FIRED-

THE PRICK AND THE WANKER RULE THE DAY.

We'll call them that but their real names are Tim and Craig and they're horrible people. Oh wait, maybe they're just "mis-understood." They work for Backhill Productions which is a subsidey of Burton Snowboards. Granted, given my history with difficult people who don't like me, and there have been quite a few-these guys are a blip, especially since it's not about a grade, my salvation or whether an actor will perform that night without a box of his own kleenex. Can I talk them down?

Now to preface this you know that it hasn't been about love from the beginning. And I felt like a total tool until today for debating whether or not to continue bcs it's a job and it's money- and as we all know life is about those 2 basic things- and nothing else. My last day was suppose to be Wednesday- Wanker was surprised. But as you know I have mad loyalty to my director and the chance of working with him far outweighed the opportunity, but I decided to not leave them in the lurch and to keep going into next week at least.

But here is what they did... I told the wanker yesterday that I could continue and he said ending on Friday was fine. So today- I wave to the prick who seems to be in a bad mood, and I say Hi to the wanker as he opens his office- he mumbles hello. Nothing new here- this is standard operating procedure. They have treated me this way from the beginning!! But let's cut to the chase. The prick comes by my desk and says, I need these 3 things, I need to know where they are on the desktop. He proceeds to pick up a briefcase and slams it down to the right of me, searching for something, invading as they say- MY circle of trust. I say, slightly confused, okay, do you want me to forward these files to Uma- who is the prick's assistant, and is apparently taking over our job in addition to her own, bcs she doesn't have enough to do. Right.

Then the prick says, NO! It's so I can SIT HERE AND DO THE JOB YOU WERE SUPPOSE TO BE DOING FROM THE BEGINNING! SO YOU CAN LEAVE!" (ooo ouch!)

I say, "What? When?"

"RIGHT THIS MINUTE! I DON'T WANT YOU HERE. I WANT YOU GONE. I WANTED YOU GONE ON TUESDAY, BUT THE WANKER SAYS HE NEEDED YOU"(Keep In Mind my last day was suppose to be Wednesday, and he told me to talk to the wanker- he could've just said, okay that's fine. But let's continue...)"THIS HAS BEEN THEE MOST HORRIBLE EXPERIENCE IN ALL my 20 YEARS IN THE ENTERTAINMENT INDUSTRY. YOU JUST WALK IN LIKE YOU DON'T CARE. LIKE YOU DON'T GIVE A DAMN AND YOU LEAVE WHEN YOU WANT AND THE WANKER AND I ARE LEFT TILL 10 AT NIGHT."

At this point I interject very calm things like: Are you serious? If this was so much of a problem from the beginning I think you should've told me. Why am I just hearing about this now? You have my cell...?

He then continues the tyraid: AND YOU KEPT TALKING TO JULIE (the girl who placed the job post and who interviewed me and told me i was hired and who i thought was coming back to replace me. they ended up firing her passive aggressively on wednesday. the day before she was coming back to work) AND YOU KEPT TALKING TO JULIE! THAT'S THE MOST OUTRAGEOUS THING! THAT YOU'D HAVE THE NERVE TO TALK TO JULIE. SHE'S NOT YOUR BOSS. THE WANKER IS YOUR BOSS. THE WANKER HIRED YOU. NOT JULIE. (Apparently we conspired to ruin his life.)
YOU TAKE FOREVER TO DO THINGS- IT TOOK YOU 4 DAYS TO GET THE CALENDAR DONE AND IT STILL WASN'T RIGHT. YOU TOOK FOREVER TO GET THE CONTACT SHEETS...(Um, no. I'd expound to defend my honor, but let's keep going.)

At this point my hands are trembling. My face isn't flushed with rage or even in embarassment or any of the things that tie to being verbly assulted. But this is an odd thing that happens to me when I get ambushed. Usually though it's accompanied with outrage. I kept clenching them and shaking them off bcs clearly they had a mind of their own. And then I say the thing that I'm most proud of: "You do know that you have to pay me for today. Do you have a timecard?" As if nothing happened. Yes! I nailed it. CALM. Now true, I would've liked to say a lot more. I could've gotten abrasive and nasty. And as my friends who got "the phone call" will attest there was a litany of curse words attached to the incident, but I digress.

I said, "Well Prick, I have to say I think this is a communication problem. If it was such an unmitigated disaster and you were THAT unhappy-"

The prick backpeddles suddenly and says, well no, not an unmitigated disaster... he however picks up momentum again- blathers on about how he wants me to GET UP NOW, RIGHT NOW, GET UP AND LEAVE, I WANT YOU GONE!!! (I refuse to leave. You, never EVER, give up the higher ground. EVER! I stayed firmly put. I say, "You'll have to give me a minute. And I sat there and stared at him.) He stalks off and leaves.(I become very tempted with wiping out the harddrive. I delete some files. I stare longingly at the master contact list and calendar- I think I am not that evil... I can't. I won't. I've already won. I don't need a slaughter.

Then I went to get my timecard from the wanker and he says, what? why? I say, "Well Prick just fired me so i'm leaving." "Oh" he says. OH. That's it. I say, "I'll put this in the accountants office." "The office is open?" "Yes it's open." I take the timecard back to my desk, fill it out- put it in the office and shut the door. It's not open anymore you wanker. I turn off my lamp in a final gesture and walk briskly out of the office thru the side door. I wonder what it would've been like if the whole office had been there. Witnesses perhaps would've been best... but then again. So I drove off, shaking my head and smiling. Then I was at the gym beginning the phone calls of friends who can take it or at least the ones i know who can- and then guess who calls me- the wanker. And this is what he says, in the most matteroffact way, as if the prick hadn't just made a scene and fired me like an idiot- (No I didn't answer- this is just the message that I can now play over and over) "Hey, M, this is the wanker. Yah, Um, we need to get those files. So we can go ahead and send them out by the end of the day. So if you could call me. Lucky you- to have the day off." (WTF- are you serious?) I'll let it go. I can't believe it, but I'll let it go.

The whirl of thoughts going on in my head is one of bewilderment and yes, wry amusement. I drove this dramatic fuck to his worst moment in the industry in 20 years. Oh, Prick, Is that what you say to all the girls?

I mean think about it- most horrible experience in 20years... and all on my last day.

I bow with a flourish, quietly incline my head to the history of my life, where such incidents are already sketched and recorded upon the wall- and exit to my destiny.

Super-Star!

Bender (named after John Bender of The Breakfast Club, not the Futurama robot, or a drug and alcohol binge) is the world's Most Special-ist Black Dog. She's a lab mixed with...something. Maybe greyhound, maybe border collie. Definitely something tweaky. I adopted her three years ago as a puppy, and I believe I am the only one in the whole world who understands Bender's soul. She's extremely sensitive, and sweet, and a little badass, a definite posturer. She's jealous, an Attention Hound, an obsessive-compulsive hand-licker. She's a skidder, a faller, she doesn't chew her food. Her fine hair sticks to everything, is everywhere--floors, walls, ceiling, furniture, clothes, and your dinner. She's a high jumper and a fast runner. Drinks water so loud the TV volume has to be turned up. She's a pacer, a stresser, a panter. Around six o' clock in the morning she gets up, knowing full well that we won't for another hour at least, and shakes just to make noise, the Tambourine Routine. Then when we do wake up, she rolls around in the bed and grunts, growls, sneezes, and sings. Simultaneously.

Most people say she needs a helmet.

And after last night, they may be correct. Bender, in typical pursuit of her one true love, the tennis ball, rammed her little self full on into a tree. It was dark, and Bender is...Bender. At full tilt, she ran, she chased, then WHAM. Bender was knocked the hell out. She laid on the ground a few moments, then slowly struggled to her feet. Little stars and birdies flew over her head. She staggered and limped, and then still went to find her ball. The Champion of the World, Bender-Dog.

Bender rules.

On Today @ Work

well. i've been here for 6 hours with nothing to do. Good times! Passing the time: 1- i've done heavy emailing
2-i drew a map of the 3rd floor and mailed it to penelope for safe keeping
3- i counted, approx. how many steps from desk to kitchen 1, to the wankers office and to kitchen 2- the kitchen i'm suppose to use. my desk is in enemy territory. i am not authorized to use their kitchen even though it is 30ft away. i use it anyway. the authorized kitchen, to which we chip in for supplies and pay rent for- is 100 ft away.
4- printed old emails (printer 65ft away)APPROX 6.
5- went to get Fatburger. w/skinny fries. now that's a tasty burger.
6- chew on red straw
7- calculate how many beverages consumed so far (6)
8- blog
9- do a couple laps around the loop, end up at bathroom and kitchen at various points (6 times, possibly more)
10- vow to leave in an hour and not say anything.
11- realize that to read would imply a certain complacency. deduce that is why i can't read my novel that i brought.
12- scan desk, think about not showing up tomorrow. think about how painful it would be to accidentally staple your hand... think about what i could possibly steal, i mean "appropriate" from desk. sadly, have no use for phone.

