In which I want things and see things and do things!

Paragraph the first: Apparently none of you like a good voice when you hear one. Which is fine. I guess. (Well, as long as you like my voice, that is.) Even though I expected more from the discerning creatures who (inexplicably) read goblinbox. Perhaps it’s simply that you’re unable to get past the songs themselves – which are cheesy, I admit – to realize that the bitch is a diva? Or maybe you just didn’t study opera like I did.

Paragraph the second: My little brother got hi’self a PSP and is offering to sell me his 5th gen iPod for a hundred bucks. I really want it! (But I’m poor and I owe the vet money and I have to save to see Amma next month and hopefully he’ll be able to hold it for a few weeks because I WANT it.) In celebration of this non-transaction, I deleted a bunch of shit I don’t like out of my iTunes library. Yay!

I think I’ve convinced Bghead to write a book with me. If we actually do it, I bet we could bang it out in six months. Right now we’re in the research phase, which means – hopefully – that Bghead is buying some of the books we discussed last night. I might have to get my library card updated and learn more about intra-library loans.

This notice was in the window at Mi-T-Mart this morning. I have no idea what this is about, but I sure do wanna find out!

What’s Maharishi Vedic City trying to do, steal someone’s land? Or is it just an issue of some townie not wantin’ no roo wiring buried anywhere on his back 40?

Paragraph the sixth: I have vox practice tonight for that bhajans album I’m singing on next month. Tomorrow I’ll be sitting in with the Green Band at the Hickory House. (My music sched is now over there –> in the sidebar!) I told Truck it was his job to know the changes to Stormy Monday and he said he already did. Hell to the yeah!

I made tabouli last night, but I had to use Italian parsley. It tasted just fine. So fine, in fact, that I ate half of it before bed. And AmmZon introduced me to the mohito. OMFGWTFBB!!!!1!1!11!!!!/!1! Damn! So good.

In which I’m bitchy and grumpy and anti-social.

I don’t want to do shit. I don’t want to bathe, I don’t want to get dressed, I don’t want to go to work. I don’t want to do anything or go anywhere or see anyone.

It’s really not so bad this month: I’m not in pain, and I’m not swelled up like a bloated carcass (yay diuretic properties of caffeinated beverages!). I’m just OMG so fucking bitchy and grumpy that no one should be exposed to me. I’m pissed off just sitting here.

It occurs to me that bursting into tears over nothing is reason enough to take the damn afternoon off.

Hormones suck.

In which I might be complaining juuuust a little bit.

Look what I did at work today:

Why can’t I get paid for this instead?

In which I’m checking in.

First, if you feel at all interested, you should ask me for a login and write a relationship post. Come on, it’ll be awesome!

Second, for lunch today I made myself the best sandwich ever: pesto, avocado, baby spinach, tomatoes, red onion, mozzarella, and mayo, on peasant bread from the local crunchy whole foods-ish store. It was so good I felt compelled to mention it to you!

Third, if you’re one of my daytime IM friends and are feeling ignored, it’s not that I don’t love you but that I’ve been encouraged not to IM while at work. So that’s why I don’t answer and/or am not logged in as much as usual. *sigh*

Fourth, I’m in checkbook balancing hell at work. Hell, I tell you. It’s the most tedious task ever, and it makes me feel stupid because it should be easy but it’s not: it’s a fucking pain in the ass! I started out doing May’s statement, and ended up having to go all the way back to March to re-reconcile it, even though March and April had balanced to the penny! Still, the May opening balance was wrong, so go back I did. Now my brain is mud. Gah!

Finally, I’ve been thinking about the Band That Never Gigs because there’s a practice tonight, and I just plain don’t wanna go. I mean, every time I think about it, I groan – that’s how much I don’t want to go. I think I might need to unpack that and see if what I really need to do is quit. (Truck and I have been thinking about offering ourselves to the JCGB for the summer just for the fun of playing some with an established band that gigs, and because we had so much fun sitting in with them at the divorce party.)

In other news, HOLY SHIT WILL YOU LOOK AT MY STATS?!?!

‘K, back to balancing now. *smooch*

In which there’s an open call for content.

You may have noticed that the last post was by a guest author. If you’d like to write a post here on goblinbox on the theme of relationships – want one, have one that rocks, have one that sucks, lost one, don’t want one, etc. – please email me with your email address and desired username and password and I’ll give you a login!

Random observations on the subject of relationships you might use as a springboard for a post:

* There’s a guy at work I call Bitchy Guy, because he’s been totally bitchy since I started working there. A week ago, he suddenly turned into a pussycat. Turns out his girlfriend has returned to town. You can do your own math, but I’m suspecting he’s mellow merely because he’s getting sex again. Is sex that important?
* I heard through the grapevine that two friends of mine broke up today. They’ve been married for over ten years and they have kids and everything. Does anything last forever?
* Rock ‘n’ roll tells us that love is a battlefield, love stinks, and that love is the answer.
* We only hurt the ones we love, or, Why am I nicer to total strangers than I am to my lover?
* There is/isn’t such a thing as true love or one person meant for each of us.
* Romantic love is not only a recent concept but a myth.
* Someday my prince will come.

So sound off, bitches!

C’mon, please?

In which I’m watching Doctor Who on PBS. Fuck, I love me some Doctor Who!

