Giving a quick look at Craig’s List before sleeping, and I saw this job.

Female Urinalysis Collector/ Office Support

Maybe one or the other, but I haven’t hit the desperation mark where I would seek to do both.

Still stuck in my head and feeling sorry about the job interview that wasn’t meant to be.

I think part of the funk is realizing that as much fun as it is assuming the role of a misanthropic loner who enjoys her solitude, I’m really a great yellow ball of sunshine. Yeah, deep down I’m a people person.

Anyone want a hug?

I even miss a bunch of comics back there in Boston. Thursday night is especially lonesome on that score, since it had become somewhere between a routine and an addiction to hang at the Walsh Brothers’.

Nah, the addiction crack lessens the essence of the fun I had there. Sure it was an excuse to drink to excess among friends, but the friends part is the key. That and the pranksterism.

For nostalgia, I’ll relink this video of my aiding and abetting their riding my bumper:

Other than that, I never thought I would write the next sentence, but it’s coming. I take comfort in the quietness of the house, except for the rhythmic snoring next to me.

(By the way, my Puritanical New England streak runs so deep in its insipid prudishness, that I hesitated to write the snoring was next to me. Like you all be thinking out there that I moved 3K+ miles and ended up in a twin bed and a separate room.)

The good news is a few days ago I wrote that I had lost whining privileges. As of today, though, I now get to enjoy my whine.

Seems the folks who wanted to meet with me tomorrow and talk about my mad skillz changed their minds and went with some other folk(s). I feel a little stood up on a much-anticipated blind date. I got the voicemail when I sadly (ironically) was in the laundry room (or kind of laundry hut or laundry dog house) washing my planned interview outfit.

The other good news is I’m pretty damn sure the End Times are fucking nigh, so it really doesn’t matter. With impending global destruction as a new leader in a new fundamentalist branch arises, why worry about the petty little footprints of my daily existence, right?

Honest to fucking god (or whatever force fucks this planet up), 9/11 was truly chilling and the pure hatred of fundamentalism Muslims is a serious threat. On top of that, cowboy G.W.’s wacky brand of fundamentalist Christian has brought “god” and “values” to enough rhetoric to make Cotton Mather jealous. And, now we have the Inquisitor Pope bringing back good, old-fashioned wholesome values like keeping a little priestly pedophilia secret and smacking down heretics.

I sure as heck hope the Likud doesn’t come up with their own crazed rabbi leader next, itching to make Sharon seem like a softie.

My little rainbow or olive branch or other cloying simple of hope is twofold. Good old Tom DeLay is in enough trouble that fervent Christians have a special prayers just for him (‘cuz, you know, God hates in when liberals and non-Bible banging Republicans start talking about the truth).

The other half of the hope rainbow/branch is John Bolton is going to have slow down on any plans to decorate a new office. (You do have to wonder about the bizarro world in which a guy with a badass reputation for an assholic temper could become the country’s leading diplomat. Guess diplomacy ain’t required.)

So I was pondering this new pope as I was drifting off to sleep. OK, you’re a kid and everyone is in the Hitler Youth, so you are too. I get that.

But, later, when conscripted into the Wehrmacht, and I think already a seminary student, wouldn’t, as a devote Catholic, you have to do something? Maybe he did desert in the end (although the Allies did keep him as a POW).

But, since the Nazis were hip to executing Catholics, I would think anyone of that generation and country devout enough to be papal quality (as it were) would have fled or been killed.

It’s not entirely fair to forever flail all Germans for their Nazi past. However, it seems a bit more fair to flail Germans who were there and served as Nazi soldiers.

Yesterday, I was listening on the radio to an interview with Laurence Rees, who just wrote a book on Auschwitz. He was talking about having interviewed not just Holocaust survivors and Nazi war criminals for his book but also soldiers from Japan and the Pacific and from Stalin’s Russian Army. One thing he especially noted is that everyone he talked to from various war-time atrocities consistently said something like, “I had to do it,” “I was forced to do it,” “It was participate or die,” kind of thing.

