My Almost Fight At Taco Bell

I was hungry. I was at work, and needed something fast and cheap. And sometimes I just want a plain, ordinary, not fancy bean burrito from Taco Bell. So, off I went.

Now everyone knows that there are always at least two driveways one can use to get into the drivethru line. This day, I took the long route, through the parking lot, kind of slow, to avoid people and cars...no real burrito emergency. I was in a good mood. I was happy.

I arrived in the line. Now, I did see the big, giant, oversized, gas guzzling, Cadillac Escalade coming in the short route. But, I was already in the line. And we all know that the long line in the drivethru gets first crack at the line. It's the drivethru protocol.

Well, the woman behind the wheel didn't think so. She was in a big hurry. And she was pissed. She honked at me, not just once, but a bunch. I decided, at this point not to get angry, not yet...I was in a good mood, remember? I went ahead and said that I was sorry through the window. She just looked mad...there was no, "that's ok, then" wave...nothing. Ok, crazy lady, whatever...I shrugged it off, even then, even still.

I finished pulling into line, when the jeep in front moved a bit. The lady got even more angry and began to honk furiously and fast. She honked and honked and honked. Ok, when you're already in the line, who in the hell, is going to pull back out of line cause you think you should get the space. Who is going to do that?!? NO ONE!!!!! "My bad, you go ahead, I insist." Never going to happen.

She continued to honk sooooo much that the man in the jeep in front of me, yelled out his window. "SHUTTTTTT-UPPPPP!!!!!!!!"

The Caddie woman yelled back, pointing at me, saying that she just wanted me to know that I had taken her turn. She just wanted me to know that. Ok, at this point, with the honking we ALL got it. Point made, point taken. Nothing to do about it. We ALL got it.

I have to admit I was a bit taken aback.

I asked her, in a calm, matter of fact voice, if she was starting a fight with me over a burrito. If this was what was going to happen. That we were actually going to have a fight in the Taco Bell drive thru. (The jeep guy started laughing. I'll admit it was funny, but no need to egg Caddie along.)

She replied in honks. She honked some more and some more. And she yelled again, telling me and jeep guy, that I was a bitch, and a horrible driver, but mostly a fucking bitch. Pointing and pointing and honking.

Ok, at this point, I am starting to get angry. But, the whole thing is so completely stupid that I couldn't even really bring myself to fight her. Because, then, I really am involved in a burrito fight. I choke back the anger. I tried to be really Zen about it. I tried to feel sorry for her. Who does this sort of thing? Maybe you're bored in life. OR maybe you're really that fucking crazy. Yes, I felt very sorry for her.

My other thought was, how do you know I'm not crazy? What if I just get out of my Honda Civic and go back there and pop a cap in your ass? That kind of thing does happen. Granted I know that I don't look like I have that much street cred with my Honda, briefcase, and my cane, but you don't know. Why risk it over a burrito?!? Why risk it?!?

So, I didn't responded. But, she just couldn't let go. Every time the line moved up an inch, she would pretend threaten my car with her's, moving right to a millimeter from my bumper. Tapping her well manicured nails on the steering wheel. That whole "I'm gonna' do it...I'm gonna' mess up my big, ass Caddie...I'm gonna' do it. I really am. You better believe it. I'm gonna' do it."

Well, do it already fucker. Most real people with any balls would just do it. So, I was getting mad that she was such a pussy about her infringed upon rights to get a fucking bean burrito ten seconds faster. Stupid Caddie pussy...that's what you are. I did really try, deep in my heart of hearts to let this go. Poor crazy, fucked up, sad Caddie lady.

Well, since I didn't really respond, we went back to honking. And jeep guy yelled shut up again. She called me a bitch again, inching up the Caddie, again.

Finally, I did respond. And it wasn't really as cool as I could have and deeply, at this point, wanted to make it.

I told her that there wasn't much I could do. I asked her if she would like me to place her order for her, right after mine. I could take care of that part for her. I asked her if that would help her. What could I do? She looked at me, angry, and moved up her Caddie. I sighed.

All I could say, in a calm, matter of fact voice; "You're an Asshole." "What?", she said. "You're an asshole. You really are.", I sighed, "There's nothing I can do. You're an asshole." I said.

Jeep Guy started laughing again. (At least someone was being entertained at the expense of my nice lunch and possible car bumper.)

My good mood was now gone. My break in the car was gone. I was just stuck in an asshole in a Caddie, up my butt, in the Taco Bell line. It felt like I would never get my burrito. It felt like, if I made it out of this burrito line alive, I would really have accomplished something for the day. My head began to throb. I just wanted on $ .69 burrito, nothing fancy or complicated, just that. And it was looking like it would just never happen for me.

She honked through me trying to order, but I and the Taco Bell drivethru attendant somehow managed. She placed her order without a honk.(Imagine that.)

Somewhere between the first and second drivethru windows, I think she gave up, or at least, relented a bit. She still looked pissed. I did wonder if she was going to follow me and this would become more drastic. But, really, I didn't think so. Girls like her don't mess up their Caddies and their nails, no matter how much money they have. Plus, she was ever so close to getting her lunch, her own burrito, that perhaps the thought of all that melted cheese by-product and reconstituted bean paste calmed her, lulled her claws back in. Hard to say.

I've been in fights my whole life. Part of the small town creed. But, I have never started a fight in a drivethru line of a fast food restaurant. Is this a sign of our impending demise from their imminent take over? I ate my burrito, but I was not comforted. I was just over stimulated and left without release. Shocked. What was supposed to be a good thing, lay in ruins in the bottom of the take out bag. It had all been for nothing.

Maybe in another time I would have kicked her ass. I still want to. Amidst the soiled napkins and Taco Bell Fire Sauce packets, at the bottom of my Honda Civic floorboard, you will find that longing.

And, if you're reading this Caddie Bell...well...You're Still an Asshole. Fucker.

Life in the Garage Sale Speed Dating Service

It's raining today. I'm attempting to have yet another garage sale. We really need the money. And we really need to not hold onto this big pile of crap we have laying. Garage sale kills two birds with one stone. With regards to the weather for this sale - it's as though God is cursing me, actually cursing me, in my time of need. Perhaps in my last life I was very rich, and now I have to pay for my decadence. Or maybe it's the current economic climate...hard to say. But, I am feeling punished.

I'm not really looking forward to this day, at all. Last weekend we had the sale in the cold. And true to garage sale mania, the diehards were still out. Even though I marked the signs for late morning, even though the newspaper ad said late morning...they still came. I hate early birds. I loathe them in fact. These are the very people that make me never want to get rid of any of my crap. They really are mutha' fuckers.

