Devious Aspirations

I came home from visiting my grandparents, and a two-hour drive through the forests and woods of the Sierras and the dry metal tang of Sacramento, to find a package on the stairs leading to my room. I open it, and find Under in the Mere, slim, shiny, a jewel of books with the fat of a greyhound.

And in another two hours, I had read it, if what I did could be called that. I opened the cover and my eyes flowed over the words, regardless of comprehension or care. I drank, and drank, and drank, my belly shriveled from unintentional fast, my mind instinctive rather than deliberate after meditative hours on the road.

Once again, I am not enough. I know what I hold in my hands, and cannot put together a tenth of it. It is like describing war to a child, someone who has never had a lover and an enemy. I am not enough for this book. I felt this way after Palimpsest, another marathon reading en-flight to Michigan, another blur of things that were too much for me then. I re-read Palimpsest, and have grown into it some, find the skin more familiar as it encases me. There are things to do before I can wear Under in the Mere so well, things I resign myself to.

This is in part due to my lack of immersion in Arthuriana. I have read the Dark Tower series, yes, but that is a young, oddball child to the pure crone which drove Valente. I have read The Mists of Avalon, which was apologetic, and did not justify in its hundreds of pages so well as Valente did in her hundred-forty. After I read Le Morte d’Artur, I think Under in the Mere will become clearer.

And this is not the most easily digested of Valente’s books, either. It is a return to her first two books, The Labyrinth and Yume-no-hon, in which the story comes as it comes, as it must come, regardless of any readers. Regardless of extrovertive communication. This is straight from the soul, this is the soul-jet, if there ever was one. I can feel full well that Valente typed, and typed, and felt things click-click-click into place as things were revealed to her. Some of this was welled deep within in a thick, black, yet shadow-light pool, and some of it came later, revelations that did not seem revelations but the end of long drivings towards the fullness of it. This is how I felt, tapped into the story below the story, not of words but of the entirety, the dark nimbus of life which happened around its making.

The story itself is a blend of the universe, as if lines between times and places and people and egos were all dissolved into the one it always has been, and always will be, the chain of birth and rebirth making everything one large story meant to be blended and smeared. Never could this story have been anything but what it always was, blue and lakes and California.

Do not expect it to be easy. Under in the Mere is a quest, and no quest is ever made memorable by full bellies and light hearts and untroubled minds. This text is a passage, a stone passage that stretches forth until you are weak, and trembling, and doubting that there ever was light and thin air until you come to the end and your eyes, your eyes remember you that you exist from it. And your feet strike soft earth, and your body sways as the ground yields, and you walk, in awe of your once-again existence.

People I met, and things notable about them (with names as best as I can remember them):

Big Pimp Daddy Jeremy Lassen: Has a collection of suits that would not be unstylish... anywhere. I was personally present for the orange suit, the cream bone-striped charcoal suit, the white suit, and the pale green suit. He managed a miracle of coordination and tailoring to outfit his posse in equally astounding outfits at the WFA banquet, who could have come out of Tim Burton's version of a fifties jazz club.

The Eraserhead Press Crew: All distinguished by non-traditional haircuts and facial hair arrangements, except for their newest author Cameron Pierce from Tennessee (author of the infamous Ass Goblins of Auschwitz), who will no doubt begin working on his mohawk , etc. forthwith. Although I wasn't able to hang out with them for more than a few minutes, people who can make a book called Adolf in Wonderland, with a picture of a bare-breasted strap-on bearing dominatrix on the front, about the idea of Nazi's as order and Wonderland as chaos and the ensuing conflict, deserve a mention.

Thomas Roche: Mind, I sat next  to him during Thursday night's dinner at Original Joe's and poured out my mildly bizarre medical history to his sympathetic ear. For the next two days, I knew him from somewhere, but couldn't remember where. It got to the point where he would start out with, "I sat next to you at dinner Thursday." I have no explanation for this fault, so check out his twitter stream under @thomasroche for highlights of the panels he attended.

John Levitt: Whom I managed to run into almost every hour, or so it seemed, by pure chance. In a hotel that big, with that many people running around, this is remarkable. He was also reppin' the urban fantasy crew, and his stories are set in San Francisco, so I'm taking this as a sign that I need to read his books.

Jetse: Who is the party. First Dutch person I've ever met. His accent makes me think of the way the word 'giddy' sounds.

Zoran Zickovic: Pure grandpa on the outside, pure surrealist on the inside. Self-described as a "benevolent atheist," he absolutely does not read books for fun. This man selects every book as if it is the last he will have time to read. His only rereading is the entire works of Dostoyevsky every twenty years over the course of about eight months. Props for that. Rich accent, though he is convinced no one can understand him, despite firm evidence to the contrary. Can move each of his fingers completely independent of the others, and probably went through Bene Gesserit training for this.

