Special Sauce

A mish-mash of twisted thoughts from a fevered ego. Updated when the spirit moves me, contents vary and may have settled during shipping. Do not open towards eyes. Caution: Ingestion of Special Sauce may cause hair loss, halitosis, and a burning sensation while urinating.



Wow, I've had a ginormous spike in hits today, and I have no idea why. If ya'll are actually sticking around to read something, say hello, eh?

We don't bite, much.

The Conundrum

So. As you may have read, I took the state civil service exam. I think I did pretty damned well. I'm a fast, accurate typist, I know how to behave in an office setting, and I can file like ain't nobody's business. I think my chances of getting in are pretty good, but I won't know my test results and ranking till somewhere around the 9th.

I called the office that posted the position(s) and they are indeed hiring, they have several vacancies, and they're going to interview according to the civil service listings starting in mid to late June.

The position's minimum pay range starts at about 25$/week MORE than I was making for Bosslady. Its max pay range (as advertised)tops out around what the Community Foundation was paying annually. Plus, I'd get the full range of county benes like decent insurance, vacation time, and holidays.

Here's the rub.

There are a lot of jobs posted for the one agency I've signed up with. But they're 3-4-6 month positions, or permanent hire type things. The other agency I'm with has nothing at the moment. So I am not working. Not generating an income other than the occasional shifts I can snag at evergreen. I AM, however, trying.

Granted, I am not in danger of losing my abode, and I have a little bit of money aside that I can make my credit card minimum, and pay my phone bill, and get Bob's stitches out, but that's it. Part of me says stick it out, at least until I see what my rankings are. The other part (the one that, oddly enough, speaks with my mother's voice) says "GET A JOB, I DON'T CARE WHAT IT IS!"

So I'm looking for some voices of reason, those outside my immediate circle. Here are the facts & options as I see them, but I'd like some input.

1. This is an ass-suck time of year to find a job. All the kids are out of college and sucking up temp positions right and left.
2. The county job is not guaranteed. After all, I could fuck up that interview as badly as I did at the restaurant conglomerate.
3. If I DO pick up a job, then get the offer from the county, I'm going to be really pissed, because despite my recent employment history, I loathe job-hopping.
4. I'm trying to stay on the good side of (while being up front with) both agencies, so that if ANYTHING comes up, they'll call me.
5. I'm really starting to feel like a loser sponge, because at least while I was working I bought all the groceries (and did all the cooking). Now I just cook, clean, feed Evil, and spend way, way too much time curled up in my own brain. On the plus side, the kitchen fairly sparkles, and the living room carpet has been vacuumed to within an inch of its life, on the the negative side, the cats are wretched conversationalists.

Thoughts? Perspective? Bitch-slapping?


Memorial Day

I never got the chance to meet you, and it's not something my father ever talks about. In fact, the only time I distinctly remember seeing my dad cry, was when someone tried to talk trash about you. You did what you thought was right, and your little brother looked up to you, following in your footsteps in his own way. Your nephews followed suit. None were brave enough to be Marines, but all of them served their time in your honor.

You didn't come home, but your memory is still alive. I can remember a hot June day, on my father's shoulders, rubbing your name on a sheet of typing paper with a crayon. Once for my grandmother, my aunt, for uncle Larry. For my father.

I have the ring you bought my grandmother with your first real paycheck. I'll keep it for the daughter I hope to have someday. I'll let her know, with pride, what I know about the man who bought it, all those years ago.

Thank you for what you did, Bobby.

Don't go away mad...

Just go away.

[rant]It seems that the idiots are out in full force everywhere- again, or maybe still. I can't read any of my favorite blogs without at least one person a day being a bitchy little prat. I've had absolutely enough of people who feel the need to leave obnoxious, whiny, "blah blah blah, I'm better/more clever/nicer than YOU" comments, and explaining exactly WHY they'll never read said blog again. It serves no purpose but to raise the blog owner's/readership's ire, and more often than not has about as much follow through as the ever-popular "I'll never shop here again" or "I'll have your job!" threats from sucky customers.

For the love of fried peanut butter and banana sandwiches, if you don't like the content of a blog, stop reading it. You weren't led there at knifepoint, ordered to read the post, and forced to sign a loyalty oath- to completely agree with everything the blogger says. Self-promoting comments aren't necessary. Declaring that you'll never read the site again will not earn you sympathy, nor will it miraculously change the mind of the blog's author.

This is not to say that reasonable discussion, disagreement, and debate can't take place on a blog. However, there's a pretty simple distinction between someone offering up an opposing viewpoint, and someone saying "I'm taking my toys and going home because I don't like what you say, and you're a poop head." It's the latter that I'm railing against. It's the writers of the latter that can honestly, go blow it out their ears.

And quite frankly, if anyone, at any time, decides that I'm a giant poop head, don't bother telling me, because you'll not be changing my mind. Just do the grown up thing, and stop reading, or get a blog and bitch about it on your own space.



Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!

Last night, Evil deigned to allow me to put her on my bed, and permitted me to pet her at great length (relatively speaking). She also purred for the first time since her last vet visit. It's hard to describe how very happy that made me. She was acting a lot like her old self. This "putting up with mom's affectionate crap" didn't last very long, maybe 20 minutes, but that was enough. She even came into the kitchen yesterday morning and Myaaah!'d at me.

I think I finally have my family trained to keep the basement door closed too. If they leave it open, she slinks down there and sits under the couch, but if she's upstairs she occasionally wanders onto the sunporch, or onto her perch in the window. Besides, do you know how hard it is to maneuver a syringe into a cat's mouth when they're velcroed (with their mouth away from you) to the floor under the couch?

Otherwise, a very quiet weekend, and I don't anticipate it getting much more raucous tomorrow.

Feel free to stop on over and visit the Stephranger, and give her advice on how to deal with Creepy C*lby, the man physically incapable of making a phonecall after he's made a date. Then head over for some very intellectual reading on religion at my ET's site. It's thought-provoking, and if you're like me, you'll read it and go "AHA! I GET it now!" And that? Is an awesome thing. (And not in the Wyld Stallions way.)

Props to the "N" for showing Daria movies last night. It was like being in high school again, but so much better.


Who rocks my world?

Memphis Word Nerd, 'dat's who.

I got home from the Codger Corral Family Whing-Ding just as the rain started to come down- making everything smell Soooo good. I met the mail carrier at the box, and found a big padded mailer from none other than MWN! Inside was what will surely be an excellent book, and the coolest tea towels ever. (Check your mail, MWN for a proper thank you!) I plan on finishing Clematis II, and kickin' back on the sun porch, listening to the rain, reading my book, and threatening to kick anyone who looks askance at my towels.



I got nothin'

Sorry. Slow news day.

I learned how to make beaded flowers yesterday, and have made a really pretty clematis looking one today (though mine only has 5 petals, not six). I used thread, instead of wires, for a bit more flexibility. (And I didn't have thin enough wire. Worked out fine.) I think I'll attach it to a bobby pin, or maybe a choker. I'll whip up a few more, because they're actually really pretty, and fairly simple once you get the hang of them. I'm also going to try to do other types of flowers. I'm envisioning a neat puffy chrysanthemum, and a red poppy (which, second only to the peony, is my other favorite flower- and that is an AWESOME picture).

I'd like to go out tonight, maybe, but have the feeling G. monkey's exhausted. I'll work on flowers instead, work at the codger corral tomorrow, and maybe go out tomorrow night. I'm still itchin' to wear the Coolest Skirt Ever, and am in dire need of a pick-me-up.


Adventures in Civil Service Examinations

So I says to Mabel, I says... wait. Wrong thing.

So I had the Clerk Typist 1 & 2 exam this morning.

It consists of:

5 minutes of typing
questions on filing (do you know your abc's?)
questions about what you'd do in an office (when someone asks you something you don't know do you A) tell them to fuck off, B) hang up on them, C)ask if you can phone them back, and find the correct answer. Heh.)
Basic Math. (Is it really, really wrong that I can't do long division with 2 digit numbers? Because, I can't. I cannot do it. GAH.)

And a few other things. I now know that I can type 84 words a minute (an increase of 25WPM over my last clocked speed.) Not bad.

