it's raining.

I woke up this morning to a monsoon. I expected rain, so it's not too unusual, but it's raining a bit harder than during the hurricanes. If only we had a little wind too, it would be fun to go outside. I've planned on going to the Diana exhibit today, which is an hour drive so hopefully I won't have to do the driving.
Yesterday was ... nice, I guess. We went to my grandma's house and then to the Ellenton Outlet Mall -- we didn't find too much there, though. I bought an outfit that I'd never ever buy (knee length khaki skirt and pink 3/4 sleeve polo shirt) and hopefully I won't never ever wear (I've decided to wear it today so I can't return it). It looks nice, but me? in pink? and a skirt that doesn't go to my ankles? Wow, that won't happen again. I'm a Gap girl for the day. Enjoy it, folks.


no title today.

I'm bummed. I thought I did really well at yesterday's interviews (plural: there were two, and two tests that I also passed) but I didn't seem to get called. I called HR at noon to find out when I might be called and she said that all offers would be extended today. So perhaps they just haven't finished calling, or perhaps I'm just not going to get the job. Oh well; if I don't get it at least I've been to an interview recently and know what to expect. Previously I hadn't been to an interview in six years. That's before I had to present a resume; I just had to fill out an application. I came home today and sent an email for another job that I saw in a free community paper for an administrative assistant. This time I pretty much wrote a cover letter outlining my qualifications and why I want the job. We'll see if I can get that one. It's not more money, but it's more intrigue. We'll see!

What this try has also taught me is that I can try. I've been scared before, unwilling to take the risk to find something that I would be happier with. Now I'm going to push for more interviews and find something. Are there any newspapers, magazines, or direct mailings in the Tampa Bay area that are looking for a fantastic copy editor, a typist, an admin. assistant or to fill any number of publishing/customer service-related positions? I'm your gal! I'm hardworking, efficient, energetic and nit-picky.

Now that I'm done plugging myself ... I've got nothing else. Tomorrow I'm going with my mother and sister to visit my grandmother in Bradenton. I hope it doesn't rain the entire time or it'll be a miserable. Sunday I'm going with Shea and her mom to see the Diana exhibit at the International Museum in St. Petersburg. I'm not too psyched about the exhibit (I've never been too excited about Diana and the whole British monarchy thing) but it may have some interesting things and I'm sure we'll all have fun. I've nothing to write so I'm gonna just go edited some caching articles.

Oh! And the library got my book in (The Ballad of the Whiskey Robber) so I stopped by on my way home from work. Looks like I have interesting reading now!


lemmings are bookworms too!

Okay, being that this little game has been played by all my blogger friends, I figure I'll join in.


1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 123.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next 3 sentences on your blog along with these instructions.
5. Don't you dare dig for that "cool" or "intellectual" book in your closet! I know you were thinking about it! Just pick up whatever is closest.

From The Poet and The Murderer by Simon Worrall:

Ireland was only seven years old when the seventeen-year-old Chatterton commetted suicide by drinking arsenic, but London's gossiping classes still buzzed with tales of his brilliant career. Using the pen name Thomas Rowley, a fifteenth-century monk whose work Chatterton claimed to have discovered at St. Mary Redcliffe Church in Bristol, he forged a series of seductive medieval poems that in their day were as popular as Beatles songs were in the 1960s. Wordsworth called Chatterton a "marvelous Boy."

Your turn! L, I know you're next. :D

NPR and insurance claims.

I've become quite addicted to WUSF, which is our local NPR station. But why does every reporter have to sound exactly the same -- like Alan Alda?

They all have the exact same rise and fall of their voices ... like they're all reading off the same cue card.





I have gotten another job. At least, I think I have. I go in for a formal interview tomorrow and I'm nervous as heck, but the woman on the phone was very positive, and if I don't completely mess up I'll be starting Monday. It's a Mon-Fri 8-5 job making six grand more a year, and it's something completely new, so I'll be learning again, which is one of the main problems I have with my current job. I'm not learning anything. I'd love to edit for a career, and maybe in the future I'll be able to, but I think I'm going to jump straight into the water.

And, if I hit the bottom my manager will take me back. I'm not about to burn any bridges.



The fog rolled in with the light this morning. When I went to work the night was clear, but as the sun rose I couldn't even see the road from the store. I decided not to take the job offer from the other day, but it's nice to know that there are things out there and that I won't be stuck for so long. I have the magazine, but I need something that pays too.

In the news: Hunter S. Thompson committed suicide Sunday. Sandra Dee died from liver disease and pnuemonia. Terry Shivo's feeding tube was again left in. Paris Hilton's cell phone was hacked into, and the phone numbers posted on the internet. Good to live in America, eh?

