RMV Performs Miracle Sex Change

I am no longer a man. Why? Simple. The RMV (Registry of Motor Vehicles) has finally deemed it so. About a year ago when I moved to a new state, I was issued a new driver's license. Lovely. Check it over for mistakes they said. I did. My address was wrong, I pointed out casually. No problem, we'll fix it, they said. And they did. And thus I trundled off with new license, plates and registration in hand. And everything was fine… for about a week. For about a week later, the woman at the video rental place called me 'miss….ter' in a very confused sort of way. I dismissed it. A few days after that, the same thing happened with the bank manager. "Here you go, Miss….ter." I confess at this point I began to wonder what exactly was going on and discovered (to my horror) that my new identification, courtesy of the state of Florida, displayed that I was in fact not a woman…so much as a man. 'Sex' it said and then it was following by a very large 'M' and not, in fact, the 'F' that I had been accustomed to my entire life.

Naturally, this was some thing of a point of entertainment among my friends. The identification in question was handed around at bars like part of a get-to-know-your-neighbour party game. It was by far one of the most bizarre pick up lines any of my friends have used: "Hey, wanna see something funny? Look at my friend's license! Isn't that a riot? Let me see your ID..."  

By and large it was not a problem. When I traveled through airport security I simply used my passport, even on domestic flights, to avoid any confusion. I'm not generally asked for ID to buy alcohol so I wasn't having to drag it out very often. And though I was not, in fact, keen to have anyone who didn't know me see my ID, I really managed to deal with it. Finally, finally I have made time to get it corrected. I fully expected a battle at the RMV for nothing is ever easy in that foreign place, especially for me. I seem to have had nothing but aggravation where it is concerned and thus we have reached the amicable solution that they will continue to make me miserable and, in return, I will do my utmost to inflict the same misery upon their clerks when I am required to visit every so often. It's not fair exactly but there you go, sometimes all you can hope for is to go down swinging!

The RMV are an authority unto themselves. They follow no laws of logic that are known to me. As an example I once had to pay for a duplicate title to a car I owned because the Massachusetts RMV claimed they had already posted it to me despite my claim that it had never been received. "Here," they pointed to the screen, "it was mailed in October 2000." Feeling the battle was won now, I said "yes, but I didn't own the car in October 2000. This letter from the bank," I said holding it up, "clearly says that as of last month (January 2002) they no longer have an interest in the car as the loan is paid off!"  "Doesn't matter," they said, "we mailed it to you." Then you didn't mail it to the right place, I reasoned patiently, because I didn't own the car then someone else did!  "We understand that," they said, "but the fact remains that the one free ownership title which you are in fact entitled to has been mailed already so you'll need to buy a duplicate."   Forty dollars in duplicate title fees later I had my first and only copy of the ownership title for said car.

Knowing then the sort of twisted nonsensical sort of logic I'd be forced to face at the RMV, I came armed to the teeth with evidence of my sex. No red tape would stand in the way of my quest to be re-categorized back in to the female population. My weapons were as follows:

1. Birth Certificate: indicating birth of GIRL driver.
2. British Passport: indicating FEMALE driver and citizen under protection of British High Consul.
3. US Passport: indicating travel of WOMAN driver to various exotic locales in last few years.
4. Photos of me wearing swim suit: thus showing proof of girly bits in question.
5. Sworn affidavits from various ex-boyfriends testifying to my ownership of other girly bits not allowed to be shown in above mentioned photos.

I felt confident that with such compelling evidence, the RMV could do nothing but apologize for their error and restore my status. Here then, my progress in the face of RMV denial of said error:

RMV Receptionist (no authority): Oh, I see! That is quite a mistake we've made. Here's your ticket, they'll be no charge for us to correct this for you.

RMV Counter Clerk (general decisions): Have you had a sex change?

Me: No.

Counter Clerk: Are you about to have a sex change?

Me: No.

CC: May I see your other identification please?

Me: {slides across US passport}.

CC {inspecting passport}: Is this correct?

Me: Uh…yeah.

CC: Did you change your sex after the passport was issued?

Me: No, I've never changed it. This passport was issued seven years ago. My license was issued eleven months ago.

CC: Well this is obviously wrong. Didn't you check your license for errors when it was issued?

Me: Yes, I checked all the general information, some of which was wrong but it never occurred to me to check whether or not my gender was accurate.

