Catfight!

I am so mad at my cat right now.

Occasionally he gets full of beans and acts like we're chasing him around the house, even if we don't know it. Today, apparently that wasn't enough for him. There I was, minding my own business, doing my WiiFit, when I feel the cat jump up and drag his paws down my leg. Thankfully, his claws were in. But I gave in and chased him into the bedroom, where I jumped on the bed. Mecrutio then gave me the evil eye and jumped up. I was laying on my tummy, so he landed on my shoulder. With all of his claws and teeth out in full force.

The next few minutes are a little hazy, but I'm sure Jay heard a stream of expletives, and then more crashing around as I tackled the cat, who then had the audacity to hiss at me. Hiss! This cat has hissed maybe 5 times in his life. More expletives. Somehow I got the cat in a chokehold and dragged him to the kitchen sink, fighting and yelling the whole way. I doused his face with water and threw him on the ground. He ran back in the bedroom and I slammed the door after him. Then I stormed out to show Jay the carnage.

This little sweetiekins:

gave me this:

It hurts a lot more than the pictures make look like it should, I promise you.

Eventually the cat and I made up, just because I happen to know that Mecrutio is certainly one to hold a grudge. So I approached him slowly with my hands out, speaking softly, saying things like "hey buddy - truce?" When he let me pet him, I knew tonight would bring kitty cuddles instead of kitty surprises in my shoe or something.

But my shoulder still hurts like a monkey funker.

RARG

I am so sick of looking for a job. And it's not like I'm not trying, either. I search all the internet job postings at least twice a day and apply to everything that I'm even remotely qualified for: everything from retail to receptionists to unnamed office jobs to food service to healthcare. I've only had 2 callbacks, and nothing came out of either one. This boggles my mind. I mean, I'm smart, professional, and the hardest worker they'll ever find, but nothing. We've gone out to pound the pavement for the downtown business that don't have websites, and none of them are hiring until "maybe next month."

I really hate jobs that require me to pay for a credit check. Maybe I have no money & bad credit BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE A JOB! Ever think of that?

We finished painting our house, but that doesn't matter if we can't pay the rent there anyway.

Frustrated.
Poor.
Hungry.

That about sums it up.

What do you do while you're at work?

I make jewelry. Normally I wouldn't bring my bead supplies to work because it's kind of a pain in the arse, but loom work is less so. 

My original plan was that I might need some sort of pretty bracelet to cover my rose tattoo when I get a new job, as that one is the most visible. Even though I'm moving to a very liberal town, it never hurts to be prepared. Also, I get damn bored at work during the day.

So I found a nice ivy photo, used the magic of computer programs to make it into a bead loom pattern, and set off. However, there were problems from the start. I was having trouble getting the loom to cooperate, the beads were being ridiculously different sizes, the needle was getting severely bent, etc. But I trudged on.

Here are some pictures of my progress:

Starting out:

Halfway done:

The problems continued at this point. I realized that the original design was too big for the loom that I have, and I was so annoyed at the misshapen needle that I could barely go on. I decided to take out just a few rows (that white gap at the end in the 2nd picture) to make it smaller. I used my tiny scissors to undo one row at a time, which was not easy work. Then tragedy struck - I snipped on of the black support threads. there was no way to fix a major boo boo like that, so I was forced to destroy the entire thing, after I'd already put hours and days into it.

I started all over from scratch. I ordered new needles, thinking that would solve all my problems, but they turned out to be so thin that they were useless to me. So I went back to my old needle, which still needed the occasional straightening, and continued on. Finally, after about a month of work, I had this:

You see how it completely fills the loom? I admit I had to cut the design even shorter, so the last leaves aren't finished. But I was done. All I had to do now was get it off the loom and tie it off, thus making it an actual bracelet. Now I have this:

I was thinking of putting it up for sale (and wearing it in the meantime) but it was so full of problems that I'm really not happy about it. Besides the design being cut off, the green beads and the white beads were different sizes, so the ends where I tied it together don't match up exactly. So this is my bracelet now.

What have I learned? Well for one, I need a bigger loom. Two, make sure the beads are the same size before I start. Three, good thing I didn't have anyhing else to do at work, so I could make this.

power outage!

Yesterday while I was at work, my BFFs at Comcast cable came and screwed everything up, as they are so apt to do. I don't know all the details, but it involved breaking the cable that supplied internet and cable tv to both our building and the one next door. I can't decide if this is better or worse than the time they literally cut everyone's cables because they couldn't keep track of who was a paying customer and who wasn't. Or the numerous times they've broken down the door to the messy wire-filled room where the cable is connected, rather than ask the office for the key. But I'm getting off topic.

So I still had internet at work, but I was warned by Jay that there probably wouldn't be any when I came home. Whatever, I didn't have anything pressing. Then, a few hours later (still at work) there is a mini-explosion and all the lights go out. Random things were beeping erratically, and I could barely see. I press the alarm off button, just in case, but the alarm was not an issue. My first instinct was to unplug my laptop, then the company computer. The power tried to come on 3 different times, but failed each time. Then honestly, I stood there in the dark for a few minutes ripping my hair out as things kept beeping.