In other news, I will have lost my boyfriend as of tonight -- Grand Turismo 4 (GT4) came out today. This letter from Pencopal pretty much covers everything. Prepare to fight. But for tonight it's pizza and beer. See ya!


A job offer.

So they emailed me with a job offer yesterday. I called her back and the job is editing a phone book for three weeks or maybe more. Not exactly what I had in mind, but my first actual job offer. I don't think I'm going to take it, but I told her that I would call her back after I talked to my boss about maybe working nights while I work there during the day. We'll see, and I'll tell you how it goes.

High score last night: 141. Subsequent scores: 118, 107, 101 and 102. I kept going downhill. There's a league on Sunday evenings that I was thinking about joining.

Anywho, I'm going to be late for work if i don't get moving. More later!

Fatty Mc Fatterson rides in this car!

You know what movie sucks? A Day Without A Mexican. And that's unfortunate because the premise of the movie is so funny. California wakes up one day and all the Mexicans are gone. There isn't anyone to harvest the fruit or paint the houses ... border control has nothing to do, people start freaking out and buying all the fresh fruit they can (it looked like hurricane prep to me). But the acting was terrible and it moved so slow. So sad. Hopefully 10 years from now (because you know it'll still be an issue) they'll remake it with better actors and a better written story.

The Matchmaker was on the other day and I watched it again. Guilty pleasures all around, people. I love that movie. I tell Christen it was made before Garafalo became a nasty man-hating bitch (even though I like her that way too).

We saw Paperclips on Sunday. Good stuff. Of course, for a G-rated movie, most of the people we watched it with got the senior discount. A documentary, it deals with a small town in Tennessee who started collecting paperclips to honor the six million Jews killed in the Halocaust. If it's showing in your area, go see it!

Books I've read:

A Rip in Heaven

by Jeanine Cummins -- awesome, really. I read it the first night I bought it and stayed up till 3:30 to do so (hey, it's late for me). Thankfully I didn't work the next day. The memior follows a family through a tragedy when two sisters are accosted and they and their male cousin are forced off a bridge. He's the only one that survived, is immediately the suspect in the girls' murder and is severely mishandled by the police.

The Poet and the Murderer by Simon Worrall -- I've never read a more misleading book. It wasn't bad, mind you. Actually it was quite good. I was entranced. But everything on the front and back talks about Emily Dickinson and the Mormon church. IS it about Emily Dickinson? Nope. It's about a master forger who forged thousands of documents, including one Dickinson poem. There are 2 chapters on Emily Dickinson -- the first, where they talk about how they realized the poem was a forgery, and one in the middle when they talk about the parts of her life that Hofmann had to have learned about to accurately forge her handwriting. Every quote (there are 6) on the covers talks about Dickinson's life and Mormon theology -- NOT that she was one of many people forged in a list that also includes Daniel Boone, Harriet B. Stowe, George Washington and many many early Mormons. Read it because it's good; don't read it because it has anything to do with Emily Dickinson.


fiction or fantasy?

Fantasy: Something that could never happen.

Fiction: Something that could happen but doesn't.

I dislike fantasy. I will go so far as to say the H-word on this. Of course, there are exceptions to every rule, like Tolkein and Dracula ... but yeah, I hate fantasy. So here's my rule: fantasy is something that as far as we know, could never happen. This includes aliens that take on human characteristics, vampires, werewolves, coming back from the dead, and several others that I just can't think of right now. Please don't make me borrow these types of books. I will read three books of something like Bite by Richard Laymon and realize it's not someone who thinks she's bitten by a vampire but really it's some mixed up underground kid. It's really about vampires and then I will throw the book on the ground in disgust. Blah. Screw that, there's enough wierdness in real life, why do I need to get mixed up in that crap?

There is an exception in the genre -- books that start out in reality but make some break due to a tramatic event. This is evident in Rice's Violin when the main character's husband dies and she starts seeing the violinist and she can't tell if it's because of the trama or if it's really happening. This covers most of Koontz's books where whichever cop is trying to find the robbers or the killers and can't figure out why they can't get to them.


you know you want it.

It has come to my attention via The Brad that Steak and BJ Day is coming up. Being that I was an advocate of Valentine's Day, I feel it is my sworn duty to uphold the integrity of all such holidays. Plus, how can you go wrong? Top sirloin it is on all accounts. hehe. I feel dirty.

in search of a book.

