walk like an egyptian

And I'm onto my final unread Jane Austen novel. Lift your hands up.

Squirrely vomit-inducing family drama-rama aside, the following has my tummy in a bind:

1. check engine light, flitting in and out of existence.
2. check brakes light, ditto.
3. balding tires.
4. um, no heat. which, IMO, is the most distressing item since I like live in Buffalo. And it's November.

But I won't let the Silver Bullet get me down because I had a mighty fine weekend. Halloween is the only holiday that actually gets radder once you become an adult. Christmas, Thanksgiving, eh. More depressing than anything, and they're usually workdays for me, anyway. Halloween, on the other hand, is always a good time. Provided you don't spend it with your head in the toilet. As kids you get to eat all the candy you want; as adults you get to drink all the beer you want. Maybe try the best of both worlds with a Sam Adams Chocolate Bock. Whoa baby.

Tanget: I sat Rick Jeanneret at work. Always cool to encounter sports-related celebrities (sort of). Except for that one time when Paul Gaustad's girlfriend/date was totally rude to me. Skank.

the rape scene went pretty well

Please, will someone do "The Night Man Cometh" with me for Halloween?

I got a new job.

Wait.

I'm sounding repetitive, I know.

I got ANOTHER new job. Because things never go as planned. When I have a sec I'll tell you about how things never go as planned. No promises, though. I'm pretty booked, and I'm pretty pooped.

But I will say: Chef Ramsey is hot. In his way.

That's it.

the extent of my interest in politics = inane youtube videos

Someone in the mood to gimmie a present? Just for being as kick-ass as I am? Alrighty then.

I can't help myself: I'm addicted to "Modcloth.com." I want eeeeeverything!

so pretty. so cute. so weeeeee!

Christ Almighty. If there's one thing I've learned from my 16-hour work day (with a two hour interval between jobs) it's this:

Jobs that don't involve customers are infinitely superior to those that do.

Last week I was all like, "P-shaw, I can totally be one of those sleepless types who fuel themselves with bottomless cups of espresso and 90-calorie granola bars, racing from job number 1 to job number 2. No sweat, baby."

At first, things seemed promising. Expectedly, I was on the groggy side, but that was a small price to pay for all the cash I'd soon be funneling into my bank account.

But one (then two, then three, then four) customers from the deepest layer of Hades supplied me with more than enough reason to say: Why the fuck bother with this?! Seriously, I'm thinking one non-customer job is plenty.

I know - bad customers are such a cliched complaint from anyone who has to deal with them. But holy hell. I used to really like people. Now I only "like" people with a sour taste of distrust so foul I automatically barricade my soul for protection. If I continue to allow customers to blugeon my sunny free-spirit to a bloody pulp I may never regain purity of consciousness again. I don't like this me. People who aren't even rude to me annoy me. Which doesn't even make sense, so the solution is to NOT work with customers anymore. Fine.

This library computer timer is making me feel edgy, so over and out.

"that which you hold, holds you"

Have you heard about the Bird House kids yet? Lately, they've been squeezing their way into a solid number of my conversations. Then, lo and behold, there they are on the front page of Sunday's paper.

Here's the skinny: about 5 years ago a group of young people took it upon themselves to fix up a deteriorating mansion on Bird Avenue in Buffalo. The squatters rode bikes everywhere, hit up dumpsters for groceries, set up a kind of communal living situation. People can crash there for a few days and then move on.

Two of the original residents went on to purchase homes and vacant lots on Normal Avenue where they carry on the Bird House legacy. They have vegetable gardens and a bee hive. They scout for curbside furniture and appliances. They pick up odd jobs to make ends meet.

The thing I find so appealing about their chosen lifestyle lies in its simplicity. Hinged on that is their sense of freedom. Shove aside all hippie propaganda about organic this and community that - I just like the idea of not being bogged down with so much stuff.

Says 25-year old Rich Majewski, "Most people my age are heavily in debt. They've got nothing to their names and owe everyone else in the world an average of $50,000. Why would you do that? That doesn't work."

These people don't work less hours because they're lazy. (or maybe that's part of it) But really, they don't work loads of hours because they don't need to buy new clothes or iPods or brake pads for their cars.

They don't need those things, so they don't need as much money, so they don't work as many hours, so they get to enjoy their lives.

Which, for young people without kids or spouses, sounds like a beautiful thing.