Then a customer walked in. Luckily when he saw the lights were off, he understood that I couldn't help him. Then another customer walked in. She was new, so I had to explain that the lights being off and my secret door being open (so I could use the daylight to see) were not normal. I hadn't had any customers all day and suddenly I had 2? WTF man? I locked the door.

I called my boss and explained the situation. At the same time, Jay called me and said we had no power at home. (One of the advantages / disadvantages of working a block from home.) I reported back to my boss that no, it wasn't just a blown fuse. He said to unplug everything and go home (2 hours early). So I did. The stoplight was out, and as I watched cops directing traffic because people are idiots and don't know how to handle "situations" I realized that it would take longer for Jay to come get me than if I just walked. So after I did everything I could at work, I set out. Thank goodness it wasn't raining.

None of the businesses I could see had power. Ladies in the salon next door were getting their nails finished up next to the window. A lot of people were wandering aimlessly outside, looking bewildered like alien ships had just flown by or something. I briefly considered stopping by McDonalds to help them get rid of their "food" but then I remembered that McDonalds makes me throw up, so I kept walking.

I got home and it was a little chilly in the apartment - nothing a sweatshirt couldn't take care of. Luckily it was not quite freezing outside because our heat and stove are electric. Since we also didn't have any way of cooking anything, we went to Macaroni Grill* which is apparently on a different power grid. We took our sweet time there, enjoying tasty food and drink and chatting with our waitress. Eventually we went home. We saw some improvement in the power situation, but we were still without. So we did what anyone would do: we curled up on the couch with a blanket draped over us and took a nap.

We woke up about an hour later to the sound of the heat kicking on. Furtive glances showed lights. The tv worked again, and was picking up cable. But the internet was still down. You never notice how much of a habit the internet has become until you realize you're checking it every 5 minutes even though you know it doesn't work. Or you go to check the weather or get a phone number or something. But the important thing was that the power was back on. And that meant it would be back on at work, so I could go there and use the internet! Sweet.

So that was my day.



*The money that paid for our meal was none other than the $40 from Ms. Crazy Pants that expected change back with her necklace. She didn't get any change, btw. If she cant be bothered to break a twenty, then why should I? Especially since I'm the one that changed my policy to accomodate HER.

the Michigan list

I tried to take a step towards becoming a Michigander, I really did. I went down to the Secretary of State's office (they don't have the DMV here) with all my paperwork to trade in my CA license for a MI one. Instead of having a machine that dispenses numbers, they have an old lady.

me: Hi, I have a California license and I need to get a Michigan one.
Old Lady: Do you have a Michigan license?
me: no.
OL: Have you ever had a Michigan license?
me: no.
OL: Are you familiar with the ID requirements for Michigan.
me: Yes. (I looked them up online before coming down there.)
OL: Fill this out and wait for your number to be called.

I took my clipboard and form and number and went to go sit down with my friend. They called 27. I had 30 and my friend had 29. I barely had time to fill out the form before I was called.

me: Hi, I have a California license and I need to get a Michigan one.
Old Lady #2: (stares)
me: I have everything here with me, passport, social security card, California license, birth certificate, things showing my address...
OL2: Let me see your things.
me: (hands them over)
OL2: Now what is this here? I don't understand what this is that it says there is a balance due.
me: It's a credit card statement from Bank of America.
OL2: You need a birth certificate.
me: This is a birth certificate. (Points at birth certificate)
OL2: (Frowns at birth certificate and writes the information down, then looks at something else) I can't accept this. It's not a bank account statement.
me: No it's not, I haven't gotten a statement yet. It's a letter from the bank thanking me for opening up an account. It's dated and shows my address.
OL2: It's not a bank account statement. You need things off of this list. (circles random things on the list and shoves list at me)
me: Fine, I have my federal tax refund check. That has my address on it.
OL2: I can't accept that. It's not on the list.
me: No, it's a government document. It has my address on it. It's where I filed my taxes.
OL2: You need a receipt. I can't accept this.
me: They didn't give me a receipt. This was all that was in the envelope. That's why it has my address on it. But it's from the US government and it has my address on it.
OL2: We'll I'll have to run it by her. I don't think I can accept this. (after being gone several minutes, returns) I can't accept this. (shoves my credit card statement back at me)
me: But it's a credit card statement. You asked about that earlier. It's on the list right here.
OL2: But I can't accept it because it was printed out from online.
me: But the list says "Electronic copies are acceptable."
OL2: Do you have a utility bill? (Circles it on the list)
me: No, the utilities aren't in my name.
OL2: Well then bring in a copy of your lease. (Circles it on the list)
me: My name's not on the lease.
OL2: Your name's not on the lease?
me: No, not til June.
OL2: But?
me: I just moved here. I moved in with someone who already lived here. Therefore my name isn't on any of these. That's why I brought in the bank stuff.
OL2: Do you have a car registered in Michigan?
me: No.
OL2: Well do your parents live in Michigan?
me: No, they live in California.

California driver's license, California birth certificate (Shasta County).... Have you not yet figured out that I am from California? And that I didn't start out in Michigan, only to leave and come back again? This may sound crazy, but sometimes people live in places that are not Michigan. And what are my parents going to do, vouch for me? Why can't my friend here vouch for me? (New Neighbor Friend - she lives in my building!) And seriously, even though you have all that info in front of you several times, how old do you think I am that I would go call my parents for help? Mommy! They won't give me a Michigan driver's license! Make them!

