Please read this article from The Chicago Reader called Filed Away.
How messed up is this? That was my high school art teacher, and she was amazing!
http://www.chicagoreader.com/chicago/honorably-terminated-teachers-chicago-public-schools-cps-jobs-hiring-bureaucracy/Content?oid=2457699
Saturday, September 25, 2010
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The water situation
Ok, so at this point, there is grit coming out of the faucet. Yes, grit. Visible to the naked eye grit.
No wonder the cats have been refusing to drink it, even after it's been boiled and filtered.
I don't even feel comfortable washing my dishes anymore. The man is going to pay for every damn gallon of water I buy from Jewel. I'm not drinking it, I'm not cooking with it, and if I have my way, I won't be washing my dishes with it either. Hello subtraction from rent.
Can we say class action lawsuit? Can we say cancer? Urge to kill rising....
All I want to do is cook some goddamn chicken and zucchini. All I want to do is be able to live like an American, with reliable, clean water. Is that SO much to ask?
I can't have a job, I can't have health insurance, I can't have a reliable car, I can't pay my bills. ALL I want is some GOD DAMNED health code approved plumbing! ALL I want is to be able to cook and bathe with CLEAN water, whenever I want to. WHY do I put up with it?
Oh right, I'm poor. I don't have a job. Right... right...
Do we live in some under-developed eastern block country? Am I living in some country where they don't have toilets? Last I checked, I was still a citizen of the USA...
Now to go spend $10 + on a water test to make sure I don't die from bathing and washing my dishes...
Landlord, you are quickly escalating from well-intentioned boob to complete and total idiot.
No wonder the cats have been refusing to drink it, even after it's been boiled and filtered.
I don't even feel comfortable washing my dishes anymore. The man is going to pay for every damn gallon of water I buy from Jewel. I'm not drinking it, I'm not cooking with it, and if I have my way, I won't be washing my dishes with it either. Hello subtraction from rent.
Can we say class action lawsuit? Can we say cancer? Urge to kill rising....
All I want to do is cook some goddamn chicken and zucchini. All I want to do is be able to live like an American, with reliable, clean water. Is that SO much to ask?
I can't have a job, I can't have health insurance, I can't have a reliable car, I can't pay my bills. ALL I want is some GOD DAMNED health code approved plumbing! ALL I want is to be able to cook and bathe with CLEAN water, whenever I want to. WHY do I put up with it?
Oh right, I'm poor. I don't have a job. Right... right...
Do we live in some under-developed eastern block country? Am I living in some country where they don't have toilets? Last I checked, I was still a citizen of the USA...
Now to go spend $10 + on a water test to make sure I don't die from bathing and washing my dishes...
Landlord, you are quickly escalating from well-intentioned boob to complete and total idiot.
From one dead-end job to another
So I have an "interview" tomorrow at one of those fly-by-night Halloween stores tomorrow at 11:30am. Obviously they'll probably offer me minimum wage and want me to work every single day until Nov. 5th. They won't be pleased that I'm taking off Halloween weekend, but then they could just not hire me if they feel like that. It's a very part-time job, anyway, you know? They're only open from 10am-8pm, so even if I work a full day, that's about 12 hours with stocking and whatnot, times minimum wage is what now? $8.50/hr? That's under $100/day once you subtract taxes I pay for who knows why...
I'm going to drop off an application at Trader Joe's for the 5pm-1am shift. Pathetic, I know, and I basically sell my soul away for every single holiday possible. (Except of course, Halloween.) Hopefully they hire me. I think you start at $10/hr there and get some decent benefits. Hey, I can be friendly to customers for he first 5 hours of my shift without a problem, and I can happily organize and make stuff pretty for the last 3 hours, so no big deal. Hopefully they hire me and I don't have to work 40+ hours a week selling fake teeth to little kids. That'd be just under $80/day after taxes...
Whatever. At this point, money is money, and I'll take it happily. I am getting more and more miffed at paying into certain taxes, however.
For instance, since my mother has MS and can't get state aid, why should I have to pay into any of that? And if it weren't for my grandmother occasionally getting a social security check, i don't see why I should pay into that, either, as I'll never see a dime of it, and my mom can't get that either. Who the hell is getting the money I pay in? That's my question. If my mom, who is dirt poor aside from the alimony she gets every month (which isn't a lot, but more than my dad can actually afford) and has been on record as having MS for the past 10 years, can't get state aid, then who the hell is? Oh right, my cousin, with her illegitimate child and another on the way, she gets state aid.
But I'm not getting knocked up and ruining the only thing I have left to me (my body). Let's face it, if I didn't have too many people riding my ass all the time about how I have morals and ethics and what not... The oldest profession known to man is prostitution, and aren't we ALL prostitutes in some shape or form? Maybe we're not all selling sex, but we're selling our souls, and somehow that feels dirtier. The fact that Starbucks hasn't called me back pisses me off, because I was actually willing to lower myself enough to the point where I was going to go back. Willing to show up by 6am and wait on snotty little Northpark brats and high school kids all day, buying coffee that costs more than the pound I get at Trader Joe's every couple of weeks...
You ever just find yourself angry? I know stress is bad, but my life is pretty damn stressful. And I try really hard to let things go, but after a full month of being unemployed, I'm kind of starting to have trouble letting things go.
What's wrong with me? I'm smart, I'm skilled, I'm talented. I'm attractive, agreeable, and have a great set of people skills. I CAN be super upbeat and energetic, when I need to, when a job calls for it. I can work well with others or independently. I'm pretty well-rounded. Ahhh, but I'm a young white female. Oops. Sorry daddy, mommy, we're definitely the wrong color right now. And maybe that sounds racist, and maybe saying I'd have a teaching job if I was a hispanic male sounds even worse, but can you tell me it's not true? I have a friend who is keeping her married (now divorced, it was a joke wedding anyway) last name because it sounds hispanic. She got a job, while the teacher's on maternity leave, anyway, but it'll get her a full time position down the line.
Really, what have I done wrong? Ah, that's what it is... I was talking to a friend night before last, and our problem is that we don't drink the kool aid. You know what I mean. I've never been one to completely buy in and lick the butt holes of the admin/upper management to the point where my nose turns brown. It's a damn shame that you basically have to prostitute yourself no matter what you do. Can't we just be valued for being us? For our knowledge and our work ethic? For our skills and talents?
So the cat is ok, of course, after 48 hours of lost sanity I'll never get back. She puked up some tape from a box I didn't know she was chewing on, and has stopped drooling for the most part, so no more worries about dehydration. Now I just have to make sure she's pooping and we're all good. How ridiculous. Seriously, I can never have children. I worry so much about my furry babies, I think real children would easily and quickly give me a heart attack or an aneurism. Not to mention the fact that I can't afford human mouths to feed. I guess the one upside is my boobs would get bigger... But then they'd sag along with everything else.
Oh, aging. Ever seen that movie, Death Become Her with Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn? Yeah, what I'd give to be young and beautiful, although here I am: I'm no richer or more powerful for it. It's ok. I guess in the next 6 years something will change. I'll have a car that works and money to pay rent and debt. I'll have a job that's decent, right? Right? It's just this waiting game. This constant, never ending waiting. Hurry up and wait. Send out the applications and resumes, they never get back to you. You know what I've actually come to appreciate? When they email you to tell you you're NOT getting the job, because at least then it's not some possibility hanging in the wings. At least then there's some certainty.
