And Glinda, miss you 2

Radd McFladd

Aw hell. The only post I can find about him, G, is this one. And that just won't do. You'll have to recreate the dream. I insist.

The wrath of Rod

You know, when I decided to ask for a gym membership for my birthday, I just wasn't thinking clearly. I've gone faithfully for two weeks, and I've actually never begrudged a session. I'm excited about going, ecstatic that I'm running again, and motivated to get me a set of coconuts (deltoids) on those shoulders of mine. I've done everything Rod has asked me to do except for the creatine because that crap is expensive and because it creeps me out. So at today's weigh in, Rod was disappointed. I lost 6 lbs. I'm supposed to gain weight, not lose it. Rod didn't chastise me (which was a shame because his accent is so hot); instead, he looked at me like an owner looks at his dog when she eats junkie vomit (like that one, G?). I just have to "keep at it and add protein supplements to my diet."

I can't afford protein supplements bc thanks to this full time school thing I'm on a fixed income, so I guess I'll have to up my lentil ration. The next weigh in and fat testing thingy is in 2 weeks. Hopefully, I'll pass. It's right at finals, though, so I doubt it.

In other news, the SFV has inspired me to make a gingerbread high rise, only I'm using graham crackers because I'm a cheater and entirely not as cool as she. And I've enjoyed 3 full days of nothingness, during which time I've found a new fascination with jigsaw puzzles online, catching up on reading, watching Firefly,of course, and even scrapbooking. I scrapbooked ONE WHOLE PAGE and then lost interest, but I scrapbooked ONE WHOLE PAGE. I'm so crafty now. I had a candy cane martini while doing it, though, so it gave a whole new meaning to craft night. [Explanation of link: after that tainted night, Glinda and I vowed to do craft nights instead of drinking].

Now, I guess I should work on my final, but I really don't want to. Maybe tomorrow. I'm liking this doing nothing thing.

Still here--streaming in consciousness

I've been sans internet access (save work internet) and no time to do wifi. Ah no excuses, I've just been lost in space.

So I'm back for today and hope to write less sporadically in the future.

What's happened since April? Well, I don't remember. Another trip to lubbock. An acceptance of their offer (much to Glinda's chagrin), drinking, testing of the little formula (half your age + 7 or maybe + 5 or 6), and drinking, and yeah... Seriously, tho, G, I'm one of 4 people accepted for the year. How can you refuse?

There's been some nights spent at bowling alleys, too, and that's odd, especially since I realized that my talent at being the air hockey champion in church camp has not diminished (now I win at double puck), but mostly I'm reading Chinese at wine bars and eating free nachos courtesy of the barely 20somethings who eek under the formula (or don't quite). I'm training for a marathon again, and I look hot, and that's about it.

So the work for Jesus is ending (much to Glinda's happiness) and the PhD pilgrimage begins. The cool news is that my assistantship involves starting a trauma research center from the ground up which I am UBER excited about.

In other news, the fence rider fell off the fence and then flipped back over to the other side, the chicken shit that he is. The song stuck continually on both of our Ipods: Gravity. I'm a big girl, CP, just tell me!

And finally, I've found a new addiction to Firefly, pushing me further into the Dork Forest. Fucking awesome show.

OH and Glinda: Houston is about to install or erect, rather, some new 150 icons. Thought you'd be interested. Lubbock doesn't even have those. 150 foot tumbleweeds, maybe...

I'm back, sort of

My router is all f'd up, so it takes longer than dial up to connect to any webpage, and when it does, it doesn't pull up anything hi-res. Needless to say, I haven't blogged since Feb 27. The only internet access I've had has been at work, and right now, I'm at a local pub using the wifi.