Donald Sidney-Fryer: Best out-loud reader at the con. This man should, if he hasn't already, make a fortune off his voice. His readings at the poetry con completely convinced me to buy the $55 volume of the collected Atlantean chronicles. Think Patrick Stewart on vocal steroids.

Gigi: Will dress however the damn she wants to, and has an incredibly open heart as well as a fine taste in shoes. Can still fit into her high school prom dress - mad props.

The group at Gigi's birthday party, which landed in my memory without a single name attached: You guys rock for tolerating me and my insane REM adventures.

Garth Nix: As nice as nice can be. Told me he never wanted to be one of those authors who turns out to be an asshole in person. He did not use the word asshole, though, because he is that nice. Did not get too creeped out once I unadvisedly blurbed about my experience working at a library next to a homeless shelter and courthouse.

Alan Beatts: Yes, I talked about him in the last post. Suck it up. Can really tell a story, dresses like a badass, probably because he is, and was practically born to wear Halloween costumes, though he always ends up working them. Knows what he's talking about, whatever it is. And, apparently, handy enough to know how to build a cafe and portable register.

Chris Hsiang: This might not be the right way to spell his name. We both bear names cursed with a curse of misspelling, so I think he'll understand. Wears a dragon belt-buckle with everything, has a badass tie or two, and knows a shit ton about ravens. The person to sit next to at the raven panel.

Nick Mamatas: Entertaining in any situation, provides excellent insight into the book industry by parting the curtains of bullshit, and can live for three days out a bag not much bigger than an old VCR. Instead of buying a car to salve his mid-life crisis, he will probably just learn how to drive in the first place. Literally. Will not be astounded by vulgarity and coarseness, or if he is, will not show it.

Richard Lupoff: Looks like my grandfather, and can manage to completely suprise you with a joke, quite probably because my grandfather doesn't joke.

Jay Lake: Owns a button up Dick and Jane shirt. Wore said shirt to WFA ceremonies under a black suit jacket.

Lisa Snellings: Lovely, kind-hearted person who does not seem like she has gothic, disturbing visions of poppets in her head. Makes great use of multimedia in her art.

There are more, of course, but the lunch hour is over, and tonight I need to spiff up an essay and read a book. Anyone interested in hearing what I have to say about Mark Helprin's "Monday" from The Pacific?

Wow. Four days later, three nights later, roughly seventeen hours of sleep later, the 'con has ended. What can one say?

First, thank you, to all the incredible writers, agents, publishers, book store owners, editors, readers, and weirdos (which includes most of the previous) who made the con for me:
The most important things being said, and my itch having been scratched for the night, I am off to bed and warm snuggly boyfriend.

I was thinking, as I regularly do, about the last friend I had who wasn't my boyfriend. The ending of our friendship hit me hard partially because it didn't hit her hard. In the end, I was as special to her as one of her livestock--cute, maybe fun to be with, but sold off without a second thought. I had to realize, she didn't care about me as much as I cared about her. The things which were so special to me, that we shared, were something she could have done with anyone. She was my first kiss, my first cuddle, my first duet and smoke. 

And now, I can't watch my second-favorite movie. For years, it was my favorite-favorite. The opening credits alone will make me cry, now. I can't have an uncomplicated smoke. Her nose had a little red dot on the tip of it, that I loved and she hated. I loved every bit of her. She loved very little of me. The hardest thing was watching the phone for months, to test, to see if she'd call. To see if she wanted to see me.

She never did.

Fall makes me future-past nostalgic like what. Waking up at seven, with the air a little crisp, and the light all thin and blue-grey, I felt like I could be waking up in my apartment in Paris, or at my friends house in the chill Suisun marsh. I felt like I had a group of friends, and that we hung out and got stoned every once in a while and generally agreed on certain things being cool. Like all the jeans in the world came flared and torn-up, and sneakers were mandatory.

I feel a distinct lack of this all at eleven in the morning.

I have to admit the fact that I suck at maintaining friendships, and that the people who define coolness for me are often, at the same time, people I cannot stand to spend much time with. I can get fed up with people so very quickly. I haven't had a friendship, other than that with my boyfriend, since freshman year in high school. Part of it is that I don't compromise on certain things like I used to, but also, certain things just don't amuse me anymore.

Recipe for coolness:
1 part nature-lovin' hippie
1 part craft nerd
1 part book nerd
1 part responsibility
1 part healthy lifestyle
1 part practicality
1 part art-appreciation
and the hard-part: .5 part grew up poor/in the ghetto (because i just can't connect to those who had Disney-quality families/childhood.)

