Einie, Mienie, Miney, Mo...

After house hunting almost every night for two weeks, I believe I'm down to the final two. The problem? I love them both equally, for different reasons. I really don't love one more than the other, so it makes it very difficult to decide which house to make an offer on.

In the first corner, we have 21 Semillion. It's 1,024 square feet, and has two bedrooms, a cute little garden with a huge shed, new designer fixtures and mirrors installed in the bathrooms and hallways, brand new cabinets in the master bathroom and kitchen (beadboard). beautiful new linoleum in the bathrooms and kitchen. I believe it is currently owned by a witch, although I haven't had the nerve to ask her outright. She has painted "Blessed be" on the fence in the backyard - kind of a giveaway. But a Druid friend of mine said "Well, everyone says that these days, so you can't be sure."

But baby, I'm sure. It's just a feeling I get when I'm in the place, ya know? Great energy.

The drawbacks: Not much storage (no walk-in closets or built-ins), the swamp cooler is in the back of the house, and only two bedrooms.

In the next corner we have 12 Riesling, a three-bedroom home with a beautiful covered deck in the backyard that overlooks Reno. The house has had many beautifications added: the deck with built-in benches, the kitchen has been expertly painted (with a design - not stenciled), textured walls in the bathroom with imprints of leaves. Brand new linoleum in the bathrooms. Walk-in closet in the master, and two sheds in the backyard.

The drawbacks: the living room/sitting room is very small and is right in front of the entrance door. In other words, there is no separation. The current owners don't even have a couch in that room, and I can see why; there really isn't room for a couch. Their chairs are near the front door, because there is no other place for them to go. No central a/c, but there is a room unit in the front room. The master bathroom was remodeled...but they took out the beautiful garden tub that came with the place and replaced it with a looooong shower. Who would do that? Well, besides a disabled person, which the owner isn't. Mama needs her baths!

I honestly don't know which place to make an offer on. I have been agonizing over this decision for days. I feel rushed, because both places are so beautifully kept up that they are bound to go quickly. However, I can't seem to make up my mind.

I wish someone would just tell me which one I will be happiest in. I tried meditating on it. Magic. Etc. And I just don't have an answer.

I need one soon!

Looking for Mr. Goodbar

I have been out house hunting almost every day (or night) this week. Looking at potential new homes is fun, but it's also exhausting.

Saturday, Todd and I looked at three places listed with one realty agency here in town. Two of the listings were in a good location. I kind of really liked one place, but it was (brace yourself) a fixer upper. But, it was a manufactured home (that looked like a real house) with a garage! And a backyard! And a garden tub! So, I looked past the cosmetic fixes and fell in love.

I must be a fickle girl, because I fell in love again on Wednesday night with two more places. Both are basically turn-key, so good-bye fixer upper (but I'll miss you, Garage!).

One place is small...the smallest place I've been shown so far. It was 1,024 square feet. Well, that's 200 more square feet than my place was in Milpitas, but it seemed smaller. Probably because it had less storage.

My place in Milpitas had two walk-in closets, lots of storage (deep storage) in the bathroom, built-ins (hutch, cabinetry in the bathroom, pantry) and a shed. This place that I fell in love with had a regular closet in both bedrooms, however it had two full baths AND A GARDEN. A real garden. With a fence and everything.

I loved the whole house, but the garden sold me. The current owner really made the backyard cute. She painted "blessed be" on the fence, added a chiminia, made a path to the backyard outlined in big rocks, and sprinkled the yard with statues and whatnots.

The house itself is painted really nicely, and has a luxurious master bath off the bedroom with a deep garden tub. However, since there isn't much storage, and the floor layout is kind of...odd, there isn't much choice in how one places furniture, nor a lot of room to be a clutter bug (which, unfortunately, I am).

My mom's solution sounds simple: put out what you really love, and sell the rest. But how will I ever be able to part with all my stuff?

And that question brings me to the next place I fell in love with. It's a three bedroom home (THREE - a bedroom for me, a bedroom for an office, and a bedroom for...stuff!). The kitchen is lovely, with beautiful cabinetry. The most attractive selling point is the covered deck with built-in benches. I could see myself drinking coffee out there in the morning, looking out over McCarran. Okay, so maybe McCarran isn't the most lovely sight in Reno, but my point is there is a view! I can see the Atlantis from my backyard. Oops. Her backyard. Mine if I buy it.

The drawbacks: one of the park's main sewer lines is in the backyard, there are no trees or greenery on the property (it's all xeriscaped) and there are at least two neighbors with kids.

I saw another place last night which I could have fallen in love with, if it weren't for a couple of odd things about the place. But let's start with the selling points first. It was huge...three bedrooms, and the master bedroom was the biggest I've seen so far, with two walk in closets JUST IN ONE BEDROOM. The bathroom had a garden tub AND a walk-in shower. The laundry room was HUGE, with more than enough space for shelves and a table for folding, and litter pans. The kitchen was open, and there was a gorgeous bay window in the living room.

And now for the oddities. The guy was obviously doing work on the place, and decided to give up and move away. He had replaced the carpet with berber carpeting...simply beautiful. New linoleum in the kitchen. But there was a huge gash on the kitchen counter, doors missing on some cabinetry, door knobs missing on all the doors, the front door needed to either be re-hung or replaced (or maybe the place just needed some basic leveling), and that gorgeous bay window? Ruined because that's where he decided to plop the swamp cooler. Plus, he had torn out the sink in the master bathroom, and replaced it with a smaller one, which left the eye to settle on the blotchy dry wall on either side of it. Oh, and get this: no door to the bathroom. Okay for a single person, I guess, but if you were married and had to take a poop while your partner was in the bedroom, well...that would be very unpleasant.

Tomorrow I am meeting two realtors. One I haven't met before, but he has more properties in Sun Villa, the place I've decided I'd like to live. Then I'm meeting the realtor I like in the afternoon to visit a park I haven't seen yet. And the home with the deck? It's Open House tomorrow on that one, so if I want it, I guess I better make up my mind quickly.

If I had to make an offer tomorrow one of the three houses I really like (the fixer upper, the witch's lair, and the scenic home), I'd probably go against convention and get the witch's lair. Why go small? No idea why, except the energy is good there, and the backyard sold me.

My sensibilities tell me to go with the scenic home...but who knows what I'll fall in love with tomorrow?

Packing My Bags

Guess who's going to move?

That's right. Me.

I don't know when. And I don't know where. But I'm moving.

I spent part of Saturday looking at potential homes. I have an appointment tomorrow night to look at more. And another appointment on Wednesday to look at one in particular.

It's weird. Todd and I are getting along better than we have in quite awhile. And he hired two girls to get the place in shape. It looks good. We look good. So, why am I thinking about moving?

It's time. We're not getting married. He's still dating. And I'm...waiting? Stuck? Something, anyway.

We had a nice, long, heart-felt conversation on Saturday. We shared "I love yous." We didn't blame anyone. For anything. It's just...well, I've said it before. I'm not entirely what he wants or what he thinks he wants. And, I'm not what he needs.

He said he believes I'm not happy with him, either. That's not true. I wasn't happy with the house. But now it's clean and we can walk and play and breathe...and I am happy again. And I am happy with him. That doesn't mean I don't get frustrated when he doesn't listen to me sometimes, or when he's focused on a computer program nothing short of sticking my butt in his face will get him to refocus on me.

I'm definitely not happy with the status quo, which is he's dating and I'm not and let's face it: I don't share well. Especially my men man.

I don't think that moving will be the end of us. If anything, I believe it will renew and refresh our relationship. We'll actually choose to be together, instead of just being together because we live under the same roof.

As for how I feel about this potential move (and I do say potential, because of course I not only have to find a place, but it has to be a place I can afford), well, I'm both excited and sad. I look around the house when he's not here and I think "These are the things I'll miss..." Then I realize that what I'll miss aren't really the things, but the memories. The time we spent picking out a couch. The laughter we share in the bedroom. The meals we've shared in the dining room.

I'll miss living with him. And the dogs. Yet, it's a brave new world out there...and Todd won't be too far away.

Backstory

So. Things aren't really good here at the Snuggle Ranch. The hunkster and I have been fussing and fighting and arguing. He's unhappy. I'm unhappy. And neither of us comes right out and tells the other one we're unhappy, but we send signals of distress hoping that something will come and fix it.

The signals go unnoticed and the smoke surrounds us, trapping us in its thick, gray blanket, smothering the life out of us both.

I sometimes wonder about this relationship. How we made it this far (in years). How we haven't really gone far at all (in our journey together). How we'll ever make it another nine years. Or even one year.

In the beginning of our relationship, I did what I despise in other women: I changed to make him happy. Oh, sure I haven't changed my personality. But, I knew he was unhappy with certain things in our relationship, so I changed those things. He still wasn't happy, so I changed a bit more. I made a few concessions. I loosened up my (gulp) standards.

I'm a pushover for love. What can I say?

However, all that change happened and he still wasn't happy. Yet, he constantly asked me to run away and get married. My answer? A little laugh. A playful nudge. A kiss on the lips. But no real commitment, because I wasn't ready or willing to change even more.

Then one day he really proposed. And I accepted. I accepted, even though I knew our relationship still had problems. I accepted because I loved him, and saw the goodness and strength of character, despite the personality idiosyncrasies that is part and parcel with Asperger's. I accepted because I don't believe in fairy tales and perfect love and soul mates. I accepted because he is the best partner and best friend I've ever had.

And when I started to plan the wedding, he panicked, and before I knew it, we were no longer engaged.

He still wanted me to join him in Reno, and I dragged my feet for a full year, and finally moved. It's a move I often regret.

I don't belong here. I don't fit in. I have had a hard time finding friends. I have a hard time entertaining myself, because it's a cultural wasteland. So, I spend my spare time at Savers and Goodwill and buy things that are cheap and give me a thrill, until they clutter up my office so much that I can't walk, so I purge it all. Then I start over again.