Right at 7:30 am, before I've even changed pants and my coffee isn't even finished came the first one. She couldn't just buy something and leave...NO!!!...she couldn't do that. Instead she spent an entire 30 minutes talking to me about how she had just gone cold turkey off of all the prescription pain pills that she was on. She continued to tell me how rough this was on her, and how she was barely making it, but she was making it, and we should all be so proud of her. We should all give her a big pat on the back, with a Great Job follow. That Service with a Smile attitude was already being tested. I wanted to give her a better deal on the fifty cent items she had in her hands, just to get her to shut up and on her way....but then I thought that maybe this was her ploy all along...and I wasn't going to fall for it...OR she needed a friend, and I didn't want to sign up for that mess, and if I gave her the discount she would think how nice I was...and I couldn't have that going on either. I was screwed either way, and she was still talking.

Finally she left, finally.

Then came the next guy. Obviously a dealer. The particularly shitty early bird type, that I loathe the most, and will try my personal best to not make any deals with this type, and perhaps I am quite extra crappy to, just to make them leave. This guy...what a piece of work. We were selling a new version of the PS2, slightly broken (cost $30 to fix), for $10. That is quite the bargain, and I don't even play games, and I know this. This man took out his money wad (and I do mean wad), and told me to take the five dollars he was offering me (which he threw done on the desk that I was selling, like it was a done deal). I smiled, and told him no, but thank you. I told him that is was too early in the garage sale for me to be making deals on such things that were obviously such bargaining to begin with, and he could come back Sunday night and see if I still had it, and we could talk then. Man, was he pissed. He began sort of yelling talking that I should have taken the five dollars, and anyway the new XBoxs were out anyway, so he didn't even need it. Okay, I said. Just Okay. I didn't point out that if he could run out and get a new three hundred dollar XBox, than he didn't really need to harass me over my ten dollar, broken, PS2, did he, now?!? He left saying good luck in a mean voice. Fucker. I don't take lightly to being bullied. And I certainly do not take lightly to it before my second cigarette and the finished morning coffee. I'd tell my own mother to fuck off before she could finish her sentence of bothering me before the morning ritual had been complete. So, who did this guy think he was?!?

Then came the third jackass. This one wanted to know if I had any "???", insert whatever item you want, cause this jackass isn't alone in this ploy of asking for stuff that's not in the garage sale. I said no, that I didn't have any "???". Okay, here's what I think. If I had any "???" it would actually be in the fucking garage sale...I'm not Kal-Mart...this is not a store...it a rummage sale...so you need move you cheap ass around in a slight circle completing the round of the actual sale to rummage or leave.

I'm not hiding a secret stash of goods somewhere else...THERE IS NOTHING ELSE BESIDES WHAT'S OUT THERE. So, if you don't see it...I don't have it. I'm never, ever, ever going to say..."Oh, I was waiting for such a special person like yourself, to let into my secret vault of complete shit for sale for a private viewing, Come with me."

How's that for an answer.

And the next guy who asked if this was an Estate Sale. I said no. I said that this was a garage sale. He wanted to argue. He said in a miffed tone of voice that this had been listed as an Estate Sale. I was so tired by this time, I did argue with him. I told him that I had placed the ads, and made the signs myself, and it was, in fact, a garage sale. The sign right in front of my house for extra publicity did state, yet again, that this was a garage sale. He argued back that it was listed as an Estate Sale. How can you combat this? You can't make people read correctly. And the only difference between Garage Sale, and Estate Sale is that an Estate Sale means someone died. I'm sorry that I didn't die for you. I finally just told him to leave...it was just to fucking weird. He said, because he had to have the last dominating word, telling me that if I extra cleaned the fridge that I was selling, that it could sell for $10.00 more. I replied that he could just buy it, clean it himself, and put it in his Estate Sale, and turn a profit.

And there was the fat lady handi-cap. She rolled up in her big ass van, with the handi-cap license plates, right in my driveway - she came allllll the way up the drive way. She squeezed out between the seat and the steering wheel. This is the type that will tell you of their woes, and their aliments, etc., hoping for sympathy and a better deal. But, I wasn't biting. I agreed with her about being poor. I stood up and flashed my current gimp walk, and my recent scare. I countered with my own tales of the losses that we suffered last year while I was on worker's comp. And how I was having to sell some of my most precious items, just to buy my child some food and maybe even pay the light bill. (I tried to keep a straight face. I didn't want the jig to be up.) As she moved her fat ass around the sale, trying to bend to look at things, and running out of breath, she did spend her money. My gimpiness had triumphed over her's. I was the gimp winner. I thanked her for her fat ass kindness as she hobbled away. Us handi-capped people gotta' stick together. We take care of our own.

I did have one, single lady that I liked. Her fanny pack was made for speed. It was three tiered, three pockets long. One pocket contained her big bills, the next pocket had her tens and fives, and the top one had her change and ones. And she was so nice. Maybe the nicest garage sale lady there ever was on the entire planet. I knew she was a dealer, and I didn't care. It was as though she was sent from Heaven to soothe my garage sale laden worries away. Her voice was so pleasant, her deals were reasonable, she asked about my stuff in the most polite, sing-songy voice. I wanted to help her. I was engaged, mesmerized. I cut her a big, fat discount. She was good...I never even saw it coming. Thankfully my first born was inside or I might have lost him as a severely marked down item.

I ended up doing alright. And I got rid of some stuff. But not nearly enough. There is a secret culture of garage sales. These are people that live and breath in our neighborhoods. You have to wonder what they do the rest of the time, when their not being weirdos at garage sales. Today, I'll be doing it all over again. I'm the one with the cup of joe, selling off pieces of our lives (even if it is crap), in the rain...yep, that's me, today.

Lay Down Your Arms and Put Up Your Wiener

My thoughts on the Dick's hunting accident are a few. And what I say here will have no effect on anything, because I have no money, no connections, and no desire to screw anyone who might have the above requirements for a voice that anyone will listen to in this crazy, mixed up world.

The level of decadence of this regime is quite large, extravagant, and have continued to be flaunted without repercussions. Granted this might have gone over a few hundred years ago, but not so much now. Who's with me on this?!?

