Niff.Dot

>So, nothing fun to post about today.

Didn’t get the job I wanted. They “chose another candidate”. I really wanted this one. To say I’m disappointed hardly does it justice. I’m kinda crushed.

Unemployment will kick in in 3-4 weeks. Yay. 3-4 weeks? That’s, like, a month! Lord. I’ll hopefully have a job by then and won’t need the ruddy unemployment.

I’m trying to get some art pieces finished so I can throw them up on Craigslist to see if anyone wants to buy them. I’ve even been looking in my jewelry box, appraising, then realizing what a mistake that would be and quickly closing it and refraining from looking at my coin collection.

My friggin epilepsy meds aren’t pulling their weight and I’m not used to stress, so I’ve been having 1-3 seizures a day.

Why did so many things have to change at once.
I liked the way things were.
Wanting and getting are two different things I suppose.

So, there’s the Po’ Po’ Niff blog. Share and enjoy.

Voulez-voulez-vous waiting…

interviews
resumes
walking
phoning
emailing

…

An actual job isn’t this much work.

So, I’m spending the evening with the house to myself save for a cantankerous feline by the name of JuneBug who absolutely despises me and shows it by randomly hissing and swiping her paw at me. I’ve decided to give up on salvaging our relationship and have taken to hissing back at her for no other reason than for my own amusement.

So my evening has been reduced to spinach enchiladas, oolong tea, and watching “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” for the upteenth time on my computer while using said computer to switch alternately between writing this and completing my online crossword puzzle.

“What? No, we can’t stop here! This is bat country…”

Made the mistake of laying down with a crossword puzzle around 3 pm and dozed off. Woke up 5 hours later. I’m never getting to sleep tonight.

So, things I found noteworthy today:

– A woman boarded the bus with a large, red plastic bag that resembled the ones you receive when you’ve made a purchase at a sex shop. A gentleman made note of this, and asked her about it.

“No,” she replied. “I have human organs in here.”

The gentleman looked baffled. “You mean, like hearts and kidneys and stuff?”

“Yes, but don’t worry. They’re in ice chests. They won’t fall out.”

I examined the bag. There were no sharp corners or solid protrusions through the plastic that would have indicated such contents. In fact, the bag looked somewhat…mushy.

The gentleman maintained his baffled expression. “you work at, like, a doctor’s office?”

“No.” She looked irritated. “You don’t get organs at the doctor’s office. You get them at the DMV.”

He looked awestruck. “Ah!” he said. “The DMV…that’s where, you, like, get your driver’s license and stuff, right?”

She looked relieved that finally, he knew what she was talking about. “Yes! Because when you select ‘organ donor’ on your license, that’s where people take them. I’m delivering them to people.”

The gentleman commented on her brazen act of philanthropy and went back to singing “What a friend we have in Jesus”.

Jane Doe the Body Thief got off at 3rd and Union. Probably went to peddle her wares at Pike Place Market or something.

Voulez-voulez-vous As your attorney, I advise you to take a hit out of the little brown bottle in my shaving kit.

 

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100% recycled drivel turns two years old today!!!
(even if 2006 sucked in terms of blogsphere productivity…)
But it is the longest relationship I’ve had in a while…
(insert laughter here __________)

voulez-voulez-vous Happy birthday, blog!

>My favorite tea as of late has been yerba mate, a south American gig that not only has the same amount of caffeine as coffee (NOT a fan of coffee…) but has a bunch of other miscallany in it that’s good for you. Or so they say.

So, very stoked was I to learn that Tully’s served yerba mate in regular tea form as well as hot or iced lattes. As I am usually not that into lattes, I preferred the bottled form they sold in the coolers alongside the assortment of Odwalla juices.

However, with the recent piercing of my tongue I have been forced to switch to iced beverages at the direction of my piercer in order to reduce the week or so of swelling that can ensue after having a 12 gauge rod shoved through your tongue. So in lieu of my usual bottled tea I decided to get the latte, soy, iced.

There is a Tully’s across the street from where I work. This is where I would buy my bottled mate. This is where I decided to start trying out the iced yerba mate soy latte.

Yerba mate they can sort of understand.
Yerba mate latte takes a bit of explanation.
Yerba mate soy latte requires a teleconference with South
America as well as the WestSoy corporation.


Finally, finally, they get it.

Until.

I ask for my iced soy yerba mate latte blended.

You know, in a blender.

But the combination of “blended.iced.soy.yerba.mate.latte” just

ABSOLUTELY FREAKS THEM OUT. The entire explanation of my order even without the blended requirement zips out the window and I have to relay my instructions all over again.

The smug-looking barista I have been dealing with does not like me very well, I fear…

What blows my mind is I have ordered this ruddy thing from her at least 6 or 7 times by now and inevitably it requires the same explanation every.single.time.

After I had ordered it a couple times with the same ensuing sighs of exasperation and slamming of tea-making devices around in order to subtlety convey her irritation, they began to explain to me that they didn’t have a way of ringing it up.

???

Uh, it’s on their menu.

