There are advantages to not making any money

Because I quit my job last April for health reasons (mental, physical, and emotional) I made about $10K less this year than last year. I also paid out heaping sums of money for school. What this means is that I am going to get a whopping $1500 back on my taxes this year. That will pay off the balance on one of my credit cards! Yay!

I feel so much better now.

Other than the migraine and my retwisted back. Grrr.

Nothing exciting to say

Except that I got stuck on a technicality in the rewrite and I've posted a short excerpt on my writing blog.

I am someone's crazy ex-girlfriend

The thing about writing is that you have to let yourself see situations from every angle. You have to leave your much-loved protagonist's mind and step on in to the antagonist's. Having been on a rewriting spree lately, I've been in this frame of mind quite a bit. So when the discussion a few nights ago turned to ex-boy/girlfriends, the title statement of this post popped into my head.

Now, I like to think I'm relatively well-adjusted now. Granted, I'm a cranky bitch when I'm over-tired or under-fed, but hey... no one's perfect all the time, eh? However, I acknowledge that this was not always the case.

In telling the story of my bizarre and angsty on-again off-again relationship with my college boyfriend who will remain unnamed (though I will say that my villian Zorikaner's first name is Daviel because David didn't work with my naming conventions... cough cough), I realized that while he was my ass of an ex-boyfriend with definite alcoholic tendencies, I was his nutty, slightly clinging and martyred girlfriend.

Seriously. I cringe when I think of some of the melodramatic and overly sincere emails I sent during those years. All 4 of them--years, not emails. However, I would like to say that I also still kick myself for answering long-distance collect calls from him at 3 in the morning. (A semi-regular occurrance, sadly)

Anyway...

Past the 95K mark on the rewrite. Started student teaching unofficially a little early. Desperately need to get some exercise. I feel like a slug.

Until next time...

Word by Word

Been on a roll the last couple days. I'm now over 90K on the rewrite of Revival. Next time I get stuck... (which will be after the rescue scene when I have to come up with a new ending. In other words, in about 10K)... I think I'll post a few excerpts on my writing blog. Usually it just takes time away from getting the darn thing finished, but since I have to go back and reread a few sections before I can get the darn thing tied up in a non-farcical ending, I might as well pull some of the good parts.

But for now... laundry.

WHACK!

So. Saturday night I threw my back out. My upper back, that is, so I couldn't turn my head. Now, that alone sucks a lot. It's the kind of pain that's so intense you just don't notice much else. Forming words that don't sound like moans or whimpers becomes an all-consuming struggle.

Last night after I got home from work, I was changing into my pajamas and I noticed this enormous bruise on my arm. ENORMOUS. About 2.5 inches by 4 inches on my left bicep. And it wasn't an ordinary bruise, either. No siree. This sucker was dead purple in the center (about a 1 inch oval) and a flaming turquoise all around that. Looked like it was painted on my arm. (What I really don't understand is how I didn't notice this as I changed out of my uniform shirt and into my sweater to go home... but anyway.)

And as I stared at this mega-bruise with my jaw hanging down like a moron, I remembered how it must have happened.

Right after I got to work I ended up having to check a guest in. Normally we take care of their paperwork and hand them off to the concierge who walks them up to their room and gives them the spiel about all the amenities we offer. However, the guys were busy with other guests so I ended up walking the gentleman up to his room.

The door had been blocked open with a towel - as the housekeepers do when they're cleaning - so I thought that maybe they were still inside. I rushed ahead to check and WHACKED my arm on the wrought-iron door handle. (Remember that I was unable to turn my head yesterday.) The pain didn't really register because I was already in such agony over my back/neck. But now, looking at the bruise and thinking back... DAMN. I hit that sucker HARD.

So I'm off to work again, hoping that I manage to get through the evening without inflicting more gruesome damage upon myself.

Owie.

Update: working for famous people does not make you important.

So right now we are in the middle of the Sundance Film Festival insanity up in Park City. What does this mean for us lowly hospitality workers?

1. We get more calls from people saying "Yeah, well, Jen and Brad think they might want to come after all. And Maggie definitely wants to get out of the place she's in now. Do you have rooms? And I know they make like, ten million dollars a year, but can you do discounts for them?" (No, I'm not joking.)

2. The town looks like a giant funeral - lots of black. Black hats, black scarves, black sunglasses, black leather, black... you get the idea.

3. They ate all the damn wheat bread at my favorite sandwich shop. Bastards. I'm local. I eat there two or three times a week. Does this mean nothing? Argh.

4. It takes a extra half hour to drive to work. And yesterday afternoon, took an extra half hour to get home again.

Anyway... is it any wonder that I'm not giddy with the prospect of possibly sighting a celebrity? Oooh, aaaaah. Big deal.

Uh Oh

It's all over now. I've passed from tired and sort of weepy into SUPER MANIC HIGH. Aaaggghhhhh!!!

heh heh

Why I should go to bed on time

So, I usually get home from work around midnight, give or take 15 minutes depending on the weather and road conditions. Now, the other day I went to Cockbuster... I mean Blockbuster, and rented some movies. Because Jay's in Seattle partying... I mean schmoozing... I mean at a conference. For work. School. Whatever the hell he does up at the U. Yeah, that. So I got the movies to go with my frozen pizza and my cookies and the two paperbacks I bought at the grocery store BECAUSE I FELT LIKE IT. The first was American Wedding - which was fan-fuckin-tasically hilarious. (Had to slip in the "fuckin" infix, as described by my linguistics teacher at Dartmouth. Love that Ivy League, Baby.)

