tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-107575222024-03-07T21:56:25.473-05:00What One Girl KnowsThe ramblings of a 31-year old writer with two mischievious cats, one neurotic dog, a gregarious husband, an ongoing desire for Indian food and classic movies, and way too many idiosyncrasies for her own good.Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.comBlogger231125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-72762476237039218712008-03-15T16:00:00.002-04:002008-03-15T16:12:51.735-04:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;">I know that Blogger has switched to the 'sign in through gmail' route for a while now ... but I still don't like it. I have a mental block about my gmail password (probably because I begrudge the fact I had to sign up for a gmail account at all), so every time I try to post a new entry I have to reset my password. Blech to technology. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;">The whole pharmaceuticals <a href="http://www.cnn.com/2008/HEALTH/03/11/pharma.waterfish.ap/index.html">in the water </a>situation is also almost too gross for words. Female fish are developing male traits, vultures are dying from kidney failure, and the official story from the EPA is that they don't "have all the data" yet to determine a plan of action. Or to even determine if this unhealthy to humans ... but how could it not? Why would I want to drink water tainted with traces of anti-psychotic medicine, estrogen, veterinarian-prescribed antibiotics? </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;">Our national policies are amazing sometimes. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#339999;"></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-8138534767584620232008-02-08T21:29:00.000-05:002008-12-08T19:24:07.874-05:00<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK6npzahnxn75zwM5ZbRPDqolCAxy39UgnynI-jX5bEOOUemEk6UCng6K08H5Aj_9ej6cXxZGzQiJJkgRfD3vr4Od1Rd-okvbutdfGb5fD-HL7U2eg6BPXduTIaSdQ9ZnXsjf/s1600-h/PICT0545.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5164802860429020338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFK6npzahnxn75zwM5ZbRPDqolCAxy39UgnynI-jX5bEOOUemEk6UCng6K08H5Aj_9ej6cXxZGzQiJJkgRfD3vr4Od1Rd-okvbutdfGb5fD-HL7U2eg6BPXduTIaSdQ9ZnXsjf/s320/PICT0545.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><span style="color:#993399;">Ella (a.k.a. Ellie) in a candid cat moment.</span><br /><span style="color:#993399;"></span><br /><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">Jason and I came home from work (work! work! Who invented work anyway?) earlier tonight to find the electricity down. A fitting end to a week of modern mis-wonders. On Tuesday night (late, because these sorts of things only happen late at night) while walking Piper, Jason and I smelled gas outside the house. There was a large leak in the main gas line, so we had no hot water, heat or stove for a day and a half. I know it could have been much worse. A gas leak is serious. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">And our electricity is on now ... we went out for Mexican food (shrimp, mushroom and spinach quesadillas!) and the power was back on when we came back. So I should stop complaining. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">Oh, but complaining is what I do best. Especially about work. Especially when we are understaffed and underpaid at work, and the constant drudgery makes me feel like knocking my head against my ever-increasingly dusty desk. And wow -- I am such a "reliable" little worker bee. Good for me. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">Most of us will waste our life away working, trapped in gray cubicles (and that only if we're lucky), daydreaming about what we'd rather be doing 40-60 hours a week. Then we come home and crash on the couch, too tired and miserable to do anything but watch TV. Or, if you're me, watch Netflixed movies and knit way too many hats/scarves/bags/ponchos. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">And then, if we're lucky enough to retire with a pension of any kind, most of us will spend most of the rest of our lives feeling aimless and incomplete, missing the quiet routine of 8-5. Watching television, buying lottery tickets, maybe a crossword puzzle or two. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">A co-worker was "let go" earlier this week. She called me this morning -- she's delighted to be severed from her life as an administrative assistant, to have her severance pay and unemployment, to finally be able to go back to school to finish her degree, to move away from this city of endless yellow bridges, to go forward in life.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#993399;">I am delighted for her. And I am so very jealous. </span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-82694935719539592642007-03-04T00:06:00.000-05:002007-03-04T00:11:33.974-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;">In Dunkirk for the night. Tomorrow afternoon we go home to the cats and to prepare for another week of 8:30-5. I'm glad I'm not on the twilight shift anymore. Very very very very glad. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;">Jason's on new medication for his bladder infection. It's the last resort -- if this one proves inefficient, the doctor thinks he might have to have his bladder removed. Within the year. But so far so good. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;">What else? We tortured ourselves by getting an oil change at Wal-mart. We were there for over two hours, and Jason kept talking about getting a butterfly net. I'm not sure what the connection is there, except the automotive section's caddycorner to fishing/hunting/butterfly netting. I did get half a yard of neat Elvis material, and sewed Audrey another pillow once we got home. It has four squares of young Elvis dancing with a microphone. I think Jason's the only one in the world who prefers fat, cap-adorned Elvis. </span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-19293918221719751882007-02-21T18:30:00.000-05:002007-02-21T18:31:34.441-05:00<span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Blogger just pressured me into getting a Gmail account and switching to the nifty-sifty bloggy thingy. I don't like getting pressured.</p></span><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Must go hear a talk on genocide now. At least I have a blue cupcake in my bag.</p></span>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1171073281909843672007-02-09T20:33:00.000-05:002007-02-09T21:08:01.930-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><p>"Visit to the Zoo" (a poem about my mother scaling an empty animal cage fence at the Honolulu Zoo for a peacock feather) was accepted to <em>Inkwell </em>two days ago. And then, umm, it was accepted to <em>SLANT </em>yesterday.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><p>After a few minutes of freaking out Wendi-style, I composed a polite letter to SLANT (a lit journal, by the way, that doesn't accept simultaneous submissions) describing the situation and apologizing. Jason told me no one paid any attention to the no-simultaneous submission policies, because no lit magazine ever chose the same poem. Much less in two days, right??</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><p>I've only written one poem in the past two weeks. My shift change (2-10 -- so far a temporary situation) and my new zeal for my Hello Kitty sewing machine makes it hard to concentrate. Plus Jason was sick again; he had to go back to Dunkirk this past Monday to have out-patient surgery AGAIN. Now he's on medication for a bacterial infection.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"><p>What I've sewed so far:</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">Jell-O green HK shirt</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">cloud pajama pants</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">an Elvis pillow </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">HK pillow with the leftover material</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;">half a blue silk shirt -- I need a visit to my Mom's to figure out the tricky collar situation.</span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></p></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#cc66cc;"></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1169765569950117462007-01-25T17:43:00.000-05:002007-01-25T17:52:49.953-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>Another poem has been accepted for publication. "Throat" to <em>Ship of Fools</em>. It took a bit of sleuthing to figure out which literary magazine it was, though -- the editor wrote on lined paper (no letter-head), and with no mention of which magazine he represented. But I figured it out.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>These acceptances are encouraging, though frankly, I'm not inspired to write anything at the moment. My temp assignment ends next Friday, and the supervisor of my supervisors took me aside and asked if I was interested in working permanently for the company. Now here's the weird part. I am. I like the 34th floor. I like researching stocks and bonds, and most of my co-workers (hmm, let's say 96%). It seems so remote to the rest of my life, my identity as a writer, that it feels refreshing. She mentioned one twilight shift (2-10 PM) and God knows how many night shifts (midnight-8:30 AM). I talked to Jason about the twilight shift, and decided the hours were really better for me. I hate getting up in the morning, and I like to write late at night. But when I spoke to the supervisor, she said she'd forgotten they offered the position to someone a few days before she spoke to me. So far, no word on whether that someone accepted it or not.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>I felt crushed. Is that weird? I kind of think it is. My goal in life is to become a published writer and creative writing teacher, not a financial personnel. So this twist is a bit startling.</p></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>My computer time at the library's about to end. Must get internet again at home soon!</p></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1169316230107981112007-01-20T12:55:00.000-05:002007-01-20T13:03:50.106-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>Am wearing my new turqouise and brown cowboy boots, dressed like a cowgirl. Well, kind of -- I guess cowgirls wear pigtails.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>Jason's mother's surgery went well. At first, her leg was so blocked they couldn't insert the stint. And then, once the stint was in place, her blood pressure dropped, so they had to go back in and re-insert it. She's at home now, with no pain and a lot more energy. Jason came home last night -- picked me up from work, actually, which was great, because I bought my cowboy boots during lunch, and lugging it home on the bus wouldn't have been much fun.</p></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>Rumour is Dan Jackson has a girlfriend!! Woo-woo. He should EMAIL ME and tell me about it sometime.</p></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>My posts are always so schizo. I'm a subject-jumper. There's a couple of movies (Little Children, Miss Potter, and The Painted Veil) that I want to see at the theatre, but we can't ever seem to find the time to go.</p></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1168803093370282702007-01-14T14:24:00.000-05:002007-01-14T14:31:33.386-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Wow. Just realized what a showboat I am. I never mentioned the BIG, BIG news, that Jason won the Pavement Saw first book award. Right now he's wrangling over his table of contents with the Editor. It's exciting to say the least. His poem, "Barcelona," was also recently accepted by Pearl.