Tentative Squee? Maybe?

• My church friends thought I handled D and his meanness very well. They also very kindly did not mention my crying fit from later.
  
  
• My great-aunt has a better prognosis than was earlier thought. She is still unconscious, and the doctors say she has Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome, but the oxygen deprivation was not nearly so bad as thought and any brain damage would be extremely minimal. My uncle will be coming back home tomorrow. (Hopefully!)
  
  
• I've been approved for a loan to refinance my car, which was the expense that was truly killing me. Not only that, but the loan was in my stepdad's name (both our names are on the title) so these painful payments were building his credit, not mine. So this will bring my monthly payment down from close to $400 a month to just under $150 a month. And with THAT, the job search suddenly becomes unnecessary!

Rapunzel

Bricks.
Stones.
One after another.
A brick, rough edged and dull.
A stone, smoothed by years of wind and rain.
Bricks.
Stones.
One after another.
She stacks them,
one by one.
Higher and higher she rises.
More bricks,
more stones,
into the air.
Higher, higher, above the trees.
And now she can see everything.
But her hair is too short
to let her climb back down.

Embarrassing Myself

So, I had my first full meeting with the Council of Elders yesterday, and it was horrible.

Almost 3 hours. We started at 11:45, about 15 minutes after the service ended, and finished at 1:30. I was already worn out from everything that’s going on, plus I was hungry, so I was already unhappy. 3 hours of quibbling over the most minor and stupid of details.

About two hours into this marathon of crapitude, one of the vestry members, whom we shall call D, started questioning the way the Search Committee (those of us doing all the work to find us a new priest) have been handling things. Not questioning as in asking questions, but as in challenging what we’ve done and the way we’ve done it. Those of us on both committee and vestry tried to explain that our process was set by the diocese, not by us, and there was nothing we could do about it. He wouldn’t shut up.

Finally I yelled at him. “If you didn’t trust us to make these choices you should have never voted us onto the committee in the first place and it would have saved us a hell of a lot of free time over the past year and a half!” I don’t think he even heard me, because he was still muttering under his breath. Ass.

About two and a half hours in, our Senior Warden was trying to get someone to volunteer for a new committee which is being started, a stewardship committee (stewardship being the trick of getting people to volunteer their “time, talent, and treasure” to the church). No one was speaking up. One person, whom we shall call A, said that he thought I would be very good at it so I should do it.

I tried to refuse calmly and explain that I was far too busy and worn out, but instead I burst into tears. I couldn’t stop sniffling for the rest of the meeting, and then I wailed the whole way home and for probably about an hour afterwards. Then I fell asleep because I had worn myself out.

How very embarrassing.

Even worse, I have to go to a search committee meeting tonight, so I have to face a couple of these people in front of whom I was weeping like a baby again right away, when really I’d much rather just go home and go to bed and stay there until Spring.

Oh wait, it is Spring.

Well, never mind. Guess I lost my chance to hibernate this year.

I think I'm going to run away from home.

I hate March.

March sucks. Or, M4RCH IS TEH SUX, as might be said in internet parlance.

Aside from my financial difficulties, tons of people I know are going into the hospital, including my great-aunt who lives in Florida. She has a nasty blood infection and is on life support. My uncle is on his way there now, and as soon as he gets there and says his goodbyes, they are going to take her off the life support.

Now it also seems that I apparently live in a high crime area. There was the guy on the sexual offender registry who was arrested last month, of course. Someone else got arrested last week. It wasn’t anyone I know, but I saw the police car’s lights flashing through my kitchen window blinds and peeked out just in time to see the police loading a handcuffed man into the backseat.

So now, last night, after I talked to my cousin about her grandma and all the other people who have fallen ill, I decided I should go grocery shopping. When I came back with my armloads of groceries, there was a woman standing on the sidewalk in front of one of the other entrances, crying and screaming. She asked if I had a phone she could use to call the police. Well, of course I let her.

Apparently she and her boyfriend had a fight and he locked her out of the apartment. So she called 911 on my phone, and I kept trying to get her to come with me and wait for the police at my apartment, but she wouldn't, she just kept banging on her own door screaming and begging for the guy to let her back in. He kept yelling back through the door, but I couldn't understand what he was saying. The woman smelled very strongly of being drunk, and I suspect that the man was just as bad. So I stayed with her and tried to get her to calm down until the cops showed up.

