wobbly

As usual, I am vacillating between frustration, hope, and everything in-between with the job situation. The job at the stable is weeks away from being reality, because I have to attend an open house tonight, where I will fill out a formal application. Then there is a two week training process. And after all that, I'll be working part-time for little $, until more hours open up.

I was all gung-ho at the prospect of working with the horses, but after speaking with some of the stable staff, it seems that the place is less a working stable and more a retirement home for semi-lame horses. I thought that the stable was more lively in its public realm, giving riding lessons and boarding horses - but according to the staff, most of the horses never get ridden unless they're being led around in circles for the kids. Sort of the last stop-off before the glue factory.

Also, once I looked at the grounds, the barns are really old and the place is sort of a mess. I'm just not sure this is where I really want to hang my hat. The two staffers I spent the most time with detailed how they worked to get by, doing the least they could and still getting past inspection.

I've been sending resumes out every day, and have one local company that has sent me a formal application. If they offer me a job, I think I may take that instead. Still don't know what they're offering as salary, though... and at the end of the day, I work because I need to pay the bills. If I find a job that makes me pirouette and sing "tra-la-laaaa" but doesn't make the monthly payments, it's not good enough.

Ye gods and little fishes, I hate this feeling.

Bear's brother is coming to visit us this weekend, and I feel totally inadequate as a hostess, being that we're basically broke and struggling right now, and can't take him out on the town or anything. Also, our living room sofa is still in the couch hospital being reconstructed, so all we have is folding canvas travel chairs to sit on. How do you spell classy?

He kind of invited himself, but since I have never met any of Bear's family, and Bear hasn't seen his brother in ages, and since he's traveling all the way across the country on his own dime for the visit, we couldn't say no. I hope he's cool with everything, and that he has a good time regardless of the sitcheeashun.

I need to mow the lawn(s) and clean the house, but I feel about as motivated as a piece of abc gum on the underside of a park bench. If I have any choice in the matter, next life I'm coming back as a cat.

crazy back

Okay, ever seen this show? It's my new obsession. Check the TLC channel if you wanna check it out, or you can watch the episodes (in full!) on the TLC website. Pretty damn cool.

So anyway, there's this chick named "Kat Von D". This is she:


I've learned so much from her already. How to open your own business at the age of 25? Nope. I have no idea how she did it. The words "independently wealthy" come to mind. No, what I've learned is the new lexicon for tatoo-ese. The following words are, apparently, indispensable when dealing with tattoo artists, tattoo groupies, and tattoo customers:

• STOKED - greatly looking forward to it, I daresay, guvna
  
• GNARLY - in its original version, this word had a negative connotation, but it has gradually been elevated to the status of representing something so completely wicked, it's rad.
  
• RAD - used when encountered with an unexpected need for a positive adjective
  
• SHUT THE FRONT DOOR!!!...!!...! - the sickeningly cutesiest possible substitute for "shut the fuck up" (!!!...!!..!)
• KICKIN' IT - can be used interchangeably to express accomplishment or what people do on the shiny gold couch while they're waiting for Kat to draw up their skin art.
  

Kat? She's kind of like Cher, with mega tats. That was tats, not... yeah, anyway. "LA Ink" is an offshoot of the original reality tat show, "Miami Ink", where Kat used to tat (how do ya like that?). I'm pretty sure they staged the big final argument which had Kat storming out in tears because she had already decided to go back to LA and start her own tat shop AND spinoff TV show. Whatevs.


Point is, the show is RAD* as hell because not only is her tat shop KICKIN'*, you get to see brand new tats and artists working them up on every show! It's kind of like a tattoo magazine in motion!

Of course they include all the dramatics, like people who are getting a tattoo in memory of someone who died, and they get all weepy while they're telling the story. Then there are the celebrity tats - so far Eve, Jesse Metcalf, and some other semi-famous dude. There are, of course, plenty of you scratch my back I'll tattoo yours guests, including jewelers, plastic surgeons, bakeries, bikini shops, and the like. All are eager for a name-dropping on LA Ink!

And.

What's more...

I've officially sent in my entry to be on the show! I chose Kat as my preferred tat artist, and the tattoo? (wait for it) A back piece - a huge baobab tree. In case you care, they look like this:


The story behind the tattoo? Well, I don't want to give too much away... let's just say that it's a heartbreaking story of love and loss - with the hope of reunion shining like a bright star at the end of a dark and lonely highway.

