artykins

You must have heard it.  That loud, prolonged cheer that sails on the winds.

That's right, kids, having shed many tears already today due to the news, I can now announce that Matt has his visa in his hands and he's coming home tomorrow!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! x infinite.

*deleriously happy*

Later Days,
Arty

Exhausted from emotional turmoil.

Made black bean burgers.

Went on a cleaning rampage.

Discovered a little delicatessen two blocks from work.

Had some friggin' awesome microbrew tea.

Surprised Jeff with the 'yumminess' factor of non-meat burgers.

Wanted to vomit when Jeremy asked if Jeff had needle and thread because he (Jeremy) was ripped.

Went through stacks of IEPs.

Showered.

Cried.

Moisturized.

Brushed my hair.

Read.

Napped.

Only managed to make one stack of books to sell/give away/get rid of.

Refused to get rid of Dr. Seuss and The Scarlet Pimpernel.

Brushed my teeth.

Bed.

I thought you all might want to know this bit of information:

There's nothing quite so delicious as orange juice.

That is all.

Later Days,
Arty

So it occurs to me that a lot of you must be wondering what the heck is going on in life. Now, some of you know what's going on, but others of you don't, so for the record book, this is what's been happening.

Matt left a week ago this past Monday for his visa interview, which was last Friday. Most of you knew this already. My thanks to those of you who prayed. Everything went fine for him. He waited two hours past his scheduled time only to be asked three questions.

The not so brilliant news is that there was a snag. The embassy wanted me to submit something called an I-134 form, which is an Affidavit of Support form for the government. Basically, what it is is a piece of paper along with several other pieces of paper that states and then goes about proving that I can financially support Matt for the three years after he enters the country so that he doesn't become a ward of the state.

Right.

Like Matt would become a ward of the state with my people around.

So I get a call at 6:30am last Friday. It was Matt and to be fair I was expecting his call. He tells me how the interview went and then tells me about this affidavit, to which my sleep-deprived mind can only formulate one thought:

Those bastard people!

So I went about forcing myself awake. I downloaded the I-134 form, printed it out and then read what I needed to get together. Here's the comprehensive list:

1) A letter from my bank, signed and stamped by an official which contains information as to when I opened my account and how much my current balance is.

2) The deposit totals for my account for the last year. Year!

These two little (?) items cost me two hours of my time inside my bank trying very hard not to just stand in the middle of the place and yell at them. Luckily, the woman helping me I'm convinced was an angel sent to keep me sane and help me.

3) Letter from my employer specifying the following things:

a) My status (i.e. permanent, part-time employee), of which I'm a permanent employee.

b) My annual salary.

c) My monthly salary.

d) The date and nature of my employment.

This one was fairly easy to get. All it took was a conversation with Pat. And I love Pat. She's most excellent people despite being kind of gruff on the edges. She's got a heart of gold.

4) A list containing information on my bonds (of which I have a few) with the following information:

a) Serial numbers.

b) Class numbers (which are really letters, so go figure).

c) Denominations of said bonds.

d) The name(s) of record owners.

You see, they were purchased when I was little, so my mom and dad were co-signers on my bonds, but once I turned eighteen, they turned everything over to me. That meant that I had to write a letter to this effect explaining that they had co-signers, but were technically mine as of my eighteenth birthday.

Loads of fun, I know.

On top of all of this, these things had to be sent as well:

5) Documentation that I had everything filled out and signed in the presence of a notary public.

This involved me sitting, listening to speeches about perjury and forgery and all the other gys imaginable. I also had to stick my thumbprint on two documents, but the good thing about this part is that I've got a friend that's a notary public and she was able to 'process' me.

6) A letter explaining my status in life.

This, of course, consisted of me sitting and writing a letter saying that I'm a recent college graduate, that I only started working in December and have every good and faithful intention of staying there. Which is true. I have no intention of leaving anytime soon or even in the foreseeable future.

So I gathered all tis information on Friday afternoon, which in and of itself was a small miracle, and whisked it away to FedEx who has also partnered with Kinko's...those whores.

I'm very bitter about this next bit of the story because again, the only thing that comes to mind when I think about them is:

Bastard people!!

