Being the accounts of a certain teenage girl

Self Sacrifice and You

xdchopstix — Thu, 06 Aug 2009 00:56:23 +0000

Volunteering is something that many teenagers my age are acquainted with. In order to get a nice shiny seal on your diploma, you need to complete a certain amount of hours volunteering in places that the school deem fit. I think that the intended purpose of this is to teach you about self dedication and giving back to the community but the only thing that I’ve learned thus far is that I prefer painting flowers to butterflies on the cheeks of small children. Over the course of the school year I try to pick up a few hours here and there but a majority of my hours come from my gig a the library. Every summer since I started high school I’ve been clocking hours at my local library, playing the footman of the librarians.

On Tuesday I began my term and got to kick off the season by shelving the non-fiction book. Yeah! If you’re into the whole Dewey decimal system. (By the way it really isn’t fun if you haven’t caught my drift yet) According to this system each book is assigned a number depending on what genre it falls into. These numbers can be found on the spine of the book, but not always, and are printed in size 9 font. Dewey must have had fun creating his system because some of the genres were in the weirdest relativity. For example the books about love and umm… love making were right next to the books about coroners and death. I have to say though in spite of myself I actually had some fun. It was interesting to see what kinds of books people were checking out from the otherwise quiet section. Something that I found rather amusing was that a book called “How to Prevent Strokes” smelled like cigarette smoke. *sigh* The joys of irony.

I <3 Books (and libraries)

Little Green Men

xdchopstix — Tue, 04 Aug 2009 02:19:08 +0000

I don’t know why but lately I’ve been hearing a lot about aliens lately and not just the green ones either.I was talking with my Dad at the dinner table yesterday about his first job at a chicken farm and he told me about his fellow workers and their habits. Dad was born and raised in the Southwest and around the time he took this job he was living inArizona. Since Arizona is on the state borber line with Mexico more often than not you could find immigrants of illegal means about and working the low paying jobs, egg sorting being one of them. Immigration control made a show of going to these sorts of jobs and checking to see if everyone was on the right side of the border. The first time that control paid a visit to the coop blew Dad’s mind away. He was sorting through the eggs when suddenly he heard this whisle and all the Mexicans around him bolted. Apparently one of them kept watch for the cops and if he ever saw one of the sort he sounded the alarm and they would all crawl under the convery belt and hide in the chicken coops. This left Dad all alone in a room ful of egg when the officer walked in.

I’m not trying to diss Mexicans if that is what it’s coming of as, I’m just trying to wrap it around my head why people care so. Who cares if they creep over the border to work? They are doing the jobs that Americans wouldn’t want anyways. I think that it’s funny that the government is trying so hard to purge the country of them when they are the fundation of our economy.

I found this video this morning while surfing the web and I believe that it’ll produce a giggle or two. Ladies and gentlemen I produce our tax dollars at work…

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-nxHjA8QC18

Home Again Home Again Giggy Gig

xdchopstix — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 01:02:58 +0000

I am so glad to be back home even though I am incredibly unaccustomed to the humidity. The flight was pretty uneventful though we were waiting in Heathrow London Airport for 4 hours. Because of the outbreak of swine flu in England, I was a bit more paranoid about germs than usual and when ever the opportunity to wash my hands presented itself I took it. Every time I heard someone cough or sneeze I subconsciously felt myself inch away from that person. I haven’t felt sick yet so I’m going to take that as a good sign so far

There is probably nothing better than sleeping in your own bed after a long time away from home. When we got home after a 4 hour drive down from D.C. it was 2:30 in the morning and I felt like the walking dead, moving my feet but not really thinking. I crawled into bed shortly after walking (or should I say staggering?) through the door, having not retrieved the the luggage from the car or brushed my teeth. A sense of peaceful euphoria came over me as I pulled my covers up to my chin and let the waves of sleep wash over me.

Now all that’s left to do is to unpack my bags and put everything away. Unpacking for me is no fun because it is just cleaning in disguise but with a twist. Instead of just placing pieces of disorder back into their respective place like regular cleaning, you have to find entirely new places to put things. Take for example, my shrinking bookcase. I brought back some books that I liked from Prague but when I tried to put them away I found that I barely had any space for them. This does not bode well for my collection of books that are physically attractive yet otherwise uninteresting.

Packing, Packing… Gone

xdchopstix — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 17:33:08 +0000

Well today was my last day over at my grandparent’s house and I had to begin the grueling task of shoving the alarming amount of stuff back into my little, purple backpack. It seems that the things that I brought with me have been multiplied behind my back… It also doesn’t help that I want to take most of the books that I brought over with me The plight of a traveling bookworm. I put everything on my bed to asset the situation and was astounded that I had bought so many things (Shopping Spree(s)!!)

