I think the only solution is for me to become less interesting when I blog, and more pedestrian. Seriously. I just canNOT handle more people finding me through searches like:
-"Grandmother+sucked+the+little+boys+cock"
and
-"Chimpanzee+shaped+penis"
Gahh!
(The even-scarier thing for me to contemplate is all the Google searches that I popped up on before I got a sitemeter. Why?? Why on earth didn't I get one sooner?!? I could have DONE something about this, maybe. Okay, maybe that's wishful thinking.)
If you run into the same person in the same bathroom at the same time every day, does that constitute any sort of relationship at all? I mean, aside from the fact that your bladders are in tune.
I didn't think so. So, Lady With Similar Bladder--please stop talking to be in the potty.
Seriously, though, it's been a slow day. My work pile magically dwindled overnight (or maybe it just didn't look as daunting in the morning light as it did last night. Whoo! Poetic License!), so things have been pretty relaxed today...I went shopping with my pr0n-star coworker, which did little for my self-image (Not that it's bad, my self-image. We've discussed this before--but it's difficult to remain interested in shopping with a woman who insists on letting *everyone* know that her ass is a size 0. Harrumph.)
I *have* been doing a lot of thinking, though, and I think that I'm coming to the conclusion that polyamory really *isn't* for me. I like the idea of beingand involved and always having someone there, and having one big happy family...but in practice, it's not quite working for me that way. At least, not in the polyamorous sense. Boy and I are and couldn't really get much more involved without rings being worn on specific fingers and the like...and he's always there for me. And I've got PLENTY of family, sheesh. No shortage in THAT department.
But it really doesn't work for me, this stress and strife that has been coming along with the outside involvement. I don't like having discussions like the one that was had last night, I don't like feeling like I've hurt the most important person in my life, and I don't like not knowing how this all works. I made a big mistake yesterday, and it was more careless and selfish than anything. I was inconsiderate.
This is not to say that I was more considerate when I was in serially monogamous relationships, I'm sure I made my mistakes then, too. The difference is that this mistake could have been avoided.
Part of me thinks that polyamory comes about when people are bored with the relationship that they have, and are in the mood for something new and exciting. I know, I know, that's not what it's really about for the most part--but sometimes, it feels that way. *I* certainly wasn't bored when I suggested to Boy that we try it--I'm happier than I've ever been with him. (to be honest, it started out as a way for me to have some sex with chicks, heh. It's evolved since then, but...heh.heheheheheh.)
Hmm. I'm losing track of what's going on in my head, I'd better do some work. I'll continue this later.
Or not. We all know how easily distracted I get. Remember that bit a while ago where I tried listing what I learned in college, and then never went anywhere? could be like that. Just letting you know! I don't want anyone to get huffy at me, I can get that from plenty of other people, thanks. So just keep your huffs to yourself. Harrumph.
And for those of you who obsessively check my weblog *ahem*, here's a little smidge for you: I bought soap today. Pear-scented soap. It's green. And I'm drinking a smoothie. orange-strawberry-banana-vitCboost-flavored.
For those of you who might ask--I don't want to talk about yesterday. At all.
Happy Friday, folks--I'm working my patootie off, leaving early to pick up my last check from the agency, then finishing the wee bits of packing I have left to do. Wish me luck!
Gah. How long was THAT little booger there? I get distracted when I blog from work.
(Oh wait--I meant booger in the sense of a link--to Keith--that didn't get closed when I was typing it, and made almost the entire entry a link. My own actual boogers are nobody's business but my own.)
Today's posts are all of the short nature, because my head hurts from wearing these headphones all day--my ears are cramping, I can tell. Ouch. Oh well, matters not because I'm leaving work in a few so I can snooze a bit at the apartment before heading to my house to finish packing.
Ouch. Everything from my shoulders up hurts today.
Oh heavens, I almost forgot--read Keith's weblog, he's wunnerful. And he links to meeeeee, heh. I'm reminded a lot of my own weblog when I read his. Hmm. In any event, read him and send him love, because he's a super guy.
+Pistachio gelato at exactly 3 p.m., come hell or high water (this nicely compliments our 10 a.m. toast fixation.)
+Obsessively checking my sitemeter stats. Tony, I saw that!
Hey, that crazy search someone did for "little+brother+fucking+little+sister"? I was *ahem* looking at who else pops up with that search (Shut up, I was NOT looking at smut. For very long. Shut up!)...and this chick that EDS met on Nerve, she's got a webjournal, too, right? And in said journal, she talks about this friend of hers by name of Agent Cooper (with whom I had corresponded once through nerve as well, I think) who just happened to pop up on the same sick sick search. How's that for a small world?
For the record, neither of us actually made any reference to little brothers fucking little sisters (thank god. I feel sick just typing those five words.). I think he talked about killing fucking little brothers and his sister. Do not approach this man. If you must, read his journal, but then slloooowwwwly step away.
