Newest

Older

Profile

Notes

Dazzle Me

Contact

Buddies

Favorite Sites

Ad Report Card
Ah Yes, Medical School
Cute Overload
Crime Library
Crime Rant
DanjerusKurves
Diaryland
Dipsy Doodle
DJRainDog
Doghigh
Dooce
Doodle Zenovka
Dream Moods
Finslippy
Four Four
Fumbling With Needles
Going Loopy
Indexed
Knitting Spaz
James Lileks
Post Secret
Sarkasmo
Second Life
Southern Gal Knits
Suburban Bliss
Terra-Cottage
The Exceller Fund
Things My Boyfriend Says
TMZ
We Three Bitches
Wendy Knits
Yeahimadork

2006-12-20 - 11:01 p.m.

While You're Up...

I found out the other day that the farm owner and her pilot, in particular, are friends with Elton John. Apparently, the jet used to be rented for charter flights, and Sir Elton always requested her plane. Hmmmm.

So anyhoo, in the last few weeks, pilot guy has been getting lots of calls from salespeople, so I've passed them along via email (I'm not supposed to give out his number, which is no problem, because I don't know it). He always writes back little thank you's. But today when he wrote back with a thanks, he also apologized for all the calls I've been having to relay, and wished me a happy holiday.

Now, normally I wouldn't do this, but since I'm leaving....I wrote back that it was no problem at all, mentioned I was resigning at the end of the month, and then added this P.S.: "The other day I heard someone say you're friends with Elton John. Is that true? If so, neato! Next time you talk to him, tell him Halo in Kentucky is a big fan!"

Why the fuck not, ya know? I'll probably find out they haven't talked in 10 years, but then again, who knows?

Of course, I'm secretly hoping that 3 months from now I'll get an autographed photo of Elton forwarded to me ("You're the best, love!")

And also, that it will rain teensy bunnies that I can wrap up in fuzzy warm blankets and coddle.

Stranger things have happened.

In other news (speaking of strange), bossman has yet to ply me with projects and get in a big micro-managerial panic/hissy fit. Then again, he hasn't been in the office much the last few days. Meanwhile, I've been busy wrapping things up, updating documents, deleting old files and emails, and drafting a basic list of things I do on a daily/weekly/monthly basis (I'll filled up an entire page with tasks, and have started another).

I have no idea if he's trying to get someone in (at least on a temp basis) before I leave or not. I did some snooping around on the local paper website and didn't see any classifieds that matched. And every day that he doesn't bother me about "transitional items" is a huge relief, yet I have to wonder why he's wasting the time I have left.

The things I have left to finish up (not imperative, but I'd like to get them done if possible for my own peace of mind) are enough to keep me busy through next Friday. So if/when he finally does pop up with this, that and the other, I simply may not have enough time. You snooze, you lose, fuckface. And I'm trying to be nice.

By the way, check this out: While I was snooping around online looking for an ad for my replacement, I found at least 2 jobs I'm totally qualified for (one pays less than I make now, but it's for a non-profit), and 1 job that was intriguing (photographer's assistant). All related to the horse industry, to boot.

I'll probably go ahead and apply, even though I still desperately want/need to take some time off. If they're interested and don't need someone right away, well, goody gumdrops. We shall see. At any rate, it's encouraging to see the job market jumping (for now).

And speaking of applying, I printed out an application for a passport! I'm one step closer! By the way, did you know that next year a passport will be required for travel from the U.S. to Canada and Mexico? The new rules go into effect at different times depending on your method of travel - air, sea, land, or spaceship (Tom Cruise).

