Apology

This morning, as I was driving on the upper deck of I-35 on my way to my miserable, dumb job, and there was a hot-air balloon floating over campus.  It was a gorgeous morning to be up in a balloon (other than the whole idea completely freaks me out, and has me trembling in a small corner of my mind--I can still appreciate that it was probably beautiful up there), and the traffic was slowing to stare at it.  Then a V of ducks flew past it.  It's hard to take photos of the sky with your phone while driving.  I know, I tried, and failed.  Sorry.  It was a really cool moment, I promise.

Things have been so complicated lately, and I've been reticent to write about them.  There are people I need to personally talk to first, and most I have, but it just feels not quite right to write everything down here for everyone to read.  Thus, I've been avoiding my blog, which is rude, I apologize.  Yet, I don't think there's any help for it right now.  I must remain vague and rush off, over there, and do that thing that I am not talking about.  Or I'm just blowing you off so I can go to sleep.  That may be true, too.  Either way, please don't give up on me, I promise I'll be back soon.

No, Thank You

Nope.  Didn't get it.  Ho hum.

Surly

Waiting for the call about whether you have the job or not is as excruciating as sitting around waiting for your crush to text (I'm all modern like, don't you know?).  Simply sitting here waiting is tortuous, and it is making me surly beyond reason.  I'm throwing daggers with my eyes, and I will cut you if you get in my way today.  Not only will I cut you, I'll cut your Achilles tendon, because I want to inflict maximum damage with minimal effort on my part. 

They actually called yesterday while I was in a meeting huffing and puffing at some seriously slow-processing brains (do you know what kind of bureaucracy is involved to change a form around here?).  Great, they called, how wonderful!  Except the message was basically, Hey, I'm calling, here's my phone number.  The.  End.  Who does that?  Just don't leave a message if you are unwilling to say one way or the other.  Gah!

Thus my night was ruined, and I was a big sore loser during (not after, DURING) Settlers of Catan with Nauticalina and Wikus.  I threw a tantrum, and I am not proud of it, but here it is, 20 hours later, and the woman still has not called me back.  Yes, I left a message for her yesterday.  Yes, I told her to call my cell.  Yes, I have called again today, but have not reached her.  Perhaps I should drive down there, and camp in her office?  That'll be awkward when she tells me I don't have the job.

Because yes, in that deep black pit of my heart, I know I don't have this job.  Sure, all of you are saying I have a chance, and I'm really awesome, and to be more positive, and all that rah-rah stuff, but seriously, the same thing is being said to the other candidate by his/her friends.  Thus, all I can do is to keep passing the open windows (maybe my consolation prize to myself, besides heavy drinking, will be to reread The Hotel New Hampshire, and remind myself why I adore this phrase). 

Le sigh.

Glady

If my week wasn't so hectic, or if I wasn't spending a lot of my free time sleeping, I would have posted something that a friend of mine wrote a lot sooner.  But, as usual, life gets in the way.  Glady is a wonderful woman with an amazing voice, and the kindest soul--sounds like we shouldn't be friends, right?  I mean, that type of kindness generally rubs me the wrong way, but there are several similarities in our backgrounds, which have left us with matching neuroses.  I like this lady tons, and she writes these serene blog posts about gardening and yoga, and just her way of making it through life, that shows an inner strength that I can only hope to achieve one day.  She has the same niggling fears and anxieties as the rest of us, and she can write about them with grace and humor.  Then are times I swear she is just channeling me.  Like here.  She also has chickens.  Do I need to say more?
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There were passion flowers blooming where I had lunch today with Guamaniac, Nauticalina and Wikus!  I haven't seen any in a couple of years, so this was perfect timing.

Matt's El Rancho, 3/27/11

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Have you downloaded your Adele song yet?  If not, I'm greatly disappointed in you.  Glady wrote to say she is also obsessed, and as I said, that lady is awesome, so you should follow her example.  Make it happen already.

On Adele and Grey's Anatomy

Last night I was catching up on Grey's Anatomy (judge as you will), and they used this Adele song that I absolutely adore (Someone Like You).  It was a really odd choice, and I'm still thinking about it.  I'm not going to pain all of you by rehashing the plot points on Grey's, but the song is about still loving someone who has moved on, and the bittersweetness of it all--missing the person, having those secret hopes that the person still loves you, and being happy that the person is happy in his/her new life.  The song was being played over scenes of couples still in love and together.  So damn odd. 