CC: You should always check it, these things change you know. [sighes] It'll be $5 for a replacement, I need to speak to my supervisor.

She wanders away and I'm left wondering how exactly 'these' things change. Is the RMV changing our political party affiliations while we're not looking as well and rigging elections?

RMV Supervisor (the decision maker): Do you have another form of ID?

Me: You mean besides my license and passport?

S: Yes.

Me: Here's my birth certificate.

S: Do you have anything else with your picture on it?

Me: I have another passport {handing it over}.

S: This is a foreign passport. Do you have your green card?

Me: No, I'm an American citizen. I have two passports because I was born overseas.

S: Do you have any other form of ID?

Me: I have more ID's than most people. What else do you expect me to have with my picture and sex on it besides my license and multiple passports?

S: We'll you'll need to pay $25 for a replacement license since you failed to correct it at the time of issuance.

Me: What? A minute ago it was $5. When I first got here it was free. Does the fee increase every time you need to consult a new person? I have more ID's that anyone else I know and I'm supposed to pay because some knob at a desk either can't type or doesn't know a pair of boobs when they're standing across a counter from him?

Ten engaging minutes later…

RMV Counter Clerk (again): That'll be $5 for the replacement.

Me: Fine. Excellent. Here you go.

CC: Are you addicted to any drugs?

Me: What?

CC: I have to ask you these questions. Are you addicted to any drugs?

Me: No. Do people actually answer that honestly?

CC: Has your license to operate been revoked or suspended in any other state?

Me: No.

A bundle of inane questions later…

Me (thinking to myself): {I won! I finally won a battle with the RMV! Hahahaha!}

CC: You'll need to step over there to take a new picture.

Me: Wha... Why?

CC: We're issuing you a duplicate license and we're required to take an up to date picture of you.

Me: It is up to date. It's me, only eleven months younger. I looked good that day. That is by far the best license picture I've ever taken.

CC: I'm sorry, it's procedure.

Me: I just got out of bed. I'm not ready to take a picture.

CC: Would you like to come back to correct this another day?

Me: Where do I stand?

The RMV always have their revenge. Now I look like a Nick Nolte mug shot on my ID photo...

The News

Originally posted 3.October.2006

Typically Americans are given grief for not knowing what's going on outside their borders and in general being pretty abysmal at geography. The jokes are pretty standard and cemented in the minds of those abroad. If you watch the local news, it's pretty apparent what they're on about. I'm mean the news here is pretty, er, localised shall we say? " School children in Pine Hills are assembling the largest noodle picture on construction paper in the history of modern education. Weighing in at 3 tons and requiring enough pasta to feed a small army, they've been hard at work for weeks..."

Being hyper conscious of this, I've always made it a policy to try to catch headlines for international news at the very least. Since I studied Political Science at university it was a requirement, since graduation I am at bare minimum a skimmer of global news.

The trouble is that I've just about stopped watching local news. As such the typical American 'localised news malady' if not in effect with me. My particular affliction seems to manifest itself in reverse. The result is that I'm happy to update you on the 'local' news of the military coup in Thailand, give you an opinion on the Israel/Lebanon conflict or brief you on what I glimpsed about a dengue fever outbreak in India. The part which now plagues my mother's already fragile internal maternal alarm is that I have no idea what is actually happening in my own part of the world. When I say my own part of the world, I'm talking less about America and more about say Florida or western Florida or if you want to get technical the towns I work and live in.

Let me demonstrate the scope of this by saying the last storm alert we had for a hurricane, people were gearing up as is their wont and I strolled into work one morning, cool as a cucumber, not a worry in my head beyond work. Everyone asks about my plans for the predicted storm. It's rather disturbing to have to look at a small number of concerned faces and answer "what storm?"

"The storm that's all over the news!" People and Amanda in particular exclaim to me.

"I didn't hear about it..." I say defensively.

"Well, what the hell are you watching?" they ask.

"BBC World News...did you know Israel sent ground troops into Lebanon yesterday?"

So Amanda has, I believe, (much to my mother's relief not doubt) taken on the responsibility of ensuring that should we have a major storm that I'm verbally alerted in person and relocated to a safe place.. as opposed to still sitting in my living room glued to the latest middle eastern conflict on BBC while the entire state evacuates around me.

In my defense, this is probably why I missed the thing about the spinach too. My mother rang and said "I wanted to make sure you knew about the spinach."