Now that people realize that you can become a President without any education, savvy, or style (evidently you don't even have to be able to read or write real good)...just a few extra bucks and you either can sleep your way to the top, claim to know Jesus personally, or have a big ole rich daddy...well, you're a shoo in; therefore, Presidents are not ordain by God like royalty; but rather, any smuck can do it. And the VP's that ride their butts to the top are just pennyanny (sp?) sidekicks. My thoughts on the shooting of a friend:

1) Why are you on a vacation when little boy's with bigger guns are killing overseas in your money hungry created war? As a mother, I say that if you want to shoot stuff, then go over seas and get your hands dirty, you coward. You shouldn't get to play Cowboys and Indians with your peashooter while there's a supposed "war" going on. Very bad. And I, Tsk-tsk, you.

2) Why are you on vacation for all the other reasons the country is screwed up?

3) Why are you on vacation when I have not see Halliburton rebuilding the city of New Orleans after all that contract winning? (Oh, that's right, the black people are going to do it for you. Does anyone know the diversity head count of the big H.?)

4) If your job is too stressful, a quick reminder that I didn't pick it for you. And I would like you in your office, doing you damn job, instead of going hunting for other Texans to shoot.

5) Why was the investigation into the "accidental" shooting not done the night of? It has been determined that alcohol was not a factor. Well, sure, by the next morning when the Sheriffs were finally allowed in, you would have pissed it out, it wouldn't be a factor anymore. And don't give me, the I'm the VP crap. You're a public servant, who should have to adhere to the rules of the land, that you've been sworn to uphold, just like the rest of the drunken, aging, shouldn't be shooting cause they might kill someone else, rednecks.

AND, The Dick had to have the story covered up that he didn't even have all of the right documentation to hunt. I can say that the rest of us would have been fined big time. And the repeated phrase that the Dick is very safety conscious. Really?!? My wire tapped ass, my tapped out pocketbook ass, and all of the rest of my fed up ass are not thinking that is very truthie of you. And I guess you couldn't really release any information until you'd seen if you'd killed the man first...then you'd be an animal and man killer. (note: they're the same thing.) And the fact that you were hunting out of sheer decadence really chaps me. You don't need to hunt for food. That means that you think killing is fun. And the killing is fun theme supports all of the other policies and plays that have been put into action during you time in office. I would worry about what I'm saying, but considering you poor shot, I think I may have a good chance of running away.

I would like to know how much of MY MONEY, MY EXACT MONEY IN DOLLARS AND CENTS...went to make sure you got a vacation, got to shoot someone, and had it covered up nicely, etc. I want to know how much we're spending for that crap. And how much the taxidermy bill will be for all the birds you will have stuffed and hung up in the White House for all of us to tour and show our children as your greatest accomplishment...what's the bill on that, too.

And, my last question/point would be...Was Bill Gates with you? I noticed that grants.gov is not Mac user friendly. Something like restricted trade or secret handshaking...or friendly shots fired to insure that somebody gets all the money on that one...Did Halliburtun set that meeting up?

God Bless the one, lone deputy, that I suspect got paid to do it, but did show up to question the Dick , the night of the "shooting", before he passed out from worry, I mean beer. (Invision the mad dash of the Secret Service to hide the Jack Crown Light bottles and cans on the next farm over. I'm sure their suits or whatever are going to have to be dry cleaned. We'll be paying for that, too.)

And all the important stuff I'm missing because you had to shoot a friend, I'm sure is a lot, and that annoys me, too. All the important stories going on that we're missing because you had an "incident".

Nice one, Dick.

Wicked Giggles and Other Large Agenda Items

Yesterday went by so fast I couldn't even blink. I started by hurrying to make all of those necessary weekend calls...the ones you don't really feel like making, but some sense of duty and honor holds you to it. Not like the Old West days, nope not anymore. You cannot just move out into the middle of nowhere and never see people again...we're all very connected, don't believe me? Check the ringtone that you downloaded for free...you're connected. Yes, you can argue about the greater collective consciousness, but the addition of email, phones and ringtones if just that much more fucking annoying.

I called my mother. She was in good spirits, which was a change from the norm. The conversation was going well, until she started in about Jesus. Not that I have anything against Jesus, mind you. It's just that I'm not sure that he had this whole "being saved" by him thing going on. It's always the same conversation, the same up-chucked rhetoric. The same exact code Christian phrases. Again, I'm not against Jesus. I just think that perhaps his story deserves more than just a repeat of some catch phrases that he didn't even develop concerning himself or his life work. I'm not so sure about quoting people I have never met...I wasn't there to see it happen.

And true to Christian form, my mother, and countless others, always have that thing...that thing about me saving my own child...making sure that my child is exposed to it all. I haven't done that yet. And do not I believe that my child will go to hell for my lack of teaching. No, I don't think that. It starts so early, the brain washing....well, I like to think of it as soul washing. My child will be exposed to the rhetoric enough without me doing it, and hopefully, I'll be there to help him understand the difference between miracles and bullshit. We'll see.

Luckily for me, right in the middle of this long winded, lengthy, fulminated diatribe there was a ray of hope. Six white, unmarked vans with dark tented windows pulled into my neighborhood and down the street just a bit, to park. I watched with mild interest. I'm not sure what they were doing. My first thought, was that they were the fucking church people. Listening to my mother in one ear, and viewing the prospect of possible home invasion by other Jesus people, was not what I had in mind for my Saturday morning. I quickly shut my blinds and locked my doors. They can't "save" me if they can't find me. They also might have been delivery people or some type of movers or something...not cops...or anything, I lost interest in watching them.

However, I did use them as an escape from my mother's talky-talky-talk. I explained that something big must be going on down the street, so I'd better go. I'd keep her posted, but I'd better call the neighbors and try to figure this all out. She agreed. Calling the neighbors is a very time honored, small town tradition. My mother new of the sanctity of this signal, and knew that I must really hang up and attend to this matter immediately. Calling the neighbor is right up there with meeting at the property line between houses or hollering across the fence, and stopping the car and rolling down the window gig, etc. And these signals trump the meetings at the Kal-Mart, Church, and Grocery Store meetings, as they have extra security and privacy, and double as staking your claim to your own property when dealing with neighborhood caring/gossip. However, none of the above, trump such tactics as the walking the dog trick or the taking of the cake trick...those are special moves reserved for special times when special ops are needed. Alas, she hung up. Only to repeatedly call back, but I was already in motion for the day...so I didn't answer. And no, I didn't call my neighbor...I rarely use those tactics, expect for the tactic of making others believe that I need to use the above tactics to get off the phone, etc.