So what's happened in over a month? I don't remember, so it must've been good. Here are the highlights I recall in no particular order:

* SBT won't talk to me anymore. I'm a threat.
* 2shirts and I got a little tipsy over a bottle of really good wine at a local wine bar. We were grading papers at the time. A glassful of vino helps the grading go down...
* Finished up work at Crazytech. Whew!
* Met a bunch of rocket scientists at the local pub. Yes, literally, they are rocket scientists. Why did that night remind me of a night out with Glinda?
* # of hangovers: 4. Evidentally I have not taken up G's need to end consumerism.
* # of visits to Bizarro Catbirds: 0
* # of visits to Catbirds: 1; I did not get blitzed, but I did have one Caucasian and scared Nerfherder a bit. I think I've become a Maneater.
* # of men frightened: 4
* Spent an entire Friday at the art museum in the old hood. I miss the old hood.
* Made $300 at a fundraiser. Thanks, guys.
* Pretended to be a photographer at a wedding. 110 pics out of 300 something were good. Works for me. Hopefully it works for the artist formally known as Narc.
* Narc is now known as BJ, not for his ability or desire to give or receive BJs but because he is Bizarro Jerry. This requires an entire post to itself, but I'm not sure I'm up to it today.
* Met the New Narc or NuNarc as he will be dubbed on this blog. Unbelievable. Apparently he thinks I'm pretty but not hot enough to make him want to rip off my dress. Wow. What a ladies man.
* Favorite text message [from Glinda]: "I'm watching a Mariah Carey video with unicorns. WTF? Oh, and a midget spanked me." Apparently, she was not high.
* Hung out at same local pub with some guys who race professionally. I actually used the term Chilton manual in a conversation. Note to self: professional race boys don't like Chimay, only drink Bud products, and think older women are hot. Nice to know.
* Was approached to apply for a position as an Old Spice Girl. That's Old Spice the product, not an old Spice Girl. Still, it makes me giggle. I see myself next to Sporty with Old Spice written in Sharpie across my chest singing: "So tell me what you want, what you really, really want.."
* # of times I've declined a drink from someone with a beer tshirt on at ye local pub since I've started writing this post: 4.

That's about it, folks. I'd post about the Bizarro Jerry thing, but it's lost its humor, I fear.

*

Where is the love?

The only place I've found it today was in the dumpster.

Radford and Regina were having a love feast a la Lady and the Tramp this evening in the apartment dumpster. That was the crowning Aw Moment of my day.

Hellish Highlights:

* I began the day with 2 hours of sleep and a sour stomach from rich Caucasians (of the beverage kind).

* Work. Patriarchal Xians with control issues. Enough said.

* Other work: at the Trekkie school I teach at, I was sent an email reprimanding me for not locking a door. The IT person apparently has been irritated for weeks about how several profs haven't locked the classroom doors when they finished lecturing (because WHO does that?). So she sends an email directly to the college president complaining about it. She claims to have conducted a test, inciting her student assistants to "steal" a computer out of my room and march it out the door at 9pm after I had gone, and then is amazed that no one even noticed him stealing it. Let me set this up for you. This computer is the one BOLTED DOWN to a desk in the room, the one that the instructor uses for powerpoint, etc. To steal it, someone would need to take tools into the room to unbolt it. So she apparently gave tools to her aides and told them to take it, which she promptly and proudly put in her office. She then sends said email to the fucking president, who immediately shoots back, "Who is this instructor? What is their name?" She tells him my name and says that she will notify my department head. Come the fuck on! The email chain continues up the ladder to the dean and department head, who sends me an email saying, "Lock the door." The story spread throughout the college, prompting constant Office Space-esque comments about how I am having problems with my door locking. It also prompted a slew of emails about how security needs to be tightened since someone can walk out of an office with a computer and no one says a word (see #5 in the paragraph below).

Ok #1--seriously, if you are the head of IT at a technical school and you have nothing better to do on a thursday night than to fake a computer stealing scam, you are not doing your job; #2--if you are the president of a college and you have nothing better to do than investigate the name of an employee who didn't lock a door, you are not doing your job; #3--who the fuck sends an email to the president of a college about an unlocked door? Chain of command here, people!; #4--again, how many of you college educators out there lock the door after you leave it?; #5--the IT department aide is coming out of the door with a computer--who in the hell would suspect foul play?