OL2: Well, take this list home and look it over and make sure that you have at least 2 of these. (Continues circling random things and shoving the list at me) But I'll give you this pass, so when you come back you don't have to take a number.
me: So I just come straight up to the counter?
OL2: No, you go over there to the "Return Area." You can do that in any branch.
me: So I just have to wait in a different section of the office instead of this one?
OL2: That's right, and make sure you have 2 things from the list.

My friend and I leave, both completely and utterly shocked at what just transpired. We explain to each other how the things she couldn't accept were in fact on the all-important list. I even came home and showed Jason my precious list, and he too agrees that I had all the necessary paperwork.

So anyway, it seems a lot easier to take a coupla extra seconds while people figure out my CA license than to go through all this silly rigmarole to get a MI one.

des hates her toe

About 3 or 4 years ago, I broke my big toe. I was in karate class with xbf before class actually started. We were messing around and I threw a fake kick with my left foot. He caught it, and somehow I pivoted (badly) on my right foot. Then I fell down in pain. When the teacher came in, I told him what happened. He did take it a little easier on me that night, but we all thought I would be fine.

The next day I was off from work, thank goodness. When I woke up, I was still in pain and now my toe was very purple and misshaped. (Somewhere around here I have a picture of it, but I don't want to go through the hassle of digging it out and setting it up. You don't need to see it, you can imagine.) So I called my doctor. My regular doctor, Dr. K (the best doctor ever) was not in that day, but someone else from his practice was so I went in to see him. I quickly learned to hate him. When I said "I think I broke my toe" he didn't believe me. He manhandled my toe so much that I recoiled in terror and pain. Begrudgingly, he sent me for an x-ray. I think he was still skeptical of me even when he saw that my toe had broken in 2 places.

Since it is a toe, there's not much can be done when it breaks, even the big toe (and my big toe isn't really that big). So I got a stupid "shoe" thing that supported the bottom of my foot, and maybe a tiny bit on the side, but had velcro on top so I could remove it*. He didn't give me any pain medication. I couldn't miss work, so I spent my 8+ hour days on my feet. Luckily at this time my coworkers were a little sympathetic so I didn't have to do as much counter work and sometimes I could have a stool to sit on. But it was still a lot of time to spend on my broken toe, even with the stupid shoe. So I called my regular doctor and explained what happened and they called in some drugs for me.

**I've mentioned how awesome Dr. K was many times before, but this is another example. He knew I would never fake something just to get narcotics, and the whole "reacting badly with vicodin" thing certainly helped validate me. This time, they looked at the xrays and were incredulous that Stupid Doctor didn't give me anything for pain. It also didn't hurt that I worked in a pharmacy, so I could get my pills right then.**

So anyway, you can see why I think my toe never healed correctly. Every now and again, my poor aching bones remind me of this. Like today. Yesterday I wore some cute little white strappy heels for a coupla hours. Yes, they are cheap shoes that threaten to give me proto-blisters whenever I wear them, but they are also not padded at all on the bottom. So I spend the rest of that day and (so far) the next day, massaging my poor toe, remembering how I broke it in karate all those years ago.




*I remember that it was December, because I actually had to wear a plastic bag over my foot during rain and other bad weather. I did get to wear exciting warm and fuzzy socks for the world to see, however.

bowling

As a Midwesterner, I've done a lot of bowling lately. Bowling is one of those things that people do here. In NYC I didn't bowl once. In CA, if I went, I would tell people about it and the standard response was "I haven't been bowling in years!" But here, it's a weekly thing, if not more. There are actually times when we can't bowl because the wait for a lane is too long. And there are bowling alleys every few blocks, unlike in my college town where there was one and you even had to be a student to use it.

So, since Jay and I are now bowlers (though he never really *stopped* being one) we decided we needed them there fancy shoes. Technically I already have some, but I wear them out on the street, so I can't wear them on the lanes. So, we pay our deposit to rent some shoes, and well, we keep them. I feel ok about doing this because we go to this same bowling alley just about every weekend, bringing lots of people that pay money, and we are using the shoes for their intended purpose. Because the shoes were, shall we say, ugly, and obvious rentals, we purchased some spray paint to do some decorating. Mine are now all white with silver & gold highlights and Jay's are black with the same.

So Saturday (apparently while this was happening in our apartment complex), we decide to use our "new" shoes. We start out the day at our normal alley without incident. Then later we are in a different part of town with a different friend, and we go to a different alley. Yes, that's bowling twice in one day. Cranky Old Lady #1 eyes us suspiciously when only one of the 3 of us needs shoe rentals. She demands to see Jay & my shoes, inspects them practically with a magnifying glass, and calls over Cranky Old Lady #2. COL#2 goes over the shoes with a fine-toothed comb and declares "these are house shoes, but they're not ours." We're all a bit confused, and Jay says "no, they're bowling shoes." COL#2 glares at him and continues talking to COL#1 about us. It's decided that we can use our own shoes this time, but next time we'll still have to pay the rental fee. Then a statement of the rules is pretty much shoved in our faces. It says that any shoes brought in are subject to inspection at any time, and customers still have to pay the rental fee.

