Tone-Deaf Birthday Memories

I know this entry doesn't fit with the blog theme, but I just have to stress the true awesomeness of my 23rd birthday. I normally have some pretty kick-ass birthdays, all thanks to my delightful friends and fam (e.g. surprise 21st, 22nd in London), and this year was no different. It was a true Furfax birthday miracle, with a slew (a SLEW, I say!) of friends coming out to the burbs for bbq and karaoke. I'll miss these guys so much.

The whole crew, w/Alexlacey looking very proud of himself (likely because he's the only guy to celebrate my bday w/me for 3 consecutive years, and he knows it)

Me and Wiz, the only former roomie who could attend (Anne in NY, Selene in med school with the gimpy arm, and Sarah in Tokyo). I got me a crown.

Now in the karaoke bahhh, with the stupid mirror, happy friends, and a ginormous book of songs. They had a million song options, yet everyone chose the most DEPRESSING songs on the planet. They had the option Spice Girls, or Wham! Come on now.

This is more like it-- jumping around to "Alcohol" by BNL-- the DJ looks so impressed.

To get the ball rolling...

Three weeks after finding out my new home for the next two years, I'm still waiting for it to sink in. I pretend to prepare myself... e.g. I wrote to the Honduran friend who invited me to join Hi5 (Latin American equivalent to Facebook, although everything's still in English...interesante...). He hasn't written back. I joined a Yahoo group for PC Honduras Volunteers. Most postings involve spam mail advertising sexy pix and low mortgage rates. I bought "GRE for Dummies," to prepare for the exam I'm taking before February. Sure. There's already dust accumulating on the cover.

Most of all, I've tried to imagine my future life there, while juxtaposing that with my life here: a life where the water pressure is industrial strength; where my 90-minute commute on a squeaky-clean metro, on an air-conditioned/heated bus, is considered uncomfortable; where I always know the best place for karaoke, soft-serve ice cream, and cheap beer on weeknights; where I have my roots and where life (more or less) makes sense. In my mind, I've wanted to volunteer for PC since high school. However, now that the nine months of applying are over and the wish turns to reality, the feelings are hard to articulate. I'm thrilled and terrified. But I hear that's typical.

I'll try to use this blog as an outlet to my inevitable angst/delight of living and working in Honduras. I won't guarantee that every entry will be interesting, or even intelligible (I really am a bad writer). But it will certainly be genuine, unique and full of Mo'Neill goodness. Thanks for checking in.