Oh, and my fridge is now broken. Something about a compressor and a short and now the insider has no fridge.

AGAIN.

When my sister and I were younger, and lived at home, we shared a bathroom. It wasn’t the only bathroom in the house, but it was the one where we kept our cosmetics and showered, etc., and it had the distinction of being the only room that was “ours” which locked.

Until my sister figured out how to pick the lock with a hair pin.

From that day on, whenever one of us wanted to be in the bathroom alone, we opened the three drawers closest to the door, successfully forming a barrier. So, while the door was able to open an inch or so, the intruder could only stick a couple of fingers in and bitch about being unable to grab a brush or go to the bathroom.

Having now lived alone for over three years, I am very used to going to the bathroom and taking a shower with the door wide open… but now that there’s someone else here, I subconsciously feel the need to shut the door. Fortunately, I’m happy to say I don’t feel the need to lock it or open a drawer to block someone’s unlawful entry. (Thanks sis, for making me PARANOID.)

I got offered the job that’s 120 miles away. Not only did they offer the job, they offered to rent me an apartment so that I could live up there five days a week, and come home on weekends.

I can’t tell you how gratifying that is, knowing someone thinks I’m so good that they’ll rent me an apartment, just so that I’ll work for them. I’ve spent the past couple of months interviewing for jobs and wondering if I’m ever going to find something that’ll be good for me and good for my employer—so hearing that someone thinks I’m good enough is a relief.

I turned it down.

Porkchop moved here so that we could make a go at this, and while the job is tempting, I wouldn’t want to be there five days a week, and here two. I don’t want to have to drive four hours each day either, leaving before dawn and getting home just in time for primetime. (Which, in and of itself, is good, since I have a complete addiction to about eight different TV shows. I know, I know, I need help. Whatever. :P)

We talked about moving halfway, but that would put us in the middle of several very expensive areas and is just not feasible at this point in time.

Still, I’m a little bit sad—but also hopeful and less worried about finding something. Everyone keeps telling me to relax, that I just need to wait for the job I really want.

Problem is, I don’t know what I really want.

We’re now allowed to carry-on liquids that: a) are less than four ounces, b) can fit in a one quart clear plastic bag and c) not explosive.

So here’s my question.

If you were a terrorist, wouldn’t you figure out how to put highly explosive liquids in, say, four or five little bottles and voila! 20 ounces of big boom?

I’m forever going to wonder if my parents just don’t remember being my age and how much fun it was to live together. That’s my only guess as to why they think this will be my biggest mistake ever.

My biggest one? Seriously? I’ve made scads of mistakes… little ones and big, giant ones, and most of them I’ve tried to forget—and I have. So when I think about it, I can’t compare this to those mistakes… those fucked me up right from the start.

He buys me tickets to concerts, likes my cats and hits it off with my friends—definitely not a mistake.

But he does like “Flavor of Love,” and that’s just disturbing. lol

Monday I’m driving two states away for an interview. Technically it’s only 110 miles, but it would definitely be a tough commute twice a day. We’ve been talking about moving halfway, if I get it. And that’s a big if.

I realize what with all the other good things going on in the world [Hugo Chavez calling Bush “Satan,” Saddam Hussein’s trial being the freakshow of the year, E.Coli in Spinach and iTunes coming out with V7 and making the damn icon freaking candy-ass blue], none of you have thought… “hmm, I wonder what the insider is doing and why she hasn’t blogged?”

None of you, that is, except my cousin, who coincidentally calls and tells me to blog.

And the Porkchop, who is sitting on the couch, mocking me for looking up old high school friends on MySpace (I WAS WEAK and I’m drinking… erm…).

Friday night one of the contract jobs called. He wanted to know if I could flip his new site now. Like RIGHT NOW. Tonight. At 9PM.

Considering I had promised to flip it by September 22, there were a few things that needed finished… according to him, things such as a working search engine, all of the images being uploaded and general site QA were unnecessary.

That was a fun call.

Four days and around 30 hours later, I flipped his damn site last night. And the search still isn’t working.

On the other hand, the other contract job, the deadly one in C (the land of the perpetually lost), has had me working on the same set of brochures for TEN DAYS STRAIGHT…. and there are only five products in those 12 (now 24) damn pages.

First I was just to redesign them. Did that in a few hours.

Then they wanted a different kind of design, one that wasn’t exactly like the website. Did that the next day.

Then they wanted me to rewrite the copy.

First of all, I don’t do copy. AND I am clear about that from the get-go. And, oh yeah, I don’t understand their products, I have NO idea why they are the best over their competitors and wait, wait.. oh yeah, I DO NOT DO COPY.

