Me? Cranky? Why do you ask?

I'm feeling just a teensy-bit pissed off at the moment. Not at anyone at home, although you'd think my parents would have learned by now that I'm not a morning person. I don't want to talk to anyone for quite some time after I get up. It's not you, it's me and all that jazz. Just leave me alone for a bit and we can talk at lunch.

But that is just a minor irritant, something that happens when I'm at home and forced to interact with people in the morning. No, I'm instead upset about something else entirely, something I'd rather not get into too much on here. Let's just say that if you purport to care about someone, and they email you about feelings and insecurities and whatnot? Freaking at least acknowledge that they told you something. Don't just ignore it because you don't want to deal with it. In fact, I'm going to say that one of the best ways to deal with email? Ask yourself if they said the same things to you in person, would you feel like you should respond. If the answer is yes, you should respond in some shape or form. Dumbass. (It's okay, he doesn't read this. Though I'd be okay if he did, because its about time for him to have learned these things by now. Such as treating significant others with common courtesy.) So now I have the song from Chicago in my head, the one where the Six Murderesses describe what they did. Mainly the line from the first woman, about "feeling REALLY irritated... so I fired two warning shots. Into his head." Yes, I can occasionally be frightening. Why do you ask?

In another completely innocuous turn, Kinder Surprises are apparently illegal in this country. For those of you unfamiliar with these, they are little chocolate eggs with toys inside. The toys are carefully encapsulated inside a plastic egg and they usually have tiny parts that you must put together. Apparently, our government, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that these eggs are too dangerous and may encourage small children to eat parts of their toys. Not the toys from the eggs, but toys in general. Parents, if your kids are small enough that they might be confused about what is and is not edible, you probably shouldn't be giving them things with small parts anyways. If they are old enough to know not to eat toys, but still might be confused about whether plastic is edible... you might have some bigger problems on your hands than Kinder Surprises. Besides, we combine food and toys all the time. Cereal? Cracker Jacks? All food known to have toys inside. And what about the candy that you can play with? How is that not more confusing? Is it a sucker, or a light saber? It's both! Play with your sword, then eat it! But beware the dangerous Kinder Surprises...

I guess I really am all grown up now...

Apparently, this trip is going to be the trip where childhood dies. Okay, so that's a bit dramatic. But my childhood cat Oreo is dying. She's hanging in there, but just barely. Her kidneys are failing and she's not really eating and she was in the vet hospital for a while on iv's, so her little front legs are shaved and you can see how skinny she is. Which is just strange because before I graduated from college, she was overweight. Fat even. And now? So sad looking.

Also, they are getting close to tearing down my elementary, which I agree with in theory. I mean, the building is old and has been condemned and whatnot. So teaching there is probably not such a great idea. The local university wants the land, I'm sure, and leaving it up for sentimentality's sake is a bit strange. But still. It's hard to imagine that now all the schools I attended as a child have either been torn down or drastically changed. I'm not sure what happened to my preschool, but every other school... Even my middle school and high school have now morphed into one and I've been told that the inside is nothing like what it was when I was there.

My most recent haircut seems to have reminded my church that I have moved out. It was strange. The last Sunday I was there, I think only the people who were friends with my parents or parents of my friends said anything to me. This time, I think I was more popular than the preacher. Some people had me four years younger than I am (So... you're in your last year of college now? Um. No. I graduated three years ago.), but at least they knew I was no longer around. Why a haircut would accomplish this, I have no idea. But whatever.

Also, my friend Brian currently has a picture up. I can't decide how I feel about this picture. See, his wife is pregnant which makes me so happy(!!!!) because I know they will be great parents. But the picture is of him holding the test in his hands, reading the positive sign. So a part of me is all excited for them. The other part of me? Is going ew. I mean, she peed on that. I know urine is an antiseptic, but still.

A Not-so-fond Fairwell

My last posting from this desk. How shall I miss it, let me count the... or not.

