupa state before it turns into a darkling beetle? It is the gosh darned creepiest thing I have ever witnessed, all alien and sci-fi and stuff. I'll have to post pictures soon.

How come I never thought science was this cool when I was in elementary school?

TJC: Just wine and cookies, huh?

Me: Heh heh, yeah.

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

TJC: You know, our frozen vegetables are really pretty good.

Me: (Glancing down at my microwave popcorn and vanilla ice cream) Meh.

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

TJC: This eggplant has brown spots on the end. Right here, see?

Me: Oh yeah, the middle is okay though.

TJC: Yeah, but they're squishy. See?

Me: Yeah, but the middle is okay.

TJC: It looks icky.

Me: Yes but, I felt the other eggplants and found them all lacking in firmness, whereas this one had a certain turgidity that one desires in an eggplant. It may have brown spots on each end, but I am sure that the bruising is limited to those areas whereas the majority is still a superior aubergine. As you can see, I have done my due diligence and am quite confident in my choice.

TJC: . . . . you can run back and return-

Me: Oh my god just sell me the damn eggplant!!

Hey, Trader Joe's cashiers, how about you stop being so dang judgmental of my purchases all the time? Also, I like your Hawaiian shirts. Good day to you.

Hey everybody, Happy New Year!!!! As you can tell, my New Year's resolution is to stop procrastinating. I really think I'm gonna stick to it this time. HaHA! Just kidding. I love procrastinating. I'd sooner give up black coffee or my right thumb.

I do have some resolutions, but I'd rather not make them public. I've found that keeping one's hopes and dreams private saves a whole lot of embarrassment in the event of inevitable failure. I will say, however, that my mother and I made a resolution/pact to eat more cheese in 2011. Judging by the pizza we just made, I'd say we're doing a pretty kick-ass job on that one. Yay, cheese!!

I've been hanging around Vegas for about two weeks now and I still have another week of freedom before I'm due back to real life in LA. That said, I'm sort of itching to get back to work and school and responsibility. The holidays just don't have the same gravitas that they used to. I remember spending last Christmas/New Years in Bulgaria, wishing like hell that I were celebrating in the comfort of my own home with my family and familiar traditions. This year I was overjoyed to be at home, but it felt more like a nondescript vacation than any sort of magical holiday. Though I did make my first apple pie for Christmas (it was delicious, FYI), wore red and green socks, and exchanged a few gifts with my family, but overall the break was remarkably un-Christmasy. And don't even get me started on New Year's. That "holiday" is ridiculously overrated. I may just ignore it from now on.

Anyway, I've had a good break largely due to being able to catch up on movies. I don't really have the budget to see new movies in LA, let alone a person or persons who share my tastes, so I may have overdosed here in the past few weeks with my mom and brother. I'd like to do a quick run down of what I've seen and what I thought. So, here's what I've watched lately (in no particular order):

True Grit: What can you say? Amazing, obviously. Awesome and entertaining and thought provoking and just so f*&#ing cool!! I can understand how the Cohens are able to be dark and funny, intelligent and subtle, but I don't know how they maintain this amazing aura of cool throughout their movies. Maybe it's the confidence. They're bad asses, what else can you say?

127 Hours: Well . . . I didn't pass out or vomit, but I'm still having flashbacks of this one for sure. You can't call this film entertaining, but you can call it admirable, affecting, and possibly genius. All in all though, it just wasn't my cup of tea. I came to the realization that I may have shut myself off from this film before it even began. I think it was all that hype and the gruesome subject matter and the intensity of emotion. I just couldn't watch it without removing myself a step or two beforehand and thus dulling its impact (i.e. reminding myself, "It's just a movie, it's just a movie, it's just a movie". This says more about myself than it does about the film.

The Wire!!! I'm always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to amazing HBO series. Regardless, I am fully stoked to finally be watching this. My brother and I went through the first season in about 3 days and since then have been using Wire slang and endlessly debating the fates of McNulty, Kima, and Bubbles. "Yo, Omar be trippin! That *&%$ scary as shit" - Tony and I discussing a particularly intriguing character. Anyway, if you've seen all the seasons just don't tell me what happens. I'll kill you. All part of the game.

The Wrestler: Pretty much what I expected. Gritty and depressing. Good, I mean, ya know, whatever.

