All Things Profane and Sacred

Best bumpersticker of 2006 (Next to a picture of Bush): Would someone please give this man a blowjob so we can impeach him?

Man I hate those douchebages at Access Group Loans. Actually, they transfered my loans to the douchebages at Kentucky "Higher Education"-an oxymoron if I ever heard of one. I'm already in a bad mood because I decided today was the day to consolidate my fucken private loans. I needed a payoff estimate for the date the loans come due. AES had no problem giving me all the information I needed. The jackoffs in Kentucky however, told me they couldn't give a payoff estimate 2 months in the future because it wouldn't be a correct amount. Now, I learned in 2nd grade that estimates, while eminently useful, aren't right on the money. They don't have to be. But apparently they're learning that new math in Kentucky. Then the woman said, "We sent you an estimate in the mail, didn't you get it?" The conversation just went downhill from there.

Me: "Um. No. Could you tell me that estimate?"
Shithead: "No."
Me: "You sent me an estimate, but you can't tell me what it is?"
Shithead: "Well, actually computer sent the estimate."
Me: "Oh. Well can you ask the computer what the estimate was?"
Shithead: "No"
Me: "Can the computer send me another estimate?"
Shithead: "No."

And profanity filled the room. I finally did my own fucken estimate. God I can't wait for that consolidation to go through.

I think I'm the only one in Portland who missed the big earthquake the other day. J called me up afterward to check in on me, and I told him I didn't feel a thing. We therorized that the northeast didn't get any of the action, but after swinging by Jack Bog's blog, I see that the northeast supposedly got a big jolt. I guess that this hundred year old house is much more solid than it appears.

When I want to stab myself in the eye, it is time for a nap.

J's back was not feeling too well the other night, so I massaged out his knots and rubbed in some of the super duper ball burning icy-hot. Immediately after doing this, my eyes went screwy with that feeling us contact wearers know too well-TIME TO GET THE FUCKERS OUT. Unfortunately, my hands were covered in this burning goop that does not wash off that easily. What to do? It was J to the rescue-he pulled my contacts out of my eyeballs. My hero.

Yesterday I went swimming at the community center. The best part about swimming there is that I can reward myself with a long soak in the hottub after swimming for 30-40 minutes. Now that's motivation. Anyway, I got out of the hottub and headed for the showers. For some reason they were packed-women and babies everywhere. The showers are set up in a large tiled room with two central poles that have showerheads around them. There were only a few showers open, so I picked one and went for it. What I didn't realize at the time was that the naked lesbian next to me was a shower singer and dancer (I hope she has some of those non-slip tiles at home). She was swinging around her 400 lbs and doing scat (the singing kind-there was no pooping involved), thowing back her head and be bob be doo wop ba da do de ohing while wiggling her various parts about. I'm not sure if this was her regular shower routine, or if she was just real excited about how crowded it was today.

I had a crazy weekend which I am not allowed to blog about. This leaves me with a complete absence of news, so how about a story? Story ok? Ok.

I used to work in an adult store, selling toys, lingerie, gag gifts, gags and various oils. It was a pretty great job, and I don't fricken know why I didn't stay with it. I could own my own damn dirty store now and have something to show for all the money I've spent. Anyway.

Most of the customers were middle aged women buying their first toy or trying to have their first orgasm. They were pretty freaking cute, and it was fun to help them out and see them strut out after slinking in. Late one night before closing, a guy came in and bought something. As he was paying for his purchase, he asked me if I knew of any masturbation clubs in the area. I told him I didn't, but he could probably find one on the web. He started extolling the virtues of masturbation clubs (Masturbation club: like a swingers organization, only people are hanging around masturbating instead of fucking each other. AKA Jack club, Jack & Jill club). Then he said, "Maybe I should start my own masturbation club." I told him that would be great, live the dream, (get out it's closing time), etc. He said, "Why don't you join my masturbation club? It will be lots of fun." I took a pass on that-totally not my thing. Then he said, "Well, you should start telling your customers about my masturbation club." I took a pass on that too-I told the guy that it was his masturbation club and that if he wanted to start one, he was going to have to do the work. I have a feeling the club's membership is still at one.

I feel all the better after a few days off. I've been painting in the bathroom-a complete disaster but theraputic. I should've known better than to let J, who is colorblind, take the initiative with the color, but the paintchip looked ok. Unfortunately, once out of the store and in the bathroom, the paint looked like an electric grass green instead of the mild sea green we were going for.

I've also started swimming at the community pool, on the advice of my mentor. I like swimming, but I can't swim with my head under water, so I feel lame. Plus I was horribly traumatized by high school swim class and didn't want to relive the pain. Lucky for me, at the time I prefer to go there is a low slow movement class going on, so I feel speedy and slim compared to most of the people in the pool.

