Days in the Life

Just in case anybody thought I was being too hard on my boss, in the last week she kept up with the same routine. She snapped at me for no reason, tried to manipulate me into working more hours, and once again had me make calls to clients that she had alienated. (looking at this written down it seems so minor. I wonder, am I overreacting? NO!! She's a wretch, there just aren't words for it.)

My favorite was the morning she was walking her dogs and saw me in the coffee shop getting tea before work. She waited outside until I came out, and then asked if I wanted to walk around the block with her. Uh, no! How like her to put me in that awkward position. So I told her thanks, but I needed to get to work.

Good news on the job front: Tricia, my upstairs neighbor, has said that she can get me a temp job at her work, the Wright Institute, starting Dec 1. Hopefully this will give me a little breather so I can find a good permanent position somewhere.

Hi Ho, Hi Ho

Monday morning & I'm about to take off for work again. I have a headache.

Things have been a little tense at the office since I put in my notice. I absolutely dread going there, but I gave my word that I would, so I'm a little stuck. SA (my soon to be ex-boss) has been tiptoing around all last week, but I suspect that over the weekend she will have come up with some new bitchy shit to pull.

That's ok, I'm ready for it.

Let's see what transpires.

Troll Girl Quit Job

I quit my job today, yay!!! Not only that, but I got really mad at my boss right in her face and told her off. Hardcore.

Did I mention that this Sunday when I was doing the reading for my anxiety class, I read the wrong chapter? I was supposed to read the one on feeeeeeeeeeelings, but instead I read the one on assertiveness. Oops.

I could get into a detailed analysis of all the ways my boss sucks, but instead I'll just say that she is a blamer who sets her employees up for constant failure. And she's a bully. And she snaps at a person out of the blue like some skanky wrinkled crocodile.

So I read her the riot act. Then, out of the kindness of my very forgiving heart, I condescended to give her 2 weeks notice so she can find some other sap to take the position. Then my coworker arrived on the rather tense scene and I announced that I needed to take a walk (by that time I was really quite upset).

"That's a good idea, let's do that," replied my boss, and she started to follow me out!

So I turned and looked at her and said, "No, not with you. I need to take a walk by myself."

And she sort of stumbled backwards and said of course, of course, that's what she meant. Which was kind of funny.

Then I took a walk up the street, so pissed off I was crying. Which is good, because I love to cry in public.

I am very glad I quit my job.

Fluke Update & Other Momentous Events:

I have my fluke and have been playing it for about 2 weeks and I have to say that it is a dream come true: it's easy to play, the sound is everything I could ask for, plus of course the cool flame motif.

I am practicing every day, and my improvement, though slow, is steady. In fact, I just started putting accompaniment to songs I have written, very fun. Also, I picked up this book on musical theory and chord-building for the ukulele, which after the first few pages is giving me a lot of good insight.

In other news:

• Bought a DVD on hip-hop and am learning how to get down.
• This morning I developed a twitch in the muscles beneath my left eye. Hope it does not indicate stroke or aneurism or anything...
• Watched the entire 1st season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and the 1st seaon of Angel over the weekend. This could be an alternate explanation of the eye twitch.
• Attempted to talk to a guy on Friday and realized I don't know how.

Eye is twitching again, gotta go.

People will kick my trollish butt

I am hearing rumors of dissatisfaction in the ranks due to the fact that I haven't updated this blog in an aeon. Well, wait no more! I can fill you in on all the news right now.

Ok, so, the news:

News.

Yeah, there's gotta be something going on. Yeah.

I feel sleepy.

Flaming Fluke

Fluke! Fluke fluke fluke! Fluke fluke! I just ordered a fluke! I am so very excited!

I've been drooling over this little instrument for a couple of years now, and when I saw one in black with red flames, well, that was it. For those who don't know what a fluke is, it is a sort of ukulele with a triangular shape, made by this small company. The owner of the company makes the ukes. And flukes. And fleas. When I called, the owner's wife picked up the phone & we chatted for a little bit about ukes. Her brother, Jim Beloff, wrote the books I learned to play with.

My fluke won't look exactly like the picture because I'm getting a rosewood neck, so the neck will be red. (Rosewood is more scratch-resistant than the standard material they use, which is some kind of plastic composite. So when I decide I want to be louder, I can put on metal strings without ruining the instrument.)

Whoo hoo!!! I am such a dork, and I don't care.

Also, there are places to attach a strap if one wants, and I do want. Now I feel inspired to knit this pattern I found for a cool guitar strap. Like I said, dork.

Troll Boobs

Tonight I realized that for months or perhaps even years there has been a niggling little question floating around in the back of my head. It roams about and snivels quietly in odd corners, ignored by me because I just didn't want to think about it.