Why would customers still have to pay the rental fee if they're bringing in their own shoes? Isn't that the point of having your own shoes? And you would think anyone that has their own shoes would be a repeat customer. However if you are a Cranky Old Lady and you are rude to your customers, they won't be. As I said, there are lots of other bowling alleys around. And this is beside the point, but what does it matter where we got our shoes?

But we were there to bowl, and even though there were lots of empty lanes, we were put right next to some other folks so he had to share a ball rack and a table with them. You know, no personal space. While we were drinking a pitcher of beer out of cute little juice glasses, we decided that because of the COLs and their rudeness to us, we were never coming back to that alley. Not to mention that I totally whacked my thigh with a bowling ball, which hurt like a monkeyfunker and I completely blamed it on the alley.

And that's how we got new juice glasses at our house.

hangin with the BFF

Day one of my BFF's visit:
We went to Olive Garden because we were all hungry and we didn't want to waste the "good" restaurants on a day in which BFF was tired and wouldn't appreciate stuff. Then that turned out to be wise because for a number of reasons, BFF's raviolis came back up, in a bad way. So the rest of day was spent not doing much.

Day 2:
Easter Sunday. Breakfast at the Big Boy, in which 2 vegetarian girls watch a boy eat a lot of meat. Jay doesn't like ham, though, so we got HamPac:


Then, since nothing else was open, we spent the day watching tv and movies and rocking out Guitar Hero til like 3am.

Day 3:
We were gonna go to the zoo, but decided to go to the Dirt Arcade where I got a blister from playing one game of Ms. PacMan. Then as I was, ahem, kicking BFF's bootie* at air hockey, Jay said "why must you play every game fierce as a motherfucker?" And I realized it was true. Then we went to eat lunch at The WAB. Then since BFF and I couldn't stop quoting Mystery Men, we popped it in. Jay and Midnight took a nap instead of joining us:




So that's it so far. More later.




* Since BFF is reading this over my shoulder as I write, I am forced to clarify the air hockey game. For a while it was 6-1, but then at the last second she scored more points. Final score: 7-4.

a short lesson in why I hate everything

So since I moved to MI, my DVDs and CDs have been sitting in boxes in the living room. It's not only because I'm lazy, but because I have had nowhere to put them. But in preparation of my friend's visit next week, there has begun a massive cleanup in my home. Random boxes? They should go. And I would like to be able to find a movie or tv show or music when I want it. (You know that they all will be alphabetized, right?)

Off to Kmart to buy that media cabinet I've been eyeing but not buying because of that whole no-job-no-money thing. But the time has come for more credit card debt. So off to Kmart. There it is, I play with the poorly assembled, bolted down display model and say Yes, this is The One. My diligent Jason promptly sets off to find the box so we can make it a purchase. Several laps around the store, and it is clear that there are no media cabinets for me to take home today. Well Poo.

Next stop is Walmart, where they had a similar but more expensive one, at least according to their website. (And yes, I'm aware that if I just ordered one from a website, I could have avoided all this, but I want my cabinet today! *stamps foot*) We head to the furniture section, do a coupla laps, and realize that Walmart doesn't even carry a media cabinet. Double Poo.

Here we go to Target! Thank goodness these stores are relatively close to each other and our home. Again with the lapping and again with the no media cabinets at all in the entire store. Now des is getting angry. One more rejection like this and she just might turn into the Incredible desHulk and do some smashing.

On the way home we pass a furniture store. You know, the kind that sells nice things that make me want to buy a house and then fill it with coordinated furniture that costs more than the house itself. So, no media cabinets, not even in the "back room clearance center." Grrrrrrrrrrrr. In fact, I may have been heard to scream that I hate everything immediately upon exiting that store. We went home and I pouted and ate Taco Bell.

Cut to several hours later, Jay's vacuum decides that it is broken and needs to be replaced. Luckily for everyone involved, the local Meijer (which is like a Kmart, but with groceries - and in fact we were there earlier today buying groceries) is open 24 hours and sells vacuums. So weirdos like us can totally make emergency vacuum runs at 11:30 on a Friday night. As we're walking through the store, we pass the furniture section. On a lark, which is a term I've never even used before, we decide to see if the universe is really mad at me. Turns out it is. There's the exact cabinet I was trying to buy all day. In stock. Ready to buy. There was a little bit of kicking things out of frustration, but there was also a purchase made. In fact, as I type this, diligent hard working Jason is putting my new media cabinet together, and then I can fill it with all sorts of discy goodness.


What lesson have we learned today? When you can't find something, check the grocery store. They have everything.



ps - Did you check the new bracelet? Won't find that in a grocery store.

a NicK Swardson kind of day

Youtube Nick Swardson.
You will hear him do a bit about how his problems are nothing compared to his grandmother's.
"Oh man, I had a terrible day. First the Yankees lost, and then like I missed the bus. How was your day grandma?"
"Well Nicholas. Another one of my friends died."

I had a day like Nick's today. (Thank goodness I do not have any grandmothers to make my problems seem small.) I decided to go out and get my hair cut at the salon a block or so away. While braving the icy tundra that is Michigan, I slipped and twisted my ankle. Not badly, mind you, but enough to complain about. I continued walking to the place, only to find that they don't take walk-ins. So I made an appointment for tomorrow and walked home on my slightly injured ankle.