Except the Germans. Apparently, the former Nazis and Wehrmacht veterans he interviewed explained how they thought they were doing the right thing based on what they knew then. So, they felt justified.

I wonder what Pope Benedict 16 thought at the time?

I found this guy’s weblog while searching for more info. He seems to have done an excellent job providing some interesting source information on John Ratz.

Scariest of all, I think, for us who are not actually living within the arms of the church, is he might well be the guy behind justifying dissing John Kerry at communion. I will never be able to comprehend the Catholic stance on the last election that de facto threw support behind a guy who presided over a nation-leading number of executions as governor of Texas.

Growing up, I believed that the Catholic church was against killing anyone even at the potential stage of sperm, so with that logic birth control is a problem and abortion and the death penalty are both very bad. Apparently, in today’s church, though, Kerry’s legislative votes on abortion make him a sinner, but GW’s zealous killing of retards and minorities is just bizness.

Viva, Papa.

A short entry, because I shouldn’t be writing at all. I should be sleeping.

Tonight I went to a San Francisco open mike, the first one since I have become the new ex-pat me. (I did one or two last year, when I was a mere tourist.)

I was #31 out of about 35 comics. The first 10 0r so did 10 minutes, the remaining 20-25 did 4-5 minutes. Mathematically (and conservatively), that’s about 200 minutes of comedy in total. Also knows as, over three fucking hours.

It gave me a good, long look at a corner of the scene here, which was time well spent. I met some pretty nice people and your customary kooks.

I got some laughs at some appropriate times, despite the lateness and fatigue. And since comics remaining at the end split a tip jar, I got some reimbursement for the gas spent getting there (and wasting time looking for parking, which is why I was late and why I was #31 out of 35).

Now, it’s just spooky quiet here with M. in Toronto. I sure have gotten used to having him around pretty damn quickly. At this rate, he’ll probably figure out I like him. Damn.

Kind of weird, but today’s the first day I’m really alone since I was in my car driving here. I drove M. to the airport for Linuxworld Canada, where he is a featured speaker!

Since I’m all about self-sufficiency, it’s kind of a strange and foreign thing to be contemplating that tonight I’ll be eating dinner alone and, of course, sleeping alone. My god, I’ve eased right into middle-class domesticity.

Although, what with not worrying about what M. wants to do tonight, I believe I will be heading into the big city of SF for an open mike that is show up, sign up and get on stage. I haven’t performed anything since my last show in Boston (other than my frightfully natural performance as a hausfrau waiting for the man to return daily from his toils).

Generally, I love the impulse buy. Any new junk food or interestingly packaged tasty treat, and I’m on it.

I veritably whined for a day when M. stopped me from buying a package of ice cream novelty treats at Costco. I wanted it, because it contained 48 separate treats of four different varieties. M. didn’t want it, because it contained 48 separate treats of four different varieties. Sometimes he’s frustratingly reasonable.

So, anyway, today I was all by myself at Safeway, with my own money, my own debit card, my own membership in the “Safeway Club” o’ savings. Nothing and no one could have stopped me from buying whatever grocery my heart fancied. (Well, the weight or size could have stopped me given I was on my spiffy, cool new bike.)

However, I did not buy the Grapple. I wanted to, out of curiousity. But, I wasn’t four bucks worth of curious.

Seriously, though, what the fuck are the people at Get Fit Foods thinking?

There PR bullshit actually says:
“With childhood obesity increasing at alarming rates, Grāppleâ„¢ brand apples could go a long way to improving the eating habits of children and introducing them to more produce.”

Because, yeah, most leading nutritionists would say, the best fucking way to fight poor diet and eating habits is to increase the chemical additives in normally tasty food and make it seem more like candy.