My life has stalled here. Heck, maybe it would have stalled in Milpitas as well, but at least there I had a home. And friends. And I felt like I had a future. Here, everything is brown. The landscape. The houses. My future.

Todd has many complaints about me, but there are two that are huge and, in his words, deal breakers. One is financial. The other is sexual.

The state of the house has become a bone of contention between us. He told me he would take care of me if I moved here, and I have really dug my feet in on that issue. So, I haven't contributed much to the household. I buy groceries, and try to buy other things I notice he needs. When he mentioned he needed new slippers, I got them. When he has a cold, I buy him cold medicines and Kleenex and mentholated-rub. If he's on the road, I buy the dogs their food (which can be expensive). And yet...I know that my contributions are a mere drop in the bucket compared to what he puts in financially to the relationship. He pays the mortgage. And the cable bill. And the electric and water and sewage.

So, when he noticed that one of the cats had been peeing in corners (we think it was Lucy when she was so sick she didn't know what she was doing) he had a conniption fit. Last week he put his foot down and demanded that I start paying him 25% of my pay to help alleviate the cost of repairs.

I was offended.

He said that if I asked any of my friends who lived with guys, I'd discover that I actually had it good. He hadn't asked me for money up until now. He still will pay for the bulk of everything. But he wants me to contribute towards what he believes is the damage caused by the cat pee (which, btw, there is dog pee all around, too, but he doesn't seem to get upset about that).

I put my foot down as well, and said he'll get 20% and that's all. I reiterated that he promised me he would take care of me, and while I understand that the cats have caused some damage (and they have) and that I should pay for that, I would never have moved here if he hadn't promised he would take care of me.

And I know that sounds like a whiny, gold-diggerish thing to say. But it's true. I left everything I had to move here. Stability. A fairly decent job with decent benefits. My own house. Friends.

So. I thought it was settled. And then not even two full days later he aked "When do you get paid?" I got mad. He couldn't understand why, and I said it's because he acts as if he doesn't trust me. That he thinks I'll hide my paydays from him, and not pay him the money we settled on. We ended up in another argument about money, and while he admitted he probably did want some reassurance that he would get paid, therefore he nagged me, he still didn't think he was wrong.

Maybe he wasn't.

I don't know any more.

Of course, then there's sex. My libido flat lined about two years ago. Perimenopause. Lovely. I had absolutely NO desire for sex. None. And because I didn't want sex, I kept putting it off. "Maybe later." "After dinner." "Tomorrow afternoon...I promise." And the more I put it off, the more resentful he became. He didn't feel wanted. Or loved.

I felt guilty, and so would sometimes try to muster up some sort of sexual feelings so I could indulge him. And usually once we got started, I was okay, and sometimes even really got into it. But the moment it was over, I would think to myself "Well, that was a lot of fuss and bother, and now I'm hot and sweaty and I have sticky stuff all over me and I need to take a shower and get errands done and..."

Not romantic, right?

He has bugged me for years to see a doctor for hormone replacement. I did not want synthetic hormones in my body. I believe they cause far more problems then they cure. Then I heard about bio-identical hormones, so I tried them.

And you know what? They work.

For the last week (since I increased the amount of testosterone I was supposed to take), my libido has been on fire. I've surprised him a couple of times...pleasantly. But is it enough to fix the resentment, the hurt feelings, the rejection?

Maybe not.

So where does that leave me? And where does that leave us? What happens next?

I have no idea, but the cards tell me to move.

I think I'm telling the cards that I'm not ready yet. I don't know if cards listen, though.

Fall down, go boom!

Last Friday, I had a hair appointment. My stylist had moved to a new location, closer to my old place of work (Acme Consulting). I parked in the back, took notice of how close I was to my old stomping grounds, got out of the car, and headed towards the front of the building. All of a sudden, I was splayed out on the ground.

I don't even remember it happening. I had no idea how I got from an upright, walking position to prone on the ground, with my belongings all around me.

I picked myself up and noticed my arm hurt like an emmer-effer. I looked, and it was all bloody and scraped, and my elbow was bleeding. All of a sudden, a guy appeared and asked if I was okay. I was embarrassed and said "Yeah, I'm fine for someone who doesn't know how to walk!" I shrugged it off, and went inside for my hair appointment.

I ignored the pain, but it got worse. I soon noticed my arm started to swell. I couldn't wait to get out of there and go home, but as my luck would have it, Shannon messed up my hair color...three times, so my hour and a half appointment turned into three. By the time I got home, my arm was extremely swollen, and I noticed my hip and leg hurt as well.

Pain and embarrassment aside, the one thing that I kept thinking about was how I did not remember falling. Why, just the week before I fell down the stairs and I remember the sensation quite clearly: my foot slipped, I thought "hey, my foot slipped, I'm going to fall," and then I put my arms out, braced myself on the railing, and only hurt my butt in the process (and there's a lotta cushion back there, so no biggie!). In other words, I think we know when we're falling; we're conscious of it. While we may not be able to stop ourselves, we know what's about to hit.

In this case, I had no warning or no remembrance of how it happened, so I became quite suspicious.

See, as I mentioned, it happened near my old stomping grounds. And as I've droned on about before, I am convinced that Michelle put some sort of spell on me or prepared some sort of spell that propelled me out of the office quickly. I mean, there was literally no warning; one day I was getting praise for a job well done, and the next day I was in the conference room, facing both my bosses and being told I was on probation.

However paranoid I sounded to myself, I just knew Michelle had something to do with my fall. I didn't quite know how, but just as the climate at work changed so quickly, so did the onset of this fall. No warning; just boom.

Finally, I talked about it with two different witchy-type friends I have: one friend whom is also in the Risting, and another who is a Druid. I asked them both separately if I was just being paranoid, or did they think something from the spell still remained in that area. They not only agreed, but both had their own ideas on what I should do about it.

So...here I am, a week later with bruises still remaining on my arm and the knowledge that I've really let this go on for far too long. I guess I thought that since I was away from it all, it wouldn't affect me anymore, but apparently it still is. Now I have to decide what sort of protection to use, or some sort of way to send it back.

All suggestions welcome!

Until I figure this out, though, I think I better stay away from the area around Acme. The next fall might be fatal!

Happy Anniversary, Baby, I got you on my miiiiiiiiiiiind

"Honey, exactly when was our anniversary?"

This question was posed to me when I was in the kitchen last night, fixing Lucy's medicine food. I faltered, gulped, and answered "Um...yesterday."

"Would that be the same yesterday in which you apparently had better things to do than to spend time with me?" I felt my face flush with shame.

It wasn't that I had better things to do; I cleaned most of the day, putting stuff in the shed that Todd had been after me to do for a month. I mean, heck, it was my only real day off...a day with nothing else to do.

Well, except maybe to celebrate our anniversary. A milestone that honestly just slipped my mind.

I don't know why it's been okay for Todd to forget our anniversary every year we've been together (nine, by the way, if anyone's counting), but the one year I forget, it's a major catastrophe. If I understood him right, he said it's typical Todd-behavior to forget, but for me to forget means I've simply stopped caring.

That's not true. I just...forgot.

And who can blame me? I've had a lot on my mind. My mom has been in the hospital, and will be going back in for surgery soon. I've been hounded almost every day by Todd asking me when I was going to start bringing stuff out to the shed. Plus, he was gone just last week, which meant I had the additional task of taking care of two very needy dogs, both on medication and both who wear diapers, along with my normal every day stuff.

Additionally, let's not forget the fact that Todd scheduled a date for the very next day after he arrived back from Idaho Falls...so he got in late Friday night, and had a date scheduled for Saturday. Apparently our anniversary didn't mean a whole heck of a lot to him, either, if he was scheduling dates with other women.

So, yes, I feel a bit shamed, however I don't believe it means I stopped caring. Obviously, if I still get jealous over the parade of women that springboard in and out of his life, I still care.

I'm simply just an old woman with a feeble memory and a brand new shed to fill.

Living in a Pig Sty

When I tell people (and I often don't!) that our house is messy, they don't get it. They either tell me I'm neat, and I must be talking about just a tad bit of clutter, or they laugh and say something like "Oh tell me about it! My house..." But if they saw the inside of the house I live in, they'd run for cover.

Hunky is a pack rat. And he has a shopping obsession. Almost every day, we receive one or two packages from UPS, mostly from Amazon, but also a few packages from Sit Stay, Wysong, and Raspberry Fields thrown in. Since he knows what is in the packages, he often doesn't open them. Instead, he stacks them in the entryway until it becomes difficult to even walk through the front door.

But, and I hate to admit it, he's not the only problem. I, too, have some stuff that is problematic. The main thing is that when I first moved here, hunky let it be known that he wasn't really a fan of my decorating style ("too kitschy!"), so he didn't want me to start decorating the house with the stuff I brought from my own home. So, it pretty much stayed in the boxes it was packed in, which we stacked along the dining room wall.

And then there was the cottage...a disaster I don't like to think about much. My parents were excited that I was going to have my own place, and even though I had plenty of stuff to decorate my cottage with, they bought me more. Much more. So, when I would come back from a visit with my parents laden with stuff meant for the cottage, I would pack it lovingly into boxes and put those boxes in the dining room, and eventually the living room, waiting for the day I would be able to move it all into the cottage. A day that never came.

Add my boxes to his boxes and throw in hunky's slovenly ways (for instance, leaving piles of receipts where ever he emptied out his wallet, and other piles of stuff, like bags he never emptied from stores) and you've got one heck of a mess.

When I first moved here, I wasn't working, so I used Fly Lady's techniques to keep the place pretty neat and tidy, despite the pack rat tendencies. I employed the 27-Fling Boogie weekly, and that got rid of magazines and other things I simply didn't need. However, once I started working ten hour days, Fly Lady slowly slipped away from me.

