Twelve and cranky

yep

I applied for a job in Boston yesterday. Got an immediate response asking me if I wanted to commute to the Back Bay area of Boston. Seriously?!?!

I have a phone screen with the arena the Bs play in tomorrow.

I have that second today.

The job search is picking up steam again.  w00t!

——

There’s been a lot of speculation over who will replace Matt Smith. Some want a woman, and I’m not sure Moffat can write a strong woman character.

His female companions are weak and seem to spend a lot of time waiting for the Doctor or sacrificing themselves to save him. I mean, Amy Pond is known as the girl who waited and Clara Oswin Oswald basically inserted herself into the Doctor’s timeline so she could keep saving his life.

Such. Bullshit.

I probably don’t even need to go into Sherlock’s “Scandal in Belgravia” to touch upon how badly he fucked up on writing Irene Adler. (Still a sore spot and it’s my least favorite episode after “Reichenbach”.) He made her a fucking dominatrix and introduced her to the audience buck-fucking-nekkid. Yep. AND he still managed to make her weak. OK. I need to stop before I get all worked up again… ARGH!

So. Stephen Moffat writing/leading a show that would feature a female Doctor?

No. Fucking. Way. Would. I. Watch. That.

I loved the Ponds. I really did. But Clara never did it for me. I’m hoping she leaves when Eleven does because out of all the companions in the reboot, she was the absolute worst. Then again, maybe there’s something wrong with me because I really liked Martha Jones and she’s one of the least liked companions. She’s no Donna Noble, but there was a lot to like about her.

Gonna do it

and this is why i’ll miss matt smith

I can’t put it off any more… it’s time to start rucking with a fully loaded ruck. Four bricks, 3 litres of water, and a yoga block to keep the bricks in place. It is fucking heavy and if I don’t get used to doing some serious miles with it on, I will die in July. Die, I tell you!

I’ve been putting it off and putting it off because I HATE being on a treadmill. I don’t need to do it on a treadmill. I live in a relatively safe neighborhood, I’m home during the afternoon when the sun is shining bright… there is absolutely no reason I haven’t started yet.

Except for a stupid fear:

I’m afraid to go for a walk by myself - what if I go too far, get too tired and can’t make it back home?

I know, I know, I know.

Today’s big plan includes looking for a job, logging some serious time on the treadmill, going to the Apple store to fix my baby, and going to my work out.

No interviews today, but I have one tomorrow. It’s a second so there’s really nothing more I can do except show up. Besides, they don’t have a website or anything.

I hate this… I really hate this… and it’s been going on over a month.

*sigh*

 

I hate Sundays

if it wasn’t 90 degrees in this house, i’d be wearing a shock blanket, too

Normal people hate Sundays because it means they have to go back to work on Monday. I hate Sundays because it means J has to go back to work and I’m left here.

Alone.

Sundays always tend to find me in a really bad space because of that.

I’m in such a bad place, that I broke down earlier…

J was going grocery shopping and he asked me what I wanted. I pretty much screamed, “I WANT A FUCKING JOB!”

From there it went from bad to worse as I laid the following out for him:

I have a second interview with the industry place on Tuesday. I know - this is a TERRIBLE thing. How DARE they ask me back?!

The interview I was supposed to have on Friday for the Cost job has not yet been rescheduled.

The second interview - if there is one for the retirement place - won’t be until next week. Possibly. Or the week after.

Still no word from the hotel place regarding a second.

Let’s not forget, I passed up a second. (Granted, a place I didn’t want to work at, but still…)

My biggest fear now is that, because of shitty timing, I’ll be offered the job at the industry place before I know about any other position I might be the least bit interested in (i.e., the cost job, or the retirement place). It’s what happened when I took that temp job in March. I took the one that sounded good, that offered first, because I got twitchy about being stuck at home. In the end, I missed out on a second, and a first interview at two different places that would have probably been much better fits.

I don’t want to make the wrong choice.

I’m TERRIFIED to make the wrong choice.

How the hell am I supposed to get past this and trust myself?!?!

I’m in John Finnemore’s sandbox!

CABINLOCK!

I’ve decided that my next foray into fan fiction would be “Cabin Pressure”.  The pilots like to play a lot of word games, and coming up with my own has been a right bitch.

I’ve decided to steal an idea from CP and have the pilots do cabin addresses using Stephen King’s works instead of Hitchcock’s.

Here’s the original:
DOUGLAS: Hello, my name is First Officer Douglas Richardson. On behalf of the captain and myself, a warm welcome aboard this MJN flight to Qikiqtarjuaq. Just to let you know, we will be flying out from Toronto today, roughly “North by Northwest,” at the “Vertigo”-inducing height of twenty thousand feet, way above “The Birds.” You will already have met your purser today, Carolyn “Rebecca” “Topaz,” but now, as “The Lady Vanishes” behind the “Torn Curtain” into the galley, the steward will hold you “Spellbound” with his “Notorious” demonstration of “The Thirty-Nine Steps” to a safe evacuation, though these basically boil down to three: pull the “Rope,” inflate the “Lifeboat,” and escape through the “Rear Window.” (Huge thanks to the folks at The Cabin Pressure Livejournal Community for posting the transcripts, including this one from Qikiqtarjuaq. In case you haven’t noticed, I have an unhealthy fascination with this episode.)

