In which my outfit leaves a little to be desired.

Earlier, Truck walked into the kitchen, looked me up and down, and said, “Are you wearing a kimono… and a hat?”

“Yes. Yes, I am. What about it?”

“Nothing. Just asking.”

I have a black silk kimono. A guy in my band brought it back for me from China. It’s groovy. I had it on over my PJs, and I was wearing a knit hat.

I’m nothing if not UTTERLY goddamned STYLISH! (Yeah, right. No wonder people think I’m a dyke.)

In other news, this is my WeeMee:

She’s immune to vaccuum, which is totally hot. And her coffee and books? Totally have their own internal gravity generators!

In which you please stand by.

If you’ve dropped by today and the ‘box was down, that’s because our provider is experiencing power problems. Should be resolved shortly.

In which there’s a brief update.

So I got a gig doing a little routine maintenance on Bear Mountain Essentials; hopefully I’ll have the strength to invoice rather than ask for this in trade. (Is that not the yummiest hippie-chick skirt ever?!)

I’ve also left two voicemails today for jobs I found in various papers. I prefer places that list email addresses in their want-ads so I can just shoot off resumes, but whatever.

I’m cashing out half of my SRA because I have literally no money… no gas in the jeep, and maybe four cigarettes left. And I’m a knitting freak because I can’t really go anywhere or do anything, not to mention that I’m really quite short on sci-fi to read; only two books left!

I made lunch for AmmZon today: rice, beans, scrambled eggs, cheese, avocado, salsa. Speaking of which, I’d better go put that stuff away…

In which I have not much to say, but, because I’m first-born and self-important, I’ll say it anyway.

Today I saw my sweet girl V. I went to her house up the block and she gave me milk, because the milk in our house had gone sour. (Which means someone drank out of the container, which pisses me off. DO NOT DRINK out of DAIRY CONTAINERS, EVER.) I needed the milk for my cardamom latte.

Then I came home and knit (knitted) for a wee bit, took a power nap, and got up and made a ginormous salad and a cheese omelet and watched BBC America on Iowa Public Television. And knit. And then my roomies came home and locked themselves in the bathroom for awhile. Then I took Truck on an errand to the store, and brought him home, and we totally forgot to get toilet paper for fuck’s sake, and now I’m going to Gorgeous’s “Hahaiin” going-away party at the Dead Cock:

Gorgeous is moving to Hawaii. I hate her. Let’s not discuss it any further.

Truck’s talking to me about a gig he did once. He just said “androgyne,” which totally fucking cracked me up. Some people can’t spell Hawaii, others use androgyne in conversation. Isn’t the world neato?

In which I basically just write another list.

Truck says to expect Jeremiah¹ in the house on Thursday! It’ll be cool to see him; I love that fucker.

He might even need to be picked up from the airport. (Me! Pick me! I’m totally good adequate at that!)

(Well, except when I quit paying attention and end up on I-80 and have to get off and drive through Iowa City at 7:30 in the morning, thinking, “Hell, even after all the years I’ve come here I never drive here and I don’t actually know my way around so I guess I’ll just head for the Old Capitol area and look for streets I know… Christ, can you be this much of a dumb ass? Why don’t I ever drive?”)

Oh, ooh: and I may have found a month-long data entry gig… and it’s work-from-home, even! Which would mean, of course, NO MORE BATHING. I’m tired of bathing. I keep doing it but still it always needs to be done again. It’s tiresome. I’d like to get clean and just freakin’ stay that way for awhile. Jeez.

A dude found my dropping out of MIU post and contacted me via Flickr. He was a student there, way back in the day when they still had Forest Academy and the women’s dome hadn’t yet been built. We’ve been conversing back and forth and it amused me today to send him a list of all the campus buildings that have been knocked down, including Barhydt chapel, to make room for f.ugly Sthapatya-vedic buildings. He’ll probably have a cow; it’ll be awesome. Apparently he’s a photographer.

