Biggish day- send happy thoughts

Especially around 3:30 PM Pacific.

I have 2 interviews with the potential boss and his boss this afternoon. Totally impromptu- as they wanted to meet me prior to going on a trip. Which means fast-track. Which means they might actually be going somewhere with this job. Which means that all of my friends who've been pulling for me, emailing hiring managers and making phone calls might actually pull me out of the unemployment pool in a month.

And that is good news, indeed. Because I have come to the realization that another stint of being alone at home with the cats all day after a job like this would probably drive me to a place I won't be able to come home from. Not really- pretty dramatic, don't you think? She still has that. All those years in the Theeater have left their very vivid mark.

But it would be sad. And lonely. And I would hate it this time around. Because it would be so very quiet.

Just lack the stomach for angst right now- even though it's batting at me from under the bed and around the edges. Just don't want to plunge in. Even though it's comfortable and familiar.

Am going to try and keep it together for a couple more days. Just another hour or two. Maybe just the next 10 minutes.

Then I can let myself feel sad a bit again. Not to worry, but it is a white knuckle thrill ride on occasion hereabouts.

The difference- I do know that it's all temporary. That's what a couple grand and a decent therapist can buy you.

Goodnight, sweet prince

Charles Nelson Reilly died. He was one of my favorite figures on "Match Game 76 (77, 78, etc)".

I would fake sick (mainly because I hated school- loathed it- despised it) and would stay home and read comic books, and watch daytime tv. Match Game and Let's Make a Deal topped the preferences list. Especially Match Game, because the stars were naughty sometimes. And I totally got it. And it beat the hell out of going to school, and dealing with my nasty little peers.

I also loved the Carol Burnett Show, but that's another thing, entirely. But I must interject that the Gone With the Wind sketch that they did still cracks me up. Because I am a very square old white woman.

But Charles. The first (after Paul Lynde) openly gay man on the tv...loved him. Loved him. Loved him. He was funny and fabulous. And I'm sad that he died.

Note to self

Avoid the special burrito at McMinnamin's- it will make you sick.

Now if I could send this message back 30 hours, it would be worth something.

John Wayne story

It is his 100th birthday. But he is also dead. So not really. But there is hooplah.

I have always disliked John Wayne- mainly because I grew up hating cowboy movies. But to be fair, The Man Who Shot Liberty Valence and The Three Godfathers are really good.

So. The story.

The lady we met a couple of weeks ago- I mentioned her before- last denizen of dead empire, etc. said that back in the day, when she was living in the colonies, they had John Wayne stay with them for a week. Seems he was lovely. And she liked his politics.

And there you go.

Not that you're following the action, but the interview went well. Another is to be scheduled for next week. And we're in the running now- it appears to be a fast-track process.

Time to polish the mirrors, and get the smoke machine up and running.

Today it's all about the ME. You've been warned.

Just gotta brag about my fabulous connections. Seems I have a few very well placed friends out there. And some not so well placed friends, who are equally fabulous, but unable to score me tickets to last evening. (don't feel bad if you're one of the well-loved latter- I am just as happy doing other things- this was just something kind of special, as I'm sure you would agree)

We went to the Pacific Northwest Ballet center at 4:00. First there was a tour of the facilities, including the wardrobe and costume departments. Our tour guide was the founding member of one of the major biotech firms in Seattle, and loaded to the gills. He is also in love with dance.

We then got to eat, drink, and watch the white haired folks filter in for the main event. We met the (ahem) Maestro- who bears a remarkable similarity to Peter O'Toole, including the possibility of being a little rummy on occasion (the eyes and skin on his face give it away).

Then came the event itself. We got to sit in the front row and watch a practice session for the performance being staged next week. Basically it was a lap dance, with about 40 people working their asses off being graceful and lovely. Actually, this really doesn't express it well. It was amazing, and overwhelming. One of the pieces was a 35 minute solo to Rite of Spring. Absolutely punishing for the woman performing it. I did find it hard to follow after a while- mainly because I am just not used to live dance performance any more. She was one of only 5 people to have learned this particular piece, and only the 3rd to perform it live. The choreographer/performer who developed it and the 2nd person to dance it were both in attendance (no pressure for her, oh no).

Also we saw one of the choreographers who specializes in Balanchine assisting in rehearsals for a future production- one of those almost scary ensemble pieces where it's a miracle that no one runs into each other or kicks each other in the face as bodies hurl through space in patterns.

Anyway, we have another date for opening night- where we get to go to the special money happy lounge and hang with the elderly again. Seems the majority of donors are over the age of 90, and just plain geezy (or just silly rich and geezy).

