BethanyRambling

La Idiot

In the interest of trying to be as many people as I possibly can (like the Pretender), I tried on a new hat today. One known as The Total Idiot That Gets Their Car Stuck Out On the Beach, otherwise known as What Were They Thinking They Clearly Don't Have 4Wheel Drive.

I have delivered scathing tirades against these people, who were obviously tourists from the valley and had never seen sand before. I would point and laugh as the tow truck would come get them, and 5 minutes later there would be a new Total Idiot in their place.

Today I decided to join their ranks, at least for the day. I figured it was a nice day to get stuck. Sitting in my car, waiting for the tow truck to come sounded nice. The waves were big (for the Atlantic), and the beach was nice and empty.

Somewhere in the back of my head I knew that AAA doesn't rescue these Total Idiots, but I pushed that out of the way in my quest to be and do all things.

I was on a high from acheiving the most brilliant surreptitious shower ever. I had walked into the Hampton Inn, cool as a cucumber, fake-talking on my cell. Straight into the lobby restroom, where I locked the door, and stuck my head with it's new short hair into the sink. 10 minutes later I waltzed out, no one the wiser. It was brilliant. Ballsy. Simply marvelous.

So did I think I could outsmart the sand? I don't know. This is karma for you; do something genius, think you're smart, get a wee bit of a big head, and fate comes up and reminds you that you're a fuckin' idiot. Wait, that wouldn't really be karma, would it? Man, the idiot in me is still dominating the little smart girl with glasses. I should really shut up.

I visited a local stitching group this morning. There were about a dozen older ladies, stitching and chatting away. I had a great time, even though I was pretty much the only one knitting. Everyone else was working on needlepoint, except for two women working on novelty scarves. I guess eyelash yarn and its ilk are a logical step for a needlepointer. It's not as thick and imposing as real, heavy duty yarn. So it has its place; I apologize for knocking it earlier.

Right before the end, an older woman came in and made a beeline to sit beside me. It was her first visit to the group, and she had just picked up knitting again, after an idle time of 20 years. The embarrassing thing was that even after 20 years of not touching a needle, she was still beyond me. She needed help with a cable, and the best I could offer was, "Ummm... wanna borrow my cable needle?" Meaning, of course I know how to cable, or why would I have this needle, and maybe you need a second one.

Yes, it has been Flaming Idiot Bethany day. We will surely discover, in due course, that the front desk lady at the Hampton got my license number, and I will be picked up at work tonight for vagrancy and trespassing. Sigh. Even my moment of genius seems doltish in that light.

Ah well, I was a fabulous server last night. Observant but not obsequious, didn't drop anything, polite and witty. Of course I only had two tables. Still, for those two tables, I was the perfect waitress. I will live on
that small victory through the rest of Idiot Day.

Hats

What I Learned Today: A voice speaking in perfectly normal tones has the effect of a scream in the hushed atmosphere of a library.

The proper way to use computers in any library is to sign first. Even if you've never been to a library, you could figure this out. For starters, there are the big signs at every station saying "For Internet Access SIGN UP AT DESK". It doesn't take a genius.

At this particular library, it helps to check which stations are available first. I did so, found a good, live one, and signed up at the front, a whole 10 paces away from the computers. When I got back, someone was dragging a chair over to MY station. He misinterpreted my perplexed look, and assured me that he was just moving the chair, that he wasn't going to touch the other station (where someone else was working). I explained that I had just signed up for the computer he was settling down at. "Oh!" he said. "Well why aren't you sitting down?" I replied quite calmly, "I just HAD TO SIGN UP FIRST, ASSHOLE!"

Actually I didn't say that, but in the still of the library, it sure came out that way. He sauntered away, trying to look unaffected, but I could tell he was shaking inside. Meanwhile, everyone in the place is looking at the
crazy computer nazi. And all because he started speaking in a normal voice, and I replied.

Boy, am I glad something happened before I got to the computer, because otherwise, I would have had nothing to talk about. Life is the same. Wet. Warm. Slightly boring. It stopped raining just long enough for me to run to the laundromat and dry the towels that I've arranged under the leaks. Luckily I know just where they are now, everything is down to a science, and I have a dry futon.

I stopped by the rec center for the first time this morning. Fabulous. It's just down the street from my work and my parking lot, and for only $1.50 I get a morning swim and a shower. No more driving half an hour to a truck stop to pay $5 for a shower! Things just keep getting better.