Then I went and put my groceries away. Even from my apartment, I could hear those people screaming at each other. I was starting to get nervous-- what if the man came down and tried to make trouble because I'd helped the woman? I called Tirithien, and he said he'd come up and stay with me if I was scared, so I said yes, please. (If I hadn’t been able to reach him or he hadn’t been able to come up, I would have gone to stay at my aunt’s house for the night.)

While I was waiting, the woman knocked on my door and asked to use my phone to call the cops again. I guess when they'd been there before, they'd ordered the guy to let her back in, and as soon as they were gone he shoved her out again. So I let her use the phone, and she kept calling the boyfriend and screaming at him. Then she called the police, and went back out to wait for them.

A little while later and another knock on the door. The woman was standing there with two police officers, and asked if I would let her stay with me! Um, no. I'll let anyone borrow my phone to call for help, I'll give them kleenex and offer them water to drink, but there is no way in hell I am letting someone I have known for exactly one hour stay in my apartment! Especially when there is a shouting, probably drunk boyfriend involved in the situation. For all I know, she could have been the abusive one in the relationship, or she could let the boyfriend in as soon as I wasn’t paying attention, or robbed me blind, or anything.

So I told her there wasn't room, because my boyfriend would be home any minute (note how I worded that to increase my safety quotient), and there just wasn't room enough for three people to stay there. Then she tried to make me feel guilty about how she didn't have anywhere to go, but finally said, "Oh, well, I guess I can drive somewhere." And she and the cops wandered off. Couldn't they take her to a domestic violence shelter or something?

But they left, and Tirithien showed up shortly thereafter, and there was no danger from the shouting guy down the way, and now I am safely at work.

Exactly when did my town become a hotbed for crime? I went to high school in the next town over and it was perfectly safe. This town even moreso, because it’s more rural. No one comes here. I guess things change in 10 ½ years. I am starting to really not like this place. :-(

Advertising for myself!

Not to toot my own horn, but... *toot*

It's not updated very regularly, so some of you probably don't read it much, but I have a new essay over on my theology blog of which I am rather proud. It's very cosmic.

Back on the Job Trail

After my disastrous attempt at telemarketing, I'm back out on the job market.

(Why do they call it pounding the pavement, anyway?)

My parents are very kindly going to loan me the money to pay off the IRS, so at least I don't have that millstone around my neck. (Thanks, Mom!)

Can't I just win a small lottery amount? Not a huge one, I'm not asking that. Just enough to pay off my debts. Is that too much to ask?

Evidently it is. So I've got a long list of places to stop by and fill out applications after I get out of work today. Even including fast food places. I could wind up smelling like fries for months.

But then, if I work at a fast food place, I probably won't want to eat their food anymore, so I could lose weight out of this. There's always a bright side.

My New Job Makes Me Want To Cry

To my surprise, the customers weren't too bad. None of them were rude-- the worst anyone did was hang up on me. Well, no actually the worst was the guy who answered the phone in perfect, standard American English, then suddenly magically became foreign as soon as he realized he didn't know the caller. *eyes rolling* Some people were even nice and interested in my offer. I mean, I'm hooking them up with free stuff. No strings attached! That's kind of hard to argue with.

No, the problems come from sitting still for too long in my uncomfortable desk chair and from repeating the same poorly written script over and over and over. (I did adapt it some so that it sounds like something I would actually say.)

The problems come when I think about my pay. For the life of me, I can not figure out this pay structure. I know it's based on how many calls I make, but some calls are worth more than others and some calls are worth nothing. My supervisor's explanation made no sense at all. Plus, a lot of the time I was logged on last night, I was just sitting and waiting for the system to connect me to a call. Well, that's an awful lot of time to be wasting.

And the biggest problem is my cell phone. It's the only phone I have, so of course I am using it for this. I got myself this nifty and cool hands-free headset, and I upgraded my plan so that I have free incoming calls (the dialing system calls me when I log on, so it counts as incoming). It should have been fine. But Sprint PCS, unwise fools that they are, refuses to change my plan over until the end of the billing period. This is on 3/28. Today is 3/9. So let's take a look at the math, shall we?

• 15 hours a week X 3 weeks X 60 minutes = 2700 minutes used for telemarketing.
  
• 2700 minutes - 400 minutes (my current plan) = 2300 minutes over my limit.
  
• 2300 minutes X overage fees + any minutes I would use for non-telemarketing purposes = a phone bill of approximately $250.00.

