Caterwauling

O HAI little bloggy!

With birds flying into my work building and DYING (two hummingbirds and one, oh, ENDANGERED-SPECIES woodpecker), I’m sure that’s been a sign of the market mayhem that we endured today. I have photos but it’s depressing, really.

(Photos of the bird suicides, I mean, not the market hijinx. The photo op of the latter will come when Botox is an approved prescription on my healthcare plan because of the fucking crow’s feet I generated as the Dow Industrials dropped an ever-so-not-lucky 777 points.)

Of course, my colleagues say it’s funny that birds are trying to get into the windows (except that woodpecker — he flew straight into the brick). Because they expect to see a Goddess-shaped imprint on the INSIDE of the windows as I run screaming without being bothered to find a door. Ow. If I see birdies flying around my head, they’ll probably be real.

Anyway, we’re long past Hour 12 at the ranch, which still beats going home, but still. I’m passing off one project (to someone who already has to goddamned many of them, IMHO) so that I can inherit five more.

The good news is, I got a nice “atta girl” out of the top-tier of the top brass. Which, yay. I can totally dig that. They like me — they really like me! Apparently love is showered in compliments and boulders to roll up mountains. Yep, thanks, feelin’ really loved here, then!

Things are still same shit, different shoes everywhere else in my world. I was told life was changing, and life IS changing. Some of the same old shit is still the same old shit. And some of it is just shiny new shit. But the common denominator? Yep, you guessed it. Shit.

Speaking of shit or, at least, other words that feel overly appropriate given the hour of the night and the lack of done-ness of the shit project list, well, don’t make me talk about what passes for “done” or “approved” or “I asked for it to be blue. Why the hell is it so hard to change a fucking hex code to make something blue?”

Ahem.

In any case, once again my overall sentiment toward this week (yes, I’m aware it’s only Monday) is best expressed in lolcat:

more animals

There is not one thing I can say about yesterday that wouldn’t get me fired. Not one.

The only saving grace to the day is that one of my boys called at the exact moment I needed it. And it left me with dreams of leaving it all behind, packing up a suitcase and running away to where he is. Which is clearly “not here” and my inner circle knows that I refer to all my boys by the city in which they live. Except Maryland boys. I lump them all into the “Maryland” category. Have had my heart thrown in the trash compactor too many times by them — they don’t get special mentions anymore.

Of course, if I did jump in the car and beeline to a new city, it would be more running away than running toward at this point. But, you know. Stranger things not only have happened, but are happening.

One thing I will say is that, if you present me with something that’s as appealing as digested Mexican food on a wad of toilet paper (with which you’ve just wiped your ass, for those who need it spelled out), and my immediate response is, “Um, yeah, not so much,” the correct response is not to tattle. If we have to collaborate now, since structural changes dictate losing the trusted and dealing with the unknown, this wasn’t quite the way to start things off. Makes me wonder if this was just a one-off or whether it’s a sign of things to come.

I didn’t get one iota of sleep last night. And I hope I can keep it from showing too much. But can the girl who was secretly hoping for some sort of change handle the metric ass-ton that’s been dumped on her little red toenails?

Between a not-wonderful workday yesterday that I curtailed at my earliest convenience, and an Extended Houseguest^TM who seems to be under the impression that they can extend their stay till I get married (anyone wanna go to Vegas with me post-haste?), well, all I gotta say is this:

more animals

In better news, I was practicing some Magic Lite the other night. No, not a game — just trying to see if I could invoke some magic, but without any substantial effort.

I haven’t tried it since before I got my last job, since I was lighting candles and chanting for stable employment. I got it. Hoo boy, did I get it.

Hence I’ve been magic-free for several years because, kids, sometimes you DO get what you wish for. So be careful!

Anyway, I was saying a little spell as I lit a candle the other night, basically asking the universe to present me with a good man. I mean, I’ve got my arsenal, don’t you worry. But I’ve waited so long for a good one, I don’t want to pick wrong.

And I tell you, NOT 30 SECONDS after I said my little thing, my phone rang. Because someone was thinking of me and wanted to say hi at that exact moment.

Life’s doing a 180 right now. Am down another 2 pounds this week. (Yes!) The job I was just hired for is going through a major metamorphosis. And the heart, she has things to look forward to, however they end up unfolding.

Lord give me strength — I’m gonna need it more than ever. …

I often wonder whether it’s finally the time to go get married, have babies and get out of the rat race.

I usually laugh it off, as that would require a proposal (and someone willing to do it!) and a complete loss of wanting to go places by myself without toting a diaper bag and someone to pollute said diapers.

But today, I’m so spiritually exhausted that maybe I should go start shopping for my hope chest and see what follows.

I’m thinking of the scene in “9 to 5″ when all the ladies, one by one, fire the day and go for a drink at Charlie’s. I’m all for it.

Who’s on board? First round’s on me!

OK, so my jeans are falling off my hips and my pink-and-black scandalous gutchies are of course on display. So, aha! Belt! Right?

Wrong.

The freaking belt (it’s gold. I’m wearing a Steeler shirt. I MUST MATCH MY BLACK AND GOLD GOD DAMN IT) is too big, even on its smallest hole.

The really cruddy part of this all is that I have been trying on new jeans but I can’t find anything that I like or that doesn’t create a muffin top in a smaller size. Besides, since I have, oh, 30 pairs of jeans in my closet, I’d like to give them a LITTLE more use before I go and donate them.

I know, not the worst problems I’ve ever had. …