Wednesday, July 6, 2011

Its a mad, mad world

Oh my oh my the last 4 weeks. Its been a whirlwind- and I hate that phrase but, what are you going to do? I'm sure anyone who glanced at the blog had noticed I was interviewing for a very good temp to perm job at a big deal law firm. I got that job and started Tuesday the 14th. During a break in my training, I got news that my grandfather passed away that morning. As I cried in front of all the strangers at the office, all I could think about was the last time I saw him and how I could have hugged him just a little bit harder. 

Over the last few weeks, the company I'm actually doing the work for has been incredibly supportive and accommodating to the time I would like/ will need off to attend his service and spend some time with my family. The company I WORK FOR however (the temp agency) is another story. Its BECAUSE of the recruiting agency that my FAMILY has literally pushed back the service for my grandfather. These people have gone so far as to tell me I'm not allowed to leave the island for the 4th of July; in no was should it be a surprise that they went above and beyond twisted and have been making this hard for me. If it not for the kindness of the partner at the firm, I wouldn't be allowed to go home to help my parents move- yes now they have to up and move in a very short time frame, and then later in August to attend his service. 

In between all of this I've been doing a juggling act where I attempt to learn everything I will ever need to know QUICKLY for the job and impress everyone at the firm so I get picked up permanently, this is a place I WANT to work for, no amount of effort will be spared. Nothing like explaining my situation about the need for time off and the need for help with said time off, all with tact as to not sound like someone who has problems with authority, to brand new employers. For the record I DON'T; however I have problems when a company uses a trip I took- WHILE BEING UNEMPLOYED WITH ZERO JOB PROSPECTS- against me. It's insane, and I'll be damned if it starts affecting my job. I let them push me around and insult me ("professionals" indeed) but I won't let them take this job from me. I'll keep my yapper shut thankyouverymuch.


Rant aside, another thing, a thing that make me upset (what doesn't), is the Casey Anthony trial. I couldn't help but follow it. Not because I'm another victim of our media nothing better to do but sensationalize things, but because when news first broke of the little girl who disappeared, I was all of 40 minutes away from where it happened. And like most people from Florida, when we hear bad news, we, rightly so, expect a bad ending. But with little Caylee, it wasn't that she had a tragic ending like so many similar stories, it was the revelation that she went missing for over 30 days before anyone who "loved" her bothered to alert authorities.


Obviously we now know the trial ended, and the mother was found not guilty of murder, child abuse, or anything of substance. The astute jury had the sense to convict her on the 4 charges of the misdemeanor offense of lying to police. WOWY. That 4 year max sentence (not to mention the 3 years of time served) really does justice for Caylee. The tiny, and I mean MINUTE, ray of hope actually falls on the state of Florida: that District Prosecutor put in his letter of resignation. Whoopty-do. 


Now I can sit here and bemoan the jury and condemn what most people believe was a MORONIC ruling.  

However, it just isn't that easy. First and foremost- do I believe she killed that little girl? I do. Now if it was an accident (and why would you make an accident look like murder?) or if it was murder that is yet to be clear to me, but regardless, as far as I am concerned Caylee Anthony's  death is at the hands of her mother. Here is my however: Watching a lot of the trial, while the defense just looked amateur, the prosecution did N O T H I N G, and let me say that again to be very clear, N O T H I N G to convince me or anyone on that jury that Casey Anthony actually DID murder her daughter. Any more opinions are inconsequential- she will be released, and Caylee is still dead. I do not feel justice of any kind has been served.

Unfortunately, while things professionally have been moving along, losing my grandpa has been terrible. Its July, and if you know me, you know usually I'd be ready to compete in Miss Florida USA. Obviously I'm not, and thats a hard pill to swallow. But this month, I had to be reminded that life is short in an all to unfair way. I don't have time to sulk about pageants, people with strange vendetta's, or the generally weird phase that is starting a new job. 

(I should be, and am trying to) [I get to] sit back, enjoy some beautiful surroundings, remember I have a few tricks up my sleeve, and, thanks to an unlikely ally, go remember the long and wonderful life of my grandfather.

And watch House Hunters. Lots and lots of House Hunters.  

Thursday, June 2, 2011

I'm Baaaaaack.

