Never let it be said that I'm not a glutton for punishment.

I needed the extra cash and opportunity came knocking, so I agreed to take on some shifts at the liquor store, my ex-nemesis Saturday night hell job.

It was a mutual thing. The owner didn't need to slap me with a pair of training wheels, and I get a 10 percent discount on whatever I buy on the nights that I work. I scratch her back, she scratches mine. Cash under the table doesn't hurt, either.

The first shift back was a novel experience. I was met with a lot of "where have you been?" and "good to see you!" and "are you back for good?" from lots of people. Considering the fact that it's been over a year since I worked there, I was flattered. Considering the fact that people were griping on and off because I was grumpy before I left, I was shocked.

And thus began my series of "Special Guest Appearances", otherwise known as my reminder of why I quit working there in the first place.

Tomorrow night, thankfully, marks the series finale for me.

Highlights from the previous four shifts include aching feet, sore arms, bitchy customers, and the growing need to visit my chiropractor.

Last weekend, a guy got pissy with me over a penny. "C'mon... don't nickle and dime me to death!" he griped, because the register read $8.81 and the packs of cigarettes he was buying would have individually rang up at $4.40. Seriously, asshole? You are getting upset over a fucking penny?!?

Tonight took the cake, though. A guy at the drive up window shoved his hand into his pocket to dig for correct change, and made the offhanded comment "That felt good." My expression must have said it all, because when I came back to the window from the register, he said, "I wasn't trying to be gross. I was just trying to see if you have a good sense of humor."

Not to be outdone, I handed him his change, saying, "Here's your change, then. Now you can feel good twice!"

Yeah... I'm glad tomorrow night is my final "Special Guest Appearance".

----------------
Listening to: Jane's Addiction - Stop!

I have a confession to make.

I'm going to miss Michael Jackson.

To paraphrase a quote from www.twitter.com heard at the end of his memorial service yesterday, which the media of course swarmed with their usual sensationalist fervor, "his music has provided part of the soundtrack of my life. It has been there through every decade. What am I going to do now that he is gone?"

The very first (and last - vinyl was in it's death throes even in the early 80's) record album I ever received as a gift was "Thriller". My parents bought it for me for my birthday, probably third grade, which would have been 1983, a whole year after it had been released. I was all of 8 years old.

I still have it.

And I confess that I recently pulled it out and put it on my decrepit excuse for a turntable for the first time in years. And I listened to it, even though the belt played it a degree slower than it should have, and I relived all of those silly childhood afternoons when I would beg my mom to let me play it so I could dance to Beat It, PYT, and Thriller; sing along to Human Nature and The Girl is Mine; clumsily moonwalk to Billie Jean.

And I cried.

I cried not just for the loss of Michael Jackson, I cried for the loss of my childhood.

I cried for the memories of my grandmother, who I lost the same year I got "Thriller" for my birthday.

I cried for all of those safe, secure nights of watching Solid Gold on Saturday night in my parents living room, and all of the memories that those songs hold for me, because they were the soundtrack of my childhood.

And the man who provided that is gone.

For the first time, my generation is facing the loss of an icon who has been there since we were born, and I don't doubt that I'm not the only Generation X'er out there who is struggling with what it means on a more personal level.

It means that eventually we all must face our own mortality, and question what sort of legacy we will leave behind when we are gone.

What sort of legacy will I leave behind? I don't know, but I ultimately hope that people will remember me for the positive and set aside the negative, just as I hope that they do for Michael Jackson, because in the end, the good that we do during our brief time in this existence is what truly counts.

Hello there, campers!

I'm sorry to report that the Muse is still MIA, but thanks to a healthy dose of alcohol, I'm here to post something resembling a blog.

About Swine Flu.

Because I'm paranoid.

And drunk.

And being followed by Randall Flagg on Twitter.

That's right, you heard me correctly. There is a new phenomenon growing on the interweb's latest craze... The Stand is being role-played on Twitter, and it is seriously starting to creep my ass out.

It started with MacAllister Stone of Absolute Write fame tweeting about @motherabigail, who I decided to follow out of curiousity's sake. Little did I know that I would wake up to @VegasWalkinDude "following" me.

And now I've fallen down the rabbit hole into an alternate dimension.

