My spirits are a little better today, despite my continued fishbowl-state with Le Grande HeadColde. It’s like when you were little, and you were really, super-duper puking-up sick, and then by the third day, you could sit up and watch TV (if you had one, which I didn’t, so I just played with a stick and a rag and read 800 books) and you got to eat a little sherbet and people were cheerful and not so worried about you and talked about when you would be ready to go back to school? That’s what today’s like for me. And I’ve discovered that when people call me? I BRAY AT THEM. Like a mule. Cheerfully braying, with my excessively nasal voice and gasping because I still sorta have to breathe through my mouth, which is UBER sexy. I’ve had my two least-favorite reps call me today, I’ve dealt with car dealers, and everything’s been handled at a very high volume with an undercurrent of “wheeze”. Interestingly, I’m more inclined to talk to those who annoy when I’m sick, mostly because I seem to have lost my filter, and I say whatever in hell I want.

At one point, I even expounded on the remarkable ability of football players because not only do they have to memorize all their plays/maneuvers? They get knocked down and hurt and STILL come back and remember where they’re supposed to run. I’m not saying they should get Nobel Peace Prizes or nothin’, but I know if someone clotheslined me in the parking garage, I sure as hell wouldn’t remember where I was going, let alone what the F-12 running play involved. That and I have to have “offsides kick” re-defined for me every season. Sigh. I wish I could blame the cold, but it’s just plain empty-headedness. I do have the hand signal for HOLDING down pat though.

So, I’m a-brayin’ and feeling a bit more cheerful. Tired as a mule (don’t even call me an ass) and for god’s sake, don’t ever call me Jenny.

I stopped at Target this morning on my way to work, to procure a new lamp (because working in the Heart of Darkness has gotten depressing), and purchase every cold remedy and medicine that promises to eradicate my snuffles sooner. I was unable to purchase the kinds of medicine you take the little hard plastic card to the pharmacy, because the pharmacy was closed. I was also very disappointed that they did not have a wide selection of Theraflu.

I settled on Airborne, two types of Cold-Eeze lozenges (clinically proven to end your cold sooner!), Tylenol Severe Cold Daytime, and Theraflu Severe Cold Nighttime. I probably have enough zinc in me right now to pop pennies out my nose. (Did you know the copper penny is made primarily of zinc? There you have it. Dazzle your friends with exceptionally useful trivia.)

One of these items apparently triggered the checkout girl to ask for my I.D. However, before I could even react, she said, “Ah, no. Never mind, don’t worry about it.” (When I have a cold, I feel like I’m in an underwater tank and the rest of the world is moving at high-speed.) I asked her why, and she said that she didn’t understand why someone needing medicine was supposed to be carded, and that she was supposed to check for ID if you looked (something) 40 years old. Now, even in my fog, my curiousity gets piqued, and I said, “Over or under 40?” (wondering, have they profiled the meth-cooker? What is the demographic breakdown? All the mug shots I’ve seen of meth-related criminals on the TV illustrate that meth ages you RAPIDLY. It is not kind to the skin, first of all, and you might be 25 but hooked on meth, you look like a 50-year-old battling cancer.) She replied, “Under 40, I’m supposed to card.” She went on to be dismissive of the rule and sympathetic to my cold.

Huh.

I have some choices here. Either I look well over 40? Or I don’t fit the meth-addict-cooker profile. Or I had a really apathetic (or sensible) cashier. I think I’ll take any explanations except the first one.

Oh, yes, it’s Talk Like A Pirate Day. Someday we’ll finally get that Swear Like A Sailor Day approved, and I can have one day of shoutin’ ye ol’ FUCKS and ASSWIPES and PIGFUCKERS about without fear of offendin’. Meanwhile, I continue to swear heartily with a swipe of discretion and sometimes I just have to yell “Sorry!”

Let’s see. Is it possible to eat too much sushi? I think not. We dined at a restaurant yesterday with reps, and it was not-so-good sushi. Not as in, AHOY! These rolls have washed ashore ripe and not fer eatin’! But as in, I have had so much better, and these are a disappointment. Iffin’ you want perspective, I had some grocery store sushi today – eel and California roll – and it was better than what we had yesterday. Ah yes, the horizon just fell into place for you there, didn’t it?

Speaking of perspective, it truly was one of my least favorite assignments in my art classes back in ye old day, when I was a spry pirate and didn’t care that a studio art major meant NOTHING to the outside world, wherein the outside world equals a real paycheck. I just saw nothing enjoyable about using a RULER for “drawing”. I didn’t do badly at it, but I didn’t put my best hook forward, as it were, and I would have some criticism from my prof for the third-street-over not quite matching up to the horizon point. And my other pet peeve is when people spell it “prospective”. NO! You are whacked on the knuckles. Or worse – the terrifying scene from that Jack London book where Cookie gets dragged behind the ship & a shark eats his foot.

This may explain today’s ramblings: I believe I have the makings of a cold, which is lovely, to be the Snuffling Pirate today. I may go home a smidge early and have a lie-down. Can you imagine how hard it would be to blow your nose with a hook for a hand? Hello, nose piercings.

OK, I think we’ve covered enough terrain in my crazy brain for you to move on to the next blog safely. Enjoy. ARRRRRRRRR.

I was not aware I-70 took you straight to Lawrence, KS. (How long have I lived here?) I have only EVER gone there via K-10, which, if you’re leaving my home on the south siiiiide, makes sense. So. Imagine my surprise when I noticed on my li’l Mapquest map after I got to Lawrence that I-70 came swooping down and seemed to kiss it on the forehead. Huh. Would have probably cut about 20 minutes off my drive, because I was Up North, which amuses me to capitalize it, because living in Minneapolis meant there was a universal term, “Up North”, which meant going to one of the million lakes and most likely a cabin. The term was so universal, they sell sweatshirts with “Up North” on ’em.

I was, as I was saying, Up North, and so I decided I should get on I-35 and take that to I-435 to catch K-10. (This is so fucking fascinating for all of you who don’t live here, isn’t it?) ANYway, I’m just recapping my weekend, and basically I spent a lot of time driving on Saturday – up to see my friend Roger, we had lunch, I then headed off to Lawrence for a baby shower (my dear friend Ashley) and then back home again, home again, ladybug. I believe I was gone for a total of seven hours. The wind was beastly, and the sensation of being in the car, along with the buffeting of the wind, was still in my body when I went to sleep. Again, I realize: FASCINATING.

This is the glamorous life. Today? Spent mostly in pj’s, crying in my beer as the Chiefs lost in overtime, stomping my feet outside Einstein’s for closing early (motherfuckers)(I had gotten dressed though), and knitting a pair of socks for my stepmom. There is no car news (woe, woe is me. I weep, I gnash my teeth, I even bore myself now, the routine is so familiar…) There are no big exciting meetings this week (thankfully). I shall have to take pictures of my socks (and their conversations) for the blog this week, because other than that, there’s not loads of anything exciting and new…… except it’s premiere week & my poor DVR is going to be smokin’, as I preview some of the new shows and decide whether I should watch them long-term – and whether they are going to have enough of an audience to warrant buying them for my clients. We watched the Amazing Race premiere tonight, and if you watched – and didn’t tear up at Sarah climbing that wall with her prosthetic leg? – than you are hard-core and probably won’t like reading this blog and you, my friend, should drive to Lawrence on horseback.

There’s probably a trail. For my Amish friends. And it’s still probably faster than my route. SHEESH.

…why I married him…..

(running narration from the Wo who was driving home today)

“Get out of the WAY you motherfucking crippled bastard! Jesus! He’s got 8 car lengths, (splutter) GO! OH my god he’s got a fucking KNOB on his steering wheel.”

Ahhhhh, road rage. We’re such a matched set.

I think it’s a perfect metaphor for this week – I came in to work this morning and discovered someone had snapped my lamps from the post. SWELL.
Photgraphic Evidence of the Crime, CSI-style:

Oddly enough, all I’ve done is shake my head and shrug my shoulders. I think I’m all full-up on getting mad and being upset. I did send an email out that we would be investigating the crime, and nobody should leave town. However, it’s much easier to just blame the cleaning people – everyone’s favorite patsy, right? The last place I worked, they stole a lot of fruit from my neighbor.

However, despite the considerably darker environment, I have had more positive things outweighing everything else – before I even got to my office, my boss pulled me in to pass along a client compliment – without overindulging and going on and on, the client basically wanted to know why Kristin & I didn’t work more on his business and that we were very creative and very smart. Yay! And I adored him before I knew it was mutual, isn’t it great when it works out like that? And, second, yesterday I sent faxes to two Nissan dealerships, because the car guy I was working with didn’t call me AGAIN (and listen, if you tell me you’re going to call me? And don’t? Then I have to take a page from the pop culture book “He’s Just Not That Into You”, and assume I’m not important. Nor is my checkbook.) And one dealership has already responded with a phone call, and an email. Not pushy, just friendly and indicating that he’s working on a list of cars. Hey! Novel. Service. Such a simple word.

I must get back to working by candlelight and scraping the wax off my mouse. (Oh, dear, that sounds ….. provocative?)

I’ve had one of those rock-m, sock-m headaches today that Just! Won’t! Quit! with a frickin’ vengeance. The Headache Gnome has been ignored long enough and now he’s riding a dirt bike around the inside of my cranium, much like the stunt riders at the circus ride their dirt bikes inside a large metal cage.
So that really only leaves me one choice: Hit Gnome. A sordid, mysterious sort of gnome, who smokes unfiltered cigarettes, drinks thimbles of whiskey, and refuses to wear the pointy hat but instead dons a red do-rag. He is a Renegade. One one bicep there’s a mushroom tatoo, on the other the requisite “Gnome Free or Die” with the national Gnome masonic symbol. His ride is, of course, a Harley DavidGnome. All the better to catch up with the mo-fo Headache Gnome, I say. Tear it up, buddy.

Apparently, the Imagination Gnome is hard at work today. That’s good. Somebody oughta work hard, and it’s not really turning out to be ME.

UPDATE (3:40 p.m.): The headache is nearly gone, and it seemed to dissipate during a meeting with the Blandest Rep Ever. Seriously, his personality was as substantive as wet tissue. I thought Kristin was going to leap on the table and flash her boobs, just to see if he would blink. (she didn’t. I bet he would’ve.)

But I’ll tell ya that the vehicle I want to buy is a 2005 or 2006 Nissan Murano:

(this is a fancy new one.)

A person I work with has one & I tested out hers – it’s a pretty sweet ride. Very comfy, way roomy and I dig the elevated view without being “way up high” like you get in some SUVs. This is more of a crossover between an SUV and a sedan. But apparently, adjustable pedals are a little harder to come by. Scorpy, thanks for the compliment that I’d look good in a Mini Cooper – I think they’re wonderful cars! I just think the Wo and I would look like two very large groundhogs smashed into it for road tripping. ;) And we’d have to put the dogs on the roof! LOL! So, I’m hoping something comes through on the car front soon – I’m ready to get things wrapped up!

I’m not having a great week. Or month, really. It’s gotten to the point that my jaw feels like it’s wired shut & I’m fighting it subconsciously. The crazy-ass neighbor across the street has decided, after 3 years, to start screaming at me about our dogs out of fear her precious feral cats she feeds (but does not take inside, collar, or immunize) might get hurt when Polly bolts to chase one of her devil cats. It’s like Harriet, v.2.0. I can’t drive by her house now without subtley flipping her off. (At least I’m not leaning out the window & screaming.)

Then, I’m in the limbo place, as I wait for my car dealer dude to find me exactly the vehicle I want. (I have the model picked out, I just want low miles, adjustable pedals, uh, leather, ok, fine, my list of needs & wants are not short – are you surprised?) However, even though it has been only two weeks, I am ever impatient and just want to get the deal DONE. I want to sell my dad’s truck, get my new-ish car, and my dealer-dude doesn’t call to update me, instead I have to call him. Of course, a more relaxed, laid-back individual would take this as an indication that it’s taking some time and to just CHILL THE FUCK OUT. Well, I drove behind an individual like that yesterday, and I gave her bitch-ass the hairy eyeball when I finally passed her 20 mph ass. I don’t work in that laid-back way and I need to have my base touched. TOUCH MY BASE. Don’t take it naughty. I just mean that even if there’s no information, telling me that? Tells me “you’re working on it”, not “ignoring it until your bitch ass calls me again”.

It’s always a weird time of year, the transition between seasons. We’re in the 60’s one morning, but headed for 90 by the end of the week, and then it will drop off again and we’ll have a frost threat before we know it. What’s the right clothing combination, what shoes, will I be sweaty at lunch, will I have to run the air in my car, how fucked up will construction be AGAIN. Work ebbs and flows and I’m reminded of how the highs in this business are balanced out by the lows. My craft room is still a mess, and I have things that need to be sewn. People who don’t want to be my friend should just stop pretending. My mother’s birthday is coming and I want to ignore her, except the high road always beckons, and I begrudgingly trudge it. I’m trying to eat less but sometimes I get so cranky I want to take a cheesecake and lie down in the street. Yes, the street in front of my office that takes a miracle, act of God or Mother Teresa to allow me to merge at night because the fucking Bob Mahal construction has made it painfully difficult to navigate, and add to it this week’s joy: road repaving. I keep meaning to exercise and all I do is think about doing it. I feel like I have a million mosquito bites and they all want to be scratched, torn at, and yet I know that bathing in calamine lotion and letting them heal is the only right solution. I guess you could call this “cranky”. That’s Captain Cranky to you, you whack bitch who loves parrots and can’t drive. I got yer parrot right HERE.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

Miss Kristin & her fiance Justin welcomed their newest family member into their home over the weekend – meet Miss Gracie Lou, the sweetest golden retriever puppy ever, and she’s just a baby. Ten weeks and the world is a giant ball of discovery, waiting just for her. I smooshed her and kissed her nose and smelled her puppy breath and I have to go back for more.
Welcome, lover pup. You’ve got a good home & good doggie parents.