So the sun is shining here for about the 3rd day in a row. It's hard to know how to process all of this vitamin D. It's hard to take for granted that it'll be sufficiently light outside tomorrow. And maybe even the next day.

So this place might possibly be getting to me.

Back home there are fires. I watch from afar, with concern, online. The ranch is close to one. They are too old to make a last stand in the yard with mudflaps attached to a stick. They are too old to really deal with packing the truck and the Forester with their favorite things and running. They are too old for this shit, period.

The fires are supposed to burn until September. Then it will snow.

That's where I am supposed to be. The place where I suffer from a sinus infection from the smoke all summer. The place where my lips crack within 24 hours of re-entry from the lack of humidity. The place where they are. The place where my worry lives.

Adventure

Yesterday we went to the newly re-opened Seattle Art Musee. It wasn't quite what I expected. And we agreed- it still isn't as good as the Phoenix Art Musee. And no where near LACMA. But there you have it.

I saw some good things. A bust by Houdoin was particularly great- of his 4 year old daughter. Truly wonderful. Even captured the shadow of her dimple. There was a model of his Voltaire in the Phoenix museum. Loved it too.

And the Boy finally got to see in person my abject and total fear of African art. Masks in particular. Ditto Polynesian masks. And most Native American masks. Total gut churning fear. Cannot stand to be in the room. Must escape from the eyes.

Why, you ask? Well, mainly because they are so damned chock full o hoodoo. And I don't think they belong in museums being stared at by me. They had a different purpose, and really are too chock full of hoodoo to piss off. Bad, bad karma to touch them. Even worse to own them.

And there you have it. One of my very few, but sometimes awkward little superstitions. I felt like apologizing to the masks when I entered the room. But there were people around, and I didn't want security to escort the crazy chick out of the building. I think that The Boy thought it was funny.

But I'm sayin- bad, bad hoodoo. Gak.

Then I came home and took a nap. As advertised previously.

Not up for anything too tricksy today- need more coffee and perhaps an early afternoon nap first. But since it is SUNDAY, SUNDAY, SUNDAY, that might happen.

All right then. After last night's adventurous runoff of the mouth and mind, I am a bit at a loss. How to follow up a feat like that?

Well, with the fall back and punt option of a list, of course!

Sunday morning list:

Things I want to learn (or re-learn) how to do before I grow up and die:

1. blow glass.

2. ride a motorcycle (since there are 3 in the garage, this really should happen)

3. find my foreign language synapses, dust off the Russian part, and re-learn the language

4. I want to make a good- or even great- Creme Brulee

5. I want to learn how to get fancy with Powerpoint- not because it's cool, but because I see others around me doing it, and think I can do better (spirit of competition, and all that)

6. I would love to learn how to cut and polish gems. Don't know how to start finding classes for that kind of thing, though.

7. I would like to learn more about birds. I bought a book recently.


And there you have it. Unfinished business. Plenty of it achievable. Plenty of it not.

Time for coffee.

Now I seem to remember a self-imposed rule back a while ago- no blogging whilst under the influence.

Well, I am ignoring that rule. Just because I feel the need to type. And take my time reading through the typos- fixing as I go along, because I am not Courtney Love, and do not need to look like a total idiot on my own blog (check it out- was in MSNBC's Scoop last week- sad state of affairs, as per usual when discussing old Court.)

And while I am feeling all fancy and high-handed, I'm here to tell you something. But I'm just not totally clear on what it is. Which bloody well figures. Typical. Now there's a story.

I got shitcanned from a job. And replaced by the fucking Canadian. Who was a total bait and switch- appeared to be perfect for the job, but in reality was a total basket case- and I saw through it immediately. Because mine eyes have seen the glory, etc. Seriously, though- she was a wreck.

So she took my job and ran it into the ground (by that time I was onto bigger and somewhat better things- with a full assortment of bitter little feelings- which I still carry around and treasure- to be trotted out when I have a belly full of microbrew- hey! Like now!!!)

She was writing copy for a company brochure- because for some absolutely inexplicable reason, the boss wanted to re-brand the company every three fucking months- new logo, new tag line, new everything- fuck the cost- it was ridiculous. And so blasted wasteful.

