Me Mither!

I really believe this. You would realize this if you were in my house right now. And yet, after posting this blog, I am going to be doing exactly what this dainty housewife in the picture is doing. That, and scrubbing the sink, the toilet, and then vacuuming the entire house.

What has induced this frenzy of cleanliness, you ask?

Dear readers, Marcheline's MOTHER is coming to visit tomorrow!

The (inter)View From Here

I feel like a deflated balloon. I had my big interview today. But it didn't happen until after work, so I had to get dressed this morning for my interview this afternoon. Of course the temperature in my office was so high (boss is too cheap to turn on a/c this early in the year) that I was sweating bullets by two o'clock, and add to that my being nervous about the interview... it's a wonder I looked human by the end of the day!

For my Guaranteed To Get The Job outfit, I chose a tailored blue button-down shirt and black pants, with black leather square-toed boots with three inch heels. I wanted to look casually business-like. No suit - too middle-aged office lady. No cleavage - too vampy. Right down the middle. I pulled the top of my hair back from my face, and curled my bangs so that they were casual but neat. The rest of my hair is waist-length, so I just left it down. I wore plain silver earrings in the shape of thick flat-sided hoops, and the only rings I wore were my wedding band and my engagement ring. I left off my first-knuckle middle finger ring and my thumb ring. No need to alarm the authorities unduly.

The interview was a gang-up, three to one, with me being the one. Basically, they spent the better part of an hour telling me how crappy the job was and trying to convince me that I really didn't want to do it. I argued with them and told them that yes, I DO want to do it, and while in my mind I was making a stellar case for why I would be great for the job, I was probably babbling and making a complete fool of myself.

Bear tried to take me out for dinner tonight, and my stomach was so jumpy from feeling like a complete deek about the interview that I could hardly swallow my food. I managed a bowl of wonton soup and a couple pieces of chicken, but I took most of my meal home with me.

I'm usually hard as steel in an interview, confident and sure I'll get the job. But this time is different. I suppose it's because I'm 41, and this is probably my last chance at getting a job with this kind of security, perks, pay, and pension. And I really, really want this job.

It's one thing when you've got several offers on your plate and you can pick and choose, but this is a one-of-a-kind opportunity, and it's not just going to sashay through my door again any time soon.

I've moaned about this whole thing to Bear, to my mother, and to her husband, and they all seem to think I pulled through the interview just fine. I just keep hearing myself blathering on about what year my house was built, and that I have a best friend in South Africa, and that my father died on Valentine's Day, and I wonder why they didn't hit me with a cream pie.

So, in the end, I have no idea how I really did on this interview. And I have no idea whether they will contact me for a second interview or not. Keep yer paws crossed for me, peeps.

And here I thought I was all original...

The first seven times I looked at this picture, I would swear this dude was smoking a pipe. I've got pipes on the brain lately, it seems.

A day that includes SKIMMIA cannot be all bad

So this morning started out with me getting up well before 8AM (on a SATURDAY! Egads!), and going in to get a turkey baster shoved up my coochie and waggled around like a joystick on a flight-simulator video game. Okay, it was a trans-vaginal sonogram, but who really needs all that medical terminology?

See, when my dad died in February, my brain sort of shut off and refused to process the information. My body, not wanting to be left out of the fun, decided "Hey! I know! Why don't I just keep your period going for... let's see... oh, how does two months sound?". So after I fooled myself into thinking that my monthly schedule was really going to get itself back on track, and got proven wrong several times in a row, I finally decided to call my doctor and say "WTF?". The answer, my friends, was a... well, I don't want to say it again. You know.

My body's immediate response to my calling and making an appointment with the turkey baster? You guessed it. Period stopped right away, and I feel fine. But my mother is a nurse, and I was not allowed to cancel my appointment and sleep in this morning.

From all the yapping I've done about this morning, you'd think I was in there for hours, wouldn't you? No, the whole thing was over in about fifteen minutes, if that. The whole thing I was trying to get to, actually, was the fantastic day I had AFTER the morning's excitement was over. (Aside: As the sonogram tech was finishing the scan, she said, "I'm going to remove this, sorry." I was all, "Sorry? For removing the turkey baster? Honestly, it wasn't that enjoyable. It's not like there were batteries involved, or anything." Jeez!)

But again, I digress.... what I really wanted to write about was the REST of the day. Which involved my loving husband (who got up and drove me to my appointment this morning, even though he worked a full shift at his regular job AND a full shift as bartender last night and didn't get home until midnight - LOVE YOU BEAR!) taking me out for breakfast at our favorite local spot.

