Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam

Today I became what the parents call a working class hero. I can only hope it continues.
I'd rolled over and nearly crushed his dogness, my check of the clock told me it was 6:45. That seemed way earlier than a human should be conscious so I rolled back over (but not over the dog, cuz I'm good like that). The phone rang 5 minutes later.
"eh?" I mumbled.
"This is blah blah from blah. Would you be interested in taking an assignment doing blah today?"
"Eh? Sure." I must've been at least a little awake, I wrote down the details, which I was able to read 20 minutes later when I actually woke up.
My first job in the real world is a laid back affair. I'm there to answer a phone that rings about 5 times a day. Then I transfer the call. Otherwise, I should keep myself busy reading or playing office basketball. Whatever I need to do to pass the time. It's a bit of a dream job. Until I get bored with it in another day.
The phone really only rang about 5 times all day. That would've been hi-LAR-ious. But there's like, an actual good reason for the place I'm working to exist. So I'll be good.
"So, did you work today?"
"Yeh."
"What do you do?"
"I answer the phone. Dunder-Mifflin, this is Pam, can you hold please?"
"Pam?"
"Trust me Ma, it's funny."
"Oh, wait! Ha!"

So, I worked. In the business world. Woo.
On my way home, the phone rang. It was B-I'd been expected his call all day. His timing was good. Since I was out of the business world by the time he rang.
We decided he should meet me at the international house of awesome (AKA my apartment) when he got here and we would proceed to a place that served food.
I decided on Edgefield Bar and Grill. Cuz I wanted a burger.
He called from about 100 yards away. Coupland decided to be a snot and acted the fool. I had no choice but to take Mr. Dog out for a walk. We met the guest as he pulled in, Cope, sensing someone that was not a big dog person took to him immediately. Such a dog, seriously. So predictable.
"Settle, settle dog."
Coupland acted like he'd been poked with a taser, darting from couch to couch.
"You know that'll only rile him."
"He thinks we're playing."
Cope dashed around the living room and then jumped up on the loveseat and curled up against B. "Oh, now we're best friends now?"
"Of course, he is SO happy to be around someone other than me."
His dogness curled up all cute and cuddly on the loveseat. Playa. Fer real. Total forsaker is all he is that dog.
We sat in the living room for a few minutes. Seinfeld was on TV. I watch a lot of Seinfeld, considering I'm not even that into the show. Everything in my life can be related to Seinfeld. How very Gen X of me. I can't even hear that "Time of Your Life" Green Day song without thinking of that damn show.
ANYWAY. I have a very small apartment and after describing the burning water instance of yesterday---and causing amusement. I burnt water. I suck at life. We decided to go out for a burger.
SO-since he doesn't live here B said he'd drive. It's more difficult that way. I had to describe the Porter Rd/Eastland intersection. If yr goingn straight, signal left. Trust me. Everyone loves trying to understand that. Also I got to point out where Todd lives. Always fun.
"You don't know me, but I've been stealing from you for years."
"And I'm just a stalker. Hi!"
We ate dinner at a bar.
Argued about U2 and Billy Joel.
The usual.
I don't get much contact with humans.
Cuz, I'm not too social.
It was fun.
I drank too much.
Only because these days too much is at all.
Dunno exactly why. But I have theories.
I still say that Glass Houses and The Nylon Curtain almost forgives An Innocent Man.
Rescue Me was pretty damn good tonight. I was talking to the TV. But I do that, due to how I'm awesome.
That is all.

