A bit of clarification

In case you are from the Midwest and might not know what a 'chav' is:

Definitions of chav on the Web:

Chav is a derogatory slang term in popular usage throughout the UK. It refers to a subculture stereotype of a person who is uneducated, uncultured and prone to antisocial or immoral behaviour. The label is typically, though not exclusively, applied to teenagers and young adults of white working-class or lower-middle class origin. Chav is used for both sexes, where a male chav is sometimes referred to as a chavster and a female as a chavette...

If you are looking to kill some time, I recommend reading some of the definitions of 'chav' posted on www.urbandictionary.com they are a little more in depth and colorful...

Problems with authority

So, I actually wrote this in an email to Jonathan, typing with my thumbs on my blackberry because I still had hours before my flight and I was really worked up by the little brat (not Jonathan, the chav to be named a few inches below). I meant to post it much sooner, but I was on my way to Houston for Easter, and I wasn't around a computer for awhile...anywho, the events might be out dated, but the frustrations were eternal.

Date: Apr 4, 2007 12:28 PM
Subject: Yep, too early

So I woke up at 7am dispite having gone to bed at 3:30. I felt refreshed and excited, but I had been in my office travel mode the night before (you know, since my flights usually left at 6am, I would do absolutely everything the night before including shower and picking out what to wear). I was antsy at home (because I was ready to go something like 20 minutes after I'd stepped out of bed even with a healthy amount of dawdling) so I left 90 minutes earlier than I had even considered logical. I got to gatwick a full 3.5 hours early, to catch a mid-day mid-week flight. It took me a total of less than 15 minutes to check in and clear security...and that even counts doubling back for a cigarette after the 17 year old power-junkie told me my carry on was too big ("well maybe it was okay elsewhere, but never from Gatwick. Please leave the queue and check it" Dick.). So I left the queue, made a loop, smoked a cigarette and decided to go through the other end of the line, and if the little chav called me out I would say I'd gone to the loo and repacked it in hopes that it would meet their regulations. (Insert eyelash batting and a feigned southern accent as needed) Luckily he was on a power trip with a mob of german tourists about the type of baggy they had for their liquids or something trivial. The much more realistic woman I passed waved me after visually measuring the bag.

Funny that I'm so annoyed still, I mean, I got away with it. And as a seasoned traveller I tend to accept that 1 in 3 trips I'm going to be hassled for one reason or another - I consider that my security bill, if you will. It's what I have to put up with for safer air travel. (Or at least the appearance of safer air travel) it must have been his attitude. I really don't get too burned up about donating lighters or taking off my shoes (which I didn't have to do here) Or hell, even having 2 weeks of dirty laundry laid bare by customs. It all comes down to courtesy. At least the kid's getting his satisfaction here instead of getting a job at a daycare or senior citizens centre, picking on the weak.

Ok, I've spun this way out of proportion. Maybe he just hadn't had enough coffee. But more importantly, why do we have teens working airport security now?

Long day

For those of you that have actually spoken to me since I've been here, you've probably heard me complain about the bells in the nearby church. They are at it again, 75 minutes and counting now.

So I've spent a great deal of time thinking about (read: dreading) today. The 12th of April, that is. Elaine died a year ago today, and I feel pretty pathetic when I dwell on it. I really miss her. A year later I am still of two minds about it. On one hand it is the most tragic thing I can think of, even if it wasn't so personal, even if she hadn't been my best friend since the 5th grade. On the other hand it still seems like the most ludicrous thing imaginable. I mean WTF?! I still feel like that. The week after she died everyone kept saying how time was dragging on, things like "I feel like I've lived a month since Tuesday" And the whole time I just wanted to scream: "Wait a minute! Wait a minute! What just happened?! Could things just slow down for a second!?!" Everything happened so fast, and I can't believe it's been a year.

I've had a weird little mantra that's been pulsing away in my head lately but it dawned on me this morning that today was probably NOT the anniversary of the worst day of my life - I'm pretty sure that yesterday was. Lainey died at about 2am on the 12th, and the day that followed was probably the most surreal I've ever experienced, but I spent all day on the 11th trying to keep my head together and get back to Iowa in time to say goodbye. I was a complete wreck - God bless my roommate for a) making me leave work before I burst into tears, and b) for sedating me with the Xanax he keeps on hand for emergencies. And god bless my baby sister and my mom for driving up to get me. I still wished I'd gotten there a little sooner, but that's not what matters now. I wish I had more pictures of the two of us together - but neither of us ever much cared for pictures.

Here's to you Lainey. Say Hi to Kurt Vonnegut for me.
-A