I'm trying to put together the pieces of my life in a way that makes sense.

I've been pretty frazzled lately. I've taken the last few days off and am likely to take a few more. Good thing I'm unemployed.

More mysteries from mystery house theater. This morning J got up to let Jude out for a potty. I was lying lazily in bed with my eyes closed hoping J would also let Jude back in. I heard him let Jude out, and then heard him in the bathroom. Shortly afterward, Jude wandered into the bedroom. I figured J must have let him out, let him in and then gone to the bathroom, but when J came back into the bedroom, he said, "Oh, you let Jude in. I would have done that." Well, no, I didn't let Jude in at all. So we figured Houseguest must have heard Jude bark (since his room is next to the backyard)and let him in, but Houseguest denies letting Jude in. He says he heard J let Jude out and then went back to sleep. J says he did not hallucinate letting Jude out. HG and I heard him do it. We checked the backdoor, and it was closed and locked. So who let Jude in?

J doesn't understand why I don't just drop it. He won't speculate on what happened. He said, "You think this place is haunted, don't you." When I responded that there was some unexplained things going on, such as:

1) The ATM card that disappeared from the arm of a library chair that was found months later lodged where the leg of the libary table connects to the bottom of the table top.

2) The oven incident where we were cooking dinner, and when we went to check on it, the oven was turned off and dinner was half done.

3) Other slightly mysterious, but possibly explainable stuff like the way things go missing and reappear in weird places (although we are a couple of stoners and this is a big fucken house).

He said I was creeping him out and he didn't want to think about it. I tried to comfort him by telling him that the doors upstairs don't open and close themselves anymore like they did for a while when we first moved in, but he did not feel comforted (I don't think he believed me completely when I told him about the door phenomenon, and to be honest, I think it was possible they were just not quite structurally sound. This is a very old house).

Ach, it's not like anything big and bad or even completely weird has happened-pretty mundane all and all. Just odd and mysterious. I'm going to stay neutral on an explanation, although I'm pretty puzzled over the Jude thing. I really don't like the idea of Jude letting himself in, taking off his leash and locking the door behind him.

We were sitting around the house yesterday when we all started smelling something funny. Now, that's nothing new in this house-I am living with two guys, two dogs and a cat. Someone is always puking or spilling or leaving something to rot, mainly so we can play "What's That Smell!" brought to you by OUT! carpet cleaner: removes urine, vomit, feces, blood and more!

Anyhow, we were less than successful with our endevor-it smelled like something was buring, but the appliances seemed to be running ok and our smoke detectors were silent. Then we looked out our window and realized that the neighbor's house was on fire.

Luckily the neighbors were home and called the fire department right away. Still, it was sort of tense, watching flames shooting out of the chimeny and spit sparks towards our driveway. There was a lot of smoke pouring out as well. Good thing it's been raining all week.

Well, I did not get the job I interviewed for, so it's back to the money search. It's so wearying looking for work all the time and stressing over finances. Houseguest has been comiserating with me since he is also looking for work and living on his savings. I helped him write a fucken great resume, so I'm sure he will be working pretty soon-I seem to be able to get everyone but me jobs.

It's nice in general having a third in the house. We've been playing lots of dominos (free entertainment) which is not great with two people, but really fun with three. I've always liked living with people better than living alone. I've never lived with more than one roomate, and so far I like it. The house is so big we aren't stepping all over each other, and when you need some company there is someone around.

I'm trying to catch up on the big things I've been putting off while unemployed-some correspondance, some cleaning, getting a social security card and passport, taxes, etc. I'm such a procrastinator when it comes to shit I don't feel like doing. I've managed to put it all off for nearly 6 months, but it's time to get going on all that. I feel filled with urgency-these are things I need to get done before I'm working, and I need to start working soon, thus it's time to stop with the procrastinating already.

Wow. This is probably my most boring post yet. A new record.

There used to be a single rooster strutting around my neighborhood. Now he is gathering a gang of roosters. They look pretty tough too-one of them has a snapped leash attached to one leg. The bold things move quickly and aren't afraid to corner you on my porch if they smell the fear.

Need a few mental health days. Feeling incohenent and blue. Tried to return some email that's been comming in, but too slothful and depressed. Blah.