The Other Guys: A much needed diversion from all the seriousness. Worth seeing just for the funeral fight and slow motion action shots. My brother and I watched this while drinking champagne on New Year's Eve, but what we really wanted to find (after being promised by Red Box) was Mega Shark vs. Crocosaurus starring Jaleel White. I'm still a little pissed that I didn't get to see Urkel fighting imaginary CGI monsters. Can we not all agree that Red Box should be required to actually carry the films that they advertise on their glowing posters? If anyone owns this film and would like to have a screening while imbibing spirits and various snack foods, please contact me ASAP.

I Love You Phillip Morris: I was sort of looking forward to this film, having read a little bit about the crazy true story that inspired it. Jim Carrey and Ewan McGregor give really great performances, but not great enough to make up for the uneven tone of the film. It had a hard time bridging screw ball comedy with melodrama, possibly mirroring the manic-depressiveness of the main character himself. But still, meh.

The Social Network: Finally saw this film after hearing all the amazing reviews. Yes, it is an objectively good film. Can't quite get past the quote, "We lived in farms, then we lived in cities, and now we're gonna live on the internet!" So scary . . . and increasingly true.

And now for something completely different: Bob Roberts. This film was made in 1992. It was written and directed by and starring Tim Robbins. It's a political satire/mockumentary which portrays a Pennsylvania Senate race between rising young star of the right wing, folk singer Bob Roberts, and the other guy he's running against (no one cares). I had never heard of this film before and you know what, it's pretty frickin awesome. The issues are still EXACTLY the same. It could have been written today about the Tea Party and Fox News. It is scarily prophetic and spot-on and funny. Anyway, it gave me a whole new admiration for Tim Robbins and is totally worth watching.

So, that was my break. I still have so many movies on my Must See list, but those will have to wait for Los Angeles and the real world.

Well, today was a day with many a changing mood.

It started off "meh" on account of having to get out of bed. But then it got better on account of having a special guest baby alligator named "Rex" in science class today. He was about 2 feet long and cute as a button if buttons could whip the crap out of you with their tails. And he made the cutest little barking noises that meant he was perturbed in some alligator-y way.

After that the day took a totally crappy turn when I smashed into a car in the parking lot of the school. Here's what happened: I got into my car. I started it up and put it in reverse. I looked right, clear. I looked left, clear. I smashed right into the side of a car directly behind me. This car had parked perpendicular to the other cars in the lot, blocking them in, just far enough for me to pull almost entirely out of my spot but not far enough to avoid being smashed into. I never had the slightest notion of its existence until I heard crunching metal, which leads me to believe that it was a phantom car, materializing out of the ether behind unwitting drivers and then fading away into the abyss after they've had to pay the exorbitant repair fees. The phantom car's tight-lipped owner with whom I had to awkwardly trade insurance information did not agree with my theory. So that part of the day was not so good.

Then I came home and ate an entire pan of brownies and finished my coffee left over from this morning (mmmm, aged coffee).

Okay, just kidding. It wasn't an entire pan of brownies, just a medium sized brownie. Just kidding about drinking old coffee too, I certainly don't do that most everyday when I get home . . . So that whole happening was kind of neutral.

Then I got these rockin' slippers in the mail:

That part of the day was awesome again because it's been getting pretty pretty cold around here, down to about 50 degrees some nights and my toes have been getting mighty . . . what's a word that means "slightly less than room temperature"? Well anyway, they're red and furry. Awesome.

So, I dunno. I might call today a wash except that I'm still in an inexplicably good mood. Maybe I'll change my tune when I get the mechanic's bill.

If you don't look too closely, you can't tell it's not a real thing.

Recently I decided to take up sewing. I made a pillow and then nothing happened on the sewing front for a while. More recently, however, I decided to swipe my mother's old sewing machine, some vintage fabric and a few patterns and really get started on this new hobby. I made almost an entire top out of some old fabric that looked like something you'd find on a motel couch, but having decided that I'd gotten enough practice and would never wear such a thing anyway, I abandoned the project and started again with a little more knowledge and a fabric that didn't bring to mind bargain lodgings. And so, my first home-sewn piece of clothing was born:

Yes, it's a tad loud for my taste and yes there appears to be a sort of weird ink-blotch eagle flying from the vicinity of my crotch. Also, don't look at the seams too closely, cause they be all sorts o' crooked, but dude, I made a thing that someone can actually wear!

