It started with a small pile of poop.

Mr. RK said that would be a good post title, but really, that is how the day started - at least right before I walked out of the door.

Before that, I woke up after having scary dreams about my boss naked. Wait, that was redundant.

Anyhow, Vasil, who is normally a good litter-box trained, if otherwise naughty, kitty, graced the downstairs bathroom with his displeasure (you talk about bad aim - he was an entire floor off target), and the day just went on from there. My friend Mike D and I were texting, and luckily he said, "Feel free to vent with your thumbs!" My thumb in someone's eye would have been more satisfying.

Although I had volunteers covering the phones all day, the one hour where a volunteer was busy with an appointment was the hour I had four (COUNT THEM FOUR) calls from people wanting resources. Which is normally no big deal, except...

Caller #1: Starts the  call with, "I have a question for you..." (Note to self: next time, say, "Oh no, you fucking don't!")

And he can't explain what he wants and goes on and on and on. Until I politely ask, "And what is the question?"

Him: "Well! Okaaaaay..." And goes on. And on. And keeps changing the request and after I counter with resources for every request, says, "Well you've been pretty helpful. Now I have one more question. When is the next training for your organization's Tell Your Life Story program?"

His words, not mine. Note: we don't have a program of that type. Now you know why.

Another caller just moved here, is living in a motel, has no insurance, and says, "I want to meet with a social worker." Um, right. I politely explain that here in my state, at least, you need to get signed up for Medicaid or have some kind of insurance before you can become a client at an agency. In fact, we can sign him up for this.

"I'd rather talk to a social worker first and see what my options are."

Needless to say, the organizations I gave him phone numbers for will say, "Call them back and sign up for insurance first..."

And as it is event week (next Tuesday about midnight I should be a much happier camper, or if not happier, the damn thing will be over), I of course have to have raging PMS.

Lastly, I ask you. If someone tells you politely two or three times that they MUST HAVE THE FUCKING HEADCOUNT FOR THE HOTEL by a certain date, wouldn't you get back to that person?

Thank you, Grumpy Cat. You have expressed me ever so much better than I could have expressed myself.

Does this make me a grownup?

The good news: we have internet, as of, I think, Friday, thanks to Mr. RK. An open note to the Frontier Communications company: You can all suck it. It's no thanks to you that we're up and running (and we are no longer a customer, so there.)

On my recent birthday, I told my dad I didn't feel grown up enough to be the age I am now. When my parents were my age, they seemed to be more grown up (not older. Hey, he might be reading this.) But this week, oh, how times have changed.

My to-do list is entirely made up of things relating to 1. our new place, 2. my younger brother, 3. my job and 4. our new place.

I had to double up on the decaf last week. Then I realized we had packed, moved, unpacked, cleaned, etc. every day for two weeks. (Did this stop my new insurance agent, who is all of 22, from emailing me THE MORNING AFTER the weekend I moved asking if I needed more time to proceed? No.)

I work with her mom and she said, "Oh, younger people, they move and it's no big deal." Ouch! Then again, I don't remember a move ever being this much of a pain because I wasn't moving anyone's shit except my own. I am not a packrat. I don't know how I ended up with enough stuff to fill a space twice the size of the one we were in previously.

My dad is talking about my 40th birthday trip which is two years down the road! 

Note to self: I can't possibly be heading for that number. Right?

And a meeting of the board I'm on got rescheduled for the night before I'm supposed to leave to set up one of our events. It's only two hours away, but I am thinking, "Damn, I'll be up too late! And tired! I must skip it!" Maybe I just don't like meetings all that much. Or maybe I'm a grownup.

And lastly, I am posting pics of a teenager on social media, which I believe is something old people do. The kid in question is not mine (mine have four paws and a lot of fur), but my brother B, above, whose time has been consumed as of late by AP chemistry.

Mr. RK just wandered in, looked at this picture, and asked, "What the FUCK is that? B is surely going to kill us all."

He'd probably like that. Except there wouldn't be anyone left to pay for coffee.

Too tired to meow

We moved this past weekend. There is no internet at my house. Don't get me started, but I will visit all of your blogs as soon as I can.

Things I have learned:

1. The house was previously populated by stoners who were just out of college. I know this because when Mr. RK went to see the place, the master bedroom was locked, there were tapestries everywhere, and I keep getting their unpaid bills in the mail. How do people go through life like this and manage to tie their shoes? Oh, right - that's what velcro is for.

2. I have muscles I didn't know existed before last week.

3. Every new cupboard is a new place for a cat to explore - hence, Bang! Bang! Bang! That would be the cupboard doors.

4. Stairs mean my cat Vasil wants to chase his little cat soccer balls up and down them at midnight. And yeowl up the stairs, just to hear his own echo.

5. One mocha is not enough today.

Consider yourself tagged

If you are reading this. I got tagged by my friend GB Miller in this writing meme. And as you all blog, that means you all write, which means you can all participate.

1) What are you currently working on?

This post. Just kidding. I blog once or twice a week depending on my schedule and fancy, and I'm also working on another children's book.

2) How does your work  differ from others in the same genre?
I think everyone would like to think they're unique, so I really can't say. I think I have fewer filters than other people when writing for myself. With the children's books, I make a point of not talking down to the audience. Not unique, but maybe unusual these days.

 3) Why do you write what you write?
Blogging is therapeutic, and it ranges from essay writing to humor writing to social justice writing. I literally have to write - it's a necessity. Words have been bubbling in my brain since before I could talk, which was, incidentally, early in life!

With the children's fiction, I am trying to create a happy place. Kind of like that feeling you get when you read Winne-the-Pooh. That's what I'm aiming for. A sweet, happy place with some humor.

4) Describe your writing process. 
For any kind of writing I'm working on, the longest process is the thought process behind it - the ideas rolling around in my head. After those are ironed out, it's a matter of sitting and typing it out. That part is usually rather fast.

How about you?

 

Coffee, coffee, everywhere, and some of it I drink.

We're moving soon, and it's very sadly nowhere near my favorite coffee place.

Mochas are my weakness. My decaf, iced, soy, sugar-free weakness. It's the only thing I spend money on, but I'm not willing to spend an extra half hour in the car, so I broke down and bought an espresso machine.

Enter trial and error.

You see, I had not thought this through, having worked at a coffee shop right after college. Not thought it through meaning that I have been experimenting making drinks, which have turned out everywhere from very good to mostly terrible. Trial and error with fake milks, fake syrups, even fake coffee!

Of course, I was too proud to say, "This shit is terrible!" So I drank all of them.

Mr. RK pointed out that the only sugar-free syrup I could get at the store was probably not cutting it, so I found a barista supply store online (go, me!) and am having some shipped. I'll keep you posted.

Meanwhile my boss said, "No caffeine, right?" Because we don't want Speedy Gonzales on crack in the office.

And speaking of the office, no matter how much I enjoy time off, I enjoy work much more than I ever enjoyed school. My younger sibs have started school and my brother B's report went like this:

Me: "Did you have homework?"
Him: "About three hours."
Me: "Why so much?"
Him: "The pre-calculus book doesn't come with any instructions. So I spent a lot of time looking stuff up. And the science teacher wants us to color code our notes."

Color code their notes?

Me: "My God. Does she have OCD, like me? What if any of the students are colorblind?"
Him: "Then they are fucked."

He has always been pragmatic, that one. Meanwhile, my stepmom is on a business trip this week, and he has the run of the place to himself. I just hope none of it involves a goat.