Often, someone will hit most of these. There are plenty of craft-nerds out there, but really, I'm not interesting in JoAnn's crafters who scrapbook and buy pounds of acrylic yarn for their hot pink baby blanket. I guess that makes me a craft-snob or something. Whatever. But I want people who's idea of a great meal doesn't include Burger King, and may even be vegetarian. People who don't see the outside world as a foreign place you dip into between your house and the car. Who like comic books and fine-art museums, too. People who have struggled, and know that those kids carrying Daddy's credit card and driving "their" car that their parents got them for their sixteenth birthday will be children their whole lives.

Where my peeps at?

1. Your Middle Name: Is oddly French. Louise.
2. Age: 19 years and one day
3. Single or Taken: Taken
4. Favorite Movie: Maybe Southland Tales.
5. Favorite Song or Album: don't have one. I have favorites for certain moods, and certain occasions, and certain periods in my life. But not one for all.
6. Favorite Band/Artist: Madonna
7. Dirty or Clean: Dirty
8. Tattoos and/or Piercings: I have two piercings in each ear, not that I ever wear earrings
9. Do we know each other outside of LJ? Nope
10. What's your philosophy on life? I believe in the Four Noble Truths and the Triple Jewel.
11. Is the bottle half-full or half-empty? Both.
12. Would you keep a secret from me if you thought it was in my best interest? Depends. Life or death interest? Maybe.
13. What is your favorite memory of us?
14. What is your favorite guilty pleasure? Reading trash when I should be doing something else.
15. Tell me one odd/interesting fact about you: I have three spleens.
16. You can have three wishes (for yourself, so forget all the 'world peace etc' malarky) - what are they? Comfortable retirement, endless luxury yarns, and the skills of a ninja.
17. Can we get together and make a cake? Sure! Except, it would have to be a pie-cake, because I don't like cake. Except angelfood. So maybe we make an angelfood cake.
18. Which country is your spiritual home? I don't know, I've never been outside of this one.
19. What is your big weakness? My body. Literally. Always falling apart.
20. Do you think I'm a good person? I'm in no position to judge.
21. What was your best/favorite subject at school? Math. Skipped a grade and did pre-calc in my sophomore year.
22. Describe your accent: California!
23. If you could change anything about me, would you? If it was, in your opinion, to your benefit.
24. What do you wear to sleep? Sometimes a lot, sometimes a little. Depending on who's with me and what the weather's like.
25. Trousers or skirts? For what occasion?
26. Cigarettes or alcohol? Hmm... tough choice.
27. If I only had one day to live, what would we do together? Get a damn fine massage, see a show, eat your favorite things, and make fervent, tumultuous love.
28. Will you repost this so I can fill it out for you? Did.

Today, watching Ten Things I Hate About You, I realized something: the nineties are my "ideal" period - the fashion I want to come back, the movies that mattered, hell, the attitude that makes sense. The hair. Daria boots and flare jeans. High school. No, I wasn't in high school, but my brother was, and anything he was into, I was into. In fact, I was more into high school in the nineties than the ought's, when I actually attended. Camoflauge. Spaghetti strap tank tops. Belly baring. Fruit roll-ups, before sugar was bad for kids.

So when I got up today, put on my ratty sneakers, flared, hip-slung jeans, tank-top, and contrasting bra, I suddenly realized why. Why the flannel shirts hanging throughout the mall make me feel pleasantly surprised, and why the fall makes me want ripped jeans. Why pretty-boy bands make me puke and week-old shaves make me swoon. Why anything. All I have to do is look to the nineties, and the answer is there. Maybe James Barrie was right, and anything that happens after twelve doesn't matter.

Dear Stephen Sommers (and appropriate writers):

I watched G.I. Joe last night. For the first time in my life, I asked for my money back, because I felt it horribly unethical to support this film. Unfortunately, they management said that I could get a refund because I "didn't like the movie." I tried to make the point that not liking this film wasn't the issue - it was the insulting nature of the piece. Nonetheless, he couldn't refund me based on my "opinion" of the movie.

Well, let's see if you think what I am about to say is just an opinion.

1. The women in the movie (all, what, four of them? Even counting the two secretaries?) were one and all portrayed as highly attractive and into their appearance, to the detriment of practicality.
     a) Both 'Scarlett' and Ana wore their hair down during fight scenes. This was especially noticeable because as Scarlett was tossing her hair out of her face during her fight with the Baroness,her foe took this as an opportunity to get a hit in. And she did. Real women in combat, who have combat training, know better than to wear hair loose in a fight. In fact, even ponytails present danger of being grabbed, but this is a non-sequiter, as the only woman with pulled back hair was General Hawk's secretary, who was quickly killed off.
     b) Scarlett went for a run with her hair down. I have never seen a woman with hair as long as hers go running without even a headband to keep it out of their face. Realistically, she should have put it up, so that it didn't get sweaty and start slapping her in the face.
     c) Scarlett's armor had breasts on it. Regularly. This presents a handhold in hand-to-hand to combat. The only logical reason I can think of to have breasts on armor would be because Scarlett is so busty they can't be flattened somewhat. Following that line of "logic,"  the super-developed men should have pecs on their armor, which I did not see to the degree I saw breasts.
    d) Ana wore a leotard and heels to the North Pole. (At least Scarlett was in fatigues.)