"What about spinach?" I asked.

"You're not to eat it if it's bagged, there's been an Ecoli breakout!" she warned.

"What before lunch?" I asked.

"What? Days ago. What lunch? What did you have for lunch?"

"Salad.... with a bit of spinach"

"Well how much spinach is that?'

"I dunno," I answer "enough for a full plate of salad. Like a half bag or something."

"A half a bag? Bagged spinach? You ate bagged spinach? Why would you do that?" she asked as if I'd just told her I'd taken a bath with the hairdryer plugged in as a dare.

"No reason not to." I answered reasonably.

"IT'S ALL OVER THE NEWS! HOW DID YOU NOT KNOW, CHILD?" You can tell she's getting exasperated when she calls me 'child.'

"I was watching BBC....hey, did you hear about China?"

It is a testament to my mother's concern for her children, despite our advancing ages, that she will call me later that night to ensure I haven't some how become infected with the bacteria since lunch that day. It is a testament to her penchant for worrying that will lead her to leave a message saying that she's now even more worried because I haven't answered the phone and would I please call her back as soon as possible so she knows I'm not bacteria ridden.

It's unclear if my calling her back the second I got the message, is a testament to my wanting to reassure her I was okay or that I was too impatient to wait an extra day to make fun of her for the latest worry-wart-mum tale which I'm adding to my collection. We'll just go with the dutiful daughter theory, shall we?

Boarding and TSA Security

I've been spending quite a bit of extra time in airports recently. Yesterday, bad. Arrive airport 3pm, depart airport 11pm... yeah. Long time. Having finally come through my door at 2:25am this morning and needing leave now to go pick my boss up, I leave you with these thoughts. Please take notes and pass them along to other people you know who are traveling, maybe then one day we'll all get on a plane more quickly. Maybe...

Why can't people board airplanes in an orderly fashion? It doesn't matter what order you tell us all to get on in, there's still going to 50% of the people repacking in the aisle to slow everything down. Stand aside! There is absolutely no need to adjust yourself and all your worldly possessions whilst standing in the middle of an aisle. Same goes for airport security. You're in a line, there are signs every three feet telling you to remove your laptop from your bag, people with TSA uniforms are repeating "take your shoes and belts off, remove your cell phones, check your pockets" every ten seconds. Why, WHY, must you wait until its your turn to go through security to do all these things and thus slow us all down? You've just spent the last fifteen minutes either standing in line with a bored look on your face or complaining about how long it's taking. THIS IS WHY! Everyone else is just like you!

You're standing there doing nothing while you wait; get yourself organized for God's sake. The procedure isn't going to miraculously change before you get to the front of the queue. There, you can keep your nail clippers, happy? Now take your shoes off!

And children [*audible sigh*]. They have nothing to speak of that will set off metal detectors. No jewelry, cell phones, laptops, belts, steel toed shoes, maybe a game boy, maybe. Put the game boy in the Sponge Bob back pack, place on x-ray machine, end of story. NO! This class of air traveler which should be quickest are in fact the slowest because they don't listen. They're strangling themselves with the straps of their back packs, kicking their shoes off in all directions, running to go fetch far flung shoes, taking off their coats off in reverse, all while trying to keep poking their sibling to retain a semblance of familial annoyance. New plan: allow child to keep game boy, Sponge Bob back pack, coat, shoes and finger in sibling's ear. Pick child up, put child on x-ray machine. *Ding!* Security cleared, new land speed record set. If they can survive all the x-rays for baseball, football, bicycles and general running/tripping/falling/climbing accidents, I'm sure a few seconds twice a year when you go to visit the grandparents out of state won't adversely affect them. They're young, they'll bounce right back.

Check In

Originally posted 22.August.2006

I have this tendency to get stuck behind odd people in queues at the airport. Frankly its annoying because no matter where I choose to stand it ends up being the place with the person hidden a few people ahead who is just mere minutes away from bringing everything to a screeching halt. Its always the loon who cant see the objection to packing fireworks in his luggage or has trouble understanding why an antique machete poses a security risk. I once missed a flight out of Ohio because an individual with a license to carry a concealed weapon forgot to pack it in his checked luggage and when an automatic hand gun goes through an airport x-ray machine, bad things happen. Everything shuts down. Literally, the metal gates were dropped from the ceiling and that was that, I stood there with several others on my flight for the next 30 minutes until our flight left, at which point they felt it safe for us to go through to the departure gate.