This excites me for two reasons: 1) I love any activity that lets me sit alone in my room for hours on end and produce crafty things. 2) I absolutely hate clothes shopping. I hate crowded stores with an overwhelming amount of crappy merchandise that you have to dig through just to find something that isn't hideously ugly and then try on that thing and hope that it vaguely resembles that actual shape of your body and not a giant potato. And I hate paying for things that you only moderately like in the first place just because there are no better options and one does have to clothe themselves in this society after all. So anyway, I'm not ready to launch a runway show or anything, but I'm hoping that this little adventure will lead to me never having to go clothes shopping again and wearing things that actually fit me. That's the dream anyway . . .

All right, let's talk life.

I'm sorry my updates have been so few and far between, but in my defense my schedule has motha effin' exploded recently . . . or so it seems to me anyway. Gone are the carefree summer days of going to the same place at the same time Monday through Friday, seeing the same people, teaching the same subject. My new school year schedule involves going to a different school every day of the week to teach an entirely different group of kids. On top of that, I've picked up a new gig (can you refer to teaching as a "gig"? Well, I'm gonna) which involves running the science lab at an elementary school in The Valley. This means that I'm teaching actual school science curriculum during the actual school day to actual classes. So basically, I'm an actual science teacher, despite having no teaching credentials or science background of any kind, or really any idea what I'm doing.

Wednesdays are the most hectic for some reason. So, let's do a quick Wednesday run down:

I wake up at 6:00 am after having stayed up until 3am the night before because I'm really not used to getting up early except on Wednesdays and Fridays. I know that I'm supposed to teach something having to do with grass and lawns . . . and that I'm supposed to make grass and lawns interesting to 1st graders. And I know that the only supply I do not have in the science lab is potting soil, but I also know in my 6am haze that the super responsible PTA president has promised to have potting soil waiting for me in the lab by today. So, no problem. Except that when I get to the lab at 7:30 there's no potting soil. Crap. Now I have 1 hour to find a place that sells potting soil, buy said potting soil, and figure out how I'm going to mold inquiring young minds today.

In case you haven't had the immense pleasure (BWA HA HA!) of living in Los Angeles and know nothing about the area they refer to only as "The Valley," just remember that it's far away from everything, it's usually 10 to 50 degrees hotter than any place in California you'd actually want to live, and traffic sucks three times more.

So anyway, I sit through traffic, make it to the home and garden store, buy my soil and lug it back to class just in time to ponder what the hell I'm doing with it. Wanting to know a little info about what sort of nutrients are in the soil so I may relay this information to inquiring young minds, I read the label of the soil which says, and I quote:

All natural!

Contains:

Worm Castings

Kelp Mulch

Bat Guano

Chicken Manure

So, my next obvious question is, "Do I smell like bat guano right now?"

The answer: Yes. I do.

The planting lessons went pretty well and without incident and I apparently tricked everyone present into thinking that I knew what I was talking about. During my lunch break I had to prepare for 2nd grade lessons which happen on Friday. That meant going to the Book Room of the school. Well, first it meant hunting down the one guy on campus with a key to the tightly locked Book Room and getting him to unlock it for me, assuring him that I would not abuse my Book Room privileges by making off with inordinate amounts of Elmer's white glue and plastic child safety scissors (valuable as gold at any elementary school).

Anyway, what I was really looking for were the big black and white speckled boxes entitled FOSS 2nd Grade, Pebbles, Sand, and Silt. Apparently, the people who come up with science lessons in California think that 2nd graders really really love dirt and rocks. Actually, they might love dirt and rocks. I really have no idea as of yet. All I know is that there were about six of these boxes and they were motha effin' heavy. When California science curriculum says "pebbles" what they mean is "rocks." And when they say "sand" what they mean is "more rocks." And when they say "silt" they apparently mean "cartoon anvils, like the kind that fall on your head repeatedly until you've been hammered straight into the ground."

So there I am, in The Valley (which is 10 to 50 degrees hotter than anywhere people want to live) hauling around boxes of rocks, more rocks, and anvils, wearing my long-sleeved lab coat the entire time (not because I need to look all science-y, but mostly to cover my tattoos, because god forbid the kids should discover freedom of expression) smelling of bat guano, and wondering how I am going to trick everyone into thinking I know what I'm doing.

Rocks and anvils aside, I made it through the day and to the last bell, but my day is not over. As soon as the last bell rings, I need to high tail it out of The Valley and back to LA proper to teach an after school science class just a few blocks from where I live. Luckily, today we were scheduled to make "air rockets" which are really just pieces of paper wrapped around straws that you blow on, effectively giving dart guns to kindergartners. Whatever, I don't write the lessons, I just teach them. So I'm excited about making rockets and I try to get the kids excited. But let me just tell you that the kids at this school suck . . . a lot.