Isn’t it wonderful how committed those British Shakespearian actors are to their characters, even when they’re doing cheesy sci-fi on telly and are surrounded by a set constructed entirely of cardboard boxes covered in foil and filled with Christmas lights and that are intended with all sincerity to look like the interior of a spaceship?

There may be kitschy things flashing and whirring and beeping in the background, but the lieutenant is steely-eyed and so utterly natural in the delivery of his lines, the actor so cognizant of his character’s motivation that the cheesiness retreats and the story is paramount.

Three cheers for Shakespeare, indirectly because of whom disbelief can be suspended!

In which I tell you how I’m feelin’.

Stayed up late last night. Sleepy today.

Rainy and overcast outside. Thunderbumpers, dark clouds, the works.

Tried to change the colorway here on the blog – had a really cute palette extracted from shades in the logo – but it sure turned out fugly! Sometimes I actually regret not taking art classes in college.

Band practice tonight. Better go, since I blew off Tuesday night’s practice for a birthday party.

That is all.

In which I get all vain on y’all.

Every month I have a realization:

“OMFG! I’m FAT! This is IT, I’ve had it! I’ve absolutely GOT to do something about this! Now a little pudge is fine, of course, but I’ve passed that! I’m moving into the shit-girl-cover-that-ugly-UP! category, and that is so not acceptable!”

And then two days after The Curse ends, I’ve mysteriously and effortlessly lost five inches from my waist. And my ankles! (Okay, maybe not five inches, but it feels that way. One day I put on a snug t-shirt and gross myself out, a few days later I’ve again got the intimation of a waist.)

It’s sneaky, too, this puffing up. I don’t realize it’s happened until it’s gone away again. It seems at the time like normal flesh, but it’s not! It’s imitation flesh! It’s evil wicked temporary blubber!

The moral of the story is that bloating? SUCKS.

I remember watching commercials for Midol back in the day, and thinking it was just more of the same-ol’ typically unnecessary medication foisted off by the drug companies, but now that I’m old and my hormones are whack I realize that this bloating thing? Is totally no joke.

Water retention! For fuck’s sake, people! There’s no good reason for my ankles to disappear every 33 days, is there?

Silver lining: since I was destined to have weak female hormones, the Universe compensated by giving me a great voice, a sunny disposition, and too much fucking testosterone. Which means I will soon be a hairy-chested, male-pattern bald-headed singer whose indominatable spirit uplifts all those around her!

All three who still remain by the time I’m an ankle-less bald-headed hairy-bodied ape of a crone, that is. I’ll sing ’em commercial jingles written by Barry Manilow and snippets of operas I’ve forgotten the words to.

*cackle*

In which I cover a few days in one entry.

Well, let’s see… what have I been doing?

Thursday night I crashed at Baby Girl’s. Her hubby was out of town, so she and I and our dogs hung out and watched chick TV and ate cookies. It was fun. Next morning we got iced mochas at BK and then I went home to bathe and get ready for work.

Work was fine, nothing exciting happened. I doubt I’ll ever get full-time or a raise offered to me there. I have to admit that I love the hours – noon to five – but I can’t even afford a storage unit let alone an apartment with that kind of income. If only I liked working it would be so much easier to be aggressive about it.

Friday, AmmZon had the house pressure-washed. It looks amazing. I thought that that was something one did only before painting, but no… the back deck looks brand-new. The whole place looks lovely. I’m amazed.

Last night I was invited to go back over for another slumber party at Baby Girl’s, but I had a sleep-a-thon instead. I had a couple of drinks after work, then came home and crashed. Woke up, went to the store, came back, ate tostadas, crashed. Got up at noon today, let the dog out, ate a handful of dried cherries, crashed until five.

Went to Walmart for underwear. Bought a couple of t-shirts and a set of tiny speakers I can use with my iPod in my room, too. Got drive-thru. Came home and ate. Thinking of going back to bed. I usually sleep 12 hours a night during The Curse, but this week I didn’t and now it’s catching up to me. Have tentative plans with BG to go out tonight, but I may be sleeping.

Tonight, AmmZon is going to a friend’s wedding in Des Moines, I think. I have no idea what Truck’s doing but I imagine he’ll find some boys to hang out with while the cat’s away.

The last two books I read were brilliant. The book I’m reading now is disappointing by contrast and I can’t get into it (even though I’m more than half finished with it and it’s actually pretty good). Sometimes I wish TV worked the same way on me it appears to on others: folks look so involved when they’re sprawled out on the couch worshiping the glass teat. I can only manage to feel that way if I’m sick. Maybe I’ll have to get industrious and clean my room or the jeep or something.

In which I get called “ma’am” four times.

While driving between the post office and work, I noticed that my oil pressure gauge was going totally apeshit, bouncing all over the place. I glanced up at the cling in the corner of my windshield and realized I was a year past due for an oil change, so I drove right past work and went up to Fesler’s.

The pressure gauge is back to normal, but now it appears I need all kinds of other maintenance: belts, tranny fluid, filters, and crap like that. I guess this is what happens when one drives a ’92.

In other news, two companies will be moving in to the building I work in. Because one will require a lock to their suite, a new wall has been built… Right. Next. To. My. Desk.

There’s superfine drywall dust all over my shit today, and it’s pissing me off. The mud on my computer cables is irritating too, but on the other hand I guess it might be fun working in the same building with the Obama Iowa campaign team. Young, fresh-faced idealists who think the political system actually works could be very inspiring!