Dear Internets, I'm afraid that I will be neglecting you in the next few weeks. Maybe months. You see, my new job? The one I started today? They are much stricter when it comes to usage of The Internets. The monitor everything, kind of like Big Brother. And as much as I like to break the rules, I do not like getting caught.
Yeah. I give that a week.
So, today I got to wear big girl clothes instead of scrubs. My feet hurt. As soon as I came home I took off all my big girl clothes and put on sweats, which as far as I can tell is the best part about wearing big girl clothes. Except for the sound that big girl shoes make on tile. I love that. Also, I love the cute, big girl shoes. There is something really funny about the phrase "big girl." Maybe it's because we call my friend Mary's roommate "Big Girl." He is neither big nor a girl. Discuss.
I went the whole day without checking my e-mail. Well. Not true. I checked it in the morning before I left. And I checked my work e-mail, but I only got one today and it was just to tell me how to set up my voicemail. HARDLY as much fun as my personal e-mails. Also, as soon as I got home, right before I stripped off all my big girl clothes, I fired up Google Talk. I didn't have much in my e-mail, but at least the dose of internet finally stopped the cold chills, the dizziness, and the shaking.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
I am ready to face any challenges that might be foolish enough to face me.
Today is my last day at work and this morning I left my apartment with my pants on backwards. NOW. Before you judge too hastily, they are SCRUB pants with a tie in the front (well, in the back today) so it's not like it matters that much if you're wearing them backwards or forwards or sideways or upside-down. Except for those last two, I'm not sure how you'd go about doing that.
I fixed them once I got to work. And I didn't tell anyone. Except you guys. This is just like on the last day of high school when I forgot the combination to my locker. For real. It was just . . . gone. Which was probably good, because a couple months before that I had spilled rancid hot chocolate all over everything inside and the smell still hadn't gone away by the end of the year. That smell is probably still there. It was the unholiest of all unholy smells. It made all of Central unit smell and Central was a BIG unit (heh).
I have no idea where I'm going with this. True story.
I fixed them once I got to work. And I didn't tell anyone. Except you guys. This is just like on the last day of high school when I forgot the combination to my locker. For real. It was just . . . gone. Which was probably good, because a couple months before that I had spilled rancid hot chocolate all over everything inside and the smell still hadn't gone away by the end of the year. That smell is probably still there. It was the unholiest of all unholy smells. It made all of Central unit smell and Central was a BIG unit (heh).
I have no idea where I'm going with this. True story.
Monday, March 05, 2007
Lids down, I count sheep, I count heartbeats, the only thing that counts is that I won't sleep, I count down, I look around
Well, it's been a while since I've talked about not sleeping. Hasn't it? It has. Thanks for agreeing with me. Sometimes I go through periods where I don't sleep. Unless I drink profusely before bed and not even that works every time. Believe me, I've tried. I'm kidding. Maybe.
You know how sometimes after a night of drinking you wake up and your mouth tastes all fuzzy? Or like someone (hopefully you) threw up in it and then you forgot to brush your teeth? So you've got this ungodly taste in your mouth and it also feels like you've been sucking on cotton all night?
Anyway, that's what my brain feels like right now.
I'm not sure why I don't sleep sometimes. Maybe it's mental. OK, I'm sure it's mental. Heh, mental. Or I need to cut back on the caffeine (NO GOD NO) but I wouldn't NEED the caffeine in the first place if my brain would just shut up long enough to let me fall to sleep. Here are some of the reasons I couldn't sleep last night:
You know how sometimes after a night of drinking you wake up and your mouth tastes all fuzzy? Or like someone (hopefully you) threw up in it and then you forgot to brush your teeth? So you've got this ungodly taste in your mouth and it also feels like you've been sucking on cotton all night?
Anyway, that's what my brain feels like right now.
