new posty goodness

I've done my new job orientation yesterday and I like my boss tolerably well and I start on Monday (with a tiny second orientation on Saturday). I'm working for the company that does those demos for HEB, I'm going to be a demo lady. It pays way better than the truckstop/smokehouse job and I have 5 co-workers instead of 80, one manager instead of 6, and a much higher degree of autonomy. Plus I'll be getting a larger raise sooner if I do a good job and there's several chances for advancement in the next months that would get me more hours, more responsibilty and recognition, and most importantly, higher pay. Our town's new, enormous HEB is opening on Monday, so that's what the orientation of Saturday is about. We get a sneak peek at the new store so we know where everything is on Monday. I'm actually kind of excited about the grand opening, in a sick, corporate kind of way.

Oh, here's photos of Hallowigs:

First of all...

I got the better job for sure and I start Wednesday, so I'm happy. And I start Wednesday, but I don't work again after that until at least Monday, so I'm thrilled to have All Hallows off. Yayy! Even if this job sucks as much as the one I'm working now (not likely--I love 98% of the people I work with, but the work is too hard for my old body and I hate the customers 79% of the time), I still make $1.50 more an hour! Yayyy!

Anyhoo, I put Hallowig pictures up on the Hallowig-along and I'll be putting finished pictures here, as soon as I take them. In the meantime, click on the Hallowig-along button in the sidebar under "knitting" and "knit-alongs" and it will take you to a page where you can see my current in-progress pictures.

In other news, my friend Kathey (who I've been horribly neglectful of whilst I've been doing work stuff) is having her birthday today (the 24th) and has just bought a house and found a lump in her armpit, so please, please send her your most positive energy for a healthful and happy conclusion to both events (I'm not including her birthday as an event, as she's gotten through those before with no help. You might send her psychic Birthday Love, tho.) She's such a love, if you knew her you'd feel as blessed as I do.

I rock.

If only I really was a drunken, wastrel pirate with a speech impediment. Then I could truly be happy! I haven't heard about the better job yet but I know I will. I'm excited about it and going to work in the meantime is only as depressing and painful as I let it be. Which is unfortunately pretty damn depressing and painful, but at least I know that the problem is really me. Hee hee.

Tomorrow I'm posting pictures of my Hallowigs to here and the wig-along for everyone to see, but while I was taking pictures of them and getting all fired up and knitting on them some I realized that I somehow skipped three decreases all at the same marker on the black wig. I don't know how many times I have to say it, people. Don't knit drunk, I tell you. In related news, I trimmed my hair the other night. Anyway, picture picture picture, bitch bitch bitch. Thanks for listening.
Good night.

p.s. Kathey, I'm writing you a letter tomorrow also. I would do it tonite but I'm really sleepy and I have tomorrow off, and I'm so excited about getting some good sleep and maybe being in a good mood tomorrow that I have to go do it! Loves ya! Talk to you tomorrow!

I'm in a terrible mood

and I just want to be left alone. I might hear about getting a better job this week, or I might not. Either way, I had a terrible day today and I'd rather just sleep. G'night.

Goodbye, cruel world

When the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, etcetera, etcetera. I'm really only joking, but it's how I feel today. Plus it would just be so pathetically funny to write your doing-myself-in note on your blog. Just think about it. If somebody told you that they heard someone wrote the final letter on their blog and then really did it, you would laugh and say, "That's sad." Then you would laugh some more.

Thinking further about the title and first line here, I'd like to start a movement to change the official "stereotypical suicidal melodromatic saying" from "goodbye cruel world" to "screw you guys, I'm going home." I think it says more about our current culture and apathy. That's all for today. I thought I got a better job, but they just called to tell me they hired someone else. I hate my job and it sucks and I hate everyone who works there and I smell like barbecue on my day off and I hate everything, so, screw you guys, I'm going home.

Vote or not?

