The one where I apparently get SHOUTY when I'm tired

I'm up too late, but I don't have anywhere to be tomorrow, so FUCK IT. My only plans are to run errands (hunt/gather: detergent, foil, DVD player?, avocados that AREN'T brown on the inside), do laundry (detergent!), and marinate chicken (Coke and... and... I don't know because I've never done it before), so hauling myself to bed doesn't seem entirely important. Yes, I've been yawning since 11:00 PM. What's your point?

First thing's first: I HAVE A JOB INTERVIEW ON FRIDAY WITH VOX! Hang on; I'll be right back.

SQUEEEEEEEE!

Ahem. Where was I?

I just realized that Friday the 5th is the day before the one-year suckaversary of getting laid off. If I'm, oh, hired on the spot (TO BE PAID TO WRITE OMG), that would RULE. (HULK ELOQU-- ELOKWE -- HULK WRITE GOOD!) Being hired to do something I LOVE would be especially tasty since the communications job at my alma mater is apparently wooshing by me. The school has been interviewing for a week (at least that's what it says on the HR website) and I've received nary a phone call, email, or snail mail fuck-off letter. I've called Human Resources twice to check on things and have been advised not to contact the department directly. So... not sure if I'm going to break the rules or not. Maybe I'll throw caution to the wind and send a letter to the department and let them know I'm still interested in the job. I'll be sure to cover the page in lipstick kisses first.

The job at Vox is a part-time gig writing blogs about arts and entertainment, which is hysterical given how sporadic my blogging has been around here. But they're going to PAY ME (please hire me please hire me) and that will help me put fingertips to keyboard, to be sure. Witty? Brilliant? Humorous? Sure. Where's my check?

OH. MY. GOD. I can hear George snoring in the other room. That is HYSTERICAL. Heeeeeee hoooooo heeeeeeeeee hoooooo. What the hell is she worn out from? All the napping and never-ending lick fests?

Segues? Fuck segues.

I recently added the Words With Friends app to my phone and oh.my.god I had 11 games going a few days ago. The number of times I have been soundly beaten (not in the fun way) is not even funny. I'm getting better; I've won a few and almost won a game tonight until I got stuck with a Z at the very end of the game (after leading for 9/10 of the play) and could NOT get the app to accept OZ, ZI, or ZE as words. And I seriously almost had UZI as a word until I realized I was also going to be spelling ZET. (Zel? Zerg? Whatever. It was not a word.) But c'mon! Oz! It's a magical, mystical, wondrous... uh... fictional... pla-- fuck. Minus 10 points. ::sad trombone::

I think my upstairs neighbor is trying to smoke me out of the house. What am I, a bug? Who can smoke so much? I've taken to burning opium incense in the entryway, which helps. Except that I now spend the evening choking on this cloying, Grandma-perfume smell, which is so not what I was expecting when I bought the box. Try something new, my brain said. Stop burning only Nag Champa, my brain said. Stupid going-out-on-a-limb-ness. Add to previous shopping list: INCENSE THAT DOESN'T MAKE ME WANT TO BARF AND DIE. Also: Iron lung for neighbor. And a baseball bat in case I decide patience is for losers.

I've probably mentioned it before, but I pretty much hate grocery shopping. As someone who likes a nosh or 12, you'd think I'd be keen on heading to a big box (hee hee) store that is the equivalent of the Disneyland of Food, but you would be wrong. I generally zip through the discount place with a couple reusable bags and manage to make it back to my car in about 20 minutes. I don't know if it's the anxiety of choosing food, of just not wanting to be there, or of being faced with the notion that buying real, uncooked food, e.g., chicken breast, instead of, oh, squeezy cheese, means that I'll actually have to prepare something edible rather than aiming a can at some crackers and calling it dinner. I don't mind cooking, to be honest. I lie a little about how much I hate to cook. Same thing goes for math. I hate neither one, but I'm not one of those cookbook readers who can't wait to get home at night to try out a new recipe. I'm a look-it-up-online, think about making it, print out the recipe, and order Chinese when I get home kind of person. I enjoy watching other people cook; I've always been a HOOOGE fan of mise en place on all the cooking shows I've seen. Maybe it's a voyeur thing, maybe it's a lack of expertise. Whatever it is, it just got easier because I got a rice cooker for my birthday from Vanessa and Brenda and *cough* three months later broke it out of its box. I would now like to announce that I have had rice three times in as many days. What? It's fluffy goodness and I didn't have to do anything except throw that shit in a pot and walk away to watch more Olympics coverage. Win, win. I have yet to break my George Foreman grill out of its box, but I think tomorrow is its day because... come closer... a little closer... I bought non-stick cooking spray AT THE STORE on Saturday. I know! I went to the store! But... I didn't go alone. (DUN DUN DUN!)

I asked Vanessa to go with me on a grocery date, but she's working two jobs and was going to be occupied for about 12 hours on Saturday, so I asked my mom to go with me. Meet my mom:


Not so long ago, I don't think I would've even considered hanging out with her when the focus was going to be on food, but something pretty awesome has happened in our relationship the last couple years and I can honestly say we're friends. (ZOMG!) Maturity, a spotty memory, the berjillion dollars I've spent on therapy... whatever. It's worked. In fact, when I read the email from Vox that said, in part, "We received a tremendous number of responses and hard [sic] difficulty selecting from so many great candidates. Yours, however, was one that impressed us most," I was immediately sucked into a gigantic hug with King V and Queen S, who, with her arthritic knees, had jumped out of her chair. We all bounced around together while I yelled, "I MIGHT ACTUALLY GET A JOB!" Yeah, that was a good moment.

BACK TO THE GROCERY STORY. I could 'splain but it's easier to sum up:

It was good. Queen S pointed out things to buy (potatoes, sweet potatoes), added some interesting things to her cart, like celery root (it's for soup making; now I know),

My God. It's like a coconut and Sideshow Bob had a kid.

and recommended things I could make for not much money, like granola. My current cooking fantasies involve making hummus, which I've so far only done from a powdered mix (not terrible, but I wouldn't necessarily recommend it either; had to add ingredients to make it less ass-tasty) and cooking up beans for Mexican dishes. I picked up some adobo seasoning since my current favorite sandwich is a turkey/sprouts/avocado/adobo mayo/etc. bit of deliciousness that a local natural foods store makes, but quickly found out that the powdered version of the spice is very Mrs. Dash, i.e., SALT STRAIGHT FROM HELL. I'm definitely going to purchase a can of chipotle peppers (that reside in adobo sauce) on my next trip back. Yeah -- next trip. I SAID IT.

To wrap things up, and I'm sure there's a metaphor in here (that I'm too tired to go after) about be more aware of one's surroundings before embarking on a journey, check out the Family Circle-ness of my quest to find the health and beauty section in the store last Saturday:


I got to the shampoo aisle and turned to look down the length of the store. There was Queen S, with her cart, where I'd left her in a seeming Oregon Trail fashion, some weeks prior. Eh. It was good exercise on top of my two-week-old pre-bed ritual of doing crunches, yoga, and The Only Pilates Move I Know (the flappy hands, legs-in-the-air one). The same that I am off to do now. At 3:08 AM. Next to my snoring cat.

La vie. C'est belle.