So I'm on my way out. I'm quite excited about this. We all had a nice moment in the conference room that was horribly awkward. I'm really not good about being the center of attention at any point in time, much less in a room with 7 people, where one of the people has not said anything directly to me for a number of weeks (he still avoided it, for the most part) and where I harbor dislike for another. Still, I'll miss the other three (yes, 3+2+me only equals 6, but Pres' daughter is in today, so she makes 7. I'm rather neutral towards her.) I've cleaned my stuff up, filed everything I hadn't been filing for ages, and finished up the bits and pieces I had left. Now I'm just hanging out until I can leave. LEAVE!!! And then go home and take a few loads over to my new place. Ugh.

I shall also have to spend some time with Cassie. She's had a rough time lately. She ran into a glass door a few weeks ago, then ran into a wooden door, and then last night, she fell and bit her tongue. I think she bit it hard enough to make it bleed, which of course made me feel horrible even though there was little I could have done to prevent it.

And in another blast from the past, I myself friended the little sister of one of my old best friends. Her sister and I were always together for about 2 years solid. Our whole families were and somewhat are still friends. I feel bad because I tend to forget that there is another younger sister, who was too little for me to play with and who apparently made very little impression on my young mind. But the middle sister was frequently the third in our games. She got all the crap roles, though. And the blame for things that weren't her fault. We once blamed her for breaking a doll her sister was holding, because she tripped or distracted her or something. It was kind of funny, looking bad. She had to go apologize to my mom and was all in tears and she hadn't even done anything. Sigh. Good times. Of course, she's now threatening me with revealing pictures...

I'm not Bon Jovi.

Facebook is a strange beast. Today I had a guy friend me. This guy and I have a long and sordid history. We met online in 8th grade, back when that sort of thing wasn't done. He took me to my senior prom, we stayed in touch for a good portion of college. He kind of became friends with some of my other friends. Then we had a falling out. A pretty serious one, leading to me deciding that talking to him wasn't good for me and wasn't worth my time. Not to be mean about it, but he hurt my feelings and then not only didn't seem sorry about it, but twisted everything to try and make it my fault. Which is not cool with me. Hurt my feelings, yes, people can do that. I mean, you can't always know what's going to hurt someone. You might not agree that it is worth being hurt over. But to not want to apologize, to not feel bad for hurting someone? That I just don't get.

But maybe he's grown up some. Maybe he just wants more friends on Facebook. The whole thing is a little strange, though. Being tracked down by someone you had cut out of your life.

Strangeness Abounds

This week has been strange at work. It's my last week, a fact that excites me muchly (WHEE!!), but it has led to a strange office atmosphere. Or maybe it's not even that, but whatever it is, it means VP has not said one word to either me or CW. And actually, it's not even been just this week. I don't think he's said anything for the past few weeks. Not idle chat, not hello, not goodbye... I even got my hair cut again (it's not like three inches long), and not one word from either him or Pres. She at least has talked to me, mainly because she's in a good mood and because she wants me to do stuff before I leave. Though she also hasn't mentioned that it's my last week... And no one has told me exactly what they want to do before I leave. I mean, I've been doing the basic cleaning up, making sure everything that needs to be done is. But anything else? Who knows.

But Pres keeps acting funny anyways, laughing indulgently at strange things, like us only having a mechanical pencil sharpener because none of us ever use pencils. Or that our rubber bands are old and we haven't ordered new ones because she uses like 15 a year. I know. It's really not funny. "Haha, we tend not to waste money on office supplies we never use..."

A Trainwreck

I have reached the state of exhaustion where everything may or may not be funny and when the stupidest things make you giggle. Including awful yogurt pick-up lines on other blogs (Yoplait or mine? Seriously? Can't stop snickering at it.) I thought my falling asleep at 10 last night would help, but it has only dulled the edge.

I blame the commute. I think it may have killed my brain. See, yesterday it took me 2 hours to get from Foggy Bottom to Ballston. 2 hours! I could have walked in that time. Something I considered, but then realized it was freaking hot and my feet already hurt and my ankle is still not 100%... i also blame SB. The metro broke down yesterday. A train broke somewhere between me and where I was going and they claimed it was fixed, which was clearly a lie. There were no times on the sign. There was a man wandering the tracks at my station with a flashlight. I really don't think things were starting up. So I left. I was supposed to meet people at 6:15, it was now 6:25 and I thought I should call them. Plus I figured SB could come get me. Ha.

