All Things Profane and Sacred

Maybe it's just me, but my buddy Jude seems to be more clingy than usual lately. We've been inseperable buds for the last 6 years, and he always gets worried every time we move-and we've moved a lot together. Poor guy, for the first time I'm going to move away, and he won't be able to come with me, for awhile at least. I think I will actually miss him and worry about him more than J-at least I can talk to J on the telephone. I can't explain to Jude that I'll be back for him and we will have a great time out in the coastal mountains soon enough.

So, I was browsing through site meter, as I am wont to do, and I noticed that my last visitor came via the search term "Grannies fucking their grandkids" (I'm gonna assume that it was in the interest of public health, rather than to arouse the purient interests). Since I couldn't remember writing anything about grannie incest, I was curious as to what prompted the visit. The search was through Ask.com, so I moseyed on over there to see what I could see. There were sites for grannie products, hot grannies, sexy grannies, hot sexy grannies, GILFs, raging grannies, raging hot grannies with sexy sauce, and in the middle of all this hot grannie action is my blog, looking rather wholesome, all things considered.

So, I did a quick google search to make sure that a normal search engine is not listing me as a purveyor of grannie filth, and to my relief, I didn't see myself on the first few pages, at least. Now I need to go clear the search history before J gets home-I'd hate for him to get the wrong idea and hire some grannie call girl for our anniversary.

Do you know what really rocks ass? Having someone tell you all about this thing they call "benefits" and how you're gonna have them. Hello regular dentist visits!

The mortgage broker is going to run our credit reports today. She's been helpful and encouraging so far, but I feel like that's gonna change now. I hope she is able to stop laughing by the time she calls me back.

I feel exactly the same way about the whole thing as I do when the dentist asks if I floss regualarly. Shame mingled with defiance. No, I don't floss regularly, but I have a damn ass good reason. (I actually do, but its sort of gross to explain, so nevermind)

J had an out of town friend visiting for the weekend, so we didn't get a whole lot accomplished, other than a 5 hour nap on Sunday. The rental house I had lined up fell through, and there hasn't been much in the paper. I've been lazy about calling the mortgage broker, but no more. There just hasn't been anything in the paper, on craigslist or otherwise available for us. It's sounding like I'll be living on the farm for a while.

I pretty much have this week off-tommorrow I'm going in to do paperwork at the Portland office, get the collective bargaining agreement, ask questions and meet people. This let's me "start" work before the holiday and thus get paid for not working it. Other than that, I'll be packing up, sorting, putting things on craigslist and generally being a terror.

Do you ever look around, shake your head, and wonder if there is some sort of brain dysfunction that takes ahold of people as soon as they are elected to any position of responsibility more weighty than county coroner? (Russ Feingold excluded! I heart you Russ!) Then again, whilst googling, and goggling and giggling today, I realized it isn't just people elected to office, but the majority of the people in all countries around the world.

Maybe I've been spending too much time online. Man, I gotta start working for reals.

I've been having mini freak outs again, nothing I can't keep under control, but somedays I start thinking about all the debt, gigantic piles of it crushing me lak zee bug, and have to put my head between my knees and breath shallowly. J said to me the other day, as we juggled some bills, "Wow. We would've been really fucked if you hadn't have gotten this job, wouldn't we?"

Indeed. And now we're looking at having to borrow money to move down to the coast, another couple of thousand. And I've been thinking uneasily about my car-it has a rusted axle, and I'm afraid that driving in the salty ocean breeze is going to finish it off, and one day I'll be driving down 101, hear a clunk and half my car will be driving off without me.

I know, I need to takes these challenges one at a time. I think this stressful period has altered my brain chemistry in a bad bad way-I can't seem to think about anything without a rising wave of panic crashing over me.

It's more than that-I really need to start working, or, I should say, working at something full time, balls to the wall. I need to be busy; this constant living in my head gives me too much friggen time for introspection and I'm not seeing good things.

We've had a few Autumn preview days here. Cloudy and cool, they are great lazy, sleeping in and doing nothing days. I wish I had time to be lazy, sleep in and do nothing, but these days are just packed, and although I'm steadily crossing things off my to do list, I don't feel very accomplished.

J and I will both get a paycheck at the end of this week, thank god. I've made my famous chicken matzo ball soup, my famous cream of carrot soup and supplemented both with liberal helpings of bean burritos (thank god our former roomate, E, left a shit load of tortillas in the freezer), but the cupboard is looking rather bare these days and the creditors are circling closer. I can't wait to be making better money-the first thing I'll do is go on a B-double E-double R-U-N, Beer run! You just need a five or a ten and a sober friend, beer run! Car and the keys and a sober driver, beer run!