Here’s my attempt:
DOUGLAS: Good morning to our favourite passengers, Arthur ‘Cujo’ Shappey, and Ms. ‘Dolores Claiborne’. My name is First Officer Douglas Richardson, and I’ve just come off ‘The Night Shift’ where I flew over ‘The Green Mile’ with my co-pilot, your Captain and ‘The Apt Pupil’ himself, Martin Crieff. Today, our ‘Skeleton Crew’ will be flying in the direction of ‘The Shining’ sun en route to the lovely city of Gay Paris. Whilst in Paris, we will be parking the aeroplane ‘Under the Dome’ near ‘The Dark Tower’ of Orly Airport. As it is a daytime flight, we will unfortunately be landing at half noon instead of ‘Four Past Midnight’. I do hope the unending boredom of a cargo flight doesn’t create a sense of ‘Desperation’ and turn you into a ‘Firestarter’.

Dude, this shit is hard work, even with the characters handed to you on a silver platter. Plus, you know… the whole having to write English pilots as English pilots thing. At least I got some practice writing “It Was Always There”, and I can choose a UK English dictionary so my spelling isn’t completely atrocious. My Google searches have become ridiculous… For a country that started out speaking British English, we’ve gone ahead and made a fucking mess of it. (Of course, in changing my Mac to accept the UK dictionary as the default, I’ve managed to change the American pound (hashtag) symbol to the symbol for the British pound (currency) as well. *sigh* It’s not worth looking to see if I can fix it, but it is a bit annoying.)

HOWEVER, I am impressed as fuck with myself for not needing to look up any of Stephen King’s works to do that cabin address. So there’s that in my favor.

(My little Johnlock - while not breaking any hits/comments/kudos/favorites records - has received nothing but positive feedback. w00t!!!!! I don’t want to post the link here out of shyness/stupidity, but I suppose if you search fanfiction.net or AO3 for “wendellgee” you’ll stumble upon it.)

*And again… I don’t own “Cabin Pressure”. I just like playing in Mr. Finnemore’s sandbox and should he choose to steal my little Stephen King cabin address… well, let’s just say I’d be too busy jumping up and down shouting “BRILLIANT!” to hire a solicitor.*

Intimidating boobs!

Sorry, boys! I’m *so* changeable!

Oh my motherfucking dog…

I can’t remember the last time I laughed that hard. EVER. (And I have had some awesome times in my life.)

Nine hours round trip to spend four hours in a haunted castle.

But what an amazing four hours they were.

Annie’s bridal shower was today, and while I’m not into the whole bridal shower scene, I couldn’t miss this. I wouldn’t miss this.

Seriously, I love that girl sumptin’ fierce, and I am (STILL!) beyond humbled that she wanted me there.

Anyhoo, I sat at the troublemakers’ table with my friend Mike’s wife D (I finally met his wife! WOO!), C, Annie’s mom (L) and her friend DD. Holy crap. We were loud, rude, and generally crazy. Then we went outside and talked shit while we (well, they) smoked. Dog bless the smoke breaks.

I don’t even know where to start. 

Let’s start with the “Bad Word” game, since that’s where the intimidating boobs came from. (I’m SO naming my band that!)

We all got five clothespins to attach to our clothing and you had to surrender a clothespin every time you said a word on the list. (Wedding, dress/gown, Charlie, band, honeymoon, and something I’m blanking on now…) C, L and DD start attaching the clothespins to their shirts… well, I say attaching to their SHIRTS. DD decided a few of them were better off hiding in her cleavage or attached to her bra straps. The comment was made that people would be afraid to take the pins from the Chesty Morgans at the table because it would be so hard to take the pins off and not cop a feel.

Of course, I met Annie through the band, and when D tried to trip me up, I told her that I knew a guy who knew a guy who introduced me to Annie. Of course, that wasn’t good enough, so it became I met this guy in college who was part of a group of people who played instruments who played in a bar in Albany with Annie’s friends. Since we weren’t sure (and couldn’t ask at that point) if they were referring to BMS (the band) or a wedding band, I had to get really creative. REALLY creative… and everything I tried sounded worse.

So then, we were talking about the castle. My little brother got married at a castle and when I was trying to tell D that I called it their ‘heterosexual joining ceremony.’ I don’t know which one of us laughed harder.

AND THE INCENSE! I was trying to describe the smell inside of the castle and I was drawing a blank. It smelled churchy and not at all pot smoky. Yep. D, DD and I were in tears at my stupidity.

AND! AND! THE CRAZY WOMAN! I don’t know who she belonged to, but there was the most insane woman I’ve ever met (and that’s saying a lot) wandering around. She kept saying she wasn’t going to talk about a baby shower, or her 5 week old granddaughter, but that’s all she talked about. Then, she came around with PICTURES. PICTURES!!!

She’s telling us about how her granddaughter has a full head of hair, but her daughters didn’t and they were 32 now. C looks at her, straight faced, and says, “Oh, did your daughters’ hair ever grow in?” Then, when the woman passed her photos around, C grabbed her phone and handed it to the woman, telling her to look at HER baby. I’m not quite sure that the woman expected to see a dog, but she took it in stride. Meanwhile, the rest of us were just pissing ourselves. The next smoke break was taken as soon as we could get away from her, and the tears, man, I couldn’t get them to stop.

When it was time to leave, I wanted to pack DD up and take her home with me. She was a non-stop laugh riot. Especially when she was afraid to use the restroom in the haunted bar because she didn’t want a ghost to touch her butt while she peed.

I can’t WAIT for the wedding… chaos and anarchy and good friends… this girl couldn’t ask for anything more!