Category Archives: Work

Arbitrary Mile Posts

Finance, Health, Social, Work

In which the mere change of the year does nothing for me. And it is, of course, all about ME.

At the awesome combination wedding reception/New Year’s Eve party I attended, someone wished me “a great 2007.” I replied that I was looking forward to 2007 because it certainly couldn’t be any worse to me than 2006 was.

Open mouth, insert foot.

Today is January 4th. This year so far, I have already had the stomach flu and learned that AmmZon’s landlord — who is also her mother — has evicted us, and that we have to be out of this, our cozy little house on 2nd Street, by February 1st.

Four days, people!

I have no idea how much money I have left, because I spent a more than I intended to over the holiday, and because what remains is all in AmmZon’s checking account. [I, you may recall, no longer have an account of my own because it was garnished, a result of the financial difficulty of the last year or so of my marriage.] I had thought that I had four or five weeks of money left, with which to buckle down and find that job I don’t really want…

— But turns out that, after you spend a few months NOT spending a third of your life dragging your ass to some bullshit job where you perform tasks that really have no meaning, you develop a soul-deep revulsion toward the whole idea. Getting a 40-hour-a-week job of any stripe just grates: getting up, dragging one’s ass through the morning routine, into the car, across town, into a building. To a desk. Push pixels. Rinse and repeat.

— Work as we know it is a bad fucking idea, it really is. We spend a lot of time convincing ourselves that we like it, that it’s fulfilling, that we enjoy it, blah blah blah, but the truth is that it sucks and everyone’s happier when they don’t have to do it.

— Actually, I did think of something I want to do, just this morning, while I was reading the back of a bag of pita chips. But I can’t do it because I don’t have any money. (Or experience in the industry.) See, there used to be a restaurant in town called Hykie’s Falafel. (I love falafel.) Later it was sold and became Baba’s Falafel. The last guy to own it — Richard, I think his name was (and damn was he CUTE) — would roll back in to town, open Baba’s and run it for a year or so, then close it suddenly and leave town again. (Cute FLAKE.) He hasn’t been back for awhile, but I bet all the stuff is in storage around here someplace.

— But see, that’s the kind of job I want these days. Roll in around nine or ten, serve lunch, spend the afternoon cooking and running the business. Serve dinner, close up at nine, go home. Hire some cute kids to help me. Find a morning-oriented kid, some Future Manger of America, to open up for me so I don’t really have to show up until lunch rush starts. I could take afternoon naps at whim. It would use all my skill sets — cooking, running a business, hiring, firing, being nice to customers — and plus, I love falafel.

— But I don’t know how to get a food service license, I don’t have the recipes, I don’t have any Middle Eastern food service contacts, and above all I don’t have the money to rent and renovate a store front. And since most of the marriage’s bills were in my name and haven’t been paid since June, well, it’s not like I’ll be getting any loans in the next four years. Oh well. Nix the restauranteur idea. Even though I do have all the skills and I really love falafel.

…Now. What the hell was I saying?

Oh, yeah: I thought I had more than a month left to get a job, and that everything was pretty mellow, that this shiny new ’07 was gonna be my year… how could it not be, after last year? But now I have to get a job immediately and a place to live, and I was just puking the day before yesterday so it all seems rather abrupt and cruel.

Change is good, right?

Right?

Knit-o-rama

Knitting, Work

In which I’ve been knitting.

I came down with a knitting bug, and decided I had to get a bunch of old stuff off of my needles. Some of these projects have been in progress for over a year, and that’s just wrong. So I finished some slippers, two hats, and am nearly finished with one of those sheep I was so into about two years ago.

I’ll be mailing out knitted items to two different households soon! I feel so… accomplished! (Yes, mom, the slippers I promised you over a year ago will be on their way soon.)

My schedule has moved entirely to India time. I’m up all night, and I sleep all day. Sometimes I get up around noon and eat lunch, and then go back to bed. I’m such a rock star! (If only I had a rock star’s clothes, groupies, drugs, and deluxe tour bus. That would be tits!)