My 3 country Europe tour has ended and like most vacation's it's very bitter sweet. The last few days of the trip we're slightly marred by needing to come home and prepare for a second round of interviews (remember that job I was hoping to hear back from over a week ago? I heard. It would appear that they didn't hear quite enough to make a decision so, off to round 2) for a potential job. The stress of that plus the weight gain from eating copious amounts of bar food and beer and the sheer fact that I'm about 4 shades lighter than I was when I left made a return necessary, if not slightly welcome. 

So, since jet lag decided to only NOW show it's self and I'm wide awake at 5 am (11am London time) I figured I get the highlight reel out of the way!

Traveling:
Only my wonderful United States of America can take traveling and then spin it in a way to make you deeply frustrated, slightly confused, vaguely violent, and absurdly exhausted. I understand the obvious needs for security- I'm a huge supporter of the Second Amendment don't get me wrong, but did I feel any LESS safe not getting told down by the immigration officer in, say, England, because I dared to write I am a resident of the United States instead of the Cayman Islands? Listen folks, I'll take off my shoes, be ushered through the line of the weird body scanner thing by creep TSA agents over people who look far more questionable, get my work out balls swabbed (thats a real thing), be questioned over a flute (also a real thing), freak out a small airport because my metronome started ticking in my bag (kinda get that one) all with a smile grimace on my face but really? When I'm coming into my country. WITH my United States Passport that TELLS you I was born in this country. With my blonde hair, very American complexion, spotless criminal record, history of voting republican, blood type, ect. This? Now? Is the juncture in which you feel it best to grill me? Good stuff.

England:
During my little stint there it had better weather than Florida and days as sunny as a Caribbean Island. Between the history, the people, and the gazillion things to do I literally can't pick one thing I loved more than the other there. I got around 48 hours there but I didn't need much more. I don't just love London, I want to L I V E there.

Ireland:
Ireland was a mixed bag for me. I had HUGE expectations for what I wanted out of Ireland and most were met but some, I think I had the wrong idea behind. For example Dublin is fantastic, but once you've seen one old, highly rated pub, you've almost seen them all. Where we made the mistake was only taking a day trip out to and through the country side. On our way to the Cliffs of Moher we saw these amazing little towns, and stopped in one and had this mind blowing seafood chowder. Heading back to Dublin we passed through another town that was home to Durty Nelly's pub and realized then we should have been staying in these different small towns. Ireland's history blew me away, and so did the people. When cab drivers are that great to you, you know you're in good shape. When we left Dublin and the plane was taking off, it was amazing to look out the window and see this patchwork quilt of different greens as far as the eye can see. Aside from the occasional bone chilling cold, Ireland is a truly incredible place. 

France:
I figured I was going to die and go to heaven when I got to Cannes. I did not. It wasn't the language barrier. It was the people speaking the language. We both believed that in terms of the crazies, Florida was king. We we're both wrong. Where you might have to dodge homeless people weaving in and out of traffic trying to sell you a news paper heading down Kennedy Blvd. in Tampa, you couldn't do the famous French al fresco dining in France because of the near creepy stream of people coming up and needing something. I'm not trying to minimize the plight of the homeless, not even close, but I was in Cannes. I expected a few straggling movie stars to be left over from the film festival. The city was so expensive, I figured for the sake of appearances they might have done something to temper the homeless problem. I was wrong. Call me spoiled, but my beach kicks their beaches ass. Plus, my beach doesn't have N-E-K-K-I-D people all over it. Or topless. Both equally unwanted. I'm still holding out hope for Paris as I've been told the city has a little more history and things to see, but if it happens to take a while for me to ever get back to France? Eh, I'm cool with it. 

Airplanes:
Discount airlines are great and all, but Easyjet hold a special place in hell. Aer Lingus is fine, just remember you only get 1 bag and to sit in the exit row. It's not like a normal exit row, its around 2.5 times the the width of an average exit row and totally worth it. Avoid viscous hangover's when flying (or in general). Food on airplanes, and I'll give a special shot out to British Airways, is actually good. Speaking of BA- I highly recommend that, if you don't find yourself in Premium economy, Business class, or First class, haul you and your partner to the back of the plane and snag the 'twin seats'. They are slightly wider and there are only 2- leading you to not have to deal with any strangers and their weirdness.

Toys:
Charge up a Kindle and an iPad and somehow you will make it through 8+ hours of flight. However, be careful with your Sony noise canceling headphones: you will use them heading one way and they will not work heading the other. Regardless of how long and correctly you think you are charging them, they do not have instructions and, although they kicked ass on the way over, will really end up letting you down. 


