wow.
wowowow.
Has it really already been AN ENTIRE YEAR?
what the... I can't even.. nyohmahgawd.
There needs to be a blogpost asap because crazy shitons of shit has been happening in my life and I need to conserve at least a summary or at the VERY LEAST most recent events for posterity.
This is ridiculous.
Why can't I keep up with a simple blog? I mean, like, once a month would already be great. surely I'll find some 4-5 hours (we know how long it takes me to write these things) in four entire weeks.
It's just so sad because so much funny shit happens in my life that will just be erased as time passes because my brain is a colander. And I just enjoy reading old blogposts from time to time so much, and laughing at myself, my adventures, and my stupid opinions, and occasionally be surprised by the few pearls of wisdom that slip in between the accounts of random chaos and fun.
I have a good life. It deserves recording. If only for my own selfish pleasure.
Saturday, 28 January 2017
Friday, 1 January 2016
Happy 2016!
(yeah I've been sick this year so instead of going out I stayed home and drew this. hehe. it was a lovely way to spend New Years actually.)
Oh my, oh my, it's been a while again, hasn't it?
Somehow I never make good on my promise to try blogging more regularly. Although it's fun, I like it. And I always laugh reading my previous posts.
It's difficult though to find the motivation to do this regularly, when frankly not all that many people read what you have to say and it takes you forever to write a proper entry and there's just sooooo many other things you can do with your time. :P
So..... 2016 huh? ... ... Man time flies.
So much has changed in my life since I first started this blog... it's crazy how time seems to just accelerate the older one gets and the things that life has in store for you that you would have never dreamed of a few years ago.
I'm pretty happy overall, because I'm well on the way to fulfil my dreams of becoming a kickass animator (still quite a substantial amount of years away, but at least I've got my foot in the door of the industry) except that I hardly ever get to draw anymore and I feel terribly out of practice.
I need to change that.
Let's see.. I suppose this is where the New Year resolutions come in, yes? XD
Usually I don't bother but I feel this year maybe I'll make an exception. There's a few things I need to figure out and change about my life. Get my shit sorted so to speak. Alrighty, here we go:
Resolutions for 2016:
- Draw more. - LOTS more. Don't you dare go to bed before you haven't at least drawn one thing. No matter if it's silly or crappy or uninspired, draw at least one thing a day. Do not let yourself fall into the trap of inactivity again Jill! nonono, don't you dare.
- Focus. -
Focus on work, do the best you possibly can, give as much as you can
without killing yourself and making the job un-enjoyable. May I remind
you that you have BIG dreams and that you are one of the very few lucky
bastards who actually get to do a job they ENJOY, so make the fricking
most out of it. Stop procrastinating so much.
Do a good job. You're doing ok, but you can do SO much better and you know it. Show them how much you want it. You know you can, all that's keeping you from it is yourself you moppet. - Get fit. - We've made a nice start already going to the gym twice a week since we started work, now let's keep it up, and maybe add a third day at some point. The goal is running up the 5 double flights of stairs to the cafeteria without breaking a sweat. And when I say running I mean full speed, knees up. We shall re-examine in 6 months, if you don't see any visible muscle tone change already you're not doing it right you idiot. And as a bonus motivator: wouldn't it be nice to have a super hot beach bod again for the first time since we were, like, 16? holy shit that's almost 12 years ago now. Seriously Jill, if you don't get your exercising habits going now you never will, and you'll end up an out of breath, fat, cranky, miserable 45 year old. We need to avoid this AT ALL COST.
- Be thankful. - just... stop and remember how lucky you are, and appreciate all the things you have in your life from time to time. ;D I think I've not exercised gratitude enough last year, and actively thinking about all the things in ones life to be thankful for is not only a healthy piece of humble pie but also a sure fire way to make you happier in your daily life.
Voilà. That's pretty much it. There's more stuff I want to do or sort out of course, but a woman has to prioritise. :D And it's no use burdening oneself with one and a million things to do from the get go. Focus your energies. One thing at a time.
I'm not actually very good at that myself, I'm too easily distractable and I want to do and learn too many things and all immediately this second if possible, please, thanks. hahaha but I know that's the way to go.
If your head turns in too many directions all at once, wanting to look at and experience too many things at the same time, not only will you not get to appreciate a single one of the things fully but you'll most likely also get dizzy, loose your balance and break your face. Been there, done that. Metaphorically speaking of course.
With that, I shall leave you lovely people again on this 1st of January 2016,
Happy New Year! and may it be a wonderful one full of love and joy, as cliché as that sounds. We need it. Too much violence going on in the world right now. :(
much, much love,
in eternal gratitude
Jill
Sunday, 4 October 2015
Currywurst & Japanese Chill out Music
So I walked into this shop today to have my first ever Currywurst - a German classic, which btw turned out to be quite delicious - and two completely different worlds clashed together without warning.
I could not have been standing in a more German place.
And look at this beauty.
But then... the weirdest thing happened and I froze in place for a good 20 seconds.
This song, that I have known and loved for quite some time (any Anime aficionado who's seen Samurai Champloo will know this tune), came on and I was momentarily trapped in a state of weirdness induced shock at the complete culture clash.
It was awesome. I mean come ON. I was standing in a German Sausage place. They literally only serve Curry sausage and fries. In the middle of Hamburg. In the North of Germany. Surrounded by clueless Hamburgians complete with beer-bellies and mothers with kids. AND THIS SONG WAS PLAYING. It was simply glorious.
I am liking this city more and more.
Also this:
Only small samples of the general quirky awesomeness that is Hamburg but I shall strive to collect more over time for your entertainment. <3
Until the next time,
Love and Peace,
XXX
Jill
PS: I've been here 6 Days now, and I STILL walk straight past the apartment door almost every time I come home on foot. This is getting ridiculous. It's not like the Address of my apartment is "Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place" ... ... ...
Tuesday, 29 September 2015
Hamburg - Day 1
So I don’t know how many of you are aware, but I actually, finally, with lots of help and a bit of luck, managed to land my first animation job! YAAAAY!
Well, sort of. It’s a trainee position, so I’m not even a junior yet, but HEY! I’m basically getting paid to learn more awesome shit, so I totally lucked out.
I will be working at Goodgames Studios in Hamburg, which obviously required my little old self to pack my things and move my bottom to 976 kilometres (by car - its 744km beeline) distance from Vienna to Hamburg.
I arrived today. I will start work on Thursday the 1st of October and I am majorly excited.
This is a report, of sorts. Enjoy~
I know myself. God, how well I know myself. This will most likely remain the only blog entry I’ll manage to make no matter what I tell myself.
