I'm getting behind in my posting. I need to post about my weekend trip to Minneapolis, the wonderful letter I received this weekend from Amy, and how my apartment almost burned down (and how much I didn't care if it did). I am also thinking of quitting my job before my job quits me and that's a post in itself.
I need to post pictures, do my taxes, fill out financial aid forms, and pay rent and my student loan.
I'm leaving tomorrow for Minneapolis and a weekend that will take me far out of my comfort zone. I'm nervous.
I still don't know what I'll wear to impress the potential future faculty. But it made a good excuse to go shopping. I had a dream where I was meeting the faculty and other students and though I wasn't the best dressed, I wasn't the worst. That place was taken by the girl wearing nothing under her see-thru oxford shirt, a bad choice in a place where it's perpetually winter. At least,all my clothes are opaque.
I haven't heard from my other schools yet, so I guess I'd better get used to winter as well as make a good impression on the faculty.
I didn't win the 300 million, but I did profit off the powerball lottery in other ways.
This afternoon at the coffee shop Grant, Jen, and I were approached to be interviewed by a Good Morning America crew. The bright light and camera scared us and we all jumped back from the table we were at. Instead of leaving the camera-shy alone, the interviewer must have seen me imagining the glory of being on TV flashing through my eyes. She told me to look directly at her and started asking questions.
Obviously, I was nervous. Was I slouching? Did I look alright? Regardless of how I looked, it didn't help me not make a fool out of myself when I started talking. Among other things, I said that the winner could have won 3,000 dollars and I would have thought that was a lot of money and that I didn't really have any concept of 300 million dollars. I went on to say that I thought the winner and I could be very good friends. I didn't know how the money would affect the community so Grant jumped in and said the winner would probably become the head football coach or a state senator. She asked me to spell my name and then left the camera man to record us sitting at our table talking. Continuing our conversation from before was extremely hard because we were gossiping about former classmates, so we decided to talk about how I hadn't washed my hair this weekend and how Grant's dog drags his butt on the carpet.
As usual, we thought of better things to say after the crew left. One of the baristas stopped by our table and said she was interviewed as well. In her interview she wanted to say that if she had won she would donate to the Republican party, but would follow the statement with a sarcastic laugh. But then she figured they'd cut out the laugh and she'd just look like a supporter. Instead, she went with a typical answer of spending the money on school. Grant said he should have said he would spend his money on a GBLT foundation to promote gay marriage in the state.
So if you want to see some smart-asses in Lincoln we might be on Good Morning America sometime, I'm assuming Monday morning.
I talked with Ceri last Sunday and the discussion revolved around the predictability of my life. This was before the news about losing my job, but the mantra she encouraged me to start living by still applies. It was, "Ellen, you've got to grab life by the balls." And I've been trying to live this way. It affects me in so many ways, "Do I want one cookie, or two? Two, of course." "Coffee right before bed? Why not?" "What am I going after I lose my job? Certainly not worry about getting another...I'm in graduate school!"
It was this new outlook that landed me in a bar after work with fellow co-workers, something I rarely do. It's not that I don't like hanging out with my co-workers it's the awkwardness I feel when I arrive at a function like this. A feeling that usually keeps me from getting out with people I hardly know. But if life was to be grabbed, I was taking a firm grip. And after a few drinks, my awkwardness was erased and the conversation was flowing. A conversation where I, quite by accident, stumbled upon the celebrant's fight with a group of lesbians where he almost got his ass kicked.
Since I am a supporter of homosexuality and because the conversation wasn't leaning in the positive direction toward homosexuals or their sympathizers, I didn't mention that I was leaving early to have dinner with Karen. We went to D'Leon's and I had what amounted to a burrito filled with cat food. The total price of dinner with tip equaled $6.66 when I commented on the number the woman working the counter she gracefully changed it to $6.68. That's right, go ahead and give yourself two extra cents in tip to save us all from the devil, I don't mind.
This week, in addition to buying my way out of hell's fire, I stayed in because it's been so cold reading a book called Jesus Land. It is one woman's coming of age story that includes a fundamentalists belief system and an adopted black brother. It followed another memoir I read last weekend of another girl's fundamentalist Christian childhood, an upbringing I can readily identify with. Although the main character of Jesus Land and I don't share many things in common, the story is so gripping that even if it wasn't cold I would have read the whole thing in one sitting. I'm learning to get over the oddities of my peculiar childhood, even going so far as to admit to going to Adventist schools 1st through 14th grades tonight to one of my co-workers. In response, he said he never would have guessed it, which I'm taking as a complement.
Here's to new adventures and to doing things I wouldn't normally do. So far, this new mantra seems to be working out for good, but I wish it was working out for evil.
After a month or two, and especially this week, of moping around about nothing exciting happening and having nothing to write about I got a post-it from my boss this afternoon. The scribbles put into question my immediate future, with news that I might possibly be unemployed within the next month. Oddly, this does not frighten me. And after I made the long walk over to my boss's office to talk about exactly how long I have a job my boss kept apologizing about not reminding me sooner. He's really nice and I accepted his apologies, but honestly, I've known since September that my job was operating under limited funding. I had just forgotten how I justified all the late mornings and mental health days, though the beauty of forgetting is that I didn't have to worry about finding another job. Because honestly, I wouldn't have done anything about finding another job even if I had remembered; I only seek out when I am forced to do so.
I've been thinking about spending more time at the coffeeshop...Why not get paid to do it?
...her name was Misty. She was a really great friend, we lived together and would hang out. She would make the best enchiladas and the day after she would make them she would let me eat most of the leftovers. She was smart and pretty and ended up marrying a nice guy who took her all the way to Iowa. One day she called me and left a message that said she would like to hang out with me and to call her before 4:00 p.m. I got the message at 5:00 and then forgot all about it, until now. I'm sorry.
Scott left a note for me on my bike yesterday. Though I've never directly used an 11:11 wish, or a first-star-I-see-tonight wish on left notes, I've always hoped someone would leave one for me. The timing couldn't have been any better. Leaving work I felt feverish, had been wanting to take a nap all day, and had been working on something difficult. I didn't feel good about anything and then I walked out of the building and saw the white piece of paper stuck between the cables on the top tube of my bike.
I've left a mean note on a bike that was positively identified as a bike stolen from my roommate. It called the stealer very unkind names and stated some things that might happen if the rider was ever found. While I didn't actually write the note, I did tape it to the handlebars and still feel bad about doing it. But, yesterday I guess my bike note karma has changed, for the better.
I like the slip-ons because I'm usually running late and tying shoes takes time, I also like the skulls. The black ones are nice because I could wear them everyday with out thinking about being mismatched with most of my wardrobe, but then again that's not really a concern of mine anyway.
"Um, yeah." (I'm still trying to engage in polite conversation)
"That's 10,000 head of cows!"
"It's making my eyes water."
We were looking for a place to eat lunch and after driving a hundred yards down the road from where this conversation took place, my co-worker pulled into a parking lot. I thought he was joking around since the building we parked in front of advertised golf cart rentals and not the food I was hoping we'd find for lunch. The cow smell was so thick it was collecting in my mouth and as we got out, because this place both rented golf carts and served lunch, my co-worker brightly says, "you'll have to tell me if it smells inside."