To conclude, this was my first time over seas and I have nothing to complain about. I see why kids take whole semesters places, and feel like I honestly missed out in college by never doing that. Regardless, I finally got to go and I'm so happy for it. Knowing the costs associated with a good time and how much I want to go back, lets all double cross our fingers and toes for another good interview tomorrow ok?


England






France

"French? Huh?"


 Ireland


Friday, May 20, 2011

Look, up in the sky!

Its a bird! No! Its a plane! No! Its superman! the Rapture?

List most rational people, I'm pretty sure the world is going to implode when the Mayan calendar stops 12/21/12. It's the most logical thing next to zombies. But on the eve of my FIRST trip over seas (and on the eve of hopefully being hired for an amazing job... but I digress) a growing number of people are suddenly backing out of the agreed upon apocalypse, and are now saying that this Saturday, tomorrow, at 6pm your local time, God is going to appear and, I don't know, shun the non believer, get his smite on. 




This is problematic for a number of reasons.


First, as an American,  I do not want to die in a plane, plane crash, or anything involving moving very quickly in a aluminum tube and then suddenly coming to a halt. No thank you. I've maintained for years I want to go out in a blaze of gun fire or doing something incredibly noteworthy/ stupid/ ballin' or sexy. Taking down a transatlantic 747 does not fit that outline. Like any other average woman, from time to time I take one fear and inexplicably replace it with another. It's hopefully a sad coincidence that my constant fear of being mugged and held for ransom is now replaced with flying. Every bump? Yeah I start swearing. (this doesn't help with the whole being good for the Rapture part)

Outside of the general sucking dying in a plane would bring, I am just not old enough to die. Everyone says that, and there are kids with cancer out there and I've made it to my prom, got my license, fallen in love, ect. but there is just so much left on the list.

See?
Throw a drink in someones face
brawl in a bar
go hot air ballooning
get married
go to jail
(right now the only thing that's coming to mind is that STUPID saying from the Island Company Store: 'Quit your job, buy a ticket, get a tan, fall in love, never return.' Screw you Island Company, get out of my HEAD!)  
See if I would have a hot kid
be abducted by aliens 
go to England to see the Harry Potter sound stages
get the FourSquare badge for going to Antarctica
clone Pepper Ann


And that's just the stuff off the top of my head!
Not to mention that I don't really know if I would fare well in the Rapture. Is it like an interview? Do I have to account for every thought I've ever had? Because some stuff is probably best left alone. Do all dogs go to heaven? If you get in is there a 30 day trial period where God can just fire you without reason? If you don't get in will it REALLY be like that "2012" movie? Because I'm assuming if you're God you could take everyone out a little quicker and prevent a LOAD of suffering: dropping into the hot, melt-y center of the earth can't be pleasant.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, God, now is not a good time. I'm pretty sure unless you're someone who owes a lot of money to a particular mob, mafia, Don, or loan shark- yeah sure! "beam me up Scotty!" But for the rest of us that do our best not to suck and generally be kind to our fellow man, isn't Saturday a little soon? 


And if its got to be Saturday can I at least see Big Ben first?

Thursday, May 19, 2011

Needed a Distraction

Its one of those days where I really want to do something, but know I shouldn't. Lets 'pretend' I can't keep my hands busy enough to stay off the rum cake in the fridge ok? So in an effort to keep my fingers moving I thought I'd tell you a story...
(cue dream sequence)

So earlier this week while back in Tampa I ran by the Target [sounds like tar-zhay] to just double check... stuff. I don't know it was a shop-y weekend (aren't they all?), don't judge. Anyway, I was cruising past the clearance section when I saw a water proof jacket that was around 60 percent off. It said size 4 and was cheap so, with a looming trip to London, and the CONSTANT, PERSISTENT, UNWAVERING reminders that its wet, miserable, cold, damp, full of dragons, will take my first born, et cetera et cetera I figured it best I get something flame retardant waterproof. 

Size 4 does not always mean size 4


I throw on this tomato red jacket only to be swallowed by it. For about 30 seconds I was elated that a size 4 was big, but in the next instant I realized it was so big I was either shrinking (literally) or they stitched on the wrong label and thats why it's in clearance. Eventually I see a rack of these jackets, still in clearance, so I go and, sure enough, find a size 2 and put on.

Oh come on.