The only thing I'm certain of is what's already happened. Everything else is up in the air. I never thought possibility and potential would be so frustrating and depressing. Huh... Learn new things every day, don't we?
I'm going to drop off an application at Trader Joe's for the 5pm-1am shift. Pathetic, I know, and I basically sell my soul away for every single holiday possible. (Except of course, Halloween.) Hopefully they hire me. I think you start at $10/hr there and get some decent benefits. Hey, I can be friendly to customers for he first 5 hours of my shift without a problem, and I can happily organize and make stuff pretty for the last 3 hours, so no big deal. Hopefully they hire me and I don't have to work 40+ hours a week selling fake teeth to little kids. That'd be just under $80/day after taxes...
Whatever. At this point, money is money, and I'll take it happily. I am getting more and more miffed at paying into certain taxes, however.
For instance, since my mother has MS and can't get state aid, why should I have to pay into any of that? And if it weren't for my grandmother occasionally getting a social security check, i don't see why I should pay into that, either, as I'll never see a dime of it, and my mom can't get that either. Who the hell is getting the money I pay in? That's my question. If my mom, who is dirt poor aside from the alimony she gets every month (which isn't a lot, but more than my dad can actually afford) and has been on record as having MS for the past 10 years, can't get state aid, then who the hell is? Oh right, my cousin, with her illegitimate child and another on the way, she gets state aid.
But I'm not getting knocked up and ruining the only thing I have left to me (my body). Let's face it, if I didn't have too many people riding my ass all the time about how I have morals and ethics and what not... The oldest profession known to man is prostitution, and aren't we ALL prostitutes in some shape or form? Maybe we're not all selling sex, but we're selling our souls, and somehow that feels dirtier. The fact that Starbucks hasn't called me back pisses me off, because I was actually willing to lower myself enough to the point where I was going to go back. Willing to show up by 6am and wait on snotty little Northpark brats and high school kids all day, buying coffee that costs more than the pound I get at Trader Joe's every couple of weeks...
You ever just find yourself angry? I know stress is bad, but my life is pretty damn stressful. And I try really hard to let things go, but after a full month of being unemployed, I'm kind of starting to have trouble letting things go.
What's wrong with me? I'm smart, I'm skilled, I'm talented. I'm attractive, agreeable, and have a great set of people skills. I CAN be super upbeat and energetic, when I need to, when a job calls for it. I can work well with others or independently. I'm pretty well-rounded. Ahhh, but I'm a young white female. Oops. Sorry daddy, mommy, we're definitely the wrong color right now. And maybe that sounds racist, and maybe saying I'd have a teaching job if I was a hispanic male sounds even worse, but can you tell me it's not true? I have a friend who is keeping her married (now divorced, it was a joke wedding anyway) last name because it sounds hispanic. She got a job, while the teacher's on maternity leave, anyway, but it'll get her a full time position down the line.
Really, what have I done wrong? Ah, that's what it is... I was talking to a friend night before last, and our problem is that we don't drink the kool aid. You know what I mean. I've never been one to completely buy in and lick the butt holes of the admin/upper management to the point where my nose turns brown. It's a damn shame that you basically have to prostitute yourself no matter what you do. Can't we just be valued for being us? For our knowledge and our work ethic? For our skills and talents?
So the cat is ok, of course, after 48 hours of lost sanity I'll never get back. She puked up some tape from a box I didn't know she was chewing on, and has stopped drooling for the most part, so no more worries about dehydration. Now I just have to make sure she's pooping and we're all good. How ridiculous. Seriously, I can never have children. I worry so much about my furry babies, I think real children would easily and quickly give me a heart attack or an aneurism. Not to mention the fact that I can't afford human mouths to feed. I guess the one upside is my boobs would get bigger... But then they'd sag along with everything else.
Oh, aging. Ever seen that movie, Death Become Her with Meryl Streep and Goldie Hawn? Yeah, what I'd give to be young and beautiful, although here I am: I'm no richer or more powerful for it. It's ok. I guess in the next 6 years something will change. I'll have a car that works and money to pay rent and debt. I'll have a job that's decent, right? Right? It's just this waiting game. This constant, never ending waiting. Hurry up and wait. Send out the applications and resumes, they never get back to you. You know what I've actually come to appreciate? When they email you to tell you you're NOT getting the job, because at least then it's not some possibility hanging in the wings. At least then there's some certainty.
The only thing I'm certain of is what's already happened. Everything else is up in the air. I never thought possibility and potential would be so frustrating and depressing. Huh... Learn new things every day, don't we?
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
Beautiful day?
So my little girl cat has started drooling. Water, everywhere. It's not sticky or funny smelling or funny colored. She hasn't been pawing at her mouth and she doesn't go outside. But I mean this is like puddles of drool. I thought maybe it was in response to food, since she decided she was going to drip drool all over me last night as she was trying to get at the Pizza-flavored Goldfish I ate yesterday for lunch. (Shut up, yes, for lunch.) I don't have money to take her to the vet, so let's hope it's some kind of reaction to the weird weather we're having, and not to the toxic water I'm probably consuming. Mainly, I've been drinking coffee, but I've been making sure to boil and filter any water I give them. She's been acting normal otherwise, but maybe she's got a hairball coming on. (Oh, joy.)
::sigh:: It's a gorgeous day. What to do? Can't tool around in the car. Don't have money to run errands. Maybe I should just go lay on the beach while I still can, since I haven't been there all summer. Maybe I should call my elderly neighbor and offer to clean his apartment. Maybe I should go sign up for the 5pm-1am shift at Trader Joe's.
And WOW do I need to cancel cable, even though I got them to knock it down by $25. If I see one more romantic comedy, I might puke. It's actually making me think about marriage, and that just doesn't seem right. Maybe it's the insanity slowly eating my brain. I need to start exercising. Maybe that will help. If I fall asleep on this sucking void of a couch one more time, I'll probably wake up with a hunch back.
Dear god, sometimes I really wish I was a man. I'm not saying men vs. women have it "easier" but I do think I'd have a job if I was a man. People wouldn't laugh at me when I offer to do hard labour. Or when I say I'm thinking of going into plumbing or mechanics, although I'm pretty sure if, as a woman, I went into plumbing or mechanics, I could totally charge more. It's a business idea I have, I just need a bunch of hot skilled girls, like a plumber, a carpenter, an electrician, you know, just a whole team of hot chicks that like to work with their hands and get dirty. TELL me that wouldn't make money?!
Stupid business ideas... always requiring start up money. And knowledge of finances. Permits... Why is everything so damn expensive in this country? Is that the cost of our "freedom"? Consumerism? How awful.
So John Stewart from The Daily Show is going to be throwing a rally (along with Stephen Colbert) in DC Oct. 30th. I'm loving the idea of moderation. Of Rationality. Of Reason. How freaking great. What a wonderful way to live a life, and to vote.