Watch out, you might get what yr after

Maybe I have a death wish.
In honor of our servicemen and women I spent Memorial Day reading, watching soaps (AHHHH!!!! Todd can't be dead! NOOOO!!!!!), and doing laundry. Lots and lots of laundry, I've been at it long enough to hang 4 loads on the line to dry. Time consuming and hot work on such a hot, humid day. Perfect for grilling out-but I'm cash free and the groceries I bought yesterday will have to serve until the money starts rolling in.
I'm perfectly willing to work for it-in fact, I look forward to it.
ANYWAY-short story long. I was out back taking down a load of clothes. I had water on the stove to boil for spaghetti with tomatoes and olives. I threw the towels into the dryer to toss (saving money has it's limits, no one wants scratchy towel after a shower-it's unpleasant) and I...smelled...something...funny...and...smoke?
SHIT!
Something was on fire.
It wasn't the dryer.
Good Lord-the kitchen!
At first I didn't see anything. And I didn't want to spoil my spaghetti and it might not be anything really-but, I couldn't shake this weird feeling that something was rather wrong.
Oh my FUCK!
The stove was on fire-like real live flames licking up from my electric stove. That is SO not right!
Being a sensible person, I panicked.
"How do you put out a kitchen fire? How? Grease fire-what if it's a grease fire? Move the damn spaghetti genius. Um, grease fire-flour. Right over the fire." I managed to not burn myself-by some miracle since the flame were about 4 inches high at that point. From a safe tossing distance of 2 feet I threw flour in the general direction of the stove. The flames hopped up another 2 inches and if I'm not mistaken, very near the wall. The house was surely going to burn down. Fuck,fuckity fuck.
Water! Try water-yes! Good idea! I grabbed the one bowl I own, turned on the faucet and filled it as much as I was willing to stand. About 6 seconds worth of water. I tossed it at the fire and it went out.
Oh thank God, it's out. And the house is still intact, not in flames. The stove was a distaster area. Flaming flour doused with water is a messy combination.
But I have it mostly cleaned up-the stove has black char marks that may or may not ever completely clean up. The house should be free of smoke in the next hour or so.
I'm still hungry.
Soon-I will face the kitchen again.
Pray for me.

I could have succeeded if it weren't for those pesky God and Jesus fellows

The day before Mik left we were listening to music, drinking tea, sitting on the front porch, alternating control Cope. A Ryan Adams song came on.
"He just sounds hot," she said.
"He is at that," I said.

She loaded her stuff into the car, hugged me goodbye and said she figured she'd be back around October-since she'd be homeless by then. Ya never know, do you?
I picked Coupland up and stood him on the hood of the car.
"One last thing," I said.
I moved Little Man up so he was standing on his hindlegs, "Holy Ghost!" I held his paws over his head and waved them about like a ghost on Scooby Doo. "Holy Ghost!"
She smiled and looked sad.
"Holy Ghost," I said, "This is not an episode of Scooby Doo."
Soon as she was gone he started limping. I called Mum concerned, she said, "Well, I don't know, that dog's a con artist you know. He might be playing you."
No dog of mine! NO!

"How's Limpy Dog?" Dad asked.
"He's the worst. It was a game."
"Thought as much."
"Oh it gets worse than the faux limp, Da! The other day we were walking and Cope decided he'd gone far enough, so he laid down. Did dead weight. I couldn't make him walk for anything. So-what could I do? I picked him up to carry him home. This woman comes running across the yard yelling 'Is that a hurt cat? Is something wrong?' I had to tell her, no, it's not a hurt cat, it's a brat dog."
"And I can imagine while you're talking to her he was doin' back flips and jumping up and down..."
"Oh, and juggling and shit, yeh."
"Soon as she was gone, he made you carry him home."
"So you were there."
"I know the kind."
"By the way, I'm thinking of getting a second small dog and calling it Colbert. So I have Copie and Colby. Wouldn't that be cute?"
"So cute," he said in monotone.
"You already want to dogsit them don't you?"
"Yes, certainly" he didn't convince me. "You know, you should wait another six months, because once you get a job I'm going to find you a place to live and I'll be retired so I can help you remodel."
Oh dear-Daddy's already moving in. How very Frasier.

Made my town hall debut last AM. I think I was a success.
Every comment I received was very positive, and from many the impressive source. I'd been scared shitless, particularly after some of the grillings I'd seen people getting. This was not a forgiving crowd.
"How does it feel?" Erika asked.
"Well, you know I," I rolled my eyes into my head, trying to think of something clever.
"You don't have to be witty you know, you can just feel gratitude."
"Alright then, I am very grateful. Mik calls it a post-performance high. I feel like I could do that sort of thing again, maybe I should become an actor! Oh wait-no-the family already has one of those."
"Perhaps an academic?" she said.
Oh. Well. I had kind of given up on that. But I suppose she has a point.