One of the things I love about research is the little tidbits you find here and there throughout cases. For example, I found a case from the 1950s that talks about the reluctance of plaintiffs to pursue claims-I don't think you'd find anyone today saying anything of the sort, what with all the bitching you see about how all lawsuits are frivolous and god forbid we hold the corporations or insurance companies or negligent piecies of shit responsible for their actions. Ahem. Do people realize that we all end up paying when innocent victims are not compensated? Anyhow. I wondered if times had changed since the 1950s or if our view of plaintiffs has changed through how the media portray tort suits.

And it's always nice to see the snarky judges lay down-i.e. a dissent signed not with the normal, "I respectfully dissent" or even the implied snark, "I dissent" but with the much snarkier "I somewhat respectfully dissent."

During the week, J leaves the house at about 5 a.m. to get to his job by 6. By Thursday we begin the countdown to the weekend. Saturday mornings are reserved for lying in bed, usually in a monkeypile with the dogs and cat, drinking Irish Coffee, listening to NPR, getting stoned, talking about stuff, playing along with Michael Feldman and Will Shorts, trying to solve the weekly puzzler on car talk, and getting in a good snuggle under a pile of blankets while the rain patters against the windows. Sometimes there is also french toast and hashbrowns. Ah, the sweet life.

Here's hoping I get a good phone call today or tommorrow. While I wait, I'll be doing more work on the ever present brief. I nearly had a coronary last Friday because I sent out an email that basically said the petition writer is a chowder head and put forth my own alternative and discussed how I saw the case that is being appealed. While I'm sure none of this makes a shit of sense to you non-law folks, I can't see a way to explain it that wouldn't take way too long and I'm sure you aren't that interested. Suffice to say, it made me nervous because I wasn't sure if I was being a complete asshat or what. Today I got an email back saying I was right. Vindication!

Crazy people and crazy situations seem to follow me wherever I go. Shit if I know why-I'm pretty fucken normal myself. Thank God I have J-he is my rock of stability. He would laugh if he knew that-it's not so much that we're without our own crazyness, it's just that we're both crazy in the same way, crazy from living in the middle of crazyness. And maybe that's sanity. Or just some fucked up version of normality that will have to suffice.

Anyhow. Did the interview this morning after a phone call from my mother about my father. I haven't seen the old man since the last family funeral, and I haven't spoken with him more than 3 times in the last 10 years. Mom called to let me know my father thinks he's crazy. This was not a huge revelation to me, but apparently it is to him.

Also got bitch-slap in the mail from an old friend. I'm not sure what that was all about, but I would guess it is part of some involved psychodrama that I'm glad not to have to deal with. It was more the patronizing tone that upset me than the implied fuck off. J thinks I should write a WTF letter, but I don't much feel like playing games with people I don't really know anymore.

I feel like writing-not to anyone or about anything particular-and I was looking at my email contact list and couldn't think of anyone I haven't pestered to death with my bad jones for the email (Then again, I don't know why I feel like I have to carefully dole out emails or risk pissing people off.). Then I remembered that I have a blog for these sorts of things, and that while stories about me covered in dogshit probably please more people than I want to know about, mindless babbling and offloading of psychic flotsom is one of the advantages of having a blog.

I've just been feeling restless lately, a reoccurring theme in my life. I feel like I'm sitting here wasting time. I know that part of that is just joblessness, but I can't see a job filling whatever it is that I feel like I'm missing out on. Geographic therapy fantasies and the urge to go somewhere else, anywhere else hit me during the day. But I don't have anywhere to go and I can't see what advantages being somewhere else would bring.

And it's not like I really want to leave or anything anyway. I like Portland. I like listening to the rain fall on the roof of my creaky old house. I like the people who live here and I like spending time with people who do not suck. Most of all, I love J too much to be content living without him. In all, I feel charmed and blessed to live out here in the midst of such wondiferousness. But.

But how fucking bland and self involved is it to be having a "What is the ultimate question" moment a bit too late to charge it off to protracted adolescence and too soon to be the ominous mid life crisis. I guess I put it off through college because I figured that once I was in law school, I would feel like I was doing something, accomplishing something, or whatever. I thought I would be able to create a little more justice in the world, that I could be a part of making the system better. Now I don't only wonder if that is even possible, I wonder whether I even care anymore.

So what now, brown cow? How do you become more than a consumer waiting to die? I feel like I've made so many bad decisions, for once I want to make a good decision.

Nothing starts your day quite like slipping on a gigantic pile of dog shit. I speak from bitter experience, alas. There was so much dogshit that it covered my entire right leg and foot, so I got to walk home covered in bright yellow dogshit. I'm not sure who thought it was better to cover a gigantic pile of dogshit with wet leaves than to pick it up and put it in the nearby garbage can, but I'd like to meet them. I have something for them.

I feel homesick today, or maybe just nostalgic for a time that never was.