Ho, Hum (read for head thoughts only)

(so) some general musings- it's hard really to say. blogging has been awesome, but my journal writing and actual writing hasn't gone anywhere this year. but i don't know if i didn't have the blog if it would make a difference. i seem to be suffering from general- let it go and forget it syndrome. i used to be much more passionate and obsessive. no, really. much more, than i am now. so there are things this year that i think i would've been able to express thru a story or something else and for some reason i haven't... or they just aren't bugging me as much? any theories? for instance- a friend i had for over 12 years accusing me of giving me a computer virus ON PURPOSE. i'm sort of innately bothered but not enough to really articulate it. Like wow, that's what she really thought of me all along, that i could do that. Trust is important to me. Add that one into the universal fucked-up calculator. Or somehow sabatoging my work environment so BMP wouldn't hire me back after InfernoI. Adding to the long list of work related disasters. Then there was that active and yet listless period of four months of joblessness, website creations, art, more work, exercise, mensa, archery... then that period of lots of praying for others and then not and then feeling out of a job all of a sudden... what else was there? stuff, i assume. it's been a good year. but i'm definitely in that transitional artist of something something phase... work with the director seemed to be pointing me in a good direction- i even let my application to the JET program for Japan lapse. i can't wait to see what sort of resolutions i come up with in a few days.

On XMAS thoughts

Well, so Christmas. There was that brief moment where I felt a kindling of all that was warm and good in mankind- and then it got whomped by fatigue and noseblowing. Also I blame my relatives- sometimes the Christmas spirit is best embued by others, and occassionally by History Channel presentations on Christmas and perhaps a few-bestofmovies- Christmas Eve was you know, over to the small family and they all seemed to miss my brother- which you know fine. we all miss my brother- he's generally non-confrontational, charsmatic, pleasant, playful and talkative- when he's not being depressed and morose- but the former is what he usually shows to the family. so of course he's the favorite, loved, farandaway relative that they pine after. i don't mind not being the favorite. and i can even tell he was the favorite from way back through all the pictures, very telling i assure you. but i do mind when it starts to interfere with everyones enjoyment and then vicariously my own. i think next year i need a better attack strategy. something to get us out of the routine of it all. momside has been gathering over 30 years and the family has dwindled instead of grown. that'd depress anyone i guess. so there's this sort of half-hearted attempt to carry on with tradition. when really something else might be in order. i don't know what. and then the mutant dadside of the family which keeps growing and i refuse to participate- the whole christmas affair leaves me feeling rather disappointed- and trying to resituate myself on this sliding scale of christmas... bcs really it's a tradition- you want it to be about happy birthday jesus but it's not... and i don't know if it really should be. sometimes celebrations are just that... and according to the history channel kids were integral in bringing it back in vogue in the US... and if you don't have kids and aren't around them or somehow can't make a home... then there has to be something else. giving of yourself yes. but what if you woke up too late- and everything seemed to be over before you really "got it". waiting till next year just doesn't seem to be good enough.

Hello, Merry X~MAS.

Dear so and so,

I am stuck in hell. I am the last of a few scant survivors. We all have taken to massaging our gums and roaming the halls for a way out. Surely the world is alive and bustling, but here it is a wasteland of silence and the ever present hum of central air. Which I'm told will be cut off all next week. As the building will actually be closed. And then nothing else but quiet. quiet. quiet. Dead Air as one fleeing survivor termed it. That last thought now to inhabit my dulling mind, corrodes as it lingers into a manic urgency. I have got to get out of here!

I am little consoled by the Lawrence of Arabia poster, and the book i brought, "The Electric Michelangelo" lies like a glaring reminder of the world i can no longer see or hear. And it angrily goes unread.

I am on my fifth pint of water- I rapidly consume it out of boredom, as the dry air sucks all the moisture from my lips- parted and panting, my nose all stopped up. In order for my legs not to atrophy I take laps around the office- it's a loop after all- and try to decide if there's anything worth taking. I wear my black sweater cape. The thing about being in an abandoned place is that there really never is anything worth taking. Because all you desire in the end is to leave- and that in itself is your only remaining comfort, that you might somehow figure out how to escape.

The hopelessness of my situation is chilling me, and i feel compelled to go on another walk, and this time remove the kleenex from my dripping nose. Perhaps I'll come back with a snack from one of the cupboards or maybe some diet coke. Anything to shake the depressing thought of being in this place another parsect of time.

GodsMercy,
M.

Damn Cold

as promised...
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winter_solstice
http://wilstar.com/xmas/xmassymb.htm

i hope there were some wonderful tids- of information in there.

i have threatened to go home early twice- to which the wanker replied "try to make it thru to the end of the day"- doubt it. highly highly doubt it. unfortunately the office mentality is to totally check out this week and the next, which makes me feel that i shouldn't be here at all. as if i've been working here for more than 6 days. whose the wanker now.

Good Intentions

I was going to tell you how I was wrong about the Christmas Tree being pagan... well, if the internet is to be believed. Holly though, holly is right out a pagan fertility symbol. Needless to say i feel that i've clamped onto a bitter berry and it's ruining my whole mood- so when it aquieces i'll launch jovially into an explanation of symbols- or at the very least give you a link to both explanations of the winter solstice and christmas. And not only that, but tell you about an email confrontation I had with a perfect stranger, who thinks I'm posing as me, but as someone else. oh yes.

So to the true nature of this post: My boss (not B) (not the director), my new boss. My boss: is a dick. A total dick. On the line of spoiled child, meets whiner, fretter, crisis maker, child in an adults body- wanker. He said, "make it so 'competition' fits on one line." I said, "of course. i saw that and put the arrow." "Well then", he said, "Give it to me like it's suppose to be." What? sounds inocuous enough right? No. He proceeds to haughtally shove the paper away from him across the desk. In a huff. not only that but he uses the sharpie marker violently- instead of drawing something out he didn't like in one line- he used three right-slanted slashes across the sentence- as with each condemning me to incompetence.

if only, well if only i could be a smart ass and not get into a shouting match. he is not one of those witty retort types. but boy was he baiting me. oh to be paris, with no consequence.

Channeling Freddy Mercury

It's finally happpened
happened
happened...

I am approximately 34 weeks pregnant, and in addition to swollen ankles, waddling, lack of balance, hellacious heartburn, categorical hatred of all clothes maternity, and a situation that is not hemorrhoids but is also too horrid to mention, my symptoms also include the simultaneous forgetting of all online usernames and passwords. And it is driving me f-ing batty.

How in the hell are we supposed to keep track, is what I would like to know. They're all supposed to be different when you create the accounts, and you're supposed to change them every now and then to prevent hacking--it's too much. I have to admit that for simplicity, most of my usernames and passwords are either the same or very similar--sometimes I'll just add a number here and there. But perhaps that is precisely the problem. All levels of human experience lately are blending into one another:
work days
sleepy nights
the baby's coming soon
I missed my mouth several times while eating
my weeble-wobbling brought me disastrously close to stepping on the dog's head in the middle of the night
eat a meal
avoid the spicy
get heartburn anyway
lay around with a million supportive pillows
yadda yadda
pay some bills
and that is where I am stuck.

In the past few days, I have been unable to log in to 4 separate online accounts. I have tried every possible combination under the gray sky to get into the accounts and just, for the love of all that is holy, PAY MY BILLS, and I cannot. And you know customer service, for your security, just won't help you out. And the online hints, should you correctly remember either the username and the password, well they're nuts, too. I can't remember when writing the answer to that hint, did I capitalize it? If the answer is a date, did I write it as 00/00/0000, 00/00/00, or did I get fancy and spell it all out. I want to write them down, but then that's not good. Perhaps I should mail the payment in this time, or try making a payment over the phone--but then next month, I will find myself in the same position, to be sure. And, I want to use my online accounts. Why? Well, because it's so EASY.

Ha
ha
ha
ha
ha.

Not Quite

Well Joe has been pretty quiet today. Except for one recent outburst- "I'm going to the bathroom," and then he summarily left. I hope to at some point, catalog the contents of Joe's desk. But until then, I observe with growing unease- the soreness of my throat, the sniffles, and general eye weariness- it could be due to the arctic temps, as if the lawerence of arabia poster isn't ironic enough as it is, and the fact that my computer screen is two times too small. I wonder though, if I should get my eyes checked. I maybe have another 10 years before I really do need glasses- but for now i'll blame the glare of the flourescent lighting, which is vile and giving me a headache and the wee wee font size.

(He just came back snapping his fingers)

Anyway, I must really not want to work out. Bcs that's the only excuse besides apathy and laziness that i'll accept- is being sick. Tonight is... a blank slate. But tomorrow look forward to a history of the christmas tree and a hearty celebration of Winter Solstice.

As The Chair Turns

1
3, the "joe"
to my left
to my right

The fish is totally depressed.

(So) I heard from B that the computer is officially DOA. Or as he termed it dead in the water, as in not able to be fixed. I know in the back of his mind he blames me completely for the demise of the computer- but i can't bring myself to admit to full copability. perhaps aiding and abedding- i'll cop to a lesser plea but I'm not going down for murder 1. you can just forget it. see. yah. see. wise guy. ahem. sorry.

thus ends my affair with the MAC GUY. sooo unsatisfactory. I didn't even get to see him again. or heard how he termed the death, or how he broke it to B. Or what B said, and if he cursed my name. i guess a harddrive replacement was better than death- it was like, sure major surgery but... you know "can[t be fixed" is so final.

It's Kind of Like Julie Cooper

Willie Nelson, the red office fish (Search's replacement), has experienced what Best Week Ever would call a definite "downgrade." On Friday, during his weekly cleaning, the mansion-like glass vase complete with red glass stones and a flourishing peace lily, broke.