I think I did really well on the test, and I called the office (welfare, but hey, I don't care) and they actually DO have openings, and will schedule interviews toward the middle/end of June. So, in the interim, I'll try to find something else to tide me over, because I? Want these benes. (And it'd be sorta like working for a nonprofit, where you get to help (or not) people, but have structure and paychecks!)

The one thing I did learn is how they cull the stupid applicants. See, the tests are given in Harrisburg and Philadelphia. Since I live closer to Hbg, I went there. They provided excellent directions, and I get there without incident. Getting HOME is another matter entirely. This is how they cull the stupid people. If they can't make it back home, they're not worth hiring.

When I go to leave? I can't find my way back onto the correct interstate. (I don't do well driving in strange cities.) So I randomly take turns, and take the nearest interstate that is heading southeastish. Oh, bad, bad mistake. So I drive for a few miles, and see signs for the turnpike. The turnpike's good. So I head back TOWARDS the Capital, and groove along for a while. I think I'm smart, and will take the Harrisburg EAST exit, which would make sense, right? I live east of Harrisburg. This will get me home. Right?


It dumps me out too far along on the interstate, and I'm back toward Harrisburg again. Thinking fast, I head toward Hershey, thinking I'll pick up one of the minor arteries there, and head home. Sounds simple, right?


Long story short it took me TWO HOURS to get home, because I am a moron. I rewarded myself by snagging a late lunch with G. Monkey, and getting the latest dirt. (And smelling the gigunda Peonies where she works. I love Peonies.)

Evil News:

She's not too bad- seems to enjoy the beef flavored baby food the best, so I need to go get her a few more jars of that. She was eating crunchies the other night, and seems to either have resigned herself to getting stuff squirted in her mouth every few hours, or actually is beginning to like the taste of this stuff, because she's fighting me less. (I have the "position" down to a science. If you ever need to give a cat a liquid, kneel behind them, with one leg on either side of their body, hold their front with one hand, and maneuver the syringe into the side of their mouth. When they open up, squirt toward the throat, and all is well.)

Just refilled her drugs, and pepcid, and bought the most ass-kickin' device ever sold for 2.00 and change. A pill crusher. With storage for 2 types of pills underneath it! Duh! I've been smashing up her pills with a spoon, on a piece of foil, since she had to go on them. This is a LOT easier. I've also discovered that if I thin down her food in an aluminum foil cupcake liner, I can pour it right into the top of her syringe. Woo! Streamlining is good.

And with that, I think I'll go get her some food.


Slide, slide, slippity slide.

I? Was one mean, green, cleaning machine today. Ok, actually, I was simply a slightly crazed, pasty cleaning machine, but that just doesn't have the same ring to it.

Cranked the "Old Skool Rap" on Sirius (Damn, do I love that they partnered with Dish Network!) and took that fantastic voyage to cleansville. I even indulged my obsessive side, and rearranged the kitchen cupboards. And the fridge. And made really good twice-baked 'taters. (The recipe for which can be found in foodage, in a bit.)

Got a call from the restaurant conglomerate, telling me that they hired someone else, which I had figured out already. No big deal. I'm taking the civil service thing tomorrow, and may call temp agency 1 anyway, and tell them to send my resume over to the BigAssHospital for the medical billing/collections gig. Starts at 11 min, with opportunities for 4, $1.00 increases over the course of the assignment (minimum six months). Works for me. And Elvis only knows when the County Gubmint will get it's butt in gear...

More later.


I want to work for the Tourism Board

Ah, Spring in Pennsylvania. The birds are chirping, the grass is a beautiful emerald hue, the sun is shining, and... what is that funky smell?

Ah. It's not really spring until the farmers start spreading manure. That's right. Good old fashioned shit. How do you think our fields got so fertile? Why do you think we all have that sort of "Oh God" look on our faces 3/4 of the year? We only really get a respite in the middle of winter, and that's only because the stuff doesn't stink nearly as badly in the middle of January.

Believe it or not, Farmers here have high-tech systems in place to know the instant you put a load of sheets into the washer, with the intent of hanging them outside to dry. The nanosecond the washer begins to fill, they spring into action. They quickly load the spreader, timing it just so. You cautiously peek at the field next door- no farmer, so you think everything's swell. And for a moment, it is. For the farmer doesn't move until you've headed back to the house. Then, using the turbo-thrusters (windmill powered, for the Amish farmers) on his tractor, he whizzes over to the field and begins to spread shit, as if his life depended on it. At that point, you can do one of two things:

a: Resign yourself to washing your sheets again, because no matter how fast you get them off the line, putting them in the dryer at this stage will simply bake the shit smell into them, or

b: Having planned ahead, and made sure that all the beds in the household are the same size, let the sheets dry outside, and put them on the bed of whomever has a head cold, or has been the biggest creep this week.

And for those not in the know, this space-age technology also applies to any time you plan on having a quiet night on the deck, a cookout, or simply want to enjoy the spring day without having to strain the air through your teeth.

To say nothing of the Alfalfa/Soybean/Skittles harvest. This is always, always done at 1:00 AM, with the equipment you have let the neighborhood children beat on, and partially dismantle, until it is as noisy as humanly possible. But that's a tale for Fall in Pennsylvania.

Springtime in Pennsylvania. Won't you join us?
(Just be sure to keep some air-freshener handy.)


Sorry. Feeling Pirate-y.

So, in between resume bombs, beading, and cleaning I've been doing a bit of baking. And a bit of Daytime TV watching. (and a lot of fervent praying, and sacrifices to Elvis, but there is only so much that a peanut-butter and banana sandwich [fried in bacon fat] can do) So I present my random open letters du jour.

Dear AMC,

I believe it actually is a crime to show a movie like The Third Man with commercials in it. Yes, an actual crime, not one of those faux "crimes" that fancypants movie critics throw about when they want to sound all smart and stuff. If it's illegal for women in Minnesota to sleep in chemises without their husband's permission*, it's illegal to pan and scan, and interrupt one of the neatest Orson Welles performances ever. I believe it becomes a death-penalty case if one interrupts the subterranean chase scene for a Levitra ad, but I could be mistaken.



*Or not Minnesota. It's somewhere. I read it the other day, (and not on the internets, so it must be true).

Dear Duncan Hines,

Your carrot cake mix sucks. I've eaten more substantive (and tasty) cotton balls from the tops of aspirin bottles. The cupcakes I made by following your directions were a confounding combination of o-cell-o sponge, and Grandma. Please do not allow me to start on about your "cake decorating gels". I was able to pipe tiny carrots onto 18 of my cupcakes, before the tube expired. Certainly no-one would be a ble to decorate a complete cake with one of these tubes.

I do hope I can get my family and friends liquored up enough that they won't realize these cupcakes taste like crap.



Dear Creepy Old Guy in my Driveway,

The pile of windows at the end of the drive, next to the road, with a "FREE" sign is there for withdrawals only. You cannot deposit your own creepy crap there, nor can you swap your creepy shit for ours. It looks rednecky enough down there with the windows, the floater*, the extra pickup truck, and assorted other construction stuff. Stick your crap in your own yard, and make your own "FREE" sign out of OSB and spraypaint.



*The floater is my dad's brown rowboaty looking boat. Yes, that's it's name. Maa was being clever.

Dear Driveway-sharing neighbor,

Really, truly. The entire neighborhood doesn't want to know your business. Perhaps you are afflicted with Voice Immodulation Disorder. In which case you have my sympathies. However, something tells me you're just uncouth. Permit me to explain the concept of "indoor" and "outdoor" voices.

An "indoor" voice is one that you use in court. You should use your "court/indoor" voice everywhere. Even when you're not in court, inside your own house, and even (though it sounds contradictory), outside.

An "outside" voice is one you use when your children are about to dart into oncoming traffic, and get hit by a tour bus. This is the only time you should use your "outdoor" voice.

And if your voice is so loud that I can hear it through your closed windows, across our driveway, in through my closed window, and over the television set? I will come over and tear your voicebox out.

Here, have a cupcake.



Well, then.

So I had my little go-round with the folks at staffing agency #2. All they had today was a telemarketing job, and I haven't gotten quite that desperate yet. (Inbound call center? Sure. Telemarketing? No.)

And I hit the want ads, again. Going to take the state civil service exam on Thursday, as the county needs clerk typists, and while the cash isn't tremendous to start, it's a gub'mint job, and their benes? ROCK.

