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I love that I made my bed with nice clean sheets before I left.
I love drunk dial messages that I get 10 hours later, that make me come over all warm and fuzzy on the inside when I am completely and totally convinced I am about to die.
I completely fucking love New Orleans.
Pictures later, off to bed I go.
Busy past couple of days. Had a temp assignment during the days, and then off to B&V at night...this evening Hamstress, Mr. Chris, and myself head on off to N'Awlins...actually, to Slidell LA...same difference, long ass drive ahead. Was temping at this big fancy PR company, stuffing pamphlets into envelopes, sealing the envelopes, putting address labels on the envelopes - all pretty straight forward stuff. Anyway, when I got there Monday morning, it was explained to me what I would be doing, and then my boss du jour looked at me quizzically and said "do you think you need any more direction than that?" I was gobsmacked. I understand that there are a lot of really stupid people out there, but really - my friends four year old could have handled this...now granted, I would assume that my execution was more expeditious, and yeah, I didn't take liberties with the label placement in an effort to make it "look like the kitty", at no time did I pause to remark that "I poop in the potty" or for even a second consider stripping naked and scampering through the office shrieking with girlish glee...But a four year old, without benefit of a college education, could have made a good run of this...and this chick is asking me if I comprehend what was just explained to me...withholding my snark with all my might, I put a pamphlet in an envelope, slapped a label on it, and looked at her "I think I've got it" I said. But I said it nicely...not in a fuck you sort of way - when I related the story to Mr. Chris, who works in the same building and went out for a smoke with me, he said "this is why nobody will hire you - you're sarcastic" Well if I'm so damned sarcastic how come she called my agency and asked for me specifically to come in as soon as I'm back from LA? Huh? tell me THAT cowboy! Anyway. I must finish tidying apartment, packing crap, etc etc...so y'all have a nice Thanksgiving - hug the people who matter, don't think about the ones that don't, eat too much, sleep too much...big love to all. I'll be back next week with pictures and stories...hugs and kisses! Oh, and on an unrelated note - yesterday I discovered that the CTA ticket machines will NOT accept dollar bills with bloodstains on them. Good to know.
Greetings chicklets.
How y'all doing? What'd y'all get up to this weekend?
Mine was more of the usual. Friday night I worked the Casey Chambers show. I worked stage door for this gig so I actually saw the whole show. The gent who opened first was the lovely and achingly beautiful Shane Nicholson - his voice was glorious - the sort of boy you want to come and sit by your bed and sing you to sleep every night...I am quite smitten with Mr. Shane Nicholson - yes I am. Next up was Holly Williams (daughter of Hank Jr.) I was thoroughly unimpressed, and the general consensus amongst my co-workers was "not that great" and "not as hot as she looks in pictures". Casey Chambers - well her band was great - a kick ass banjo player, hot bass player, and her dad plays a mean slide guitar. Her voice tho - no. Imagine if Smurfette joined the Chipmunks - yeah, something like that - a voice that ONLY Dolly Parton can get away with. Very sweet lady tho, came out and met people after and chatted and posed for pictures and answered stupid questions to the effect of "so - I imagine Chicago is really different from the outback" . So she's a nice gal, but I shan't be running out to buy her CD any time soon.
Yesterday I got a haircut. Lost a few inches of length, but it's still longish, and my ends no longer look like they had a nasty encounter with an electric eggbeater. I''d post a picture to show you just how cute I am but at the moment I look like hammered dogshit and frankly can't be arsed to take a shower and get all tarted up JUST so I can take a picture and make you people happy. Just imagine it. I always look better in my imagination, I'm sure the same is true for y'all.
The hippo is still running amok. I'm thinking at this point I'm just gonna let it live. It'll go away on its own in the fullness of time. I really don't need a hippo annoying me at the moment anyway. Fuck hippos.