BUT! Arriving in a new city is always suspenseful and exciting and also a tad lonely, since you generally don’t know a single soul well enough yet to hang out with or call up.
Also Day 1, Day of Arrival, is usually either very hectic or pretty chillaxed since you don’t have anything to do but arrive and settle into your new place (or temporary place, as in my case).
Which means plenty of time to collect first impressions and pass the time with some documentative blog writing.
I think I just made that word up. “Documentative” doesn’t exist, does it?
So here we are. yaaay.
Living in Hamburg Lesson #1:
When you walk around, be aware of the red stripes on the side walks. Those are Bike lanes. In any other place I’ve been to so far bike lanes tend to be on the car side of the street or are entirely separate lanes. Not so in Hamburg. They are literally on the side walk. And bikers WILL make use of their absolute right to ride on there & run you over without warning or scruples if you stand around on their territory for too long (or walk onto it at the wrong moment without looking). They apparently don’t care for warning bells or any kind of warning signs for unsuspecting pedestrians and are all in all silent stealth assassins just waiting to happen. And there’s A LOT of them. Had a few close calls today. Apparently I learn slowly.
Living in Hamburg Lesson #2:
I sort of knew this already, since its common knowledge for German speakers but German German is NOT the same as Austrian German. This was evident today when I went to go eat at a lovely little place in the Schanzenviertel called “Bullerei” (which is very hipster but very comfy and they were playing blues. Always a good sign.) There I spotted the first few “mystery items” on the menu: “Secreto vom Iberico” - does not sound German, but I have NO clue what that is, “Tartar Stulle” - “Tartar” is obvious, and I have heard the word “Stulle” before but do not ask me what the hell it means, and something entitled “Unser Pulpo” - errrrrr… our what now???
This will no doubt be an ongoing linguistic adventure. It now occurs to me I should have enquired after the mystery items. Massive failed opportunity. Ah well, I might eat there again. It’s really comfy and close.
I’m pretty knackered to be honest. Nothing new either though, considering I never manage to get to bed at a decent time the day before I travel for widely varying reasons.
It’s pretty frickin freezing right now, but I do love that when I arrived, Hamburg greeted me with blazing sunshine and decent warmth. <3
Charls, the hostess of the Air BnB I organised myself for the first month until I found myself a more permanent dwelling, greeted me warmly and showed me around before hopping off to catch a plane to Paris. I already love her. She’s from Toronto, and although that’s literally on the other side of the country from Vancouver, having a Canadian hostess gives me all sorts of warm and fuzzy lovey dovey feelings. :D
When I first arrived in front of the apartment building I was a bit apprehensive because from the outside it looks… a bit rundown and there’s graffiti everywhere in this area (and not the pretty kind). The front door is an ugly shade of nondescript brown plastered with stickers and tags and yeah.. well.. doesn’t look very inviting.
But after dragging my 23kg suitcase up two musty smelling flights of scary but kinda awesome old wooden twisty staircases, I was greeted upon entering the apartment by a lovely safe haven filled with a quirky collection of rustic old wooden furniture, stucco ceilings, glass chandeliers, a comfy looking bed and a glass door in my room opening up to a nicely sized balcony looking out into a backyard of sorts with a huge tree that had sunlight filtering through its leaves and brush my warmth starving cheeks. Including a table, chairs and ashtray. Smokers paradise. Someone in a different apartment evidently hung wind chimes on their balcony, you can’t really hear the busy street out front and the whole place is an oasis of calm and sweetness. Purrrfect.
Obviously I immediately plunked down in the sunshine to smoke a much needed cigarette before I even considered touching my bursting suitcase. I was rewarded a few minutes into my sunbathing with a brief visit of one of the only birds apart from pigeons, crows and magpies I am able to recognise on sight because it has a special meaning to me: An “Eichelhäher”.
The Eichelhäher, apparently simply called “Jay” or “Eurasian Jay” in English, is an unassuming yet gorgeous bird of a lovely shade of brown with blue streaks in it wings. Unfortunately it was gone too quickly for me to snap a pic, but wait a sec, let me steal an image from google. There you go:
Oh, did I mention the perfectly functioning free wifi access that has a reach to ACROSS THE FRICKIN STREET? I was walking back from my first exploratory walk of the Schanzenviertel and obviously not knowing the area well yet I was about to walk straight past my place on the opposite side of the street when my phone scared the bejeezus out of me by vibrating with a Facebook message. Took me a good confusing minute to come back to planet earth from my dreams of “free wifi all over the city” and realise I was just in front of the apartment. But on the OTHER SIDE OF THE MASSIVE DOUBLE LANE STREET. Remember too, the place is up two flights of stairs in an old european high ceilinged building. Talk about good connection.
Anyway, “Eichelhäher” is the name of a Robin Hood type character in one of my all time favourite book trilogies. They are called Tintenherz, Tintenblut and Tintentod (Inkheart, Inkspell and Inkdeath in english) written by the amazing Cornelia Funke. Don’t be fooled by the fact that they are considered childrens books, there’s plenty of suspensful, scary shit and death happening and it’s beautifully written. I’m still angry Hollywood butchered the motion picture adaptation of Inkheart to a degree where they didn’t even get to film the second and third books. ah, well.
In the English version they call him “Bluejay” as I just found out. I like it. It’s a totally different bird but no matter.
I think I will like it here. It’s probably stupid but I’m taking the sunshine, the fact that out of all the air BnBs I picked one from a Canadian without knowing, and the Jay that means so much to me when it’s just another bird to most anyone else, as good omens that I will be happy here and good things are waiting for me. But I can't help it. <3
Check out a few pics from my walk:
I really like this city too. I may not have seen much of it yet but I like the “feel” of it, if that makes any sense to you. I think people who have travelled a lot or moved city a couple of times know what I mean.
Every country, every city, every town, place and every house and apartment, every continent even, have a different kind of “feel” to them. It’s like a unique and specific perfume. And like a perfume, it has different layers of different intensities and strength. For example, you will only know the “feel” of being in Europe versus being in North America versus being in Africa, if you’ve been there before and it’s most noticeable when you have JUST come from one larger land area to another. The further away the most noticeable of course, because the perfume only gradually changes as one place bleeds into the other "feeling wise". But within those areas every country and every city feels different too. Paris and Vienna and Berlin and London all “feel” totally different but there’s still the underlying note of “being in Europe” (even though I know, the British don’t consider themselves European. Sorry to break it to you my friends but you are part of this continent, so suck it up. I love you.)
And Vienna and Salzburg feel different although you still have the “europeanness” but also this “Austrianness” to it too.