I called him and asked him to come get me. The lack of enthusiasm just dripped through the phone. He is so freaking unwilling to ever drive into the city. I don't know why. He comes in for meetings not that infrequently. It's really not that scary of a place. And I say that after getting lost nearly every time I've tried to go somewhere specific around here. (It's the traffic circles. Screw EVERYTHING up for me.) Since he was SO excited about coming in to get me, I offered up a bus possibility, not in seriousness, but more in a "I'm trying not to force you to do what I want, but really get your butt in here because there is no way taking a bus is not going to take forever" way. Yeah, guess what I wound up doing. Freaking waiting for a bus for 40 minutes, followed by a 40 minute bus ride. Because he "honestly thought it would be faster for me to take the bus." Liar. He honestly really didn't want to pick me up in DC. He wanted to pretend like it would take less time. But deep down, we both know that's not the reason.

I was too tired last night to be properly pissed off, but tonight... Plus, appropriately enough, Token Male CW yesterday was talking about his then-girlfriend, now wife, and how he once rode from Ballston to Van Ness at 10:30 at night in the rain, because she thought she heard a noise downstairs. That's what HE did...

Moving Forward

I am officially homeless. If SB wanted, he could kick me out and it would be me and my stuff on the street. Not likely, but still. It's strangely a little freeing. For at least this little bit, I don't have a place tying me down. I have no responsibility to pay rent or cable bills. My stuff is completely in a mess and I can't find anything. Last night was a success because I found a pair of shoes and my retainer. (Yes, I still wear my retainer. I didn't spend 2 and a half years in pain to watch my teeth slowly become crooked again.) And while not being able to find stuff is not the same as not having stuff, I still feel somewhat unencumbered. Just don't tell SB's housemates... They'd take one look at my massive amounts of clothing clogging up their storage room and laugh.

I also just got back from an interview for an internship. I think it went well. In fact, I might be a bit overqualified, not in that the position has nothing to offer me, but more in that I would be doing work comparable to what I do now. The difference would be that this internship would give me a chance to look at a part of an industry I think I'm interested in. I would be working for basically the whole department, which would give me a broad view. And they had an editing test, which I nailed. I mean, "manged" for "managed?" Just made me giggle.

Up and Down and Down Again

I am just about to collapse from exhaustion, mental and physical. This weekend... Up and down and up and down yet again.

Last Thursday, we went to look at a house. It was great. Perfect even. We both felt like it should be ours. Sadly, there was an application put in the day before. BUT there was a chance that if our application was better, we could still get it. Friday, we frantically put together the individual portions of our applications. The girl from Colorado got up early to get it in by noon EST. We sent it in with a check for credit checks and a check for a deposit, hoping that having our money in hand would also tilt things in our favor. Things were looking sunny by mid-Friday. Our realtor thought we had a pretty good chance.

Saturday, I started to move out. It took freaking forever. SB kept trying to convince me that I didn't need to move out all of my clothes, because potentially we would get the perfect house and I could move some straight there. We made several trips. I hurt my foot even more, to the point that Saturday night I had resorted to basically hopping, only lightly touching my right foot down for each step. Physically I was exhausted. I didn't eat enough. I hadn't slept enough. I didn't drink enough water. By the end of the day, I was nearing collapse. And it took all day to move. Not a few hours. Not even several. But all. And I still have those last pieces of clothing and about half the kitchen to move. And I have to clean everything. By tomorrow night. I also have no lights in my apartment outside of the kitchen and closet and bathroom.

I slept a bunch Saturday night. A bunch, but not well. SB's basement is noisy. I was worried about Cassie and how she was managing the transition. I was worried about whether or not we'd get the house. Woke up still exhausted in the early afternoon.

And Sunday evening I learned that my worry had been right. We didn't get the perfect house. There hasn't been a lease signed, so theoretically it could all fall through for the other person, but it doesn't look good. I was very sad, and immediately felt more exhausted.

Today... still tired. Still didn't sleep well last night. There have been a few brighter spots. I may have an interview for a paid internship. My mom sent me flowers to make me feel better. But I still have no place to live and I am thoroughly tired of looking.