As there have been no jobs in any of the papers, I haven’t applied for anything this week at all. I was offered a temp part-time gig painting, but I don’t think I’ll take it. I don’t have any clothes I can afford to get paint on, and I don’t know how to paint. On the other hand, beggars can’t be choosers. Hmm. Maybe I’ll paint for a bit.

I splurged tonight: I had artichoke-spinach dip at the Dead Cock. That stuff is hideously good. Other gross things I’m indulging in are Justin Timberlake’s latest album, cans of icy cold Coke, and late night television. I’m disgusting.

Weather, working, and hippies

Finance, Knitting, Work

In which I couldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to.

Freezing rain last night. It is, as they say, colder’n a witch’s tit outside. I can’t even open the jeep’s doors because they’re frozen shut.

I can’t finish the BME site until — gag! — I get a copy of MS FrontPage installed. Fucking ASP anyway.

Bread’s refinancing the farm so those litigious hippies will go away. I really don’t talk shit to people, but I’m afraid that if I found myself face-to-face with them I’d go right the hell off.

We were paying, damn it, and they decided to sue us because they wanted out of a contract they’d agreed to carry! They nickle-and-dimed us the whole way, from the $6k they added at closing for no reason to the money they demanded for the propane left in the tank the day we took possession. They’re creeps, basically, so screw ’em.

I have practice tonight for the 2006 holiday benefit, so I think I might bathe today.

In other news, I hear it’s NLW’s birthday!

I Still Ain't Got No Job

Finance, Geek, Knitting, Weather, Work

In which I didn’t go to jail.

I have made $0.07 from my Google AdSense ads so far. (That’s about $25 a year. Whee.) Go, me.

It’s getting c-c-cc-cold here. I am not diggin’ it. I much preferred yesterday’s chinook, in which I wore a long-sleeved cotton t-shirt and was comfortable, but right now there’s a winter storm watch for the area and I bet everything freezes solid tonight.

On the work front, I applied for the webmaster position at Overland last week. BvB, the other singer in my band (The Band That Never Gigs), works there, and tells me that she’s pushing to get me an interview. HELLO EMPLOYEE DISCOUNT!

I’ve also applied here, but they haven’t even acknowledged receipt of my resume, so no high hopes there.

Oh, in late breaking news, cops now love me. This totally freaks me out. For instance: the night before last, I drove a drunk friend home. This was after after-hours, so it was probably around three or four o’clock in the morning. I was sober, but I had a… questionable… item or two in my bag and my friend was most likely carrying; who knows. I have a brake light out, plus cops scare the shit out of me in general; when they turn their lights on I basically have a heart attack each and every time. I knew I was going to get pulled over, and depending on the behavior of my drunk friend I was possibly going to get Fucked With. My heart started going about 210 bpm and I was already dreading my name in the next day’s police report.

Anyway, this cop followed me for three blocks… and then turned off without pulling me over. I could not fucking believe it. And then, last night? A cop followed me down an alley as I was walking to my car, then waved when I turned to look at him, and then waited for me to get into my car — like, to make sure I was safe or something? — and then he drove away. It’s weird, OH YEAH it is, but I’m grateful. They can love me all they want, fer sure. Better that than pull my ass over!

I distinctly remember telling someone yesterday, “That was funny! That’s totally going on the blog!” but now I can’t remember what the situation was. Perhaps sleeping twelve hours a night affects one’s short term-to-long term memory transference?

I’m still into knitting, like, a lot; and also: my Wee Mee:

I gave her a bulkier sweater, boots instead of Birks, and a seasonally appropriate coffee cup. SO FREAKIN’ CUTE!!!

In other news, my band, The Band That Never Gigs, is doing a gig in December! A benefit for a guy with brain cancer, but a gig nonetheless. And tomorrow night I start rehearsal for JAM’s annual holiday benefit concert because, you know, hey, it’s for a good cause, even if he *does* try to make me sing Bette Midler’s From A Distance.

In other other news, I love Gmail on my cell phone. It rocks.

Loved all your jokes in the last entry’s comments. Thank you! *smooch*

Job Hunt

Work

In which I’m cursed.