But I digress.

Long story short, I went to Fed(up!)Ex/Kinko's and was guaranteed that my papers would be in England by Monday at noon. Three times I was guaranteed this, so I gladly plonked down my $80.00 without a second thought to it.

Well, guess what didn't arrive as promised on Monday. That's right. Certain documents that I had dashed to get and needed to be in the country as soon as humanly possible. And guess what wasn't there on Tuesday by noon. That's right! You're getting good at this.

The good news is that Matt now has all my paperwork in hand and tomorrow morning between the beautiful hour of 6am and noon, the embassy is going to be sending one of their minions to collect my papers and his passport. Said minions will then whisk the things away to the embassy and process things.

And if all goes well, another minion should be trapesing back down to Matt with his passport and visa papers in hand.

At this point, such rejoicing will occur here in California that I wouldn't be surprised at all if you were able to hear it in Dover.

And after that, it's really a matter of Matt catching the next flight home. Of course, there's the small chance that he might be held by San Francisco customs officers, but it's a very slim chance indeed.

Anyway, I'm making dinner, so I should get going. I wanted to make sure you lovelies were kept informed. I'll let you know things when I next have news. But for now, meatball subs beckon to be made.

Later Days,
Arty

No
I am not this person
This person you have forced me to be

This is who I am 

I am the eternal optimist
The steadfast worker
The solver of problems both big and small

I am the comforter of many worries
The loyal friend and companion
The first one to smile and keep smiling

This isn't who I am

I am not the person who finds the problems first
Not the fickle flame so many others are
Not the one to go after a better offer once committed to another

I am not the quitter
Not the failure
Not ever the loser

So now I must wage war on you
You, this cloud
This shadow
This darkness of mine

I must destroy you
And I must do it because this person you have made me
This isn't a person who can survive

This is a person who will be consumed by a blackness deeper than the shades of darkest night

I am, by birth
And more so by rebirth
A child of light

One who utterly repels darkness
One who flees from it when necessary
One who is not afraid to fight what she cannot see

And so it will be with you

I will defeat you on your own fields of battle
I will destroy your warriors
I will, before the day is out, watch you flee from me

Because I hold a light inside me
A light that darkness cannot withstand
A light kept burning by a strength you cannot match

And I will win

I stand here and deny you your victory
Keep myself from your torturers

Refuse to be defeated 

I stand here in shadow
Waiting
Feeling
Knowing
That if I now stand here in darkness
It is proof that you are my sunshine
Proof of my warmth
Of my life
And like all shadows, this one too shall pass
When you come home to me

I stand and think about you
My pledge to you
To have and to hold
The cherish and keep
To comfort and console you as best I can
In those times of sorrow
To rejoice with you and smile
In those times of ridiculous happiness
To dance with you and sway
In a music that has been written for us

For two people
Brought together by the hand of God

For two people
Sustained by divine grace that hides from understanding

For two people
Held by unsurpassed love

Kept by providence which protects and nurtures

And made strong by faith tested, torn and withstanding
Stubborn faith
Blind faith
Beautiful faith
Shadowed and haunted faith

Tried
Tested
Tortured
Tempted
Teased
Tired

Faith which carries us when we fall
Picks up the broken pieces of hearts
Heals them
Gives them new life with new day

This is the day
Our day
The day when being alone will be a thing lost with shadows
When heartache will melt like the snow

A thousand things to love
Glowing like a thousand lit candles
Gracing even the darkness

And so it is that I see the horizon
My eyes have been cleared
As though a fog were clouding them
Forcing me to perceive figures in the gloom
The doubt in myself
In my God

But I see green now
I see yellow and blue
I smell salty air and night blooming jasmine
I feel, even in this uncertainty, peace
And I can see clearly for the first time in a very long while

So I'll continue my journey towards light
Towards color and sound
Away from fog and deceptions perceived
And I'll walk towards you
In order that I may walk with you
My sunshine, warmth and assurance
All the days of my life

Okay, so I figured out what the perfect job for me would be tonight. Whilst watching Deal Or No Deal, I came to this realization.