2. The two leading women were sexual objects to various men.
     a) McCullen strokes Ana's holographic face, because though he wants her, she won't touch him in real life. McCullen, despite not apparently having a physical relationship with Ana, instructs Storm Shadow to make sure her husband doesn't "touch her." He also takes the opportunity to kiss Ana in front of Duke to make him jealous, despite the fact that we know she doesn't let McCullen touch her.
     b) Ripcord took every opportunity to flirt with Scarlett, to the detriment of his mission. Had he not taken a few, critical seconds to flirt in at least three scenes (the shooting-training being the first), he would have arrived on time to keep Storm Shadow from deploying the warhead at the Eiffel Tower, or to detonate the third warhead heading for Washington D.C in the upper atmosphere instead of over the Potomac.

3. Ripcord was in blackface.
     a) He fell over in a multi-million dollar suit after being told how valuable and expensive it was. He was then subsequently hit by a car.
     b) He didn't make it into G.I. Joe on his own merit, but was rather let in because of his relationship to Duke.
     c) He didn't read the manual on said accelator suit, despite Duke having told him about it.
     d) He failed to stop StormShadow from launching the warhead at the Eiffel Tower, leaving it up to Duke to save the day.
     e) He stood up to the Parisian police and was beaten down, instead of complying like the other Joes.

4. When Ana was 'good,' she was blonde and perky, the future the wife of Duke, hopeless after he left her. When Ana was 'bad,' she had dark hair (I spotted it as a bad dye job, but this might be an 'opinion'), glasses (if she needed them for their high-tech capabilites, then StormShadow should have had some too), and her own status/power.

5. Scarlett is initially asexual (despite attention to appearance beyond being groomed and neat), powerful, and smart. As she fades in importance action-wise (Snakeyes does most of the work in the underwater base), from front-line to back-line, she discovers her feelings for Ripcord.

6. The two non-whites in the movie, aside from Heavy Duty  (a side-player, from what I saw), were a) evil and b) bumbling.

7. Various remarks were made which referred to the women's attractiveness, gave them child-authority-status, or were in a vein not used for the men. Exception was "That's my girl!," which Duke said in reference to Ana, because Ripcord said "That's my boy!" in reference to Duke.

Putting these facts together, I'd like to declare this movie sexist, racist, and generally insulting.

I'd also like to ask for my money back ($13.75), or, in lieu of a refund, a donation to a charity which promotes equal treatment for women. If you'd like to go above and beyond strictly what I am financially asking for, a workshop on sexism for your writers and self would be excellent. An open invitation to Michael Bay and the writers of Transformers would merit you further, but not, as I said, strictly necessary.

I do! Finally have a job, though I feel that it is ridiculous that within one week of my boyfriend sending a mass text to his friends to let him know if they hear of anything, I get hired. Friday was orientation number one (paperwork), and Sunday was orientation number two (videos, hands on). I now know how to "overcome the 'no'." That's right, folks, Barnes and Noble is trying to overcome your no. No doesn't mean no, to them. It means, give another sales pitch, and stick a flyer in the bag. (And, by the way, if you suspect someone of shoplifting, give them great customer service.) Thank god my coworkers were cracking up in the break room, where I and the other new employees were having a little movie time.

Back to the pants, though. I spend several hours looking for them at the Gap, Old Navy, Banana Republic, Express, New York and Company, Bebe, Arden B, Macy's, Nordstroms, JCPenny's, Target, Hot Topic, American Eagle, Forever 21, White House Black Market, United Colors of Benetton, Charlotte Russe, Victoria's Secret, and more! None of them had non-polyester lower-cut flared slacks. None. So what does a woman do in this situation?

Goddamit, she goes to Joann's, buys a goddam pattern, some goddam wool gabardine, and the goddam notions, and sews her own goddam pants. Because polyester is not an option. I did not come this far in life to wear cheap plastic, no matter the anti-wrinkling properties. Have you ever seen someone with polyester melted to their skin? No goddam thank you. Besides, as my dear Sharlene said, "It makes you sweat."