Again I'm swallowed up. Imagine 'The Blob' but clothing. Even in the size 2 the arms are wide enough to pack full with, I don't know, cotton balls, a Christmas ham, and I could EASILY smuggle no less than 3 puppies per arm out of a pet shop (if you're into that sort of thing). In the desperate hope to get a stupid jacket to prevent me from melting in London (20 bucks says I L-O-V-E it there and moan for 2 months about how badly I want to move there) I put on the size 1. Then I realized that this was the most bizarre sizing system I've seen: things are either odds, evens, or European- not 1,2,3,4,5,6. Not to mention the size ONE was still big.

The universe, obviously done with it's mean joke, urged me to turn around. Behind me I see that although yes, I am in fact in the clearance section, I am in the WOMAN'S section- aka plus size. The handy sizing chart behind me indicates that, no shit Sherlock,the size 4 was big because size 4 in the plus department is roughly sizes 18-20. (my size 1, which I bought because it was cheap, fits sizes 12-14. fyi)


And that's what it's like to be me for an hour.


Now if you'll excuse me I have to go outside. The lawn guy with the weed-whacker (because that piece of lawn equipment isn't annoying enough on it's own) is singing... something... and between him and the whacking I just cant sit here any more.

Wednesday, May 18, 2011

Remember Remember

I don't remember to update this blog. My bad. I was told all I do is eat bon bons and watch Oprah ("or Ellen, whatever one of those is your show"). Whoopsy.

This is supposed to be about island living and what is like temping in a field you don't have a lot of experience in (law yes, British law no) so this will serve as a quick update on island-y things.

The high stakes job of removing staples and scanning paper has come and gone. In the meantime I went on a fundraiser luncheon on a cruise ship where the captain keeled over, in the throngs of a massive heart attack. I went to the YCLA awards and 1) finally got to dress up AND 2) was very moved by young people giving SO much to their community. I felt some pangs of nostalgia from my days of coordinating puppy hugging and cracking my whip to get all 100+ sorority sisters out and volunteering. 

Not too soon after that I got the call I was set up for an interview with what sounds like an amazing law firm. I interviewed (and in that interview I showed I not only can compose a letter but ALSO an email!) and by all accounts the people sound interested. Well, interested so long as they don't find someone with more experience. The upside is that I'm being considered for two positions so if the legal secretary part doesn't work out, I can flex my assistant muscles! I was told last week I'd hear something by the end of this week (3 more days but I'm not counting...) so fingers crossed.

After that interview I hopped on a plane to Tampa to see some old faces, felt sad I wasn't there long enough to see all the old faces I wanted to (I'm looking at you Pris), visited my sweet baby dog, and then turned around to come back to Cayman where I have 3 days to do laundry and pack for a trip around England, France, and Ireland. Of course the trip to Tampa wasn't filled with dieting or even a salad (well half a Cesar at the airport but with that much dressing I don't think it even counts) and my trip to France has me staying in Cannes for a while. I can't haul my fat ass on the French Riviera! I know they go topless there but my butt's about a round as pac-man at the moment. Plus I'm American and if the American media tells me anything the French will be rude to me and judge me on my plump American rump. 
With no idea what to pack, what to wear, or where I'm going to be going I find myself just sitting here looking at the mess of suitcases and wishing I was Harry Potter and could use that spell that makes items put themselves away. (also that spell that makes people do what you want, the ability to ride a broom, and the invisibility cloak) 

With all the whining and dodging coconuts and skin cancer it's understandable why a good few people were under the impression I don't exactly love it here. But this morning as I snuck (did NOT want to be seen in workout clothes) into Ogier to drop off a thank you card to the lovely woman who interviewed me and then made my way to the gym, I realized (realised? Nah I'm not English who am I kidding?!) I was happy to be home. My work permit stamp says 3/15/11 which means I've been here just over 2 months. I'm still not ok with the lack of best friends and sisters, or the lack of Chipotle, Moe's, malls, Publix's, Pepper, and (oddly) John Morgans haunting face and empty eyes (CREEPY SANTA BILLBOARD) (Oh and that guy from the vasectomy billboards. ahhhh) but I have a feeling by month 3, hopefully with this job under my belt, I'll be able to call it home without the sarcastic tone.


After all, if you know me at all my goal was to just drop out of school, take up residence on a small island, and start my own nudist colony. 1 out of 3 isn't terrible, and one of those I'm actively working on.