And then within each city, the districts feel different and the streets and of course the apartments of individual people.
It’s like an energy signature. Or, I don’t know.. maybe I’m not making much sense but I can’t explain why for example I’ve loved London from the moment I set foot in it but didn’t like Manchester at all from the moment I landed. And I hadn’t even seen anything of the city but the airport yet! Same with Berlin. Arrived at the train station: didn’t like it. not one bit. And I hadn’t seen anything yet. But my feelings about those cities never changed. It can be more complex than simple like and dislike too: when I arrived in Tokyo with one of my besties Bianca for the first time I immediately was in love but I knew I could never live there although I’d previously entertained the whimsical idea of maybe moving for a year or so some day. All I’d seen at that point was Narita airport and the train. But I knew. Like I knew, landing in Vancouver, that I would be happy there and that I would love it.
Ah, but I’m rambling like crazy here.
Point being, I like Hamburg. I hope she likes me too. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better. I have a good feeling about this coming year. Please don’t prove me wrong Universe. That would suck royally of you and be pretty embarrassing for me.
Peace and Love,
xxx
Jill
Ps: I think I need to procure myself a bike. This is clearly a bike city. They’re everywhere. Trying to kill you with stealth mode. And also getting places. And looking like they've just been thrown out of a window...
I mean seriously. WHY?!
PPS: One of the house mates is currently listening to the Imperial March from Star Wars. Yes, I think I am going to like it here.
I know myself. God, how well I know myself. This will most likely remain the only blog entry I’ll manage to make no matter what I tell myself.
BUT! Arriving in a new city is always suspenseful and exciting and also a tad lonely, since you generally don’t know a single soul well enough yet to hang out with or call up.
Also Day 1, Day of Arrival, is usually either very hectic or pretty chillaxed since you don’t have anything to do but arrive and settle into your new place (or temporary place, as in my case).
Which means plenty of time to collect first impressions and pass the time with some documentative blog writing.
I think I just made that word up. “Documentative” doesn’t exist, does it?
So here we are. yaaay.
Living in Hamburg Lesson #1:
When you walk around, be aware of the red stripes on the side walks. Those are Bike lanes. In any other place I’ve been to so far bike lanes tend to be on the car side of the street or are entirely separate lanes. Not so in Hamburg. They are literally on the side walk. And bikers WILL make use of their absolute right to ride on there & run you over without warning or scruples if you stand around on their territory for too long (or walk onto it at the wrong moment without looking). They apparently don’t care for warning bells or any kind of warning signs for unsuspecting pedestrians and are all in all silent stealth assassins just waiting to happen. And there’s A LOT of them. Had a few close calls today. Apparently I learn slowly.
Living in Hamburg Lesson #2:
I sort of knew this already, since its common knowledge for German speakers but German German is NOT the same as Austrian German. This was evident today when I went to go eat at a lovely little place in the Schanzenviertel called “Bullerei” (which is very hipster but very comfy and they were playing blues. Always a good sign.) There I spotted the first few “mystery items” on the menu: “Secreto vom Iberico” - does not sound German, but I have NO clue what that is, “Tartar Stulle” - “Tartar” is obvious, and I have heard the word “Stulle” before but do not ask me what the hell it means, and something entitled “Unser Pulpo” - errrrrr… our what now???
This will no doubt be an ongoing linguistic adventure. It now occurs to me I should have enquired after the mystery items. Massive failed opportunity. Ah well, I might eat there again. It’s really comfy and close.
I’m pretty knackered to be honest. Nothing new either though, considering I never manage to get to bed at a decent time the day before I travel for widely varying reasons.
It’s pretty frickin freezing right now, but I do love that when I arrived, Hamburg greeted me with blazing sunshine and decent warmth. <3
Charls, the hostess of the Air BnB I organised myself for the first month until I found myself a more permanent dwelling, greeted me warmly and showed me around before hopping off to catch a plane to Paris. I already love her. She’s from Toronto, and although that’s literally on the other side of the country from Vancouver, having a Canadian hostess gives me all sorts of warm and fuzzy lovey dovey feelings. :D
When I first arrived in front of the apartment building I was a bit apprehensive because from the outside it looks… a bit rundown and there’s graffiti everywhere in this area (and not the pretty kind). The front door is an ugly shade of nondescript brown plastered with stickers and tags and yeah.. well.. doesn’t look very inviting.
But after dragging my 23kg suitcase up two musty smelling flights of scary but kinda awesome old wooden twisty staircases, I was greeted upon entering the apartment by a lovely safe haven filled with a quirky collection of rustic old wooden furniture, stucco ceilings, glass chandeliers, a comfy looking bed and a glass door in my room opening up to a nicely sized balcony looking out into a backyard of sorts with a huge tree that had sunlight filtering through its leaves and brush my warmth starving cheeks. Including a table, chairs and ashtray. Smokers paradise. Someone in a different apartment evidently hung wind chimes on their balcony, you can’t really hear the busy street out front and the whole place is an oasis of calm and sweetness. Purrrfect.
Obviously I immediately plunked down in the sunshine to smoke a much needed cigarette before I even considered touching my bursting suitcase. I was rewarded a few minutes into my sunbathing with a brief visit of one of the only birds apart from pigeons, crows and magpies I am able to recognise on sight because it has a special meaning to me: An “Eichelhäher”.
The Eichelhäher, apparently simply called “Jay” or “Eurasian Jay” in English, is an unassuming yet gorgeous bird of a lovely shade of brown with blue streaks in it wings. Unfortunately it was gone too quickly for me to snap a pic, but wait a sec, let me steal an image from google. There you go:
Oh, did I mention the perfectly functioning free wifi access that has a reach to ACROSS THE FRICKIN STREET? I was walking back from my first exploratory walk of the Schanzenviertel and obviously not knowing the area well yet I was about to walk straight past my place on the opposite side of the street when my phone scared the bejeezus out of me by vibrating with a Facebook message. Took me a good confusing minute to come back to planet earth from my dreams of “free wifi all over the city” and realise I was just in front of the apartment. But on the OTHER SIDE OF THE MASSIVE DOUBLE LANE STREET. Remember too, the place is up two flights of stairs in an old european high ceilinged building. Talk about good connection.
Anyway, “Eichelhäher” is the name of a Robin Hood type character in one of my all time favourite book trilogies. They are called Tintenherz, Tintenblut and Tintentod (Inkheart, Inkspell and Inkdeath in english) written by the amazing Cornelia Funke. Don’t be fooled by the fact that they are considered childrens books, there’s plenty of suspensful, scary shit and death happening and it’s beautifully written. I’m still angry Hollywood butchered the motion picture adaptation of Inkheart to a degree where they didn’t even get to film the second and third books. ah, well.