Also applied for a few other random jobs, and reminded staffing agency #1 that I am still alive, available, and in need of work. Cross your fingers.

I'm not holding out hope that the restaurant supply folks will call me back. I think I boffed that interview pretty badly. Didn't hear from the flower shop folks. Going to give 2 school districts a whirl too, they need admin assists. 12 month jobs, I can dig it.

It's good to not be working for crazybitchybosslady anymore, but it succcccks not having that little bit of cash. I should have a bit of something in my account this weekend, from working at the Codger Corral on foot doctor day. I think I'll go make some carrot cupcakes. Or sell a kidney. One or the other.


Updates, Errata, and Corrections

Boy howdy was I crabby when I posted yesterday. Sorry 'bout that.

I wasn't trying to do a sympathy grab with Evil, she's pretty much unchanged. Her condition's always been terminal, I'm just frustrated because I know it, and I hate being reminded every time I crush up her stuff that "Gee, she sure isn't lookin' perky, is she." On the bright side, she hasn't thrown up in 24 hours, and is doing her "Russian Hat" pose (sitting with her head up and all her feet tucked under her, which is similar to her "Puking Hat" pose, but that involves crouching, and well, vomiting) up in the living room.

Special to ET: I did post that ad on cupid.com, just to see what would happen- (it's a bit shorter than the original) I'll keep you posted.

Consumer Whoredom: Dove products? Kick ass. Hair, softer than ever, shinier, and holds a curl. Neutrogena Skin Smoothing Stuff? The jury's still out. The braille on the backs of my legs are gone, but the stuff on my arms is still lingering. (Then again, I'm only halfway through the trial) Note: Do not slather onto freshly shaven legs. The AHAs will make you think you've been doused in gasoline.

Today's Ire will be directed at my trashy neighbors, their squadron of children, and their lack of supervisory skillz.
If you thought that being to jail once and having your custody shifted from FT to PT would cement things in your drug-addled mind that you should do a better job at watchin' the little muffins. You'd have thought wrong. In addition to Dude III (predecessors being Dude I, who was tolerable, and Dude II who was an addict too) moving in the DAY you got out of jail, he brought along his screeching young'ins. (Of which there are 2 or 3, I can't quite tell, on weekends.)

Other things I can't tell? Who's watching the 2 youngest kids (who are climbing all over the pickup truck). Dude III left an hour ago, and I believe Mother of the Year took off walking down the drive way with at least one tot in tow. I could be mistaken, but I think the 2 tots (no older than 4) are alone. Outside. Then again, Mother of the Year could still be inside, but passed out or something, as I haven't heard her screeeeeeeeaming at the top of her lungs yet today.

Usually, in these situations, the neighbors on the other side (who also have kids the Mother of the Year's age, and play together often) get stuck watching them. Kev's cool with it for the most part (and is a responsible parent). On the first day that Mother of the Year was out of jail, she apparently left her eldest at Kev's house, while she went out to party with Dude III. And it just goes downhill from there.


Off to go make sure they haven't run out into traffic, and contemplate putting the CPS on speed dial, anyway.


Stuff that's painfully obvious (part 1)

Argh! Maybe it's the no-job, maybe it's hormones, maybe it's a lack of sleep, or maybe it's something else, but here are a few things I'd need to get off my chest/don't want to hear/see anymore.

1. "Gee, Evil's not lookin' too perky." Really? I just saw her and she was doing my Ethel Merman routine, right down to the tap dancing and fire batons. She. Is. Dying. I know it. I'm painfully aware of the fact that she has at least seven little warty bumps that are getting bigger. her easter egg is getting bigger. The only thing that is not getting bigger? Her belly. Why? Because she's not eating, except what I give her mixed with her drugs. And she cowers every time I come near, because I inevitably am going to squirt something in her mouth. When she does venture forth to snag a bit of kibble, she throws it up. I'm trying. And I know she's not doing well, so stuff it, or you're getting a syringe full of turkey baby food, prednisone, and pepcid in your eye. (And Cosell like play-by-play the next time YOU feel sick. "She's rolling over to hoark now, and yes... it looks like the last thing she had was vegetable soup...")

2. What did YOU do today? Just once, I want to answer "Slaughtered a hobo. You?" Look. Around. You. Are the massive piles of shoes, newspapers, dishes, BEER BOTTLES (aaaaagh!) and assorted other crap in the same places they were when you left this morning? No? Give you a hint, the shit fairy didn't come take it all away. What did I do today? Cleaned up after you. Baked. Did laundry. Exciting, no? Oh yeah, and looked for another damned job, so simmer down.

3. For the love of all that is holy, the sink is right next to the dishwasher! Every time you put a dish in the sink, and not in the dishwasher, the baby jeebus cries hot little tears of blood. Or maybe that's me. I forget. AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

3.a. Instant coffee! If you are going to make that horrible shit, push the canister back against the wall where it came from. You move it out 5 inches to make your freeze-dried-sludge, and simply don't have the energy to put it back? Gah! And Eggs! If you make scrambled eggs, Soak the pan! Oatmeal too! And the toaster! PUT IT BACK!

4.The Bathroom light can be turned off too. Really, it can. It's not some sort of commie/pinko conspiracy. Honest to Yuengling, the switch goes up, AND down. And would it kill you to clean out the sink every once in a while there, Odie? It's not like you're Captain Facial hair, but I'm gettin' real tired of walking into a brightly lit bathroom hours after you've been in it, only to find stubble in the sink, towels bunched up on every available space, and your pants on the floor.

I know. Move.
Workin' on it.
This shit keeps up, I may be moving to prison.


These are not the droids you're looking for. Thankyew. Thankyewverymuch.

Sing it with me, people! "Elvis is everywhere! Elvis is everywhere!"
Saucy Monkey

Found this picture over at snarkywood, and couldn't resist.


All is forgiven, Quentin.

Best. CSI episode. Ever.

(or at least in this season)

Some of it was eye-rollingly Tarantino, in the "look at how HIP I am, People!" sort of way (The Dukes of Hazzard board game, Gil and his Trigger Certificate) that just makes me want to kick him in that pointy chin of his. However, good episode, and even the irritating bits furthered some of the "humanization" of the characters, and gave the actors a chance to show off a bit. (And I admit it, I like me some Hodges. Last week's fun with "Emergency Backup David" was also good, because he? Is super cute.) (PS, better pictures on TV Tome. C'mon!)

Argh, where was I?

Oh yes. So, Quentin, all is forgiven, with the exception of your choice of ending scenes. The closing shot of the girl was unnecessary. I missed a few key bits (apparently Ecklie was acting human at one point, but I needed go to feed Evil, so I missed it) but that's ok. (And P.S. Folks on the TWoP boards? It's Pancho. Not Poncho. I guarantee you that Papa Stokes didn't have crappy knitted accessories on his mind when handing out his son's nickname.)

Here's to not having a cliffhanger for the last episode of the season. I can't wait to see what the incomprable Sobell has to say about this.

Melting Faces since 1983

Or not, as the case may be.

Evil's discovered a new hiding place, under the couch upstairs. She really likes to half-park herself under the back of the slipcover of the couch in the basement, but I think she does a bit better when she's upstairs. Of course, Maa likes to gleefully point out that "It's not good when cats start hiding." Thanks Maa. I know she's dying. Most days I'm ok with that, and the first time you said it, I got it. It's like when old people start to see stuff before they die. So, times 2-2,942,348 were unnecessary. I'm well aware of the fact that her time is drawing to a close. (Although, I admit it- the dead cartoon cats you drew in my "furry mother's day!" card were really funny.)

I have an appointment with another temp agency on Monday. They seemed enthused, and claim to have a few positions that would suit my skillz. (And yes, every time I see "skills" on a job application, I DO want to write "mad".)

Met with Bosslady today for about an hour (I know. it took me almost as long to get there and back, as for the meeting. *eyeroll*. What happened during this hour?

1. Drafted the letter acknowledging donations from the benefit, printed it for all two of the donors
2. Printed the check-copy requests again
3. Showed BL how to code a picture with a link onto the website.
4. updated quickbooks
5. Installed the DSL
6. Copied the mailing list, and sent it to the printer
8. Listened to BL blather.