I'm sure you can see why this would be a problem. Especially when I wouldn't earn nearly that much.

So I’ve got three options, as I see it. I can beg and plead with Sprint to upgrade me early. I can see if I can get a cheap landline installed quickly. Or I can beg and plead with the telemarketing company to let me put off my real start until the end of the month. I don’t particularly like ANY of these options.

I am going to have to keep looking and find something else. I need to have a job where I’m sure of what I’m earning. Preferably not one where I’m tethered to my desk by the wires of a hands-free headset. I was only logged on for an hour last night and had nightmares of dread the whole time I was trying to sleep afterwards. Tonight I’m scheduled for FOUR hours. No, this is not a happy time!

The Day of Telemarkety Doom

Tonight I will be starting my telemarketing job. I will be logging in to a remote computer system, then the system will call my phone and connect me to the victims… I mean, potential customers. I’ll be asking them questions about their use of the yellow pages directory, then offering them a free trial subscription to their local papers.

But you know what?

I hate talking on the phone at normal times.

Now I’m about to be calling people, bugging them, interrupting their dinners or catching them just as they’re about to go into the shower…

But what can I do? I have applied to dozens of part time supplemental jobs. Dozens! And of all of them, this is the only one that’s even called me, let alone wanted to hire me. The bills just won’t go away on their own, so I need to boost up my income.

I do get to work from home, so at least I can be comfy in my flannel pajamas while people are cussing me out and hanging up on me.

Or maybe I can work naked.

Then if I get some pervy guy who thinks he’s being funny by asking what I’m wearing, I can truthfully answer, “Nothing at all.”

Nah, maybe not. After all, my calls “may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance purposes.” But it would be tempting.

So from now on, on Monday, Tuesday, Thursday, and Friday evenings, I will be getting paid $0.21 per call to be the focus of aggression and frustration from irritable phone owners. And maybe give away a few newspaper subscriptions while I’m at it.

If I call your house, I apologize in advance. I especially apologize if I interrupt anything important, like dinner, hockey games, or sex. But really, if you're getting ready to have sex, just turn off the phone ringer. You'll make it easier on all of us.

Update: My evil friend Joe, knowing me to be nervous about starting this job, sent me a list of helpful things I can do to make sure that my job goes smoothly!

• Call during dinner. This is usually the first time these people have had to relax all day. As such, they will be much more amenable to hearing from you, and in fact will eagerly await your call.
• Read verbatim from the script in a flat monotone. People dislike being singled out, so anything you can do to assure them that they are just one of hundreds will be appreciated.
• Pronounce their name incorrectly. As with the above, this will help avoid the uncomfortable feeling of personal service.
• If you feel the call is not going well, hang up immediately. Their time is valuable, and you should respect that by not forcing them to give long, boring explanations of why your product is not right for them.
• If they are rude, be twice as rude. People respect strength and authority. Any attempt to be polite will be seen as weakness.

Thanks for the support, Joe.

The Most Obnoxious Restaurant Layout Ever!

On Saturday night, Tirithien and I went to the movies. We saw a vampire movie called Night Watch (which, in spite of the review on the IMDB page, we both thought was actually quite good-- and we are VERY picky about our vampire movies. It's in Russian, with subtitles, and is the first of a trilogy. Now, Russian movies with subtitles aren't exactly standard fare for the Metro Detroit area, and the only theatre showing it was about 30 miles to the northwest of my home, in one of the more affluent suburbs. But then, on the other hand, I had a gift card to that theatre chain, since a couple of years ago my cousin gave me one as a gift thinking there was one more local. Oops! So now I finally had an excuse to use the gift card, and all was well.

After the movie, we wanted to get some dinner. We were far from home, in unfamiliar territory, with plenty of restaurants we'd never tried, so after a bit of dithering, we picked one called Champps Americana. Essentially, a very fancy sports bar. Well, the place was fairly crowded, but we were seated quickly at a most horrible table.

The layout of the restaurant is such that the tables are on different tiered levels, and the tiers are separated by railings. However, the tables are REALLY squeezed in tight and pushed right up against the rails, which meant that our table was essentially right next to a table shared by three middle-aged men who had clearly been drinking for awhile. I mean, we may as well have been at the same table, for all the "separation" the railing provided.