In the English version they call him “Bluejay” as I just found out. I like it. It’s a totally different bird but no matter.
I think I will like it here. It’s probably stupid but I’m taking the sunshine, the fact that out of all the air BnBs I picked one from a Canadian without knowing, and the Jay that means so much to me when it’s just another bird to most anyone else, as good omens that I will be happy here and good things are waiting for me. But I can't help it. <3
Check out a few pics from my walk:
I really like this city too. I may not have seen much of it yet but I like the “feel” of it, if that makes any sense to you. I think people who have travelled a lot or moved city a couple of times know what I mean.
Every country, every city, every town, place and every house and apartment, every continent even, have a different kind of “feel” to them. It’s like a unique and specific perfume. And like a perfume, it has different layers of different intensities and strength. For example, you will only know the “feel” of being in Europe versus being in North America versus being in Africa, if you’ve been there before and it’s most noticeable when you have JUST come from one larger land area to another. The further away the most noticeable of course, because the perfume only gradually changes as one place bleeds into the other "feeling wise". But within those areas every country and every city feels different too. Paris and Vienna and Berlin and London all “feel” totally different but there’s still the underlying note of “being in Europe” (even though I know, the British don’t consider themselves European. Sorry to break it to you my friends but you are part of this continent, so suck it up. I love you.)
And Vienna and Salzburg feel different although you still have the “europeanness” but also this “Austrianness” to it too.
It’s like an energy signature. Or, I don’t know.. maybe I’m not making much sense but I can’t explain why for example I’ve loved London from the moment I set foot in it but didn’t like Manchester at all from the moment I landed. And I hadn’t even seen anything of the city but the airport yet! Same with Berlin. Arrived at the train station: didn’t like it. not one bit. And I hadn’t seen anything yet. But my feelings about those cities never changed. It can be more complex than simple like and dislike too: when I arrived in Tokyo with one of my besties Bianca for the first time I immediately was in love but I knew I could never live there although I’d previously entertained the whimsical idea of maybe moving for a year or so some day. All I’d seen at that point was Narita airport and the train. But I knew. Like I knew, landing in Vancouver, that I would be happy there and that I would love it.
Ah, but I’m rambling like crazy here.
Point being, I like Hamburg. I hope she likes me too. I’m looking forward to getting to know her better. I have a good feeling about this coming year. Please don’t prove me wrong Universe. That would suck royally of you and be pretty embarrassing for me.
Peace and Love,
xxx
Jill
Ps: I think I need to procure myself a bike. This is clearly a bike city. They’re everywhere. Trying to kill you with stealth mode. And also getting places. And looking like they've just been thrown out of a window...
I mean seriously. WHY?!
PPS: One of the house mates is currently listening to the Imperial March from Star Wars. Yes, I think I am going to like it here.
Thursday, 16 July 2015
Another Airport Incident
So I found this post from 2011 randomly after equally randomly remembering that I had briefly tried out Tumblr about an eon ago and decided it didn't suit my tastes fairly quickly afterwards. I may decide to re-initiate it, maybe, possibly, since the whole posting-something-process seems to have improved. Who knows. whatever. Blargh!
Anyway, I had no recollection whatsoever of this incident and found it a rather hilarious read through so I am reposting it here, where it belongs, this blog being called "random ramblings". ;)
here it is:
19th December 2011 ~16:00 Basel Airport
so I wrote this yesterday, while Internetless, on my way back home to Vienna.
I’ve been flying back and forth between Vienna and Manchester for 3 years now. As there are no direct flights between these two cities I always have connection flights and am usually on the road pretty much the entire day. And although I am used to it now and most of the journeys I have behind me went fairly smoothly, the amount of times I was stressed out or panicky because some thing or other decided to poop in my pie is rather outrageous.
I wouldn’t be so annoyed if I could blame most of the obstacles and stress factors encountered in my city hopping on myself. But believe it or not - most of the shit that happens to me is completely out of my control. Which, frankly, annoys the fucking crap out of me.
Today for example, I became victim of an exquisite fuck up of the rather unusual kind. Or at least I think it is unusual, as this has never happened to me or my family before as far as I can remember… Anyway, what happened unfurled as follows:
Being Jennifer Jill Andersen, I was a teensy bit outside the comfort zone in my time schedule, because I had been too excited to be going home the night before and hadn’t been able to fall asleep until around the 6am mark. Nothing too tragic though, as the taxi driver made good time and I arrived at Terminal 3 of the Manchester Airport 45 almost-comfortable minutes before my flight was scheduled to lift off according to my itinerary printout. I walked in, hurrying, but not too stressed yet. I still had time. Or so I thought.
The first thing that made me raise my eyebrows and continue the work on the wrinkles-under-construction on my forehead was that a look onto the monitors told me that my flight did not seem to exist. So I checked my sheet again, because, being Jennifer Jill Andersen, it was entirely possible that I had misread the information or simply looked at one of the earlier itinerary info boxes by mistake and told the taxi driver the wrong Terminal. But my paper said, just as I remembered it: “Swiss (LX) - 4431 - 11:55 - MAN Terminal 3 - BSL”. I even checked the date because, being Jennifer Jill Andersen, I did not think it impossible that I might have gotten that one wrong. Nope, “19th December 2011”, all in order.
Confused, I wobbled over to the nearest free counter that had unoccupied (bored) looking personnel behind it, armed with my Starbucks cup, Passport and itinerary printout. Putting on my best “helpless-lost-little-girl-pleeeease-help-me” act, I asked the gentleman what the fuck was up with my flight not being on the friggin monitors and could he wipe that pathetic “I-hate-my-job” expression off his face, it’s making me want to slap him. Obviously that’s not what I said, as that would have been counterproductive to my lost-girl act, but it’s what I thought.
Anyway his response was a question directed at his equally pathetic looking colleagues 2 counters down: “Swiss? That’s in Terminal 1, isn’t it?"
Upon the positive answer mumbled in response I was thus dispatched to run (yes, "run” he said) towards Terminal 1. Cursing under my breath, I made my way over to Terminal 1, which thankfully, was not quite as far away as expected. Terminal 2 would have been a bitch.
There I did find a flight to Basel on the monitors, but the time was slightly wrong - it said 11:30 which was approaching FAST so I didn’t think twice or stopped any longer to check the flight number, but went straight towards the designated check in counters which, of course, were miles away on another floor.
