I really need to stay on top of my shit
Posted by Elisabitch in More of my bad habits on June 30th, 2009
Captain’s Log 1: June 3, 3:16 pm, a mere shell of previous entries
First off, no pictures today. I’m writing this at work and can’t spare the time.
Secondly, I have had too much going on to have any time to document it.
Summary: My roommate and I just moved into a super rad apartment in Oakland. I was so excited to sleep in my own bed again - I’ve been riding the inflatable wave since March when I returned from exile. But guess what? The janky cockfaces I used for moving and storage forgot to bring my bed when they transported my items to the new place. Today was the day for my bed at last. However, they brought a bed that is not mine, and who knows where my bed is? Probably the same dishonest motherfucker who now has my mountain bike. I know how this must look. Poor me, the princess without her wildly special bed and mountain bike (with awesome custom tires, bitches!). But it’s MY bed and I don’t feel that it’s unreasonable to have the same bed that I gave them to store.
Captain’s Log 2: June 15, 2009, 3:30 pm
I’ve started and stopped entries to resume later, and didn’t. It’s about time, I’d say. It feels like I wrote my last entry in 2003. I’ve been busy working, schooling, partying, moving, vegging, obsessing, rambling and great loads of other stuff. I haven’t had time to complain about anything lately, but there is a lot to catch up on. I’ve had “Harold and Kumar Escape from Guantanamo Bay” from Netflix since May 26.
First of all, I am no longer a squatter/couch surfer/illegal subletter. I am an upstanding citizen with her name on a lease, with her own room like a big girl. This also means I can’t just bail to another country if I get squirrely, so I need to kick ass hard to prove to my boss that I need to travel internationally to more effectively promote the company. I almost got to go to L.A. for the THC Expo, but I’d already talked myself out of going by the time he brought it up. God damn my fucking responsibility sometimes. It’s going to be the death of me. But I will be god damned if I don’t go to the Las Vegas show in October.
Secondly, I love where I live and can’t complain about much besides the horrible drivers and panhandlers. Do I look like I’m going to read your shitty homeless publication? What do you have to say besides tips on what kind of bed absorbs urine most odor-free? I’m sure it’s quite lovely and gives all kinds of advice on homeless shelters, rehabilitation programs, blah blah blah, I’m a selfish and materialistic cunt. We all knew that.
Seriously, though. I LOVE where I live. I love my apartment, my street, my neighborhood, neighborhoods close to mine, my friends, my convenient classes, my short commute to work that could easily be a bus commute if I stopped being a lazy hag, and finally, my awesome job that seems questionable at times but will work out because I am doing everything I can to ensure it does. Parking is a bitch in my neighborhood at times, and the street noise sometimes annoys me. But overall everything is great. In time I will be infuriated by these things. Let’s place bets on when that will happen. I say two months.
My cat and some other stuff have arrived. I’m still surrounded by shit I need to go through, and have homework. This is what I’m doing instead. And I’m making cupcakes - this is the project of the day.
I haven’t felt very creative lately, which is killing me. With all my stuff everywhere I am all bajiggity and can’t think. And I think my sock is haunted. Seriously, it’s like there’s something in there that shouldn’t be, but I don’t see anything. What am I supposed to do with a haunted sock? It’s still in good condition.
Present day: June 30, 11:33pm
I finally watched and returned Harold and Kumar. It wasn’t that great. I’m on a break from school until July 14, upon which I have to take quantitative reasoning. I still love my apartment and neighborhood - I’m pretty much unpacked, or at least I’ve hidden away most of the shit I don’t want to dick around with right now. I needed milk last week to quiet a late-night cereal craving that wouldn’t die, and I was able to run across the street to the store. It was awesome. People still drive like blind cocksuckers, and I’m starting to adapt. Ugh, I don’t know about my job. I’m experiencing difficulty in a position that is so dependent on someone else’s moods. Especially when the mood usually doesn’t concern itself with employee equity and incentive. Not that I’m going to necessarily since I like regular paychecks, but hypothetically, quitting is like having to break up with someone. But you can’t really be slimy about it and just stop answering the phone and calling back, unless you have no reason to ever need anything from that place again.