Here they are (so far):
( For your protection, pics behind LJ cut. Warning, this shots are very graphic in pants-nature. )

This concludes our presentation on pants, kiddoes. Tune in tomorrow for episode two: The Zipper, where the zipper will be properly installed, not just basted in!

Since last Sunday...

1. I worked three nights of the Fire Arts Festival. Total jawsomeness - burners told me it was a miniature burning man.

2. I have driven approximately 500 miles, just commuting from home/school/FAF

3. Become a couch surfer, aka one step away from homeless.

4. Learned to live out of a duffel or three, and let go of what wouldn't fit in the duffel(s)

5. Figured out the decreases on the beanie I'm knitting

6. Been to a party in an industrial warehouse in Oakland, complete with one in-house made stripper pole, one red fur-covered trapeze swing, one bar, one dj, one pool table, and one pinball machine (Terminator). Saw a passed out person with marker on their face and signs on their body.

7. Gotten better at driving a stick. Shifting's still a little jerky into first, but Bay Area stop-and-go traffic is a harsh mistress.

Here's the Five on Friday meme from knittingasfastasIcan-

Since last Friday...

1) I have read my first Thomas Aquinas, David Human, William Paley, and Bertrand Russell. Thank-you, Philosophy of Religion teacher.

2) I started doing a Turkish Rib Stitch on my sampler scarf. My mind is a little boggled at how it works, but it does.

3) The day after ballet class, I was not limping. Yes, this is new.

4) I agreed to go on a vacation to Monterey with my grandparents, the ultimate American roadtrippers. For many years they have gone to places like Mt. Rushmore, Virginia, Oaklahoma, Washington, Oregon, Colorado, Jellystone, etc. Finally, they're taking a vacation when I'm not in school, so we'll be spending three days together going to the Aquarium, taking old-people walks, and playing Skip-Bo.

5) I have had uncomfortable moments where my mind tries to grasp the idea of nothing existing whatsoever, not vaccuum, not space, not thought or energy. I wonder why there's anything at all, anywhere. And I wonder if enlightenment is being able to fully grasp that concept.

So, I'm underemployed. I get fifty-eight hours per semester right now, and at my hourly wage of $8.03, I make roughly $466. The grant that funded the slide scanning portion allowed me to work many more hours, but alas, the grant has ended and no one has stepped in to renew it. My monthly expenses are roughly $160 - gym, cell phone, and hair dye appointments. Thus, I have been digging into savings account to make ends meet. I do not like to use my savings account, though, and have been considering canceling my gym membership and letting my hair revert to its natural color.

The preferred solution, however, is to get another, better paying job. Barring that, another job with more hours. Ideally, one with both better pay and more hours.

A month ago, I applied to my local independent movie theater, which was hiring. Two weeks later I called, inquiring if any decisions had been made. Stupid, I know, in this economy I should have included resume, cover letter, three professional references, and checked back in person each week. But I didn't, and what isn't done isn't done. Today I went in person, only to be informed that both the manager and assistant manager, who are involved in the hiring, weren't in. Alright, fine, I'll go back Friday.

Last week, I applied to 24 Hour Fitness, and Borders. Both put me through stupid personality/honesty tests that have no "right" answers ("Do you find certain people annoying?" Well, yes, but that doesn't keep me from being professional around them. And don't even get me started on 24, which asked me if I had ever considered quitting high school). Have I heard back from either place concerning an interview? No. Should I have attempted a cl/r/ref drop in person? Yes, I guess.

I find it unutterably aggravating that to work the front desk of a gym, checking people in and selling from a tiny selection of sportswear and protein mixes, I have to go through a freaking background check. Ditto for Borders, which only allowed me to put the past three jobs I've worked, nixing my library experience. Neither of them allowed for 'Some college' under education, so I look like a high dropout. Which I am, but I'm also a college super sophomore. I definitely think there's a huge difference between graduating high school, earning 72.5 semester units, and graduating with a bachelor's degree.

All of this is, of course, not dealing with the job ads in the first place, which neither describe a schedule, whether it is full-time or part-time, what the pay is, and what the specific job duties are. Maybe I'm a cheapskate, but if I'm going to spend $75 posting an ad on craigslist, I'm damn well going to put the particulars of the job down.

Today, I did most of the right things. I prepared a killer cover letter and resume, put them in a nice paper protector so they wouldn't get separated or smooshed, dressed up, put on some basic, 'natural' makeup, and hand-delivered the all-important documents to the front desk. Having inferred from the employees who questioned the latter that I also needed to fill out an on-line application, I did so upon returning home.

I checked up on every place that I had previously applied to, and also delivered another, different cl/r to another movie theater, where I was also going to fill out the regular job app, only to find they weren't hiring anymore and no, I couldn't have one, fill it out, and turn it in anyways. Oddly enough, the nice guy who rips your ticket as you come in said that that day was his last day and in fact, they hadn't hired anyone yet. Veddy eentaresting.

