Tuesday has redeemed itself!!!!!

I really can’t even… this is perfect!

(and here’s your context, from the episode “Qikiqtarjuaq” - which I have now quoted so many damn times, I can spell Qikiqtarjuaq perfectly. Every. Single. Time.)

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; I’ve seen your website.

ARTHUR: Oh, have you? Brilliant! You see, Mum, I told you people would go!

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Ohhh, you did that, did you?

ARTHUR: Thank you!

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Are you a professional web designer?

ARTHUR: No, not even a bit! But there’s this website that makes it really simple, even if you’re completely clueless, you can make it play music, and the words flash, and, you know, put in things like a line of dancing aeroplanes – you know, make it look, make it look really professional.

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Okaaay, Ms. Knapp-Shappey, I’m going to ask you and your crew from now on at all times to refer to this flight as being an Unbeaten Track flight, not an MJN one.

CAROLYN: Why? It is an MJN flight.

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Yes, but my concern is that travellers may Google you on their return and discover, no offense, what sort of outfit you are.

CAROLYN: When you say “no offense,” do you in fact know what that means?

Once again, that line is DIRECTLY from the show. Yep. Cracktastic.

Yesterday was written off because of the headache, so I’m trying to hit the ground running today.

It’s weird because I normally take Tuesdays off from the job search. Otherwise, I get depressed when there’s not a lot of new jobs to apply for. Skipping Tuesday normally means that Wednesday is really productive. I like productive days.

But - so far today, I’ve tried to fill out my unemployment claim in Spanish (Je parle français, mais pas couramment.) and I’ve tried to drink from my stapler. I’ve also jumped off the couch and spilled my coffee all over myself when Brown rang the doorbell to announce the arrival of the much needed dog food.

*sigh*

Jimmy the Pimp’s well has run dry. I haven’t heard back from Tony the Pimp about the cost job. And I’m so desperate, I’m interviewing in NEEDHAM. NEEDHAM! (Je suis très stupide.)

About the only thing going in my favour today is that my Cabin Pressure fan fic is going well. I’m almost ready to print it out and edit the hell out of it. Almost. It’s going a lot faster than my Johnlock did, which is both nice and scary. Oh well, editing will take take of the scary. I hope.

And knitting’s tonight - so I get to see people who aren’t at day care, not my husband, and not my personal trainer - so there’s that.

Today will redeem itself, or it will get kicked squarely in the nuts.

Had a really bad night.

Jimmy the Pimp called when I was on the way to my workout.

Sig Fucking Sauer is STILL hiring for kick-ass accounting positions.

If I could just suck it up and sell my soul, I’d have a job a half hour from home in the income tax free state of New Hamster.

But instead, I just scheduled an interview at a huge telecom company in NEEDHAM, MA.

Look it up on Mapquest, sparky.

The beautiful town of Needham is - straight highway, no traffic - an hour and fifteen minutes from my little home in the shadow of The Nuke.

Let’s do the math, shall we?

The Shadow of the Nuke + straight trip down 95 - Boston traffic = 1.25 hours commute

I have people in the city proper chucking my resume into the bin because they’re worried about my commute.

This commute is going to be much worse.

I’m starting to wonder if he even looked at my resume…

I wish my drug dealer could explain to me why I go through TERRIBLE withdrawal when I take my happy pill late (or not at all). I slept in way too late this morning, and took my pills about three hours later than I used to when I worked. Normally, I’m only an hour late, but lately, I don’t give a fuck.

The only problem with not giving a fuck is that within a few hours, I do find myself giving a fuck.

A HUGE fuck.

The headache. The nausea. The sensitivity to light. It’s like a migraine, but it’s not. It’s a direct correlation of cause and effect, so I know it’s not a migraine. Luckily enough, OTC migraine meds do a decent job.

However, they haven’t taken the edge off yet, so I just want to curl up in a ball and die.

Taking today off the job search to do just that…

——

I was going through a bunch of photos this morning, looking for a few specific ones, and they’re not where they belong.

I had no ideas that pictures could up and walk away.

However, I found several family pictures that I didn’t know my mother took. I know she took them - outside of the obvious fact that she’s not in them - because of her fingers. I don’t know how many pictures I have of her fingers, but there are a lot of them. A metric shit ton of them.

Thankfully, the horrible photographer gene was not part of the genetic package she handed down.

I suppose it goes without saying that I’d rather have that than the bipolar.

——

Rewatching the remake of ‘Fright Night’ because David Tennant! And Anton Yelchin! I learned on tumblr that that’s the kid from the Star Trek reboot. I obviously don’t pay enough attention to movies when I watch them at home.

