Must I limit myself to one? Here are three.

I've been in the new house in Bishop for almost two weeks. So far it's awesome, except I'm still not used to being more than five minutes from downtown Athens. One of the first visitors we had to the house was a 3.5 ft long copperhead snake. He decided to chill in the basement until we shooed him out the sliding glass door with a pole. I'm quickly falling in love with the 5 rabbits, 4 chickens, 3 dogs, and one cat (I'm not including my own) that are on the property so far. Goats are yet to make the move, though they should be there soon. I now want my own goat or two, and a horse. Though I have very little horse experience, I did really like working with them in labs for school even if they freaked me out a bit with their size, and I'd like to do it more.

I still need a job. The market right now is complete crap. The only thing saving me is that my new house is pretty much half what I was paying in living expenses before (even though I loved my house), and that I was actually laid off, which means I am entitled to unemployment insurance for a bit. Though that pays less than 50% what my average pay was before I was laid off... still, it's better than zero.

One thing that irritates the hell out of me, and I meant to write this in a previous blog that included all sorts of shit that annoys me, is cars that have headlights that automatically turn off. Well, the fact that the headlights turn off all by themselves is not what makes me want to throw things or stab things with forks, but the fact that people who own these cars are the laziest motherfuckers on earth. They always get out of their cars, leave the lights on, and walk away. For real?? Just turn the goddamn lights off. It's a flick of a switch. "Oh, they turn off on their own", they say. "And??" is what I say. Are you so frickin' in a hurry that you can't be bothered to take the 0.034 seconds it takes to rotate that handle 38 degrees counterclockwise? Douchebag. That feature is there to save your ass for those times you forget. Man, I can't wait for when they all come out one night and they can't get anything to work because they relied on their (brainless) car to turn their shit off for them. They forgot that automatic things will fail, and they relied on it to save the day. But no, their battery's dead because that crap finally malfunctioned like all automated things eventually do and then the lights stayed on and then the battery died and now they aren't going anywhere. And then they gotta call their buddy to come pick them up from Happy Spa ('cause they're not gonna ask a stranger for a jump in front of Happy Spa, of all places...), and then face years of flak for getting a 'body shampoo' that one time. Hell, that incident will probably be mentioned in the Best Man's toast at his wedding, for god's sake, and there will be all sorts of jokes about happy endings. See, it's not worth it. Just turn off your lights and save your reputation.

I'm moving to the country, but I really don't like peaches.

In approximately two weeks I'll be bidding farewell to Athens proper.

No, I'm not going back to Ohio (though that has been a recurrent thought for a while). But I am going for a complete change of scenery and am moving out to Bishop. Into a house that sits on 30 acres, mostly wooded. I will be sharing the house with some others that I've just met (well, I've met one of them. I'll be meeting his wife tonight, and then possibly his friend in a month or so). But it will be cheaper. And quieter. And there is a creek and a pool and a hot tub and goats and rabbits and dogs and chickens and a tractor that will plow up the ground to make a space for some organic gardening and a 5-acre pasture with a giant 'burn pile' in the middle of it that will produce one hell of a bonfire. I will have two rooms to myself, and my own bathroom. One of the rooms has a little deck, and all the rooms have lots of windows and they all have sliding glass doors (though most of them don't lead to anything... I have a feeling that the house's owner wanted full-wall windows, but I bet big ass regular windows are more expensive than a sliding glass door, which gives you the same effect). So yeah.

I can't wait.

Are you feeling lucky, punk?

Today I found my first four-leaf clover of the season. I took a NetFlix movie to my mailbox, looked down, and there it was. So I picked it, brought it in and stuck it between the pages of my trusty copy of "The New St. Martin's Handbook" with my other pressed clovers. This is the only thing I have ever used this book for, of course. Pressing four-leaf clovers. And yes, I did say other pressed clovers. I have hundreds. Pretty much the only slightly remarkable talent I have is the ability to find four-leaf clovers. I've been finding them everywhere since I was little, and over the course of my life have probably picked entire meadows of them. But they bring me no good luck whatsoever. I have also always had chronic bad luck, and unfortunately no amount of fabled good fortune can reverse that.