If its not a complete pratt like that then its the person whose been standing in line to check in for 10 minutes and finally gets up to the counter and cant find their photo ID or reservations and have to search every pocket in every article clothing and every bag before proclaiming that it was in their coat pocket the whole time.

So today I was waiting to check in at e-ticket counter at Logan. I'm stressed out. If you've ever used Logan International Airport on a regular basis you understand why I'm stressed out. The airline's on-line check in hadn't apparently been working all morning so there's a medium sized army of us waiting to use the e-ticket self check in machines. An over crowded check in area at an airport, two weeks after an upgrade in airport security levels, is not the time to show your 6 year old how to use the e-ticket self check in machine. I mean I applaud the initiative, I really do but there's a 3 mile line behind you of people waiting to check in. I, myself, am slowly turning into a ball of rage Incredible Hulk style. Have you no sense of the urgency which is almost visibly pulsing through those of us surrounding you as we look at our watches every 26 seconds and each time mentally recalculate how much time is left to get to our gate?

So I applaud you for the right idea but this is the wrong time. Now, even though, I think you're swell progressive parents and all, I'm deriving twisted pleasure from thinking that at least when your child decides to runaway from home for the first time at the age of 10, she'll get considerably further than the postbox at the end of the road. AND, if shes stumbled across any of my blogs shell probably even be able to clear security in a quick, no nonsense fashion, and be through it before you can reach her.

The Great Cucumber Debate

I went grocery shopping and the woman at the check out asked me what I was planning to do with the cucumber.  This caught me off guard, more so as the rest of my shopping (meat, lettuce, spinach leaves, carrots and celery) seemed to lend itself to the idea that I might be about to make a salad of some sort.

She wanted to know how I was going to eat the cucumber.  What sort of question is that?  When I advised her most of it was going into the salad and the rest might be used with cheese and crackers she found this puzzling and told me that was a foreign thing to her and anyway most people don't buy cucumbers. Whole thing was just bizarre, do Americans not eat cucumbers? Am I the sole cucumber seeker in U.S. super markets?

Bastards, Bleeps and Bias

&$#@    &$#@   &$#@  Bleeeeeeep.

That went on for some time for me following the England-Portugal match today. So I'll spare you the grisly details and the near group suicide that followed our loss and just focus on the bits I think you ought to know about.

Owen Hargreaves- FIFAs man of the match and he earned it too, he played well and he converted his penalty kick.

Beckham came off in the 52^nd minute or so. Yes, I think sometimes people are overly critical of him, but let me say this: Are you mad? YOU BASTARD!

I cannot, CANNOT, believe he came off. He practically took himself out of the game and gave up. Fine, he was limping about a bit, alright maybe he was hurting but that's what the World Cup is about. You're the given the armband, you lead by example. I'm truly hacked off about that ESPECIALLY as it came down to penalties.

Which brings me to Mr. Rooney. What the hell were you thinking? You get sent off with a red card ostensibly for stomping on Carvalho. I've seen the replay and it looks like he was just trying get his footing as they were all tangled up, he wasn't even looking where his feet were for Gods sake. But Wayne- did you have to PUSH Ronaldo after? I know he was being a complete w*nker trying to get you booked, but hold your temper in check man because we need you for penalties too! Christ then he missed that perfect opportunity from Lennon before. Aaarrgh, I don't want to think about it.

On the subject of fouls, apparently just being English was enough to get you called on a foul. I don't know what the final count for the match was but at some point, England had been called on fouls something ridiculous like 17 times to only 3 on Portugal. And those guys deserve Oscars for best dramatic performance. Every time they were challenged they took a dive and rolled about. They should have been getting yellow cards for buggering about instead of PLAYING FOOTBALL. Useless officials today. 

If you were wearing white it looked like this:

Oh, you're English- foul.

Look you kicked the ball- foul

I distinctly saw you running on the pitch- foul

Oops, you're a Portugal man- here have a free kick.

Another Englishman trying to run- foul

And on and on it went. Horrible. Call me biased but I don't think Terry deserved a yellow card for a mid air collision either. And the referee (Argentinian- typical. We won that war fair and square.)... bastard. And, AND, you made Carragher re-do his penalty kick after he scored the first time! BASTARDS!!