After about two years, I wasn't following Fly Lady at all, except for the occasional Hot Spot attack and 27-Fling Boogie. So, eventually we ended up with piles of stuff all around the house (and I'll admit, some of it is mine, because I simply didn't know where to put my stuff). And the state of the house stressed me out so much that it caused a strain in our relationship.

I became uninterested in sex or in spending time with hunky. Because, just sitting around the house lounging together left me feeling piggish. How could I just sit and watch TV with hunky when there were piles of stuff to attack? The stress also took away my desire for sex (well, that and the onset of perimenopause, but it was actually both things that ate away at my libido). Soon, we were in big trouble.

In the last month, the state of the house has finally gotten to Todd as well. So, when a friend of his said "I really need some money for rent; can you put me to work until my job starts next month?" he said yes. Yesterday was her first day here, and already there has been a huge dent made in the family room.

I am so ashamed of the way we live. If my mom saw it, she would just shake her head and say "You didn't learn this from me!" And I know that. However, at some point it became too overwhelming to clean up after myself AND Todd AND still manage to have a bit of free time. The times that I did manage to clean up areas, like the front entryway, it would all go to hell after a week or so, because Todd would just populate the area back up with his many boxes from Amazon. After awhile, it just didn't seem worth it to try.

When I got home from work yesterday, Todd's friend Elaine was cleaning (in a slinky skirt, slit up to the thighs, but I'm trying not to go there!), and I felt so ashamed. Because, if she thinks any bit like I would expect a woman to, she probably thinks I am the main problem. After all, we are conditioned to clean up after our men. To keep home and hearth joyful and clean. And I have failed miserably.

So, I did what I do best: I hid upstairs until she left.

When I finally went downstairs, we had room to breathe. Oh don't get me wrong; there is so much more to be done. So. Much. More. But it feels good to know we can get on top of it.

About two months ago, Todd said "What happened, honey? Your place in Milpitas was always so neat." Well, yes it was. But I also only cleaned up after myself, and I normally didn't make too big of a mess in the first place. Trying to keep on top of someone like Todd, along with six animals and my own messes, while working full time, has become quite a challenge.

After we get this mess under control, I am going back to Fly Lady. I know it works, and I have no idea why I gave up on it. Well, wait. I just wrote a whole entry on why I gave up on it. But maybe this time it'll actually work, as hunky as said once we get the place under control, he is going to hire another friend of his to come in and clean (once a week? twice a month?), so we can keep on top of it.

Well. So, here I am, a failure at cleaning and apparently a failure as a girlfriend. But that's another entry for another time...At least the family room is kind of clean, and that's a start.

I Am My Mother

When I was growing up, everyone who saw me would either say "You're just like your father," or "You look just like your dad."

While I looked very much like my dad, and have a lot of his personality traits, as I age I realize I am more like my mother.

I'm not always really sure how I feel about that.

Don't get me wrong. I love my mom. I wouldn't trade her for any other mom in the world. However, my mom has a black and white way of looking at things, and a rambling way of speaking, both of which I seem to have inherited.

One of the main reasons I haven't been on here much is because my mom was in the hospital. It caught us all by surprise, especially my mom, who hadn't been in a hospital since my brother was born. However, after days of not being able to pee or do other things, she found herself in a lot of pain. My dad finally convinced her to go to the emergency room. Good thing, too, because it turned out she had diverticulitis. Basically, she had an inflamed pocket in her colon, and if she had kept refusing to go the hospital, it could have ruptured and caused her death.

Because my mom isn't in the best of health, her hospital stay was longer than the doctors first expected it to be. And, little by little, it got to her. She couldn't sleep at night, because she would be interrupted by nurses checking her vitals and the "moaner" in the next room. She couldn't sleep during the day, because she was poked, prodded, and intruded upon. But sleep wasn't the only evil; quite frankly, just being away from home was a hell in and of itself.

She got home in time for Mothers Day, and I went to visit. Everything went well, however it was difficult to see my normally fairly active mom relegated to the couch and laying around in a nightgown.

She'll have to go into the hospital again soon for surgery. I'm glad to hear she's actually going to go. I could see my mom coming up with all kinds of reasons not to go, but she's following through. She's taking her meds, and she's changing her bandage, and she's doing everything the doctor told her to do.

I can relate to this, because deep down inside, we're both good girls. We follow the rules. We don't cause havoc. We do what our loved ones want us to do.

Just one more way we're both alike.

Flowers

I love flowers.

I wish I had a garden, but I don't. We have xeriscaping, so it's all rocks, rocks, and more rocks. No dirt.

Before hunky had the xeriscaping put in, we had a strip of dirt on the side of the house out front. The previous owners had planted a rosebush there, and annuals. Of course, we only had the annuals the first year, and then they were gone.

One day I was at the store and saw gazillions of different types of flower seeds on sale. I bought about six packets of two different kinds of sunflower seeds. I watered them faithfully. Soon, I had lovely sunflowers lining up the side of the house.

Now the strip is gone, and I feed my love of flowers at Trader Joe's. For the past month, they've had daffodils there, and I buy three bunches every Sunday, and bring them to work (for if I leave them at home, Schmutzy dines on them).

Last night, feeling gross and sick, I decided to take a bath. While I was in the tub, hunky came home. I could hear him downstairs fiddling around with the dogs, and making something to eat in the kitchen. After a while, he came upstairs and presented me (still in the tub) with the most beautiful bouquet of roses: yellow, with petals outlined in orange.

After I admired them, he put them in the sink, but Schmutzy would not leave them alone. So, I was forced to get out of the tub, kick Schmutzy's ass (not really; just checking to see if you're still paying attention), and put the flowers in water. I then put them on a shelf by the front door, so Schmutzy couldn't get at them, and I'd remember to take them into work today.

So, even though I'm feeling crappy (in that sniffly, sore throat, can't hear sort of way), I'll have a beautiful arrangement of roses to look at that will remind me that someone loves me, even with the sniffles.

Addicted

I think I need to get myself into a 12-step program and quickly.

Why?

Because I'm hooked on swapping.

Oh, I'm sure after I've been flaked on, the buzz will be killed, but right now I'm signed up for about 6 swaps on Swap Bot, and hosting three. I check it 4-5 times a day to see if any new, interesting swaps have been posted. I update my profile every time I think of something new that I like.

It's a sickness.

A sweet, delicious, overwhelmingly delightful sickness (although my wallet might beg to differ).

Diversity Training

Last week, we had mandatory Diversity Training at work (II and III...wonder why I didn't have to take I?).

The company I work for recently added a Diversity Award, to be given out quarterly to the business unit that hires the most diverse group of people. I have a lot to say about that topic...and find that I am censoring myself with regards to that. I will condense my thoughts enough to say this: I am not at all onboard with this award, and my reasons why are simple. The most qualified person should be hired, no matter what. I would hate to see a white person passed over because he/she was equally on par with a more diverse applicant. Of course, then there's the reverse: I would hate to see a qualified culturally diverse applicant passed over because of his or her race.

I'm sure Slippery Slope guy would have some more to say on the subject, and maybe I'll just let him handle it instead of me.

In the meantime, during my three hour training, I kept flashing back to Diversity Training as featured on The Office. So much so that when the instructor passed out index cards, I was surprised that she didn't instruct us to put them on our forehead.

I definitely watch too much TV.

Not as enlightened as I think I am

Boy, is my face red.

I thought Akashic Records was a music label for pagan music.

I'm glad I never said that out loud to anyone!

Where the hell have I been?

Once again, it's been about a week since I posted.

Wanna know what? It's been a very good week! If I sound surprised, it's because I am. It's not often I have a whole week of good things. And it's not that I'm a pessimist or anything...just a realist.

For once, though, this realist has been having a pretty good time.

Well, there was initiation, and since then life has been really good. Nothing spectacular...I mean, I haven't won the lottery or come up with a plan for world peace or even lost any of my cellulite. Still, life's been good.

I received THE BEST swap package I've gotten in quite awhile. The woman took so much care into putting it together. I've had so many substandard swaps that I forgot what it's like to receive a great one.

I've also been dabbling with Swap Bot. I am currently hosting a few swaps, and have joined a few. I'm not big on the international swaps, though, because postage is so dang high to other countries. Still, I thought it would be fun to host an international postcard swap, so I did.

I reconnected with an old friend, and visited my folks for Easter. We had a really good time together. I also got to visit Half Price Books when I was in town, and walked away with a bag full of goodies.

Plus, this week is casual week at work. That means I don't have to think about what to wear or scrounge around for a pair of nylons without a run. I just pull on a pair of jeans, grab a matching top, and head out the door. The simplicity of jeans makes me smile.

And, the thing that will make hunky the most happiest - or at least he's hoping - is that I saw a doctor today and will be starting hormone therapy with bioidentical hormones. It appears that I am low on testosterone and progesterone, so we'll see what happens when I start therapy. If all goes well, my libido is supposed to increase in about 6 weeks. As with any "fix," though, there's a side effect: I could grow hair on my upper thighs where the hormone is applied.

Too bad it doesn't cause lube growth. That would sure make things a lot easier, doncha think?

Into The Woods

Last night was my initiation into the Risting. It took place at a park after hours. "Park" isn't quite the right word for the place. "Park" connotes a happy, family place with swings and water fountains. This park, though, is actually quite magical.

The park is larger than it seems. I started out walking the labyrinth, and then set out on a solitary walk that brought me by places like the Lake of Reflection and the Tunnel of Darkness. I was afraid I might lose my way in the dark, but my feet kept going, and I found the little clearing in the woods where the ritual was to take place.

My instructor didn't expect me so soon. He said he hadn't finished clearing the space or putting up the hedge, which turns out might have been in my favor. The night before, my classmate was initiated and she told me that after the hedge was put up, she couldn't find them, and they didn't see her. A phone call in the dead of night fixed all of that, but it must've been a bit scary not knowing where to go.