So there was a brochure. And it was a mess. Graphically and otherwise. If you know the designer, please don't pass this along- I do like him, it just wasn't his finest hour. And I have no doubt it was because he got no help from above- as per usual at that place.

I digress. Of course. Blame the beer and the fucking Canadian. (to quote South Park, "Deer daking der derbs" watch the episode re. aliens taking jobs, to get the insight there if you give a shit.) OK. So she was writing copy.

Primest and most quotable to this day quote-

"Typically, redacted company name is anything but typical."

I shit you not. Goork. And not in a good way.

So The Boy and I tend to quote that pithy little abortifant phrase whenever we use the word typical.

Did I say before that he went to Atlanta with the fucking Canadian? Well he did. Lucky him. He did bring me back a tshirt from Coca Cola. Because he loves me and not the fucking Canadian. She took my job, but not my man. Or my dignity. Goork.

Whatever. I am sure that when I review this whilst sober, I will cringe. Indeed.

Now we're cooking with gas

What's funny- despite not having endless free time in my immediate future, I am getting so much more done. It's like that holding pattern was the abberation, and now that I'm back at work, doing something that I enjoy, I can remain charged up and moving when I am at home too. Being home alone just sucked the life and energy out of me. Things have changed in a year.

I don't know whether to be alarmed, saddened, or just accepting. I choose none of the above for right now.

And yes, it is calm before storm time at work, and the gentle ramp up is a true gift from my co-workers. Appreciated, believe me- since it wasn't that way last trip around. But still- it's all familiar, and good.

More than that, I just don't have right now. Gotta put the laundry in the dryer.

Preliminary stages

Yesterday was fine. Actually better than fine. As I propigate into the system and am enabled and enamored of doing more every day.

But today, well today, is something all together better, indeed. Because it is sunny. And because it is Thursday. And because so far things are going well, indeed. The dreams are at a minimum- I am sleeping well again, and the feared hummingbird period only lasted 2 days. It just isn't that unfamiliar after 3 weeks away. So life is moving on.

Interesting fact- my actual boss isn't even in the country until the end of August. So I really don't have a good idea of who I will be working for. That's still kind of a grey area. So ought to be interesting to find out what I will be doing for the next month. I have some ideas, and we'll see if they fly. And no, they do not involve sitting at home in my jammies huffing cookies while "working". Those days about drove me out of my skull. Though I have to admit the spot cleaning of the carpet was a good thing to have done. But no one can convince me that it was fun.

Current MySpace mood: Not enough coffee

So it has begun. My big career. They do roll it out though. 2 days of introductions to everything. Not like being a temp there at all- where they dump you behind a desk with a sketchy laptop and say, "figure it out chump." And I did. Which is probably why I am there today. And tomorrow. And the following day. Something to exhibit on my I love me wall- with the meaningless diplomas, and the picture of Oprah. Because when I start to rest on the laurels, they don't matter any more.

And hey, everyone, guess what! The dreams are starting up again. Last night's was particularly great- it included two glow in the dark floating heads, and my husband telling me that he doesn't particularly like me anymore. It was great. So that oughta be a pip.

Ah, but it's time to soldier on. Because the above is no doubt temporary, and if not, there are drugs that can help. Or at the very least some kind of substance.

And the sun is shining. It might break 75 today. Which is overall very springlike, no?

Spent the weekend reading Potter. Was up late last night finishing it.


Now for first day of work. Too sleepy for jitters.

Go see the rat movie. It is good.

More to follow...

Current weather outside.

And woke up in the middle of the night hearing coyotes howling in the neighborhood. I shit you not. The Boy heard them too. Thus proving that I wasn't dreaming. And that outdoor kitties have something to worry about hereabouts.

What we have here is a failure to communicate.

Pretty typical, no? How many songs, how many singers, how many roads does the man go down...all because of that communication dislocation. Or dislocution to be more accurate and to make up a new word.

So what's the bloody point? Shit, man, I don't know. Just saying stuff. Playing with words. Playing with works. Too much coffee, too little sleep, too much fucking time on my hands. (that wouldn't get FM radio play, now would it?)

And part of the daily whine- just don't leave me alone. But then when I'm not alone, I feel alone. Just part of the daily equipage. Like the wedding ring- that indicates that these boots aren't made for walking- they are made for making my legs look longer. And indicates that loyalties are not to be divided or conquered.