... Where am I going to put all this stuff

Lots o’ Stamps

xdchopstix — Tue, 28 Jul 2009 17:27:49 +0000

One thing that I love about the bazaars here in Prague is that you can find some really fascinating stamps. One of my secret geek hobbies is stamp collecting and as an avid collector I’m always on the look out for interesting ones. I went to this one bazaar a few days and they were selling bags of stamps for 100 krowns, or about 5 dollars. I bought the biggest bag I could find and expanded my collection by 468 stamps (I counted them all… twice *_*) In this particular bag I definitely got what I was looking for, diversity. Some of the more memorable include the whale stamp from Russia, the Czech gun stamp and of course the near mint condition Adolf Hitler stamp. Grandpa, a fellow collector, took one look at it and said that one had some money on it. I thought that it was funny that money passed through some body’s hands in disguise and they didn’t even know it. One thing that I don’t understand about some stamp collectors is why they would collect one genre of stamps. Why would you only collect flower stamps and miss out on some cool Olympic stamp or a funny cartoon one. I love looking through my stamp collection because of the sheer variety of it. If you look through the pages you can see that the colorful, bright stamps of flowers and animals balance out the more sober, monotoned stamps of presidents and world leaders. It’s magical to see a stamp from Australia or Vietnam and think that a person wrote to somebody they knew from those places and now I have that connection they had together hidden away in my album.

Runners, and Castles, and Planes oh my!

Tančicí Dům

xdchopstix — Mon, 27 Jul 2009 14:59:41 +0000

In an attempt to see as many Czech monuments as possible before we leave, Grandpa has been taking us to Prague almost everyday. Today he took us to see the Tančicí Dům, or the Dancing House. One of the newer monument found in Prague (by only 200 years or so) , the Dancing House is an architectural marvel. It’s namesake comes from the snazzy glass wall that slopes on the side of the building. Apparently in the right light the glass panels make it look like the house is dancing although I myself didn’t witness any. The house is a residential area so we weren’t allowed to go inside but a few pictures from afar were fine with me. My sister Andy joked that the designer probably had a couple of drinks in him when he was planning it. She told me that when the building was finished he looked at it for a while and said “Well it was straight when I drew it!”

Potty? I think not

xdchopstix — Sun, 26 Jul 2009 19:14:22 +0000

Today I ran in to one of those problems that you don’t know exist until you happen to stumble across it; or in my case run blindly into it rather quickly while trying to keep yourself composed. It’s not as if I was being chasing by a group of invisible demons but it comes pretty close. Grandpa took us out to town to introduce us to a whole part of the city that we’ve never seen before, this including the recently built mall in the area. I wandered around this gargantuan mall (Five stories high with stores from all around the world) with a gape-mouthed expression on my face trying to take it all in when suddenly I was struck with the most desperate need to go. The worst part was that it wasn’t the kind of thing that went away with a little wiggle; this was one of those if-you-don’t-locate-the-proper-facilities-soon-you’ll-have-a-very-unsightly-accident things to put it bluntly.

As you can imagine I made it my top priority to find a restroom a.s.a.p.; I set world records racing through the metro(because the mall was connected to it. Now that’s class ^_^) in search of one. During the final leg of my mission, with my goal in sight, I was intercepted by a woman at the door. I don’t know how it slipped my mind, maybe because of the heat of the moment, but I totally forgot about the bathroom fee in Prague. It works quite simply; you pay the attendant a certain amount of money (it varies depending on how popular the spot is) and they give you toilet paper. A fair exchange in my mind if not a bit annoying, and expensive. Frustrated, I had to run back to Grandpa to get the required amount, having spent the last of my money a looong time ago. Thank god for indoor plumbing.

It’s not as if this concept is new to me, like I said it just slipped my mind. I remember one time this one guy was charging females more than males, boy did that ruffle my feathers. After some angry side comment and a few dirty looks, I turned and took my business elsewhere. Thank god for shrubberies.

Bizarre Bazaar

xdchopstix — Thu, 23 Jul 2009 11:49:56 +0000

I’ve been in a yard saling mood lately but unfortunately most of the people living in the area don’t have a yard to sell things on. So my Dad thought that he’d take me to a couple of bazaars around town. A bazaar is pretty much a yard sale under a roof but with some really random stuff. We went to a bazaar that was selling beer cosies from all over the Czech Republic and for a pretty penny too. Once we got into the bazaar shopping mood Dad told me about this one near the zoo that sold nearly everything but the kitchen sink. Being slightly obsessed with the whole thing, I agreed wholeheartedly that we should go as soon as possible.

The problem then became actually getting into the bazaar. We rode a few days ago to check it out but the shop was closed. Yesterday before we went on our historic tram ride we walked by again but the door was closed with a hastily made sticker on the door saying the owner was out on lunch break and would be back at 2 o’ clock. It was 2:30 when we walked by. Today was our third attempt to visit the shop and to about and hour or so I thought that we were unsuccessful yet again.

