This stunned me… Suspect arrested in JonBenet Ramsey case.

It’s been over ten years, yet I still have a crystal clear memory of when this all happened.

I have always wondered why women douse themselves with so much perfume that you can smell them a mile away.

Today, I realized that the cloying scent is actually buffer for when said women use public transportation.

If I could figure out a way to pass out deodorant on the T, and ensure that the MEN would use it, I would. I would sink all of my savings into a giant stick of deodorant that would swab each and every one of them before they passed through the doors.

On the bright side, I have this incredibly fun contract job in Cambridge with a great group of MIT and Harvard grads. On the one hand, I feel brilliant and on the other, not so much. It’s highly entertaining. 🙂

But the T? Not my favorite thing. A two hour commute is one thing, in my car, and a completely different thing when an hour is spent on the T, with smelly people. Who crowd.

I pose to you this question:

Which is worse, having too much work.. or none at all?

I now rescind everything I said about being bored in my unemployment. Those were the days people.. the DAYS.

I suddenly have two huge contract jobs who both want me in their offices every day.

And their offices are separated by almost 80 miles.

And the traffic… oh dear sweet mother of mercy, the traffic.

The days of lazing at the beach, getting up at noon and drinking vodka for breakfast have come… and they’ve gone.

I miss ’em. :”(

Like most mothers, mine is paranoid… and it’s more so than normal, seeing as how a) I live far, far away, and b) I was sick this year.

In other words, I get called on a daily basis and it’s mainly just to see “what’s up.”

Last week she called and requested I urgently take my car to the dealership to get it checked out, as she had just heard of a recall and if I don’t get the part replaced the car might wreck and I might die.

I was sitting on the beach at the time, lazily debating having a cocktail for lunch. I murmured agreement to my mom, hung up and rolled over.

Not an hour later the phone rings again. Unhappily roused from my nap, I said, “Yes?”

“Are you at the dealership?”

“Um.. no. I’m still at the beach.”

“What? You have to take it in right away. You can’t drive with the problem… why didn’t you take it in? Didn’t you hear me? It has to do with the steering pin and what happens is the front end will drop onto the wheels and you’ll be COMPLETELY unable to drive the car and it will go off the road and you’ll probably be on the freeway!”

“‘Cause I’m at the beach?”

Much grumbling and grousing came over the line and I finally agreed to call the dealership and make an appointment.

Today was the first spot they had available.

“I have a Jeep and apparently there’s some sort of recall and my friend’s boyfriend [granted we had ALL been drinking and I was riding in a different vehicle while he drove mine home.. in the dark. on back roads that are old.] thinks something might be wrong with the alignment and that being said, the recall thing might be part of the problem…”

Yep, the car people love me.

“Well darlin’ [I love them too. Car places are the only ones that being chauvinist is not only acceptable, it’s kinda cute.] we’ll take a look at it, but we just heard about that recall and Chrysler won’t be sending the parts out until September.”

“……”

Forty-five minutes later darlin’ comes to get me in the waiting room.

“I drove your car and while it might drift a little, it’s hardly at all. Let me tell you about the recall…. blah, blah, blah.. only have enough parts for 40,000 cars and there are 2 million or so.. blah, blah, blah.. it’s just ball joints and it’s because they wear too soon and your car is relatively new and doesn’t have that many miles…. blah, blah, blah.. and why did you bring it in? ‘Cause you heard about the recall? They haven’t even mailed that stuff out yet sugar… blah, blah, blah. It looks good and you’re all set.. when you get the recall notice just bring it on in and we’ll change the ball joints.”

“… so this won’t kill me? And I probably won’t even have the problem?”

“Nah.. the problem is mainly with the older jeeps with lots of miles. The ball joints wear too soon.”

“So this was pointless?”

He laughs. “What, you don’t like getting up at 7AM to bring your car in? C’mon darlin’, you know you wanted to come and see us this morning.”

So thanks mom, for making me get up at the crackass of dawn to take my jeep to the dealership whereupon I got harassed my men who thought it was “cute” that I was worried.

Grrr.

Right now I’m what you would call… unemployed. And let me tell you, it is SO boring. (I don’t care what you say Andy, you’d be bored—trust me.)

I’ve been doing contract work here and there and finishing up the summer project from hell, but when it all comes down to it, not having a job to go to every day is weird… and boring. I can go to the beach when I want, sleep in as long as I want, stay out as long as I want and drink as much as I want.