Nothin' to do

I'm boring.
Not bored.
Boring.
Wooo.
Zzz
Zz

Oh Danny Boy --I love you so

Other than putting some crap thing in the post I'm done.
Not in school anymore.
Something that seemed pretty much impossible is reality.
Did a presentation at a conference and it's over now.
What a gigantic let down.
Not as bad as the graduation on death's door but it's awfully pitiful.
Here I am-completed a HUGE deal-I'm really completely done-and I'm sitting in my apartment alone watching 100 Funniest Movies on Bravo.
I'm a sad, sad, excuse for a person.
I suck at life.
Don't know what I expected but it wasn't exactly this.
It wasn't made better by being cut off by mum when I called all excited to tell her about how things went. She didn't want to be rude to the hosts, since she was at a barbecue. OK. I'll just sit here and feel very empty about the whole series of events.
Well, the degree is depressing, why shouldn't the ending be the same?

Hey Baby Where You Been?

I've been sick. Very sick. Turns out it wasn't crushing terror, and it wasn't a little problem that was making me feel bad last week. Turns out I had a kidney infection, one that I kept avoiding getting treatment for until I was about a day away from getting blood poisoning from the infection. I don't know what made me sick-I have a couple of theories. One is that I'd been feeling just, meh, for weeks and at work I remember feeling very dehydrated and not wanting to use the bathroom because it was a hassle. My best guess is that I didn't do myself any favors doing that, I remember having pain but I figured it was just dehydration. I'd thought I was dehydrated for at least two weeks and had been trying to drink as much water and Gatorade as I could get down but it was never enough. By a week ago Thursday I didn't feel too well. By Wednesday I was pretty sure something was pretty wrong with me, but I couldn't afford the doctor visi. By Thursday I couln't eat, couldn't drink and my back hurt so bad I couldn't see straight. On Friday I had the shakes and was hallucinating. I had a 103 degree fever.
Friday was supposed to be my graduation day-but I was in bad shape. There's a picture from the pre-graduation get together (which I attended because I had said I would be there and my parents had driven 8 hours to see me walk across that stage and I was going to walk if I could stand) the picture is of me huddled under e's PhD robe, my head bent down but what is visible of my face it's clear that I am very pale, a friend of mine is looking at me with an expression that is either pity or disgust.
E was about as close as I think she gets to begging me to go to the urgent care or ER.
"I don't trust doctors, I don't go to doctors."
"Neither do I, but you aren't well."
"I'll get better."
"Or you'll die."
I carried that 102 degree fever for three more days.
By the time I got so sick as to not worry about what it would cost if I went to the ER I was pretty sure that I wouldn't get better. The doctors seemed to think that it wouldn't have been much longer before I wasn't conscious anymore. At some point doesn't the human body shut down if the pain becomes too great? I didn't get that far, although I was praying for it.
After a series of IV drugs, two bags of liquid to rehydrate me, pain killers both liquid and pill form and antibiotics I was able to walk. It would take days before I started to feel really good but I felt a lot better.
By that point I'd missed two classes from my week long pass/fail, final class I needed to finish my degree. Luckily for me I was able to get the notes and catch up, so I'm sure I'll pass I made an effort. and that's what seems to be what she wanted.

The rest of the week was spent in Bowling Green with the boys and the girl. I like to think of that group as an encapsulation of a Generation. We're fun like that. I couldn't drink. They drink a lot-I found out what it's going to be like in AA. That's something to look forward to.

Sweetheart, genius, reckless jerk

Wow.
I am totally overwhelmed with this sudden crushing depression.
Well, depression is the wrong word.
It's more like terror.
Complete and ridiculous, unnecessary terror.
For that final I have tomorrow.
Due to that paper I'm supposed to have in rough form by now.
But more than that-I do believe that I am procrastinating rather than just write the paper. When that paper's done-the actual thought part of my education is over.
I finished my internship yesterday.
That final's coming tomorow whether I'm ready or not. And I'll pass, whether I study or not.
The paper-that's another story. It has to be done in a week--well, officially it has to be done by the 26th or something. But I'd like to just have it done and feel good about that. All it would take is to sit down and write. It wouldn't be that hard. But I haven't been able to do it.
Sigh. All I've wanted is for this to be over and now that it could be for some reason I'm dreading it.
I tell ya, I am some kind of piece of work.

