Tuesday, November 29, 2005

grump, grump, grump

Christ, had to go to the dentist this morning for a filling on a top, most inaccessible molar. Ended up only needing to be smoothed, not filled, but the effing dentist slashed my gum and it hurt and bled like the freaking Inquisition, and now my mouth tastes like shit...that flouride crap combined with ground calcium smell. Gross. Am feeling very sorry for myself, although I should be grateful they didn’t have to drill (shudder).

Don't you think it's a little rude when the dentist applies the vile flouride goo and THEN tells you, 'Oh, by the way, you can't eat for six hours. Byee!" It was 10 o'clock in the morning, and that meant I couldn't eat anything until FOUR O'CLOCK! If I'd have known that beforehand, I would have eaten more then toast. Maybe a whole loaf of toast. With bacon. So by about three, I was having sinking spells and wanting to die in general, and every time I'd look at my coworkers, I'd envision them as Oreos and had to resist biting their heads off and dunking them in milk. And why is it that when someone says you CAN'T eat, instantly you NEED to? Like when you have to have some procedure and the surgeon says no food after midnight...I'm always ravenous at about 12:30. (I say always as though it has happened more than once.) Anyway, by 5:30 when it was time to leave work, I was about to snap off my own arm and sit there all wild eyed with this twitching, flapping arm sticking out of my mouth. I figured while my coworkers ran amock shrieking in horror, I could loot their desks for snacks. Fortunately, my friend The Wench rescued me and took me for pimiento burgers....Mmmm, I get a warm feeling just thinking about it. Pimiento cheeeeeeese.

Is anyone else totally pissed that they booted off Kim from America's Next Top Model? They kept the thief and threw off the lipstick lesbian? What the?

Also, A.S. was being totally irritating tonight. And I KNOW that my friends who may or may not read this are rolling their eyes and saying how ungrateful I am. Well, I'm ALLOWED to be annoyed with him sometimes. Plus, this is MY blog. I can tell when he's calling from the studio, because he's four beats behind the conversation at all times. And he answers everything with, "What?" before catching up. And he's incapable of making a decision because he's thinking about fourteen other things at the same time. And since the topic we were discussing was whether I would meet him in the mountains on Friday night or drive two hours out of my way to meet him at his apartment and stay there until Saturday (thereby wasting time that could be spent romping in a tent), I think he could afford to pay just the slightest amount of attention. After all, it is my weekend too.

Grump, grump.

Oh, and I have to take my cable box in for repair because it's only showing half of my channels. This is just what I've been dreading. I do without cable for almost 30 years, and then I have it for six months and it's become NEEDY. It needs repair. It needs to be paid. It needs upgrading. Maybe I should just cancel the damned thing. All it does it make me watch vile shows about dead people and keep me awake all night--CSI and Law and Order and Special Victim Units and the Closer and such. How revolting.

On the bright side, I get paid on the first, and my raise should kick in retroactively! Hooray! And maybe I'll finally get paid for some freelance work (I won't hold my breath)! Then I can maybe actually buy Christmas presents for people. At this rate, I'll be able to afford a nice bar of soap for everyone. A small bar. Unscented.

Monday, November 28, 2005

Turkey Coma

Is anyone else out there still eating turkey for at least one meal a day? It makes me feel awfully guilty that I didn't send people home with leftovers. But in my defense, I was drunk.

It was fabulous having everyone over for dinner, and the sheer volume of food was fairly impressive. Architecture Student and I had been slaving over the stove for about five hours when everyone got there, and I have to say, my vegetarian gravy was rock star perfect. In fact, the Lacto Pescetarian ate it as soup tonight, although she had to call me and tell me that she was really enjoying it...until she thought hard about it and decided that it might be a stain on one's character to eat a bowl of gravy for dinner. Anyway, it was all mushroom stock and roasted mushroom puree and toasted barley, so there wasn't anything bad in it. Hard to believe anything could taste that good with neither butter nor cream in it. Almost all of my recipes start with "take a stick of butter." It smelled heavenly, but I think Amanda was the only one who ate any. Everyone else took the meaty route.

For all of you who have been over to see Nothing But Bonfire's Porncake, let me just tell you that it was I who ate the last gigantic piece, sitting in front of the television watching Boston Public and not even bothering with a separate plate. ME! ME! ME! And yes, I ate it directly off of the giant glass pedestal cake plate. But I did use utensils.