My current MySpace mood- wondering if it's too early to start drinking Hutterite wine. As it's only 9:00 am, probably. But cannot deny the mood. Never was a sucker for Irish coffee- too much family history there. And gets me all stubborn to prove the naysayers wrong- all that sitting duck prophecizing and all- not interested in following anyone down any bloody primrose path. Just want to blaze my own. And hope that it's a happy one. But not guaranteeing anything.

Major events today: 14th Anniversary. Of the blessed event. Me, with the worst haircut of my life. Made my head look like an egg. The Boy, ditto the worst haircut ever. Made him look 12 and mentally challenged. Me, a total wreck, expecting the family to implode, my head to explode, and feeling ugly with the worst haircut ever. But with comfortable footwear, because that is important.

Other event today: going to the bank to deposit second to last Unemployment check. Because lately, any reason to leave the house and actually speak to people face-to-face, not cheek-to-cheek is an event. Gotta get cat food, and drop by the dry cleaners, as well- if you must know.

But in the meantime, there's the whole communication thingy that distracts me. Because no matter how many words I write, it appears that somewhere a few go awry, and don't connect to the proper circuitry of others. And this worries me. Unduly, no doubt. But I always want to be understood. And accepted. And liked. And part of me hates that kind of thing. The vulnerability thing. Makes my teeth go all on edge and grate together- and my jaw ache. Because it's being clenched so hard...

and now enough of this. Time for distraction.

And finally

This is what I live with daily. This little beast and his brothers. Only in this picture he's not following me from room to room screaming. Oh no. That's not in this picture.

What IS in this picture is the hideous red that is our kitchen. Yes. It IS that red. All over. And it looks not exactly fabulous. It's a rental.

Just for larfs

Here's a treat. Seattle man who should really re-think the whole low-rise pants on bike thingy. Mainly because now we ALL know what kind of knickers he wears. And in the rain, those knickers will be inevitably covered in muddy skid marks.

Ah so the decision has been made then. So there. No input from me necessary. As per usual. It always seems like that- there is a ride, and I'm along for it. No need to concern myself. Just jam.

Or gel. Or something like that.

But the insides get in such a bunch that way- I want to be deciding. I want to be involved. I want to be a girl of action. Or an action figure. Or something like that. But don't have the necessary password to get into the tree house.

And the phone still doesn't ring. And the answers still don't come. So I am left to assume that the decision has been made. Start the Revolution Without Me. (movie made me bust a gut when I was little- very disappointing when I was big)

So now the challenge- accept, move on, and don't let it drive my ass crazy. Because it is like this some times. Inaction being the challenge. Inability to do diddly squat to change things being the challenge. Waiting it out being the challenge. When all I want to do is something. Anything but sit here and wait and type and think and ponder and look at stuff on the web. It's a half-life I don't want. Anyways. I think it's time to go to look busy.

The dash is in pretty cherry shape for a girl of a certain age.

Now if we can fix the leak in the sun roof, it'll be a true accomplishment. That will be the first cosmetic thing to tackle. Timing and carbs are tonight's project.

Car Story

For some reason, I feel compelled to provide back story for the car.

She belonged to my Step-father- a retired cattle rancher. Odd choice for a ranch, yes. But perfect for him. He purchased it in the early 80's from the original owner- a rich Californian lady. Then he drove it with love. He tells a story about rodding the piss out of it to prove a point- there were 2 Cadillacs racing down the highway- dragging. And he threaded the needle with the old girl- pegging out over 120 mph. Saw them hit the brakes as he rushed by betwixt and between.

All I can say about that is I am glad my mother wasn't in the car. He would've been grounded, car keys removed from his possession, and tv dinners for a week, at least.

The car became the Boy's about 6 years ago, as a surprise Christmas/Birthday gift. It was decided when they sold the ranch in Helena and moved north. No place for a car like that in the new digs. The Boy has spent some time getting her up to snuff, but there is more to do. Because she is a legacy car. A Car Baby. Every home should have one. Mine is in a warehouse moldering. Because I can't convince the powers that be to turn her over to me. Probably never will. Sad. But such is the way of the world. Not everything is happy.

But this story is. And the best part- the wonderful Step-Father loves black licorice too.

Just cuz I feel like adding another picture. This is where I go when I'm off the grid.