I know a lot of people have been bad-mouthing Obama, and I'm sure he's not the greatest man to have ever walked the face of the Earth. I also know he's probably not a muslim, and if he was I wouldn't care. People seem so angry he hasn't waved a magical wand and fixed everything, but uh, does anybody out there (especially in the media) remember our LAST president? The magical wand he waved put us IN the mess we're in, at war, without oil, high prices, taxing the poor, people out of work... Shall I continue? Considering we tried to impeach the president before that for waving the OTHER kind of magical wand seems pretty stupid to me. It strikes me that it was his wife's business to deal with that, and none of our damn business. Maybe our presidents shouldn't all be married with kids. "Family values" be damned. You think half this nation has their "family values" in the right place? That they've got their priorities in order? That they play little league with their kids because they love them and want to spend time with them? No, it's so they can drink beer, hang out with other parents, and hopefully groom their kids to be the next multi-billion baseball star, dammit.
Ridiculous.
::sigh:: It's a gorgeous day. What to do? Can't tool around in the car. Don't have money to run errands. Maybe I should just go lay on the beach while I still can, since I haven't been there all summer. Maybe I should call my elderly neighbor and offer to clean his apartment. Maybe I should go sign up for the 5pm-1am shift at Trader Joe's.
And WOW do I need to cancel cable, even though I got them to knock it down by $25. If I see one more romantic comedy, I might puke. It's actually making me think about marriage, and that just doesn't seem right. Maybe it's the insanity slowly eating my brain. I need to start exercising. Maybe that will help. If I fall asleep on this sucking void of a couch one more time, I'll probably wake up with a hunch back.
Dear god, sometimes I really wish I was a man. I'm not saying men vs. women have it "easier" but I do think I'd have a job if I was a man. People wouldn't laugh at me when I offer to do hard labour. Or when I say I'm thinking of going into plumbing or mechanics, although I'm pretty sure if, as a woman, I went into plumbing or mechanics, I could totally charge more. It's a business idea I have, I just need a bunch of hot skilled girls, like a plumber, a carpenter, an electrician, you know, just a whole team of hot chicks that like to work with their hands and get dirty. TELL me that wouldn't make money?!
Stupid business ideas... always requiring start up money. And knowledge of finances. Permits... Why is everything so damn expensive in this country? Is that the cost of our "freedom"? Consumerism? How awful.
So John Stewart from The Daily Show is going to be throwing a rally (along with Stephen Colbert) in DC Oct. 30th. I'm loving the idea of moderation. Of Rationality. Of Reason. How freaking great. What a wonderful way to live a life, and to vote.
I know a lot of people have been bad-mouthing Obama, and I'm sure he's not the greatest man to have ever walked the face of the Earth. I also know he's probably not a muslim, and if he was I wouldn't care. People seem so angry he hasn't waved a magical wand and fixed everything, but uh, does anybody out there (especially in the media) remember our LAST president? The magical wand he waved put us IN the mess we're in, at war, without oil, high prices, taxing the poor, people out of work... Shall I continue? Considering we tried to impeach the president before that for waving the OTHER kind of magical wand seems pretty stupid to me. It strikes me that it was his wife's business to deal with that, and none of our damn business. Maybe our presidents shouldn't all be married with kids. "Family values" be damned. You think half this nation has their "family values" in the right place? That they've got their priorities in order? That they play little league with their kids because they love them and want to spend time with them? No, it's so they can drink beer, hang out with other parents, and hopefully groom their kids to be the next multi-billion baseball star, dammit.
Ridiculous.
Sunday, September 19, 2010
The Crimson Files
Walking down the gently worn forest road, her horse whinnied softly and tossed her mane. She patted the mare's neck and clicked in her ear, reassuring the beast. The moon was bright and the path easily seen, and she was doing the horse a favor by walking her down the road, rather than through the brush and thicker wood. To the moment, she'd been a good horse, and the girl didn't want the mare twisting an ankle this early into her journey. Coming up lame this far from anything even resembling a town or farm was a sure-fire way to make her late for her appointment. And this appointment was well worth making.
A twig snapped ahead in the bush and the mare stomped a hoof and snorted. The girl felt the horse tense beneath her, her spine and stomach ready to engage a charge should the girl nudge her in the right direction. But the girl patted the horse's neck again and clicked, hugging the horse with her thighs. Knife in pale hand, she continued on until the horse stopped and refused to budge a few yards down the road.
"Easy, girl. I'll take care of it," the girl cooed. She dismounted in one swift move, placing a hand on the mare's neck to command her to stay. She walked forward about a yard and waited, feet spread, back strong. She could smell him before he stepped into the moonlight, onto the path in front of her.
"A great big beastie you are, aren't you?" she chuckled. "Your mistake was the dip you took in the creek. I can smell the cold, metallic scent of wet fur for yards, and your step isn't the quietest." She took a step forward and he sat on his haunches, tongue lolling. He shook his head, flapping his ears and pawing at his snout abashedly, more like a farm dog than a wolf.
"How long you been followin' me then?" The over-sized silver beast stretched like a cat and walked towards her, shoulders down, paws in front of him, ears back with a big puppy-like grin. He licked the back of her extended hand and rubbed his side against her legs before, tail tucked, he stood on his back legs. He wasfar taller than she as he placed his forepaws on her shoulders and licked at her neck and pointed chin.
"Oh, stop now! Are you going to go all the way there like that, or do you want to share the ride?" Dropping to the ground, she heard the typical popping as the air around him hazed like heat across the fields on a hot summer day. The man stood in front of her, dark hair and scruffy beard shocked through with silver, eyes glinting like gold in firelight.
"I thought you liked my kisses, Mistress?" His voice was gravely and deep, his muscles shivered one more time before he looked truly like a man, all the lines in their proper places. The hair on the back of her neck relaxed and the mare pranced closer in greeting, recognizing him.
"Not when you smell like rabbit, you animal. Here," she smiled and tossed him a cloak from a satchel off the horse's side, and he wrapped it around his shoulders, reveling in the scent of the soft suede, rubbing his cheek against the fur trim. "We'll have to filch pants and boots for you at the next farm, but I've got the shirt you left me holding."
"Oh you kept it, did you? Like the scent?" He held out his hand and escorted her to the side of her mare. She swung up easily and he was behind her swiftly, settling in, pressed warm against her back.
"Needed the scent to track you. You owe me a few rabbit hides, thief." She nudged the horse forward and the mare happily trotted down the path, not minding the extra weight, nor the scent of the wolf now that he was in a less threatening form.
"No worries. I'll make you a set of nice fur gloves and line the hood of your cloak for you. I was hungry. It doesn't do to have a hungry wolf in bed." He rubbed his cheek against her back and sighed as he blew hot air into her scent so that it came back heady into his nostrils. "What's the job?"
"Robbery by way of seduction," she replied, nudging the horse into a quicker trot.
"Can I eat him after?" he growled.
"No. But you can club him over the head, if it'll make you feel better." He wrapped his arms a bit tighter around her hips and settled in for the ride. Town was a long ways off and he was content to enjoy the few peaceful moments they were given. They never lasted long when he found her. Someone was always trying to kill the tiny, golden-haired nymph, but that was the life of a mercenary.
A twig snapped ahead in the bush and the mare stomped a hoof and snorted. The girl felt the horse tense beneath her, her spine and stomach ready to engage a charge should the girl nudge her in the right direction. But the girl patted the horse's neck again and clicked, hugging the horse with her thighs. Knife in pale hand, she continued on until the horse stopped and refused to budge a few yards down the road.
"Easy, girl. I'll take care of it," the girl cooed. She dismounted in one swift move, placing a hand on the mare's neck to command her to stay. She walked forward about a yard and waited, feet spread, back strong. She could smell him before he stepped into the moonlight, onto the path in front of her.