I can't wake up today. This is the third day in a row that I've felt all groggy, and for the past two days or so, I've solved that with an iced mocha around 230p. That's not a good sign. I refuse to succumb to the addiction!
I've managed for several years now without daily doses of coffee, I don't want to start again now--it'll work against me in the War Against Weight Gained During Unemployment. I need allies, not more enemies! I've already vanquished the forces of Soda Pop (ok, for the most part i have. I've gone from daily soda to barely once-a-week soda. Pretty good, if you ask me.)...Now I just have to deal with the Ice Cream/Gelato phenom. This battle is going to be tough, because we discovered the Torrefazione (I *know* I'm spelling that wrong) downstairs has the best pistachio gelato I've ever had in my entire fucking life. It's so good that I'd add it to my Last Meal List, which currently reads as follows:
+Brisket and Mashed Potatoes from the 5Spot.
+some fresh, hot biscuits with butter and honey
+cherry coke--but not the actual commercial product, Cherry Coke, I want Coke with maraschino cherry juice in it.
+warm blackberry pie with malted vanilla ice cream
+strawberry lemonade from Desert Fire
+chips and salsa
+pistachio gelato.
haha, someone found me on Google searching for "mango+too+sexy". Someone watches too much Saturday Night Live.
There are some twisted people who are managing to find me through some highly gross Google searches. Wanna know what they're searching for?
1) 14+year+old+webcam+picture+girl
2) free+naked+jr.+highschool+girls
3) little+brother+fucking+little+sister
and the sickest of them all...
4) dsl+provider+greenlake+seattle.
Heh. To those of you sick fuckers who manage to find my weblog with searches like that--Stop reading!! gahh! *can't think the dirty thoughts, don't think the dirty thoughts...*
It's been a long fucking day. But at least almost half the stuff at my house is packed now. Tired. Must. Sleep.
Just a quick post before I head to my (long-deserted-but-still-paying-rent-on) house to start packing for this weekend's move...
::Someone stop me from getting on the wrong bus on my way home from work. Two days in a row now. It's not that I'm careless or anything...More like distracted. Yesterday it was the 28 express (I *should* be taking the 26 regular), and I ended up a mile from home in uncomfortable platform-y sandals. And the cab company dispatcher was an asshole. I call, he says, "Address?" and I ask if he wants the one I'm at or the one I'm going to (hey, I was confused and hot and thirsty.), and he says, "How about you tell me the one you're going to and I'll send the cab THERE, and we'll see if you get it." Gah! What an asshole.
Today, I got on the 26 Express instead of 26 regular, and ended up half a mile away, near a scary part of Aurora, all while wearing even MORE uncomfortable shoes. You should see my blisters. *whine*
Somebody stop me from making the same mistake again.
::I am completely official at work now. I got my (superlong and high energy) orientation and tour over with, have an official email address, and a phone extension, and my own computer right at my very own desk! (This is really only exciting for those of you who understand the life of a temp. You're like a homeless person, wandering the office looking for a spare computer.)
::I've got a fuckload of packing to do. Gotta get at it. More later.
Gah. I've got to stick to the funny stuff--the quality of my updates go downhill quickly the mushier I get. Of course, it WAS almost two a.m. by the time I'd finished writing it, and I was falling asleep at the keyboard (no more late-night-typing-on-laptop-in-bed stuff)...
Two Google searches already this morning, some funny shit:
http://www.google.com/search?q=every+little+thing+rescue+me+mp3&hl=ja&lr=
someone's got a thing for Sting and Aretha duets?
and...
http://www.google.com/search?q=webcam+pictures+sneezed&hl=en&safe=off&start=20&sa=N
I'm guessing someone has a sneezing fetish. They exist! You know what else exists? Quicksand and Mud fetishes. Go look at Yahoo fetish listings! That's crraaaaaazy, man. Quicksand? Weird weird weird. Whatever floats yer boat, I guess...or buries you alive, heh.
Firstly: If you are someone who reads my journal solely for the humorous/kinky/irreverantly witty bits, perhaps you'll want to skip this post. I'm going to get mushy. It's sort of the lot of a web-journalist, though. We're practically required by contract to interject some heart-warming, wobbly-smile-inducing crap every once in a while. I figure that I do my best to avoid those, sticking to the above-mentioned genres--I get more favorable responses from that. People laugh and flatter me and tell me I'm a hottie when I'm at my humor-peak. But this is a reasonably big deal to me, this topic, and I simply MUST write it down before my head (or heart) explodes...
Well, it's official. Six months and thirty-some odd minutes ago, Boy and I met. Okay, not met, that happened the next day, around eight-ish. But we spoke for the first time 6 months and 30 minutes ago. Wait, no, we didn't speak until about 1:30 a.m., and it's only 12:32a.m. right now. Bugger. Lemme try again...