Do you get it now?

I thought so.

Now just hear the breath in your lungs, the wind in the grass, the powerline's hum, and nothing much else.

What I'm not going to write about-

The thing on my mind the most. Not going to do it. Because I just won't. What I am going to do is try and change the channel. It's the hardest game in town. Because it always has been.

Totally conditioned to watch the program through to the end. Always have been. I think it's genetic. Used to cause marital woes. When it wasn't understood that just because I can't change the channel mid stream, and can't look away until it's over, doesn't mean I don't love you. Means. that I am messed up in the wiring diagram. Check it out sometime. There are a few fuses blown, and then there were some winky re-wiring efforts to compensate. Then there were a few wires that got snapped that one time. Then there were some more amateur electronic play by plays. And then.

So. That thing- the one I won't write about... it's still there. Front and center. But not gonna do it. Gonna keep playing the skirt the issue and avoid the flack jacket. Not in the mood to watch the bomb's early glare. Not enough coffee in the blood. Never enough coffee in the blood. And then.

So. Did you hear the one about... And another wiring problem- can't remember jokes. Not to save my life. Or harden my arteries. Can't do it. Not the good ones. Not the bad ones. Not any ones. Just unable. Can still remember all the words to Journey's ouvre, but not any jokes in there rattling around. Can still remember Juliet's soliloquy from Drama Club Freshman year in High School. But no jokes need apply. They get sent straight to the recycle bin. The words will be re-used somewhere else. Just nowhere funny. And then.

And here is the ass end of my car in Choteau, MT- where there are cement dinosaurs. And an Ice Cream Parlor. This is about 10 miles from the ROCK SHOP.

The Rock Shop, by the way, is owned by the woman who first discovered a clutch of dinosaur eggs back in the 30's. She took Harvard to court to get her fossils returned when they misinterpreted the meaning of the word "loan". She's 94 and still runs the shop.

Here she is, the old girl who still has some life left in her. The Boy has a bunch of plans for her. Starting with her carbs and timing.

I can look out the window from right here, where I type, and see her in the driveway. She's wonderful.

Bavarian Death Drive

The trip back was an ordeal I don't care to replicate soon. We drove the entire 11 hours in separate cars- the Boy in the BMW Bavaria, me in the Outback. I had the stereo and air conditioning, he had neither. It was 104 in Spokane. It was 96 in Ellensburg. It was scary as shit on the numerous passes, as I kept expecting the old girl to overheat. Seems that the Boy had the heater on full blast on the passes to keep her on the road. She does still have long legs and runs well at highway speed. And he took very good care of her when we lived in MT several years ago. So all went reasonably well.

But it sucked- as I stayed behind, watching anxiously, wondering if his turn signal was on, and if she finally gave up. Waiting to see something happen. Waiting for that puff of smoke. Waiting....

The worst section was around where George, Washington is- the highway crosses the Columbia- and goes up a very long desert pass. It was the part I had dreaded the most all day. It was actually cooler than I had expected, but still nerve-wracking. But she did, indeed, make it. And the Boy recovered from the heat and sun. And we unpacked the overburdened cars (an attempt is being made to get all of our shit in one state- stay tuned). And then we slept in our own bed, with the kitties smothering us with their furry brand of love.

Next step- up to Augusta

So then we traveled through Helena (stopping to see parents and have a quick bite and view newly constructed pond in yard) and on up to Augusta where other parents and classic car live.

Up there not much to report, except that we did have a Gentleman Caller for me- he didn't know I came with the Boy. So they met. The Boy and the Rancher- old before his time. And I had sparkly toes and no shoes. Again. I always keep to the policy of leaving the dance with the date you came with, and wasn't overly tempted to run off and herd cattle for a living. So all was well.

We did go to the rock shop- because my mother and I are the world's biggest rock shop geeks alive. She used to be in the jewelry biz, and I grew up a rock geek. So it was good to see pretty sparkly things and bring a few home.

Then we came back here. The road trip deserves some more reflection- how to capture in writing that particular brand of hell on wheels.

Day 2- crossing the state- Day 3 in one place

Went to Billings. For those unfamiliar- South/Central MT, largest city in the state, dry as hell, kind of pretty, kind of not. The Boy is from there.