No, I am not drunk, just tired. Hence the title of the post.

As I was saying.... what was I saying? So the movies are due back tomorrow because Cocksucker... damn it, I mean... Blockbuster wants them back in 48 hours BY NOON or damnit, they will have your SOUL!!!! Uh, I mean, *MY* SOUL!!!!! So I watched the second one which was a girly sappy-ass movie, the title of which I refuse to divulge to any of you. So there. And now it's 2 AM Mountain Standard (or is it Daylight now?) Time and I am alone and therefore have no one to stop me from writing this ridiculous entry. HAH! I knew there was a point in there somewhere.

Actually, there might not have been any point in there, but damn if I don't feel better, eh?

Now I will go finish off my frickity-fracking "flee-from-the-Guard-into-the-Raiders-and-lots-of-people-die-in-gruesome-ways-or-are-taken-captive-or-not" scene that I started this morning. Yeah.

And THEN I will go to bed. (Because clearly that's where I should be already, isn't it?)

Name Change

My senior year of college, I had this wacko roommate. Ah... well, actually I had two wacko roommates, but one was mostly wacko because her shrink had her doped to the gills on anti-depressants and (god-only-knows-why) anti-psychotics. This entry is not about her.

It's about the other wacko.

Now this chick was nutty, but deceptively so. At first, we thought she was pretty cool. But then we would come home and find her on the futon, watching our TV with some guy, and her mini-skirt would have slid all the way up to her hips so that we could see her underwear. And her underwear was kind of... little-kid-ish... cotton with hearts or bears or flowers on them. Weird.

But that's not what this entry is about either.

No. See, wacko chick seemed to think that I needed extra explanation about reality. And she would punctuate every statement with "Katheeeeeee" "Okay, Katheeeee?" "No, Katheeeeeeeeee, it's not like that." You get the idea. After graduation, I became Kate. Not Kathy, not Katie, just Kate. One syllable, not much you can do to warp it. But I can still hear her f*kd up little voice saying, "But, Katheeeeeeeee."

Ugh. Shudder shudder.

Election Stuff

Since the whole presidential stuff is fast coming upon us, I thought I would finally get around to doing some more reading on the candidates. Vote Smart seems to be a fairly comprehensive site. I think the negative sites are funny and sometimes a better indicator of whether I'll like the candidate or not. That way, if the things "they" think are wrong with the person are the same things "they" would think were wrong with me... well, I know I've found someone I need to take a closer look at.

Gossip Queen

I think that should be my new title at work. Mind you, I'm not the one spread the gossip, but people tell me all sorts of shit and then say "Uh, don't pass that on, I didn't intend to tell anyone that."

This isn't a new phenomenon either. I knew all the dirt at the Big Evil Hotel, too. And before that at the Grand Canyon, I knew all the good tidbits as well. People who hated each other would talk to me about the other person, knowing full well that I spoke to their enemy on a regular basis. Why? Beats me.

One of the HR Directors I've worked with (who happened to be younger than me) explained it like this. "You're like Canada. No one really cares what you think, but they know that you won't be all judgemental." I think the fact that I never share anything that someone asks me not to helps as well. I'm also not really interested in the office politics and career building that many of my colleagues are. For me, hospitality isn't a life-time thing. It's just a job I do while I finish grad school and work on a real career. (Preferably writing, but teaching as a back-up.)

So, in short, I don't really know why people tell me their shit, but I do have some theories on the matter. All I know for sure is that I know more about the people I work with than is probably healthy for any of us. But hey, it does give me some neat ideas for stories... and I have the strangest dreams.

Say it five times fast

Otolaryngologist. Otolaryngologist. Otolaryngologist. Otolaryngologist. Otolaryngologist.

Yeah. That's the kind of doctor I need to go to to finally do something about not having been able to breath through my nose well for the last ten years. I mean, I CAN breathe through my nose if I'm totally relaxed (ie: sleeping under the influence of NyQuil) but otherwise, I'm pretty much a mouth-breather by necessity.

Over the christmas break, my dad said that he had really noticed the difference in my voice - much more nasal than it used to be. So he said to go get it checked out, and if they told me it was a purely cosmetic issue (again - I've been twice before when I was still in college) that he would pick up the tab. Awfully nice of him, considering that septorhinoplasty (correction of a damaged septum) run about 3-5000 dollars.

It would be nice to be able to breathe well again though. Hoping to get it over with in May - after student teaching is finished. Not really excited about the idea of someone slicing open my face and rearranging the part thought. Gak. Gives me the willies, or I would have done something about it before now.

Home again, Home again

Got in last night. We had a few flight delays due to the immense amount of snow that's been hitting Salt Lake for the past two weeks, but nothing major.

The trip was good - no melodrama to speak of. We spent about a week with my family in Pittsburgh and then headed to New Jersey by way of Arlington, Virginia and Baltimore, Maryland. Visited with my friend Kathryn whom I hadn't seen since 1999 and spent another night with Karen who had threatened to disown me if I didn't come visit before 2004. Snuck in just under the wire there.

The worst thing about the trip was sleeping on different, questionable surfaces. It may take another week for my back to recover. I think I can live with that.

I've posted my first assignment for the Two Year Novel Class on Forward Motion. I think the hardest part will be to maintain my progress on my current projects while moving forward with this one. Should be interesting in any case.

Happy New Year to you all.