© Kyla Becker
Taken March 14, 2009 with Canon PowerShot A550
Okay, so maybe it hasn’t been “hiding”, so much, as that I’ve been “doing”. Maybe, it’s been more like hibernating. I’ve been working and sleeping and getting up long enough to go to work and not much of anything else since the New Year rolled in.
Spring is finally here (maybe). It’s time to wake up.
I am on holiday for the next week. If I hadn’t already booked it a couple of months back, I would have done so anyway. I’m burnt out. And slept out.
I booked the week off to go visit CardioGirl, ‘member that?
I’ve been throwing money at some of the dreamy little plans I’ve hinted at over the last couple of years… so much so, that I forgot (forgot!) that I might possibly need some cash to get to Detroit.
And eat while there.
Not to mention sleep somewhere other than in the Prissy-Van, ‘cuz, you know, who can afford to get up every two hours and feed a parking meter?
All of this is supposed to happen sometime this week (This. Week.).
I’m a-skeered to call the betch, for fear she’ll just tell me to shove it.
Random Song-for-the-Day: “Carbon Monoxide” – Regina Spektor
Bear With Me Taken July 7, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550
Busy, wow! I’m loving the night shift, but will have to re-learn “day-shift mode” for the weekends until at least after the New Year, beginning this Sunday, when I start working days for Louie. That will only be on the weekends, mind you – I’m not sure yet how I’ll deal with working 7 days a week, let alone 16 hour days, so we’re going to leave that alone.
I still haven’t managed to fit writing into the schedule… believe it or not, I’m looking at an impending move of household coming up. We have the opportunity to move up two floors in the building. We’d be giving up a sauna, but we’d be gaining walls. Ky misses walls.
We would also be gaining a bedroom each. I haven’t had a bedroom of my own since… geez,
Winter of 1993. For about 3 months. My head is full of plans on what to do with it, since I will be starting out with an empty room.
I was offered my new Landlords’ apartment a couple of week’s ago. He lives on the top two floors of the building, and plans on moving out in January. Would I like the place?
The rent is more than my finances can currently bear, however, and I regretfully decline.
He drops the rent. Hmmmmmm….. Probably not as soon as January, I sez.
He gives me the lowdown: The third floor has its own bathroom and bedroom, and a small kitchenette, he tells me. It was once a bachelor apartment, and would be perfect for the Idiot Child and the Oogily Bay Girls to hang out in. Apparently, the New Landlord is perfectly aware that my home is the Clubhouse of Oogily Bay, more often than not: the main hangout of 7 teenagers (Oogily Bay + Ray), and not only has no problem with it, but is using it to pimp out this new apartment to me.
And it’s working.
And *I* would have a bathtub again! Oh. My. God.
What will I do with four walls and a closet of my very own, though…? I’m thinking of turning Japanese as far as decor goes. Ideas?
Not-So-Random Song for the Day: “Turning Japanese” – The Vapors
“What Lies Behind…”
Taken October 9, 2007 with Canon PowerShot A550
My boss called me today.
Asked me to come in to work to “have a little talk.”
Scared the shit out of me.
I LOVE my job. I want to keep my job. The only thing I don’t like about my job is my seeming inability to negotiate gracefully between day shifts and night shifts, which I’m beginning to despair of ever getting a handle on.
All I can manage to do is sleep. House is a wreck. The Idiot Child must feed herself or go hungry – not to mention, wash her own laundry (as well as mine), and Sheikh the Cat has begun spending his awake hours sitting next to my head, intermittently placing a paw on my face and sliming kissing me, wondering why my eyes are always closed.
This despair of accommodating the fluctuating schedule got me wishing for a work routine that I’ve only experienced once, Way Back When, remember that? I wasn’t particularly fond of the “job” part of that job, but the schedule was perfect: it was the same. damned. schedule. every. day. With weekends off, to boot.
My house was clean. The cats were happy. The Idiot Child was still a teenager, but I think she preferred the sameness, as well.
I have been wishing I could approach my boss and appeal for a Same-Damned-Shift. Even if it was the night shift. I dreamed of the conversation being short, sweet and successful.
Me: “Hey, how ’bout I work nights? All the time. Just nights. Cuz nobody else seems to like nights.”
Him: “Yeah, great idea! Thanks! I’ll just go ahead and change the schedule right now! How ’bout I give you more shifts with that? You want more shifts? There’s more money in more shifts. How ’bout I give you more shifts, too?”
There are a bzillion reasons why I couldn’t do that. I mean, I could do that, but he would either laugh, thinking I was joking, or take me seriously and still say no. Several reasons for the “no”:
1) I’m still The New Kid on the Dance Floor. Yes, others have come behind me, but I’m still new enough that I can get away with “I’m New Here” to cover a mistake I’ve made. Much longer, I’d have to use “I’m Old” for an excuse. That’s probably more apt. 😉
2) Nobody has a Same-Damned-Shift schedule. Nobody. Why should *I* get that lucky?