Tuesday, May 3, 2011

Its all fine and good...

Until you get hit with a coconut.

Let me explain.

Today I went on an adventure to buy Jen Lancasters new book "If You Were Here", and like many things on a small, out of the way Caribbean island, no such book has been ordered by either of the book stores. 


I have an iPad I love it very dearly but its just not the same as a real book. I love the smell of the paper, the binding, how after time the book seems to weather and age right along with you. A book wont run out of battery, or literally scream if you drop it in the sand. 


Yet with no options other than to wait or download the book, I opted for the route less full of waiting and downloaded it. Its not like a Kindle and Apple really screwed the pooch not finding a way to incorporate e-ink into their devices but it gets the job done. In the house. Not in direct beach sun light.


But we'll get to that part. Eventually I tire of Gossip Girl (I'm almost done with season 2- I came late to the party I know, and I'm just worn out on Dan and Serena at this point. You'll have beautiful babies. Just work it out. And come on Serena? "Oh I'm too different and special for Yale"? Money might buy you looks but it won't fix stupid [catch the Ron White reference?]) and decide it time to stop turning my brain to mush.


In island fashion (because thats real, you know), I throw my towel down under a coconut palm and dive into what is shaping up to be another work of art by the lovely Miss Lancaster. However, its spring, and the coconut are a-bloomin. I keep hearing things go 'thud' on the sand around me, and from time to time something that feels roughly the weight of a big bumble bee drops on a leg, arm, my head, and eventually into my drink. Thats when I look up.






Its now I'd like to say for dramatic effect that I got a coconut right to the face (doesn't that just sound raunchy) but instead I watched this tumble to the ground about 5 inches from me.



That there would be a baby coconut. Not enough to kill but surely enough to take me out of the running for any pageant any time soon. It was at this point I realized both my (smokin hot) face and over priced electronic toy were at risk of significant damage and decided it best to prepare for yoga. Of the bikrum variety? I'm not positive, all I know is that I will sweat and likely offend those around me. I don't smell bad but my deodorant is another story. 

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Whats YOUR Degree Worth?

This is like a math equation or ad lib, you can do it yourself at home even! I've filled out mine for you as an example.

(Remember the lowest score wins) ((0 is great and 10 is terrible))


You have a Bachelor of Arts (0) degree from The University of South Florida (1) and you are currently working as a temp (5) in the position of administrative assistant (3). When you go to work, your hours are late into the night (7) and your duties include [list them all and assign a value] taking staples out of paper (10) and scanning the paper into someone elses email (20). At the end of the day, you feel stab-y (8).


0-2: Congrats, you may as well have gone to Harvard, you're degree is worth more than you paid for it!


3-5: Not shabby. At the end of the day chances are you come home happy and are positive you did something relevant and justifying 4 years of schooling.


6-8: Kinda sad. 10 to 1 says you don't like what you do and the government would classify you as 'underemployed'.


9-10: Well. At least you got yourself some book learnin back on campus. Not that it really matters because at this point you cant afford to use that knowledge on things like TV or other books since you work a job that pays in live chickens and would be best suited for someone who prefers to spend their days bent over.


10+: ...But at least you have a job! Right?


With a score of 47 and the knowledge that come 3:45 I'm going to need a xanax just to sit still until 10 o'clock without A/C, withOUT throwing a fit OR having some type of nervous, pride-filled breakdown, I officially have become another statistic in the long line of statistics that allow UF to be considered a better school than USF. To Judy and Rocky? I apologize.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

bored

Looky here at what I tried to do did!




All together now: "awwwww"

Quite the Headline

In Cayman the basic cable package, something I'm not familiar with as I will fully admit to being spoiled on TV and TV packages since conception, does not include national FOX News. With that, I'm relegated to scouring the website in hopes of getting a little feel of my deeply missed Megyn Kelly or Shepard Smith or Glenn Beck.


This morning, my headlines brought a few things to my attention:
1) Tragically, the beautiful Elizabeth Taylor died. "Big Girls Need Big Diamonds" indeed Liz and I'll always remember the advice.


2) Nothing normal happens in Florida, reinforcing the whole 'All the nuts roll down to Florida' saying. 
Example- "Fla. Mayor Knocked Out at Town Council Meeting" and "Armed Beauty Queen Fatally Shoots Intruder in Florida Home Invasion"


3) Headline writers must be bored, bored people. "Do Fat Comedians Lose Some Giggles When They Lose the Jiggles?"