The crazy guys that started up hotornot.com have got all het up about the election coming up and desperately want you to vote. They don't care who you vote for or why, they just want you to do it, and they want you to do it so bad they'll give you money for it! You can enter a sweepstakes to win two hundred thousand dollars by clicking right here and when you do, I'll be entered to win one hundred thousand dollars for telling you about it, then you can tell some people to enter and when they do you'll be entered to win one hundred thou. It's a win-win. Do it. Doitdoitdoitdoit. Do it. You know you want to vote. You know you want an ass-load of money.

Please just take this post and slit my throat with it.

I worked from 12:30 to 8:30 today, completely non-stop. I ended up not taking a break at all (my fault--I should have forced the issue like everyone else had to, but I couldn't see making that kind of fuss for 20 minutes of sitting in the back rubbing my feet and weeping.) and I never stood still unless I was taking an order or waiting for a workstation so I could fill an order. The people I work with are nicer and nicer as they warm up to me and I had a good time talking to them when I could (mostly out of the corners of our mouths as we stood working at adjacent tables for 30 seconds or a minute) and I like working a lot better when I'm constantly busy than when I have long stretches when I'm idle. So it's kind of okay. And that's all I have to say today.

Also, I started another Hallowig where I'm cabling the knit ridges. This one is red. I started one about a week ago that's black and has plain ridges and is about an inch and a half shorter than reccomended because it's for my mom and she's really tiny. The red one is for my friend who really needs a Hallowig right now. Maybe it won't suck too much and I'll finish both of them and post some silly pictures. Love you guys, please stick with me until I get over this starting work shit and start posting again.

Not talking about my job today

It's still kind of weird to me to even have a job after so long, and it's really kind of frustrating to talk about it. It isn't terribly hard or challenging, and I've done jobs way harder, whether we're talking mentally or physically. And almost (I'd say 98.6% of about 80 people) everyone is being really nice and understanding and helpful, and I'm not the only new kid, so my mistakes aren't in the spotlight so much. But I'm totally out of shape and condition, so standing for 8 hours is killing me, and I know I'll get stronger almost immediately, but when I hit the wall I want to quit.

Oh, I guess I am talking about my job today. I just keep telling myself, "You can do this. This is nothing, you can totally do this. There are people here who can do this who are waaaaayy less smart and resourceful than you. And someone still might call you back for a better job..." I'm off tomorrow, and I plan to drink all day so I won't be hungover on Sunday when I work again. I'm actually too tired and sore to drink tonite, if you can believe it. I mean, really.

I wrote a really long, really positive upbeat post about the job day before yesterday, but when I clicked 'save as draft' my computer re-started and Jesus erased that post because He hates lies and the lying liars that tell them. Or something like that, I'm watching The 700 Club because my feet really hurt and I want to press them up against the screen when that blond lady starts healing people. Maybe if she mentions my screaming, melting feet I'll turn Baptist or something. Okay, okay, really this is just what comes on after Whose Line is it Anyway? and I'm too lazy to get up and find the clicker.

Okay, post over, I'm going to take a hot bath and read my book. G'nite!

Doing physical labor for money sucks, as an economical system.

I would much rather be paid for my "potential" than my actual output. Everyone's always telling me how much "potential" I have, but I'm only getting paid slightly more than minimum wage (and about $3/hr less than my last real job) to do the hardest work I've done since the last Christmas I worked gift-retail. And everyone keeps telling me it's going to get harder. Friday will be harder. October will be harder, the holidays will be immeasureably harder. At least 98% of the people I work with don't suck. Today.
In other news, do you automatically die when your feet melt and your legs fall off, because that's pretty much what I think is going to happen soon. Jesus. Working for a living. Totally overrated.

P.S. I ran into my manager about 10 minutes after I clocked out today, in the grocery store. She was buying groceries for tomorrow and I was buying 18 LoneStar tallboys in a big fucking hurry. Hurray for job security!

Guess who's gainfully employed as of today?

It wasn't George W., either. I start Wednesday. It's just a little throwaway convienence store/deli counter job, making shit wages, but the important part is, there are actual wages involved. You know, besides like, the wages of sin and everything. I'm so excited about and focused on getting my first paycheck, I think I'll be the best employee they've ever had. I went to the thrift this afternoon and bought a bunch of ugly polo shirts so I can meet the dress code and so if I get anything ucky on them I can just throw them away. It was bag sale day, so there's another big bonus!