Now, what I did appreciate during the song, was how something awful finally happened to characters who are talking and looking at each other while ostensibly driving.  Did they do that on purpose?  A kind of meta joke about how shows always have characters staring deeply in to each other eyes for long seconds, impossibly long seconds, while driving?  Of course it was beyond obvious that something was going to happen to these characters, and a car crash (oh, SPOILER ALERT) was par for the course; but, seriously, it was kind of awesome that it was during the long stare-and-still-capably-drive moment.  I laughed.  And perhaps applauded for a few seconds.  I was alone--it's okay.

I am so sorry that I just did a bit of critical analysis over Grey's Anatomy.  Excuse me. 

That Adele song is gorgeous.  I highly recommend downloading it.  It makes me cry.  I'm sure for a lot of couples who have recently broken up, this is going to be the break-up song for the lovelorn, jilted party.  It's a song, I'm sure, that a lot of people can relate to.  Not just teenage girls.  I promise.

If Only It Was Laziness

My arm is on fire.  I had kind of forgotten this feeling of intense, searing pain.  I spent the afternoon obtaining two more passion flowers on my right arm, and hot damn, ouch.  Getting the tattoo is nothing compared with a couple hours later when the adrenaline has worn off, and the skin is just raw and angry.  It should prove to be a really fun night--where I probably go to bed at 8pm.  Yay, Friday night, watch out, I'm totally going to get up all in your shit.

Thus, please be so kind to use that as my excuse for once again not posting.  I'm really sorry.  I just don't have my shit together these days.  Perhaps tomorrow?

In the meantime, feel free to watch OMD perform at a bike shop.  That's right, a BIKE SHOP.  I was there.  It was awesome.

SXSW Zombie

Hot damn, I am wrecked--completely broken upon the gritty shores of SXSW.  People, I have black boogers, which can only mean my lungs are filled with a black sludge.  Beside a quick lunch with my out-of-town visitors, and a tiny trip to the grocery store, I have done nothing.  Sweet sweet nothing.  Or rather, I took a 4-hour nap on my face.  It was great.  I reacquainted myself with the kittens (I believe they spent the week under the bed in sheer fright of my visiting friends, because you know, they have legs and voices). 

It was an amazing week.  Lots of good shows, perfect weather, the mountain laurel and wisteria blooming, so many friends whom I haven't seen in years (try 15 plus).  I managed to get a sunburn ring on my ankles (damn you socks losing a some of your elasticity throughout the day), and a bit of pink to my shoulders, but nothing like the lobster burns of so many others I saw downtown looking like they should be hospitalized.  I saw a lot of 2am, and ate sporadically (did I really wolf down a street sausage slathered in onions while searching drunkenly with my mates for a cab?).  My body hates me.  I don't blame it.

OMD and The Dead Milkmen made my old heart pitter-patter, but the show that blew me away was my friend's band, The Congregation.  I hadn't seen this cat since we graduated college (that's way back in the way back then for those keeping count), and once again, through the miracle of Facebook, we reconnected.  Of course I said I would check his band out when I found out they'd be in town (they're from Chicago).  But here's the thing, I didn't exactly have low expectations or anything, it's just that I support a lot of friend's bands, because I'm a good friend like that, but I never actually expect them to make my day!  I was in a rotten mood yesterday, things were complicated with a friend, and shit just wasn't going well (my allergies had me feeling like someone had cold-cocked me on the back of the head), but oh, there were horns, and deep bluesy soul singing.  I found I couldn't help but smile and start grooving a bit (I don't groove, I stand with my arms crossed looking vaguely askance at the crowd).  The men were so foxy in their suits, and their lady singer made me purr.  I wanted to give them all hugs afterward (since I'm not a creeper, I only hugged my friend).  They even gave us condoms!  And the guitarist is not only super sexy, he's a physicist (he's married, sadly--erm, uh, happily for him)!  Look at me, I'm totally geeking out over my love for this band.  If you're in Chicago and they are playing, I will never forgive you if you don't go see them.  I'm so serious.  I'll punch you in the genitals. 