That was only slightly sarcastic. My sister pointed out yesterday that I am halfway through this lag time. In just a little over a month, I'll be moving again. So yes, things are getting better.

We are not, however, going to talk about me in a swimsuit. I can get through that only if I force myself not to think about it.

Work is still fine. I got a big fat paycheck yesterday, as we just switched to a 2 week pay schedule. And they left out 8 of my 16 overtime hours, so it'll be even fatter next time. Tomorrow I am doing something new, waitressing in the a la carte restaurant. No sweat. I love a job that changes every day. It keeps me awake. Maybe I should be thinking of a job as the Pretender for a career. Brain surgeon? Television cameraman? Pan-Am pilot? No problem.

I'm off to try on a whole slew of hats.

Now I'm terrified... I am quite a few (hundred) miles over my limit for an oil change, and I just read this, a link found through billy. Oy. That may scare me out of going for another hundred miles. (Actually my laziness will do that, but fear is a good excuse)

The first person I visited on my nation-wide tour is now hitting the road herself! How exciting is that? I am an inspiration! Of course, I probably scare off as many people with my rants. And I don't even tell you the worst bits, the bits that I am so ashamed of they will never pass my lips or my fingers.

I was researching my lists for her today, and feeling antsy. Yesterday I was highlighting my maps with my trip so far, and feeling antsy. The day before I was awake, and feeling antsy. I want to get moving again! There is so much to see, and so little time! I know, I'm young, I have all the time in the world... but I'm tired. I want to go home. At the same time, there is so much stuff I haven't seen! There's a Best Western in Colorado that backs up against a drive-in movie theater. You can lie in bed at a drive-in! Then there's the Salt Palace in Texas, the underwater main street in Tennesee... I just don't know that I can see it all.

Oh lord, I'm making myself hyperventilate. Relax, inhale, exhale. Whoosh. Que sera, sera. If I don't make it on this trip, I can come back on a mini-trip. And on the way back, I'll have plenty of time and credit card potential debt. See, I've been saving them. I knew I would feel like this by the end, and any further delays would kill me. So my last bit will be big, non-stop, and debt-inducing. Don't worry, I'll keep it down to reasonable levels.

And just think, you have a month more of these sedentary rants before I get moving again! How fun for you, my gentle readers.

Keep reading, it'll get better soon.

Holding

I'm on hold.... rather annoying usually, but it's just an excuse for me to multi task and blog.

Well, they picked up too soon. Damn them. I think that's the first time I've been disappointed that they were prompt and didn't leave me whistling along to string quartet playing "Stairway to Heaven". Now I have no more time; I'm off work in about 1 minute. Don't worry, nothing exciting happened to me today anyway. The shark attack story can wait for another day.

Damp

I was up at the crack of dawn today, striding confidently down the beach as the sun rose, my newly healed foot giving me no issues whatsoever. It was a lovely morning, clear and cool, and I decided to take a nice long walk. Of course when I got back, it had not even been half an hour yet. So long is a relative term. Hey, I didn't want to push it! I'm only recently healed! And lazy, yes.

My truck is fabulously clean! I had no idea how much water got in; it had soaked my futon, and snuck its way into my yarn bag, and soaked the shirt I was planning on embroidering. Luckily I caught it all before the mold set in, it was just soggy, not smelly. I washed everything, and spent the night in Bounce freshness.

Sorry, short one today, the librarian is kicking me off. Literally, I think she's got a shiv at my back right now. She is not very happy today. More later.

Birthday Girl!

Sheesh, I'm tired. And I've already broken my resolution, this time with one of those damn "Get to know your friends better!!" quizzes. Those are the worst, because your friends already fucking know the answers, they don't care how very witty you are in your phrasing, and the things take about an hour out of your life.

I am tired in a good way, though. I spent a nice, warm, cushy birthday night in a motel room, and got sucked into crappy television until way too late at night. Ahh, bliss. My sleeves are the last things left on my hoody, but I've just barely started them. I was hoping to finish it today as a gift to myself, but now, I don't have to, as Rachael made me a cardi that matches Christy's Harry Rogers! (Not the colors, just the style) (not that gold and red stripes aren't enchanting, but the tones of green she gave me are much more my style).