Don't Work Out with a Sprained Ankle, or Why I Am a Moron

Those of you with someone longer-term memories may recall last week that I hurt my foot walking to see a place. I quickly, and by quickly mean over several days and with the opinions of others, decided that not only did I twist my ankle, I actually sprained it. The bruise got darker, the swelling got bigger, I bought a wrap and started wrapping it... It's only a minor sprain, so I can get around fine and just limp a bit.

HOWEVER. I am a moron. Or at least, not very good about taking care of myself if it is something that I can ignore. So Friday. Walked. A lot. Took waltzing lessons at the HP event. Walked some more. Barely could walk by the end of the night. Luckily, this didn't have a horribly adverse effect, although I'm sure it didn't help.

Then the bruise and swelling started to go down. I started limping less. Felt almost normal. I was considering stopping wrapping. Then my stupidity kicked in again. First, I forgot that I'd only been injured a week (I thought it had been two), and it takes over a week for an ankle to heal. Then I thought that I could just be careful when working out. HA! I should have known better. I started off on an elliptical machine. It hurt some, so I wisely got off and got on a reclining bike. Things were going okay. But I'm not used to a reclining bike. For one thing, it burns a heck of a lot fewer calories. Plus it's hard... Yes, that means it's probably good for me, forcing my muscles to do something else. But it also means... it's hard.

So I got off after 15 minutes and got... on an elliptical. The same machine that hurt earlier. My foot started swelling a bit. My toes went numb as the wrapping dug in tighter and tighter. By the end, I was a little afraid that I was trapping blood down there and might eventually pass out. And yes, I still finished my proscribed time (10 mins. with a 3 minute cool-down). In my defense, my foot didn't REALLY start going numb until the cool-down. And nothing REALLY hurt after a few minutes.

But today? Today I am back to limping. It hurts nearly as much as it did when I first hurt it, although it's not nearly as swollen. And I get to move in two days. It could be fun...

Betrayal

So my coworker pointed out this today. Apparently Bear Grylls and Man Vs. Wild is a big fraud. He stays in hotels. Consultants make his rafts and show him how, so they can get the precious shots of him building them. Channel 4, the channel in Britain airing the show, excused themselves, saying fans should know because " he often directly addresses the production team, including the cameraman, making it clear he is receiving an element of back-up." Which is a big fat lie, obviously spoken by someone who doesn't actually watch the show. The ONLY times I've ever seen Bear address the cameraman were when they were in danger and he was telling them to get back or get out of the water or some such warning. And Bear himself has said on the show that he's not allowed to interact with them. Hmph.

Now some of you might not think that this is such a big deal. After all, he's still showing you the survival techniques and he still, as Channel 4 put it, "does his own stunts." But it is. First of all, they lied. I'm tired of people lying, relying on trickery to get good ratings. Plus, while Bear is attractive, liars are not. So all this makes him less attractive. Second of all, I only marginally watch the show to learn how to survive if, by some strange chain of events, I wind up stranded in the arctic or something. A good portion of why I watch is to see how someone well-trained can manage to do these things that are beyond my capabilities. To learn that they are beyond his, too? Such a let-down. Next, they'll tell us that he wasn't actually climbing waterfalls in the wild, that it was all a set and they had those invisible wires holding him up.

That's it. My allegiance now goes to Survivor Man. Not only is his show more informative, because he can't do a huge amount that I can't, but it's more true. After all, he doesn't even have a cameraman with him. He carries all his own equipment.

Less-es approaching

I have decided that one of my new big pet peeves is people who don't email back in a timely manner. No, I'm probably not talking about you. But if I am... beware...

So the big move is approaching and I will officially have no where to live. Then, one and a half weeks after I become homeless, I shall become jobless, too. I will essentially be a bum, living off the government. Of course, in this case, I shall eventually have to pay the government back and will have a place to live at some point in time. But still. It's all so exhausting.

