In high school when we took our “What Job Should You Have” tests, no matter how many times I took the test, Librarian was always in the top 3; I wasn’t mad.

I love the Dewey Decimal System.
I love the old card catalogue.
Alphabetization is as close to heaven as I’ll ever get.

Today, all I want to do is alphabetize and catalogue all of my books.

and I’m not mad.

You would think that during this time I would have maximized my free time and gone through my department store of clothes finally getting rid of things that I don’t wear. Maybe, in general, I would just get rid of all the shit in this apartment that I don’t want. I would clean the oven. Dust my books. Clean the bathtub. Wash the windows. Alphabetize my movies. At least finish some crochet projects.

Since the beginning of my Fauxnemployment, I’ve made it through 6 seasons of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia.

that’s it.

no wait! One day I did the dishes and yesterday I cleaned off/ out my espresso machine. There was also another day that I found out that the  quote I have attributed to “Some Kind Of Wonderful” is actually from the second season of Buffy The Vampire Slayer. Here in just a minute I’m going to do some investigating because something around the couch smells like a wet dog… a clean dog, but wet never-the-less. I colored my hair the other day (which actually did serve a fairly decent purpose– I remembered that it kind of is nice knowing what I’m doing and when I throw some colors together, it’s not just hodge-podge… I actually know what’s going to happen in the end…) I blocked a sudden onslaught of porn followers on my Twitter. Tj got back so we’ve been doing a lot of free style hanging.

In fact, rather than finishing this blog or doing any of the things from that Mature list… We’re going to go get iced lattes and hang out in nature.

Cause that’s what friends do.

I decided a while back that one of these days I need to go spend money on a haircut again. Ever since I started booty school, I think I’ve maybe paid for a haircut once. MAYBE. Before that, I paid a pretty penny because I have difficult hair. I also know how to deal with my difficult hair therefor making me a slightly difficult client.
I like to think I’m Helpfully Specific.
Sometimes, though, Specificity doesn’t always work and you end up with a) something half way to what you wanted b) something theoretically that you wanted but it’s WAY too short or c) something so far off what you wanted that you have trouble holding it together in the stylists presence and they are, from that point forward, forbidden from ever, Ever, EVER touching your hair ever again. Ever. Other times it’s just… eh.
I’m growing out a difficult haircut… a very difficult haircut. One does not go from a mohawk to long beautiful hair in one swoop… there is a loooooooong awkward stage full of bobby pins and headbands and hair wraps to keep that shit out of sight.

I went and paid for a haircut yesterday.
It was time.
I sat down in the lady’s chair and told her what I wanted.
“I’m in the process of growing it out so I don’t want length off, I just want it cleaned up here around the ears,” (I had a lot of “wispy” ends that just emphasized my fine hair. gross.) I showed her exactly where. “I have cowlicks here *show* and here *show* so I don’t want anything off the top… like from here forward *show* because they’re just finally to a place where I can leave them down. I want the back, up to about here *show* pretty close. It tends to get mulletty so I want all of that taken off, including the tail. I’m ready to lose the tail.”

She left my tail and left my mullet.

While she was cutting it though, she told me that I dress “Very fashion!”
I was wearing a blue tank top from Target and my favorite wrap skirt from Saturday Market with the elephants and the flare and the… gad I love that skirt… and stinky old flip flops. My hair was tied back with a blue nike headband and I was wearing my pink sunglasses.
Fashionably, I was a big, fat, manicured and pedicured NO.

I put on my small girl smile/ voice, giggled and said thank you.
In my head I was questioning her vision and, in turn, my choice to have her cut my hair.
We had good stylist talk and she was a very sweet woman.
Once we were finished, she styled my hair UBER Anime– I had swooped bangs to the side and then…. it went STRAIGHT BACK. My whips were still down, but everything else? Straight. Back.
Had I been wearing makeup and real clothes, I might have loved it.
“Your hair! It very fashion! Olga! Do you like this?! Her hair… it very fashion!”
Olga agreed and loved the gross bits of needing to be toned gold in my bangs.

Finally, I got my haircut. I still have the tail, but… I got my haircut. Now… to wait another 4 months to get it done again.