And after that? We ran out into the sunshine, holding hands as the wind blew back my hair (he's bald, give him some slack), singing John Denver tunes. No, actually what we did was haul ass to the local Home Despot garden center, where we both got push carts and I proceeded to fill them to overflowing with perennials for our garden. I'm telling you, it was WILD.

The biggest purchase, a ginormous boxwood shrub nearly as tall as me, wouldn't fit in the SUV. So what did we do? We loaded the rest of the goodies into said vehicle, Bear removed his canvas-bagged folding chair from the back seat, and he sat down next to the boxwood shrub while I drove the SUV home and came back with my pickup truck! Half close your eyes and picture the scene...

There was Bear, sitting in his floppy hat on the grassy berm at the edge of the parking lot in a folding chair next to this huge-ass shrub, listening to mp3 songs on his cell phone and drinking a Coke from the machine in the Home Despot lobby. I couldn't make this shit up if I tried, peeps.

Cool thing was, on my way home I found this crankin' Celtic radio station playing bagpipe music and other thumping Scottish tunes, and I promptly rolled all the windows down and blasted it. I love the confused looks on the faces of nearby drivers that never realized that there was music on the radio other than the top 40 crap.

Once we'd lugged everything home, we set in to planting.... and one (actually, we bought two) of the best things EVER was this shrub called Skimmia - it looks kinda like a rhododendron, except the leaves are all dark and shiny and it has RED BERRIES! Yes! Red berries! In the spring! I am so in love with these shrubs. However, I'm not sure yet if I'm more in love with the actual shrubs, or the fact that we found a cool new growing thing that I've never heard of in my life, that I now feature in the gardens of Thistlebright! Here's what it looks like, if you're too lazy to Google:


Geez, I'm sorry - that's actually one of the "mer-men" from Madonna' s "Cherish" video, isn't it? Not Skimmia at all. Honestly. Naughty fishy!

And now... Skimmia!


See? Isn't it just DARLING? I'm so excited! Skimmia, right in my very own garden! Who would have thought? It sounds sort of like one of those diet pills they sell on late night television ads, doesn't it?

LOSE 40 POUNDS IN 3 DAYS WITH SKIMMIA!
(Results not typical - model pictured born without ribcage)

Fingers Crossed

So.... that job? The one I blogged about exactly eleven posts ago? You know, the one everybody ignored and didn't comment on? THAT ONE?!?!?!?

Guess what?

When I got home today, there was a message on the answering machine from someone who called to SET UP THE FIRST INTERVIEW!

I am psyched, peeps.

(Waiting to see if this post is also a figment of my imagination, transmitting at a frequency only dogs can read.)

Things

The weather was so beautiful today that I very nearly didn't go back to work after my lunch break was over. I could just feel stuff blooming!

I am glad that my father never knew that there was a videotape of Marilyn Monroe giving a blowjob to some guy. He loved Marilyn Monroe, and I do believe that would have killed the thing about her that he really adored the most. Not that we didn't all know she was a sexual being, but there's a glamour attributed to the old movie stars that most of us would like to keep from getting tarnished.

My acid reflux is really kicking up again lately. Strangely enough, drinking water makes it worse instead of better. Doesn't seem like that should be so, but there you have it.

I had great plans to do yard work when I got home this afternoon, but then I deflated when I walked in the door. Then I had great plans to get my desk cleaned off, get all my paperwork properly filed, and put away the clean laundry. You can see right now what I am doing instead.

My mother sent me an email reminding me that I have not sent a thank-you card to my grandmother for something she gave me. I am forty-one years old, and my mother is reminding me to send thank-you cards. I guess that wouldn't happen if I'd remembered to send the dingity-dang card, huh?

I desperately need to lose weight, and I get frustrated when I try to get dressed for work in the morning and have nothing to wear that fits me. However, I get equally distressed when I think about shopping for new clothes in a size big enough to fit my fat arse. So, where does that leave me? Cramming myself into too-tight clothes and sucking it in all day at work. Can you spell idiot? Thought you could.

The last bit of oomph has just gone out of me, and I am now going to schlumpf downstairs and see if there's anything good on Turner Classic Movies tonight.

Plap.

I may never sleep again.

My Brezny

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Here's the first thing you need to know about the current state of your destiny: "Everything is blooming most recklessly; if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night." That message comes to you from poet Rainer Maria Rilke. Here's the second piece of wisdom you should take with you everywhere you go. It's from Vladimir Nabokov: "For aren't you and I gods? Let all of life be an unfettered howl. Release life's rapture. Everything is blooming. Everything is flying. Everything is screaming. Laughter. Running."