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>In toot-my-own-horn news, my poem "Portrait of Marriage" was accepted by Plainsongs, a lit journal from Nebraska. Two poems so far this reading period -- I think that's not bad. Another couple this year would make me ecstatic. Oh yeah, and a published story would be verrrry good too. Seeing as I'm supposed to be a fiction writer and all.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>The problem with working full-time is the lack of time leftover for writing. The last time I wrote a poem was the week before Christmas, a first draft of a story the first of December. I'm slacking off.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Jason came back from his outpatient surgery in Dunkirk Saturday afternoon, good as new. No more hunching over from the pain, pale cheeks and low grade fever. He goes back to Dunkirk Tuesday night, for his mother's surgery.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Much obsessive nail-painting. Today it's black, yesterday glittery purple. Lipstick too. Jason said, "Hey, what's going on here?"</p></span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1168382611194998372007-01-09T17:40:00.000-05:002007-01-09T17:43:31.230-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>I've discovered that the 9-5 job brings out the consumer in me. The superficiality in me as well. Today I went to Eckerds and bought a tube of hair conditioner and lipstick in a bruised red color. That's part of my New Year's Resolution -- to be more conscious of my appearance. I'm working into it slowly -- jewelry first, then nails, hair, lipstick, clothes. It probably won't last very long, seeing as I'm more inclined to spend my free time NOT in front of the mirror.</span><span style="color:#33ccff;"></p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Jason has been ill, biding time before his scheduled appointment with the urologist. Poor Jasey.</p></span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1167111202182837842006-12-26T00:25:00.000-05:002006-12-26T00:33:22.183-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>A nice Christmas. Now I'm sad about leaving. I miss my family when I'm in Pittsburgh.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>This year's present theme was Hello Kitty. A calendar, two toothbrushes (Hello Kitty cowgirl and Hello Kitty something involving a pink dragon), bubble bath, bedsheets and pillowcases, Pez dispenser, and a blue sewing machine on its way.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"><p>Reg invited a friend over for Christmas dinner -- a shy guy from Wendy's -- and afterwards everyone piled into the van for <em>Marie Antoinette</em> at the dollar movie theatre. I appreciated the fashion ideas, and a few long, lingering camera shots of Kirsten Dunst staring vacantly into open fields, but otherwise the movie was a disappointment. And the quick shot of Converse sneakers in the shoe-frenzy montage seemed heavy-handed and clumsy rather than clever. Maybe we should have really gone and seen <em>Happy Feet</em>? But -- the fashion was very very good. Especially now, when I'm having daydreams about all the skirts I'm going to make on the new sewing machine.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#66cccc;"></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1167008155826359982006-12-24T19:45:00.001-05:002006-12-24T19:57:10.716-05:00<div align="justify"><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6977/845/1600/252703/PICT3090.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6977/845/200/653128/PICT3090.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6977/845/1600/492611/PICT3047.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6977/845/200/575012/PICT3047.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>More pictures. Ella as a cowgirl, Jason being scandalous at the Duquesne Incline. </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;">So far, we've had a busy Christmas Eve. Lots of last minute shopping -- I always have a mild freak-out at the last moment, thinking that I didn't buy enough presents -- so I go out and buy some more. We also went to a new used bookstore in the Hamburg Pavillion, which was AMAZING. Not Strand majestic, but far better than anything we have in Pittsburg. I bought an Alice Munro book for $3.99, and there were dozens of other well-priced, well-preserved books I coveted.</p> </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Then dinner at the local Chinese buffet. A bit disappointing -- no crab tonight, and the food was less tasty and fresh.</p> </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>An amazing amount of presents under the tree this year. So much it actually doesn't fit under the tree. I'm not quite sure what's happening. Maybe it's hoopla because Jason's spending his first Christmas here?</p> </span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1166935975577888762006-12-23T23:50:00.000-05:002006-12-23T23:52:55.580-05:00<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6977/845/1600/200051/PICT3167.jpg"><img style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6977/845/320/758265/PICT3167.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="color:#33ccff;">Ella, who doesn't really look like a kitten anymore.