My date for the evening even got the eye from one of the young (and pretty) dancer boys. He didn't even notice. It was funny as hell. No way that look was intended for the likes of me.

Like I said, some of my circles are pretty connected...some of the time...and some of the time they actually pick me. I am feeling good about this today- which is optimal, since I have an interview for a job at 10:00. Yes, and it's an internal thing. I might have a chance...

Ah- good morning. It's sunny. And there is cotton floating through the air- which is kind of pretty, but makes me sneezy.

Yesterday I had my first official job interview- via phone. It went well, I think, and we'll see what comes of it. It would be rather nice to jump from one job to the next with a couple of weeks of rec time thrown in between. And it is for a good company. So we'll see. No panic yet.

Today I take off early and accompany my friend William to the ballet. We get to go see the practice, and behind the scenes. It's part of an auction item that he won. And upon winning it, he declared me the recipient of the second ticket (primarily since no one else wanted to go). So, men in tights, look out. I plan on ogling a bit. Why the hell not?

In other news, sleep finally came, and I don't feel that much better for it. Which is rich, considering that it was my fondest desire. But remember the sneezy thing? I think it came into play here.

And nothing else. For now. Just mundane and boring everyday reality. Oh- we did cancel the road trip. Too arduous for 2 days- and really, we can do it during my 2 weeks off in July. So it looks like we'll be here and ready for whatever happens society wise. Call early to book us, our calendar can fill up quickly.

So the temptation to rant about my current ebay purchase gone terribly wrong is there- but I think I'll spare everyone- because I realize with full clarity that it's boring to everyone but me and the idiot who sold me the broken thing and won't take care of the problem. I get to be nasty now, though. Which always brings out something kind of icky.

It's like this. I do my best on all occasions to be nice. Because I like myself better this way. I was starting to slip on the long commute to work- getting just a little evil around the edges, and not in a way that titillates and makes Kbot happy. More in a way that just pisses off other asshole drivers, and fills me with remorse later when I realize that it is unnecessary.

But this instance is deserved. And then I have a choice. I have taken it in the nicest way possible to the end of the line. Now I play the big guns and come out the asshole in the occasion. I could walk away. I can afford to do so. But the principle has me all riled up, and I just...can't...seem...to get past the gritted teeth effect. And it feels good to play bully and pull out the whole "policy smolishy" thing. And I hate that in myself. I really, really do. Probably good cause not to have gone to law school. (Like THAT was a choice, really- maybe it was the universe telling me something) I would love to be magnanimous and be able to simply say, "what a fucking prat" and take the hit, get some glue out, and walk away. Without thinking about sticking it to him. Without thinking about it rather than sleep. Without writing about it despite telling you that I was nicer than that. Fuck it. I will bore some of the people most of the time. That's something I think I can safely promise. New subheading, perhaps. "Now more boring than before! With an extra pinch of evilness thrown in for good measure!" Because my quote from Nabokov didn't appear to register with anyone, and taking a hit at him is not good sport- he's dead.

And with that note- no, I didn't sleep much last night. It appears that I would rather lay there and mull over whatever is currently in the brain for an absurd length of time, just picking the mental scabs, so to speak. Because it's crap to sleep with things unresolved. But then I guess that there really is only one sleep that does that. Resolves everything, I mean. And then only for the sleeper. The rest of us get to fix what they left behind.

There's something sad about having nothing to say- when a few hours ago, I was full of ideas. And I stayed in bed rather than get up an write. I was trying to court sleep. And eventually it worked, and the brain shut off. But prior to that small miracle, there were dozens of ideas percolating around in there. Not all of them were job-related. Some were interesting, I thought.

So now it's morning, the ritual coffee cup by my side, the cat shifting around the room behind me trying to get attention, and the hband in the kitchen making his lunch. It's all good. And as it should be, I suppose. Upon short reflection, I probably wouldn't have it any other way. Nope.

Freaking myself the hizell out

There was a Discovery unsolved murder show on today that I happened across- it followed a Jack the Ripper special- and I am such a sucker for a Jack the Ripper show, don't you know.

It was all about the little girl who was killed in an apartment down the way from one we lived in when we first moved to AZ. What was disturbing, along with the fact that the case is unsolved, was the shots of the actual crime scene and interviews with the doofy maintenance man. He was similar in type to the next door neighbor in Office Space- "Hey Peterman..." and lived next door to us. There were some odd implications of the show- like that he might have been involved, or at least that his eyewitness information was dubious at best. Odd duck, that man, so no telling. Only I never, ever had a creepy vibe off of him. Never. It would totally shock me if he had been even remotely involved. Now telling tales that were short on truth and long on imagination, yea I can see that. But not actual killing.