Today, I called a number from the paper to inquire about a job. I got voice mail. I left my number… incorrectly. I had to call back to leave my number again.

Then I sent an email to another company that said my resume was attached, but it wasn’t. So I had to send another email.

Here’s my resume. Attention to detail my arse.

I think I’ll stop applying for jobs for the rest of the day.

It's Here!

In other news, AmmZon and I have a knitting date this evening. She’s going to start her first pair of Fuzzyfeet, and I’m going to finally cast on the sweater I bought yarn for back in May.

Here is an old knitting meme.

I Want Something Badly

Work

In which I’m still jobless. Again. Er, whatever. It totally sucks either way.

Sure I got fired (*ahem*) let go (*ahem*) “released back into the wild” only last Wednesday, but I had an interview this morning ’cause I’m speedy like that. The interview went well and everyone was really nice, it’s just that they weren’t really hiring. I’m on their list for freelance IT support (since their IT guy is on vacation in India) and there’s a possibility of a part-time IT job in the nebulous future, but nothing really solid was on offer.

So we’ll see. I bought today’s paper and will apply for absolutely anything in it that I might be able to get. I’ll probably be applying at Hy-Vee fucking Food Stores before the week is out. Gah. Oh well, I hear the bennies are good.

In other news, I got two checks in the mail today, THANK GOD. One’s the final check from that aborted job I wish I’d never even heard of, and the other’s from my grandma. In the accompanying card, she wrote:

‘I just noticed your initials are the same as my mother, Minnie Myrtle Marxen. Bet you didn’t know she was a school teacher before she married. She wrote poetry and biographical articles about early settlers in the Clatsop county area.

‘She was born in 1888, married in 1919 when Dad came home from France after WWI. Family trivia. Her maiden name was Larson. One of 7 kids.’

If that’s not the coolest thing I’ve read all year, I don’t know what!

In other news, my pusher woman is sending me some yarn tomorrow, because she’s one of those people who think yarn fixes everything:
sheer
I’ll need to make AmmZon’s mittens before I can knit anything for myself, though.

Sleepy & On The Fence

Love & Marriage, Work

In which I can’t figure out what I want, a condition that’s becoming more and more familiar to me lately.

It’s Saturday and I’m at work. I clocked out at 12:15, went and ate lunch, came back to the office… and never clocked back in. I’ve been playing with templates, trying to make my site look like something I wanna look at.

I’m not getting far. This may be one of those instances in which I need to decide what I want and then go find it, rather than just flailing around hoping I’ll stumble across something that’ll fit.

Guess what: this theme — knowing what I want — applies to more than just the layout of my web site, apparently.

Bread came home last night after living out of town for a couple months. He kept me up until three in the morning because he wanted to talk. It was surprizing. The content was the same it’s always been, of course, but somehow we managed to connect this time and it was really emotional for both of us.

As you may or may not know, things have been pretty bad between us for the past couple of years, and downright shitty for the past ten months or so. We’ve had some really stellar fights this year, the kind that made me shut all the way down and stay that way. In spite of our problems I really do love that human being, but I just don’t know if it’s gonna work… mainly because it never has worked thus far.

But he’s asked me to try again, one more time. Swears that this time’s the charm. And who knows, maybe if we put our heads together we could manage to build some common ground… But in order for either of us to get anywhere from here I have to agree to dig deep enough to make yet another effort, I have to bootstrap myself one more goddamned time, I have to want it and choose it and do something about it.

It’s like finding the right look for the site: apparently I can’t just wait until I see it. I have to decide what it is, and then build it. Christ, it’s turning into a fucking call to action when all I want to do is hold so still that no one will notice me.

I’m so fucking tired.

I’m also the only person in this section of the office and it’s dark because the lights are off and to make things even worse I’m listening to Magnet (aural Valium) and I’m so mellow the coffee isn’t even making a dent in it. I should probably just get in my car and drive home and take a nap.

It's The Weekend. Yay.

Love & Marriage, Work

In which I hope my temp P/T gig pans out into an actual job.

I worked a full day yesterday at WG and really enjoyed it. The people are great. The majority of my time was spent doing dismally dull data entry for the marketing department, but I got to do a few little fun things interspersed.