No drawings today; I’m much too morose and unmotivated for such antics. Also, the daily drain of my current happenings preclude any inspiration from escaping the oppressive mental routine I’ve been confined to for the last six weeks. It’s like my creativity has atrophied, which is horrifying.
It is late and I feel old this week. I don’t think I was made to work. But I was made to buy shit and pay bills, so there’s the rub.
I’m honored that you’re reading this nonsense. Honestly.
Posted by Elisabitch in Annoying Assholes AND Shit that makes me crazy on May 9th, 2009
Worst blogger ever, I know. Sorry about the downtime - apparently I ignore the bill notifications from my server and they shut my shit down when I miss a payment that I forgot I had (because I also forgot to check the notifications). I’ve just been so insanely busy, and you’d think it would give me more shit to write about, but not really. Work is a little stressful, and I’m off school until May 19 (though I may take another week of just because).
I’m currently on a courtesy computer station waiting for my friend to get off work. It’s a fine time to make up for the massive suckage I’ve been exuding lately blog-wise. There is a cover band playing a variety of hits from the 60-80s. I know how envious you must be.
Work is super busy and there is no time for slacking, which I hate. There’s always something to do, and I don’t get to check my email accounts and bank balances, window shop or Facebook. What the cock, man? Give a bitch some time to waste company resources every once in awhile. How am I supposed to conduct personal business if I can’t do it at work? I was promised time to slack after I’m trained, but I don’t know if I entirely believe it. Sometimes people make promises when they drink, and forget about them.
My roommate and I are in “Apartment Search” mode. We’ve already seen about six places, and there was one that I became infatuated with, but the future landlord seems a little nutty. Last Thursday I prepared to meet her near the Rockridge BART to submit our paperwork and she went way into detail about where exactly she would be at the station and finally I was like, “can’t we just pick a street corner and meet there?” Jesus, lady. Quit making shit harder than it needs to be. Relax. The following Friday, when I finally got to sleep in, she called me at 7:40 am to discuss my bad credit. Seriously, bitch? You ripped me out of my delightful slumber to tell me something I already knew? I used to owe over a million dollars, do you really think I give a shit about $699 from a snaggle with Comcast and the equipment I didn’t have? That is nothing. I only answered because I thought it was my roommate calling from a different 415 number. When she asked if she woke me up, I said, “Well yeah, kinda. I don’t have to be at work until 9.” And who the fuck makes a business call before 9am? Seriously? Even if she hadn’t woken me up, 7:40 is a terrible time to call someone - people are commuting and shit! Before-work time is sacred time that I use to scurry around and leave the house five times before I finally have everything I need. So I’m pretty sure I burned that deal, especially when she got another call and I asked if we could just talk about this later because I had to get ready for work. But really, if she’s already a nuisance, fate is telling us to stay away. Hey lady, if you happen to read this: Stop being weird! It’s no wonder you haven’t filled the vacancy if this is the way you’ve treated everyone - the apartment is super cute, but not cute enough to deal with your bullshit. Haven’t heard from her since last Friday. Can’t imagine why not.
Other than that, I’ve been hanging out with the posse and watching TV. DVR rules so hard. As I was swapping between two local news shows one day, I had two pharmaceutical commercials to choose from - one for asthma* and one for allergies. Naturally I was bothered by this and pontificated about the increased reliance on prescription drugs to cure every minor ailment ever created. Also, I was bothered when I realized what a nerd I am for engaging in a news vs. news conflict. But I only did it to watch an upcoming “Family Guy” rerun. I can’t remember channel numbers (there are like 8,000) and I had to stay close by so I wouldn’t forget.
This is from weeks ago when I started writing a post:
What else…considering doing chores. Hitting some golf balls would rule, but it’s not so nice out and I don’t have my clubs here. So I’m googling car washes near my house and this is the one review for the closest - Super Wash:
There’s just some angry dude who yells “No wrong way!” at you then hangs up. I think he means “wrong number” but it doesn’t really matter.
After more online searches, I’ve bored of this and I think I’ll just take it to Shell. I know how lazy this appears, but it’s not feasible to wash it myself at this time.