They were obnoxiously perfect examples of the middle-aged, upper-middle-class white male stereotypes. When we sat down, they were boasting about the sizes of their houses and the contents of their wallets. The conversation moved then to hockey and how "back in their day" they could do better than the players on the ice, how it was a conspiracy that the US didn't win a medal in Olympic hockey, what a shame it was that the recent lottery jackpot was won by a family of "damn immigrants," and how the government killed President Kennedy.

Admittedly, that last one threw me for a loop. Tirithien and I tried to increase their dis-knowledge base by loudly talking about how we'd seen a story in the news about a guy who'd been found in a bathtub full of ice with his kidneys missing, and what a shame it was that people couldn't even keep their organs in their bodies anymore, but I think the Obnoxious Middle-Aged Trio was being too loud to hear us.

Finally, thankfully, they left, probably to drive home in their oversized penis replacements-- I mean, SUVs-- and no one else was seated at that table. Of course, then the table right behind me was filled with a group of young girls dressed for a night out, who seemed to keep expanding, expanding, and expanding so that eventually my chair was pushed as far up to the table as it could be without the table slicing through my torso.

In my best passive-aggressive way, when it was time to go, I pushed back my chair with all my strength and a great flourish, knocking, of course, into the chair of the over-perfumed tart behind me. She glared at me, but didn't say a word. How could she, when her chair had been so clearly in my space?

So, this is definitely not a restaurant we will be visiting again. The food was good, but the layout of the restaurant made it a most unpleasant experience! If the sequels to Night Watch have such limited release as to necessitate going so far from home again, I think we are going to have to arrange to have dinner closer to home!

Completely Random Things Overheard in the Office This Morning

"Where are my pants???"

"I'm so hungry I could eat this fax machine."

"So, did you try those new drugs yet?"

"Someone's cologne smells like dog ass."

"Why do you not have anything on your head?"

"I love pickles."

"I hate pickles."

"There's toilet paper on my shoe!"

"Why don't you build one with your kid's Legos?"

It's shaping up to be a very strange sort of day. When the first thing that happens when you get to the office is seeing a manager running down the hall yelling that he can't find his pants, you know it's going to be an unusual day.

I'm sure there's a moral here somewhere...

Oh, man. What an adventure! One does not expect to have an adventure at church. Maybe a small mishap, such as spilling communion wine, or a bungle, such as mispronouncing part of a reading, but adventures are not expected at all.

Ash Wednesday service at Grace Church is usually a very simple thing. Some readings, some hymns, the priest marks the people’s foreheads with ashes (which is cute, because she’s short and has to reach up), and then Communion. It usually takes about an hour. I took Tirithien with me, because he liked my church when he came up on Christmas Eve, and the evening services are pretty much the only ones he can get to.

We got there almost late, and sat down in the back pew, but it was taking a really long time for the service to start.

One of the altar servers came in and asked if I would watch her purse during the service, and whispered that some strange guy was wandering around in the back of the church. Then she went back out. A little while later, the parish coordinator came in and apologized for starting late, then asked us all for our safety to stay where we were. It was, of course, the “for our safety” part that freaked everyone out. We were all looking around at each other, wondering what was going on and whether or not we should go out and help, regardless of what we’d been instructed.

So some of the choir members there got everyone singing hymns to calm down and distract. Meanwhile, this guy who absolutely reeked of alcohol staggered in and sat down in an empty pew. The service started, and everything seemed normal, until the guy stood up and started mumbling, “I can’t take this, I just can’t take this,” and staggered back out. Two of the men followed him out, and we could hear them all talking loudly through most of the service. As it turned out, the guy had come in WITH A GUN, brandishing it and demanding food!

Now, I don’t know about you, but if I had been one of the ones out in the lobby preparing for the service, my instinct would not have been at all to invite the drunken gunman into the service with his gun, but instead to distract him while someone called the cops! He was threatening my friends. This is simply not done. But the church leaders, as far as I know, did not call the cops. I am not sure what happened to the guy. I think he just walked away. One of my friends insisted it was just a toy gun, but another said it was some kind of BB gun or pellet gun—something that could still cause damage at close range.

Needless to say, this was a rather traumatic experience, but at least no one was hurt. It was really the most disturbing church service I’ve ever been to, and it’s an experience I hope I never have to repeat!

Portrait of Misery

She stood at the counter tapping her foot while they prepared her food. Everything was wrong, it was too cold, they were too slow, she didn’t want onions, why didn’t they give her onions when she specifically asked for them?