Then I got all set to play me some Zelda, only to discover that the game had not been saved recently. WTF nintendo DS? I know I saved the game before turning it off last night, but now I have to replay that bit. I suppose I could do it, but I don't want to go through the effort right now.

So that's my day.

why I didn't vote for Family Feud

I've already admitted that I watch entirely too much (read: any) daytime tv. One of the shows is Family Feud. Of course I play along in my head because who's gonna stop me. However, I am a broken robot, so my brain works quite a bit differently than the rest of the populace and the answers I come up with are rarely the same as the ones on the show.

Case in point: today there was a question What would a woman president want in the Oval Office? I figured this was kinda relevant since as of today a woman has won almost half of the states' Democratic caucuses (cauci?) so maybe there will be a woman president to test this theory. (Note: this is not an endorsement of any kind, just a generality.)

The feminist in me was a little outraged at the answers the surveyed people came up with. Some of the answers given by the contestants are as follows:

1. hairdresser
2. makeup chair
I think these two things would be terribly unnecessary because I'm pretty sure the president has a stylist, and hopefully she has more important things to do than sit at a chair *in the Oval Office* and make herself look pretty. (What she does in her own home or bedroom is her own business, but once she gets in that office, she's on my time.)

3. bathroom - um, yeah, but not because she's a woman. Because she's a person. An important person that may need to urinate.

4. telephone - I was under the impression that there are at least 2 phones in that office. Does she need an additional phone so she can gossip with her girlfriends? All women do is gab all day anyway. I guess as long as she doesn't use that *red* phone...

5. curtains - Also pretty sure that there are already curtains (and furniture!) in the Oval Office. However, Mars Attacks taught me that the first lady can redecorate. In this case, the first man (is that the right term?) would do it, and if he was worth anything he would choose Simpsons-style corn curtains.

Now here are the answers that were on the board, the top 5 answers given by a crowd of 100 people:

1. flowers - sure, that place probably stinks up high. All those brownnosers always coming and going, and then there were those rumors of ... shenanigans... in the office a few years ago.

2. mirror - Maybe the Oval Office is very small and she's trying to make it look better. Or maybe she's incredibly vain and can't stop checking herself out, to make sure the aforementioned stylist did a good job. That's reasonable because nobody will respect her as a world leader if her hair, makeup, and outfit aren't just so.

3. candles - the kind that smell like vanilla or cinnamon, because when male world leaders come in for important political discussions, they will be disappointed if the place doesn't smell like fresh cookies because what else would a woman be doing there besides cooking? Better yet, there should be a few ovens in the Oval Office so that she can whip up a pot roast, lasagna, and cookies for any meetings that may come up.

4. chocolates - of course we wouldn't want the president to make any rash decisions based on PMS, which we all know is how women do everything. Chocolate will help this.

and lastly,
5. a man
Excuse me? Of course! She'd be so overwhelmed by all the 'sponsibilities and numbers and stuff that she would need a big strong man around to make all the decisions for her. And also to kill spiders.



I really need more to do during the day.

mmmm nachos?

When I studied abroad during college, I lived in Argentina for 3 months. I quickly learned that in order to remain a vegetarian (I couldn't be vegan or I would have starved to death), I would order a vegetable dish "sin jamon." That's right, I had to specify no ham on things like cheese pizza. I chalked it up to cultural differences, adapted accordingly, and went on my merry way.

Last night, I discovered that Michigan is like another country, compared to what I'm used to in NY and CA. Jason had a mad craving for fajitas from Chilis, and because I had recently come in to some money (read: my former employer finally paid me what they owed me) and I'm a very nice girlfriend, we headed out to dinner. The great* thing about restaurants like this, is that there are very few vegetarian options. There might be a hamburger substitute, which no offense, is generally sub-par and tiring, or mozarrella sticks, which are tasty, but des can't handle a lot of fried cheese.

I decided to go for the nachos. Here is the direct quote from the menu:
Our nachos have beans, queso with a hint of seasoned beef, cheese and jalapenos on every chip. Served with pico de gallo and sour cream.
Sounds tasty, except for the beef. So I checked with the server that I could in fact get them without beef, he said no problem, and I continued drinking my strawberry lemonade.

When the food arrived, I breathed a sigh of hunger and relief. Until I saw my nachos. Sure, there was no ground beef, just like I asked. Instead, I had apparently gotten a free "upgrade" to steak. I was like, um why is there meat on these? And the guy said "I thought you said no beef" and I was like "I didn't know that I had to specify no steak either, because nowhere on the menu does it say there is steak on these nachos." Besides the fact that saying no beef should include no steak, as steak is a form of beef.

The server was a little confused as to why I wouldn't want any meat. After some careful negotiations involving Jason the Michiganese translator, I got some new nachos sans meat. They were tasty though I could not eat them all. But I've learned my lesson. In this strange and exotic(?) new country, I must be very very specific when ordering vegetarian food as just because something comes from a cow doesn't mean it's beef.



* not great

it's fun to vent

I don't have any money. That's because I just made a long distance move and don't have a job. But I planned for all that. The other reason is that my former employer paid me a whopping $46 for my last 2 weeks there. What is this, 1896? Was my hourly wage 50 cents? No...... It wasn't much, but it was certainly more than that.