Initiation didn't take as long as it could have. Our instructor threatened us with a ceremony that could go on into the wee hours of the morning. He took pity on my working ass, though, and the ceremony only took about 30-45 minutes (once I found the place). He did most of it: the clearing of the space, the calling of the quarters, etc. I was only responsible for presenting my two items and reading my oath.

The oath was the hardest part for me, being as I've never written an oath before in my life. I showed it to Todd and he called it "cute." I don't know much about the secrets and mysteries of ritual, but I am pretty sure they don't involve "cute.

The scariest part of the night was walking through the tunnel in the dark. Upon first entering the tunnel, the light of the full moon lit the path. However, the deeper into the tunnel I got, the darker it became. Then there was this strange illusion that made the tunnel appear as if there was some sort of moving energy force inside. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other, and soon I was near the end of the tunnel where the light from the moon reappeared and guided my way safely out of there.

I was told there would be someone at the end of the tunnel to guide me, but no one was there. During the whole walk, I kept thinking I saw cloaked figures, and as I got closer, these figure would turn out to be trees or posts or other stationary objects.

At the end of the ritual, I was gifted with two items: a besom and a magnifying glass with a jade handle (so I may always be able to see what is hidden). After the circle was open, I was driven to my car, and that was that.

Of course, I know the journey didn't end with that drive to my car. It will continue, only now it has a different slant.

I'm looking forward to that!

My Left Foot

It's official: I am an old lady.

Why do I know this? Because I have old lady toe. You know what I'm talking about. You've seen these toes on grayed hair, thick ankled women all over the world. The big toe that defiantly sports a yellowy-tinted, ragged-edged, malformed nail, peering its ugly head up at anyone who happens to look down and see it squished into an orthopedic sandal.

Well, at least I have the good grace not to wear an orthopedic sandal and force my fugly toe to the world. I figure it's enough that I have to look at it every morning and every night. But when lose all sense of propriety and buy those orthopedic sandals, steer clear. It'll be a sign that I've given up on life.

I haven't given up yet, but apparently my left foot has. Let's just hope that spirit doesn't spread to the rest of my body.

Welcome To The Club

Tuesday night was my last night of class. My classmate and I have been invited to be my instructor's first initiates into the Risting Tradition (not the first initiates; his first initiates). We're the first to successfully complete the course, and we're both pretty proud of that.

And so is he.

My initiation will be first, because I called dibs on the first full moon after class. When our instructor sat us down to tell us what we'd need to bring, I joked "Should I start taking my clothes off now?" We laughed, and he told us not to worry; we could wear whatever we wanted. Ritual wear is encouraged, but jeans and jacket is acceptable as well. Seeing as I'm a jeans kind of girl, it will be jeans. (Plus, since I just lost $20K, I don't exactly have money for ritual wear, now do I?)

Once our fears about having to be skyclad were erased, we both became a bit unnerved at other things he said the ritual might involve. No drinking of blood or things like that. No, we are going to have to find our way to him in the dark of night, at a deserted park. We will have clues, and he will wait three hours for us, and no longer.

He said he might have the ritual go on until 2 a.m., which will be awful for me because I have to work the next day. I think my worst fear and largest aggravation in life is not getting enough sleep. So when I heard he would purposefully make the ritual go on as long as he felt like it, I found myself getting irritated.

Other than the sleep part, though, I think I can handle it. But can the Risting Tradition handle me?

I guess we'll find out soon enough.

It Is Finished

Today, I closed escrow on my cottage.

Finally.

I haven't talked about it, because my one superstition is the great and powerful jinx. I truly believe I jinx myself, or rather my good fortune, by talking about things. It has proved to be true over and over again.

My Risting instructor doesn't believe in jinxing, but he does believe I bring stuff on myself. I didn't quite understand his explanation, but it has something to do with the way I channel my energy and hope in such a way that it becomes chaotic and then, poof, it's all gone.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe I'm right.

All I know is I didn't breathe a word of it, and it actually happened.

In January, I had a reading from Carrie, a woman in whose readings I've come to trust. She told me I would sell the place in March. When people asked me about my reading, I shared everything but that precious piece. I kept it to myself, because of my overwhelming fear of jinxing myself.

On a long distance call to Idaho to share the good news with Todd, he asked me how I felt about it. I said sad and relieved. He then asked me which was the predominant feeling. I said relief. He said then that means I did the right thing.

The whole cottage diabolic was a $20,000 mistake. Actually, $20,013.22, if you count the Cobb Salad from Claim Jumper and glass of wine I had to celebrate my loss. After all, it's much better to wine than whine, doncha think?

Brian Delp

When I first heard the news that Brian Delp had died, my first thought was that the news agencies weren't giving us the whole story. And a week later, I received confirmation that my initial thought was correct: Brian Delp committed suicide.

His death saddened me. His music filled my high school years (and I know that dates me). I played Boston over and over and over again on my portable record player. When my brother and I sunned ourselves on the rickety wooden deck that overlooked our backyard, Boston was one of the records we played.

When I went into the Army and was in Basic or AIT (those months just sort of blend together), my brother went to a Day On The Green without me. Boston was the headlining group. He bought a T-shirt, which he wore and wore and wore (like young men do). When he realized how much I had wished I had been able to go to that concert, he gave me the shirt, now ragged from wear.

I still have that shirt. It's worn and wrinkled and riddled with holes from years of washing, and yet I hold on to it, because it reminds me of summer days and a time when my brother and I actually got along.

I know Boston hasn't had a hit in years and years, but in my mind they still ruled the world of rock.

Good-bye Brian. Even though your music will go on forever in my mind, your presence on this earth will be missed.

The Non-Event

Yesterday was supposed to be a huge day for me. GIGANTIC. It was the day I was hoping would happen for months.

But, this being my life and all, I thought "Hmmm...something is going to go wrong. Let's try to head it off." So I contacted the person involved several times. "Is it going to happen? What time is my appointment? What do I need to bring?"

These questions were never really answered, until four hours before my supposed appointment. And of course, one important thing I was supposed to bring was not available BECAUSE I WASN'T NOTIFIED IN ENOUGH TIME to get it.

So. The Big Event was a non-event.

And so I continue to wait.

Booty Call

Yesterday, I was accidentally hit with a booty call. It kind of hurt, and I said "Ow" out loud. Hunky heard and asked if I was okay. I said yes, and added that I didn't think a booty call should hurt.

The booty call in question isn't the old fashioned kind. No, it's actually Bonny Doon's Boutielle Call, a Syrah Port we got at Cost Plus World Market. however, hunky thinks I need an old fashioned kind of booty call...and maybe he's right.

Pour me a glass of Boutielle Call and we'll talk.

Daylight, what?

Today is my least favorite day of the year...the day daylight savings time begins. Why is it my least favorite? Because I lose an hour of damn sleep, and I don't get it back again until October. And for a girl who needs her beauty rest,

I am always cranky on the first day after turning the clocks forward. Today was no exception. However, the way I approached it was...I knew it was going to be a sucky day, so I prepared ahead of time.

I knew that Todd would be leaving on a jet airplane, so I planned to have a Pamela day. I haven't had one of those since August. In preparation, I made an appointment for a massage...something I haven't had in over a year. I planned to take a nice, long bath afterwards, lounging in bubbles while reading The Chili Queen. I had two movies to choose from for my evening.

The best laid plans...

I dropped hunky off at the airport, and thought "Hey, while I'm out I should run a few errands, so I don't have to do a dang thing after my massage." I got some groceries and other essentials, then I went home.

When I put the key in the door, I heard a man's voice. I froze. I thought someone had broken into the house. Then I heard the man's voice again, this time what he said was very clear "Well, Pamela's home, so I should get off the phone."

Yep. It was Todd.

I saw my alone time go up in a poof of smoke.

He was mad at me for not having my phone on while I was out and about. There was some mishap with the plane, so he ended up rescheduling for tomorrow. And, of course, when he called me, I was no where to be found.

Of course he wanted to do things with me, and I hated being a wench, but I just had to do it in order to preserve my sanity (or what little I have left). When he started going on about lunch, I said "You know, I have that massage appointment scheduled, and I was really looking forward to my first day alone in a month."

Thankfully, he didn't whine. Instead, he dialed up a girl friend (or girlfriend? I'm not sure which), and they went out for a pricey brunch at Rapscallions. I was mildly disappointed, but only because I haven't been there for brunch, and I understand it's quite the taste treat. I was actually more happy than disappointed, because now I could attack my pleasurable afternoon guilt-free.

I went for my massage, and even though I had made sure to schedule with a female, a male came into the waiting room, calling out my name and holding my chart. I really did not want a male's hands on me, and even though I know it's not in a sexual way or anything, the thought of having a male massage therapist catching glimpses of my cellulite and jelly rolls just made me squiggy. I was about to just go with it, though, until I thought "Uh uh. This is your day."

I went up to the young man and said, "Um, hi...are you going to be my massage therapist?" He said yes. I said "No offense, but I had asked for a female." He said no problem, and went to the front desk, and after some back and forth, they found a female massage therapist to take care of me.

I was a little embarrassed about the whole thing, but decided not to let it get in the way. I'm glad I spoke up, because the woman assigned to me gave the best massage ever. My back feels wonderful. She wasn't able to get out all the knots, though, but seriously, I spent a year accumulating those knots, and didn't expect she could massage them all away in 50 minutes.

When I got home, I drew a bath, using my special "Pamela Day" bath stuff. I had a book and water nearby, and about 15 minutes after getting into the tub, Todd came home. To his credit, he only came up to say "Hello," and skedaddled into his office so I could have some more alone time.

However, even though he's been pretty understanding, he is here, and well, there's just no ignoring him. Next weekend, I don't get any alone time either, so I'll have to wait two weeks before I get another weekend alone.

Another? I sound like I get them all the time...and I just don't. I thought this contract in Idaho would give me lots of time alone, but he's been home every weekend since he's been on this contract.