Last night the power bounced at the house because of the stormy weather, so my alarm didn’t go off this morning. This office, though, contains a healthy non-morning population; several folks are pretty groggy and anti-social until eleven or so. Which I like. Too much cheerfulness too early grates on my nerves.

There’s a tropical depression — it may become Ernesto this afternoon — that all the adjusters are watching with bated breath. This is really a strange industry; they’re all hoping it turns into a storm so they can go make lots of money. All these folks hoping for catastrophic weather is just plain odd.

I spoke with Bread last night (he and BoSe were out getting drunk somewhere). Bread said he expects they’ll roll into Fairfield early-ish this afternoon.

I’m looking forward to having him home for a week so he can deal with the garbage and mow a few acres. Is that, like, the worst thing ever?

In other news, I still have not received any UI benefits and I still don’t really have a job and I’m still in huge debt and I’ve been eating a lot of frozen pizza. Which probably isn’t helping me in my quest to become a little skinnier.

Here’s hoping everyone has a super fun weekend!

For the LOVE of GOD, Stella!

Pets, Work

In which we return to the vet for a third time.

Picture015.jpgStella’s got another hemotoma in her ear. This is the third one.

It’s in the original ear. The hair hasn’t even grown back from the first surgery.

I asked what would happen if I just ignored it, and the vet said that it would eventually burst and be really gross, not to mention being unhealthy for the dog. You know, having a bleeding blood vessel like that.

So.

I will be visiting the vet again tomorrow morning to drop Stella off, and she will give me The Look and I will feel really, really bad about it, and they will put her totally under and do the same surgery they did a couple of weeks ago, and I will pick her up tomorrow afternoon and she will be stoned out of her gourd and there will be a rubber tube sutured into her ear.

And it will cost over $100.

I. Hate. Fleas.

In other news, this morning’s interview went great… in the sense that the people were really nice and it was, over all, a pleasant social experience (and I looked fantastic, if I do say so myself). I was grossly overqualified because it turned out to be a shipping clerk position and they’re not going to hire me and even if they did I’d turn it down because there’s no way I could stuff CDs into sleeves for a living and be able to stand myself.

I’m doing a wee data entry gig at WGI in the evenings and possibly during the days if they can get a computer set up for me. So: income! Yay!

Megadeath!

Pets, Work

In which it was really totally icky and gross! Ewh, ewh, EWH! EWH!

I went into my kitchen yesterday and something… horrible… had transpired.

I really can’t even put it together, even with the circumstantial evidence. I mean, there was some… fluid… on the counter that looked like the kind of fluid that really needs to be INSIDE of something, like, permanently. The kind of fluid that only gets outside if you’re, like, totally dead or something.

Oh, and there it is. The totally dead or something. I have no idea how it got quite THERE, exactly. Perhaps the cat ate it, and then, well, and I know this sounds far-fetched, but bear with me: perhaps the cat sat on the counter, just so, at the very edge, and, I don’t know, PUKED down into the water bowl on the floor and half missed?

Buz McFuzThe point being that on the OTHER counter, not the one with the puddle of mystery internal fluid but the other one, was a single drop of blood the size of a nickel. And below that counter, half in and half ON the stainless steel dog water bowl, were the bloody internal remains of… something.

The thing was so dead and so totally apart that I couldn’t even identify it.

Guts, floating in the water bowl. SO FUCKING GROSS. EWH!

I had to pick that bowl up and take it outside and dump it in a ditch. And then I had to clean up the counter. And the other counter. And several sketchy-looking places on the floor.

And when I was done, with my nose all wrinkled up and everything, the cat, Buz, in his little-girl voice, said, “Meow?” and polished my ankles, purring.

Purring!

He’s such a liar, that innocent-looking cat with his little-girl voice. Meow my ass. He totally and without shame wreaked deathly, bleeding havoc IN THE ROOM WHERE I COOK MY FOOD!

In other news, I have an interview tomorrow morning at 10:30 and then I’m going over to WG because apparently they’ve got a data entry project I can do. Yay!