Back to the present, I found my pillow case and stash - broke those bitches the fuck up. I did this in Microsoft Paint from the courtesy computer. We do what we can with our available resources…sorry it looks kinda like Aqua Teen Hunger Force.
*I’ve always thought Johnny Asthma and the Mouth Breathers would be an awesome band name.
Everyone wants something, and I want everything
Posted by Elisabitch in Uncategorized on April 22nd, 2009
My over-inflated ego wanted me to tell you all how sorry I am that it’s been so long since my last entry. She (of course it’s a chick) knows how much you’ve been yearning for something new. Also, thanks to Cary for the shout-out. You’re awesome.
Being busy is a needy bitch, man. I’ve had practically no time to myself. My Netflix has been sitting unwatched since last week. DVR is overloaded. I just renewed my unopened library books. I’m behind on blogging. My final paper is due Monday, and my part-time to full-time job seemed to jump right into full time. So yeah, I’m a little overwhelmed. It’s like everything in my life is running a train on me with no lube. Last weekend I went to brunch with my friend before our study date (I know - alert) and ran into my boss and roommate in the restaurant. This is majorly symbolic of all the directions I’m being pulled in. Obviously my boss signifies work, my study friend represents school, and my roommate symbolizes partying and hanging out. Remember when I sat around all day in Portland feeling sorry for myself until people with jobs got off work? I slightly miss that. But overall it’s way better for me here.
Yesterday I went to AM/PM to buy beer on the way home. It was for my roommate, not for me - it was after midnight and I’m a nerd these days. On the way inside, the dirty panhandler sitting by the door and I made a concentrated effort to awkwardly avoid his stare.
BUM: “Hey miss, how about some change on the way out?”
Ugh, are you kidding me?
ME: “I’ll see what I can do.”
I bought the beer, thought about the presumptuousness of the panhandler, and dug out about 28 cents to give him. Which I did. “Hey, cool. Thanks,” he said. The real reason I gave him money, aside from my aversion to awkwardness, is because he called me “Miss” and not “Ma’am.” Can we talk about how old and hopeless it feels to be called “Ma’am”? Jesus christ. Bring me my cats and an afghan.
Sunday morning at the gas station, an older Grandpa-ish man pulled in when I was waiting for my tank to fill up. “Miss? Do you know where the [whatever the fuck] is?” I’m sure it’s no surprise that I did not know.
Two Misses in three days? I think my skin care regime is finally working.
In case you didn’t get it already, I’m stressed as shit and overworked. Oh, and live in the kitchen. Also, I’m still “in training” at work, and we’re “expanding” so I don’t have a little space of my own. It’s really important for me to have a place to be, and I have none. Anywhere. I think this is what drives people crazy.
Furthermore, I’m losing my shit. Literally - I’ve lost socks, earrings, shirts, and most mysteriously, a jar of stash and one of my pillowcases. Seriously - been looking passively for three days. It’s like they’ve been secretly dating and finally eloped just to piss me off (because naturally it’s about me). Where the fuck could they be? I can’t handle caseless pillows. Am I some kind of classless rube?
Oh, and I discovered that meditation CDs really do work. I recommend them for stress.
I don’t recognize this at all
Posted by Elisabitch in Uncategorized on April 10th, 2009
Right now I feel a sense of calmness and well being. It’s strange and I don’t understand it. No longer am I stewing about the dick faces on the freeway trying to merge at the last minute with their presumptuous blinkers on because they were too fucking impatient to slow down earlier like the rest of us. I’m not worried about homework or regular work, or side work for that matter. Or money. I feel like this:
A flower in a bubble. Or some shit.
I think the door to the prison has opened. Maybe it was just last Wednesday that was bad. Along with the suffocating demands of every Monday ever. But amidst the 18,000 things I have to do every day, I really do wish I could lie around like a slug sometimes. I bought four magazines within about a week. Magazines I don’t have time to read. I don’t know how it happened, but I’ve been aborted from the uterus of sanctuary and malaise, and am not happy about it. Now I understand why people read on the toilet. Apparently it’s the only time to read and not feel guilty for it.
This Wednesday was delightfully low stress. I didn’t even have to shower. I lazed around and read magazines and watched Netflix before I sat around and drank beers. Wednesday was the best day ever! I paid for it yesterday, but today is going to rule hard as well. If you need me, I’ll be in the uterus of sanctuary (and drinking). I crawled back in when the dragons of productivity weren’t looking.