Six months and thirty-some-odd-minutes ago, Boy and I chatted for the first time. It was Christmas Day, and I should have been sleeping. An hour or so later, I gave him my telephone number and he phoned--we pulled a Truth About Cats And Dogs (you know, that scene where Janeane Garofalo--me--and Ben Chaplin--Boy--talk on the phone for like seven hours?) and talked until two hours before I was supposed to be at work. It was the best Christmas Day I've ever had.
We talked, decided to have dinner the next night, and for the first time since I could remember, I didn't jump into bed with him directly after. There was indeed discussion of that possibility, as we are like-minded individuals, but we waited an entire two weeks before having a night of illicit passion (tee hee!). If you knew me B.B. (Before Boy), then you would also know that that's freaking amazing.)
Sidenote: Please do not interpret my apparent willingness to jump into bed immediately following a fairly decent dinner as an indication of low-self-esteem, self-worth, or anything of the sort. If you read this journal with any regularity, it should be painfully clear just howI am about physical interaction. I like it. I like sex. It's fun, I'm good at it, and I like the teaching/learning element. Okay, enough said, I just want to make that clear for those who might be joining us for the first time--I'm getting TONS of hits from Blog of the Day, on which I was recently mentioned! woohoo!
Back to the mush: We didn't have sex on our first date. Or second date. Or third or fourth. Fifth, I believe? Before that we saw eachother naked and touched and held hands in a crowded theatre, took a nap together...and it felt good. I hadn't expected that, the feeling good napping with someone. (As I'm writing this, and thinking back, I miss that first nap we took together, because now every time we lay down with our clothes off, dirty things start happening, hehe)
Things progressed in a somewhat conventional manner, the details of which are too involved to write about at this late hour--suffice to say the following: Here we are at six months of spending almost every waking not-at-work-or-water-aerobics-moment and I love him so much my heart almost bursts thinking of it.
I confessed this evening at dinner that occasionally, I'll start sniffling and getting teary with no visible provocation and he'll want to know why...I tell him no reason at all, but in truth it is this: I love him so much, and I'm so sure of his love for me, that the idea of having something happen, losing that feeling, that bond--and at some point having to settle for something less wonderful and perfect--would be unbearable. I would wither away to a shell of a woman if that happened. And it makes me cry, thinking of it.
Oh christ. I've become one of THOSE women. I'm writing one of THOSE journal entries. If you didn't catch the inflection there, go read this and you'll find the type of writing at which my scorn and disdain are aimed.
Yeah, I'm a sap.
See, here's the thing--Boy and I have now completed six months of not killing eachother and while that may seem like not-much of an accomplishment, let me tell you--YOU spend six months with me and then think about it. Strangling me slowly might seem like a preeeeetty good idea, heh. Here's the difference for me: This is the first time I've *wanted* to be with someone for this long, at this degree. In this instance, I don't say "Wow, it's been six months without a screaming-throwing-things breakup", I say "Wow, it's been six months--and I can't wait for ANOTHER six months to go by." Every single morning is still wonderful and heaping with potential, when we're together. Isn't that indicative of...well, of SOMETHING?
I desparately need some sleep now. Don't expect an early morning update, I've got my official orientation tomorrow at nine!
postscript: Sweetie, when you read this--I love you more than anything. Thanks for not wanting to kill me ;-)
This office is a hive of pregnancy. Three coworkers just came back from maternity leave, one is soon to go on maternity leave, and at least once a week, someone brings a baby in here.
Actually, everywhere I go, I see pregnant women. And twins. Hmm. *sigh*
The last few days have been the biggest ego-boost ever. Let me tell you why:
::I got these SUPERcute white and black plaid capris on Saturday (after I got my supercute haircut! eep! I'm just killing myself with cuteness.), and when we were at dinner that night, I got hit on in the bathroom. This very handsome silvery-haired woman was quite appreciative--and THEN she told me that she and her brother had had a conversation about how cute my pants were at their table after I walked by. Hah. I'm hot shit.
and..
::I walked up Stewart Street with one of my coworkers this morning and got checked out by two passing firemen. I wouldn't have noticed their rubber-necking if I hadn't rubbernecked myself, heh. Lucky for me, huh? Man, firemen are hot.
I know that there was something else, but I can't remember what it is now. Hrm. I'm almost sure it had something to do with these pants.
For your linking enjoyment...Read this lovely woman's journal, and this journal as well! The first is a friend of a friend of a friend (I'm hoping to meet her soon and get rid of the friendoffriendof title), and the second is the journal of the woman who sent me my second piece of fanmail! How exciting is that?! Plenty, if you ask me.
Also, I have FINALLY added a sitemeter, and it's providing no end of enjoyment for me and Boy. Today, someone in Norway did a Google search on "sexy+women+in+shiny+pants" and came up with ME! haha, that's freakin' hilarious. I should babelfish that and find out how to say sexy women in shiny pants in Norweigian. Ah, to live the life of the easily amused...