"A great big beastie you are, aren't you?" she chuckled. "Your mistake was the dip you took in the creek. I can smell the cold, metallic scent of wet fur for yards, and your step isn't the quietest." She took a step forward and he sat on his haunches, tongue lolling. He shook his head, flapping his ears and pawing at his snout abashedly, more like a farm dog than a wolf.
"How long you been followin' me then?" The over-sized silver beast stretched like a cat and walked towards her, shoulders down, paws in front of him, ears back with a big puppy-like grin. He licked the back of her extended hand and rubbed his side against her legs before, tail tucked, he stood on his back legs. He wasfar taller than she as he placed his forepaws on her shoulders and licked at her neck and pointed chin.
"Oh, stop now! Are you going to go all the way there like that, or do you want to share the ride?" Dropping to the ground, she heard the typical popping as the air around him hazed like heat across the fields on a hot summer day. The man stood in front of her, dark hair and scruffy beard shocked through with silver, eyes glinting like gold in firelight.
"I thought you liked my kisses, Mistress?" His voice was gravely and deep, his muscles shivered one more time before he looked truly like a man, all the lines in their proper places. The hair on the back of her neck relaxed and the mare pranced closer in greeting, recognizing him.
"Not when you smell like rabbit, you animal. Here," she smiled and tossed him a cloak from a satchel off the horse's side, and he wrapped it around his shoulders, reveling in the scent of the soft suede, rubbing his cheek against the fur trim. "We'll have to filch pants and boots for you at the next farm, but I've got the shirt you left me holding."
"Oh you kept it, did you? Like the scent?" He held out his hand and escorted her to the side of her mare. She swung up easily and he was behind her swiftly, settling in, pressed warm against her back.
"Needed the scent to track you. You owe me a few rabbit hides, thief." She nudged the horse forward and the mare happily trotted down the path, not minding the extra weight, nor the scent of the wolf now that he was in a less threatening form.
"No worries. I'll make you a set of nice fur gloves and line the hood of your cloak for you. I was hungry. It doesn't do to have a hungry wolf in bed." He rubbed his cheek against her back and sighed as he blew hot air into her scent so that it came back heady into his nostrils. "What's the job?"
"Robbery by way of seduction," she replied, nudging the horse into a quicker trot.
"Can I eat him after?" he growled.
"No. But you can club him over the head, if it'll make you feel better." He wrapped his arms a bit tighter around her hips and settled in for the ride. Town was a long ways off and he was content to enjoy the few peaceful moments they were given. They never lasted long when he found her. Someone was always trying to kill the tiny, golden-haired nymph, but that was the life of a mercenary.
Know when to hold 'em, know when to fold 'em
I find it amazing how, at the experienced age of 24, my father can still make me feel like a 5 year old on the brink of tears in under 5 minutes.
He gets jerked around by some foreign douche selling a car, and I get yelled at because all I do is "bitch" and he's "wasting" his own time trying to do me a favor...
So don't do me any more favors. He wonders why I'd sooner sell my own body than move back in with him, when he's got me practically crying two sips into a beer I didn't really want. How is telling the man I'm suspicious of a guy who doesn't have a real address, can't speak English, and sold the car you told him you wanted to look at in an under an hour, how is that "bitching"? How is demanding that I spend $20 on a Carfax "bitching"? How is demanding that an American made POS have less than 100,000 miles on it "bitching"? And how is it, that needing a car to get a job, "bitching"?
Really... and I'll tell you right now, I could be married, bare foot, and pregnant, be completely provided for and completely miserable in under 5 minutes. Oh yes, I could put myself on Craigslist, and I'll tell you it would take less than 30 minutes for offers to marry me and own me. But I don't want to be owned, and I don't want any little ankle-biters. If all I have, coming into this world and going out of it, is my body, then I'm not ruining it by popping some little financial deficit, with no hope for the future, out of my potentially money-earning figure. I'm not letting my tits and ass sag anymore than they otherwise would, so that I can raise some kid to be just as jaded, bitter, and desperate as I am.
But if I was a good Catholic, if I was a good Irish/Italian woman, I'd already have a ring on my finger and an apple in my mouth; stick me on the spit and turn me as much as you want. Done.
We're all nothing more than pigs on a spit. Sometimes the fire is too high and it burns, sometimes the fire is too low, and we char and dry out, but no matter how you cut it, we're all cooking. We're all slowly being raised to the proper temp so that someone else can devour us and use us to fuel their own well-being. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed: at least at war you know the rules. The problems come in when you're trying to live a "good" life, trying to be "civilized" and you can't see things in black or white.
Well let me tell you, my friend, I don't need a camo uniform to see the reality of it. If it's me or the other guy, I'm taking the other guy down, because in today's world, it's survival of the craftiest, or survival of the richest. I'm not rich. Guess I better get crafty real quick.
Thanks for nothing, you stupid 5 years of college degree that I can wipe my nose with. Why not get it framed? Why add more damn money to a big waste of time? Why not give me a job? Oh, because I'll tell them the truth about the world, and hell, we wouldn't want them to be truly prepared for what they're going to come into contact with in the future. God forbid we should truly prepare them, no, we should coddle them, so we can continuously repeat history, so they can spend tons of money going to school and doing the "right" thing, only to be let out on their face, in debt, in a bad economy, with no chance for anyone.
It's time for a little escapism. It's time for the return of the alter egos...
Soon to be Craigslist add:
Mercenary for Hire:
Part elf, magic worker, no family, no ties. You need a job done, I need pay. Contract to be signed in blood. Will travel. Good at undercover and spy work. Good at infiltration. Good at getting out alive. Will blow holes in any barricade, living or non. Serious inquiries only, please. No charity work.
He gets jerked around by some foreign douche selling a car, and I get yelled at because all I do is "bitch" and he's "wasting" his own time trying to do me a favor...
So don't do me any more favors. He wonders why I'd sooner sell my own body than move back in with him, when he's got me practically crying two sips into a beer I didn't really want. How is telling the man I'm suspicious of a guy who doesn't have a real address, can't speak English, and sold the car you told him you wanted to look at in an under an hour, how is that "bitching"? How is demanding that I spend $20 on a Carfax "bitching"? How is demanding that an American made POS have less than 100,000 miles on it "bitching"? And how is it, that needing a car to get a job, "bitching"?
Really... and I'll tell you right now, I could be married, bare foot, and pregnant, be completely provided for and completely miserable in under 5 minutes. Oh yes, I could put myself on Craigslist, and I'll tell you it would take less than 30 minutes for offers to marry me and own me. But I don't want to be owned, and I don't want any little ankle-biters. If all I have, coming into this world and going out of it, is my body, then I'm not ruining it by popping some little financial deficit, with no hope for the future, out of my potentially money-earning figure. I'm not letting my tits and ass sag anymore than they otherwise would, so that I can raise some kid to be just as jaded, bitter, and desperate as I am.
But if I was a good Catholic, if I was a good Irish/Italian woman, I'd already have a ring on my finger and an apple in my mouth; stick me on the spit and turn me as much as you want. Done.
We're all nothing more than pigs on a spit. Sometimes the fire is too high and it burns, sometimes the fire is too low, and we char and dry out, but no matter how you cut it, we're all cooking. We're all slowly being raised to the proper temp so that someone else can devour us and use us to fuel their own well-being. Eat or be eaten, kill or be killed: at least at war you know the rules. The problems come in when you're trying to live a "good" life, trying to be "civilized" and you can't see things in black or white.