There is no need for these illusions
Posted by Elisabitch in Uncategorized on April 1st, 2009
You know how sometimes you think something is going to be everything you ever hoped for, but it turns out to be the biggest illusion ever? It’s like a massive ice cream sundae, but too late you discover that the ice cream is really dog shit. So you really just ate a dog shit sundae. And no matter what you do, you can’t get rid of the taste.
Oh, it’s so horrible. I don’t even know what to say! I kind of expected this the last time I worked under a Nazi regime, but this time I really feel like I was told we were going to to the beach, and instead I’ve been taken to a concentration camp. That is SO not the same as the beach, even on a really hot day. I don’t know how many more metaphors (is this really a metaphor? English nerds speak up) I can use. But I see the signs - I feel defensive and I’ve been listening to Elliott Smith since Monday. If I start reading “Catcher in the Rye” it will be EXACTLY like last time.
But I can’t just leave the camp. There are the shackles of skill building and check cashing. I went shopping on Sunday and it was shamefully enjoyable. I felt dirty and adrenalized, like a one night stand you know is gonna be a mistake later. Or something. Ick. Let’s not even get into the greater lack of free time I’m experiencing and the suffocating panic of way too fucking much to do all at once. Holy balls.
Return to chaos
Posted by Elisabitch in Livin' on the cheap on March 27th, 2009
So the flu didn’t kill me or anything, but the Oregon breakup and transitioning of the last few weeks has come close. It’s like I’m suddenly expected to get shit done now. California took me back, but it made me work for it. If this were a relationship, we’d be in the “seeing a counselor” and “let me tell you what I really need from you right now” phase. Fuck man, why you gotta be all high maintenance? I came back, but holy balls! Let a bitch breathe for a day! Let me leave my socks on the floor and the dishes in the sink for one fucking second before being a passive aggressive twat and refusing to put out later. My slacking time is for the most part nonexistent. I feel like I’ve been aborted from the uterus of sanctuary. And I have no time to be creative (other than what I’m paid to do). Sorry for the pretentiously symbolic visual aid, but this is where I am for now.
Oh, and I have a job again. I start Monday. I’m still terrified of jinxing it because it’s too good to be true. It’s like the Mother Ship has called me home. I will be working for a company that manufactures and sells devices that enable its customers to have better conversations with Jimmy (you do know who Jimmy is, right?). And part of my job will be to learn how to use all the products! So in essence, I’ll be getting paid to talk to Jimmy. My life rules so hard.
Living in the East Bay is a trip. Every few days I’m reminded that I live in Oakland:
1. At the liquor store at night - a panhandling crackhead was told to leave the premises and wait outside. From the sidewalk, the crackhead waved to me inside and motioned me over. What’s that? You want me to come outside so you can bother me? Yeah, I’ll be sure to do that.
2. At the gas station - a panhandling crackhead approached me while I was filling my tank.
Cracky: “Could you help me out with a couple dollars for some gas?”
Me: “I don’t have any money, sorry.”
Cracky: “You have a card, right?”
Me: “WHAT?”
I was unaware that my responsibility was to supply a stranger with free gas using my ATM card. You’ve got to be kidding me. I watched as he found other marks and made people uncomfortable. A delightfully crabby old man said, “How you come here with no gas? How you drive with no gas?”
3. Jaywalking - when the light is red, you can go anyway. Cops have more important things to worry about (like getting shot by parolees at traffic stops) than jaywalkers. But weathered bums on bikes are more concerned as they threaten to run you over. They should be paid for their vigilance and concern for traffic regulations.
Nothing more to report.
Oregon, you vindictive bitch
Posted by Elisabitch in Shit that makes me crazy on March 3rd, 2009
You couldn’t just give me a clean break, could you? You had to drag it out and make it as difficult as possible. Come on, Oregon, be an adult. It’s never fun to be dumped, but one restraining order is enough to file in any person’s lifetime. You had to attack me with hipster asshole germs and completely debilitate me? Fuck you, too.
