Wistful Thinking

I am becoming a bit disheartened by the way life has become extremely Sisyphean of late. I have maintained a positive outlook for so long, that I've confused it with a version of reality that simply does not exist.
While I do love me some Camus, I disagree with his noted take on the myth (in his "The Myth of Sisyphus") saying "'Sisyphus as personifying the absurdity of human life, but "one must imagine Sisyphus happy" as "The struggle itself towards the heights is enough to fill a man's heart.'"

Ummmm. No. While I am 100% about the path and the journey, I believe that the episodes that present themselves to us are learning tools and opportunities of all kinds. i believe that they have purpose, and therefore can be ignored, attempted, abandoned, accomplished, or truly inspiring. I also believe - if you follow the original myth - that the punishment fit for his trickery of the Gods has nothing to do with 'normal' human suffering. In a way, I could see it as an addended version of reliving our lives to learn the lessons we failed to grasp. More than this, I see a connection to what is gained by hard work. This would emphasize the issue I am dealing with right now. I cannot find a correlation to the extertion I put forth and the result that is achieved.

I have lost a valuable sense of self worth, and in this aspect, I feel as though I am in a Sisyphean struggle... a constrant struggle both inner and outer to achieve value of self and the vain struggle for knowledge that continues to elude me. The struggle for financial worth - while a noted part of human suffering as per my own Buddhist ideology - is something I cannot give up. In this day and age, the very best a person can hope for is employment that offers the main components within living th 8-Fold Path. Right Livelihood is one of the things I strived for. The rest of how I try to live is as follows - Formatted for my Geek Friends:

I am trying, but I feel a little conflicted and alone sometimes, and I do not wish to cause others to shoulder the boulder, as it were, along with me.

I'd love comments, advice, or just thoughts from others about similar feelings or even opposing feelings. Let's sit with coffee and discuss.

*sits back waiting*

Haiku of Ow

Each day I sit there
Staring at the monitors.
Advil is my friend

Haiku of Panic

Unfortunately
I have a tendency to
hide when life gets real

Work Haiku #2

You see right through me
Deep breathing I undertake
I need more coffee

Work Haiku

Trying to be calm
but your malice makes me say
You're a harpy shrew

Feminism is the new L word

In a conversation with a very male co-worker...

T: Yeah, the first time I went to college, I just didn't care at all. I just wanted to get wasted with my friends, so I didn't bother with course selection and ended up with some really crappy courses. I took Women's Studies one semester.

Me: Women's Studies? You?

T: Yeah. At first, I thought it was going to be great because my instructor was cute, but then it turned out she was a huge...

*pauses to look at me uncomfortably*

Me: What, T? She was a huge what?

T: Erm...Feminist?

*uncomfortable silence*

T: I sucked at that class.

Once More, With Feeling

Again and Again I speak about the 'hotel' I work in. It's usually quips of the ridiculous that happen, or a triumphant event that really makes me proud of the job I do. I hope you enjoy that as much as I enjoy writing it, but this time I need to (surprise) rant.

Some of you know the predicament management has created within our small contingent of specialized workers. It's ugly, unfair, and downright immoral. We stood up for ourselves, however, and are fighting every step of the way for our livelihood.

Today, we took a few steps backwards, and we're again embattled in the fight for our basic needs and a fair contract. I can't go into details here (lest I Dooce myself) but I'd appreciate all the kind thoughts and encouragement you can spare - and perhaps if anyone knows a good labor relations attorney, that'd be even better. We are an army of five, so our funding is small.

Enough groveling. Thanks for the ear/shoulder/lap. Hear from you soon.

Overheard at "the Hotel"

"They took down another Christmas Nativity Scene in a public square near my town. It's been there for years and never bothered anyone till too many foreigners moved into the area. I didn't even mind so much when they added a menorah to the area - I let that go. Now the ACLU gets involved and I can't celebrate my baby jesus' birth because it's unconstitutional? They ain't even part of my constitution! Fuckin' ACLU is ruining this country. Bunch of Commies."

Sometimes I have to physically use my hand to pick my chin up off the floor when I hear some of the crap these guys spew.

Today's WordOfTheDay: Scat: (noun)

1) dispersed feces or dung of wild carnivorous animals.

2) what was left in the ladies toilet stall that I walked into today.

I wanted to call the MonsterHunters on the discovery channel to investigate, but honestly, I'm pretty certain I could track the beast myself.

The toilets are the auto-flush kind, so it leads me to believe that what I saw was actually the remnants of what was there prior - and that thought haunts me.