I would, of course, write about the final Harry Potter book, but I know several people who don't know what happens, and I don't want to ruin it for them. For some reason, though, that kindness doesn't want to extend to people on my commute. Every time I see someone reading it, I really just want to yell out, "So-and-so dies. DIES. Kaput. They are gone." I don't get it. Most of these people I feel rather neutral towards. One is one who does tend to annoy me by talking loudly and obnoxiously to her friend, but the rest are perfect strangers. I don't actually do it, but the temptation... always there. I did enjoy the last book, but now I have to go back and reread it. I read it in a speed-reading marathon of approximately 6.5 hours, meaning I averaged over 100 pages an hour. I'm rather proud of that. But now I need to go back and reread the 4th and 5th and then the 7th. I just reread the 6th like last week, so don't really need to. There are things I only vaguely remember. Like Sirius' mirror. Minor flashes of recollection, but for the most part? Only grayness... Appropriately enough.

Furthering my nerdom

I discovered something sad today. Apparently, there is a Buffy Musical sing-a-long this weekend. And I don't have tickets. And it's sold out. Though it'll be back in November, if I can remember and have the time to go.

Also, I have to force myself to stay away from the news. How dare they leak details about the last Harry Potter book?! Jerks.

And Arlington sucks. See, I went to see a place last night that was a forever long walk away from the metro. It involved crossing 50 where it intersects Washington Blvd. Both are 4 lanes. 50 is crazy and really can't be crossed without a light. There is a sidewalk on the side of Washington and you go under 50, so theoretically it should all work out. HOWEVER. Arlington had to redo the bridge. They are trying to make it more pedestrian-friendly, which I am all in favor of. To do this, they, in their infinite wisdom, decided to destroy both sides of the sidewalk and put confusing little "Sidewalk closed. Go this way." signs everywhere that wound up pointing to each other.

So I wind up perilously walking in construction trenches where the sidewalk should be, as cars going 45 whiz by three feet away. I was hot, I got dirt blown on me, and I'm still apartmentless. And my ankle starting twinging with pain last night. This morning, it hurts more and I have a funny bruise/swollen area. I blame the county. CW thinks I should sue.

Moving sucks, and other things

I am so ready for a vacation. Good thing that I bought my tickets home! Yay. And I'm leaving a day earlier, because that's when flights were cheapest and when I could overlap trips with my brother and sister-in-law. Now, if I can just get housing nailed down...

Speaking of which, I met with Most-Likely Roommate. She's pretty cool. Nerdy enough to like Eureka, which is always a good sign. CW decided I wasn't excited enough about the whole thing, but really. I'm just completely exhausted. This whole thing is just wearing me out to the point that I just want it to be over. Although I did discover a lovely coffee frappucino type-thing when I went to meet her. (The exhaustion plus the stress = me craving coffee and sweets, or better yet, sweet coffee.)

I also am making gradual process on my lists. Applied for health insurance, which hopefully will not take the 4-6 weeks they mention, as I am supposed to have it for grad school and that will barely get it going in time, as my old cuts of September 1. I also really need to go get my shots (I can't believe I still have to be vaccinated for school. As my mom puts it, "You're in GRAD school and you need to fill out health sheet?!) I've been decent on my packing plan, although Cassie hates it. She is enjoying one of the tubs, as she likes to sleep on it or just jump up there to better attack me. Her hating the changes, though, leads to her crying entirely too much. Some of that is because she found one of these little flower roses that she absolutely loves to chase around. She carries it around, though, and cries. Apparently, she associates crying and carrying. I'm not quite sure why.

Nothing funny or entertaining seems to be happening lately. I mean, there are the political fiascos still, the quotes from the Administration that make me want to run through the streets screaming, "STOP LYING TO US, WE AREN'T MORONS!" until I listen to quotes from the general public and am reminded that, yes, we are morons. My brain isn't working, so I'm not even having funny thoughts. Although I did feel like I had fallen inside a Zach Braff movie the other day, listening to a French cd on the metro. Something about the type of music and the movement of the metro. I also thought that it would be cool to shoot a scene that included the reflection of a person climbing the escalators in the metro, mainly because I saw the reflection of me climbing the stairs in the metro.

Oh, I am almost done with the scarf that would not die! That excites me. My goal is to finish it before I move. I think I can do it. I only need to knit a few more inches. And then I have to sew part of it together, because of a whole fiasco which is not that interesting but which led me to threaten to burn a row of the scarf for every minute the next time SB fell asleep.

Besides all that, I just desperately need a break, one which will hopefully occur after I quit. If I haven't moved, then I won't be so relaxed. But, we are keeping our fingers crossed....