There have been numerous emails and calls to the People In Charge. Not a single response. And it's not like I worked for a giant faceless corporation - there were 8 people that ran the HQ. I knew them all. But yet, somehow they can't find the time to contact me or pay me correctly.

This makes for a very angry des. I can't afford to buy anything. Food? Credit Cards. Luckily all of my other bills are taken care of, at least temporarily. But in a coupla weeks the credit card companies are gonna come a callin, lookin for that food money.

This is stupid. AND it gives me even more reason to vote for never having to work again. What is it about jobs and me?

quick quick update, kinda

So here I am in Michigan. The trip was looooong, but thanks to some very good friends, I was all packed and fed and ready to leave Brooklyn and begin. We had reservations in a hotel on the PA / OH border, but thanks to a very long day (my Jason was up at like 4am to catch the flight to NYC), a little bit of snow, and a stupid Uhaul that took way more gas than one would think is humanly truckenly possible, we ended up stopping somewhere much closer. The motel had signs all over expressing their distaste for accepting pets, so my Jason did a little distracting while I snuck in with a (thankfully quiet) kitty. Oh, I mean that Jay was very interested in the free coffee and donuts that were offered in the morning and genuinely had some questions that needed answering.

The next morning we got up and continued our drive. I had bought some funny little herbal drops to calm the kitty, but thankfully I did not need them. Yay for Mecru being the best traveler ever! We arrived in Detroit around 8pm, unloaded the necessities (cat tower, food, litter, and our overnight bags) and went to sleep. Woke up the next day and finished unloading the truck. Thankfully we had a few extra days on the rental.

Yesterday we ignored the boxes everywhere and went grocery shopping, returned the truck, and went out to dinner. The Brewery we ate at had a very yummy vegetarian friendly menu, and there was an awesome live band performing with 2 acoustic guitars, an upright bass, and yes, an accordion. Is it correct to say that that guy rocked the accordion? I think it is, and if you had been there for the performance, you would agree. Today is a day of unpacking, but my mood was ruined when I saw my last work check had been deposited. Oh good, my $46 came in. Yeah that's right. Apparently I worked for 2 weeks and got less than $50 for my effort. You can bet an email went out post-haste. If this doesn't pan out, someone in NYC is gonna have to go firebomb something. Just sayin.

But so yeah. Unpacking, more blog updates, and at some point, a job. Neato.


ps - the most beautiful tattoo in the world is almost done with the peeling stage, so pictures will come soon.
Also, stay tuned for the story of Mecru Meets His First Dog, who is also his new roomie.

des vs. the stapler

My days at work have been very boring. Granted, I have only one day left before I pack up and become a Midwesterner and find some other job that involves wowing the public with my big city skillz, but I've still been bored. There has been the occasional bitchy customer, but nothing worth remembering at the end of the day. I've been reading far too much about the history of stewardesses (did you know they started out as flying nurses and then devolved into sex objects and are now businesspeople?), including Coffee, Tea, or Me, which is an entertaining book but not worth spending money on.

Today I decided that I hated the stapler at the register and set out to find the old one. When I found it, it had no staples. So I struggled to open it up, and (luckily) before I inserted staples, it snapped shut on my hand. I'm glad there were no customers (or other employees) in the store, because I may have yelled "ow goddam motherfucker that hurt!" Of course I probably didn't yell that, because I'm a very controlled young lady and do not scream random cuss words in a workplace-type setting.

I frowned at the stapler as I watched blood seep from the back of my hand. But I thought, I'm tough, I can handle this, and continued on the old Repair the Stapler Quest. Then I noticed that something was very very wrong. Some metal piece of the stapler was bent in a way that was unnatural even for a manmade tool. I kinda tried to fix it, but I was still a little gun shy of that whole snapping shut and making me bleed thing. It didn't take me long to give up. However, I am also a considerate young lady, so I left a note warning people before going back to my very important book.



Some point later, another employee came up. "What's with this?" she asked, indicating the scene found in the above photo. I told her the story, complete with a dramatic re-enactment and poignant illustration by the bloody digit. She looked at me, looked at the stapler, and looked at me with an even more confused countenance. Then she threw the stapler in the trash.

And that is how des won her victory over the evil stapler.

desation without representation

I'm moving. In 5 days. To Michigan. Away from NYC.

Because of this, I feel the need to represent. Brooklyn, yo!
So I went on a tiny excursion to find things made in Brooklyn. I bought this awesome weekender bag made by a Brooklyn company, but it doesn't actually say Brooklyn anywhere on it. So when I'm off on a weekend jaunt, nobody will be like "Brooklyn, huh?" so I can brag. I briefly looked at Brooklyn Industries, which I pass every day on my way to work (no matter which store I'm working at) but they didn't have anything I wanted needed and could justify buying. So I half-heartedly gave up my half-hearted attempt at representation.