After she left, I tied up a few loose ends, still seem to have forgotten my Allman Brothers CD, but will check my totebag (I don't recall having seen the disc on my desk). Unless she comes up with some freelance stuff to work on this week, I doubt I'll charge her for the time. (almost 2 hours) It's worth it to me to not have to deal with her. I want her to go through the book, and learn how to do what I did, bcause I? Won't be there.

Although part of me says I probably will be, because I suck at saying "no", though not to the point that Stoltzfus has gotten. Speaking of Stoltzfus, he's a swell guy. I like him heaps, loads, and bushel basketsfull. He's on Yahoo personals. I'm on Yahoo personals. He keeps popping up on my match list, and vice versa, I'm sure. It's kind of creepy, because it's one of those "I can't look, that's like trolling the family reunion for hookups", but you want to look so badly. But you know that if you do, you'll turn to stone, or something like that.

Also, Stoltzfus, (if you're reading this) how the HELL do you get these pornstar lookin' babes? (and some of them, not just lookin') Because, seriously? Most of the guys on my matches make Ted Kaczynski look like a mild-mannered accountant. I'm half tempted to steal another page from the Tomato Nation Personal Ad Experiment (I already stole "Chipper Misanthrope Seeks Same") and include the following tidbits, in no particular order:

1. I don't want to be someone's "princess", "lady", or "soulmate". I'll settle for being someone's girl. friend, and whatever else comes along. Because, seriously fellas, if a girl refers to herself as "princess" she's 5. And if you refer to ME as princess? I'm gonna think you think I'm 5 too.

2. I don't do high-maintenance. It's genetically impossible. Don't let the judicious application of the curling iron fool you. That goes both ways. If we click, I'll want to spend time with you, I'll want to make you a part of my life, and I hope you'll do the same. I don't need to be surgically attached to your hip, and we don't have to spend every waking moment together. I like quiet time with my cats, a book, and a really good episode of L&O. (Note: this does not exempt either one of us from calling when we say we will and all that stuff, but it means we stop short of having to file restraining orders and anti-stalking paperwork.)

3. See that picture up there? That's really me. Guess what. I'm not a supermodel, nor do I weigh 15 pounds. I'm not quasimodo, but I'm not everyone's cup of tea. No big whoop. Do us both a favor. If you don't like chunky girls, don't bother. Because you know what sucks more than freaking out for a week about meeting someone you think you have a connection with? Meeting that person, then never hearing from them again, because you KNOW they didn't dig your looks. (And yes, I was guilty of this once, and will never do it again.)

4. I am not a typical girlie girl. I love skirts, sewing, cooking, and doing girlie things, but I also love football, and sports talk radio, and beer. I think the Ford Mustang is the vehicular equivalent of fucking. Simply looking at one makes the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I'm handy with duct tape, and not afraid of power tools. I doubt highly that I will ever utter the words "Ohmigod! We must go rent that (insert name of chick flick here)" except in jest. That doesn't mean I don't like to look nice and smell good. And believe me, I can trade disgusting jokes, double entendres, and witticisims with you all night long. (Though I may be a bit rusty at the moment.)

Of course, if I do this, I'll probably frighten away 90% of the people who clicked on the ad. (The other 10%? Won't know what "misanthrope" means.) Enh. And yes, I know I don't need another guy/girl to make me a complete person. I was born with the full brain, and enough common sense to be able to amuse my own bad self. Doesn't mean I wouldn't mind sharing my amusement with someone else. Anyway.



I HATE interviews.

And here's why.

Ask me to write about my mad skillz, and I will paint you an accurate, rosy picture. Ask me on the phone, and if you're engaging, and non-threatening, I can elaborate with the best of them. When I'm at ease, I am one suaaaaave motherfucker.

When I am nervous, or can't get a bead on someone? I sound like the biggest moron on the face of the planet. I make George W. Bush sound like Martin Luther King Jr. Seriously.

And when the person interviewing me is a combination of BastardBob*, my high school principal, and Coach Cutlip from the Wonder Years, I am going to sound like maybe I've had a lot of head trauma. Guess how today's interview went?


I could do that job with one part of my brain tied behind my back, probably. However, I doubt highly that I'll be getting the chance to. Gahhhhhhh! Damn my nonexistent social skillz! Why can I not just walk into an interview and say "Look. You're busy, I'm not an idiot. Tell me what needs done, and not only will I DO it, but I won't bug you every fifteen seconds to ask you what I should do next. I work reasonably cheap, but I need health insurance. Also, I have no life, which means I'm loyal and flexible. So make with the job offer. Ok?"

So I was prowling Monster.com, and found another staffing service nearby, that I'll give a shout to. It couldn't hurt, and it may fill the gaps until something else comes along. Dangit. G. Monkey's putting her feelers out too, and who knows, mabe the flower shop people will call, but I'm not holding my breath.

In other news, Silent Bob's home, and pacing. Which is sad, but kind of funny, because her back-end isn't working too well. Also, the lovely ladies at the vet's office are lovin' me, because I took them cupcakes (yellow butter cupcakes with chocolate frosting) for being so swell. Evil's camped out in the basement, but did eat a little today. I got her some "easy to digest" food, and some Iams wet stuff. She has a hard time chewing the biggish pieces with the Iams, so we'll see. She's just so damned SKINNY. (I know. I know. Kat Kancer will do that.)

Anyway. Off to go take some pictures of me playing banjo on the front porch, to send to that interviewer, just in case he wants documentation...

*Bastard Bob actually screwed a dead employee out of a day's pay, because she didn't punch out the morning she left work and was killed in a car crash. "How do I know what time she left?" Ass. I think he docked her for her shirt, and her nametag too.

Feline Frenzy

Not only was Evil all "You. Yeah, the unconscious one. You gonna pet me, or what?" this morning but she was also gambolling around, partaking of the crunchy food, and trotting down to the basement the nanosecond the door was opened. (Only to be scooped up by me, and trotted back upstairs.) She really seems to do much better upstairs with sunlight, constant attention, and a nice window to look out of. Though, it could just be my imagination.

She's getting really, really skinny, though. I hope the stuff we're using to suppress her ulcer will help to perk up her appetite some. For a while, all she was eating (that I could tell) was the thinned baby food I was syringe feeding her with her medication. Still have to go back to the vet today to pick up Silent Bob, who will, no doubt, no longer be speaking to me. (And Grammy will so politely point out that "It was your mommmmmmyyyyyy who took you to the nasty place where they removed your innards, so why don't you come sit on Grammmmmmy, the only one who obviously loves you.") Evil's just thrilled that she isn't the one visiting the vet. This time, anyway.

And the streak? I think it's been at least 8 weeks, if not more (probably more) that I've been to the vet at LEAST once a week (twice only for medication, not a visit). I should be smart, and ask for more prednisone today, so I can skip a week. Because you really, really, should not be able to walk in, and have them 1. know you by sight, 2. Have the refill already up and waiting by the time you get to the counter. You should NOT be at your vet's office that often.

Also: Should have the interview today. Not my first choice, but a job is a job is a job, and I need a paycheck. And some insurance. And really, can it be any worse than what I've left?


Toenail Wrangler Extrordinaire

Can I put that on my resume? Huh? Huh? Can I?

Because, I? Am one awesome toenail wrangler.

Went in to the codger corral to help out with the podiatrist (who rocks it, hardcore). Basically, my job is to get 'em in, get their shoes and socks off, and then re-shoe/sock them at the end. And to track 'em down when they forget they've got an appointment. And make lots of "lop of that extra toe" jokes. Good deal.

Also, found out that I don't have the job at the community foundation, but I will have an interview tomorrow at a restaurant supply/chem dealer/hvac conglomerate for a brand-spankin' new position. The interview will be at some time tomorrow, with the big cheez. The president. So I'll be on my best behavior. Hee! And that job? I found on my own. Muha. Muhahaha.

I'm also going to do an article for the Literary Journal (associated iwth the little nonprofit that could (haunt my dreams for eternity). It's going to be on what blind people read. Which is actually pretty cool. I'll do some interviews locally, and at the libraries in Philly and NYC. Sweet. AND G. Monkey, as managing editor, gets to run interference for me, so I don't have to deal directly with psychofounder.


And there's a brand new New Yorker on my table. I can't wait to dig in.