Highlight of the trip- visiting the local WalMart. Saw the scariest cross section of humanity that I've seen in a while. Including a guy with no shirt, who really looked like ambulatory near death. He had that alcoholic belly- swollen and obvious, with ribs showing. Probably all liver crammed in there. Sad, sad, overworked liver.

Not much else to add to the Billings leg of the journey, really.

Day 1 of the trip

So we went to Missoula Sunday evening. Stayed with friends.

The strange thing about Missoula- well, that's actually quite a list. Seems I still have my freak magnet on when I go there.

Always have.

The place envelopes me from the start- familiar light in the sky, smell in the air, feeling in the bones. Like coming home. Only slower than I remember. And softer. And smaller.

We went out for ice cream after drinks and snacks. We were eating fabulous ice cream (mine was cardamom, Scott had yellow cake dipped in chocolate- sinfully delish). A woman was walking down Higgins Ave (the main N/S street) screaming at her boyfriend, "I love you and I hate you! Right now I hate you!!!"

He hugged her and walked away. She saw a group of people and decided to put on a meth-fueled show. She came over to the ice cream place and started to scream at everyone, "Motherfucking Missoula- thinks it's sooooo cool. We waited for 40 cars, and no one would take my brother to the fucking ER." This was repeated several times as she prowled around the crowd- filled with angry energy, just ripe to lash out. Some of the children probably learned some new terms from her.

Finally, a really stupid girl took the bait, and shouted,"Get your whacked out ass out of here!" She probably thought that since she was with friends, she was safe. She was mistaken, as her friends aren't like my friends. They most certainly did not have her back. Methgirl started chasing her in circles shouting at her- you can imagine. Stupidgirl was on the phone with the police. Finally she slowed down, and Methgirl flattened her. Hit her to the pavement. Then the onlookers intervened. A large man, who looked like a High School principal grabbed Methgirl and shouted, "NO, Stop this!" And wouldn't let her go. She struggled and tried to kick at Stupidgirl- who was still on the ground. I seriously don't think she thought that Methgirl would actually hit her. That's why I am calling her stupid. Not because she deserved to get hit, but that she was seriously delusional to think that Methgirl had any kinds of restraint.

So, the cops finally show up, after Methgirl's friend arrived and put her in a smelly lock on the ground. The cops took her away in cuffs, all the while she tried to escape. She wasn't wearing shoes.

Show was over. We walked to the car. I found $10 on the pavement. But the Boy said that he saw it first. I don't believe him. I took it. I spent it on bottled water and power bars on the trip home.

Where do I start?

We got back. It was heaven. It was hell. There is much to tell. Very tired though.

But the good news-

I GOT THE JOB!!!

Will be starting in a week. So Jobby McJobbersons here will be a member of the club. Of employed people, that is.

Will relate more later- now must rest. And check my watched items on eBay.

And now my friends- a few days away. Gonna road trip and bring the old girl home- she's a 72 BMW Bavaria- white with a touch of age showing. But she's beautiful, and we are almost on the edge of praying that she'll make it. Thankfully the Boy is a car guy, so the chances are good. It's the passes and the heat that are the iffy parts. But otherwise it oughta be a pip.

Most of the trip, however, will be spent in places with no access to the eworld that I love. But that's ok, because I see it as an essential part of unhooking from the machine. I'll wear sunblock, drink tepid and weak beer (because micro brew isn't really the rage out theres yet), and enjoy the famdamily.

Tune in next week for another installment of - my silly assed life.

Minty aftertaste- that's what the interviews left behind. Which was surprising. It looks, my friends, like there is a chance in hell that I will get the job. And that the person who spooked me in the first interview might be of tertiary importance in the scheme of things. I dunno.

Now to prepare for ROAD TRIP SUMMER 2007. We are going eastward into the vastness and heat to deliver a vintage BMW to ourselves. She needs to come home- especially since the Boy sold the Miata to a friend. He has his 3 motorcycles (yes, I am the BEST wife ever!), but a car would be nice. So it should be very interesting. Seeing if the old girl can make it back to Seattle. Hmmmm.

Otherwise, all is getting better on the home front- not spewing mucus everywhere, which is a relief. And likewise the Boy has recovered. Even treated myself to a pint last night- as after 4 bloody interviews, I had earned it.