I'm not sure why I don't sleep sometimes. Maybe it's mental. OK, I'm sure it's mental. Heh, mental. Or I need to cut back on the caffeine (NO GOD NO) but I wouldn't NEED the caffeine in the first place if my brain would just shut up long enough to let me fall to sleep. Here are some of the reasons I couldn't sleep last night:
- I slept too late on Sunday, because I couldn't fall to sleep Saturday night.
- Phoebe was purring too loud.
- I got too hot under the covers so I had to take my pants off and then I got too cold and had to put socks on and then I got too hot again so I threw the comforter on the floor and then I got cold again OH MY GOD STOP THE MADNESS.
- I kept having weird dreams (nothing new there) and after each one I'd wake up, sit up, and say, (loudly, for Phoebe's benefit? I don't know) "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
- I start my new job on Wednesday and I am having paranoid delusions that they're going to call me Tuesday night and shriek, "HAHA JUST KIDDING!" and then hang up and I will cry, cry, cry all night long (but not sleep).
- The moonlight was too bright . . . SERIOUSLY. It was shining in my window and it woke me up because it was too damn bright. Normally, I love a full moon (heh) . . . it's all pretty and bright and romantic but not when I'm trying to sleep because I have to get out of bed and close the curtains and then I freeze because I'm not wearing pants (see above).
That's right, moonlight woke me up. I'm a very light sleeper, which is funny (not haha funny) because Heidi is such a deep sleeper. There are are mornings that I wake up because I hear both her alarm and TV through her closed door and my closed door and she can sleep right through it. I don't know how she does it but I'm totally jealous. This one morning as I was leaving I passed her room and the TV was blaring and bright and her alarm that sounds like you're standing INSIDE an actual church bell was ringing and ringing AND RINGING and she was dead asleep.
Oh my god, this is so boring. I'm sorry (not really). Maybe if I read this over and over I'll be able to fall asleep. I should probably wait until I get home, though.
Sunday, March 04, 2007
Michael, if this is a lecture on how we're all supposed to whatever and blah blah blah, well, you can save it, because we all know it by heart.
Do you ever go through a period of time where all you want to do is read? For, I don't know, a while (so descriptive), I've had to force myself to finish any book I start. Which is not like me. But lately, I've been reading CONSTANTLY. I take a book with me everywhere, just in case I have some extra time to read a couple of pages. I even had my book at the grocery store the other day but I didn't take it out of my purse because I was afraid I'd accidentally run over a small child or an old person with my cart if I tried to read and shop at the same time. Not that I'm particularly worried about running over a small child (because they're everywhere and if me hitting them with my cart teaches them NOT to run in front of things with wheels then I am happy to perform that service) but I'd feel bad about running over someone's sweet old grandma who is only at the store because her dear grandchildren are coming to visit this weekend, and so she risked the cold and the snow and the roads to come all the way to Kroger to buy ingredients for her world famous oatmeal raisin cookies. Oh, Grandma, you are just too sweet for words.
Wow, ok. So all weekend I've been reading. I finished one book and am halfway through another and I'm trying to mainline them as quickly as possible because I want to start something new. Sometimes I wish I could have books shot directly into my brain, like how they gave Keanu Reeves all the kung fu knowledge in The Matrix. And after they did it I'd be all, "I know exactly what twists and turns and misunderstandings were necessary for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to end up together," only that doesn't roll off the tongue quite like, "I know kung fu." Ah well.