Being Jennifer Jill Andersen under stress, I naturally queued at the wrong counter. A forgivable mistake in this instance since the proper ones were completely unoccupied, and a rather lucky one too in the end because I caught one of the Airport minions attached to that particular counter and asked for help, and was I even queuing in the right line, and why did the monitor say 11:30, and why did my paper say Terminal 3, and-, and- HELP PLEASE!
(btw voilà the reason why I never write journal entries: it’s 5pm now. it took me an HOUR to write the above -.-)
Minion #1 glanced at my sheet, looked confused and turned to minion #2 who assumed an equally puzzled look and turned to minions #3 and #4 for further consulting which made me want to punch someone as it implied something was obviously very wrong with my flight details.
As it turned out I was given not only the wrong Terminal and the wrong time, but also the wrong flight number. How they found me in the system at all was a bit of a puzzle to me, as “wrong flight number”, in my ears, sounded like they booked me on another flight entirely but thankfully inirport minions #1,2,3 and 4 proved much more capable than expected, and especially minion #2 seemed to rather enjoy the challenge and relief that this unexpected problem which needed quick solving presented from his repetitive check-in chores.
He took me to a free swiss counter where minion #3 and minion #5 tried to get me on the 11:30 flight and were thankfully successful after a few agonising minutes of waiting, spent praying to the Universe to not let me miss that flight, pretty pleeease. He then escorted me to the extra large baggage counter thingy where my bag was dispatched, as the other counter had been closed and then further on to the security check queue, where he had a quick word with his colleague minion guarding the quick line entrance and sent me on my way: “hurry! Gate3!"
Hurry I did indeed, but not without many thank-you-so-so-much’s over my shoulder and flashing him the best "I-m-so-relieved-thank-you-you-re-great-at-your-job” smile I could muster up under the circumstances.
The rest is a bit boring, I basically sprinted though to the security check, panting like a mad-woman because I don’t have any stamina what so ever. Being Jennifer Jill Andersen under extreme stress, I briefly got lost in the confusing duty free labyrinth and was, upon my unintentionally loud exclamation of “where the fuck am I supposed to go?!”, saved by one of the duty free perfume shop slaves who looked me up and down disapprovingly in all my panting, frenzied glory, murmured “calm down” as if I was about to go mental (maybe I was?) and pointed me in the right direction.
After that I reached my gate without further interruption where another miserable soul was standing in front of two gate minions hoping to be accepted into the plane. That one had apparently managed to pass security with only his travel itinerary and no boarding pass. He related that he usually used the web check in which apparently makes u end up with a similar slip of paper instead of a boarding pass so he stupidly, but innocently thought the itinerary print out would be enough. Just goes to show how far one can get if you wave a piece of paper convincingly and with just the right confidence/innocence ratio in front of security personnel.
We both got on the plane.
So now I’m sitting in Basil airport boring my ass off and having trouble staying awake. Not to mention already missing my boyfriend fiercely. I will have to keep myself exceedingly busy these 3 weeks of my Christmas holidays, or I am sure shall suffer from bad withdrawal pains. XP
….
….
….
please time, pass quickerrrrrrrrr!! (it’s 18:34 - flight goes at 19:55) -.-
…
…
maybe I’ll watch a movie?
…
…
OMG I’M SO BORED I WISH I HAD INTERNET AAAHHH!
Anyway, I had no recollection whatsoever of this incident and found it a rather hilarious read through so I am reposting it here, where it belongs, this blog being called "random ramblings". ;)
here it is:
19th December 2011 ~16:00 Basel Airport
so I wrote this yesterday, while Internetless, on my way back home to Vienna.
I’ve been flying back and forth between Vienna and Manchester for 3 years now. As there are no direct flights between these two cities I always have connection flights and am usually on the road pretty much the entire day. And although I am used to it now and most of the journeys I have behind me went fairly smoothly, the amount of times I was stressed out or panicky because some thing or other decided to poop in my pie is rather outrageous.
I wouldn’t be so annoyed if I could blame most of the obstacles and stress factors encountered in my city hopping on myself. But believe it or not - most of the shit that happens to me is completely out of my control. Which, frankly, annoys the fucking crap out of me.
Today for example, I became victim of an exquisite fuck up of the rather unusual kind. Or at least I think it is unusual, as this has never happened to me or my family before as far as I can remember… Anyway, what happened unfurled as follows:
Being Jennifer Jill Andersen, I was a teensy bit outside the comfort zone in my time schedule, because I had been too excited to be going home the night before and hadn’t been able to fall asleep until around the 6am mark. Nothing too tragic though, as the taxi driver made good time and I arrived at Terminal 3 of the Manchester Airport 45 almost-comfortable minutes before my flight was scheduled to lift off according to my itinerary printout. I walked in, hurrying, but not too stressed yet. I still had time. Or so I thought.
The first thing that made me raise my eyebrows and continue the work on the wrinkles-under-construction on my forehead was that a look onto the monitors told me that my flight did not seem to exist. So I checked my sheet again, because, being Jennifer Jill Andersen, it was entirely possible that I had misread the information or simply looked at one of the earlier itinerary info boxes by mistake and told the taxi driver the wrong Terminal. But my paper said, just as I remembered it: “Swiss (LX) - 4431 - 11:55 - MAN Terminal 3 - BSL”. I even checked the date because, being Jennifer Jill Andersen, I did not think it impossible that I might have gotten that one wrong. Nope, “19th December 2011”, all in order.
Confused, I wobbled over to the nearest free counter that had unoccupied (bored) looking personnel behind it, armed with my Starbucks cup, Passport and itinerary printout. Putting on my best “helpless-lost-little-girl-pleeeease-help-me” act, I asked the gentleman what the fuck was up with my flight not being on the friggin monitors and could he wipe that pathetic “I-hate-my-job” expression off his face, it’s making me want to slap him. Obviously that’s not what I said, as that would have been counterproductive to my lost-girl act, but it’s what I thought.
Anyway his response was a question directed at his equally pathetic looking colleagues 2 counters down: “Swiss? That’s in Terminal 1, isn’t it?"
Upon the positive answer mumbled in response I was thus dispatched to run (yes, "run” he said) towards Terminal 1. Cursing under my breath, I made my way over to Terminal 1, which thankfully, was not quite as far away as expected. Terminal 2 would have been a bitch.
There I did find a flight to Basel on the monitors, but the time was slightly wrong - it said 11:30 which was approaching FAST so I didn’t think twice or stopped any longer to check the flight number, but went straight towards the designated check in counters which, of course, were miles away on another floor.