Put out 2 resumes today, got one telephone interview and one heads up that if they want to do a phone interview, they'll call me by Friday.

Not bad.

Saw an ad for a secretary at the local fancy schmancy university. I've tried to get in there before, to no avail. Going to ask G. Monkey if she can give me a bit of help with the cover letter, and play up the fact that she is an alumnae of the college.

Dyed my hair, (still dark auburn) and made a neat cobalt-colored (frosted & polished) multi-strand necklace this afternoon. I will whip up the earrings by this evening while I watch the Cheap Seats marathon on ESPN2. (I love the Sklar brothers with all my black little heart.) Silent Bob is going to the vet tomorrow to get Zipped, and Evil will rejoice that it's not HER that's going, for once. Hooray.

What a thrillingly exciting day, no?


Consumer Whoriness!

So I had a pleasant surprise when I snagged a copy of Glamour this weekend. (Ok, I buy it once a season, or so, to see what's up and coming, and if I can copy/do it myself. And c'mon, those black bars are so much freakin' fun.)

My skirt, the official "best skirt in the whole freakin' world" is on page 61. They're showing it in green, but I've got the black. Woot! I was ahead of the curve! heh.

I also got it for 20 bucks less than they're showing it.

Other product updates:

I am testing out Dove's hairspray (flexible hold) and mousse today. While the hairspray FEELS really nice and un-hairspray-like, the real test will be if the curls are still in my hair tonight. While I love my anchorman in a wind tunnel strength hairspray, that stuff is expensive (though it comes in a neat air-horn style can) and if someone gets too close, they could lose an eye on a jutting piece of hair. So, in the interest of public safety... softer hair.

Edited to add: It's 8:30, and even after falling asleep on the couch with a screeching headache, the hairspray has done an admirable job. I will need to remember to spray the bits really well (some that I didn't hit as heavily have straightened out quite a bit, but my hair is naturally stick-straight, so...). overall, I am impressed. Tomorrow, we'll see how their color-preserving shampoo/conditioner hold up, after I fix up my color. Reds are notorious for fading faster than a fat kid at a marathon.

Also, Bath and Body Works Violet Bloom? Best. Scent. Ever. So of course, it is a limited edition. It reminds me of C. Howard's violet candies, and these little violet pastilles (with an anise-seed in the middle) that my best friend in High School brought back from France. Mm. Light, flowery, with a hint of candy. Love.

The "Anti-chafing-lotion" from Monistat. Y'know, if they'd slap a picture of Laurie Notaro on the package, and call it "Anti-Chub-Rub Cream" they'd make a shitload of money. Stuff is AWESOME. And it works. If you need it explained, you don't need the product, but suffice to say it has NOTHING to do with the yeastie beastie, despite the maker's name.

Also, Dachshund Corn on the Cob holders? Hysterical.

Neutrogena Skin Clearing (I think, the bottle's upstairs) lotion. Says that it will help get rid of those funky little bumps on the backs of your arms and legs, and the accompanying redness. I'll give you the verdict in two weeks. They're not horrible, but they annoy me. I've got braille limbs.

With that, I'm off to snag some findings and wire, and get crackin' with the new (old) jewelry.
edited to add: Found some neat stuff, but stupidly didn't pick up any gold findings. What did I find that I loved most of all? pinkish gold beads, which I've tentatively strung with gold seed beads into one kick-ass chunky necklace & matching earrings. I will re-string tomorrow with gold findings, and eventually post a picture.


stupid pollen

I never had issues with pollen, allergies, or milk until I moved to Florida.

Somehow, I blame Jeb Bush for today's sore throat.

(which was also yesterday's sore throat)

It's not a cold, it's just annoying. Fie.

Of course, prancing about at the flea market didn't probably help either. Or sitting in the yard scraping the plastic coating off the metal trellis so I can repaint it. No, that probably didn't help either. At least I found some cool stuff at the flea market-

1 pile of Good Housekeeping magazines from 1964 & 1965
1 1952 Yearbook from the local fancified Mennonite high school (that I very nearly may have attended, but for finances and compartmentalization [I assume. Because I have pretty much purposefully blanked out 98% of grades 6-8)
1 flour sack apron, pink with a pretty daisy pattern in white.
1 mess of costume jewelry, some good (like the screw-back earrings shaped like a cluster of white lilacs)and some to be repurposed, and possibly shopped around.

That was fun, and it's really interesting, reading the GH magazines. F'rinstance, the ads for (damnit, the name escapes me) the Nestle equivalent of pre-sweetened kool-aid. SPECIFICALLY mentions, and emphasizes the fact that it is not only sweetened with real sugar, but that sugar is 100% necessary for kids. I saw multiple ads touting that if you're not giving your kids sugar (For Energy!), you're the worst mother in the world. Hee!

Also? A recipe for "Bacon Cheddar Shortcake". Is it really wrong that I want to make this? Heh. Instead, I settled for "Mushroom! MUSHROOM!" spaghetti sauce. (One jar spaghetti sauce, preferably mushroom flavored. One container baby bellas, quartered, [preferably cleaned first], half a bell pepper, and a crock pot)

FYI- Haagen Daaz light S'mores ice cream is pretty damned good. (Bonus: it will last for a while, because it's so good, I only need a spoonful or two at a time. )


How did today start?

Well, AFTER cleaning up the cat puke, and enjoying a hearty breafkast of egg beaters & salsa (not necessarily in that order)I jumped in the shower, and blow-dried my hair. Just as I was about to lift the curling iron to the first section, my cell phone rang.

Only 3 people call my cellphone on what could be construed as a semi-regular basis. One wouldn't be conscious at 8:00 AM, one would also be getting ready for work, and the other is Bosslady. Guess who was on the line?

17 of the 19 other calls I got today were from Bosslady too. One was from the late-riser, (Sorry magicdude, I WILL call you back). See, we've known for months (literally, at least a month and a half) about this benefit taking place tonight. I wrote the press release. I was under the impression that shit was taken care of. Sweet fancy Elvis, I was mistaken. Here's how my morning went. Now, every time you see the words "Bosslady Calls" Just assume that she's talking at about 900 words per second, about some facet of the evening's event that should have been done weeks ago, had she only freakin' thought about it or asked me to do it.

8:00- Bosslady calls
8:15- get off phone with Bosslady. Know this day is going to suck, hard.
8:35- finish hair, drug cat, send revised founder's message back to bosslady(note, "pack lunch" not in there)
8:45- leave for office
9:10- Arrive at office, grab items for goodie bags.
9:15- Bosslady calls
9:25- Bosslady Faxes
9:35- Bosslady Calls
9:40- roll eyes. Contemplate suicide. Put together really nice raffle signs.
9:50- Bosslady calls
10:00- gather up everything bosslady requested, and a few things she didn't.
10:05- scream. Answer phone. Bosslady on the line.
10:07- take freshly minted disc, crap to car, leave for Craft Warehouse.
10:35- get to craft warehouse.
10:36- Bosslady calls
10:55- Discover craft warehouse doesn't really have what you're looking for to redo gift baskets for raffle. Decide to buy other stuff and make do.
11:05- Call Bosslady, inform her of selections. Offer alternatives. Head toward civilization
11:10- Bosslady calls
11:20- Drive by house. Wave at house. Know you should stop in to drug cat again, know you don't have time. Miss comfy bed.
11:35- Arrive at Bosslady's
11:40- Bosslady calls
11:50- Bosslady calls (as she's heading into her driveway "Are you there yet? Oh, wait, your car's here. Nevermind.)
12:00- redo baskets
12:30- Magicdude calls
12:45- bosslady asks if I can get her daughter off the bus. As she hasn't paid me yet, I can't leave, so I agree. Bosslady leaves.
12:50- Bosslady calls
1:00- Bosslady calls
1:04- grab some almonds, to keep my stomach from digesting itself.
1:05- Bosslady Calls (just as I'm about to chew my first almond)
1:15- Bosslady calls
1:30- Bosslady calls, bitches that I didn't put an address on teh 1.25" labels (with barely enough room for our logo and name to be legible) on the goddamn yo yos. (Hello! Cut out 288 fucking labels! By hand! Applied them all myself! Fuck you and the address!)
1:35- Bosslady calls, apologizes for being bitchy, asks for something else.
1:40- Bosslady calls
1:55- Bosslady calls
2:05- contemplate swallowing phone, wondering if exploding battery would be fatal.
2:20- Bosslady calls
2:30- Get daughter off bus, into house
2:40- make daughter laugh her ass off as I get my phone. Giggle about how many times her mom has called me today. Daughter agrees that mom likes her phone.
3:00- backup arrives to take crap to opening, bitches a LOT
3:15- Call dad. Ask where he buys Iron City cases. He asks if I've been paid yet. Inform him that I am indeed, still at bosslady's house. He laughs. A lot.
3:30- bosslady arrives home, BELLOWING my name (daughter and I are on the deck outside)
3:37- Bosslady pays me
3:39- I leave Bosslady's house
3:43- I arrive at the bank to cash the check
4:00- get to grocery store
4:45- G. Monkey calls (hooray!)