Back to work! I got my offer letter this morning, and accepted, and now here I am, fully and gainfully employed and taking ownership in the company, so I should stop fucking around.
1) a week or so ago, when I said that I almost ran over my girlfriend's partner's wife, I meant that I almost ran over her accidentally. I swear.
2) a few days ago, when I said that a particular mayoral candidate who happens to be my godfather (along with being one of the most hated public figures in Seattle) was my get out of jail free card, I in no way meant that I was doing anything that was illegal, nor was I doing anything that could be considered a crime.
3) a few more days ago, when I talked about that woman I saw in Westlake Square who was "painted muddy-gold, standing on a box, with a little sarcophagus on the ground in front of her, and a sign that said 'Legend says that gold given from a generous heart can bring Nefertiti to life'. Japanese tourists would put money in the box, and she would beckon them over with her scepter-thing, and kiss them on the cheek for pictures.", I failed to mention how bloody frightening she was. And then she showed up at the Fremont Street Fair.
4) Did I mention we spent a goodly bit of time at the street fair? The pictures are hilarious. Naked people everywhere, we ate too much, spent a miserable 15 minutes in the beer garden meeting random friends of EDS...and I got to hold a parrot! A huge freakin' parrot. It liked me, the guy said, it kept trying to climb from his arm to mine, so finally I let it, and it clamped on (they're HEAVY!) and I let it stand there on my arm eating a crust of bread until it started to bite me, whereupon I freaked out.
5) Speaking of parrots, I had an odd experience on the bus home the other day (that shouldn't be a surprise, it was a bus for chrissakes)...This older hispanic woman was crammed into a seat with her purple folding bicycle, and on her shoulder perched her pet bird. It was green. I was afraid it was going to poop on her. She was wearing this crocheted sweater, it was a really loose knit, big holes everywhere--and she was NAKED under it, you could see her nipples and everything! The bird kept trying to eat her bike handles. weird weird weird.
All of those things, just so's you know.
Did I mention that not a single one of you sent mail yesterday to make me feel loved? I got ONE piece of email yesterday. ONE. It was a forward. From my mother, who forwards spam (like so many mothers). It was a baseball joke. Very very sad was I.
And lastly, most self-piteously: There are women who inspire fiery passion and undying adoration, and women who inspire hatred and rage; I am merely a girl who inspires frustration.
So apparently some autoglass place that had originally given an estimate of $450something is now doing Boy's rear windshield for $250 and magically billing the insurance company. Crazy.
We had dinner with Dad and Soon-To-Be-Stepmother last night, had some good talks...and it boils down to this magical conclusion: Come August 1st, Boy and I will officially reside in Dad's house. And Dad and STBS will live in the new house. *excited noises* Do you have any idea how wonderful this is? Boy and I will be living in the house I grew up in ON THE LAKE WITH OUR OWN HOTTUB RIGHT OUTSIDE OUR BEDROOM DOOR.
Again: Oh, what a fuckery. Boy was driving and suddenly his rear windshield blew out. I was mistakenly under the impression that those sorts of things were fairly inexpensive to replace, it's just glass. Color me bloody-well wrong! Wanna know the last estimate I got? $688.32. Plus tax. However, I've been unable to contact my body-shop-owning-uncle who may very well have a more inexpensive solution to this fuckery. *fingers crossed* The best estimate I've gotten? $450, plus a $50 rebate. Still! Holy fuck. Fucking holy fuck. Grr. If you have a solution, or if you know someone who will do cheap (but reliable) autoglass, please please PLEASE let me know. I'll do all sorts of personal favors of the nasty sort if you do. Or even of the not-so-nasty sort. Anything, anything I tell you!
A Very Important Event I forgot to mention a few days ago:
Boy and M (of M&L fame, M is one of Boy's reports at work. Boy is big-and-powerful at his place of employment. Oh yes.) somehow roped themselves into the stupidest idea ever inspired by Cool Hand Luke: They had a bacon-eating contest. Each of them had to eat 50 pieces of bacon in under an hour.
I know! It's disgusting. Boy managed 30, but M, who is not human, ate ALL FIFTY PIECES OF BACON. And then reportedly had a meatball sandwich for dinner that night. Ugh. Let me tell you, we did not realize the full effects of that much bacon on a single body until two nights later, when Boy had what I call "Dead Skunk Farts", which is probably more than anyone wanted or needed to know. Sorry hon. All in the name of humor.
The grander point of this story is that ever since the bacon contest, ALL I've wanted for lunch are BLT's. And I hate bacon. heh.
I have a huge pile of crap to do today, but I'm incredibly lacking in concentration. Gah! Even our morning toast fix didn't help. (Backstory: The girl that I work for and I have a toast addiction. Every morning at ten o'clock, we go downstairs and get toast from the deli. It's sourdough, and smothered in butter, and wonderfully crunchy but not TOO crunchy. It keeps us going. We could quit any time we wanted to, but we're just not ready. Toast is our friend.)