(The more time I spend on tumblr, the worse I get… I actually texted someone “Because fuck you. That’s why.” A perfectly sound response in that world. Not so much over here in the growed up/real world. My spelling is also getting worse. I! NEED! A!  JOB!)

(Also, while I’m speaking parenthetically about my newfound terrible grammar, I’d also like to apologize - AGAIN - to my British friends. Writing fan fic based on British radio and tv programmes is killing both my spelling and my vocabulary and my pronunciation. If we should ever cross paths in public again, I promise I’ll try to sound like an American instead of a jackass.)

——

Really bad insomnia last night led to this Facebook status:

The best part of being the only one awake? Getting to listen to J and Guinness. J’s mumbling something and Guinness is barking in his sleep. Could you imagine what those two are talking about?

G: BUNNIES! SQUIRREL! BUNNIES! BUNNIES!!!
J: Guinness, stawp it.
G: DAYCARE!! DAYCARE!!! SQUIRREL!!!
J: Guinness, shut up.
G: KITTY! BUNNY! SQUIRREL! DAYCARE!
J: Guinness, shut up. Now.
G: Squirrel?

I love those guys. They’re always good for some comic relief.

Yesterday, I said, “Maison and West probably don’t know what kind of person he is. Yet. But if they ever question how fucking kick-ass a person he is, they don’t need to look any further than the SPN fandom for the answer. We would do just about anything for him. Not because he’s a celebrity. Not because he’s on our favorite TV show. But simply because he exists.”

As the say, the proof is in the pudding:
Finally, he is just a normal guy who does an amazing job and uses it to get to normal people, and to change them forever.

Seventeen thousand people can’t be wrong…

Seriously - I want to focus on Misha Collins for a moment.

His kids are growing up with a man who didn’t want to get married until gays could.

His kids are growing up with a man who doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘normal’.

His kids are growing up with a man who has inspired thousands of people to go on a creative journey with him.

His kids are growing up with a man who loves them madly and will give them all the tools they need to be more than successful grown ups - they will be awesome people.

Maison and West probably don’t know what kind of person he is. Yet.

But if they ever question how fucking kick-ass a person he is, they don’t need to look any further than the SPN fandom for the answer.

We would do just about anything for him. Not because he’s a celebrity. Not because he’s on our favorite TV show.

But simply because he exists.

I’m watching Gordon Ramsey’s “Kitchen Nightmares” and… holy fuck. The kitchen in this particular episode is, well, I came close to making a run for the bathroom. Blech!

I’ve worked in two restaurants, and while I can personally vouch for their cleanliness (only during the period I was employed there - I make no such guarantees now), I often wonder about other places. Even though I’m an accountant by trade, I did learn a lot about kitchen ops and how to run a dining room. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that stuff out. I can’t cook, I don’t even pretend to, half the time we can’t agree on what we want to eat, I’m at the gym during dinner time most nights, and it is much easier/cheaper for us to eat out when we’re home at the same time. (We throw out more food than we eat. When the numbers are run, it just makes sense.) That doesn’t mean that I don’t know the whys and hows of a clean kitchen. It also doesn’t mean that I can’t use google when I have a question.

How do these restaurants get that bad? How do you not realize you’re selling rotten tomatoes? GREEN chicken?

And let’s not even discuss the financial situations these guys find themselves in because half of them don’t recognize just how freaking HARD it is to run a business, let alone a restaurant.

*sigh*

——

My Cabin Pressure fan fic is coming along. I ended up surprising myself and discovered that I’m OK with writing (admittedly very vanilla) intimate scenes between two men. Again… nothing graphic, definitely NOT PWP, and the only lemon is a traveling one.

Guess I should add that to my resume, yeah? *grin*

I was told by a woman I knit with that I was crazy to even look at working in Boston.

Um, that’s where the jobs are… do you really think I’m enjoying the idea of having to commute by train?! For up to two hours depending on how far I need to travel?

Today’s second interview went well, but he kept harping on my marketing degree.

I can’t tell if he was confused by my creative/logical duality or just fascinated that I would choose accounting over the exciting world of advertising.

I got a taste of what my evening commute would be and I’m worried… I’d forgotten that on I-93 the breakdown lanes are legit travel lanes between 3-7 PM. BECAUSE FOUR LANES OF MASSHOLES AREN’T ENOUGH DURING RUSH HOUR. There needs to be an easier/better/safer way to get from here to there.

There’s two of us in contention for this position, and I think I have a good shot, but 93 has the potential to be a deal breaker.

Plus, I haven’t heard back from the retirement place or had the first interview (re)scheduled for the cost job.

I don’t know what I should do… I don’t know what I want to do…

ARGH!

i still can’t listen to this without pissing myself

OH MY FUCKING DOG!

LOOK AT WHAT I FOUND ON YOUTUBE!!!!!