But what this does dredge up is the other unsolved murder that I know about. Seems that my step-father's cousin was the first (and unproven, so to speak) victim of one of my uncle's best friends. The guy was convicted of murdering and burning up his wife when I was in high school. I met him, and he, unlike the doofy maintenance man, gave off some seriously icky vibes. Hair on the back of the neck at full attention, and all that. He was also a town legend. My science teacher told stories about his involvement in the murder of Pam. It was pretty much common knowledge that he was prime suspect, but it was unprovable. So when he was convicted, it was also common knowledge that his sentence reflected the rumors. Fucker gets to rot.

Then there was the chick who got her head lopped off right after we moved to AZ. I don't believe that one was ever solved either. We had nothing even remotely connected to her, but it was a scary story, and not cool to be in the same area.

Overall just creepy. Kbot watched the Tivoed version of the crime thingy and wasn't as creeped out. But I attribute part of that to not being a girl.

Summer at home- after the hay has been baled (duh). This is Haystack Mountain, for those of you who care. Part of the Bob Marshall Wilderness.

Just thought I'd share.

With all of the excitement

This morning Squirrel TV took a sinister turn. No good drama is baked without a villain. So today we found him. He is a neighbor cat who stood outside our window and growled at the boys. Who were mewing themselves silly inside, brushing against the glass, and sending plenty of good cheer vibes outward. He would have none of that and slowly stalked off, furry table at full battle fluff. With the most offended glare imaginable.

All he wanted was easy squirrel pickings. And then there were these cats...and then there were these laughing people...dammit anyway. Totally spoiled the mood of the thing for him.

This is about 5 miles from the parental estate. Beware the Gillies- they are very protective.

The evening before last we had dinner with what appears to be one of the last vestiges of Empire. She was born, bred and raised Empire. Veddy veddy British/Malay/Aussie. Veddy veddy polite, nice, interesting, but of a certain ilk. The kind of person who would listen to almost anyone, tell them entertaining stories, and then reserve judgment until they left the building. Luckily she liked us. But there is just something about that kind of person- makes me a tad uncomfortable- like if I let my guard down, I'll get totally slammed for being common.

But she is older, and very, very rich. With wonderful jewels. And an interesting life spent many time zones beyond mine. And she worked very hard on the dinner. We like her.

I just had to keep reminding myself to use the appropriate fork, and not to talk whilst my mouth was overfull. So sometimes I am actually thankful that my mean Grandfather taught me the manners under duress when I was 6. God the trauma, that. But probably for the best now.

It's all in my mind, remember? All of it. All of you. Crowded in there
like little mouse babies. Naked and pink. Blind and squirmy.
With cotton balls (cotton wool in Britain) jammed into the corners
to keep out the drafts.

Just imagine the smell, would you? And you wonder why I am a touch
off sometimes? Seriously, people.

I just read the perfect plane book if you are a bitter, middle-aged underachieving female. Bitter is the New Black. Why did it make me bitter? Because it is a book I should've written. But it is funnier than I am. And more successful all around. And basically it points out that I wasted 2 years of my life being unemployed and doing very little with the time.

I must point out that this discussion/monologue has no real purpose and isn't very productive.

Why must I point that out? Because that is the kind of moron I have become. All has to be productive. Because even if it means that I get the joy of unemployment again, I still have to be motivated. Because that's how I roll, people.

Funny thing, I can't even show up to work late if I try. And I have tried on occasion. That blows.

Breaking through and starting up with anything lately is like pushing through the flat part of a drum. Like there's a membrane keeping me from the other side. And it's stretchy and pully. Probably sticky too- because membranes are mostly icky.

Making me very useless around birthing things. Icky.

Making me very useless around leather factories. Icky.

Pretty much have to resign myself to being useless pretty much everywhere in the world but here. And here is debatable.

1 month 13 days. Then the dole. Not like the bananas. More like last year. And the year before. The hours just pile up. Looking like they would be nice from this vantage point. But I already know that it's a trap. And a lie. Because with the dole comes anxiety of a different sort. Maybe not the yellow LED nightmare, but other nightmares willingly fill the void.

Polish the resume. Get out there and meet and greet. Remember to smile. Remember to play the game. Remember to keep positive.

