Flights of Bohemian Fancy

What a lovely day today was!  I got to catch up on sleep, had a Saturday off of work, went to Vieux to Do, and felt useful by getting the rank dishes in the sink cleaned.

The early part of the week wasn't so nice.  In addition to crazy hormones, I developed a migraine (the only time I get them is during Shark Week) and called in sick to the hotel.  While I pitied the lone front desk agent, I would have been worthless. 

A general sense of malaise settled over the house and its varying piles of socks, shoes, and floating dust bunnies.  Somewhere in the middle of it all, a lump of laundry stirred; not from developing an innate intelligence as one might think, but from birthing a swollen, crabby adult female.   Said female was as likely to retreat back into the warm tangle as squint at you, but managed to refrain from doing so.

And yet, this battle against household drudgery and mother nature too was won.  I dragged myself from the miasma of clothing, put on makeup, and presented myself admirably to a prospective employer for an interview.  I won the job, and have finally caught up on sleep today as well as had a great time in the French Quarter.  There was a cooking demo by the Louisiana Seafood commission in air conditioned splendor, multiple Zydeco bands, and more local produce sellers hawking Creole tomatoes than you could shake a deciduous forest at. 

Now, I intend to curl up on the couch with a cheap and heavily doctored cardboard box pizza, anime, and perhaps an adult beverage.  It's been a good day.

Off and On: Called in Today

Off and On: Called in Today: "Wasn't intending to, but my body convinced me. I went to bed early last night but awoke feeling completely unrested. Got up, took a shower..."

Called in Today

Wasn't intending to, but my body convinced me.  I went to bed early last night but awoke feeling completely unrested.  Got up, took a shower, got pretty for my interview (which went very well) and realized I needed to sleep more when I was trying to fall asleep during the process.  I'm really hoping I get this job because it offers full benefits in 90 days and an actual LIVING WAGE.  Holy hell!  It's only about 2 minutes farther than where I'm driving now, so that's not bad.  I think the guy doing the hiring tries to scare off the wusses in the first five minutes so he doesn't have his time wasted.  Not a bad way of working things, but it's a little intimidating from the opposite side of the desk.

So!  Today's adventure was falling asleep in the chair once I got home and AFTER my nap!  I think my poor body would've killed me had I gone in today.  The boss man wasn't really pleased when I called in, but considering how little consideration they've given me for basic requests such as a month's notice to have two particular days scheduled as my off days, I don't give a crap.  It's not like I'm getting any more poverty stricken anyway; I'm in the same spot as if I had worked.  Come to think of it, I might have fewer taxes removed.  Eight hours on my feet all day, no lunch, no breaks and smiling at everyone that comes up.  They can bite me.

All right, all right, I can hear my mother nagging in my ear from 800 miles away about how I should be thankful that I have a job.  I am thankful, believe me.  That, however, doesn't take away my right to bitch about things that are genuinely wrong.  No, it won't fix anything, but it makes me feel better to get it off my chest so please shut your yap Mom.  I'm sorry, I shouldn't have snapped at you.  Yes, I know it makes you angry and you were just trying to help.  You're absolutely right, I should think on the positive side of things because there is nothing in the world but daisies and sunshine.  Yes, I'm being sarcastic, I'm a satarist and it is a tool of my trade.  No, I'm not using that as an excuse to be rude.  Mother, go take a pill.  Please.

Off and On: Deeds of Dapper Derring-do

Off and On: Deeds of Dapper Derring-do: "I haven't committed enough of these lately. I would like to be able to get my groove going, dress up in all my finery, and take on the town..."

Deeds of Dapper Derring-do

I haven't committed enough of these lately.  I would like to be able to get my groove going, dress up in all my finery, and take on the town.  There are, however, two problems with this.

1.  I'm out of finery.
2.  I'm dead broke.

Which means that I have two options available to me.  Wear what I have and do it anyway, or become rich and purchase a whole new wardrobe.  Come to think of it, I could do both.  It'll take awhile for my new clothes to be properly tailored anyway.  These Parisian fashion designers just take for-EVER.

In any event, having no money sucks.  Working at the hotel as a front desk drudge will never make anybody rich (hell, it won't even pay the bills NOW) so it is up to me to find a way to make some money.  The best way to do that is to put the intention out in the universe that I need a way to make enough to support myself, put some aside in savings, and maybe have a little extra for a vacation now and then.  If I just happen to end up doing something that makes me happy and gives me more money than I need, well that's just a bonus and I will gladly donate to charity an extra million or two.  So now all I have to do is put the idea out there and the tools and environment to succeed in this will come to me eventually.  Because really, if I don't say anything about it how is the great cosmos going to know?  Ok, ready?  Here we go. 