I almost completely forgot to tell you about the dream I had this morning. It was wonderful.
It was one of those mundane-and-subsequently-true-to-life dreams where you wake up and are doing your usual morning things...only this was the most perfect morning ever--in the dream, I went into the bathroom...AND IT WAS MAGICALLY CLEAN, ALL BY ITSELF. How thrilling is that?!?!?
I wish the cleaning faeries would do a number on the bathroom while I'm sleeping. It's becoming a living, breathing THING. Ugh.
+Read the newspaper every day on the bus on your way home.
+wear flat, semi-comfortable shoes for the first time in a lifetime.
+tell your Boy and/or Girl every single day how incredibly wonderful life is with them in it.
Have I mentioned to y'all how much I positively adore the girls I work for right now? They're terribly funny. Even better, they think *I* am terribly funny. I like that part a lot. Yesterday, my immediate supervisor made the executive decision to take me out for ice cream and a walk in the sunshine--a decision which made me greatly respect her as a leader, heh.
However, there are some concerns. Most importantly, the idea of my new coworkers reading my blog. That could be...weird. I mean, it can't be all that bad, because women are crazy enough to talk about virtually *anything* when they get going--but the whole sex-club-polyamory-spanking-thing might be a little offputting.
Oh well. They're all super-gung-ho about me right now. I'll just ride the wave.
So I had coffee with a long-ago ex last night, and boy, was it uncomfortable. And we all know what happens when someone makes me uncomfortable, yes? Defense mechanism = rudeness and sarcasm. Poor Liam. (that's the aforementioned ex, we'd been best friends and then slept together once and then he never called again. We were both young and didn't know what was going on, and I've worked through the issues surrounding it because it's BEEN THREE FREAKIN' YEARS, right? Apparently he hadn't, and needed to make atonement or something, which is all well and good, but fucking hell, that was a waste of an hour+. This makes me a better person, right? Helping others to gain closure? I'm almost sure it does.) Anyway, poor Liam. He's...well, to put it gently, not in the best of life-spaces right now. And I really couldn't help rubbing in like mad the fact that I'm in the most perfect lifespace EVER. (Okay, there's really just one more thing that could make life more-perfecter, but that can wait.) I was also freezing cold, because we'd been sitting outside, and I was wearing my supercute (but not exactly insulatory) black and white geometric-print asymetric-hem strappy dress (couldn't you just *gag* over the buzzwords?) and my feet were sweating because I was nervous. Gah.
But it's over! I never have to do it again! Thank goodness for that, because he spent a goodly bit of time berating my choice of mayoral candidate (hey, the guy's my godfather, I kind of *have* to support him. Besides, he's my get-outta-jail-free card.)
(Not that I'm going to jail any time soon, I now live within the law, remember? I'm a free woman! A law-abiding citizen! Um...yeah.)
So he berated me for that, and also spoke to me like I was five years old, or stupid. Or both. I'm a fairly educated lassie, and I know what fucking schadenfreude is. Cripes. I hate being condescended to.
Oh well^2. He's unemployed, living in his parents' basement (or equivalent), and has gained 60 pounds since I last saw him. The petty, childish part of my brain is doing cartwheels.
Yup. She's definitely a hottie. I've decided that if I could have fifteen sweaty, naked minutes with her, I could instantly die and have no regrets.
Moments of note from my day:
::I watched construction today for half an hour on my superlong walk from work to the agency. Apparently they're building a 12 story building plus three underground parking stories. I watched them pour cement for the elevator shaft, and thought about how much all the construction workers, so many stories below me, looked like ants in the farm I never had. Ants in green hardhats.
And as I stood there, a man started talking to me, and I was flattered, because he was the type of man who never talks to girls like me. I got all flustered and tongue-tied as he talked about elevators, and when he pressed for more personal conversation than "So, do you have a professional interest in construction?", I blushed and stammered and said I had to leave.
::I walked a long way today. From Pacific Place to the Courthouse, almost. I saw a lot of things. I saw a woman painted muddy-gold, standing on a box, with a little sarcophagus on the ground in front of her, and a sign that said "Legend says that gold given from a generous heart can bring Nefertiti to life". Japanese tourists would put money in the box, and she would beckon them over with her scepter-thing, and kiss them on the cheek for pictures.
I saw a lot of those crazy pigs, too. When I see pigs that I like, I say, "That's a good pig", like the pig has actively done something to gain my approval, like fetch my slippers.
I had a B.L.T., and it was okay.
::On my way home from buying movie tickets earlier today, I was stopped at a light in Belltown. A red minivan screeched to a halt next to me, and as I thought about it, I realized the car was stolen. To solidify my theory, the lunatic in the passenger seat leans out the window and starts yelling into mine: "Hey, um, do want some speakers, like for your house? They're not stolen, y'know, I just got some for free, and I want to get rid of them, but they're not stolen" Three more times he tells me they're not stolen, and I politely decline, turn the corner, and debate calling the police, but remember that I don't have a cell phone anymore. Oh well.
