It was just a hiatus, turns out.
Try as I might I can’t stay away from the call of the blank page and I need as many formats as I can get, apparently, so I can:
And there’s just something so un-Wordpress about Tumblr.
In true calamity fashion, I’ve just completed a seven page paper for tomorrow night’s class. Don’t let it seem like I might even be ahead of myself. That shit would wait for tomorrow afternoon if I didn’t have to work. Just pending some printing drama and the absence of every stapler in the world, I’m exactly where I always find myself twenty-four hours before a paper or project of any magnitude is due.
I caught myself thinking it really wouldn’t matter so much if I got a C or a D in my Cultural Anthropology class, so I long as I collected another three units toward the 5482482148239712 remaining.
In two days we end the five month stay in the smallest room of my parents’ house and unload our storage unit into a sparkly new condo. To summarize what it’s been like living with seven others plus two Jack Russells, two cats, a turtle and a Beta fish, I’ll keep it light:
…in all honesty, the Beta totally didn’t deserve that.
-CJ
new supplies and new shoes and a new style to rock at the new daycare and the new school
I can’t get over this picture. It halts me in the middle of whatever I’m doing at work as the background on my desktop.
-CJ
Another college semester has begun. Another half-baby-step toward a degree. It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve been studious and collegiate and the like, having skipped out on the summer semester. (I didn’t cry about it this time.) I’m taking a cultural anthropology class to fulfill the last of my social science requirements.
Except that I almost wasn’t.
The class was full, they’re always fucking full, and I had to show up on the first day and beg to be let in. By beg, I mean show up knowing I was seventh on the waitlist and hope that exactly that many enrolled students didn’t show on the first day. Myself and about a dozen other hopefuls lined the wall in the classroom, eventually taking a seat on the hard floor. For over an hour we listened to this teacher that we might not see again. When he got into the attendance around the hour and a half mark, our eyes and ears perked. Only five students had missed that first day and were immediately replaced. But two people ahead of me on the wait list didn’t show up either and there it was. I was the final person allowed in the class and I could attend school for another semester.
One week down and I am absolutely fascinated with the subject.
Yesterday after work I hit the campus library to take advantage of the late hours and the available textbook for my class while I wait for mine in the mail. Though I’m not really, I feel a lot older than the other students there. Like I’m playing a part in a role I have no business being in. It’s hard to shake.
At the end of class on that first night, excited to have made the cut and even more excited to head home for the night, I was stopped by a girl looking to borrow a cell phone. For a second, I could only consider what a lot of untrusting people might consider, which was that she would run off with it. I handed it over anyway and got into a sprint position, fully prepared to chase her down and tackle her if necessary. She dialed a few numbers with no response and was looking a little more than worried. She told me she had no ride home. As it turned out she lived closer to my house than probably any other student on campus. I am not quite local to the school and the people in my area would probably attend a different, closer college over this one. Is it weird that I had no second thoughts about letting the little stranger into my car but almost wouldn’t let her touch my phone? We got to talking and introducing ourselves on the long drive back. She was barely older than I was when I was pregnant with Kiddo (see: YOUNG) and she was freshly knocked up as well. She grew up in the same area that I did and attended the same schools that I had.
IT WAS LITTLE ME.
It’s possible that I didn’t even drive her home, just dreamt about a meeting with my former self for the purpose of giving inspirational advice. Which, of course, I didn’t offer. It was the usual foul-mouthed blather on my part. One should expect nothing more and nothing less. And this explains why I am the way I am.
-CJ
My teacher handed out colored index cards with celebrity names on them. We had to partner up with our randomly chosen celebrity spouse for a quick presentation on fallacies. I got Victoria Beckham, and my “husband,” in the row behind me, was much like a high school freshman in both looks and maturity.
He had no idea who David or Victoria Beckham were. The guy who got Tom Hanks didn’t know who his wife was. There was some confusion but eventually we were all matched and Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes ended up with the odd person out.
That was fun. Presenting fallacy definitions and examples with someone who couldn’t stop giggling at their own ridiculous jokes.