The freedom is KILLING ME!

My dad has decided to help ::cough:: and I use that term very loosely.

He called the other day and left me two messages, the second more urgent, excitedly telling me that he’s found my dream job.

I called him back to see what it was, thinking, perhaps, it could be something really awesome… maybe he met someone who knew someone who had something. You know?

No.

He (and he was still VERY excited) quickly told me about a friend who’s wife just fell and broke her hip and they needed a helper IMMEDIATELY and oh, did I mention you’d have your own place above their garage and he’s a millionaire so it’d be a mansion’s garage and all you’d really have to do is dishes and help her get around. And oh look, it’s about 10 miles from their home (um, 3500 miles from where I am NOW) and even though it wasn’t perfect I could do it as an interval job while I looked for something I really wanted.

Dead silence on my end.

“Dad.”

“Yeah? Doesn’t it sound great? It’d only be an interval thing until you found something you really wanted.”

“Dad. I live on the EAST COAST. That’s the opposite side.”

“Mmhmm. You could put your stuff in storage or bring it back here with you.”

“Dad I don’t WANT to move back there. I want a job here. And if I’m going to get an interval job, wouldn’t I do that somewhere near where I am NOW.. you know, close to where I want to be, perhaps?”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“Oh, and Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Seriously, you think that’s my dream job?”

“Well you’d get a lot of free time and you could probably learn to invest from such and such…”

Oh. my. GOD.

Yeah.

Good times.

You Belong in Dublin

Friendly and down to earth, you want to enjoy Europe without snobbery or pretensions. You’re the perfect person to go wild on a pub crawl… or enjoy a quiet bike ride through the old part of town.

I love when these things are right. 🙂

My street is blocked off right now, and has been for the past 30 minutes or so. I heard the accident—actually, I think everyone within a good five mile radius heard the accident—and now there’s a fire truck, a couple of ambulances and a cop car sitting on my street.

Seeing as how my street is a one-way dead end, and we all park on the one side, there will be no getting out of here for awhile. Lovely.

Anywho, so I had a pretty good weekend. A little beach time, a little liquor and oh yeah, a bit of a date. 😉

Mmmhmm, the insider is kinda sorta seeing someone, so anywho, you might be hearing about that on occasion. I don’t date lightly.

It’s handy to have a friend who’s an EMT, someone who will know what to do in times of crisis… say, if you pass a car accident or the man at the next table is in cardiac arrest or, OR especially if you’re dumb and you stay in the sun too long in 98 degree weather.

Mmmhmmm.

So you walk back from the beach, feeling faint and hot and really nauseated and having trouble breathing and oof, dizzy, dizzy, dizzy. You make it as far as the yard, where your car is parked, but then you lay flat out on the ground and try to catch your breath. You hit the lock button on your car keys, hoping the beeping will make her come outside, to no avail. Fumbling for your cell, you send an SOS: “Outside… can’t move.. bring ice..”

Two minutes later…

“What the fuck?” and laughter. “I thought you were kidding. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” you respond. “I feel really sick and I can’t move.”

Looking closer, EMT friend says, “Shit. You’re brightass red. You need to come inside.”

Mumbling, you follow her in.

Whereupon you are placed on the bed in the bedroom with the air conditioner turned on “Arctic Blast.” Ice packs are applied to your neck and under your arms and a bag of crushed ice is put on your head.

“Heatstroke. What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Dunno. I went in the water! I was only out there for a couple of hours. I feel hot.”

“Well yeah,” she laughs. “Shit. Your body temperature was too high. We have to lower it.”

“What would have happened if it just kept rising?” you stupidly inquire.

“You die you dork. Why do you think people die in locked cars in hot weather?”

Mmmhmmm.

Word to the wise: if it’s 98 degrees outside, just don’t stay in the sun too long. You might get heatstroke, even if you’re in the water.

And it’s really not much fun at all.

Oh, and have a friend who’s an EMT who lives near the beach.

That’s key too.

Ever wonder what happens when a cat ignores you and SITS ON THE SCANNER?

this. this is what happens.

Fortunately she’s cute. And her little white paws are cute. But seriously, I’d have tossed her off the thing if I wasn’t afraid she’d scratch the shit out of it.

Goober.