Well let me tell you, my friend, I don't need a camo uniform to see the reality of it. If it's me or the other guy, I'm taking the other guy down, because in today's world, it's survival of the craftiest, or survival of the richest. I'm not rich. Guess I better get crafty real quick.
Thanks for nothing, you stupid 5 years of college degree that I can wipe my nose with. Why not get it framed? Why add more damn money to a big waste of time? Why not give me a job? Oh, because I'll tell them the truth about the world, and hell, we wouldn't want them to be truly prepared for what they're going to come into contact with in the future. God forbid we should truly prepare them, no, we should coddle them, so we can continuously repeat history, so they can spend tons of money going to school and doing the "right" thing, only to be let out on their face, in debt, in a bad economy, with no chance for anyone.
It's time for a little escapism. It's time for the return of the alter egos...
Soon to be Craigslist add:
Mercenary for Hire:
Part elf, magic worker, no family, no ties. You need a job done, I need pay. Contract to be signed in blood. Will travel. Good at undercover and spy work. Good at infiltration. Good at getting out alive. Will blow holes in any barricade, living or non. Serious inquiries only, please. No charity work.
Dear Cats- Why did you wake me at 7? And why do I only hit REM after 7?
Dear Cats,
Why do you insist on waking me so early? Why do you feel 7am is an appropriate time to start scratching things, spazzing around the apartment, digging in your box for no reason other than to make noise? Why does mommy have to be on your schedule? I know you're my babies, but you are CAT babies, NOT human babies. So how come you rule me?
I know I'm destined to be the crazy cat lady, but I don't plan on picking up any extras. Two seems enough to own me. I don't throw them, and haven't got a law degree from Harvard, but I'm the new aged cat lady, not the Simpson's one. So of course, I got out of bed, stumbled to the kitchen, and fed them some of their stinky, delicious organic food. Hell, they eat better than most of the human beings I know. Then I passed out on the couch for an hour, until they woke me up again. They like their dry food soon after their wet food. Then I went back to sleep again.
So how come I only dream after about 7am? It was pretty awful during Student Teaching. I felt like I never truly slept. I'd wake up around 5:30, 6am on weekend, like my dad's always complained about. It's like living in Alaska, when they get a whole month of night, or day, and people can't sleep right. That's what it was like, waking up at 5:30, and never, ever, dreaming. It took about a week after graduation for me to be able to sleep past 6. It took me two weeks after graduation to start dreaming again.
Now here I am, I dreamt all morning, Strange dreams. Naked dreams, social dreams, fantastical dreams and memory dreams. Like coming back from Oz, "You were there, and you were there, and you!" Familiar, I-know-where-I'm-at dreams, and strange this-isn't-what-it-looks-like-in-real-life dreams. I went to the museum, maybe I thought it was the one with the gem room, (I think that's Science and Industry?) or maybe it was the Aquarium, but not really. And there was a tank of cool little creatures that don't actually exist. This little girl pulled one out of the tank and told her mother she was taking it home, until it jumped into my arms for salvation, and as she tried to tear it from me, it scratched me, and I wondered if I could get rabies, or salmonella, or something else, but promptly forgot as I put its little golden-colored, winged and hoofed, horse/dragon body back into its tank. Then I found him and someone I didn't know was there came and sat next to me and he took a happy little picture of us.
I was on my porch, but not my porch, and one of my students was my neighbor. And I was organizing our stash of BBQ condiments that we keep in the ice boxes. All very strange.
Now I'm drinking my coffee and watching 30 Days of Night, while those lazy cats sleep away the hours, now that they're fed and happy. Sometimes, I'm very jealous of those cats. They don't have to comb Craigslist and all the rest for a job and a car. Too bad they're not better trained- I'd make them get a job!
Why do you insist on waking me so early? Why do you feel 7am is an appropriate time to start scratching things, spazzing around the apartment, digging in your box for no reason other than to make noise? Why does mommy have to be on your schedule? I know you're my babies, but you are CAT babies, NOT human babies. So how come you rule me?
I know I'm destined to be the crazy cat lady, but I don't plan on picking up any extras. Two seems enough to own me. I don't throw them, and haven't got a law degree from Harvard, but I'm the new aged cat lady, not the Simpson's one. So of course, I got out of bed, stumbled to the kitchen, and fed them some of their stinky, delicious organic food. Hell, they eat better than most of the human beings I know. Then I passed out on the couch for an hour, until they woke me up again. They like their dry food soon after their wet food. Then I went back to sleep again.
So how come I only dream after about 7am? It was pretty awful during Student Teaching. I felt like I never truly slept. I'd wake up around 5:30, 6am on weekend, like my dad's always complained about. It's like living in Alaska, when they get a whole month of night, or day, and people can't sleep right. That's what it was like, waking up at 5:30, and never, ever, dreaming. It took about a week after graduation for me to be able to sleep past 6. It took me two weeks after graduation to start dreaming again.
Now here I am, I dreamt all morning, Strange dreams. Naked dreams, social dreams, fantastical dreams and memory dreams. Like coming back from Oz, "You were there, and you were there, and you!" Familiar, I-know-where-I'm-at dreams, and strange this-isn't-what-it-looks-like-in-real-life dreams. I went to the museum, maybe I thought it was the one with the gem room, (I think that's Science and Industry?) or maybe it was the Aquarium, but not really. And there was a tank of cool little creatures that don't actually exist. This little girl pulled one out of the tank and told her mother she was taking it home, until it jumped into my arms for salvation, and as she tried to tear it from me, it scratched me, and I wondered if I could get rabies, or salmonella, or something else, but promptly forgot as I put its little golden-colored, winged and hoofed, horse/dragon body back into its tank. Then I found him and someone I didn't know was there came and sat next to me and he took a happy little picture of us.
I was on my porch, but not my porch, and one of my students was my neighbor. And I was organizing our stash of BBQ condiments that we keep in the ice boxes. All very strange.
Now I'm drinking my coffee and watching 30 Days of Night, while those lazy cats sleep away the hours, now that they're fed and happy. Sometimes, I'm very jealous of those cats. They don't have to comb Craigslist and all the rest for a job and a car. Too bad they're not better trained- I'd make them get a job!
Friday, September 17, 2010
Caught in a wasted state of mind... feel like I've wasted all this time...
So I went to look at a car with my dad today. Just from the sounds of it, I was skeptical. It was more money than I wanted to spend, had more miles than I was looking for, and was worth a hell of a lot more than they were selling it for.
"What's wrong with it?" "I don't know."
So we took it on a test drive and it didn't feel quite right and my dad had the mechanic put it up on the rack. Oh yeah, she's a freakin' leaker. You name a color, and it was leaking it. Green, red, oil. Uh huh... No freaking way.
So now I'm home, I'm debating making another pot of coffee to spike, or maybe I can try some vodka in my tea. Wonder if I have any lemons?
Oh, I got lemons galore... Make lemonade! That's what mama always said, "When life gives you lemons..."
Problem is, I'm too old to open up a corner lemonade stand without a damn business permit.
"What's wrong with it?" "I don't know."
