The Jas Says. . .

My laptop here at work has become infected with some virus like stuff, so I had to turn in to IT for some cleansing. They’ve had it for about an hour and a half, and while that’s going on I can’t get any work done. I’m on a computer in one of the training rooms now, but all I can really get to is my e-mail and the internet. All my trainer-type programs are out of reach. Woe, woe, woe.

BRIDEMAIDS DRESSES

Using my unlooked-for free time at work, I took off and went to the new David’s Bridal here in town to schedule some appointments for the girls to get their dresses. After I did that, I started calling the girls to make sure that they would be able to make their appointments. It’s backwards, I know. I just hope that they can all make the dates I signed them up for and I don’t have to go back and reschedule everything. I don’t like scheduling. It will be interesting to get everyone together and see how they interact. Kind of like a strange social experiment. None of them really know each other very well. Well, except for my sister and my cousin. They know each other pretty well.

I also went looking for stuff to give them for bridesmaid’s presents. I’m thinking Life Gems. We just have to find a donor. I can think of a few people I wouldn’t mind melting down into a diamond.

FINALS WEEK

I go to a little community college, so finals week is not as stressful for me as it might be for other folks, but it’s still tests. I took the Business Law one last night, and felt like I had wasted a lot of time studying. Most of the questions were pulled from one chapter. Tonight is my computer one, and that will be a big joke, if the rest of the tests are anything to go on. True/False and multiple choice.

It will be very nice to not have to drive out to school three times a week after this. I’m taking one class in the spring, and it’s an independent study type of deal where I do all of the work at home. I just hope that I stay motivated enough to actually DO the work.

STOP SMOKING

The whole “let’s not smoke so much” effort has not been going very well. I still smoke about as much as I did before I decided I should start cutting down and/or quitting altogether. It’s stupid. Maybe I need to go away for two weeks to a spa where they will purify me of toxins and give me massages with heated rocks to take my mind of cigarettes. I’d probably come back addicted to heated rocks. Although that would be a considerably less expensive and health-risk habit than smoking. Sometimes I wonder why on earth I ever started smoking in the first place, and then I think back and remember: stress reduction. I was a pretty tightly wound kid, and smoking had a way of easing my mind. It kind of still does. Except now it also has a way of making my throat hurt and making it hard to breathe.

I’m telling you. Heated rocks, all the way.

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All that was written yesterday (April 29), and I got too lazy and fed up with myself to post it. I love to write, and I love to record, but I hate looking at my old entries and reading the dreck that I post sometimes. I wish that I had big deep thoughts all the time to record, but the sad fact is that I do not. I write about what happens to me, and I try to put a humorous spin on it, because that’s what I do. I try to make people laugh. It’s a stupid identity that I’ve fallen into by default. I’ve tried a lot of different identities over the years, and this is the only one that sticks. The Somewhat Funny Girl. Who Sometimes Tries Way Too Hard. Some of my failed identities include:

• The Alternative Religion Girl: For several years I had a deep interest in paganism. I celebrated every Sabbat (major holidays) and Esbat (full moons) and even managed to get a couple other people to practice with me. But try as I did, the whole thing started feeling false after awhile and I faced the fact that I didn’t Believe in it any more than I Believed in the religion that I had been raised to accept. I still am a staunch defender of pagans, though. I don’t let people talk shit about them in front of me.
• The Depressed Goth: This worked pretty well in my teen years when I was depressed anyway, but eventually one either grows out of the teenage angst or becomes a very annoying adult. I grew out of it, for the most part. I still catch myself reacting to certain things as if I were still sixteen, but it’s something I try to put a lid on.
• The Techie: Computers got boring after awhile and I didn’t care enough to learn a programming language. I still work in a techie industry, but I’m a bit distanced from the nuts and bolts of computers themselves.
• The Drug Culture Chick: Two things are boring – smoking pot and and the video of Pink Floyd’s “The Wall”. Even when taken together, they still are boring. Sitting around an apartment where people have big, thick chemistry books – not for studying but for brewing homemade drugs – is vaguely unsettling. Watching the guy you’re dating do whippits for the 15 second high is also boring.