One Step Closer

This afternoon, at approximately 1pm, I received word from my attorneys that my petition for H-1B status as a non-immigrant worker had been accepted. This is quite the weight off, my friends! As of October this year, my visa will kick in, lasting until September 2012. Hopefully at some point during the next three years, I can pull it all together enough to get my green card and finally, finally make an honest woman out of this here Yank I'm chained to!

OK, so it's an emotional time, and it's brought out the stoic Brit in me. So sue me! I'm so thrilled. So much money, and I'm just so glad it wasn't all for nothing. What a great way to celebrate our fourth anniversary together!

Just be thankful it's not a scratch and sniff post

It seems that I am a creature of sheer luck, and every time I utilize the facilities where I work, it is inevitable that a certain woman from another department will follow me in there. It can't be planned, I'm certain - but it boils down to this:

It's foul.

From the sounds, the odd intermittent noises, the grunts and sighs and noises that couldn't possibly emanate from a mouth - my conclusion was - that can't be human.

I've got a strong stomach, and I'm very good at holding the hair of a loved one whilst they vomit or partake of something similar. This, however, I cannot endure. I find myself gagging at the sounds - my mouth watering that ungodly amount that indicates "Look out, Bitches - you're gonna hurl!" If I can get past it - the battle's only half over.

I can't leave my stall - I'm trapped in my stall of hell. She saw me enter, and I am frozen in fear and horror - doomed to cower in there silently until the ordeal has finished.

Phase II begins immediately after, with the foulest odors one could imagine. I would prefer to stick my nose deep within the rotting intestinal cavity of a 3 week old corpse that had been in the trunk of a parked car sitting in the sun who's last meal consisted solely of vast amounts of cabbage.

I want to scream "Courtesy Flush Please!!!" but it's no secret who I am, and I'd only drool out the saliva in my mouth that is pooling there while trying not to vomit.

At this point I'm breathing through my mouth and trying not to drown from my watering mouth. Breathing through my nose is NOT an option. Fleeting images of random things pop into my head that further disgust me - 2 girls/1 cup; possible escape routes blocked by mounds of feces; hot dogs; opening the stall door and finding a sloth-like dragon in the stall who belches a little smoke and asks me to excuse her because she ate too many villagers and it upset her tummy.

Unfortunately, there is no polite dragon. Only the beast within the other stall. I finally hear a gurgling flush as the toilet struggles to take in the damage. The grunting continues as I imagine the poor soul/evil creature who did this is adjusting themselves in the stall. I hear flush number two, as the toilet sucks down much more fluidly than the first time. I can picture the possible marks left on the porcelain and I shudder.

Seconds drag and I finally hear the latch to the stall slide open and she strolls to the sinks while the toilet flushes for the third time. the main door opens and closes and there is silence. I grab my opportunity, and run from the stall and bathroom , down an opposite corridor, gulping fresh air as I run. I wait down the hall until I feel it's safe, and make my way back to my department, holding my breath as I hurried past the bathroom.

Why my timing is such that I endure this ritual at least 3 times in any given week, I'll never know.

It's Not What it Sounds Like

All week, we've been planning a BBQ at work, and today the plans came to fruition. The weather cooperated, the chef was great, and lots of fun was had by all, considering we squeezed it into our lunch hour.

Everything's going swimmingly. Everyone's laughing and joking around, nomming our way happily through lots of food. One of the chaps is trying to come up with an excuse to spend the rest of the day outside. He says he wants to mandate that everyone bring out their computer towers and blow the dust out of them with some fresh air, because, well, it IS memorial day weekend.

And genius here, without thinking AT ALL, says: "Yes, we have to remember those towers that have previously fallen."

Silence.

I'm looking around like, what? I know it wasn't THAT funny, but a smirk or something? Anyone?

DR finally says: "Ouch?"

And I realize that I have inadvertently made them all think that the new-girl-foreigner-on-the-block just made a 9/11 joke. Brilliant.

Conversation at "the Hotel"

"Bellhop #1" : Dude, parents are cruel. I feel bad for this dude.
"Concierge" : I've heard worse last names than "Hymen". It's not that bad.
"Bellhop #1" : True, I mean, I guess.

Pause

"Bellhop #2" (aka Me) : Yeah, like his first name could have been "Buster."


So, it only took a tiny "Buster Hymen" joke to make me giggle this morning.

Hook Size Doesn't Matter When You Use Dynamite

***Because life is the away it is, I will, as always, speak obtusely and of course fictionally about the 'hotel' I work in. Wouldn't want to Dooce myself, so this is all a made up story. Yeah. ****

It feels like walking through a mine field at work lately. I have delusions that I'm in a war, and other solders are being blown to bits all around me, while I know I can just as easily step on the next mine. It reminds me of kids throwing dynamite into a river to see the unlucky fish float to the top.