      Speaking of good fortune, at Beet Tower a couple of weeks ago, Ann brought over a handful of the fortune cookies that Taco Stand has, and everyone took turns opening them and reading their fortunes out loud. I open my cookie, and lo and behold, it's empty. So I go get another cookie, open that one, and it's empty too. I was going to stop there because, hey, no news is better than bad news. But Ann went and got a third cookie for me. I open that one, and the fortune is not really a fortune at all, but a statement saying something along the lines of "don't question things you can't control" which I thought was funny since it sort of felt like the cookie was reprimanding me for not being content with no fortune. Twice.

    Anyway, back to the clovers... If anyone thinks they may benefit from having as their own a four-leaf clover found by me, let me know. I can find you one on a page describing proper subject-verb agreement or acceptable usage of semi-colons or even the ways to cite sources in a formal research paper. Maybe the good luck will work for you. And I won't be running out of them any time soon. I'm sure I'll find myself with nothing to do on some sunny day, and next thing you know, I'll be outside in the little field next to my house looking for more clovers. The neighbors will wonder what I'm doing, and may start to talk. But maybe that will be the day I find my own lucky clover, or better yet, that pot of gold those leprechauns are always talking about.

Observations, Neuroses... whatever you want to call them.

So my life is once again descending into the shitter, and it leaves me pondering. And what does my strange brain ponder? Instead of focusing on the issues at hand 100% of the time, this kind of crap creeps in. Honestly, though, I think it might be this kind of crap that actually is keeping me sane.

- If you misspell 'kmart' when trying to go the website, you may end up somewhere completely unrelated. I accidently typed 'kmairt' and ended up at a site called 'newmissbootay.com'.

- Speaking of misspelling... at least 90% of the people who are posting housing ads on Craigslist where they use the word 'roommate' are misspelling it. Aren't most of these kids in college? Didn't most of them get higher SAT scores than I did?

- Speaking of Craigslist... I need a job. A real-life job. I don't need to fill out surveys all damn day, or request information from 50 online colleges. The number of spam/scam job listings is phenomenal. And bullshit.

- Drinking coffee pretty much always guarantees to be followed by a satisfying poop.

- Most drivers on the road are anti-turn signal. Which makes me anti-them. They aren't on your cars for pretty shiny flashy time, people. I don't want you to use your turn signal so I know what you are doing; I want you to use your turn signal so I know that YOU know what you are doing.

- Pretty much any clothing that isn't 100% wool or silk, or made of paper, survives a regular old washing and drying just fine. Dry Clean Only be damned! And if it came from Goodwill, it always gets washed.
*exception: the wool Banana Republic coat that still had the pockets sewn closed that I bought there for $5. That will not be washed...

- Now that I'm happy with the size of my boobs, I'm not happy with the size of my waist.

- Right now it is 63 degrees outside, and the forecasted high is 68. There is still snow on the ground. Now, last time I checked, stuff made of water melts at temperatures above 32 degrees. WTF?? What is this shit made of?

- And speaking of the snow... how amazing that we can get 7" of snow one day, and 4 days later it's 70. Who needs real seasons?

- There are some shitty, shitty rentals out there. I just looked at a house the other day- granted it was cheap; only $400 a month for a two-bedroom, but geez. Not only was it nasty (it reeked of mildew and dog and the carpet had many large unidentifiable stains on it, where there were still fibers in the carpet at least, and the doors barely fit the doorframes, and the bedrooms didn't have doors), but every wall in the place was made of cinderblock. I know some buildings are made of cinderblock, and that's cool. But even the internal walls, down to the little breakfast bar thing between the kitchen and living room was cinderblock. So the house had no real walls, and no insulation. When you touch the wall, you can tell what the temperature is outside. Huh. An ectothermic house.

- My neighbor has what I think may be the oldest dog in the universe. He's blind, deaf, has no teeth (well, very few, and those are worn down to little nubs), has several squishy subcutaneous masses, and smells awful. His muzzle is all grey and he's skinny as a rail. He wanders around the yard, baying at nothing, and it takes him several minutes to take a dump. But he looks happy as can be.

I had more. But just like usual I've forgotten what else I wanted to write here. Eh, whatevs.

My Christmas Wishlist

Here is proof that I am still alive. Though it's not like anyone has really worried about that at all... anyway. For lack of time, patience, and home internet access, here is a list of things I'd like for Christmas, or my birthday, or for whatever. This list is not all-inclusive, it is just the things I'm thinking of at this moment.