Which sounds an awful lot like me, now that I think about it…
Alright, shutting up on that note. #jerk
A beefed up campus security guard came into the classroom at the end of the evening and asked for a gal by name. He’d tracked her down by way of license plate or parking permit, I assume, because someone had attempted to or succeeded in stealing her catalytic converter. The way her face crumbled broke my heart into a million, tiny pieces. That look of why me tied with what did I do wrong. It is so violating to have your personal belongings stolen from you. Who knows her situation; broke? Without insurance? Borrowing the car from someone else? When I had my Blazer, I had the gall to leave a window cracked open, wrist width, and a thick booklet of CDs were taken right from my driveway, included so many irreplaceable mixes and Introducing Save Ferris, signed by Monique Powell. It was such a sickening, disgusting feeling, seeing my seats adjusted and my personal belongings meddled with. I hardly wanted to get in that car again.
I’m not innocent from what Josh calls “white collar crimes” because women’s razors are fucking overpriced and big money chain stores won’t miss them. But I wouldn’t dare to take someone’s personal shit. Is that hypocritical? I like to think not but I’m open to speculation. In the meantime, my calves remain silky smooth!
-CJ
This post is brought to you by my college library’s internet access. Something happened last week after Kiddo was done using my laptop. The laptop that I am militant about, running updates on and removing unnecessary crap and saying sternly about how nothing is to be downloaded do you hear me.
One time I got a very random text from a weird six digit number, saying something about my temporary password. I looked around, confused, deleted it and moved on with whatever I was doing. Drinking rum and playing Dr. Mario is a safe assumption. Cutting the skin around my nails with cuticle cutters is another. I found out a few minutes later that some random pop-up had asked for a phone number and Kiddo typed on in my cell, which I should never have had her memorize, because it’s not once been used for an emergency but only handed out freely to second graders and plugged into random kid-friendly joke websites.
She loves her jokes.
On that note: Why were the teacher’s eyes crossed?
Because she couldn’t control her pupils!
HARHAR
So, yes. Something happened. Something that has stripped my computer’s ability to connect to the internet. The connection is “excellent” and the bill is paid and the little connection indicator is green at the bottom of the screen. But the page will not load. It has been a few days of hell, especially when, for an upcoming Vegas trip, I listed a bunch of crap on Ebay in hopes of making some gambling and spending money. And I could refresh my seller page all damn day in hopes of watching the green numbers climb. As of today, we’re a happy fifty-two bucks richer and in high hopes that someone will buy that coffee maker.
Today I rejoined the work force for a few hours. It was a weird transition, the iced coffee procurement, the freeway traffic, the quiet morning hours or e-mail sorting and the like.
Around 12:30, I submitted a written resignation from my job*. By one p.m. I had not heard a breathe of response. Granted, my boss is on vacation, but I know she’s checking e-mail by phone. And my supervisor was copied but if she has had any reaction, it was probably in the direction of human resources, asking what to do in our boss’ absence. Or something. Either way, by one o’clock I could wait with baited breath no longer and I left to meet with a surgeon’s assistant for a check-up. My wounds are healing nicely, she said, as she removed the tape holding me together. Or, you would think it was holding me together because I was so terrified of it being removed. It was lifting and gathering shirt lent and looking most unsexy but I was so, so scared of pulling it off all four incisions. She yanked it gleefully and sent me home. And I sent me to the library on campus to do the homework I postponed for an entire week. An entire week that I didn’t even have to work but I still avoided my homework. I am without excuse. And I just remembered I have to do my vocabulary work…
*A bigger, better, un-refusable opportunity came my way with very little effort on my part. And I’d had it up to higher than I can reach with the management of my department. If asked, my reasoning would be something like, “Y’ALL SUCK.” With a flip of my hair, I hope to be out on good terms this Friday. But by the way my supervisor and I fight, it could be as soon as tomorrow morning if they feel like being big jerks.
Which would just free up my Wednesday afternoon for a lecture I really wanted to check out.
/geek
Friday night we’re taking the new! hybrid!* down the loooong fifteen freeway stretch from Orange County into Las Vegas. My awesome cousin is getting hitched and I couldn’t be more thrilled for her. Secretly, I’m pretty thrilled for some kid-free, hotel time with my honey too. Guilty pleasures await.