I used to think that no group of kids were any worse or better than any other. Every group has got its stand out awesome/interested kids and every group has got its problems, it's all more or less the same. Right?

Wrong! This group sucks more than most. I do not know why. But right off the bat, the kids are totally uninterested in rockets and/or can't wait to just make the damn things in order to inflict pain on others. There's one kid who sucks more than most and after saying, "This is stupid. I don't want to make this," a million times he manages to make the rocket and fire it directly into another kid's eye. Twice.

So, I take his rocket away and rush the other kids through all the rocket making procedures and get them outside to have some fun. Rocketless kid is standing around sulking, asking me repeatedly for his rocket back. I say no, but try to strike up a conversation by empathizing with him:

Me: So, not a big fan of science, huh?

Kid: Pshhh.

Me: Yeah. I never liked it in school either. I liked English better, stories and stuff like that. Art too. Is there any subject you do like?

Kid: Yeah (pause) punchin' people in the face.

Ooooooooooookay. We are done here. After that moment there were other groups of kids; kids throwing straws around the room, kids making snide remarks, kids almost poking other kids in the eyes with straws, kids running screaming out of the room because they almost got poked in the eyes with straws. I don't even know. I was pretty much checked out.

In conclusion, a couple of things:

Number one: It's still better than Bulgaria.

Number two: Man was never meant to be outnumbered one adult to 25 children.

Number three: I've been making a conscience effort lately to improve my eating habits, with one of my rules being to limit the drinking of alcohol to weekends and with friends . . . but then I realized that I'm like an actual teacher now. So my new rule is: No alcohol except on weekends and wine Wednesdays. Because I'm an educator and I like alliteration.

Also, do I still smell like bat guano?

For those of you who remember my penchant for creepy songs:

It appears that summer is officially over and I'm back to my regular schedule of wondering what the hell my regular schedule is. The place at which I work tends to tell employees pertinent information (like what time and at what location they're working) at the last minute (like an hour before one must appear at said location). So after having a full week off between summer camp and regular school days, I'm in a strange, "What will today hold?" sort of working mentality. Anyway, that part is not at all interesting.

What's interesting is that during my week off I didn't just sit around on my butt all day. Or I did sit around on my butt all day, but I did other stuff at the same time! I got all kinds of motivated and crafty (and not the dishonest kind, the Martha Stewart kind). In addition to having revived my love of knitting (oh, repetitive mindless work, how I've missed you) I've gained a bit of an interest in sewing. Here's my first project:

It's a pillow, guys! Just look at it, all neatly stitched. It's even got a nice little pocket thing in the back for inserting pillow-like objects. Behold:

Just look at it!

Amazing.

Doesn't it just make you want to sew every pattern you come across and alter every piece of clothing you own?! No? Oh, well then, you and I are very different creatures.

So, having sewn a successful square object, I decided to finish a project I'd been working on for a few months. Actually, I guess it started even before I left for Bulgaria. Before my departure, my grandmother gifted me this awesome vintage Skyway blue suitcase that had a bit of mold damage and I decided that I would reupholster the inside to try and give it a new life (and get that mold smell out of it). The project turned out to be a little more involved than I had anticipated (aren't they all?) and was really about 80% gluing the crap out of stuff and 20% sewing, but I'm pretty happy with the results. I decided to turn the case into a sort of sewing/knitting/craft box to hold my supplies. Here are some before and afters:

All right, so it's a bit . . . janky, for lack of a better word, but it no longer smells of mold and it holds all my knitting needles and various crafty junk, so I call it a win.

But that's not all! Last time I was home in Vegas attempting to clear my childhood room of all the crap I'd accumulated in the past 25 years, I came across drawers and drawers full of CD cases and cover art. I recycled the cases, but I was stuck with the dilemma of what to do what all of that cover art. I mean, just think of all the time and energy someone put into those teeny little squares covered in track listings and production credits. I couldn't bare to part with some of the cooler ones, so I found an alternative. Two words: Modge Podge.

I mean, I dunno. What else does one do with the relics of their youth?

I can't believe how quickly this summer is flying by. I would say "has flown by," but I believe that the official end will not come for another week, or two weeks. It's a bit of a grey area because I still have two weeks left of summer camp teaching but only one week until I start taking classes at the community college (schedule permitting). So let's just say that I have anywhere from one to two weeks of summer freedom time left. Even though I may technically have more free time post-summer . . .