Overheard just now: my roommate Truck on the phone with his girlfriend AmmZon: “I had fun making out with you last night!”

—
¹ That’s his real name, because you just can’t make up a nickname cooler than Jeremiah.

In which there’s a short unrelated list of items.

1. I’m happy that I now have not just str8 folk and gay men but at least 3 actual lesbians reading my blog. I’m so awesome.

2. In doing some soul searching I’ve discovered something: I don’t really want a job. I’m looking for one, and I definitely need one, but I can’t seem to get it up. I don’t want to spend 40+ hours a week doing something stupid for money. I want to get paid for doing the things I already do, like sing, drink, and socialize. Sleep. Knit. Surf. Read blogs. I think my indifference is affecting my ability to manifest a job. I have got to pull my head out of my ass.

3. My dog’s been shitting in the basement, which means I’ve been cleaning up dog shit. I don’t dig this at all.

4. I’ve been propositioned a few times in the past weeks, and although I’m flattered I don’t want to sleep with anybody. I used to be a totally easy slut, but in my old age I seem to have developed some standards. Whodathunkit. Plus I haven’t been seperated very long; I don’t want to be gauche. Plus it’s not like I’m in any condition to actually see anyone. Please. I’m a total piece of shit right now. And sex for it’s own sake isn’t sounding all that appealing to me.

5. The day before yesterday, all I had to eat was a cup of coffee and a pita with hummus. Today, I’ve had nothing but water and a bean burrito. I would kill for an icy cold Coke right now, but there aren’t any left in the fridge.

In other news, I think I’m going to McDonald’s. And I just installed eyeOS again. (The last time was over a year ago.) It’s got actual apps now, and is acting more and more like a web-based desktop than ever before. Screw keeping my content on a local machine; I’ll just keep it all up on the web from NOW ON.

In which I’m asked a personal question.

There’s this guy I know. Not really well, but we worked at the ISP together. I don’t have his number in my cell phone or anything, but we’ll chat if we run into each other. An acquaintance.

Anyway, last night at the Dead Cock (where I was drinking water and listening to everyone go on about the seance they’d had upstairs to contact the bar’s resident ghost) he says to me, “Can I ask you a personal question?”

I say, “Sure, go ahead,” because I can’t think of what the fuck he could possibly be curious about.

He says, “So are you bisexual, or just a full-on lesbian?”

I blink. “Uh, I’m totally straight.”

He just looks at me, like he thinks I’m lying.

So I say, “I like cock.”

“No way!” he says. “What about all those girls I saw you with on your lunch hour? You’d sit in your jeep and smoke cigarettes with them, and they were always huggin’ and kissin’ on you?”

“Just friends. I’m unbearably adorable, of course, so that’s why all the huggin’ and kissin’, but I don’t sleep with girls. Well, I make out with them sometimes, but I don’t fuck them. Usually.”

“Wow! I totally read you wrong! For a whole year!”

“Eh,” I said, shrugging. “It happens.” Inwardly I’m thinking, Wow, maybe I should just switch. Might be easier in the long run. At least chicks are crazy in a way I understand, unlike boys, who are crazy in ways that are utterly and inscrutibly foreign to me.

He says, “Well, damn, I’m sorry, but I guess I’m glad I asked!” and he looks a little embarrassed.

“Naw, naw, it’s fine.” I say. “I’m flattered, not offended! Chicks are awesome.”

That may be the single most amusing conversation I’ve had in, oh, ten years. For real. Am I a lesbian? THAT’S SO COOL! It never occurred to me that there was anyone in this town who thought so. If only I really were that interesting.

In other news, I have to get up at five. in. the. morning. to drive someone to the airport. I need the money, obviously, or I wouldn’t be doing it at that hour… I bought tags for the jeep today — today was the last day; tomorrow they’d expire — and I now have less than two dollars to my name, and one of those dollars is in change.

Damn 4WDs with their $55 tags. Ugh.

In which I go out. Late.

