*sniff*

And not one of those, "Time to cry" sniffs either. No, my sniffing episodes are brought on by the cold weather here. So I sniff. And sniff again. Before I finally grab a Kleenex and get rid of the cause of the sniffing. For about two minutes!

I'm reminded of a two year old with a cold. Runny nose, shiny tracks. Just like a glazed donut. Only I don't wait for the tracks. That would just be gross. And work colleagues would look at me oddly.

"Don't you have Kleenex in South Africa?" They would ask.

"Kleenex is a brand, not a generic name for tissues, you silly Americans." I would reply.

"Blow your nose. You look like a two year old with a runny nose, a glazed donut." They would retort.

And due to my stuffy head and runny nose, I would have no come-back.

Hey, who turned off the heat?

No seriously, who turned it off? Snow one day, freezing cold the next, blistering winds and then rain. It's no wonder most of the folks on the east coast have flu.

Today is a hand-numbing 35 degrees (that's 2 degrees to the folks who use celcius). We're talking coat over sweater over t-shirt cold. Gloves and scarves cold. Runny nose freezing cold. So I want to know, who turned off the heat?

Yes, the pic is real. It's a suburb here, and as you can see, it's cold. There's remnants of snow cold. Grey and rainy just like London cold. And it's no small wonder I am coughing and sniffing like a glazed donut 3-year old kid.

Switch the heat back on. Please.

Home Hunting

Craigslist is a super incredible apparatus for folks like me looking for things, like a new home. Hundreds of listings, of absolutely everything. From random hookups to secondhand mattresses.

I've been looking for a new home here in my new city for a week now. Lots of places, but moving to a new city is daunting and not knowing the various neighborhoods could easily hamper you. So I looked at a few, decided on two, paid a deposit on one. THIS one. Lots of space. Super cool. Very artsy. Some would even say pretentious. To them I say, jealousy is ugly and so are you!

Yes avid readers, I shall be moving into a loft. High ceilings, concrete floors, and a sketchy-as-hell neighborhood. Which is okay. It's okay because I don't plan to walk the streets like a hooker. No, I plan to spend time in my super-sized home with expose brick and a staircase that leads directly to the roof. A private roof I'll have you know! A roof from where I have a view of downtown. Okay so it's not the greatest view on earth, but I can see it.

So, this neighborhood, they say several years ago the place was littered with crack houses. Wonderful. Then the giant street sweeper came in and blew them all away. But just because the crack houses have disappeared doesn't mean the crack heads have! I met one or two of these savory characters last night when I went to pay my deposit. Scared the crap out of me. But luckily the bus stops right outside my building - which will have new stainless steel doors by the time I move in. Designed to keep the riff raff out. Now don't get me wrong, I don't dislike the riff raff. It's just that they, um, unnerve me. And being someone who refers to remain fully intact, I don't necessarily like to be unnerved.

Perhaps if I pack a weapon in m laptop bag!

Goodbye Las Vegas

Well, I'm all packed and ready to go. It's been one helluva eight months. And in that time, I have certainly seen and experienced quite a bit.

I learned during my time here that Vegas is a great place to come on vacation. But not to live. 24-hour clubbing, hookers on street corners, drinking in the streets. It's a frat boy's wet dream. But living here is something totally different. Making friends is about as difficult as keeping your ice cream from melting in the middle of August.

I've had my photo taken outside the Bellagio. But I could never afford to stay inside. I've ordered an "umbrella drink", but never staggered to a street corner and chucked my guts out.

I've walked for miles and miles, only to realize I am no closer to my destination than when I first set out.

I learned that the one arm bandits will swallow your dollar bills faster than the bleached blond on the corner of Fremont Street will ... well, you get the idea.

But perhaps the biggest lesson I learned here in vegas, is that I don't belong here. It's Disneyland in the desert. It's a city built on hopes and dreams, and while that may remain inspirational, it saddens my soul to see so many old folk tottering around with a cigarette in one hand, oxygen tank in the other, and spending their pension in a gaming hall.