Lets just say that it's a really, really good thing that G. Monkey came over for some famous quesadillas (chicken & mushroom) and gazpacho, and that Mike's had one more case of Iron City left. After we stuffed ourselves stupid (but it was all healthy- whole wheat tortillas, 2% cheese, lots of veggies)we caught the Texas Chainsaw Massacre (unintentionally hillarious) and now there's a Friday the 13th marathon on. I plan on watching that until I pass out.


Also, regardless of my employment status on Monday, I will "have something else lined up" with regards to Bosslady.

More tomorrow...

Oh, and the funny thing- Daughter is the one who has multiple disabilities. Usually she has an aide, but they're cutting back the hours they've got help. Daughter was in a great mood with me, we laughed our asses off. The nanosecond Bosslady and her other kids got home, daughter went into uncooperative-bitch-mode. Can't say that I blame her.

Anyway. There are bad horror movies to watch.
More on... well... everything. Comments, stuff, and... stuff. tomorrow.



Still no news.

Also. On behalf of the people in this county who aren't absolute fucking nitwits, I'd like to apologize to the folks in Washington DC. Jakey and Obadiah over at the Smoketown Airport don't truck much with them thar fancy "Instruments" in flyin' mo-sheens. That's why they didn't bat an eye at 2 guys headin' out in a cessna with a Rand McNally atlas and a ruler. Jakey and Obadiah haven't been out of the county, 'cept in a horse and buggy, and had no idea where them two fellers was takin' the mo-sheen to.


Also, I love the fact that they didn't interrupt King George's bike ride. Probably, they knew he either:
A. Couldn't hear them anyway, over the noise from the playing cards in his spokes.
B. Would be startled by the loud noise, and fall over, training wheels or no.


Also, a little somethin' for my crazy bosslady.

Dear Bosslady,

When you told me last week, that you'd send me a Founder's Message to edit, I believed you. I even believed you the week before. By today, I stopped believing that line of crap. Here are a few other lines I also refuse to believe.

1. That you "woke Stoltzfus up at 9:00" and are "going over to work on the Save the Date cards right now".

Nope, sorry. You may have awakened him, but you most certainly didn't head straight over to his house to work on the cards, which must be at the printer tomorrow, which you have known needed to be finished for months. How do I know this? Because when I finally spoke with him at 2:00, he hadn't seen you.

2. That you are going to come up to the office tomorrow at 1:00.

Bullshit. Just like you've been saying you'll come to the office every day so far this week. The only difference now is that if you don't show up tomorrow, I'm going to your house, and I am not leaving until you pay me for last week's work, the items I bought for the office with personal funds, and this week's work. After that, I will change my phone number. Because, No.

3. That you have volunteers ready/interested in working in the office.

Sure. Just like you had a business plan, and were working on a board of directors ready at my interview. Just like I was getting health insurance after 90 days.

Also, calling me at 2:30, to tell me that "this distance is going to be the death of me" isn't endearing. That would be why I laughed at youm then said "I know. It's just as far for me to get here, and it's a colossal pain in the ass." I know it was a free office space, but let's be honest with ourselves, shall we? You couldn't be bothered to lift a finger/give me information/do what you promised when you were working 100 feet from my office. Did you really think you'd drive 25 miles? (only 15 for me, but it takes me just as long. Go figure.)

Good luck with those "volunteers". I've got my shit out of the office, and probably won't be back after I get my paycheck (and you bet your ass I'm cashing it immediately, lest she put a stop payment on it or something stupid). The manual's on my desk. If you can make out the big words I used, have at it.

For the love of the tasty baby jeebus, just pay me-


No news is...?

No news is still annoying. Really.

Though I did have a moment of panic this morning, and left my very patient rep a message that was ever-so-rambly, but basically said "If my working for Bosslady on an extremely-part-time-basis would be construed as a conflict of interest for the foundation with the heaps of cash to throw at me, I SOOOOO do not have to work for Bosslady any more."

If necessary I might consider sexual favors for any or all of the office staff at the foundation, and possibly the placement agency.

As soon as I know anything, though, I'll let you know.

In other news, I hate not having "hello" on this PC, because I finally have the pictures Stoltzfus took of Odie (on a non bitch day) and me as .jpgs. If I can get it to work on this dinosaur, there may be surprises later.

Heh. Crazy Betsy (former Bosslady) was all paranoid this afternoon, calling G. Monkey up, asking if she had anything to do with this (stupid) Benefit going on at Salon de Weedwhacker. (Because Crazy Betsy? Loves the weedwhacker man. And he gives her dowdy hair. I don't get it.) G. Monkey truthfully told her no. But like it's any business of Crazy Betsy's what G. Monkey does on the side. Feh.

Thanks for the offer MWN! I think the psychology jargon may be quite beneficial. I could probably bluff it. Heh. It'll be great to use on the people I can't stand. However, with luck, those numbers will be minimal. It seems like this is all the "cool" kids. Granted, I didn't actually hang out with the "cool" kids. (Come to think of it, I didn't really hang out with anyone. Though I had my own shit to deal with back then.) I liked everyone who is putting this shindig together, though, so that rocks. (Helloooooo Amanda!)

Side note to ET- I envy your ET dreds. I think I have developed an interim fix involving a curling iron, brushed out shirley temple curls, a strategically placed bobbypin, and a cubic assload of hairspray. Just to get me through till I can find someone to whack it off.

Oh, I got hello to work. Expect cat pictures as I can snag them. This is what Odie (Official Younger Sibling of Special Sauce) looks like when he's not being a whiny bitch.
Saucy Monkey

On a really, REALLY good day, I could pull this off unassisted. I even frantically lintrolled myself seconds before I walked out the door, and Stoltzfus STILL had to photoshop out cat hairs. Fie. Fie indeed.
Saucy Monkey


No news is...

really fucking annoying, but I suppose it can be construed as good news, right?

In other news, I learned how valuable it is to remember your office keys. Just as I passed the last possible place I could exit (5 miles away from the office exit) I realized I didn't have my keys. When I got to the office, I confirmed it. Then I gouged my eyes out with my car keys.

Sockets a-bleedin', I drove the hinty-bazillion miles BACK to my house. Picked up the office keys. While there, I cleaned up my face a bit, and drove the hinty-bazillion miles to the office again. Fie. When bosslady called me tonight after I had spent forever getting home, I thanked my lucky stars that I'm a sneaky bastard. Why was she calling me? Because she was a dumbass, and didn't give the press kit to the ONE reporter she promised she'd deliver one to. Of COURSE he needs the kit TONIGHT. Luckily, I had the files on a CD (along with the rest of the stuff I had done there, for my portfolio) and could email them to her, instead of hauling out the sherpas to make yet ANOTHER expedition to the office.

Instead, I will spend my night cutting out 200 &*$()*!(%&#*(#! 1.25 inch circles with our logo on them. Why? So we can stick them on yo yos. Why? For this stupid event on Friday night. (The man who gave me the Worst. Haircut. EV-AR*. is holding a benefit for us at his salon.) The lame-ass-yo-yos are going into goodie bags. Joy. (And I can't very well ask bosslady to do it, because she'll say yes, and I'll just end up doing it myself on Friday up until the time of the event.) I will, however, be counting this toward my hours this week.

Oh, and if I get that other job? I will NOT be going to the benefit. I will be wearing my new sequin-y skirt, and gettin' my drink on, in celebration.

