Wednesday, August 29, 2012
Sunday, August 26, 2012
So you know nothing, do you?
Sam's Sushi is apparently a Nashville touristy thing that I had never been to until today. It used to be in the Arcade, an outdoor collection of various local shops and restaurants, all of which close by 5P, because hey, it's downtown Nashville and everything good closes there around that time, unless we're talking about the honky-tonks and the Big River Grille. Three had been to Sam's back a few years ago, and for some reason was all, "Hey, let's go to Sam's. He's kind of a douche."
I guessed it was along the same lines of Dick's, the restaurant where the servers are supposed to be assholes to you. I've never really understood the appeal, unless it's from the server's perspective, but then again, I don't really understand the appeal of dominatrices, either. More power to ya, I guess, but that's another topic for another person's blog. Anyway, according to local lore, if you go in and expect traditional fast service, you'll be ejected by the owner and seemingly only person working in the restaurant: I'm assuming his name is Sam, what with the name of the place being "Sam's," but it could also be Akito or Jiro, for all I know.
We park at the library and walk towards Printer's Alley, which has its own special history (printing business, then strip clubs, and now food and seedy music venues) and I almost miss the door. Right there, posted for all to see on the glass door, is a sign that says, "This is a slow food place. NOT FAST FOOD."
Well, okay.
So Three and I go in, and I'm a little apprehensive, as I'm sure Sam prefers I be. The guy behind the counter does not even seem cognizant that we are even there, instead busily piling various ingredients into nori. We take a seat at one of the tables, and seriously, this place is small. Only three tables exist and about five other people are inside, but it is ridiculously crowded. Two of them are eating, and the other three appear to be waiting, but you really can't be sure. We sit down at the only table available and respectfully just look around, since there are no menus and only one bottle of soy sauce (the real kind, not that pansy low-sodium shit) and one bottle of Sriracha sauce. Next to our table is a glass cooler, filled with soft drink cans, and the rest of the drink stock is stacked around the restaurant, like a damned storage facility.
After about fifteen minutes, this group of three comes in and sits at the counter, asking how long the wait is.
"Thirty minutes," Sam says, refusing to look up from his sushi making.
"Can we order and walk around?"
"Forty-five minutes, then."
Instead of getting upset, they laugh and are all, "Sure, sounds good. I want ..."
I shrug my shoulders at Three and hope that I can order soon. My stomach is getting a little growly at this point. The group leaves with smiles on their faces, so I assume all is well.
Finally, he asks us what we want and we timidly (at least I do) approach the counter. He nods at us after our order is complete and we just go back and sit down.
About ten minutes after we order, a family of three comes in, none of them ever having heard of Sam's reputation, and start getting huffy when he hasn't even acknowledged them. They ask us, "Do we just go up there and order or what?"
"He'll let you know," I respond, sipping on my Diet Coke with Lime*.
Then another group of three comes in and sits directly in front of the counter. They start chatting about Ethiopia, which is where one of the girls was from, and Sam was more than eager to tell her about his travels in Africa. He brings us our sushi (and OMG, was there a lot of sushi. I ordered two rolls and could barely finish them), and then goes directly to the group at the counter to make their order, which just pisses off the people at the table. The man looks at me like I'd betrayed him, "I thought you said -"
I cut him off, "Dude, his restaurant, his rules. He'll get to you." I probably sounded like a pro on the place.
The man is not pleased. He starts to get up but, off a look from Sam, he sits back down, grumbling to himself, while his annoyed wife and completely unaware son look at something on the son's iPhone.
And now I'm going to focus on the sushi. It's awesome. It's not the most technically perfect sushi in the world, but that's not really the point. Sam makes it as he wishes and with whatever materials he has on hand, and, well, you'd better deal with it or leave. For four rolls, that were fucking HUGE, we spent less than $15.
But I digress. We get up to pay, delighted by the prices, and Sam looks at us and asks if we've been there before. I respond in the negative, and Three says he was there about two years ago.
Sam says, "So you know nothing, do you?"
I laugh, and Three shoots back good-naturedly, "Well, I guess not."
He then tells us that if we tip him, we're not allowed back, so we didn't tip. But oh, we're so going back. But not because we were abused, like a lot of people have claimed**. It's because we got awesome sushi by a dude who doesn't give two shits if his customers like him or not. He was nice to me, but honestly, I was nice to him and was pretty much like, "Oh, okay, whatever you want to make. But I like eel and avocado, if you want some basic parameters." And Three was just, "I honestly don't know anything."
Also, I want to become a "regular" with whom he talks about politics and celebrity news, but that's just me.
* I love DC w/ Lime. It takes the fake sugar taste and masks it with sweet citrus. NOM.