Today I've done very little, watching my sunday afternoon PBS cooking show fest, watched a few episodes of Bottom on DVD from Netflix, ooh - speaking of which, I don't think I told you about my latest shameful secret movie. In keeping with my recent fixation on Scott Baio (can I explain it? No, I mean, yeah, I was TOTALLY in love with him back in the day, when Happy Days was on - I totally wanted to be Joanie - but the recent resurgence in fondness? There is NO EXCUSE). But anyway, rented this flick called "Barhopping" featuring Scott Baio as a womanizing cassanova type (a natural role for him, non?) but the best part - Not *only* did this fine cinematic gem star his Baioness, it also featured John "Skunkboy" Henson (sigh, how I loved skunkboy - Talk Soup was one of my favourite shows when he was on it and it was never the same after he left - You can keep your Hal Sparks and Aisha Tyler - fuck'em! Nothing but poor substitutes) and if that's not enough to convince you, the piece de resistance - Robert Hegyes - yeah that's right - none other than Juan Epstein. Go ahead, open another window and order it on Netflix - you know you want to. Here, if it makes you feel better, I'll avert my eyes....
What else...what else....oh - GO TO THE DBR SHOW TOMORROW NIGHT OR THE TERRORISTS WIN. It's free, it's Monday night, and really, what the fuck else are you gonna do? I of course have the added motivation of possibly going in the mens room with the Wrestler again. Rowwwrrr.
On a final note - Miss Sarah and I have been taking a poll (not a pole, mind you, snicker) what do you, fair readers, think about the term "pulsing man stick"? If it doesn't appeal (it has been remarked upon that when describing the male member in a bodice ripping romance novel sort of way, hard consonants should never be involved - it has also been noted that for some, the word "pulsing" immediately brings to mind unsavoury conotations such as "infection" and "get that thing the hell away from me") what would *you* say instead?
This concludes one of the most adolescent Rock Haus posts in recent history.
At The Mutiny (just a half block north of Fullerton on Western)
Gnome news - sent by Miss kathy
Wacky hoosiers - swiped from Bakerina
Recruiter for today re-scheduled on me. Which is fine, I was in no mood to endure another 3 hours of sitting and testing and bright chirpy convo. I will say tho, my meeting yesterday..the chick I talked to about permanent placement wasn't entirely encouraging, talking about how employers are looking for people with at least 3 years at past jobs, which as you are aware, isn't MY case, but you also know that I have made a nice career of being entirely disposable - it's not like I'm some kind of employment floozy, hopping job to job whenever the mood suits me. Anyway, so, yeah, she wasn't entirely encouraging, but the guy I spoke to from the temp/temp to perm division was at the very least entertaining. When he was asking about what sort of companies I would want to work at with a potential to go perm and I mentioned that perhaps something really corporate would be a bad fit for me (mostly because I only own one suit and I'f I've gotta wear the damned things all the time they'd better be paying me a whole lot of money), he looked at me and said "Oh I know honey, you're a flower, not just another blade of grass - I getcha"...we'll see if he gets me any work. In the meantime, other temp agency got me a reception gig for today and tomorrow afternoon. Woo.
In other news, Sir Bob is back, and he's re-doing 80's charity classic "Do They Know It's Christmas?"...I found this little snippet from the Mirror highly entertaining.
Mr. Rick sent me this article. Interesting perhaps only to me, but I just don't see how Eastenders could even begin to translate for an American audience...but Eastenders has been a guilty pleasure for me ever since about 1988....in ther rare event I get to see it. My parents get BBC america and I tried to sneak a watch while I was home and my dad caught me and demanded I "turn that shit off" - it was mortifying - like I'd been caught watching a porno.
And finally, as I told Miss Kathy when she sent me this link - If I was gonna spend that kind of money on a sandwich, it'd better be stuffed full of diamonds and Adrien Brody.
What I really wanted to do tonight was go out and tie one on. Don't know why, I was just in that kind of mood. However. Due to interviews* tomorrow and Wednesday morning, in combination with a temporary cash flow issue, I'll most likely be behaving myself until at least Thursday, and hopefully by then I'll be feeling a little more grown up and civilized....or not. Only time will tell.
