I’ve been giving some thought to what I’m going to be if when (optimism for the win) I get a new job. Being an Astronaut has soured for me, so I need to find a new code profession for what I do.

Job titles I am considering:

• Farmer’s Daughter – Milking cows, de-egging chickens, having sex with strangers in the hay. Life could be worse.
• Rock Flautist – Think Jethro Tull or the chick from the Polyphonic Spree. I’ve never played a flute before in my life, but the title “Rock Flautist” makes me giggle.
• Executive Butter Churner – If I’m going to churn butter, you better believe I’m going to do it at the highest level possible
• Secret Secret Agent – So secret, the other agents don’t know I exist!
• Rogue ADAM Harvester – I spent the morning playing Bioshock, and frankly, those sea slugs look like they might be good on toast
• Verbal Gymnast – Back flip! Cartwheel! Naked somersault! Handspring!
• Professional Forum Troll – It’s a hard market to break into; there are already so many pros out there
• Gordon Freeman – I don’t think I’ve ever wielded a crowbar, but I assume I would be excellent at it. The facial hair and silence might pose some challenges, though
• You – I was Time’s Person of the Year for 2006. Why isn’t this on my resume yet?

I think I may need to give this some more thought.

Confidential to the woman who wouldn’t lend me a ladder as an 8-year old, saying “No dear, because I’m pregnant – there’s a baby in my belly”: My question was “do you have a ladder I could borrow because I’m locked out of my house”, not “would you like to ride bikes with me and try this wine I found”. Also, I was 8 and not 4 – I knew damn well you were pregnant, and what that meant. I needed a LADDER, not a retelling of Waiting for Baby. You suck.

This old memory resurfaced last night as I was trying to fall asleep, and I felt it really needed to be addressed. My indignation at being talked down to was almost as fresh as it was the day I left my keys in my other jacket and couldn’t get into the house after school; proof that I hold onto my grudges for WAY too long. I did eventually get into the house though, without a ladder – all it took was a screwdriver to pry the screen off the window to the den, and I crawled on through. I really fucked up the window, though. My dad wasn’t very impressed with that, even after I had tried to fix my damage with a hammer. I had to PEE! What else was I supposed to do, wait the 2+ hours until someone came home to rescue me? I loved being a latchkey kid, though. I got into so much trouble my parents never found out about in the few hours I was left to my own devices each day.

Crap and hell – I’m checking up on my references, and I can’t find one of them. Space Boss Charlie, my boss from the original Space Station, appears to be missing. Space Boss Charlie was awesome to work for and he promised to give me a super duper reference, which I still need. Even the internet is failing me on this one. This is why everyone should have an overly detailed blog, people. How am I supposed to go all Private Eye on your asses if you don’t make it easy for me?

I am waiting for UPS. They apparently have a package for me that I owe $6.78 on, and I don’t know what it is. I love presents, even if I more than likely bought it for myself. The mailman is here too, but he went next door first. I am sure he has goodies for me because I’ve gone on another online shopping spree to cheer myself up. Also, I just love getting things in the mail like the fancy rainbow styli below.

This life of leisure thing sure is boring.

Today is a good day to be staring out the window, waiting for the postman. He brought me not one or two but THREE of the things I was waiting for! He knows I’m waiting for things and also that I work from home, so he buzzes to let me know he’s here although that is quite unnecessary since gazing out the window is pretty much my job these days. Hooray! I am rolling around in the fruits of my internet labours!

The weekend turned out to be pretty good. On Friday night I coerced the gang into scooting to Richmond to go to the Night Market, as I had an itch that only meat on a stick could scratch. The ride down was a little traumatic – tempers flew much faster than Shan’s Scarabeo – but good times were had and the ride back was great fun.

Saturday was a lazy day; the weather threatened to ooze unmentionables all over us so scooting was out. We did not do much of anything – Ed and I wandered around an uninspiring Metrotown, then came home to nap and kill zombies. Sunday was looking to be much of the same, but the sun came out full force so I dragged Ed downtown for a scoot. I’d been wanting to check out Portobello West for some time, and with the lure of a Home Depot right next door, I was able to spend some time wandering around the designer wares untethered. Normally that would be dangerous, except I spent a great deal more money once Ed put in his appearance rather than being all sneaky and doing it while he was out perusing caulk across the street. My lust for gorgeous things well sated, we scooted to the beach for some ice cream and people watching before heading home for a relaxing evening of more zombies and scooter washing. Productive, sort of, but more importantly, fun.

I had a mild space-related panic attack last night. I am really not coping well with being actively loathed across the board, but some days are worse than others. Today I will bury myself in proposals and scented creams and try not let things bother me so much. For someone who is so universally thick-headed, I sure do have some awfully thin skin.

This week: Sushi! The PNE! Long distance scooter adventures! The start of Anniversary Month! YAY!