3) It’s obvious to all and sundry that I’m having trouble adapting to the shift changes and if they coddled me (cuz I’m old, maybe?), it could possibly cause a revolt.
So, I’ve been schlepping along, loving the job part of the job and hating the schedule part of the job, wishing for the impossible, and for shit’s sake, my boss calls me today for “a little talk”.
I knew I was fired. I wanted to ask if I was fired, but Boss is not the kind of guy that does that over the phone, I’m pretty sure. I settled for asking, oh so casually (yeah, right) “Sure, what’s up? Something wrong?” the whole while repeating the mantra, “don’t-let-it-be-bad…don’t-let-it-be-bad…don’t-let-it-be-bad…don’t-let-it-be-bad”, which, for the record, has never once worked before. In my experience, if it feels like it might be “bad”, it’s generally much, much worse than “bad”.
So, yeah. I knew I was fired, even when he said, “Oh, no. Nothing to worry about. Just wanna go over something with you.”
Uh oh. What horrible thing have I done? Shit, he read about me finding cocaine on the dance floor! No, wait, I told him that story myself and he laughed really hard. Can’t be that.
Or maybe, I didn’t do something that I should have done? It’s not like I forgot to lock up, or anything (once did that while working for Louie, and nobody even noticed, can you believe that?) – I mean, we’re open 24/7. I’m not even sure there is a set of keys for the place.
Not that it would matter what the “little talk” was about, I still had to have it. So, I pulled on my boots and crossed the street.
And my boss said to me – no word of a lie, here, either, I swear – I’m not even exaggerating in the slightest little bit:
“I’m hoping I can change your schedule. Would you be willing to work straight nights, with weekends off? You’d be guaranteed five shifts that way, (employees who have been there longer, of course normally get more hours, unless they book a shift and hand it to me) and if I need you on the weekends, I’ll call – you’ve never turned down a shift, so you’re the first one I call. Would that work for you?
Well, gee, lemme think on that….
I’m dumbfounded. I agreed immediately, though, and he was all thanking me as if I were doing him a favour. Maybe I am and just don’t realize it, but it’s like he read my mind.
Or my blog….
So, he hands me my newly-minted hours, starting Sunday end, or S/M if you read the little date box on the schedule, and I trotted back home to write this post, and marvel over never having to wonder when I’m working “next week”… and there followed shortly a call requesting me to work an extra shift tomorrow. Already, I’m booked for overtime. I love my job.
Now, I have to clean a cat-box. Maybe then, Sheikh will quit sliming kissing me in the middle of my version of night.
~ Just about to hit the publish button when I get another call from work – this time from the assistant manager: apparently some deer-hunter I was joking around with a week or so ago (told him he should bring me some deer parts, since my dad was gone, and nobody ever brings me deer meat anymore), just dropped off a venison roast for me. Can I please come pick it up, as it’s grossing her out? ~
Well, gee, lemme think on that….
Excuse me while I go pick up Free Dead Wild Animal.
(Did I tell you how much I love my job…?)
Random Song-for-the-Day: “Surf Wax America” – Weezer
Taken March 16, 2008 with Canon PowerShot A550
I’m not kidding, either. My days are like this: get up, eat, shower, dress, eat again, pack a lunch, cross the street to work, where I suck back 8 to 10 cups of coffee, eat one lunch, buy another, eat everybody else’s leftovers, dance in the parking lot, cross the street to home, check the mail, sit in the sauna, eat, try not to fall asleep whilst checking up on Blog-Family, eat, collapse. Start over.
I’m switching back and forth between three to four nights “on”, a day – sometimes two – off (the first of which I generally sleep through entirely, along with the following night), followed by three to four day shifts. Rinse and repeat. If they start throwing afternoons at me, I’m not going to get a chance to eat the million meals it seems to take to keep me conscious. I’m not gaining any weight, but at least I’m not losing any, either.
Fluffy took me out to dinner a few weeks ago, and swears I fell asleep at the table. I did not (there were two whole beers to drink; I’m not one to sleep through beer), but I did fall asleep during the car-ride home. We’re going out to eat on Saturday night coming (how many sleeps away is that?) and I hope to stay awake for three beers, this time.
I am not exaggerating when I ask what day it is – most of the time, I really don’t know. As long as I remember how many of such-and-such shift I have in a row, I’m good.
I have to smarten up. I want to write. I want to record. I want to blog my Dad’s stories. I want to drive the Prissy-Van to Teeny-Tiny Town to visit my mom.
It’s like permanent jet-lag. How do I fix this?! One of these Saturday mornings I’m going to drop the Idiot Child off at a locked and empty school, if I don’t get a handle on my time.