Anywhoo, I didn't realize it until just now, but I would say that this summer has been one of the best in recent memory. Although I have been blessed with some truly awesome summers (Brony road trip and family visit to Bulgaria come to mind) but this one has been full of rocket launches, edible planet ice cream parties, solar car races, and light saber fights. I've been to the roller rink, Adventure City, Medieval Times, and the California Science Center. It's been Thursday night concerts on the beach, Friday happy hours, So You Think You Can Dance with the roommates, backyard barbecues, and Sunday farmer's market all culminating in an awesome surprise birthday bash. I will be truly sad to see this summer end.

This is a revelation for me because I am constantly dissatisfied with my lot in life and looking toward the next phase, hoping to find happiness and fulfillment there. Whether it be high school to college, college to hoboing, hoboing to Peace Corps, or Peace Corps to anything but Peace Corps, I can never seem to be satisfied where I am and I'm never satisfied for long once I get somewhere. Well, right now I'm pretty content to work where I do and live where I do and be around the people that are here. It's nice, and that's something new for me. That's not to say that I'm not always itching just a bit for the next step, but I'll think about that later. You know, like when it actually comes.

Monday before last, I began my new summer job. Or rather, I continued with my previous job but started working a lot more hours. My after-school teaching job became teaching a series of week-long summer camps. The camps go from Monday to Friday 9:00am to 3:00pm (nearly tripling my working hours, awesome) and they focus on one of three science-related topics: Super Heroes, Child Doctors, and Star Wars. That's right, all science-based.

Basically, these camps are wicked awesome. I remember going to "horse camp" during the summer when I was little and standing around in the hot sun for three hours waiting for my turn to ride on "Stinky," the orneriest horse you ever did see, just to sit atop said horse as she lazily strolled around a small fenced in area for 15 minutes, sniffing the ground for traces of hay, barely aware that she had a child atop her. Before I knew it, it was time to clean stalls and wash horses before heading home. These new-fangled camps are nothing like that. These camps are jam packed with light saber fights, real eye dissections, lasers games, and rocket launches. Sometimes I arrive more excited than the kids for these projects and even though I get there at 8:30, before I know it, it's already time to go and I see myself saying, "Mooooo-ooooom! Just five more minutes! We're about to make a ping pong ball levitate with brain waves!" (True story).

Anyway, the fact that these camps are great and that I am actually having a blast is beside the point. What I really wanted to talk about is my new found mastery of names. Historically, I am terrible at remembering names. If we have just met and you've told me your name for the first time, you may as well have opened your mouth and emitted a sound that only dogs and bats can hear, because it did not register with me on any level. It takes me at least three meetings to actually commit someone's name to memory. The same rule held true the first month that I began teaching back in the States. I had five classes a week of 12 to 20 different kids and in nearly three months I only managed to learn the names of the children that I absolutely had to know (namely, the ones I always had to yell at.) So, my teaching went something like this:

"David!! You sit down right now and stop punching Juan or you will NOT have recess!"

"Oh, I really love how . . . this little girl is sitting so quietly and waiting for instructions. Thank you, . . . . little girl, for being so polite."

So this time around, when I got a new batch of camp kids, I was prepared. I gave everyone name tags, we played not one but THREE ice-breaker get-to-know-each-other games, and I'll be damned if by the end of the first day I didn't know the names of every little rascal in my class.

Except for two.

There were two little Asian boys in my first Star Wars class that I could not tell apart to save my life from the Dark Side. We'll call these boys Billy and Bobby. One second I would be yelling at Bobby to stop interrupting his classmates and the class would correct me and tell me that it was Billy I should be reprimanding. The next moment I was praising Billy for sitting so quietly and the class would tell me that it was Bobby. Every single time I thought I finally had it figured out, I would mess up and call both of them by the wrong name. It got to the point where I was sure I was hurting their fragile little egos. After four days, I still couldn't get them straight. Finally, I confided in another teacher my terrible mistake.

Me: I hope this doesn't sound racist . . . but I can not tell Billy and Bobby apart for the life of me. I've been trying all week! What is the deal?

Teacher: Well, they are identical twins.

(pause)

Me: Oooooooooooooooooooooooohh . . . yeah. I knew that.

So, dear readers (reader?) I pose to you this question: Which is more racist? Not being able to tell apart two members of the same race or not even realizing that those two people were in fact identical twins?