*Josh got a sweet new ride.
-CJ
Friday, fifteen hours with my sig-o’s family and extended family and distant family and non-blood family, etcetera, for as far as the eye could see for a double funeral and the reception that followed.
Saturday, a mad cleaning spree and three dozen cupcakes for guests who came to celebrate one blue-eyed wonderchild’s eighth birthday.
Sunday, eight hours on foot at the magic kingdom. Some portion of those hours spent in the rain.
Monday, from bed to work to English 106 to this stellar bean and cheese burrito and cold Corona. When I could have chosen one of many mindless DVR options to decompress with, I forced my ass into this hard and unforgiving dining room chair for some sort of pathetic, minor and likely ineffective creative outlet. Because I’m fucken losin’ it, man.
The workload is all-consuming without a moment to breathe. The only reason I took a lunch hour today was to bang out 1.5 pages of key points from a short article by Malcom X to turn in at 6:30pm when I switched to student mode. Today, in conclusion to a loooong-winded e-mail, I told my boss, “I am very, very upset.” Which is corporate code for SO FUCKING PISSED OFF RIGHT NOW. But between anger and my usual tall order of discouragement, I’ll take blood-boiling rage that can only be expelled through proper e-mail because my mind and my feelings mean nothing without a branded signature at the end.
I framed and hung a huge Kraken rum poster in my dining room. It’s making me smile.
Of note, the music that plays on that website was reoccurring background noise in a number of nightmares I had as a kid. Eep.
More later. Lots.
-CJ
…but this foul-mouthed blogging bitch is back.
My creativity has dried up like the sponge in the office kitchen and the only thing paying attention to it are fruit flies because they need somewhere to lay their larvae. And they’re like, “There’s the wrung out leftovers of Jill’s mind!” and they kamakaze dive to it.
Human Biology is one class, one night, for just shy of 3.5 hours but it consumes more than 40% of my brain. I want to succeed in the subject I am not good at. I slipped on the first test and scored a high D, adding to it the extra credit I earned in the first week, I balanced a C-. This is not acceptable. I studied like I was getting paid for it and scored a 96% on my second test. I’m balancing out now with a B average and determined to use my last few weeks, chock-full of tests and quizzes, to bring it up slightly.
I’ve always had a very regular reading habit but I’ve devoted my lunch hours and free time to the textbook and the notes to the point that I forgot the story line and who was who in the big ass hardcover I was pointlessly carrying around. I’ve neglected my blog and my personal journaling site. I don’t put pen to paper unless it’s to add cat food to the grocery list. (Man, those furry fuckers EAT.)
School is not entirely to blame. I work on a team of a few people at work, all of us leaning a little on the others to complete the various stages of the order process. Three of our 8 person team have left – one for disability, one for maternity and one for another opportunity. I’ve taken on more than double my work load resulting in some OT (yay!) and major stress, usually held tight in my left shoulder and lately, my neck (boo).
But there is still so much good. I got to go to a Jimmy Kimmel Live taping and see A Perfect Circle perform as a guest (William Shatner was a guest as well!).
I got to swoop up a last minute ticket with my cousin to see them again at the Avalon, where they performed the entire Mer De Noms album in order. And an even last minuter ticket went to my little sister, who I was thrilled to have with me.
I double-dated off to the Galaxy for a night of Joe Rogan’s comedy.
There’s been more social activity than should be for someone working this much, attending school and hanging out with their seven-year-old smartass.
No one warned me about the Smartass. I knew things would get dodgy, rough, patience-testing, infuriating and overall worthy of the pain but BY GOD THE SMARTASS. This phase of sarcasm and dry wit deserves a daily slap upside the head if she weren’t emulating her father and I EXACTLY.
Her father and I… While it is highly likely that this is all in my head, I feel like we’re being challenged to succeed while the people around us are waiting for the crumble. All we ever did was crumble before and build back up something a little weaker. We had a ROUGH five year stretch but we started that stretch at 17 and 19 years old and had a CHILD together before we’d known each other one year. (Kiddo was born three days prior to the one year mark of the day we met.)