::I almost ran over the wife of one of my girlfriend's partners. Gah! Why is polyamory so complicated sometimes?
Oh, what a fuckery. I went to type, Happy for me? Tell me so, with a little href mailto: link and forgot to close the freakin' quotation marks, and it dribbled into the edit link, and now you can't see the funny things I added at the end. Should I add them now? Sure.
"Alas, I must pee. And I can't do it at my desk, they told me that the first day. The wastebaskets are off-limits, too, despite being called WASTEbaskets. *twirls* Ack! I'm slipping into Ultra-Go-tard Mode!"
I'm at work, counting the minutes until 2pm, when I plan on slipping my ass out of here, and on to better, wonderous things. Namely, paychecks and movie tickets.
*ahem*
LARA CROFT: TOMB RAIDER.
Need I say more?
Oh, and paychecks. Those are always good after three months without a regular one. Freelancing for Dad etc. doesn't count. Did I also mention that the company I'm working for offered me a permanent position? *does subtle little dance of joy for assured benefits. don't want to attract too much attention before 2pm.* Things are good, folks. Happy for me? Posted by ferragamogirl at 01:46 PM June 13, 2001
For those days when you
For those days when you feel like you have no life, glance at this and breathe a sigh of relief. At least you're not that guy.
Hey, did I mention that I'm modelling at the Wet Spot tonight? Like, naked modelling, even. Whoa. (If you're a member, I'll be available for your Life-Drawing pleasure from 7 to 9 p.m.) Any and all encouragement would be appreciated.
Gah. I'm sorry. A whole week, you say? What could she possibly be doing for an entire WEEK that would require her to neglect her (pitiously few) readers in such a manner? Work, folks. Lots of freakin' work. And when I wasn't working, I was sleeping. Or snuggling. Or watching pr0n. Or somesuch.
I'd completely forgotten just how many hours working takes, y'know, when it's a 9-to-5ish job. It's been...forever? since I had any semblance of regular working hours. It's not even just the working-bits that take time--it's the getting up at 7fucking30 in the morning (Shut. Up. All of you, the ones who regularly get up around then. I hate getting up before 830ish.), getting all clean and pretty and dressed, then commuting...and getting home takes longer. *sigh*
However!
As much as it's not the most interesting or challenging work I've ever done, the company I'm temping at is G-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-e-a-t! (imagine I said that Tony the Tiger-style. It's funnier that way.) Everyone seems to love working here, it's a very laid-back environment. They play calypso and ska all day long, and it makes me want frou-frou drinks with umbrellas in them. Of course, I should mention that this is a company that makes hawaiian shirts and such. Incredibly expensive hawaiian shirts, but hawaiian shirts nonetheless. Like I said, pretty laid back. You know what else? They're already talking about offering me a permanent position here, which I think I would pretty readily accept. I'd be a real person then, heh. Oh, speaking of being real...
Listen, folks--next time you have a temp working in your office: Be Fucking Nice To Them. I'd forgotten how crappily some people treat temps. The girls I'm working for are great, and most of the other people in the office are pretty nice, but damn, there are some awfully rude ones in the bunch.
But enough about work!! Let's get down to the exciting/dirty stuff.
So, last week. Thursday and Friday were (obviously) taken up by work and learning to take the bus home--I'll make you all jealous and tell you that Boy has been wonderful enough to drive me to work every single day! Isn't he the sweetest?? And the added benefit is that when he gets to work that early (instead of 10:30), he sometimes comes home before dark, which enables more snuggling time. Excellent. Friday evening we spent with my kid sister while my mother and stepdad had a capital-d-Date. We took her to Piecora's, had the best pizza in town, then took her home and drowned her in Simpsons.
Saturday was eventful--we hit Pike Place with EDS (against my wishes, I might add. A sunny June Saturday is the absolute WORST time you can go to the Market. It takes a lifetime to get anywhere. *grumbles*...fucking tourists.), then headed to M&L's house for a barbeque/birthday party/furniture-building party. Interesting concept, next time I'll wear different shoes. It was a fairly long afternoon there, but we had a good time. The most exciting part was that we found out M&L are perverts, too! heh. We're going to work on getting them to join the Wet Spot--much like we've been doing with all our pals, now that I think about it. I've been trying to get Blondie to at least come to the orientation--She'd be my second recruit ;-). Speaking of the Wet Spot...
In conversation earlier in the day, Nia had mentioned the possibility of showing up at the Spot later that evening. She'd wanted me to accompany her to a party being thrown by one of the grrls from Pool Night, but I'd already agreed to go to M&L's with Boy. I told her to call us when she was leaving the party, and we'd try to meet up. We didn't hear from her, but decided to head to the Spot anyway, just in case...and it was the slowest fucking Saturday night EVER. Apparently there were a buttload of private parties going on, and NONE of the big-name regulars were hanging at the Spot. Ah, well. Nia hadn't shown up, either, so we were left to our own devices...One of those devices being the leather sling in the back room, heh.