I had to sign a confidentiality agreement today saying I wouldn't give away any proprietary information about their customers or vendors or procedures or organization, so I guess any work-related blogging will have to be maddeningly vague. Maddening to me, anyway. I've worked in retail a looooong time and I know how to bitch about work without telling tales out of school, but it's kind of funny to have this paper I signed hanging over my head.

It's like Girls Gone Wild in 1800's Japan!

When I first ran across these woodblock pictures that's what I thought, because they appeared all to have the same sort of "naughty maids on the master's day in town" ethos to the composition, sort of all rumpled satin and open-mouthed kissing. Then I surfed onto the first guy with a mister the size of his neck being fondled by a geisha. Or the "get into the most uncomfortable posture ever and I'll finger you" pictures. Whoo.

It's called Shunga! It even sounds dirty. Even really famous wonderful woodblock artists like Hiroshige who you thought only did well-respected seasonal landscapes did them, and upon further research I find they were common as, well, as Playboy magazines today!

Hooray for olden-days Japanese pornography! Hooray for skinny pale Japanese guys with funny hair cuts and ridiculously massive rods diddling skinny pale Japanese ladies holding odd household objects! Hooray for 37 disturbing shades of vulvas! Hooray for everyone's kimono being monstrously askew!

I have triumphed over my camera!

I have triumphed over my computer! I have triumphed over my stomach virus! I feel victorious, well, non-pukirific, and smart! Also, here are some photos:

Shapely Tank is vanquished!

    

Here are the promised pictures of the kid:

 
And here are some pictures of my lovely, even-tempered, angelic adorable cat, because this is, after all, a knitting blog:

     
  

More news later, I have to go put in a second job app for today!

I've been quite ill the last few days

and I'm not quite up to a full blog post yet but I'd like you all to know I'm not dead. Yet. Actually, I'm sure I won't die because I finally quit puking and having explosive toilet explosions. I'm lots better today and I'm sure I'll be completely cured tomorrow, perfectly capable of being amusing. Thanks for you patience. ;0)

Arrrrrrrrrrr!

Tomorrow be International Talk Like a Pirate Day! I keeps forgettin' an' then I remembers an' I'm happy all over again. I gets a tingly feeling inside like when I tortures someone or plunders somethin'.

Anyway, here's a survey you should go take, thanks to Addie:


You Are A Pirate!


What Type Of Swashbuckler Are You?
brought to you by Maddog Varuka & Dawg Brown

There's girl and boy pictures for each result! Yayyy, boobies. Oh, and go visit my pirate alter-ego on Myspace: The dastardly, deadly, devious (and drop-dead gorgeous--hey, this is a fantasyland pretend identity) Cap'n Musketball Miranda! Scourge of the Sea! Dog of the Deep! Raider of the Fridge!

Anyway, computer and camera are still not getting along and it's all I can do to not bash in the CPU with the camera and hang myself with the USB cord. Mom pointed out that the computer is actually hers, so if I did that she'd be quite upset. That helped.

So I drank a lot of whiskey last night, can you guess what happened this morning? That's right, the munchkin came over for about 30 minutes. April, the teenaged biological mom, was watching her today and got called in to sign some papers for her new job, and by the time she dropped the kid off here she had her throwing a fit. Which I hate. As soon as April left I put her in time out and explained to her that I understood she was unhappy and disappointed, but that if she continued to have a fit we would have NO FUN, while if she would calm down and play nice we would have LOTS of fun and when April came back she'd be jealous and miserable, and also that my poor dad was in the room too and couldn't watch tv until she quit being such a butt. Guess what happened. That's right, we had a blast. She wanted to watch part of a movie so I sent her over to the bookcase to pick one out and she picked Return of the Jedi in deference to my dad (and because she has a major bone for Yoda, who is on the box), and then proceeded to make dad play Barbie Slut Fight (a real game that any child under the age of 9 will spontaneously begin playing the moment you give them a Barbie, even Amish children instinctively know how to do it) until she decided to torment my cat (she's not mean to her, the cat just hates children of any stripe and Sierra looooooves her and follows her around and pets her the wrong way and wants to put her face on her and kiss her). Then April came back and was kind of dissapointed because the kiddo was calm and happy and likely to stay that way all day.