I ain't the kind of guy that'll come and break all your records-but then again I just might

This morning I woke up feeling like I'd been set on fire and beaten to a smoldering pile of ashes. Not the way to start a week. Having no medical insurance I had little recourse but to tough out the issue or go to one of those awful clinics for the indigent. After two hours of calls made each quarter hour I finally made contact with one of the health care workers who informed me that the visit would cost $75 for me to see a doctor, and if I needed any tests or medicine I could count on twice that. Now, when was the last time you went in for an office visit that featured less than two tests of some sort? I can't go into a clinic with a knee swollen twice its natural size without having a pregnancy test and (explain this one to me) a series of allergy tests before the doctor goes ahead and gives me the damn X-Ray I so obviously need. I've come to the conclusion I could walk into a clinic carrying my detached thumb in a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew and before anyone bothered to try to re-attach it I'd have to have a pregnancy test. I think it's a law-wonder what males that walk into clinics are tested for? Or is it just that women that need to go to clinics are such sluts that no matter what may be the outward issue, the real problem is something transmitted sexually be it life or infection.
Well, far be it from me to challenge the system. I really wasn't sick enough to go to a doctor anyway come to think of it. All I really needed was some vitamin supplements and pain relievers. And a couple of naps. If the medical establishment doesn't want me-I don't want them. 'Sides, no matter what the problem may SEEM to be-the real issue is stess. That kind of deadline induced stress that simply must manifest itself in some form be that form screaming and crying fits or a general feeling of unwell. Or both. The basic thing is, having no real productive outlet for my tension and not really knowing what to do to suddenly attain a semester's worth of knowledge in two days I feel that I might be best served to just walk into the Morgan Room one last time and really go for broke. Just make things up, answer questions that aren't asked and formulate theories that in no way relate to the subject matter at hand. Failing that, I could just re-write the entire story arc (with misleading information and dead ends) of the X-Files.
I mean really, not a single one person in that department would EVER risk me returning for another semester. No way in hell. Wouldn't happen. Once acquainted with me there grows in the soul of most a nagging urge, an urge that grows larger until it is all consuming. That urge is to NEVER have to SEE me AGAIN! And in the case of the Dept of FS and Anth I am sure that no only is the feeling mutual it is nearly the strongest emotion I've felt this millenium. Other than sadness and the persistent bitterness that fuels my very being. But no emotion will be beating that out anytime soon.
Since leaving work in that fit yesterday (and probably for the last time, what with the whole I can't work for two weeks dillema) I've pretty much been in the house being no use to anyone. Other than that trip to the drugstore. Mik called at 10 this morning to tell me that she had decided we needed fish, fresh fruit and veg, whole grains and that. She was unanimous in that and would be going to the grocery store after work.
"Everything we eat is fried or covered in potatoes!" she cried dramatically. She's good at that.
"Well, you're in the South, fried doorknob with butter coated ragrug is a popular delicacy in these parts."
"It's disgusting and I won't stand for it."
Alright then, sounds lovely. I'd grown a bit tired of staring down the dry tortillas, and rotting chunks of cheese in the fridge anyway.
She came home and mercilessly tossed out food. I was banished from the kitchen and not allowed to touch the food until she was finished.
Resigned, and not that interested in the first place, I was sprawled on the couch watching the Simpsons. A series of disgusted sounds and the strong aroma of cleaning products filled the living room. Even the dog left the kitchen to get away from the cleaning taking place. She handed me a bag of trash which I took outside. Her passion for a well ordered refrigerator unnerved me. I can't say anything but a deadline inspires me to such frenzied activity.
She began making dinner. Pans were put on to boil for rice. The marinated fresh salmon filet was put onto the George Foreman grill. Broccoli was chopped. Whole grain bread smeared with goat cheese.
I poured a glass of wine and returned to my place on the couch. Jamie Oliver was trying to teach British school children to eat food other than chips and fish sticks and I was enthralled.

You better stop, look around, here it comes, here it comes, here it comes...