Meh, I'm just glad that kids don't judge me on how politically correct or incorrect I am, just whether or not I give them prizes at the end of the day.

You guys may not know this because you're not me, but I officially have just as many unpublished drafts on this blog as I do actual entries. This is a very sad state of affairs and one that I'm determined to fix. Just because I'm no longer under constant emotional stress in a foreign land doesn't mean that I can't find exciting things to write about . . . I think.

I've noticed that photos can sometimes kick-start the writing process, so I decided to take a few shots from an activity that has become sort of a morning routine for me lately. That morning routine: hiking. I know, weird. I mean, I've never had anything against hiking, it's just not something I ever thought I'd have the time/energy to do 3 times a week. Well, now I do. So I've been exploring the natural world around me (or at least as close as one can get to the natural world without traveling more than half an hour from Los Angeles). Anyway, the other day my travels took me in search of the famous Hollywood sign which, having lived in LA for 4 years, I naturally have never been to. Before I made it (sort of) to the iconic sign, however, I stumbled upon something even better:

For those of you not in the know, that is the Batcave!! As in the very same Batcave that the 1960's Batmobile drove out of in the 1960's before getting into all kinds of crazy campy shenanigans. Apparently it's a very popular site for filming all kinds of stuff including some John Wayne movies and whatever. But mostly, Batman!

I don't have Photoshop on my computer anymore, but just imagine that I am punching a baddie in this photo with a added in there for good measure.

All right hiking on, I made it to the trail for the famous sign (famously recently saved by Hugh Hefner? I don't really know). Anyway, it's not really that challenging of a hike, but in the middle of the day in June it can get a bit sweaty, made all the better by buff guys and tan girls running past you as you trudge up the hill. So, I was pleasantly surprised to get to the top of a strenuous bit to discover this:

Nice. And also this:

Horses?! I had no idea this existed in the Hollywood hills. But anyway, a couple more visuals for good measure on the way to the sign:

Since I am a lazy person and have to work in the early afternoon, I will say that I made it very very close to the sought after sign, but somewhere along the way took a wrong turn and wasted some time, meaning I had to turn back earlier than expected in order to remain gainfully employed. I am glad to say that I made it all the way to . . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . Ollywod?

Or, I sort of like to imagine that the first letter is a cyrillic "you" sound, making it "Yoolywod." Welcome to Yoolywod! What's yo' dream?

All right, well, that is the anti-climactic ending to this mediocre blog. But at least it's something. And life ain't bad.

The most recent This American Life is pretty great. All of them are great, but this one about the aftermath of the earthquake in Haiti especially resonated with me. Okay, I know that I wasn't in Bulgaria in the midst of a terrible natural disaster or anything even remotely comparable to the tragedy that occurred in Haiti, but the episode focuses mainly on the efforts to modernize the country and improve the standard of living, even before the earthquake occurred. So in that sense, the description of the way that the NGO's (Non-Governmental Organizations) work and the slow and frustrating process of modernizing an entire country definitely resonated with my Peace Corp experience. So anyway, I think that everyone should listen to this story and then maybe go donate like $10 to This American Life, cause they rock. They rock cause they really make you think. And as much as I love Jersey Shore and thesuperficial.com, I don't really ever want to stop thinking.

So, I'll leave you with a few quotes from the episode that might make you think. That's all (stepping off my soapbox now).

"Was the earthquake the best thing that could've ever happened to Haiti?"

"I have a new definition of the word atheist. This is a person who doesn't cry out to God in the middle of an earthquake."

I guess you can be asked a question many many times before you give an honest answer. Even though I've been back a few months, I still end up having to explain on an almost daily basis that I was in Bulgaria and that I'm back now, after almost two years. So when people ask, "How was it?" I tend to give the typical brush off/I don't really want to get into it answer, i.e. "It was great," or "You know, they say it's the hardest job you'll ever love." But here's the truth: It was awesome and excruciating and I absolutely loved/hated it. I'm incredibly glad to be back, and I still miss it every single day.

I feel incredibly guilty for not keeping in touch with my Bulgarian friends. I exchanged a few emails with my counterpart once I got back. I'm sure she was being prompted by/relaying the information to others since she would never go near a computer of her own volition. I responded to a few Facebook messages from my students, but we quickly exhausted their English skills and the conversations came to a halt. I had to smile every time they ended their notes with, "You miss us." Ah yes, the reflexive was always quite a mystery to me and I'm sure I parted ways with many a friend by saying "You'll miss me," in Bulgarian. The truth is, I didn't answer emails that were written in Bulgarian from my director and other friends because I didn't have the energy to translate anymore or figure out how to spell out all the Bulgarian with Latin letters. The thought of it exhausted me. And now it's reached the point where you figure, "Eh, it's been too long to respond now." And slowly things slip into the past.