Last night I was pouring over my bookshelves and I found a copy of The Great Gatsby that had fallen behind a row of other books. The Great Gatsby! Shoved behind other books! Blasphemy! To be completely honest, I didn't even know I owned a copy of The Great Gatsby. And I'm pretty sure the last (and only) time I ever read it was in high school and I didn't like it because in high school I was all, "Symbolism? Pshaw! Symbolism is stupid! I hate symbolism!" and then I went to college and became an English major and that's when symbolism and I began our torrid love affair. Anyway, so The Great Gatsby is next on my list of books to read because I think I'll like it more as a sophisticated and well-traveled (ha) twentysomething than I did as a smart-assed fifteen-year-old know-it-all. Damn, that was a lot of hyphens! Did you see that? Amazing. Anyway, the symbolism, right. I had this one professor in college that was way, way into symbolism. She was symbolism's bitch. Also, her husband was a professor, too, but not so much into symbolism. He was completely insane, though. Katie, you know who I'm talking about? YOU KNOW who I'm talking about. Anyway, the lady professor? You could make up ANYTHING and she'd just nod her head and say, "yes, yes, that is an interesting point." Sometimes when she'd call on me I would make up the most off the wall thing I could think of just to see if she'd agree with me. She usually did. Probably because she was high all the time.
Symbolism and I almost broke up over Moby-Dick. That book almost killed me. You know, if I remember right, that was the time I was reading Moby-Dick for one class, Hamlet for another, and Crime & Punishment for a class on Russian Literature that I only took because I thought it would be easy. Russian Literature. Easy. Ha! So, yeah. Moby-Dick, Hamlet, and Crime & Punishment. The Bermuda Triangle OF DEATH AND DEPRESSION. I doubt I was very much fun to be around during this time, namely because I was FUCKING DEPRESSED as a result of the murder and the crazy and the dying dying everybody dying. You know what, though? I kept my copy of Moby-Dick, not because I'll ever read it again, but as proof that I actually did read it. You can tell because of all the clever notes I wrote in the margins. Such as "ew" in reference to a description of a gaping wound and "haha" in reference to the words "sperm whale."
Wow, ok. So all weekend I've been reading. I finished one book and am halfway through another and I'm trying to mainline them as quickly as possible because I want to start something new. Sometimes I wish I could have books shot directly into my brain, like how they gave Keanu Reeves all the kung fu knowledge in The Matrix. And after they did it I'd be all, "I know exactly what twists and turns and misunderstandings were necessary for Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy to end up together," only that doesn't roll off the tongue quite like, "I know kung fu." Ah well.
Last night I was pouring over my bookshelves and I found a copy of The Great Gatsby that had fallen behind a row of other books. The Great Gatsby! Shoved behind other books! Blasphemy! To be completely honest, I didn't even know I owned a copy of The Great Gatsby. And I'm pretty sure the last (and only) time I ever read it was in high school and I didn't like it because in high school I was all, "Symbolism? Pshaw! Symbolism is stupid! I hate symbolism!" and then I went to college and became an English major and that's when symbolism and I began our torrid love affair. Anyway, so The Great Gatsby is next on my list of books to read because I think I'll like it more as a sophisticated and well-traveled (ha) twentysomething than I did as a smart-assed fifteen-year-old know-it-all. Damn, that was a lot of hyphens! Did you see that? Amazing. Anyway, the symbolism, right. I had this one professor in college that was way, way into symbolism. She was symbolism's bitch. Also, her husband was a professor, too, but not so much into symbolism. He was completely insane, though. Katie, you know who I'm talking about? YOU KNOW who I'm talking about. Anyway, the lady professor? You could make up ANYTHING and she'd just nod her head and say, "yes, yes, that is an interesting point." Sometimes when she'd call on me I would make up the most off the wall thing I could think of just to see if she'd agree with me. She usually did. Probably because she was high all the time.
Symbolism and I almost broke up over Moby-Dick. That book almost killed me. You know, if I remember right, that was the time I was reading Moby-Dick for one class, Hamlet for another, and Crime & Punishment for a class on Russian Literature that I only took because I thought it would be easy. Russian Literature. Easy. Ha! So, yeah. Moby-Dick, Hamlet, and Crime & Punishment. The Bermuda Triangle OF DEATH AND DEPRESSION. I doubt I was very much fun to be around during this time, namely because I was FUCKING DEPRESSED as a result of the murder and the crazy and the dying dying everybody dying. You know what, though? I kept my copy of Moby-Dick, not because I'll ever read it again, but as proof that I actually did read it. You can tell because of all the clever notes I wrote in the margins. Such as "ew" in reference to a description of a gaping wound and "haha" in reference to the words "sperm whale."