If you've never had sex in a sling before--BY GOD, WHY NOT?? Before Saturday, we'd only played with Boy in the sling, and me going down on him, but this time, it was my turn! Yippee! My brain is STILL all gaga over the experience. Whoo.
Yeah, so there's Saturday, heh. Sunday, we woke up late-late, absolutely GORGED ourselves at breakfast at Mae's, and then layed about the apartment for the afternoon trying not to explode. Later, I dragged Boy to the Bay for Moulin Rouge, and cried through half of it--it was so tragic! Not terribly complicated, but a visual treat.
Ah, shit, gotta work. I'll be back to finish this!
Hey folks, guess what! No, really, guess! This is exciting stuff. C'mon, just one little guess? This time it's really exciting, not silly business about...business. Well, so maybe it is. I AM NOW OFFICIALLY EMPLOYED. How exciting is that, huh?? Plenty, for me at least. Even better? I start *tomorrow*. I liked the agency that I interviewed today so much, I said Screw it, and accepted their offer right away. Then, wonder of wonders, my "counselor" said she had a perfect opportunity that started tomorrow, and since she hadn't heard from any one else yet, would I like it? Sure, why the hell not.
There are, however, a few issues arising already:
a) I honestly don't remember the last time I woke up early enough to be somewhere dressed and pretty at 830am. Shit.
b) I'll be heading downtown every day again, right? Well, this time no one's volunteered to pay for my parking. Double shit. That means I'll have to figure out the public transportation-thing. I can count on one hand the number of times I've ridden the bus in the last three years. FOUR. That's how many times. But this will be opportunity to...what, read? Is that what people do on buses? I've noticed that I've been reading while driving my car lately. Chalk it up to being bored while I drive.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, I've got some napping to do before Boy gets home--Zone is coming over and we're heading to dinner 'round these parts, should be fun. However, if I'm supposed to be up at 6ish tomorrow, I'd better get some snoozes in now, hmm?
Firstly, this entry has been sitting here for two days. Busy, busy Me.
So, More Things I Need To Talk About:
1) Antitrust. Wow. What a horrible movie. I mean, it was painful for me to watch, seeing Ryan Phillipe and Tim Robbins (two not-so-horrible actors, given the right circumstances) pretend to get all hot 'n' bothered over some lines of code was too much for me. I'm really not sure how Dave (an actual microserf) managed to watch this movie without retching.
2) The Lifestyle. Now, if you bothered to click the link and read about this movie, you can read the little synopsis and I won't have to explain the whole concept of swinging. ... Go on, do it! Okay. Here's my problem with the Mom-and-Pop Swinging community--they come off as so...close-minded, all the "couples and single women only, no single men allowed". I suppose it's not that big a deal, considering we're not swingers...but it just gives me a bad vibe.
3) I'm finally going back to work. Let's say it all together, "FINALLY!". Yes, I know. I've been rather silly. But damn, it's addictive, all this staying home, sleeping in, lunching and brunching, and shopping with money I can't afford to spend...And now, I'm going back to being a grown-up who provides for herself. *sigh* Well, it could be worse. So I'm busy as all heck lining up interviews this week, with various temp agencies, because I can stand temping while I line up Item Number Four...
4) I'm going into business. I know that I've talked about all sorts of business opportunities, from "Get Me Laid!" to sundresses to freelance design work...But this one is actually feasible!! Wanna know what it is? C'mon, you know you do. If you beg and plead, I might just tell you. ... Oh, fine, I'll just say it--I'm going to become a kids' birthday party-planner! It's been pointed out that between my event-planning experience and my childcare experience, this might be the perfect option for me. Mom's already started pimping me out to the parents of my kid sis's friends--three of them expressed great interest after seeing my work on Saturday, heh. Of course, watching me corral 13 screaming children is always an impressive thing, I'm sure that helped, heh. So, yeah. This'll be easy enough to do as a side-thing, don't you think? I'm excited.
Everything else will have to wait, I think. My brain is fried after having to deal with Dad all day, heh.
Yippee! I'm almost done being sick. Recovery has come much sooner than I had expected. Friday night was definitely a low point, but copious amounts of H2O and Strawberry C Monster have done the trick! Now I'm well, and rested, and ready for an entry (though it'll have to be short, Boy's on his way back from Blue Video with some...*ahem* "research materials", heh.
So, the Red Elvises show ended up being a bust for Boy and EDS (can you belive that a russian surf-rock band sold out? crazy.), so they hit Scarecrow Video instead and rented some reeeeally awful movies. (No, Scarecrow isn't the same sort of rental place that Blue Video is, heh. It's fairly straight, and has an absolutely incredible selection. I don't like it, though, because it's dirty and disorganized. Silly me, says Boy.) They brought home Antitrust and The Lifestyle, and while I've got plenty to say about both (little of it good, I'm afraid), there are more important matters at hand.