I have trust issues, but not the kind that you think. Typically when people say that it is their way of saying that they don’t trust anyone. Well… my half full cup runneth over (don’t worry about logistics… just… believe me…TRUST ME)(see what I did there? FULL CIRCLE) with trust and it never fails to burn my ass.
But I keep doing it.
And I keep getting a burned biscuit.

I DON’T EVEN LIKE BISCUITS!

Anyways, when I left BabyJob back in October, it was only partially of my own free will. I was promised something (or… 35 somethings) and then when the time came, I was given something else (10-ish somethings) which was not a reasonable replacement for me. I made the choice to not suck it up and live in a van down by the river, so I found something that didn’t matter.
Something that didn’t matter so much that it slowly sucked my will to live in it’s own special, corporate, money hungry, disrespectful, advantage taking way.

I thought that things at BabyJob would be different after HipMomma left so when Robot and The Dragon AND OctoBoss told me in July that I would be opening an infant room, I believed them. Opening an infant room means that I will have full time, Monday thru Friday, benefits, and a job that I like significantly more that The Job That Didn’t Matter.

Long story short: No one can tell me when I start. When I asked Robot, he said “Ask The Dragon. I’m out of town.” When I asked The Dragon what Tuesday was going to look like she said “Oooohh… did Robot say you were starting on Tuesday?”
“Yeah… he did…”
“Oooohhh… well… ok… let me text Robot and OctoBoss because I don’t know anything about this. I’ll text them and let you know when I hear back.”

That was Friday morning.

I know I’m over reacting a bit, but… am I? Not only do I not know WHEN I start, but I don’t know my title, I don’t know my schedule, I don’t know how much I’m making… I KNOW NOTHING! They tell me every week that I’ll start next week. Then Next Week comes along and it’s moved to Next Week. On top of that, it’s really sounding like I’m going to open an infant room under the direction of someone WHO HAS NEVER WORKED WITH INFANTS (wth, guys…). And now… NOW while I’m typically on the sub schedule as “available”, I’m no where on the list at all. So I won’t even be considered for work next week. I worked 5 hours last week. 5 HOURS.

I mean… C’mon guys… COME ON. That doesn’t incite a whole lot of confidence in this little lady.

I decided to turn this set back into an opportunity (or some shit).

While I’m possibly needlessly freaking out about not having a job (which I may or may not actually have), I’ve started applying for jobs.

In Seattle.

I’m doing it kind of half assedly, but I’m doing it. I won’t move up there for less than $13 which is actually probably going to be kind of hard to come by, but… maybe not. The truth is that I might consider $11, but… it’s a little scary. I kind of decided that on a whim and then, before I knew it, I had applied for 4 jobs up there. Even now I have 7 tabs open in my browser– 5 of them are Seattle Jobs and 2 of them are Portland Jobs. It doesn’t help that the unemployment rate in PDX is so high, but… still. What Am I Doing?!

I should really REALLY start thinking about what I’m going to do if I actually get offered one of these 206/425 jobs……..

Yeah.
That was pretty awesome.

There was another time that I decided that I was going to buy a clarinet and Fan Girl and Mercado and I were going to start a band– the awesome kind of band made up of a guitar, a clarinet, and a flute. So I got on Craigslist, there was a clarinet for $20 and I got it? That quick and just like that.

Yeah.
That was pretty awesome too.

I haven’t played the clarinet in a really, Really, REALLY long time, but it’s got to be kind of like riding a bike, right? Those keys are still the same so if I could play it once, I can play it again….
Right?

RIGHT?

The night that I got it we had our first band practice over at Mercado’s house and it was more just us sitting around drinking beer and talking about boys. Until, that is, the new neighbors brought a load of stuff over.
Mercado had given us some back story where-in the boys (this is not my affectionate term… they’re really young guys… they’re boys…) had come to her door one day to introduce themselves but… didn’t… really have much to say it was kind of awkward.
The boys, like I said, are young, not entirely attractive or socially integrated young men so as soon as they pulled up in their car, it was like there was a flaming bum fight outside. Three slightly drunk Old Lady heads whipped around and we whispered some very excited “Squee”s. Fan Girl whipped out her flute and scrambled for the best song. I covered up the sudden onset of music by tooting out a few notes so it sounded like we’d been playing the whole time. Just as they came up the stairs, Kelly broke out the big guns.