Yeah, I’m dying. I’ve got the sickness in a bad way. Since about 4:12am on Sunday. It’s cool, though. Running to the bathroom four times an hour gives me the exercise I’ve desperately needed. And getting to rapidly and violently expel everything I’d eaten in the last 24 hours was quite a treat. Oatmeal, beef pad thai and french fries. Nice to see you again, too. But I’m really not liking this one roll of toilet paper every two days business - I don’t want to restructure my budget for more toilet paper, and certainly don’t want to invest in more before my escape. Once this demon is slain, I intend to maintain my habit of good cheese and chocolate. Maybe bump up my Netflix to 2 at a time.
Never mind all the other things I’m supposed to be doing - selling stuff on craigslist, showing my apartment, packing, working on projects. I’ve seen a dick load of movies in the last 48 hours, not that I haven’t dozed through them all at some point - sickness only reduces my ability to watch an entire movie without falling asleep.
I haven’t been sick like this since I was seven. I rarely get sick at all, and with my weirdo stomach issues, that’s amazing. Having to sleep next to a barf bowl (and actually having to use it) and spending a good three hours with a washcloth on my head to minimize the nausea is absolutely nasty. I’m just not used to inexplicable vomiting - if I drink, it’s one thing. When it comes out of nowhere - totally unacceptable.
It seems better during the day for some reason. Last night the misery was dormant until around 11pm, and then erupted easily through 3am. We’ll see what tonight brings!
Oregon, we need to talk…
Posted by Elisabitch in Uncategorized on February 28th, 2009
I hate to spring it on you like this, but it’s just not working for me anymore. We’ve had our fun, but California and I have been talking a lot lately, and we’re definitely getting back together. My time with you was wonderful, but we just don’t complement each other the way California and I do. It’s over, Oregon. I can’t do it anymore. I can’t pretend that you’re the one for me when my heart says otherwise.
Yeah, that’s right, I’ve done it again. I’ve made a huge mistake and need to escape. I’ve pulled the trigger and decided to bail. AGAIN. Now I’m conducting apartment tours and printing applications. AGAIN. Thank god for my experience in property management. Since the ad was placed yesterday, I’ve shown the apartment to six people, with two more scheduled in the next couple days. I should also mention that I wasn’t expecting to show the place yesterday, and had only marginally tidied up since the realtor had brought the showboat through - my bras were hanging on the bathroom door for the first prospective renter, as well as a pair of my underwear on top of the dryer, thoughtfully left there by my neighbor. So that was slightly embarrassing. But whatever. Hopefully if all goes well, I’ll be out of this bitch within two weeks. Two weeks and I’m FREE! It feels like deja vu. Maybe because I did the same thing last June. I have got to stop committing myself to shit. Jesus. Goodbye, Portland. Hello, Oakland!
My final paper is due tomorrow - mainly an amalgam of all the crap I’ve learned throughout the course. I’ve already started it, but I can’t stop the distractions. I also can’t stop checking the mailbox to see if my Netflix has arrived. I’m expecting “Lars and the Real Girl.” I’ve developed an infatuation with Ryan Gosling. I didn’t get it when I saw “The Notebook.” Sure I got my vagina award and cried like a little girl - am I made of stone? But he kind of annoyed me despite the tragedy of it all. “The United States of Leland” was alright. I don’t remember much, if that’s any indication of its mediocrity. But “Half Nelson” did it for me. I finally got it. I think it was the crack (spoiler alert). The formula for Ryan Gosling hotness, below:
I don’t know if I should be concerned that the addition of crack increased his doable scale to such a degree. So, to the next guy I bone: I’ll be thinking about Ryan Gosling when we do it, and the less you ruin it by talking, the better. If you would rather believe otherwise, you may as well believe that your penis is enormous while you’re at it.
Oakland, here I come! Plenty of crackheads for me to choose from there, but it’s doubtful that any will look like Ryan Gosling in “Half Nelson.” We’ve all seen crackheads. Ick.
A bleh kind of day
Posted by Elisabitch in More of my bad habits on February 25th, 2009
The realtor is coming again. I have to clean. Everything sucks.