Last week there was a review on NPR of The Ballad of the Whiskey Robber by Julian Rubinstein. This week I tried to find it. Borders didn't have it. Barnes & Noble didn't have it. Half.com doesn't have it. The library system has 5 copies -- all out or on hold. The South Tampa B&N has one (on hold for me, I might add) but I don't know if I really want to spend $24 for this book. So here's my idea: Tomorrow I'm going to all the used bookstores in Tampa -- that's about 10 (5 more if I venture into St. Pete too) to find this book. If I don't find it, I'll look into putting it on hold at the library or waiting till it comes out in trade paperback. Blah.

But since I didn't get the book I wanted, this is what I picked up:

At the library:

Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil -- because I've even been to some of the places mentioned but I've never read the book (or seen the movie, for that matter) so I thought now was the time.

A Damned Serious Business by Rex Harrison -- because who doesn't like reading about misogynistic comedians?

The Wrong Man by James Neff -- about Dr. Sam Sheppard, who was accused of killing his pregnant wife but was aquitted on DNA evidence that also found the real killer.

And at Barnes & Noble:

A Rip In Heaven by Jeanine Cummins -- her cousins were assulted and killed and her brother assulted. This is their memoir.

The POET and the MURDERER by Simon Worrall -- A true story of Literary Crime and the Art of Forgery, about Emily Dickinson, Mormonism and forgery ... looks very good.

So it looks like a week of reading for me. Yay!

Ken Jennings is a spokesman for Cingular. Doesn't he have enough money?

In other news ... I stopped by the paper today to see some of the old crowd. There were few that still knew and Brad was still in class, but I was able to talk to Sebi for a few minutes before splitting. I miss the paper sometimes, but I don't really want to go back. I'd much rather go forward. Tomorrow I'm going to try picking up a few local puplications (like the Weekly Planet and The Temple Terrace News) to see if I can drop off my resume with them.


it's been a nice relaxing day. i was able to sleep in, have lunch at the columbia in ybor and visit the don vicente inn, where christen's cousin is planning on having her wedding reception there.

i think tonight i'm going to mosy on to the bookstores for the evening being that i have nothing else to do. i'm off tomorrow too, and i have nothing but sitting around in my underwear watching bad movies to do.


i am defeated.

just so you all know, i'm horrible. when i got home monday night christen had made me dinner (chicken with sundried tomatoes and some sort of parmasian-y pasta) and this:
(photobucket is having its 5-minute emergency maintenance so i'll post in a few)

he made an adorable card with fingerpaint and posterboard. and gave me yellow roses. i'm the one on the right with the red hair. he said he couldn't make black hair with the fingerpaints.

i love this man.


let's get it together

so after the last post a few minutes ago, i thought i'd post a normal, non-complaining post too. so bowling last night? yeah, we won't talk about the scores. let's just say that i discovered pinot grigio at dinner. and shea discovered (yeah, right) bud light and she did the best of all of us. my last game i got a 143, but the other three games i was struggling to get the ball down the lane. but boy, was it fun! i wore my black patent heels

to dinner and it was lots of fun walking in them! it doesn't help that my walking is so engrained heel-toe heel-toe (because of high school marching band) that i forget how to walk in heels (clomp-clomp).

anywho, it was amusing. i'm going to go spend my valentine's morning cleaning and making brownies for christen (it's his favorite) and spend my evening working at the job that i hate more than anything. toodles!

happy valentine's day!

so it's valentine's day. here's something i don't understand. other girls have horrible boyfriends. they make the girls cry all the time, get mad and smash their cars, start fights and break up all year ... but those boyfriends are always very romantic about valentine's day. they give flowers, and jewelry, and little trinkets to remind their women that in spite of all their fuckups, they love their girls.

my boyfriend is great. he tells me he loves me all the time, he impulsively hugs me and tells me how beautiful i am, etc. but he's "no good at valentine's day." his words. i've gotten one flower from him the entire time we've been dating -- a tulip on our first valentine's day (which i have pressed and dried). i've given him jewelry for holidays and he's lost it (i got him a ring a year ago for his pinkie and it's gone), but i've never gotten any from him. in his words, "i just don't do jewelry. never have."

is it so wrong to want both? to want someone who appreciates me all year and actually goes out of his way to make valentine's special? maybe it's because he doesn't understand the significance of why v-day is so crappy to me -- my mother got remarried to the pediphile on v-day -- but i'd really like not to feel crappy today.

and it's not like he takes after his family on this. his dad gives all the females in his life cards, and always does something nice for his wife. his cousin's boyfriend suprised her at work yesterday with a necklace and earrings. i'm not looking for money spent -- i'm not. i just want something special done for me for valentine's day.

enough of my complaining. happy valentine's, y'all. hope it's nice, however you like to spend it.