So we took it on a test drive and it didn't feel quite right and my dad had the mechanic put it up on the rack. Oh yeah, she's a freakin' leaker. You name a color, and it was leaking it. Green, red, oil. Uh huh... No freaking way.
So now I'm home, I'm debating making another pot of coffee to spike, or maybe I can try some vodka in my tea. Wonder if I have any lemons?
Oh, I got lemons galore... Make lemonade! That's what mama always said, "When life gives you lemons..."
Problem is, I'm too old to open up a corner lemonade stand without a damn business permit.
Skipping a Semi-Funeral
ok... so I'm skipping the interment of my mom's cousin's ashes today. I know it's not a real funeral, but I just can't do it. I've been to too many this year already. I went to a dedication of a little garden plot for a friend's mom only a week or two ago, and that was hard enough. I witnessed/signed/copied my mother's last wishes back in May or so (happy mother's day, happy graduation), or maybe it was around her birthday...
I just can't anymore. I want to go to weddings, and even baby showers, as stupid as I think it is to be bringing children into our society right now (be careful, it'll be Idiocracy before we know it because people like me aren't having kids). I want to go to birthdays and random parties, and rejoice. I want to tie a few on and not end up crying; I'm tired of wiping my damn nose. Tired of watching the makeup run into my eyes.
When I die, there will be a party. Set my ashes on the mantle, pour me a kettle & tonic or a white russian, and turn up the music. Put some pictures up on a projector, and make sure at least 40% of them are embarrassing as hell (there are PLENTY of pictures of me cramming food in my face). Laugh. Don't freaking cry. Everyone needs to drink and dance and rejoice. Share stories, if it makes you laugh. But good god, when I die, please don't make it some big deal with tears and tissue. I don't want a priest, I want a poet. And if you're going to insist on creating a scene, throw yourself at the urn and dance it around the floor once or twice. Don't put my ashes in a can next to no one or nothing, but spread them all over hell and back. Take a matchbox of me to every place I've never been, and throw a handful under a willow tree in Indiana. Dump a little of me at Foster beach, and at Montrose harbor. Put a pinch full in a cup of Starbucks and throw it on the hood of a BMW owned by some douche.
But listen here, I don't know how much ash there'll be. I'm going to donate whatever they want to science. Having smoked for 4 years, I'm pretty sure I won't make much of a donor, but maybe they can learn something from me. Maybe they'll take out my brain and run some magical electric currents through it and be able to play my memories through my eyes like a projection. Maybe they'll find all sorts of neat things.
So don't cry when I die. It's just the beginning to something different, not really an end. No one gets out alive, you know, so just let it happen. I'm not saying go quietly, and I'm not saying I'll go quietly, just that there's no reason to fear, no reason to despair. In the long run, we're all merely a blink, and maybe what we have is all some grand illusion and maybe I'll go to some greater consciousness and spend eternity with all the great minds that had died long before I lived, which really would be an exercise in heavenly education.
Here's to fewer funerals. Here's to less sadness. Here's to fewer plots of land taken up by headstones, as beautiful as cemeteries are, and to a good, old fashioned, Irish wake. Use my life insurance to buy the top shelf, and enjoy. Spike your coffee on your day off and toast to me. Mourning just strikes me as something we let far too much of our energy go towards, when the people we're mourning would rather we were smiling and laughing and remembering them in life.
I just can't anymore. I want to go to weddings, and even baby showers, as stupid as I think it is to be bringing children into our society right now (be careful, it'll be Idiocracy before we know it because people like me aren't having kids). I want to go to birthdays and random parties, and rejoice. I want to tie a few on and not end up crying; I'm tired of wiping my damn nose. Tired of watching the makeup run into my eyes.
When I die, there will be a party. Set my ashes on the mantle, pour me a kettle & tonic or a white russian, and turn up the music. Put some pictures up on a projector, and make sure at least 40% of them are embarrassing as hell (there are PLENTY of pictures of me cramming food in my face). Laugh. Don't freaking cry. Everyone needs to drink and dance and rejoice. Share stories, if it makes you laugh. But good god, when I die, please don't make it some big deal with tears and tissue. I don't want a priest, I want a poet. And if you're going to insist on creating a scene, throw yourself at the urn and dance it around the floor once or twice. Don't put my ashes in a can next to no one or nothing, but spread them all over hell and back. Take a matchbox of me to every place I've never been, and throw a handful under a willow tree in Indiana. Dump a little of me at Foster beach, and at Montrose harbor. Put a pinch full in a cup of Starbucks and throw it on the hood of a BMW owned by some douche.
But listen here, I don't know how much ash there'll be. I'm going to donate whatever they want to science. Having smoked for 4 years, I'm pretty sure I won't make much of a donor, but maybe they can learn something from me. Maybe they'll take out my brain and run some magical electric currents through it and be able to play my memories through my eyes like a projection. Maybe they'll find all sorts of neat things.
So don't cry when I die. It's just the beginning to something different, not really an end. No one gets out alive, you know, so just let it happen. I'm not saying go quietly, and I'm not saying I'll go quietly, just that there's no reason to fear, no reason to despair. In the long run, we're all merely a blink, and maybe what we have is all some grand illusion and maybe I'll go to some greater consciousness and spend eternity with all the great minds that had died long before I lived, which really would be an exercise in heavenly education.
Here's to fewer funerals. Here's to less sadness. Here's to fewer plots of land taken up by headstones, as beautiful as cemeteries are, and to a good, old fashioned, Irish wake. Use my life insurance to buy the top shelf, and enjoy. Spike your coffee on your day off and toast to me. Mourning just strikes me as something we let far too much of our energy go towards, when the people we're mourning would rather we were smiling and laughing and remembering them in life.
Day 3 of Spiked Coffee: Thieves!
::sip, sip:: aaaahhh.... Coffee, you are my morning friend. You require all of 2 minutes of semi-concious attention, and then you just give, give, give.
I was woken up the second time the phone had finished ringing, listened to the voicemail for the phone number I didn't recognize, then went and unlocked the back door so my neighbor could shower (the music major, not the one that works at the hospital). Am I doing this purely out of the goodness of my heart? No, not really. I'm hoping by the time the landlord comes to destroy my life, that my neighbors' apartment is finished and I can occasionally use their shower and toilet. Considering they don't have pipes coming out of the tub wall right now, there was no hope for them even boiling water and taking a rag bath today, as who knows if the drain is connected to anything. At least they had a flushing toilet by 8:30pm last night.
This brings me to thieves. This plumbing project has begun to steal people's sanity and humanity. Now, I haven't posted a picture of myself, but you should just know that my hair is about 2 feet long. I'm not joking. It's a great big blond sponge, and takes about 10 minutes to get completely wet for conditioning or washing (because no one with this much hair can shampoo every day or it turns into straw). When I first heard about the plumbing project, I was excited at the prospect of better hot water pressure for this very reason, but I have been, of course, disillusioned to my silly dreams of grandeur. The project started last month, at which point I went days and days without water, hot water, showers, dishes, sanity. Let me check the calendar...
The signs posted said work was to start August 4th. It rained that day, pretty hard, but that's not why they didn't start; they didn't have their permits in order. I didn't have water at all from Thursday, Aug. 5th through Saturday, Aug. 7th. Then Monday and Tuesday (Aug, 9th and 10th) I had no hot water and wasn't notified, followed by Wednesday Aug. 11th where I had no water at all and wasn't notified. There was Friday the 13th, no hot water, no notification, and THANKFULLY on Monday the 16th I didn't have hot water but was notified. Tuesday the 17th through Thursday the 19th there was no hot water and no notification. Then work just stopped for a while.