</span>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1166935071491657872006-12-23T23:37:00.000-05:002006-12-23T23:37:51.510-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;">Back in Kentucky, breaking my brother's laptop by typing too vigorously. </span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1165682510904594822006-12-09T11:40:00.000-05:002006-12-09T11:41:50.916-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;">A good week. Since Tuesday I've been temping at Mellon Financial, which provided me an opportunity about writing a self-deprecating poem about stocks and bonds tickets. I spoke to Susan Ryan about re-enrolling at the University of Louisville and finally getting that pesky MA in Lit. AND -- Karamu accepted a poem!!!! "Salvation, Snow" will be published in the Spring 2008 issue. Only hope I have the patience to wait that long. </span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1164335606062878232006-11-23T21:25:00.000-05:002006-11-23T21:33:26.063-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Got the font color back, luckily. Thanksgiving away from home. Jason, Jee Leong and I are in Dunkirk, resting from a festive dinner at Jason's uncle's house. It was a nice dinner -- Kelsey and Abby, Aiesha's little girls were especially hyper-cute, but I miss home. :( I am a homey-type girl.<p/></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Will skip early morning black Friday rituals. It's not fun without my Mom, anyway. Instead, we might grocery shop for Jasey's mom</span><span style="color:#33ccff;">, and then spend a few hours with Jason's father. Then back to Pittsburgh, hopefully in time to show Jee Leong the glory of the <a href="http://www.incline.cc/">Duquesne Incline</a>.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1164334166641613442006-11-23T21:09:00.000-05:002006-11-23T21:09:26.660-05:00Hey, no option for font color is showing up! That makes me cross.Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1163708468067398862006-11-16T15:16:00.000-05:002006-11-16T15:21:08.133-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Just returned from my interview at the library. I want this job! The hours are good, even though it's only 20 a week, and there are BOOKS lining the walls! Books!!!!!!! I want to work somewhere filled with books. And the higher-uppers seemed nice, too. And did I mention the books?</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Another interview tomorrow morning with a temp service. Blah. I want to work in the library.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Jason tried to read our gas gauge thingy (to the house), and the customer service rep at Dominion Peoples told him that if the reading is accurate, our next bill will be $1,000!!!! I went outside and noticed a suspicious green tape around the pipe, which had been broken off. Is there a gas leak? Someone's coming to check it out on Saturday, between 7 and 4 PM.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Why is Dominion Peoples not Dominion People? That bothers me to no end.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Oh-- Jee Leong is coming to Pittsburgh/Dunkirk for Thanksgiving! Yay -- we miss that Taskmaster.</p></span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1163452275402584652006-11-13T16:07:00.000-05:002006-11-13T16:11:15.420-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Dinner at the Indian restaurant was a fiasco, though the food was very good as well as reasonably priced.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>The first part of today was very productive -- knit like mad, gave Piper a much needed bath, read, wrote more of the story I'm working on, and watched <em>The Apartment</em> with Jack Lemmon. Which I liked very much -- I just found it puzzling that the blurb on the DVD case called it a "frolicking comedy" (or something to that nature). It wasn't very funny to me. Anyway, Jason came home early from work today, with the news that they only have enough "stuff" for him to do on Wednesday, that's it for the week. I have the interview on Thursday, but even if I get the job, it'll only be part-time. So right now I'm thinking about applying to other part-timeish type jobs, or finally, finally contacting Kelly Services and becoming a temp again.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><em> </em></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1163269196079601092006-11-11T13:14:00.000-05:002006-11-11T13:19:56.093-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Vegetarian Indian restaurant tonight with Ben, Nina, and Nina's new boyfriend. Hope it's a good time. Back at Squirrel Hill, just to find out that Bathtub Gin isn't taking poetry submissions until June of next year! Which annoys me, because I wrote a really weird poem last night ("Nursery Rhymes in the Long Green," inspired by Frances Farmers' autobiography) that went well with the packet I wanted to send them. Also, Glimmertrain and One Story are still "in process" of reviewing "Bouquet." And -- I'm impatient.</p> </span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>At home we've been having a Tennessee Williams festival. A few weeks ago we watched Night of the Blue Iguana. Yesterday -- Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. And we borrowed Rose Tattoo from the library. I've learned bits and pieces about Williams' lives from the biographies I've been reading lately -- Carson McCullers and Truman Capote were both friends of his. Soon it might be time to actually read a biography about him.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>The spinach rolls from the Turkish deli were good, but a tad dry. And for $1.25, I thought it might have a little more feta cheese.</p></span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1163190672152914362006-11-10T15:24:00.000-05:002006-11-10T15:31:12.260-05:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"><p>Back in Pittsburgh. Jason and I are running errands in town. Right now we're in the Squirrel Hill library (derth of books, but free internet and lots of computer terminals). Afterwards, to Target for more printer ink -- we're going through a cartridge every three weeks, due to the amount of work we've been printing out and submitting. There are also yummy spinach rolls in the car just waiting to be devoured!