Tonight on Jimmy Kimmell - Tommy Lee and Tony Perkins (the weatherman, not the psycho) Tommy's starting to look a little rough, give him another 20 years and I think we'll have another Keef on our hands....but no, what I thought was really sort of odd, was that as Tony Perkins walked out, I would *swear* (and I could be mistaken) that the band was playing the opening strains of the Ramones song "Chinese Rock", which seems a peculiar choice for a man like Tony Perkins. As I said, I could be mistaken.
Okay, I have to be up in 5 hours. I'm off to bed. Goodnight my gentle turtledoves.
*nothing to get excited about - more vile recruiters. I've decided they are in fact useless, and I really only go to practise my interview skills, test my software skills, see if my tolerance for chirpy flippy haired trixies is still strong...Decided for tomorrow my disguise will be the suit with the black turtleneck, high heels, hair up in a twist and gray pearls. What fun, I love playing dress up.
His wit knows no bounds, now, I'll be the first to admit, I shoot the bird all the time, but I'm not the president, AND I have a vocabulary that includes AT LEAST 15 words with more than 2 syllables - so I win. Screw you, shrub.
And again another weekend has come and gone. Nothing of any great note to report. Friday night was work, and then over to Matilda, Saturday night was more of the same, those in attendance included Hamstress, Silent Ron, Miss Sarah, Mr. Chris, J., Miss Julie...an additional tagalong whose name currently escapes me provided Friday night's entertainment by puttin' the (unwelcome) moves on Silent Ron...last night we had the frat boy man love floor show with the stupid drunk slutty girl backup dancers.
Other than that...my apartment is nice and tidy - this was accomplished by a caffeine fuelled Thursday afternoon, further spurred by an impending Friday visit from the landlord - due to the construction next door and the ensuing earthquake effect on my building, his insurance requested he do a check of all the apartments to check for any signs of structural damage. My apartment checked out okay, and as an added bonus, I was able to confirm my suspicion that the fuckwit upstairs HAS in fact moved out, AND at some point this week landlord man is gonna come by and re-caulk my tub and snake my drain (my inner 12 year old can't help feeling that sounds all boom-shaka-lacka)...
What else...what else...nothing really. I meet another vile recruiter on Tuesday morning...oh, did I mention I'm going to Louisiana for Thanksgiving? Hamstress, Mr. Chris and I are road trippin' down there to visit Papa de Hamstress...staying outside of New Orleans but will be going into town for a look-see, gonna see if I can't track down Miss Rachel (some of you may remember Rachel from such mailrooms as the Maryland Institute College of Art, and such bars as the Mount Royal Tavern) while I'm down there...Am looking forward to a nice road trip, getting outta town for a few days, and taking some pictures...should be good times.
Ooh - also - for some time now I've wanted a globe. I've always liked them, and really, considering how many countries I've actually been to (granted most of them were visited when I was too young to actually experience or remember them) it's mortifyingly embarrassing just how completely ignorant I am of world geography - but with my current financial situation, I can't be splashing out on every little bit and bauble that I desire, so imagine my glee when I found one in the alley today!* It's old, but in decent shape, not full of cockroaches or anything...now, of course, if I had my way (and obscene amounts of disposable income) I would have this one...and of course a nice library with built in bookshelves on all the walls, and one of those cool roly ladder thingies (just like at chez mummy goatwax) for it to live in, and a nice squishy leather club chair for it to sit next to....and a maid, to dust it regularly....
This weekend's soundtrack provided by the Jim Carroll Band (another loaner from J.)
*You are never to old to dumpster dive - NEVER.
Fucking hippos. Yeah, they're big and you would *think* not so fast on their feet. But you would be WRONG. Nimble little fuckers, they are. And you know, in my heart of hearts, I KNOW that killing the hippo is the wrong thing to do. I know that if I just give it time, the hippo will go away on its own (or it will be brutally and unceremoniously slaughtered by stupid slutty girls) but you know - despite all this, *I* want to be the one to kill the hippo. Fucking pesty hippo bastard.
* and if you don't know what I'm talking about and you REALLLLLY just want to know, you can email me and maybe I'll tell you.