Once I've had some extended rest, I'll attempt to do a better breakdown of my SXSW fun.  I also said I would do that for my Boston trip.  So, perhaps, I'm just full of lies.  
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Tomorrow I have a job interview in a different department.  Yes, that means I am actively trying to escape Twit and the Ex-Cops.  We'll see how it goes.  I spend more time fretting about what to wear than the interview itself.  Going for all black with red tights and my fancy black, knee-high boots.  All my tats will be covered, but I worry I will look too stylish.  Maybe I'll wear my glasses to balance things out a bit.  Having experience in HR just makes me even more judgmental and twitchy.  Gah. 

Thus I should get to bed.  No one's going to hire me looking the way I do right now.  Nothing says responsible like sleep lines across your face!

Wikus just wrote me, "Good luck with your sleeping, and good luck with your interview. I'm sure you'll do swell. You'll probably get so many points that they'll bring out a Pac-Man machine and have you put your initials into it."  That is one good friend.

Solar-Powered Carousel

This is my favorite week of the year.  Somehow, SXSW and the first perfect week of weather almost always coincide.  The wisteria and mountain laurel are in bloom.  It smells like grape kool-aid on the breeze.  It also means a lot of walking.  My feet hurt so damn much, and I'm just getting started.  The music day shows do not start until tomorrow.  One last day of work for the week, and then lots of music, friends, and way more walking. 

There's a solar-powered carousel downtown right now.  It is fantastic fun.  Here are some pictures I took of the horses with their frightening grimaces.

A Shout-Out

Can it really be 9:30pm?  Seriously.  Even if it was 8:30pm, I wouldn't believe it.  There is just something young-feeling about tonight.  Thankfully, Ambien will take care of that.  I'm okay with losing an hour--it seems a fair trade when I get more sunlight out of the deal.  Even if I am only enjoying that daylight from the inside.  It's been me and this couch for quite some time now.  Allergies have me feeling quite low, and other things that don't need to be discussed here.

Those things being kind of all-consuming, it is hard for me to concentrate.  I can report that the kittens have figured out how to get on top of the bookcases, and then knock shit on to the floor, which makes The Boy scream bloody jesus (such horrible dents those kittens have managed to put in the floor).  When the kittens aren't on top of the bookcases, they are holding each other like gentle lovers on the bed.  Two gay, incestuous cats.  Mattress just watches on helplessly. 

A faraway friend of mine has cancer.  We are not close friends--college chums at best, and through the miracle of FB closer now than we ever were way back in the way back when.  This woman is so amazing, and I just want to put it out there that I admire her.  She's seriously classy, and is full of the type of strength that I don't believe I have.  It seems she has suffered one medical condition straight on to another for years upon years now, and I can still hear her smile when she posts to FB.  I want to be able to give her a hug, and the best I can do right now beside checking in on her, letting her know that I'm thinking of her, is to write here that she is the bee's knees, the cat's meow, and have my fingers crossed that she survives this, too, like she has so many other things, with sheer, amazing aplomb.  I wish that the chemo doesn't make her wish for death, and that one day I will get to see her to give her my hug.  It's going to be a really big, hard one, so she better be in some seriously good shape to take it.  That's a demand, gosh darn it.  Get better lady!

What Did You Do Tonight?

I spent my evening snuggling with C on her couch.  I was was all cozy and warm in a Tauntaun sleeping bag.  You know you're fucking jealous.  This is what it looked like (if I was a small boy-child).

We watched three episodes of Shameless.  If I didn't have to work tomorrow, I would have spent the night on that couch watching the rest of the season.  My mind is still reeling at the image of Joan Cusak wielding one motherfucking huge-ass, veiny dildo.  Damn that thing was large.  It was so big that it isn't even a joking matter.  That dildo could bludgeon someone to death.  I'm just saying.

Happy International Women's Day To You, Too, Texas!

There's a little vomit all down the front of me.  And it's not from that banana I heaved in to the trash can earlier at work today (what the fuck was that hard black stuff in the middle of it?).  It's a bit of Happy International Women's Day that I spewed all over myself when I was hit hard on the back of my head when I found out that the Texas House approved HB 15.  Look out, I have ichorous rage on my boots!  The state, like most other states, is in a serious financial crisis, but it's a bit too busy passing emergency measures to emotionally blackmail pregnant women.  Yay, Texas!  You're so awesome.