What does a girl need to do to get a little alone time? Do I have to wait until October, when I turn the clocks back an hour, and use that extra hour to sneak in some alone time...somewhere?

The way my life is, the answer is probably yes. Nothing ever goes as planned...

Picture Perfect

Internet "dating" is not at all how it used to be. Way back when, it was an exchange of emails which led to meeting, which may have led to something else. And if not, at least it was fun.

It's not fun anymore.

With .jpegs and .gifs and webcams, I find that most guys just seem to want a bunch of pictures first, before they are willing to commit to even a cup of coffee. And those pictures are in addition to the pictures already posted in the profile. Take this lovely exchange that took place between Pete and me:

1st email exchange = fun
P: Anyone who makes jokes about eating a squirel insted of chocolate is ok with me! How come your pic' is so blurry? Worried about the animal rights groups tracking you down?

Me: Ack! Is my picture blurry? Or have you just had too much red wine? I'm picking the latter...

Now spill!

2nd email exchange = cute
P: Sheish, I hope you like a man with purple teeth from Pinot Noir? LOL NO! That pic is foggy without wine, maybe it's just low pixel's. It's ok though, just answer a few questions to clear up the blurry parts. #1 Why are you sticking your tongue out in the photo? #2 Is that a tatoo? #3 Don't you think thee eyepatch is a little bit much?

(Please note that I didn't write him off, even though at age 50, he still doesn't know how to spell "sheesh," "eye patch," and "tattoo," and he uses "LOL" which is an overused acronym that I loathe, despise and detest. If people are really laughing out loud at the stupid things they write, we as a people, are in serious need of the humor police.)

While my response was lengthy and rather witty (I won't bore you with the transcript here), I did realize that perhaps he had a point...maybe I should put a few more pictures with my profile. So, I added more, and Cupid.com approved them within 24 hours and posted them.

However, that still wasn't enough for Pete. He continued to badger me in every email that he wanted more pictures, while he dodged my questions and refused to tell me anything about himself, other than his name.

Major red flag.

I decided that he just wasn't worth the effort. After the fourth email came, demanding yet more pictures, I just stopped responding. It became obvious that chicken-necked Pete (believe me, he looked his 50 years of age, if not more) was more shallow than his wrinkled old prune face gave him the right to be.

However, there aren't too many men who can escape the lure of the Delicious Pamelicious (except for Carlos Faura, damn his resolve!), so I found yet another email waiting for me this morning:

P: Hellooooooo? Did your wild life catch up to you? Where did you go?

Me: While my wild life did indeed catch up with me, I also tired quickly of your constant demands for more photos, without any substance in your emails (i.e. information about yourself). The focus on photos highlighted a shallowness I am unwilling to deal with.

Hopefully your request for photos will not turn off the next woman you contact.

Toodles!
********
And then I did what any self respecting female of a certain age would do, I blocked his wrinkly ass from sending me any more email.

Take that, Prune Face!

My Crazy Co-Worker

I can't believe I've neglected to post about this story. Turns out, I had a crazy co-worker. We're just all glad she didn't bring the gun to work.

Speed Dating

As you may have already gathered, I went to a speed dating event this week. To tell the truth, I have no idea why I went. I'm really not all that interested in dating. I guess I thought it would be fun.

I was almost right.

The speed dating event was hosted by cupid.com. It was part of their worldwide speed dating marathon, during which they tried to get into the Guinness Book of World Records for most dates in one night (or something like that). Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on whether you're a glass half empty or glass half full kind of gal), there were only eight men in my age group there.

Eight men.

And they had trouble getting enough women for those eight men. There was a waiting list for men, while they were offering women $5 off to sign up. Sometimes it's good to be a girl.

I've never participated in speed dating before. By the time it got popular, I was already with hunky, so I didn't participate in any local events. I always thought it sounded like fun, though, so when the opportunity arose, I decided to go (even though my heart wasn't in it).

It was held at the Sapphire Lounge, a trendy cocktail bar inside Harrah's. After signing in, I sat with Kelly, a very nice woman, and we chatted until the hostess grabbed us and pointed us in the general direction of our tables. Turned out I was 8 and she was 7, so we were right next to each other.

The first person to sit with me was Richard (author of the "you're not a total fat pig" email). Before the event officially started, he began chatting me up. Somehow the topic of Coast to Coast AM came up (and I'm not clear how it came up, but there you have it: speed dating at its finest) and we were off and running. "Ring, ring, ring." That was the sound of the event officially starting, and so then Richard and I had another six minutes together.

After talking about working out, more Coast to Coast, and who knows what else, it was time for the next guy. His name was Kevin. After chatting for awhile (he's a ballistics expert with the Sheriff's office), it turned out that we had actually exchanged some emails before the event. I just didn't know what he looked like, because he didn't attach photos to his profile because of his high profile job.

While I can't say he's a match, I did enjoy talking to him. Turned out I had heard him on the radio a few times, too. Apparently he's been on TV to talk ballistics as well, but since I don't watch the late night news, I hadn't seen him on TV. Just as we were getting into the meat of our conversation, the hostess rang the bell.

The next guy confidently strode on over. His name was Steve, and if this guy was 45 or younger (the age group I was in), I am a green legged spider. He had to be at least 50. He was dressed nicely, and I had to give him points for trying.

Our conversation was...well, just was. I discovered he is retired, and asked him about that. I can't even remember what it was that he did when he worked. I do remember that he had on a purple shirt and a nice tie, and that it looked as if he had dentures. Next!

Gonzalo came over to my table, shook my hand and introduced himself. I commented that I had never heard the name "Gonzalo" before, and I liked it. He was a Hispanic fellow with kids. I was actually kind of interested in him until I found out about the kids part. As soon as he said he had three kids, the light went out. But, he was nice and we talked about his dog, Tessa, and how difficult it was to raise her from puppy hood to adulthood, especially since it had seemed as if she was abused before he got her.

Ring, ring, ring! John was next, and I thought "Gee, he looks like a pastor." And guess what? I was right. He was a pastor. He was the only guy that went down an unwritten list of questions. Had I ever been married? Did I smoke? What church did I attend? Blah, blah, blah...I almost felt like telling him I was a Christian Witch, to see what he would do with that, but I took a bit of pity on him, because he just seemed so vulnerable and earnest.

Ring, ring, ring! Time to take a break.

Kelly and I started talking about our dates, and three more ladies came over to join in on the conversation. When the last two approached, drinks in hand, they rolled their eyes and started laughing. Yeah, we got it. No winners.

I have to say, all the women there were good looking. I may not be a total fat pig, but you know, I'm not bad for a woman of a certain age. Most of the women there were blondes. And busty. And feisty. And the guys? I hate to say it, but as a group, they were disappointing.

After chatting it up with the women (the men shied away from us, and ran to get drinks and didn't talk to one another), the hostess rang the bell and told us it was time to get started.

The first guy to sit with me after the break was Xavier, a chiropractor. Finally! He was dressed nicely, was fairly handsome, and was actually interesting. So of course it turned out that he wasn't interested in me.

After the next bell ringing, a guy shyly walked over. His name was Greg, and he was also a doctor. Not a medical doctor, a Ph.D. kind of doctor, which is just fine with me, because I really wasn't interested in getting anywhere near his stethoscope.

If Greg had a cowboy hat on, he'd look a bit like the actor who plays Push, a recurring character on Medium. That's probably why I was a bit drawn to him. That, and the fact that he just seemed like a nice guy. Kind of funny, in a low key way. We talked about the differences between Scientific American and Popular Science (okay, so I'm not really well-versed in the differences between the two, but Greg was and I was able to fake it until the bell rung). Ring, ring, ring. Our six minutes were up, so we shook hands, and the next guy arrived.

The last guy was Steve, and I honestly couldn't tell anyone much about him after the event. He was Hispanic...I think. He mumbled a lot. He rambled and didn't make any sense. He was a fish out of water, and I sort of felt sorry for him. Not sorry enough to mark him down on my dance card, though.

And that was it. The night was over. Before leaving, the hostess told us that we all would get a one month Gold membership at cupid.com, and our matches would be there within 24 hours.

Yipee. I could hardly wait.

Turned out half the guys marked me down as a "yes." I guess that's not bad odds. I wonder if the busty, blonde women made out any better...

Bad News

I've had a crush on Carlos Faura for at least four years...so imagine my distress when I heard Danita Cohen tease him yesterday about his newfound healthy habits by saying "That's not the Carlos I know...sounds like the girlfriend's influence."

I had hoped she was kidding, but noooooooo...this morning she mentioned Carlos' girlfriend again. And I swear he blushed.

I went from crushing to crushed in less than 24 hours.

Guess hunky's stuck with me now.

Brand Spankin' New

After using the same computer for almost 9 years, I decided it was time for a new one. Actually, it was time for a new one last year, but I kept putting it off until I had more money.

I never had more money.

So, the other day when hunky and I were at Best Buy, we took a look at the computers (as we always do). Only, on this particular day, Best Buy had quite a few great package deals. I was attracted the the eMachine packages, which came with a monitor and printer. I knew the prices were good, however I didn't want a computer with Vista. So I did what any other red blooded American woman would do: I shopped some more.

I looked everywhere I could think of, and I found no deal that matched the deal at Best Buy. Even the few XP machines I found were inferior (smaller amounts of memory, no packages available, etc.). When I realized there wasn't a better deal to be had anywhere, I dragged hunky back out of the house, and we went back to Best Buy.

Within minutes, I was the proud owner of a the mid-sized eMachines package. Well, a modified package...I did opt to upgrade to a flat paneled monitor, which I am now officially in love with.

The whole package was only $424...plus $70 for the upgrade.

I'm not wowed by Vista, though. In fact, there are things about it I kind of hate, like the fact it's a memory hog. If I had known that, I would've gone with the more expensive package, which came with a dual core processor. But I didn't know it, and hunky swears if I buy it, he'll add more RAM to the system for me.

