I was talking to a friend of mine on the phone last night. She called me because one of the Seattle Monorail cars caught on fire; apparently it was all over the local news. She thought of me because we did a “cognitive work analysis” project together relating to the Seattle Monorail (I don’t know what that means either, so save your questions).

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I’m off to a job interview tomorrow that may be a two-day process. I will be freaking out aplenty, in classic I, Asshole freakout fashion, but I will probably be inflicting it all on my audioblog. Which is very, very, very, like-watching-your-grandma-make-porridge-for-the-9-millionth-time, boring.

I think I did my research right. I’ve got stuff to say about collection development, I’ve researched the town, and I can sell myself like a motherfucker. I will need a place to stay if I get called back for a second interview the next day, and I need a place to change when I get there, so I am thinking about checking into a hotel on speculation. Is this jinx-ey? Or smart? I really think I’d at least get a callback. I mean, this public library wants to interview me and I don’t have any demonstrated library experience. Which means a) I am an ass-kicker on paper, or 2) all the other candidates looked like floaters. We shall see.

Here is what happened in court: restraining order, I was awarded “emergency” primary custody, and the judge scolded Frannie’s dad. I was also presented with his rebuttal to my claims. After reading it, I guess I should be glad he never listened to me or remembered anything correctly now. All those gorgeous wool sweaters he shrunk in the dryer were worth it, I guess. Fuck, it was expensive, but I’m glad I hired a lawyer. I am going back to court June 8th to get primary custody for the duration of the divorce. My lawyer offered him very generous visitation, which he rejected, so we went in front of a judge who gave him much less. It was the hardest day I think I ever had; I cried before I went in. This is probably about all I should say.

Yarr.

“I think we could do an entire blog post on what the hell Kelis is talking about, but my guess is that the milkshake is more an abstract than necessarily only top or bottom. That’s what makes it so filthy and yet so cool. I think her milkshake is the whole package, including psychological characteristics.”

–Daniel Talsky, Tinyblog

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I. Uncompassionate Liberalism

What up, my people. I knew my luck would turn; it was due to any motherfucking second. I got my first motherfucking job interview: young adult librarian. Honestly! I think I fooled some fuckers there�I am just a surprised as you are. Hiring me to be a young adult librarian would be like building a robot to raise your child…or like one of those sad experiments where you rip the little monkey away from its mother and put it with a fuzzy thing with a nipple. Are you feeling me here?

The interview’s in a couple of weeks and I am very excited, although I can’t shake that fraudulent feeling I have. However, they know I am delaying graduation until August…I just hope they don’t ask why. (“Life ran over my head.”)

I hope that I hear back from the academic librarian positions that I would feel better suited for. (Also, pays more.)

So, the punchline is: back to being a brunette for the interview…and maybe forever. Unless I become a renegade librarian. Yarr.

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Oh, they were right. Greek sausage with peanut sauce, preceded by a vodka tonic is a bad idea.

I’d go to my room and sleep, but I am afraid of asphyxiating the babe and me with the fumes.

And…scene! Quality blogs since ’01!

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.

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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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.

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.