Yesterday a customer (an older lady, old enough that she would know) told me you have until about age 30 to make yourself into a hat-wearing lady. "If you're not one by then," she said, "you never will be." By golly, I'm going to become a hat-wearing lady. Sooner rather than later.

(I should be asleep right now. Working on it.)

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

Sometimes I look at the person I am, and I look at the dumbass douche bag things I've done and said, and I am fucking amazed anyone is willing to associate with me. I'm having one of those days where I desperately wish I could go back in time to a handful of occasions and ask myself what the fuck I thought I was doing.

So I started writing this long incoherent rant about work that amounts nothing, that amounts to I need to find something better to do with my life. It's hard to feel good about anything when you feel so absolutely, appallingly shitty about the thing you spend the majority of your week doing. And the thought of waking up in 12 hours to do it again does nothing for me. Instead, have a poem that is quite apt of the view from the window as I type this:

Too Much Snow Louis Jenkins

Unlike the Eskimos we only have one word for snow but we have a lot of
modifiers for that word. There is too much snow, which, unlike rain, does not
immediately run off. It falls and stays for months. Someone wished for this
snow. Someone got a deal, five cents on the dollar, and spent the entire family
fortune. It's the simple solution, it covers everything. We are never satisfied
with the arrangement of the snow so we spend hours moving the snow from one
place to another. Too much snow. I box it up and send it to family and friends.
I send a big box to my cousin in California. I send a small box to my mother.
She writes "Don't send so much. I'm all alone now. I'll never be able to use so
much." To you I send a single snowflake, beautiful, complex and delicate;
different from all the others.

The thing I don't understand about poetry that doesn't adhere to a strict form is why it can't just be prose, dammit. Why does this paragraph need to have fancy line breaks? Why can't it have some kind of narrative arc? Why can't we see the narrator packing up boxes of snow and receiving his mother's letter in response, looking at the way the letter loop together lazily under her aged hand?

I think at least in this case it's because the existence of snow is so goddamn tedious after the first week that to spend any more time with it than absolutely necessary would be cruel.

And now I am going to consider, idk, seeing if Bones is on J's Netflix instant watch thing and contemplate push ups. Or something. Idk what to do about arms.

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

You guys!



spacebigbang
to infinity and beyond...

THIS IS GONNA BE AWESOME!

Sign up until the 31st!

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

I would really like to know why cleaning my room fills me with such anxiety. I get so overwhelmed by it that eventually (quickly) I get to the point where I actually feel helpless about what the hell to do. This is irrational! This is completely fucking irrational. It's just stuff!

And yet.

I haven't even been reading LJ (sorry guys). Part of it is both of my friends are on winter break right now (I realize I'm pathetic, shut up), part of it is kind of not being excited about fandom lately. Working on it. Some stuff has happened in the last three weeks, but a lot of it sucks so it's not worth recounting! I have nothing to say, but when has that stopped me before?

So hi. This weekend I put together two whole pieces of furniture that, when combined, are a truly bitchin' bedside (computer) table. If I ever conquer this bullshit reaction to the sheer amount of shit I have, I will take a picture and show it off.

A's mom got me these socks from Bath and Body Works for Christmas that are infused with aloe. They feel incredible, I was so jealous of A when she got her pair a couple months ago. Her boyfriend was jealous as well, so much so that he wanted a pair for Christmas. He's a 6ft-plus man with appropriately proportioned feet, and these things only come in women's sizes. It is hilarious and he loves them. Such a dork.

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

Well, that didn't last long.

(I like to think that somewhere Beckett and Carden and Siska are high fiving each other because, while they may not have been the ones to break out on that tour, they're still a band and they like each other more now than they did before. And then they have sex, but that's pretty much a given. Right?)

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

Do any of you embroider? I need opinions on what stitch I should use for this thing I'm doing but I don't know enough to know a good one. I don't like the way it looks with the stitches I know, am desperate for a second opinion.

I'm sitting between piles of laundry (apparently, when collected, I do have enough to warrant a separate load of whites; maybe even a foray into bleach!) with piles of crap heaped on my bed desperately seeking distraction. I found my camera, which was the main reason for cleaning. I wish I found it before so I could've shown the pompadours my side mirrors were sporting yesterday morning. They were taller than my hand and my car missed about 4 hours of snow on Friday sitting at work. Or I would've liked to take a picture of the fucking snowbank the street out of my development became after the plows came through the main roads. I would still be sitting there had a nice man in a truck who I'd never seen before hadn't stopped to pull me out of the bank with a tow line and help push me forward when I got stuck again. I was trying to dig my way out with an ice scraper--very efficient. I wish I knew who he was; I would bake him cookies.