SHUT THE FRONT DOOR*... it'll be great! (!!! !! !)

I'm almost sure they'll pick me to be on the show. Not because I'm so very camera-worthy, or because the tattoo I want is so totally GNARLY*. No, they'll pick me because you have to pay for your own airfare and lodging and the tattoo, too - and I'm unemployed.

I'm STOKED*!

* see lexicon

The Old Westbury Scottish Highland Games 2007

This is Jesse Ofgang. He may be the best bagpipe player of his age in the world. When Bear and I first met Jesse, he was something like fourteen years old. He was competing in the solo piping competition at the Scottish Highland Games at Old Westbury Gardens, NY.

We had been wandering about, from one competition area to the next, and we stumbled on Jesse. It was like someone had slowed the rest of the world down and put glue on the bottoms of our shoes. We just stood there and gaped. He was about four foot six, so skinny his kilt looked more like a pencil holder, and his long hair was about halfway to the floor. And man, could the kid PLAY! It didn't seem possible that such a small kid could get enough air in him to play the pipes like that.

As the years have gone by, the highland games have changed somewhat, and now there are no longer bagpipe band competitions and solo piping competitions. Sadly, it's turning more into a "celtic festival" of vendors and performance music - though they still feature the caber toss and other games.

Luckily, though, we don't have to go without our yearly "Jesse fix" because Jesse's entire family has formed a band called "MacTalla Mor".



Jesse's little brother (far right) also plays the bagpipes, his sister sings lead with a voice reminiscent of Natalie Merchant, and his mom plays the bodhran (Irish hand held drum). They do a mix of traditional celtic stuff, with some more modern stuff worked in. For me, the highlight of their set is when Jesse takes the stage and plays a bagpipe solo called "The Mason's Apron". It's like the pipes are going to burst into flames at any second.

Here's a YouTube clip that shows a bit of the piping - the camera is much too far away from the stage, but the sound quality is pretty damn good.



Bear bought me a MacTalla Mor tee shirt with their newest CD cover art on the front, and a beautiful silver thistle ring. We saw hunting birds - red tailed hawks, kestrels, and owls - up close and personal. We ate meat pies and bridies and sausage rolls with "HP Sauce" (a british sauce that beats the pants off of A-1).


We heard the Gordon Highlanders pipe band play - they were the ones that stood around us in a circle and played when Bear went down on one knee and proposed to me right there at the games in 2001.

It was a great day!

Howdy, NEIGHHHHbor!

In keeping with the current theme of Jemima's well-aimed kick to my arse, I started thinking about my first true love in life. Horses. It occurred to me that I haven't even been riding in years, and I used to eat, sleep, and breathe horses. When I was a kid, I took english riding lessons, learned to jump, and took a horse care class at a local community college. I taught kids to ride at a summer camp, and I worked as a stable hand when I lived in Tennessee.

All these years, I've been trying to wedge myself into a corporate situation and I keep coming out grumpy and with my edges rubbed raw. I don't fit in.

So I went online and looked up riding stables in my local area. One of the first that caught my eye is a special stable that's been purchased by a corporation dedicated to helping disabled kids and people who use contact with horses as therapy. It's a large stable, and they're dedicated to a good cause. I thought - why not?

Sent in an email yesterday, detailing not only my equestrian experience, but also my ambition to do something I love rather than bump along unfulfilled in the corporate world. I included my resume, which (I pointed out) did not ennumerate my horse-care experience, but showed instead my well-rounded life.

Surprise, surprise - got an email today! The very next day! And the stable owner asked me to call him ASAP, as he was filling positions currently. He told me honestly that it would start out as weekend work, but that he was pretty sure he could use me at least 40 hours a week once he'd seen what I can do.

I'm so excited! I have an interview tomorrow morning. I know it's going to be really hard work, mucking stalls and hauling hay and things, but he said there will be an opportunity to "school the horses" (= RIDE!!!) and to work with the kids in the day program further down the road.

I think I may be on to something here!

unsluggification

After whinging and whining for the past several posts, I realized that I can't possibly go on blogging in that pathetic manner and expect anyone to put up with it. Also, Jemima gave me a well-deserved kick in the arse in the comments from my last post, and I decided to listen to her.

So - today, instead of scuffling about the house unwashed, I accomplished something. Some things, actually.