Anyway, go talk like a pirate. The website even has hilarious pirate pick-up lines which I guarantee will work on me.

Babysitting Drama plus Ebay News plus Software Drama =

So, I finished my Shapely Tank, and I managed to catch a photo of the kiddo with pants on her head, and I also got a pic of her (she's two, mind you, and can't read yet) fallen asleep for her nap with a book across her chest, and I can't post any of them here because my computer has decided not to recognize my camera. I've posted many a picture from this same camera before, mind you, but now the computer can't find it (even when I go to "settings" "control panel" "new hardware" and ascertain that the computer can indeed find my camera.)

Never mind, I already cried today over it, there are much better things to cry over, like the various Hurricanes and Tropical Storms that have and are still wreaking havoc across my part of the world. To which I say, come stay at my house, we know when to evacuate and will be going to Austin, not Houston. Really. E-mail me and I'll tell you where to call to get in touch with me. Really.

But my picture thing is still getting me down. I really want to post a picture of Panty-Head with Pants (not panties) on her Head. Just captured today, and totally useless as long as I'm having this problem. She was awesome today, btw. We walked 4 blocks to the hardware store, bought the wrong plunger (how can you buy the wrong plunger? Ask my mom), watched the huge earth-moving equipment building the parking lot for our new grocery store, and walked 4 blocks home, and she was as good as a two-year-old can be. Why would I undertake that kind of walk with a toddler, you ask? Because I asked her if she'd like to go with me or stay home with my mom (my mom is always her preference) and she said go with me, and I asked her if she'd like to walk or go in the car (we walk two blocks to the park every day she's with me because I said so, just like why she does the arm-over-arm monkey bars every day we go to the park--because I'm living my junior-high humiliations through her and obliterating them by the work she does with me to assure she'll never submit to them) and she goes, "I go wi' Ke'ye and WAK, no CAW!"

It took us approximately 1.5 hours to walk 4 blocks, buy the wrong plunger, watch the backhoe and bulldozer and dump truck and flattener and walk back, with all the usual stops at the lawn mower store and the boat store (on the way, we had to walk by them and she fricking loves any kind of specialized equipment) and I loved every minute. Fault me, go ahead. I'm the strictest child-raising-advocate you can find and I fricking LOVED it.

Until I got back and realized we got the wrong plunger. And then there was diarrhea. Yep. And she usually goes home around 4 o'clock, but she didn't go home till 8 tonite. I was ready to fall down. Yet I still knitted her baby doll a hat ("This ma babu, she gost no HAT!") and gave her a bath (After the squirts episode: mom loved spraying her with the movable shower head, I loved getting all the poop off her and we all hated being in proximity to the toilet that hadn't been PROPERLY plunged because I bought the wrong plunger. I wonder what distracted me?) and discussed the movie version of "Horton Hears a Who" with her. Anyway, I'm most proud of finishing my Shapely Tank last night and not putting the munchkin in a dog kennel (I've got one) at 5:30 this evening (shortly after the bath).

Oh, and by the way, my shoes got a bid today and 39 people have looked at them and I really appreciate anything y'all have done to get those stats for me.

New pandering capitalist content!

Hey, this isn't a real entry, I'm just letting everyone know that I've sold my soul to Ebay and am trying to get rid of some shoes, and if that goes well (or frankly, even if it doesn't) I'll be liquidating more stuff that's perfectly good, yet needs to get the hell out of my house so I don't have to move it when I move. And it wouldn't hurt if I made a couple cool bucks on it, either. Luckily everything I own came from a thrift store, swap meet or bulky garbage day (not entirely true, some stuff was given to me as gifts), so I can pretty much put anything on with no reserve and if it sells for any amount of money at all I'm making something off it.