****

I am going to plant a tree today!

How Marcheline's Big Plans Went to Hell in a Handbasket

I had a really big, red-letter day yesterday, let me tell you. My sister had invited me to fly down to NC to spend the weekend with her. She bought my plane tickets and everything, since I usually fly standby from my remaining perks as a flight attendant, but that’s always iffy because you never know if you’re going to get a seat or not.

I thought Bear was going to drive me to the airport, but he ended up getting assigned a bartending job, so I took one of those airport limo services, which cost $65 one way to LaGuardia. I figured no biggie, since my sister was picking up the tab for everything else, and at least this way I wasn’t leaving my truck in the public parking lot all weekend to get broken into.

My flight was departing at 9:29pm, and the limo got me to the airport at 7:30pm, plenty of time to get through security and all. As I walked through security (which only took about three minutes, as there was no line at all), I saw the departure screen said my flight had been delayed until 10:10pm. So I was looking at two and a half hours of wandering around the airport. No sweat, I’ve done it a million times, back in my fly-girl days.

I window-shopped all the stores, bought a paperback book, and ate a hamburger. Then I moseyed on down to my gate, and sat down to people-watch until time for my flight. At precisely ten o’clock, ten minutes before the plane was scheduled to leave, they made the announcement that the flight was canceled.

Grrrrrrreeeeaaaaaat.

Then they said that anyone with tickets on this flight should proceed to the special services desk or some crap like that, so I started walking over there, but it occurred to me that my sister paid for the tickets, so there probably wasn’t anything I could do about getting the money refunded to her. I called her and told her the bad news, and she asked if there wasn’t another flight the next day.

This was the deal, though – I couldn’t afford to spend another $65 for a ride back home, and I couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel, and Bear wasn’t due to get off work until around 1:00am, so that meant I wasn’t going to get home until way late, and I wouldn’t really be in much of a mood to get up and do the whole thing over again the next day. We decided to call it a wash and try again another time.

Thing is, I was still in the same predicament as far as getting home was concerned. So I sat there on the oh-so-comfortable metal seats (NOT) and waited for Bear to come and pick me up. I was sitting in the food court, watching a closed-circuit television show where Larry King was asking Janet Jackson how she managed to look so good when she used to be such a fat-ass. Janet looked as though she wished he'd move on to another topic, and kept spitting out cliches about discipline and inner strength. Mmmm, yes. That and a little well-timed lipo, hey-hey?

Just as Larry was moving on the next fascinating topic, some woman told me they were closing the food court, and my ass got booted downstairs to the baggage claim area, where the only seats were facing the doors to the street - where all the creepy cab drivers come in and stare you down. My fun-o-meter had run out hours ago, and I was really wishing that Bear would start a rumble at the chola wedding he was working so the cops would close it down and he could come and pick me up.

Selfish? Yeah, but my ass was imprinted with the damn metal weave on those uncomfortable seats, and my mood was in the toilet at this point.

Just as the clock struck 12:45am, Bear text-messaged me that he was leaving work. At that exact same moment, they made an announcement over the loudspeaker in the airport that all the people on the plane which had been diverted from Islip were going to be sent by bus to the Islip airport, and that they should meet up at baggage claim and give their names to the nice lady in the blue skirt.

I thought – hey, why not? The Islip airport is only 15 minutes from my house, so Bear wouldn’t have to drive all the way to LGA and back after working all night on his feet (not to mention the gas money saved). They let me have the last available seat on the bus, and we were off. The rain was pouring down, and looking out the windshield of the bus was making me nervous because I couldn’t even see the road – I had no idea how the bus driver could see anything either, but I didn’t want to think about it.

Luckily, I was sitting next to this nice guy who liked to talk, and we were yapping about our jobs. He worked as a promotions guy for Anheuser-Busch, and had just come back from a two-week trip to Chicago for conferences and trade shows. It was really interesting hearing about his work, and all the great perks that he gets because Budweiser is connected with all the big sporting teams and music industry people... he gets free tickets to EVERYTHING. He probably had exclusive box seats during Janet Jackson's "wardrobe malfunction".

We were about ten minutes from the airport, when suddenly the bus started filling up with smoke that smelled like burning rubber – it was acrid and disgusting, and people started panicking. The driver tried to pull off the LIE, with the rain hammering the windshield and lightning flashing everywhere, and some crazy woman tried to run down the aisle of the bus towards the door. I grabbed her arm and dragged her down next to me and said, “What are you doing?” She said, “I have to get out of here!” I said, “You need to get down here and stay, you have to wait until the bus stops before you get off. Please, just get down here where the air is better.”