But still the question lingers, until finally today I was forced to acknowledge it: Why on earth do I wear a bra? I must be fucking crazy; why else would I don this torture device every day? I look better with one on, I tell myself. And I don't want people to watch my boobs jiggle (believe me, there is a lot of jiggling going on). And what of the shame should someone see my nipples through my shirt?

So let's balance that against the agony and shoulder aches from wearing bras. I don't mean a little, it hurts a lot, no joke. I think some of this is amplified by old injuries, but if I didn't wear a bra the pain would be much less. Like, ouch.

The thing is, I really like how I look with a bra on, I like my shape better. But what is wrong with me when I am bra-free? Maybe I should work on admiring my trollish shape just the way it is.

I have often thought that if we ever invent anti-gravitaional devices, one of the applications could be in women's undergarments-just turn on your gravitational brassiere and you can have perky breasts with no straps whatsoever. But since that hasn't happened yet, I did the next best thing; googled "comfortable bras" and ordered an all-cotton, no-underwire-having, genuine-made-by-a-women's-collective-in-Seattle UnBra. It'll take 3 weeks to get here, and I can't wait. The color: eggplant, because today I had some roasted eggplant salad at lunch and it was really really good.

Then I logged on to Victoria's Secret and purchased a Body by Victoria Demi Plunge bra with matching hip-hugger panties. I wanted periwinkle blue but of course they were out in my size, so I settled for Whisper Pink.

As a final note, the picture I included here of the lovely Rose may seem unrelated to the text of this entry; but look once again at how relaxed, elegant, and demure she looks--WITHOUT a bra.

Had the best time tonight making crazy invitations with my super cool friend Nancy. The dog kept bugging us with her squeaky ball, plopping it on top of our work when we ignored her. Fairly effective strategy...

Also made this extra good chicken salad with miso-baked chicken; I took nerimiso and spread it over frozen chicken and then baked it (Nerimiso is miso paste, lemon zest, lemon juice, sesame oil and seeds, ginger, and honey). Sliced it while warm and put it over lovely salad greens with organic heritage tomatoes, carrots, and red bell peppers, then topped it off with an Asian-themed sesame-mustard salad dressing. Plus Lime-Mashed Yams. Nancy became uncontrollably enamoured of this meal to the point that I began to fear for her very sanity. Luckily, after some time she was able to collect herself.

The entirely unrelated picture I have posted here is of this absolutely amazing watersnake I encountered on a hike to the creek up at 13 Springs.

Troll Food for Breakfast

Do you ever have that moment when you are faced with two choices, one of which is obviously the correct one, filled with health and the promise of a glorious day, the other a sure path to bloated sogginess and a pulpy stomachache? And then make the wrong choice even though you know better?

That was me this morning when I decided to eat macaroni and cheese for breakfast even though I had organic eggs and heritage tomatoes fresh from the farmer's market, which I could have cooked up with herbs snipped that minute from my little herb garden. But the allure of mac-n-cheese was too strong! Mmmm, salt and grease and cheesy (I suppose you can't really call it goodness if it makes you sick, can you?) ness.

What trollish contrariness to choose that hellish breakfast with complete disregard for the consequences! (though there may have been a twinge of uneasiness in there) How brave of me to chow down on crap food when I have the option of gourmet delicacy! how ridiculous to claim that mac-n-cheese is troll food when obviously a troll in the forest would be dining on roots and grubs or something!

Yet Another Day in the Life

I have this tight spot in my shoulder that sort of goes all the way down to my fingertips and makes them feel a bit raw. It is an odd and not entirely pleasant sensation, but I have hopes that it will pass. My hands feel like freshly cut fingernails, yuck.

In other news, this afternoon I was walking the dog on my block and this woman (whom I see from time to time around the hood; she is in her fifties perhaps, and always wears light blue and looks a bit uptight) was looking extra wound up today and was talking to herself. Just a little bit, real quiet like. She had on a white straw hat and her usual light blue garb. I thought, oh, ok, here's that chick, and she's a little more wound up than usual.

Then at 10 pm I was walking Rose and I saw her again and she was in much worse shape, talking to herself far less subtly and wandering all over the sidewalk. I was wondering if I should approach her and help her home or something, but by the time I got turned around with the dog and had thought about it a bit, she was gone.

If there is a point to this story I don't know what it is. But I hope that lady is ok.

And can I add that the whole time I have been writing this, Rose has been shoving her squeak toy against my ankles in a vain attempt to get me to play with her. It is very distracting.

As a sort of stiff-upper-lipped British aside, I think I'll mention here that Rhys has moved out and is staying with our friend Trevor. I didn't want to reveal this but I figured that eventually people would notice anyway, so I might as well make a clean breast of things. Are we breaking up? I don't know. Should people feel very sorry for me or us? No, we feel sorry enough for ourselves. Plus, this is not some fiery horrific breakup sort of thing but more of a re-evaluation of our relationship.

I'm sorry but I just can't cast this in trollish terms, it makes me too tired.