So you have the aggravation that is job seeking.

I think I did ever so slightly better on my push ups today, but that may have just been the power of positive thinking. We'll see how things go Tuesday, eh? On the same note, my mom just got one of those over-the-door pull-up things. I've been thinking about doing pull ups after my push ups until I can't do any more.

I'm also confident in saying that I have a two pack. As soon as I hit six-pack territory, I"ll be damned if I don't plaster a post with pictures of my abs.

Legs are looking the same, however. I definitely felt the burn today, taking a quick, two-second pause around 30 on the last set.

Push ups: 11-13-9-9-M(12)>13

Sit ups: 45-50-45-45-M(65)>60

Squats: 40-45-40-40-M(55)>54

Tuesday, I went with my boyfriend to his job interview. I had spent the night at his place, and woke up when he did to put the final touches on his resume, cover letter, and letters of reference. He was stressing about the whole thing, so I offered to go with, play pretend on the way there so he could practice what he wanted to say. You see, my boyfriend has an incurable disease that can be managed, but the only treatment he can get right now is literally killing him, the drugs being a short-term measure that has gone on for seven years. So, getting health insurance is big deal for him. He worked at several places trying to get it, and was always shorted promised hours, so that he was just under the minimum to qualify for the company health plan.

In addition, the job would come with a dollar per hour raise, and provide opportunities for overtime. He'd be working independently, no office drama, and in a location overlooking the bay. It's basically a dream job, at least, if you consider that there's no degree or certification required. There just aren't many well-paying jobs around here that let you be by yourself, and provide tons of down time.

The interview was in San Jose, about seventy-five miles away, and at eleven in the morning. My boyfriend had to take an (unpaid) day off work, therefore, to go. And then when we do go, at 9:15, giving ourselves an extra half hour on top of what Google Maps recommended, there is crazy construction and traffic all over the freeway. But we make it, and get off on our exit. And drive the 2.2 miles 'till the next turn, then 3 miles, 4, 5, and I'm thinking we're going the wrong way. Smart phone to the rescue, we had gone in the opposite direction we should have, though there was no signage or turnings to indicate that we had done so. The intersection, however, has tons of construction, and when we pull out of the gas station parking lot, it's two lanes cramming into one. Five minutes go by as we inch our way up to the turn lane. By now, it's 10:40. We raced ten miles to get to the so-called Monterey Highway, except it's labeled Monterey Road, and we're wondering if we made a wrong turn. So we flip a u-turn, and I use the sun's position to gauge the direction we're headed in. And figure out that we had been going the right way in the first place. Another u-turn, and we're on the last leg of the journey, except now, it's 10:55. We have approximately four minutes to travel two miles, make more correct turns, find the building, and find the office.

We make it, though, the building turning out to be a small, one-story affair with a huge sign, and I take over driving so that he doesn't have to find parking. I gave him a kiss, wished him luck, and watched his clean shaven, hair-cutted, khaki-clad, handsome self go inside. I think to myself, He has to get this. He's dressed the part, he prepared, he's got an extra copy of everything, he's qualified, dammit, we actually made it on time, he has to get this.

I drive to a shopping center we had passed to get some breaktfast, having skipped it to save time. I had had a little snack bar and honey stick on the way there, but that wasn't enough. The small, slightly run down strip mall was a mix of Mexican and Vietnamese that I had never seen before, even living in the bay area. I go through the grocery store, but there's no bakery (just a massive meat department that probably had endangered species in it). Back outside, though, I notice a teensy little shop that advertises vegetarian dishes and three kinds of tofu. Inside, it's a combination bakery, deli, and patisserie. They have banh mi, for no more than $2.50, strange sweets, and yes, three kinds of tofu. I ask the woman at the counter if they have something small for breakfast, and she doesn't quite get me. I ask what they have that's vegetarian, "No meat!" she nodded happily, and she pointed to several things on the counter. I end up buying a pack of pyramid-shaped, leaf-wrapped bundles tied together with yellow ribbon and to each other. She gives me a dollar off, and I take them outside to the car. They turn out to be filled with a sticky green rice dumpling, filled with mashed red beans. It tasted green, too, like pure chloryphyll. I ate a few, and settled down to knit.

Half an hour later, my boyfriend calls me, ready to be picked up. I zip over there, and he's both excited and anxious. He said the interview went well, he made all the points he had wanted to, but just one thing... it felt like the guy had rushed through the interview a little, as if he had already made the decision. 

