Spring Cleaning

Hippie-tastic I have been rightly accused of being; but when mold and mildew threaten my bathroom [climbed from the toliet bowl to rim to seat! ewwww!] I just start dumping good old fashioned Comet everywhere; I let it marinate for about 30 minutes, then I scrub scrub scrub scrub. Then I lock myself and the cats out, turn the fan on, and enjoy the white chemical purity of the bathroom for all of the two days it lasts until hair and toothpaste and soapscum ruin it all over again. Ah, entrophy.

I have to move in 3 weeks; I'll be homeless for about a month, though I have multiple offers of sofas and spare rooms and the like. I think the cats might be exiled to my parents' place; they'd like the vacation and my mum would love it. My father did offer, so he's screwed now.

I did some substantial [prolly about $600 worth] of damange to my right-hand passenger tail lights by some quick and ill-conceived backing up. The thing I hit was barely scratched, me, ruined. I wouldn't fix it but my parents are visiting to help my sis move this weekend and they, they will not like to see the car dinged up. So, hellloooo credit cards and Raintree. I'll wear my shortest skirt and flirt my bill cheaper [as everyone reccomends]. I hate cars, driving, gas prices, the Bush administration, and my own ill-conceived space-cadet driving. For about 11 months I have been good as gold to my baby car. It also has a menacing rattle and threatens not to start when I have under 1/4 tank. *shrug* I just don't care enough, nor do I drive it far enough.

I need to sweep and vacuum and scrub my floor [for the first time in 11 months, amazing how not living equals no messes. I would say that I should not cook and be miserable but I'm not sure that cleanliness is that worth it.] I have to start shoving shit in boxes and dissassembling my life. I'm not excited about this.

I like this post-graduate-no-more-incompletes goodness. I'm going to go ahead and apply for December 2007 graduation, I'll probably take 1 class in the fall in order to wrap up my polisci degree. Being only 3 credit hours short of a degree hurts; I'll only have to do that if I can't talk Martha Franklin into converting my course on Turkey and assorted Azer/Kazahk/etc. countries into some sort of IU credit. She didn't and that's just not fair, for I hauled ass for the course.

I've also coerced the embassy into mailing me [if I mail them express mail envelopes] my CEP [Certificat des Etudes Politiques?] from the IEP, so that the world can have proof that I can survive the French upper-echelon schooling system.

Next is studying for the GRE so that i can apply to the IU masters program I want for next fall; I don't doubt I'll get in, but it never hurts to have insurance. I have some good reccs around, I just need to start soliciting them and schmooozing and etc.

Also among the projects are cashew raw cheese, flax seed crackers, and gluten-free muffins, cookies, cakes, and breads. Wish me luck. Oh yes, and sprouting. Sprouting things. Potting eggplants and morning glories, growing my herb garden and making honey-mead. Brewing mango wine and freezing mashed avocado for guacamole always ready. Generating freezer ice cubes of pesto. And making homemade herbal all natural cosmetics and soaps. Then convincing the big bosses at Persian Market to let me make them and sell them there. Seedlings grown in eggshells in egg cartons with heirloom seeds.

So much work, so little free time, so many projects. I get to open a garden at my new place; I'll put in some late-summer/early fall goodies when I move in. I might get permission to start poking it up early; the landlord is cool and thinks I'm cute; his hypercritical attitude and do-it-yourself mentality remind me kindly off my grandfather and father; we'll get along just fine.

I'm searching for a nice fuck-you for the family; not sure how to do it best. Haven't yet forgive grandfather the tooley for his Christmas dinner commentary [unrefuted by other family members, meaning they thought the same but were too nice to say so] "I think you're wasting your degree." Not what you say to an overworked [60 plus hours a week at three evil jobs] underpaid post-college girl. It thoughtfully crushed my self esteem for months. It still does, fuck him very much.

Then when I told him that I got a $2 an hour [20percent] raise for my French knowledge and that I was using my French fluency at a job he sniped about the fact that I was working three jobs. Grrrrrrr. I pay my bills and don't bug my parents for money for rent or groceries; I think that ought to be enough.

I know they'll all hate this job of mine; I know they'll all think it a waste of my time/degree/intellect. I know that I'm happy and I like my job and my coworkers and my boss. So they can all just go to fucking hell and marinate there. My sister and her husband and I have extensively discussed how disgusted we are with our families' obsession with money and material posession; I know they started out working poor and Pell-granted their way through college and stubborned their way into good jobs, I understand why their brains are wired the way there are.

That doesn't entitle them to scorn me and criticize me and think that THEY know what is best for me, even though they don't know me at all, even though they've never known me, never understood what was happening in my head, for all that I tried and tried for years to tell them. I might just out myself to all of them and let them toss and turn at night and wonder wonder wonder how they screwed up so much that I like girls just as well as I like boys.

Actually, that sounds like a great plan. Hmmmmm. The rejection of the megatheocorporatocracy [swiped from http://blog.iblamethepatriarchy.com/], their worldview, their plan for me married heteronormatively with children, whitepicket fences and health insurance with a 9-5, 5 days a week. Such bloody victorians, their ways have caused me nothing but pain, low self esteem, and misery. No more of that.

I think it is time to make dinner. Quesadillas with homemade corn tortillas, filled with avocado citrus tomato spread and garlic cheddar cheese from England.

hedgewitchery.

