At Rainbow's End

I have been thinking about writing this post for a couple of days, but now that I have actually started writing it--I am just giving you a heads up---I have to change direction from what I originally was going to say. You'll see why.

When I was in the sixth grade, I had a pen pal from New Zealand. I actually don't remember her name any more, but she stopped writing to me after September 11, 2001, and the service let us know that kids from abroad were afraid to receive letters from the New York kids. Nice.
So, anyways, we would exchange letters and little trinkets like stickers and bracelets and blah, blah, blah
I was going to write a nice post about pen pals, but I really want to get to the last point here.
So I remember this one letter where LAUREN! (her name just came back to me) wrote the most enchanted thing I ever:
For holiday, my family and I are going to Rainbow's End.
Initially, I planned to write a post about how wonderful New Zealand must be, how I have always wanted to visit, and how any country that contains "The Rainbow's End" must be heavenly. For these last 9 years, I have periodically thought about that line she wrote and wondered...what is this "Rainbow's End?" Until about ten minutes ago, I always pictured some sort of beautiful waterfall or a great green hill overlooking a pond. Before writing the post, I decided I would google it so I could find a picture to post at the bottom.

Well, here you go. Rainbow's End (enchanted, really):
http://www.rainbowsend.co.nz/

If you buy it, they will come

It is a cloudy Thursday, but I must say, everything feels rather fine. I'm drinking black coffee, prepping for a test that I might actually do okay on, and more importantly, tomorrow is Friday! My last post came across rather whiny. My mother has often liked to play with my head and remind me that my emotions are nothing more than the product of my hormone disturbances ("you are only this upset because of your hormones"..."you are only sensitive because of your hormones"...) so I had to run by some third parties the situations that have been bugging me to see whether or not I am valid in my frustration. While describing these situations, I realized that they actually sound even more ridiculous when I verbalize them. The winner?

I got in trouble at work for putting vegetables on the wrong side of the sandwich for over 45 minutes.

I feel validated, and everything seems okay now.

Enough about that crap.

So, as all five of you know, I have been on a fruitless quest to meet the man of my dreams (i.e. somebody who calls after the second date. So by "man of my dreams" I really just mean someone with a little tact and who is polite enough to wait until after the third date to push me away.) After Alana and I went bra shopping, through some fuzzy logic, we decided that if we have the sexy underwear already, the men will naturally follow. I am currently wearing a leopard print bra, so bring it on!

In an effort to bring about maturity, I have started wearing bras with under wires.

In an effort to get a better job, I'm thinking maybe I just need to buy some dress shirts. I wore a dress shirt to a disastrous job fair earlier this week, and although I made a fool out of myself, I looked rather professional while doing so.

So, I guess now I just wait for Shoeless Joe Jackson to show up....wait.

Dear God, its me, Marge

I didn't make it to Mass this Ash Wednesday. I didn't eat meat, and I've "fasted" (that is, the Catholic version. Some cereal for breakfast and lunch, and a tomato sandwich for dinner), and I've reflected. I feel bad about the no ashes, but I know that we need them to remind us that to ash we shall return and whatnot, so I at least I'm on the same page with that.

I was going to write a semi-joking letter to God here, but instead I'll just summarize (and cut out the funny stuff.) I asked God to grant me patience. I feel like I have been tested quite a bit recently, and I need more patience (otherwise I am going to blow a gasket.)

For Hire

Figure 1: Truth.

Monday Night

Sometimes all I really want to do is drink myself into a stupor and then wake up a few days later, come to my senses, and realize that things aren't really that bad.

But then I remember that I'm not an alcoholic, nor am I an old man, nor am I a Vietnam vet, nor am I old enough to do that legally.

Monday morning

Last night was the Oscars. I love award shows. I had it on while I did my chem homework. Probably not the best idea, but oh well. I love the gowns, I love when I've seen the movies nominated, and I love that I've seen most of the movies featured in retrospectives. My three favorite things really are movies, TV, and music, as cliched as it sounds.

Right now I am trying to edit a train wreck of a paper. I'm writing about a book that I only read half of. And, for whatever reason, my mother decided she wanted to "help me" with it. She hasn't read one of my papers since junior year of high school, and she hasn't edited one of my papers since freshman year of high school (ironically, I got terrible grades on those papers.) I have no idea what inspired this sudden desire to read my academic papers. Even I find them boring, and I'm the one who wrote them.

Nothing interesting today, I'm afraid. There is a job fair tomorrow, so expect a post about resumes.

Who am I?

Ha, just kidding. I'm hoping at least one of you rolled your eyes and went "oh jeez" when you saw the title of this post.

So last night, as I attempted to do some homework, I found myself on the US census site. A professor was showing us all the fun things you can look up using it earlier this week, and out of some interest, but mostly boredom, I started to do searches on different towns.

I am from Bellerose, New York. The thing is, though, Bellerose doesn't really exist. I've known this for a while; maybe we live in a black hole? maybe there is some sort of twilight zone-esque explanation?

No. It once existed, but since has been eaten up by Jamaica, Queens along with Hollis and Queens Village. Bellerose Village still exists, as does Bellerose Terrace (neither of which are Queens, as evident through their astronomical taxes) but actual Bellerose, the part with the number streets and all the Indian restaurants, can't be found. I was determined to find statistics on Bellerose, though. I refused to accept Jamaica's statistics as my own. You do not "change in Bellerose," nor do you go to the "Bellerose Court House" when you get jury duty, nor do you have your "car radio stolen in Bellerose when I went for jury duty." Those are all Jamaica things.

So after doing an advanced search only using our zip code, the statistics for a nameless town appeared (literally, only the zip code graced the top of the page.) Some of the more interesting facts: 27.7% of our town has college degrees, which is higher than the national average, 38.6% of the town speaks a language other than English in their homes (a wee bit higher than the national average of 17.9%). The poverty level is half the national average, and the median family income is around $55,000. Bellerose doesn't sound half bad to me!

Figure 1: This is the suburb of Bellerose. Taken this summer during monsoon season. See? The houses aren't attached. That's my neighbor's mini-van in our spot. Bastard.

EDIT: Sorry, this was riddled with so many spelling/grammatical errors my head nearly exploded. I hope none of you read it before I edited it. It still isn't great