Speaking of the Porncake, I was at the gym tonight, scrutinizing the fourth packet of cream cheese expanding on my thighs, when I realized with horror that my BOSS was downstairs. Yea Gods, the horror! Do YOU really want to see your bunghole employer whilst wearing yellow short shorts and all sweaty from the elliptical? Me neither. The other coworker was in there as well, so I was sort of obligated to go speak. WHO WANTS TO SOCIALIZE OUTSIDE OF WORK? Gross. Anyway, at least they weren't witness to my falling into the inner workings of the elliptical and being savagely mangled. I'd never hear the end of it. How in the hell are you supposed to be able to read the latest issue of Vanity Fair if you have to hold on with both hands?

So I am determined to be svelte in time for Christmas, since apparently running a marathon makes you blimp out. What the fuck, people? What kind of cosmic joke is it that I have run 26 miles and trained my ass off, only to have aforementioned ass come back with friends? I have, like, FOUR asses now. And a paunch. It would help if the people in my office would cease with the Krispy Kreme, pumpkin pie, chocolate chip cake distribution, the homecooking mother fuckers! I have all the will power of a crack addicted gutter monkey at fraternity rush.

Monday, November 21, 2005

Saintly

Isn't it funny when you go to the gym and see people who have absolutely no idea what they're doing who make you feel totally smug and superior? I saw a girl on the elliptical who had the resistance set to "concrete slurry," so she had to hold on with both hands and heave-ho to make the step go back down. Later on I saw her on the rowing machine with the weight set to, "Jemima's weekly cheese purchase," so she had to arch her back and stand up to pull it down. That just can't be very effective. Still, she didn't have so much as an ounce of cellulite, so maybe her technique isn't so bad after all. Hmph.

Unfortunately, I noticed a coworker who has joined the same gym in the month since I've set foot in the door, and apparently he goes ALL THE TIME. Now I like this person just fine, and he's awfully funny, but when you're all sweaty and gross and wearing grey cotton, do you really want to see your boss' right hand man? Still, I did notice his so-not-corporate armband tattoo, which kind of brings him down to earth.

So I'm feeling quite pure, as though I have worked off at least one of the fourteen dozen chocolate chip cookies i ate today at the office. I fully expect my new jeans to glide sleekly over my hips when I try them on tomorrow.

In other saintly news, my apartment is once more a sterile environment, vacuumed, dusted, polished, mopped, filed, sorted, Good Willed and thrown away. I'm sure A.S. will ruin it five seconds after waltzing through the door, because instantaneous mess is one of his many talents. However, i care not as long as he'll exercise other talents while he's home. After all, I am making Thanksgiving dinner, therefore I deserve copious amounts of talent.

Speaking of dinner, great huzzahs to Jemima for avoiding the Thanksgiving brouhaha with the excessive amount of family due in town this Thursday afternoon. Everyone is going to my sister's in-law's house, where there will be loud televisions and even louder twin boys (age 2) and about 30 people and asparagus salad with MAYONNAISE. Any of these things would be enough to make me sink into a bog of horror and dread, so I have invited A.S., two of my neighbors, Nothing But Bonfires and her boyfriend to dine avec moi. I'm not certain if Bonfires is technically allowed to eat turkey, since she's British...or is it firecrackers on Fourth of July? ...anyway, she can do whatever she damnwell pleases, since she's making her caramel toffee porncake (quiver, flutter, pitter pat, swoon). It used to be cheesecake, but after I started having sex dreams about it, I rechristened it "The Porncake." Oh, the caramelly, deliciousness...

Amanda is making her macaroni and cheese casserole (MINE! ALL MINE!), and I am making butternut squash roasted with fistfuls of garlic cloves and also shrimp pie with wine and puff pastry crust. God, the whole concept makes my toes curl and my eyes go all steamy. I am so thankful for Thanksgiving.

Sunday, November 20, 2005

A Satisfying Day

Ah, my floor is now covered in a pleasing array of bags. I hate me some shopping, but this time I had a list! The main purchases, which are making me particularly happy, are various Aveda eyeshadows and Phyto hair serum and a new pair of Lucky jeans with a black belt that should make my ass appear, if not small, at least perky. The eyeshadows and hair stuff are the second beauty purchase I have made that excludes animal-tested products. No more Clinique and Mac for me.! I do miss the Mac packaging, but Aveda has nice metal compacts that are refillable, so less waste!