Hot Sticky Trolls

Despite the title of this entry, I am not writing some sort of troll porn or hairy diva fetishistic thingummy. That's just how I felt last weekend up in Sonoma in the 106 degree heat.

My lovely cousin Clare was with us, visiting for the first time in Sonoma. She is 32 and lives in London where she grew up (my mom's sister married an English guy). She was on the tail end of a round-the-world tour that included paddling up the Amazon River, visiting Cambodia and Laos, and other astounding places that I can't imagine going to. She is really really cool, but not cool enough to make the heat any less miserable. But who cares! We all went down the steep steep hill to the creek and swam/waded around (it is a fairly small creek, at least in the summer). I saw these amazing water snakes, and all kinds of dragonflies, and steelhead trout. Paradise! At least until we tried to hike back up, and then it was evilly, sinfully, hellishly hot and steep and filled with horror.

I planned this great BBQ but it was way too hot to cook, even outdoors, so we dined on cheese, crackers, and peaches.

Sunday it was even more hot and all we did was lie around, groan with misery, and occasionally run into the bathhouse to take cold showers.

New Jersey Mini-Trollen

Just got back on Monday from New Jersey where Rhys & I went to see our nieces get baptized. They're 4 months old, and though I am not particularly a baby person, I still think they are cute. Zoe is the one with all the dark hair. Kathleen is the one with the stick-out ear and less hair. (she's Rhys' goddaughter).These are the twin daughters of Rhys' brother, Marcus. The mom is Cindy. Cindy is 6 feet tall and a dentist.

So enough about family already. Here's what there is to do in NJ: be very hot and sticky. And drink copious amounts of Corona Light with wedges of lime. Go to the beach, but not if you are like me and tend to get burnt to a crisp.

Here's a shot of Rhys in church. I think we were all a little disappointed that the church did not burst into flame when he entered the vestibule. In case you can't tell from the pic, Rhys is subtly flipping me off. Naughty, naughty.

OOOoooh! News flash! On a completely different topic, the post office is making superhero stamps. Though Catwoman is not one of them, dammit! But Shua will be pleased to hear that Green Arrow is. It's just not fair! Why does Catwoman always get dissed at moments like this?

The Dizzying Trollness of it All

Sometimes when I'm on my way to work I want to give up, lie down on the pavement in despair and ..well, I don't know what exactly would happen next, which is mostly why I haven't done it. But it's hard to keep from falling into that sort of abyss. I laugh at myself, try to chide myself out of it, etc, and keep a running, slightly mocking refrain in my head "poor baby, feel so sorry for me!"

I've always avoided thinking about depression, thinking what's the point? If I dwell on things they'll just get blown up out of proportion & get worse. Plus, I hate to be a complainer. Plus, I don't want people to feel sorry for me. I don't think I'm clinically depressed or anything, just real sad these days.

What's a troll to do? Thinking about seeing a doctor, but haven't gotten it together. Then perhaps I would become Zoloft Troll. Or Zolltroll for short. Something.

Weed of the Day: French Broom Update

So this last weekend we were up at 13 Springs Ranch, and I nagged and nagged at Rhys until he cut down the big bush of French Broom and the slightly smaller bush that it had engendered. Now I just need to pull seedlings for the next five years and the problem is solved!

Blog Slacker

I am told by my readers that I am becoming derelict in my blogging duties. Aieeeee! Looking back, I realize it has been 12 days since my last post; but what can I say? Now that I have a job, I can't just sit around blogging all day dammit!

Here is a picture I drew of Howard Stern, who, though most don't know it, is secretly a troll.

So I am rummaging around in my head trying to find interesting items to tell you all, but the only thing I can think of is the bag of wooden nickels that spontaneously combusted at the Farmer's Market the other day, and since this tidbit was given me by the only person who regularly reads this blog, it seems redundant to post it here. But I am doing it anyway.

What else is there to tell? I found a really, REALLY gross and disgusting tick on my dog that could not have been on her for more than a day and a half, but was bloated to the size of a dime. When I pulled it off my dog bled sluggishly for about 10 minutes after. I think the tick had hit a vein or something. Ultradisgusting.

Speaking of dogs and gross things, my boss' dog Freckles chewed the base of his tail absolutely raw and now has one of those cone things on his head. He is miserable in the extreme and keeps moping about the office, trying to get under my desk to lie down (but he can't because his cone gets caught on things).

Other interesting news: Rhys is gonna be a godfather to one of our nieces (he can't remember which one). So this summer we get to fly out to New Jersey for the christening. I can only imagine that my brother-in-law wants his daughter to be subverted from the Catholic faith, since Rhys has no love for organized religion in general, to put it mildly. Plus he's married to a pagan.

For Linda! Weed of the Day: Yellow Nutsedge

Cyperus esculentus "Yellow Nutsedge" looks like a grass but is actually a sedge. I am basically unable to find any positive discussion of this plant, though I do think it is pretty. And it has a tenacious grip on life.