***Please note that penelope was not in any way connected with or involved in this incident.***

Willie Nelson pulled through the trauma, of course, as he is a young, healthy fish, but the only container we could come up with as a temporary solution, was this sort-of clear, plain plastic jug. The peace lily won't fit, and there really doesn't seem much point to the rocks until we get a new container.

Except that Willie Nelson is depressed. He's listless, bored. People keep asking if he's dead. He basically went from Cribs to the trailer park, in one tragic motion. Poor Willie Nelson. I hope he makes it till tomorrow.

Joe's Weekend 2

Joe's weekend went great! His quote of the morning: "I would love to live in S.F. but it's sooo expensive." Um, Joe- what are you doing in LA then? I mean sure parts of SF might be more expensive but doesn't that just sound like something to say? Currently he calls his girlfriend "honey" and left his keys in her purse- He left his phone in Tim's car. Odd fact: Joe is in a band- but it's non-specified as to whether he actually plays in it or not or just manages it. And he brought his luggage into work this morning. No, I don't know why...

Overheard: The producer thinks it's "bizarre" that the cameraman would go to his friend's WEDDING rather than shoot their movie. The producers confer and decide that the cameraman must not be "feeling" the project and is apparently not THAT "onboard"...

Merry Christmas

ah, here he is. my last painted santa. which i finished while watching "Monsters Inc", and "Christmas Story". Now i just need to spray him down with Polyurithane. I used khaki and slate grey for the bells. it looks just like gold and silver doesn't it? Gee, I love the holidays.

Whoops

just last night there was a wax fire in the base of the pit. i left the candles there thinking they wouldn't get "that" melted but apparently fires get really hot, and the wax will catch on fire and 2 boxes of baking soda and a bucket of dirt later and it's still smoldering and um scorching and er...

But,

do note however the lovely swags- handmade with juniper and eucalyptus. The santas are painted by, oh yes, me, well a couple of years ago, and with help from my little slave helper who I call the next door neighbor's kid... you can't quite see but to the right of Father Christmas the Magi are traveling to the Baby Jesus and there's a palm tree made from another eucalyptus tree to represent a palm in the desert.

If Only

note the white pumpkin and the pile of oven dried orange and grapefruit slices which have yet to go on the tree. it's because we hate the tree. the gingerbread ornaments will go on next years tree.

Further on the Pumpkin Theme

note the handsome pumpkin, the gourds, and the soft delicate hum of warm light near the vicious reindeer/moose- while he plots his reign of terror

In the Manger

Zeppelin is in cognito and unaware of the mad reindeer's plot. Bodo looks on happily, totally sauced, with the lights hotly ablaze as, santa and the duck get a wee too cozy in the background. The duck is asking if he knows what the holiday is really about. Clearly me he says... Look at all the holy effagies surrounding me. Marley curls up watching, in wait, for chaos to erupt.

Oh here it is.

Mom, I know Christmas is about the baby jesus and the fact that he lived to die for us... celebrating his birth is serious business. But still, I'm glad we get to incorporate pagan tradtions- like tree sacrifices. In form it's a gorgeous tree. But the lights! are horribly unsatisfactory. luckily with the blurry photograph it looks much better this way. i'll make sure to spike the oj so i can see it in this context all the time. and i do love fresh squeezed orange juice. it's the best ever.

Joe's Weekend

So Joe is busy. He's going to San Francisco with his girlfriend this weekend. He calls her "baby", as in I'll be home in a minute "Baby." They're going out for Thai. He also made a dentist appt for the 21st @ 11. I think for a crown. Ouch. He also called Columbia to cancel his subscription... there was more talk of cats and fleas this AM. but i found it to taxing at the time to report.

Intrepid

I've been hovering on the verge of a deadly virus. I can feel it right behind my eyes and the desire for copious amounts of sleep increases day by day. Somehow though I've been scarcely managing it. It's been about 4 days of this, precipice-like existence. And i'm avoiding anything like exercising or having fun or stress or work- that might teeter me over the edge...

In addition I have quit my director- it pains me to say it. So i prefer to believe I will be returning to him anyday. Mainly it's because all our productions wrapped at once and now we need new projects and I'm in desperate need of cash. So as Paris says, My life coach believes our life paths haven't finished yet. So... more stories on him later- and just when i'd planned to start a series on Herr Director.

I've entered thusly into a new work space at Mandalay Entertainment. I'm located in the "hatchery" as an APOC... ooo. for 2 wks. for sure. at which time i may relenquish my title or push to continue on. I'm in a quandary about what to do about this. So I conclude that I must not think about it. To continue however would mean that I would get to have a vacation... and i don't have to worry about being unemployed in January. But currently I have to mind-numbingly look up visas for foreign countries and venders and flights and travel agents and call and call and call. There is a balance yes btw letting people do their job and demanding an answer? I'm unsure which way to strike.

Already the curious enterprises of "work" like places gives me slight chills but they have copious? amts of homemade banana bread, diet coke, bottled water and tea, so it can't be that bad right?

- 2 anecdotes:
Older Foreign Gentleman on Elevator says, " You're beautiful. Very kind and nice. You are married. Why not yet? What is the matter? Ah, such a gorgeous woman. I will hope that you find someone. Best wishes to you."

Wah? Well that was nice. And no, I can't stop grinning.

2nd: Quiet "exec asst" who sits behind me. Currently wishing to escape into the UC Irvine MFA Poetry program- with a GPA of 2.78. Who is he kidding? UC Irvine- well, I think they're hard asses. So... good luck with that. His boss is a producer of somekind- and has that bitchy queen vibe... re: overheard phone call: "I said, don't listen- when I tell you not to listen, don't listen." Door Slams. Silence. His poor poetic soul being quashed slowly by degrees. Shudder.

Top 10 Pressing Issues

Things I'm wondering about for after I have the baby:
1. Will I be able to hold he or she without a) physical disaster or b) looking like I have no place holding a baby?
2. Will it really recognize (and prefer) my voice?
3. When I start wearing real, non-maternity pants again, without the convenience of a super-cool elastic band, will I persistently forget to zip up?
4. How long will it take for my tankles to become ankles?
5. And in that vein, when will I be able to wear my rings again?
6. Will Bender, the spazoid jealous tweaky freak of a black lab mix, have to become an outdoor doggy, forever feeling unloved?
7. Will my love for Bill Lumbergh waver?
8. Will Scott and I, as planned, refrain from becoming one of those couples who can only socialize with the topic of their child as a crutch? (Like those couples who have pet birds, and all they can talk about is their birds.)
9. Will my brain eventually regenerate the brain cells lost during pregnancy?
10. What is the ETA on my Guaranteed Total Meltdown, brought on by the new Cosmo Kramer/DaVinci-Inspired sleep schedule?

Oh, the possibilities...

(Posted today in our Operations Department.)
Mwahahahaha.

Supersnob

I am such a snob. I mean, I'm really concerned about this. Earlier this morning at the doctor's, I had to wait outside the insurance lady's office to discuss what it's going to cost to have this child, particularly since my new insurance just kicked in, and I no longer have the fancy-dancy insurance that covers everything, provided by the unquestionably evil Verizon Wireless. I--well, my Dad, I am somewhat ashamed to admit--paid for the COBRA insurance for three months until the insurance at my new/old job started, and now I'm on my own. As I very well should be, seeing as I'm 27 and married and all. Geez, I suck.

Back to my snobbery. So oddly, there was a line at the insurance lady's door--well really, it was just one person standing there, but the situation didn't look good. The insurance lady, whose name is Paula, was on the phone with someone and it was clearly taking a long time to get whatever information she needed. My guess was that she was on the phone with Blue Cross/Blue Shield--I don't know how I know that, I just do. My problem, though, wasn't so much Paula being on the phone with another evil corporate giant; I can wait, really I can. I really put an effort into being a "good customer," because I know what bad customers are like, and pretty much I hate them. I mean, sometimes, you have to be a bad customer, there's just no way around it, like when Bank of America could not for the life of them get my new address right on my accounts for 3 months, despite multiple email, phone, and written correspondence attempts, and Scott had to call and be super-irate. Bastards.

But it was especially difficult this morning to be the good customer and not appear extremely annoyed for having to wait, and I blame the lady in front of me--just her mere physical presence. God. She was straight out of the 1980s, but in a way that I always get very skeptical of. Her hair was really long and straight, except for at the bottom, where it was wavy in the wrinkly way suggesting she had it in a braid the day before. No poodle bangs, but there was a mighty thick black elastic headband. Then the jacket--you know the windbreakerish kind that comes in a million clashing colors, some metallic? Yeah, those were ugly in the 80s, too. And there were black stretch pants, tucked into the socks, as well as white sneakers. And people, this lady was not going to work out. She smelled like she had rolled in about a thousand cigarettes. I couldn't tell if she was pregnant, but just the mere idea of her being pregnant pissed me off. Because of the cigarettes, because of the unsightly homage to the 80s, and because of the general smirky, chip-on-her-shoulder way she carried herself. She was totally the mean girl in school who would punch you on the playground. I hated this lady, and I didn't know a thing about her.