The tide is beginning to turn, and harder than answering questions about Bulgaria is answering the question, "So, what are you doing now?" I usually answer with the qualified statement that I'm teaching after school science classes, to which the usual response is, "Oh, you're a teacher?"

NO. I am most certainly not a teacher. I'm just teaching. Even though my situation here is a million times easier than in Bulgaria (the kids speak English, I have all the supplies I could ever ask for, my lessons are all laid out for me and interesting, I don't have to give grades) and even though I love certain parts of it and love getting to act like a kid because I'm around kids all the time, the one thing I am sure about beyond a shadow of a doubt is that I can never be a real teacher. It's just not in my capacity to deal with that sort of chaos on a daily basis for the next 50-odd years, but I respect the hell out of anyone who can do it.

So, what am I doing then? Well, I'm back to trying to figure that out. I am teaching part time and it's actually pretty fun (not that I wouldn't give my left nut for a full-time job in anything from office administration to selling large appliances, and I've been trying, believe me) and I'm registered for Intro Psychology classes for next fall. And I'm living day to day in LA in a cute apartment with kick-A roommates and going to church and cooking lots of good food and drinking cheap wine and watching silly TV shows and thinking a lot about everything all the time. A little too much, really , because it feels like my brain has been in a constant flurry ever since January. So, for the next few months I think my plan is to just . . . chill.

So, in case you were wondering, that's what I'm doing these days. Attempting to chill.

Here's a tip:

If you're asking questions during a movie, then there's a 99% chance that one of the following scenarios is taking place:

A) The information about which you're inquiring has not yet been revealed to the audience. Just be patient, all in good time.

B) They just explained/alluded to that but you were zoned out/texting on your phone/too dumb and/or have not watched enough movies to realize that the slow zoom on that guy's face meant he's totally evil. You should really pay more attention.

C) The second you ask me that question is the same second that it will be revealed in the film so instead of watching it unfold naturally I'll be narrating the movie for you as you're watching it. However, I am not as succinct as this well formed plot and therefore will talk over the next important plot twist and then I'll have to explain THAT to you, just as another important thing is happening which you will, of course, miss and then ask me about 5 minutes later. And so on.

Here's another tip:

Let's not watch movies together anymore.

*Author's note:

This scenario was not based on any one person in particular and I hope that I have not offended any friends with whom I have recently watched a movie. Now, shhhhhhhhh.

The other night I had a brilliant epiphany about this blog. Of course, epiphanies had at 3:00am when you can't sleep are not always that brilliant in the light of day, but I think that this one just might hold up to scrutiny. I had originally named this new blog Return to the Batcopter. Since my last blog was titled Batcopter, after a delightful mode of transportation used in the campy 1960's version of Batman, I decided to play off of the 2003 straight to DVD (I assume) movie entitled Return to the Batcave: The Misadventures of Adam and Burt, in which Adam West (Batman) and Burt Ward (Robin) play themselves solving the crime of the stolen Batmobile and reliving their days as television stars. The amazing tagline for this masterpiece: "Holy reunion, Batman!" (Yes, this movie actually exists and yes, I own a copy. Jealous?) Anyway, it struck me that as good of a play on words as that was, this blog was supposed to be a new era, a bit of a fresh start and so Return to the Batcopter just didn't seem to fit.

Well, here comes my amazing pun epiphany or "punpiphany," if you will. After Maths. Yes, this period of my life does seem a bit like recovering from some great disaster, dealing with the rubble and aftermath of post-Bulgaria life, and so the title seemed to fit in that way. But English teaching volunteers will also tell you that having to teach from English books written entirely by the British, one had to become accustomed to teaching things that were unfamiliar to us American speakers. For instance, "I have got" instead of "I have," using "lorry" instead of truck, "lift" instead of elevator, "flat" instead of apartment, and "maths" instead of math. As in, "Please leave me alone, I've got to study for my maths test." Yeah, pretty retarded sounding. And hence, After Maths was born.

You're welcome.

Also, there is a real substantial update coming. I promise. Right after I find out who stole the Batmobile and whether or not Burt and Adam had a short-lived, yet no doubt steamy, love affair on set all those years ago.

