jadybrooks.com

Dear Laundry Mat Lady,

You have no idea how mortified I am.

 What a terrible first impression I gave you, taking my clothing out of the washing machine at my own pace, rather than as soon as you needed.

 I know you're in a hurry to go about your busy Sunday....doing laundry is the least of your tasks. You have to go to the grocery store, for instance, and the produce market, to get the ingredients to make your cats a nice Sunday dinner. You're serving enough for nine of the them, because Olive and Mrs.Meebles are still grounded for peeing on the table.

You have to go home, and maybe...Um...maybe your mom will call from whatever gin-bar she's crawling out of and tell you to get married, but quick! And you'll nod and eat and cry.

Maybe there's a movie on the Oxygen Network this evening. You could certainly use a good romcom.

My goodness, but you're the busy dame. How dare I hold up your journey.

You're such a treasure, Laundry Mat Lady. Truly one of the chosen few in Gods warmest gardens. Bless the day I beheld your visage.

oh, and go **** yourself.

*North of the Eye along the river. If the harsh light wasn't a clue, this was COLD COLD london. Still pretty, however.*

Mom is visiting this weekend, and I finally got to see the beautiful pictures from her trip to Europe.

I have 3 days left of SuperFlu before I get my meds refilled. Bah.

"Corms, the mightiest pup of the jungle, lets out a mighty yawn. 'BAROO!!!', he thunders. This fearsome beast nibbles his own foot, stuffs his nose into the Slipper (pictured), and curls up like a big furry cinnamon roll. His slumber is golden and true."

I've had a hell of a month, and this little monster has been happy to see me every single time I come home. Either he's stupid, or he loves me unconditionally, or he knows I buy the food.

I like to think it's a combination of all three.



p.s. Oh my heck, what a month. Jeeze-O Jeeze.

Shit the bed. I was going to write a nice, soulful entry about depression in winter, and how it takes extra effort to stay sane, and how I was sickly proud of taking the highest dosage of two kinds of pills because I was so good at being crazy, and how, yes, people who get proud about pill-taking are (shockingly) socially awkward, and how that shouldn't matter to me since I don't like people either, BUT I do very much want them to like me. 

Then I found this silly picture, and my whining really deserves a somber illustration, so I'll write it later, k? eff off.

Chicago in winter is all kinds of beautiful. When we left for Utah, out plane was delayed about 9 hours due to snow, and we spent an extra night in SLC after our flight back to IL was canceled. For once, someone was staying at the apartment to watch Corms and Dante, so we didn't have to freak out about abandoning them, and my new mac kept Boyf occupied on the way back.

The last night we spent in SLC, Boyf and I ate leftover food, drank good champagne (thanks Meredith!!!) and played golf on the parent's new Wii. Best. Christmas. Ever.

Note: see that scary, pointing building just to the center right of the picture? That's a jail, motherfuckers. We roll all intimidation-like in Gotham. Great lakefront views and stabbings in the shower. Obey the law, bitch.





Although the weather is gross, (and I take winter very personally), I got a few pictures of city streets before the snow turned city-gray and I was city-angry at Nature for being a huge mean c**t.

Feel free to compliment me. It's hard as heck to find pretty pictures to take this time of year...

Boyf and I went home to SLC for christmas, where my whole family fell in love with him, and I got to hold Kai, Jesse and Julia's new beebee.

Micki, Joe, Jess and Julia keep having kids to remind me that, had I stayed in Utah, I'd be married and preggers. I'd also have unlimited access to the best tomatoes on the planet. (Tomatoes in Chicago taste like library paste and cheap lies.) I'm very seriously considering bringing a cooler to fill with those sweet red gems next time I visit.

Over xmas, i talked with my parents and opted to take CNA training. The job hunt was going well, interview-wise, but most days I stayed at home and wished that boyf was really, really rich and ready for marriage and also insisted on a big allowance for his trophy wife. Of course, being a stay-at-home girlfriend is less exciting when there's nothing to do but watch daytime tv and complain to oneself.

Boyf pointed out that if i took a CNA class, I was sure to find a job JUST as soon as I paid for the entire program. Murphy's rule.

I got a job about two weeks after the class was over. Admin, at a non-profit home care company. So he was MOSTLY right, the jerk.

Haven't heard back from the interviewers. Going to a nursing home for 8 hours tomorrow. No income to speak of. Not in any shows or with one on the horizon. No plans with friends. Enjoying facebook and food.

This is why I take medication. To survive times like this.

I have two interviews at Northwestern today, one at 9am on the Evanston campus and one at 3pm downtown. I've interviewed with NW people for about 10 months now. I'm at the point where I just write down their name and the time, pretend I'm excited, and google what department they're in before I go.

Yes, working in the medical research/ student affairs/ accounting/ records department IS my five year plan, ma'am.

BUT! Boyf explained that, since I already payed 1/3 of my nursing school tuition, I was nearly guaranteed to nab one of these jobs.  Let us all pray my old friend Irony is on my side.

Facebook was bad enough. On facebook, you see, everyone uses their real name, so you can search for people. Also, nearly everyone I know has a profile. Naturally, I assume that everyone uses facebook to talk about me all the time. People do that, right? Talk about me? Constantly? Because the Hate that I inspire is consuming and facinating and nearly admirable in magnitude?

Now, while my laptop is in the shop, I'm using Boyf's computer. All his passwords pop up automatically (as these: ***, but still). He has the sites he visits most tagged across the top of the browser window. (browser window? is that right? meh.) when I type in gmail.com, his inbox pops up half the time.  Who has a computer like this, all open and exposed?

It's driving me crazy because I want to read everything he ever wrote about me or any other girls or that people said to him ABOUT me or maybe his secret website 'imdatingjadybrookstoeventuallybreakherheart' with a secret message board where people talk and laugh about how crazy and awful I am.  Yet Boyf doesn't even read my blog, to respect my privacy. He'll be reading THIS post, reader-san, but only because I'm emailing it to him too. You can too, if y'all want to be sure he knows. (sorry to burst any bubbles, but he won't find this rant unusual...for me)



I really, REALLY need my laptop back.


edited to add: boyf will be registering imdatingjadybrookstoeventuallybreakherheart.com as soon as he finishes teasing me for being crazy. Which will be sometime around never.

also, getting my mac back tomorrow!

I'm making a pot of chickpeas on the stove (with cajun seasoning, DELICIOUS either cold or hot), praying for my textbook to come in the mail tomorrow, reading my other textbook, Re-reading Watchmen (please let them take out the fucktard Pirate comic book story-within-a-story for the film), and trying to remain calm.

 Calm is not my best skill.

Nursing is completely, utterly different for copy-editing, which means I've made a career change. Laughingly, I say career....No-one other than an Olsen twin has a true career at 23. Still, nursing is the photo negative of freelance editing work. I'm very nervous.

Will I make friends?

Will I suck at this?

Will I be the Rich White Girl?

Will changing sheets with a patient IN the bed be a freakin' crazy skill to master?

Maybe, hope not, probably, hell yes.

I'm not calm, reader-san. Not calm at all.