She started playing the Star Wars Trek theme song.

The boys fumbled for their keys and kept shooting glances in the window. As soon as she was done, whether it had been to us or to his roomie we don’t know, The Skinny One said “Keep it going” or something to that extent.

I’m convinced that now that we are all better acquainted with our instruments, we will be a very successful Def Leppard cover band making bajillions of dollars on street corners.

wait.

that doesn’t sound right…

Peter Dinklage does not apply to this post what-so-ever. But thanks to Mrs. White Folk, there's this strange pre-occupation with him... Peter Dinklage... you haunt my dreams. Well... you would if I didn't dream about effing vampires and True Blood all the time...

The internet is a funny place… for all the shit that goes down and all the pointless stuff that comes out of it, sometimes you can find some reality and some perspective in it all. This is what I found in Chicken Man.

Chicken Man is friends with FIF. We’ve never met (which is kind of shocking because we work next door to one another… small world…) but we’ve interacted on various FIF posts and finally became REAL LIFE Internet Friends (URL not IRL).  Once some ground rules were established regarding appropriate conversation topics, this glorious little bit of heaven came out of a Sunday morning.
Because I’m a big fan of gender roles and stereotypes, Chicken Man will be blue and I will be pink.

*air hug*

*epic high 5*
*WITH freeze frame*

*while jumping in air*

Duh. Obvis. Er… i mean *Duh. Obvis*

Is everything in asterisks now?

no
not really

Ok good. That wold have gotten tiresome. In Germany they have mashed potato flavored Cup Noodles.

I love Germany.

Me too. I’m German. At least partly. I wanna go. Mainly for the beer, history and weirdness.

oh. I don’t really love Germany…
I was just saying that…
Um…
I…

Well just make me look like an asshole whydon’tcha??!!
Friendship Denied.

NOOOOOOOooooooo…..oooooOOOOOOB!
(Not an accident. Actually calling you a noob.)

*leaves room, thinks about life for a few hours*

*plays first disc of FF7 and waits*

*starts lightly sobbing*

*throws a shoe at the door and yells not-real-words*

*cries louder, now scared for his safety*

*turns up music to drown out the sound of weakness*

*kicks own door and throw stereo to the ground* you wanna fuckin go??!! Let’s goddamn do this!

*doesn’t pause game*
*jumps over couch rubs cheeto dust in your eyes*
*completes first disk*

*rips controller from your hands and starts playing for you, terribly*

NO! You’re ruining my ending! STOP! NOOOOOO! DON’T SELL MY MATERIA!!! *goes ape shit*
I HATE YOU CHICKEN MAN! I HATE YOU! *runs to bedroom slamming door and sobbing*

*pours Mt. Dew Code Red on your console*
materia: sold.

*really, Really, REALLY loud. and awkwardly*
*Turns on Mazzy Star and hugs pillow*

*kicks shoes off at the door screaming unintelligible curse words*

*sets room on fire and jumps out window*
*jumps on greasy bo-hunk boyfriend’s motorcycle*
*Throws the bird*
*never to be seen again*

*flips couch over like Dan Connor and lights it on fire, jumps through plate glass window
limply runs into street to get hit by jet-black trans-am gets up, pulls out driver and steals car to spend days hunting you down.*

*gets teen pregnant behind the elementary school.*
wait… Dan Connor like… On Rosanne?

yes. of course.

Dan never let the couch on fire! They had the same damn ugly brown and orange plaid couch until they “won the lottery”!
ok. where did we leave off…

I said flips it over like Dan Connor. The lighting it on fire was an additional move.

*Gets back seat abortion from Wil Arnett*
*As an added bonus: also turned into a werewolf*
 Thanks Wil Arnett!
*paws up.*

 yeah that couch had to have been loaded up with way too many farts

….
Gross. True, but gross.