A Harry Week

I am declaring this week to be (somewhat) the week of Harry Potter. First, of course, the movie came out last week. I, being the faithful fan that I am, went this weekend. It was thoroughly entertaining. Much better, I thought, than most of the previous. It felt more like a complete movie, able to hold its own separate from the book. I still walked out going, "well in the book, this happened and this was this way and..." but that was more for SB's edification and to prove that he really should just freaking read the books. He doesn't "want the books to ruin the movies for him." Hmph.

And of course, this weekend is... the last book of the series. I'm excited, but yet... It'll be the end. No more Harry Potter. No more getting excited to see what happens next. I'll know. Plus I'm worried for the characters. See, I get way too involved in my books. I mean, entirely caring too much. It's the reason I didn't really like The Lord of the Rings. I couldn't relax for them until I had finished the whole trilogy. Even at the end of one, you knew it was just a breather of safety. And it's not like they are quick reads. I mean, it took a couple of weeks to work through them all. That's a long time to be worried. But yes. And I KNOW that someone I care about is going to die in Harry Potter. It's kind of a given. I mean, I'm rereading the 6th in preparation and I'm having a hard time forcing myself to finish it because I know what happens. I know who dies. But not knowing who but knowing that it's coming and could be anyone? If she's killed off Hermione, I'm going to be pissed.

At least this time there will be no delivery fiasco such as last time, when a stupid company lost my book and I didn't get it for a week and by then was so pissed off, I'd gone to their competitor to buy it. And then, because by then everyone had already finished it, my friend accidentally told me the ending. Which I don't blame her for and which certainly didn't ruin the book or anything. But still. And I'd better have it done by the end of this weekend. Because I know one of my coworkers and he'd tell me the ending just for fun. And Amazon has promised that I will have it in my hands on Saturday, or I don't pay for it.

"Aid"

My dad is officially driving me insane. I think he and my mom are not on the same page about helping me out with school. Either that, or he keeps changing his mind and is feeling frugal. Whatever. All I need to know is a. if they are helping me out and b. if so, by how much. Right now he keeps calling my loans "aid" and acting as if they are like free money, while every once in a while throwing out a mention of them helping me. I've got too many other things up in the air right now; all I need is some freaking answers.

Luckily, I have my escapes. 1. I am totally going to see Harry Potter this weekend. Also, I really need to start rereading the last book so I'll be ready for this next one. Whee!! I was a bit disturbed to see Daniel Radcliffe turning into an almost attractive guy. Not that he's unattractive, but for a long time he was very nerdy and very obviously insanely young. Too young for me, though those of you obsessed with the boys from Newsies... You know who you are... But now he's getting all adult looking. 2. Eureka's new season started last night! I love that show. SB was totally making fun of me, though, because I was really excited about it and then proceeded to pack while it was on. But I was still listening and I watched most of it. I'd just had a bunch of sugar and I have a gradual pack plan. I shall pack a couple of boxes a day and that way I don't have to freak out right before I move. And moving boxes are freaking expensive. I was looking into getting some of the wardrobe boxes, but they are $10 a piece at least, and I'd need several of them. I may just go the tacky route of just putting a big plastic bag around them and taping the hangers together. 3. Watching Cassie, who remains highly strange and entertaining. She just has the best kitty facial expressions. The other night, I looked over and see her sitting on the air conditioner just staring at me with giant eyes. It actually could have been a little frightening, except I know she can't do anything.

The Countdown begins

Ugh. Back here at work again. I took last week off, thanks to some comp time I wanted to use before quitting (QUITTING!!!!) and went home. Home was nice. Not quite as relaxing as I might have hoped, given that I know the 180084782038472890 things I need to do, and don't want to bother with. And there were some mad knitting issues. See, I've been working on a scarf for SB since, well, practically since we started dating. It started out of frugality/I don't know if he's getting me a present for x and need a back-up. Nice plan. However, we are now 4.5 years into the scarf that will not die. I hate this scarf. I hate it with a passion. I threatened to rip it out or burn it or something. Sadly, he does not seem to think this is a great option. He also didn't go for the "it'd just be a really SHORT scarf..." approach. So I got out my how-to book, figured out after I had ripped out the cast-on row that I couldn't add on to the scarf that way, replanned the whole thing, and threw it and SB out the window. Okay, maybe not the last step. But whatever. It's what I wanted to do. I did, however, knit some on my lovely silk shawl while I was at home and remembered why it is so much fun to knit on. It's gorgeous and crazy soft. And I've already loosely planned out my next two projects, with my mom promising to help pay for the yarn for my first sweater...

