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


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,

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)


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


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.

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.

Wednesday, March 9, 2011


I find myself not liking the UK version of things. Whether the UK version is original or not, I just don't love it. Maybe accents scare me. Maybe my red-blooded, American, 'my country will kick your country's ass' mentality makes it difficult for me to accept joke styles that are unfamiliar. 

Maybe I can't get over other countries love of soccer (football): I don't care how many bar's in a British controlled territory you make me watch soccer- I will never understand why its important that Chelsea win nor how its possible, sober or otherwise, to find the 'sport' of running back and forth unsuccessfully chasing a ball is chant worthy. Sorority girls taking a shot? Chant worthy. A 0-0 tie game after 2+ hours? NF (or not chant worthy).

Oh here's one not related to the English: Technology. It sucks. No matter how much time I spend learning something on my Mac, Something, whether its the laptop its self or say, my external hard drive, eventually develops a mysterious glitch and 3 days worth of downloaded movies disappear. Suddenly any hopes of making my boyfriend catch up on True Blood is out the window and I'm too apathetic and angry to re- download anything.

Anyone that suggests I wear an adult diaper to wait in an iPad line, especially when that person has know me for at least a decade, better be fully aware that I might wear one. And I might wear it to her house after a long 36 hours of line waiting.

There are several days in a week that I wish I was single. Those are days in between pay days where I wish it was acceptable to accept meals and drinks. In the event a guy in line at Publix wants to buy my Cosmo, baby carrots, string cheese and 4 lean cuisine's I want to be ok saying 'Sure!'.

I totally lied. I don't read Cosmo. I stopped at 19 when I couldn't handle ANOTHER article about the '98 exciting ways to please my man!'. I read Real Simple and Time when I feel like it isn't too left-y. I make a terrible 23 year old.

Oh, funny story. Once at the beach I was approached by a man who eventually said he came up to me because he was curious if I was an escort. side note: I didn't look like an escort, I was hanging in an area where escorts had once been brought to by a guy who liked blondes. I said to him "well I don't know if it'd be any good but I'd love to take your money. So long as you don't mind the rash." Asshole. If that was a pick up line then men as whole have devolved back to single cell organisms in under 60 seconds.