ÜPS, I Did It Again

While I had planned to write daily updates of my life as a (wo)man in brown, I obviously didn't get around to it. I couldn't let this pun to go to waste, though, especially since it involves an umlaut.

But while we're here, I will offer you a little retrospective about the most fascinating part of my fleeting brush with employment: the UPS uniform.

The amazing thing about the brown outfit is that it can get you anywhere. The fact that I was able to wander around the supreme court library and attorney general's office without arousing suspicion is saying a lot because while I am a woman in my mid-twenties, I actually appear to be an adolescent male. And adolescent males are generally disrespectful punks that have no place in a large majority of civilized establishments. Given my love for hooded sweatshirts and androdgynizing hats, I often get those looks myself. Sometimes they are warranted, like when I am drunkenly kicking bales of hay under the fence at a public park at one in the morning. But usually it just pisses me off and consequently I end up acting like a surly teenager as well, like the other day when I went into Zak's to look for a Manchester-by-the-Sea shotglass. (I know, I doubt they exist, too. Like my mom said, it's Manchester, not Revere. But I thought it was worth a try.) I was followed by one of the cashiers who was trying to get my attention to tell me that I needed to leave my bag at the front. I forget exactly what he was calling me, but it was something that implied both age (young) and gender (male). It really pissed me off that he was wrong on both counts.

So basically I look like a hoodlum, and that was emphasized by the the baggy pullover, oversized men's pants, and beanie. But I'm in uniform, so no one calls security when they see me wandering around the marbled back rooms of the state capitol building. (Apparently not all uniforms have this effect, though, i.e. the AmeriCorps sweatshirt ;). In the brown UPS clothes, I'm fresh out of high school, gainfully employed in a respectable profession unlike my unruly peers. White-haired security guards call me "young man" in a way that I wouldn't have been surprised if they pressed a nickel in my palm and told me to buy a Coke.

I will hopefully have pictures in the near future (as soon as I finish the roll of film-- remember those days?), but until then if you want an image the closest I can give you is from the movie White Christmas, when the women dress up in fake military uniforms and sing "Gee, I wish I was back in the army." With baggier pants.

Who am I and Why am I here?

(spoken enthusiasicly) Hello World! (sung) It's like a different way of living now. - "Brand New Day"
I feel like you should know that that song's in my head for the first time since 8th grade.

And so it begins.

Resolutions, Pirates & an Invitation

Note: For those of you not interested in being subjected to an (over-) analysis of my life, please omit the bracketed text.

[New Year's seemed like a good time to look at my life—or lack thereof—and figure out what exactly I was doing with it. I took the beginning of 2007 as an opportunity to examine all those areas where I could be doing better and make practical plans involving proactive behavior and the power of positive thinking. The blog was one of those areas to analyze.

It's been almost a year of blogging and for some reason the blog, non- or not, still feels like a massive blob of negative energy that says "So you want to be a writer? And you can't even manage to write occasional paragraphs to entertain a small group of supportive friends? Good luck, sucker." And then it goes, "Mwhahahahahahaha."

But just getting rid of the blog altogether seemed like a cop-out and an admission of defeat. I do want to write more, and the blog forces me to do that. But then again, that's also the reason it's not good—because I write when I feel like I should (because weeks have passed), not when I'm inspired. So then I got to thinking about why I never feel motivated to write anymore. When I thought about everything I used to enjoy writing about in the past, I realized the one thing they had in common was that they were all shared experiences that I wanted to capture. These days, 97.5% of my time is spent by myself and transcripts of my interior monologues do not make good stories (case in point-these last few paragraphs).

I know some of you might disagree, but I really don't like being the center of attention. This is really what underlies all my objections to the whole concept of blogging. I've always been more of a team player. (Again, I know at least one person who objects to this self-assessment, but I stand by it.) Maybe the hippies of Olympia have rubbed off on me, but I want to make this blog more of a community experience.

So, as part of my 2007 resolutionary strategic plan,] I propose that we make this blog a collaborative effort. Meaning that y'all can post now, too. After all, your comments are far more entertaining than my posts. I can give anyone permission to write, so just give a shout and I'll send you an invitation. It'll be fun. It's not an obligation, just an opportunity. Think about it: more frequent posts=increased procrastination for all!

But in case you are not convinced that the blog needs multiple authors, I offer you the following.

Last night as I was drifting off to sleep and worrying about the impending start of J.O.B. Search, Phase II, I had a thought. I actually grabbed a yellow legal pad and wrote these notes thinking I would make a blog post out of them in the morning.


Why I Want to be a Pirate

sketchy work history is not a problem
have experience ripping people off on the ocean (Manchester Marine)
eye patch
i've been told i smell like laundry.*
rum sounds good


*If i remember correctly, this might have been the one reason why I might not make a good pirate. I have no idea where I was going with "eye patch."

What If

I changed my blog template and no one noticed for days?

Californiiiiiiiia . . . (Part II)

Best quote from last night's The O.C.:

"Is that Tori Amos covering Radiohead?"
--my housemate Rob, from the dining room