Saturday, March 03, 2007
Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that.
I don't want to scare you guys, but I have been totally domestic all day long today. I did about 14 loads of laundry (lie), BAKED a loaf of banana bread (thanks for the recipe, Kat!), and just Monica Gellered the entire apartment. It looks (and smells) SO. GOOD.
Last night I started reading The Polysyllabic Spree. You know, you wouldn't think that a book where some guy talks about books he's purchased and books he's read would be that exciting, but it is really, really good. So good, you guys. Maybe it's because I suffer from the same affliction the author does. Namely, I purchase way WAY more books than I can read. Earlier I pulled all of the books off of my shelf that I haven't read yet, just to get an idea of how many there were. This is the stack:
Yeah. I told Heidi that she was allowed to berate me (but not slap me) the next time I come home with a bunch of books. I mean, seriously. I don't need to buy any more books for a while, right? Because of that stack up there. That could last me a while. At least a month, right? Right? Probably way longer. Maybe. So explain to me why the only thing I can think about is the gift certificate to Half Price Books that is in my purse and that I want to spend NOW RIGHT NOW.
I think I have a sickness. And you wanna know what? If there's some sort of cure, I don't want to know about it.
Friday, March 02, 2007
This year more people will use cocaine than will read a book to their children.
"Hi, Linda. Dwight Schrute, Assistant Regional Manager. You might remember testing my urine a few years back, when I was applying to be a volunteer sheriff’s deputy."
"We test a lot of urine."
"Mine was green."
"Oh, right. How are you?"
"I’m all better."
-The Office (duh), "Drug Testing"
Remember that list I made yesterday? And how I said I probably wouldn't get around to much of it? Well. AS IT TURNS OUT, I got around to almost all of it. Except for cleaning the bathroom. And going to the gym, but I'm doing that later. I also got around to doing some stuff on the second list, like sleeping in and reading and watching TiVo. No thin mints, surprisingly enough. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?
So far, the highlight of my day was going to get my drug test. I've never had to get a drug test before so it was a new experience. I was a little nervous, because whenever I have to pee in a cup at the doctor's office I get stage fright. Which is weird, because normally I pee constantly. Well, not CONSTANTLY, because that would be messy. But I pee A LOT. So before I left to go get my test, I drank a whole bunch of water and prayed I wouldn't pee myself before they called my name.
It turns out it's a much more intricate system than I'd been expecting. I thought she'd just hand me the cup, I'd pee in it (and probably on my hand) and give it back lalala all done. FIRST OF ALL, she inspected the form I'd brought with me (supplied by my new employer) and she asked if they'd just given it to me. "No," I replied. "I've had it for a while, hahaha." Because I have had it for a while. It only just occurred to me that the reason she gave me such a funny look when I said that is because she thinks I waited so long to get my drug test because I smoked a lot of crack or meth or ecstasy or whatever it is the kids are doing these days and needed time to flush out my system or something, but really it's just because I'm a big, giant procrastinator and it didn't occur to me that I still hadn't gotten tested until yesterday. Not that I really look like a drug addict, but sometimes you can't tell, you know? I don't even know how long drugs stay in your system. I used to work at a Vitamin World in college (shut up) and sketchy looking characters used to come in and buy this stuff that supposedly flushes out your system. I don't know. I didn't mind them. They were quiet and left the store quickly. The only customers I really minded were the secret shoppers and the geriatric cowboy who came in one night with an ice cream cone in one hand and his giant belt buckle in the other. He spent about an hour in the store hitting on me and asking if I was a christian while I begged the other customers with my eyes to please please please make him leave but that's a story for another day.