Alright everybody, anyone participating in the "Pre-Graduation Spectacular Meltdown Pool" get out yr tickets. Who has the time closest to Sunday, May 7 at 5:30? I've got good news for you---YOU WIN!
That's right-bets are off. You'll have to start a new pool if you're convinced this was just a preamble.
For those of you wondering the cause of the meltdown it goes like this: I was at work, doing my thing. A pain in the ass family (the sort that needed no fewer than 3 refills each of their drinks and are unhappy with everything for random reasons) had run up an $86 tab and rounded the charge to $90. So, I was a little pissed. Fuckers. Pieces of shit, pissant piles of used condoms covered in santorum. Rotting in hell is too good for trash motherfuckers like you. I hope your son ends up as some abusive neo-Nazi jock's punk in a maximum security prison.
OK-maybe that's extreme. But I'm feeling unpleasant and that kind of behavior is forty shades of fucking with me right there and I am in no MOOD to be fucked with.
SO-where was I? I had just got this shit tip. And I was clearing off the table, my hands were full of cups mostly. I was trying to put the cups up in the rack over in dish and one slipped out of my hand and broke.
That was it. I broke a glass. Something I do once a week at least. But that glass shattered and my knees buckled, I grabbed onto the dish shelf, trying to keep myself upright.
"Are you alright babe?" one of the other servers asked.
"No....I'm----I don't think I am." My head fell against my arm and I started to sob. Just, ridiculous childish pitiful tears. A came over and put her arms around me. "Shit, I'm sorry."
"It's alright. You're OK."
I did not feel OK. I felt like some covering had been ripped bare, that damn long fuse with inappropriate ignition again. Dammit, I think of myself as better than that kind of thing.
It doesn't help matters that I'm scheduled to be at work simultaneous with my graduation and lest we forget I have a week long class that'll keep me from being able to work basically at all until the 21st of May. Two weeks. No money. And it isn't like there's any coming in from other locales or anything. And I could with good reason be unemployed because of my unavailability for the next fortnight.
Every part of me just wants to break something. Pound on a wall until the drywall cracks or my hand turns purple with bruises. I'm angry, I'm sad, I do not have the ability to cope rationally with this mess that will be my life until the end of this month. Oh, sure, I'll survive. But the survival may be somewhat less than pretty.
And that's what bothers me. Not that I have these things to do, but how I will do them. Inappropriate actions seem like the only actions at my disposal right now.

Just a little bit of sex

Not right now you pervs.
What-like I'd suddenly break my no discussion of anything but school and TCR for some kind of lascivious content?
I put on a good show of being classier than that.
Even if I wanted to, I would refrain until I'd ingested more alcohol.
Right now I'm sitting in a bar, alone, on a Saturday evening drinking a beer and reading fandom wanks. I may hate folklore, but I maintain a love of fandom---god damn but it's a crazy fueled mass of ape shit obsessive activities. Think me-then multiply that by 40,000 times the insane. That's what I'm talking about. And reading stuff like that makes for a happy hippie.
Did I tell you-no, I didn't-was out Thursday night with some peeps and a buddy of mine said that I'd be a good high school teacher, cuz I have that "free spirit kind of hippie chick vibe." Which is really what all the finer programs are looking for, "Kids, I woulda got those papers graded but I was SO wasted last night. Ecstasy and bourbon do not mix kids-just, trust me. OK. So, if you'll open your books to page 182..."
Perhaps the only downfall of not being in the ivory tower anymore is that I will not have easy acces to people that want to have conversations about stuff like misapplication of scholarship and which Elvis Costello album is the most under-appreciated. (That was a short conversation, as the answer is Almost Blue) This problem could be rememdied by staying in contact with people that want to talk about stuff like that-but I can rarely be bothered to do such things. Takes an effort I simply to not wish to put forth. As I am lazy and a bad person all around.
Last night the sister hung out with her boys. Whilst I stayed in Bowling Green all night because I was too caught up in the whole character based independent movie with a heavy concentration on dialogue and ennui she stayed out al night with people that like to watch Half Baked on basic cable and hang out in bars checking out chicks.
Night and motherfuckin' day.
Except both lead up to the next morning with the distinct sensation of having been hit by a series of trucks.
Actually, I didn't feel too bad on Friday morning. It was, for some odd reason Friday night-Saturday morning that totally sucked. Aftershock.
Of course, comparisons aren't really fair, we didn't have the option of cable,and I was the only chick in the bar that did not arrive attached to a dude. I got ogled I suppose, but only after a shot of Terrible Whisky. I assume there's something in Terrible Whisky that makes me more attractive.