My skepticism with the straight out of the 80s thing is that I know clothes cost money, and I know fashion is not the most important thing. I myself am not any sort of icon, and I'm also very big on bargains. However, I also know that if you don't have a lot of money and have to shop exclusively at Goodwill, that you can find cool, vintage-y things for cheap. Or if you're not into vintage, they do sell nice, normal, fairly up-to-date attire. Essentially, you do not have to go around town looking like a total asshole. It's like the people who still have mullets and are not being facetious or ironic about it. What gives? Clear, cognizant choices are being made here, and they baffle me. The Smirky Walking Cigarette was not actually wearing clothes from the 80s, or even the 90s. They would have looked a lot more worn. That means at some point in the last five years she went out and forked over some amount of money for a jacket not even a tacky grandmother would wear.

Or, she was given a bag of clothes and it's cold out, and she had absolutely no other choice but to wear this coat. Not only that, but she has too many other important things going on in her life to care about trivial crap like the fact that she's wearing a jacket that even my high school Spanish teacher would have rejected, even though it would have techically matched her shiny metallic gold shoes. See, this is what makes me a horrible snob. I care less about the fact that I have to wait my turn than the fact that I have to wait behind this particular individual, the Attitudinous Nicotine 80s Queen. Blah, I really do suck. (But she does, too.)

Goodwilltoward WHO?

Oh Christmas!?

On most days i'm not a prevayer of goodwill or peace on earth and lately my heart has felt 30x too small. The day after thanksgiving my mom was doing some sort of happy dance and said, let's get the decorations out of the attic! For christmas? I said. When did it become Christmas? I blinked. And I've continued in this vein until perhaps yesterday... and even now I'm not 100% sure I'm out of it. I've been to a few venues where X-mas dec's abound and I look around with a wonder that perhaps the poinsetta and lights have always been up and this is just a sort "of themed" house. Like at the Wendy's in NorthPole, Alaska- where it is always, I repeat, always- christmas.

Also due to a severe lack of funds, and even imaginary plastic ones with high APR's maxed, I've stayed away from "malls", stores or anywhere in fact where one might purchase items for people. I feel lame that I haven't made a list for anyone or thought about mailing cards. But part of me just doesn't get it. Last night I handmade my own garland out of treeleaves and juniper and that feels pretty good. I dec'd the mantle and once our leaning tree of piza is righted and the lights done and the ginger ornaments made- i'll take pics to show you... and yet still-

Commenting on SH's blog reminded that I've been entirely too self-interested. Wake up. This isn't about me. It's about promoting all that crap you don't think about all year. Making the room beautiful for my mom just might make me happy and taking the time to actually spend time with her watching my obligatory fav's like: Nightmare Before Christmas and the Christmas Story- which I'm holding out on... along with the Muppets Christmas and a motely mix of other musical fair... it's about that. When i think about times that make me that rare warm and fuzzy feeling it's been about creating an experience for other people- whether inviting them over and thinking to put mint garnish in their desserts or opening all the windows and lighting a fire in the fireplace- by degrees my heart warms, and it really does "feel" like Christmas. And I haven't even begun to think about the baby jesus.

I guess when you don't have money or don't want to spend it- what's required of you is effort and time- which is something rare and extra-ordinary and can really not be gotten back- you just have to remember at the end of it there is something to give besides the next and best- it's yourself.

My MAC guy

For a beginning to this story see: Wednesday, November 09, 2005
"Failing" ...

(So) it's been a tumultuous affair with my mac guy. His name is Arin. We've tried a few times to get together- lots of calls and even a stop by but it hasn't worked out. He could never get to where i was and I guess we almost broke up bcs let's face it, long-distance relationships take actual effort. I'm sort of wary of anyone who says 'out of sight, out of mind' in regards to bank statements let alone friends- that certainly doesn't bode well does it? For how long you'll last.

Yesterday, as my boss continues to pester me about the dead Mac, that only boots up in DOS mode. Which i think is sort of cool and old school... B asked why I was leaving it at work, and i was like uh, why do i want mac guy to come to my house, and as B is paranoid he said, well I don't want mac guy to come to my house- so you see, I said,why it's good he's coming here. Yes, he said. I emailed Mac Guy and said, hey...We still want you to fix our Mac. Can you do it? Arin, emailed me back and said, yes i can. And my offer to fix it for $0 still stands.

Be still my beating heart. Why is Arin trying to kill us with kindness. Is he giving us a crappy harddrive- is it used? installed with spyware? Why, why is he offering to do this for FREE. There must be a reason. I suspect, as I do with most tech guys... that he's sort of manic and feels like a failure for being such a flake and is trying to be upstanding, especially as he's trying to start a consulting business. I once was friends with a tech-wizard and he would go buy supplies for my computer just because he wanted it to work correctly. I miss my tech guy. We should all have one in our life- but tech guys are volitle- as it is with hyper-smart people. It's a delicate balance btw doing the right thing bcs you can, and by god you're certainly smart enough, and then consequently spreading yourself too thin and feeling grieviously taken advantage of. It's like accept the free help but make them feel appreciated. Balance. Balance. Balance. So you don't end up not talking over name calling and game playing or something lame and equally juvenile, that makes you think if you'd only take your fucking meds everything would be alright. but no he doesn't and continues to go up and down and his ego is holding on by a tenuous thread bcs whatever confidence he had in his worth as a human being was crushed somewhere in 7th grade and you just CAN'T STAND to see people this way. so you just CAN'T TAKE IT and that's why tech guy isn't in your life anymore.

So yesterday Mac Guy came and picked up the computer from my boss. Who didn't even bother to text me and tell me. But anyway- I told Mac Guy that he should at least be paid for the harddrive if nothing else, so please reconsider I said. And B is equally suspicious anywayz, with the original fix price of $200- as he's used to dropping cash on issues, and not suicidally panicking- so why not get paid for it, he thought it was "too cheap" to begin with. In fact people tend to be wary of "too good to be true" and the bargains you find that make you giddy as you run down the street with your precious treasure clutched in your hands. Something must be wrong with it. Because no one in life is this good or generous without an evil reason.

Ah Mac Guy. We'll see if he fixes the computer and brings it back. Till next time.

What a groupie.

Bill Lumbergh is ready to spawn, and I think it may be with the Muppet Sgt. Floyd Pepper. For the last several days, Bill has created an "elaborate" nest of bubbles up in the right-hand corner of his office, which means, apparently, that he's horny. Which is, you know, sort of too bad for him, because I don't foresee any lady Bettas dropping by for a quick meeting any time soon.

We were trying to figure out why that corner in particular, because it's always that corner, and I have a theory that he's in love with one of band members in Electric Mayhem, who all sit directly behind the office. I know it's not Janice, because he is way scared of her, backpedaling (backstroking?) frantically any time she comes near his space. It has to be the lips. I would be scared, too.

So I think it's Sgt. Floyd. I don't know, it's just a guess--I'm thinking Bill digs his fashion sense. We're doing a little experiment where Sgt. Floyd will sit on the other side of the office until the next cleaning, and see if the bubble nest is relocated. Next I'll try Zoot, and then Dr. Teeth. We'll see what happens. Any wagers?

Worst. Made. EVER.

Did anyone see "Made" this week on MTV with Nadia? It was like, the most poorly pieced-together "Made" I've ever seen. I sort of love that show, even though a lot of times it makes me cringe watching geeky white boys trying to become rappers, or lacrosse players trying to become salsa dancers, or band geeks and softball chicks trying to become cheerleaders. I can relate to the inner geek in a lot of these kids, and even though a lot of them "don't make the dance squad" or whatever else it is, they usually grow from the experience, and that's cool. Whatever. It's not the best show in the world, but it makes me feel all bright and shiny inside.

Anyway, the thing with Nadia is that the editing plain sucked. This girl was super-super shy, always hiding in the back and giggling to cover up the fact that she was massively insecure, but she actually did have this amazing singing voice. She wanted to enter and win her high school's annual singing competition, which is called "Central Idol." And she did make it into the show, which only takes like, 10 people, and she did sing "Lady Marmalade" in front of masses and masses of people, complete with a semi-hooch outfit. So she grew, ending up with way more confidence in herself than the beginning.

But did she win the contest? We don't know. How did she place? They didn't say. How did she actually do in front of the audience--not clear. They showed like these tiny bits and pieces of the performance, but it was extremely hard to get a handle on whether she actually rocked it or not. It seems like she did...but we don't really know. They didn't show too much of her singing throughout the show, and I just figured it was because she was practicing that one song, and they were saving it all for the end to blow away the viewing audience with her progress. But no. And what did her parents think? We don't know. They showed an Asian couple for about 1 millisecond sitting stoically in the auditorium audience during Nadia's song, but we don't actually know if these were her parents. And I can understand they may just not want to have been part of the episode--I cannot imagine my own parents (well, much less me) agreeing to appear on reality TV. That's fine, but why all the other cutting? Why not even say whether she won or not? No payoff, man. It would be like reading any "Harry Potter," but having JK clip out the final confrontation with Voldemort and cut to Harry boarding the Hogwarts Express for the summer. (Actually, I just gave "Made" way too much credit there, bringing in Harry. I should have been appropriately vapid in my comparison-drawing.)