While we're on the subject of travel and cruises: I had this awesome dream about a murder mystery cruise that went from port to port. But part of it involved being dropped off at various Holiday Inns in Louisiana (?? Like I know). Teams of two had about 10 minutes to take in each "crime scene." Between stops, teams would get paired up on the ship with other teams to compare notes and review new information, but since all the teams were in competition, we had to be careful about revealing too much, while trying to glean info from others and vice-versa. At one point, my teammate and I were seated across from Law & Order's Vincent D'Onofrio. I put my fingers together in a tent formation. "This guy's good. Oh yes. He's smart and clever. But he may have met his match." (raised eyebrow)

The only other parts of the dream I remember involved nude from the waist-down poker (I was frazzled trying to find my green sweater that covered my ass), being freaked about someone coming in my apartment while I was gone and taking out the trash ("Well, George Clooney does have a key...but why would he take out my trash?") and being on a tour group and someone telling me I HAD to try out the big flat shoes carved out of bark in an interactive museum display of "ancient" hillbilly culture.

Perhaps I just have too much on my mind these days with the whole quitting thing on my plate. And I need to get laid. Or be the, um, lair.

I have half a mind to jump my new and tall (*swoon*) neighbor Jason, next time I see him walking his mostly blind dog who sniffs heartily and bumps into things. Well, he wasn't walking the dog exactly. He was drinking a longneck (OMG! *swoooooon*) and letting the dog run around freely. At night. Like it mattered to the damn dog. Sniff. bump. Snnnnifffff. Bonk.

I introduced him to my dogs. "That's Buddy. He loves everyone, but he's jumpy. And this is SweetPea. She's sweet and shy, but she's a gribble."

"Oh," he replied. "Is that your last name?"

"Ohhh...noooo, she's a gribble in that she's sassy. Saucy. Territorial. Henceforth, gribbly. Um, gribble is one of my made-up words. I'm silly that way."

"Heh. Ok."

I stood there in my goofy knitted oversized cap looking at the sidewalk, then up at him, then back at our dogs, sniffing and playing with each other.

He thinks I'm completely retarded. Or he's charmed. By my retardness?

He suddenly blurted out "I hear you're a dog lover."

(Obviously. NOW who's the 'tard?)

"Oh, um...from who?"

"I was walking by one day, and your dogs were on the balcony and they mentioned you really liked dogs."

(They WHO?)

"Well," I replied. "That's right. They're my babes. They were both homeless. Found them at different times...Yep. Love animals."

"Yeah," he said. "Me too. Jackson's getting old and can barely see, but we do just fine. Anyway, we should probably be getting back. Nice meeting ya. I'm Jason, by the way."

"I'm Halo. Nice to meet you too. Jason and Jackson. That's cute! And easy to remember."

"Yep, take the 'ck' out of his name, and you got mine."

"Well, alrighty then. I'd best collect my dogs and get inside. Have a good night."

"You too!" he replied. Then he whistled for Jackson.

By that point, I'd let both dogs off their leashes so they wouldn't get tangled up wrapping themselves around the newcomers. SweetPea had planted herself at my feet ("Ohhhh, she's a momma's girl!"), but Buddy had plum run off into the night. Jason offered to help look for him, but I said "Nah, he'll be back."

I went inside and Buddy came to the door about 15 minutes later. Little bastard. He usually stays close by if there's another new dog in the vicinity (and he always listens to men when they call him back). Not that time. He had things to do, things to sniff. Things to poop upon. It's good for him to get out and stretch his legs and run, but it scares the bejesus outta me at the same time.

Meanwhile, I was stewing over looking like a dork in front of my new neighbor.

Chances are, I'll probably never see him again. But if I do, I'll be ready:

"My, it's awfully cold tonight. All I've got on is this green sweater. I'm feisty and time's a'wastin', boy!"

And when we wake up satiated and exhausted in the morning, with our limbs interwined, and 3 dogs huddled up in a heap on the floor, I'll roll over and say "My darling...mmmm. Thank you. Yum yum. Now before you say anything: I don't want your number. I don't want to know which unit you live in. I don't need to know the name of the girlfriend you cheated on, and I don't need to see you again. But if you could make a pot of coffee, and take the trash on your way out, that'd be wonderful. And you know what, while you're up, you might as well go ahead and ravish me again. Then bye bye, honey."

If you're going to get somethin' somethin', might as well GET something ELSE, ya know?

But I'm still partial to George Clooney. We shall see.