They say, "What happens here stays here." Not entirely true. I'll take my Vegas experiences with me wherever I go. And just as well, I need to remember why I never want to live here again.

Goodbye Las Vegas. Your plastic charms and false promises have worn thin. If nothing else, you've been a great teacher.

Well since you put it that way

Three score and a few posts ago I mentioned that God had opened the heavens and showered me with a job. But I didn't tell you what the job was.

I have applied for a barista position with Satan's Coffee Makers, Starbucks. And didn't get the job. I applied for a front desk position at a pet store. I didn't get it. And soon, I started questioning my worth as a person.

Until suddenly, the heavens opened, a bright, blinding light eminated from the skies, and a booming voice called out, "My son, you have shown true patience and perseverence. You have begged and borrowed to pay your rent and for that I shall reward you with a job I know you know how to do. You, my son, shall get a job in an ad agency." And so it came to be.

I received an offer from a teeny, tiny agency out on the east coast. I shall neither mention the agency's name nor the city for there are criminal elements out there. I fear they shall hunt me down and slander my good name.

But once again, I shall find myself in the very industry I have worked in for the past ten years. And what shall I be doing? Well, I lie for a living. No, I'm not a lawyer. Although, in my profession, I don't contribte much to society either. In fact, they say my profession REFLECTS society. Jesus, that is scary!

Oh well, God made it happen so I'm sure it's not all bad, right?!

Pack, don't procrastinate

As I sit back and survey my condo kingdom, I am filled with fear and loathing.

It was time to pack up my shit into boxes and get ready for my move to the east coast about two weeks ago. Did I do it? Hell no! I'm the world's worst procrastinator. And going through all my stuff, I realized just how much crap I have accumulated over the year. So while I may have thrown a lot of crap away, I'm still left wondering what is absolutely, positively necessary for me to keep.

12 towels. I live alone and I have 12 towels. I turfed a few out. but what does ONE person do with 12 towels?

Books. I've read them all and can't bear to part with them. So they get their very own special box. And as luck would have it, it's the HEAVIEST freakin' box of the lot.

Pot plants. Into the huge metal garbage container outside.

Clothes. A dumped a whole lot into the Goodwill bin down the street. The difficult thing is that since I shall only be receiving my boxes back in about three weeks, I have to decide what I need to keep to use until they arrive. Not easy.

All the crap in the kitchen cupboards. Dumped in the large metal garbage container outside. Why on earth would pay to have Windolene, dishwashing soap, a bottle of Clorox and all other sorts of chemical detergents and cleaning crap shipped? Exactly.

So here I sit, maybe HALF the packing done, the five boxes I have almost full, and the moving truck comes in ONE day!

The saddest part is that after they have come and taken my stuff, I will be left with two more nights in my apartment before I have to catch my flight. I shall be sleeping on the carpet, with an old duvet and uncovered pillows for those two nights. And just before I leave for the airport, just where do you think that duvet and pillows will find themselves?

Dumped in the large metal garbage container outside.

Ah Christmas, the season for giving (and receiving)

Like everyone else, I tend to get very excited around Christmas. Yes, it's become a horrible consumerized day, but still. Presents. Decorations. Christmas card from family and loved ones.

But this year was different. It appears that "out of sight, out of mind" applies more this year than in previous years. Sure, my family is on another continent. But I hoped and prayed I would at least get a few cards from them. I knew that as sure as God made shiny green apples I wouldn't be getting any gifts from them. Fair enough, international shipping costs from Africa to the U.S. may be a little higher than what they can afford. So, a card would suffice.

I received three card this year. The little bear card on the right was from my sister, her husband, and my niece. Nice gesture. Warms my heart. So who sent the other two? Well, here's the thing. No one else in my family sent me a card this year. The other two cards came from my prison penpals. I shit you not!

And whilst tears well up in my eyes, I feel a little rage. These inmates are locked up, they make less than minimal wage with the menial tasks and jobs they can find within those prison walls. So even buying a postage stamp with which to mail a reply letter is a pretty big deal for them. But for two of them to save up and buy me a Christmas card each? Kinda puts a whole new perspective on things, doesn't it?!