So it's been just about a month since I last updated this blog (me not yet being in
My previous post touched on the difficulties of filling out a visa application that wants to know your life history. In any case, I outsmarted the computer, got all the boxes filled in with a minimum of invention, drove an hour down to Aurora to have my fingerprints taken, spent five minutes there, and drove an hour home while getting stuck in traffic since two guys had unwisely overloaded a pickup and a trailer and scattered debris all over westbound I-70. (True story, since it took me about an extra half-hour to get through that. Hire a U-haul next time, jackasses). After mailing the kit and caboodle off last week, I got an email from the British Consulate in Los Angeles today telling me that my visa has been approved and is in the mail (this after also getting two separate voice messages, one at 3:42 and one at 3:48, the first asking for more financial documentation proving my ability to pay, the second telling me that they'd found the sheet showing I did and apologizing for bothering me, all in a prim British accent. It was very amusing). Enclosed in said package are my passport and all my letters from SLC and
Speaking of which, I also mentioned that my sister will be coming out to visit me at Christmas. Unfortunately, it won't be quite as long as the two weeks that I'd hoped for, since she is now affiliated with a talent search company and will have to fly to Orlando, Florida, on December 29 in preparation for a weeklong convention in which she will have various shots at endearing herself to various entertainment bigwigs, such as acting, modeling, dancing, etc. executives. I love my sister dearly, and she is my best friend, but it is also true that she is the consummate perfect child who sometimes would make me hate her if, well, I didn't love her. You know the type -- blonde hair, blue eyes, outgoing, popular, boys love her, valedictorian of her high school class, off to the Ivy League university of her choice, not to mention she did the audition for this talent company on a whim and ended up being their top pick for callbacks. Now they're specially grooming her for this opportunity, which means she'll probably get signed to some lucrative contract and become a star, while I am broke and holed up in a small flat in
I am still working at Starbucks, where I have somehow seemed to endear myself to the brass to which point I am now the assistant manager. I chalk this up to me actually doing my job, as I am terrible at half-assing things and if I have to be detained for the entire summer asking if you want the extra shot in that or whipped cream on top, it makes sense to have fun doing it. I like my coworkers and always do the little things that you'd think everyone would actually do, but sadly, I work with a bunch of teenagers who do not always think of such things. (There are a few exceptions, and I have one coworker that I love because she's hysterically funny and another coworker that I love since we talk about political and social issues). But despite that, we have a lot of fun and I do stupid stuff like offering to re-type the price sheet and do inventory, but am rewarded for it with the devotion of the bigwigs (always useful social capital to possess) and a fairly certain job offer for next summer. I will not, however, have that much time to work next summer, since after all I get home in late June and will have to leave in late August, which means I will be poor as dick for my senior year. Which means I will have a head start on being a grad student. Wait, I'm going to be a senior in a year?! Jesus Christ on a bicycle. I swear I don't know where the last two years have gone anyway.
In any case, it's Tuesday night and I've already worked two eight-hour shifts this week, with the same to follow until Friday. On Saturday, my sister and I are going to our last Rockies game together for quite some time (what with her leaving for Columbia in a few weeks) which may or may not be depressing since the Rockies are currently in the process of being shut out by the Washington Nationals. (After losing to them last night. At home. With Aaron Cook on the mound. If you are not as devoted and psychotic a
Anyway, it's past 9PM. Think I'll go find my sister so we can talk before I go to bed. Not that I go out that much anyway, but when you have to get up every day at times ranging from 5AM (not joking, it is awful) to 9AM, your options for nocturnal entertainment are limited. Fortunately, I have never been one to go clubbing and do not see the appeal in getting so trashed every night that you can't remember what or who you were doing, and generally prefer to write, listen to music, and try to pretend that I am not aware of the
All right. I'm really leaving now.
P.S. Why the fuck does Blogger no longer automatically publish single-spaced and instead crams all the paragraphs together so I have to go separate them in Word? I ask you.