In which I do a do-over.

I had written an introspective, pensive post about my life as I know it… and then I opened the Iowa job search db in another tab and Firefox crashed, taking my whole damn post with it. The gist was that I actually had some guests out here last night, quite spontaneously and quite by accident, and once again I’m suffused with gratitude for my friends.

It went like this: Buzz dropped by on his way home from work, and then Rockstar and Gorgeous came out to walk BoSe’s dogs, and then Raybo stopped in on her way back from ScrOttumwa, and I had people over visiting me in my own home for several hours running! It was amazing, really, to have actual guests over, especially since I’d cleaned yesterday and was ready to have actual guests over. The dishes were done, and I’d washed the blanket that covers the couch and even dusted. (The bathroom continues to be an ongoing observational experiment in entropy, but at least the two main rooms were presentable.) I was even able to offer the guys beers because there are five or six kinds in the beer fridge left over from who knows when!

Gorgeous has listened to me bitch about cleaning this place for years. She told me my living room was ‘immaculate,’ but it was dusk so she couldn’t see the monster (formed of dog hair and sticks and toads and dust and spiders and moth wings) that was snaking its furry arm out from under the rocking chair toward her ankle. Luckily, she stepped away before it wrapped its tentacle around her flesh and sucked her into that scary, dark break in the concrete that I artfully keep concealed behind an old dresser. Whew.

After awhile it was just Raybo and me. She didn’t have to get up in the morning, so she stayed late and drank the last of my vodka with me, and we tried a lemondrop-with-rum experiement that wasn’t brilliant but was at least drinkable. She is so fantastically wonderful and awesome; I feel like we’ve been friends for years but it’s only been months. Every so often I squeeze her and squeal, “I’m so glad you moved here!” and she grins and squeals “Me too!” right back at me. A good friend is a precious thing.

Bread called me yesterday to report the latest sales figures (which are encouraging!) and to inform me that he and BoSe have rented a furnished apartment in Indy because it’s cheaper than any motel they could find.

Now I’m all for frugality, of course, but I have to admit the news made me strangely jealous. He’s living in a neat little furnished apartment in a metropolitan area — which is exactly what I want out of life! — and I’m here, in the country, in this clapped-out old farmhouse with the bills in the mailbox every day and the flea-infested dogs and the toads and spiders and the 26-mile commute! What the fuck!

Yes, I’m petty and ugly, but I’m woman enough to work through it. And I did. The truth is that I’d rather be here than in Indy selling roofs. All my stuff is here, my band is here, and all my friends are here. I don’t really like Indy all that much, and calling it a ‘metropolitan area’ is actually a compliment. The jealous pettiness was just a momentary blip but it threw me and I had a why-am-I-always-the-one-doing-the-responsible-thing? pity party for an hour. Seriously, though, I bet that if Bread had his druthers he’d be here handling the domestic shit while I was off in some city pulling down the big bucks. He’d love to be a farm husband even more than I’d love to be living in a tidy little furnished apartment in a city somewhere. The weirdo.

Too bad I have yet to realize, codify, and market whatever skill it is that I undoubtably possess that would enable me to be the one living in the furnished apartment in the metropolitan area and pulling down the big bucks. Maybe this Xactimate training thing will pan out. Maybe I’ll figure out how to become the systems streamlining expert like Snow suggested. Who knows. My problem is that I know a little about a lot of things, but I never specialized enough. Even in all my years at the ISP I never bothered to take any certification tests. Hell, I never finished any of my college degrees either. (Yes, I spent five years in college and never got a piece of paper.) (Oh shush, it’s not like a degree in voice or literature or history would do me any good.)

I’m over-qualifed for any and all office positions short of upper management, but I’m under-qualified for management because I’m not degreed in business. I’m woefully under-qualified for most geek positions, but over-qualified for geek entry level jobs like tech support. On the other hand, I’ve worked myself out of more than one job by streamlining it until I had nothing to do, and in every office position I’ve ever had I’ve ended up taking on more and more responsibility until I was doing a manager’s job with an assistant’s title and salary.

Suffice it to say, I haven’t gotten any calls for interviews yet.

I have band practice tonight, and afterward I’m not going to karaoke no matter what Gorgeous says. Tomorrow Stella gets the tube out of her ear.

In other news, I spent $70 on Frontline for all the animals yesterday, and put it on them as soon as I got home. I have observed no relief from the fleas in the past 24 hours. My conclusion is that Frontline no longer kills fleas. I’m going to try to contact the company that manufactures it and let them know. Maybe they’ll send me a fucking refund.

In which I’m totally not dead or anything.

I haven’t read comments yet, but I see that there are quite a few and I imagine you’re all wondering where the hell I am. I’m here! Sitting at my desk in my office at home, listening to my three miserable dogs squinch themselves endlessly because the fleas this year are FROM HELL. I’ve dipped them, washed them, sprinkled flea powder all over every soft surface in the house, vaccuumed like a demon, washed all the rugs and blankets, and they’re still infested. It fucking sucks and I feel like the worst dog mom ever.

Thursday I went to karaoke at Gorgeous’s insistence. I hate karaoke. I’m a professional singer, and listening to drunk amateurs ‘sing’ hurts my ears. I ended up staying until the end, though, because I got a little drunk and wasn’t willing to drive home in that condition. Gorgeous conferred with the karaoke guy and made me sing the last song of the night. The six people who were left danced while I did so. I can no longer say I’ve never sung karaoke, and to tell you the truth it rather irritates me. I liked being a karaoke snob, damn it.

Friday morning at eight I took Stella to the vet again. She’d developed a second hemotoma in her other ear, and had to have a second surgery. I went grocery shopping and ran a few errands and returned home, where I napped. I picked Stella up just before five and took her home. I stayed in Friday night. (I’d texted some girls to see if they wanted to come out, but no one responded.)

Saturday morning Gorgeous had a total meltdown — she and Rockstar broke up last month and it had finally hit her that It Was Over, and she was sitting in her car drinking a 40 and chain smoking at 10:30 in the morning — Mother and I became a sort of tag team emergency crew and got her into her house, fed, and snuggled in for a nap. Then I returned to the farm, dipped Shiva again, did more laundry, and napped.

I’m all about the napping.

Saturday night I went to Iowa City with the whole crew to check out the new sushi restaurant. It sucked. I wouldn’t recommend it to anyone. The service was polite but awful, the miso was served luke warm and with way too much seaweed in it, the drinks were excruciatingly slow in coming, and the sushi was average at best. After dinner, we went to The Summit for a few hours. I haven’t been to a dance club in a really, really, really long time and the experience made me feel old and fat, but the boy-watching was pretty good considering we were still in the Midwest. I drank pretty heavily: two Jaeger shots and four vodka-cranberries. We left around one o’clock. Gorgeous fell asleep in my lap on the drive home, and I crashed at her place because she didn’t want to sleep alone. She’s a fiery blonde Italian and her resting body temperature is about one hundred and ten. She’d be great to sleep with in the wintertime.

Sunday I went home and — you guessed it — took a nap, then got up and went to band practice. After band practice I sat in PK’s yard and had a nice long chat with him. He offered to lend me cash if I need any, which was incredibly sweet. I said I was good for now, but he said it can help to know there are options, which is true. Love that guy.

I haven’t gotten any calls from any of the jobs I’ve applied to through Workforce Development, but Bread and BoSe are trying to fly me out to Indy to teach a day course on Xactimate to the MR ROOF sales team. I’m going to have to build an outline and see how much I could cover in one 8-hour day, and then figure out how much to charge for it.

Gorgeous has decided to go to Hawai’i for awhile and urges me to come along with her. I’ve never been; it sounds divine. I promised her I’d consider it, but honestly I’m so deep in debt I can’t see it actually happening… the idea sure sounds amazing, though. After the total shit that has been the past couple months of my life — marital issues galore, financial problems, the stress of travel, dog health, jeeps without tires, borrowing money, losing my job, etc. — a month on a tropical island, stressing the fuck down for awhile, sounds almost too good to be true.

Today I’ve eaten a mango and a handful of cranberry-chocolate chip trail mix. I have not gotten dressed. I have watched Amadeus and done laundry and given Stella her pill. I’d better go call and make my Target VISA payment before they send me to collections. Ciao, babies.

Update: So I called Target to make payment arrangements because my account was 113 days past due. This lovely boy called Brandon lowered my interest rate, took a reasonable payment today and set up a 6-month $25-a-month payment schedule until I’m, as he put it, ‘back on my feet.’ He also encouraged me to apply for work at Target, and sent me to jobsinminneapolis.com to check out all the Target openings. Isn’t that cute?!

In which the laptop goes away. Again.

Bread and BoSe are heading back to Indy today. Bread’s taking the laptop with him, so my Internet presence may become spotty again. I’ve got dial-up at home, but it’s slow and sometimes I don’t have the patience. Depends on how bored I get, I suppose.

The jeep’s over at Iowa Tire right now getting new tires put on, so I’ll have my own wheels again. It was stored in the barn for a month or so, so it’s covered in bird and bat shit. I had to hose off the windshield just so I could see to drive it to town! I’ll be cleaning it off (and out) this afternoon, believe you me. A trip to the car wash is just what’s needed.

I’ve applied for three jobs already this week. Go me!

In which I have nothing to say.

Bread woke me up way before eight because he hates me and wants me to suffer. I’M UNEMPLOYED, for chrissake, I should be allowed to sleep in like the total fucking loser I really am.

Then I dusted all three dogs with diatomaceous earth. I’d dusted the cat the night before and saw three dead fleas on him this morning, and all three dogs are totally infested again even though we dipped them 48 hours ago. Damn fleas.

Then we drove to town, picked up our loan, hit the bank, ate Indian food, and came to BoSe’s.

Where we still are. They’ve been working much of the afternoon. Working is all well and good, of course, but I think it’s time for a cocktail, myself.

I reworked my resume. I learned that there is nothing worth applying for in Fairfield or Ottumwa. I think I’ll end up on foodstamps, working in a coffee shop. (As long as it has wireless, that might be okay.) (Just kidding!) (Well, mostly.)

In which the Internet continues to be A Force for Good. And goodies!

This morning we were outside and Bread was checking the oil in the BBT because the ‘check engine’ light came on last night as we were driving home. He said, “There’s an Amazon box in the garage,” and I walked over to check it out.
“So there is!” I said. “But I didn’t order anything.”

I opened the box and it was another present from an Internet friend. Amped! sent me the following goodies off of my Wishlist, with a note that they were intended to cheer me up during my current path upheavals, which they most certainly will:

The Real Book: Sixth Edition (legal)

I have a real book! I have a real book! I have a real book! OMG, this is so exciting!

Now I just need to find a nice jazz combo to go through some standards with. Mmm, piano and bass. Mmm.

Little Things by Toby Lightman

I’m in love with the track Real Love off of this CD, and after hearing it I Limewired the rest of the tracks, but they’re all low fidelity. I have no qualms about downloading free music and buying the album later; I figure it’s like borrowing a library book, reading it, and then buying yourself a copy later.

The Wonderful Story of Henry Sugar and Six More by Roald Dahl

Raybo told me about this book recently and said it was wonderful and that I must read it, so I obediently added it to my Wishlist. I’m excited to check it out, but frankly I have very little idea of what it is.

Thank you so much, Amped! You rock so hard I can barely stand it. *smooch* The moral here, if there is one, appears to be that it pays to keep one’s Wishlist up-to-date, because you never know when some awesome human being is gonna ship you a box o’ lovin’.