That’s all I can think of off the top of my head, but there are more out there somewhere. I’m sure I’m not unusual in this. Many people have tried to be something they’re not because they think it would be more interesting, or to fit in with a new group of people, or just because they don’t know who they really are. I wonder how many people it actually works for.Last night I was talking on the phone with my mother, discussing our jobs and what we would rather be doing, and she told me that her boss told her the other day that she was too sarcastic. I laughed out loud and told her that I had never heard her being sarcastic. Her response: “What are you, kidding? That’s all I am is sarcastic! I tease people constantly.” But really, she’s either never shown me this side or I’ve never noticed because she’s my mother. And then I thought about how weird it was that as I get older I’m finding more and more that my mom and I have in common. I guess girls really do end up becoming their mothers, or at least I am going to end up becoming mine. Not that that is a bad thing, since I happen to think my mother is a very cool person. But I spent so much time trying to be different from her, that it’s amusing to realize that all that time was wasted effort. I’ve ended up being very similar to her, and I respect her opinion so much that sometimes I am scared to talk about things with her because I’m afraid she’ll tell me that my ideas are unrealistic or irresponsible.

Why do I always end up talking about my mom?

OK, so I’m going to stop now, but before I do, I wanted to let anyone out there looking for a job know about a great opportunity I read about somewhere (on the Diary-X message boards?): imaginarygirlfriend.com. Get paid to write fake love letters to people who don’t have girlfriends and wish they did!

What is it with everyone putting “read receipts” on their e-mail lately? Do you really have to know THAT BADLY if someone read your e-mail? Personally, I see it as a way to make other people feel guilty.

“Why haven’t you responded to my e-mail yet?”

“What?”

“My e-mail. I sent it on April 20 and you read it on the 21st. It’s now the 28th and you haven’t responded yet. Why not?”

“Dude, settle down. You sent me a list of blonde jokes.”

“They were AWESOME blonde jokes! I can’t believe you didn’t even take the time to respond saying that they were awesome!”

“Whatever.”

Once again there is a poo smell in my office.  That’s really getting a bit nasty.  If you have to take a smelly poo, can’t you at least spray some air freshener around?  I mean, smells travel, yeah?  But since the mysterious poo-smell cannot be traced to its source (not that I would particularly want to track down the person who just took a smelly poo), I can only complain about it in my journal.

MEDICAL MISHAPS

I think I’m a strange kind of hypochondriac.  Whenever I’m told that a certain medication or whatever carries possible side effects with it (You know, may cause: nose bleed, vomiting, cotton mouth, rash, diarrhea, leprosy, nausea, drowsiness, psychotic episodes, ulcers, constipation, nasal congestion, ear aches, leg cramps, heart attack, brain tumor, tennis elbow, and death) I will begin “experiencing” some of those symptoms soon after taking my first dose of medication.  Like, five minutes afterwards.  For instance, I started this one kind of birth control pill that my doctor gave me.  She of course gave me the standard warnings that if I experience leg cramps (blood clots), chest pains (heart attack), or blurred vision (stroke) I should go right to the emergency room.  So now my legs feel funny.  I wouldn’t call them “cramped”, because if I had to call them “cramped” I would be going to the emergency room.  They just feel funny.  Kind of tingly like they are going to fall asleep.  Because there is actually nothing wrong with them, but if they didn’t feel a little weird then I wouldn’t have anything to worry about. . . like dying from a stupid blood clot.  This is why I hate any kind of medicine or pill or whatever.  It makes me second guess the likelihood that I am in danger of imminent death.

My grandmother is a Christian Scientist, which as far as I can tell, means that cleanliness is next to godliness and the medical profession is EVIL.  Of course, sometimes that rule gets thrown out the window.  Like if there is something seriously wrong.  But overall, my grandmother sneers at many forms of medication, which is hilarious because my family owns a pharmacy and has for three generations.  My grandmother has worked in this pharmacy for much of her life.  She is a pill peddler.  Who doesn’t think pills are Good Things.  Anyway, I think that’s where I get a lot of distrust for the medical profession.  And pills in general.  But you know what is really good?  Vicks 44M.  Nothing works better on a sore throat.  Side effects:  coma.

COLDER THAN A WITCH’S TIT

You can thank Vicki’s grandmother for that saying.  But regardless, it IS awfully cold here today.  This morning, between moisturizing and getting dressed, I called up Ye Olde Instant Weather on the Dish Network and was told that it would be 63 degrees.  Not great, but doable.  I put the begonias on the porch and dressed in a semi-lightweight hooded sweater that Vicki got me for Christmas.

It is not anywhere NEAR 63 degrees today.  It is, as a matter of fact, a balmy 39, according to weather.com.  But what’s even funnier is that it, according to the same site, it “feels like” 30 degrees.  Thirty.  Degrees.