She was of an age that could have been dignified, could have been elegant. She stood squeezed into too-tight flared jeans and high-heeled boots; her graying hair sprayed and gelled into submission, makeup smeared thickly across what might have been wisdom lines and laugh lines on another woman. Hiding them and emphasizing them at the same time.

She glared at the counter staff with an imperious toss of her head when he brought her tray. “Have a nice day,” he said.

“No chance of that,” she spat, stalking off with her tray, taking her two bean burritos off to her private corner of the restaurant, muttering about the “ignorant brats” who probably still needed to learn their ABCs. She stopped and complained to an elderly gentleman in neatly pressed clothing for exactly two minutes and twelve seconds. The gentleman tried to finish his lunch, looking away in embarrassment.

She stomped towards me, glaring as if she suspected me of being in league with the counter help. I glared right back, then rolled my eyes and looked at my book again, telling her wordlessly that she wasn’t worth my time. She sighed in great exasperation that no one was left to listen to her complain. I heard her muttering to herself at a table two behind mine for quite awhile after she sat down.

When she finished her food, she threw her tray at the trash can and swept out of the restaurant, glaring at me again, probably thinking she was grand and intimidating, when all I really wanted to do was ask her if the reason she kept herself from smiling was so that the painted mask on her face wouldn’t crack.

Job Search: Mission Accomplished

My job searching has actually been successful—to an extent. I was contacted by a company who wants me to do telemarketing work from home. Now, telemarketing sucks, I can’t deny this. But there’s certainly something to be said for being able to earn money while wearing my flannel pajamas. No commuting or anything, which is good, because my town is kind of isolated from the rest of Metro Detroit. 15 hours a week, all evenings, no weekends (unless I want them), so it will fit in well with my full time job. I just have to download and install their dialing software, learn some material, and I’m good to go.

The problem, though, is that my schedule is partially predetermined, at least until I prove myself. For example, I have to work on Tuesday nights. But… choir practice is Tuesday nights! But I’m in such a state as to not have much choice in the matter at this point, so I accepted the job and didn’t argue.

Which means I was rather unhappy going to practice last night, figuring it would be my last one for awhile, and that this Sunday would be my last Sunday in a choir robe for quite some time.

When I told them what was going on, though, they pointed out that I was a really quick study with the music and I could be fine just practicing with them during the Sunday morning warm-ups an hour before service and learning the pieces on my own, if I was willing to. The organist even volunteered to work with me on Saturday afternoons if some of the parts were extra-tricky.

So I have a new job to start very soon. And I’m still a choir member. And I even get to be the cantor this Sunday, for the Great Litany we do every year on the first Sunday of Lent. It’s very grand; I get to sing/chant all these phrases, and the congregation has to respond. And it’s very LONG! I’m surprised the director entrusted it to anyone else, actually; she sang it herself last year.

Tuesday was very good to me this week. : -)

Life Without a Message Board

For Lent, I am taking the time I would ordinarily spend on the snopes message board and devoting it instead to writing. No more snoping for me until Easter! Now, the plan, of course, is that I will write deep, meaningful, theological things that can someday become a book.

I have a feeling, though, that instead I'm going to wind up with a LOT of random blog entries. So get used to seeing rather odd things in this space!

Spirit Writing

"Back in the day," I had a technique of writing which Stephen will recall. I would sit down at my computer, or with pen to paper, and attempt to clear my mind completely. Then my hands would move as of their own accord, and strange pieces of poetry would come out. We called it "letting the spirits write," or "automatic writing." I have not tried this in a very long time--I didn't feel capable of it, or worthy of it-- but I was inspired to try a bit this morning. This is what I got.

How high, how high must I climb
before I can see where I should go?
How long, how long must I walk
before the path becomes clear?
Ever my way is shrouded in fog,
ever my view obscured by cloud.
A day will come without light,
without power humming in the lines,
without purple fluorescence,
when the only music is what we make.
Maybe on that day, I will see.

The Interactive LED Sign

Someone over on the snopes.com message board posted this link, and I don't have much to wrote about today (other than to crow that FIVE of my Red Wings will be coming home from Turin with gold medals/CDs, thanks to Sweden's 3-2 win over Finland yesterday), so I will share with you all!

This is the Interactive LED Sign. This guy has this sign set up in his basement so that when you type things in to the webform, they will appear on the sign, which you can then see on his webcams.