So here's the lowdown: Yellow Nutsedge is a perennial sedge that propegated via seed and tubers. Tubers are capable of propegating 1,900 plants and 7,000 additional tubers annually. Infestations are extremely difficult to eradicate. In this post I read on davesgarden.com (last post on page) the writer had tried for 20 years to get rid of it, without success.

Getting rid of it:

1) pull seedlings before they develop tubers.

2) Do not allow seedheads to survive.

3) Put down HEAVY barriers, such as thick rubber mats. Nutsedge will grow through normal weed barriers, and through many other things, including cement.

4) Dig out tubers, which grow up to 18" below surface of soil (making soil solarization a pointless exercise). This will have to be repeated according to accounts I have read.

5) Use chemicals. Since Yellow Nutsedge is impervious to Roundup or any other weedkiller available through retail, I recommend hiring a professional. However, due to the tubers, applications must be repeated yearly.

I still think it's kinda pretty. In the wild, turkeys feed on the seeds, and pigs (another ineradicable pest) root for the tubers.

Let's Talk About Noxious Weeds

I took this pic on the path above Goat Rock Beach last year; it features thistles, those ultra prickly weeds that you just don't want to mess with unless you're wearing rhinocerous-hide gloves. I don't know what kind of thistle they are, as there are about 20 zillion different species of thistles. I'm posting this pic as an example of how beautiful even the most noxious of weeds can be.

Over the last week I have seen a lot of references to 'noxious weeds' in my online weed research. 'Noxious' seems like overkill to me, I mean, it's just a plant, right? Then I noticed that often this designation is followed by draconian efforts to remove said weed, efforts which are frequently in vain.

Here's a definition I found on the BLM weed website: a noxious weed is any plant designated by a Federal, State or county government as injurious to public health, agriculture, recreation, wildlife or property. (Sheley, Petroff, and Borman,1999). In other words, it's a plant that fucks shit up for people. I suspect that as this is a legal distinction, it affects what treatments one can legally apply to said weed in order to remove it.

Also, a noxious weed can be defined as a plant growing where it is not wanted while at the same time being persistent, spreading, invasive, and difficult to remove. In other words, it's a real obnoxious pain in the ass, hence the use of the pejorative 'noxious.'

References

Sheley, R.,J. Petroff, M.. Borman, 1999. Introduction to Biology and Management of Noxious Rangeland Weeds, Corvallis, OR.

I keep forgetting

It's funny how there can be one simple thing that one fails to remember again and again. For example, I keep forgetting to give Linda this present that I have had for her since her birthday in November. I don't know how many times she has been over and I just don't think to give it to her!

Maybe she will read this blog entry and then remind me about her present the next time she visits.

Weed of the Day: French Broom

French Broom, or Genista monspessulana, is a pretty bush, ranging from 7-10 feet tall, with soft green leaves, and in spring it is covered with small, cheerful yellow flowers.

It is actually a memeber of the legume family, and makes little pea pods for its seeds. I didn't see anything about it when I looked, but if it is a member of the pea family, then it probably adds nitrogen to the soil, yes? Or fixes it, or whatever.

It is from the Mediterranean, and people used to make brooms with it. I tried to make a broom a couple of years ago from one in my yard, but the leaves would fall all over the floor when I tried to sweep. Next time I'll remove the leaves beforehand.

It has been used a lot for erosion control, and in gardens, and from there it has escaped into the wild and naturalized itself. This is the "weed" part of French Broom; it is very aggressive and pushes out native shrubs like Coyote Brush and Rabbit Brush.

Leaves, seeds, and flowers are toxic. French Broom grows in dense stands that take over meadows (pushing out grazing animals) and shade out tree seedlings. They are oily and burn very hot, so supposedly they are a fire hazard, but (with apologies to all the manzanitas and chaparrals) what bush in California is not a fire hazard?

People get rid of it by hand pulling and by burning, and with herbicides. According to a study (click here for pdf file) by the California Exotic Pest Plant Council, the most effective way is to treat the plants with herbicide, then cut them down, and then burn the area.

Weed of the Day: Foxtail

Here is the common, invasive foxtail we are all used to seeing; it is actually a kind of barley. (Maybe everyone but me knew this already.) I'm not the best identifier, and there are a lot of grasses in the world, but I am pretty sure this is Hare Barley, Hordeum murinum, subspecies leporinum.

(hordeum is Latin for barley, lepidorinum means rabbit, I think)

Mostly when I see foxtail, all I think is keep the dog away! because the spiky dry seeds are like little barbed arrows that can burrow into dogs' ears and paws, causing infection and pain. Apparently they do the same thing to grazing animals like cattle, sheep, deer, elk, etc, and cause "lumpjaw" when the dried seedheads are eaten. But this is when the grass has dried, while it is green it is pretty innocuous.