Here's the kicker. The only other person interviewing was a friend of his. I considered this negligible, because the man has been unemployed for eight months after doing a year in the Navy. That's right, eight months without so much as flipping a burger, after leaving the military early for non-physical health reasons. I find out later, the interviewer hadn't even asked him how long he had been in the service. Of course, he didn't have references from past jobs and bosses, or relevant work experience. But goddammit, he got the job. My boyfriend, who has the work ethic of several people, demonstrated by the 56-hour work weeks he used to have putting eight hours in every day, who has relevant job experience, who came goddamn prepared with both appearance and documents, did not get the job.

And of course, he lost out on a day's pay, two days, really, if you count the gas money. He's not in a position to lose any day's pay, really, but he needs healthcare.

I just want to punch his so-called friend in the face, who had another job offer and turned it down for this one, who has screwed my boyfriend over, screwed me over, and says to him, "It's okay, J, I'll find you another job." Fuck you, I say. Fuck you, he already had one and you took it. And the real shitter is, he didn't even deserve the job. No references, no experience, no tangible show of work ethic. He's turned down other jobs. Why, why did he have to get this one? The one someone else really needed, life-or-death needed. Fuck you.

I put "?" instead of "#" in the subject today because, well, I have invented no system yet to describe my workout. I repeated week 3 day 3 column 1 (3-3-1?) for my last two push up workouts. Still haven't made any significant progress on it, either. I've been chugging along on the abs and legs, though, finishing week 4 days 1 and 2 column 3 (4-[1+2]-3?). So I'm somewhere in between 6/18 for arms, and 8/18 for legs and abs. Does that make 7.3/18? Oy.

I think my problem has been protein more than effort. I've only been aiming for fifty grams a day, which, after a little research, seems to be about two-thirds of what I need. So yesterday and today I shot for seventy-five, and I'll see how things go tomorrow. Will also remember not to go to far when doing the squats, because my knees have been killing me. Also, Oy.

Tuesday:

Push ups: 11-13-9-9-M(13)>13

Sit ups: 32-38-32-32-M(50)>48

Squats: 29-34-29-29-M(45)>43

Thursday:

Push ups: 11-13-9-9-M(13)>13 +5

Sit ups: 38-45-38-38-M(?)>54

Squats: 34-40-34-34-M(53)>49

I put ? in the sit ups because I either did three alphabets, or two. I lost track and basically called it quits when I hit Z and couldn't remember how many I had done. So it was either 52, or 78. I think I'm capable of both, but either way, I'm not stressing.

Dinner tonight is a cup of cooked, high protein pasta, with four zucchinis, three tablespoons parmesan, and TWO, count 'em, TWO veggie-Italian sausages. Nom nom nom. I usually keep it at one for those, but the Trader Joe's version has a smidge more than half the calories of the Tofurkey version, and I can't taste any difference.

Frustrating. Today's word is frustrating. I have followed the workouts pretty darn faithfully, and today, on my last push up of my last set, I fall flat on my face instead of, well, pushing up. Subsequent attempts also failed. I did an extra set after doing my sit ups and squats to try and make up, but to be honest, I had difficulty throughout the whole workout. The last set also featured me having to pause for a second, which wouldn't normally be bad, but I had to do that five times. I just want to hit my head on the wall. I'm thinking of repeating week two on level 2, then finding the next comfortable bump to level 3, and modding it from there, so that I'm not doing five more push ups than last time every time. That might just be an unreasonable demand from my muscles. Ugh. No more on this.

I counted en Francais (LJ does not the the cedille I pasted) today. I had an epiphany when I realized that forty was not quatorze but quarante. Here's to speaking Spanglish, English, and French!

Push ups: 11-13-9-9-M(12)>13 +5

Sit ups: 33-42-30-30-M(50)>45

Squats: 30-38-27-27-M(45)>40

I'm off to drink another shnasty protein concoction. Wish me luck!

Push ups were really hard--again. I tried something new today, taking a quick pause to breathe every four push ups. I've found that I can't inhale or exhale while going up or down, and this seemed a good way to make sure I didn't go all red in the face and pass out. I did a new trick to make the sit ups go by "faster"--I switched between hands behind head and hands crossed on chest every five reps. Sets three and four for the squats I did back to back with no rest, wanting to just get it over with. That's my big problem right now - endless reps bore me. I'm thinking of memorizing something rhythmic to count the reps with instead of regular numbers. If someone could teach me how to count in Cantonese, that would be fabulous.

Push ups: 10-12-8-8-M(13)>12

Sit ups: 30-38-23-23-M(40)>38

Squats: 27-34-42-M(40)>34

Dinner was half a package of tofu, grilled to golden-ness after being pressed for an hour, roughly a cup and a half of shredded carrots, a bit less than a quarter cup of raisins, a cup of those fat, fleshy pea pods, half a red bell pepper, a few tablespoons of sunflower seeds, and probably four or six tablespoons of spicy peanut dressing (courtesy of Trader Joe's). Lots o' veggies, just the way I like it.

