In which I’m still boring, but the weather’s gorgeous.
Spring is truly here. Flowers are in bloom, the days are sunny and breezy with big fluffy white clouds in an achingly blue sky. My morning walk to work is becoming more and more pleasant each day.
To balance out all this goodness, I have a third damned cold. (Started two days ago. Sneezing, stuffy head, a tickle in my throat, and a scratchy voice.) I feel juuuuust a little fuzzy and a little tired, but mostly I’m just pissed off because three colds in a row is just stupid and I’m tired of having one. I had better be well and in good voice by the time gig season starts, that’s all I have to say – three colds in a row, one with an annoyingly lingering cough, have wreaked havoc on my voice.
My band’s drummer’s coming to town this weekend, so we’ll have an actual full band rehearsal Saturday night. I’m pretty excited about it, really, because it’ll be nice to be putting final polish on the songs we’ve been working on. (And by ‘pretty excited,’ I mean ‘mildly interested,’ because band practice is, in actual fact, fairly dull. Sitting and learning songs is not the fun part of being a rockstar.)
Work’s been crazy this week because one of the techs is out on vacation. There have been unresolved tickets in the queue every night when I leave, and I hate that. (I like to have everything cleared when I clock out. Everything.) Then there was a 4-state DSL outage yesterday so it was freakin’ NUTS for about three hours. Then the day before yesterday was International Pissed Off Asshole Caller Day, so 90% of the people I talked to said ignorant shit like, “You’ve screwed up my email again and I expect you to fix it before I go to another company!” when the problem was actually that they didn’t have their phone line plugged into their computers so they couldn’t dial up. (We have a LOT of dial-up customers.)
All that said, there is something terribly satisfying about getting a DSL customer connected after an hour-long call.
It’s Friday. I may stop for a drink on the way home.
In which I get money for nothin’. (But no chicks for free.)
First of all, I haven’t washed my hair in 3 days, and I just want to get that out of the way before we go any further. Full disclosure and all that.
Yesterday afternoon RB left me a voicemail message at work saying that Sapolil Cellars‘ musicians had canceled and did I want to sing for money? I said hell yeah, and walked over there after I clocked out of work at eight. I stood next to the grand piano and sang totally unrehearsed songs with a piano player I’ve never played with and RB on electric. Eventually I got a mic, but I did the first several songs totally unplugged. The audience was gracious and attentive, because wine is a very social kind of drunk.
The vintner gave me two glasses of really good 2006 Syrah wine, told me I was a great singer, and then gave me fifty bucks! Who could ask for anything more?
After the gig – if I can even call such an impromptu setting that – we mingled a bit, and then RB gave me a ride home. I had a bowl of lentil soup and an awesome baby spinach salad and went to bed.
I’m gonna put the cash toward a gig clothes fund. I have no cute gig clothes.
In which I’m so fucking healthy you would not even believe it.
I woke up before my alarm went off this morning. I did isometric exercises on the floor in my room. I took a shower. I made breakfast and ate it. I walked briskly to work. When I stopped for an iced latte, I even got soy milk. (Don’t worry, even though I’m a vegetarian I don’t eat enough soy for it to be dangerous. I have enough problems with my hormones as it is without introducing a bunch of phytoestrogens or a thyroid dysfunction into the mix!)
Last night at open mic, I did not order cheese fries. (I did have a few cocktails, though.) (I’m developing self-discipline, not spending a year dead for tax purposes.) Mmm, cheese fries!
I have no idea where all this motivation has come from, but I’m willing to admit that it might just be plain old vanity. I’ve noticed a trend that will, if left unchecked, have me waking up one morning shaped like a goddamned chicken (read: ball-shaped object on sticks) and I’m simply not into it. I’ve never really had a waist to speak of, but enough is enough.
In other news, RB is booking all sorts of gigs. Here’s what’s cookin’ so far:
- Apr 26 – Private party (Prescott)
- May 10 – Balloon Stampede (Walla Walla)
- May 23 – Dayton Days, Woody’s (Dayton)
- May 31 – Ice Harbor Brewing (Kennewick)
- June 21 – Wine & Wheels Festival (Roosevelt)
- Sept 13 – Mt Rainer Blues Jazz Wine & Brews Festival (Mineral)
(The boys’ gig calendar is here. I’m not necessarily doing all of the gigs listed.)
RB told me last night that he’s decided to bill me as ‘The New Queen of Blue-eyed Soul,’ which totally cracks me up. One rarely thinks of marketing oneself in such a way, but I suppose it’s just that sort of tagline that gets a girl gigs. And I like gigs. Now, if only the band members weren’t spread out all over two states it might be easier to actually practice together once in awhile.
In which it sucked WAY more than usual.
This morning I rolled out of bed feeling all groggy and logy. I showered, put a bunch of product in my hair and then dried it stupid in spite of the effort, got dressed, and hiked to the dentist’s office. The hygienist gave me a bunch of topical and then three excruciatingly looong, slooow shots of local, and then proceeded to vibrate my brains right out of my ears with her handy-dandy little screeching ultrasonic.
When I left, half my face – and half my tongue – were still completely, utterly numb.