Gorgeous was doing a white trash costume and needed a string bikini top to wear under her tube top, so yesterday around dusk I drove over to her place in my pajamas to loan her mine. Her costume was terrifying. She had a mullet wig on, a tube top, jeans, tacky jewelry, and those hideous plastic teeth they sell this time of year. She’d put a little rhinestone on one of the teeth, and given herself a black eye with makeup. She was simultaneously super hot and grossly disgusting, and her persona was amazing. The teeth gave her a charmingly gross lisp. It was like a car wreck: I just couldn’t look away.

I came home when she had to go to work and lazed around. AmmZon had some friends over and Truck and I hid out in ‘my’ room because there’s a second TV in there. I stared, mesmerized, at the glass teat — I hate TV, it’s got an unnatural power over me sometimes — and watched about nine episodes of CSI or something, and he surfed on his laptop. We drank a couple of white russians. He had pot roast AmmZon had made, and I ate the rest of the veggie lasagna.

Gorgeous and Baby Girl had both asked me to go out, but I was terminally lazy. Around midnight I finally rolled bar-ward, but I didn’t bother with a costume. When I got there, Bread was there (and as they say, he was obviously ‘feeling no pain’ — hehe). I said hi to him, he said we needed to talk, I got his phone number, and then although I smiled at him whenever I walked past or happened to catch his eye we never spoke again. It’s weird that you can spend seven years of your life with someone and then not talk to them for a month. I’d offered to maintain a friendship but he more or less vetoed the idea; having been there I understand the position, but it’s odd. I’m curious about how he’s doing, but I don’t feel like I have the ‘right’ to ask him for personal details… even though I once knew damn near every personal detail of his entire life.

Baby Girl as Dorothy

Anyway, I hung out with Baby Girl and Core, and Gorgeous and Rockstar, and Funk, and some other folks. I had a good time. Since the clocks changed the bar was open an extra hour, and we basically closed the place down. Then we went to Baby Girl & Core’s and hung out for awhile and drank cans of beer (well, I had a Gatorade ’cause I don’t really drink beer) and I got home around 4:30 and went to bed.

I’ve got resumes out and am hoping I get some emails tomorrow inviting me for interviews. Cross your fingers for me. I also have to go buy tags for the jeep, which will eat up pretty much all of my remaining cash.

In the evening tomorrow, I’m driving to Cedar Rapids to pick Snow up from the airport. It’ll be fun to hang out with him — I haven’t seen him in months, even though we’re allegedly in a band together — and he’ll pay me for my time, which is nothing a girl in my position can shake a stick at!

In which this is the best spelling error ever. Ever ever ever!

From a random eBay listing Truck had been perusing:

“I prefer Echeck. (Paypal only charge a flat $5.00 fee on Echeck) Postal money order, Bank wire transfer are all accepectabal.”

Now, there are so many errors in grammar and punctuation here it’s all I can do not to correct them. But then, the pièce de résistance:

Accepectabal.

Accepectabal? Accepectabal?!?

*collapses into a fit of giggles*

Accepectabal!

In which I get an offer!

My brake light went on a couple of days ago. (Big, bright, RED light, right there on the dashboard: BRAKE.) After the light came on, the brakes seemed squishy, but I don’t know if the symptom was psychosomatic or not. (And if it was, I don’t know if I was imagining it or if the jeep was.) Suffice it to say, the sticker in the upper left-hand corner of my windshield proclaims that I was supposed to have gone in for service last March. Oops.

This afternoon I stopped at Mi-T-Mart and bought a container of DOT3 brake fluid. Out in the parking lot, I popped the hood and put the fluid in the jeep. Sheets and Bailey pulled up beside me, grinning and hollering, “Hey! You need a man to help you with that?”

“Why? Do you know were to find one?” I quipped.

Sheets laughed and said, “I met one once, in a place one time!”

“Are you sure it was a man? Did you check?”

“Naw,” he said. “I used to check ’em all, but it just gets so time consuming.”