I think I shall head out to find a Denny's, hang my Rosie the Riveter air freshener, and listen to my new Tori CD. Okay, birthdays may be unexciting, but getting fun shit is always nice. We should just do that all the time. Much love to my sisters!

I Am Woodstock

Okay, yet another quiz result, this one thanks to Anne (with an e)

You are Woodstock!

Which Peanuts Character are You?
brought to you by Quizilla

I must stop. I admit that I have a problem. I am willing to get help. I am going to be 25 tomorrow, and I can't go into my second quarter century hopped up on quizzes. (I'm not giving up the yarn addiction, so something has to go) So no more. Really. And if I do take them, I certainly won't tell everyone about it. It'll be my dirty little secret.

Yes, tomorrow is my birthday. I haven't really been excited about birthdays for a while now. Not that I'm afraid of getting older; I'm still a kid at heart, and I always will be. Red Hat Ladies, here I come! It just hasn't been a big deal for me. And when people try to make it a deal, I get uncomfortable and awkward. So I just stay quiet, and try to let it pass me by quietly.

Maybe it's because I'm on my own this year, and there aren't many people to get gung ho over it, but this birthday I am kind of looking forward to! For one thing, it means mail and packages, and that is always, always, always a good thing. It's not the same somehow if someone just hands it to you. The little thrill that comes with a package, that someone far away is remembering you, is one of life's best pleasures.

I am a bright shiny quarter now, as well. That's kind of exciting. I think there should be a quiz: which state commemorative quarter are you? Come on, I don't have to quit until tomorrow.

I actually have 2 days off in a row! Unbelievable. What's even more unbelievable is the fact that I am not taking advantage of it. I was thinking about driving down to Orlando to go to Skull Kingdom (at $12.50 definitely a birthday treat) and Kissimmeemeee or however you spell it, for Grimms Haunted House. Both on my list, both a bit further than one day travel allows.

I'be got a cold (that was actually a typo, but I think I'll leave it in). And I hate driving with a cold, so here I shall stay, tucked up all cozy in my truck while the rain pours down. And in. I've discovered a new leak, right above my shoe area. Two mornings in a row there was a puddle in my right shoe when I groggily shoved my feet in. Grrr.

Okay, maybe I will get a motel room. Some fabulous friends sent me the dough for a room on my birthday, and although I was going to hold out, it's looking good. Maybe tomorrow night, I still feel tough today.

Our sexy chef gave his notice yesterday. Oh well, he's married anyway. I'll miss the eye candy, though, and he did always get great songs stuck in my head, like "All by myself" and... maybe I won't miss him so much.

Back to my cruising; I've spent the last hour and a half catching up on blogs. This is a really addictive and time consuming habit, this blog thing. Oh, the days when all I had to do was check my e-mail... and I didn't even do that.

Pink.

Tonight my drink is pink. I'm not sure exactly what it's called; I just threw shit in, and then added a bit of grenadine. It's cute, though.

I always wait until I am about to get off work before having a tipple; does that make me less of a bad person? Feeling some guilt here... but feeling a rosy glow that steps right over the guilt as well.

I sat down to finish my low-tech today (or at least get real close), and promptly got called in to work. Oh well, mucho overtime. I think I may be close to 60 hours at the end of this week.

And that's all I have to say. Damn, I have to stop having a drink before I sit down to write my blog. It drives all sensible and interesting things I have to say straight out of my head. Have a lovely day, whatever day you read this. Or night, if you read it at night. Or day and night. Whatever. Just have a lovely.

Damn, this looks good.

Go here to get one of your own.

and hee hee... I just sent a Valentines Day Fan Mail to the Phenomenauts. My day is made. Random love to virtual strangers; that's how to have a great Valentines Day.

Mildew

I don't think I've ever had a particularly good Valentines Day, but I'll wish you all one anyway. Probably the best I had was a very awkward first date with a fellow waiter. I did have a very nice dream about our sexy chef last night (think James Dean crossed with Spike with a low southern voice). I think I was trying to talk him into bed when I woke up.

Of course that was after I had found the hurdy-gurdy from hell. In an ancient site, buried in a sarcophagus under the Mall of America, was a demonic mini-accordion. Anyone who picked it up, found they could play it like a dream; women swooned, men cried, babies spontaneously combusted...