Also lovely was seeing my grandparents, who are absolutely amazing and gave me enough money that I don't have to flip out for the next few months. Such a stress relief. I can just relax now, once I find a place to live. Which I think I'm close to. I've found a roommate (probably) at least, and we think we know of a place to apply to. I just have to go check it out, actually talk with her in real life, and then get ready to move. I am keeping an eye out for two-bedroom houses, though, since I'd really rather be in a house. I'd love something like this place I looked at in Old Town, which also came with a cool roommate with two cats for Cassie to play with, but a slightly too high price tag and a location not exactly where I wanted.

Not so lovely is the fact that my apartment's air conditioner sucks and currently the temperature hovers around a balmy 78, meaning that I can't really sleep well. Combine that with the hideous headache I had last night, and you get one very sleepy, not wanting to be here worker.

Farewell, Studio 60

I think last night may have been the last ever episode of Studio 60. Studio 60, I shall miss you. You were dramatic and intelligent and therefore had to die. I thought the last episode tied everything up a little too neatly. "She's dying, she's dead, he's dead, no, everyone is alive and happy and in love!!!" But I still enjoyed you muchly. And I nearly missed you entirely. Luckily, I was watching the So You Think You Can Dance? results show immediately before and remembered right as I was about to turn off the TV. (Sidenote: If my brother weren't white, he'd look like Dominic.)

I also think that there is only one other woman working on my floor today. Thanks to the sheer amount of water I usually drink and the tea and coffee I had in addition, I've spent a fair amount of time running back and forth to the bathroom. And there has only been one siting of anyone else and very little evidence that anyone besides us has used the restroom. I know, this is a weird thing to notice, but when you have to pee 8 times in 5 hours, you need something to occupy your mind.

The Hells of House Hunting

Or apartment hunting. Whatever. Technically, I'd like to live in a group house, so it's house hunting. Though if I could buy a place... [drools] I don't know WHY I want my own place so badly, but I do. Poor SB gets to hear a lot about it. Usually at dusk for some reason, when I'll look out the car window (it always happens while driving), and whine, "I want my own house..."

Anyways, I always forget how strange it can be to look for a place. It's like a job interview, a first date and a house sale all rolled in to one. You have to find someone that you'll get along with. Not just someone you'd get along with as friends, because there are some friends that if you lived with them, someone would not come out alive. But someone you can live with, hopefully have fun with, and only want to kill occasionally. This also has to be someone with a comparable level of responsibility, someone who fits you in levels of cleanliness and rent paying. You also have to like the room/place itself. And you are supposed to be able to tell all of this in a matter of minutes. If you are wrong... well, we all know how miserable it can be to be wrong in that kind of situation.

Cassie has been particularly cute lately. I think it is to make sure that I don't start resenting her for keeping me out of houses. Sigh. Stupid people and their biases against cats. Not the people who are allergic. Because I know you can't help that and it's no fun. But the people who think my cute little cat is secretly going to eat their apartment. Now, I know some cats don't behave. Some people don't behave, for that matter. But Cassie is a pretty clean little cat. Her only destructive tendencies are to destroy things that are for her (like her place mat. Completely ripped apart) and to knead select items of my clothing. That I don't really get, or like, but she only does it occasionally and I think she's trained out of it.

In other news... well, I don't have much. I'm going home next week for a much needed pampering. If I could only have a place by then... Pipe dreams, I know. I'm hugely cranky right now. Stupid tourists. Stupid work (and coworkers in general). Stupid heat. Stupid metro. I do have macaroni and cheese for dinner tonight. That, sadly enough, makes me somewhat happier. I also retrieved my poor AWOL iPod last night. I left it on Friday night in SB's car. Well, SB left for other climes on Saturday. He found it, called be obscenely early in the morning to let me know he'd found it, and put it in his mail cubby inside his house. Only problem with this scenario is that I don't have a way to get into his house. I went by Sunday. No one was there. I couldn't make it over there (it's like forever, and by forever I mean a 25 minute drive, away) until last night. I had to commute for TWO DAYS with no iPod. I felt my iq dropping, being forced to listen to the conversations of lost tourists and new interns. Those are iq points I can never get back, people. They are gone for good. So yesterday, I went back by and chased one of SB's roommates into the house. One I'd never met, by the way, which is actually a little frightening. I wonder what I could have stolen...