I mean, what exactly is a "ward" anyway?

Dear Hair and Nails,

Please stop growing now. I appreciate your dedication through the years, but the fact is that there is no reason for either one of you to be longer than you are right at this moment for as long as I live. So, just knock it off already. Consider this an early retirement. I'm really tired of trimming you.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

K- Hey wait! You're still growing aren't you! I saw that! Damn you, physiology.

Today I'm willing to admit that I haven't been dealing very well with the emotional turmoil of leaving Bulgaria. The thing I just realized is that leaving Bulgaria and the Peace Corps early was a lot like breaking up with someone; and when you put it that way, Bulgaria was my longest relationship - ever. So no matter how bad the fighting and bickering had gotten, no matter how much resentment and silent bitterness had built up between the two of us, no matter how justified the break up was, there were very strong feelings between us at one time, and that is going to leave a scar; a scar, regrets, and always the searing question: "What if?"

Like I do with most break ups, I've handled the emotional fallout of leaving by simply turning it off. It's pretty easy actually. I just don't think about it or talk about it and anytime my mind starts to drift back to those times I just cram it full of some mindless activity (this time it's been watching the third season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on Hulu). This usually works pretty well for me, but like I said, Bulgaria was my longest relationship and thus was able to get some of its razor sharp talons past my emotion walls and bury them deep into the gray matter of my brain. Yeah . . . this is where it gets scary. (This is also where my Bulgaria/break up metaphor starts to get flimsy and you have to ask, "Wait, were you dating Bulgaria or is Bulgaria a bird of prey in this metaphor?" To which I must respond, "Shhhhh.")

So, the truth is, I'm a little bit scarred by the past two years. Part of me feels like I wasted all that time getting to know someone, putting myself out there, and got spit out on the other side with absolutely nothing to show for it. That part almost wishes that I'd never joined the Peace Corps. That part of me wishes that I'd just settled down with a nice steady, safe, comfortable office boy- I mean . . . job, and built up some stability and security instead of galavanting around for the past two years. The other part of me enjoyed the excitement and roller coaster of emotions and wonders if I could have made it work if only I'd tried harder. Maybe Bulgaria/Peace Corps and I could have been very happy together if only I'd done this or that or been a better person, not so selfish and with such a defeatist attitude. So, as much as I'd like to put a happy face on all of this and pretend that, "Yes, it was difficult, but it was also such a great experience. I wouldn't have traded it for anything. It was the hardest job you'll ever love. I'm so much more open to other cultures and experiences now. I learned so much about myself and became a better person." I'm just not sure that any of that is true. I'm not so sure that the entire experience hasn't made me more close-minded and unwilling to take risks in life and in love and in foreign travel.

I guess, just like with any other break up, the only thing that can heal it is time. Well, time and chocolate and meeting someone else. I've given up sweets for a month, so the chocolate is out, but as far as meeting someone else, I do have America. Whilst in the Peace Corps, I spent many a lonely hour pining after America, and now that we've finally been reunited I can pick out all the things that I truly missed and all the things that never really existed - the things that I'd simply built up in my mind. It goes almost without saying that being back with friends and family has been the greatest thing ever. Yes, I made great friends in Bulgaria, but what can I say? I am a loyal person and no one will ever take the place of my family and the friends I grew up with. It goes without saying too that the food is just as good as I remember it, and the daily conveniences of driving and showering whenever I want and having constant uninterrupted electricity and internet and speaking ENGLISH!!

On the other hand, there is no shortage of daily frustrations and worries in the U.S. One thing I greatly took for granted in BG was the financial stability of being in the Peace Corps. While I certainly didn't make a lot of cheese during service, I at least made enough to not have to worry. All the money I made went towards booze and travel and maybe a new article of clothing now and then, those little extras that can cheer you up. I didn't have to pay rent or health insurance or utilities or worry about traffic tickets and car registration; all of which have jumped squarely in front me and yelled "Boo!" upon my return to the States.

So, neither place/relationship is a picnic exactly, but I guess nothing really is. The only difference is that one is in the past and the other I still have to live with day to day. I guess I will end this rambling entry with a verse. This verse (Luke 12:24) was the inspiration for the tattoo on my wrist, and yet still I have so much trouble remembering it and living it out in what is now my day to day.

22Then Jesus said to his disciples: "Therefore I tell you, do not worry about your life, what you will eat; or about your body, what you will wear. 23Life is more than food, and the body more than clothes. 24Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! 25Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life[b]?26Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest?