In which I check in.
I’ve been off the ‘net for a couple days because — surprize, surprize — I didn’t pay my phone bill and so I can’t get online from home. Right now I’m at the coffee shop with NLW, waiting for my frappuccino.
After getting laid off, I went to get drunk. Don’t ever let anyone tell you getting drunk doesn’t solve your problems, because it totally does. After half a bottle of wine, getting laid off stops stinging. Somewhere during your second bottle of wine, you’re stoked you’re unemployed because you know you’ll never make it to work in the morning.
I spent two days with Raybo and her brood. The first night I crashed at her place, the second night she and her kids came to the farm. There was Middle Eastern food, there were pina coladas, smoking on the porch. Talking. It was soooo goood to have women and children around me.
Raybo lost her job in June, so she didn’t have to be anywhere either. She and her kids and I swam in the triangle pond yesterday.
NLW showed up at my place today just after I finished lunch. She didn’t have my new cell number, and I’d been off the Internet, so she just drove out to check on me. I’d been recovering from two days of having kids everywhere.
So NLW’s abducting me for coffee in town. Plus I gotta go buy benadryl and flea shampoo and dog food in time to be back at NLW’s man’s store by four. Ciao, babies!
In other news, I’ll be spending a few hours in the employment office on Monday. Filling out paperwork, waiting in uncomfortable chairs, talking to bored and overworked government employees, being told either I’m not eligible for unemployment benefits or that I am but it’s only $22.50 a week. Yay. *rolleyes*
In which what I’d expected — then not expected — happens.
I just got laid off.
I may be asked back… in a few months, at the earliest.
Sadly, I’ve remembered that during my base year for unemployment (five quarters ago), I was working part-time. So I may not even be eligible for unemployment in the first place, but even if I am it’ll barely be worth the time to file.
The good news is that I got two weeks’ severance, so at least the mortgage is paid.
Update: Talked to Brett. “You got laid off? You’re shittin’ me!” He thinks I should go back out to Indy, but I don’t want to sell roofs and it would make more sense for me to get an office job here, if I’m going to get an office job. Plus, hello, three dogs and a cat? I doubt the Housesitter wants to live there forever. Hell, I don’t even want to live there, and all my stuff’s there!
In which I go off on the farm. Again.
I had breakfast yesterday at Bob Evans with the group. We laughed a lot. Then we walked back to the motel and BoSe left for an ‘urgent meeting’ in Truck & Bowling Jesus’ room *nudge nudge, wink wink*, and I got ravished. Then Bread gave me much of his remaining cash, we loaded the Exploder, and off I went.
It took about six hours to get to the Red Rock. I called AmmZon and she came right over and we caught up while I ate.
Then I drove the rest of the way home. It was stormy. Our housesitter was there; he’d changed the sheets on the bed, bless his heart, and they were in the wash when I arrived. (The dogs had slept on the bed, he said.) We chatted a bit, then he went out to see his Grandma. (He never came back.)
I took a brief tour of the house.
Entropy.
He’d been sleeping there, on the couch, but that was about it. He hadn’t been hanging out there much — and I don’t blame him, he’s got his own life, not to mention two jobs — and the house was starting to revert to nature.
Dust everywhere. An eviscerated dead mouse on the kitchen counter. Bugs, spiderwebs.
My office was spotless when I left three weeks ago. Left entirely to its own devices, it was filthy when I returned, covered in a thick layer of dust. It looked like it had been empty for a couple of years.
Anyway, the point is that I hate that place. Officially. It’s depressing. I simply don’t like living in the country in an old farm house. It would be marginally better living in the country in a brand new house, but only just. Nature is dirty, that’s her thing, that’s what she does.
Not to mention that we can’t really afford it, not without Bread working full-time. Which he hasn’t been for the past two years or so. Mortgage, twice-annual balloon payments, insurance, property tax. The thing is an anchor. Albatross. Whatever. I’d try to convince Bread that we should put it on the market, but with the house ripped apart in the way that it is, I really doubt it would sell.
To make homecoming even more nifty, Shiva is nearly bald. He’s got scabs all over from biting himself. Bindu’s got a thin patch of fur on each haunch where she’s been squinching. Stella’s coat looks fine, but she’s obviously itchy, too. All three dogs were Frontlined the week before we left, so they’re not even due for another dose yet. Yet they’re clearly totally fucking miserable.
I pulled poor, practically-bald Shiva into the shower with me this morning and sudsed him thoroughly with soothing, minty, non-toxic Dr Bronner’s. He couldn’t decide if he was freaked out or in bliss, and alternated from whining with discomfort to grunting in pleasure. It was pretty cute. As was his drying off dance afterward.
I’m going to put all three dogs on children’s Benadryl and Dr Bronner them every third day until they’re better. Poor fuckers. Damn fleas.
I’m not sure if I’m willing to try and bathe the cat. He’s a pretty mellow cat, though, so maybe. We’ll see. Maybe I’ll just brush him daily.
In other news, within 15 minutes of arriving back at work (two days late, mind you) I got an email that I have a one o’clock meeting with the department head. So now I’m all nervous because two contractors got laid off yesterday, and there was no meeting topic supplied. Watch, I’m probably getting laid off. Wouldn’t that be perfect.
Update: I went for my one o’clock. I walked in, said, “Ready?” and he said, “Can we do it at 3? I’m just swamped.”
I’m guessing I’m not getting laid off. Repurposed, more likely.
In which plans change. But only somewhat!
I’m going home tomorrow. I think. Unless something extraordinary happens in the next few hours.
The boys are going to stay on here and make the mad roofing money, and I’m going to go home (in the Exploder) and resume my geek day job… and see my dogs and cat and blue chicken and my girlfriends. God, my girlfriends.
The boys can fax me bids and I can still do in the evenings any Xactimate stuff they can’t do themselves and email it back.
I’m doing this because, well, I’m freaked about bills. Being owed money is not the same as having cash in hand, so I’m gonna go work because I am unwilling to not be able to pay my mortgage in three weeks.
The guy who owns the construction company here is out of town… again. The first time he was gone, it was because his mother was in critical condition after a heart attack or something. This time he’s gone because his father has died. Both fine reasons to be out of town, of course, and I’m very sorry for his loss, but he hasn’t appointed a second-in-charge so no checks are being written until he gets back. It’s typical of this operation: it’s exploding and totally disorganized.
In other news, I still haven’t finished writing the rest of my Amma post yet. But I will. It was so awesome seeing Her. So awesome. I love Her.
In which I get some.
Bread tossed BoSe out for awhile this afternoon and ravished me. Then we took a shower in the motel’s massive bath. Then he went out and didn’t come back; probably to Truck & Bowling Jesus’ room.
I started working on bids. I still have three to do, but here it is five in the afternoon already and I’m blowing the work off. What the hell happened to my work ethic? Once I didn’t put everything off to the very last moment.
Oh, wait, who the hell am I kidding? I’ve done everything at the last moment! *rolls eyes*
I’m so full of shit I even BS myself. Did you see that?
I went to Taco Bell for dinner because I hadn’t eaten all day and the left over, cold cheese pizza just wasn’t gonna hack it for me. I’ll probably drink the rest of the day’s calories in the form of mudslides.
The motel life honeymoon is over. Now I’m just bored and, once again, lonely. Surrounded by people, no one to talk to. What have I done to deserve such a dearth of female companionship?!
In which why the hell not.
Behold my incoherent ramblings! (Maybe next time I’ll use a script.) (Yeah, right.) (This stuff is way better when it’s off the cuff. At least, I like listening to the ones that are clearly random.) Enjoy!
Yes, I realize I’m a bit of a dork.
In other news, I’d spent some time trying to install this nifty WP audio plugin but it sucked so I aborted and am using AudioBlogger instead. Cause I’m lazy like that.
In which I’m back in Indy.
I drove up to Chicago — Oak Brook, actually — on Wednesday night. Saw Mother, ate a lot of Indian food. (I always eat like I’m starving when I go to see Amma.) Drove back this morning. Can I say that the stretch of Interstate called I-294/I-80 is a TOTAL PIECE OF FUCKED UP SHIT? Jesus.
Got maybe seven hours of sleep — total — while I was gone, and most of that was had in the back of the Exploder in the parking lot of a Marriott.
Rolled in here half past noon, saw the guys, cleaned the room and gave them shit about being sloppy pigs. Listened to them go on cheerfully about work, about this Sub 2 and that contract. Then they left to do a scope and I passed out in bed.
They rolled in a few hours later, giddy with the success of their trip to Sam’s Club, but I couldn’t be bothered to wake all the way up. I heard them stacking stuff on top of the TV cabinet; turns out it was two cases of water, a case of Red Bull, and a case of Frappuccino. And a wheel of brie. And stuffed salmon steaks.
When I did wake up, they returned, and sent me to the store. Then we BBQ’ed. I had salad, tuna, French bread and brie, and grilled french fries. I’d had nothing all day but caffeine so it was delicious and much needed.
Now it’s a quarter to ten and I’m reeeeeally sleepy. *Yawn.*
I’m writing a huge overview of my wonderful, restorative Amma trip, but it’ll have to wait ’til tomorrow to be posted ’cause it’s only half done and I don’t have it in me to finish it now.
In other news, I guess we’re staying on here in roofing land. Which means I have to email LISCO this weekend and tell them I won’t be back… for an indefinite period. I’m betting I’ll have to quit, but maybe they’ll rehire me when we get back.
In which there’s driving, shopping, laughing, getting lost, and delicious Indian food galore!
I went to see Mother in Chicago. Actually, it was Oak Brook, not Chicago, but whatever. The drive there was fairly stressful toward the end; I spent practically two hours in 5-mile-an-hour traffic on the tollway, which sucked. Plus tollways in general stress me out because I’m always afraid I won’t have the change and will back up traffic and people will honk at me.
Crusing along 294 I was seat-dancing and obviously singing along to An Easier Affair (on repeat!) to keep myself awake and cheerful. Two cars passing me on the left slowed down to my speed for awhile and the drivers — one a blonde woman in a late model sports car, the other a man driving a pickup — went out of their way to grin over at me before moving on. In between those two, a trucker pulled up on my right and tried to get my attention for a bit but I could never see his face because of the height differences between our vehicles. All that attention had me quasi-freaked that they were trying to tell me something (like maybe my car was on fire or I was getting a flat) but once I assured myself that the Exploder was not in actual fact alight I was amused by the attention.
When I finally got to my exit I stopped at the first gas station I found for a pee, then I went to find the Marriott. I parked, walked in, got a darshan token, and Mother was still singing bhajans! Sweet! I’d forgotten there was a time change, so it was an hour earlier than I’d expected and I saw most of the bhajans and the arati and everything.
After the satsang, I went and ate yummy Indian food. Then I bought incense, a new nose ring, and a wrap-around skirt at the bookstore. I think I got darshan around two in the morning, maybe later, then I left to find a place to sleep. (I’d been looking for someone, anyone I knew, who would let me crash on their floor there in the Marriott but I didn’t have any luck.) Ma gave me an awesome hug and called me her daughter and wrinkled Her nose at me.
I left the Marriott and drove around until I found a motel, but they wanted $110 for the night so I kept going until I found a Motel 6. That place was creeeeeeepy, let me tell you. One of those places that makes you suspect they’ve got hidden cameras in the rooms. I slept from three until about nine. When I was in the shower, housekeeping tried to come in but I’d set the bolt before I’d taken my clothes off because I’d had a feeling.
I rolled out of there around eleven, then spent the next 25 minutes being totally lost because I was looking for Midwest Avenue but where it intersected with Roosevelt it was called Cass. I finally made it to the morning program a bit after noon.
I went in, looked at Mother for a bit, then went to the snack shop and had a Madras coffee, which tasted somewhat like the cardamom lattes I make myself at home. Then I had idli and sambar and lots of mint chutney and some pakora. I went to the darshan hall and sat as close to Mother as I could for awhile, meditated, browsed the bookstore again… and at the end of the program I had more idli. And another coffee.
Then I went and slept in the Exploder in the parking lot for a few hours.
At six-thirty I went back inside, got a token, and was seated for the atma puja. I ended up seated with two people who had never seen Mother before. They wanted to know what a puja was, how long I’d been seeing Amma, why I’d been seeing her every year for ten years, how long the puja would be, when they’d get their hugs… I tried to be circumspect and not lay my opinion down, but toward the end of the conversation I finally said, “She’s an Avatar, an incarnation of God. Like Christ. Or Buddha. In my experience, anyway. Your mileage may vary: I’ve seen people burst into tears the first time they meet Her, and I’ve seen other people have no experience at all.”
The man said, “So you’re saying one has to be open to it.”
