Mutual Admiration Society

Well! I had an interesting run-in tonight. I went into Trabant, a chai house in the University District that all the library school peeps have been yammering about. I wanted to give Frannie a snack of streamed soy milk, and get myself a mocha for the work I had to do after she went to bed.

“SJ!” said a voice behind me. I spun around and saw an oddly familiar man who seemed to really know who I was. “Hey, it’s Joshua.”

“Oh, hey!” I said, as if I knew exactly who he was. “How are you?” I was doing that thing that we’re all conditioned to do–smile, turn around, and flip through the mental Rolodex. Shit, writing center? Graduated library peep? Someone I used to work with? That party where I woke up in the bathtub with a ferret and my butt hurt?

Finally, he gave me a clue. “You’re a star,” he said. This was getting worse.

“What do you mean, a star?” I said, nervously.

“Your blog.” Oh, crap. Recognized from the blog. “I’m Joshua Norton,” he said, at last. Oh thank god.

So, that is how I happened to meet another blogger that I have tried to have coffee with on-and-off. He was really funny and very nice–much less caustic than in print. (I probably shouldn’t give that away.) He was probably thinking that I am dull-as-dirt in real life, but I never said otherwise. Trabant is a wireless cafe, so he was blogging, of course. Now I know how he is able to write reams and reams of interesting stuff; he is ever-diligent. And he has already posted our meeting in the form of a filthy pack of lies. If I ever need a PR rep, I will call him.

This happened a while ago too, when I was with Daymented of all people (by “all people,” I mean another blogger). I am like a minor celebrity of no consequence–Seattle’s answer to Paris Hilton!

The Real Super Jive, Live and Employable

Applying for jobs…trying to figure out what collection development tools are so I can convince the employers that I know what they are. Conundrum: should I be applying to jobs like this? Doesn’t every job have a learning curve anyhow? Isn’t it all about convincing people you are a bright little eager beaver?

The problem is, I know very little. I know how to find out how to do things. I have to trick people that I know how to do things, and that they should give me a job, so I can get a job and learn how to do it, quickly, when no one�s looking.

Real resume:

*Can project voice to back of auditorium (since 4/92)
*Can clean up cat/baby vomit without vomiting myself (6/03)
*Remembers to check “to” field before forwarding snarky/evil email to snarky/evil friends (last week)
*Kick-ass blow jobs smoothie recipe (3/99)
*Knows how to use semicolons
*No longer pours entire can of Diet Coke into copier vent in anger (8/98)
*Can hold own liquor (1/01)
*Withering looks (puberty)

The upshot is that I have a kick-ass (I think) academic librarian application put together now. Someone better give me a job, before I’m sick all over the place…but not from cleaning up cat vomit.

Lay Me Down in Sheets of Linen

Things to Do To-day!

1. Morning:
a. Fuck up muffins. Crappity tiny expensive grocery store does not have muffin tins, as companion was promised. Chuck exquisite, from-scratch muffin batter into loaf pan, because Mark Bittman Sayeth that All Muffin Batter is Quick Bread Batter Divided into 8-12 parts. Micromanage; disorganize.

b. Get grumpy whilst waiting for Giant Muffin Loaf to cook (1 hour, ten minutes). Kick dog (imaginary). Pinch companion in the tit, hard. Watch companion get distrustful and declare, “You need to eat something.” Go into warthog mode. Wrestle companion to the ground like a little bitch (also imaginary, companion always wins).

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When the Noodle is Cockadoodle

Life is better now. I met with my thesis advisor yesterday, who has unfortunately become my sun and moon. She says it’s okay if I want to extend my thesis into the first part of the summer. I have been so excited and squirrelly about the idea of not rushing to put my name on a piece of crap that I haven’t been able to work much all morning. The drag is that I have to pick up extra classes to qualify for financial aid. I was so afraid my thesis advisor was going to skin me, but she really can be very reasonable.

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For Those Without Any Game

On Friday night I was “cold chillin” at my companion’s friend’s new crash pad. He is on his own after being with one woman for ten years, which is all of his adult life. The friend and I have a lot in common right now, but I was the dumper and he is sort of a dumpee, so I represent the evil, be-boobed side of things. Needless to say, he is not very happy with his current situation; he seems to be crawling through the hell I was crawling through in January.

My companion popped into the bathroom and the friend and I got to talking about food and being a pig.

“I have totally gained weight since I hooked up with my companion,” I said. “He is always feeding me or something.” I have gained five pounds or so but I am trying to watch it since I bought almost a whole new wardrobe in February.

“Well, that’s not such a bad thing to gain weight,” the friend said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he said. “When my mom got cancer, the doctor said it was really good she was overweight.”

“Oh,” I said.

“He said the fact that she was obese is what made her hang on for so long. When you get to a certain stage with cancer, your appetite goes away completely.”