She stayed next to me on the floor, and when the bus stopped, she and the guy next to me were the only other people besides me who got off the bus and stood in the rain while the driver tried to find out where the smoke was coming from. I just needed to breathe some (comparatively) fresh air – my throat was raw from the fumes in the bus.

The driver said he couldn’t find anything wrong, but that we were almost to the airport and did we think we could just put up with it until we got there. We got back on the bus, and everyone opened up the windows and even the emergency hatch in the ceiling, and managed to breathe until we got back to the airport.

Bear was there waiting for me when we pulled in, and we didn’t get home until 3:00am. What a night! I felt bad for my sister, because her husband was away for the weekend and she doesn’t like to be in the house by herself, and we were looking forward to a good visit together.... but I have to say I was feeling pretty sorry for myself, too, since I just spent eight miserable hours and nearly got asphyxiated for my trouble! Sometimes I think that if I didn’t have bad luck, I wouldn’t have any luck at all.

But wait – there’s more! This morning? At 9:00am? A freakin’ brass band with drums and fire trucks with their sirens blazing went DOWN OUR STREET. In front of our house. Why? I don’t have any idea why. This town is so fucked up they never have events on the right date, or when it makes any sense to anyone else. It was probably the damn Christmas parade.


Honestly, peeps - if I didn't have bad luck, I wouldn't have any luck at all.

Playing it again, for Jaz

(ac)TRESSES

Most men probably don't realize what hair means to a woman. When I was in Junior High School, people used to say I was a religious freak because I wore my hair down past the waistline of my Sergio Valente jeans. Well, I was a religious freak - but I swear, it had nothing whatsoever to do with my hair. You see, though, the power of hair - it takes over the minds of people, and makes them think crazy thoughts.


I wore my hair long until I was 31. When I became a flight attendant, I decided to cut my hair short to make it "easier" to work. My hair was dyed black at the time, and I had heavy bangs. When I boarded the plane to work for the first time since my haircut, passengers and co-workers alike did the "Pulp Fiction" dance at me as I walked the aisles.



The very first morning I woke up without my "hair", I unconsciously reached up to pull it away from my shoulders before rolling out of bed. There was nothing there. I panicked and woke up fully. That was the end of short hair for me. I grew it back immediately. Well, as immediately as it takes hair to grow. No remorse. Hardly a trim. Grow, GROW, dammit!



More than weight, more than makeup, more than clothing... our hair defines us. Even if we don't decide it on our own - without our knowledge, without our consent, people take one look at us, at our hair, and it says everything about us.



If we have rough ends, and a visible line where the color ends and grey hairs begin, we are letting ourselves go, we are going through a mourning, we are saying we don't care about this world. To hell with everything, we are saying.



If we have a brand new style, a fresh cut, a different color, we are saying LOOK AT ME. I am different! I am not what I was yesterday! I fascinate you, I thrill you... but even more, I thrill and fascinate myself. What do you think of that, eh?


Look at the portraits of the most famous actresses of the 1940's. Yes, familiar faces - movie titles and male co-stars come to mind. But for a moment, just look at their faces. These are women who were once little girls. If you stop thinking of them as stars, you can see the hope in their faces... this hairstyle, these curls, these will make me famous. They will be my signature. People will flock to salons and ask for my hairstyle, because it is what separates me from the workaday, everyday woman. My hair is beautiful... isn't it?


Even the extraordinarily beautiful women - the women who would stun a man from fifty yards even with a towel on her head - even these women relied heavily on their hairdressers when it came to their film stardom. Do you think Eva Gardner would have been so lovely or memorable without those tresses? Of course not. G.I. Jane may have made it by shaving her head, but the rest of us live by our locks.


I must go now... I have had my colorant on for over half an hour now, and I must go rinse, lather, and repeat. I am visiting my young, slender sister in North Carolina this weekend and I refuse to show up with drab, colorless hair. You know how it is...


Don't you, Rita?

Marcheline's Life: Rule #1 - Help When You Can

Dudes, I know I post a lot of complete bullshit on this blog, in the hopes of keeping you (and myself) in good spirits. But there comes a time when you have to lay all of that aside and roll up your sleeves and do something.

This is one of those times. One of our blogger friends needs our help - their baby has been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer, and they need help with the doctor bills.

Click here.

