The good old days of family television Mom and Dad called last night. They have their power back, so they�re getting back to their relative normal. Michael and Krista are in B�ham today meeting muy doctors. Nothing to report. I have just been informed that I�m getting a raise at my trained monkey job, and a rather substantial one at that. I will be making rather close to the same amount of money I was making at the previous job, that is, the one that was slowly killing me both by extreme stress and extreme chemical exposure. Yeah, that one where I got fired because OSHA showed up and I told them the truth. So I�m getting paid what I would consider a disgusting amount of money to sit on my ass, type my diaryland entry, surf the net, sell my Mary Kay, answer emails and the phone a few times a day. And that pay DOUBLES when I�m working on one of those seven sacred holidays. Fuck, yeah. That means I�m making as much as my Metallurgical Engineer hubby when I�m here on a holiday, and I don�t have to be on any foundry floor, and there�s even LESS work to do on a holiday, and even fewer people here, so I can watch my horrible bad movies through my rather nice speakers with my feet up on my desk. I must remember that pride goes before a fall, but dammit, I can�t help but be smug about it. It kills me that the other people who work here are so bloody toxic that they hate this job. Excuse me, work for the �Belt for 8 years in a warehouse space with no ventilation or cooling system on the west side of a concrete building in Arizona spraying mutagenic and terotagenic chemicals into the air for 16 hours a day in 100* room where the flash point of the crap you�re working with is 84* and then you�ll have something to bitch about. I actually nearly set the room on fire once when all the stain rags I was working with spontaneously combusted. Crap, I nearly caught on fire too. And then I had to spray airborne flammables! Yippee! Of course, now I don�t work there anymore but they still owe me a substantial amount of money, which I will probably never see because the asshole who fired me stole all the money and now they�re bankrupt. Everyone over in Florida, wish together REALLY HARD and send all that rain over here to Phoenix. Last night Gary and I were out shopping (7:30 pm and still 114*) and we could see the haboob over the horizon but we knew that it would bounce off the heat island and we wouldn�t get any rain at all. On the way home though I saw a guy on a Vespa and I wondered how much fun it would be to get caught in a dust storm on one of those. I also would like to get a pink Vespa so I could deliver my Mary Kay on it. Gary is amused by the idea but he still hasn�t bought one for me. He also hasn�t bought me a kayak either but when I whinge about it he reminds me about the cruise we�re taking. But that�s six weeks away still! (whine whine whine) Any hoo. The movie this week is the series of ABC After School Specials, 1974-1978 and I am wallowing in 1970�s sentiments and polyester. Remember when all of our problems were this simple? A kid is terrified of getting punched by the school bully for putting the bully�s name on a poster of prehistoric man, not terrified that he�s going to be stabbed and then later shot in a drive by for wiping the sweat off his forehead in a gesture that mistaken for a gang sign. A teenage girl is upset because her father works on the road so much, not upset because he�s been tossing her salad and tying her up and showing the video on the internet since she was three. And of course, there is the perennial classic, Dear Lovey Hart, I am Desperate, which if I remember correctly, has the moral, don�t share your innermost problems with others because it just causes way too much trouble. That�s right, kid. Swallow your self and your emotions and your feelings along with that cafeteria Salisbury steak. Yum, baby.
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