** Go read the reviews on Yelp. But don't tell Sam that you did so. He doesn't like Yelp.
I guessed it was along the same lines of Dick's, the restaurant where the servers are supposed to be assholes to you. I've never really understood the appeal, unless it's from the server's perspective, but then again, I don't really understand the appeal of dominatrices, either. More power to ya, I guess, but that's another topic for another person's blog. Anyway, according to local lore, if you go in and expect traditional fast service, you'll be ejected by the owner and seemingly only person working in the restaurant: I'm assuming his name is Sam, what with the name of the place being "Sam's," but it could also be Akito or Jiro, for all I know.
We park at the library and walk towards Printer's Alley, which has its own special history (printing business, then strip clubs, and now food and seedy music venues) and I almost miss the door. Right there, posted for all to see on the glass door, is a sign that says, "This is a slow food place. NOT FAST FOOD."
Well, okay.
So Three and I go in, and I'm a little apprehensive, as I'm sure Sam prefers I be. The guy behind the counter does not even seem cognizant that we are even there, instead busily piling various ingredients into nori. We take a seat at one of the tables, and seriously, this place is small. Only three tables exist and about five other people are inside, but it is ridiculously crowded. Two of them are eating, and the other three appear to be waiting, but you really can't be sure. We sit down at the only table available and respectfully just look around, since there are no menus and only one bottle of soy sauce (the real kind, not that pansy low-sodium shit) and one bottle of Sriracha sauce. Next to our table is a glass cooler, filled with soft drink cans, and the rest of the drink stock is stacked around the restaurant, like a damned storage facility.
After about fifteen minutes, this group of three comes in and sits at the counter, asking how long the wait is.
"Thirty minutes," Sam says, refusing to look up from his sushi making.
"Can we order and walk around?"
"Forty-five minutes, then."
Instead of getting upset, they laugh and are all, "Sure, sounds good. I want ..."
I shrug my shoulders at Three and hope that I can order soon. My stomach is getting a little growly at this point. The group leaves with smiles on their faces, so I assume all is well.
Finally, he asks us what we want and we timidly (at least I do) approach the counter. He nods at us after our order is complete and we just go back and sit down.
About ten minutes after we order, a family of three comes in, none of them ever having heard of Sam's reputation, and start getting huffy when he hasn't even acknowledged them. They ask us, "Do we just go up there and order or what?"
"He'll let you know," I respond, sipping on my Diet Coke with Lime*.
Then another group of three comes in and sits directly in front of the counter. They start chatting about Ethiopia, which is where one of the girls was from, and Sam was more than eager to tell her about his travels in Africa. He brings us our sushi (and OMG, was there a lot of sushi. I ordered two rolls and could barely finish them), and then goes directly to the group at the counter to make their order, which just pisses off the people at the table. The man looks at me like I'd betrayed him, "I thought you said -"
I cut him off, "Dude, his restaurant, his rules. He'll get to you." I probably sounded like a pro on the place.
The man is not pleased. He starts to get up but, off a look from Sam, he sits back down, grumbling to himself, while his annoyed wife and completely unaware son look at something on the son's iPhone.
And now I'm going to focus on the sushi. It's awesome. It's not the most technically perfect sushi in the world, but that's not really the point. Sam makes it as he wishes and with whatever materials he has on hand, and, well, you'd better deal with it or leave. For four rolls, that were fucking HUGE, we spent less than $15.
But I digress. We get up to pay, delighted by the prices, and Sam looks at us and asks if we've been there before. I respond in the negative, and Three says he was there about two years ago.
Sam says, "So you know nothing, do you?"
I laugh, and Three shoots back good-naturedly, "Well, I guess not."
He then tells us that if we tip him, we're not allowed back, so we didn't tip. But oh, we're so going back. But not because we were abused, like a lot of people have claimed**. It's because we got awesome sushi by a dude who doesn't give two shits if his customers like him or not. He was nice to me, but honestly, I was nice to him and was pretty much like, "Oh, okay, whatever you want to make. But I like eel and avocado, if you want some basic parameters." And Three was just, "I honestly don't know anything."
Also, I want to become a "regular" with whom he talks about politics and celebrity news, but that's just me.
* I love DC w/ Lime. It takes the fake sugar taste and masks it with sweet citrus. NOM.
** Go read the reviews on Yelp. But don't tell Sam that you did so. He doesn't like Yelp.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
I Have the Worst Luck with Cars, Part VIII: Drivers and Deer Are Dicks
Well, I thought the last post in this series would finally rid me of the bad car juju I have following me around, but hahahaha, who am I actually kidding. This shit won't go away until I'm in the grave. Although, honestly, this is more about the luck I have while inside vehicles, not really the vehicle itself, which of course is still an Aveo.
Thursday was taxing, to say the least. I left a little early from work to go pick up Three to take him to work and found myself in standstill traffic. There's an AM radio station that gives you up-to-date information in regards to road situations, but it's not really the clearest station. Like, you can kind of hear it when you roll up your windows and get to a certain spot on the interstate, squint your eyes and get really close to the speakers. Then you can hear "traffic" and "interstate" and "1680AM" in between various sounds of static. So of course, it's kind of useless. But that's Tennessee for you.
Anyway, there are flashy yellow lights on the side of the road with signs saying tune into the above mentioned station, which I do although previous experience told me to do otherwise. I hear the expected static and continue driving, going past several exits that in retrospect I wish I would have taken. But hindsight = 20/20. And then the cars just stopped moving. I was sitting still for nearly 45 minutes, calling Three every fifteen minutes or so to update him on my lack of progress.
Me: You should probably call your boss to tell him you're going to be late.
Three: Where are you?
Me: About two feet from where I was 10 minutes ago.
Three: Awesome.
As it turns out, there was a huge wreck involving two semis and at least two other vehicles, so I said a little prayer for those in the wreck and then sat in traffic more, pissed off. And I fell in love with this Mercedes SUV driver behind me, who was getting fed up with jerks who apparently thought they were special snowflakes who could use the shoulder to get ahead of everyone. The guy pulled out in the middle of the shoulder and just sat there. And that was my only source of glee until I finally got to my exit and busted ass to get home, so Three would only be sort of late to work. Unfortunately, I left him at work with no way to get food and he didn't have enough time to stop at Taco Bell* to pick up some stuff. So I promised to come back and take him to lunch at 6.
I got back to work and stayed there until about 5:15, giving me plenty of time to get back to Three. Or so I thought.
Because yay! Titans game! Dumbass people wandering around with beer coolers in their hands, ticket scalpers trying weird tactics to get you to buy their tickets**, and random streets blocked by irritated police officers. I called up Three around 5:58 and said, "Seriously, fuck this day. This is the second traffic jam I've had to deal with today, and at least the first one was legitimate. This is just for a stupid throw the ball and run venue. I hate everything."
Three told me not to worry and that we'd just go for dinner when I got there, which eased my tension a little bit.
Until I got to stupid Franklin, AKA WASP Central.*** I'm on I-65, which is usually not a bad road to be on most of the time. But this jackass in a white pickup truck was all, "Herpaderp, I'm going to drive like an asshole, swerving and shit because I have to text while I'm driving! Yay!" He nearly hit me three times, going in and out of his lane. On the fourth time, I honked at him and started gesturing to his phone and mouthing, "Get off your phone, you fucking asshole." Instead of thinking, "Well, it's probably a good idea that I get off of my phone because I'm endangering everyone on the road right now," this douche canoe decides that the best and mature way to handle someone that he's nearly hit now four times is to flip them off. Which just sent waves of chilly anger all over my body. He continued on his merry way, with his wife or girlfriend or whatever she was in the passenger seat who could have done the texting for him, but whatever, and I got off of the interstate, arriving at Three's work all in a tizzy, taking me nearly fifteen minutes to chill. But I got to have a nice dinner with the husband, which kind of made up for the whole thing.
The ride home was essentially uneventful, which was a blessing. I spent the next few hours talking to some of my friends online and tweeting random tweets. When it was time to go, I posted this:
I'm not saying that I'm psychic or anything, but my bad luck with cars just reared its ugly head again.
Less than five miles away from my apartment, a jackass deer ran into my car. Let me say it again: A JACKASS DEER RAN INTO MY CAR. One ran right in front of me, which I saw and avoided by slowing down, but the other one? Smashed into the side. I hear BANG and then a crunching noise. Of course, I freaked out and pulled over. This poor deer was lying in the middle of the road, and I was sure it was dead. It wasn't very old, either, because it wasn't very big and I was able to move it to the side of the road, bawling the whole time. I was part scared, part pissed off, and part depressed over taking a life. Zola, who was in the car with me, couldn't figure out what was going on and just looked at me warily as I called both Three and my mom. Three spent about two minutes trying to decipher my words between sobs, and once he'd accomplished that made sure that I was okay and that the car was driveable. Mom, of course, made sure that I was okay and commiserated with me on the shock. Many years ago, she ran over a black lab and I think it still haunts her.
I was able to calm down enough to get back to driving, only a few minutes late to pick up Three, who rushed out to hug me and then inspect the damage, with his supervisor close behind him. Being me, I hadn't even checked to see what the car looked like because I was hauling a deer carcass out of the road. But luckily, it didn't really look like there was too much damage. I mean, there was a giant ... dent? Dent doesn't seem to be the right word. The large size of the ... dent, I guess, seems to warrant a more grandiose term.
Needless to say, I asked Three to drive, and I wanted to stop by the deer to make sure it was dead. When we drove past the spot where I'd moved the deer, though, it was gone, and I was all, "Behuwah? Where'd it go?" I was partly worried that coyotes had gotten the poor thing, but Three seemed to think that maybe I'd just knocked the deer out when it hit the car. I chose to believe the latter, as I don't want an animal to suffer and coyotes are dicks.
I've given up driving for a while, or at least until I absolutely have to get behind the wheel. Which unfortunately right now is going to be Monday morning. Sighhhhhhhhh. Maybe I'll just take the bus.
* Seriously, the cantina bowl is amazing. Try it out and you will be happy.
** This one guy accosted me at my open window: "BUY MY TICKET!!" I responded with a, "If you don't get out of my window, I am going to punch you in the face. You have no idea how much happiness that would bring me." He left me alone after that.
*** I hate WASPs. Like actually hate. Driving where many of them congregate just ... gets me mad? I don't know. It's hard to explain. I guess it's because I grew up in the exceptionally vapid society that sends a person into a dependency on antidepressants, and it irks me that it's considered the best way to be. Because they are rich. Or whatever. Ugh, I'm going to stop talking about it now because it's gettin' my dander up, whatever that actually means.
Thursday was taxing, to say the least. I left a little early from work to go pick up Three to take him to work and found myself in standstill traffic. There's an AM radio station that gives you up-to-date information in regards to road situations, but it's not really the clearest station. Like, you can kind of hear it when you roll up your windows and get to a certain spot on the interstate, squint your eyes and get really close to the speakers. Then you can hear "traffic" and "interstate" and "1680AM" in between various sounds of static. So of course, it's kind of useless. But that's Tennessee for you.
Anyway, there are flashy yellow lights on the side of the road with signs saying tune into the above mentioned station, which I do although previous experience told me to do otherwise. I hear the expected static and continue driving, going past several exits that in retrospect I wish I would have taken. But hindsight = 20/20. And then the cars just stopped moving. I was sitting still for nearly 45 minutes, calling Three every fifteen minutes or so to update him on my lack of progress.
Me: You should probably call your boss to tell him you're going to be late.
Three: Where are you?
Me: About two feet from where I was 10 minutes ago.
Three: Awesome.
As it turns out, there was a huge wreck involving two semis and at least two other vehicles, so I said a little prayer for those in the wreck and then sat in traffic more, pissed off. And I fell in love with this Mercedes SUV driver behind me, who was getting fed up with jerks who apparently thought they were special snowflakes who could use the shoulder to get ahead of everyone. The guy pulled out in the middle of the shoulder and just sat there. And that was my only source of glee until I finally got to my exit and busted ass to get home, so Three would only be sort of late to work. Unfortunately, I left him at work with no way to get food and he didn't have enough time to stop at Taco Bell* to pick up some stuff. So I promised to come back and take him to lunch at 6.
I got back to work and stayed there until about 5:15, giving me plenty of time to get back to Three. Or so I thought.
Because yay! Titans game! Dumbass people wandering around with beer coolers in their hands, ticket scalpers trying weird tactics to get you to buy their tickets**, and random streets blocked by irritated police officers. I called up Three around 5:58 and said, "Seriously, fuck this day. This is the second traffic jam I've had to deal with today, and at least the first one was legitimate. This is just for a stupid throw the ball and run venue. I hate everything."
Three told me not to worry and that we'd just go for dinner when I got there, which eased my tension a little bit.
Until I got to stupid Franklin, AKA WASP Central.*** I'm on I-65, which is usually not a bad road to be on most of the time. But this jackass in a white pickup truck was all, "Herpaderp, I'm going to drive like an asshole, swerving and shit because I have to text while I'm driving! Yay!" He nearly hit me three times, going in and out of his lane. On the fourth time, I honked at him and started gesturing to his phone and mouthing, "Get off your phone, you fucking asshole." Instead of thinking, "Well, it's probably a good idea that I get off of my phone because I'm endangering everyone on the road right now," this douche canoe decides that the best and mature way to handle someone that he's nearly hit now four times is to flip them off. Which just sent waves of chilly anger all over my body. He continued on his merry way, with his wife or girlfriend or whatever she was in the passenger seat who could have done the texting for him, but whatever, and I got off of the interstate, arriving at Three's work all in a tizzy, taking me nearly fifteen minutes to chill. But I got to have a nice dinner with the husband, which kind of made up for the whole thing.
The ride home was essentially uneventful, which was a blessing. I spent the next few hours talking to some of my friends online and tweeting random tweets. When it was time to go, I posted this:
Less than five miles away from my apartment, a jackass deer ran into my car. Let me say it again: A JACKASS DEER RAN INTO MY CAR. One ran right in front of me, which I saw and avoided by slowing down, but the other one? Smashed into the side. I hear BANG and then a crunching noise. Of course, I freaked out and pulled over. This poor deer was lying in the middle of the road, and I was sure it was dead. It wasn't very old, either, because it wasn't very big and I was able to move it to the side of the road, bawling the whole time. I was part scared, part pissed off, and part depressed over taking a life. Zola, who was in the car with me, couldn't figure out what was going on and just looked at me warily as I called both Three and my mom. Three spent about two minutes trying to decipher my words between sobs, and once he'd accomplished that made sure that I was okay and that the car was driveable. Mom, of course, made sure that I was okay and commiserated with me on the shock. Many years ago, she ran over a black lab and I think it still haunts her.
I was able to calm down enough to get back to driving, only a few minutes late to pick up Three, who rushed out to hug me and then inspect the damage, with his supervisor close behind him. Being me, I hadn't even checked to see what the car looked like because I was hauling a deer carcass out of the road. But luckily, it didn't really look like there was too much damage. I mean, there was a giant ... dent? Dent doesn't seem to be the right word. The large size of the ... dent, I guess, seems to warrant a more grandiose term.
Needless to say, I asked Three to drive, and I wanted to stop by the deer to make sure it was dead. When we drove past the spot where I'd moved the deer, though, it was gone, and I was all, "Behuwah? Where'd it go?" I was partly worried that coyotes had gotten the poor thing, but Three seemed to think that maybe I'd just knocked the deer out when it hit the car. I chose to believe the latter, as I don't want an animal to suffer and coyotes are dicks.
I've given up driving for a while, or at least until I absolutely have to get behind the wheel. Which unfortunately right now is going to be Monday morning. Sighhhhhhhhh. Maybe I'll just take the bus.
* Seriously, the cantina bowl is amazing. Try it out and you will be happy.
** This one guy accosted me at my open window: "BUY MY TICKET!!" I responded with a, "If you don't get out of my window, I am going to punch you in the face. You have no idea how much happiness that would bring me." He left me alone after that.
*** I hate WASPs. Like actually hate. Driving where many of them congregate just ... gets me mad? I don't know. It's hard to explain. I guess it's because I grew up in the exceptionally vapid society that sends a person into a dependency on antidepressants, and it irks me that it's considered the best way to be. Because they are rich. Or whatever. Ugh, I'm going to stop talking about it now because it's gettin' my dander up, whatever that actually means.
Friday, August 17, 2012
TWO WEEKS.
Seriously, I am getting more and more excited as the end of the month creeps closer and closer. At the same time, it's getting harder and harder to actually get up and go into work. It's not like I'm not busy or bored or whatever. I just see The End, the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel. So the motivation is lacking, to say the least.
I probably could have gone into work today on time, but instead, I thought, "Well, I have an interview at 1:00 (or 13:00 for you military clock people), and it's already 9:00 and it would be silly to go in for such a short time and ... /snooooooze." Then, after waking up about an hour later to walk Zola, I told myself that I was saving money on gas by not going into work. I was rationalizing, yes. Because I would still have to get Three to drive me into work, albeit later in the day, and I would still be taking the bus home. And I knew this as I was trying to pat myself on the back for my reasoning capabilities, so it was a little bizarre.
I also had to call up my 401k ... company? People? I don't know. But I had to talk to them today to see what is going to happen with my 401k, since I apparently can't just take it with me as I embark on self-employment. I have a couple of options, yay, and I'm still kind of unsure as to what I'm going to do. I have until 9/1/2012 to figure it out, so I'm going to procrastinate until then. I mean, I will thoughtfully consider my actions and then come to a decision about a week in advance.*
As you can probably tell, my brain is a little scattered. It's been working in overdrive for the past week or so, which means, yay, odd sleep schedules and forgetting to eat. I'm trying to get a short story of mine ready for the 9/30 Writers of the Future deadline, and it's like Sophie's choice, trying to figure out which story I want to send. And on top of that, the other aspects of the first arc of "The Legion" are falling into place, and I'm trying to get the Wordpress blog ready for launch, and ... ugh.
It's the excitement factor here. I am so incredibly ready and thrilled about this change that I'm turning into a giant ditz. I can barely focus long enough to sit and write this damned post, for God's sake.*** I nearly forgot to go pick up my husband from work last night, although luckily I got there about two minutes before he came out to meet me. Thank you, giant machine fuck-up for making me not look like a shitty wife. Every wire in my brain is just spazzy; I actually kind of feel like Zola, with the attention span of a fruit fly.
I guess the other part is that, guys, this is my dream. I may not succeed. I may not be interviewed by Terry Gross or have a booth at Comicon. But this is my fucking dream. And I can look back when I'm 87 and say that, yes, I tried. I put my heart and soul into something I truly love and didn't shy away from the possible failure. And that is something that I can handle being moderately insane for.
Now 9/1/2012 needs to hurry the fuck up and get its ass here.
* This is for my mom, who knows that this is not true but I wanted to put it in here, anyway. Like a disclaimer that's also a lie.
** I even got a domain name!
*** It's really been a hassle to edit this, too, because honestly? The first draft of this post? I sounded unhinged. And possibly like I was on speed or some type of steroid shot.
I probably could have gone into work today on time, but instead, I thought, "Well, I have an interview at 1:00 (or 13:00 for you military clock people), and it's already 9:00 and it would be silly to go in for such a short time and ... /snooooooze." Then, after waking up about an hour later to walk Zola, I told myself that I was saving money on gas by not going into work. I was rationalizing, yes. Because I would still have to get Three to drive me into work, albeit later in the day, and I would still be taking the bus home. And I knew this as I was trying to pat myself on the back for my reasoning capabilities, so it was a little bizarre.
I also had to call up my 401k ... company? People? I don't know. But I had to talk to them today to see what is going to happen with my 401k, since I apparently can't just take it with me as I embark on self-employment. I have a couple of options, yay, and I'm still kind of unsure as to what I'm going to do. I have until 9/1/2012 to figure it out, so I'm going to procrastinate until then. I mean, I will thoughtfully consider my actions and then come to a decision about a week in advance.*
As you can probably tell, my brain is a little scattered. It's been working in overdrive for the past week or so, which means, yay, odd sleep schedules and forgetting to eat. I'm trying to get a short story of mine ready for the 9/30 Writers of the Future deadline, and it's like Sophie's choice, trying to figure out which story I want to send. And on top of that, the other aspects of the first arc of "The Legion" are falling into place, and I'm trying to get the Wordpress blog ready for launch, and ... ugh.
It's the excitement factor here. I am so incredibly ready and thrilled about this change that I'm turning into a giant ditz. I can barely focus long enough to sit and write this damned post, for God's sake.*** I nearly forgot to go pick up my husband from work last night, although luckily I got there about two minutes before he came out to meet me. Thank you, giant machine fuck-up for making me not look like a shitty wife. Every wire in my brain is just spazzy; I actually kind of feel like Zola, with the attention span of a fruit fly.
I guess the other part is that, guys, this is my dream. I may not succeed. I may not be interviewed by Terry Gross or have a booth at Comicon. But this is my fucking dream. And I can look back when I'm 87 and say that, yes, I tried. I put my heart and soul into something I truly love and didn't shy away from the possible failure. And that is something that I can handle being moderately insane for.
Now 9/1/2012 needs to hurry the fuck up and get its ass here.
* This is for my mom, who knows that this is not true but I wanted to put it in here, anyway. Like a disclaimer that's also a lie.
** I even got a domain name!
*** It's really been a hassle to edit this, too, because honestly? The first draft of this post? I sounded unhinged. And possibly like I was on speed or some type of steroid shot.
Wednesday, August 8, 2012
In which I say, "Meh."
So apparently, my 10 year reunion is coming up at the end of September. It was going to be at the beginning of October, but the Powers That Be (aka Alumni Association) moved Homecoming up a week or two. Yay?
I mean, to be completely honest, high school wasn't that bad for me. I was pretty much the same personality-wise as I am now, minus a few things: incredibly snarky, loved history and English, into weird movies and got my hair cut anime style.* Nowadays, I wear a more tame haircut, although I do plan on dying my hair purple. Or possibly Gillian-Anderson-red. I haven't made up my mind yet. I wasn't as comfortable with myself as I am now, but I think that shit comes with age. And eventually getting sick of trying to please people. Anyway, I didn't have a huge group of friends, which kind of bothered me at the time, because let's face it: I was still a fucking teenager. (Sometimes, that side of me still pops up and is like, "You loser, you don't have plans with a gazillion people this weekend. You're just going to sit and internet the whole time, aren't you?" I'll toy with the idea of trying to get together with some people, but that desire usually fizzles out after I realize, "Wait, I don't actually care. And also, LAUNDRY.") As far as I knew, I was liked by most people. I had dates for proms**. I was involved with extracurricular activities. You know, normal high school shit.
Then I went to college and did what a lot of college kids do: stop talking to high school people that you didn't really care about too much in the first place. And I'm not saying that in an edgy, bitchy way, either. I just realized that it didn't really matter to me what those people thought of me: 1) I didn't see them, anymore, and 2) I had much more important things to worry about***. Then, as the years went on, I just sort of forgot about them. Sure, I'm "friends" with some of them on Facebook, mainly out of a weird sense of obligation that doesn't really apply to any other aspect of my life (damn you, Facebook). But that's about it.
I don't know. I'm kind of ambivalent on going. I don't want to go, not for any silly, hipster reason that I might have used back in 2002. But because, well, I don't want to? Plus, I see the people, er, one person with whom I went to high school that I want to see on a fairly regular basis and that's enough for me. The last time I went to a homecoming game was ... I honestly can't remember. It must have been within the past four years, though, and prior to meeting Three, because I was single and I purposefully brought Zola with me so I wouldn't be allowed in the stadium****. So I'm thinking 2009. That actually sounds right.
It's not a point of pride that I care diddly-squat for my former high school classmates. I look at some of the interactions on Facebook with people that are still in constant contact, having meetups and assigning each other as godparents to children. Part of me is jealous of their closeness, but then I remember, shit, that's a lot of work. I have a hard enough time handling my clients, and I have to deal with them, at worst, three or four times a year (ALTHOUGH NOT MUCH LONGER YAY!!). And while it's not something I boast about, I don't sit around wondering about it, either, although this post is begging to differ with me.
I don't know why it bothers me that I don't care and won't be going. Probably, I should say. I like to leave myself lots of options. I guess I feel like I should care and then feel bad that I don't and then get to wondering why I care that I don't care and then I just want Greek yogurt to take the pain away.
Sigh. I have problems.
Meh.
* A guy told me once that, as I was getting older, my hair got looking more and more like an anime character. I took it as a compliment. My mom hated it, which made it all the more appealing.
** Although senior prom? Sucked big, sweaty, hairy donkey balls. But that's for another post.
*** Like trying to explain to your parents that your F in aerobic dance was because you, you know, just didn't go? That was fun.
**** Yes, my high school has a 2-point-something million dollar stadium. Go us.
I mean, to be completely honest, high school wasn't that bad for me. I was pretty much the same personality-wise as I am now, minus a few things: incredibly snarky, loved history and English, into weird movies and got my hair cut anime style.* Nowadays, I wear a more tame haircut, although I do plan on dying my hair purple. Or possibly Gillian-Anderson-red. I haven't made up my mind yet. I wasn't as comfortable with myself as I am now, but I think that shit comes with age. And eventually getting sick of trying to please people. Anyway, I didn't have a huge group of friends, which kind of bothered me at the time, because let's face it: I was still a fucking teenager. (Sometimes, that side of me still pops up and is like, "You loser, you don't have plans with a gazillion people this weekend. You're just going to sit and internet the whole time, aren't you?" I'll toy with the idea of trying to get together with some people, but that desire usually fizzles out after I realize, "Wait, I don't actually care. And also, LAUNDRY.") As far as I knew, I was liked by most people. I had dates for proms**. I was involved with extracurricular activities. You know, normal high school shit.
Then I went to college and did what a lot of college kids do: stop talking to high school people that you didn't really care about too much in the first place. And I'm not saying that in an edgy, bitchy way, either. I just realized that it didn't really matter to me what those people thought of me: 1) I didn't see them, anymore, and 2) I had much more important things to worry about***. Then, as the years went on, I just sort of forgot about them. Sure, I'm "friends" with some of them on Facebook, mainly out of a weird sense of obligation that doesn't really apply to any other aspect of my life (damn you, Facebook). But that's about it.
I don't know. I'm kind of ambivalent on going. I don't want to go, not for any silly, hipster reason that I might have used back in 2002. But because, well, I don't want to? Plus, I see the people, er, one person with whom I went to high school that I want to see on a fairly regular basis and that's enough for me. The last time I went to a homecoming game was ... I honestly can't remember. It must have been within the past four years, though, and prior to meeting Three, because I was single and I purposefully brought Zola with me so I wouldn't be allowed in the stadium****. So I'm thinking 2009. That actually sounds right.
It's not a point of pride that I care diddly-squat for my former high school classmates. I look at some of the interactions on Facebook with people that are still in constant contact, having meetups and assigning each other as godparents to children. Part of me is jealous of their closeness, but then I remember, shit, that's a lot of work. I have a hard enough time handling my clients, and I have to deal with them, at worst, three or four times a year (ALTHOUGH NOT MUCH LONGER YAY!!). And while it's not something I boast about, I don't sit around wondering about it, either, although this post is begging to differ with me.
I don't know why it bothers me that I don't care and won't be going. Probably, I should say. I like to leave myself lots of options. I guess I feel like I should care and then feel bad that I don't and then get to wondering why I care that I don't care and then I just want Greek yogurt to take the pain away.
Sigh. I have problems.
Meh.
* A guy told me once that, as I was getting older, my hair got looking more and more like an anime character. I took it as a compliment. My mom hated it, which made it all the more appealing.
** Although senior prom? Sucked big, sweaty, hairy donkey balls. But that's for another post.
*** Like trying to explain to your parents that your F in aerobic dance was because you, you know, just didn't go? That was fun.