Foxtail is tough. It is herbicide resistant, it can grow almost anywhere, it is a cool-weather annual grass that is short-lived and doesn't need much water, and it can take over the place! For control (and I do like to contain this one, simply because it is not local to my area-it's a European native-and can push out other grasses. And also because I don't like taking my dog to the vet to pull infected crap out of her ears.) Mow when seedheads are developed but still green, then solarize the seedheads. Or compost them, but only if you are a better composter than I and can count on your pile getting nice and hot and killing all the seeds. Or if this is a pastureland issue, then plow the grass under and reseed with something competitive.

Foxtail, like any other weed, does not exist in a vacuum of evil. I have to admire this grass for growing in the most dreary wastelands and finding a way to flourish almost anywhere. It also has been used for medicinal purposes: the Chippewa Indians used to make a poultice out of it for eye problems. According to another source, it is also useful as a diuretic, using a decotion of the plant.

The seeds are edible and can be cooked in porridge or ground into flour.

It can be used as a quick-growing ground cover to prevent erosion.

It is pretty.

But let's face it, it's a weed. The key words here are invasive non-native.

Instituting the Weed of the Day

Ever since I was a small child covered in oozing poison oak rash, I have been fascinated by weeds. These hardy, much-maligned plants can be beautiful, ugly, prickly, smooth, smell bad, smell great, be poisonous, be edible, in fact be about anything.

The only thing the group of plants known as weeds have in common is that they flourish whether we want them to or not. I like that! These hardy plants have plenty of spunk, and are often medicinal, or edible, or good for the soil, or provide protection and food for birds and animals. More and more often, proponents of permaculture and companion gardens urge gardeners to keep a "wild zone" near their cultivated areas so that the garden can benefit from proximity to weeds.

And I like them.

Today's Weed of the Day is the sow thistle, or sonchus oleraceus. The sow thistle grows to be about 3 or 4 feet tall, and has dandelion-like flowers; it is a bit prickly, but less so than prickly lettuce, and it is edible (but bitter). I have read that the young leaves are good in salads, and when eating older leaves or stems it is good to cook them in several changes of water.

Sow thistle is prolific, and will happily cluster anywhere that doesn't get mowed. Oh, and rabbits and pigs like to eat it! So if I ever get rabbits, I will have plenty of sow thistle to feed them.

Sometimes my sow thistles are literally covered in aphids; there are a couple of schools of thought on this: the anti-weed people think that sow thistles attract aphids into the garden and therefore we should douse these innocent plants in toxic chemicals to make them go away forever. Other people think that maybe the sow thistle is attracting the aphids away from the plants we want to protect; even better, there's the thought that these aphid colonies create a food source for predators like hoverflies, etc, attracting beneficial insects to the garden.

Finally, sow thistles are a food source for a number of species of butterfly larvae. So yay for the sow thistle!

I would love to hear comments from people about the sow thistle, or who have a favorite weed they would like me to feature.

I Return Triumphant from the Hunt

I got a job working for this amazing garden designer who incorporates native Californian plants in her landscapes. I am very happy, and also typing incoherently due to large infusions of coffee.

Not sure if it is because of or despite my trollishness. Regardless, I am optimistic about this one; I searched long and hard, and really tried to find a place that would not send me spiraling down into depression, shame, and peniture. In other words, I sought a job that would be almost entirely different from my last hellish servitude at the EG.

And can I just add that if any of the two readers who read this blog should happen to consider working at the EG, stop it right now; you will be underpaid and abused by both the clients and your supervisors. Especially your supervisors, as it is their lame systems and morale-sapping policies that create bad service for which the clients call up and yell at you. It is a horrible, horrible place.

But I don't intend to allow this entry to degenerate into a long-winded rant about my last position. I want to focus instead on my rosy future with a really cool garden designer who started her business from scratch some 15 or so years ago. She hired me as an office admin, but since I am the only office worker, I will essentially be the office manager. Good starting pay, 3/4 time, and health benefits.

Plus I get to work in a little cottage nestled in a beautiful garden, right near the shops and restaurants on Solano Ave. Happy troll is me.

Wedding Troll

There must be some sort of consequence to having a troll help you pick out so important a garment as a wedding dress. But what would it be? My imagination fails me, and I can't find any folktales on the subject, so I guess we'll have to wait and see.

Spent the day Monday with my extra cool friend Linda (see previous posts for more on that) hunting through Berkeley and Oakland for her wedding gown.

Our itinerary:
Patina on Solano Ave (really nice salesperson, wonderful eclectic selection of fashions with a good quality and a real Berkeley feel). They had this really cool green silk jacket/shirt (pictured) that Linda loved.

4th St to visit Molly B's (more casual than I recall), Anthropologie (ugh), and some other stores that were rather blah.