The head guy brought me into his office and attempted to cajole me into rewriting their copy. So I very nicely explained that it would not be the best use of my time and their money for me to write marketing copy on products that I have never seen nor understand.

The next day the sales guy (who’s been my general boss-type personage) suggested I just edit the copy until it sounds better. So I found myself doing that for the day.

Next day I went in and sales guy tells me that the head guy thinks the design should be a little different. Head guy comes out and says, “I think maybe it should look more like the website.”

At this stage of the game, I’m irritated and BORED shitless. There are only so many times I can redo the same pages with minimal changes for EIGHT HOURS A DAY.

And what’s even better? I’ve given them fully complete files every night and every day they promise to look at them, make changes and get them back to me.

To date: two pages, little notes in five or six places… on SEVEN DIFFERENT SETS OF FILES.

I have some rage about this.

Oh, and my damn refrigerator appears to be broken. It’s making a clicking noise every minute or so, the stuff is defrosting and I refuse to wake up my landlord at midnight. (It’s partially ’cause I’m nice, but mainly ’cause I don’t want to put on clothes and cart frozen food down to their freezer.) 😛

Up side: I’m going to see Regina tomorrow night… 😀

And if you got this far…

Here’s a random bit of nonsensical knowledge that may or may not improve your life: if you put in someone’s name and the word “age” in Google, as in :steve carrell age: you’ll get a little Wikipedia link as the first link that tells you their birthdate.

Random and totally useful when you’re arguing over who is older, Jay Leno or Steve Carrell. (I totally won, seeing as how I pegged Leno as 10 years older—he’s 13, but I was closest.)

For this, Rage over MySpace photo leads to arrest, and so many, many others, I hate MySpace.

Seriously, this thing is a blight on the Internet landscape.

So here’s something else to add to my “just don’t” file…

Don’t try to have two cell conversations, at the same time, while attempting to walk back to your car in an unfamiliar area.

Particularly if you’re in Cambridge (with roads designed by drunken Irishmen) and you’re tired and wearing heels.

I had to call the Porkchop and have him pull up a map… I was oh, say, around and about where I wanted to be, give or take 10 blocks. Erm. Yeah.
Yes, I realize you are laughing at me wendy, but it WASN’T MY FAULT.

Five years ago…

I still lived on the West Coast.

I had just graduated from high school

My sister had just gotten married.

My Nana was still alive.

MSNBC is running a “living history event,” where the actual footage from this day in 2001 is being broadcast in real time. In other words, it’s like seeing it happen all over again.

One of the hardest parts for me is that I clearly remember watching this happen with my Nana, who was living with us at the time and undergoing treatment for cancer. I remember her looking at me and saying, “You know, the world is going to change now. It will never be the same.”

My family didn’t lose anyone we knew that day. I think to some of us on the West Coast, it seemed surreal and incredibly far away. Once I moved here, and met people who had lost someone, and spoke with those affected, it crystallized and became real.

I was down at the site six months later, then two years later, then four years later and I’ll probably be down there again sometime this year.

If you’re in NYC, and you get the chance, go down to the site.

It’s the only place I’ve ever been in New York where the silence is only broken by the sound of tissues and tears.

According to my mom, the Porkchop is “very nice and very cute,” and “as long as he’s good to you, I have no problem with him.”

Oh, and dad thinks he’s “funny” and is glad he can hold his own with the family.

Part of me is thinking, “Duh. I told you all of that. And what, you think I don’t have good taste?” And the other part of me is just thinking… “Phew.”

All in all, it wasn’t a bad few days.

My parents flew into town a couple of days ago, and after I picked them up at the airport, we went to dinner (at Great Bay… so very, very good).

The Porkchop has been sick (and working) so I left him at home.

The night did not go well.

A sample:

“You’re the rebound.” (Said when questions were raised about his previous very long term relationship.)

“Why does he love you?” (My mom’s one foible, which sounded so off when she asked it, even my dad looked at her askance.)

“Is he a Christian?” (Answer: no, don’t want one, thanks. Response: loud huff)

“Does he realize cheating is genetic in our family?” (Nice, hmm?)

“We don’t approve of you moving in together. And just so you know, it will be the biggest regret of your life.”

So anywho, dinner was a P-A-R-T-Y.

My mom and I went out last night and she spent most of the time trying to explain that my dad doesn’t mean to be an asshat, it’s just that he loves me so much that he doesn’t want me to make a mistake.

Oddly enough, his snide comments at dinner didn’t really come across as love… but that’s just me.

Anywho, the Porkchop is still sick, so we’re home tonight.

Tomorrow’s the big meeting.

Should be a riot.