Then the other day, walking to work, I saw a store selling $3 t-shirts that said "Brooklyn Girl" on them. Um, hello? Perfect. However, I was worried about being late to work (why? they don't care about me! but that's a whole 'nuther rant.) so I did not stop. Because my Jason telephonically walks me to and fro each day, he got to hear about this store. And he got to hear about the subsequent journeys around the 'hood trying to find this store that I don't know the name or exact location of. And the follow-up attempts were not half-hearted. But I have not been able to find it, this mystery store. I'm becoming more and more convinced it was a figment of my overactive imagination.

But I have 5 days left. 2 of those I'm working, 1 I have to get a tattoo finished (yes!), and the other 2 involve me sitting at home possibly because it's snowing outside. But dammit, I want a $3 tshirt!

des the terrorist strikes back

Do I have a problem with authority figures? Apparently. You may remember a time when I almost couldn't go see the Statue Of Liberty because in my purse I had a manicure set that contained - heaven forfend! - cuticle scissors. I argued with the security guard about how A) these scissors couldn't kill anyone, and B) even if they could, why would I wait til I got on the island to do it? Eventually they let me go, scissors in hand, and no acts of terrorism were committed that day.

So cut to the present. I am leaving the Flint, MI airport before dawn so I can return to my big city ways and the job that leaves me less than thrilled after my recent lecture. My flight leaves at 6am, so I try to check in at 5:27. Flint is not as small as the TinyTown airport I was using during xmas (aka Eureka, which has a total of 2 gates, and one of those is devoted solely to cargo), but it is still much smaller than the airport-cities that I am used to (see JFK or SFO). What I've forgotten is that tiny airports are stricter than my normal haunts. The airport guy tells me I am late to check in. He still gives me my boarding pass, but lets me know that the airline doesn't usually go in for those kinds of shenanigans.

I proceed to security after giving my Jay a kiss for temporary goodbye,. I take off my hat, coat, scarf, mittens, shoes, belt, and whatever else the TSA can think of that might be concealing dangerous weapons. (Seriously, if I was going to hijack a plane, why would I be leaving from Flint, MI?) I go through security, and everyone is a little cranky. They probably want to be here even less than I do, but at least they're getting paid for it. Then they stop my purse and ask me to step aside so they can rummage. What's this? My lotion, my one liquid item, is not in a clear plastic bag. I need to exit the area so I can get a bag for my one bottle of lotion, which is clearly marked and within all size regulations. Then I need to go through security all over again.

I believe my exact words were "Are you fucking kidding me?"
I told them that they let me through on my way out here, and the guard's very clever power-trip response was "Well I don't know where you come from, but we do things a bit different here." Of course my reply was "I'm from New York fucking City! Now give me my goddam lotion and let me on the plane!" (ok, so don't quote me on that. But did I mention it was still the wee hours of the morn?)

I was then escorted outside the security area by the guard, who would not give me back my lotion until we were a safe distance away from the other passengers. He must have known that I only had the short-range exploding lotion with me this time. So I walked to the gift store and waited "patiently" for the employee-ladies to stop gossiping and give me my stupid ziploc bag. Then I went back to security and once again removed all my accouterments. I heard the loudspeaker announce that my flight was boarding, but here I am having my ticket double quadruple checked with my ID. Apparently during this time they also paged me specifically, but I was too busy being pissed off to hear.

I walk up to the gate and the person already knows I'm desiree. I apologized for having to go through security twice because of my deadly deadly lotion and joined the other 5 (five!) passengers on my plane. Of course I was the last to board, so they were obviously waiting for me. The security guard had given me the option of throwing my lotion away (and by that I mean that he walked to the trash can and deposited my lotion accordingly until I began to argue that it was brand new and cost me $17 so I wanted to keep it) but I would rather have just missed my flight and gone back to sleep than deal with this crap.

Lesson: Don't mess with a cranky girl's lotion.

back to my old tricks

Remember how I had that job before that I absolutely hated, yet stayed in because I needed the money even though they treated me like crap? Then I found my current job and I thought everything was super because I liked my coworkers and didn't mind working my magic on the customers?

That was when I was hired, and I was under the assumption that my job would include management duties and a pay raise. Why would I assume this? Because they told me when I was hired that I was hired specifically for these things. I was also hired for this position at the store in my neighborhood.

So things are going along great for a while. I still haven't gotten my title and pay raise, and they keep making excuses and putting it off. (The latest was "everything in all the stores is staying exactly the same until after the holidays.") I keep trudging along. Then the news breaks that one of our employees is going to transferred to the other Brooklyn store, further away from my house. As the Store Manager is telling me who they want, he is describing me. "They want someone energetic, and good with the customers, a good reliable worker, etc." Me. And he said it in such a way that he wanted me to know it was me without having to actually come out and say it was me. Not to mention listing all the other employees and the reasons they wouldn't be the ones. Me.

I said no. I was hired for this position and this store and blah blah blah. Then when I came back from xmas, I found out I was working the entire week at the other store. I'm still technically an employee of store #1, I just don't spend any time there. I imagine that soon they'll make it official and take me off the schedule and payroll of my store. I continually let them know that I hate what they're doing, but my complaints fall on deaf ears.

So today was the beginning of my "week" at store #2. When I got my schedule (yesterday!) I lessened my complaining just a bit, because I ended up getting 3 New Year's -era days off in a row. Last minute, I decided to spend my New Years in Detroit because I found a cheap ticket. Unfortunately, the condition of the cheapness was that I had to leave an hour early from work in order to catch the flight. So when I went in today, I let them know this first thing. There were 3 other people there to close, so my missing an hour wouldn't hurt them. If I'd had to miss more than an hour of work, I wouldn't have done it. The store manager seemed ok with it.

