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.

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.

Verizon has finally deigned it time for me to get a new cell… woot!

But I now have to decide: a) do I want to stay with Verizon? and b) if I do, which of the 3432598 phones that they are offering me do I want?

So people… Verizon? Yes? No? Why?

And the phone list, which I’ve narrowed down considerably…

LG VX5300
Motorola RAZR V3m in Silver
Samsung SCH-a870
Samsung SCH-a930

Any suggestions?

Day two and we’re still in Michigan… albeit around 380 miles from where we were this morning. Tomorrow we’ll cross into Canada and then Niagara Falls—the reason for our roundabout trip.

We managed to drive almost the entire Upper Peninsula without eating a pasty. (I’ve had one before and I wasn’t impressed.)

However, we did: stop and take pictures on Lake Michigan, cross the Mackinac Bridge, debate stopping for deer jerky (him) and at every single zoo (me) and wonder about a restaurant called the Hair Burger (erm.. it was actually Halo, but for about a five miles, we were sure it was Hair).

And Project Runway’s on.. gotta go. 🙂

One of my favorite things to do is meet new people. I’ve no problem randomly chatting with someone and their mother in any scenario, and generally about any topic.

That being said, I hate having to meet people who’s opinion of me will be based on this meeting alone. Interviews are one such situation… and meeting the parents and family of your boyfriend are another entirely.

Particularly when you’re the new girlfriend who’s convinced their only son to move 1500 miles away from them.

Erm… ::cough::

Fortunately, his entire family is nice, hugely entertaining and unbelievably gifted: an artist, a musician, a Ph.D., a director of a peace league and mother of two and a lawyer, now professor.

Daunting, isn’t it? Yeah, I think so too. 😛

There’s an unspoken list of things you never want to hear…

“I didn’t know she was your sister.”

“Step out of the car, turn around and put your hands on the hood.”

“I’m sorry, your credit card has been declined.”

“Flight such-and-such to so-and-so has been delayed. Please see a counter attendant to check on the status of your connection.”

Guess which one I got to hear this morning?

I’m sure you heard/read about all the nonsense that happened on planes around the world yesterday—knives, bomb threat, funky smells, etc.—and those things, of course, will inevitably spill over to today.

In my case, the flight crew didn’t get in until early this morning and since they have a required downtime of so many hours, my flight is now delayed a good hour.

Which means I’ll miss my connection.

Which means I have to take a later flight.

Eh. Good times here at the airport.