Not withstanding, I have to get on a plane in 21 days to attend my younger brother's high school graduation. Not withstanding that the global pandemic threat level has hit 5, two higher than it was last week.

What the crap?

Srsly?

I mean, come on!

I'm not one to buy into conspiracy theories, but I do question everything, and the very presence of a virus that seems to have all of the inherent qualities of something that was genetically engineered to wreak havoc on the world as we know it has got my subconscious in an uproar. Never mind the fact that over 250,000 deaths each year are attributed to seasonal flu. Never mind the fact that ALL of the deaths so far, even the one in the US today, have been Mexican nationals. Never mind the fact that the death toll out of the thousands of cases numbers less than 200 so far...

Something is afoot, my friends....

And something about all of this makes me want to take my ass off of the grid and hide up on the Grand Mesa until next year.

Who's with me?

Is why I'm enjoying being on Twitter these days.  Miniature blogging is my new favorite sport! 

http://twitter.com/evilmynx

In other news, yes, the Muse did indeed get arrested.  It called me from a Mexican prison today demanding bailout money.  Too bad I didn't know sooner, or I could have put in a request for some of those billions that the government keeps throwing at our failing economy. 

I'm sure bailing out my Muse is probably money better spent.

Dear Lady Marie™:

Okay, so here is our scenario:
There is this guy I know. Out of freak coincidence, he happens across an email address for a girl he knew 20 years in the past.(He went out with said girl for about 3 weeks.) For shits and giggles he sends her an email. They kind of reconnect through IM. They go over old times and how she has been happily married for 18 years. Out of the blue, she asks him why he broke off the relationship. She then tells him she still has the letter he wrote her telling her it was over in her Bible.

Creepy?

Sincerely,
A Concerned Bystander

Dear Concerned:

Beyond creepy... the normal thing to do with that sort of letter is to immediately collect any photos, mix tapes, articles of clothing, letters, etc. associated with the person who sent it, take the collection to the back yard, dump 5 gallons of gas on said collection, and dance naked around the flames. Whoa... wait... the naked dancing around the flaming remnants of the relationship is kinda creepy too, isn't it?

Oops.

Anyhow, the last thing I would do, speaking as a sorta creepy gal myself, is stuff the offending letter into a bible for safekeeping and then keep it for 20 years. Or eternity, of which 20 years is a good start.

Obsess much, little missy? Methinks so.

Your friend needs to drop that psycho like a bad habit.

Sincerely,
Lady Marie™





----------------
Listening to: The Cure - Why Can't I Be You?
via FoxyTunes    

Dear Lady Marie™:

Last night I took my hunny out for a few drinks.  He seemed to be having a good time, laughing it up with me and our friends.  He ended up buying drinks too, and I thought everything was copacetic, but when we got home he laid a huge guilt trip on me.  He told me that he didn't want to go out in the first place because he couldn't afford to go to the bar AND buy me jewelry and take me out to dinner tonight for Valentine's day.  We got up this morning and he told me he was sorry and he was still going to buy me jewelry and take me out to dinner anyway, but I don't want him to.

I hate Valentine's Day anyway and would much rather we didn't celebrate it all.

What do I do?

Sincerely,

Peeved at This Meaningless Capitalist Pig Holiday



Dear Peeved:

Let's not look a gift horse in the mouth, shall we?  He wants to buy you jewelry?  Have at it, I say.  Let him buy you the most expensive thing that he can't afford now that he's "wasted" his money on an apparently fun night with you and your friends at the bar.  Immediately take said jewelry and hock it at the pawn shop and buy yourself something that you really want. 

When he asks you whatever happened to that lovely jewelry that he bought you for Valentine's Day, smile sweetly and tell him that you pawned it and spent the money on an unforgettable three hour tour with a delicious man whore one night when he stayed out late with his drinking buddies.  Want to be really vindictive?  Tell him it was the best sex you ever had.

As for that dinner?  Take it!  Order the most expensive thing on the menu, pick at it, and then proceed to get rip-roaringly drunk on after-dinner cocktails.  Then proceed to puke up what little you did eat all over his car/lap/shoes.

That should effectively ruin his Valentine's Day and guaruntee that future Valentine's Day celebrations will be avoided by him at all costs.

Best of luck!