In other hair related news, Heather, the queen of Supercuts is on a leave of absence. Noooooooooooooooooo! I love Heather because she makes my hair look so good that even 3 months out, it STILL looks good (although it needs cut now). My only alternative is to go to the salon where G. Monkey and Stoltzfus go. I don't trust any of the other folks at SC, but I'm leery of going to the salon. It's taken me a year to get over the worst haircut EV-AR*, and I'm rockin' my little flippy 'do. If they screw it up, I'm going to go kill someone.

* No, I'm not kidding. Worst. EVER. Even worse than the time my mother cut my bangs right before we went to church. She combed them straight up and WHACKED them off with sewing shears. Even the other people in the pews around us pointed & laughed at me.

This was worse. Seriously.

Now, I love rock & roll as much as the next girl. I hope you'll put another dime in the jukebox, baby, and all that shit, but for the love of the sweet baby jeebus, you do NOT give a girl with a pumpkin noggin, a Joan-motherfuckin'-Jett haircut. You just don't. I? Am not punk rock. Also, this? Not 1982. And another thing- If I pay you sixty bucks PLUS A TIP (because I thought I could "fix" it at home), for a horrible, stupid, paper-bag-donning haircut, you don't call my old hair "soccer mom hair" because I rocked that cut like nobody's business. (and I will tell everyone I know that you suck.)

THIS is why I don't love pricey stylists. Because at least at Supercuts, all parties involved know that the person with the scissors is not getting paid enough to get all "creative" and shit. They will cut your hair like you tell them to. And if you get Heather, she will make you leave a 70% tip voluntarily (and want to have her babies, and stuff), because she? Is that damned good. And you, in turn? LOOK that damn good.


I have until the day after Thanksgiving...

To lose some weight, and to invent post-it notes.

I just received an email that the people I'd actually want to hang out with, are holding a 10 year reunion. Apparently the one that the scary kids are holding is a "family" reunion, at the local pool/park. (Kool-aid with the kiddies? Noooooooooothankyou. I'd just as soon not remember that people my age are having children, much less several of them, and they could concievably be in the 4th grade.)

This will be more of a "have some beers and grab a bite, and converse with the folks you didn't loathe 10 years ago" kind of event. THAT, I can live with.

Stupid post-its.


Ok. It's over. I am breathing at a much more "normal" pace now. Because when the Sauce gets freaked out, she does it in fine fashion. This morning? I was freaked.

I'm still a bit nervous, but I'd be PER-FECT for this job.

The woman I met with is very friendly, and realized that I actually AM smart, despite my lack of college edumacation. (I learn everything I can when I'm at a job. Why else would you work, if not to learn SOMETHING along with the paycheck, right?) we had a very good talk on a wide range of topics, including vintage aprons, my experience as an editorial assistant (despite how I type, I'm a decent proofreader), and what exactly Bosslady's Nonprofit was all about. I felt totally at ease with her, and had a good time. The BIIIIG boss was in for a few minutes at the end, and sort of rushed me out, I am hoping it was to get the dirt on me. They have at least one other interview tomorrow.

One of the things I think I have going for me is the fact that I'm very flexible- they want someone who can work with calling to schedule meetings, tracking where someone is, attending board meetings, and working with the financial end of things. I'd be the backup for the 3 main (ok, only) people in the office. They specifically said they wanted someone who could be a generalist, as opposed to someone who's good at one thing only. So... me! Me! Me!

Anyway... now I just wait. I've got my fingers crossed.

So now I'm workin' at the house, because I had to get Evil her medicine, and thought it would be stupid to drive 20 minutes to the office, get there at 1:00, then come home (taking an HOUR)at 4:00. Especially since the stuff I asked for never made it to my mailbox. So... Feh. Maybe I'll go to the gym too. That'd be a novelty.

The Big Day

keep your fingers crossed, eh? I leave in about a half hour or so for my "beeg interview". So, I'm typing in order to keep from losing control of my stomach (in whatever fashion it sees fit. Probably, since I'm wearing pantyhose with a crotch I had to bribe to come up past my mid-thigh, it'll probably choose uncontrollable diarrhea). My hair is curled. CURLED for the love of Bob. I've got suitable borrowed jewlery and genuine borrowed Liz purse. I am so retro, I'm cutting edge. I've got the ouchy shoes at the ready, and an outfit to change into before I go to the office. (Mercifully, G. Monkey's office is right across the parking lot. I'll change in her bathroom.)

I've got my answers ready to go in my head.


Adaptability- In every job I've held, it's been critical to be able to "change gears" at a moment's notice. In the retirement home especially, you never knew who was coming in your office door. It could be an employee with a scheduling conflict, a resident needing a hearing aid battery changed, a family who needed a sympathetic ear, or perhaps a tour. Being able to tackle the new situation, without losing sight of what you were doing, and still need to complete, is essential, and I am able to do so with ease.

Learning new tasks easily- At the little nonprofit that could (perhaps get me this job?) I taught myself how to use Access, and learned the rudiments of QuickBooks very quickly. Often, I have been in the situation where I not only have to learn the new task or procedure myself, but train others to correctly perform the same way. I enjoy the challenge, and take pride in the knowledge I've accumulated.


Sometimes it is difficult for me to say "no"., even if it means more work for me, or working later, I feel there was a good reason I was asked to take on the assignment, and find it difficult to turn down.

Sometimes I can be "too easygoing", Along the same lines, if a situation bothers me, I may hold my tongue and not say anything about it, until it reaches a critical mass.

Alright. And I think I have managed to kill a few minutes here. I'm going to go do one last check (though I think I used enough hairspray for 2 newscasters AND a Miss America contestant)and head out. Cross your fingers, folks. I want, and NEED this job.


Hooray! Part 2

Evil was gnawing on cat food this morning, and kept it down. She also perched in the window, and isn't looking quite so... comatose when she lies down. So far, 24 hours of not throwing up. I like that.

This IS a good Mother's Day present. (Despite the fact that my own mom keeps [jokingly] calling the decorative box I got her a "kitty coffin".)

I've got a good day of cooking ahead of me, YAY! Mom has declared she wants a rice salad that we had at a local restaurant, so I'm going to figure out how they did it. Has mandarin oranges, slivered almonds, scallions and green peppers in it, I just need to figure out the little bit of dressing they had on it. She also doesn't know it, but she's going to have a chocolate torte with strawberries on/in it too, and I already made blueberry and corn muffins this morning. (Though I cheated, because they're spit-in-the-box mixes.)



After feeding her thinned babyfood through a dropper again this morning and afternoon, Evil finally ate on her own! (For those who care, a spoonful of chicken & herring cat food, mixed with a bit of water.)

Now, we'll see if she keeps this down. She seemed to do ok with the baby food, and the Carafate seems to help. I also bumped up her prevacid a tinch- 1/2 tab in the morning, and 1/4 tab in the afternoon. She even purred this afternoon (she hadn't purred since Tuesday), and jumped up on the bed twice. This is a very good turn of events!

More More More...

Well, the good news is that Evil seems to be a bit better now. She still throws up the Carafate, but she's upstairs, and doesn't appear to have thrown up since early this morning. She's sitting up, and was actually drinking some water, so I take this to be a good sign.

I got her to take her medication last night, and this morning, by mixing it with mac & cheese flavored baby food, and putting it (thinned slightly) in one of those wide-opening baby syringes. She's eating about 2 teaspoons at a time. Thanks for asking about her, and for keeping us both in your minds. She's a trooper.

In other news, I went to the mall (ptui!) today, to hunt down a suitable suit for this interview on Monday. I got the scoop on the place from G. Monkey, who grilled a friend of hers who is very much "in the know" about this stuff. She said they're good to work for, treat their employees well, but warned that they're uber conservative. She also cautioned that I "could get bored" with what they'll have me do (obsessing over minutae in grant applications). Luckily, I do thrive on that sort of stuff, and after all... 'rinne has never worked with Bosslady. So, we'll see. Anyway... Mall. Tromped all over the damned place looking for a suit (skirt, not pants, because I look like ass in pants) that had a decent jacket that didn't make me look like a barrel. No mean feat, I assure you.