She calls my store manager to let him know (not to complain about it!) and he wants to talk to me. He proceeds t give me a lecture on how much work I've missed, and how many days I've asked for off, and how often I leave work early. Then he tells me to just go home now, they don't need me to work.

How much work I've missed? I've never once called in sick or come in more than a few minutes late.

How many days I've asked for off? Do they mean the 3 days I just took for xmas so I could do my once a year trip to see my family, that I told them about when I was hired because I already had my tickets? Or do they mean when I request a certain day of the week off because I'm getting a tattoo or have some other pressing engagement? I admit, I have done that several times, but last time I checked I get 2 days off a week. I'm not requesting any extra days off, I'm just ensuring that one of my days is a day when I have things to do. I was also told that flexible schedules were part of the job here because everyone has other things to do besides work.

How often I leave work early? Most of the time when I leave work early, it's because the store is dead and I am told to go home by the store manager. You can't hold it against me. As for the other times (what, maybe 2?) that I left early, it was because I had appointments or something. So they don't want me to ask for certain days off, and they don't want me to miss even an hour of work on days when I have previous engagements. Good logic they have going there.

If you don't know me, it might sound that I'm asking for a lot. But I really amn't. It's a stupid retail job. I don't have a set schedule like an office job, so I need to ensure that the non-job-related things in my life can happen when I'm not at work. When I am at work, I'm the best customer service person they have. Even the store owner has commented that.

So even though I don't mind the actual work of this job, I hate it. I'm back to daydreaming about a life where I don't have to work for people that treat me like crap. Someday I will find my perfect job, which as I've said, involves me setting my own schedule and making my own rules. People say it can't be done. But I'm different. I am not cut out for this kind of life. Something better this way comes. Or, I end up in a mental institution because I stabbed someone. Either way, I'm running away from the working life.

What I learned on my xmas vacation

Hi kids,
I'm back from my adventures in TinyTown, CA. Actually, there weren't any "adventures" to be had, though I did get to hang with my sis and her fiance and I love them. Oh yeah, and my parents.
But here's a list of things I have learned from my many travels, not all being from this trip.

1. Bring an extra book. If you're not really a reader, bring 2. If you are already bringing 2, throw one more in there for luck.

2. Put your phone charger in your carry on bag. That way when you are stuck in the SanFran airport for 7+ hours because your flight from NY was delayed just enough for you to miss your connection and you have to bargain with the gate agent to get you anywhere near your parents for xmas and that results in a flight to an even tinier TinyTown, you can actually enjoy the psuedo-company of all the people that want to talk to you during your uneventful tromp through SFO.

3. Arrive early to the airport. Even if you have to leave your house at 4am and stand in a really long line because it's xmas, maybe the people at the check-in counter will take pity on you and anyone else on your flight that is "leaving" in 20 minutes and let you cut to the front. Of course, this is all a moot point if your flight gets delayed (see #2).

4. Be nice to the airline employees. People are going to be cranky dicks, especially when traveling on the holidays. The employees will remember the nice little blond girl and reward her with conveniences to make her flight easier and better. Conversely, being nice also ensures that your bag does not end up somewhere very far away from your destination. (They have that power, did you know that?)

5. Don't travel on xmas.



OK, that's all for now. More on stuff later.

des doesn't wanna be a mommy

Why is it that NYC totally wants me to have a baby? I can't afford a kid here!

Ever since I moved to this stupid state, I've had nothing but trouble getting my birth control prescription filled. In CA, I went every 3 months to see the Best Doctor Ever (I miss you Dr. K!) and get a shot. I move here and have done the following:

1) waited in assorted doctors' offices many more hours than are necessary. One time I waited 8 hours before I was even seen. 8 hours!
2) given myself shots, which when you have an extreme aversion to needles, does not work out well.
3) been given the shot by loved ones. Also doesn't work so well.
4) switched to the pill because of #2 and #3.
5) put up with religious zealot doctors that believe birth control is a form of abortion and so I fight with them every step of the way, including the part where they insist on giving me a pregnancy test every single month. And not by peeing in a cup either. By draining an absurd amount of blood. Every. Single. Month.
6) found one doctor that was almost as good as Dr. K, only to have her disappear permanently just a few short weeks later.
7) had the pharmacy screw up so I thought I had a refill when I didn't, leading to
8) panically calling a friend of a friend who is a doctor, just to get a temporary fix.

And now this.

Ack.
I can't get into Planned Parenthood until the after I have gone home to see the fam, which will be too late because I'll be out of pills. And they won't give me just a refill until I have the stupid regular tests done, which I don't really need anyway.

I can't go somewhere else because I don't have insurance (you know, that whole new job thing).

So, sure, in like a month, everything will be fine and hunky dory. Nevermind the crippling sickness that will get me (probably during my trip, making for great times all around), or the small possibility of baby deszs coming into creation.

It's fun to mess with body chemistry, right?



I tried to plan ahead. Dammit.
I need to marry a doctor.
Know any?