Foul

I am in a terrible mood.

For one thing, I’ve been nursing the mother of all migraines all day.

For another, my recently-unemployed roommate managed to find a job that he LIKES less than a week after losing his old job.  I mean, I’m glad for him, but I feel like a fucking loser.

For yet another, my once-pristine house is gross again.

And finally, my house smells like cat piss.  This is because my older cat is a FUCKING ASSHOLE, as I believe I have documented here before.  He has been pissing in the hallway.  He does not have any health problems that cause him to do this.  It’s because HE IS AN ASSHOLE.  His litter box apparently did not meet his standards for cleanliness, so he made his opinion known by pissing on the carpet.  Over and over and over again.  He’s not normally a skittish cat, but when I call his name today, he runs and hides.  AS HE FUCKING SHOULD.

Yes, I should keep the box cleaner.  I should scoop regularly, or at least change the box out more often.  But the thing is, it isn’t THAT bad.  I’ve seen disgusting cat boxes before.  And my little cat hasn’t revolted.  It’s just this one asshole cat that apparently doesn’t realize that I DO NOT OWN A STEAM CLEANER.

Damn it all to hell.

Flashback: When I Didn’t Suck

Wow.

I finally got my old (crappy) computer set up, and have been digging through files.  Nearly everything was deleted in a frenzy of frustration and rage last year, but I did keep the old Excel file that contained an electronic version of my check register.

I used to be okay, financially.  Okay, so I had some hard times.  I got paid late on many occasions and life seemed overwhelming.  But I maintained my own place to live, my own vehicle, car insurance, renter’s insurance, a website or two, and a reasonably well-stocked pantry.  I made my student loan payments.  I bought gifts for people.  I took my family out to dinner sometimes, and I donated money to the Red Cross in the aftermath of Katrina.  I loaned money to a friend.  I replaced worn-out clothing.  I even saw movies and bought books occasionally!  I kind of had my shit together.

WTF?!!  I have no way of reconciling that person with the one I am today.

It’s driving me crazy!  Transactions at Half.com, Old Navy, Overstock.com, Benefit Cosmetics and Pizza Hut? YANKEE CANDLE COMPANY?  It seems impossible that I ever had the freedom to spend money on frivolous bullshit.  $75 on clothes for my sister?  These days I can’t even afford socks for mySELF.  Girl Scout Cookies? Seriously?  Blockbuster?  My friend’s cell phone bill?  A new charger for my Palm Pilot?  $60 to 1-800-Flowers.com?!?!??! ARGH.  Granted, these transactions are all spaced out over a period of time.  I didn’t ever have the luxury of just going nuts and blowing hundreds of dollars at once, but I did occasionally get to spend money on things that mattered to me (however unnecessary they might have been).

I don’t even have a fucking bank account anymore!

I honestly feel like banging my head against a brick wall.

Wow, That Got Off Track

I’m glad that people are finally reconsidering the blue laws that prevent the sale of liquor on Sundays.  I’ve always felt that the laws are ludicrous.  This is largely because I am not religious, and even if I were, I wouldn’t appreciate the state mandating one day out of the week that I’m not allowed to buy booze.

Quite simply, it all boils down to the idea that I don’t like being told what to do.  If I want a bottle of Captain Morgan on Sunday, and I’m not allowed to have one, there ought to be a damned good reason why.  And there ISN’T.

I’m a whore for convenience and if I had it my way, all businesses would be open 24 hours a day.  I like to shop in the middle of the night.  I would like to get my hair cut at 5 am.  We no longer live in 1954, when Dad worked 9-5 and Mom ran errands while he worked.  These days, Mom and Dad both work (if there are two parents in the family, which is becoming more of an anomaly), and making it to the bank by 4 or the hair salon by 5 are virtual impossibilities.  And personally, after I’ve worked a full day (which admittedly hasn’t happened in a while), I’m not interested in rushing to three different places as soon as I get off work, because I’m tired.  It’s more likely that I want to go home, relax for a bit, have dinner, then worry about buying a new power supply for my subwoofer.