Friday the 13th was uneventful, as always. 10 hours spent limping around at work, but no huge catastrophes. Except that the walls started pouring out water. I walked into the ladies room, and the ornate frame around the mirror was leaking enough water to soak my valentines day socks. When we took off the mirror, there was a fountain of warm water coming from a small hole in the wall. Well, at least it wasn't rivers of blood, right? Shades of Evil Dead.

Strange; my spell check passed right over hurdy, but had some problems with gurdy. Hmmm. (note: I do not usually use spell check, really, I just couldn't live with myself if I got sarcophagus wrong) (second note: I got it right, but messed up accordion. Whoda thunk?)

It's been raining for about a week straight now. I actually do like the rain; it's just that my bed is starting to get soggy! Just a bit, but I would really like a nice warm day so I could air it our before the mildew sets in. Oh well, if not, I am in the home stretch now.

I really am in the home stretch! How that thought makes me grin. I'll be out here for months still, but I am over the halfway mark, and have a clear end in sight. As much fun as I have been having, my nesting impulses are kicking in, and there is only so much you can do in truck bed that you have to keep unobtrusive. I long to strew my few belongings out in a 1500 square foot apartment. Think of all the space!

Last night I had a burning desire to drive to the ocean and sit on the beach as the rain came down and swelled the waves to gargantuan sizes and made little pockmarks on the sand. I didn't do it. For starters, I don't drive after dark (headlight issues right now; I didn't replace them quite as fabulously as I thought) and secondly, once I got good and soaked, I didn't have a nice warm place to come home to. All my clothes are a little damp, and very cold as well. So this is one of life's little pleasures that will just have to wait.

There's been more of those than I'd like to admit. Things I don't feel brave enough to do on my own, or things that I need a more extensive knowledge of the area to do, or things I need a home base for. Most of them involve vision-quest-style sitting by myself out in nature somewhere. It sounds good, but the reality has been scaring me off. I'm all about conquering my fears and all, but sometimes wisdom just wins out. Damn it.

Okay, back to work. Soggy socks are no excuse to sit on my ass.

Blast.

No time yet again. It's closing time, and unless I want the ghosties to get me, I'd better get on out of here.

Okay, I'm sorry I haven't written. I've been busy being an invalid. The stroll on Cumberland gave me a stress fracture in my foot, or some nonsense like that. Rachael assured me that the only remedy is staying well off it. So I entered my motel room, propped my foot up, and didn't move for days. It was great.

Now I'm back at work, and I ended up running same foot off tonight. Another person quit. It's like an epidemic. I think there was 3 in just the last week. And that's not counting the ones that were hired and then never showed up. And none of these asses give notice. What the dickens is wrong with these irresponsible kids today?? Not a shred of moral fiber in them.

I made a new mixed drink tonight. Actually, I'm sure someone somewhere has made it before, but I've never heard of it, so we'll credit it to me. We were out of Margarita mix, lime juice, and sour mix, so I made a faux margarita with triple sec, tequila, and pineapple juice. Not bad, really. Or so my guest assured me. I think maybe they might just be trying to be nice to me. Although I think the guy with his Jamaican coffee really did like it.

Yessir, I am feeling bartenderly tonight.

I'm glad I enjoyed my day off yesterday; it's probably the last one I will have for quite a while. Come on overtime, mama needs a new set of tires...

It's been a couple days, and I am compelled to write.

But I have nothing to say.

Which may be caused by the Tequila Sunrise coursing through me. Although usually the tequila makes me quite loquacious.

So instead, here is a link to my friend Carol's debut at jello wrestling this past weekend. Photos are linked.

To all, a good night.

Pep Talk

Many thanks to fibernations for helping feed my quiz addiction.

You are Mohair. You are a warm and fuzzy type who works well with
others, doing your
share without being too
weighty. You can be stubborn and absolutely
refuse to change your position once it is set,
but that's okay since you are good at covering
up your mistakes.

What Kind Of Yarn are You?

I made it onto the boat yesterday! Turns out they are always full for campers, but they can generally fit you in for just the day. There were only 2 other daytrippers on my ferry, so naturally we got to talking after disambarking. We talked about what brought us out here, what kind of a trip we are on, all that sort of vacationy talk. I was pretty floored when it came out that the woman was driving around the US by herself for a year!