Now, for the first half of this hell, they were doing the main lines, so the water had to be shut off whenever there was a leak, pretty much to the whole building. Thankfully, there's only one family with kids in the building, but a lot of the other tenants are old- too old to go to the store to buy water. The dude who lives in the basement had a waterfall through his apartment when they did a crappy job at something or other, and even though he's literally at the bottom of it all, his apartment still isn't done, and his water pressure is like le mannequine pise, still, as of yesterday last I spoke with him.
So they resumed construction Monday the 13th, the day after my birthday, and destroyed an entire column of 3 apartments. They said one day per unit, then they said one day for each kitchen and each bathroom. So I guess they're sort of on schedule, as they have to come and put showers into the 3 units today, but being as the whole column is connected, the apartments have literally looked like Baghdad all week long, and will continue to until they're sure that the pipes aren't leaking and finally come back to plaster and paint. And by the way, I was told that my water wouldn't be affected by the construction in other units anymore, but that was a lie. Monday and Tuesday I had no hot water, no notification, and Wednesday the same. The old man who lives down stairs says to take the rent amount, divide it by 30 (days) and take off for every day I suffer annoyance or anything else. At those numbers, I totally overpaid the landlord for last month.
So the thievery part, yes. They're Time thieves. This project has stolen time, it's stolen money (like the one day I was an hour late to work, when I had a job, or like all the days I had to go without a shower, and was thereby a slightly less attractive and slightly more surly waitress). They start working early and wake me up with their noise, they give me headaches with the awful smell of soddering, and only one out of 5 of these guys speak English (an improvement, trust me).
How about some other thieves? I had a victory yesterday when I called Comcast and got them to knock my bill down from over $100 to $85 a month. It took all of 10 minutes of my time. The guy on the phone wanted to know why I would want to cancel my cable, and when I told him I was unemployed he suggested I apply for a position with them (maybe I'd get a discount?). When asked where he managed to take the money off, he said he knocked it off the internet. Now exactly why have I been paying so much for internet/cable, when this man literally typed in a few things and all of a sudden I'm saving $25? How come new customers get the best deals? How come they came out with a college package that costs next to nothing, less than 6 months after graduation!?
But back to this morning, while lying on the couch, debating making coffee of going back to sleep, the cats decided it was time to be fed. My little girl, channeling the spirits of ferrets and other little weasely, thieving creatures, jumped onto the coffee table and stole my book of rolling papers. She dropped them while wagging her tail and then jotted straight for the kitchen when I bent to pick them up. And people wonder why I have cats. They're the only thing that reminds me I'm still human. Maybe they keep their good spirits because they always have running water in their little cat fountain. I can't exactly bathe in that, now can I?
I was woken up the second time the phone had finished ringing, listened to the voicemail for the phone number I didn't recognize, then went and unlocked the back door so my neighbor could shower (the music major, not the one that works at the hospital). Am I doing this purely out of the goodness of my heart? No, not really. I'm hoping by the time the landlord comes to destroy my life, that my neighbors' apartment is finished and I can occasionally use their shower and toilet. Considering they don't have pipes coming out of the tub wall right now, there was no hope for them even boiling water and taking a rag bath today, as who knows if the drain is connected to anything. At least they had a flushing toilet by 8:30pm last night.
This brings me to thieves. This plumbing project has begun to steal people's sanity and humanity. Now, I haven't posted a picture of myself, but you should just know that my hair is about 2 feet long. I'm not joking. It's a great big blond sponge, and takes about 10 minutes to get completely wet for conditioning or washing (because no one with this much hair can shampoo every day or it turns into straw). When I first heard about the plumbing project, I was excited at the prospect of better hot water pressure for this very reason, but I have been, of course, disillusioned to my silly dreams of grandeur. The project started last month, at which point I went days and days without water, hot water, showers, dishes, sanity. Let me check the calendar...
The signs posted said work was to start August 4th. It rained that day, pretty hard, but that's not why they didn't start; they didn't have their permits in order. I didn't have water at all from Thursday, Aug. 5th through Saturday, Aug. 7th. Then Monday and Tuesday (Aug, 9th and 10th) I had no hot water and wasn't notified, followed by Wednesday Aug. 11th where I had no water at all and wasn't notified. There was Friday the 13th, no hot water, no notification, and THANKFULLY on Monday the 16th I didn't have hot water but was notified. Tuesday the 17th through Thursday the 19th there was no hot water and no notification. Then work just stopped for a while.
Now, for the first half of this hell, they were doing the main lines, so the water had to be shut off whenever there was a leak, pretty much to the whole building. Thankfully, there's only one family with kids in the building, but a lot of the other tenants are old- too old to go to the store to buy water. The dude who lives in the basement had a waterfall through his apartment when they did a crappy job at something or other, and even though he's literally at the bottom of it all, his apartment still isn't done, and his water pressure is like le mannequine pise, still, as of yesterday last I spoke with him.
So they resumed construction Monday the 13th, the day after my birthday, and destroyed an entire column of 3 apartments. They said one day per unit, then they said one day for each kitchen and each bathroom. So I guess they're sort of on schedule, as they have to come and put showers into the 3 units today, but being as the whole column is connected, the apartments have literally looked like Baghdad all week long, and will continue to until they're sure that the pipes aren't leaking and finally come back to plaster and paint. And by the way, I was told that my water wouldn't be affected by the construction in other units anymore, but that was a lie. Monday and Tuesday I had no hot water, no notification, and Wednesday the same. The old man who lives down stairs says to take the rent amount, divide it by 30 (days) and take off for every day I suffer annoyance or anything else. At those numbers, I totally overpaid the landlord for last month.
So the thievery part, yes. They're Time thieves. This project has stolen time, it's stolen money (like the one day I was an hour late to work, when I had a job, or like all the days I had to go without a shower, and was thereby a slightly less attractive and slightly more surly waitress). They start working early and wake me up with their noise, they give me headaches with the awful smell of soddering, and only one out of 5 of these guys speak English (an improvement, trust me).
How about some other thieves? I had a victory yesterday when I called Comcast and got them to knock my bill down from over $100 to $85 a month. It took all of 10 minutes of my time. The guy on the phone wanted to know why I would want to cancel my cable, and when I told him I was unemployed he suggested I apply for a position with them (maybe I'd get a discount?). When asked where he managed to take the money off, he said he knocked it off the internet. Now exactly why have I been paying so much for internet/cable, when this man literally typed in a few things and all of a sudden I'm saving $25? How come new customers get the best deals? How come they came out with a college package that costs next to nothing, less than 6 months after graduation!?
But back to this morning, while lying on the couch, debating making coffee of going back to sleep, the cats decided it was time to be fed. My little girl, channeling the spirits of ferrets and other little weasely, thieving creatures, jumped onto the coffee table and stole my book of rolling papers. She dropped them while wagging her tail and then jotted straight for the kitchen when I bent to pick them up. And people wonder why I have cats. They're the only thing that reminds me I'm still human. Maybe they keep their good spirits because they always have running water in their little cat fountain. I can't exactly bathe in that, now can I?