Percentages

Everyonceandawhile I become fixated on lineage. I'm not a daughter of the revolution, unfortunately, but we do go back to the 1800's and probably a bit further back then that in the good ole US of A. And curiously enough, multiple members of bothsides of my families are just as obsessed or more so with history than i am.
how very lucky am i. that i have 2 or 3 literal books of family history. And to know minu'te percentages of your ethnic make-up has got to be a bit strange, when people say mutt, i say yes, but i know what sort of mutt i am. and i'm a good mutt with a penchant for landowners and farming. I have a couple %'s to research still but currently I'm: 25% Latvian, 25% German, 12.5% Danish, 12.5% Basque, 6.25% Slavic?, 6.25% Bohemian, and then a TBD 12.5% on my dad's side of the family... which could just be more basque and possibly french, but that would require me looking for the history book. nice. Anyway this all came up, as my non-specified friends or NSF's, have to hear way too much about, over the last 2 years-i have been assembling uber-albums of my grandmother's photographs. 3. One for me/my mom, my brother, and my aunt. I'm on #2 and in the early '80's. We're talking acid-free black cardstock, gluesticks and fancy photo corners- complete with a yet to be determined cover. This is not scrapbooking- this is serious historical documentation. and when i think of reducing my 12 or so albums to such a project i wonder how brutal with the cuts i would have to be. but regardless it's been fun to learn about so and so coming over when they were 19 and falling in love with x and then re-marrying, y. or disappearing after the civilwar, and moving here and there and getting quelched in the depression, or how my one grand uncle came home with lots of USN (navy) silverware from the boat, which we may or may not have... along with the costume jewerly and now 100 year old photographs. i am exceedingly lucky. and it makes me remember how very cool history as a story can be. well, the death and dismemberment aside-- but that's life right?

Title it Up or Travel to?

hey blog-verse, how goes the struggle. current meanderings...

I've applied to a bookstore for seasonal hire now that the season is almost over and have taken to calling central casting right before winter hiatus. yes! my timing rocks! that or i'm being super passive aggressive. i don't know. maybe i'm just getting a headstart on '06. it's possible. i still "might" be able to cover my bills too. "might"...

my boss has been on a retreat at a monastary- aka monastic retreat? well today he's back and ready to work. i don't think it'll make up for the 2 wks i wasn't working but hey, that's my fault for not having another job, and he can go frolic and live the dream without me. i can't fault him for that, and vow to blog about him more in the new year- now that i believe he's forgotten about the blog and his guard is down. i tested this theory a while ago and dared to show him a picture on the blog and he said, is that what color it's always been? yes, not a frequent checker- and if he doesn't have us book marked, a search wont take him to the current page. muhahahaha. (yes, i have little thrills at the moment.)

a friend of mine (crazy, not like a friend of someone elses- as in non-specified, okay it's callie. sorry callie.) was complaining about lack of travel and yes i've complained about it before- i'm going to complain again. i realize the problem is much deeper than just not being able to travel bcs i'm a lazy hack with no money- but that i've been traveling consecutively since '94. with only a brief hiatus in '95, '97 and '98 respectively. those were those crazy college years when i vowed to take a semester overseas and alas to my deep regret, never did. and it's been non-stop ever since this year. don't you think my body sort of craves flight at this point? i mean it has to be. and i have no outoftown family to hop on a plane for. this sucks. i suggest all those with wunderlust go now, before it's too late.

and if you've managed to not zone out on this post- please do chime in and tell me where i ought to go '06 for my 30th birthday... suicide not an option, and that redchip on my hand has been blinking since i was born, so.

Egad, Brain, it's brilliant!

I don't know why this didn't occur to me before, but I have finally figured out how to put on my socks in the morning. It's so simple, so obvious--rather than bending over from a sitting position on the bed, or rolling backward on the bed with feet up in the air, all you have to do is sit down on the bed and cross one leg man-style over the other, leaving the foot in close, comfortable range for sock adorment. There's no grunting, no shooting pains, no gasping for breath. Limited baby-squishing. Look out, world. My next career move may be Rocket Science.

Veruca Salt

As I blog I'm watching the '71 version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, which really makes me long for the 70's swedish version of Pippi Longstocking. Sigh. We'll see how much blogging I manage to do with this playing in front of me. Since my dvd player is broken I'm playing it off the computer. MMM. i love technology. of course you can't tell that just now i took a good 5 minute break. plucked a couple chin hairs- which are horrible. I once got into an argument with a guy about hair- and while he was very greek and very hairy... which granted was too hairy, he was very handsome- i proceeded to explain to him that hair on men is much more acceptable. i mean if you examine my eyebrows you can just imagine the trouble i have shaving my legs- and now or rather for a long while chin hair. it's horrid. i really probably would have that laser surgery, then my compulsive chin plucking energy would be able to go somewhere else. somewhere not involving contemplating folic roots and the sturdiness of my horrid, horrid chin hair. but i digress on the basis of possible oversharing. although you must admit. it is fascinating.

the other day the cat jumped on my lap and i just wondered how is it that cats exist. granted much more fascinating than how and why is it we have hair and how when i'm 80, unmarried and slightly senile, the stereotype that i will become if I don't quelch my body's instinct, is rather unspeakable.

my favorite words this week are: bogus which has been inuse, believe it or not, since the 1800's! and referred to a coin counterfiting machine. hence, that is bogus and the other is sincere- i do believe this version of WW: CCF is more "sincere" and has more "heart"... I had the same thoughts about Nightmare Before Christmas and Corpse Bride. But onward...

"stop. don't."

who me?

Save Ferris

(i never got to take the bus.)

i was also contemplating adding my perspective on highschool, which is radically different from Pen's, due to location, type of school, and obvious personality issues. Hey Pen? would we have been friends in high school? I have to know your opinion. My answer is yes, but not close friends. I don't think I had any better fashion sense, but alas that was the 80's and my mom refused to get me things that would marry me solidly into that generation- like perms or feathered hair. I do remember one girl saying, I don't like that color eyeshadow on you- which okay, but i was like? why are you telling me this...I think her name was Barbara. and this memory is oddly tied into my question of where to sit in the vast outdoor eating area we had at school. i would float around but never quite fit in anywhere. Into highschool i hung out with drama kids, which were a motley assortment of the popular and studious to the studious and socially strained. But as a hinge I was also in Volleyball and did AP English and conversely had the rest of my classes with the social non-studious misfits, who were also the popular people (bcs I secretly believe that I was classified as unintelligent in primary school and was navigated into these sorts of classes in my k-12 school) and bcs of even stranger circumstances like my counselor forcing me to take accounting and business principles in 9th grade i was also friends with upper classmen. Really, I had by circumstance navigated myself into having the most diverse experience imaginable. And though I'm sure my weight and general militant attitude caused other things I was fairly untouchable- and was not even mock worthy for hanging out with the English Teacher during lunch and reading morose poetry, Or at least I never heard about it. Plus by sheer will I had a way of looking at people that defines judgement and words like conviction, not entirely pleasant and couple that with my wry smile and i know people thought i smoked, and drank vodka during the day and was a general troublemaker that knew what other troublemakers were doing... I think I'll definitely have to write about the weirdness and pain of highschool someday. Part of me thinks I'm making this up and that silver lining was being painted on by me from the beginning but... I had a good time, but converesely I didn't. But critically I was myself and didn't ever work hard to fit in anywhere, and I spent entirely too much time watching people and Tv. And well, 2 things I never got to do was, go to a boarding school, and go away to camp for the entire summer. Alas. For another blog. Another day. I've got to figure out what's for dinner.

(Ferris : It's not that I condone facism, or any isms for that matter. Isms in my opinion are not good. A person should not believe in an ism he should believe in himself.)

Cue Elton John: It's the Circle of Life

With all of my organs getting squished and displaced upward, I feel nauseated a lot, and all I really feel like eating is chocolate. And apples, and sometimes french fries, but mostly chocolate. It seems pointless to fill my stomach with anything else, since that's all I really want. Every once in a while, I start to feel guilty, imagining that all I'm going to be eating for my last two months of pregnancy is chocolate, and how will that affect my baby. Because everyone these days is all about eating healthy, and thinking about how each bite will affect your baby's development, yadda yadda yadda. Blah blah blah. Then all of a sudden it occurs to me that my mom ate a bunch of chocolate when she was pregnant with me, and I turned out...well, I apparently turned out to be a girl who eats a bunch of chocolate when she's pregnant. Ha.

Product of the Week (Like Today's Secret Word, You Must Jump Up & Down & Yell)

Notification Cards

This is like, the coolest thing ever. Christmas-list worthy.

breakthrough?

Besides hating haircuts, something else I'm suddenly and randomly Strongly Opinionated about is not liking certain people, and realizing that it could in fact be Them, and Not Me. It's another one of those things I probably felt or had an opinion about all along, but was too afraid to admit it. I used to, way back in my horridly dorky junior high days, and on into high school, say I didn't actually "hate" anyone, and that may even still be true--if you dislike someone that much, why waste the energy? I mean, I'll say I "hate" a person, just because it's fun sometimes, like I HATE Ana Lucia on Lost, I really do. But I don't really mean it. However, I'm at the point now where I can honestly look at a person and say, you know, I genuinely don't like him or her.

Am I bragging? No. It's just that I used to be such a wuss about admitting these things--I was all like, I am sooo not stuck-up, people, in fact I may be the least stuck-up person on the planet because rather than thinking I'm better than everyone, I have little or no self-esteem at all. No one believed me, because I didn't talk much, and when you don't talk much, people assume you're thinking bad thoughts about them. Even if you have a simultaneous mullet and bad perm along with braces, red licorice glasses, and extremely bad fashion sense. In fact, these people tend to hate you even more, thinking that a loser such as yourself has absolutely no reason to look down on anyone else.