My perfect job would be a game show host. The game would be for college boys. It would consist of them trying they're best to be charming, but failing miserably. Not only would they fail miserably, they would spend the entire time being cut to ribbons by me. It would be grand.

It would go something like this:

Frat Rat: Hey! What's up?!

Me: I don't remember giving you permission to speak to me yet.

Frat Rat: But you're the...

Me: Nor did I say it was okay to smile or look at me. In fact, don't think about me either.

Frat Rat: (lost for words).

Me: (waiting a long moment) So tell the nice people in my audience your name.

Frat Rat: Well, Arty...

Me: No, no, no. I said the people in my audience, not me.

Frat Rat: My name is Tristan Clay Lincoln III.

Me: Oh, so your daddy has money. That must be nice for you. Tell me, did you actually have to do well on the SATs or did you just go to be seen there?

Frat Rat: Do I have permission to talk to you now?

Me: You have my permission to answer the question.

Frat Rat: I did pretty well on the SATs.

Me: You heard that the perfect score went up, right? So 1400 isn't so good anymore.

Frat Rat: Ouch! Where'd you learn to be so mean?

Me: Come a little closer and maybe I'll tell you.

Frat Rat: (drawing near)

Me: (Whispering a little) I was born this way.

Frat Rat: Ouch!

Me: I'm getting tired of talking to you. Let's start the game so I can make a fool of you.

Frat Rat: I'm totally winning!

Me: Yeah. Right. Like you totally were on the honor roll in high school.

Frat Rat: I was on the honor roll!

Me: Of course you were. But we're moving on now. Try to keep up.

And so, the conception of Frat Rat Race has begun.

It's gonna be hot.

Later Days,
Arty

Hello again all.  I'm glad to be back blogging.  I'm also pleased to see that Benny accepted my challenge to write a section of the story.  Many thanks for that.  I'm sure Margo will get into it.  She's into mystery novels and such.

Well, today is half over and it's the two day mark before Matt goes to his interview.  I can't really explain what I feel.  I was freaked out earlier this week, but I've been praying constantly for peace of heart and mind for us both, which exactly what we seem to have more of with each passing day.

Tomorrow is Valentine's Day.  My mother's birthday.  The 19th anniversary of my grandfather's death and really one of the main reasons my family doesn't really care for the month of February.

Linda, my office buddy and partner in crime, has been looking over at me furtively the last couple days.  I don't think she knows that I have really good peripheral vision and can see her every time.  She finally said today that I look a little lost, which I can't deny.  I've been lost in lots of thought this week.  I suppose it's the nature of my predisposition to be that way, even when interviews aren't a part of the timetable.

Ants have invaded the office.  Someone left the honey open and out on Monday, so yesterday morning when we came in the counter was covered with the tiny blighters.  I hate ants, personally.  The bugs and also people named Ant (:p).  Gus, who is the big boss and mastermind of the place, went downstairs to our storeroom and filled a small spray bottle with Simple Green.  Thing is, you're supposed to dilute it.  It's like a tablespoon of the stuff per gallon of water.  

But Gus put the stuff in there straight.  Oh yeah.  He went on an ant killing rampage.  Apparently the full strength solution kills most things, including people, on contact.

I think the message was taken back to their queen that the slaughter was great and not worth the bottle of honey.  Still, a few survivors of yesterday's onslaught survived and brought the diminished ranks with them.  

There was another miniature war waged today.  Gus emerged the victor.

The daffodils around the fountain in the courtyard at my apartment have sprouted up and bloomed in the few days we've had of pale sunshine and cool tempuratures.  I think they've been lured into a false situation where they think it's spring.  But according to Punxatawney Phil, our beloved national ground hog that, once a year, is ripped from its burrow, forcefully awoken and then put on a cruel display just for the sake of our media, there's still six weeks of winter.

The poor little thing has been stuffed back into his hole in the ground and allowed to sleep for six more weeks, which is really what all of us should be doing.  

Still, the daffodils are pretty.

Matt and I are contemplating planting some things under our French door windows in the living room.  I haven't spoken to him about it since, but I'm considering getting some kind of flagtones for a small path just underneath the window so Matt and I can easily get there and back again for cleaning purposes instead of having to walk through the dirt.