Anyway, I have to go babysit now, the munchkin just got here and there's only so long I feel comfortable letting her eat breakfast in front of The Lion King and still getting paid for it.

New Job Search News; Depressing, Doleful Dreck

So I put in two job applications today, each one at a place where there were two openings I qualified for. And I came within an eyelash of putting in an app for a busboy job. But I haven't sunk quite that low, though. Then I went by my babysittee's mom's work to find out if I was working for her tomorrow and found out her idiot of a 19 year old daughter went in cold to an on-the-spot job fair yesterday and got a job as an assistant manager starting Monday. They called her back today to tell her. I could have died. I still might. Here I am, completely not an imbecilic moron, and she gets a job right out of the bag and I'm wandering around, mumbling and stranded, living in a house made out of copies of my resume begging for busboy jobs. Okay, okay, I've only been looking for two days, but come on, that's a little depressing, isn't it? Plus, she's totally square. I mean, she's shaped like a shoebox. There's her head, then her neck, then a shoebox going down longways with arms and legs at the corners. And these ridiculous blow-up-doll-style tits that an 11 year old would be ashamed of. Plus I might have mentioned that she's dumb enough that drooling retards at the state school pat her on the head and try to give her helpful advice.

Okay, okay, I'm done venting. Please ignore all that bile up there, I only meant it mostly. I'm good, I'm great, I'm getting a job. I feel really positive about three or four of the apps I've put in, I'm sure I'm getting called by Monday. All I have to do is wait it out and try hard. I can do this!

Job Search Sucks, Return to Alcoholic Haze Considered

I went on my first job interview in almost six years yesterday and I nearly crapped my pants. It was so weird. I'm not even used to talking to people who haven't bought me liquor. I'm guessing this means I maybe didn't do as well as I could have, but I've got some experience now, I'm not going in blind anymore. So that's good.

In other news, we're about to be creamed by a hurricane in about 12 hours and there isn't a weatherman in the world who will admit it. They're all, "It's going to come in between New Orleans and Jacksonville. (Hurricane Ivan moves westward at approximately 300 mph on the radar map behind him) This hurricane will definitely not go any more west at all, ever. (Hurrican Ivan zeroes in on Houston) It will especially not go anywhere near Texas, or Kellye Fry or her stuff. (Hurricane Ivan makes an obscene gesture directly into the camera)" Liars. Dirty liars. Ivan's coming to dinner, for sure. We haven't had one hit us in a while, it's totally time.

We went to get batteries and bottled water and candy and beer yesterday, and bread. For some reason whenever we have heavy weather around here the first thing everyone thinks of is buying bread. I'm not joking. If there's a severe thunderstorm warning on the 5 o'clock news, the bread isle at the supermarket will be completely denuded by 6:15. I know, I've been trying to figure it out since I was five. "So when Hurricane Ivan gets here, we'll just make him a sandwich and he'll spare our house."

And I was bad and didn't go get a job today, but it rained cats and dogs all morning and afternoon, and I woke up with a crick in my back from sleeping on my tummy in the bowl of my mattress. Plus I was a little hungover and I wanted to sit on the couch all day in my jammies and color. Shut up. You have a job. Anyway, it was a pretty good day. I made potato soup for dinner and it was really good. Plus if our house gets blown off this weekend I might not have to get a job at all! I can just live off Red Cross or something. Go live with Jimmy Carter. Yay! I love peanuts!

Oh, yeah

My free webstat thingie, their servers crashed and ate dirt and killed everything, so I have no more webstats. If they end up finding the data and reinstating their service, I might go back with them, but I'm too disheartened to try to start over with someone new. That was part of why I wasn't posting for a while, because when the site crashed the code in my template that let them read my visitor info went hooonutty and my blog could only publish from the top down to where the code was, and it reads down the template like: background, title, headline, sidebar top to bottom, posts top to bottom. And the webstat code was right below the "e-mail me!" part of the sidebar, so I had no blog for like two days and I knew what the general problem was but not which tags were actually causing it, and I didn't have the energy to find it, but then I tried to check my stats and got a huge "you've been buttfucked" error message and ran over to the template and fixed it. The other part of the problem was that Blogger wasn't always publishing my posts when I clicked "Publish Post," it was sometimes deleting them because of some problem, probably with my crappy internet provider.