The Persia Market job encourages me to be a good monkey and read up on my section; this I can do during on-the-clock hours, as long as I sit at the desk and am available to aid stumbling, confused masses dreaming of allergy relief and balanced blood sugar and lower cholesterol levels and something for that nagging itch behind their left ear.

This mother's son has blisters on his shoulders from a day at the pool with friends and insufficient spf. She wants aloe vera and calendula, and I read up following her call to reccomend adding lavender and or chammomile tea to his baths.

She's looking for a protein powder that won't make her feel bloated or icky like soy or whey. Wants to know which would be best, hemp or rice protein; ah, I say, but they're both good. She leaves with a sample packet of each.

His cholesterol is high; which brand of plant sterols is better? What do I reccomend?

She eats really well and is working with probiotics but still having trouble; kombucha will do the trick, along with advanced enteric-coating on her acidohpils/bifidus supplements.

Her friend is preggers; what supplements should she take? Which include whole foods? I pull several brands, but also reccomend a fish or flax seed oil/omega 3 supplement to supply baby's brain with necessary building blocks.

To read: The Crazy Makers, a study of diet and brain chemistry; so much science.

Also wonderful is Planetary Herbology combining ayuverdic herbal medicine with Chinese herbal science and western herbology. The Prescription for Nutritional Healing and the Prescription for Herbal Healing are my other two Bibles.

Did I mention that I love my job?

Oh yes, and for hot-tub-itch: tea tree oil applied topically as an anti-fungal. Pau d'arco tea has similar quantities; is also quite tasty.

Rooibos is a natural anti-histamine. Green Tea will save you from 8 zillion different cancers and improve brain function. Yerba Mate has a boost of trace minerals and vitamins that contribute to its natural "kick" of caffeine. They call it "mateine".

Check out the next post for natural bug repellents and honey-mead-punch. So many projects; so little time.

Gulag must go!

So, I indirectly work for Pfizer. You don't know this. It means I indirectly work for Praxis. This means I directly work at the gulag. The gulag is a stress-midden of bitchy older women and younger women who joy in making part-timers' lives hell.

I work part time at the gulag. I am also indispensible; the only person capable of translating French. We're doing advertising in Quebec, so the frenchies, they call. I don't mind the work. I do mind the drama, the bullshit, the lack of communication, the complete and total disrespect, and the work environment from hell.

I think I work like 5 hours a week there [down from 15-30 before]. The pay is 10 bucks an hour now, otherwise I would have quit ages ago. Last week they fired and re-hired me in about 48 hours. That's the kind of job; i.e. they decided they were sick of me, fired me, ditched my shit, then realized in the morning that even though gee, that was fun, that they didn't have anyone for the French advertising blitz starting Wednesday.

So I was rehired. I think I quit again tomorrow morning; I wish I was a person of poor enough character just to stop showing up and returning phone calls. I'd feel to guilty; I don't need them as a recc or a ref, so there's no real point in being nice except for karma purposes. I'll give my two weeks. Collect my check, and glare the whole time while showing up for work in my pajamas with vodka in my coffee mug.

Fuck this corporate bullshit. I'm much happier working for the Persian mafia, er, I mean Persia Market. At least there is like a Dilbert comic strip with gourmet international organic food that gives me an employee discount and pays me to talk about food with customers all.damn.day.long.

Sounds like a Lina-job, no?

Tiny monsters with claws.

I'm begininng to get a bit of a reputation as a cat-lady. This is not surprising, since books and cats are [almost] all I talk about once I finish talking about food and naturopathic medicine these days. My two kitties, Olivia and Orsino [extensively documented on flickr: sir_oliver_skitten as well as horsepj] were perfectly content to be a two cat family.

Then Mark rang. His office found a litter of 4-week old abandonded kittens, starving, no mother, and who does he call? Me. I call him back and offer to take one, he brings it in from Greene County in a computer paper box with airholes cut into the lid. Mewling the whole way.

Noisy squeaking disaster; so small there was a freakout run to Kroger after 10pm in a desperate attempt to find catmilk and soft foods. The kitten proceeded to crawl through the milk-full saucer. She wasn't even really able to walk well, though she was stubborn and insistent and full of nuzzlings.

By day two [post frantic calls to the shelter and the vet, who were both full of useful advice for me, in full freakout mode: but gods! she's so damn small! can I give her a bath! but she has fleas! why is she sneezing? what can she eat! oh dear!] kitten was suckling a bottle, snuggling, insisting on sleeping on the bed on top of me and not in a box, and had a decided preference for fuzzy pajamas.

By day three she'd figured out the mechanics of litter boxes and was better about the whole milk.saucer. business. She even started washing little paws and noses and bellies, good kitten! Now fully capable of power-scooting all over the house, she follows and is insistent. Hold me! she miaows, about 90% of the time. I've become quite talented at doing anything domestic one-handed, the other cupping her next to my heart.

I think I'm in love. Mirabelle is her name, tortishell [mostly grey, some orange and white] is her color, and fluffy cuddly snuggly with limpid blue eyes are her meal-ticket-qualities. My grown up cats are still not thouroughly thrilled. Orsino is hiding out in greener pastures down the block. Olivia is hissing and glaring. I had hoped for adoption and loving and snuggling, but there will be time. Right now they're just all, "Why the *motherfatherchinesedentist* is she so damn loud!"

horsepj has some great shots up on flickr. She fell asleep on his chucks last night. Oh! the cuteness! She fits in one hand. Falls asleep cupped in two. Likes to nap right next to necks. Powersnuggles like a master.

Oh. the kitties. but now! no more! 3 is enough!