Later she told me of how shocked Canadians are when they hear about what she's doing. Not at the fact that she's a woman on her own, but she's an American woman on her own. American women don't do that sort of thing, they protested. What are you talking about, she said, I'm doing it! I thought for a while, and pointed out that besides myself, had she ever met or heard of any other American woman doing this?

Cumberland Island was stunning. A school of dolphins ushered us out of the harbor on the way out, a good omen if I've ever seen one. The first thing I saw when we got off was a long dirt road stretching out under ancient oaks with spanish moss dripping from them. It was a little gloomy at this point; the storm clouds were threatening, and the weather report was predicting thunderstorms by afternoon. It was perfect weather for viewing ruins.

Dungeness was a mansion used by a Carnegie brother. In its day, it must have been stunning; along the lines of Hearst Castle. Maybe not quite that grand, but trying hard. Today, I think it's even more stunning. A fire destroyed most of the building in the 20's, and now there are just towering walls covered in greenery, wrought iron grids looking more like dungeon windows than I'm sure they were meant to, and crumbling chimneys. The cement stairs leading up to it are untouched, as is the fountain in the rear. The rec center a short ways off, though untouched by the fire, is a crumbled mass of ruin now as well.

What with the gloomy weather and the tropical overgrown surroundings, I was in heaven just poking around. After a while, I continued wandering down the path to the beach. And what a beach! Miles and miles of pristine sand, with not a soul in sight for miles. I walked and walked, pacing a fishing boat off the coast that was swarming with seabirds. It was just after high tide, so there were hundreds and hundreds of intact shells everywhere, along with starfish, sea cucumbers, and one unfortunate horseshoe crab tangled in a net that had washed ashore. I'd seen their empty shells all along the way, but this was a whole, live guy. He looked like an alien, all black under his orange shell, with thousands and thousands of legs waving in the air, and a pointy tail whipping around angrily. A pair of hikers were just in the process of rescuing the little guy, so, happily, I just got to watch and didn't have to touch.

I walked farther down the beach, and came to the place where my map ended. Then I walked a little bit more, as I wasn't ready to turn around just yet. I had my knitting and a book, but I just wanted to keep wandering. So I turned inland after a while, and wandered in the interior jungle. Coming to an intersection, I decided it was time to wander back, so I chose the familiar path, the one that would take me back. And it was just about then that I nearly stepped on my first armadillo.

Well, this was clearly a sign. I turned down the path that he was on, and started wandering some more. I counted 15 armadillos by the end of my journey. He also led me to an airstrip, the historic Stafford house, about a dozen of the famous wild horses no less than a 10 feet away in the underbrush, until finally I came to the Island Wilderness area. At that point, I had to admit that I wasn't going to come to a road going my direction, and that I was headed precisely the wrong way.

So I wandered on back the way I had come, wandering a little bit faster since I had no earthly idea where I was and where the ferry dock was in relation to me. I finally found the main road, Greyfield (really not as exciting as I hoped), and the dock. An hour early. Oh well, that gave me time to take my shoes off and lie down for a while.

Today my muscles are screaming at me for walking about 3 times further than I really should have, but it was worth every ache. I had a great time.

The night before last I was sick and tired of all this shit, and planning my return trip. Yesterday morning I decided I still haven't had a job on a lobster boat off the coast of Maine, so naturally, I have to keep on
going.

It's always hardest at night, though. I can coax myself into having a wonderful time, especially if I am out there moving and exploring, but at night, cozying up in a cold parking lot that looks just like every other parking lot I've ever seen, it's hard to convince myself that this is worth it. Still, the thought of having a job on the Atlantic is pulling me on. And touring with Rachael in April. And the girls' wedding in Vermont in May. So really, I've got enough to keep me out here for a while. And after all that, I can always hightail it home on my now empty credit cards.

Sorry, needed a little pep talk there. Actually I needed the pep talk a couple nights ago, but I just found it yesterday.

Bowlines

Weak, weak, weak, weak.

You're all very kind to say that I earned these far-too-frequent motel rooms, but actually, I am just weak. I'd really rather save up money and earn a nice meal of pierogis when Rachael and me get to NY. Instead I blew it on 16 glorious hours of knitting (7 more inches!), TV (American Idol - I know, I know), baths (that's right, plural!) and sleeping (very little, due to all the other activities).

I work very hard at my couch potato-ness. I have to, the time I have for it is so finite.