Now I have finished my public final. I plan to re-read it because one essay was written while listening to Prairie Home Companion and I'm a little concerned about how well I applied my knowledge since I was giving most of my attention to Guy Noir Private Eye. There's always a nagging suspicion that my academic writing is smattered with observations about what I was listening to at the time. It's not really a suspicion. It's been proven on numerous occasions.
Seriously tho, which is more of teh lame-how I spent my last Saturday night or tonight alone at the bar putzing around on my computer?
Mum and Dad might drive the Honda down and we will change cars since they need a truck to move their stuff and I like the Honda because it is very small. But they might not. I don't even harbor portions of a clue. At this point it's all like a dream and I can't wake up to save my life.

Recreational Slumming*

*title is a neo-logism that as good as any other I can remember and I'm too lazy to look for another one, to describe my Thursday evening---not saying anything particularly about anything so you know. not that you were wondering


Last night, as one person made popcorn. I was standing by the steps of the second story apartment porch drinking a Killians and smoking an off brand cigarette discussing something obscure. Someone on the other end of a cell phone was shopping for music.
We're the office temps. The artists/writers. The waitress/bartenders. We even have character type names. Welcome to my life as a generational cliche. Generation X. Over-educated, under-employed, thoughtful types with impressive record collections.
Awesome.

I've got one of three essays for my take home final done.
WOOT.
Only one book review, one final, a rough draft 8 hours of internship and that damn grant class to go. I'll have all but the grant class done by the time I walk across that stupid stage in that damn ceremony this time next week.
I'm not going to wear shoes.
That's as subversive as I'll probably get.
What with the work I still need to do.
Stupid bad planning ruining all my evil deeds.
Mostly.

We can be heroes. Just for one day.

Stephen Colbert Content:
-Some blogger that was a little funny put added his name to the end of a blog entry in invisible ink to increase hits. I don't go for such cheap tricks. I just write about the man.
-The mainstream media has joined the blogosphere in the 21st century to critique our man.
Salon weighs in on why-"He just wasn't funny". It is to laugh. Who cares about funny? He was RIGHT. And, if you ask me it gets funnier every god damned day. Mum asked me to send her the You Tube links for goodness sake.
-I love when fandoms explode. Right now is a moment that may be forgotten on the large scale (good Lord, it was broadcast on C-Span after all) but it will be one of the great moments in fan culture. When the real and imagined collided in a outrageous and awesome, unpredictable way.
This is what I wanted to be a part of when I started studying folk culture (or as that librarian that bummed a cigarette off my sister at David Sedaris called it "fucklore"-since this is all about fucking with people.)


"I'm bigger than Jesus."
"You got into a lot of trouble the last time you said that about the Beatles."
"No, I'm bigger than Jesus. By at least two inches."

Mum asked, as she had not been following the blogosphere-shocking! I know. She asked,"WHY did they hire him?"
"The person that did said he was unfamiliar with the kind of work he did, but had heard he was funny."
"I think that they'd (that nefarious they)
seen a few clips of his show and thought that he was Comedy Central's token conservative."
"They didn't bother to IMDB him and find out his other major roles include a high school teacher having a gay affair with the art teacher and take a hint? That's just stupid."

I adore that man so much I would have sex with him. And I don't like sex. And he's married and I firmly believe in, even if I never plan to enter into, the covenant of marriage. So that is really just quite figurative. Like saying I'd give someone a kidney. No one would want my kidney-but the feeling is there. Feelings are more important than realities.

Only Colbert Content ahead is that I plan is the following of my gut and my refusal to admit there's another route.

Portfolio revamp due tomorrow. It's----different. I've dropped the fieldnotes. Fuck them. I'm going to include an extra paper and no mention of fieldwork. I don't do fieldwork like the old timers encourage-the field is too old fashioned. I work with the world, I work virtually. I like it, the way it is now it says more about me than the first draft. I'm not a folklorist in the sense of most of the people involved, but I'm a damn determined writer.
Determined to do what?
To have a title other than folklorist? Fuck if I know.