< / rant >

I guess I’m going to have to see Slumdog Millionaire now.

Also, I came here to write about something completely unrelated to everything mentioned in this post, but fuck all if I can remember what it was.

Hoping

I just finished a new version of my resume.  It highlights my writing skills, data analysis experience, and general geekdom.  I’m submitting it for what I think will be the most promising interview I will have had since November 2007.  I’m shaky and my stomach hurts a little because I’m nervous. 

This could be the one that changes everything.

Or it could be nothing.  (Hush now, Negative Nancy)

Now I’m going to expend some nervous energy attempting to clean set-in stains out of my carpet.

Glorified Maid? Really?

Egg-crusted pans in the sink.  Spilled drinks that are left for me to find and clean up.  Wet towels in the bathroom floor.  Dirty clothes all over the place.  Bedding that needs washing.  A garage to unpack and re-organize.  Garbage to take out.  Endless amounts of crap to haul upstairs.  I honestly have no idea how three grown adults, who were presumably NOT raised by wolves, can create such havoc.

I heard the term “glorified maid” the other day, and I chuckled.  I’m not glorified in the least.  I am just a maid.  And unlike professional servants, who make at least a little money on top of room & board, I can’t afford a pack of cigarettes!  Of course, they do a better job than I do… but they are also better-motivated.  If I can’t have cigarettes, can I at least get some of this fucking GLORY people keep talking about?

Isn’t There, Like, A Recession Or Something?

The news irritates me.

I don’t CARE if “A-Rod” was taking performance-enhancing drugs in 2003.  I don’t care if he’s snorting coke off the ass of a prostitute in the red light district right this very moment.  I don’t care if YOU are snorting coke off the ass of a  prostitute in the red light district.  I don’t care if Obama smokes cigarettes.  I don’t care if Bush was a cokehead.  I don’t care whether or not Clinton inhaled.  It’s none of my motherfucking business and it’s none of yours either and the world would be a much better place if we’d all mind our own P’s and Q’s.

(Sidebar: Yes, I understand that performance-enhancing drugs make for a less level playing field in sports.  I just cannot believe that it’s being covered with such fervor in mainstream media.  Isn’t there like a recession or something important going on?)

I also don’t care whether or not Chris Brown hit Rihanna.  Really and truly.  I do not give a fuck.

I care even less that Denise Richards is going to be on Dancing With The Stars.

And I’m tired of the octuplets’ mother.  She is a crazy bitch.  I get it.  Where the hell is Child Protective Services?  She already has six kids living in a three-bedroom house with her and her parents.  The minimum standard for FOSTER CHILDREN is that they must have a space of their own, including a bed and dresser, and that there must be a window in the room and it must be at least 10′x12′ (or something like that, depending on the state).  If she can’t take care of them according to the woefully low standards we as a society have set for foster kids, then she doesn’t need them, period.  I feel as though the next time I see her face on television, I am going to throw a crowbar at it.

I used to feel a special brand of disdain for people that didn’t keep up with the news, who couldn’t carry an intelligent conversation about current events.  Now?  I UNDERSTAND.

Recession Pasta: It’s What’s For Dinner (Or Lunch, As The Case May Be)

I had Recession Pasta for lunch today.  It involved about a third of a tomato (diced), one thin-sliced clove of garlic, olive oil, crushed red pepper, Italian seasoning, spaghetti, a little shredded cheese, and Lawry’s seasoned salt.  I would have added some pastrami, but I figure I’ll get hungry again tomorrow and that pastrami is about all that’s left.

In my estimation, the great thing about Recession Pasta is that it can be many things for many people.  Mushrooms or even canned vegetables could be added in lieu of, or addition to, the tomatoes.  If you don’t have olive oil, you can use vegetable oil or butter or mostly skip the fat.  The flavor might change a little, but frankly I was using the cheapest, most-pressed olive oil money can buy and it didn’t have much flavor anyway.  Besides, Recession Pasta is not tied to one flavor profile.  You could easily add cream of mushroom soup instead of (or in addition to) cheese.  Meat of any kind would probably be good.  Any kind of pasta works.