Befuddling Shoes

There is a man at my metro stop who intrigues me. I see him a couple of times a week, and I'd really like to stop and talk to him, except I'm afraid he might be crazy and, while I don't think he would or could hurt me (it's in the morning, there are lots of people around, he has shoe issues), I really don't want to get stuck in a crazy conversation. Particularly not if he turns out to be internally angry. After watching the crazy guy at Farragut West walk the streets and yell at people, I've realized such things can be a risk.

Anyways, there are lots of people around this town asking for money, but I've never seen anyone like this guy. First of all, he looks nearly normal. The only thing stopping him from completely fitting in to society is the fact that he is mutely asking for money. Well, that and the aforementioned shoe issues. See, the shoes are a big part of the mystery. He HAS shoes, but only some days. And the days when he has shoes, it's not a guarantee that he's wearing them. Some days, you see him standing there, no shoes on, but with a pair quietly sitting beside his feet. Other days, he's wearing them. Still other days, there are no shoes in evidence. What happened to the shoes? Did he walk to the corner without shoes? I've never seen him not at that corner, but maybe I have and didn't recognize him due to his ordinariness. I don't know that I would notice a random person walking with no shoes. I don't look at people's feet THAT often...

The other unique thing about this guy is how he asks for money. There is no sign, he doesn't plead. He just stands there, not looking at anyone, with his hand outstretched and cupped. Which makes me wonder if he really needs that money desperately, because there are very few people who will walk up to someone that closely and put their money directly in his hand. Though he did shave his head a couple of weeks ago and that made him seem more approachable.

It all makes me wonder if perhaps he's doing some kind of social experiment. Perhaps in a few years, I'll open up some magazine and read about the guy who want to see how people would react. Or, I guess I could just talk to him...

Bear Bared

I got my hair retrimmed. And I'm not sure how I feel about it this time. It's more square. I'll give it a week or two to grow on me (ha!), and maybe I'll get my hair cut next time I'm home. The woman I go to there is insanely good and only costs $35, as opposed to the $50 this haircut cost me.

In more exciting news, CW discovered, and more importantly passed on to me, the link to a Bear Grylls blog!! He is of Man Vs. Wild fame and is very hot. Even better, the blog is linked to a photo gallery of some very nice shots. Both SB and CW's boyfriend are a bit jealous of our love for Bear. I'm sorry. He's hot, he's in amazing shape, he knows how to get out of any situation alive, and does crazy stunts for charity. I'm not saying I'd want to marry the guy, partly because he's already married and partly because I wouldn't want to worry that much about my husband while he's jumping into freezing waters and floating on small rafts above shark-infested waters. But I wouldn't turn down a date with him, either.

I'm also trying to decide on whether or not to take a lease. See, the house is very cute, my roommate seems very nice, the location is ideal, and Cassie would have a pug to play with. The rent is reasonable for around here (although SB was nice enough to point out that you are paying more for the ideal location), though a little higher than what I'd like to spend. Actually, I'd like to spend much, much less, but I have this crazy idea where I don't want to live in fear of random muggings or shootings. And I don't want to expose Cassie to potential crack dealers. She is at an impressionable age, you know.

The negatives would be that the house is pretty small, including what would be my room, and there is a shared bathroom. And I have a lot of stuff, mainly clothes and a few pictures/paintings. Plus, the pug goes outside, which means that I probably should start giving Cassie heartworm medicine. And it's hard to tell how well you'd get along with someone from just a brief moment.

But I did like her and the house is cozy and there is the storage shed out back. I just don't know. I hate making decisions like this. I feel like if I say yes, and if she wants me to live there (it's a delicate dance), it's monumental. Sigh. This is why I need a real magic 8 ball...