For example, you can advertise for your favorite message board:
You can declare yourself to be royalty:
You can give strange, obscure shout-outs to your blog friends:
Or you can declare your love in true adolescent-style:

Admittedly, some people using the sign will make offensive and painfully ignorant comments. Also, sometimes you have to try a few times and wait for a few refreshes to get your message to pop up, and if you want to save the image, you have to click on it fast. Still, it can provide hours of at-home fun! Well, minutes, at least. :-)

Gold, Silver, Bronze... CDs?

Does anyone else think the Olympic medals look like CDs this year? For example, here is a shot of Canadian women's hockey players Hayley Wickenheiser and Cassie Campbell with their gold medals.
(And as an aside, isn't Hayley Wickenheiser's little boy a cutie?)

Now, for a comparison, here is a picture from the 2002 Salt Lake Games. We have Steve Yzerman, Chris Chelios, Brett Hull, and Brendan Shanahan with their gold and silver medals.

Now, THOSE look like proper Olympic medals! What was the IOC thinking? Some of the figure skaters and acrobatic skiers are probably too little to even stand up straight with those gigantic medal CDs around their necks!

The men's hockey quarterfinals are today. And I am stuck at work. And I forgot to get a blank tape to try to program my VCR. Crap. :-(

Here are the games I will be missing today due to the necessity of earning a living:

1. 10:30, Sweden vs. Switzerland. There are whispers that the Swedes threw their game yesterday so that they'd draw Switzerland instead of the US. If it's true, perhaps karma will bite them. It's not like underdogs haven't accomplished strange things in the Olympics before....
2. 11:30, US vs. Finland. Finland went undefeated in the round robin portion of the tournament. The US... did not. To put it mildly. They kind of squeaked in to the quarterfinals. Well, guys, you're playing elimination hockey now, so I suggest you listen to your captain (the second guy in the picture up there) and pull it together!
3. 2:30, Canada vs. Russia. Legends on ice. Need I say more? This one should be a brilliant game. I hate to have them play so early in the tournament, though, because it means one of them is guaranteed to not medal.
4. 3:30, Czech Republic vs. Slovakia. This should be an interesting game. Both teams are about half NHL players and half not, so they play a more European style than we're used to seeing. Plus, being as how these two countries were Czechoslovakia not so long ago, this ought to be a strong regional rivalry. The Czechs are without starting goalie Dominik Hasek (though Tomas Vokoun is a strong replacement), and the Slovaks are flying high with a 5-0 record in the first part of the tournament, so this should be a battle.

*Note to self: Buy a videotape and learn to program the VCR before the semifinals!

Storm-Washed

The big ice/snow/slush storm we were supposed to get last night?

It was all rain and wind. Lots of wind. Very loud wind.

But nothing was damaged when I went out this morning. (I was worried; my apartment building seems a little fragile.) A curbside recycling bin from parts unknown had blown into the parking lot, but that was the extent of the wind’s mischief, as far as I could tell.

Better still, though, was the sky.

Blue.

Beautiful, soft, pale, clear blue, with just a few fluffy clouds here and there that emphasized the sky’s beauty rather than detracted from it. The clouds were all shot through with gold from the new-risen sun, and the pale waning moon faded slowly into its daytime sleep far away to the west.

In spite of the cold, in spite of the fact that winter still has weeks to go, that was a springtime sky we had this morning. The morning after a storm, the entire world seems washed clean and renewed, shining in glory.

It’s the sort of morning when any amazing thing might happen.

What the... ?

Well, things just keep getting more interesting in my Springer-esque neighborhood!

Last night I overheard someone mentioning the Michigan Sex Offender Registry, and I realized I hadn’t looked up my town before I moved in or at any time since. I looked up all the neighborhoods where the ex-H and I were considering buying a house last year. I guess I was in too much of a hurry this time!

So I went to the website. I plugged in my ZIP code. It gave me a list. And guess who was on it?

Why, none other but my mother-abusing, karaoke-singing, stoner neighbor!

Second degree criminal sexual conduct was the charge. It didn’t provide any details, other than that it was not with a minor. So I looked up the meaning for second degree criminal sexual conduct. It is sexual contact (not penetration) involving force, coercion, use of a weapon, or incest, and it is a felony carrying a sentence of up to 15 years.

Now, this guy was never anything but polite to me, and I had no reason to suspect that he was anything other than a bit eccentric. But now…

It’s strange, but I feel almost betrayed. My safe, secure little home was not nearly so safe as I had thought it was. And now I don’t feel nearly as good as I did about living on my own. :-(

Ranty Valentine Rambling

Valentine’s Day! Hallmark at its finest.