Sincerely,

Lady Marie™

In my Lame Excuse for a Blog Post a few days ago, I let slip that I started a new writing project back in October, and Johnny threatened me with a good time to get it going again.

While I cringe at the thought of throwing this out there when I don't even know where I'm going with it yet, I thought I'd share it, just because.  Not that posting it is going to make me feel in any way obligated to continue down this road.  I think you all know me well enough on that score by now.

Leave me a comment and let me know your opinions, thoughts, criticisms, etc. 

From my work in progress:

Somewhere along the way, I lost the date.  I could tell you what month it might be based on the weather, which wasn't even really accurate.

The winters had seen to that.

Aleksandr counted the days and the phases of the moon.  He said that I should think of new names for the months now, since the old ones had been forgotten.

We hadn't seen another living soul for at least three full moons.

Three months.

I used to pray for solitude from other people. 

Now I was smothering in it.

We were somewhere along the eastern edge of the what my grandmother had called the Rocky Mountains, following a cracked and pitted highway.  Every so often the rotted hulk of a semi, the rusting carcass of a jeep, or a pick-up truck, or a car, stood in stark contrast to the woodland encroaching on their open tombs.

We looted as we went, finding useful gear to add to ours and even replacing some of it when we got lucky.  Leaving things behind was a matter of survival, and I hoped, however futilely that someone else who needed it might come along.

That hope died as we climbed higher into the mountains and summer wore on.

"I would have thought we would have found signs of someone by now," I finally snapped in frustration as we left another ghost town on a cooler morning than most.

Aleksandr paused and turned around for one last look at the deserted place.  He sighed lightly, eyes scanning the empty streets for any sign of recent habitation that we might be missing.

"They left a long time ago, Thalia," he said, almost apologetically.  "My guess is that they went south with the rest.  Where we should be headed.  Winter is coming again."

"We'll be fine once we get over these mountains," I disagreed.  I knew of a place where we could survive, even if we did get there well after winter had set in.

"Thalia," Aleksandr coaxed. We'd had this argument every morning, but I wasn't going to let him win.  We were headed west. I wasn't going to stop until I 'd seen the ocean again.

"We'll winter on the western side, Alek, and cross the desert before spring is done. We'll be fine."

I turned and started  walking swiftly up the deserted entrance ramp to the long abandoned highway, dismissing the empty town and the empty towns that lay ahead of us.  I didn't need evidence of humanity.

I needed validation of mine.

"We don't know what kind of winter it will be, Thalia," he pleaded, catching up to me silently as I walked onto the decaying roadway and found the broken white lines.

I didn't favor him with a reply as my eyes found the repeating pattern in the fading painted stripes and my feet fell into step along with them.  I had managed distances that I hadn't known were possible on foot, blindly meditating on those broken white lines.  My footsteps chanted the mantra of miles passing while my mind wandered elsewhere.

And wander elsewhere it did.

I could see the cars that we passed as they once might have looked, racing down the highway.  I could feel the wind in my hair with the windows wide open as my grandfather drove faster than I'd ever felt him go.  The wind was hot, and it was dark outside.  My grandmother was sitting beside me, singing a quiet lullaby, soothing me off to sleep.

I was too young at the time to understand that my grandfather was desperately trying to get us away from the city before the bombs fell.

******

Some weeks later, with the air much colder than it was the morning of my outburst, we finally found ourselves coming to the last canyon before the highway would find us on the western side of the forgotten mountain range.

"It will take us at least a straight day of walking to get to the other side," I said.  I remembered this place, too, and I was relieved that we were nearing the end of our journey for a few months.

"We should start now," Alek said urgently.  The hard frosts on the ground the past few mornings had instilled a sense of urgency that I hadn't sensed in him before.

"Alek, it's mid-afternoon.  If I remember right, places to camp between here and the other side of the canyon are very few.  I don't think we should attempt it today." I remembered this stretch of highway very well.  He didn't know what he was suggesting.

"Then we follow the river," he stated bluntly and turned south to cross the overgrown meridian to get to it.

"Aleksandr," I said sharply.

"What, Thalia?" he abruptly stopped and stood with his back held stiffly to me.  "We're running out of time!  Winter is coming on swiftly, in case you hadn't noticed  We'll be lucky to be anywhere safe before the first snow, much less have any food to eat!"