The mullet and the braces and the glasses only lasted around two years, through most of seventh and eighth grade, but this Period of Serious Nerdom laid the foundation for the Doormat Approach to Social Behavior that followed and persisted through the years. First it was, so-and-so doesn't like me, wonder what I did to piss them off? Then it was, maybe if I'm real real nice to them all the time, they'll change their mind. Then it was like, well, if they're not going to be nice, at least I can be all upbeat when I talk to them, and maybe they'll pick up on it and match my tone. Mostly I'm talking about the people who were "cooler" than me--the actual Cool People in high school, then the people in college who seemed to have their whole lives together, and now the people at work and in life who seem like, way more adult than I am. Regardless of having a husband, house, and baby on the way, I feel massively immature, or kid-like, most of the time. With my fish named Bill Lumbergh, my affinity for the Muppets that has never flagged, the way I look, act, talk, dress. I just come off as younger, somehow.

But it's occurring to me that
a) I really don't care--that's just me. I like the Muppets, and will continue to like the Muppets when I'm in my 30s, 40s, 50s, etc. Dammit. I'll continue to be quiet and reserved in most social situations, I'll sing goofy little songs that make absolutely no sense to my dogs and--I'm sure--my child. I may even watch the WB for the next few decades, who knows.
b) Some people are just bitches. They were too cool for high school, and years later they continue to act as though their legend still exists. They look at you funny, or they deliberately ignore you, or no matter how nice you are, they're absolutely rude and stilted in any conversation that you do end up having with them--a behavior which is, in fact, socially retarded.

Just come up to my desk and stand there with a sour, imposing look on your face and then jump right into whatever it is I've done wrong with no prelude. Go ahead.

I'll let Grace from Ferris Bueller say it:


"What a little asshole."

so Now that

Yah, it's true. After the highs and lows of mulching the world seems boring. Less interesting even. I was going to dedicate a blog to cassaroles but i might stop midway disinterested- i will say however that there should be a delicate marriage of ingredients so that the contents don't over run the glue and vice versa. balance people. balance. heaping chunks of ham are not acceptable. it seperates from the glue and you might as well have ham on the side at that point.

besides that, which i told pen, i flipped out and gave myself bangs. I can't decide if that was a self destructive enterprise or not. rash maybe, but not totally incoherent. and my hair grows fast. that's a plus.

also i had this debate over email with someone regarding various traumas and things involving craft night and church, bcs such things are always related- and it made me flash back to constructing felt banners for church when i was like 11- felt grapevines are by far the best. and they haven't counter-pointed to my counterpoint. i hate that. i mean sure i like to have the final word but it's so very final. and why, when i debate am i paranoid about hurt feelings-- i don't know. they termed their response "rebuttle" so fair play right to take the gloves off? i can't decide. i'd like to think i crushed them with brilliant argumentation which some people call "overthinking" the issue but what i call beating them down until they can't argue their way out of the paper bag they're in. so hard to say.

i will have to think more on the issue and blog further about it. sometimes for instance people say- hey, there mendacious are you going over to XandY. and i say no. and they say, why? that's so unlike you. because dammit they know you. and somehow whatever flimsy excuse you had no longer holds, like i'm tired. I hate crafts, or any art related homage. and they blink at you. but it's not just them it's like 3 other people who have asked you the very same thing- so you have to be honest. and honesty can be complicated. so which would be the least complicated truth, while in reality it's many that came to being in deciding whether yea or nay? and one person accepts the 1st response and the 2nd person opens the messy nugget center and i have to lay all the irrational rational thoughts on the table. and that takes sorting through and involves perhaps erroneous information and then it makes you think about the validity of your own thoughts- checking and rechecking your argumentation, lest you get deducted for straw man arguments or the very juvinille ad hominem attack. and that's when the overthinking begins and that's why you cut your bangs at 11pm with no supervision or why you had 4 oranges in one day or are currently biting your nails and refusing to be productive. and that's where such things like good books or a marathon of law and order save you bcs you can believe in them and it doesn't matter so much if you're insane or have faulty arguments or whether "they" will ever respond, even though you're still waiting- at least, something else is filling up your head, barely but it's there- and you have a whole box of oranges to go through.

Thanksgiving Scene

Per mendacious' request, and before this one slides through the cracks of Thanksgiving Lore:


Okay, so the scene is that we're all sitting down at dinner: penelope, Scott, both sets of our parents, my grandma and Aunt Judy, Uncle Sunny and Auntie Ro (also known as Aunt Rosemary, but Auntie Ro is so much more appropriate in storytelling).

Somehow we get around to the topic of allergies. Scott is allergic to both raw apples and raw potatoes. And plums. They make his throat swell almost instantly. Auntie Ro comments, looking grave, "That's just like anaphylactic shock, like with bees. You need to get an epi-pen."

Certain thoughts begun to buzz in my mind. I'm sitting right across the table from Auntie Ro, and don't want to die laughing, so I busy myself with food. I know she's going to tell The Story, I just do.

Others around the table also comment on the anaphylactic shock idea and a few stories are shared about mowing the lawn and blazing through yellow jacket nests, and who has an epi-pen, etc.

Then Auntie Ro tells her Harrowing Tale, as is inevitable. "Yes," she says. "You really have to be careful."

At this point, I get up from the table and cross over to the fridge, taking a very leisurely amount of time in refilling my glass with ice and water. My face is already completely red, and only the fridge sees my sardonic smile.

"About 10 years ago [good lord, has it been this long?]," says Auntie Ro, "I was stung by a bee--literally, this bee stung me on the face and knocked me down the stairs." Here she inserts a gesture akin to Cosmo Kramer on Seinfeld, demonstrating how he got nailed by 'The Second Spitter.'

She continues: "And my face swelled completely. I had to wrap my head in a scarf, and put on a pair of sunglasses, and go to the drugstore. And the pharmacist told me, 'This is your last chance, you better get an epi-pen. The attacks will only get more serious from here.' So that's why," she finishes, talking to Scott, "You really should consider getting an epi-pen."

Scott's mom interjects, "Yes, you should--in fact, that may be something you already have?"

"Ummmm," says Scott. "I don't know..." he looks over at me inquiringly. I have refilled my glass and have somewhat managed to clear the amusement off my face.

"Nope, we don't," I say.

"Well, that's something you really want to consider," says Auntie Ro.

"Yes," I say, just as gravely and looking directly at Scott. "In case you're ever attacked by an apple."

See, the Plastic People don't have to worry

I've noticed in the past couple of months that all of a sudden I feel Very Strongly about certain things that I never before really considered or addressed. Is this me becoming old, or is it another hormone surge, or am I just finally making up my mind and declaring myself? Here is something I decided over the weekend--

I hate getting my haircut. I really, really do. It's not because I dread getting a bad haircut, though I've had many of those. I've been smart enough in the past few years to pay a little extra for hair stylists that are familiar with terms such as "texturizing," know that "layering" does not equal "mullet," and are adept at cutting straight lines. (Straight lines are extremely important, a fact you don't realize until you come home without them.) I'm also wise enough not to ever go into a place again that has example hair styles on the walls from the 1980s. (Fantastic Sam's in Cary, NC, I'm talking about you. It was a really long year, growing out that disaster.)

The reason I hate haircuts, besides the price, which inevitably jacks up with the hair products they sucker you into, and besides the whole waiting room thing, is that I feel very sorry for the person cutting my hair. I'm not what you would call a "talker." I'm a hard-core introvert who after a few years of living in the South, is fully capable of small talk, but despises it on principle. I'm also really bad at asking people questions about themselves--which is really quite key, a lot of times, because many people really like to talk about themselves, and this can fill up a lot of dead air. I'm not saying it's a bad thing--clearly, I too can ramble on, if only if writing, at great length about my own self. It's just they way we are. But when I'm in the chair getting my hair cut, or shampooed, or styled--I just can't push myself to ask those questions or spout off random facts about myself or TV or the weather to a perfect stranger who cuts so many heads in a week or a day or a month that I doubt they give a crap. But they probably do care about the fact that this chick whose hair they're cutting is virtually a mute, and specializes in one-sentence answers, and rarely, if ever, initiates any sort of conversation. The whole experience is almost unbearable. I'm like a walking Paxil ad. No wonder I wait 6 months between cuts.

So to Rusty, very friendly hair stylist at Hair Plus who did a really great job on Sunday--my profound apologies. And Merry Christmas.