The last time I checked, it’s late April.  Not so much. . . November.  My hands are cold and my nose is cold and I’m wishing that I had worn a big thick winter-type sweater and some fingerless gloves.  I’m worried that I’m going to go home tonight and my begonias are going to be dead.  I tried to call Chris and beg him to put the flowers inside, but he’s not answering the phone.  So maybe Chris is dead too.  Maybe he was unprepared for the weather, and went outside with no socks and no jacket, and is frozen to the front porch.  Yeah, that sounds funny until you realize that it already happened when we were living at the trailer.  Not the dead part, of course. . . it’s not all “Weekend at Bernie’s” up in our house, but the rest.  I wince when Chris goes outside because I can’t comprehend walking about in bare feet when the ground is all cold and wet.  But he does it.  Because he is INSANE.

LAST TEST IN BUSINESS LAW

It’s happening tonight – my final test in Business Law.  I tried to study yesterday.  I did.  I read a bunch of stuff and I did a bunch of problems but I don’t think much of it penetrated very well.  I’ve got the stuff on personal property and agency and bailments pretty much down, but then there are two chapters on employment and Equal Opportunity that I’m not so sure about.  I suspect I shall bullshit my way through the essays again, and end up putting down some strange things on the fill in the blanks.  There are two terms that struck me as amusing as I was doing my studying:  fungible goods and BFOQ.  The first one makes me thinks of Funyuns and the second one sounds like an abbreviation for something dirty.

BATHING SUIT TIME

It’s time for me to buy a new bathing suit.  I hate buying new bathing suits.  Not that that makes me unique in any way.  This year, to hell with it, I’m ordering one from Land’s End or something like that.  Everything that is in the stores is either too old lady (no thank you, I do not require a bathing DRESS) or too teenager (I would however, like a suit that covers my ass).  And I’m really tired of having to buy my bathing suits in January, because by June the stores are already full of thick sweaters and wool skirts again.  Ridiculous.  And the ONE TIME I was counting on the fashion industry being WAY ahead of schedule – picking out bridesmaids dresses – the only stuff they have is their spring line.  Like, hello, spring is NOW, and what bride is going to be getting married NOW but only NOW getting her bridesmaids dresses?  ARGH.

We interrupt this weekend to ask a simple question:

What is it all of a sudden with everyone making books out of their online journals?

It seems like every other journal I read now, the writer eventually throws in some version of “I’m thinking of making a book out of this.  What do you think?”

Let me answer that question for all of you, once and for all:
“Bad idea.”

This is your journal.  Yes, you might have a certain way with words.  You might turn an elegant phrase.  You might even be clever and witty and smart.  But if you are meant to be writing a book, then write a book.  Give it a plot.  Give it some characters.  Taking your journal and TURNING it into a book might be the laziest way of breaking into publishing that I’ve ever heard of.  The argument is, of course, that these people ARE the characters and their lives ARE the plot of the book.  And it’s funny!  Why, tens upon tens of people every day tell them how funny they are!  That must count for something.

No, I’m sorry.  It does not.

Pamie started this whole phenomenon with Why Girls Are Weird.  I bought the book.  I liked the book.  It was a fun book, and she used material from her journal, but she did it in a way that it wasn’t exactly the main focus of the story.  She brought her entries into it as a supporting plot point, not really as the plot itself.  But we really only need one book like this.  So the rest of you. . . you’re all very smart people.  Let this fad pass you by, and get to work on your REAL book.  And if you’re still tempted to take a bunch of entries, send them to a publisher, and see The Journal of Random Person on the stacks at Barnes and Noble, let me ask you this:  Why would ANYONE pay for ANYTHING that they can get for free off the internet?

Thank you once again to everyone who left a comment or sent an e-mail wishing me a happy birthday.  That was very sweet of y’all.  My day actually didn’t turn out to be too terribly bad yesterday, all things considered.  I mean, yes, I had to work.  And then I had to go to school for three hours.  And work was less than fun while I was there. . . but the hour or so I spent after school with The Man and Chris kind of erased my stupid day.

BIRTHDAY LOOT

I got presents and cake and ice cream when I got home from school last night, so that was a nice surprise.  I mean, I knew The Man would get me something, but I didn’t expect that between him and Chris I’d get a quarter of my Amazon wish list.  Crikie.