The only good thing about today is that the place I go to watch matches was packed with England fans. Until the actual official loss, the atmosphere was electric. The owners had free breakfast for everyone, beer was flowing like water (there was actually a glass crisis by 11am as they had run out of clean ones so you had to hang on to your glass for refills). And the footballs songs were sung by all including the guy from my bank, an American who showed up to see what all the fuss was about. By the extra time, he was abusing Portugal as much as the rest of us. He seemed to be entertained by our songs as well and sung along to such classics as "The ref-er-eeeeeeeee is a wank-eeeeeeeer" and "You're shiiiiiiiiiiiite and you know you aaaaaaaaaare."

I'm pretty certain the owners (Americans also) were overwhelmed with our, er, enthusiasm as 50 people were transitioning between shouting at players, rousing choruses of Rule Britannia then back to England chants. Interspersed of course with the inevitable orgasmic build up anytime it looked like we might actually score: yes, yes, come on, yes, yes, YESYESYESYESYESYENOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Anyway, its a good experience. Everyone should try it even if youre not even remotely English.

So. That's it then. We're done. I don't think the best team won but there you are (this is saying a lot based upon the fact the I previously admitted how crap we were when we won). Our lads played their hearts out today. Playing 2 hours  in the heat, one man down after Rooney was sent off. I think everyone should be proud of them. Its too bad half our team will probably not be on the roster for the next WC in four years but there you go.  

Beckham I'm sure will probably regret leaving the match as it was likely his last World Cup appearance. And Rooney had better learn to keep that notorious temper in check.

Now it's down to France v. Portugal and Italy v. Germany for the Cup and *sigh* not a single team I can get behind in the bunch. Although, Portugal had better not win. Bastards.

Other than what can be said?

"I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England and Saint George"

We wait for four more years. Sigh...

 

Baby Radar

What inescapable law of nature is it, do you suppose, that dictates that any child on any flight will cry at ear splitting decibels for almost the entire length of the journey and inevitably stop and fall asleep ten minutes prior to landing? Its the equivalent of a human egg timer for any one using laptops, gameboys and mp3 players on a plane.

1. Uninterrupted wailing for four hours.

2. Absence of screaming for thirty seconds

3. Announcement: At this time, please turn off all portable electronics and return all trays and seats to their up right locked positions.

Do babies have some undiscovered psychic link to air traffic control? Its uncanny.

Solace in the Arms of Three Lions

Despite a miserable week and depressing outlook on life at the moment, there is hope. That hope is the World Cup. Specifically England in the World Cup. 

We played our last two international friendlies this week beating Hungary 3-1 and this morning, I got up early to watch us play Jamaica. We just won 6-0.
Good things are coming. It's been exactly 40 years since we won the world cup. We've got our retro kits this year. I'm sporting my own England jersey with my Corona boxers this morning. Sexy!

So, here's my disclaimer: the next four weeks are all World Cup. I shall be distracted and potentially uncommunicative. So it'll be just like now only I'll be mumbling to myself out loud about football instead of the usual annoyances. How sweet it is.

Good luck out there to rest of you one billion viewers supporting your national teams but make way, the three lions are coming through!

[Editor's note: should all communication cease abruptly prior to the World Cup Final on 9th July, please check team standings and obituaries.]

Operation: Unpack. Status:Complete-ish

I've been living here for 5 1/2 months now and unofficially, I've officially finished unpacking. Sad, isn't it? 

No place is complete until you get something on the walls. Or a couple of somethings. I've been staring at blank walls for almost half a year now and finally I could stand it no more. So I've hung things on the wall. 

Well, I say "hung"... I mean, they're here ready to be hung but presently they're sitting on the floor. I'm about to hang them. Really! Well, not in a Basil Fawlty "I'm doing it, I'm DOING it!" sort of way, more in an "eh, I'll get to it later" sort of way. 

They're in the process of being hung and that's what counts really. They are in the vicinity of hung-ness. Approaching completion. Who am I kidding? They'll probably sit on the floor for another two weeks while I walk by them and think "I'm so happy my pictures are finally done" even though if you want to get really technical, they are in fact not done. 

The point is the damn things aren't packed away anymore. They are close to their final destination and it's only taken 5 1/2 months...of course, I've only got a 7 month lease and it's pretty likely I'll move to a different town in the area once it's up.......which means I'll be moving, in theory, in about six weeks. So I suppose I'll have to pack everything up again....