I have to say, though, that despite Vista, I do like my new computer. A lot. I can watch things like YouTube videos and listen to the Adam Corolla show...things I wasn't able to do with my other computer. Plus, this monitor is so easy on my eyes!

I don't often spend big bucks on myself, because I don't trust that I'll make the right decision. This time, though, I'm pretty sure I did.

And it feels almost as good as a spanking.

Can We Talk?

Last night, I saw Joan Rivers - legend and eternal blond. She was everything I had hoped she'd be, and more.

I know the woman has had work...she admitted to two face lifts last night. But still, work or no work, the woman is spry for 73 years old. She worked that stage like a woman 40 years younger. And once she hit the stage, she was non-stop. No pauses. No dead air. Just comedy, comedy, comedy.

Todd and I both agreed that hers was the best comedy show we've seen together in ages.

I have to say, it was good to sit and laugh last night. It was a trying day for me. I finally got an offer on the cottage, and sat through a two-hour meeting with my realtor and the potential buyer's realtor yesterday. The deal isn't excellent, but it's the best deal I've gotten yet. I'll still lose money, approximately $11,000. But, it could be a lot worse.

See, Thursday night, Todd and I met a contractor at my cottage. Finally one came through...and we could tell he was honest. Almost too honest...turns out that just to get the entryway, kitchen and bathroom even halfway livable, will cost $65,000. And that was the low-ball cost.

The thing is, the buyer could still back out. He is paying for an inspection, and we all know (at least I'm pretty sure even he knows) the cottage isn't in very good condition. If the inspector is worth anything, he'll advise the guy to run.

The potential buyer's realtor says she believes the bones are good, but honestly, she'd advise him to run, too. However, since her agency represented me when I bought the place, she said she feels ties to me as well, so instead of telling the guy to run, she's giving him outs in the contract and just letting him make up his own mind after the inspection.

So, if the guy backs out, I'm back to square one...and it's not even a good square one. I'm worse off now than I was a year ago, as I was out of work for several months, meaning my bank account has been depleted quite a bit. I definitely don't have $65,000 to fix the place up, that's for sure.

So I'm hoping that this guy is just crazy enough to think he can actually fix the place up. He seems determined that he can...I hope he's still that determined after the inspector visits.

If he's not, I hope Joan comes through town again, because I have a feeling I'll need something to laugh about.

Pay Day

I just got my first real check from Vancome. I had to look at it twice...it seemed like such a large amount. Seeing the number brought to me the realization that this year, I just might get out of the hole I've dug for myself with the money pit I call a cottage.

I was so happy for myself that I hopped on over to Amazon and bought myself the Llewellyn Tarot Kit. Not that I need a divination tool to tell me that I think I'm going to like it there.

Every other Monday has just become my favorite days of the year!

Instinct Says...

I think I just lost a friend.

I feel bummed about it, and yet, in my honest moments with myself, I knew this would happen long ago. Granted, I didn't know exactly how or when it would happen, but I knew it all the same.

Last year, my Risting instructor decided to start teaching Runes. He's an expert, and people in the community had been after him for some time to teach a class. He finally did it, and I decided to enroll.

I enrolled mostly to learn about Rune magic (which would be part of the course instruction), but also to meet some more people in the community. Unfortunately, I only lasted for three classes...that third class was a dilly and kicked my butt. I realized then and there that I had taken on too much (my Risting classes PLUS rune work), so I dropped out.

However, I was part of an email mailing list that many of the class members were on. One of my class members (I shall call her Nelly) emailed me saying things like "I really missed you in class," and "I'd like to meet you sometime for blankity-blank-blank" (no, not dirty stuff!).

Things kind of got weird...I'm not sure of the details, but my instructor had to stop teaching the class at the store, and I believe he and Nelly had some sort of falling out. Nelly, though, kept after me. Against my better judgment, I decided to go ahead and meet her one afternoon at Borders. "What the hell," I thought. "It's just coffee."

Well, what I didn't know was that Nelly is a talker. And I just don't mean any kind of talker...but A TALKER. With most people who tend to talk too much and listen too little, I can find some sort of break in which to say "Oh, excuse me, I need to go to the bathroom, " or "Hey, that reminds me of a similar incident..." With Nelly, there are no breaks. And her body language is difficult to read. The meeting went on for almost five hours, and just when I thought I couldn't take anymore, without any warning, Nelly just gathered her things and said "It was good to see you again. We'll have to do this again."

When I got home, Todd asked me how it went. I told him that it seemed that all Nelly wanted to talk about was my Risting instructor, the new metaphysical store, the women who worked there, and the drama that went on at the last store. "I think she thought I knew something, and was hoping to gain inside knowledge...I just didn't have any to share with her." I further thought that since I was of no help, I wouldn't be hearing from her any more.

I was wrong.

Nelly continued to email me, asking me to meet for coffee. All in all, I probably ended up meeting with her about 5 or 6 different times. We seemed to be friends, so I invited her to go to the ABBACADABRA concert. However, no matter the venue, she always brought up my Risting instructor, and also gossiped about the girls who ran the new metaphysical shop.

I almost always had the impression she wanted something from me. Information, I guess...but I didn't really have it.

As she came to the realization that I had no inside knowledge about the store drama and stuff like that, I noticed she didn't meet me as much. If we had plans for coffee, she would often back out. She'd reschedule, but oftentimes for a time slot I wasn't free for. And every time I was about to write her off, she'd come through, as if sensing she was going to lose me.

The last time we met was right after Samhain. She managed to blow me off the whole month of October, saying that she was in the processing of blessing her house and couldn't meet. When she found out I was soon going to have a birthday, she wrote it down and promised me a birthday reading. That was two months ago, and I haven't received my reading yet.

She still would periodically email me and say "I still owe you that reading, when can we meet?" However, every time and date I suggested to her was no good. Finally, we came to an agreement to meet last Sunday afternoon at Borders. She warned me that she wouldn't do the reading, as she felt uncomfortable doing so in a public place, but still wanted to spend some time with me.

On Friday, I contacted her to set up a time. She said "You know, I think I'll be busy on Sunday. How about tomorrow instead?" Well, I was busy "tomorrow" so I had to say no. She then asked if I wouldn't mind waiting until Saturday for confirmation...I told her that was okay, but honestly? It left a bad taste in my mouth. It reeked of "I think I might have something better to do, but I won't find out until tomorrow."

Saturday morning, I received an email with the subject "Have a nice weekend." I knew what it said...and of course, I was right. She still didn't know if she had plans for Sunday or not, so decided not to meet with me at all. "But we can meet next Monday, because I'm off."

Whoop-de-do. Not everyone in the world gets MLK day off. I was so mad, I didn't even respond. I thought if she was serious about making time for me, she'd contact me again. If she wasn't, I wouldn't hear from her.

It's been a week, and I haven't heard from her.

The weird thing is that, for the most part, I don't care. I saw this coming months ago...only in my hopes of making more friends in the community, I had ignored it.

Lesson? Listen to my instincts. Seriously. Sometimes I think I will never learn.

As for being Nellyless, the only thing I'm really bummed about is that I'll never get that birthday reading. The rest of the drama, I can do without.

The Thinker

Whenever I'm taking a shower, driving my car, or sitting on my toilet, I think of all kinds of things I want to write about here. I compose the sentences in my heads...sentences that join others and make wonderful, descriptive paragraphs that tell a wonderful story. Oh, the story itself might not be wonderous - no it might be about an incident that happened at work, or home, or at the store. Yet I have such a wonderful idea of how it will come out here, on the "page."

And then it happens. I live my workaday life, rushing to work in the morning, making phone call after phone call at work, and driving home again at night. Little snippets of more journal entries make their way into my head, and then I get home.

"Hi honey. What's for dinner?" So my night begins, with more running around to get dinner on the table, and then the tedious task of cleaning it all up afterward.

After watching a TV show, or maybe just catching up on email, I end up yawning as I realize it's time to go to bed. "I'll write those journal entries tomorrow," I tell myself as I brush my teeth.

Then I lay me down to sleep, and just as I am about to drift off, I think of yet one more thing I want to write about. What seems like five minutes later, I wake up, only do to it all again.

And those journal entries? They just never seem to get written.

Chubby Is As Chubby Does

The other day, I received an email response to my personal ad. The guy didn't seem awful, so I checked out his profile. Not bad looking, and stated that he learned a lot from his dad, especially the art of gentlemanship.

I sat down to compose a response to his email, which basically asked me what sort of guy I was looking for. I basically told him that I believed the answer was covered in my profile, however he should feel free to ask me for more specifics if he'd like.

A day later, I received the following response: "Hmmmmmmchubby."

So, besides the glaring run-on word and the inability to use an ellipses, this "gentleman" obviously believes that because he didn't read my profile, and didn't get the type of response he was looking for, I must be chubby.

Fat.

Whale-like.

This juvenile response reminded me of the similar types of responses I'd get when I was in the Army and declined dates. However, instead of calling me "chubby," the guys simply called me "lesbian." Or "lesbo" for short. After all, weren't they quite the catch? Any woman should feel lucky to go out with them, so if one would decline, she of course must be a lesbian.

Well, I've got news for these guys. I am neither chubby nor a lesbian, although my affinity for big girl panties and plaid shirts might say otherwise...

On Quitting

"Are you sorry you left that place," my mom asked me during dinner out last weekend.

"Um, what place? The OfficeTeam job?"

"No. Acme."

I sighed. I realized that my mom would probably never totally understand why I left. After all, I had three-day weekends every single week. But I tried to explain it to her one more time. "No, Mom. I'm not sorry I left. Not at all."

My dad chimed in "Why would she have wanted to work for one boss who was intimidated by her, another who was anxiety-ridden, and that co-worker who was always crying? I'm glad she left."

My dad is not the only one who understands why I left. Apparently even a new study shows that a large percentage of people who quit aren't quitting their job...they are quitting their boss. In my case, I quit two bosses and a sniveling coworker.