Oh, to be innocent.

I think I'm strong enough to post now. I was up all night (seriously, because it's hard to fall asleep in a warm bath; you keep breathing water when you go under) with food poisoning from Denny's. So here's what happened:

As we were closing the store last night there was a guy walking around the parking lot. Ivan noticed him, as he was acting erratically, but we didn't really think there was anything too curious about it. So we closed the store and around 9:25 we walked out and he's walking away from my car. He was casual, but definitely leaving my car. In the corner of the parking lot was a white car with its lights on. As he walked by the car, it turned and followed him. It was as he was walking out of the parking lot that I got close enough to my car to realize the lock was all messed up. I start screaming "someone call 911! my phone's dead; call 911! He got into my car!" Ivan called 911 and my manager got in his car to see if he saw them but he said they disappeared. After Ivan got off the phone with the operator he jumped in his car to circle some more and see if he could find them and I called Christen to let him know what was going on. I was freaking, shaking and crying. The three cop cars showed up immediately -- that's never happened to me. While they were taking all the information down, Ivan came back to say that he had found a similar car with someone looking like our guy in the passenger seat parked but running in an apartment complex 2 blocks from the store. Two white people just sitting in a similar car in the middle of a predominately-black neighborhood -- the chances were slim that it was a different car. Two of the cops went to check it out and the third -- the main one -- kept taking the info and getting more specifics. Then Ivan and I went to ID the guy. He's who knew all the specs -- height, clothes, make and model of the car ... I couldn't even tell you what race the dude was. I could have recognised his walk, but I do that with everyone. He admitted it, and they charged him with attempted burglary of a conveyance -- but it gets better. Evidentally once they got him booked they found out that he had given a false name. He had two outstanding warrants, one for grand theft auto and the other for aggravated assault with a discharged firearm. Not only that, but instead of being 21 like he said, he's 18 with 5 or 6 counts of grand theft auto, possession of burglary tools, assault with a firearm .... hopefully no more slaps on the wrist for him. His driver was a 16-year-old girl with no priors, so they let her off on R&R but they're still charging her; she just didn't get booked.

So this was the one who didn't get away. The summer before last my car got broken into (my old car, the '94 Sentra) while I was staying in one of those college apartment complexes and there was nothing anyone could do about it. They got my crappy 10-year-old cd player and the took my ashtray, which had some change in it. Now I have an '05 Corolla with a $400 Alpine stereo. My windows are tinted dark, so you can't see the stereo, but you also can't see that little red flashing light that is supposed to pretend I have an alarm system. By next week, come hell or high water, I will have an alarm system. I would have gone to Toyota today if it weren't for being sick. This was just one more thing pushing me to find another job.

After all the hoopla Christen and I went to that crappy Denny's on Fowler to have breakfast for dinner and calm down, and I have another reason to not go there anymore. I wouldn't have bothered but Perkins was closed. I spent 2:30-10:00 in the bathroom with diarrhea so bad that there was even a lot of blood. (I know you wanted to hear about that). I thought I'd have to go to the hospital. I broke down and had Christen get me some meds because I couldn't lay down. I filled the bath with warm water to relax my muscles because my whole body was spasming, but one tend to go under when sleeping in a bathtub. I got 10 minutes here and there but not any true sleep, but I got some sleep between 10:30 and 12:30. So I'm good. I'm still having problems, but I'm hungry and that's a good sign. I'm going to try some wheat saltines and see how I do.

Anywho, so that was my night from hell. Tonight if I can stay out of the bathroom I'm going bowling with Christen and Ivan. Wish me luck!

CSI dust.

I don't want to talk about it right now; I'm too tired. Fortunately Ivan will probably log on and give you all the dirt, but tonight I'm going to sleep and tomorrow I'm going to wash the CSI dust off my car and inquire at Toyota about upgrading my alarm system and fixing my passenger lock. Toodles.


a sad moment in history

... despite the non-recommendationof moocow, i have sat through an entire showing of From Justin to Kelly. Now onto American Idol to make my humiliation complete. I blame my decline on currently non-prolific bloggers.

Books for Thought.

How do you feel about "popular authors"? I have mixed feelings, but here are my thoughts on certain authors:

Stephen King: I can't read him. He bores me. However, On Writing was very good, so I think if he stuck to humor and anecdotal writing he could be fabulous. Otherwise, I'm sticking to Firestarter, which I have in hardback that I bought from a thrift store.

Ann Rice: I liked some, like Violin, but I thought the vampire trilogy was overrated.

Dean Koontz: He either hits the mark or misses completely. Now that he's not publishing twice a year the novels have been much better, and as long as he skips out on the aliens, we're good. From the Corner of His Eye, Door to December, and Dragon Tears are wonderful.