I was gearing up for a dinner gathering at a friend's house for another friend. I went to the store with my grocery list in hand, knowing that this grocery store would have the majority of the items that I wanted, but not everything, and I would make a second trip to a different grocery store later. Why not go to the second grocery store in the first place?!? Well, it's a bit of a weird thing for me. I really hate stores. I really hate large stores. The bright lights and all the people really feed into my anxiety levels. I know that it's an unreasonable feeling. I just don't like feeling like a deer or other small animal who's been caught in the giant headlights of the grocery story who's trying to shock me into buying the cheapest toilet paper and the best, shiniest coffee tin. It's all too much really. So, why then two stores?!? That does go into the even weirder part of my brain.

I am still not completely walking after my broken leg. I have to use the mobile carts if I'm going to make it through the entire experience without hurting for the eggs and milk I want. And the mobile carts are a bit fun; however, always dirty. Handicapped people can be rather germy, it's true. Think about all the really fat people who use them, who can't wash under every fold, or they don't have the self worth to do so. Or the half, retarded people who play with themselves, or their own crap, over their dinner table and then go to get groceries without washing their hands.

And the kids/people who work at the grocery stores don't really care that I'm taking my chances with germs by getting on the cart, I know. They don't give a fuck about you. They're already getting shit for pay to bag and carry or ring up and mop...they're not going the extra mile to spray down the gimp carts...you cannot reasonable expect that out of people.

Yeah, I know that I taking my chance with real time, real big, staph and the like germs. But, anything to avoid the agitation of my not completely healed leg yet, and the possibility of the fun of running someone over in cart anger,well, it somehow helps me through the agony of shopping in the first place.

Well, lets continue further into my own grocery store phobias.

Using the mobile cart causes not helpful looks in people, but looks of anger and annoyance. I have spent most of my life around the emotion of anger, and yes, that's unhealthy, and not the point of the story, but I am quite comfortable around anger. People get really angry with me being young and in the cart. Even though I have my cane prominently displayed, as though I need to have it displayed for a bunch of stranger, I do give them that....They will still not get why they have to walk and I don't.

Plus, I never said that you couldn't use the mobile cart. You can if you want to. It's only some weird society hang up that's preventing the extra use of non-mobility challenged people from using the mobile carts. And if you really think that you want to do it...well, why the hell not, then. It wouldn't be total grocery store anarchy if more people used them. There are some really healthy people that will always walk, because they actually like to fucking walk. So, go ahead, take a mobile cart. Just do it!Take the chance, jump in, honk the horn of mobile cart freedom!!!!

Why am I not walking?....it's all over their faces and sighs, and most of them do not observe the grocery store traffic laws and are an unruly sort to begin with. I can take this from them, as I don't know them, and I know that this grocery store is the whitetrash store, and these staring monkeys will never be anything more than what they are, so fuck 'em. It bothers me less to honk at these people or stare meanly at them, saying in the mean, handicap voice to Excuse Me. Calling attention to their rudness of the less fortunate. :) I think that in my own anger and life frustration, I rather enjoy it. (Note: My own anger in general, not my handicap anger.)

(Example: Completely and entirely and hugely fat family taking up the entire width of the isle. My thinking is, if you are that fat, in fact, your whole entire family is that fucking fat, then you shouldn't get to take up the entire width of the isle. Follow eachother in single file line like. If all the fat fucks get to take up entire isle space, with more than several carts filled with all the food taken from the box dinner isle, then I get to take the mobile cart, guilt free.)

(Example two: If you are the kids in trendy shit bag clothing with a baby on the way, and I know this cause your shirt is slightly rolled up over your belly and it tells me such, and you and your whitetrash man/boy take up the entire isle because you still think it fun to shop and play like grownups and giggle about every can of beans that you you see and you just can't decide which one will make you fart less, so you have to go back and forth, and back and forth, across each side of the isle, while giggling and choosing. Then,I get to use the mobile cart, and this time horn, guilt free. Fuck you and your man, and your baby.)

(Example Three: You're a person that doesn't speak English and totally ignores the cart traffic laws by parking your cart in the middle of every, single, fucking isle, because in whatever country you're from, shopping is a leisurely stroll, taking your time to examine all the products, and you're country doesn't even have cart traffic laws, and you feel that you can play dumb by talking in whatever native tongue you have. Well, fuck you too, I get to use the mobile cart and will honk, guilt free. Honking is the same in every language.)

At this store, I get my shopping done faster than if I have the emotional hang ups of shopping at the second store.

The second store is in the neighborhood that I might run into someone that I know, or maybe even slept with, or partied with. The trauma of having to stop the mobile cart and explain what happened, and taken in anyone's false sympathy, under the bright lights, is all too much.

I ran into this woman, once, before the leg, and she stood there and was talking at me, and I couldn't take it then. No, I didn't want her number, and no I wasn't going to call her, and I didn't care that her hair had gotten so long, and she had a great new boyfriend, and was working in film.

So, at that store I couldn't risk taking the cart. I only had a few items to get, so I could walk it without much pain, or pain.

I got home finally with all of my items, and nervously hurried to make as many things as I could, to get to the gathering on time. My significant other helped and did quite a bit of the work. I hate to cook. I really need to use that word HATE for this. And looking at all the bagged groceries, I wasn't sure why I had agreed to take this on. They all stared at me, with their tobbled over contents and disorganization...calling me to fix them all. I sat and smoked to cigarettes, back to back.

I made it over to the host's house. He had just gotten this house for himself. It was a beautiful house, and he was a great host. I busied myself preparing. Other people dropped their things off and hurried to get our friend to surprise her. The big super chocolate cake was there, the tea light after party gifts, the incense, the flowers, the scrubbed toilet. She, the friend, was surprised. Not everyone, who was there, knew this woman. But, my thought about her was : if you met her, just the one time, well, your life was more enriched from that experience...and I felt that way about everyone at this gathering. The party and food went well.

What I realized after eating and sitting around watching people, I realized what we had created. This was not just a gathering. It was a thing that was built. We were now all tied in a memory of goodness. A conglomerate of energy that was happy and flowing. We all came together with different reasons for being there, different view points, different emotions...but we were all there, in the moment, together...and we would remember this thing. There was bonding in that.

I sat smoking with one friend, out in the cold, on the porch. We giggled about poop and peach pit monkeys. She and I always giggle. I love that, and it makes me live better. These people make me live at all. That's worth taking the trip to two stores that make me not want to live at all.

Guided By Voices That Shouldn't Talk

I have discovered that I am an odd sort. I can offend and bless both equally with lightening speed. And I have discovered that most people never really believe me either way...as though I make everything up, or do the things that I do with an agenda. Both of which give me far to much credit, I should never be accused of thinking things out or through. But, I'm not alone in that habit...the articles that I read this week about how scientists have finally declared global warming to be dangerous for our health...that was fucking brilliant. Hippies have been saying that for quite sometime without getting the zillion dollar paychecks either. Fucking brilliant. Eating shit is bad for you, too. Ok, I said it - where's my money?