On Mulch

Mulch Facts

-protects the soil from erosion.
-reduces compaction from the impact of heavy rains.
-conserves moisture, reducing the need for frequent waterings.
-maintains a more even soil temperature.
-prevents weed growth.
-provides a "finished" look to the garden.
-Organic mulches also improve the condition of the soil. As these mulches slowly decompose, they provide organic matter which helps keep the soil loose. This improves root growth, increases the infiltration of water, and also improves the water-holding capacity of the soil. Organic matter is a source of plant nutrients and provides an ideal environment for earthworms and other beneficial soil organisms.
~(from fox valley lawn and garden blog)

FREE MULCH

So this is in fact- the wonder of free mulch. and this stuff was fine and fluffy and not too heavy on the wet manure smell. it all felt rather managable-except for the headache and the slight dizzy feeling that comes with sinus something or other. so i was going in at half steam but i'll tell you, i persevered.

twas, fine quality mulch
and we labored not once but twice unto lopez canyon and over three days finished the job. my hands are tired. i can't decide if i had the money, if i would want someone else to do this. i think when you give someone else your labor you take a lot for granted. you have no idea what it takes. all the weeding, the tilling, the reaping, the clearing, the nourishing of the soil for winter into spring. maybe...

ah, the mulched yard
and, i mean i really GET biblical analogies about nature. I mean get it. Hands down. It takes work to maintain land, let alone the soul... That whole analogy of the seed being spread on 4 different types of land KILLS ME everytime. When it says reap and sow- i know how hard that is. That's work. that's not just a picture of a scythe and a peasant or baskets of produce. maybe the problem is more people should labor. i know i should. but look at the color of those roses. that's fantastic. the dead grass we're working on. i think mom's philosophy is that things should die in winter or hybirnate... we have the leafless peach tree and there are some bare patches of mulch so, that's not so much... i guess i can give her dead grass, but if it were me, there'd be more plush opulant grass and vines... and the whole place would be full... mom prefers extremes. we're currently working on balance.

Stuff IT

We currently have much more mulching to do but I will take a break to tell you, briefly, about my thanksgiving. My hair, can I tell you- was apparently a rousing success. I can sit down now and say, yes, holiday well accomplished. Both outfits- one for the family, the next for friends- which had the hair in an updo and then down, both smashing. I will try to find pictures. Oddly, I don't know if I have any digital ones. Whoops.

My aunt and uncles house (moms side): we get there and only my aunt is there. an hour later and my uncle, his brother, their mom show up after silly car problems and a marie callendars pie- apple, into the gated community on top of the hills in altadena. (this side of the family is dying off, there isn't a lot we can do. and with my brother in minnasota, it's a wee small group.) we talk about: the weather, their yard, the turkey- the thanksgiving meal they bought from Vons, which used to be Ralphs but when it burnt down one thanksgiving they went to Vons and never went back. We talk about: coin collecting, their mom's hip-surgery. digital media. 2 politically incorrect word usages: cripple. and. oriental. Observations: white carpet. Meal: chewy pie, decent bird and gravy. Sub par stuffing... think, why the hell aren't mom and i cooking again? I don't remember. I think: time to go. 4 hours. done. Leave with: no leftovers, dvdrom drive, animusic dvd, 1 "reference copy" of HP which might currently be playing somewhere, 3 non specified "reference copies" of non specified movies. and an "I HEART HACKERS" t-shirt, just for fun and for no other reason bcs we don't do that.

Avoid: Dad's side: Mom and dad however soldier on over. They come back with 2 pieces of information, which my mom sort of just grins over- the scarf that my mom knit for my aunt (dad's youngest sister) out of LOVE after some fricking blood vessel burst in her brain and she was laid up and ailing- my aunt thanks her for knitting it (more than a year after the fact) and says she used it for exercise stretches.

There are NO WORDS.

And then proceeds to point out that they're both wearing hawaiian shirts and why? are they going to hawaii? have they just gotten back? har. fucking. har. people.

My friends house: whom I love, and could not do without. 16 or so of us. We did not play bible trivia- as there were a couple in attendence not of the ned flanders persuasion. i told them, another time. We did play trivial pursuit- questions getting lamer or?... we pettered out and let the boys win. Food: rosemary seasoned bird- tasty, stuffing good... not just the way i like it but very well done. (On friday I had prime rib and scalloped potatos which sort of made up for it.) We talked about: ? I don't remember. The crowning event which was in my mind a comedy goldmine- was the sink was backed up, they questioned whether to run the dishwasher and then curiously M opened up the washer/dryer combo (which is dishwasher adjacent) to check on it or?... what! but water gushed all over him, his shoes, and began racing toward the dining room and thru the kitchen. WOOOSH! L said, it's suppose to be on the dry cycle! But apparently the sink had other ideas. We then proceeded, after my fit of laughter, to empty the water out and toss it out the 2nd story window, and towel after towel to mop up the sewy mess. Ha. Ah. Sure it was a pain in the ass for them, but it's one of those genius events that always get thrown into movies specifically during the holidays TOPPED with the evaaal downstairs neighbor - crotchy and mean (but young to throw you off) to COMPLAIN about water- and blaming- not old pipes or a backed up system but yes, their new washer/dryer combo-- I believe she wants it out. And yes, she is going to register a complaint.

So after all that and more beer and wine- we played a game, packed up the leftovers and around 12 i tried to take the remaining chatty cathys with me, but to no avail. I drove home with love and warmth in my heart, not to mention a wry smile for calamities sake- and a friend-family that doesn't make me bubble with hate. Here's to a successful holiday.

Post-Lurkey Day Randoms

Mmmm, it's officially my favorite time of year. I took three days off this week, then had Thanksgiving and today off, too, but I'm just now starting to feel relaxed. Today's like a Hangover Day, without the hangover. Alas. I suppose achy feet and pretty much achy everything else, off-balancedness, and two months left of pregnancy will have to suffice.

So really I don't know what to blog about either, so I'm going to make a list of the randoms that have popped into my head over the last few days while planning and executing a Thanksgiving Dinner for 10.

1. Reason to celebrate: Successfully planned and executed Thanksgiving Dinner for 10! And everything was tasty, too. And my family even cleaned the kitchen for me before they left. And there are leftovers, too, mmmmm, leftovers. Here is me scooping stuffing from the ginormous bird:


2. Today I've done Officially Nothing, including changing out of pajamas. It is so nice. I watched a few movies, took a nap during one (Team America--must return to later), considered for one tiny moment fighting the post-holiday crowds, and then rejected said idea as pure insanity. Even though those Target commercials with Kermit are terribly cute.

3. I'm back in love with Gilmore Girls. It's not perfect, but when is it ever, really. Rory and Lorelai on speaking terms. Christopher being back, but not to mess things up. The setup for Emily to completely blow a gasket once she finds out about Rory's entire Yale bill being footed. Jokes at Kirk's expense. More than one line allotted to Lane. Logan done and over with. Happy sigh.

4. I'm still sort of hating Ana Lucia on Lost. I mean, when she appears on the screen now, I have managed to refrain from my former "IhateherIhateherIhateher" chant. They've done well with developing character and at least semi-justifying the gigantic chip on her shoulder. But she still killed Shannon. She's still a mega-bitch. She plays with guns entirely too much. I don't know. Maybe next week's episode will do a little more justice to Kate, too. I really want to like that one.

5. I'm finally horrified by the amount of cutting that was done to a Harry Potter book in order to make a movie. Don't get me wrong, I'm all die-hard Potter, and I did love the movie. Daniel Radcliffe (aside from the haircut) is on his way to becoming hot. And I know, I know--cuts have to be made for pacing, for effect, etc. I have always defended the movies in the past. But geez. This book was basically pared down to the three TriWizard tasks and the Yule Ball. No house elfs, no Ludo Bagman, no Dursley's? Wow. And on a side-note, not a big fan of Moody's strap-on magical eye.

6. What in the hell is with those Neo-Nazi twins that have been all over the mag shows like Inside Edition. The last thing I want in my head is a squeaky yet enthusiastic rendition of "Strike Force." For the love of God. I don't even know what else to say about that.

7. Happier subject. The coolest lamp ever now sits on the nursery side table. I pay it visits several times daily:


8. It's now the Countdown to Christmas, yippeeeeeee! Yes, I admit. I'm a total sucker for all things Christmas.

9. And if ever I'm not in the mood to laugh, all I have to do is look at this:

Happy Thanks.

Well good morning to you blog-nation. I have no idea what to blog about or what the day holds for me. I am actually sort of looking forward to the following things, however: mulching the garden, thanksgiving and completing art projects. It does indeed feel like some sort of holiday. Where the days are infinite and where there's good food coming around the corner. I have feasts lined up thurs-sun. The mood is jubilant.? Well anyway i'm sure i'll have crazy things to blog about tomorrow... maybe. I am going over to relatives house and hilarity always ensues, however i will be avoiding the evaal relatives house. i have my limits. And instead am going over to a friends house later in the day to perhaps play bible trivia circa 1984 and southpark uno. and i will remember to bring the camera. any questions, comments, derisive comments: you know where to find me.

much love,
mendacious.

