Mail Me Something, People
There are days in Antarctica that remind me of my time in prison, circa 1986. Sunday was one of those days. I had phone dates set up with a few VIPs and I had been looking forward for several days. Through no fault of anyone else’s (but really, more theirs than mine), only one of these many phone calls actually came to fruition, try though I might to get ahold of these loved ones at the appointed hour(s). It reminded me of the many Visiting Days at the good old slammer when nobody showed up. It was horrible.
Hey, did you know that since I have an APO address (I have no idea what that means) that sending me mail is no more expensive than it would be to mail a bill? (Not the ones you pay online, Savvy Businessman, the ones you actually mail.)
Here is my friend and fellow Shuttle Driver Meghan when she does NOT have her name on the “Has Mail” List:
Sad Meghan
And here she is when she DOES have her name on the “Has Mail” List:
Happy Meghan
Please. Do not make me look like a “Sad Meghan.”
(Editor’s Note: I do not know why Meghan walks around sideways all the time, Happy or No. Antarctica is a harsh continent. Also, I’ve tried to fix it 4 times and it ain’t happening. Trust me, she’s gorgeous. And happier when she has mail.)
Here’s the deal: it takes a little longer to get here, but I’ll be even happier to get it.
The Rules: don’t send any of those little crunchy peanut packing things. Nor do they want the kind of padded envelope that is padded with newspaper dust. Those things always rip and get everywhere, and The People will lose their minds. Also, thank you very much for offering, Kevin O’Donnell, but they won’t allow you to send me any alcohol. No worries, that’s why I stocked up in New Zealand.**
**For you people who are horrified at how often I’ve mentioned bourbon, I have had a total of one little nip put into my White Hot Chocolate on my second (and last) night in NZ. Calm down.
What I Will Like to Get:
Letters
Pictures
Newspaper/Magazine Clippings
Anything Non-Perishable from Trader Joes
Almonds
Dried Fruit
Granola Bars (from Trader Joes)
Cookies (home-made…I don’t care if it takes 2 weeks to get here)
Your Funny Stories
Things You Think Are Hilarious, Because Likely I Will Too
The Address:
McMurdo Station – RPSC
PSC 469 Box 700
APO AP 96599-1035
You will make me a “Happy Meghan” and make everyone else on The Island very jealous of me. And that will make me an even “Happier Meghan.”
Thank you to Mom and Erin for already sending me something. And to all the emails and comments I’ve gotten. Really, it helps a ton.
And also reminds me of prison.
xoxo
Q and A with The Ice Queen
While here on the New Continent, I have been asked some excellent and well-thought-out questions. Also, some really dumb ones. I wanted to take the opportunity to share some of the smarter queries, and my excellent responses, with you, my loyal readers. Perhaps you, too, might be sitting on some of the same burning questions.
Jen, my friend from Barrel of Monkeys. They are amazing and make children happy. Look it up (www.barrelofmonkeys.org) :
Q: But what I really want to know is, who cuts your hair?
A: Excellent question, Jen. This was actually posed to me by someone else before I left Chicago. Technically, they asked whether there might be a salon on the station and whether I might get a haircut and mani/pedi. I mocked this person. Maybe I even laughed and pointed in his or her direction crying “You idiot! What do you think this is? Miami?” Now, I actually feel foolish. While there is no mani/pedi station, there IS, in fact, a salon. It is run right in the same building where I eat, sleep and use the internets, Building 155. As burden of proof, I am including a picture of Ildika (Hildy) who runs said salon. She is very cute and her accent is even cuter. Many people visit her, but as you may see from my upcoming collection of portraits of The Bearded Men of Space Station Antarctic, many people do not.
Hildy at Work
Jessie, my sister, who will probably be mad at me for mentioning her on my blog asks:
Q: Are there showers? Are they hot? Is there a hot tub?
A: As usual, my wise older sister also has excellent questions. Had I asked any of her questions during my over-the-phone job interview, I would probably have hung up immediately. As it was, the only things I remembered were “Am I going to be the only girl there?” (I’m not) and “Can I like, leave, if I have to?” (I can). Oh yes, and “Um, is there, like, a gym or something?” (There is — three, in fact). Anyway, in Building 155 on the 2nd Floor, where I reside, there are two, possibly three bathrooms with showers in them. The reason I am unsure of the number of bathrooms is that there are about nine different hallways and forty-six different ways of navigating them. I have never gotten from my room down to the Galley (cafeteria) the same way twice. And I have tried. I have looked for landmarks, I have left breadcrumbs. There’s no getting around this place quickly. Nevertheless, in the two bathrooms that I *can* find (with some assistance), yes. There are showers. In the bathroom that is off to the right and down the third hallway on the left, there are two very small showers. They get hot water for quite awhile, but my problem with these showers is the little plastic curtain that hangs down from them. This is not my plastic curtain, and I don’t want it touching me. There is no way, however, to bathe oneself in any sort of efficient manner without touching this possibly germ-infested, off-white, badly hanging plastic curtain. Therefore, I have chosen to bathe in the bathroom off to the left and through the door, then down the first hallway on the left. This bathroom has one, huge, open shower with three faucets. Now, I am not usually one for bathing amongst others, particularly when they are strangers with whom I have a “working relationship.” However, the water is hotter and there are no plastic curtains. And if you are quick about it and time it just right, you can get in and out without anyone ever seeing you, saving yourself the embarrassment of bathing amongst others. Which brings me to the hot tub question. I wish. Nothing screams a good time like jumping into a nice, steaming hot tub on a cold Antarctic day, getting nice and toasty, then jumping out into the nearest snowdrift in your swimsuit, rolling around in the snow and screaming “I’m a man! I’m a man!” I know this because it was a requirement on family skiing trips back to Crested Butte back in the day. Unfortunately, the powers that be don’t have such fond childhood memories, and they have only installed one measly dry sauna in Building 155 to accommodate***1200 people. Which is probably why it won’t start.
***I had to try to spell “accommodate” 14 different ways before the little red squiggly line went away. I am nothing if not inclined towards proper spellling and talking of the English languidge.
Do you have a burning question? Is it a good one? Ask me…I probably won’t know, but I’ll try and find out or at least make something up.
live from the ice 