I did all my usual job searching and resume sending, of course, but this time I took a nice hot shower first, brushed my teeth, and got some clean clothes on. Then I took the immense amount of leftover fowl from this weekend and made a tasty batch of chicken salad. During the making of the chicken salad, I seemed to develop two furry anklets, both of whom were extremely vocal regarding their burning desire for morsels of chicken to "accidentally" drop their way. I will admit to snacking a bit myself as I selected the whitest, most tender chunks for the salad.

Then I fed the cats inside and outside, cleaned the kitchen, started a fresh batch of homemade iced tea with mint from the herb garden, and decided on a project. Trotted up the attic stairs and pulled down a hee-yuge bolt of beautiful tartan cloth that has been sitting up there neglected for a coon's age. Dragged the sewing machine out of the storage closet. Opened up my brand new "Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows" on audio CD, put the first four disks in the stereo, and cranked up the volume nice and high. Not much more cozy and comforting on a cold, rainy day alone than the voice of Jim Dale reading Harry Potter stories.

Then I pulled down the old, nasty curtains whose ends the cats had shredded, and whose depths the spiders had made nests in, and used them for measuring sticks. They were nasty, but I knew they were the right length. Once I'd measured the new curtains, the old ones went right in the bin. After that, it was just hem, hem, hem and then pleat, pleat, pleat. I stood on a kitchen chair and pleated the curtains from one end to the other, putting the pleated bit over my shoulder as I went to keep the folds even.

Once the curtains were hung and the sewing area had been cleaned up and everything put away, I took out my yarn and my crochet needle and began working on something. Not sure what it will end up being (if Jemima has her way, it'll be a negligee) but it will be something good, I think.

I didn't get any job offers today, and I didn't get any job offers yesterday. But I really have to say that getting projects done and not sitting around stewing in my misery made all the difference between the two days. Today was much, much better.

and every once in a while I break out in song

Get up. Make coffee. Kiss husband goodbye. Finish coffee, do the dishes, go upstairs. Sit down at computer, smiling with grim determination. Read emails first, so as not to seem too desperate. Check Harry Potter website, in case J.K. Rowling has decided to write just one more final HP book, against her better judgment.

Check online job postings. Send resumes to any that look really good. Pick up phone, to make sure dial tone still exists. Recheck online job postings. Send resumes to any that look halfway decent. Check cell phone for notification of missed calls, because someone could have called to offer a peach position during four minute bathroom break. Check the job listings one more time. Send resumes to any that are not in California.

Look at the clock, against your own better judgment.

Damn.

10:30AM.

I love getting showered, dressed up, and geared for a job interview. What I love even more is getting there, finding out the place is a shitehole, the boss is a recycled used car salesman, complete with smarmy moustache, and sure they offer health insurance... all I have to do is shell out $400 a month!

Shoulda stayed in bed.

Even if you don't watch this, it's still there

recent, random photos

***

On my way home one day

***


"A Study on Coleus"

things to do once you've applied for all the newly listed jobs and it's only 9:30 AM

Listen to this and laugh.

Listen to this and laugh your balls off.

Listen to this and say "huh???"

Listen to this and say "oh yeahhhhhhh."

Listen to this and remember the good old days.

***

all I want is a slice... a BIG slice

And I want it NOW. I mean, I've been through the job mill a billion times, peeps. I've been everything, from the lowly stall cleaner at a stable to a late-shift diner waitress, to a cop on the beat, to a flight attendant. I've answered phones, printed party ribbons, faxed, filed, copied, researched, collected, billed, and developed x-rays. I've assisted with surgery, administered eye exams, and filled orders. I've used walkie-talkies, radios, multi-line phone systems, and bull horns. I've operated machinery, stuffed envelopes, cleaned toilets, and taught classes for Lockheed. I would guarantee that I have had more jobs in more arenas of the workforce than any three people you know.

And all I want, really, is a job that pays great money, plus health benefits, that's close to my house, in an atmosphere that doesn't require me to put up with a demeaning or abusive environment.

After all I've been through, I don't think that's too much to ask. It's not as if I've been a princess my whole life - I've worked my ASS off. (Not that you could tell from looking at my ass, but...) I'm thinking that I've earned a spot at the great table of life, and I want a big old slice of sweet cherry pie. Now would be nice.

I just applied for a position that (I hope) fills all of these qualifications. I am awaiting a call for an interview.

tap-tap-tap-tappity-tap-tap

(Those are just imaginary fingernails, mine don't reach past my fingertips.)

still here

still looking for a job. still re-reading new harry potter book. still trying to figure out the meaning of life.

speaking of which, could all of you folks on my blogroll list please post some fabulous new stuff about your fabulous lives, so that i have something to do between sending out my effing resume for the forty millionth time?

thank you.