SinsOftheFather

ah zena...


i was quite fond of hercules and zena, the earlier years- and perusing for my media hungry blog i found this pic. there was another very cool one with an "adam" type figure entwined by a snake, but i didn't want to go THAT far back. I wanted to mention what i just this morning found out about the house across the street... 2 deaths. 1 suicide. 1 accidental death. i'm beginning to think the dark nature of the house just got a whole lot darker- According to neighbor and fellow archery affecinado, Pat, who lives a house down from them and has lived there longer than my parents have lived here. While Dad and his manservant John tended to corroded wires on the battery of my car, mom and pat chatted about the goings on across the street. I said, what's with THAT house? And that led me to what I know now. There was a mom, a step-dad and 2 kids. Apparently the step-dad(back in 73) threatened to take pills and kill himself after a vicious fight with his wife. No one checked on him until he was already cold- and everyone else was in the other room. A generation down, a man, let's call him Frank, (who was the son or a cousin of the woman) lived there with his girlfriend, and his girlfriend had an asthma attack and died... pat said all the trouble began with the sawed-off shotgun guy but i informed her that when i was young the weed was high as an elephants eye and apparently the dark waters were already deep by then- so when frank's daughter sam got pregnant by 16 i just shrugged my shoulders and thought- weird how i used to help her count out pennies from a water jug, which she never paid attention to, and coveted her doll clothes. And now she's the one who lives in the house. Although whenever i see them i can't recognize her, with all the cop cars and dorito chips, but i'm looking- and i want to tell her to get out while she can- that or burn the baby down, maybe with some sage and a good soul scrubbing.

one-fifteen

In a rare configuration of stars and planets I ended up at Pickwik bowling alley last night. 2 recreational activities in one day, and this one cost me much more. on the credit card. and then asking my 2 friends to shill out so i could have something to eat from the cash only snack bar- it was a killer burger and totally worth it by the way. most of the time i hate spontaneity- i like looking forward to,or conversely dreading, hings and the idea of going anywhere last minute i find unsettling. mainly bcs i have a sedentary personality. i was already comfortably settled in my smoking chair, with book in hand reading about kids who are djinn and thinking about the implications of what genii in the world might be and how really it gives humans no credit at all. but whatever it's a kids book. i was also dressed in my jams and had that warm nested feeling with cup of tea in hand. so it was quite a surprise to all involved that i agreed to go anywhere, let alone bowl- in laser strewn, flashing light land, bcs bowling can not entertain unless it's dark, your drunk, there's loud r&b music and your eyes are blinded occassionally by roving lazers. ah cosmic nights. i bowled abysmally the first round and had a humiliating score of 75... the second round i strangely could not break 9, no splits, no strikes, just 8 after 8, miss, 8... then midway thru release i thought, oh my god- i'm bowling wrong. i've been bowling wrong since i went bowling with the MFA writers in chicago. now imagine, you take the ball, and prop it up- steady with the left, balance on the right, you draw the ball back down and behind you as you approach, and then as the ball comes forward, my hand rotates palm DOWN and i essentially FLICK the ball away from me, down the lane. A- said that she was surprised i was bowling as good as i was- as I turned around and said, you guys wait a second, do you release the ball palm up or palm down- and they looked at me mystified. i guess we should've been watching you closer they said. unbelievable i said. my next 2 were strikes and i got 9 split, with the 1 on the right. nice. and then i won. and then i said, what were not playing again? just when? and now that? i can't test my theory about? what if i still suck? what if i don't ever go bowling again the right way? what if this was my last chance

rarified Saturday

wake up 7:20.
yawn.
check email.
no email.
read news.
no news.
get ready.
get breakfast from mcds, take dogs.
have dogs avoid water puddle on way to car.
drop dogs off.
eat breakfast on way to archery.
go 85.
watch for cops.
make it in record time.
get gear.
chatter.
talk about people.
more chatter.
life. need for own gear.
chatter.
shoot arrows.
learn vital lesson about pulling with back, not arms.
watch the USC archery team. talk about them w/in earshot.
say, he got cocky- when he missed a shot and all the rest were bullseyes.
talk about politics, art, combat training and thanksgiving.
shoot arrows.
leave.
go for coffee with friend.
chatter.
meet other friend accidently in alley.
go to starbucks.
banana bran muffin. okay.
frappachino. okay.
just like any other day.
strange.
friend shows me store with cheap and awesome jewelry.
contemplate necklace.
go to design within reach.
think, whose reach.
think, this floor was exactly like my grandmothers floor.
pebbles. money. obsession with money. give abundantly, even if you only have grapefruit.
leave.
phone call.
put friend in cell.
phone.
phone.
go to in/out.
feel momentarily guilty about selection.
phone.
tasty fry.
phone.
more tasty fries.
home.
watch rerun of GG.
leave for movie.
meet more friends.
watch corpse bride.
$2.
think about it.
$2...no ads, no wait.
$2.
enjoy.
feel the small town.
be the small town.
5 minute ride back home.
snack.
give dogs bath.
play with the dogs.
check email.
no email.
stare at book.
watch wedding singer.
blog.
stare at book.
stop blogging.
contemplate blog.
make no changes to blog. (liar)
wonder.
more wonder.
resolve.
quench thirst.
turn head toward tv.

Over 40

  

i thought maybe after reading the title that i was creating a blog about what to do when you've reached that certain age... or possibly if i'd thought about the "kingdom of heaven" being at hand. but alas no. if you recall from august and my seaweed collecting expeditions that I took topanga canyon over the pass and met with horribly slow ox carts, plaguing my existence and causing my temple vein to bulge. This time it was different- windows down, the lead car was fantastic... music playing. It was an ultimate canyon drive. UNTL the bus. CAME out of NOWHERE... and proceeded to teeter under 30 all the way there. Luckily it was empty and veronica mars was no where to be seen. Plus we were already half way thru the canyon and there were no dramatic, plunging drops, and while pondering what a bus was doing there - we couldn't fault it, not like lame- i can't drive, drivers, who take turns at 10miles an hour. So despite the bus the ride was good and couldn't diminish the vibe- and i arrived at the beach for at least 40 minutes of reading and staring into the abyss, until the warm sun made me wish I'd brought a bathing suit and I abandoned the warm sands for an even better phillycheesesteaksandwich from Dagwoods. My boss, herr director, said eh?! what a life! I thought, yah, it is. A better life maybe if i didn't have anywhere to go after, like work, and dvcam footage of orphans but alas. We can't all have what we want.

GERRRRRRD.

So last night I might have had an allergic reaction to Target, which I suppose is entirely possible, considering I go there a few times a week, and even though I love it, sometimes it's downright upsetting. Like when too many hostile people in the aisles act like they want you dead? Or when you spend over a hundred dollars and only walk out with 2 bags. And has anyone else ever experienced the Retail Upset-Stomach Phenomenon where you start shopping in a store--usually Barnes & Noble, for some reason--and all of a sudden you feel like you're going to die, maybe because of the stale, recycled air, or the flourescent lighting, or both? Target does that to me every now and then.

More likely, though, it is the hateful return of morning sickness, or acid reflux, or ulcers, or GERD. Whatever it is that makes me vomit. Sigh.

I just wanted to buy some eggs for these really, really tasty chocolate peanut butter cheesecake bars I was going to bake and bring in to the Thanksgiving Potluck today. And also, if I could get an anniversary present for my husband, that would be good. Nothing fancy, since we're a little low on cash these days, trying to save for the little one and all. First-year anniversary gifts are traditionally paper, so I thought I'd go with that. I won't say how, just in case he reads this, but I had a few ideas.

Almost immediately after picking up a basket at the front of the store, however, my stomach started burning. Maybe it was the stupid joke I told myself about choosing a basket instead of a cart, because isn't it bad to put all your eggs in one basket? Har har. Har. Blah. But my stomach hasn't really burned like this in a few months. And I haven't thrown up since I started taking the magical Little Purple Pill called Nexium. It's supposed to HEAL the damage, dammit. So why is it, all of a sudden, that my Evil Nemesis, Vomitousness, has returned?

I had to leave Target as quickly as possible. I just bought the eggs and busted out of there. Then I went home and threw up. Several miserable times. I went to bed instead of watching Lost. I never made my fabulous cheesecake bars. And since I had to bring something in today, I just took the only thing on the shelf that wasn't opened, which was a package of Winter Oreos, with the red middle. Sure, they're an old crowd favorite, and I'm sure they'll go, but still...how lame.

Maybe it was just one day. Maybe it was the fresh red and green peppers that were in the Godfather Salad for Salad Day. Maybe my baby has a full head of hair, which is supposed to cause heartburn, according to the Old Wives, or maybe the baby's just getting too big and pushing everything, including the acid that apparently never diminished after quitting Verizon Wireless, upward. I don't know. But I'm irritated, bitter, and pouty just thinking about it. Because it's Potluck Day, people! And we're going out to a really nice dinner on Sunday. And next week is Thanksgiving! And have I mentioned that I really, really like to eat. I mean, besides the whole sustenance thing, and the eating-for-two thing. I enjoy food to an absurd degree.

And I hate, I hate, I HATE vomiting. I know, who likes vomiting. (Besides Kim.) But I'd rather shove bamboo shoots under my toenails, or something else unimaginably horrid--like watch an America's Funniest Home Videos Marathon, if given the choice.

Wah. You should see how many desserts there are in the kitchen.

UM

from this random quiltshow


The last 10 minutes of LOST was a total waste.

Random List of ... :

-2 story assignments.1, 1/4 done.
-Lotion on my cudicles (nail care is important) making a mess.
-1 orthopedic "roll" pillow purchased (feeling personally empowered).
-1 dinner at authentic Italian restaurant, 1 taxed hispanic waiter.
-1 unpaid parking ticket, waiting.
-1 after 1 after 1 stupid remake (poseiden adventure)
-1 hour of work tomorrow. Pointless? Possibly. Trip to the Beach, priceless.
-2 to 3 urges a day to give up quest for healthy living, to spend money i don't have, frivilously, to leave the country.
-Told regret for not playing lottery.
-Numerous applications of chapstick.
-See what other Tv shows to waste time on.
-Deside none. Decide, right.
-Sleep.
-Think about what to do differently tomorrow.

Turkey, constructed with rice krispie treats

Reason #48 for why my office is FUN.