Being Jennifer Jill Andersen under stress, I naturally queued at the wrong counter. A forgivable mistake in this instance since the proper ones were completely unoccupied, and a rather lucky one too in the end because I caught one of the Airport minions attached to that particular counter and asked for help, and was I even queuing in the right line, and why did the monitor say 11:30, and why did my paper say Terminal 3, and-, and- HELP PLEASE!
(btw voilà the reason why I never write journal entries: it’s 5pm now. it took me an HOUR to write the above -.-)
Minion #1 glanced at my sheet, looked confused and turned to minion #2 who assumed an equally puzzled look and turned to minions #3 and #4 for further consulting which made me want to punch someone as it implied something was obviously very wrong with my flight details.
As it turned out I was given not only the wrong Terminal and the wrong time, but also the wrong flight number. How they found me in the system at all was a bit of a puzzle to me, as “wrong flight number”, in my ears, sounded like they booked me on another flight entirely but thankfully inirport minions #1,2,3 and 4 proved much more capable than expected, and especially minion #2 seemed to rather enjoy the challenge and relief that this unexpected problem which needed quick solving presented from his repetitive check-in chores.
He took me to a free swiss counter where minion #3 and minion #5 tried to get me on the 11:30 flight and were thankfully successful after a few agonising minutes of waiting, spent praying to the Universe to not let me miss that flight, pretty pleeease. He then escorted me to the extra large baggage counter thingy where my bag was dispatched, as the other counter had been closed and then further on to the security check queue, where he had a quick word with his colleague minion guarding the quick line entrance and sent me on my way: “hurry! Gate3!"
Hurry I did indeed, but not without many thank-you-so-so-much’s over my shoulder and flashing him the best "I-m-so-relieved-thank-you-you-re-great-at-your-job” smile I could muster up under the circumstances.
The rest is a bit boring, I basically sprinted though to the security check, panting like a mad-woman because I don’t have any stamina what so ever. Being Jennifer Jill Andersen under extreme stress, I briefly got lost in the confusing duty free labyrinth and was, upon my unintentionally loud exclamation of “where the fuck am I supposed to go?!”, saved by one of the duty free perfume shop slaves who looked me up and down disapprovingly in all my panting, frenzied glory, murmured “calm down” as if I was about to go mental (maybe I was?) and pointed me in the right direction.
After that I reached my gate without further interruption where another miserable soul was standing in front of two gate minions hoping to be accepted into the plane. That one had apparently managed to pass security with only his travel itinerary and no boarding pass. He related that he usually used the web check in which apparently makes u end up with a similar slip of paper instead of a boarding pass so he stupidly, but innocently thought the itinerary print out would be enough. Just goes to show how far one can get if you wave a piece of paper convincingly and with just the right confidence/innocence ratio in front of security personnel.
We both got on the plane.
So now I’m sitting in Basil airport boring my ass off and having trouble staying awake. Not to mention already missing my boyfriend fiercely. I will have to keep myself exceedingly busy these 3 weeks of my Christmas holidays, or I am sure shall suffer from bad withdrawal pains. XP
….
….
….
please time, pass quickerrrrrrrrr!! (it’s 18:34 - flight goes at 19:55) -.-
…
…
maybe I’ll watch a movie?
…
…
OMG I’M SO BORED I WISH I HAD INTERNET AAAHHH!
Friday, 24 April 2015
Viennese Musings
Disclaimer:
This is one of these "personal opinion" posts.
A friendly reminder - opinions vary, as they should, and opinions change, as they should. None of the things I am expressing here are written in stone, nor should they be. You are allowed and welcome to feel differently. As am I.
And I might. My feelings about Vienna differ almost every day, varying depending on my mood, my life, how much sleep or alcohol I've had...
Only one thing is constant: I love it and I hate it fiercly and simultaneously. Always. <3
Oh Vienna. How I love and hate you, old girl. You, with your pompous pride, leftover from an era when you were the buzzing metropole at the centre of Europe. A time, when you harboured emperors in your castles as well as the scum of Europe within your bowels.
You still glow with the beauty and lusciousness of a time gone by, when "modern architecture" meant elaborate facades full of statues, balconies, stucco and gold.
Your people are infested with the arrogance that comes with growing up in a city of such rich culture and history.
And yet they are also a most peculiar people. A weird nation of sort of "lovable bastards". A people privy to such concepts as "gemütlichkeit", "Wiener Schmäh", "Schadenfreude", and a certain special kind of "joie de vivre", usually spiced with a good amount of indifference towards the rest of the world, plenty of sarcasm, and a love of complaining about- and lovingly mocking- everything and everyone. All in all not an entirely unpleasant mixture of traits. Most of the time.
I love and hate you equally, my beloved hometown, in true Viennese fashion as only one born of you could.
When I am away, I dream of you. I miss your winding streets, your parks, your air, your pecularities; the elusive, undefinable feeling of "being in Vienna".
I miss strolling along the Danube, and the tiny, twisty shortcuts I like to take through the inner district.
I miss my favourite spots and eateries, the music, the constant dualism and endless battle between tradition and the need to be modern, which has always been part of life in Vienna and is so apparant in the architecture through the centuries, as well as politics.
I miss the peculiar quiet that still reigns here on Sundays even though I hardly know anyone who still goes to church. We like our quiet weekends, we Viennese people.
I love the feeling of having the entire city to myself when I stroll home in a drunken stupor at 4am though the deserted old city centre, breathing the night air, my steps echoing through the "Gässchen".
I miss the kitsch, the way the sun gleams off the Hofburg, the trips to the Zoo in the spring and the ice skating at the Wiener Eislaufverein in Winter.
I love the Museums and Galleries, the Theatre and the old Opera house, even if I hardly ever set a foot in them. I miss the good old Steffl Cathedral and even the way the tourists flock to the Stephansplatz at all hours of the day and all seasons of the year.
I miss the traditional Viennese eateries: the so called "Heuriger" and all the yummy secrets they hold. The food, I tell you! Oooh the food! If you only knew!
The Gulasch and Schweinsbraten, the Schnitzel and Tafelpitz, the Rindsroladen and Schinkenfleckerl, the Leberkäse and Käsekreiner, the Semmerl and Salzstangerl, the proper Schwarzbrot and Schinken, and Extrawurst and Gröstete Knödel, the Fritattensuppe and Gebackenes Händl, the myriads of pastries and sweets, the Kaiserschmarrn, the Sachertorte, Apfelstrudel, Marrillenknödel, Palatschinken, Mohnnudeln, and on and on the list of culinary wonders goes.
Yes, I think, I almost miss the food the most when I'm gone.