The haul consisted of:
Two Weeks Notice on DVD
Sex and the City on DVD Seasons 4 and 5
Super Mario Sunshine
Final Fantasy X-2
The Witching Hour in hardcover

After the presents, The Man brought out a small chocolate cake with candles and he and Chris sang to me -  AWWWWWW!  And then we all ate cake.  And then I cuddled for awhile with my fiance and told him that he made me happy.  And then I went to bed because I was freaking tired.

GROOMING STUFF

So I e-mailed two of the four grooming schools in Michigan, asking for information on their courses.  We’ll see what happens with that.  One of them is in Lansing, which would be quite a damn drive if I had to go to school every day.  The other one is in Jenison, which is apparently an even longer drive.  God.  Sometimes I get really ANGRY that Michigan has like three places that everything centers around.  If you don’t live near Detroit, Lansing, or Grand Rapids, then you are some kind of shit-out-of-luck.  But I’m sure it’s that way everywhere.  Damn annoying.  This is why everyone needs their own personal holodeck and we can just go to class in there.  And I don’t sound AT ALL like a dork for wishing that I had a holodeck in which to take classes.  I do not!

This is why it’s hard for “older” people to go to school, generally.  When you’re younger, and you don’t have a house, or a spouse, or really any ties at all, and you want to study to be a vet, then it’s really no problem to pack up and go to East Lansing to the only veterinary program in the state.  Not so easy for someone like me to just say “I want to go to grooming school – time to relocate to Grand Rapids!”  For one thing, there’s that big house that we just bought.  For another thing, The Man doesn’t want to live in Grand Rapids.  For another thing, neither do I.

I’ll probably end up doing just what I said in the last entry – going to work for one of the larger chains at the bottom and hope that I get good enough that they send me to grooming school.

HAPPY PLACE

Enough negativity and future worry.  I don’t want to think about it anymore.  Here’s something that makes me happy:  my yard.  That’s weird, right?  Considering that I’ve been complaining about how much hard work we have to do to get the yard into some semblance of order?  But who cares?  My yard makes me happy.  There are so many secrets out there – things that I have to wait to find out.  What ARE the green poky things coming up in my flower beds?  I know they’re perennials of some kind, but what are they? Is that clump of interesting browny-red stuff in the backyard a plant, or is it a weed that will have to be pulled?  Will my apple trees blossom or will they just leaf because maybe the cold got their flowers?  Is that vine in the backyard bittersweet or something else?  Will my new holly bushes flourish or will they die?  Will the hummingbirds come to visit us?  Will the climbing vine on the side of the deck that I accidentally butchered make a comeback?

It’s all very interesting, almost like a drama.  You never know what you’re going to find from one day to the next.  The weeping willow lost a medium-size branch in the high winds of a couple days ago, and when I went out to move it to the firepit I found an old bird nest attached to it.  I climbed down into the “ravine” and found out that it’s not really a ravine so much as just a steep drop to the forest floor, which leads to the creek.  There are violets down there and many other things that I haven’t seen growing wild for a long time.  I was out examining my hedge row, wondering if most of the shrubs were dead from the rabbits stripping their bark, and I found some bulbs that were sprouting.  Where did they come from?  Are they from before the shrubs or after?  And if they are from after, why would anyone plant bulbs so close to the hedge?  And what the hell is that thing that looks like a tree but seems not to be a tree and why is it growing in the middle of my hedge?

And then there’s the big question in the country:  Who has lost their dog this week?

A couple of weeks ago, I think I mentioned that we played hosts briefly to a large dog that had been tangled up in the brush that grows in the “ravine” – the dog’s name turned out to be Max, and his owners (one lot down) came to claim him that evening.  This past weekend, some other neighbors (two lots down the other way) came by asking if we had seen THEIR dogs.  They had “run off”.  Inexplicably.  Because they weren’t chained or anything.  So, since all the dogs in the area tend to love to go to the river, The Man went down there and poked around, and sure ’nuff found a little bitty dog and a big yellow lab swimming in the river.  And they couldn’t (or wouldn’t) get out so The Man waded in to retrieve them.  And then he carried little itty bitty dog back to its home and a neighbor kid led the lab home.

Three lost dogs in as many weeks – and not one of them had tags on.  I wonder what the problem is there?  Seems to be common sense to me – you have an animal, you tag it with your phone number and address so it can be returned to you if it gets loose.  My cats are strictly indoors and they wear tags just in case.  The Man says it’s “city vs. country” mentality – city people (like me, apparently) tag their animals.  Country people do not.  I don’t get it.