We left the house around 10-ish, an educated guess because neither Dad or I could remember what time the bazaar opened for it opened at a different time everyday of the week. As it turned out that on Wednesdays the store opened at 10:30 so we had some time to kill before it opened. After a slow walk around the area (there happened to be another bazaar that we looked at not to far from the one we were persistently staking out that had some nice stuff) and at 10:38 we were back at the front door of the store, still as stubbornly padlocked as it was when we left. Figuring that the lazy store owner would show up eventually, Dad and I went for coffee at the cafe across the street. When we finished our cups of espresso at 11:10 we went back to the bazaar. This time there was another sticker on the door saying he’d be back in 15 minutes… I almost lost it ^-^’ It was quite frustrating because I saw all this interesting stuff on the other side of the window and there was little hope of getting to it. I’ve never stalked anything before but I’m sure that waiting outside the store for the man with a key to arrive is diffinately up there. Just as I was about to suggest that we leave, a rather voluminous man waddled down the street and opened the door, finally. It was 11:20. As you can imagine we practically pushed him out of the way in our haste to get in, just in case he decided to take another break.

The store itself was incredibly dusty, coating some of the things on display in at least an inch of dust. After digging through the merchandise the tips of my fingers were black with the stuff (Don’t let the dust bunnies get you!!) Dad was right with the amount of random stuff; there were small souvenirs from all over the globe and in the back a few sets of hubcabs (which I’m pretty sure got there illegaly) One thing that really catch my eye was this little ceramic snake about the size of a dollar coin. When I went to pay the man for it (he was probably already counting the minutes to lunch) he gave it to me for free. All in all I think that it was worth the prolonged wait.

Tram Time

xdchopstix — Wed, 22 Jul 2009 18:50:08 +0000

Today, my little brother Willy got to taste of the city on board one of the historic trams that circulate through Prague every hour and show you what riding a tram a hundred years ago was like. They work like any other tram in service except that the only place where you can come aboard is at the tram shed, the first stop of the route. Besides that you can leave the tram at any of the stops along the way. The main purpose of our trip was to let Willy ride on the metro and the trains, which he loves with the burning passion of three suns. In his own little Willy slang he dubbed the metro “tunnel train” and the tram “sun train”. When our tram pulled into the station he could barely keep himself from jumping up and down.

The “sun train” made a loose circle around Prague giving any tourists on board (like me *cough cough*) a great chance to take pictures of the city. While I was shooting pictures like crazy I thought that I might as well give you something the other trams to compare with what I rode in today. The round pill-like one is the kind of tram that I am most familiar with because it’s the kind that I have been riding all my life. The sleek turbo one is seemingly a new addition to the tram family and is most likely the kind of tram that I will be riding in the future.

Karlovy Vary

xdchopstix — Tue, 21 Jul 2009 19:28:03 +0000

Every city has something that it’s famous for; in Plzeň it’s the beer, in Prague it’s the churches and cathedrals. For the city that we visited today, Karlovy Vary, it’s the water. Near the northern border of the Czech Republic, nestled in a wooded valley lies the scenic town of Karlovy Vary. This town sits on a natural hot spring that is said to have special health effects to those who drink it. Back in the 17th century when the royal families would take their summer tours of Europe Karlovy Vary was on the list. They would stop here to recuperate from the trials of traveling and to soak in the minerals of the “magic water”; exactly why we decided to take the trip.

We arrived in Karlovy Vary after battling through semi-standtill traffic and made our way to where the springs meet the surface. The water comes up from the ground in drinking fountains that are located in various spots of the town though they are mostly cluttered together. Each of the fountains are different and depending on which one you drink from determine the temperature of the water and the kind of minerals you take in.

The proper etiquette for drinking from one of these fountains is to buy one of the mugs that were available for sale in one of the many knick knack stores lining the town. It’s looked down upon to bring your own glass (They’ve got to make money some how ) These mugs ranged from sizes a little larger than thimbles to mugs the that could double as beer cups. The one thing that they all had in common was this straw-like attachment so that you could sip the water that you collected from the fountains. Grandpa bought this really cute pink one for me to use that happened to fit perfectly into the pocket of my jacket (it was a sign!) I was genuinely excited to sample some of this legendary water and was a bit impatient when I had to preform the customary mug-washing to get rid of the dust and any other unwanted small things. As I took a sip from my souvenir mug my tongue was greeted with an onslaught of tastes, and not many of them good. The water is, of course, made of all-natural minerals and is heated by volcanic activity which also adds a sulfuric taste so when you drink it the water kind of tastes like blood; salty, warm, and tasting of metal. The first sip that I took almost resulted in a spitting up. I was amazed how some of the older people present drank it like it was a coke or a soda, not some heated cocktail laced with funky-tasting minerals. Barely anybody I saw drank it with a grimace on their face, me not being one of them. Keeping in mind the mythical properties, I choked down two mugs of the stuff I wondered what magical health changes I’d witness in my body.