Then I'm getting some slippers. Mine have worn through in several spots, and when I returned cans yesterday ($7.00!) I was wearing them in what was the biggest fashion faux pas since that whole boobie thing the christians were all worried about at the Superbowl. Note to self-must throw out slippers. Much as I love them, they are soaked in empty can swill.

Yesterday we arranged to play things by ear with the couple who are renting our house after us. The male half of the couple does stagework for various shows around the Portland area. He ran lights for Cirque du Soleil when they were in town and said it was the most challenging show he had ever did. Lots of cues to memorize. Anyhow, the circus folk teased him throughout the show about how he needed to memorize not just his cues, but all the cues for the whole show so he could "call the cues" on the last day of the run. All through the run, he whaled on memorizing the cues, and on the last day he said, "Ok, I'm ready to call the cues." "Hardy ha ha ha," the circus folk replied, "We were just kidding!"

So, anyway, he called the cues that night, performing flawlessly. They were in awe of his prowess, and asked him to run away and join the circus. Apparently, they train folks for about 3 months to learn what he did in 3 weeks. Unfortunatly, he was about to have a baby, so the circus moved on without him.

It sounds like a sad poem about growing up. I would write it up if I was a poetry writing motherfucker, but instead I'll just put on my clothes and go to friggen work.

Spent yesterday driving up and down the coast around Newport. We tried to make it fun, but it felt more like a forced march. We didn't have time between appointments and running around to actually get out on the beach, we just kept driving by on our way hither and dither and sighing melodramatically. It wasn't totally wasted time, it just felt like it. It probably didn't help that we were in the car from 10 am to 10 pm.

I also secured an emergency back up housing situation at an organic farm about an hour away from Newport. We stopped by on the way back and all the farm hands were out grilling tuna that they had traded their vegetables for in Newport. They gave us beer, J ate a load of tuna and they took a vote to offer me emergency housing. At least now I have something, if nothing works out.

The thing I like best about my neighborhood is that all of the stop signs within a mile radius have "Hammertime!" stenciled on them.

There is a place in Portland that sells little kits of powdered urine and some chemical solution that heats to the correct temperature when water is added. About 6 months ago, one of J's friends needed one of these, but he was very broke, and they only sell them in two packs. J bought one to help him out, and it has sat on our bookshelf ever since. Last night the friend was in need of one, and the friend in need had weed indeed to trade for it. Just in time too-I've been jittering everywhere, trying to make arrangments and whatnot and the big panic beast is on the rampage. I feel like I really know what Bob Dylan meant when he said he had a head full of ideas that are driving him insane.

Jude the pothead dog is a whole 'nother story altogether. I had noticed that he had been acting weird, especially when visitors come over. He's been wanting to jump on everyone and everything, and he gets waaaaay too excited when he sees someone coming up the walk. I've had to lock him up, because he becomes a bouncing ball of excitement. Then it hit me-we haven't been smoking because we're poor. Our visitors haven't either, because they are also poor. But Jude associates the two-visitors and sharing a bowl-and he is that guy that asks if you've got something to smoke before he even says hello. I wish I had managed to instill some manners in him when we did obediance class. Instead he got a certificate for 'most enthusiastic' and I got a sympathetic look. Thank god Pogo just says no. I have a limit of one stoner dog of the apocalypse per household.

So, I'm crazy. Bonkers. Barney. Balmy. And that's just the B words. I've been looking into rental houses down by Newport, and god how I hate hate hate trying to find a place to live. Partly it's the zoo that I'm hauling around, but mostly its the whole picking out a landlord and putting down a deposit that gets me blue.

About 1/2 to 2/3s of landlords suck, in a general fashion. They will try to steal your deposit (after charging waaaay to much-one place wanted rent+$200+$150 each for the animals=too fucking much to put down on a rental house), they won't fix things, they want to stick their big fucking nose into all of your business. Trying to separate the wheat from the chaff is hard when there isn't a whole lotta rental options (that aren't ritzy mansions on the beach).

So, crazy yes? In the head? Insane in the membrane as the kids would say, at least they would back when I was a kid, or I should further say, they would on tv when I was a kid, ok, alright, no one says that but me when I'm feeling manic and rumbly. ARRRG!

So, now, at this late date, we're again mulling over the purchase of a house. We think that it could be that when all's said and done, we'd end up shelling out less than we would for renting, and at least then we'd be investing a bit of money, rather than throwing down some slimeball landlord's toilet. [Note: I worked in property management for several years; I feel justified in my 1/2-2/3s estimate and mean no offense to the 1/2 to 1/3s of landlords who are awesome. I love you!]

After all, I figure you may as well get all the stressful life changing events behind you at the same time. It's like when I quit smoking (again-practice makes perfect) right before the bar exam. It worked perfectly-I was so stressed and sick over the exam, that I barely noticed that I had quit smoking.

The problems with that senario, though, are many. First, we have no fucking money. No savings. No credit, no nothing. Second, we trashed our credit getting though this year. I went into school with good credit. I finished with decent credit. One year later, I have trashed credit. Third, the manuvering seems like it would take a goodly long while. There are other problems, but they are too gloomy to contemplate. I suppose it never hurts to talk to a mortgage broker, and different people have told me how you don't need a lot of cash on hand or great credit or whatnot, but I find it hard to believe that any bank would look at my financial situation and say, oh, sure, here's another hundred grand-enjoy!

I'm going to go put my head in a bucket of water.

Preparations for the great and terrible move continue, with the low worry of money hanging in the background. Last night was my last night at St. Andrews Legal Clinic and I said my goodbys, and ate chinese food and thought about how much I've learned (I don't know most of the answers, but I at least know some of the questions now).

We've made arrangements to wrap up the house, but have yet to talk to the landlord. Since J needs to stay for a while, we decided the best way to handle things was to find someone who wanted to rent the house, and stay on as a roomate. We figured he could trade free rent for our security deposit and get off the lease when we were all moved out. That way, everyone wins-the landlord doesn't have to rerent the house and deal with the deposit, the newbies wouldn't have to put down a shit load of money at the outset, and we would save money and time. Crazily, it worked out perfectly-J has some friends who are living in an apartment with their new baby and a roomate. Apparently, the same day I was interviewing in Newport, they were talking about the need to find a house, and decided they could spend as much as $900 a month, exactly what we pay now. Yesterday when they came over, they immediately fell in love with our big old place (it's hard not to-it is a beautiful old house), although it could be that the thought of all that space intoxicated them.

I'm still trying to nail down how much money I get for moving expenses, and I'm feeling worried. I need to talk to another guy and figure out what the deal is. I have a line on a house just outside of Yachats (!), but move in costs are around $2000 and I don't know how I could raise that much money. I can borrow about $1000 from my mom, but we're flat ass broke, have no credit, no savings and own nothing that we could possibly sell/hawk/burn for the insurance money.

Something will just have to work out, I guess. I'm flying by the seat of my pants on this one, but it's nice to have less dire problems occupying my thoughts these days.

I've been having bike problems, which, while not being as bad as car problems, are not so good either. The problem is my damn shifter. It's been doing this thing where I shift to go up a hill, and then halfway up the hill, chunk, it shifts into low gear, stopping all forward momentum. This wouldn't be quite so bad, except my whole ride home is uphill, so all the way home it's shift, clunk, shift, clunk.

Yesterday added a whole new dimension to shift, clunk. I was headed up my first hill, and shifted into high gear. There was an awful spronging sound, and the bike shifted into low. I looked down and noticed the cable running from the shifter to the gear was pulled out and loose looking. Uh oh. So, I had to walk the damn thing most of the way home, getting on to ride the flat areas and smaller hills with strenuous peddling all the way.

Things have been really different here, different and busy. After awhile the initial euphoria wore off somewhat (a long while: J was so excited he woke me up at 2:30 am on Saturday by spilling a huge glass of lemonade all over the bedroom-and he wasn't sorry to wake me with the commotion; he said he had been lying there for at least an hour trying to go to sleep with a head full of ideas). Then came some panic-in the next month and a half, I need to find a place to live (with the traveling zoo), pack all my shit, move, start the first job in my career, live without J for the longest time we've been apart since we met, go to Rhinelander for the wedding and so on. All except the wedding need to happen in the next two weeks. We've asked for this, and are happy about it, but the whole task is rather daunting.

Sometimes good things do happen to bad people. I was offered, and accepted the position in Newport.

