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Love in the time of cholesteral tides
Jun. 27th, 2006 04:32 pmWhen your world is upside down and all streets are unfamiliar and even the golden retrievers bark with an accent and you try to conquer and understand the behemoth that is the US WORK MARKET, when everyone thinks you are a native hippie chick of Boulder CO, but you're not...well, when it's all like that, you start a few projects, just to create some goals in the debris of your former life.
One goal: To go on a fruit and vegetable soup fast.
So I did that, it was supposed to be easy since this is a semi-desert landscape and well into the nineties on a common day(30-35 degrees C) and it definitely should lessen your appetite for tons of food, particularly salty/fatty/meaty stuff.
So WHY WHY do I dream of slim Jims, Polish Kielbasa, pork Chops, Canadian bacon and lemon marinated chicken at night?
Clearly I'm supposed to become this string of a girl living on water melon and water with cucumber slices, pure from within. Well, fuck that obviously, I just want to ROLL my own self in steak dinners.
Other goal: To confront my fear of american Gyms, in other words to drag my sorry continent of an ass to THE GYM.
I am afraid of these beautiful male and female instructors that look so unlike the other specimens of the American society around me. I see none of those toned arms and biceps', none of those six pack abs while grocery shopping at King Soopers or Whole Foods. I suppose the instructors have their food delivered or shop on truly obscure times of day, because only at the gym do I see them. There is supposedly a rule at the rec-center gym where I'm a member, that you have to undergo a bit of instruction in order to use the tools. Man...I just want to be on my way at the treadmill in my baggy trainers and white pasty miller's-daughter face. Please leave this heap of cholesterol-dreaming dough alone to sweat in peace.
oh but I am strong in the end of it. I don't look it, but I laugh and mock what they lift, and secretly go and lift the same weights when they are done. And then some. Petty...petty.
Yet another goal: To study the American culture and become more American, and thereby get FRIENDS.
Our car is on it's last waltz so therefore we didn't go to Estes Park up in the mountains last Saturday, to see a "Swedish" midsummer's festival as we'd planned, instead we attended a Polish festival on Sunday, and I sat and absorbed the slightly surreal experience of eating Polish Bigos, Pierogi and Favorki alongside good old American baked beans and Pepsi soda on a hot and overcast summer afternoon. Most of these dishes and tastes identical to the ones my grandma and dad had tried to stuff my reluctant face with when I was a wee kid, and which I didn't grow to appreciate until I was well into adulthood...filled my mouth and nostrils alongside the sounds and smells of The Land of the Free. I was confused, and admittedly a little delighted as well.
We ran into a teacher the Geek used to work with, a girl barely thirty, high and happy because her divorce (after a 8 year long relationship) is coming through within two weeks. Damn, people marry so young in this country, and thus divorce young as well. She had a neighbor/friend along with her to the festival, a dad with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head and his sultry son, a Harry Potter-like youth with a slightly challenged skin condition, and a little daughter, cute as a peach and very spunky. The little daughter and the teacher-friend ate the foreign food happily and with invigorating greed, father and son more carefully, but with an open mind.
They were all so damn nice, with a mellow humor and a careful and disciplined openness to new things, it made me feel all warm and mushy inside. I wanted to cook Swedish meatballs for them and show how a truly Polish cheesecake (sernik) is supposed to taste.
So the final goal: To penetrate the American Work Market, is a challenging one, and yet I have barely begun.
My scared emails to friends like jlsjlsjls in Canada begging for advice on cataloging is one thing, but the plain truth is: HEY AMERICA, I desperately WANT to pay taxes! Really really much! Colorado, just UN-TABORIZE your libertarian ass and give me a job so I can pay HARD and spectacular taxes! I want to contribute.
I have only applied for five jobs as of yet, and actual Archivist positions among these are only two, both for different factions of the Catholic Church in Denver.
In order to pay taxes I'm prepared to lie to the catholic church I guess, because I'll probably have to if I'm called to an interview. In my application letter I wrote: "born and raised Catholic" - which is true, but if the question of current faith arises..well.
I wonder if a Catholic would dislike an atheist more than a person with a complicated set of esoteric inclinations involving earth spirits and the likes. Probably the latter, everybody hates "new age" I suppose.
Not that I would ever discuss this with anyone, least of all a nun or priest of the Catholic church.
My mom, the Catholic, told me to lie, since I haven't been to mass since I was twelve. And I guess fixing up their damn Archives shouldn't demand such a big leap of faith, I would do a good job of it.
I need to find some big companies and corporations that keep files in archives for a few years, and I need to check out the local County Clerks and courts I suppose. But it's such a tangle and mess to find every fucking thing, and it would also help if my College in Sweden could send my papers already. Fucking Scandinavian summer snailing in a bucket of academic snot.
One amendment goal I have, which I don't know if or when I'm going to fulfill is to get to know the new and unfamiliar landscape of Colorado better. Back home, in Sweden, there was so much I could do, that is hard or maybe impossible to do here. I used to sleep outdoors on some favorite places in the woods or the hills outside of Uppsala. No tent, just a sleeping bag and a mosquito net, go trekking, be it day or night...but here, where fucktards shoot people with laser guns and where the local newspapers post maps of the public walking places where most sex-crimes have been charted this summer, I'm quite reluctant frankly. I don't have any solution to this yet, but I'm dying to get to know the landscape better, I'm just not prepared to meet actual death or rape for it to happen.