Random Song-for-the-Day: “Hey There, Delilah” – Plain White T’s
“Where You Caught That Mystery Virus…”
Taken December 18, 2007 with Canon PowerShot A550
Bloggers are pretty freaking funny. Lucky for me, ‘cuz I’ve been short of time of late, and recuperating after finishing The Waitress, the Whiskey & the Handcuffs. So I spent a little of what time was left over after “re-charging” (ahem…*) picking through my comments of last year. I’m paying homage to a bunch of my Blog Family members and a few others with this list, just because it proves they may be more crazy than I am.
These are great writers, all, and I hope you’ll visit them – ummm… although OldGuy’s site is slightly kaput at the mo’. No, it wasn’t my fault. I don’t think, anyway.
Oh, and Julie may be AWOL. That probably is my fault.
OldGuy of OldGuy’s Tree House:
“Oh, I like Ruby’s mother, I really do. And headless, blood-spurting dancing chickens.”
“I’m getting old and my bladder isn’t what it used to be.”
“Actually I’d like to be there when they replace the skylight coz I wanna make faces and fire paper clips at them.”
“So you walk to the retirement home every time you go out ?”
“Geez, between the powerful zoom and your nifty reshaped eyeballs you must be able to see all the way to Moosonee.”
“Whack job eh ? Well, at least I’m in good company.”
“There was that one year when we didn’t get snow in April … oh no wait, that was in Hawaii.”
“The trick to getting through vacuuming is to imagine the dirt is trying to destroy the universe and you are a hero armed with a powerful weapon that will foil it’s evil plan.”
Mushy of Mushy’s Moochings:
“You must have or witnessed chickens being killed, because I have and you are dead on.”
“You have to love ’em…they’ve been around too long not to.”
“I was intrigued, first of all, that anyone could stay in a bathtub that long!”
Rhea of The Boomer Chronicles:
“I think it was the eggs hanging down, not the hummingbird, that clinched the grand prize.”
“Was it the drugs?”
“It’s a pretty groovy haircut.”
Denise of Not What It Seems:
“I want to know about the donkey.”
“Since I don’t know the whole situation, I will give you a hippie/granola crunching response.”
MotherPie of, well, MotherPie:
“I was the flower girl in the Marlboro Man’s wedding (he was one of the non-smoking Marlboro Men, I think).”
Suzi of What It Shwas:
“I swear I can smell the pee-soaked straw.”
“I sure hope you made a video of the rat vs. cat match.”
“You picked the wrong time to give up booze.”
“Might I suggest cloning yourself?”
“Mmmmmm. I’m suddenly craving eggrolls and calamari.”
“You can’t really consider a camera “tested” until it’s been to Mexico, though.”
“I enjoy the shark’s lipstick, too.”
“It’s so much harder to learn new stuff when there’s already so much stuff packed into your brain!”
“Tell Kyla to quit floofing her kid dander all over the place. Geez.”
Shrinky of Shrink-Wrapped Scream:
“Beer – lots, it’ll help no end.”
“Don’t do it – you know it makes you cranky!”
“So I know you’ve written to me, but I haven’t a clue what..aarrgghhhh!!!”
“Fornicating pigeons are far more my style..”
“Hey, I just won an award today!!! Dead chuffed, I am.”
“I’ve sent the lear jet – but bring your own freakin’ chair!!”
“God my head hurts. I’m gonna be driving around half-pissed for the rest of today.”
“Sure, life is shit at times, we’ve all got to deal with it. I deal with it by drinking a bucket of wine.”
BeckEye of The PopEye:
“I’ve never seen any riding the trains, just walking on the tracks. Oh, and swimming in the nacho cheese at Taco Bell.”
“If I put as much effort into finding paying gigs as I do into writing silliness on my non-lucrative blog, I’d be living in the West Village instead of above a porn shop in Brooklyn.”
“A subway rat would’ve eaten all 3 of you without batting an eye.”
“What happens to a dream deferred? Does it burn like a wicker chair?”
“Your camera needs a name? Uh, Federwhore, maybe?”
“Way to make me feel like a loser!”
“Not gloating or anything. Wait, yes I am.”
“Say ‘feces’ instead of ‘shit.’ It’s such a fun word to say. Or ‘turds.'”
“If someone threw a quarter at my ass, it would probably never be seen again.”
Julie of What They Don’t Tell You in Film School:
“I had a bathroom modeled a few years back, which was around the time I learned to pee in a coffee cup.”
Deni of Last Girl on Earth:
“I just took the test and I’m a purple brain too.”
* * *
Oh, and yeah… I’m employed again. Twice over, as matter of fact. Yes. Two jobs – how the hell did that happen do you think?!
Random Song-for-the-Day: “Good Riddance” – Green Day