It was a hard decision to make, and a long time coming. It was something I wanted to do for over a year. But, as with many employees who were surveyed recently, I was promised things. More opportunity. A chance to grow. To travel. And those promises didn't come through.

I was told that VP would slowly turn over some of her responsibilities to me. She didn't...instead, it turned out she expected me to come to her. When I didn't get more responsibility, she blamed me. "PJ, I am just too damn intimidated of you - scared even - to approach you."

What kind of hell boss is that? And what kind of Prez agrees? Instead of firmly putting VP in her place by saying "You know, VP, you have this position for a reason. You're not supposed to let the underlings intimidate you," meekly says "Yes, PJ, you are rather, um, quirky."

To make the work situation even more uncomfortable, there was Sniveling Co-worker crying about a blog entry I made, which didn't say anything other than she called in sick. Again. Giving herself yet another four-day weekend. With all those tears, you'd think I called her names. Or said bad things about her. Or otherwise humiliated her. But no, all I did was vent - which was my right - without mentioning the name of the company at all.

When I think about those last days, and then think further about the last year, I just shake my head. What in Apple's name took me so long to quit? What the hell was I afraid of?

My life has been SO good since I left. I have had not one, but two, great jobs. The first was working that long-term assignment through OfficeTeam. I worked with a fantastic boss and possible mentor. She was fair. Honest. Straightforward. It was an absolute joy to go to work each day. I loved working with her. She was ready to take me to Atlanta with her when she left the Reno office. She was that enamored with me, and I with her.

And now my new job with Vancome. My boss-boss is fabulous. She is loved by everyone in the building, and I can see why. She is also straightforward, fair and honest. Additionally, she exudes both confidence in herself and her team members. She meets with us as a team on a daily basis, for a quick down-and-dirty "what's on your plate, how can we help" kind of meeting. Then, she leads us in the team WOOOoooo, and we're on our way.

Because she's such a great boss, she has great people working for her. My team boss is also great; he's funny, and understanding, and patient. When he says he is going to do something, he does it.

My co-worker doesn't spend his time crying about blog entries. Instead, he pitches in to train, patiently showing me the ropes. He encourages and teaches. And the only sniffling I've seen him do is when he had a cold.

When I first took this job, I was excited about the benefits, that started with day one of employment. Medical, dental, and vision. 401K with a matching program. A yearly bonus program. A stock buying option. Tuition assistance. A nice PTO program. Etc. Etc. However, after the first week I quickly realized that the benefits were more than outlined in my offer letter. No, the benefits went far deeper as I realized these are bosses I wouldn't want to quit...these are bosses I can learn from. Grow from. Mature with. Plus, instead of having just a job, I have a real honest to goodness career. That's a benefit I can take to the bank.

The study didn't cover what happened to those people who quit their bosses. Did they move on to better ones? Did they pick better the second time around?

I can't speak for them, but I can say that for me, quitting my Acme bosses was one of the best things I've ever done. I just wish I had done it sooner!

Happy New Year To Me

It's the second of January in a brand SPANKING new year. And guess what? Hunky has not one, but two dates this week. Guess he's starting off the new year with a bang (no pun intended).

So maybe, just maybe, if the pirate asks me out, I might go.

Pirate you ask? Some guy emailed me, and his picture showed him all decked out in pirate gear. Turns out, he is one of those "reenactors." Now, I knew people reenacted wars. But I never heard of reenacting pirate...stuff. ARrrrr ARRRrrr, matey! Is that a parrot in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?

Where's Waldo?

In this case, Waldo is me, and I know a lot of you out there (mostly my fans, but even a few enemies) have wondered what the hell happened to me. Well, I'll tell you.

Life.

First, it was a trip to London. That's "good life." I had a blast. Saw "Wicked" and "Avenue Q," along with some other good plays that weren't musicals. Had the best pumpkin and chestnut pie ever at the National Theater. Went to Evensong at Westminster Abbey, and lit candles for Houdini, my friend Chris and my guy Todd. Talked to an elderly lady after the service, who was very nice and whom I was tempted to invite to tea. I got lost several times, and spent 40+ pounds on Splenda tablets. Bought a spunky English hat from Dizzy Lizzy and had tea at Harrod's. Oh, and of course I almost missed my plane, got separated from my luggage, and was the victim of a body search (because you know I look like a terrorist, what with my Dizzy Lizzy hat and Hogwart's neck scarf).

After my return, I started my new job, but not before my OfficeTeam job tried to fight to keep me. That was very flattering, and if they had been able to offer decent benefits, I might have taken them up on it. The stress level was low, my boss was great, and the hours were fantastic.But my wallet and my psyche said it was time for some security, so I turned down the offer and sashayed my way to my new position at Vancome.

Vancome is very corporate in nature. I knew that going in, but knowing and "doing" are two different things. It's been five years since I've been corporate, and Vancome is even more prison-like corporate than the last corporate office I worked at. So, basically this means no internet access whatsoever. None. Nada. Zip. And, I will shamefully and boldly state that,unfortunately for my fans, most of my postings were done from work.

That's right. On company time.

So, no more of that.

Cut to the fact that Todd was gone for two weeks and my internet connection at home was down, well, that just compounded the PJammyless Blogger. Poor you.

But Todd is back, my internet connection is back up, and it's a brand SPANKING new year. So, if you're lucky you'll see more of me. And if you're nice, I might even flash you. See how you like those cellulite-filled apples!

Let's Celebrate

After a three-hour interview, two months of waiting, an indepth background check, a drug test, and the unearthing of a very old high school diploma, I finally got the job I wanted as a Clinical Data Administrator.

I had to jump through a lot of hoops for this job. I hope that "benefits that start Day 1 of employment, excellent pay, tuition assistance, 401K and PTO" is worth it.

I kind of have a feeling it will be...

Put Off

"Hi honey. Hey, did you take care of your car today?"

"No." Irritation shows in his voice. "I didn't get up until late."

"What do you mean? I talked to you at noon!"

"Whatever," and then he goes back to playing Lego Star Wars on ;his PlayStation2.

The night before Thanksgiving, I received a call from Todd. His car wouldn't start. He wasn't far from home, and was at the vet's office. He asked me to bring his AAA card so he could get a jump.

I knew it was more serious than a jump.

As expected on the busiest American travel holiday of the year, AAA couldn't send anyone out for over an hour. So, I took Todd and Benny home, and he said he'd take care of it on Friday.

It's been over a week, and his car is still parked at Baring Animal Hospital (or at least we hope it is).

Every day, he has forced (okay, that's an exaggeration...how about "strongly encouraged"?) me to take my other car to work, so he could have a car at home, on the premise that he needs it in order to take care of his car. For a week, I've driven my Vibe to work, and every night when I come home it's the same story: "I haven't taken care of my car because I didn't have the time."

And why do you think he hasn't had the time? I don't know. Ask PlayStation2. Or Splinter Cell. Or God of War. Even the newbie Lego Star Wars knows more about what he does in a day than my Honda does.

Oh well...never do today what can be put off until tomorrow. Right?

And a Whole Lot of Space to Breathe In

That's what I need: space to breathe in. And I haven't had any in three weeks.

THREE weeks. It seems like a lifetime.

Since going back to work, my life has been one of almost constant activity. Who am I kidding? The month before I worked, it was pretty much the same, only in a different way. Before I was working, I spent about 50% of my day looking for work and doing job magic, and another 25% of my day trying to mend my relationship with Todd. The other 25%? It was devoted to sleep.

Ahhhh...sleep. What has happened to my sleep life? But I digress...

As I was whining saying, I haven't had any time to myself for at least two months. I haven't been reading LJ...much. I haven't caught up with friends. I haven't emailed. Written. Phoned.

I haven't had time to read. I have a stack of magazines that I received in the mail that just keeps getting bigger. I have a zillion TV shows to watch. I haven't seen the mid-season finale of LOST.

I just haven't had time.

The good news is that my hard work paid off. Yes, Todd's still dating, but he and I are getting along better than ever. I feel connected to him lately in a way I haven't since I first moved here to Reno.

I'm working. The job magic and endless interviews and persistent nagging of OfficeTeam brought me a job I'm really enjoying. Sure, it's "part-time" (about 30-35 hours a week, depending), and no benefits, but my boss is great and the hours are a bit flexible (except on Mondays). Further proof of good job mojo is the fact that the CEO of the company emailed me this morning to tell me that I'm doing a great job and am a fantastic asset to the company. (A bonus or benefits would have been appreciated, but hey, I'll take the email kudo as well.)

As I was driving home tonight for a quick bite to eat before I turn around again to pick up a friend and go to Lake Tahoe for the evening, I heard the song "Hold On Loosely." When 38 Special sang "And a whole lot of space to breathe in..." I realized that's what's been missing from my life lately: breathing space.

I long for some breathing space. For a few hours to myself, during which I could just do whatever the heck I want to. Read. Watch "Lost." Write a letter. Make some postcards. Play with the cats. Or heck, even update Blogger.

When I worked at Acme, I hated my life. Or at least, I hated the last year and half of my life...that's when things really got ugly at Acme. Yet, I hung in there day after day after day because I had three-day weekends. Every time I complained to my mom about something at Acme, she'd say "but you don't want to lose the job, right? You get three day weekends."

Yeah. She was right. I cherished those weekends. It didn't matter how busy I was Monday through Thursday, because I knew that I could always do whatever needed to be done on Friday, and still have the weekend to play.

Well, those days are gone forever.

Am I sad about that? Not really. Life without Acme hasn't been easy, but it also hasn't been awful. It's nice to go to a job where I'm appreciated. It's nice to actually like my boss. It's nice to go home at night and not have a dark aura surrounding me from the detritus of the day.

And I think not hating my work life has contributed to the harmonious atmosphere between Todd and me. I'm not bitchy when I get home. I am not carrying the weight of the day on my shoulders. I am able to come through the door and just enjoy my home life.