When I am not in your arms, dear Vienna, I miss you so much sometimes that I feel like I cannot breathe. I then listen to old "Wiener Lieder", look at photographs on the internet and start crying like a fool.
But when I am there... After the first couple of weeks, when the joy of being home has vaned, I slowly start to remember why I wanted to leave in the first place.
I start to notice all the little things that annoy me, irk me, disgust me.
Like the ignorance and small mindedness prevalent in a big part of the population, spreading throughout all social classes.
Like the weird, unwarranted arrogance some of us exhibit. Like we are something special just for the the completely coincidental fact of having been born and bred in this city. This incomprehensible self-importance some of us hold.
Like the sad fact that right winged parties are still going strong and some Viennese people have ridiculously racist, Xenophobic and generally intolerant views. This is partly due to another sad fact: Vienna is growing old. A lot of the smart young people leave to study and work abroad, and some rarely or never come back, like me. So the people who are left behind are the old folks with antiquated views or the unfortunate uneducated who tend to adapt intolerant opinions from the idiots who surround them.
I get annoyed at the constant complaining. "Nörgeln" or "Raunzen" we call it in our dialect. This "everything sucks" attitude people sometimes have although they have the incredible privilege of living in one of the most liveable cities in the world. For the past 6 years in a row actually THE most liveable city in the world according to the annual Mercer survey. But I suppose it is human nature to complain, I just feel like we Viennese have a tendency to do rather a lot of it. Sometimes it's oddly charming, especially when it's paired with humour but all too frequently it gives me urges to punch the offender in the face and scream "wake up you fool!" or something like "go live a few years in some other place so you'll understand just HOW fricking privileged you are to be living in this city."
These are gross generalizations of course and not all of Vienna is like this. There are a lot of truly, amazing, beautiful, hilarious, smart, intelligent people in this city too. And they are my balm of sweet relief and pleasure.
As an artistic soul working in mainstream entertainment, I also bemourn the poor taste of most of the advertisement and art done for mainstream media purposes. Some of the billboards, posters and ads make not only my eyes but also my brain bleed. And it is sad to me that a city that once used to be a hub for all things art and music has now, in modern terms, so little to offer in both of those areas. I am not talking about fine art and museums and galleries, nor classical music - Vienna is still top knotch in the more traditional forms of artistic expressions - but really good quality, modern entertainment, that could potentially compete in quality on an international stage, is painfully rare these days.
Which is the reason that I, as well as so many other young people, cannot stay in my beloved city. There is nothing here for me, career wise. At least now, in the beginning stages of my career until I have gathered enough experience and made a name for myself in my field. Then I could concievably come back and try to change this.
Actually, writing all this, I realised it's mostly the people of Vienna that sometimes make me hate this city and want to be anywhere but there. Which is weird in some way, because it is also home of some of the few people who are most important to me in all this world.
There are many more things I love and hate about this strange place.
One thing is for sure though: I will always come back to my beloved city, no matter how long or far away I will end up staying and attempt to "make my fortune". Vienna and it's inhabitants are a part of me and will always have a place in my heart.
Until the next time,
Piece and Love,
Jill
This is one of these "personal opinion" posts.
A friendly reminder - opinions vary, as they should, and opinions change, as they should. None of the things I am expressing here are written in stone, nor should they be. You are allowed and welcome to feel differently. As am I.
And I might. My feelings about Vienna differ almost every day, varying depending on my mood, my life, how much sleep or alcohol I've had...
Only one thing is constant: I love it and I hate it fiercly and simultaneously. Always. <3
Oh Vienna. How I love and hate you, old girl. You, with your pompous pride, leftover from an era when you were the buzzing metropole at the centre of Europe. A time, when you harboured emperors in your castles as well as the scum of Europe within your bowels.
You still glow with the beauty and lusciousness of a time gone by, when "modern architecture" meant elaborate facades full of statues, balconies, stucco and gold.
Your people are infested with the arrogance that comes with growing up in a city of such rich culture and history.
And yet they are also a most peculiar people. A weird nation of sort of "lovable bastards". A people privy to such concepts as "gemütlichkeit", "Wiener Schmäh", "Schadenfreude", and a certain special kind of "joie de vivre", usually spiced with a good amount of indifference towards the rest of the world, plenty of sarcasm, and a love of complaining about- and lovingly mocking- everything and everyone. All in all not an entirely unpleasant mixture of traits. Most of the time.
I love and hate you equally, my beloved hometown, in true Viennese fashion as only one born of you could.
When I am away, I dream of you. I miss your winding streets, your parks, your air, your pecularities; the elusive, undefinable feeling of "being in Vienna".
I miss strolling along the Danube, and the tiny, twisty shortcuts I like to take through the inner district.
I miss my favourite spots and eateries, the music, the constant dualism and endless battle between tradition and the need to be modern, which has always been part of life in Vienna and is so apparant in the architecture through the centuries, as well as politics.
I miss the peculiar quiet that still reigns here on Sundays even though I hardly know anyone who still goes to church. We like our quiet weekends, we Viennese people.
I love the feeling of having the entire city to myself when I stroll home in a drunken stupor at 4am though the deserted old city centre, breathing the night air, my steps echoing through the "Gässchen".
I miss the kitsch, the way the sun gleams off the Hofburg, the trips to the Zoo in the spring and the ice skating at the Wiener Eislaufverein in Winter.
I love the Museums and Galleries, the Theatre and the old Opera house, even if I hardly ever set a foot in them. I miss the good old Steffl Cathedral and even the way the tourists flock to the Stephansplatz at all hours of the day and all seasons of the year.
I miss the traditional Viennese eateries: the so called "Heuriger" and all the yummy secrets they hold. The food, I tell you! Oooh the food! If you only knew!
The Gulasch and Schweinsbraten, the Schnitzel and Tafelpitz, the Rindsroladen and Schinkenfleckerl, the Leberkäse and Käsekreiner, the Semmerl and Salzstangerl, the proper Schwarzbrot and Schinken, and Extrawurst and Gröstete Knödel, the Fritattensuppe and Gebackenes Händl, the myriads of pastries and sweets, the Kaiserschmarrn, the Sachertorte, Apfelstrudel, Marrillenknödel, Palatschinken, Mohnnudeln, and on and on the list of culinary wonders goes.
Yes, I think, I almost miss the food the most when I'm gone.
When I am not in your arms, dear Vienna, I miss you so much sometimes that I feel like I cannot breathe. I then listen to old "Wiener Lieder", look at photographs on the internet and start crying like a fool.
But when I am there... After the first couple of weeks, when the joy of being home has vaned, I slowly start to remember why I wanted to leave in the first place.
