Burning Down the House!

Another thrilling night, another thrilling weekend at the old homestead. Actually, tonight I’m at Cocoa Café on 9th South and 3rd East, and I have to say it’s one of the better places to sit with the iBook and write. Their coffee is by far the best I've had as of late.

Yesterday I sat at a four-way stop and waited for the light to turn green. That’s me, obeying the traffic laws, but there was one little problem. There was no light. It was just a four-way stop, you know, the stop sign kind of intersection. I sat there for a good ten minutes, completely lost in my head, wondering why it was one of the longest lights at which I’ve ever sat. Then it dawned on me there was no light, and that light was never going to turn green.

I pulled over for a bit and decided the whole incident was a metaphor for my life right now. Right now, I’m stopped at a four-way stop waiting for a nonexistent light that will never turn green. For a rainy weekend, this is decidedly somber. I needed something to boost my motivation, though despite everything my motivation has been somewhat decent. And what does one do when they need to clear out the demons and start anew?

Sage my apartment, boost my karma.

I finally went home last night, rejuvenated, as only five pints of Guinness can rejuvenate someone! I went straight to the fireplace where I stashed the sage I used when I first moved into my apartment. (For those who are New Age challenged, burning sage in one’s living space is supposed to change up the energy, and get rid of all the bad vibes. Sort of an exorcism, but without Linda Blair’s spinning head spewing pea soup.) You might be thinking, “Crazy little girl’s just got all that stuff hanging around?” I say, “Yep, right now is NOT the time to tempt karma.”

Except after a few beers equaling the consistency of motor oil, perhaps crazy girl shouldn’t be lighting dried bundles of weeds on fire. (“WeedS,” not “weed,” though right now anything might be helpful) True to form of being the most graceful klutz I know, I lit my hand on fire and proceeded to drop the flaming stuff onto my favorite Hello Kitty blanket. Remember in the 70s how acrylic bedding was a fire hazard? Apparently it’s still a fire hazard in the year 2006. In a flash, I threw open the patio door and tossed Burning Kitty outside and like a drunk idiot jumped on it—all while wearing slippers.

I managed to survive the incident without any burned bits, however I’m wondering if I’ve really messed up my karma by setting the whole sage bundle/blanket ablaze. I think my luck could’ve been worse—I had the blanket on a highly flammable, circa 1965 Naugahyde couch, and could’ve died in a flaming puddle of plastic. So what did I do?

I cried.

Last night I didn’t exorcise the demons, I created more, and only wondered further about being stopped at that four-way stop, waiting for the light to turn green. Like so many things right now, the situation could’ve been worse, but it’s certainly not great. I've had my dad my whole life to jump start me whenever I was stuck, but now I've got to hit the gas pedal on my own. I guess the scariest part is when I learn to do that, I can go in any direction. I just need to figure out how to do it on my own.

Check Engine Light

On the upshot today, my check engine light miraculously turned off.

From now on I vow to get the oil in the Jeep changed every three months, or every three-thousand miles, whichever comes first.

Radio Rumor Boards

For those of you who live and die by all those lovely radio message boards, be advised that everything posted isn't necessarily true. I am speaking directly to my situation right now, and feel it is laughable to read what is being posted.

Can't a girl just deal with a family death and getting fired all in the same month in peace? It's hard to be sleeping in until four in the afternoon after binge drinking and doing lines of blow off of circus midgets when people are making my inbox ring with emails asking about some alleged "scandal." Okay, so I actually was up and at the gym extremely early today, and I've never done blow in my life, but if I'm involved in some kind of "scandal," then I want to certainly be scandalous!

To all of that, I quote Hamlet, "Get thee to a nunnery! Get thee to a nunnery!" It's like some people in the world are vicious rumor-sluts who can't seem to worry enough about themselves because they are overly-concerned about what's going on with people they don't even know. It's nearly Thanksgiving... why not channel some of that extra time and obviously pent-up energy by donating to the Food Bank or serving at the Road Home? Also, you're certainly "in the know" with what's going on with others, maybe you could use those Nancy Drew skills and locate missing children?

It Puts the Lotion in the Basket...

Yep, the title is my failed attempt at laughing at my day. When I think of getting the oil changed in the Jeep, and the mechanics putting the oil into the Jeep, well it all took me to a Silence of the Lambs place in my brain.

Trust me, getting ones' skin pulled off and turned into pants by Buffalo Bill would've been a welcome change to my afternoon.

I got up today with renewed energy. After watching Brokeback Mountain last night and realizing that my life will never be as repressed as a gay Wyoming cowboy, I was excited to look forward to all the amazing job prospects I was bound to find. I was glad for this breakthrough, as I was about to head to my therapist and tell him all about losing my job, but still be able to say "I was excited to look forward to all the amazing job prospects I was bound to find." I started the Jeep... no start.

I turned the key again... no startie.

Finally after a colorful monologue in a heated tone (again, looking on the bright side of yelling "fuck" multiple times into the steering wheel), Jeep starts up in a cloud of smoke. Rather than heading to my appointment, I drove to the nearest Jiffy Lube and prepared to get scolded. Yes, I say that because I knew I was a little overdue for an oil change. When I say a little, I mean three-thousand miles over, and I haven't had it done since March.

Could the oil really have gone unchanged since March? Yep, the sticker said I should've had it done sometime in mid-June and here it is... November? Shit.