Then back to Oakland where we ate lunch, walked to this place I can't remember the name of that is on Piedmont Ave (they have a lot of Chinese silks, and they specialize in custom embroidery).

As our last stop, we drove to Soiree on College Ave. Which was closed, so we went across the street to Chic, the first store I have ever been to that sells t-shirts for $315.

Which was where Linda unexpectedly found her perfect outfit!! We were so excited!!! Really, we had planned this day as more of an initial exploration and idea-gathering jaunt than an actual earnest search. So finding the ONE was a truly unforeseen fortunate EVENT. And it definitely made up for the snooty saleswoman who wouldn't let us take a pic of Linda trying on things (which we had been doing all day with no problems at all).

The Dress:
By the designer Nataya, who is Uzbekistanian (originally, but now she lives in Rome) and specializes in vintage-style clothing, especially 20's and 30's styles. I don't know if Linda would want me to post a picture of the actual dress, so I will just say that 1) it is from the Fall 2005 collection and 2) it looks 20,000,000 times better on Linda than it does on the model.

Still Life with Envelopes

So I had my interview today with the Poster Compliance people. It was in a storage room, and I snagged my tights on a huge box of mail. This is possibly the most boring business ever created; they specialize in making the posters that go in the back hall of your work that tell you what minimum wage is, etc. I suppose it is a useful, hence noble, occupation.

Yawn.

The people are nice. I liked watching their eyes bug out as I described operations at my last job. So I guess I'd be willing to work there if they pay me enough. With this in mind, I asked for both my interviewers' email addresses (so I could write a pretty little thank you letter). One of them doesn't check her email, which blows my mind, and which means that I had to not only write the letters but *gasp* print them out and mail them.

Which is why I now have a stack of ruined envelopes on my kitchen table; my cheap-assed printer kept jamming. Very irritating, and after a while I got this look of grim determination on my face as I fed envelope after envelope into its gaping maw. Eventually I printed out two envelopes correctly, only to find that Word had loaded the wrong address on them.

On the Hunt

For the past month I've been job-hunting, and I'm finally starting to get the hang of it. So much so that I am actually enjoying writing cover letters in a sort of masochistic, picking-at-scabs sort of way. Can I get a job getting jobs?

Perhaps I should wait until I actually get a job before I embark on a career of finding employment. Then I could put "proven ability to get a job" on the resume as one of my skills.

On another note, my really cool friend Linda came over this afternoon. I was so excited! Linda is so cool it's like having an air conditioner turned on when she comes in the door. She's so PC environmental activists blush with shame when they see her. And she's so hip, she actually has this blog as her homepage on her computer at work!

Which, since I'm not really sure that anyone else at all reads this blog, puts me in the interesting position of writing for an audience of (most likely) one. And this brings up a question or two. For example, should I be writing about Linda in the third person?

Maybe I should address you directly, Linda.

Ooh, wait, maybe not. It's always a little creepy when your computer begins to address you directly. Sorry, Linda!

But the best thing of all was we got to look at wedding dresses for Linda. Sadly, we didn't really find any she liked. Why are they all so freakin alike? It's not just that they are all white, but we couldn't find any with sleeves, either. 20,000 white strapless dresses that you can only wear once. Yikes.

Here, Linda! I found you a dress: it's not white, and it's not strapless. You just have to learn not to breathe while you wear it.

Have a Trollish Day

Ever have one of those extra-trollish days, where any little thing can set you off? Not due to pms, or bad weather, money troubles, relationship difficulties or any normal, understandable irritants, you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed?

In a way, I enjoy days like these as they give me permission speak my mind about things that I normally let slide (since I am just such a mellow person). It's a great time to let out all those pet peeves I've been storing up, thinking I was so tolerant and understanding, and then one day-pow! right in the kisser. Like this:

"Honey?"
"Unh."
"Could you please clean your hair out of the bathroom sink?"
"What?" (it's 5:30 in the morning and he was completely asleep)
"I said would you get up and clean your hair out of the bathroom sink."
"What the fuck-"
"Because I keep having to pick up after you. I'm sick of it."
"Shut up." (rolls over and pulls a pillow over his head)
"No, you shut up!"
"What the fuck is your problem?"
"You. You're the problem. Why should I have to deal with your hair all over the sink?" (by now I am throbbing with righteous wrath)
"It's too early for this. Jesus Christ!"
"What. What? What! Look, you're upsetting the dog, you jerk!"

At this point if I am lucky he'll actually get pissed off (instead of just grumpy). Then he sits up in bed, and his face turns red, he gets this throbbing vein on his forehead, and his eyes shoot these lazer beams out that sear holes in the sheetrock.

Later in the day I act confusingly nice to him. It's all part of my master plan. Besides, it's nice to take my bad moods out on Rhys since I am always confident that he can take what I dished out, and he has inflicted enough of his moods on me that I know he deserves to get dumped on. So it's a real win-win situation.