(I would be baking right now, not even for mystery man, but I don't have a lemon and I'm not leaving the house today, no sir. I would be embroidering right now but the fabric I want to embroider is somewhere at the bottom of my bed. I have amassed quite a mountain.)

Since I've hit a wall on cleaning my room, how about I clean out something else, huh? Stop me if I've told you this one before:

Wrecked (a Bob and Brian crab fishing AU, because I watch way too much Deadliest Catch; as such this is woefully inaccurate)

( Possible implied character death )

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

1.) ♥♥♥ you all; 2.) $260ish later, my car is fixed!

(Well, the CD player is now screwed in addition to the radio, which sucks balls, but hopefully I'll be able to stay awake when I'm driving! And now I will definitely hear any noises it makes--I'm supposed to listen for a clunking sound. Or something. I don't know, I wrote notes and left them at day job.)

They ran all their tests and just let it run for awhile when that didn't find anything, and FINALLY it did it again. (I'm relieved it's not just me that my car has it in for, that it's an actual thing.) The only thing they could find was a loose coil packet or some fucking thing, I don't even know. They're not 100% sure that's what it was, but that was the only thing they could find wrong so we're going to call it fixed! Fingers crossed! I need to watch out for...a wet oil pane and a clunking noise, although now I'm alarmed I can't remember what the clunking noise was connected to. (Also that the guy thinks I know what an oil pane is.) But whatever, car is back and hopefully golden, just in time for shitty weather in the forecast and closing at the store tomorrow. Freezing rain after dark, oh joy.

It's a relief to be back in a car I'm familiar with. That jacked up little Kia Rio had the most sensitive breaks, I had a few issues getting back to Bob's more gentle brakes. I like his way better, I don't jerk to a stop unintentionally quite as much with him. Also feel better driving in a car that doesn't feel like it weighs approx. 4 tin cans (empty) even if that car is probably in better condition since it's new. (It came with Sirius but with crank windows and no power locks, and it was a 2009. WTF?) So weird. Also I still fail at parking, and this time had witnesses. No property damage yet!

(Although I didn't hear my brakes squeak on the way home so maybe I'm good!)

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

My high school guidance counselor came into the store today. It took me forever to recognize her, and I haven't seen her in going on 6 years now? And even then I only saw her when they made me so there's no way she would recognize me as one of her former students. I still had the urge to chase after her after realization hit and explain that I really am making something of myself, this is just something on the side, I have a real big girl job and everything honest!

Which. Is dumb. Why do I have so much shame wrapped up in worrying if people think the store is all I have going for me? It's not that I'm any more proud of my actual job, I only like that it pays a hell of a lot more. So, basically, I'm ashamed of both my jobs. This is just the one that's more visible.

Someday I am going to figure out what I want in life. That day is just not today.

In other news I almost got into an accident because it didn't occur to me that the roads were icier than I thought they would be until the SUV was veering into my lane. Luckily I was also beginning to veer into the next lane! I fucking hate winter now that I have to drive in it. :(

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

Are you ever excited to wake up and go to work?

I see these people in movies and shows who wake up and do what they love all day. How do you figure out what it is that you love? How do you figure out how to get paid for it?

In the mean time, work is a means to an end. The end being San Francisco hopefully in the spring, family reunion this summer, and (fingers crossed) South Korea with J before her contract is up next year. San Francisco will always be there, but there and family reunion will probably wind up being pretty cheap so I could hopefully manage either way. South Korea, though, will only be so feasible while I have an invitation for a couch to crash on... I hope this roommate bullshit settles better than we think it will so I can save for this stuff. It's not like my family won't always be where they are if that's how it ends up being, but. It would maybe make waking up and going to my mind-numbingly boring job a little less horrible if I have something tangible and awesome to work toward. Basic financial security, how droll. I have a whole week of vacation I need to use before I lose it next...whenever that rolls over. I should find this out soon.

I'm still not on the internet. Shhhhhhhh.

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.

Protip: just because you can't fucking read doesn't mean you should get your fucking way. Stomp your metaphorical feet over it all you want, that doesn't change a thing.

(My jobs are not actually that different, it's just a matter of doing this face-to-face or over email/phone calls. I don't know that either method is actually better than the other, both leave me equally pissed.)

(It's bullshit that a holiday that's supposed to be about giving and warmth and love and family also brings out the absolute worst in people.)

Shh, I'm not here I'm still nanoing. It doesn't count if I'm here on IE!

This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth. You can also comment there using OpenID. comments there.