</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"><p>Jason's mom has been out of work for a month now, waiting for her vascular doctor to set up a surgery date -- she needs stints put in her leg. He can't give her an actual date (sometime after Thanksgiving??) or even bother to fax back her disability papers. Grrr. Her birthday's on Tuesday, and if neither of us are working, we plan on driving up there for a day trip.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"><p>I just started looking for work again, and have an interview for a part-time library position on Thursday. Hopefully it's very low key, data entry and filing, that sort of thing. I like the idea of working in a library very much. Also, it'll give me a much better idea of whether I should invest my money and time into a MLS degree.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#9999ff;"><p>This morning Ella rode on Piper's back like a rodeo! For almost thirty seconds. Very exciting, daredevil stuff. She's also still tightrope walking across the back of the kitchen chairs, and attempting chin-ups by hanging onto the kitchen cabinets and pulling herself up by her paws.</p></span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1161101740151425022006-10-17T12:04:00.000-04:002006-10-17T12:15:40.170-04:00<a href="http://images-jp.amazon.com/images/P/B000BX2Q5S.01.IN01.LZZZZZZZ.jpg"><img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://images-jp.amazon.com/images/P/B000BX2Q5S.01.IN01.LZZZZZZZ.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div align="justify"> <span style="color:#33ccff;">This is the video game I covet. <em>Rule of Rose</em>. It's about 1930's England, juvenile girls in some strange cult called the Red Crayon Family, all told in a fairytale format. Also, it's a survival horror game. </span></div><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1161098541790344802006-10-17T11:18:00.000-04:002006-10-17T11:22:21.806-04:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;">Another drowsy morning in Kentucky. I need to really start a writing routine -- since Thursday night I've written 0 poems and 0 stories. It's like my writerly self is broken. Or just excessively distracted. Because in Pittsburgh Jas and I don't have a humongous projection screen HDTV television, much less cable. We also don't have a fenced-in backyard and screened in porch. Even my reading schedule has been knocked askew -- I finished Amanda Davis' <em>Wonder When You'll Miss Me </em>and just, just began Rebecca Godfrey's <em>The Torn Skirt</em>. </span></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1160967285895090072006-10-15T22:49:00.000-04:002006-10-15T22:54:45.906-04:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Finally got to see Pixar's <em>Cars</em> and liked it! Yes, I know that's kind of dorky. But I enjoy kid, pre-teen, and teen movies. For example: <em>Monsters Inc. </em>and <em>Sky High</em>. Not ashamed to admit it.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"></span> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>Considerably less enjoyable was the dollar theatre we saw <em>Cars</em> in -- located at the back of a shell of a Mall (with only five or so stores and a ghost-town food court). The theatre itself smelled vaguely like defrosted meat and dirty toes. Also, it was cold. But I guess I can't really complain when the movie was only 99 cents.</p></span></div><div align="justify"> </div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#33ccff;"><p>I'm in Kentucky for two weeks. I miss Jason! And Piper too, who I left behind to keep Jason company. The cats are with me, barricaded in my room, hissing at any approaching dogs or cats.</p></span><em> </em></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1160795531643730062006-10-13T23:11:00.000-04:002006-10-13T23:12:11.660-04:00<span style="color:#33ccff;">Melancholy. </span>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-10757522.post-1160094165687377522006-10-05T20:15:00.000-04:002006-10-05T20:22:45.706-04:00<div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;"><p>The weather's getting colder, which means I'm furrowing back into my knitting obsession. I'm going to sell some hats and scarves at a craft festival in Kentucky in a couple of weeks (using a tiny bit of space at my mom's booth). However. My lack of progress frustrates me. I ventured into felting bag land this summer, which was all howdy-doody. But -- I need to do something more. Like socks. Or (gasp) the inevitable sweater.</p></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;"></span></div><div align="justify"><span style="color:#00cccc;"><p>The problem is, knitting patterns remind me a little too much of high school math classes. My eyes cross. I get dizzy. My self-esteem plummets into the ground. I only knitted the felted tote bag (from pattern), because Jason's cousin Aiesha did it and told me it was easy ... and Aiesha hasn't been knitting for very long. I don't know if I could knit a sweater from a pattern.</p></p><p><p>And in related crafty news, I want a sewing machine. Specifically, a Hello Kitty sewing machine from Target. It's pink. I'm convinced that sewing would be infinitely easier than knitting. My mother used to sew matching muumuus and aloha shirts for our entire family -- though now she claims she sucked at sewing, and that it was a difficult and tedious hobby. I don't plan on sewing muumuus for anyone. Maybe lots of pajama pants though. And prairie skirts that fall to the ankle. That sort of thing.</p></span></p></div>Empress Girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12925908686755434939noreply@blogger.com0