We are the champions, my friends

Chapter One: Show me the money, son.
I've been down in Maseru three times in the past three weeks, which, if you are a math major like myself, evens out to once a week. The HIV/AIDS support group that I have been helping out with in my old village (would we call it helping? I like to smile alot and pretend i have been working on my sesotho. thank the lord for dimples and a blank stare) but i helped them write a grant from the US Embassy to get money so they can buy laying hens and start an egg business, selling to the local primary schools. With the money they raise they want to help with the 88 double orphans with food, clothes, school fees, etc. We got the grant, so i came down to maseru last weekend to go with the leader of the group. There were supposed to be two representatives from each group to recieve the grant at the US Embassy, and being the pompous american asshole that i am, i decided to be one of the reps. The ceremony was on september 11th, and was basically a three hour photo opp that could have been dry and lifeless if it wasnt for the bo-me (women) who broke into melody each time a support group was called to the front for the ceremonial handshake. it was beautiful and just made me realize how much soul these women really have. They are budding entreprenuers, making and selling cosmetics, chickens, baked goods... anything and everything to raise money for the children who are victims of misfortune. And i got to see the Thaba Bosiu guy.
Chapter Two: Mini tours are not just for senior citizens
On thursday night, there were two girls who were finishing their service and peacing out, and they told us story after story after story of peace corps debauchery, legends, lore, and all the juicy carnage that we savor so much from US Weekly. They made our pledge class look like yeasty babies. So, in the spirit of solidarity, Lindsey, Mandy, and I embarked on a mini-tour of Lesotho. Four days, three roundavels, over 24 hours of bus, taxi, truck travelling, two 80's workouts, one cardboard cutout of Bear Grylls, one deity of a carrot cake, and a thin dvd restored my soul, my faith in humanity, and my laugh lines.
The mini-tour gods doth shine down upon our lives.
Chapter Three: You can Barack my Obama
Last night was the COS party for the education volunteers who are leaving in December. AKA an excuse for me to buy a new dress and blow dry my hair. Which I did. I was a tad lushy, we had a Thaba Tseka danceoff, I believe at one point I told Rebecca that I was either ET'ing (leaving peace corps early) or moving districts... no recollection of that. I skinned my knees dancing, and then went in the hall to have a little heart to heart with lady Becca, and then went into the bathroom and fell asleep for about an hour. I woke up to the lights being turned off, and in my "groggy" state, it took me a good ten minuets to fully realize that I had been locked in. So i get up in the pitch black and walk straight into the cement wall. (hence, why my nose feels like a bee hive) and then check all the doors in the banquet hall, which are all chained and locked. So i bang on the door and start screaming like neve cambell, and finally after about 30 minuets a guard finds me and runs to get the key to get me out. The rest of the night includes many stories, all of which require hand motions and throwing my voice.... so remind me to tell you.
I woke up with a Barack Obama t-shirt on.
dont forget to vote.