Lane Bryant, who never has ANYTHING cute and casual when I'm in there looking for cute, casual clothing, was packed to the gills with stuff that I coveted, but could not buy. Boscovs? Matronly. Bon Ton? Matronly AND expensive. I lucked out in J.C. Pennys, and found a cute, '50s inspired suit that will match (perfectly, in fact) my favorite round-toe pumps. It's got a bright pink jacket, which isn't conservative, but, for the love of pete, it's damned classy. While I was at it, I found a great jacket with a nipped waist (in black, at that) which will match the black skirt of the suit. Best part? The suit was originally 170, I got it for 79. The extra jacket was 64, I got it for 30. 2 suits, 110 dollars. I can live with that.

And I found the COOLEST. Skirt. EVER. at Burlington. It was a bit more than I usually spend on something like this, but it is a black circle skirt, with a white sort of mexican folk art pattern all over, and the white patterned part is covered with clear sequins, so it's sparkly, but not obnoxious. It will look really nice with a plain, black, scoop necked shirt, and simple black shoes.

(OK, when I actually find cute clothing that looks good, I can't help but be a bit thrilled.)

Don't forget that tomorrow's Mother's day, so go out, and call your mom, your grandma, or whomever is like a mom to you, and thank them. (And do it more often than once a year, you!)


Evil Strikes Again

I will be a shitty mother. for the record.

Evil's not actively croaking, as I believed. No. She's just not eating because the prednisone and the tumors are fucking with her stomach. So now we have Carafate to give her every 4-6 hours. This will hopefully make her tummy feel better, so she'll eat.

If not... who knows.

Cross your fingers.

Evil here-

Hi guys.

This is probably the last time I'll be hijacking mom's blog, so I just wanted to say thanks for thinking of me. If you could do me a favor, and think some tuna into my stomach, or even some tasty mice, that'd be fantastic. I've been really tired the past few days, and haven't even felt much like eating. Honestly, I'd rather just stay curled up under the dust ruffle of the slipcover on the couch, down in the basement, but mom doesn't much like it when I do that. So she hauls me upstairs again. Something about the sunlight or something.

I hate it when she picks me up, always have. But I'm too tired to really bitch about it, and it's easier to just lie down where she sits me. Maybe get a bit more comfy, y'know... stretch a bit, but why waste the energy?

The good news is that she hasn't tried to make me eat any of those stupid pills this morning. Sure, she tried to be clever and put it in the turkey, but I knew it was there. I ate it anyway. But when I stopped being hungry, she decided to put the stuff in water, and squirt it in me. I hate that shit. If I wasn't so tired, I'd pee in her shoes, or maybe on her pillow.

Anyway. Thanks y'all for being so nice, and thinking about me. You're good friends, and my mom thinks the world of you.



Cross 'em


I have an interview next week!

I went to the temp agency today, and had a great sit-down with one of the employment consultants. In addition to temp placements, they do temp-to-perm and direct placement...

Well, the place that immediately leapt to mind for her was a nonprofit in the city (yay!) starting at a nice chunk more than what I'm making now, and are established. They've been around forever, and will for quite some time too. Basically, they're a philanthropic group. They give grants to other nonprofits in the region. I'd be the front desk/admin support type person, directly supporting the director and the board. Suh-WEET!

Bonus? I've been to their offices, as the Little Nonprofit that Could (drive me to drink) won a grant from them. AND the office is practically on TOP of G. Monkey's office. Which means we can get together for lunch and stuff.

The only negatives are that I know the place has gone through at least two admins in the past year. I don't know if they left because they used the position as a stepping stone, or because Doug's a douche. I'll let you know...

The good news is that there are lots of people streaming through there. This makes me happy. And I'll be working downtown, which is where I want to live anyway. And this SHOULD make me enough money to afford that.

Not a moment too soon, I might add. It took an HOUR to get home tonight. An hour. For 15 miles. Fucking construction horseshit. Bah.

Anyway. Cross your fingers. I'm optimistic, but can use all the help I can get. (G. Monkey sez: "There is NO way you aren't getting this job.") I do have a year of NP experience under my belt, plus 5+ in admin & management, and I'm not a twit. That helps. Wooo!


Let me count the ways...

Oh! New office, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways.
Thy windowless space, not redeemed by your spiffy rounded shape,
Thy perpetual stream of chunky old ladies giving me the hairy eyeball.
Thy lack of telephone and internet access doth confound me,
Thy remote location, and thy deliverance-like zipcode make me wonder where thy Banjo-Playing boy has gotten to.
Thy complete lack of furniture is depressing, thy utterly blank walls depress me.
Thy whack-assed acoustics render it impossible for me to hear speakers 12 inches from my head, yet render crystal clear a knock-off rendition of "I will survive" from down the hall.
Thy Kitchen contains a stove, yet no microwave.
Thy other tenants are... creepy.
Ah yes, new office, I truly hate thee, and rejoice at the prospect of rarely working in you again.

In good news, I got my first issue of the New Yorker in the mail today! WHEEE! Also, my boss gets to meet Bill Clinton tonight. She won't truly appreciate the experience like I would. *sigh* She did offer to let me photoshop my body into the picture she's having taken with him though. I may take her up on that. If only I could actually MEET the big dog...

Cross your fingers that the temp agency finds something positively fantastic tomorrow, because baby needs a new pair of shoes (or perhaps just a wheel bearing fixed).



Sorry. Had a great post up this morning, and blogger done ate it.

Moved my office today. To Denver. DENNNNNNVERRRR. No, not Colorado, but it might as well be. Despite its paltry 15 miles on the odometer, they are the longest freakin' 15 miles EVER. And where am I? In the middle of Goldarned NOWHERE. With a "Women's Gym" in the room next to me. What do I hear all day long? Really bad remixes and "Change Stations Now" EVERY. THIRTY. SECONDS. This is what I get for not bringing my CDs today.

And no DSL until the 17th.

This whole "no internet during the day" thing is killin' me.

Change stations now.


And besides, how much can you possibly get done in THIRTY seconds? that's barely time to get ON a machine, much less accomplish something.

The office itself is very nice. Shame I won't be in it longer.

And... A Happy Beltane and big ol' hugs to ET. While you're there, ask her to put up a picture of her new WV Goddess, because I, for one, am antsy to see her handiwork.

I'm off to the greenhouse tonight. I'm going to whine like a 3 year old for more poppies and peonies. (I do every year. It doesn't help. Nowhere to really put 'em.) I'll also pick up some basil & cilantro to keep in pots. Those are the herbs I go through most anyway. Also, if anyone wants mint and or catnip, email me (aurolyn *AT* gmail *DOT* com), I have the feeling it's going to be coming up in full force shortly. (We have bumper crops of it, and never use pesticides or anything like that. It just... comes up year after year after year.)

Movin' right along...

Sorry for the dead air here lately, I haven't spent much time at the PC.

Apparently my office is moving today, so I won't have internet access at work for a few days. I've got most of the stuff boxed up. I have no idea where the new office is.

Also, I have an appointment with the temp agency on Thursday, so yes... we are moving the office, even though I won't be in it for 90% of the time. I don't get it either.

Also, sick to death of hearing about that "runaway bride" on TV. She freaked. She fled. And lets ponder, for a moment, why only attractive people get national news coverage? Cute children, women with a hook... Perfectly normal people go missing all the time. We had 2 young mothers go missing locally, I never saw them on CNN. I guess they weren't cute enough or their stories weren't compelling enough.

And another thing- If she "snapped" under the "pressure of a wedding" what do you stupid twats on the morning chat shows think you're doing by hyperanalyzing every little move she and her fiancee make. Are you not multiplying the "pressure" she's facing? Dumb fucks.

Heading to the Greenhouse after work today, and I can't wait. This is an annual tradition with my mom and I. We go, pick out plants for the rock garden, front bank, porch boxes, and patio. (Mom loves the flowers.) I lobby for another Peony and some more poppies (red ones)and usually get shot down. (I can't help it, those are my favorites.) I may commandeer some pots for basil & cilantro.

Also, in herb related news, I will, most likely, have a bumper crop of catnip and mint. I can dry some and mail it, or it does hold up reasonably well in towelling, for any who are interested. We don't use pesticide, or cultivate it. It just grows like crazy, all summer long.

Apparently one of the kids I used to babysit (changed his diapers, actually- yes, I feel old) is coming over to help mom plant this year. I won't be able to, because I'm working Saturday. (The codger corral owns my soul, apparently.)

Alright, off to go turn off Katie Couric (TV was on when I got here).