Technically, I should be doing week four this week, but last week was screwed up by both missing a protein shake, and generally feeling weak. So I decided to do it over again, starting today (I'll be doing Tuesday-Thursday-Saturday, instead of Monday-Wednesday-Friday, which works out better with my fire staff class anyways). Push ups were weak, and I was barely buoyed by the thought of my new badass underwear. So I decided to do an extra set, not too many, but just a little boost to help me get through 8/18 on Thursday. Sit ups went as they always did, with me cranking out and forgetting to count. Squats, too. Why is my upper body so hard to strengthen?

Push ups: 10-12-7-7-M(9)>9 +5

Sit ups: 21-27-21-21-M(35)>30

Squats: 19-24-19-19-M(30)>27

I did some volunteer work, preparing the Crucible for a bat mitzvah. Which meant that for about two-and-a-half hours, I mopped the damn place. For those of you who haven't been to the Crucible, it's a giant warehouse converted into an industrial arts school. That means the unsealed cement floor has every kind of dust, grease, and stain known to man. In fact, it's a lot like the floor of a mechanic shop, which I'm sure many of you have seen at one point or another. My mop was the old-fashioned kind the newspaper tells you will kill you with salmonella and e. coli, and weighed about ten pounds on the end when wet. This I moved back and forth across the floor, sometimes scrubbing, sometimes sweeping. When I had one 15'x15' patch of concrete done, I'd take the (metal!) eight gallon mop bucket, now down to five or six gallons, and dump it down the toilet. Which meant picking the damn thing up, and dumping the water out in a controlled manner. Then it would go in the industrial sink, the lip of which was level with my hip. At least, this is how the six and a half foot tall guy who told me how to do it did it. I tried it the first time, filling it halfway, then hauling it out, all forty pounds of it, as high as my head, and said, Fuck that. I tracked down a vessel, a two gallon water jug, and used that to transfer water from the faucet to the bucket thereafter.

After the mopping was done, I helped set up chairs. I think I accounted for two dozen of them, which weren't very heavy, but were stacked up over my head. Also lifted some rented couches and repositioned them.

So when I tried to do my pushups tonight, and couldn't even manage one, I didn't feel so bad. Tomorrow I'm back for another five hours at the Crucible, and if it's anything like today, I'll be out of comission then, too. Monday is my fire staff class, and I don't want to work out beforehand, reserving all my energies for expensive instruction. So I think Tuesday I'll be doing what should have been yesterday's workout. (Which didn't happen Friday, by the way, because I forgot my protein shake Thursday, and woke up feeling like my body had nibbled on itself, which it had.) Or I may just start the week over, since I had such a hard time with it anyways.

I figured I'd get derailed at some point, but not by mopping. Oh well, c'est la vie. I came by my exhaustion and weakness honestly. And to tel you the truth, I'd do it again. My volunteer work makes me feel good inside, which is just as important as feeling good outside. The world is not over, and in a warehouse in Oakland, the floors were clean enough to eat off of. I'm proud of what I did today, even if it wasn't the scheduled fifty-five pushups.

P.S. - My abs are looking hot. I'm nearing two-pack territory. Fuck Victoria's Secret, I'm gonna have something you can scrub your clothes on.

Raise your arm if you're exhausted! *tries to raise arm, but it turns to jello and flops back onto her side*

Yeah.

Push ups were damn hard Monday, and damn harder today. I couldn't believe I'd done forty-five, and then again today, I can't believe I did fifty. When I saw today's workout schedule, I basically said, "Holy fuck." But I did it.

And yes, I skipped squats on Monday again. I mistakenly believed that I had ballet class the next day, but it turns out I start class on the twenty-third, not the third. Doy. I also put off my workout until I was done with my fire staff class, which, it turns out, doesn't start 'till next Monday. Doy. I am just double-plus horrible on the whole start date thing right now. Ugh.

Push ups: 10-12-7-7-M(10)>9

Sit ups: 21-27-21-21M(35)>30

And the big jump, from forty-five push ups to FIFTY, and from 120 sit ups to 152. Not sure why there's a huge midweek jumps, but okay Swedish workout master man, I'll do it.

Push ups: 10-12-9-9-M(12)>12

Sit ups: 30-38-23-23-M(40)>38

Squats: 27-34-21-21-M(34)>34

And for my reward I get one nasty-ass protein shake, heavy on the whey. The cute vegetarian guy at Trader Joe's was totally right when you said you had to mask the taste. I'm thinking instant coffee might help.