Don’t you just love when greeting card companies, chocolate companies, and jewelry stores invent holidays, or at least blow existing minor holidays out of all proportion?

And don’t you wish that just once the public would catch on and not let this happen?

Of course it’s good for members of a couple to do nice things for each other. That’s one of the things that makes a relationship healthy! But exactly what does this mutual love and affection have to do with the jewelry stores’ subtle credo of If you don’t get your woman these diamonds, you are the world’s biggest loser and you’ll never get laid again…?

In my mind, I have romance defined as “making the other person glad that they are who they are, and glad that they are with you.”

If a couple needs heart-shaped boxes of chocolate * to do this, or overpriced blood diamonds, and they only do this on holidays, they’ve got problems that all the heart-shaped candy in the world won’t fix.

And speaking of hearts… to impress my biologist boyfriend, I leave you with this:

Hearts look like this.

They don’t look like this.

But even though it's a visually unappealing lump of muscle, my heart beats with great and abiding love for this biologist boyfriend of mine, just the same, every day of the year. :-)

Which is good, because I don’t actually get to see him on Valentine’s Day at all. Darn choir practice. But romance must include flexibility, after all. (Now please get your minds out of the gutter from that statement. ;-) )


* Please note that I have no objection whatsoever to chocolate. It’s not the chocolate’s fault if it is put into a tacky box.

An Arresting Development

My stoner neighbor got arrested last night. (I haven't had any interesting stories to post in weeks, and then I get two in one weekend!)

Anyway, the walls in my apartment building are pretty thin. The section I live in has three units with a shared enclosed porch, one upstairs and two downstairs. This neighbor and I live in the two downstairs units. So, I heard the porch door slam, then heard my neighbor's door slam, both much more loudly than usual.

A little while later, I heard the porch door slam again, then heard banging on the neighbor's door. I didn't think anything of it, until the banging started on my door. I was in the middle of changing clothes, so didn't answer right away, and when I did, there was a police officer standing out on the porch! He asked if my neighbor was in his apartment. All I could say was that I thought I had heard him come in. Then the officer told me he was waiting for backup and I should go back inside.

Finally, the neighbor opened the door and came out to talk to the cop. I could hear most of it; they were asking about a fight he'd had with his mother. So from what it sounded like, he was being arrested for domestic violence against his mom! It ended with him being taken away by the police, and he hadn’t come back by the time I left for work this morning, so I guess he can't post bail.

Yes, it was quite the wild weekend in my neighborhood.

It kind of reminds me of the people downstairs in the last apartment I lived in. They would be constantly either fighting or having sex. Loudly. I could hear them best from the bathroom, because of course there was no carpet in there to mitigate the sound. Eventually they broke up, and I was awakened one Saturday morning by the sounds of crashing outside. Evidently the woman and her son were throwing the man's furniture off their second floor balcony and laughing as it shattered on the pavement below.

I swear someday I am going to live somewhere where the neighbors don't qualify to be guests on Jerry Springer.

A Highly Unusual Wedding

The bride was gorgeous, tall and elegant, her ivory satin gown dressed with tasteful amounts of lace and pearls, her veil draped just so over her dark curls. The bridesmaids were nearly as beautiful: dark wine-colored gowns, sleek and stylish, their hair just right, smiling gracefully for the bride's happiness. The look on the groom's face spoke of such joy, such wonder! He and his friends were all so very handsome in their charcoal-gray tuxedos, just the right color to coordinate with the bridesmaid's dresses. The guests were all well-dressed, laughing, congratulating the happy couple. It could have been a perfect wedding party, models staging a shoot for some bridal magazine for young girls to read and dream of their own big days.

But they looked utterly out of place going through the food line at the family-style buffet restaurant Saturday night.

They all seemed happy, though, and I guess that's the important thing!

Hole in the Wall

She lay desperately awake most nights, alone while he was in the other room. The siren call of the computer was too much for him to resist.

This night was even worse. This night she was not just lonely, but afraid. Not just resentful, but infuriated. More with herself than with him.

They had fought after dinner, of course. It was more unusual for things to stay calm than for there to be a fight, those days. But this fight had been worse.

She had lain alone so many nights. He’d often refuse to go to bed until she was getting up for work. She needed his love desperately, and had no idea how to get it. She had tried all the ways she knew, and didn’t know how to ask him what he needed. And when she tried to ask, he didn't know how to tell her.