Happenings on the Farm

It is just an alternative universe. The calendar has everyone in town's birthdays printed on it. The central photo is the 5 kids graduating from the high school. There seems to be a definitive finite number of these. Kids, I mean. It's a tottering place- I can't judge if it's dying or not, just not very vibrant.
The newbies are from elsewhere- looking for retirement grounds. Not interested in making a sub-standard living- they've already done that elsewhere. Where the pickings are better.

The place revolves around gossip. And dropping in on your neighbors. No calling ahead. Just showing up. God forbid you are taking a nap. Or enjoying a nooner. Or just having quiet time. Get ready to discuss the fences, the weather, the town drunk, or just the time of day.

After several days I am ready to gouge my eardrums out with a sharp screwdriver. Because despite loving the inhabitants of this place, there is no romance there for me. Only the constrictions that I ran away from 20+ years ago. It's like being in a fiberglass cocoon. Prickly, itchy, hot and very uncomfortable.

But then Mom makes me cookies and pudding, and all is fine.

Arrival

We put down over 20 minutes early. Seems we had a brisk tail wind. Which is no surprise in a town known for the endless wind.

It's cool. And sunny. Unlike home.

I get to surprise Mom by coming up behind her- she was studying the arrivals.

She doesn't have to pay for parking- was only in the lot for 5 minutes.

We drive to the small, small town where she lives- according to 2000 census only 288 residents.

The town dog is lying in the middle of the street, per usual. He won't get up. He plays chicken with trucks on a daily basis and is a master of the game.

We wave at the town drunk, and continue on.

The ranch awaits. Where the deer and the antelope play in the field next to the house. And the neighbors gaze longingly at them- just wanting the chance to shoot to kill. But they are denied. It's considered quirky and not very nice to not allow hunting. But my parents don't care. They deny away.

Soon we will patrol the outer perimeter- we do this every evening I am there. Looking for weed growth, fence holes, and any other disorder. They have made what looks like paradise in the middle of no where. Paradise where I would go quickly insane.

On the plane

Flying to MT I was on the plane with a small girl. She sat a couple of seats in front of me. To distract her from the general boredom, her mother asked her to sing. She complied.

We will, we will Rock YOU
We will, we will Rock YOU

This went on for a while. She was probably about 3. Then she sang another song.

Don't stop believin'
Hold on to the feelin'
Streetlights, people
Don't stop believin'
Hold on
Streetlights, people

This was followed by a rousing Twinkle Twinkle little star.

And I knew that I was home. The land of 80's butt rock.

The desired result

No real stress. No computers. Very little phone interaction- told them I was unable to receive signal- which proved a lie, but whatever.

No time schedule. No need to get rolling and out the door. Just leisure. And mom made pudding. Just like when I was little. And saw dad. And saw others whom I love.

And there were wild kitties, deer, sunshine, walks in fields far from home, singing children on the plane, members of the National Guard and Air Force returning home, cowboys, grandmas and other assorted influences.

But the desired result- complete shut down, didn't really happen. Because the nightmare- the yellow LED lights, followed me. Even there.

MILF for a day

Seems that the Mother's home town is a tad light on eligible ladyfolks. Seems that when the girl from Seattle rolls into town, she becomes the newest shiny thing on the block. Seems that she's like cat nip to lonely rancher types.

Seems that the ring on her finger, the age under the belt, the pounds earned since high school and the general unsuitableness of her character to the place just don't register.

Goddamn that was depressing.

But not too.

And no, I know I'm not really a MILF. Just about that age group, so I'll use the designation for now. And my mother was shocked, shocked, I tell you, when I explained why I was laughing so hard when I remembered it. Because the rebel in me made me tell her. Bweeheeeeheee.

All right, all right. Enough of the silliness. And enough of the doldrums. There's work to be done.
Not the paying kind, true enough. There's that too- but that wasn't what I was talking about.

Two nights ago I slammed out a chapter. In the book. Or what is posing as a book right now. It got me thinking again. And that was a relief- because when I lose track of that effort, I get scared. Like it'll never come back. Like I'll lose the story.

So it came back. And the cool thing is that I have the weekend off starting tomorrow, and I'll have some time to make it happen again. If it's still there. I suspect that it is.

But conversely- I won't be posting until mid next week. I go where the buffalo roam. And the deer and the antelope play- but with cars on the highway, with predictably unhappy results for all parties involved.

See hotwire has cheap flights. And an escape was necessary. I only wish I could drag the boy along- he needs an escape too. Only he gets a different one- one from me (bwahahahahaha).

Adios amigos and amigas- enjoy Cinco de Mayo, and think happy thoughts! Or not- drink and be miserable if you prefer. I'm not the mommy. Be back soon!

sometimes even I get tired of myself.