And I saw an ad for Corn Cars. They are all still annoying trucks of great magnitude that will insure the continued development of my horn hand...and you have to use something like 30,000 ears of corn to drive the big ass truck around. It may be a little too late...and certainly a long way from the mano and matate. I continued to read articles on emailing privacy invasion for the sake of national security and the imprisonment of child molesters...both fear based reminders of why it's ok for people to snoop. I don't want to be the asshole who says you can't snoop, and I won't give up my rights, cause we might miss a terrorist or a defiler...it's all very cleverly put to insure we feel bad if we don't give up our rights. And the China hearings with Yahoo snooping and turning over discussions, putting people in jail for talking. Here we go again...history does repeat itself. Doesn't anyone find that a bit boring? It really does come down to money and profit protection. I can't buy stocks because everything is tied to everything bad. It has gotten out of hand this time, with real time global; rather than tribal, implications. I'm positive that even the Owl God is disappointed in us all.

I have a hard time grasping it all, really. The Prez. stating that we're all too dependent upon oil. Man, that's rich. Who rights this shit for him? I, in my uneducated and certainly poor, haze of glory, knew this guarded secret already. And now, our highly guarded, supposedly highly intelligent, fearless leader has gotten wind of it? Maybe since he's driven around and doesn't pay at the pump, and maybe, since we, the taxpayers, pay for his food and light bill, he hasn't noticed the state of the nation, since he hasn't had to personally foot the bill for it. I've never seen him filling his own gas tank and grimacing about the dough he has to lay out just to get to work...has anyone?

(Which list do you think I'll be on for talking smack? And how much is it going to cost the nation for spying on me to find out that I just went to the grocery store today, and had no secret meetings or anything going on? It's going to cost a lot for just the copies and stamped memos alone. Not to mention the person who's going to review my grocery list and the number of toilet paper squares I used throughout the day.)

Again, I wouldn't be in this mess had the hippies, even in their drugged out/rockin' out voices, been listened to. Alternatives have been around for decades, eons. And now, when the ship is in the middle of the sinking process, I am blamed for my oil use? I, who drive a modest car, have not been able to afford to switch to anything else because of the greed of those who hold the energy purse strings. I am to blame? Fuck that, and fuck you. Makers of energy and trucks and hummers alike, really, fuck you. Fuck you from the bottom of my restricted energy heart. I have to wonder what the pocketbooks of those in charge of our energy really look like. I would like a comparison to my check book to those of the energy executives. Yes, let's compare...let's do that.

http://www.fuh2.com/
(very funny website)

I vote we put in a salary cap nation wide, even better, world wide. Why not? I don't mind. I still have plenty of room to grow, and there's always still the option of a career switch if one was to get bored with the field their in. Yes, a salary cap. Who's with me? Don't tell me I cannot dream, or blame, or anything. I can say when people have too much money. I can say that. I've seen it. Example: Watching a guy in his Jaguar driving past this week. He got angry when people who were crossing the street, who had the right of way, got in front of him, and he had to stop short or scratch his car. Idiot, I thought. You don't NEEEED that car, and perhaps if you can't just by another one when it's broken, well then, you're not in the class of people that should own a car like that. Isn't he supposed to be enjoying the drive he was on, with all that power buttons and luxury? Well, I just didn't see it in his face.

I bought my modest car, I smoke in it. Why?!? It's a car, I like to smoke, therefore, the two meet, and often. I can afford to get another car just like the one that I have, if something happens to it. I did not buy out of my means for the sake of looking cool. BECAUSE...IT'S A CAR. If we salary capped, then this man would not have the same stresses that I saw him have on this day. Poor, poor Jaguar man...he's going to have a heart attack - but he's going to look so cool doing it, I guess. We have to look out for the less fortunate, you know. We really do.

It seems very simple to me, the solutions. How about we all start behaving nicer. Stop chasing money, stop being manipulated by shiny commercials that tell us how cool we could be- if only, stop being manipulated by the paid media frenzy of guided bullshit, stop acting like a shitass because you can, and be nicer to the person next to you. How hard is that? How hard is that?

Oh, Owl God, I sound like a fucking hippie. Please pray for me.

My bathroom, this morning 2/5/2006

Forever completely fractured in ignorance, it is the geek that shall inherit the earth.

I wanted to write it down, I liked it, and I said it, and I didn't want to forget that I said it and can use it again.

There is always something comforting about mid-morning sun,
Past the violence of dawn break,
These minutes will not return again until tomorrow,
A full circle later that's not even really a complete circle...
it's circle-ish.

The light snuck in through cracks in the blinds to land on cold bathroom tile,
The promise of warmth without burning, without squinting in avoidance.

I couldn't believe how much I forget about this,
and how good it is to be in these moments.
So simple, just that.

It's free, and it happens every fucking day.

I touched one of the bathroom tiles in my shock and awe (the real kind),
the part were the sunlight lay making that blue so much brighter than the rest.

Have I not been in this bathroom a million times before?
I piss and crap in here every day.
I put on lip gloss, and deodorant in here, every single day.

My finger still, completely comforted.

then I hear the T.V. in the distance...

a report on the click of the steel gray pin coming out of the grenade laden vest,
seconds,
no one half of a second,
held in the right index finger and thumb,
of a suicide bomber.

Cosmopolitan Temping: Chapter 2 (Tripping the light fantastic)

I have to start by acknowledging a few of the interviews that I have gone on. One, that I took six cookies to, with a thank you note (not fancy cookies, ones from the deli downstairs, and they were day old ones, at a tune of $2.sumodd cents), the woman I gave the cookies to thought this was OVER THE TOP - for a position as a "marketing" assistant. She was fat, and in her Kal-Mart sweater, with the appropriate gold laden jewelry amount, told me little about the actual job, but more about her Lupus and lonely single soon to be Forty life. I know that I am repeating this, but, it was symbolic in my life. I just couldn't quit yawning through the entire process. And since then, I have noticed that I yawn through several additional interviews. It's become my body's secret code for "GET OUT!!!! YOU WILL DIE HERE!!! CHEAP SWEATER ALERT!!! IT'S A TRAP!!"

I have decided that I cannot work at a place that I will compulsively yawn. I must forge on till the right job lands in my possession. Is it possible? In the current work climate, I am concerned about my journey. I'm thinking I might need bread crumbs or GPS tracking...something, should I go missing. There are many perils, I may face mortal danger. Yes, mortal danger...we've all heard the story of dying from boredom...I was in danger of being Bored to Death!!!!