“Sure,” I replied. “If She’s your guru, you’ll probably know it. If not, that’s cool too. I know people who come to see Her for a hug every year because they think it’s nice, and it goes no farther than that. I come to Her because she’s my Satguru.”
The woman seated across from me was astonished that the darshan would go on all night. She didn’t like the idea of having to sit on the floor for an hour and a half for the satsang and puja, but when I explained there were chairs for those who found the floor uncomfortable, she waved the idea away. She told me I speak very well, that I was articulate. She was 52, blonde, attractive, and dressed entirely in pink, from collar to socks. I kinda liked her.
Halfway through the satsang, she got up suddenly and left the hall. I have the feeling she wasn’t into the experience, and the chanting hadn’t even begun yet. (Chanting “Om Parashaktiyai Namaha” one hundred and eight times with three thousand people is a blown experience for any Westerner, the first time.)
Edit: Apparently I never finished this post.
In which I’m driving to Chi-town.
My guru, Amma, is in Chicago today and tomorrow. I’m gonna take the Exploder and drive up there for darshan. I haven’t failed to see Mother in July in at least ten years; don’t see why I should start now.
V wants me to hitch a ride back to Fairfield to see Her this weekend but there’s no room with the couple who are going. Well, no room back here — they’ve got a space for the ride out but it’s occupied from Fairfield to Indy.
I haven’t decided yet if I’m leaving today or tomorrow. I haven’t discussed this plan with any of the devotees I know, so I don’t know who’s there to crash with or if I could find a cheap motel nearby.
My husband is adamant that I go today, but he has no idea how much money there isn’t in the checking account so I’m not really listening to him. On the other hand, I doubt I have it in me to drive up and back without sleeping in between so perhaps a motel is a must. Plus I could spend a night in blissful aloneness. Which is a lovely idea, truly.
I might drive up tomorrow, stay up all night for Devi Bhava, crash, and drive back the following evening. Dunno yet.
Anywho, I need to go surf for driving directions and possible motel reservations.
In other news, everything here in Selling Roofs Land is the same. The boys canvas, meet people, get paperwork signed, and bring me scope notes on graph paper. I type it all up into lovely Xactimate bids. We give the bids to the “management,” who promptly leave town for four days rather than approve our bids and give them back to us so we can sign contracts to put roofs on. It’s like any other job I’ve ever had: chaotic, disorganized, and frustrating. Fortunately, the three of us are fucking brilliant, so we’re doing better than nearly everyone else combined.
I have to decide in the next two days if I’m staying on here or asking LISCO for an extended LOA… or quitting a job I’ve had for six years. Bread and BoSe are committed to doing this roofing thing for the long haul, but oddly enough I’m getting a little homesick. I miss my girlfriends, I miss my dogs, I miss being able to snatch a little privacy here and there. Plus I actually like my job at LISCO and honestly don’t want to lose it. Of course, we could feasibly be here until Thanksgiving. Hell, I don’t know. I’ll go see Amma and decide after.
Have a lovely day, my babies!
In which it pays off!
One good thing about being an Internet fag hag — and I use the term ‘good’ as it applies to me: your mileage may vary — is that the gay boys tend to let me know what’s happening on the UK pop scene. Which means that even though you can’t even get George Michael‘s newest release through the US iTunes store yet, let alone in brick and mortar stores, I already have it.
Can I get a hell yeah?!
Thank you.
(I love George. He makes great pop. I say this without shame because I also love Miles Davis and I don’t give a shit who knows it.)
In other news, Bread and BoSe are out watching — I shit you not — powderpuff figure 8 bus racing somewhere. I’ve finished my 4th bid of the day, and now I’m gonna make myself a margarita, close the door and the curtains and shamelessly dance my ass off to some Brit pop on repeat. Ciao, babies!
Update: An Easier Affair is now my new current pop obsession. Yum. So bouncy! So poppy! Such an anthem to gayness… as if the gays got the market cornered on feeling disenfranchised. Basically if you take out the first verse, the rest of the song is an anthem for anyone who (a) loves pop/dance, and (b) has ever felt like a freak. Which is pretty much everyone I’ve ever met, with the possible exception of that cheerleader in high school who married the quarterback right after graduation, popped out a bunch of offspring, is now fat and depressed and counts high school as the ‘best years of her life.’ Which is truly the most hideous thing, ever. *shudder* High school! GACK!
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4 random books from my Library!