James Patterson: ick. icky double ick.

Michael Connelly: not too terrible; though he sticks to cliches he writes decently, so his novels are easy to digest. I'll read if I'm in a pinch and need a book. Badly.

Barbara Michaels: I love her books. I know it's probably silly, but I think she writes well and you can't always see what's going to happen. The only novels of hers I don't like are the period novels ... but that's because I don't like period novels.

Mary Higgins Clark: I used to love her books, and I have everything she wrote up until the last 3 years (so all but the last 6 books, and I've read all of those sitting in Borders except for the last one). But she's one of those ones who is abusive of "formula writing." She uses the same outline for every story anymore; you know who did it, you know who the main character is going to fall in love with ... you know it all! so why bother reading it?

John Irving: he writes the most amazing plots. The most extrodinarily odd things become believable. Unfortunately, I hate his writing style. So though I've read almost all of his books, I'm generally disgusted when I finish. He's one of those "I'd love to hate him but I can't" authors.

Dan Brown: This one's hard. Though definitely not worth the hype, his books aren't entirely terrible. But here's the thing: People take these books far too seriously. The whole Christian right thinking that reading these books are going to send you to hell --- seriously, folks. It's fiction for a reason. Brown can think what he wants about what he writes, and so can everyone else, but the fact is that it's fiction. Get over it. It's not even very good fiction.

Nora Roberts: See James Patterson.

Danielle Steele: why?

I can't think of anymore "popular" authors. I don't read much of that "summer beach" reading like Marion Keyes, so I can't give my opinion on that, but if you drag someone else out here, I'll give honest opinion on them. And I'd like your opinions on these ones!


camping bliss.

the funniest thing that happened this weekend: we're walking on a nature trail and an older couple is walking the opposite way. i pull christen behind me so we're single file so they can get through, but instead of continuing on, the guy stops christen. "you must be the geek," he says. i start giggling, and christen has no idea what the old dude is talking about. i was wearing my green "i heart geeks!" shirt with a picture of millhouse in the middle. hehe. i was amused. christen was less than amused, but that's okay. i'm the only one who can really make him goofy. i think he's too serious with everyone else.

but camping was marvelous; friday was freezing and i couldn't sleep because i couldn't feel my hands. saturday was beautiful albeit a little chilly, and we went on a tour of the town, whose major intrigue was a superwalmart. we had forgotten that we threw the tent stakes away last trip to south carolina, so the first night was also a little "shaky," as we hoped that the tent wouldn't blow over on us while we slept. we went on nature trails and took a three-hour nap and slept fabulously saturday night when the temperature was about 15 degrees higher. we had no water, no electricity, and no showers for three days. so much fun! (of course, the first thing done on sunday when we got home was take a shower and do laundry. so much for the land of the living.)

this was the only picture taken this weekend. christen took it of me on one of the nature trails.



if i've not returned in three days hence, know that i have frozen to death. if you wonder if it has been nice knowing you i tell you that it has. (how much, lucas, how much? ... sorry, i digress.) yesterday was a beautiful day and we decided to go camping in sebring, fl this weekend. i made reservations while in the carrollwood barnes & noble.

today it was 43 degrees.

we will be leaving anyhow to camp with no water or electricity in the dead center of the state. i'll let you know how it goes.

in other news, a customer brought me a book called the game of words by willard r. espy. and yesterday another customer brought my chocolates to taste (she is a chocolatier). every once in awhile i love my customers. the rest i want to strangle with rusty barbed wire.



i'm not as depressed as i thought.

i finished prozac nation today. sometimes it's good to know that there are others worse off than i. mostly i have anxiety attacks, brought on by lack of sleep and nerves. it's fun to breathe into a bag. they put me on xanax but it didn't help anything at all; prozac gave me headaches and paxil made me woozy like i was going to fall over if i forgot a pill. so i'm on nothing. i'm still pretty much fine, save for infrequent blow ups. prozac nation was a well written tale of what true depression is like, and it's not pretty.

also reading:

oddballs and eccentrics by karl shaw: i picked this up when i visited my mom this weekend. did you know that salvador dali shaved his armpits until they bled and wore perfume made of fish glue and cow dung? makes you think different when you see this, huh?

I've been given more responsibility at Today's Cacher now. The EIC says that all articles have to be run through me to okay before they go on the Web site, and the day before we go live I have to check every article again (like checking flats, woohoo!) to make sure everything is good. I'm excited to be doing more work because before I only saw about 15% of the content before it went to press, per se. now I'll get 100%.