Day 2 at the temp job:

First day was great! No responsibility, no talking, no phone ringing, not really anyway. So, I got paid to read.

But, people can't be quiet. They have to tell you their stuff. I am still holding on to the fact that Monday is my last day there, and that bodes such hope and promise. I will not be there anymore. But, I cannot count the number of brain cells lost already. They were good, with families, and such...just gone, without any report...as though they never existed. It's all very sad.

The yawns started shortly after arrival on day 2.

This place is one that writes learning/training text manuals for the government on weapons, etc. Then they organize and go out to train the would-be soldiers on how to use them. I tried not to yawn on the fourth time I heard the T-Missile and "their" contribution to the using of them in the Gulf War. I guess everyone has to have something to be proud of. But, I can only muster, maybe, one more, "Good for you!!!! Good for your work!!! That's all very important, what you're doing."

The office is filled with people who's names are Tom, Ed, Mark, John, Joe, etc. Nothing cool to report on that. No one even seems to have a cool, back alley nickname or story of "One time, Scoopy was at the base and...", nothing, anything to stop my impending yawn attack.

All these men, stopping by to profess or boast complaints about other locations and people, about this or that, so that their level of mindless work is noticed, and obviously dominates the work of someone else. Tim Conway (you'll learn later), called five people to make sure that a fax number that I wrote down on a message, was in fact, the correct fax number...he's very busy. And the number was correct, even for a temp. But, he felt better and more secure about faxing the fax after check five times with five people. Thorough, if not anything.

People were supposed to check in with their badges, or get a temp one and be walked around with a regular worker, for obvious security reasons. I cannot give out badges. I'm a bit sad about that...just joking.

I felt more yawns were to come before a 1st Government allotted smoke break. I tried to amuse myself by cleaning under my nails with a thumbtack and then a paperclip until smoky time came round. I also tried sticky note origami. You can get instruction off the web for all the animals and everything. But, I wasn't very good, and the sticky part kept getting in the way of my art mastery. I was annoyed by it, but it could have been the lack of nicotine.

I began to look around a bit. Outdated awards hung in cheap, maybe wood frames, with plastic, not glass showing them off. All hanging on walls with dingy, pealing paint, scratches marking something had once occurred there, in average, not threatening to the imagination colors. (There was colorful wallpaper in the women's restroom. It was soothing and made me feel comfortable pooping there. And they did provide sented Avon hand lotion, for after you hands were washed, to prevent office drying.)

Lots of missing years in this mismatch award pile around the office. I noticed that the Special Olympics stickers, that were on a window stopped after only three years, sometime in the mid-90's. Maybe the "special person" died, or made someone mad, or there was a major security breach involving a gimp or a retard. I almost had a smile, but then I found it hard to find the interest to even make that call really. However, if I were going to be seriously messed with, I have a cane, and would not be afraid to cry, point at the stickers, and asked why they didn't like handicap people anymore.

And it was Casual Friday...not just there, but everywhere, I think. A nation of Casual Friday people. We all had to do it, it's important to maintain our inside selves with Causal Friday. That little nugget of supposed relief. Such bullshit. I wore the same pants that I did the day before in a different color...however, I did not change my socks, they were a tiny bit stinky...but, what the hell, it's fucking Casual Friday...Stink it up! Stinky McStinky!!!! I did want to be a team player, it's in my nature.

I wondered who would rebel and wear their suit...there had to be someone brave enough to take on the "man", take on the "establishment". Where was our hero? Not to be found today, amid all the jeans with butterfly appliques, and tan pants, and colored plastic beads instead of pearls, and casual company shirts...nope, not today. I was not that person either...I had disappointed myself, and felt the shame of it all, in my stinky socks. What a pussy.

How come there's no Casual Monday? That's what I want to know. All these cool, innovative (buzz word note), hip companies that think outside the box...well, where the Casual Monday? No one wants to get it all together, or on, for Monday. Who does that?!? Implementing Casual Monday - Now!, that would be innovative.

Innovative that word, that word that gets tossed around...so much, without direct action with its meaning...poor, poor word. Words can be raped and pillaged... and yet we do nothing. Word standing with bloated belly, naked, with flies buzzing around. For the price of a latte, you could save this word and many other just like it. Please, send me your money, and I will send you a letter from this word with a picture and progress notes monthly, after depositing you check. Together we can save lives. (I'm not joking...send me your money...you stingy bastard, in your fatcat Hummer....this is an emergency!!!! Send me your money!!!) I digress. I'm sorry.

I sat at the front desk eating my bright green apples. I brought two. They're small, and tart - and they wouldn't be worth mentioning at all, except for their bright green color, so loud against the brown , fake wood desk. They startled me out of a yawn in their brilliance. They screamed life in that dead place. LIFE!!!!!!!!!! I almost felt sorry for the off-color, faded, dusty flower arrangement standing in its corner. Even though it was standing in its ever so trendy "country kitchen" woven basket, there was no life there, no life in any form to be found.

And even though eating many green apples may cause over active bowels, I'm thinking I will take the risk and bring two more on Monday. Plus, the loud, crisp crunching noise I make when eating them seems to startle some people. Something like the electric shock after rubbing pajama feet on the carpet. I can tell they would like to think , there is a small hope, that it might be shots fired, but the disappointment face, it's just my apples. However, I am a temp. Anything could be, you know. Keep your eyes on me...that's for sure.

It's important to keep their eye on me, yes, indeed. Especially since temps have no history, no past, no future, etc. They are an elite breed called in when the regulars can't multi-task, when the regulars can't hang, can't cut the mustard, just can't do it all. There's no telling about a person such as a temp. We're all very mysterious.

Please keep in mind, while reading the above paragraph that I have answered the phone, approximately 12 times, and no more, in the past two days. Yes, I can understand why my services were needed. Why I was called in for this task. If not for me...then who? then WHO, I ask?!? You can't just have phones ringing without a person to answer them...THAT WOULD BE TOTAL CHAOS. It's a tough, thankless job, that temps do...and they wouldn't have it anyother way. It's the Code...shit, I've already said to much.

I have heard all about the woman I am taking over for. She's a dumbass. And her upcoming evaluation is going to stink for her...I'll tell you what. I resisted the urge to leave an anonymous note for her...could be me, or the other temp before me, who would have left it. And without costly fingerprint analysis, it would be hard to determine. But, I didn't.
The fact that she's an idiot is good for me. She doesn't do much, so their expectations of me are extremely low. Not much to have to meet.