So I might not have been able to hear Megyn's thought provoking opinions on 'Kelly's Court', see the sexy twinkle in Shep's eye during his 7 o'clock news report, or watch Glenn Beck use more visual aides than Carrot Top, but I firmly believe I ended up even more informed than I intended on being... "Naked Woman Rescued From Cliff in California"

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Blogging from the Beach (what 'Really Grinds my Gears' edition)

So as I'm about to start writing the skies grow dark and vengeful looking and the wind starts whipping around more than usual. Although it makes it much easier to see the laptop (thank you internet) the thought of getting hit by lightening seems so much more real at the moment. Ok so anyway, about 25 minutes prior to this I slathered on a good coating of this:



It might be backward but what you want to take away from this is that the bottle says 'DRY OIL'. I'm not just NOT DRY, I'm so oily my residue would stick to the bottom of the Caribbean like the Deep Water Horizon wishes it did to the Gulf. I wish I was joking when I said there are between 15 and 20 gnats stuck all over me.

Just a quick recap: its dark, windy, and I could lube a motor.

And people wonder why I've got this scowl.

So as I did with the self tanner last summer, let this serve as a PSA to those seeking a DRY tanning oil: although its miserable out and I can't tell you whether or not it worked and tanned me while keeping me burn free, I CAN tell you that the very last thing is does it keep you DRY.


Now that I'm activly working to make the stock for Hawaiian Tropic drop I'll quickly move on to Apple.

And open letter to Steve Jobs:
Dear Mr. Jobs:

Can I call you Steve? I feel like we're old friends since I've been forcing my parents to buy buying Apple products since roughly conception. Although I was stuck on a more affordable cell phone network when your iPhone was released, that didn't stop me from stocking up on iPods or MacBooks. Nay a complaint from me back 'when' I had to beg and plead to find magic to allow microsoft software to work on your computers. My god Steve I might not remember my first trip to Sea World but dammit I remember Oregon Trail on your Rainbow Bright excuses for desktop computers in the early 90's. 

My loyalty, Steve, is what brings me to this letter. I have relocated to a British commonwealth in the Caribbean, a place that I would assume would get, at the very least, the same respect as the UK. Sure, products aren't released there first, but eventually we get them. But alas, I sit here on my tiny rock, surrounded by Brits, surrounded by iPhones imported from the UK.
Why Steve? Why won't you sell them in the ONE Apple store on the ENTIRE island? The ONE store that carried EVERYTHING ELSE Apple (literally)? Why, when they are available to everyone, even in places without proper networks, do you NOT sell them here?

Steve, as I write this on my MacBook and wait on the delivery of my white iPad 2, its additional power adapter, and 2 (TWO) fancy covers for it,  why can't you give me the benefit of not having to go through what seems like a Nigerian scam to find a jail broken and unlocked iphone? WHY Steve, cant you just provide my lovely island nation, one with the cell phone capacity and identical network to AT&T, with them?

Myself, along with every person on Grand Cayman who is ready to have a ceremonial burning of our BlackBerries, begs you to consider.

Kind Regards,

Megan
And thats what really Grinds My Gears.

Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Photo Blog

So today on my way to the Lime store (not a store full of only limes the fruit but the wireless carrier with the better data packages) to beg the cell phone gods for an iphone, I thought I would take a few pictures of the main road and life on the other side of the beach.




Big Lizzard


The bar across the street



Driving on the other side of the road is terrifying to see.


This is a bus



American. I has it.


You know its a foreign country when there is a round-a-bout to deal with. More scary.



Something or someone 'Official'.


National bird.



Camana Bay (obviously)



More



The observation tower at Camana Bay. The second highest point on the island next to the dump.


Creepin' on boyfriend. He works on the second floor.



I wont label this picture. I have to assume you know what you're looking at.


The ONLY Lily Pulitzer store in the Caribbean.



More Creepin' around Lily.


All mosaic tile work leading up the observation tower.



Still more.



View(s) from the top.





On the other side; a channel and the open water.



Swoon worthy apartments




Goin down



A marble inset of Grand Cayman Island (and my toes)




Big love for Adirondack Chairs.




As island on an island




More tile work on the ceiling.




More national bird.




Where bad national birds go.




Bigger lizard. 