It kind of reminds me of when I was a kid and there was something called “I hate peas” on the market. Or some name like that. Basically, it was a frozen french fry with pea puree blended in there that you baked in your oven. The theory being kids would get MORE nutrition and variety than if they just ate regular fries.

I comprehend that logic. Disguise some kind of good food with a slightly not good food.

If you have a fat kid, though, “bathing” an apple in a chemical solution of “grape flavor” is a great lesson in balance. (Of course, the website doesn’t actually mention “chemicals,” but food design ain’t farming.)

Here’s a quick idea, I’m just blue-skying off the top of my head here, so it may seem fucking nuts, but, you know, bear with me, here’s my idea. Say your kid, whose weight is up there (and you, the no doubt slim, health-conscious adult in the kid’s life, can’t figure out why), say that kid enjoys the crunchy, juicy texture of apples but hankers for the sweet sugar of a tasty grape. Why don’t you make a fucking fruit salad?

Cheaper than the 4 Grapples for >$4 and less shitty all around.

I forgot to mention in regard to the job that called me — I swear to fucking god that the chick on the phone said I would be interviewing with Ilsa Lund. I almost laughed and asked whether she was still in touch with Rick, but I stopped myself and acted professional.

Unrelatedly, never dig right into the sweetness of a fresh mango without checking first if you own any dental floss. Damn fiber.

With one phone call, I may have just lost my rights to whine and play “Woe is me.”

At the end of the past week, I was bemoaning how no one seemed to be contacting me back from the passel of Craig’s List job postings I answered. I figured since I was mostly responding to only ads for which I was actually qualified and I have in truth spent the last decade or two grinding away getting those qualifications, someone should nibble on my inquiries. Sweat was starting to bead over the silence and underwhelming interest.

However, today, the old streak might be ending and a new one, swollen with employment possibilities may have begun.

At moments of weakness and fear, I have contemplated the wisdom of chucking away completely a 15-year career. Sure it sucked and all, and some of the key players made me feel shittier about myself than years of dickhead boyfriends, but, you know, it was like a job that I could, like, do.

The people who have gotten back to me could be the ultimate antidote to waffling between doing a bit of what I used to and turning my back completely — Consulting at a good pay for part-time hours. Maybe a little bit of grants work wouldn’t kill me.

If everything I’ve learned in the ivy halls could buy me enough time to, I dunno write and shit, maybe it could work. At least until the interview, a chick can dream.

First off, I just got this link from my aunt. Let’s all taunt Tom DeLay, shall we?

Secondly, fun weekend of celebrating M.’s company getting VC funding and his getting estra paycheck funding in turn. During the weekend, I kept thinking to myself, “If I were in Cambridge, I wouldn’t be able to do all of this stuff in one weekend.”

For example, go to a street festival, hear some bands, see some trees and parks and end up on Sunday walking along the ocean and watching people out on the boardwalk. I was basically thinking, how neat that all of these things, a major city, an ocean, parks and scenery were all in basically short driving distances and could be done in one weekend.

I was completely in awe.

Then, I fucking remembered that Massachusetts is smaller, and it’s actually physically closer to do all those things in one day. Hell, as a kid I once did a charity walk that started just south of Boston in Neponset and ended up at the old Paragon Park amusement park at Nantasket Beach.

I guess the novelty is still so overwhelming that I kind of forget reality.

Although, wading in the ocean a bit to feel the salt water on the same weekend as the Boston Marathon created a little cognitive dissonance. I think the only time I might ever have gotten my feet wet at a beach in April was if we ditched high school, started drinking and created retarded dares or drunken acts of bravado.

And, I got to pick up a tiny shell of a sand dollar on the beach at Santa Cruz. M. was singularly unimpressed by my joy at discovering a shell I heretofore could only have found at a beach store.

I guess that would be the down side of living with a guy who grew up in the tropics. He probably could have gotten the coolest shells imaginably and remained unfazed. Darn those natives of paradise and their shell abundance.