In other news, I still need a job even though I applied for two jobs in two days. < sigh > This is so hard. But I really do have to get focused and do it. I have to cut the lawn tomorrow and do some sorting of boxes of crap, then Monday I'm applying for out of town jobs in the morning and driving around and applying for any job I see a sign for here in town. Send me good thoughts. You know, or a check. I'm not particular.

Readership!

I was going crazy with pride and joy when regualar and not-so-regular readers started commenting on my posts, and now it's only going to get worse.
I've had two (2) e-mails in the last week from people who read my blog and want me to post more. How fucking cool is that? I mean, I'm no Wil Wheaton, but actual people (one of which I don't know at all, one of which is my best friend) are actually reading and want to hear more! Next, I take over the WORLD!!! Mwwwwwaaahhhaaaaahhaaaa*choke*cough*hack

Anyhow, Hooray! for everyone who reads my demented ramblings and double Hooray! Hooray! for everyone who gives me feedback of any kind. (Comments still rock my world, and I actually do check for them pretty often and always respond with gratitude to the poster if they leave any way for me to.) Maybe once I get a job there can even be contests and prizes and fun things like that! Thanks a million to anyone and everyone who drops in and reads me, I appreciate it like crazy.

Oh. My. God.

I. Must. Knit. This.


Actually, many, many, many of them. You just wait, sister. Heee hee hee.

Panty-Head Saves the Day!

So, my mom just found out that the pain in her low back isn't a kidney infection, it's a herniated disk. So the doctor gave her 10 days of muscle relaxers to try to get it out of spasm so they can take some films for comparison to her other films from when the bones in her neck went all hooey. No, this story doesn't end with me taking several of them and feeling terrific.

So, the Dodge place in Wharton called to say a part she had ordered was in, and I had the munchkin for the day, so mom was going to drive over and pick it up herself. She's on day 6 of muscle relaxers, so I was "helping" her find her keys. Okay, she was pacing back and forth and getting in my way while I looked for her keys, then she'd bump into me and go, "What was I doing?" with this look on her face like she was trying to remember who I was. Then she found her keys, picked them up, dropped them and paced off to the other end of the house. Two seconds after the keys left her hand we had this conversation:

Me: "Mom, what are you doing now?!" (frustrated and shrill)

Her: "I'm LOOKING for my KEYS!!!" (more frustrated and more shrill)

Me: "THESE fucking keys that you just had in your FUCKING hand before you went to fucking PSYCHO PILL LAND!?!"

Her: "I guess so?"

So I put the bambino in the car seat and drove her, obviously. And she's halving the dosage because I told her if she loses her glasses one more time I'm putting her in the home with the lowest rating I can find, wherever will take her for only her SSI check.

Shut up, you didn't have to help her "find" her glasses 25 times yesterday. That's right, I fucking counted.

Anyway, that's not even what this story is about. That's just why I was driving 15 minutes down the highway with a highly irritable 2 year old and a cranky, drugged older person. And the kiddo was starting to have a serious fit strapped in back there and I was doing the quasar-fast eye back-and-forth thing you do with a kid throwing a fit when you're about to crash the godddam car because your mom won't STOP FUCKING SINGING.

And here is the point of my story: I threw the kid's daypack in the backseat and had her pull out her just-in-case pair of emergency panties and put them on her head like a hat, and we started calling her Panty-Head and telling stories (and yes, even singing songs) about Panty-Head and she was laughing and I was laughing and mom was laughing and no one had to die in a firey car crash of death.

The End! Maybe tomorrow I'll tell you about how this evening a Pineapple saved the lives of several young women who angered me...