We have a new Urban Outfitters now, but I have to say that 45 minutes after watching my neighbors browse through the piles of ridiculous crap and cheap, ugly clothes, I wanted to throw myself in front of a bus. It makes me feel like I'm five again..."CAN WE LEAVE YET? UUUUUNNNNGGGGHHHHH!!!!! I'M BORED! I HAVE TO PEE! I'M HUNGRYYYY!!! WHIIIINE!"

Vile Dog

Rather than spend another night looking after Old Tampax, I called its owner and said that she had gotten into my NEIGHBOR'S trashcan, and "God only knows what she got into." I figure it was best that he not associate his dog's ass with my almost ass with me sitting only a few feet from his desk. It's just not necessary. So Andrew is going to have to follow her around and APPLY himself to the task of cleaning up her cottony poops (Holly, that's as close as I could get to "applicator.").

Fucking dog.

I've just returned to the sanctity of Rutledge Place (where my neighbors handed me a pint glass of mimosa and some fried oysters with grits and garlic scrambled eggs. Goddammit, I love my house) after a night tending the Bean in her feverish, tantruming state. And USC lost to Clemson, so all is doom and woe and a great wailing over all the land. And of course, A.S had to call last night to rub it in.

[RING RING]

Jemima: Hello?

AS: Hi, how are you?

Jemima: Okay... [waiting for the taunting]

AS: Did you see the game? The CLEMSON vs. Carolina game which USC did not win and Clemson did win and you lost?

Jemima: Hello? Hello? You're breaking up! Are you there?

AS: What? What!

Jemima: [CLICK!]

[RING! RING!]

Jemima: Hello?

AS: Did you just hang up on me? [incredulously]

Jemima: What are you talking about?

AS: Well, I was just saying that USC...

Jemima: Wait! I can't hear you!

AS: YOU DID! YOU DID HANG UP! YOU STINKING, VILE SORE LOSER!

Jemima: Stinking sore loser, hell! You the bitch that got hung up on!

Friday, November 18, 2005

Woo would never have done this to me

What a vile way to wake up in the morning. Not only was there the panic followed by the horror followed by the fury closely followed by despair. This disgusting, revolting, hideous dog snuck into my bathroom last night and ate all my tampons. And the tampons. They were used.

You may ask why I don't flush these things, and it's because of the old plumbing. You may ask why this dog is still gimping around my apartment--and by this, I mean why is she not dead. Well, because she's not mine.

But I really did not enjoy calling the emergency vet and disussing the number (3 to 4) and absorbency (regular) of these tampons with a kind, yet obnoxiously amused woman.

And I sure as HELL am not going to enjoy instructing my coworker, Andrew, that if his old dog can't shit, grab the little string and pull.

Said dog is pacing around and licking my hardwood floors, and every time I screech, she gives me this long-suffering, martyred expression. Fucking dog. Woo may have been foul enough to roll in dead turtles, but she never interfered with feminine hygiene products, for chrissake.

NEVER BUY A LAB, PEOPLE!!! Buy a mix breed, buy a poodle, I don't fucking care, but Labs are putrid, pig-type dogs that are not to be trusted.

Haha, her stomach is burbling. Serves her right.

So anyway, rather than explain to Andrew about the tampon eating, should I just say that my neice is sick and I had to run take care of her and I didn't want to leave Alex so I brought her with me and I'll bring her back on Saturday, when God willing, all of the cotton will have passed? He's back at six and who knows how long it takes to get that out.

WHAT DO I DO? WHY, GOD? WHY MEEEEEEEEEEE?

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

Can't run faster than Charlie the Horse

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Forgive me for shrieking, but I am bowed up with leg cramps. Stupid pointy heels. I shot out of bed at four this morning clutching my calf and swearing and it's only gotten worse. And yes, I've eaten bananas.

Not nice.

Then I had to get up at six to run for the first time since the marathon (lazy bastard that I am). So spent all day dragging around in a fog with three hours' sleep PLUS had the completion of my six month (nine month actually) review. The boss was interrupting me left and right and screaming at me about some unfinished project when I decided things were getting entirely out of hand. So I said, "May I please finish what I was saying...You're sitting here yelling at me about X, Y and Z, which you will recall I asked you to assist me with six weeks ago with constant reminders since then. I am one person doing the work of about six, plus half of your sales research. If it was so all-fired important, then you would have made it a priority and responded to my request...now about that raise."