I start to notice all the little things that annoy me, irk me, disgust me.
Like the ignorance and small mindedness prevalent in a big part of the population, spreading throughout all social classes.
Like the weird, unwarranted arrogance some of us exhibit. Like we are something special just for the the completely coincidental fact of having been born and bred in this city. This incomprehensible self-importance some of us hold.
Like the sad fact that right winged parties are still going strong and some Viennese people have ridiculously racist, Xenophobic and generally intolerant views. This is partly due to another sad fact: Vienna is growing old. A lot of the smart young people leave to study and work abroad, and some rarely or never come back, like me. So the people who are left behind are the old folks with antiquated views or the unfortunate uneducated who tend to adapt intolerant opinions from the idiots who surround them.
I get annoyed at the constant complaining. "Nörgeln" or "Raunzen" we call it in our dialect. This "everything sucks" attitude people sometimes have although they have the incredible privilege of living in one of the most liveable cities in the world. For the past 6 years in a row actually THE most liveable city in the world according to the annual Mercer survey. But I suppose it is human nature to complain, I just feel like we Viennese have a tendency to do rather a lot of it. Sometimes it's oddly charming, especially when it's paired with humour but all too frequently it gives me urges to punch the offender in the face and scream "wake up you fool!" or something like "go live a few years in some other place so you'll understand just HOW fricking privileged you are to be living in this city."
These are gross generalizations of course and not all of Vienna is like this. There are a lot of truly, amazing, beautiful, hilarious, smart, intelligent people in this city too. And they are my balm of sweet relief and pleasure.
As an artistic soul working in mainstream entertainment, I also bemourn the poor taste of most of the advertisement and art done for mainstream media purposes. Some of the billboards, posters and ads make not only my eyes but also my brain bleed. And it is sad to me that a city that once used to be a hub for all things art and music has now, in modern terms, so little to offer in both of those areas. I am not talking about fine art and museums and galleries, nor classical music - Vienna is still top knotch in the more traditional forms of artistic expressions - but really good quality, modern entertainment, that could potentially compete in quality on an international stage, is painfully rare these days.
Which is the reason that I, as well as so many other young people, cannot stay in my beloved city. There is nothing here for me, career wise. At least now, in the beginning stages of my career until I have gathered enough experience and made a name for myself in my field. Then I could concievably come back and try to change this.
Actually, writing all this, I realised it's mostly the people of Vienna that sometimes make me hate this city and want to be anywhere but there. Which is weird in some way, because it is also home of some of the few people who are most important to me in all this world.
There are many more things I love and hate about this strange place.
One thing is for sure though: I will always come back to my beloved city, no matter how long or far away I will end up staying and attempt to "make my fortune". Vienna and it's inhabitants are a part of me and will always have a place in my heart.
Until the next time,
Piece and Love,
Jill
Friday, 27 March 2015
Good Morning
Hello dear Blog.
Good to see you again.
It's 7 o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting in my kitchen in Vienna slurping coffee in a desperate attemt to try and wake myself up sufficiantly for the day ahead.
Yeah, I know, I can't believe I'm awake this early either but as we say in German: "exceptions proove the rule"
Beugh I'm groggy as f*ck.
The reason for this early day is that, since I'm stuck in Vienna currently due to the very annoying fact that it seems impossible to get a workpermit for Canada, I've decided to use the time I'm rearranging my career plans to catch up on something I should have gotten out of the way a looooong, long time ago. Nine years to be exact. And that thing is... *drumroll*
My drivers license!
Whoop whoop! *applause*
Which I started when I was a stupid 18 year old and never finished because, well, I was 18. And the Public Transport System in Vienna is really really good so it seemed like a waste of time. Only I never considered the possibility that I would spend most of the next 2 years in StPölten and the following 6 studying abroad. Hindsight 20/20.
Thing is, getting your drivers license in Austria isn't as easy as in the Americas. There is extensive training and multiple tests and requirements involved, amongst which is doing an 8 hour First Aid course. Which so happens to start at 8 am today.
Naturally, although I went to bed suitably early for a change, I woke up around 3 am for no apparent reason other than that my brain likes to annoy me, and couldn't fall asleep anymore. I've effectively had 5 hours of sleep and I'm going to die.
Because after the 8 hour First Aid thingy I still have a driving lesson to absolve, which always exhaust the crap out of me, and later that evening I am invited to a party which I was really looking forward to. Only with practically no sleep I may or may not actually fall asleep standing up by the time I get there.
Ahh well... maybe I'll manage to get a power nap in somewhere between the driving lesson and the party.
I know, I know, first world problems.
At least I got a blog post out of it.
Cheerio fellas and fell...errr... ladies,
Piece and Love,
Jill
Good to see you again.
It's 7 o'clock in the morning and I'm sitting in my kitchen in Vienna slurping coffee in a desperate attemt to try and wake myself up sufficiantly for the day ahead.
Yeah, I know, I can't believe I'm awake this early either but as we say in German: "exceptions proove the rule"
Beugh I'm groggy as f*ck.
The reason for this early day is that, since I'm stuck in Vienna currently due to the very annoying fact that it seems impossible to get a workpermit for Canada, I've decided to use the time I'm rearranging my career plans to catch up on something I should have gotten out of the way a looooong, long time ago. Nine years to be exact. And that thing is... *drumroll*
My drivers license!
Whoop whoop! *applause*
Which I started when I was a stupid 18 year old and never finished because, well, I was 18. And the Public Transport System in Vienna is really really good so it seemed like a waste of time. Only I never considered the possibility that I would spend most of the next 2 years in StPölten and the following 6 studying abroad. Hindsight 20/20.
Thing is, getting your drivers license in Austria isn't as easy as in the Americas. There is extensive training and multiple tests and requirements involved, amongst which is doing an 8 hour First Aid course. Which so happens to start at 8 am today.
Naturally, although I went to bed suitably early for a change, I woke up around 3 am for no apparent reason other than that my brain likes to annoy me, and couldn't fall asleep anymore. I've effectively had 5 hours of sleep and I'm going to die.
Because after the 8 hour First Aid thingy I still have a driving lesson to absolve, which always exhaust the crap out of me, and later that evening I am invited to a party which I was really looking forward to. Only with practically no sleep I may or may not actually fall asleep standing up by the time I get there.
Ahh well... maybe I'll manage to get a power nap in somewhere between the driving lesson and the party.
I know, I know, first world problems.
At least I got a blog post out of it.
Cheerio fellas and fell...errr... ladies,
Piece and Love,
Jill
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