So, here we are.  We have to face the very real chance that Planned Parenthood will not be able to keep its doors open in the future, and now pregnant women in Texas will have to submit to a vaginal probe at least 24 hours before she has an abortion--all in the name of informed consent.  Us poor, dim-witted fragile flowers.  It is such a relief having Governor Rick Perry looking out for us!  He totally just wants us ladies to be "fully informed when considering such an important decision."  What a huge burden lifted off of me, because personally, I just had no idea what an abortion meant!  Now with this helpful vaginal probing, pictures and soundtrack, I really get it now.

I'm tired.  So very tired. 

Also, how many Roy Ashburns of this bill will come out in a few years to admit they had an abortion, or their wife, sister, daughter had one? 

Still Owing My Gratitude to Planned Parenthood 21 Years and Counting

When I was 15, my mom told me to get in the car, and she drove me to a Planned Parenthood in Dallas.  It was in an office park, and the decor was bland, like some mid-level motel--all beige and adult contemporary.  I was sexually active; my mother and I had not discussed one word about it.  Yet, she knew enough to drag my ass in for a pap smear and STD testing.  And there we sat.  I don't remember anyone else in that room--I was so narrowly focused on my anxiety, and thinking "How can she possibly fucking know?!"  My body vibrated with nerves, and I still remember the near-impossible task of completing the forms.  Those questions that were asked!  How could I answer them at all, much less with my mother right next to me, probably reading over my shoulder?  Man, I still feel sick to my stomach thinking about it.  Imagine what a shy, nervous 15-year-old girl thought when she read, "Have you had anal sex?" Oh. My. God. People were going to read that form!  Jesus.

After that, I pretty much blacked out the rest.  It was my first pap smear.  My first time having sex was less anxiety-inducing than having to scoot my naked ass to the end of a table, and being told to relax my legs as some old man breathed noisily between my thighs.  It felt abusive, but I know it wasn't.  Just standard gynecological procedure.  I'm sure it was over very quickly.  I was given a prescription for oral contraceptive, and my mother and I were sent on our way.

As scary as that experience was for me, I was always grateful for the existence of Planned Parenthood.  Over the next 12 years or so, I went to them for my annual physical and birth-control needs.  I can also thank them for free HIV testing.  I did not have steady medical insurance until my late 20s--none of my friends did.  We had no idea how else to maintain good vaginal health other than visit PP.

Every time I hear about the proposed federal cuts, in fact complete stripping, to Planned Parenthood, I want to go cut someone really deep and leave them bleeding on the side of the road.  My life has not remotely been what one calls easy, but having access to PP definitely made my life what it is now, which is pretty darn easy: disease- and child-free.  Without having access to birth control and pap smears, I would probably have had several abortions and many raging diseases before I was 22.  I was not a smart kid when it came to sex--I was passionate, eager and didn't know how to stand up for myself.  I had a lot of sex without condoms.  A LOT.  I know I wasn't the only lady out there keeping her mouth shut when it came to asking to wrap it up (mostly out of fear of rejection).

Thus, there was all this awesome sex, having our crushes, breaking hearts and having our hearts broken, and there were a zillion chances to get pregnant, and even more to be passing around god knows what.  Yet, we were able to go to PP and get our birth control and meds.  Did PP encourage me to have sex?  Heck, no.  In fact, it always felt a bit embarrassing to go in there and list how many partners I had had in the last year, and they often frowned and condescended toward me when I was frank about my sexual habits.  They were there to keep me alive and free of unwanted babies, and they did that job well.

Do you know what most Planned Parenthood do not provide?  An abortion.  They could give you a reference to a private clinic, but most of them did not have the resources to actually provide such a procedure.  They provided the same services that your "normal" gynecologist provided.  Also, PP was never free.  There was a sliding scale, and I always had to pay something for the privilege of having my cervix poked, and $10-$20 for a pack of pills per month (that's a crapload of money for someone making $8/hr).  I have been working since I was 15, and so I was able to pay for all of this, for the luxury of my easy ways.