STUFF ERIN WANTS

in no particular order

1. A Roomba robotic vacuum thing.

2. Money. Or in place of this:

3. For CitiBank to say, "Dude, hey, you know what? Don't worry about it, really. Nah, brah. We're straight... yeah man. We're even".

4. My steering to quit leaking all over the place.

5. Shelves/a bookcase/storage bins/etc. I need somewhere to put all my school books that are currently stacked on the floor and table. I need somewhere to put all my VHS tapes (shit yeah) and DVDs that are currently stacked in a makeshift 'media shelf' I made with cardboard boxes which are starting to collapse. I need some bins to store my craploads of cat food so I can not leave the bag sitting on the floor. I need something to act as a pantry so I can use the bookshelf I'm currently stacking the non-perishables on.

6. A ride to the airport on Tuesday.

7. Internet access at home.

8. A haircut.

A one-minute blog.

I have no time anymore. So this is a quick one.

Since starting my job(s) two weeks ago, I haven't had a day off yet. My first day off will come on Thursday, after 17 straight days. While these are both part-time jobs, they still eat up my life. And last week they were hardly "part-time" since between the two I worked a total of 59 hours.

I don't mind Dial America all that much, but the shifts can drag and drag there. I love the Humane Society job, even though 80% of the job is cleaning cat cages. It's laid back, and the most people that are ever there at a time is 6. Though I've only worked there for a week, and was told that they wouldn't turn me loose on my own as the only tech for a couple weeks so I could get everything down, I was by myself on Saturday. Most everything went fine, the only scheduled intake for the day didn't show up, and I got everything finished on time.

One thing was that I did have to assist in my first euthanasia, which was a little rough. I'd watched the others do a euthanasia on Friday, but that was a different circumstance- an adult cat with a long-time history of aggression (and one that was showing said aggression at the time) and no chance of it ever being properly socialized. The one I had to assist with was a sweet little 7-week old kitten. He was just too small, and the shelter is just too full. Also, he had come in with severe eye infection and though with the little treatment we can do he had improved tremendously (as in now he could actually open his eyes...) he was most likely fairly blind. He could see, but just how much wasn't really apparent and his eyes were very clouded. I held him the whole time, and had to try really hard to not get teary-eyed. That's one drawback of this job- when that decision is inevitable.

Other than that, things are good. I'm just tired now all the time. And my house is a disaster. I can't wait until Thursday! For now, off to class, then to work.

Men of the Cloth

Who is it that decided exactly what "Fresh Cotton" smells like?

I imagine a group of scientists at the preliminary stages of their research, sitting around a room with a cornucopia of cotton products; specifically with 'fresh' cotton right off the plant. They spend hours upon hours in that room sniffing that cotton, eyes closed, all other senses disengaged, letting that smell be absorbed through every pore into every cell in their bodies.

Then they go into the lab and mix up a bunch of chemicals and sniff that too, until they believe they have it matched. One of them will think they have it, and he'll call over the other guys and have them check it out. Then they'll argue. "No, no, no," one of them will say. "That's not 'Fresh Cotton', that's 'Mountain Breeze'. Not even close."

Soon someone will come up with a scent that's close, but they won't be able to agree on whether they should keep searching. They'll stand around the Erlenmeyer flask, freshly removed from the hotplate (using HotHands or tongs of course- these are professionals and they know that old mantra "Hot glass looks like cool glass" all too well), and debate the qualities of the odor which wafts around them. "I think it's perfect." "I like it, I'd like my clothes to smell like this, but to call it 'Fresh Cotton'... it's too earthy." "I think it's a bit sweet." "Well, personally I think it stinks." "It's just a little too flat, too... oh, I don't know. Too uninteresting, uptight." "Gentlemen, I'm hungry." "Me too." "Shall we take a vote?" "I still think it's perfect."

They will end up compromising on this scent, and agree that it can be released upon society as "Clean Linen". Then they will take an extended lunch break, possibly have a midday cocktail or two, and a few hours later reconvene and continue their quest in capturing that which is so close, yet so far away.

It must be done properly. It must be done thoroughly. It must be done with precise attention to detail. It is, after all, the fabric of our lives.