Namely, this. Um. Does anyone else remember my entries about A Dating Story, and Makeover Story, and A Wedding Story, and A Baby Story, and Trading Spaces? If you don't, go back to some of the first entries I did, waaaaay down at the bottom of this page. Now, don't get me wrong, I think that Kristin's stuff is great, I laugh myself close to incontinence when I read her, but...I got the creeps when I read that entry. Hmm.
More evidence that the people behind the webjournals I read are, in fact, REAL, and not just machines thinking for themselves: That episode of Trading Spaces that she talks about? With the crazy black walls and moss (which I thought were, if not ingenuous, at least improvements from the horrible rooms that were already there) and the people who disagreed with the designers (oh. my. god. Those teams were HORRIBLE. The husband-wife team was *beyond* obnoxious. They were inflexible. They were rude. They were close-minded. Ugh. As much as the designers are always kind of nuts [why else would we watch the show, except for to see things that we're all too reasonable to put in our own homes?], they've always got interesting twists. I like that.)? I watched that episode. Probably at the same time that Kristin watched it. *Twilight Zone Theme Music*
I mean it's one thing to read the weblogs/journals of people I know and love and interact with on (essentially) a daily basis--but here's a crazy parallel between little ole ME and one of the (dare I say?) bastions of the OLJ community. Wow.
Maybe I'm thinking too hard. Probably so. But Boy's back, so I think I'll save the rest of my Weekend Update for tomorrow. I have much left to say.
So now I'm sick. Grr. I feel like I've been sick all year. First, it was that cold a while ago, then I was pregnant, now I'm sick again. Stupid stupid immune system. Who could love such a stupid immune system?
Boy is out with EDS seeing the Red Elvises, a Russian surf-rock band. I was kind of grumpy about the idea of staying home alone on a Friday night while he went out, and then I remembered that if I went out, I'd be seeing a Russian surf-rock band. Now I've resigned myself to an evening on the couch watching "How To Marry a Millionaire", the greatest movie ever.
So, today. It's Kid Sis's birthday, so I spent the day baking individual cakes for her party guests (we're taking 13 eight year olds to the outdoor pool tomorrow. I'm quaking with fear already.). I also finished my Roasted Pepper Tomato Sauce that I started on Wednesday--I'd blanched and peeled my tomatoes, and roasted and puree'd the peppers, but didn't get a chance to deal with the actual sauce-making. Now, I've got a bunch of starter sauce ready to be divided into Ziploc containers and frozen, so that on nights when I'm at my new water aerobics class (Tuesdays and Thursdays, woohoo! I love that class. Mom and I are doing it together! It's wunnerful.), Boy will have something to eat.
On a related note, here's an amusing conversational excerpt:
(phone rings)
Me: Hello?
Ex: Hey, etc. Whatcha doing?
Me: Taking one cake out of the oven, putting the next in, pouring batter for the third into the pan, and keeping an eye on the tomato sauce I just made.
Ex: I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number. Where's the girl I broke up with? You know, the vixen-y sex kitten who preferred kitchen counters for naughtiness, not domestic behavior...
(end scene)
Much amusement from that conversation. It's true. I'm surprisingly domesticated these days. More amusing conversational excerpts from this evening:
(at my parents' house)
Stepdad, watching me work magic with the birthday cakes: Are you on your way to becoming the next Martha Stewart?
Me: Nah, I'm not nuts enough to be Martha Stewart.
Stepdad: Martha Stewart is nuts?
Me: Yeah, anyone who irons their linens is nuts.
Mom: Sweetie, YOU iron your linens.
Me: *blush*
(end scene)
(Mom, watching me work more magic with cakes)
Mom: Sweetie, why didn't you ever go to cooking school? You're so wonderful in the kitchen.
Me: Mom, I didn't go to cooking school (like I wanted to) because you made me go to real school.
Mom: Oh yeah.
Ah, the wonders of family.
Yesterday was fairly uneventful. I hung out with my kid sister for a while, but mostly gave into the sickness, and tried not to exert myself. Also, more of the odious (and never-ending) laundry was done.
Wednesday was spent hanging about with Panda some more--we hit the Market, ate some lunch, chatted up SpiceBoy, then came back to the apartment for some Makeover Story and Trading Spaces. Oh! Also on Wednesday night was another evening of Bi-Poly-Kinky-Grrls Pool Night at Belltown Billiards. This time there were six of us, and a rolling good time was had by all (not to mention more than a few over-poured cocktails.). I was in peak form, apparently. Nia couldn't stop laughing, at least. Nothing like a good ego boost.
Tuesday...Uhm. Something happened on Tuesday, but don't ask me what it was, I don't remember.
Monday was Boy being sick, remember? And that brings us back to my current state, which is dire. I've discovered that I don't think I can speak without intense pain, so I think I'll go to bed now.