*attends your werewolf bat mitzvah*
*rips shirt off*
I’m just saying between Dan and Roseanne alone, that couch for that long… woof.
*tackles ou into the buffet, covered in latkes and lox*
*and brisket, probably.*

mmm… brisket…
mmm… Jews…
*turns into werewolf and runs away maintaining pride*
*comes back with flame thrower and burns that shit down*
*AGAIN*
(it’s kind of my calling card)

*rips off a chunk of werewolf fur, sniffs deeply then transforms into motorcycle and peels out*

*puts finishing touches on rocket ship*

*makes sweet jump over/ through flames screaming with rage*

*flies rocket to 30,000′, paraglides off the side (in wolf form) crashes though glass ceiling of Bruce Wayne style dinner.*
*blends in seamlessly with crowd on account of sectsy green dress*
yes. still in wolf form.
Also: I call Copyright on this so no stealing it for the most amazing movie script ever written aside from Sabrina (with Harry Ford, of course)

I’m sure, still sechsy as a werewolf

And no. one. notices. It’s like when Bugs Bunny dresses up and pays a girl bunny.

…………. technical difficulties……………

*a faint roar of a revving engine can be heard off in the distance.*
wow. Seriously I tried to send you that about 50 times and it only worked once I removed the asterisks.

lol. your phone doesn’t think it’s funny anymore.
stupid phone.
*music works into perfectly placed crescendo drowning out impending doom*

it’s too much for it to handle. now I got all thrown off the moment is ruined.

no… keep it going.. we can save this…

*motorpsycho crashes through giant stained glass window, shower the crowd in a rainbow of pain as I land I transform into Wesley Snipes*

*Rips dress off mid-transformation, whips it once turning it into a flaming rapier. Now wearing Laura Croft costume.*
in human form cause wolves can’t sword fight, silly.

of course. And Laura Croft needs to show skin.

cause she a ho

Exactly. Where were we? Sorry I got distracted.

I have no idea. I started crocheting and eating peas and painting my nails… I have no idea what’s going on.

I’m tired. Nap time please.

aaaaaaaaaand Scene.

The entirety of this took a good 2-3 hours to get out before it finally fizzled out when Chicken Man needed a nap. I feel that glory of this extent will never again come to be, but the good news it that I have documented it here… where it will live forever in the infinity of the Intronet.

thank you, Intronet.
thank you.

I miss milk. I miss it bad. It’s true that I cheat (though I really should know better by now) (I’ll learn when I’m DEAD!) and from time to time I’ll eat some cheese on my sammich or I’ll have some yogurt, for the most part, I avoid the obvious dairy. I have to. After being off it successfully for so long, the effects are a little more painful than they were before.
And I’m not being euphemistic with that.
It really does hurt. Mind bending stomach cramps (the real stomach cramps… that are up under your ribs and there’s no getting rid of them), nausea, headaches… it’s significantly worse than just some boring ol’ gas, people… This shit’s freal.

I’ve come to (very sad) terms with the fact that I will never again enjoy a tall, bubbly, almost frozen it’s so cold, glass of 1% milk. A cup of chocolate milk will never again accompany my chorizo and eggs in the morning/ second breakfast/ lunch/ noonsies/ tea/ dinner/ 4th meal.
It’s
Just
Not
Gonna
Happen.
I miss it, but I know that if soft core dairy paired with ok things beat me up, a glass of milk very easily could kill me.

*disclaimer: I am aware that if I continue “cheating” I very well could give myself a real allergy rather than just a pesky intolerance, but… more on that some other day. Even if this is not true, please do not tell me. I need to think that it’s possible or I will keep doing it. Thanks.

I’ve known since the olden days of working at The Bux that I don’t like soy. I have forced myself into finding a place for it though, and it’s in there pretty solid. Most cooking tastes alright with soy and it doesn’t change the consistency all that much (unless you’re pudding. Soy milk will NOT set pudding no matter how long you wait). It’s good in mac n cheese (yes. I know) and I actually prefer it in my black tea. Lattes from coffee peddlers are good with soy (though the fancier little indie shops have better choices…) but it’s not good for everything.