* Glinda. Glinda has proven once and for all that she is the greater evil. And she will pay.

There is no love for Cranky today. Even Jeffery N remains aloof.

My own version of Groundhog's day

Well, it's official. I've been here two years now. Tuesday marks the 2 year anniversary that I started my descent from Chicago into Texas, crying the entire bloody way while Edgy tried to console me that Texas would be ok and that I could always visit Chicago.

Yesterday marks the day that I woke up in Arkansas and thought, "It's not too late. I can turn back." But I didn't. I drove right on into Helltown during the middle of the superbowl (which was in Houston that year).

Today, though, marks the day that I, dressed as a couch because my clothes were all covered in wine that exploded from the freezing temps in my car, started work at HCC, met TwoShirts and Glinda (the only plus), and started a life of hell that seems to replay itself every fucking day that I awaken to the sound of ImaTool and Doofus in the morning, "It's a wonderful morning to be alive," and drive off to yet another job that sucks the marrow from my bones.

Now, to celebrate, I plan to go to bed, wake up tomorrow to ImaTool and Doofus, hopefully see my fucking shadow and crawl back in my little hole to hibernate for 6 more weeks. By that time, it will be Spring Break.

Cheers!

Grotesque ode to Aldrich, King, and Monty Python

Photo from http://my.execpc.com/~reva/babyjfotos.htm

Our story starts on a dark staircase. Wine in hand, we ascend the steps of what seems to be the location of a dinner party. Little do we know, insanity lurks in every shadowed corner. A troll, the bridge keeper of sorts, accosts us: "What is your name? What is your quest?" Glinda, like Lancelot, brings forth the Holy Malbec, and with, "Right, off you go," the bridge keeper troll lets her through. Edgy and I, however, are stopped by the troll with the same questions. I point at the Holy Malbec, and she grunts, "Are there two other bottles in that bag?" I nod: "African and European". "Fine," she utters with a suspicious bulging of the eyes.

Next, we enter the house, cryptic and twisted. Our host, though amiable, leads us to her secret chamber, the clown room. Pictures of clowns adorn the walls--tramps with hollowed sockets, circus performers with faces melting in LSD illumination, tiny clowns suspended from the air in cords or smashed beneath endtable glass, their lipsticked mouths dissolving. I could feel Pennywise's breath on the nape of my neck.

We return to the staircase. The troll emerges from the fog with more questions, "Where did you spend your first 7 years of life? Why don't you have an accent?" I made the mistake of telling her that my grammar school was parochial and that they beat the accent out of me. "How dare you profane this place with your presence! " She turns to Glinda, before ejecting me from the bridge: "Are you responsible for these two?" Glinda nods, as Lancelot would, "In truth, yes." "And you," she turns to Edgy, "What are you?"
"My accessory," I chide.
"A permanent one?"
"Well, ye.."
"NOTHING IS PERMANENT!"
"Well, hello sunshine" [Glinda's first verbal mistake].
"I'm only telling the truth," the troll growls, "I only speak the truth. I have impulse control issues."
"So thaaaats what it's called." [Glinda's second verbal blunder].
"It is. I'm a shrink, and I have impulse control issues. Always have. It's what I do."

It's at this point, I motion Glinda into the other room, and she turns to the troll with foot in mouth, "We're going to get something to drink." The troll glares at her, "I understand." As I look back, before she turns to engage Edgy in conversation, I distinctly see her painting her lips in a circular motion. "I'm Mama's little devil." Yes, yuh aaah, troll, yuh aaah!

Happy bday eve, Glinda!

Why didn't we go here for my birthday? Scroll down to "Hollywood invades Auburn."

To Glinda, for her birthday

Made me think of you--the collar mostly...well, that and Bert.

I love how Ernie still has the Applause tag in his ear.