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.

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