We're pretty well set against having any kind of marigolds under the window because marigolds smell like booty chowder.

DISCLAIMER: I have to take a moment and write this disclaimer to give due credit to my brother, Jeff, who coined the phrase 'booty chowder' and is responsible for putting it into the everyday vernacular of the household and surrounding areas.

Matt isn't so hot on the smell of lavender, which I happen to like.  Roses won't grow well because the entire flowerbed is under a big Japanese maple tree and therefore shaded from the sun for most of the day.  Greenery is always an option.  I really would like something that smells good, though.  We can't have lilies because I'm allergic to those.  There's night blooming jasmine in other parts of the courtyard, which will no doubt make me hate life later on this year.  I also want something colorful and bright.

Lavender is...well...it's lavender.  Petunias come in bright colors, but they smell funny too.  They border on the booty chowder line.  Carnations, I don't find too bad, but they're unwieldy.  Calla lilies (which is the only lily I'm not allergic to) would be nice, but those can get out of control too.  They're beautiful, though.  It's an organic beauty and yes, I know all flowers have organic beauty, but these ones are simple.  It's just a soft creamy white petal wrapped around a yellow stamen.  They're gorgeous.

But enough about flowers.

The kids at my school have a basketball game today that they're all at right now.  At least most of the kids are there.  Some stayed behind because they're not at level to go off campus just yet, so it's relatively quiet here this afternoon.  It's lunch right now so the sounds of basketball in our courtyard here are floating upstairs to the office.

And we just got a call from the guys down at the game off campus that one of our guys dislocated his knee, so he's on the way to the hospital right now.  Poor guy.  He's a sweet kid too.

Yesterday afternoon I tackled the boiler room here in the office.  We have a sink back there for washing up and supplies that we use on a weekly basis.  Things like spare cans of coffee, sugar, cutlery, printer toner, etc.  Well, I tackled the room and emerged victorious.  That's right.  I beat that room into submission!

Granted, it's still horribly dusty and dark, but at least the shelves along the walls are organized and nice.  I was able to get some chi going on in there.  This afternoon one of my tasks is going to be taking a label maker in there and labeling all the shelves.

The next big task of this magnitude will be the storeroom downstairs, which is three times the size of the aforementioned boiler room.  I won't get to that for a while yet, though.  I have other things to do like maintain a lunch program and prepare payroll and do attendance billings and play nurse for the wounded warriors that come through the office door with papercuts.

It's a good job.  Hard, yes.  Challenging, definitely.  But good, absolutely.

Today I have consumed the following things:

- Some Harvest Grain oatmeal.
- A cup of green tea that has traces of peppermint in it.
- A liter of water.
- Something I affectionately call a 'Hail Caesar ala Arty' sandwich.
- A couple handfuls of goldfish crackers.
- Vitamin Water, Energy.
- A handful of almonds.

The list will continue as the afternoon progresses into evening and night.  

Right now Tracy, Hannah, Linda and Devin are all in the office having their lunches.  Mike and Pancho are in a corner talking guitar.  And I'm here.  In my corner.  In my own little chair blogging to you.  And still I'm lost in thought.  

I got to say hello to Sophie today.  She's a pug dog that is down the street at our other site.  She's the school site director's dog and she just kind of hangs out underneath the desk in a little dog pillow thing until someone new comes into the office.  At that point she gets up and trots over and sniffs around the cuff of your trousers until you bend down and pet her.  At that point she sits down and is your best friend in the world.

In other news, taupe is supposed to be a very soothing color, which I assure you I don't agree with.  Taupe is the color of blah.  Green is soothing.  So is blue.  And sandy yellow/brown.  I love the beach.

Okay, the time has come for me to do some actual work or something, kids.  I'll write again soon.

Hello everyone!  I thought of something just now whilst at the office that inspired me to try something entirely new.  What I propose has never been done before that I know of in our little circle of closely knit readership.  What I'd actually like to do is start something, give it to someone else to add to and then finish it myself.

