December 10, 1998
Springing A Leak
Working on it, whilst reading the latest issue of "Cool & Strange Magazine," featuring MY PAL, EdmundKaz. ("Another change in this issue is the addition of a monthly column by regular contributor, Ed Kaz. Ed will be commenting on whatever Cool and Strange Music springs to his quick-witted mind, and will definitely add a regular touch of humor to the magazine ... thanks, Ed"). Way to go, Shnoop! (Now where the hell is *Courtney's* credit??)
You know the drill ... click here to read yesterday's warm & fuzzy reminiscence about the birth of Daughter #1 ... or here to read the harrowing account of a run-in with a formidable enemy, earlier this week ... and check back later ...
Later That Day:
I have a job interview tomorrow!I got the call last night. David answered the phone, as we were getting ready for our semi-nightly run to the The Ho Ho Chinese Express ($1.10 per item, fortune cookies for a dime). When he handed me the phone, looking puzzled -- "It's for you?" he said -- I just knew it was going to be about a job. (Either that or Lorenzo Lamas, calling to welcome me to California.) I even knew which job it was going to be about: the Admin Assistant position in Oakland. How did I *know* this, you ask? Because it was the very last, "What The Heck" resume I'd faxed out, the day before ... and the prospect I cared the least about. So naturally it was gonna be the one I got a response to. But I'm not complaining. It's an office job. It pays better than The Knife Factory did (although of course everything is like a bazillion times more expensive here in the Bay Area than it was in Oregon). I'd be doing a lot of the stuff I'm really good at. Phones. Word processing. Pacifying cranky customers. Twirling around in my chair. Post-It Note Origami.
And it appears to be a fairly straight shot on the local bus system. (Just think! A whole new bunch of surly bus drivers to shmooze! And a whole new transit system to get hopelessly lost in!!)Bottom line here: if they offer me the job, I'm going to take it. Not only because the holidays are just around the corner ... or because *I* want to be able to spring for the cheap Chinese food, once in awhile ...
... but because I've only been on "vacation" for eight and a half days, and already I feel my brain starting to spring leaks, around the edges. Nothing critical, mind you. Just little stuff, like memorizing the daytime TV schedule -- and then planning my afternoon coma break around Donny & Marie (today's guest lineup: Mary-Kate & Ashley Olsen, Florence Henderson, D.W. Moffett, Deborah Cox and Sidney Sheldon) ...
... arranging the cereal boxes on top of the fridge, in order of height and "Best If Used By" date ...... reading twenty year old issues of "Bomp!" magazine (and enjoying them) ...
... ad infrikkinitum.I mean, it's great having a little time to relax and recharge and diddle around with my website every 4.7 minutes. But I'm one of those people who requires a little routine in her life -- and a buttload of mental stimulation -- or else I find myself sitting around in the green sweatpants again, absentmindedly scooping peanut butter out of the jar with scissors, weeping over Old Navy holiday commercials on TV ("I have absolutely no idea who any of these people are").
And -- as He With Whom I Share A Toothbrush Holder would say -- "That CAN'T be a good thing."So let's all cross our fingers and hope like heckfire (<-- jeepers! we're really starting to clean up the language, aren't we?) that the interview goes well tomorrow, and that I'm offered the job on the spot, and that I'm plunked back soon into the world of paychecks and pantyhose and bad office coffee. Otherwise, you're gonna be reading an awful lot of journal entries all about peanut butter, the next couple of weeks ...
One more little blurb, before I hang it up for the day. I called TicTac last night and talked to Daughter #1, wishing her a happy seventeenth birthday. Midway through our very sweet and silly conversation, I asked her if she'd been reading the website lately.
"Nope," she said. "The computer's still dead."
So I mentioned that I'd just finished posting a lengthy and somewhat graphic public account of her birth, for all the world to read, and that I hoped she wasn't "weirded out" by the idea. She snorted, as only one whose mother posts a journal on the Internet (and who has long since come to terms with the idea) can snort. "Did you tell them about your water breaking on Ben's porch?" she asked.
"Of course," I said.
"And did you mention the part about Dad thinking I was a boy, and calling Grandma and Grandpa to tell them he had a son?" she asked."Yeah, I mention that towards the end," I said.
"And I suppose you went on and on about the 'twelve excruciating hours of labor' and shit, huh?" she asked, and I said "Naturally."She giggled. "Well ... OK," she said. "As long as you didn't say anything about me peeing on the doctor, the minute I was born."
And I assured her that no, of course I wouldn't write about something like that, and she lovingly told me I am in urgent need of a life and/or a lobotomy and/or a makeover, and I lovingly reminded her that she inherited her father's droopy left eyelid (and that I hope her third husband is a plastic surgeon), and we exchanged I love yous and see-you-at-Christmases and noisy kisses and hung up, and that was the end of the conversation.