One final is in my possession. It's a take home. I'm going to do it on Saturday. Or Friday. Happy Cinco de Mayo! Write three essays! O-fuckin-le. Mik is planning to hang out with her friends from the wrong side of the tracks. She'll probably end up in jail-and I'll have to bail her out-with my riches. Until then I'll have the apartment to myself. To "concentrate." RIGHT.

I have a presentation tomorrow. I'm trying to knock a 16 page paper down to a 800 word presentation. It's not going smoothly. But it's my main goal for tomorrow morning. That and not answering the phone since I swore up and down that I had school and couldn't make it to the "no excuses for missing will be accepted" meeting at work. I may not have class-but dammit, I have school to contend with, and I like my job, but I like the idea of finishing this degree even better. Shhhh...don't tell anyone.

There's a good show tomorrow night. I want to go. But I am tired and unable to find joy acceptable at the moment. Joy is such a light-hearted emotion. I'm too busy to feel that. We'll see if I can be willing to experience happiness on May 4, 2006.
When I'm out of school I plan to re-attack that whole learning how to knit thing from last winter. I'll probably end of taking a class-since I can only learn in an organized setting. I'm that conditioned.

Tonight at work, I had a decent night, it was what it was, I overtipped the bartender a little since I can't count but he treats me good, so whatever. But tongight a woman ordered a $16 steak. She didn't like how it was cooked. Twice. So, here was this steak I couldn't afford in life-and we were going to throw it away. Yes, I realize it's kind of weird-but she didn't touch it she cut it and was displeased. But I took it home and had a rib-eye steak for dinner. It was GOOD. Look sideways at me if you must, but I live with a vegetarian so there isn't a lot of opportunities for eating of steak. I'm glad I did it and I'd do it again.

That's about all.
Stay strong heroes.

Re-arranging the deck chairs on the Hindenburg

This is post number 201. For the all Colbert post please scroll down. No really-just stop now and scroll down. Click on the links. Support The Man, The Myth, The Eyebrow.
OK.
Done?
Don't just pretend you're exploring the links-really FEEL them.
Are you a little queasy now?
Good.
That's truthiness eating away at you.
This post is a little closer to the old hearth.

When I got out of my last Public Folklore class I called Mik to see if she'd made dinner. I have no idea what she would've made for dinner but I figured she's an artist, she must have some level of creativity. She didn't answer so I listened to Holidays on Ice on CD, a very out of season but thoroughly enjoyable CD. "Dinah the Christmas Whore" is such a great story. I wanna Christmas whore everytime I encounter "st night, 1AM her phone rang. She answered it. Oh thank God, that means the beeping will stop. She came into the living room.
"So, I met this guy when I went out the other night. His name is Garson, he's a hillbilly but we kinda made out. Then he called me tonight."
I took Coupland out for a walk. When I re-entered the apartment I walked to the bedroom door, "Girl?"
"Yeh?"
"Did you say his name is Garson? Like the French, garcon?"
"It's spelled with an S"
I doubled over laughing.
She howled. "It's a totally different word."
Her phone rang. She mumbled a series of phrases.
"I'm going to go hang out with my hillibilly boy toy," she said.
I laughed. "Shit, motherfucker, this is some kind of motherfuckin' shit," I drawled. "You might want to work that into the conversation, It'll make him feel comfortable."
She was walking out the door, "I'll probably be home, but if I'm not, I'm cool."
"Don't do anything I wouldn't...oh nevermind," I said.
"Yeh, seriously, that would limit how I would spend my evening, wouldn't it?"
She slammed the door behind her.
I refilled my glass with Ole Kentucky Booze and homemade sour mix, Coupland moved to the other couch.
She didn't lock the door behind her.

Stephen Colbert takes over the World-the World is Thrilled-Mission Accomplished

First things first-after re-watching my fake pundit soulmate I've decided he was subversive genius and my adoration is SO much more than just because he looks good in a tailored Italian suit. He ripped the shrub a much needed new one, and brought the press corp a nice new hairshirt at the same time and without the build-up (which was intense courtesy of the internet) but just as a speech, it was biting and wicked commentary.
I am not one of those topical bloggers. But, since I've been plugging The Report since day uno (here's to you immigrant workers, I mean that) I'm going to join the link fest:

Sign the Guestbook

Thank You Stephen Colbert

Stephen Shows of His Big Brass Balls

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Fox News is not impressed

The Colbert Nation Is

Stephen in TIME Magazine's 100 Most Influential People Issue

Il a tue

60 Minutes accepts that the future of journalism is French, bitch

Truthiness is what you want the facts to be as opposed to what the facts are

Fangirls everywhere go wild for C-Span

Guess which fangirl is me

Oh and he "hosted" Saturday Night Live

In an ambiguous kind of way

Word to Stephen for being the Man. He's a cultural sensation. The kind of thing that only comes around once in awhile. Right now, Stephen is the last episode of Seinfeld. He's Ross and Rachel. He's Pearl Jam and Nirvana. He's the biggest thing going. And it is so awesome to think back on the Daily Show or Strangers With Candy (when I would explain that it is SO funny-see it's making fun of everything people hold dear, that's hiLARious!) and I wasn't a freak about the fandom but I knew what I liked. Well, turns out, he's more than good.

Damn, it's good to be a fangirl.

The Logic of Yr Sexx Laws

The call-in show that cannot be recommended enough: Talk Sex with Sue Johanson.
I had forgotten the overwhelming awesomeness of an old lady in a suit from the elderly section of Hechts showing off her favorite vibrators. As I type this she's talking to a guy who gets excited by farts and is recommending brussel sprouts for his lady to heighten the enjoyment. This show is pure comic gold.
Oh, you Oxygen with yr empowered women!
For some reason, I suspect most people don't watch it for (ahem) shits and giggles.
***That concludes tonight's television recommendations it's probably better to not take***

My chateau is rapidly running out of food. One of these days someone is going to have to break down and buy food. We have maybe one more day before dinner is can of corn and piece of bread with no butter. Today I worked night shift, so I made dinner before I went to work. Tuna casserole, one of my specialties (anything that contains cream of mushroom soup is a specialty of mine). It's one of those meals that it's easy to forget how good it is. A can of tuna, a can of soup, a handful of peas and noodles mixed up with some chips and onion soup mix on top. No effort(other than cooking the noodles, stupid noodles! be more easy!) but SO good. The sister would've ate it all if I hadn't stated that she had to leave me some to eat when I got home from work. She also had to tape Colbert on 60 Minutes. OK-she didn't have to, but she did. So as to avoid me sulking. Which isn't pretty. That and she was naughty and fed Sir Coupenhound people food in excess and got caught. Her expression leads me to believe this was not the first plate o' people food she'd given him. I told her it's all well and good now but who's going to have to deal with him on a special diet because he's such a fatty his belly drags on the ground? Not her, I wager. "I buy him top shelf Purina dog food so he gets the nutrition he needs and stays healthy..."
"Blah, blah, blah, I can't give you any food Cope your Mom yelled at me."
So I'm the bad guy.

Somewhere in this apartment is a phone with a voice mail message-I know this because every 10 minutes or so I hear a beep. If I could find the phone, I could fix this problem. As it is, I sorta dread trying to go to sleep. The beeps are spaces at just the approximate length of time it takes me to relax to the point of nearly being asleep. It's not my phone, my phone is probably in the truck.

WKU is the center for poor operations for the universe. Not just the dept I'm associated with (for only another month---and for life I guess courtesy of the degree-fuck) but all of it. Disability services sent an email in Feb that I never got (Because it wasn't in an email I check ever, but in my free XBox and Work From Home WKUmail) saying I needed to do more stuff to get paid for taking notes. Too bad how no one there ever learned how to read so they didn't see where I wrote my Yahoo address. One.More.Month.God.dammit.
Work remains decent. The money was better today. It wasn't awful yesterday or anything, but I did some extra stuff and made a couple of extra Lincolns. So that's good. I had 4 tables instead of 3 like I'd always had up until now. It frazzled me but I pulled it off. One of the tables tonight was from near Toronto. I went to Toronto in January to see Kids in the Hall at Massey Hall when they did their first reunion tour. Stood outside in the freezing cold for close to two hours. By the time I got back to the hotel I could barely feel my feet. But it was worth it. I was so much younger then... They had a friend at maybe the very same show. Small world. They tipped pretty good too. I don't hate this job, but I feel like I should plan on doing something else soon. Not right now.
My resume is revamped. It isn't better...but it's different.

Where the bleeding FUCK is that damn phone?