Thursday, September 16, 2010
Unemployed and Blogging about it...
Hello Readers,
I'm trying something new. I figure with a degree in English, I ought to (at least) be attempting to write things. So what to write? I started a novel when I was 13, but that doesn't strike me as a lucrative waste of my time at this point. Who do you know that wrote a Best Seller at 13, or even 24? (Check out Amelia Atwater Rhodes. She is a year younger than I and has a whole series...)
So I'm going to try my hand at Blogging. I remember doing this when I was young, and (regrettably) MySpace belongs in the realm of the pubescent. Also, there's no easy way to get stuff OFF MySpace to save it, short of sitting there and copying and pasting 5 years of randomness. At least, that's how it was the last time I logged in. So I'm here to grow up my blogging skills.
Let's talk, briefly, about reality:
Life hurts. If you're reading this, my guess is you needed a laugh because you're certified or educated, but also under- or un-employed as well. I'm cutting coupons, combing Craigslist, putting together Monster.com profiles that return only offers for a commission based on selling Health and Life Insurance, which, by the way, no one can really afford right now. I got fired from my stupid waitressing job, and am considering selling my soul back to Starbucks just to have some money coming in so I can pay off my loans for an education that isn't doing much for me right now.
As a certified teacher, I'm completely disgusted. Some of my compatriots have managed to find teaching positions, and I applaud them. They're all marvelous people, and they're going to be great teachers. I'm a little jealous. As old as those little stinkers make you feel, they keep you young, too. They keep you engaged, that is, if you're not doing ALL the talking. They make you laugh, they make you cry, and they make you feel alive. It is the establishment and the economy that make you feel like a dried-out husk inside.
Two days in a row I've woken up and decided to spike my coffee with some Bailey's. My car is dead, so it's not like I can go driving to kill the time, and I don't have money for gas to cruise anyway. Remember when we were kids, and we used to take SO much pleasure in simply tooling around. Lake Shore Drive is beautiful when you can avoid the traffic. It's the one awesome way to enjoy the beautification that Mayor Daley has been spending our tax dollars on, to keep us happy because it's pretty. Hey, those mums that are being put in could have bought a lot of school books.
The plumbing in my building is being completely redone, so sometimes I don't even get to shower. Sometimes you have a good time on the porch because you're commiserating with the neighbors about the hard-working, well-intentioned boob of a landlord who has paid some non-English speaking Eastern Bloc people to do the plumbing (hey, they're the same guys that did the electric!). Sometimes you have a good laugh because your neighbor is super apologetic about asking to use your shower, twice in one day, especially when it results in the old man downstairs asking you if you're "fooling around" with him.
In the meantime, I'm playing with my cats a lot. Booze in the coffee, cable TV, and cats... English degree? Oh yes, I'm on my way to being the Crazy Cat Lady! I don't think it would be so bad if I had some money to turn my apartment into a wonderland for them, like you see on Animal Planet with those people who have completely redone their lives to accommodate the curiosity of their furry little demons.
I thought working at a bar left me with the strangest hours ever, but I'll tell you, being unemployed was great for a week. Now it's not funny anymore. I'm taking random naps, waking up around 8am, going to bed around 4am. What AM I doing with my time?! I've read most of the books on my shelves, and have taken to bringing home boxes of books from my mother's house. I'm using my teaching skills on my friends, and trying to get people around me to read! I've been trained to do all these things, and as they're un-channeled, it's all spilling over onto poor innocent adults. Heck, in the past year, I turned my exboyfriend into a reader! He always seemed to hate reading, all the way through high school. While he was in college, I don't think I ever saw him pick up a book for fun. Then he moved in with me. You wouldn't believe what he's read...
So if you hate reading, you should probably stop reading this blog today, because I might actually be contagious, and you might be next.
I'm trying something new. I figure with a degree in English, I ought to (at least) be attempting to write things. So what to write? I started a novel when I was 13, but that doesn't strike me as a lucrative waste of my time at this point. Who do you know that wrote a Best Seller at 13, or even 24? (Check out Amelia Atwater Rhodes. She is a year younger than I and has a whole series...)
So I'm going to try my hand at Blogging. I remember doing this when I was young, and (regrettably) MySpace belongs in the realm of the pubescent. Also, there's no easy way to get stuff OFF MySpace to save it, short of sitting there and copying and pasting 5 years of randomness. At least, that's how it was the last time I logged in. So I'm here to grow up my blogging skills.
Let's talk, briefly, about reality:
Life hurts. If you're reading this, my guess is you needed a laugh because you're certified or educated, but also under- or un-employed as well. I'm cutting coupons, combing Craigslist, putting together Monster.com profiles that return only offers for a commission based on selling Health and Life Insurance, which, by the way, no one can really afford right now. I got fired from my stupid waitressing job, and am considering selling my soul back to Starbucks just to have some money coming in so I can pay off my loans for an education that isn't doing much for me right now.
As a certified teacher, I'm completely disgusted. Some of my compatriots have managed to find teaching positions, and I applaud them. They're all marvelous people, and they're going to be great teachers. I'm a little jealous. As old as those little stinkers make you feel, they keep you young, too. They keep you engaged, that is, if you're not doing ALL the talking. They make you laugh, they make you cry, and they make you feel alive. It is the establishment and the economy that make you feel like a dried-out husk inside.
Two days in a row I've woken up and decided to spike my coffee with some Bailey's. My car is dead, so it's not like I can go driving to kill the time, and I don't have money for gas to cruise anyway. Remember when we were kids, and we used to take SO much pleasure in simply tooling around. Lake Shore Drive is beautiful when you can avoid the traffic. It's the one awesome way to enjoy the beautification that Mayor Daley has been spending our tax dollars on, to keep us happy because it's pretty. Hey, those mums that are being put in could have bought a lot of school books.
The plumbing in my building is being completely redone, so sometimes I don't even get to shower. Sometimes you have a good time on the porch because you're commiserating with the neighbors about the hard-working, well-intentioned boob of a landlord who has paid some non-English speaking Eastern Bloc people to do the plumbing (hey, they're the same guys that did the electric!). Sometimes you have a good laugh because your neighbor is super apologetic about asking to use your shower, twice in one day, especially when it results in the old man downstairs asking you if you're "fooling around" with him.
In the meantime, I'm playing with my cats a lot. Booze in the coffee, cable TV, and cats... English degree? Oh yes, I'm on my way to being the Crazy Cat Lady! I don't think it would be so bad if I had some money to turn my apartment into a wonderland for them, like you see on Animal Planet with those people who have completely redone their lives to accommodate the curiosity of their furry little demons.
I thought working at a bar left me with the strangest hours ever, but I'll tell you, being unemployed was great for a week. Now it's not funny anymore. I'm taking random naps, waking up around 8am, going to bed around 4am. What AM I doing with my time?! I've read most of the books on my shelves, and have taken to bringing home boxes of books from my mother's house. I'm using my teaching skills on my friends, and trying to get people around me to read! I've been trained to do all these things, and as they're un-channeled, it's all spilling over onto poor innocent adults. Heck, in the past year, I turned my exboyfriend into a reader! He always seemed to hate reading, all the way through high school. While he was in college, I don't think I ever saw him pick up a book for fun. Then he moved in with me. You wouldn't believe what he's read...
So if you hate reading, you should probably stop reading this blog today, because I might actually be contagious, and you might be next.
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