Eight Years Ago Today

Eight years ago today, I walked into the arms of the most wonderful man in the world. Thank you, Bear, for the best eight years of my life so far. You are my heart.

Even though we'd known each other for ten years, we'd never had a date until that night. And we've been together ever since. Every year, on this day, we go to the diner where we ate on the night of our first date. We never get the same waitress, but every one so far has loved our story.

That night, August 11, 1999, was the night of a total solar eclipse (pictured above). Bear and I designed an eclipse tattoo together, which we got on our shoulder blades.

Ain't love grand!

I can't believe my eyes

This is a drawing that someone did, with chalk, on a sidewalk. I can't stop looking at it, trying to figure out how they did it. For more incredible sidewalk 3-D pics, go here.

even though it SEEMS improbable, this actually DID happen

In the immortal words of the 1980's heavy metal group RATT, "Round and round, what comes around goes around. I'll tell you why-ee, why-ee, why-ee".

Rather than go into all the dramatic details and the litany of his heinous behaviors, I will confine myself to remarking that my boss has emotional problems and anger issues that I am neither qualified to treat nor prepared to countenance.

So, I quit.

I completed every last order that came in, I neatened my already neat desk, and I put my mouse pad and my coffee mug (both mine before I started working there) in my purse, and locked the door behind me at 5:01pm. When I returned home, I wrote an email to the other boss, describing in detail where all the files he will need are located. I finished by saying that I wanted to wish him good luck with his business, but that as long as his partner was allowed to have contact with his employees and his customers, there wasn't much chance of that.

I have no job to go to, which makes this a scary move, but something will come. I will hit the bricks and get a job. There's nothing else to be done, really. I sent out something like 7 resumes today, and I'll send out a lot more tomorrow, since I won't be at work while doing it.

Right now, before the Panicky Blues catch up with me, I'm going to go to the gym and work out my frustrations. Do a little physical magick. Out with the old, in with the new. New energy, new opportunities. Something I can put my heart into, this time.

"Miss Ruth was a lady. And a lady always knows when to leave."
-- from Fried Green Tomatoes by Fannie Flagg

**P.S. Just got my reply email. It says "I kind of knew this would happen."

most of this actually happened

It was a couple of weeks ago, but this is one of those stories that doesn't grow over-ripe with the passage of time.

Bear and I were headed out for a day's adventures. Luckily, we realized before we got on the highway that the gas tank was on "E", so we swung into the local station to fill up. All the spots were full, so we waited until one opened up. Just as Bear was about to pull up to the pump, a huge pickup truck pulled in and took our place.

Carpe zenning the moment, Bear just eased the brakes down and waited for the next available spot. I, typically, was not so zen. I glared at the woman behind the wheel of the truck, shook my head, and turned to stare out the window.

Next thing I knew, the woman got out of her truck and was waving at us, asking us in Big Mouth Semaphore if she took our spot. Bear shook his head and said it was OK. Next thing we knew, she was walking across the gas station parking lot towards us. I didn't know what to expect - in New York, you never really do.

When she reached the driver's side window, she said, "I'm really sorry, I didn't see you waiting for that spot. Here." And she handed Bear a jar of blueberry jam, fresh from a local farm. Bear and I laughed in delight, and she put her hands, palms together, in "namaste" and bowed to us before returning to finish her fill-up.


I thought it was really nice of her to be so gracious once she'd realized that she'd taken our spot, and I also thought what a small world it was - like finding like. Her finding Bear, I mean - I was the only zenless grouch in the story. But it was a good story, with a happy ending.

I threw the jar of jam through her windshield as she pulled out of the gas station.

my brezny horoscope for this week

"Your astrological omens are similar to those experienced by Oscar-winning actress Judi Dench back in February 2002. At that time, she was moved to make a dramatic revelation to film mogul Harvey Weinstein. In the midst of a party, she pulled down her pants to reveal her naked ass, revealing a temporary lipstick tattoo that read "I love Harvey Weinstein." I'm guessing you might be inspired to unveil a comparable surprise in the coming days, Sagittarius. At the very least, I expect you'll find some intriguing ways to express your affection and demonstrate your ardor."


Pretty odd, considering what a huge Judi Dench fan I am... I mean, out of all the people he could have picked...

because it's too damn hot to do anything else