Troll Dog

Here she is, my lovely canine companion, with her newly completed redocoration project. I think she had a lot of fun with this one.

Here is what I have learned: Firstly, putting a couple of army blankets over one's bed does not protect it from doggie depredations. Secondly, Rose is capable of a lot of chewing in a very short space of time. The day after the event pictured, I put her in a wire kennel while I was gone (PETA people, do not freak out; she was comfortable and happy, with bed, toys, and treats.) But the one thing I forgot to do was remove all chewable objects from range, so she managed to grab the edge of my comforter, pull it into her kennel, and completely remove and destroy the blue-and-green apple duvet. Then she somehow chewed off all 4 plastic carry handles that were attached to the outside of the kennel. I am very impressed, she is a true troll dog.

The third thing I learned is that goose down is very difficult to sweep up. It's been a week and there are still feathers lurking in the corners like surly little pixies, ready to float out of range at the first sign of a broom.

Hilltroll in the City

This is it; I have moved half my stuff and put money down on a studio apt in Oaktown. You might wonder why I would voluntarily leave paradise to move to purgatory, and if you were to ask me I would tell you that it all has to do with jobs and the fact that it is hard to get one when you live in the absolute middle of nowhere. At least one that won't land me in jail.

So off I go. I can't wait to try out my freshly-honed curmudgeonly troll skills on the unsuspecting populace of the East Bay, ha ha! I will be heading down the hill with one more load of crap, and then it's all about the fulltime jobhunt thing until someone dares to employ me.

I left 13 Springs last week in the middle of a snowstorm, very unusual in my neck of the woods. Since I grew up in California and have no experience with actually living in snow, I found it utterly charming and beautiful. Magical, even. I don't really beleive in omens so I am not going to wonder if the enchanted setting for my farewell is a sample of things to come or a last huzzah, a grand finale for the last act of this part of my life. Besides, I am already beginning to sound overbearingly pompous (something inextricably tied to the analysis of omens and portents).

Aimless

After my last post I didn't want to look at this blog for a while. But now I am back. I had a number of topics lined up for today's post, but it is difficult to come up with pithy little comments or sly, witty comments, or deep, philosophical insight when a random clanking noise is going on five feet behind a person.

That would be Rhys, practicing his Eskrima bladework with the pendulum knives he hung from our living room ceiling. Very Poe-ish, but for the lack of sepulchural atmosphere.

In other news, the sun is shining (though not for much longer) and there's flowers and stuff around. Also, day after tomorrow I leave for Pantheacon, which should be a fun weekend.

And that's all, except for my horrible diet, which is working but not fast enough. The question is, will I lose the weight and become accustomed to a lifetime of deprivation, or will I commit armed robbery on a bakery truck? Or if it is both, which will happen first?

We buried Jack last night. We think his going was not painful, as the vet gave him a large dose of painkillers before putting him down. The house is very different without Jack. I don't know yet what sort of legacy Jack has left, but I know things will not be the same.

It was dark by the time Rhys got back from the vet's, and we toasted Jack with Jack Daniels by the light of the moon and stars. He certainly had heart.

Sad

Today is the worst day. Rhys is driving Jack to town right now to have Jack put down. It hurts so much to have to end the life of our beautiful, powerful, graceful dog, but we can't think of any safe alternative.

Jack was always difficult to work with; it was hard to find ways to motivate him. But his problems with aggression didn't start until just after Thanksgiving, when he began to growl and snarl at me, and my husband, and get in fights with other dogs. He rushed me several times, and we had to keep him on tie-down so that people would not be at risk of bites. We neutered him and took him to a trainer. The trainer we went to said that Jack had dominance aggression, and advised us to control his personal boundaries by using kennels and tie-downs, and to schedule his days intensively with organized training, feeding, and play times.

This worked really well for about 2 weeks, and then he went right back to the growling, snarling, and rushing. On more than one occasion he hit his mouth against me in what would have been a bite if he had not been muzzled. He attacked my husband during feeding, and only quick reflexes prevented a bite. Then he attacked my husband in the car, and would have severely wounded him were it not for the muzzle. Throughout all this, we have been working with him on general obedience, trying to show him where his place in the family is. His manners on the lead did improve, but in and around the house and cars he remained a constant threat.

So we have decided that he is too dangerous to keep training, since he is not showing improvement in the home. I feel so ashamed that I am unable to help him. We even discussed (many times) keeping him outside in the big pen, and only letting him out to hunt (Jack is a superb pig tracker). However, his repeated attacks on us show that he is too much of a liability to keep, since he is easily big and strong enough to severely injure or kill someone.

I am sorry, Jack. You are my big, beautiful dog who is too brave to back down from anyone or anything, ever. I have seen you hold at bay a 300-lb boar. I have watched you run across the summer-dry grass, almost invisible because your coat is the same color. I love you. When I tried to pet you for the last time, you growled at me. I still love you. Goodbye.