The fight had been over buying the house. He had started gesticulating wildly, and she had made an obnoxious comment about him looking like William Shatner. She had been angry, but had also been trying to switch the mood before things got too dark again. It was a bad idea.

He hurled the cordless phone at the wall and stomped out. It left a big gouge.

She sat alone staring at the hole, afraid. Rapidly she ran through options in her head. Was there anywhere else she could go? Anything she could do on her own?

But mostly she stared at the hole in the wall. Tried to distract herself by going on instant messenger to talk to a friend. The friend tried to help, but there was a hole in the wall.

She went to bed so she wouldn’t have to look at the hole.

He finally came home, late, and tried to cuddle her and make things up to her. The touch and hugs she had longed for, only now, to her horror, her skin crawled at the very thought of his touch. She cried.

He got up and went to the computer.

She lay weeping in the night as, for the first time in her entire life, steel entered her soul.

She would not live afraid.

There was a hole in the wall, but she would not live with one in her heart; not with one through which her soul would leak out little by little until it died.

It was time to go.

Observations on Job Searching

Well, to my mind, there’s nothing more effective for making a person feel worthless than job searching in a job market like Detroit’s. And it doesn’t help matters knowing that for the part time jobs I was applying to yesterday, my competition consists mainly of college students trying to earn a few extra dollars.

• I started out close to home. The first ad was for a Weekend Attendant at my town’s Community Center. Okay, good enough. I went to the Community Center. They had a zombie answering the door. Okay, he wasn’t really a zombie, but his voice sounded very slow and deep, like Lurch from “The Addams Family.” And then they wouldn’t even let me apply there; they sent me back to City Hall to fill out the application.
  
• Next on my list was a Patient Care Aide at a nursing home. I went. There was no nursing home. I double and triple checked the ad. The address listed was an ordinary house. There’s no phone number in the ad. The home isn’t listed in the phone book. So, I’m supposed to apply to this place…. how, exactly?
  
• Then came Activities Aide at another nursing home. This could actually be kind of a cool job. The unfortunate thing was that in the lobby there were also several interviews going on for nursing assistants. So it was LOUD in there. They also have a very loud squawky parrot. Frazzle, frazzle, frazzle!
  
  
• Next up was for an Appointment Setter at a place called Dialogue Marketing. After a great struggle trying to actually find the building (it looks like it’s on a different street than the one they list for the address), I went in through a maze of hallways to discover that they aren’t really hiring; they’re just taking applications. They won’t be hiring for real until sometime next month. Now, I ask you, why go to the trouble of putting out an ad if you aren’t even going to hire anyone?
  
• The one I thought of doing next was to be a Kennel Attendant (evening and weekend care) at the veterinary hospital where I used to take little Colin. This would be a good one, except I’m allergic to cats, which of course would be a serious detriment in a veterinary job. So, no go on that one.
  
• Finally I headed home, but stopped on the way at Meijer (ack), Home Depot (double ack), and Wal-Mart (infinite ack) to fill out applications at their “Employment Kiosks.”

All in all, a rather depressing day, and now I’m at my real job, a day behind and with no discernible gains from it. *sigh*

Employment Futility

Today I'm home from work. The reason I'm home from work is so I can go apply for other jobs.

Now, this is not as bad as it sounds. I'm not looking to leave my job, but instead to pick up part-time work for evenings and/or weekends that I can do in addition to my current job. Because I'm poor. Because it costs a lot more to be single than I had expected it would. Because my rent just went up. And because when I figured out my taxes, the figure that came up indicates that I apparently owe the IRS my firstborn child. Now, since I'm not about to hand little Brendan over to the IRS, I need an extra cash influx. Like, now.

So I'm off today, planning to go around to stores and such places and put in applications. And I'm immature enough to hope that I get a job where I won't have to work with the public, because I don't want anyone I went to high school with to see me in a cashier or stock type job. I know pride is a rotten thing, but there it is anyway. Besides, the public annoys me. I know I have to take what I can get, but.... well, yuck.

I've tried to think of get-rich-quick schemes, but none of them have worked. Karaoke contests just don't pay well enough, and I certainly don't have what it takes to be a contestant on Fear Factor. Kidney theft pays well, I hear, but I don't have the medical knowledge to make it work.

So, I'm off to make a few phone calls and then head out to fill out applications. Grumble, grumble. Wish me luck.