Ahhh, but it was worth it.

I have another day off tomorrow; I think I am going to go check out Cumberland Island, a National Seashore on an island only accessible by a twice daily ferry. There's about 3 houses left there now. When these owners pass on, their land gets turned over to the trust, and that's all that will be there. Except for a glorious, glamorous, deluxe inn called Greyfield. I have a deep burning desire to see this hotel that is housed in a majestic old building, whose elite guests mostly have their own yachts to bring them over. And the name! It sounds so... gothic. Greyfield Inn, on remote Cumberland Island... sounds like a fabulous Victoria Holt setting.

I was chatting with a guest today who mentioned that they were interested in the island, but that the reservations for the ferry had a wait list that ran into the year after next. Hmm. May have to change my plan a bit. Okay, first step is to hijack a yacht; it's okay, I've been studying my "book o' knots", I know how to do and undo a bowline perfectly.

Oh well, maybe I'll just sit in a cafe and knit all day tomorrow. Sigh. What a world, what a world.

It's the Music

Survived another night with the ghosties. Actually, this one wasn't near as frightening as the first. For starters, there were people there the whole night, no rain and fog, and I was a bit more confident in my job. I did manage to sell a room on the basis of having a ghost, however. A couple walked in off the streets, asked me if I had a room, how cheap was it, and by the way, do I have a ghost for them? I guess my story was good enough, because they ended up staying the night. I'll have to check back with them and see if they got slimed during the night.

I have a new toy. After reading an article in Sport Rider magazine on the new high tech flashlights out there, I resolved to get myself a super stealth reading light. Thank god for WalMart. Their tagline should be "All the super-spy needs and more". For under 13 bucks I found a nifty little headlamp with a comfortable adjustable strap (yes, it leaves an intriguing mark of Cain on my forehead, but it's worth it), 3 LED lights, and a push putton that lets you tease the light into 5 different modes. I've found that the 25% mode is virtually unnoticeable from outside, and gives more than enough light to read my trashy novels. I may need a touch more for Proust, but that's a given anyway.

And if I am ever stranded in the middle of nowhere, all I have to do is point the beam towards the sky, turn on the strobe-help-me-the-fuck-out light and the Air Force will be on their way.

Oh, I do believe I never posted the results of the un-official, half-assed name my sleeping bag contest. We have a winner! Two, actually. He is now called Ruprict, the Puffy. My puffy Ruprict. I do so like a giggle before snuggling down in a cold harsh parking lot.

Last night I did my truck stop again, and thank god for that choice! Even though they NEVER stop playing crap 70s songs (I actually heard "Why do birds/Suddenly appear/Every time/You are near" about 30 times), it is worth it to be so close to an always accessible toilet. Normally this is not a problem. Yesterday, my bladder went nuts. From 8 PM to 10 AM I drank nothing; no alcoholic beverages, no tea, no nothing. Between 10 PM and 2 AM I saw a man about a horse a total of 5 times!! With repeat visits the next morning at 6 and 9. And these were not unneccesary visits!!

Really, I know you don't need to know about my bodily functions. I'm just a little dumbfounded. How is this physically possible? Where the hell did it all come from? And do you think I could get into Guinness? Or at least have an article in Scientific America written about this oddity?

I think it was the music.

Don't think I would trust these folks with every detail of my wedding plans. (Take a close look at the writing in the picture.)

Aye.

Thanks to Melissa, I found this English-to-Pirate translator (even though I missed Talk-like-a-pirate day, alas!). So here's my ghosts' stories, in piratey.

The pirate speaks,

"I found out more about Ethan ayeterday. Turns out he be a buckoly, if morose, ghost. He wanders t' halls searchin' for his lost buxom beauty, who went t' Davy Jones' locker givin' birth t' his child in t' St. Augustine room. There be also a second ghost, a madam who was went t' Davy Jones' locker involuntarily. Shockin'. I've yet to find anyone who's actually seen either o' them, alas."

Hee hee. That's really quite fun. Go ahead, everyone. Compose a speech to your boss, translate, and let the fun begin.

Okay, now the exploring has gone wild. Check this out, the League of Space Pirates secret hideout. They seem to be a band along the lines of the Phenomenauts (my favorite band ever), but I can't find much reference to their music. Odd.