So I got my raise, retroactive to August (sweet) and actually made him apologize. Of course, then he went off and yelled at his poor acocunt execs. At least I'm not those poor guys.

Right now I am also taking care of a coworkers yellow Lab. She's a sweet old girl, but quite unable to get up and down my stairs alone, as she's about 12. But I certainly don't want to stay at the male coworker's house, because that's just kind of ew. Is it mean to make the old dog sleep at her house alone if I go there to let her out about five times a day? She's pacing around my apartment at the mo, and I think she needs to go out, but I'm a little concerned about carrying her down three flights of stairs in the rain. Groan.

Sweet Revenge

The last twenty-four hours have involved several run-ins with the law.

My housing situation is pretty sweet, which I think I've mentioned before. So, my neighbors and A.S. and I were in the Back 40 roasting some oysters and enjoying a pleasant bonfire last night, when suddently the dogs take off like their tails are on fire and race off to bark at the firemen who are traipsing down the driveway. The Lacto-Pescetarian, who I have decided to call Amanda, because that is her name, and Vinny went off to go chat with them. They agreed that our fire was legal but said that there had been a complaint from one of our neighbors and that if the neighbors complained again, we would have to put it out.

So they five of us went back to drinking our bourbon and chatting merrily and eating more oysters, and an hour later, the firemen are back, all four of them deeply apologetic. Apparently the biggest ass holes in the universe, our hypocritical neighbors, had complained again. So Vince goes into overkill mode, dumping vats of ice and spraying it with the fire extinguisher, while these poor hottie firemen sit there wringing their hands, surrounded by sexy girls eating oysters who are deeply inebriated. We invited them to join us, figuring that would really chap the evil next door neighbors, but they were on duty. So then we asked them to please do the siren when they left, since that was bound to piss off our neighbors more than our little party, so they tooted off around the corner to great huzzahs from us.

Anyway, to make a long story short, this meant war. We have put up with so much shit from these neighbors of ours. They bought the house next door a little less than five years ago and built a little house behind it to live in while renovating. That took a year of cement trucks and hammering and workmen. Then the big house took three more years of lead paint chips, yard destruction, masonry saws at 6:30 a.m., scaffolding blocking the driveway, perverts looking in the windows from their roof, a ruined antique brick driveway, spilled cement, etc. So they have some serious goddamn unmitigated gall to act offended when we sit around to a harmless little bonfire now.

First, it is a well known fact that they hate frogs...or probably nature of any kind. Bring on the toads. We are going to set up a toad and tree frog breeding farm in the backyard. And we're buying some of those remote control frog noisemakers which we will somehow attach outside their bedroom window. Next we're tossing wildflower seed in their front yard so they're ridden with weeds. Also, up till now, we've ignored their deeply obnoxious yip dog, Strudel, the most horrible schnauzer. From now on, whenever Strudel yips, we're calling Animal Control. (They used to pawn her off on various of my neighbors for weeks at a time while they went on vacation, and have conveniently forgotten how obliging we've been to them in the past.) We've also already purchased a fire cage, gotten approval from the fire marshall, called for permission for an oyster roast tonight, and had a very ostentatious inaugural burning tonight, while they paced to and fro up and down their stairs, peering out the window. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! Fuckers!

If anyone else has ideas for various other non-arrestable ways to annoy the neighbors, by all means, let me know. Trust me, they deserve it. They are genuinely awful people.

Oh, speaking of awful, I also got pulled for speeding today. But I only got a warning, and the cop was awfully nice and understanding. See, two types of law enforcement, and they've all been friendly and on our side.

Friday, November 11, 2005

Snart

A Snart is a combination of a sneeze and a fart. But it wasn't me. Apparently everyone in my office is sick, including my boss, (and that wasn't me either, unless wishing made it happen). We need to hire someone to cropdust the building in Lysol, because it's just a pit of germs and disease and pestilence and snot. Anyway, I was strolling by the receptionist's desk to fax something and damned if she didn't snart. Fast U-turn.

I'm presently sitting in the local Mini service department waiting for this useless shower of bastards to fix the same problem they've apparently ignored for two straight visits in as many weeks. I sent a Bite Me letter to their national headquarters, and while I ordinarily wouldn't think this would do any good, Mini actually seems to very on top of things like this. They'll probably fire everyone in the office by 5:00 today. Dammit, I hope so. When I'm back in next week, it'll be nice to see some new faces around here.