An hour and a half later, when the local wore off? Freakin’ OUCH! I actually had to take an ibuprofen, and I’ve never taken one after a planing & scaling before. (And this is my fourth time for this. I have a filthy mouth in more ways than one!) My gums felt like they’d been shredded to tatters and my jaw bone ached like I’d been punched.
This pisses me off because I’m the ideal dental patient. I’m calm, never nervous or twitchy, I’m pleasant, and I’ve even been known to drift off during cleanings. I’ve never had any aftercare issues, not even after the extraction of my wisdom teeth. But today? My mouth hurt. It’s not fair! I call foul! And the worst part is that I dropped over three hundred clams for the experience (because apparently my dentist thinks he’s in fucking LA).
In other news, I am officially rescinding my (never observed!) declaration that I was done talking about my uterus. The thing is healing itself with supernatural speed, and at the rate it’s going I’ll be having full-on insane life-threatening periods again in another ten months. I kid you not. The freakishly rapid regeneration of my uterine lining displeases me immensely, not only because it’s weirdly unnatural but also because there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to afford another ablation a year after the first one.
I totally need health insurance because I’m freakin’ falling apart here. Gums! Uterus! I need new contacts, too! At this rate, next year I’ll need a hip replaced. Srsly.
In which I think aloud, as it were. Even though it’s actually typing. (Writing. Whatever.)
Let me admit first that I’ve never had a five-year plan. I’m the kind of creature who takes things as they come, and at any job interview where I’ve been asked, “Where do you see yourself in five years, Michelle?” I’ve always answered, “I really have no idea. I never think that far ahead.”
(I manage to get hired anyway because in spite of my blatantly wrong interview answers I give fantastic interview, you SO would not believe how articulate and friendly I can be under fire.) (Actually, I often answer interview questions totally wrong, like, “I know what I’m supposed to say here, but you seem like you’d appreciate honesty more” so blah blah blah. That way they know I know how to play the game but am choosing not to.) (Or something. ) (It works for me more often than not, at any rate.) (Moving on.)
So we’ve established that I don’t have any idea what I’ll be doing in five years. I’m more attached to a state of change than one of stability, and if I’m brutally honest, I am – or at least have been – more afraid to make statements that would later prove to make a liar of me than to have no plan at all.
So while I’ve never had a five year plan, I do have a new two year plan! This is a work in progress, of course, and these are just the basics I’ve been tossing around, but hey: it’s something.
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In which it was totally flattering.
I walked over to the Chevron on my lunch break and bought cigarettes. The lady behind the counter asked to see my ID. I handed it over and she looked at my birth date.
“Wow!” she exclaimed, grinning at me. “You really don’t look your age!”
It was awesome. Although it could be the fact that I dress like a kid, I’m blaming it on the good haircut and the diet. (Yes, I’m dieting. It freakin’ sucks, but I’ve gained weight since having surgery last fall – apparently bleeding to death was using a lot of calories! – and I simply cannot stand this gut any longer omgwtfbbq.)
In which I’m not talkin’ about OPEC.
This morning I was walking to work and I realized that I have for the past few weeks felt physically better than I have felt for a similar length of time in years. I was walking along thinking, “I feel like me. Wow. How long has it been since I felt like this for more than a few days in a row?” I used to have such a high-energy physiology (it’s a little like being caffeinated, but without the caffeine. It’s awesome) but for years I’ve just been fatigued most of the damn time.
I think most of my general malaise and fatigue for the past many years has been cycle-related [for the past year, for instance, it’s been two weeks of feeling mostly normal followed by two weeks of near-exhaustion] and this month I just happen to be getting a break, but it sure is nice to feel motivated for more than ten days in a row.
It doesn’t hurt that I got to travel (I love traveling!) and that spring is here (I love warmth!), either.
In which I roll out the stunning vista of my upcoming weekend. Booyah. (Srsly.) (The pace, it’s killing me.)
Last night RB took me to see a band. We went mainly because the band in question gets A-list blues gigs here in the northwest, and we wanted to hear what the competition sounded like. They were good enough, but not terrifically impressive. I can sing circles around the chick singer they had.
I drank four or five cocktails, got three phone numbers (a girl who could be friend material, a tattoo artist, and a guy who just amused me). Then I ate three items off of the Taco Bell menu and went to bed because apparently I’m not chubby enough yet.
This morning I brought Bindu to work with me. We had a lovely walk across town, and saw many other dogs downtown and woofed at them. Work’s been really slow today, with long breaks in between calls. (I like working on Saturday because no one bothers to turn the overhead lights on and I don’t have to fight the glare on my monitor all damn day.)
At six, Gramma’s going to pick us up because she wants to go out for dinner. I really don’t need any more food – I ate an entire bag of salad and a frozen pasta dinner and half an avocado and two bottles of Naked juice – so I might just have an appetizer.
Tomorrow we’re going out for Easter brunch with the family. I think we’ll be eating at the Eagles or VFW or something. Luckily, it’s not until noon so I don’t have to roust out of bed too early. Tomorrow afternoon I intend to do laundry and clean the bathroom. Monday afternoon I’ll be at band practice. (We’ve actually got gigs lined up. We’re playing the Balloon Stampede in May!)
So, yeah. That’s my stunning life. I’m sorry you wasted moments of yours reading this post. *smooch*
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4 random books from my Library!