My New Toy

I am the proud new owner of an antique Meerschaum pipe! I have wanted a tobacco pipe for ages, and now, thanks to eBay and a lovely gentleman named Gencer in Turkey, I have one. The pipe is an antique, made in Germany, and the metalwork you see is gold.

There is a tiny pinhole in the "heel" of the pipe, which I am going to have repaired, and of course I will get a new stem fitted before smoking it because, dear Reader, a little hygiene goes a long way, and Marcheline advises health and safety first!

My mother nearly had a fit when I told her I bought a pipe, and started ranting about lip cancer, but honestly I only plan to smoke very occasionally, during the odd barbecue or outdoor event. I'm not going to be puffing away nightly or anything like that.

For those who may find a woman smoking a pipe an oddity (and I hope there are thousands of you out there, or this wouldn't be half so much fun), I submit THIS SITE, which is well written and funny, with lots of great paintings and photographs. Did you know that General Jackson's wife Rachel was a pipe smoker? Now you do!

Stealing from Japee of Walk This Way

Courtesy of my blogfriend from Walk This Way, I bring you the bed from which people will never want to arise. I mean - damn, the only thing this bed needs is a built-in popcorn maker and a coin slot for magic fingers and it would be THE DAMN BEE'S KNEES. Dig?

Saturday Silliness

Finger-Chewing Excitement!

I got a certain letter today from a certain agency offering a certain job for which I took a certain test and got a certain top grade on some time ago!

I am certainly excited!

Tune in for more updates as Marcheline's career (hopefully) takes yet another spin on the big wheel...

Crazy Post!!!!!!!! (!!!!)

Hi y'all, I'm drinking wine, listening to the ARENA ROCK (read, "hair bands galore") channel on cable TV, and baking cookies (yes, simultaneously - I'll fill you in on the disaster report later). To be completely honest, there was one shot of single malt whiskey in there.

BUT.....

The important thing (I think) is that I've been tagged for the VERY FIRST TIME for a meme!

Yes, shocking as it may seem to some of you (and definitely to me), I am a virgin. Well, at least as being tagged for memes is concerned. Hell, I'll take what I can get!

Here goes, Snotty Primadonna...

Four Films I'd Watch Again: (and have many, many, many times already)
1. Original Sin
2. The Princess Bride
3. Hamlet (a la Kenneth Branagh)
4. Pushing Tin

Four Places I've Lived:
1. Nashville, TN
2. Baden, PA
3. Charlotte, NC
4. LONG ISLAND, NEW-FUCKING-YORK! (!!!)

Four Television Shows I Watch:
1. Rosemary & Thyme (BBC)
2. Unbeatable Banzuke (G4)
3. Iron Chef America
4. Anything on the Military Channel (especially if it's about FIGHTER JETS.... HOOAHHHHH!)

Four Things I Like To Eat:
1. Tube Steak a la Bear
2. Clams on the half shell
3. Chicken Tikka Masala (Indian)
4. Popcorn with salt and Parmesan cheese

Four Places I'd Rather Be:
1. Scotland
2. Scotland
3. Scotland
4. Scotland



(Now, tell the truth, Snotty Primadonna - aren't you glad you asked?)

HA!!!!!!!

In between

In between all the bloggable goodies, my life is still trying to sort itself out with regards to the death of my father.

I find that I am hit with sudden bursts of energy (vis a vis the rubbish removal gardening spree) one day, and the rest of the week I am nearly incapable of doing the most normal things.

Today, I left the house with my cell phone battery so low that I had to leave it in my truck after lunch to charge in the cigarette lighter.

I have been having my period for nearly a month straight, and I need to call my doctor's office to make an appointment and/or get some medication called in. Every day I remember this as I sit back down at my desk after my hour-long lunch break, during which I did not make this call. And my office is delineated by a bunch of flimsy cubicle walls with men sitting on the other side of some of them, so I am not making this particular call from my desk during work hours. Repeat, not.

I pulled in the driveway after work this afternoon with the needle on the gas tank pushing "E". I must have passed sixteen gas stations on my way home, and now I am going to make myself late for work tomorrow morning because I have to stop and get gas. Sure, I could get up early or leave early, but I won't, because I'm swimming in mud.

The grey roots of my hair are nearing the four-inch-long mark. I have a box of my favorite hair color sitting in my bathroom, as it has been for at least three months. When I am at work, I make plans to come home, throw everything down, and color my roots first thing. When I get home, I throw everything down, including myself, and proceed to move as little as possible until time for bed.

Then I get up and do it again, until the weekend comes around. Again.