The secretary that I report to, had her children while in her teens, and as the lineage goes on, she is a Great-Great Grandmother at barely fifty. She loves Avon products, and really wants me to try this new lip gloss that she desperately believes is just my color. She talks a lot. She's going to do Dumb-Ass's Eval. I said, like I cared, how I understood how hard it was going to be on her, and how was she going to do it? All that stress...oh the humanity.

Most of you may know that I talk a lot, too. And I am being out talked about nothing. That's no small feat...so we must honor her for a moment. (But, no more than that.) She gave me her card to keep in touch after Monday...we can have lunch she says. She likes Dairy Queen, and noted that when I bought my lunch from Joe's Crab Shack, that is was very expensive there, and I might want to change my call in order before I had to go over there and pay up. After all, IHOP was just down the road, and she wouldn't make me report my clock out time if I was just grabbing something. I didn't want to appear to be a lunch snob. I noted that, I wasn't aware about their menu prices, and I should have consulted her first, but now that I had already placed my order, I would just feel too bad for canceling it. I would just have to bite the bullet on this one, today. And I would have to take her solid lunch advise tomorrow.

If only I had asked, if only I had known!!! She nodded, that indeed she was the lunch advisor to go to, and I had made a mistake, but it would all be better tomorrow, she would help me, not to worry. IHOP doesn't have crabby patty sandwhiches, which is what I wanted. I would bring my lunch, next time. I didn't want to have to go to IHOP - I secretly whined to myself.

She has several office suitors. They are all older, as she is. She relishes the breaks of her daily paper shifting, and mail sorting (I can see why they needed a temp.). I know she loves the attention, and I am careful not to be too funny, too smart, too anything, that may distract her would be office suitors. They're all married and whatnot, but offices can't run without office fucking. It's a rule.

I pondered which one would she like the most. I am bored, you know. I've been studying her reactions to their conversations, and chest puffing, little doughnut presents, and their run-ins to see if she got their off-color email jokes, and what her reaction was. So many to choose from.

Sometimes, when one of them leaves, she gives me the signal, the eyes roll, or the signal, nod wink. Either way, she is their master, she is in control. They are really quite powerless in the struggle. It would be funny if she bit off one of their heads after mating. I don't want to see the actual mating, but the head thing would be entertaining, and horrifing, and entertaining.

I think she's after the big boss, myself. She's topnotch around that guy, and when he's coming into the office, she gets out her special, roll-on perfume, and tabs a little behind her ears and on her wrists, before hurriedly putting it back in the top drawer, next to the spare gum pack. She stands to smooth out her outfit and checks her teeth. Yes, I think that who's pee-pee attention she may want. Good luck on that. I think he might be a closet fetish of some sort guy. I'd bet my money on it.He has the walk of someone who's been bent over and given a good spanking to...you know, that walk. Yep, bet my money on it.

And her boss, just below the "big boss" looks and sounds just like Tim Conway. It's been difficult to take him seriously. He waddles in and out of his office on more than one occasion, checking and double checking fax machine numbers, and placement of the mail, etc. All the while, making statements like: If brains were dynamite...She has the personality of a rock....(and if someone says their sorry) I know you're sorry, but now apologize. He is the master of those Reader's Digest quips, but he looks like Tim Conway. He's full of all of that crazy, zany knowledge like "Shine Stuff with a Banana." and "Vinegar...The Real Story." All those colloquialisms learned from years of playing Word Power, Mah Jongg, Competitive Scrabble, etc. He's the guy that everyone always challenges in Scrabble, only to find out that he's right about the use and spelling of some obsure word, used once in America, one time, in 1952. You know that guy. (yawn.) (However, if anyone comes in looking like Don Knots and they break out into song...I will die laughing. Who doesn't love those two?)

On Day2, I've found it hard to put forth the customary automatic, "Oh you're just so silly and witty, I can't stand it." smile, every...single...time, his chubby, belt holding up his Tim Conway body, rounds the corner for the millionth time. I know he's coming, from the clicking of the forever bottomless coffee pot, that he just got his millionth, styrofoam, Cafe Foldgr/other cheaper brand from Office Depmax cup. Always two sugars, not the pink stuff, shaking in his fat, little hands, that sometimes dropping one, and he makes a statement of the imperfectness of the paper bag of the sugar, if only he were in charge. He's show them a thing or two about packaging. And he take two, not just one, of the red and white stripe stir sticks. Every...single...time. But, what can I do? With just comedy excites of Tim Conway, I cannot be too hard on this look a like counterpart. I just can't! Who could?!? It's like finding a potato chip that looks like Jesus or Elvis. It's a thing. It's sacred.

Also, I found that Timmy C. is responsible for the office decorations. The office, despite the old awards, is full of happy posters. They all have sayings like:

There's no SEC RITY...with out "U"
or
Nothing Shines Like Quality...Let's Make This Place Sparkle
or
Nothing Holds Up Like Quality (picture of the American Flag)

And, the one that worried me a bit, the US Mail Advisory poster with all the warning against Suspicious Packages and all the appropriate numbers to call if there's a real emergency.

Considering that I, "the temp", couldn't sign for any packages, and the mail driver just got pissed off yesterday, he was pissed off having to wait for a person to sign, just dropped the package off, and left...and no one cared that their own policy had been violated, I did worry a bit. It just takes one time with lax security measures to be dead. Just one bomb...just one time. Suspicious practice on the suspicious package. And I being a temp did not sign up for this level of insecurity...is this how they really ran things? DID NO ONE READ THE UNCLE SAM POSTER?!?!?!? His red and white suit brightly colored with his one finger pointing out....THERE IS NO SEC RITY WITHOUT "U". Goddamn it people...shit...get it together!!!

I began to worry about my safety, and maybe the safety of the manuals this place produced, if this is how they were going to treat their very common, most simple practices. But, whatever, I was out on Monday. So, not really my responsibility. You can lead the office to the poster, but you cannot make them think. I just hoped that I would make it out alive to see my three day, slightly above mimimum wage page check, and my child.

And the computer guy/IT guy, stopping by the desk to make sure I knew just how smart he was. I got it, dude. Seriously, I got it.

And yes, I did know about the Blackberry scandal. How did I know about that? How could I, the temp, know that there was a possible "white list" that Governement employees would be put on if all the Blackberrys when down? How? How?

I didn't want to let him in on my secret source...my connections...my peeps...the news, as some people like to call it. I ended the conversation quickly as possible before he found out that I might be a smart girl. I didn't want to know what he and his posse did for fun...(Dungeons and Dragons, Star Trek, XFiles circle jerks - I shuddered to think.)