I don't think attitudes have changed all that much for teenagers.  There's a lot of talk about using condoms or not having sex at all, but it is just talk.  In the moment, when the sex is imminent, there is no talking (other than maybe some goofy pillow talk), just doing.  I very much fear that these federal cuts will shutter most, if not all, of these types of clinics, and it won't just be abortion rates that will soar, but women's medical health in general will suffer a devastating blow.  Even if you put the abortion issue aside (which I'm loathe to do, because it is an important issue to me, and more importantly, PP has not been able to use federal money for abortions in years upon years), Planned Parenthood is about access to being a healthy woman for those who do not have affordable health care.  Why would we want to take that away?  Seriously.  This is going to devolve in to something akin to my union rant: the need for Planned Parenthood is so obvious (to me).



I'm very lucky to have a job right now that provides excellent medical insurance.  I pay a $20 premium once a year for a well-woman exam.  Before I got a tubal ligation this past summer, I paid $30 a month for birth control.  That is a pretty damn good deal.  Without my job, I would have easily paid $1000 a year for my pap and monthly birth control.  I may not always have such benefits; I may not always have a job.  I am in a privileged class of people right now.  Having a job and having benefits is almost rare right now.  I don't even want to think what life would be like without those two things, and just think I could be jobless, benefit-less and have nowhere to turn for the most basic women's health care.  That is just horrifyingly sad.

Please help take a stand against this outrage to women's health.  Go to Planned Parenthood's website, and help spread the word: http://www.ppaction.org/IStandWithPP.

Still Passing the Open Windows

First I put my dress on inside out this morning (I only figured out the problem when I went to fasten the buttons down the front), then I came within millimeters of popping an Ambien in my mouth instead of my Allegra.  Sure, they both start with the letter "A," but the generic doesn't (Zolpidem is kind of hard to mistake for Fexofenadine).  Not that I think anyone would have really noticed if I was passed out drooling on my desk.  My reputation is so solid here, they'd just assume that I was already over in my hours (I am!), and that I was just taking a nap off the clock.  The next thing I grabbed was my Klonopin.  Should I continue to ignore my subconscious queues that I should not be at work, or do I flagrantly flout my body's wishes and keep plugging away and hope I don't decide to do anything stupid like throw myself off the top of the building?

It is time to buy a new toilet seat.  There's something I need to admit.  It's a bit humiliating, and I don't have a very good explanation for why this happens to me.  I am constantly breaking the toilet seat off its hinges.  It starts with one side, and eventually the other side breaks due to the stress.  This only happens at the house (thank goodness), and it obviously is not due to my weight.  All I know is I am the common denominator in this situation, and maybe I can blame the cats, but I don't think I can.  Perhaps it is my lack of grace--flopping down on the seat as if my knees can no longer support my weight.  Either way, the current one is obviously broken, and toilet seats are not as cheap as one would hope.  Oh, hey, wait a minute, Ivy Vyne's toilet seat is also broken...maybe it isn't just me after all.

The Thoroughbred of Sin Rings For Me

Thanks to Fink-Nottle, I now have an instrumental Bad Horse ringtone.  Which then inspired me to take the Bad Horse Chorus and make it my general ringtone since it is a perfect 35 seconds long.  I assigned Fink-Nottle the instrumental (we don't ever talk on the phone--we can only understand each other through the written word; I'm not sure we could even fill up more than two minutes on the phone without lapsing in to embarrassed silence), and my general ringtone will now sing out how Bad Horse is the Thoroughbred of Sin.  Call me as much as possible, so we can get the message out to the masses.

Yesterday I started my passion-flower half-sleeve.  It is really complicated, and my amazingly talented tattoo artist gnashed good-heartedly under her breath at me the whole time.  Wikus did an excellent job with the tedious design process.  I have three more appointments set up over March and April, and it'll be quite the undertaking.  I'm very pleased so far.

Those are Nauticalina's dishes.  She is killing me right now for ratting her out like that.  However, I would like to take the opportunity to remind her how I took her out for pancakes, broccoli and roasted potatoes.  Sure, the pancakes ended up being free, but the point is I was planning on paying for them before I found out it was Free Pancakes Day at IHOP. 

Now, there's some logic puzzles for me to grumble over and solve.  Nauticalina can be blamed for this, too.  Man, she's such a jerk.