By the way my pirate name is Joan Short Arse. I'm not even going to put that link in, it was very silly. And I had to try three different versions of my name before I got THAT.

Knitting news. My Low Tech is looking fabulous!! I wasn't excited about the yarn choice at first (blue to white Peaches and Cream cotton), mostly because it reminded me of every toilet paper cover I have ever seen from the seventies. I thought I would have to abandon the sweater idea and knit it up into a little skirt a la Gone With the Wind, then stick a dolly head on it, and leave it in some stranger's bathroom.

That would be freaky. "My home's been broken into!" "Calm down sir, are the intruders still in the house?" "no, no... it's very quiet" "Okay sir, can you tell if anything has been taken?" "No, TV, VCR, DVD, incredibly expensive sound system, massive comic book and collectable toy collection, it's all still there... OH MY GOD!! THEY'VE LEFT ME A... A... A HIDEOUS TOILET PAPER DOLLY!!"

I may have to do that, if I ever degenerate into a life of crime, if just for the sake of the 911 dispatcher who would be pissing her pants at this point.

Anyway, as soon as I got away from the moss stitch and into the stockinette, it started to look excellent. I love the way the variegations are playing out. The only thing; as usual, it's too big. I'm doing the very smallest size this time!! Sheesh. I thought about decreasing a bit in the middle (when I noticed it), but who's ever heard of a fitted hoody? Ah well, hoodies are meant to be big anyway. I'll love it.

Two hours to go until work. I shall fortify myself with a cappuccino and much knitting, then bravely set off to face my two ghosts. If I sound different in my next post, don't worry, I've just been possessed.

Ethan

Last night was my first night closing on my own. At the risk of showing what an overactive imagination I possess, and at the risk of showing how much of a weinie I am, can I just tell you how freaked out I was!?!

I mean it. Serious Wiggins. The whole place was empty, the only guests in the pub having left a half hour ago. Only 2 rooms in the hotel were occupied, and none in the main building where I was. The main building, I might add, that is the original from 1857. That has seen some strange stuff go down. You can't be in the hotel and bar business for almost 150 years and not have some shady occurances.

So yes, we have a ghost. His name is Ethan. I don't know too much about him myself, except that he is a tall, gaunt fellow, with long dark hair. He wanders the whole building, but seems to like the St. Augustine Room the best. Of course that is the room directly over the office.

I'm sitting in the office, trying like hell to get the damn safe open. I can't remember if it's clockwise, or counter, if it's 4 or 3 turns, and damn it, I am not going to look up. The roof is squeaking overhead. The one time I do look up and out the window, a pair of eyes meet mine, and a black cat goes streaking off into the night.

For some unknown reason, I decided to turn almost all the lights off around me before I did this last step, and there are shadows everywhere. I keep my head down, focused on my task, sure that I'll see Ethan sillhouetted in the open doorway to the parlour if I should dare to look up. Seconds away from giving up, I manage to open it, and in 3.2 minutes I am finished, doors locked, alarm set, and I'm practically running down the allyway, as the fog drips down the spanish moss on the trees.

Everything smells like decay. This whole island smells like the swamp when it rains. I think the land under our feet is just waiting for that little push of precipitation to turn it back into mush.

And that's all. No Ethan that night. Just my own damn mind. And that was enough to set my heart to pounding so hard, I had to sit in my car listening to the "Cool World" soundtrack blaring for about 5 minutes before I was calm enough to drive off.

I think everything built up while I was fiddling with the safe. My frustration was growing, I was stuck in one place, it was getting darker, and my head was down most of the time. Since I started thinking about the damn ghost, I couldn't think about anything else, and for half an hour, that was just allowed to grow. urrh, goosebumps just thinking about it.

Just looked at the schedule, and I'm closing again tomorrow night. Great.

One of our guests in the St. Augustine room was up late one night, unable to sleep, so she was reading in a chair by the fire. She felt a smack on her upper arm; not enough to really hurt, just enough to get her attention. She turned around, and there was Ethan. "What was that for?" she asked. Ballsy woman. I think I'da run. "I'm depressed," he said, and a friendship was born. Apparently she talked to him for 2 hours, helping him out of his afterlife doldrums.

That's all I know. I am going to gently pump the owner for some more information tomorrow, so maybe Ethan's story will be more fleshed out by the time the restaurant empties out and the sun goes out and I'm left alone with him.