I’ve found that Almond milk is a good sub for “Milk” heavy situations. Along with moo milk, I miss cereal. Almond milk is a little thinner and sweeter, so I can totally cereal that shit up. Since it’s sweeter, though, I don’t like to cook with it a whole lot which blows the goat* cause no one sells anything smaller than half gallons of Almond ’round here. (*I have not and will not try goat’s milk.)

A few days ago while I was at the Quality Food Center for gah knows what (I always know what I’m going there for, but as soon as I go through those doors, my list is erased and I wander aimlessly until the nice boy with the bushy hair asks me what I’m doing and if there is someone he can call…) I saw that there was a 1/2 gal of coconut milk.
I decided to live on the edge. For $1.59 how could I not?

I finally tried it out tonight in my deener and I decided to try a bit straight.

oh.
dear.
god.

a more disgusting liquid has never…. well… that’s not true.
It was gross. It’s definitely NOT going to be a straight drinker. It was like…. the sweat off the outside of the plastic milk carton.
I was sure that I had ruined my noodles.

Turns out they’re better than soy noodles. The real test will be tomorrow when I microwave them. If you are unfamiliar, soy milk is disgusting; microwaved soy milk is the sweaty butt-crack skin drippings of the devil.

All in all, I couldn’t taste the coconut milk and that’s kind of the effect we’re going for here. It is possible, though, that I couldn’t taste it because my taste buds are still partially paralyzed from being on my death bed yesterday (but just yesterday… if only every cold were that quick…).
Only time will tell.

Tune in tomorrow to find out if I bought a clarinet for $20 so that Fan Girl and I can start a band (she plays the flute) and Mercado plays the guitar so we might be TOTAL dude magnets before you know it…

One of these things is just how much stake I put into my dreams. I know it seems like I talk about them a lot here, but really… I don’t. Considering their meaning in my day to day, I really don’t. I don’t talk about them in depth with friends. Ever. Partially because they’re VERY revealing and I’m secretly private (Pisces… remember?) and that’s some pretty intense shit to just be putting out there. Plus, it’s hard to talk to people about something important to you that they don’t know about without “teaching” them… I don’t want to teach people about everything all the time… I want to talk and have the learning and teaching be even… THAT’S when things are interesting.

Today, though, I talked to Girlfriend, fairly briefly, about dreams and their importance in real life… how I dream and differentiate what is important and what is just a dream… experiences she’s had with dreaming.

It’s nice to know other people who are just as superstitious and Ooga-booga as yourself.

Girlfriend impresses me and I think she and I should hang out outside of work.
That’s all.

Two.
Long.
Weeks.

While I am going to be BEYOND thrilled to be out of BOTH places, and because I like these lists (they help me feel more… clear. They may not be full posts, but I get the thoughts out of my head. That’s what matters) here are some things that I’m going to miss:

1. Learning how to walk like a lumberjack in the hallway after everyone is gone.
2. Greeting Ocea in ridiculous ways like running and doing slow motion punches while jumping through the air and wielding flaming chainsaws.
3. Seeing Brownbear’s chops every Sunday morning.
4. Singing with Dibs (I might miss that second most of all).
5. Transcribing Nails’ crazy client on her facebook page… in real time. “I told them ‘It’s not like I have a gun!’ Can you even imagine?!”
6. Listening to “The Oh Of Pleasure” on repeat for 9 hours.
7. Cleaning the hair out of the drains at the end of the… oh… wait… I won’t miss that at all.
8. Being able to focus my hatred on Bro because he is just… I don’t even want to talk about it.
9. LeftBoy and RightBoy.
10. FanGirl asking “Do you need in there?”.
11. “Let me ask you a question: Bulldog ruined my hair.”
12. Wrapping up in fresh from the dryer blankets that are so hot they could probably melt the polyester shirt to your skin if they were a little better at their heat retention.
13. Walking out of the HellHole Dungeon where it is roughly 150 degrees into the 10pm summer coolness.
14. Did I mention singing with Dibs?
15. Or hanging out with Brownbear while getting paid?

I think that’s all I’ve got.