::silence:: ::crickets::

RIGHT! Hurry up!  ::sound of boxes being pulled out::
Put it all back the box!

Thank You Note

Dear Dave,
You're a c*ck sucker. I hate you. Best wishes for a speedy demise.
Sincerely,
SP
________________________________________________________

After numerous queries as to Dave's crime, the following elaboration has been offered.

I put in a request to have my clothes dryer repaired at the end of December.  Dave is the d*****bag who was supposed to fix my dryer on the 2nd January. And the 6th January. And the 11th January. Have I mentioned the 16th January yet? No, I must have overlooked it as I was, oh so, excited to hear that he'd fix it by the 20th January. This is the same Dave the d*****bag who rumour had it would definitely fix my dryer on the 21st. 

The Management office had a good feeling about the 23rd, apparently on that day Dave's chakras were supposed to align so he'd be able to DO HIS JOB. On the 27th, they promised he'd be here on Monday the 30th. 

On Tuesday, I had to use my angry voice from work and my colleague very nearly had to take the phone away from me. Today, which I might add is now February, I called FOUR times from work. By some miracle that shall never be repeated in my lifetime, DAVE managed to SQUEEZE my dryer into his busy schedule. 

He left me a note, saying he'd fixed it. I thought I should send him a thank you card. I hate you Dave. I hope you fall into a ditch. Failing that I hope a bird pecks your eye out.

Brain Damage

I have brain damage. I think I caught it at work. I’ve been working a lot of extra hours this week. I have 397 emails in my inbox at the moment…68 are urgent and require my immediate attention…how do you give immediate attention to 68 different things?…my brain is reaching capacity. 

We use 10% of our brains or something like that (although, I’m pretty sure highly evolved being that I am, I’m pushing the 11.3% boundary), whatever my allotment of brain space may be I’m using 99.7% of it for work to keep all my current information straight and hopefully avoid any major screw ups on my part. Major screw ups on the behalf of others is far preferable reputation-wise despite any cursing and extra work it may cause me indirectly…I digress.  

So with only 0.3% of usable space in my brain left over for mundane day to day items such as cooking, knowing where I left my phone and inconvenient little bits like speaking, I am developing a severe case of brain damage. It is most commonly manifested in my inability to communicate anything not work related.

Well spoken and articulate with all and sundry in the corporate community, I come home and fail to grasp simple words like “laptop” and "fan" leaving my vocal chords to stammer incomprehensibly to people around me about moving the “foldy-machine-thingy” (read: laptop) and turning off the "whirly-bit" (read: ceiling fan).

These aren't isolated incidents. It’s happening all the time. My brother isn’t sure how he knows what I’m talking about some days, I think he just follows my line of vision and assumes what I’m referring to. Anyone who’s known me for years will tell you I can’t write anything, ever, without leaving words out even if I proof read. Most of my friends I’m sure don’t even notice it anymore they just mentally substitute whatever they think I meant without batting an eyelash. But now I’m leaving out entire sentence fragments! And God help me if I’m typing a letter/email at work and someone is talking to me.  

Yesterday I was writing an email to an account trying to explain why a reconciliation was still pending [read: late] and someone started speaking to me about a cup of tea I'd left nearby…subsequent email was very nearly sent with a line that read: “difficulty reconciling the RA deductions as we are currently drinking.” Classy.

Do Over!

The year thus far has been filled with aggravation and sleep deprivation. I've barely slept the last two nights due to a combination of delayed flights and unwanted drama. Therefore, I am taking the following actions to ensure I don't write off 2006 immediately.

Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life...its also 1st January as far as I'm concerned. I'm voiding the last three days. Hence tomorrow, to the rest of the world, will be 5th January but for me it will be 1st of January. Tonight, I am going to leave work on time, and go straight to bed to catch up on sleep. When I wake up...it will be a new year.

I'm sure this transition will accomplish the mental state I require to move forward in life and ask you all to bear in mind when we make plans that I'm now on a different calender (just like the Chinese). 28th February to you, will be 24th February to me. I apologize for the inconvenience of you're having to manage dual calenders but appreciate your dedication to our friendship.

In fact to add some spice, and in keeping with the Chinese, I may change my year also. 2005, for example, will be referred to as "Year of the University Degree"; 2004, "Year of the Hospital"....2006 of course will be "Year of the Do-Over". Happy New Year!