Anyway, so this drug testing lady looked like my grandma. She definitely wasn't as nice, though. She made me wash my hands and lock up my purse and told me NOT to flush the toilet or run water and she took the trashcan out of the bathroom. Also, my grandma has never made me pee into a plastic cup, at least not to my knowledge.
Still. I tried to be friendly. After all, she spends her entire day handling pee. Also? Once I'd handed over my pee (full to the brim, I'll have you know) she made me sign my form with her pen but she didn't let me wash my hands until after. I really hope she throws the pen away every time. Otherwise, I don't want to know how many pee germs are all over it. And don't you tell me pee is sterile, it's still pee.
"We test a lot of urine."
"Mine was green."
"Oh, right. How are you?"
"I’m all better."
-The Office (duh), "Drug Testing"
Remember that list I made yesterday? And how I said I probably wouldn't get around to much of it? Well. AS IT TURNS OUT, I got around to almost all of it. Except for cleaning the bathroom. And going to the gym, but I'm doing that later. I also got around to doing some stuff on the second list, like sleeping in and reading and watching TiVo. No thin mints, surprisingly enough. DID I JUST BLOW YOUR MIND?
So far, the highlight of my day was going to get my drug test. I've never had to get a drug test before so it was a new experience. I was a little nervous, because whenever I have to pee in a cup at the doctor's office I get stage fright. Which is weird, because normally I pee constantly. Well, not CONSTANTLY, because that would be messy. But I pee A LOT. So before I left to go get my test, I drank a whole bunch of water and prayed I wouldn't pee myself before they called my name.
It turns out it's a much more intricate system than I'd been expecting. I thought she'd just hand me the cup, I'd pee in it (and probably on my hand) and give it back lalala all done. FIRST OF ALL, she inspected the form I'd brought with me (supplied by my new employer) and she asked if they'd just given it to me. "No," I replied. "I've had it for a while, hahaha." Because I have had it for a while. It only just occurred to me that the reason she gave me such a funny look when I said that is because she thinks I waited so long to get my drug test because I smoked a lot of crack or meth or ecstasy or whatever it is the kids are doing these days and needed time to flush out my system or something, but really it's just because I'm a big, giant procrastinator and it didn't occur to me that I still hadn't gotten tested until yesterday. Not that I really look like a drug addict, but sometimes you can't tell, you know? I don't even know how long drugs stay in your system. I used to work at a Vitamin World in college (shut up) and sketchy looking characters used to come in and buy this stuff that supposedly flushes out your system. I don't know. I didn't mind them. They were quiet and left the store quickly. The only customers I really minded were the secret shoppers and the geriatric cowboy who came in one night with an ice cream cone in one hand and his giant belt buckle in the other. He spent about an hour in the store hitting on me and asking if I was a christian while I begged the other customers with my eyes to please please please make him leave but that's a story for another day.
Anyway, so this drug testing lady looked like my grandma. She definitely wasn't as nice, though. She made me wash my hands and lock up my purse and told me NOT to flush the toilet or run water and she took the trashcan out of the bathroom. Also, my grandma has never made me pee into a plastic cup, at least not to my knowledge.
Still. I tried to be friendly. After all, she spends her entire day handling pee. Also? Once I'd handed over my pee (full to the brim, I'll have you know) she made me sign my form with her pen but she didn't let me wash my hands until after. I really hope she throws the pen away every time. Otherwise, I don't want to know how many pee germs are all over it. And don't you tell me pee is sterile, it's still pee.
Thursday, March 01, 2007
I’m always thinking one step ahead. Like a carpenter that makes stairs.
I have the day off tomorrow and here are the things I need to do:
go to the grocery
balance my checkbook
go to the gym
get a drug test (for new job, not because I was arrested or anything)
go to the library
fill out paperwork for new job
clean room and bathroom
do laundry (but laundry, I barely know you!)