Busy as it is.

So, I'm not complaining. Not really. However, God or Goddess or Universe or Angels or whoever is listening, please give me some breathing space soon. I'd really like to watch "Lost."

Thank you.

Na na na na na na na NA

Today is my birthday.
na na na na na na na na
Gonna have a good time.

Or at least I hope to. At my age, it can be difficult to have a good time. You know, it can be quite the challenge to fit a little fun in between bouts of flatulence, dementia, stiffness (not the good kind) and random drooling. I think I can do it, though.

Wanna join me? Or does the drooling turn you off?

Still In The Mix

Late yesterday afternoon, I finally reached the HR rep for the position I really want. She had called me last week, and we've been playing phone tag ever since. The reason she called? To let me know I was one of two top finalists for the position, so she wanted to be sure I was still interested.

Still interested? Doesn't she know I've been obsessing about this job for weeks now? Of course my answer was "yes."

I also got in touch with the HR rep for a company with a Report Writer position open. I had applied for it several weeks ago, and the company finally got back to me. I have an interview scheduled for Thursday afternoon.

It feels strange to still be "looking" when I am working at a job I like, for a boss I really like. However, there are absolutely NO benefits with this position, and a girl likes a little security, ya know?

Here's hoping I end up being the chosen one for the job I really want!

I'm Too Sexy For My Legs

Last night, I went to the local witches' shoppe for their first annual All Hallows Eve party. I was to meet my new friends there, and if the party was as bad as the Friday the 13th Party was, we had plans to leave and go drink a few somewhere downtown.

Thank goodness the party wasn't bad.

Well, it wasn't good, either, but it was MUCH better than the Friday the 13th party. I think partly because Halloween and costumes attract a fun crowd. And partly because there was real food. And of course, then there's the fact that even though, for the most part, many of us didn't know each other, we were able to start conversations simply based on the statement "Hey, your costume is cool; where did you buy..."

This being the first Halloween party I've attended since acknowledging my witchy side, I decided to go as a witch. (Original, eh?) But not just any witch...a Sexy Witch. Of course, this was quite a stretch being as I'm not sexy in the least. (And my cellulite can attest to that, although I'd much rather it stay quiet at times like this.)

I found the coolest skirt at Savers. It is long and black, but the front has two gigantic slits in it, that go almost all the way up to the crotch. Underneath the front slits, there is a tiny mini skirt that just barely covers up the nether region. I built my costume around that skirt, adding a scoop-necked almost Renaissancey-top, a spider choker, a temporary snake wrap-around tattoo on my upper arm, fishnet stockings, high heeled witchy shoes, and a long, curly, purple-colored wig.

I must've done something right, because I won a prize for sexiest costume.

When I got there, my friend Vince was already there. We sat down and talked while I caught him admiring my fishnet covered legs several times. Yeah, I have to admit, they looked good. Nothing quite covers up cellulite like fishnets (and jeans).

By the time Monika and Tom showed up, the party was in full swing. Well, if you count sitting around in a circle talking in twos and threes full swing. Yeah, I didn't say the party was a rager.

Monika looked wonderful, and I am really surprised she didn't win sexiest costume (although for some reason she won spookiest). She had on a fetish latex gown, with a laced up back. The front was low cut, and she accented the gown with a sparkly "diamond" belly belt. She curled her normally straightish hair, wore realistic fangs, and "zombie" contacts. She looked great.

Her husband Tom isn't one to normally dress up, but in his fetish latex pants, red devil top, pointy devil tail, and horns, his effort paid off.

After we talked for awhile, my instructor (who is always the life of the party) got a trivia contest going. It started out with questions about obscure (and not so obscure) witch movies, and moved into mythology of all sorts (from Nordic to Asian to Greek to British). I was only able to answer one question: Who wrote the book "Practical Magic"? (Alice Hoffman) For my correct answer, I received a full-sized candy bar, which Dr. Atkins quickly snatched away from me.

Who invited him to the party?

When the trivia question round had begun to die down, Monika and Tom wanted to leave and go to a real Halloween party. There were several going on in town, and even a free one at Harrah's. But, being the non-clubby type, all I could think of was walking my sexy costumed self into bed.

Oh the exciting life I lead.

Vince walked me to my car (the neighborhood is somewhat dangerous after dark), and told me I looked amazing. Yeah, I think I did look pretty good for a change. Then he told me that if I wanted to catch a movie, I should give him a call.

We hugged, said good-bye, and I high-tailed it out of there for home. Parties are nice, but a warm bed covered in cats is even nicer.

Why My Local Newspaper Sucks

Once again, the Reno Gazette Journal proves their inability to publish unbiased opinions.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not naive. I know many newspapers have a bias, be it liberal or conservative. It's just that some are better at hiding it than others.

The Reno Gazette Journal doesn't hide thier bias. In fact, they relish it. Unfortunately, it's the only game in town as far as newspapers go, which is one reason I hate the RGJ with a passion.

In my opinion, the paper or any other news agency should not endorse any candidates whatsoever. Their responsibility should only be in reporting the news. And what passes for news these days just floors me, but that's a different rant.

News, news, and nothing but the news. RGJ, Let's try to keep the bias out, and be honorable like your newsreporting forefathers.

Working Girl

So, as my dear readers may have noticed with my last post, I am working.

About a month ago, Office Team posted a position for a Project Assistant. I applied for it through their Monster.com posting. I didn't hear back.

About a week later, I went in to their offices, took all their silly tests, interviewed with one of the recruiters, argued with him about my references, and was assured I would hear from him soon.

I didn't. So, I called again when I noticed Office Team reposted the Project Assistant position. I asked to be submitted for it. I was assured that my resume would be reviewed, and if I qualified, I would be submitted.

I wasn't.

Another week later, I saw the position posted once again. I called about it, and was once again assured I would be submitted for it. However, in the meantime I was "perfect" for a position the mall had open for a Marketing Assistant. The job sounded interesting: if I got the position, I would be writing promotional material for the mall, along with all other sorts of promotional and marketing activities.

I went in for an interview, and was hired on the spot. That is, until I mentioned my December pre-planned vacation. No go. No vacations during the month of November and December. I was then told that I could only have the position if I canceled my vacation. I said no, I wouldn't do that as most of it was paid for already. So, we parted ways.

When I called Office Team to let them know about the interview, I once again asked them about the Project Assistant position, as it had been reposted just that morning. I was once again assured I would be considered.

I wasn't.

However, this week the Office Team recruiter I had originally interviewed with called me. "Pamela, I believe we have a fantastic opportunity for you..." and he went on to present the Project Assistant job to me. He said they had sent two other people to interview, but since the job was a part-time position to begin with (morphing to full-time in a month or two), they weren't interested.

I said "Of course I'm interested. I asked for this several times."

Anyway, I went in for the interview on Wednesday, was offered the job and asked to start on Thursday. And guess what? Next week I start working full time.

So, I'm not clear on what Office Team was doing with this. The other two people may not have been the right fit. I don't know. I do know that I got the job, after asking for a chance to interview for it for almost a full month.

However, in the "life is never quite that simple" department, when I came home from my first day of work, I found out I missed two calls for jobs I REALLY wanted (one in particular, with a company that offers a full benefit package starting with day one of employment). So, now that I'm supposed to work full time, I am not sure when I'll be able to meet with these other people.

I guess I'll figure it out. In the meantime, I'm making decent money working with a woman I really like so far. Even though I don't have any benefits, it's not such a bad gig. Money is money, after all.

Hocus Pocus

For the last two months, I've been doing job magic like mad. I would say it didn't work, but that would be a lie. It worked in very strange and unfocused ways.

For example, I really wanted to be considered for a particular job. I wrote an excellent cover letter, pumped up my resume, did a little job magic, and sent it off. A few minutes later my phone rang. I answered it. It was an HR manager with a catering company who found my resume on one of the job sites. She was hoping I was interested in a job they had.

Now, this wasn't the job I was interested in, but hey, the position sounded good, so I said yes and interviewed. Of course, as seems to be with my luck here in Reno, I didn't get the job. I wasn't too terribly disappointed, either, as the offices were cave-like (no windows) and the job seemed a bit...rote.

I kept my instructor updated as to the sorts of magic I was doing to get a job. He always said "good, good," or "great instinct." That is, until this week.

There was one job in particular I wanted. I did magic for this job as if I was Merlin. I wouldn't let it go. I did some sort of magic on it almost every day, and twice on the day that I finally got the interview (a grueling three-hour interview with three different people).

However, for all the magic I threw out there, it didn't seem to get me this position. Oddly, it got me more phone calls, and a position through Office Team as Project Assistant. But not this job.

So, when my instructor asked me in class on Tuesday what was going on, I told him. He questioned me about the types of magic I was doing (which I had already told him about several times), however this time he said "No wonder you didn't get this position. You are dong the wrong type of magic."

According to my instructor, the candle magic I was doing was great, but not specific enough. He said that candle magic didn't bind the job to me, and what I should've done was cord magic. So he went over cord magic with me once again (I am all thumbs, and have trouble making a witch's ladder). After he showed me how, he had me do a spell right there in class.

I did.

However, I wasn't convinced that I really nailed it, so when I got home, I did another one as well. The next day while I was at work, the HR rep from this company called.

Yet, because it's my life and nothing seems to go as planned, I haven't hooked up with her by phone yet. I left a few messages, but as it was Nevada Day here on Friday, she may have been out.

Oddly enough, on the same day the HR rep from the company I really want to work for called, I received another call from a very similar company about another high powered job I applied for (this one is as a Report Writer; the other is as a Clinical Data Administrator).

Obviously, the magic is working...however, it's still apparently not focused enough. Trial and error is one thing if I'm playing around with money magic or something like that. However, when it comes to a job I want, it is quite frustrating and - dare I say it? - annoying as well.

I just want the fucking job. Give it to me already, and stop yanking me around!