Confession- the last interview was a conference call- and I did it from my house, whilst wearing pajama bottoms. Heh heh heh. I am a rebel. heh heh heh...

(No, actually I am a big, silly geek, and I know it. But that's all part of the charm, no? And yes, that's overt fishing for compliments.)

Once more into the void- but this time with a cacophonous soundtrack.

Because yes, LX, that will be in my head probably all day.

So today's round starts in a few hours- time to get all primped and prepared. But really this time my heart isn't in it. This one doesn't feel right from the outset- has everything to do with the 1st interview in the cycle last Friday. She was nice. I liked her. But she was overwhelmingly interested in establishing alpha dog status. And I found this disconcerting in an interview environment.

So today should be interesting. I liken it to a hazing ritual- something akin to getting into a secret society. Once in, you're really in. With the secret handshake, the key to the fortress, and all the dirt on your soul. But that's getting ahead of myself. First I have to get through today.

Feeling better though. Not as stuffy and coughy. Two dwarfs down. Now just a tad grumpy. But coffee should cure that. If not coffee, then pastries. They cure everything.

All right. Enough malingering- time to get on with it.

One of those mornings- woke up on the wrong side, so to speak. Not feeling particularly charitable about anyone- much less myself. And there you have it. Probably just too damned much seclusion and being sick. But I am on the mend, and will prevail.

And also there is a touch of nerves- tomorrow is 4 long hours of interviews for the job that I'm all apprehensive about. They put you through your paces. And I just don't know if I'm up for the challenge. But never say die. Onward and upward. Jiggedy jig.

I will now go to the library.

Tag, I'm it.

So it's a game, right. I get to disclose 8 things about myself, and pass along the idea. I got it from my friend Sean. So. All right already, get on with it.

1. The movies that I can quote most accurately are - Monty Python and the Holy Grail, Gone in 60 Seconds, and Office Space. (So much for highbrow)

2. I was born on Father's Day. A month early. And coincidentally share my name with a dead person.

3. I adore black licorice.

4. When I was in high school, I fantasized about stealing cool cars (see the fixation with Gone in 60 Seconds above). I did learn how to hot wire. Not sure if I still remember. Let's hope not.

5. Despite all of my efforts, I am still bitter about a couple of past relationships that ended badly. Just. Can't. Let. Go.

6. My favorite author is Proust. Followed very closely by about two dozen others. I've been slogging through the newest translation of his work- working full time really interrupted that adventure. I'll pick up again now. I can highly recommend this batch, though- amazing.

7. I am a total sap- I can cry at basically any movie- even the silent ones- if they hit me the right way. On occasion, commercials have gotten to me. It is a sickness.

8. I have learned to be a pretty good cook over the years- and enjoy making up my own recipes.

There. That was actually harder than I had expected. What to say? What not to say? How to switch gears when going down one path, and keep it simple? My.

This should be called "Ode to learning how to relax again", but I don't know the proper literary form for an ode. I'm not the one who went to poetry school. My poetry sucks. I think it's reminiscent of all of those stupid pop songs I learned in Jr high- the ones I impress the boy with when I know all the words on Flashback Thursday (via Pandora, thank you). I used to have a memory for those kinds of things. They mattered to me.

Somewhere in college my memory for songs gets spotty. REM kills me. But then, if you can understand Michael Stipe, you are a stronger man than me, Gunga Din. It just didn't matter so much any more.

So I have to relax. It's enforced not only by being in the house with the cats, the tv, the books, and no people, but also by being on the backwards side of sick. Getting better with those deceptive bursts of energy, but knowing better than to fully trust them. Weaning myself off of the cough medicine. But not the decongestant.

I have to quit reflexively checking my email. There are no flagged messages there. None. There are no urgent fires to put out. No one needs me like that right now. And that has to be ok. Because it just is. And I should like it. But I have a sneaking suspicion that I have become an adrenaline junky, and the withdrawal is going to be a tad sticky. Again, need a support group.

And right now, more than anything I need to get dressed. Because even though I am still sickish, I don't know if I should slip into day long pajama wearing quite yet.

Huzzah for the drug companies who make cough suppressant. And decongestant.

But feh to the companies that make zinc lozenges. They upset my tummy.

And now I take my cranky-ass self to the couch for some serious lounging and blowing of nose.