He whirled on me then, eyes furiously ablaze.  "We don't know how long the winter will last this time, or how cold it will be.  We need to go south immediately!"

He paused in his tirade to follow my gaze, which was trained on the steep canyon wall to the south, the river hugging its base and curving away into deepening darkness further westward.

"As soon as possible," he ammended, and slung off his pack while I began setting up camp.

****

Fin

----------------
Listening to: Disturbed - Liberate
via FoxyTunes    

No, it's not the minimum payment on my credit card balance.

Nor is it the amount of my monthly car payment.

It is not the balance in my checking account.

It is not the sum of this month's gas bill.

It is something much, much scarier.

194.40 is what the scale in the doctor's office read this morning. 

Shit.

I knew it was getting out of hand, especially when my favorite uncle, who I haven't seen in four years, handed me a second piece of fudge because I looked like I was "in danger of wasting away to nothing" two weeks ago. 

Then of course, there was the mysterious appearance of my "new" second chin in over half of the pictures taken of me over the Christmas holiday.

Hell, I acknowledged the problem months ago in the second to last blog that I posted, and there are other blogs if you dig back far enough. 

I'm no stranger to my weight problem.  I am, however, a stranger to exercise and a healthy diet, apparently.

As for all that walking to work I was going to do?  Screw that.  Walking uphill on the highway after working 8 hours sucked donkey balls, pardon my French.

So tonight I came up with a different plan.

I loaded up the DVD player with Crunch Fitness's Dance Party, stuffed my size XXL self into the new size XL workout clothes that I bought at Steve and Barry's back in Pittsburgh, and proceeded to shake my bodacious butt to the funky retro salsa beat on the television.

I had the good sense to close my blinds first, because I didn't want everyone in the neighborhood watching as I flailed my arms around and stumbled across my living room like a drunken ape on crack.

A few more sessions of that and I'll be eating bananas and picking fleas off of my cat.

Let's just hope I don't start flinging poo.

----------------
Listening to: T'pau - Heart And Soul
via FoxyTunes    

Hello MySpace campers!  I've been a bad, bad girl.  No excuse for me.  Go right ahead and unsubscribe if you so wish, I really don't mind.  (Yes I do, otherwise I wouldn't be posting this crap-ass cop out blog to kick off the new year.)

Anyhoo... in the interest of keeping yours (at least occasionally), I stole this from  mark cant dance who in turn stole it from somewhere in the blog rankings (which now abound with stupid ass celebrity blogs - just what I wanted, to read all about LiLo's lesbian relationship peppered with her hatred of all the "haters" and generous portions of the f-bomb. JOY!)

Yes, it's a tag blog, but don't feel obligated to tag yourself.  Actually, you could pull a me and go play a few rounds of MySpace hide-n-go-seek.  Obviously, I'm still hiding behind the sofa with Jesus.

Ten Things I Wish I Could Say to Ten Different People Right Now:
1) You really don't believe me when I say I'll put your johnthomas in a vice, hand you a rusty hacksaw, and set the shed on fire, do you?  Wanna test the theory?
2) You might think those nasty little comments you mutter to yourself are beyond my range of hearing, but I have better hearing than I let on.  That's why I prefer my own company to yours.
3) Am I really worth less an hour than that juvenile delinquent?  Are you fucking kidding me? Get bent!
4) I'm starting to believe that it's never going to happen, and it makes me sad to think that it wasn't worth enough to you to even attempt it.
5) I know that you haven't changed and never will, but I still wish you well when (and if) karma gets done mutilating your dumb ass.
6) You are stupid cunt. Quit fucking with other people's lives. And oh yeah, karma's a bitch.  Lucky you.
7) I love you dearly, but if you don't stop calling me up at midnight on a school night because you are drunk and bored, the next time I see you I'm going to shove that cell phone up your ass.
8) I am incredibly jealous of you.  You suck.
9) Believe me when I say I will never forgive myself for not jumping in and seeing where the current was going.  Our lives might have been very different if I had. 
10) And you think I give a shit why?