I foresee a lot of Recession Pasta in my future.  And that’s all right with me.

Untitled

Once upon a time, someone thought this was a good idea.  For those who won’t look, it’s a Weight Watchers recipe card featuring a beverage that consists of water, beef builon cubes, and sherry extract.  Also a celery stick and, as the commentary points out, “self-loathing.”  The other is skim milk with orange pulp.  Gross.

I am throwing caution to the wind tonight and making super-processed Ro-Tel & Velveeta “queso” for a barbeque I am attending tonight.  I guess it’s just as disgusting in its own special way, especially with the addition of breakfast sausage and sour cream.  But it’s disgusting and also delicious, which is far better than just disgusting.

I’m contemplating a version that substitutes cream cheese for the Velveeta and does away with the sour cream (with Fritos Scoops instead of tortilla chips), but I’m not sure if tonight’s group is one I want to experiment on.  However, I don’t have a crock pot anymore, and I’m thinking the cream cheese dip would fare better without a constant source of heat than Velveeta would.  Hrmm.

I have a Jager headache today.  Even so, I’d love to have it on tap in my kitchen.  I’m adding that to my ludicrous wish-list that includes things like a wine chiller (despite the fact that I’m not a big wine drinker) and a radio for my shower.  This is a separate wish-list from the one of realistic things I would actually use in my daily life.

Taking Charge

I’m up by myself tonight doing laundry.  I really hate laundry, but for some reason, it’s not irritating me too much.  This is probably because I am able to watch what I want on television (first the newest episode of Big Love; currently Engineering An Empire: Persia).

I made some really good spaghetti tonight that I absolutely can’t take credit for, because the sauce came from a jar.  Albertsons store brand is actually my favorite, as weird as that sounds.  When using jarred sauce, I’ve found that the ratio of sauce:meat:pasta is the most important factor in determining whether it will be good or not.  Our magic formula is 16 oz thin spaghetti, 2 pounds of ground beef, and two regular-sized jars of sauce.  And, this time, one regular-sized can of mushrooms (as opposed to the miniature can).  We eat a lot of spaghetti, which has given me plenty of opportunities to get it right.  I sometimes like to make my own sauce, but my kitchen just isn’t stocked for it these days.  When I get a job (if that ever works out for me), I’ll undoubtedly stock my kitchen properly and then go on an anti-convenience-food tirade.  But for now, I appreciate Albertsons’ help.

I’m trying to become happier.  Well, happy.  Happier implies that some baseline level of happiness currently exists, which it does not.  I do a reasonably good job of fooling people into believing otherwise, but it really is a gigantic lie. 

So much of it is money-related.  I’ve been so broke for so long that I’m starting to feel like it’s never going to get better.  I’m all for frugal-chic… For cooking at home, shopping thrift stores and clearance sales, couponing, visiting the library instead of Blockbuster…  But to live any kind of worthwhile life costs at least a little money.  I am not in the type of relationship where money is shared.  If I need something, whether it’s socks or a box of Claritin, I understand quite clearly that I have to figure out a way to get it for myself.  I try not to expend much energy resenting this, because truthfully I would like to be completely self-sufficient. 

It would all be so much easier if I could just get a damned job.  Not being able to find one after all this time has really done a number on me.  Is there a sticker on my back that says “I steal office supplies”?  Because I DON’T.

Anyway, lest I go off on a full-blown tirade about my employability (or lack thereof), I’ll talk a little about what I plan to do about it.  I’ve been applying for jobs anywhere & everywhere, which I’ll continue to do.  In addition to that, I’m going to target administrative jobs in area hospitals and call centers.  Beyond that, I’m seeking out some volunteer opportunities…  That way, I’ll have something worthwhile to do with my time until I get a job (which will hopefully make me feel better about life), and as a nice little bonus, I might be able to do a little networking.

I am also looking into attending church (Unitarian, for those with enquiring minds).  Being involved in more activities, and meeting more people, might help.

Shorty

I remember when I used to think I was a pretty cool person.  I’d like to feel that way again.