Dog insights from a non-dog owner
Posted by Elisabitch in More of my bad habits, My bad advice on February 23rd, 2009
It’s Day 5.5 of watching my friend’s dog and I’ve learned a few things:
1. If she has to wear a cone because of a wound, you can’t let sympathy get in the way because she looks so pitiful. Make her wear the cone. I was lax the first day and then I caught her - cone back on.
2. Always carry two doodie bags. You never know if they’re going to squeeze off more than one round. The first day I endured several agonizing seconds as Roxy squatted in front of a tree for the second time - “Oh shit. Is she going to drop another one? Shit, shit, shit. And someone’s walking by so I can’t just leave it there. Fuck.” - THANKFULLY she just peed, but holy snaps that was suspenseful. So far she seems like a one-shit dog, but you really can’t be too careful.
3. If you’re childless like me, it’s an adjustment to become invested in the bathroom habits of another creature. I spend enough time dealing with my own bathroom situation. The other night I let her out in the back yard, but as it was dark, I couldn’t tell what she was doing. I was sickly curious and almost couldn’t wait till the next morning to see if she pooped again. She didn’t, in case you wanted to know. Cats are nothing. You check the box every day, and that’s pretty much it. The entire dog walk is predicated on whether that thing shits - and she has to find the perfect tree. When she finds one to pee on, we still have to sniff several others that won’t make the cut for the headlining act. All for this:
And a man on a recumbent bicycle just had to ride on by as I was taking this with my phone…awesome.
At first I was impatient about the whole extravaganza, but if you think about it, humans are also picky about where they take a shit. I know I am. I have an entire vetting system and an escape plan for any situation if necessary - kind of like an emergency evacuation plan wherever I go. So it’s not unreasonable that dogs have to find the right place. Also, I caught wind of a magical command: “Roxy go potty.” AND SHE DOES! It speeds up the whole process. It’s like finding a secret door in Legend of Zelda.
4. I let her sleep on my bed the first night and she got hair all over the place, despite the blanket I’d put down. I’d wake up and see an arm straying off the blanket, so I’d nudge her back on. I barely slept all night, worrying about how much hair I was going to wake up with. Now I can’t get rid of it, no matter how much I use one of those sticky roller things. Back to the dog bed for her. I’ve been spoiled since being on a break from my cat.
5. Get used to a lot of unnecessary barking. The neighbor comes home (sometimes also with a dog), BARK, BARK, BARK. “Roxy, no bark!” The neighbor leaves, BARK, BARK, BARK. “Roxy, no bark!” I love when this happens super early in the morning. I don’t blame her, I blame the neighbor for being alive and having to stomp up and down and all around, all the fucking live long day. But it’s not like I can say, “hey dude. You need to shut the fuck up and stop living. I can hear it all.” Seriously though, I can hear when he rifles through his kitchen cabinets. I’m hearing it right now - what the fuck is he DOING up there? And I wonder if he can hear ME! He claims he can’t, but I’m not so sure.
6. No slacking for dog owners. My normal schedule is completely disrupted. I have to feed her by a certain time, and make sure to walk her within an hour of the feeding (back to being invested in her bathroom habits). Today I thought we were going to have a situation when my dumb ass couldn’t figure out how to put the choke-collar thing back on, and she was getting all twitchy. It’s good for me, though. Having some kind of order is important. And it forces me to take a walk when it’s cold.
7. Dog sitting is a good test run for anyone thinking about having a dog or a child. Especially out walking. It’s not a nice, leisurely walk. It’s a constant power struggle, and a barrage of commands. “Roxy, NO PULL. Roxy, STAY. ROXY, NO! I SAID NO!” Ugh, now I’m one of those people who can’t walk five feet without yelling at the dog. And I thought those people were just assholes before. Now I know. This is why I want a little purse dog that I can totally dominate. Those things can’t even walk more than a block without tiring. Yep, that’s the dog for me. Not one of those two-pounders whose legs break when they jump off the couch, but a little dog nonetheless.
8. I WANT A DOG! But I can’t have a dog. I have a cat who doesn’t even live with me, and no consistent source of income. I have no business being responsible for anything. Also, I’d have to get that thing trained because I do not need any trouble. Someday when I have money, I’m going to have a fancy little purse dog. And Invisalign for my teeth.