Fifteen minutes later, uring the drive to town, a locust flew in the window and got stuck in the little indentation on the door. It was HUGE. I’m generally not squeamish about bugs — I have no problem with spiders or junebugs or what have you — but this thing wasn’t a bug, it was HUGE. HUGE, I tell you! It needed its own fucking zip code. I had to scootch over to get away from it because the window was rolled all the way down and I was afraid it was going to fly out, hit the wind, and bounce back onto ME. *shudder* It eventually got out of the door and flew out the window — without touching me, praise the powers that be — but it was just way too much bug. Way too much. Like, three times too much bug.

Bugs just shouldn’t be that freakin’ big, I’m telling you. It totally freaked me out. Where the hell are we, the freakin’ Amazon basin? There’s no reason for a bug to be big enough to give you a fucking concussion, none at all. EVER. Ugh.

I asked Bread about the ‘check engine’ light and if the truck was behaving as oddly as it had during the drive home last night and he said, “You know, I can’t figure out if these are hurdles I’m supposed to jump over, or signs that I need to make other choices.”

I totally hear that. I don’t know the answer, but I certainly hear the question. It’s hard to know what to do sometimes, with several options available.

We had tons of amazing support of nature to get out to Indianapolis the first time. It was almost eerie how everything pulled together, seemingly out of nowhere, for us. Then we spent three weeks working for a company that wasn’t paying anyone. Sometimes, it seems, support of nature isn’t — it’s one’s own ritam. You think the Universe is nudging you in a certain direction for your general good, but in retrospect you realize that what really happened is you used your own innate (and generally latent) power to get yourself where you wanted to go, and there really wasn’t any kind of message at all.

It’s a fucking stone cold bitch, is what it is

The weather, however, is not stone cold at all. From the NWS:

TEMPERATURES IN THE MIDDLE AND UPPER 90S WILL COMBINE WITH THE HIGH HUMIDITY LEVELS TO CREATE HEAT INDICES IN THE 105 TO 110 RANGE THIS AFTERNOON. WARM AND HUMID CONDITIONS WILL CONTINUE OVERNIGHT …BRINGING LITTLE RELIEF FROM THE HEAT.

Now I’m sitting in BoSe’s living room using his wireless; Bread’s playing Black on Xbox. BoSe is at the hospital with his mom. We’re waiting for a friend to drop by, then I guess we’re going to go home and hole up in the bedroom with the A/C on full blast to avoid the insane heat. Well, after the dogs get their flea baths, that is.

In which technical difficulties are the order of the day. Er, afternoon. Whatever.

I’ve finished my software training course and had lunch and now I’m ready to become certified in Xactimate. I’m sitting in the classroom with the seven other people who are ready to take the certification test.

And the software’s online training site is down. Hanging. Crashed. No one can register.

So I’m having another cup of coffee, because why the hell not, while one of the instructors is on the phone with the vendor. It looks like we’re all going to have to register for the site over the phone. Individually. If you can believe that.

Query: What the hell is the rule for ‘-or’ versus ‘-er’? Why is it ‘instructor’ and ‘adjuster’? Why isn’t ‘adjuster’ spelled ‘adjustor’?

I haven’t sent out a single resume all week. I really need to get crackin’ this weekend. Work. Need work.

In other news, the husband and I are borrowing even more money because, well, it appears that we require food to live (odd, I know, but there it is) and the mortgage is due in four days and, essentially, we have no other option. Bread will be going back out to Indy, possibly next week, and I’m staying here and looking for work — correction: getting work! — and making token payments toward our bills and feeding the pets and hanging out with my girlfriends and going to band practice and knitting a sweater. I’d look for website gigs, but Bread’ll have the laptop with him and I will never build a site over dial-up again as long as I live, amen.

Update: I did the test in, like, ten minutes. It was only 35 questions. Yes, I got 100%. Now I’m certified in Xactimate. Whee!