**** Yes, my high school has a 2-point-something million dollar stadium. Go us.
Monday, August 6, 2012
Nothing's fine, I'm torn.
It always sucks when your resolve kind of dissolves right in front of you. Your once strong stance now feels wobbly, and the self-doubt sinks in.
I think one of my biggest flaws is a lack of follow-through on, well, pretty much anything. I always intend on finishing something, but then I lose interest or it gets too hard or my faith in myself quickly plummets to below rock-bottom. Take, for instance, my hectic cleaning habits. Clutter won't bother me until one day, BAM, it just hits me, and then I'm on a mission.
It will last for about a four-hour period, where I'll frantically busy myself in various rooms in the apartment (because I can't bother to focus on one room at a time, or shit, one project at a time), but then I'll get overwhelmed and hop on the computer or play some video games. And then I'll revert to not giving a single fuck about how my living space looks.
I think one of my biggest flaws is a lack of follow-through on, well, pretty much anything. I always intend on finishing something, but then I lose interest or it gets too hard or my faith in myself quickly plummets to below rock-bottom. Take, for instance, my hectic cleaning habits. Clutter won't bother me until one day, BAM, it just hits me, and then I'm on a mission.
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| A mission from God. |
But that's just the tip of the ice berg.
Like most of you know, I've decided to leave my job for various reasons, the main one being it's turning me into a very big asshole, and just for shits and giggles, I put in an application for a program specialist position at the state office. Honestly, I didn't think anything of it once I pushed "send." Then last week, I got an email from one of the HR big wigs, asking if I wanted to set up an interview. I really just should have said no, but thought, "Meh, what the hell? Why not?" It's not like I'm the only person interviewing for this position, so I probably won't get offered the job, anyway. Then I got two more interview offers for the same position, only in different departments (right now, I'm scheduled interviews with child services - no, thanks - Medicaid policy, and the Office of Learning and Development, or basically training), and now I'm all
 |
| I really try to find a reason to use this gif wherever I can. |
First of all, it's a lot more money. And I don't have to deal with clients. Big bonus there. But - and this is a pretty big but - it's not what I want to do. I don't want to look back on my life and say, "Yay, I stuck with a job because it had decent money in it and despite the fact I had to dress like a moron and work 8:30A - 4P each day, I completely threw my dreams away!" And this is where I'm stuck. I don't want to take the position with the intention of quitting a few months or maybe a year down the road. But it will provide extra income that Three and I can use for whatever. BUT I'll have to put really getting down and dirty with the writing career for an unspecified amount of time.
Of course, this leads in to the first part of this post. Is this merely a distraction I'm using because I'm afraid of putting myself out there? The fear of the rejection I will face? It was really hard for me to go to a creative writing class and share my work there; I handled the criticism well, for the most part, although most of the people in my class were Zane-wannabes and couldn't really get into my sci-fi/fantasy writing. I'd like to think I've grown; I mean, come on, I'm here, right? I should probably post some of my actual work, though, if I really wanted to prove I was over that sort of thing.
Now, I may just be freaking out. There's no guarantee I'll even get any offers, especially since most of the people I put on my CV as my references are people that know I'm leaving DHS, but sigh. And of course, I'm waffling between steely intention and shifty-eyed uncertainty.
Siiiiiiiiggghhhhhhhhh.
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Meet Durga!!
I've been needing a new computer for a while now, and yay!!! Thanks to the tax free weekend, I was able to procure a beautiful ASUS specimen that I have named Durga. I name everything, yes. I think I've mentioned this before, but anyway. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to recover anything from Pfiona, save for nearly $600 worth of "extracting" or whatever the computer fixer dude said. I'm sorry, but I just dropped that much for a brand new computer; there's no way in hell that I'm spending that much for just three damned files. And it's not like I can't create everything again from scratch, but damn, this is really frustrating.
But there is also a certain thrill from working off something new, too. I absolutely love that Durga came with none of the Microsoft Office software on it, which is partially why it was so cheap. I was already planning on using hard copies and Google Docs, so it all kind of worked out, in a way.
Anyway, this is a short post because 1) my brain is fried from this past week; 2) I am sleepy; 3) I have some reading to do (Tibetan Book of the Dead, hoooooo!); and 4) I am having a hard enough time coming up with reasons why it can't be longer.
And with that, I bid you adieu!
But there is also a certain thrill from working off something new, too. I absolutely love that Durga came with none of the Microsoft Office software on it, which is partially why it was so cheap. I was already planning on using hard copies and Google Docs, so it all kind of worked out, in a way.
Anyway, this is a short post because 1) my brain is fried from this past week; 2) I am sleepy; 3) I have some reading to do (Tibetan Book of the Dead, hoooooo!); and 4) I am having a hard enough time coming up with reasons why it can't be longer.
And with that, I bid you adieu!
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