Two part timers were laid off this week. No one or two weeks notice - just "buh-bye". It's disconcerting, and it's just really frustrating when you look at the bigger picture. He/She was brought into a room with several 'managers' to be let go. These managers make insane money. In-sane. I often wonder how some people can feel comfortable justifying earning the amounts they do when you equate it to the work they do. Seriously not an even trade. It's be like handing the guy who squeegees your car window on a NYC street about $10K each time, and I think they do more work. When you combine their salaries (and the fact that they did not get benefits) these two part time people made less than a quarter of just one of these managers' salaries, yet the lay offs were based on the economic stress and budgeting cuts in various departments of the hotel. What kind of hotel can function when the manager and the owner make all the money, and they refuse to hire/pay/keep any employees to run the hotel? I just don't know how some people sleep comfortably knowing the disparity. I'm not one to whine about injustice or things not being "fair", but watching someone lose their home while others are wondering if they can work a little overtime to get a newer Lexus, because the 2008 just wasn't new enough.

It is now impossible for any 2 people to be off on the same day, and have our department area of the hotel function. They also slashed budgeted monies so that it's not possible to pay for all regular hotel employees to be present at all required functions. It's as though there's a wedding in our hotel this weekend, but we can't pay the chefs, cooks, servers or bartenders to serve the guests. We still expect you to show up though!

Honestly - I'm all for tightening the belt, slimming the budget, and working together to keep costs down, but part of the idea of cutting budgets and such was to ensure we'd not lose employees - at least save the jobs even if we have to function a little less comfortably during this time.

What I am seeing instead are giddy and self-concerned uppers wielding a butcher's knife and hacking away at the little sinewy strands of tissue and skin that were meekly holding together the skeleton of the emaciated anorexic of a company.

/rant

A Twist on Overheard

Usually we bring you snippets of randomness that we have overheard, like the guy in the street telling his girlfriend he wasn't really bothered about trying to save their relationship, or the girl who was so pretty she was Abercrombie pretty.

This morning, however, I offer you a slight twist on this theme, and instead introduce you to a conversation that I sadly did not overhear, but in which I was instead a part.

The Scenario: A coworker and I are leaving work at the same time. I'm still relatively new, and at times things can be awkward because we're still feeling each other out. At a stretch for something to say, my coworker turns to me and says:

Coworker: So, British accent huh?
Me: Mmmhmm.
Coworker: So where you from? Britain or Australia?

In Which I Ramble and Discuss Immigration

Well now.

My sweetie has thrown down the gauntlet, and started up with the blog again, and if I am to feel equal then I must do the same. Actually, I’ve been missing it greatly, but I simply haven’t had the time to update between work, and hitting my pillow face first.

So…I am here. I am 2 and a half weeks into my new job and I am loving it. I get to play with code. All day. It’s great.

The one part of my job that has been weighing on me has been this horrific necessity to get myself properly legal. I have explained this time and time again to people who think that now I have a job here, I’m a citizen, but the truth of the matter is it’s just too confusing for words. Now, instead of having to explain, I can just point them here.

I am currently on an F1-OPT visa. This means that I am still, technically, under a student visa, but undergoing training with a firm in my field of study. That is, technically, what the job is.
This F1-OPT visa expires in a year. February 27th, 2010. If I’m not sorely mistaken, it is on that date that I will be given 60 days to leave the country.

Unless…unless!

There is this wonderful entity – a beautiful beastie – called an H-1B visa. This is, to the common man, a working visa. Guess what? I’m working! Wheee! I’m eligible to apply for this delight.

That said, here’s a few details about the H-1B, for those of you following along at home:

• There is a limited quota of these available each year.


• Because of this, they ‘sell out’ quickly.


• The start date for the H-1B visa is October.


• The first day on which immigration workers start considering applications is April 1st.


• For the last 3 years, the quotas has been filled on April 1st.


• It is now March 18th.

And strictly speaking, *I* am not eligible to apply. My company is eligible to apply, and BossMan made it clear from the offset that he did NOT want to be involved in any of these legalities. So…his signature is the only part in this plot that he will play. But the attorneys won’t accept money or documents from the worker themselves. Me. So. I gather all the information, fill in all the forms, write the checks, and get BossMan to sign. The majority of my paperwork is now in the mail, although there are still a few odds and ends that need tying.