Trolls Ignore Entropy; Or, Everything's Broken

If I make some truly insightful comments on entropy, trolls, and the rise of order from chaos, will my washing machine work properly again?

It's odd how when I count up all the broken things in my life and balance them against the things which aren't broken, a whirling vortex of doom opens up before me as I realize that the busted-up junk greatly outnumbers the useful, value-retaining material goods. I am sliding into junkyard oblivion with all the crap that I don't know how to repair. I understand now why the hillbilly stereotype includes a front yard filled with rusted-out cars, trucks, old refrigerators, dead washing machines, and so forth; it's a pain to drive it the two hours to the dump, and besides, your husband thinks he might be able to use it someday.

But the nice part about living in paradise, which is where I believe I live when I am able to ignore the landslides, ticks, poison oak, rattlesnakes, grouchy husbands, and psychotic, snarling dogs, is that I can ignore the junkyard-like catastrophe I call a driveway, look through the mist and the trees to the hills around me, and enjoy the peace of living in clean air, far away from all the annoying people other than my DH.

And when my washing machine finishes its life cycle, as it is apparently about to, I can replace it with a less complex sytem, like the James washer. Because simple systems are less subject to entropy, right? Though when I think about it, I moved out here thinking that life in the woods would be simple, I could live like a hermit, think long, slow thoughts, and just plain be. Never mind the complexities of solar energy systems, plumbing and large appliance repair (yes, a two-hour drive to the nearest town does make fixing large items such as . . . washing machines . . . more logistically, emotionally, and physically challenging), and the heart-rending choices (should I just shoot those fucking raccoons, or what?) one must make when living mostly in the wilderness.

I think I intended this post to be philosophical, but when I look it over, mostly what I see is a complaint about my washing machine. Which is ok, because that machine really does suck, and besides, it's a pain gassing up the small generator to run the damn thing. Can't wait for the new washer to arrive, and then I can start my campaign to get my man to help me schlep the old one back to my mother (three and a half hours away; involves toting washer down stairs, hefting it into the back of the Suburban where it may not fit since we recently installed a dog kennel for the insane dog Jack, driving it down a 15-mile rutted dirt road, then carrying it down a cat-poop-infested dirt path to Mom's damp and rotting cellar). Then again, we could tell her she needs to pick it up herself in her Honda Civic.

Why I am a Hill Troll

Living in rural Sonoma County, with the ticks and the mud and the wild pigs, sliding roads, roaming cows, and grouchy neighbors, who luckily live too far away to be nasty to your face and must rely on writing insinuating comments in the road association newsletter, can be a challenge. But I know I'm up to it because I've lived here for two and a half years now without anything more dire than a strained back from that time I tried to push our 800-lb diesel generator into the shed. I have two dogs, one of whom is psychotic, and two cats who will only rarely let me touch them (the cats live in the barn since both dogs are cat chasers).

Mad Jack is the yellow dog in the pic on the left; he's a Black Mouth Cur. He is really crazy right now, but we're hoping with good training he'll make it. Rose is a Catahoula Leopard Hound that we got at the shelter not too long ago. She is very sweet and loving, but has a lot of fear issues due to her 6-month stint at the local no-kill shelter. Kudos to her for adapting to life outside the big house.

You might wonder what a person who lives 2 hours away from the nearest 7-11 does for a living. I'm wondering that also, as I peruse the scads of job opportunities available to me over the interweb. I may soon be earning a good living stuffing envelopes, selling Amway, or maybe I'll take the easy route and start a new pyramid scheme.

But these problems are trivial when compared with the trials I face every day in the wilderness. Mudslides, rattlesnakes, skunks, wild pigs blocking the path to the outhouse at 2 am...but worst of all are my bitter enemies, the raccoons. I used to think they were cute (actually, I still think they are cute, but in a horrific, bleeding-ulcer sort of way), and I was charmed by how they would sit up and look at us through the sliding glass doors after they ate all the cats' food. But then they kept eating the cat food, more and more of it, and they brought their friends and family; we tried moving the cat food to the bathhouse, where a window high, high up is accesible from a minute ledge-this worked for a few months, but then they got in again. We moved the food to the barn, same story. (We can't feed the cats indoors as they are mostly feral, plus the dog issue) However, this is not why the raccoons are my enemies. The real reason is the peach trees. Every year so far, they have eaten all the peaches from all 16 trees, getting them while they were still too green to pick. They politely left all the pits in neat piles under each tree. I hope all that fruit gave them the runs.

This year I'm going to try bird netting over the trees to see if that dissuades them. Why can't they eat all the persimmons, which I loathe?

I am afraid that the paragraphs above may not have provided any insight into why I am a Hill Troll. So I'll tell you: the simple reason is that I am rather trollish, and I live in the hills.