Alphabet, by Jeff Lewis

Late at night cloudy light will creep over my old house
and the chair where I once sat
someone new is there and he'll stare at that wall.
We're all parts of an alphabet.
We spell new words in new spots we're at.
And the big round blue boat drifts around in the dark . . .
and they say that we'll drift for a while
'til we die in the sun
it's a spiral
it's a combination lock.
I'm just hoping that I'll get it open
and these joys and frustrations
are just turns in the combination.

Today is going to be full of somberness and things I don't want to do, so I'll give ya a semi-funny story:

Last night we were sitting around feeling sorry for ourselves and making our way through Scorsese's awesome, but long, Bob Dylan documentary, when we got a knock on our door. T'was our neighbor across the street who bought the scary clown house and is in the process (a long process-apparently the scary clown owner was letting his scary clown dog use the living room as a scary clown toilet) of making it a respectable house. Her water was shut off and she had to use the bathroom and after looking around at her choices, assholes on her left, white trash on her right, older people kitty corner on both sides, she chose to go with the hippies across the street. So we yak a bit, since she didn't want to flush and run, and she suddendly said to me, "Do you guys smoke weed?" I said, "Only weeks when we're particularly rich" (sad truth). She laughed, "I knew you guys were cool!"

So there, high school. I finally made it. I am cool. At least our neighbor who was in desparate need of the toilet thinks so.

So, I heard yesterday that the forces in Newport have not yet decided my fate. My mole, deep within the fortress, told me that the decision is down to two people, me and some other person. This horrible person, I was told, was edging ahead of me, because she speaks a little Spanish. My mole thought this was indeed stupid, and said that it wasn't enough to converse with clients, and most of the Spanish speaking clients were illegal, and thus couldn't be helped with our federal funds anyway. The position I want is funded with a grant to help out a nearby tribe, and most of my time would be spent working with them.

So, what's a gal to do? I called up Newport, re-expressed my extreme and raging interest, and, oh, mentioned that I was going to the tribe's powwow this weekend, and wondered if anyone from the office would be there.

Take that, Spanish-pants.

I just need to yipee, and send a big congrats out to Lamont, the challenger that beat that scaly old fucker Lieberman. There are many adjectives that could describe Lieberman, but now there are a few more, like: Sore loser, baby, spoiler and the like. He was a Bush cheerleader and closet Republican before the primary, and now he continues to show his true colors after he got his ass handed to him by the voters; first thing this morning he filed to run as an independent.

I had a horrifying interviewing nightmare last night. I dreamed that I went through a harrowing, but normal interview. I got a call for a second interview, and set up the time and whatnot with "Peter" (who suspiciously has the same name as this guy I interviewed with a while back who didn't give me my dream job, but, well) in Salem. I was in my bedroom with J, packing up stuff, getting ready, and smoking pot. Then there was a knock on the bedroom door. It was the interviewer, and a gaggle of office folk. He said he was just in the neighborhood and wanted to check in with me and make sure I was going to make the second interview. After they left, I turned to J and wailed, "This room reeks of pot!"

So, I drove to Salem (with J in tow for some reason) and got there early enough to see this well dressed WASP walk into the building with the interviewer. I looked down and realized that I was wearing a tee-shirt (Question Authority) and a flouncy gypsy skirt. I started freaking out-J was trying to calm me down. Then a couple of friends (thanks V and B!) showed up, and gave me their clothes. It wasn't a suit, but it was at least better than what I was wearing.

Anyhow, there was more to the dream, but that moment really stands out in my mind. Standing there and watching the well dressed and proper young man causually saunter in to the interview, while realizing that I was hopelessly out of place and out of my depth.

I know I'm totally playing into their hands, but how fun is it to have Samuel L. Jackson call someone up and harass them into taking you to see Snakes on a Plane while insulting their job, hair and vehicle?

As much as I love the esteemed Mr. Jackson and snakes, I really don't want to see this movie. J, on the other hand, is excited, and keeps repeating, "There'll be snakes. On the plane. It'll be great!" On the third hand (tucked safely out of sight most days, precious), we heard the snakes on a plane song this weekend, and it was pretty fucken funny. In fact, I just now found the lyrics online, and will present them for your viewing pleasure:

Snakes On A Plane (Bring It), by Cobra Starship

Times are strange
We got a free upgrade for
snakes on a plane.
Fuck em, I don't care.
Bought the cheap champagne,
we're going down in flames, hey.

Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.

So kiss me goodbye.
Honey, I'm gonna make it out alive.
So kiss me goodbye.
I can see the venom in your eyes.
Goodbye.