“Hmm,” I said, unhelpfully.

“Yep.”

Later he said something about waking up in the morning by choking on a puddle of your own tears. It was funny, and then I felt like I was going to cry, and then it was funny again. I was kind of glad when Frannie scraped up her knee and I had to go home.

What Happened to the Chickens

In early December, I was gearing up to leave my husband, a plan which had been percolating in my festery, depressed little brain since late last summer. I was a cuckoo basket case all fall quarter.

I lost my marbles and drank a glass of champagne with my friend Supa on December 10. I think I was celebrating getting passed by human subjects to do research. I was supposed to spend the night, and my little girl with me, and we were all going to have breakfast and fun the next morning. Well, my girlie freaked out and shrieked that she wasn’t going to sleep there, not even in the guest bed with me. She got so upset that her nose started bleeding, which upset me, of course. So I had to call my husband to pick me up.

I had done hardly any drinking at all up to this point after I had my first epiphany about my situation late last summer because I was totally on edge and worried about my planning. I didn’t want to tell him too soon, because then things would be really awful at home. I didn’t want to tell him too close, because I thought that would be unfair. On the way home that night I made a super bad drunken call and told him I was leaving him.

In the midst of all this explosiveness, like at the beginning of December, a raccoon got after my chickens. They got spooked and refused to go to their house for lockdown at night, and started roosting in the trees. I made arrangements for them to go off to Supa’s daughter’s preschool, but the remaining four got picked off one by one. I was too caught up in my own mess to have much of a reaction when I would find a new batch of exploded feathers on the patio each morning.

So that’s what happened to the chickens. I’m sorry this is less like a well-written novel and more like a teen drama on the WB. The budget and motivation for continuity around here is almost nil.

Dear Lauren

Hey Girl! i thought U would want 2 see pictures of the off da hook Spring Break Trip! You look totally hot! i thought tennessee wuz going to be a bad idea, but i wuz sure wrong! lol!

im sorry ive been a bad friend and haven�t written! Spring quarter has been hell on earth..Spanish is totally up all over my grill, in a bad way. The only thing that makes it OK is that Brad and i have stopped fighting so much…but mostly becuz he has been hittin the bong so hard, lol. Here’s a pic of Brad the night we did rock-a-roke, remember that? I swear to god he’s gained about 20 pds. since Xmas!!! Which is OK with me, actually, becuz between that and all the weed he’s laid off me about trying to do you-know-what to me. (so no calling him “corncob” behind his back any more! LOL!!!!111) Just as long as he looses weight for the graduation trip we’re all taking!!!! Woo! Miami!!! :D

Speaking of graduation, i talked to my dad on the phone last night. he wuz in a pissy mood becuz mom is trying to get both cars. He said “she can only drive one car at a time, i don’t know why she wants them both” again and again…such a drag, i think he wuz drunk as always. Anyway, you know what we talked about during our trip? i finally got up the guts to ask him for the graduation present. So on May 5 th��ELECTROLISIS! omg, I am so freaked that it’s going to hurt. im going to ask if U can come with and hold my hand, LOL!!! DON’T tell Amanda tho, becuz she�s a naturally perfect bitch and will tell every one.

Anyway, gotta run, i am suppose to be studying with the stupid bitches in my class in 15 mins….assigned study groups, wtf? LOL!

C-Ya,

Ashley

Monkey Science!

“So, um, does anyone have questions about this model?”

The professor was lecturing about a paper he’d written, always an awkward situation, because if you think the ideas are ass you can’t say as much. We shifted around and waited for the break.

“Let’s talk about future models, then, okay? We have to keep working on reference service theory, or we won’t be able to teach this at a university level, right? Ha, ha.”

Huh.

Later, at the coffee cart:

Me: Dude, did you hear what he said about theories? That’s supposed to remain unspoken.

Friend: Yeah.

Me: I’m turning him in. He’s giving away the game.

Friend: I know it.

Monkey science! Must…escape…graduate…school.

In Other News

Crazy snaps to Miel, who just popped sprog and is being alarmingly understated about the whole thing. I flailed around like a wounded howler monkey in my first few weeks, like Dooce was. I wish more geniouses in this world would have children.

Honestly

I just got a spam with the subject, “Mom?”. That is so wrong. I sent it off to the Spam Police without opening it like a good citizen, but I’d love to see the content of an email titled “Mom?”. Could it have been H0tt, hardcore, underaged action? Penis pills? Or a way to get out of my debt NOW?

This sort of thing makes me really irritated because it makes me realize that 1) someone gullible will be exploited and 2) my kid can’t communicate by email yet, only whining and shouting.

Weeks til thesis is due: nine

Pages written: not enough

Feeling: Hyperventilatey, with a side of vomity. Relying on alcohol tonight to temporarily assuage the h/v combo.