dot-to-dot

It was his first ever gig on Friday, and yes, I am royally bummed that I missed it. More than you know. From all accounts, it was an astounding success. And not only was one of our favourite rock stars - the one whose music pretty much brought us together in the first place - in the audience, he came up to Richard afterwards and said they were fucking brilliant! Apparently, he told another member that he hasn't been this excited about a band since the Rapture. Wow, I said. He was excited about the Rapture?

No really, it's great, and I'm really really excited for them. The gig was sold out, and they ended up headlining it. It was the first time the club night sold out actually. And people were dancing! People we don't know! Strangers! Bopping to the music they had never heard before! Gotta be a good sign. They have another gig at the end of the month. Hopefully the momentum will carry over. And they'll play more and more, and I'll be able to eventually see them. That would be nice.

Not only was I upset that I had to miss the big night - even his older brother, his idol, made his way from London for it! - but I was also upset to see Richard so excited. Even what was conveyed through the phone lines made me so happy. Awww.

It made me feel a bit bad for getting so annoyed at him earlier in the day, at his inability to get anything together for the fiancee visa. We're quickly running out of time here. They say it will only take 5 days or so to process, but when is that ever the case? I certainly don't want to take any chances. Most of the work at this point is coming from his end, what with having to reserve the wedding and procure all sorts of documents. He has to either get a copy of his passport notarised, or send the actual thing, yet when I called Saturday morning to get his passport number and issue date as I started to fill out the online application, he couldn't even find the damn thing. Argh!

Since then, however, he has really gotten his ass in gear. I must have nagged him just enough. Phew. Maybe by this time next week it'll all be in the mail. God, I hope so. I want something sorted...

Speaking of which, I am going to Chicago in February. Woo hoo! I bought my tickets already, it's official. A bunch of my friends from Greece are getting together for a reunion, taking advantage of the small window of my time in America. Aww, I feel so loved. I mean, they're willing to drop everything and fly from far-flung states and face winter in the windy city, just to make sure I'm there. Sweet!

So the plan is to work up until that weekend, then quit and spend the rest of the month cramming the rest of my social visits in before leavng on Feb 21. My mother was harassing me about it, suggesting I should work to the bitter end. Ha! It'll be a miracle if I last until the end of the month! It's getting increasingly difficult to deal. The exhaustion, the annoying coworkers... and not just my fellow casuals. Even the regulars are beginning to grate. Some of them are soooooooo incredibly lazy! Argh.

Lately I've been pitching small parcels a lot. Which involves lots of bending and throwing and heavy lifting. Apart from the physical exhaustion factor, it's a nice change, and quite a bit of independence. Plus, it's fun throwing things. And when I say throw, I mean like slam dunking from 10ft away. Your precious packages. Yup. I figured packages get jostled around a bit in the post, but I never realised the true extent. They arrive in big carts or bags and we empty them into boxes, then take them from the boxes and throw them into bags. Then the bags get thrown into big boxes, and are probably then thrown into trucks, and the process starts all over again elsewhere. Not only are they thrown together, and from long distances, at great velocity, often landing with a great big thud, but sometimes big heavy packages are also thrown into the big boxes, landing right on top of the bags. I'm astounded anything arrives intact in the end.

The motto of this story: use lots of bubble wrap. LOTS. And don't bother writing 'fragile' on the outside. It just taunts a pissed off employee. And most employees of the postal service are pissed off.

Ah, the joys.

In other news, I seem to have made another friend. Another foreigner too. I dunno what it is about me, but I attract the refugees in droves. Hmmm. This one is an older man from Laos, whose accent is so thick I can barely understand him - the basis for any great friendship, of course. Every day I learn new things about him. Dubious, crazy things that I'm certain are misunderstandings, but apparently true. Before I even knew his name, he told me he raised quail in Maine. Then last night it comes out he was a commercial airline pilot! And a magazine editor? This part is confusing and vague, but it seems that he has a progressive magazine or plans for one, and wants me to write for it. Or something. Hmmm. He is very pro-America, moving here in 1977 after refusing offers from several other countries. He said he could never move to Europe because if there is another world war, there's no where to escape to there, you're trapped. Er... yeah.

It's my night off and I'm going out to dinner and drinks with my friend Iris, who I met while waitressing during my last home stint. I have no other friends here. Sad. Yet I can hardly bother going out with the one I do have. Even sadder. My parents are going on a grand ski holiday on Thursday, and I have the house to myself, but nothing to do with it. Hmm...