I pointed this embarassingly obvious fact out.

Uh, we charge for blending, they say.

???

Are you kidding me?

Huh.

I decided to get to the bottom of this. I called the Tully’s on 5th ave.

“Thank you for calling Tully’s, how can I help you?”

“Hi. Do you have a charge for blending your iced drinks?”

“a charge for blending iced drinks?”

“Yep.”

“Uh…no…?? Why would we?”

Exactly.

Voulez-voulez-vous to be continued…

>mucilaginous

sticky, gummy, like mucous or glue.

Mein Schatz!
Padding through the mush in our Schlaffenfuss gadabouts, we’ve spent our entire vacation in a very large bowl of oatmeal – a high-fiber resort, as it was touted in the brochure. Well, the gadabouts are really just high rubber boots (provided by the establishment as they take away your money, your passport, and your clothes) that make these desperate sucking sounds each time a foot reaches toward the surface of this mucilaginous terrain.
Bye, see you soon, in your flimsy atmosphere, after we decompress for a few days in a vat of beet borscht.*

*Actually, after this they went on a Maygar safari, stalking the mild paprika in their Hungarian galoshes.

Today, September 18th, is National Play-Doh day.

(This is where we all make a mad dash for the nearest Toys ‘R Us and stock up in order to make little green puppy dogs at our desks…)
Ah, nostalgia.
My theory is that Play-Doh was an early sociological experiment to determine which children would develop into obsessive-compulsive adults and/or be anal retentive.
I did not always keep Play-Doh in their proper color-designated containers. Sometimes I was just neglectful, other times lazy. During the construction phase, some colors would actually eke slightly into the others and as such, I did not believe color segregation was such a vital thing. I felt it was perfectly reasonable to place a compacted wad of green in the blue jar. Same color family…and though most families don’t get along, I considered it a form of constructive therapy.
My neighbor, Brandon, had no such theory.
My wedlock of Play-Doh hues would send his mind reeling. It was in violation of his principles. It completely rocked his world view. I don’t know what the state of his mental health is these days, but I think I would have to hold myself as at least partially responsible.
This kid would carefully construct buildings, toadstools, trucks, cats…out of one single color to avoid any hazardous cross-contamination. I don’t know if he felt that contamination would cause some kind of fissure in the space/time continuum that would cause some kind of paradox that would negate human existence, but his persistence in monochromatic construction, as a budding artist, rocked my world view. This kid’s probably separating his socks by color, texture and brand in their own separate drawers in one of his many dressers.

voulez–voulez–vous mucilaginous

>eek…blogging twice in one day? Isn’t that likethe internet version of not wearing white shoes after Labor Day?

I say we spit in the face of tradition and wear white sequined shoes! ha HA!

I pride myself on not being…well, one of those bloggers (sorry, LiveJournal)… who write about going to the local coffee shop with their Tommy Hilfiger-clad younglings in their $600 jogging strollers ordering nonfat decaf lattes light on the foam oh and can i get that$5 lemon tart for my three-year-old spawn cuz he just ain’t wired to the gills enough yet besides if i don’t get it for him he will (gasp!) cry!!! .and everyone knows that children are NEVER supposed to endure ANYTHING unpleasant because how else are they supposed to grow up spoiled, needy, self-indulgent co-dependent fine upstanding citizens of society???

Uh…wow…i have no idea where that came from. I have been upset about many things today, but I am confident that was not one of them. And to be honest I’ve never really read anyone who blogs about that, so not only was it startlingly unexpected, it was also irrelevant. Huh. Bygones.

I’m not sure what I intended to write about but I can assure you it had nothing to do with lowfat ice cream. Chocolate. Nope. No ice cream here.

I think I’m going to work on my crossword puzzle while I’m not eating the nonexistent lowfat Haagen-Dazs chocolate ice cream that is most definitely not sitting on the floor next to me.
Shit. I just dribbled some of the nonexistent ice cream on my “esc”, “~”, “1” and “tab” keys.
And…my foot’s asleep. Maybe I should follow suit.

>So, I am relocating. Again.

>LAGNIAPPE:

What on earth does lagniappe mean? Could it be any or all of these?

– a sluggard who lies around ’till noon
– Provencal for “suburbanite”
– she-wolf of Anapurna
– the flutter presaging a migraine
– an empathetic ear
– a car that demands heavy pampering
– a debutante who eschews heavy petting
– Quebecois pastry that’s hard on the inside, floppy on the outside
– a row of winking buttons
– the step before the threshold

A commercial ritual in Louisiana, a lagniappe is something extra added to a purchase: a surprise handful of flour on a heap of homeward-bound grits, or the gratuitous flaskette of cologne coming along with a depilatory in a pearly paper shopping bag.
The word is pronounced lan-yap, the Creole French spelling having been laid over a word of Spanish and American Indian derivation.

voulez–voulez–vous debutantes who eschews heavy petting.

>A supremely teh hawesome way to get lost:

J-Walkblog

voulez-voulez vous only 8 more hours left…