So A.S. gets into town this evening, which is wonderful. However, my apartment is filled with dust and molds and mites and germs, and my nose looks like a coke addict's and I probably have sick breath. Plus, my little visitor has finally arrived (thank Christ, I can stop eating cottage cheese and hot pickle and granola and chocolate all at once) five days late (stupid marathon) but better late than breast feeding. So I'm really terribly attractive, bloated with processed foods and PMS complexion. And really, the squalor of Jemima's house is kind of incredible. I'm trying to figure out how I can clean the fridge, do a week's worth of dishes, take out the trash, vacuum, clean the bathroom, and do laundry all in the 45 minutes I'll have between work and his arrival. And that will be the bare minimum it will take to make it habitable for a decent person. I've just been building a wall of mess around me for days...tissues, soup bowls, candy wrappers. There are rings of the stuff around the couch, bed and potty.

I am a bad, bad person.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Oh the incompetence

So I get to work early, right, to get that press release finished by 8:00. It was good stuff too, if I do say so myself. Very aggressive writing, punchy, dripping with nuance. Anyway, I send it to my boss, fully expecting him to leap on it and turn it around so we can get it to Puerto Rico immediately. Because after he ruined my night and left me voicemails and emails about what an emergency this was, he's definitely going to pounce on it right away...or by noon...or by afternoon...or maybe by freaking close of business???? WTF?

So I finally badger him into scanning it (several emails later) and he sends it back saying, "There are some spelling errors (chose) comes to mind."

Chose? CHOSE!?! The ass clown doesn't think that "chose" is an actual word. Not to mention, you can clearly see he has no effing CLUE about normal sentence structure. DICK! HEAD!

There weren't any goddamn typos in that press release. This is the guy who frequently tries to instruct me to use the word "architected" in business language, so I don't think he's in any position to give me proper direction. So I send it to the CEO who approves it and off to Puerto Rico it goes, and then my stupid boss decides to finally respond to my email hours after I mailed it to him, telling me not to send it until we've had time to talk and he can provide input. Frankly, I don't want his input. It's going to be stupid anyway. Plus, it was just too damned late. But he was in such a foul temper (I don't know why, since presumably he got more than a couple of hours' sleep, since he was NOT AWAKE writing press releases), I thought I'd better wait to tell him the CEO already gave me the okay.

Would it kill the fates to just give me a competent boss for once?

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

And may I add...

...that I owe Marcheline a cyber hug. She makes it nice to be back.

Oh Boy...Asshat's Back

I have a new Nerve (you may recall the old boss, a massive incompetent ass hat). Well my new boss just called me while I was in the middle of bathing a three year old (babysitting, not my three year old) and said he needs a press release written right now. It's NINE O'CLOCK AT NIGHT! At the time, I didn't even have my computer with me. I'm also sick. And tired and snotty. And my ears hurt. And they only pay me to work from 8:30 to 5:30, and I think that's ample. Granted, I spend a large part of that time reading blogs and web surfing, but I comfort myseld that I'm keeping abreast of the global technology trends. Anyway...I was looking forward to taking an extremely hot shower, slucking back a hot toddy and some Amoxicillin (God, I'm hot) and going to bed. Now I'll be up all night working on a press release that won't get approved by our client for about a month anyway, while I will get shat upon by the new Ass Clown every twenty minutes until it gets the stamp of approval (like any of this is my fault). I wonder what would happen if I slipped a Xanax into his Red Bull. The man needs to CALM THE FUCK DOWN!

And I don't have my computer electrical cord, so i need to come up with something brilliant in 2:45. Dammit. I'm so screwed.

I have a question. Is it lazy of me not to want to do this press release? This is, after all, my job. Is it unreasonable for me to think of my workaholic, yet extremely moronic, boss with disdain right now? Is it okay to give him the mental finger right now? I don't want him dead or anything, but a nice hemorrhoid wouldn't come amiss.

I wish that A.S. were around for me to whine to. He's awfully comforting and manages to calm me down and pep me up at the same time. That and he makes good coffee. Sigh...