So here's the deal.  I'm going to write the beginning of a story with some elements that will need to be touched on in later additions and then choose one of my readers to continue the story.  When they write their part of the story, they then choose someone else in their readership to add their part.  We'll also keep track of names and links of blogs so that we can follow the story along. 

Any questions?  Good.

So we begin...

Arty - http://artykins.blogspirit.com (Part 1)

There once was an island.  It was small and inconsequential.  It was connected to the the rest of civilization by nothing and no one from the mainland ever crossed the water to get there, though inhabitants often rowed to the mainland to sell their goods.  It was an island that gave nothing, whose inhabitants contributed little more than mystery.

You see, this island, which is now lost to the generations, was shrouded all the time by mist.  It could be perfectly sunny on the mainland, but once the water came within site that separated land from land, a wall of mist would hide the shores of the island from sight.

Children were often told not to go near its waters for fear of being snatched and carried away into mystery.  Those who disappeared became nameless once their children, perhaps their children's children, forgot about them and lost their names to time. 

The island produced many things apart from mystery.  The most fantastic, exotic foods would be rowed over the water by its inhabitants and sold at local mainland markets for a steep profit, but no one ever knew how they grew such things when sunlight never seemed to penatrate their fortress of mystery.

But the prosperity the inhabitants enjoyed was not to last.  That is why I say there once was an island, small and inconsequential, connected to nothing more than mystery.

Now, I think I'll choose Ben James to continue on from here.  It seems like something that'd be in a vein he'd enjoy writing about.  

Benny, feel free to continue the story in any form you wish.  Poetry would be what I associate with you, but you might take a stab at some prose. 

Dear Microsoft Outlook:

You know, I really could care less if an email is 'probable spam' or not.  Your job is to take the emails I mark as spam and store them somewhere in your memory so that the next time they come back, you automatically filter out to my delete bin.  That is your job.  Plain and simple.

Alas, you seem to be like a great, lazy sloth that does nothing worthwhile except provide fodder for the interested spectator.  And I don't care how many segments of nature shows are devoted to the habits and habitat of the three-toed sloth, the total number of people whose interest is peaked by such things  is five.  That's it.  Five people in the world are solely devoted to this creature.  Five.  The rest of us just give it a passing glance.

The same goes for you.  Only five people sit and wonder about why you fail your users miserably.  And 2.7 of those people spend their days plotting, executing and celebrating in the victories of cubicle warfare...which honestly is what I'd do if my fate were so dire that I had to work for the people who developed you.

You are the spawn of all ill-conceived evil.  Your mother's name is Rosemary.  Your father's name is Faust.  Your name is a string of naughty superlatives that any man with any kind of moral grounding would not utter lest he be attacked by a dog, run over by a cyclist, hit by a car, crushed by a tree branch and finally struck by lightning whilst walking home after being fired from his job and getting a phone call from his wife that she's leaving him because she's in love with the milkman and carrying said milkman's baby.

I have the following things to say to you:

- No, I do not suffer from erectile dysfunction.

- No, I do not want to hear her scream.

- No, I do not want to by Canadian Cialis, Viagra or any other sexual enhancing drug.

- No, I do not want generic medication for anything. 

- No, I am not interested in buying a replica of a Rolex watch, no matter how good you say it is.  I'd know the difference and so would you, which quite frankly, is two people too many. 

- No, I won't learn anything new that I already don't know about the inner and outer workings of the male nether-regions.

- No, I do not believe a pill, or cream will make anyone's penis larger.

- No, I don't have a penis!

- No, I'm not interested in a 19-year-old Russian bride.

- No, I refuse to click on any link with or without an explanation of what it is.  That's stupid.  Even you should know that.

- No, I do not want images of naked women assaulting me at my desk.

- Nor do I want images of men in nothing but towels standing halfway inbetween being in and out of a shower with eyes that beckon me to join him.

- No, I do not want you!!!

GAH!  All I have to say is this:

Thank God I'm only consigned to this hell for eight hours a day, five days a week and thank the good Lord above that the rest of my time is spent in the blissful company of my Apple computer!  In addition to having a superior operating platform, it knows my spam mail needs and does what it's supposed to do.

So screw you, Microsoft Outlook!