Our story goes something like this: hot chick (heh) rolls up in an El Camino with the windows down and talks to a co-worker outside her grocery store job. His two friends linger in the back. One of the friends remarks that he has the same jacket that I’m wearing. (This one.) Girl remains unimpressed. He is, after all, just a boy. And boys are so lame. Girl’s passenger (a family friend) invites the gentlemen to our house for that night’s big boxing match/excuse to party. (Roy Jones Jr. vs. Glen Kelly, 02/02/02) They come. We chat, we beverage. He says now that I was flirtatious. Numbers are exchanged later that week through the co-worker of mine/friend of his and our story began. It went up, waaaay up, and it crashed down. Over and over for five years. And then we spent the better part of three years trying to be big kids without the other to lean on.
It says something that almost nine years after we met, we are having a lot of fun living together with our house full of pets and I still can’t keep my hands off of him. Through the good and the bad, we never lacked passion. And that is weaving into something more solid, stable and exciting than it ever was.
The naysayers, in my head or otherwise, are wrong. We got this.
-CJ
Maybe don’t wear your house shoes out in the rain
or do fall in front of all your classmates.
Not shown: skinned knee
Coming apart in eight easy steps:
Two weeks ago, my company graciously handed over a laptop for use as a second screen on my desk and also the essential tool for working from home when combined with wireless capabilities.
Shortly after, the elementary school nurse, in rare form in that she was mostly pleasant, called to let me know Kiddo had a headache and would be needing a ride home. If I know my child and I think that I do… nevermind. Nurse threw in how she can usually tell the fakers from the sufferers and I was on my way.
But when Kiddo was skipping out to the car and using her obnoxious voice to tell me all about what she’d done in her half day of school, I knew there was no pain or what pain had been was no longer though it occured me to reinstate it with a well aimed headbutt.
The community college I attend is roughly one block from Kiddo’s school and of course I still needed test materials for the test taking place that night. I hurried over there with plans to be in and right back out of the campus bookstore. If I can avoid being on campus with so many privileged day students, I will. But it turns out that the school had a remodel. It was breaking ground the last time I took a class and now seems to be a fully functional labrynth again – this time with the bookstore not where it had always been. Some amount of sweat and tears later, I stopped a girl and asked for directions, bless her for guiding my confused and weary soul. I was in no mood for the guard (?) at the bookstore entrance when he told me I could not bring my purse inside with me and told him as much. With my eyes.
Sans purse, I found the proper Scantron package and got the hell out of that school, my long sleeve sweater clinging desperately to my damp skin. And lo, a parking ticket.
At home, I fainted from the smell of the litter box and split my brain in half. Okay, I didn’t, but I rushed to get the offending shit box as clean as possible and saturated the air with a scented spray that Josh loathes. I will take chemical floral anything over Furby and Mo waste. It is what coats the floors in hell, I’m sure.
My vision is so pathetic that even with my glasses on, I couldn’t see the trail of ants until I was down at litter box level. They led all the way to a gap in the vinyl at the dining room wall. Using the rest of a can of Raid to rid my house of the skeevy bastards (say what you will about ants – they’re what lives in the shit coat on the floor of hell). But there cannot be Raid without a good mopping to follow, for my poor monsters could lap up the poison and keel over on me. And God forbid, the one that keeled be Furby. My relationship would not survive.
I cleaned the shit, I killed the ants, I mopped the mess. Until I found another trail leading to the kitchen trash can. Repeat process. Insert expletive. I was finally ready to get back to work on my laptop.
Except my own internet connection was password blocked. I called my trusted IT dude who questioned my modem and connections. I threw up my hands. “I called Time Warner this one time and I had internet the next day. THAT IS ALL I KNOW.”
I finally found out (after thirty minutes of plugging and unplugging and loading and reloading) that Josh had protected our connection with his cell phone number.
Insert SON OF A!
Many moons later, I was online and working, Kiddo tucked into a nap. Like my mom would say to me, ‘if you’re too sick for school, you’re too sick for damn near everything else, ever.’
Does it surprise anyone that next to me on the couch was a tub of raw cookie dough?
-CJ
Filed under: academia
Teacher: “Your white blood cells are just cruising around like California Highway Patrol…”
Student: “My cells are assholes?”
-CJ