Maybe if I start paying taxes it will all clear up and I'll find a solution. I do genuinely believe in the Church of Taxation. With the right application plan tax funds can solve almost anything, except maybe feverish cholesterol-dreams.
One goal: To go on a fruit and vegetable soup fast.
So I did that, it was supposed to be easy since this is a semi-desert landscape and well into the nineties on a common day(30-35 degrees C) and it definitely should lessen your appetite for tons of food, particularly salty/fatty/meaty stuff.
So WHY WHY do I dream of slim Jims, Polish Kielbasa, pork Chops, Canadian bacon and lemon marinated chicken at night?
Clearly I'm supposed to become this string of a girl living on water melon and water with cucumber slices, pure from within. Well, fuck that obviously, I just want to ROLL my own self in steak dinners.
Other goal: To confront my fear of american Gyms, in other words to drag my sorry continent of an ass to THE GYM.
I am afraid of these beautiful male and female instructors that look so unlike the other specimens of the American society around me. I see none of those toned arms and biceps', none of those six pack abs while grocery shopping at King Soopers or Whole Foods. I suppose the instructors have their food delivered or shop on truly obscure times of day, because only at the gym do I see them. There is supposedly a rule at the rec-center gym where I'm a member, that you have to undergo a bit of instruction in order to use the tools. Man...I just want to be on my way at the treadmill in my baggy trainers and white pasty miller's-daughter face. Please leave this heap of cholesterol-dreaming dough alone to sweat in peace.
oh but I am strong in the end of it. I don't look it, but I laugh and mock what they lift, and secretly go and lift the same weights when they are done. And then some. Petty...petty.
Yet another goal: To study the American culture and become more American, and thereby get FRIENDS.
Our car is on it's last waltz so therefore we didn't go to Estes Park up in the mountains last Saturday, to see a "Swedish" midsummer's festival as we'd planned, instead we attended a Polish festival on Sunday, and I sat and absorbed the slightly surreal experience of eating Polish Bigos, Pierogi and Favorki alongside good old American baked beans and Pepsi soda on a hot and overcast summer afternoon. Most of these dishes and tastes identical to the ones my grandma and dad had tried to stuff my reluctant face with when I was a wee kid, and which I didn't grow to appreciate until I was well into adulthood...filled my mouth and nostrils alongside the sounds and smells of The Land of the Free. I was confused, and admittedly a little delighted as well.
We ran into a teacher the Geek used to work with, a girl barely thirty, high and happy because her divorce (after a 8 year long relationship) is coming through within two weeks. Damn, people marry so young in this country, and thus divorce young as well. She had a neighbor/friend along with her to the festival, a dad with a baseball cap turned backwards on his head and his sultry son, a Harry Potter-like youth with a slightly challenged skin condition, and a little daughter, cute as a peach and very spunky. The little daughter and the teacher-friend ate the foreign food happily and with invigorating greed, father and son more carefully, but with an open mind.
They were all so damn nice, with a mellow humor and a careful and disciplined openness to new things, it made me feel all warm and mushy inside. I wanted to cook Swedish meatballs for them and show how a truly Polish cheesecake (sernik) is supposed to taste.
So the final goal: To penetrate the American Work Market, is a challenging one, and yet I have barely begun.
My scared emails to friends like jlsjlsjls in Canada begging for advice on cataloging is one thing, but the plain truth is: HEY AMERICA, I desperately WANT to pay taxes! Really really much! Colorado, just UN-TABORIZE your libertarian ass and give me a job so I can pay HARD and spectacular taxes! I want to contribute.
I have only applied for five jobs as of yet, and actual Archivist positions among these are only two, both for different factions of the Catholic Church in Denver.
In order to pay taxes I'm prepared to lie to the catholic church I guess, because I'll probably have to if I'm called to an interview. In my application letter I wrote: "born and raised Catholic" - which is true, but if the question of current faith arises..well.
I wonder if a Catholic would dislike an atheist more than a person with a complicated set of esoteric inclinations involving earth spirits and the likes. Probably the latter, everybody hates "new age" I suppose.
Not that I would ever discuss this with anyone, least of all a nun or priest of the Catholic church.
My mom, the Catholic, told me to lie, since I haven't been to mass since I was twelve. And I guess fixing up their damn Archives shouldn't demand such a big leap of faith, I would do a good job of it.
I need to find some big companies and corporations that keep files in archives for a few years, and I need to check out the local County Clerks and courts I suppose. But it's such a tangle and mess to find every fucking thing, and it would also help if my College in Sweden could send my papers already. Fucking Scandinavian summer snailing in a bucket of academic snot.
One amendment goal I have, which I don't know if or when I'm going to fulfill is to get to know the new and unfamiliar landscape of Colorado better. Back home, in Sweden, there was so much I could do, that is hard or maybe impossible to do here. I used to sleep outdoors on some favorite places in the woods or the hills outside of Uppsala. No tent, just a sleeping bag and a mosquito net, go trekking, be it day or night...but here, where fucktards shoot people with laser guns and where the local newspapers post maps of the public walking places where most sex-crimes have been charted this summer, I'm quite reluctant frankly. I don't have any solution to this yet, but I'm dying to get to know the landscape better, I'm just not prepared to meet actual death or rape for it to happen.
Maybe if I start paying taxes it will all clear up and I'll find a solution. I do genuinely believe in the Church of Taxation. With the right application plan tax funds can solve almost anything, except maybe feverish cholesterol-dreams.