Nine Things About Myself:
1) I'm not fat, I'm curvacious.
2) I've only been on an airplane 6 times in my whole life, all of which times have occured in the last 8 months.  (It's your turn now, brother-in-law dear!)
3) I am slowly losing my ability to spell correctly.
4) I do not like Red Bull. I could care less if it gives me wings.
5) I am only blogging right now to avoid doing my dishes.  Sorry.
6) The older I get, the more I like my solitude.
7) I recently learned how to knit.  My friends have started calling me "Granny".
8) I started a new writing project in October and I need a kick in the ass to get working on it again.
9) My secret guilty pleasure is watching episodes of Ugly Betty on DVD.

Eight Ways To Win My Heart:
1) Be on the waiting list for a transplant (but don't get too excited, heart disease runs in my family).
2) Make me laugh so hard that I pee my pants. Have a wicked sense of humor, and appreciate mine. 
3) Get to know me before you tell me I've got a nice rack.
4) Be genuine... I can tell when people are faking it.
5) Know how to cook a steak the way I like it. (Helpful hint: MOO!)
6) Write me a song.
7) Say something intelligent.  It turns me on. (I totally agree with Mark on that one!)
8) Be a person worthy of my trust.

Seven Things That Cross My Mind a Lot:
1) My financial situation.
2) The fact that I am not immortal, and time is slipping by faster than it ever used to.
3) What's for dinner.
4) I want a new car, but I can't afford one.
5) I want a laptop, but I can't afford one.
6) I should write a book so that I can afford a new car and a laptop.
7) I shouldn't have drank that last cup of coffee.

Six Things I Do Before I Fall Asleep:
1) Fight with the lamp on my nightstand to stay lit (my cat has knocked it over one too many times).
2) Fight with the cat to leave my lamp alone. (I don't understand the fascination.)
3) Play fetch with my cat. (To keep him distracted from the fascinating lamp on my nightstand.)
4) Check my alarms. (I need two to wake up.)
5) Go pee.
6) Read a book until I can't keep my eyes open.

Five People Who Mean a Lot:
1) Mom, Monica, and Adam (okay, 7 people...)
2) Michele
3) Joel
4) Tom
5) Stacy

Four Things You're Wearing Right Now:
1) Panties
2) Gray sweats
3) Camo wolf print t-shirt
4) Two white socks

Three Songs That You Listen to Often: (according to my Last.fm profile)
1) "Decode" - Paramore
2) "Alexithymia" - Anberlin
3) "Vultures" - John Mayer

Two Things You Want to Do Before You Die:
1) Walk on the Great Wall of China
2) Live on the first colony on Mars

One Confession:

I think that Christopher Walken is probably God.  This is why:



Now, then, I've been avoiding the dishes long enough.

Until next time, MySpace campers!




----------------
Listening to: Dave Matthews Band - Everyday
via FoxyTunes    

It has been a most eventful summer.

Testament to the fact:



This is the most graceful and tasteful shot taken of yours truly all summer long.



This is the least.

On that note... today, for the first time all summer, I dragged my not-so-little ass out of bed and walked myself to work.

It wasn't a bad walk. 

Less than a mile, all downhill, I made the trek in just under half an hour.

Walking home  however, was a different matter.

Less that a mile, all UPHILL, packing an extra fifty pounds, I prayed for someone to stray a few feet over the white line and put me out of my horribly-out-of-shape misery.

My legs burned.

My calves wanted to abandon ship.

It's a wonder I made it home in one  piece. 

How??  How did it ever come to this???

I'll tell you how.

5+ years behind a desk is how.

8+ hours a day surfing the office wave is how.

The computer is an evil invention. 

When I moved to Colorado, I weighed damn near what I weighed in high school.  I've packed on 40 plus pounds in sedentary albeit better paying office positions that leave me chair bound for the best part of my workweek.

Then I come home and do more of the same.

Is it any wonder that I haven't been seen blogging all summer?

**thinly veiled excuse for not blogging, I know**

It truly has been an eventful summer.  I've had my first airplane trip, seen Vegas and the Hoover Dam for the first time ever, and created some memorable experiences for myself right here in little ol' Delta County. 

But this physical thing has gotten out of hand, and I'm not going down with the ship.

So...

I walked to work today.

And I will walk to work tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

Come winter, I will ski downhill to work if I have to.

My point being?

Getting old sucks, and the camera adds 20 pounds (not the 10 we are led to believe). 

No wonder models live on cigarettes and Altoids.

If I wasn't practically diabetic from being overweight already, I would live on cigarettes and Altoids, too.