If I am not accepted, it is not the end of the world. My F1-OPT is still current. I am still allowed to stay here, and work legally for another year. At which point, I may certainly apply for another H-1B, with next year’s applicants. If I am successful next year, I will be eligible to begin work next October, 2010. Until that time, I have to leave the country.

This visa can last up to 6 years, and counts as a ‘dual intent’ visa, meaning I am allowed to own property, and appliances, and of course the biggie, apply for permanent residency. That is my big hurdle; that is the accomplishment I desire.

Foooooo Goooooo

Lately I've had the feeling that I missed something. You know that nagging feeling that you've been climbing flights of stairs and you should have arrived at a particular landing by now, but all you see are more stairs above and below. I've been feeling this for so long that I've been checking each floor for an emergency exit.

In theory, things are tip top. L graduated from her School, known as the University of Ultimate Learning and Money Sucking. She started her job the very next week and is thrilled to bits with how challenging it is. She comes home daily all excited and wanting to share the jokes and experiences of the day. I feel sad that the geek humor is wasted on me a bit. Nothing kills a joke for me like a punchline of "blah blah blah... SQL!" Ha ha ha ha ha... I don't get it.

So I can't shake the feeling. I think it started years ago when we said "we just have to make it through {insert random major issue of life here} and then we'll be fine and life will be all flowers, puppies and rainbows!" Well, we've conquered all the random major issues as they came at us, and I'm here thinking "Now it's supposed to be calm, easier, better. Not living as though L could be expelled from the country any moment. Not having to work extra jobs to stay afloat. One step closer to a Green Card. Not being up all night worrying over all this stuff for L.

Granted, the economy is a wreck, and the people being given the means to assist in rectifying it are blowing goats and monkeys by giving millions in bonuses to top excecs instead of repairing damage and saving jobs and the entire economy. That is not pleasing me, but I don't think it's the root of my inability to pop out of the funk.

Any ideas? I'm willing to consider them.

You know I'll always come back...

Yes, we were quiet. Absent. You clicked our link to find only the same old posts sitting there, lonely and used. There was no sign of the She girls, only silence.
*crickets*

However, after a long and very busy month, many things have been completed and/or resolved that took precidence over the blogging. We hate to say it, but it is true. Sometimes you cannot be the center of our worlds, and you really need to learn to share. What were you, an only child?

So we're back. Gazelle is graduated, employed, and on the way to more solid citizenship. We are still able to maintain our home *crosses fingers in this economy* and generally really happy. I am looking at ending my part time job since Gazelle is employed now and I'm old, exhausted and generally lazy. lol Actually, I want to spend that time in my downstairs studio reacquainting myself with my art. I'll try to post some posted pieces if I don't suck too hard.

Look for more consistent posts, and a pat on your head for the undying loyalty you've shown. Thanks for hanging in with us. See you soon.

A Week for the Books

Today starts a very hectic, tumultuous time of my life. Daddy is arriving tonight. As we speak, he is somewhere over the Atlantic. Here, to be exact:



On Thursday, I am finally graduating. Ten years after beginning my higher education. I'm trying to stay calm, and focus on the fact that it's less than 48 hours away. The truth is, I have this irrational fear that I will never be graduating. It's ridiculous, I know. I'm just fearful that because it's taken me so long, maybe it's never meant to happen. So focus, Lisa: 48 hours.

Saturday is party time, celebratory drinks galore. This past weekend, we hung out in New Hope at the Triumph with some of Barbara's school friends: Nora, Christine, Amy, Kim and Mike. It was a complete riot and I fell so in love with raspberry wheat beer that I brought home 3 flagons of it. So that is definitely on the cards this week, for sure! Oddly enough, I'm looking forward to the party. I'm not much of a partier, but this should be relatively small with the best people money can't buy.

Then, of course, comes Monday. Ah, Monday. The day I officially start work. I'm excited and terrified all at once. I need to impress the BossMan enough to get him to sponsor me, and I'm afraid I can't do it. Because, y'know, what's life without a little pressure, right? I'm sure it'll all be fine, but if you don't hear from us in a while, that's because Barbara's busy slapping the nonsense out of my head. Salut!

But Which KIND of Robin?

American or English?



Seriously, folks, I mentioned before that Robin gave us a boatload of material. Here's another two of her gems.

(While talking to a particular friend of ours, who happens to be decidedly Christian, Robin decides that dating advice is in order...)

Robin: At the end of the date, if all else fails, grab his junk.

M: Wuh?

(Later, as people are getting up to leave)

Robin: Enjoy your date, and don't do anything I wouldn't do!

M: Oh, I probably won't...