When you go for as long as I have to the point where your engine is eating its own stomach, they do this thing called a "Gum-out," which doesn't sound at all appealing. They gummed it out, changed the oil and looked at me with this judgmental gaze after they said I was "two quarts low." I wanted to reply, "Honey, I'm more than two quarts low this month," but I shamefully handed over my debit card. $100 dollars I don't have later, the Jeep now starts without hesitation.

Still, the check engine light won't turn off. I'm hoping this is one of those things where I didn't tighten the gas tank cap well enough like the last time the check engine light wouldn't turn off. That's my story I'm just going to hold onto it for the next few weeks.

Can people email requests to Buffalo Bill to be turned into skin pants to put them out of their misery?

Prophetic Graffiti

Remember when you used to see graffiti and it was to either slam some hoochie ("For a good time call...") or tag out the other crew (not sure what that means, but homies will know what it does)? Now, graffiti has a message-- and it is somewhat profound.

Now going into a coffee shop bathroom has meaning.

Kick Start your Day

Jack Daniels coffee... the perfect way to kick off Day Drinking.

Random Generation, Pt. 1

My latest project...

Sunday November 5, 2006…
Salt Lake Coffee Break- Wireless connection sucks.
I’m not exactly sure if it’s password-protected, but I’m feeling too sorry for myself today to get up and ask the slightly rude counter-girl if I need any kind of a WEP Key. Information that might’ve been nice to know before I got my semi-decent coffee and found a table. My airport says I’m connected, my browser says otherwise.
Battery life- 45 minutes, couldn’t find a table near an outlet so we’re all spared from rambling. Sort of. Rambling will be kept to 45 minutes, I guess.
Outfit- Cute
Hair- Marginal

It’s been an interesting week in the life of a 30-year-old unemployed semi-orphan. Most people have a crappy childhood on which to blame their entire crappy adulthood. I have a crappy adulthood with a string of drama and mis-steps on which to blame mine. In just the past week, I lost my illustrious radio job, got dumped by my long-distance not-quite-sure-what-it’s-been-on-and-off-since-April “acquaintance,” felt every emotion between helplessness and poverty and elation to not be pigeonholed into a position where the “man kept me down,” ordered a bad chicken bowl and threw up. Add that to the beginning of the month where my father passed away, or even the previous two years when I had to watch him die—maybe the throwing up was finally a culmination of everything and not just a product of said bad chicken bowl. Nonetheless, all of these events were, quite literally, out of my control.

I’m trying to figure out what exactly right now is in my control. I could get the oil changed in my car, I believe I should’ve done that sometime in June, and I guess that would be in my control. But I don’t feel like it. I took control and got out of bed today. I got in the shower, and I even accessorized. It seems that’s what is most important right now, accessories. I should add that to the list above:
Accessories- Fabulous

Right now is a time where everyone’s told me, “You can do whatever you want.” I’m not totally sure what I want to do right now. But what if what I want right now is completely unrealistic? What if selling all my possessions and opening a burlesque showhouse in Aruba isn’t completely realistic? What is reality? Burlesque is to body-glitter, body-glitter is to my ultimate happiness, therefore a burlesque showhouse in Aruba is to my ultimate well-being. Some might say this isn’t necessarily realistic. Do we see the conundrum? Do we see I never did well in Geometry because my way of proving things doesn’t coincide with what makes sense for the rest of the planet, much less the teacher who never seemed to like me very well?

Maybe this is all just the after-effects of the bad chicken bowl. I would consult Web MD and diagnose myself, but as I said before, the connection at this particular coffeehouse sucks. My comment about self-diagnosis might seem flip, but I say it’s funny because it’s true. Rather than actually going to the doctor or staying home or even trying one of grandma’s home remedies, we will take our lives into our own hands because we have a wealth of information at our fingertips.

Speaking of, I just found a table with an actual electrical outlet nearby. Now we’ve got more than just 45 minutes. Now we’re captive to my brain’s ramblings. So, to recap:

Sunday November 5, 2006…
Salt Lake Coffee Break- Wireless connection still sucks.
I’ve given up on trying to fuck with the settings to see why exactly the wireless isn’t happening.
Battery life- I found a plug, the possibilities are now endless
Outfit- Still cute
Hair- Still marginal, and now I’m wondering if I look like a conehead.
Accessories- Fabulous. For real.

I’ve also just switched my phone to vibrate because I just realized my ringtone was New Kids on the Block, “Hangin’ Tough.” Yesterday morning I thought it might be inspirational. Today, here, I thought it might be really lame.

So where was I? I was lamenting about how I’m an unemployed, adult (no need to mention the age again, I’ve said it once), semi-orphan (still have a mom). I was thinking about my reality. I delved into how we’re totally funky for thinking we can log onto some Web site and feed into our hypochondriac tendencies. But we do it, we submit to the masochistic joy that comes through thinking we might have the germs, and we get attention from those around us just trying to make us feel better. Meanwhile, someone who is very sick, terminal, says nothing. Someone who I’ve allowed to dictate my entire life said nothing to indicate he might not be here through Christmas, and now I’m left alone; because to him, the boyfriends I always brought home were never “good enough.”

It's time to blow this popscicle stand.

Getting Back on Track, The Saga Continues...

Remember that "getting back on track" post I wrote about last week?

Scratch that. Just when you think things already feel sucky, someone has to go and kick you in the proverbial nuts.

If you know of anyone hiring, and it's in media... or at this point even Taco Time, please shoot me an email. I'd appreciate it. holly.braithwaite@gmail.com My resume and MP3 demo is also available on my Web site.

I am officially over 2006 and can't wait to finish the year.