More KD

Okay, I'm sick and have PST (Preparing for my Special Time) so I think I can be forgiven for wallowing in a touch of self pity. Am currently feeling like my apartment is too gross for words, I've eaten nothing but crap today, I could die and no one would know or care, and my throat is all scratchy and my head hurts. Several of those complaints are related, since I am looking around at the piles of Lik-M-Aid and Laffy Taffy bars and Ben & Jerry's Peace Pop wrappers lying about on the couch, where I have been planted for most of the afternoon. And clothes from the weekend's trips and luggage from yesterday's excursion to Kansas are littering every surface of the bedroom. It's so cluttered in here, with the minutia of almost 30 years of living crammed into three dinky rooms...which leads me to believe I am a dismal failure for not being able to afford to just buy a house. I will rent forever in this house that is collapsing around my ears. Call me Miss Havisham.

Also, my dermatologist has prescribed Retin-A because I AM OLD. Apparently my birth control pills are causing my skin to age and freckle in a really uncharming, non J Crew model cinnamon sprinkle type way. This is so unfair. And my Ob/Gyn says that undoubtedly pregnancy will do the same thing to me. Great...something else to look forward to someday. I'll have tits that give me whiplash and a brown skin-moustache.

Well, I have nothing to worry about, since I will be hiding in my closet for the rest of my life, starting now.

The really fun thing about Retin-A, apart from peeling and not being able to get your eyebrows waxed ever again and the basic annoyance of having to use it every night and not being able to even think about sun....where was I going here? Hmmmmmmmm....oh yes, it actually makes your skin worse for awhile. Don't you wish they would give you a time frame for that? You will look for a troll for approximately six.... days, weeks or months???

Anyway, I think I need a different career. For one, I just can't keep up with the manicures and polished shoes and coiffed hair. I wonder what I am qualified to do. That I wouldn't get sick of within about a year. Here is what I am good at:

Let's see...
Finding utterly bizarre things online (bacon scented air freshener, anyone?)
Dispensing unwanted advice
Discovering strange yet exotic vacations
Bleeding at any contact sporting event
Cooking under various conditions, including bears and hurricanes
Remembering what I was eating on almost any day of my entire life
Telepathically knowing when there is a spider on the ceiling without even looking
Catching toads
Running a very long way
Planning self improvement
Procrastinating
Purchasing good cheese (the rind of which is also littering my kitchen table from the quarter pound of it I ate earlier)

Tuesday, November 08, 2005

Kansas Disease

I have Kansas Disease. This is where you fly to Kansas and instantly some woman with a mudflap hacks Virginia Slims breath all over you and you promptly keel over and die. I have a sore throat and a headache and jolly green giants coming out my head. Sucks.

I have an ironic observation to make. I was visiting this big insurance company, right? Well, every single woman I met in there was at least 75 lbs overweight. It didn't bother me personally, and I got along great with them, although I felt really embarassed the one time that i joked that some situation or other gave me a "heart attack." Because these girls are on their way. But I think about how many diseases in this country could be prevented with health lifestyle and exercise, and the freaking high cost of health care and the lack of insurance investment in these preventative measures...and here I saw the root of all evil. Their cafeteria was in the basement, all dark and creepy with no windows, and everything there was fried, slathered in gravy, saturated with transfat (I talk like i even know what that is). And this is a company that judges the health risks of millions of Kansans. DOOM!

Oh, and can I just explain how vile the breath of the man sitting next to me on the way back home. Everytime he exhaled, I felt my flesh melting. I even offered him gum, a mint, an Altoid...but he refused every one of them. Is it rude to shake people and force them to chew gum?

Sorry for the rant. Like I said, I'm sick.

Sunday, November 06, 2005

Long Time No Blog

I've been gone so long, I feel like cyber space has a dial tone.

Here's what I've been doing. Last weekend, I ran a marathon. Tomorrow I have to go to Kansas for work...for the day. Ew. Friday I was in Clemson visiting A.S. in his empty, monastic apartment. Saturday I was in Charlotte to visit godchild, friends and to see Cirque du Soleil (v. awesome). Today, I drove home and am packing. I'm already tired.

What's in Kansas? I bet it's just cold there and I won't like it. I think I should go into the Library Sciences. I bet they don't make you travel to stupid places if you're a librarian.

I'm debating taking a different job, because the one I have now is hideously boring and unfulfilling. But A.S. and I are discussing moving to San Francisco next fall, and that would mean two jobs in one year, which always looks bad on a resume. What to do...