It's time to fly,
to make the stars align
with the turpentine
lounging in their suits and ties.
Watch the whore's parade
for the price you paid, hey.

Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.

So kiss me goodbye.
Honey I'm gonna make it out alive
So kiss me goodbye.
I can see the venom in your eyes

So kiss me goodbye.
Honey, I'm gonna make it out alive
So kiss me goodbye.
I can see the venom in your eyes
Goodbye.

Ladies and gentlemen
These snakes are slitherin'
with dollar signs in they eyes
with tongues so reptilian
This industry's venemous
with cold-blooded sentiment
No need for nervousness
It's just a little turbulence.

So kiss me goodbye.
Honey I'm gonna make it out alive
So kiss me goodbye.
I can see the venom in your eyes

So kiss me goodbye.
Honey, I'm gonna make it out alive
So kiss me goodbye.
I can see the venom in your eyes
Goodbye.

Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.
Oh, I'm ready for it
Come on, bring it.

We seem to be losing altitude
at an alarming pace
Midtown downtown
Snakes on a blog
I suggest you grab your ankles
and kiss your ass goodbye.

I sat, tapping my fingers all the while, through another low key weekend. Trying not to think about where the money will come from. Trying not to think about whether I'll be offered a job today. Trying not to think about the billion or so topics that are sure to bring on a screaming headache, but that my mind can't resist turning over and over again. Makes reading the blog rather monotonous too, eh?

Job hunting requires this zen state that I don't have down yet. You must have full faith that you will get the job-otherwise the interview doesn't go so well and your failure is assured. At the same time, you must believe that you won't get the job, so that you aren't thinking about how much better your life would be if you were working full time up until the time you get the rejection letter and get clonked on the head with the hard, cold rock of reality. You must maintain a state of no mind, a mind not fixed or occupied by thought or emotion, and thus open to everything.

I can't seem to reign in this panicky elephant who's running around in my head and shitting all over me, making a state of no mind out of reach for today.

Oh my God. Pat Robertson believes in global warming. Either I need to go reevaluate my own position on this, or the end times are truely at hand. Next thing you know, he'll be talking about using all those stem cells we're currently flushing down the toilet at fertility centers across the country.

With a tip of the hat to jalpuna, today's fun link leads to the politics of hummer humping. It sorta reminds me of this story in Steven Levitt's Freakonomics about the demise of the KKK. As mosta y'all probably remember from history class, the KKK used to be a real force in this country-a terrorist organization that thrived on secrecy. Well, this one dude was fed up with it, so he went undercover and learned all about the KKK-how they were organized, what the secret passwords and rituals were, what they talked about at meetings-all kinds of shit. Then he teamed up with the producers of the popular radio show, Superman, to produce a series of episodes where Superman took on the KKK. As people started to make fun of the KKK with it's grand wizards and dragons and super secret handshakes and whatnot, recruiting sharply decreased. It's an important lesson-laughter is more powerful than all the scolding, wailing and rational discourse in the world. And it feels good.

I'm tired out today, so go look at these bad tattoos. The blogger writing about them is a fuckwit (and some of the really bad tattoos are some pretty fun art). I especially like the penis tattoo on page 2 (but, geez, ouch!), and Mr. Cool Ice on page 3 is pretty fucken funny. The last chick on page 4 is actually in J's vast pornography collection. Wheee!

Today's post is going to be about good things-I guess it's about time for that, huh? Yesterday when J got home and asked how my day was, I told him that while I was cleaning the catbox, Sadie Mae peed all over the bathroom floor. He told me that when he stopped at the store on the way home, a guy in a wheelchair talking on his cell phone ran him down. Yep, we're quite a pair.

Anyhow, good things. Yes. Well, the estimate for auto repairs was extremely high (I'm glad I have the kind of car that can go through a collision and not show it-I think the extra paint looks stylin'), so I moseyed on over to the insurance office and paid up my account, told them about how my ticket was dismissed and then told them about the collision. They're pretty much taking care of it-all I have to do is fill out an accident report today.

I also got word that my job on the coast may become reality. I probably won't hear back until next Monday, since the decision maker is on vacation, but we'll see what happens. It's odd to think that I may have to move in the next few weeks, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. I'm looking forward to a problem that is a little less dire than, say, starving to death, bankruptcy or a lifetime as a carny.

My officer failed to show up at court yesterday, so the ticket was dismissed. I'd like to take this for a good omen, but I think its still too early for that.