And finally back home. (its always nice to have a neighborhood with its own crest)
*please note the chicken is not the national bird of the Cayman Islands.
Well that's all from me for now kids. At noon I've got to duct tape my mouth and go with boyfriend to the airport to get our stuff from air cargo and through customs and then look pretty for a 3pm meeting with the premier of the island. I'm as serious as a heart attack and about to have one myself. I couldn't be more intrigued or excited to see how this turns out!  





Thursday, March 10, 2011

Limited

Although generally brilliant in pretty much everything there is to be brilliant in, when it comes to matters of other countries, and more specifically their work permits, I've got no fucking idea. I'm on round 2 (ding ding) of the battle royal between myself and the Cayman Islands immigration department for my temporary work permit. Round 1 ended in either a draw or a loose for me depending on your opinion; my first permit was deferred. I don't know why. I don't exactly know what that even means. I feel like a Yale legacy that got deferred, just without the shame and being blackballed from the family's country club.


For those of us (just me?) wanting a little adventure and to see and work in a different part of the world ( I think) you need these work permits. If you're not cool, and in, lets say reinsurance or accounting, you're hard pressed to find an employer and (obviously) a job. Since it is your employer that applies for the work permit, not having an employer means not having a work permit. Not having a work permit means no island living for you (me). In this situation, people like myself have to go through a recruiter. The recruiter then applies for your work permit and you pretty much owe them what seems like a first born and your left kidney. Fine. Whatever.

Well, my recruitment agency really likes me. Or did. They put a rush on my (second) work permit- aka an answer in 48 hours. They did this on Monday. It's Thursday. Yesterday was a holiday (the Brits seem to have lots and lots of these). I called at 930 and still- no answer on my work permit. I feel like we've passed the 48 hour mark. Since the rushed permit doesn't come cheap, I assumed the people paying for this not cheap rush would be more interested in finding out if I got the permit. Not so. Apparently, it's just little old me (whose in packing and moving limbo) that seems to care. 

As I sit here, I'm trying to figure out what to pack and how to pack it so it doesn't get destroyed: which is ironic since I have no reason to pack as there is no conformation I have the work permit. I'm not moving permanently (or at all?) so I don't need much. However, considering I live like a hoarder, having me just sit around alone and pick and choose what to take and what to leave in a storage unit is down right stupid. Obviously as indicated by this blog post I'm not doing what I should be: punching people in the throat until I have a permit sorting, packing, labeling, ect. No instead I'm sitting here feeling down right spiteful toward the fine government workers in the immigration department.

The trick here is, I can't actually go to the island until I have my work permit. Because nothing can be easy, the island has a law that states when you have a work permit application in (limbo), you can't be on the island, you know, hanging out and what not. So, here I am, lead to believe I'm totally, for sure, like 100%, "no really please stop worrying this will all work out", "take deep breathes we have this covered" and" you're for sure going to be all set to get this work permit". I've up and quit my job last week and have been recruiting my mom and best friend to come and help me pack, tear apart, transport, and clean my apartment. All assuming I'll be hoping on a big ole shiny plane this weekend and heading down, work permit in hand. 

Won't I feel like a total unemployed asshole if I get deferred, or worse, rejected, from this second permit application.

Last time I was unemployed, it wasn't by choice. This time? Well this time feel different since I signed myself up for this. I'm giving up a lot for this little adventure: Miss Florida (for this summer anyways), a stable job, my friends and family, my beautiful Pepper (don't worry she's with her grammy and will be coming to Cayman once I get a real job and permit longer than 6 months. What you think I'd leave my 1st born?!) and America.

However-
I've pretty much seen Canada. Although I'm giving up a few things, I've got the opportunity to meet people from all over the world, drive on the other side of the road(!!!!), actually advance my career (once I, you know, get one) and really live my life instead of just complaining about it. So although it's scary and so very frustrating, I know that this little adventure will be worth it. IF I can get this work permit. 


So, below are some picture of my apartment. It doesn't suck. I wish I could have/ would have told more people about this sooner but even now I'm not positive I have a work permit and thus can't even be positive I'm going. So, sincere apologies for everyone just seeing this, but take heart I have a spare bedroom/ bathroom and there are direct flights from Tampa. You're all invited ; )


The complex from the beach.




I look at the beach from our living room. Sunsets are beautiful!



Looking left from our beach you can see the cruise ships.



Me, a shit eating grin, and a sting ray.