Just looking at that list exhausts me. EXHAUSTS ME. Here is what I will probably end up doing instead:
sleeping in A LOT
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I haven't gotten around to watching yet
reading
eating thin mints
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I won't delete because I like to watch them over and over
reading some more
I may be able to throw in something like doing laundry or showering or going to the gym. But not everything on the first list. I don't have any plans this weekend (LO-SER) so I need to leave something for Saturday night. Ha! Just kidding. If I'm home Saturday night I'm going to buy a bottle of wine and get drunk by myself, because Heidi will be at her boyfriend's. I. Am SO. PSYCHED.
So last night I went to bed around 11:30 and slept the sleep of the dead until about 2 o'clock when I inexplicably woke up. Maybe not inexplicably. I think it was storming last night and that may have been about the time a giant thunderclap scared Phoebe and she used my stomach as a launching pad off of the bed. OW, CAT. Anyway, so the rest of the night (early morning?) I had the WEIRDEST DREAMS EVER. Like, in the one I remember? This guy and I kept breaking into churches to have sex. Dear Family: I am so sorry I just shared that with both you and the entire Internets. Anyway, I have no idea who this guy was or why we had to break into churches to have sex. I guess that makes me both a giant slut and a giant sinner. Also, this was really elaborate breaking and entering, that sometimes involved climbing trees or removing bars from windows or rappelling from the roof when a church security guard (or Jesus) got too close. I think someone needs to tell Dream!Jennie and Dream!Guy that a hotel room would be a lot more convenient and also probably safer. Except for the coffeemaker. I saw this thing on the news or the Internets (or I made it up and can't remember) that you shouldn't drink coffee out of hotel room coffeemakers because sometimes people use them to make meth. I can't even begin to imagine how you'd make meth in a coffeemaker and also I'm not exactly sure what meth is or does which makes me pretty confident that I'll pass that drug test tomorrow.
go to the grocery
balance my checkbook
go to the gym
get a drug test (for new job, not because I was arrested or anything)
go to the library
fill out paperwork for new job
clean room and bathroom
do laundry (but laundry, I barely know you!)
Just looking at that list exhausts me. EXHAUSTS ME. Here is what I will probably end up doing instead:
sleeping in A LOT
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I haven't gotten around to watching yet
reading
eating thin mints
watching shows TiVo has recorded that I won't delete because I like to watch them over and over
reading some more
I may be able to throw in something like doing laundry or showering or going to the gym. But not everything on the first list. I don't have any plans this weekend (LO-SER) so I need to leave something for Saturday night. Ha! Just kidding. If I'm home Saturday night I'm going to buy a bottle of wine and get drunk by myself, because Heidi will be at her boyfriend's. I. Am SO. PSYCHED.
So last night I went to bed around 11:30 and slept the sleep of the dead until about 2 o'clock when I inexplicably woke up. Maybe not inexplicably. I think it was storming last night and that may have been about the time a giant thunderclap scared Phoebe and she used my stomach as a launching pad off of the bed. OW, CAT. Anyway, so the rest of the night (early morning?) I had the WEIRDEST DREAMS EVER. Like, in the one I remember? This guy and I kept breaking into churches to have sex. Dear Family: I am so sorry I just shared that with both you and the entire Internets. Anyway, I have no idea who this guy was or why we had to break into churches to have sex. I guess that makes me both a giant slut and a giant sinner. Also, this was really elaborate breaking and entering, that sometimes involved climbing trees or removing bars from windows or rappelling from the roof when a church security guard (or Jesus) got too close. I think someone needs to tell Dream!Jennie and Dream!Guy that a hotel room would be a lot more convenient and also probably safer. Except for the coffeemaker. I saw this thing on the news or the Internets (or I made it up and can't remember) that you shouldn't drink coffee out of hotel room coffeemakers because sometimes people use them to make meth. I can't even begin to imagine how you'd make meth in a coffeemaker and also I'm not exactly sure what meth is or does which makes me pretty confident that I'll pass that drug test tomorrow.
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