He made some reference to "Beer-Thirty" at the close of day...as though I might just bite...a little social nibble...but I gave him nothing. I pretended that I didn't hear him because I was desperately trying to figure out how to turn on the Night Ring button (it's one button), and I ask him if he could take care of this problem for me, as I made my get away. The fact that it's just one button might help make me look extra, real stupid, so, I suspect that may throw him off the scent. I prayed. I haven't got much else to make me look more stupid that I can pull out of my ass on Monday.

I had already thrown off the other IT dork and office mate to this one, with the fact that I continued to call him "Sir" after he asked me not to several times. He's too cool for school to you know...Sir.

Besides, I was off to have coffee, the good kind, with a good, smart friend...completely in danger, with wild abandon, of getting my sanity back with...so I had to hurry. Yes, yes, hurry up. Not much time to waste.

I did, however, make a huge mistake that I may pay for, come Monday.

IT McNerdy pants was locking up right after me....I hadn't seen him...he's fast...I must be wary. I made the mistake -I lit my after work cigarette and started my car, BEFORE the seatbelt and arranging myself to drive ritual.

My very cool, foreign rock music that another cool friend gave me blared loudly, LOUDLY...sanity, sweet sanity....BUT, IT McNerdy, well, he had heard it, too. It's not dumb-ass music. The jig might have been violated if not been completely shot by my careless behavior. I must remember to get out my Spice Girls CD for Monday, and just explain it all away, that was some weird radio station that I had to sooo turn off. He had waved good bye, and smiled. HE WAVED AND SMILED!!!

Fuck! Fuck! Fucky Fuck Fuck!

Yes, must make and lay a careful plan for Monday.
It must be my finest work ever.

Free, Free Free At Last

Well, my proper two weeks was up. I was really leaving work. I had cleaned my desk. I emptied my email box, etc. I turned in my keys and phone, and top secret clearance badge. I didn't have an exit interview, which was ok. All of my appropriate free lunches we attended to. I had sent all of my thank you and good bye emails. Right before I was leaving, the CFO asked if he needed to check my purse. I told him he could if he really felt like he needed to. However, I was holding back the urge to tell him that if anyone was going to steal things, it wouldn't be on their last day. They would have pilfered out all of the good stuff way before then. So, I was leaving a place that didn't have the forethought, yet again, to see outside the box, for even a tiny second. I was still way ahead of them, if though I was leaving. I also wanted to point out that there wasn't anything in that place worth stealing. An office that wasn't that interesting...not the level of doing something cool enough to have corporate docs or whatever to make off with. Lawyers just produce a ton of paper, and you'd have to be a real jackass to want to steal and house most that, which is in it's final, mostly public record. What could I possibly do with a spare Pro Hace Vice? But, I didn't point out all of that. So, I left. The end.

Well, one thing I did before I left was ask if the hourly people were getting paid for the shut down of the office for the funeral of the partner's mother that everyone was "expected" to go to, and had to miss work for. The hourly people were concerned about this, but it would be a bit uncomfortable and uncouth to ask about. But, I was leaving, so I did it. And it was uncomfortable and uncouth, but what the hay...those things should be thought out by the massa' before implementing personnel policy of this magnitude, and yet, again, another reason to leave. Attending a funeral just to make sure there were enough people there and maintain an image -well, it's just creepy. Really creepy...on account of the dead person being all waxy and the like, right there in the room with people not knowing them. Egad! Yuck! Just image!

So, I asked. More like my old uncouth self...so good to be going home. Now, the end.

I took a day off. I had big plans for my day off, and nothing happened. And that was good I think. I had horrible nightmares about the place. I couldn't tell if I was just processing the horror of it all to get rid of it, or reminding myself that in my new job search not to go towards the dark light. I awoke grumpy and in a cold sweat. Would I ever be free? Would I find my niche? Come on, old girl, there's got to be something - pull up your bootstraps, put on your thinking cap, and run with it.

I started my temp job yesterday. I loved it! Oh my God!!!!! The freedom!!!! The freedom of it all!!!!! I arrived early. And I got paid to read my book. As a temp, no one knows what your story is, or how much you might could do for them. No one will even give you mail to stamp for fear that you might break their mail machine. My plan was to just do temp work for a bit and shop around for the right job this time - making sure not to just take a job for the sake of having one.

However, I was just so excited for getting paid for doing nothing!!!! There are even secret places that you can't go at this job...THE LABS. LAB 1 and LAB 2. LAB2 just has two way speakers - that's the very secret, secret one. Whatever. I'm cool with it. I wasn't supposed to even know about them, but people can't keep secrets. People need to feel important in their work. I acted very concerned, and very interested, etc. BUT, not TOO concerned or interested. It's an artful balance for sure. So, I do know about them, and have no responsibility for them at all. I love that!!!! And the boss lady that I report to, she gave me the dish on the office staff. Maybe because she's lonely, and I'm not staying there to hurt her with the information. Much like a priest. I listened (or did I really listen) to her plight about it all. Evaluations were just around the corner, you know. And being in her position was so hard. She had to give a bad eval to one person, and she just didn't want, too. BUT, this person was a real fuck up. Oh the tragedy of it all. I told her how I understood. I told her how, right off the bat, having met her, I knew she would do and say all the right things...she had my vote of confidence. Just like a priest...very good.

I bought her a piece of pie at lunch - that a practice similar to the Hail Mary's and whatnots in the office world. Her favorite is keylime pie, and it was quite fortunate that I was able to obtain just that very pie for her. She ate her pie and thought that I was so sweet and kind to do such a thing for a stranger. Again, I have no responsibility for these people at all!!!! They could be as fucked up as they wanted to be, and come 4:00 PM on Monday, I'm outta' there!!!! Just that cool! I may just do this for a bit. Getting paid or doing nothing is just so nice.

I did get a call back on the job that peaked my interest the most. I am excited about that one, but trying not to be too excited about it all. I'm up against a tough broad with vast experience, but she has a bad attitude. I, on the other hand, can learn anything, thank goodness, I decided to never stop learning, and have a great attitude. I think that they may hire me, and my temp vacation may be over. I'm trying not to put all of my eggs in the same basket, of course. However, if you get excited about a job, it's hard not to do that. And it's hard to convince people that they should do the right thing and take care of themselves with putting you on the payroll already. We'll see about this one.

If you haven't tried temp work - well, I may suggest that you do. The release of aggravation and heartache was invigorating. It's like smelling the cork of a fine wine - right at that moment, you just know whatever comes next will be good for you and fun.