Me:  "Universe?"  *ahem*  "I would like to make lots of money under the above stipulations.  Any help triggering these events would be appreciated.  Thank you."

(Cricket who has been stalking me for the last four days throws itself up against the bookshelf in a blindingly stupid attempt to escape.)

All right things are in motion, I feel better now.  I shall continue to work on the book I am writing and hopefully by the time I am done with it, some lovely publisher will already have read my most excellent blog and offer me a contract for rights to it.  It's a really good book.  Really. 

In other news, I will be having assistance in keeping the roof over my head soon due to having two new roommates move in within the month.  I'm looking forward to having peeps in the house again on a full time basis as well as assistance with rent and such.  Aside from most awesome roommates, the latest addition to the cotillion is the adoption of a local pirate wench (brought as a housewarming gift).  Morghan has been keeping me entertained and serves an excellent rum punch.

More to come as events develop, I shall endeavor to update the blog more often.  Hurricane season is here and I have yet to supply myself with suitable emergency tools and rations.  Next on the list:  Zombie Apocalypse supplies.      

There are some people...

...who are brilliant beyond comprehension in one fashion or another but cannot find that spark of faith in themselves to allow for happiness.  Reasons, excuses, justifications; all convenient but just another layer of pretty wrapping for a blackened cancer.  It grows, it spreads, it eats away at each flimsy facade becoming bigger and bigger with every chance to feed.  Fear is its nourishment, misery its goal.

I want to be happy.

A long time ago I came to the conclusion that my happiness was attainable in conjunction with my set of morals and standards.  I was fortunate enough to have been judged worthy by those on a higher plane but that I needed to "loosen up".  Sometimes it is possible to try too hard.  If you lose all the joy in life by single-mindedly focusing on ideals, it is just as bad as not abiding by them at all.  That isn't to say that ideals aren't worth having, but extenuating circumstances don't mean an automatic trip to hell.

There's an exchange between deceased British schoolboys in the "Season of Mists" portion of the Sandman series in which the two temporarily escape Death.  One says to the other, "I think hell is a place, but I don't think you have to stay anywhere forever."  Our prisons are ourselves and sometimes it takes a great earthquake to rattle the doors down.  Even then, a lot of people just don't know what to do.  Like lab rats who've spent a lifetime in confinement, when it comes to the choice of escaping their pain or sitting they stay because they don't know how else to react.  And while it would be a far simpler matter to be able to blame all problems on a fearsome godlike hand wielding implements of torture from the bigger side of locked bars, it's never that easy.  Most of the time, it's the cage that we create for ourselves that keeps us trapped.

Find your happiness and you'll find yourself.  When you get hold of it, hang tight and everything you need will come through.  At the end of the day, you still have to look at yourself in the mirror but maybe you can be satisfied with what's on the other side.

Mrs. Stein Don't Rent to Gypsies Anymore

It is mid-festival season here in New Orleans and I am working at a name brand hotel near the airport.  It's a job, and it pays, but not well.  There are small perks to it such as getting occasional tips and fed homemade nummies, but aside from that it's fairly banal.  For the most part we get a lot of repeat customers such as the oil workers or corporate contracts, but every once in awhile people try to return who aren't wanted; the Gypsies.

Now, I'm not entirely new to dealing with gypsies.  There are actually two Gypsy groups that go through the South on a regular basis.  The first are the Travellers, a set of Irish gypsies with brogue and all, who typically move with the carnivals.  They're not above picking your pocket, but are more likely to sit and have a beer with you while they do it.  Travellers love a ruckus and bar workers can't stand them once they've had to deal with them.

The Romani on the other hand, are of the stock that you might picture wearing colorful flowing outfits bedecked in coins and tassels.  If only it were that glamorous or obvious.  They wear average or sometimes poor clothing, depending on what angle they're working.  As the song says, gypsies come in bunches like bananas on a green banana tree.  Where there is one, there are likely at least twenty of his friends hiding out waiting to see what they can get away with.  Tonight was a perfect example.  But before we get to that, let me backtrack a bit.

A few days ago, two women in outfits that made me immediately think they were "working girls" came into the front lobby.  Now, we've had women who practice the world's oldest profession in before, and quite obviously so, but as long as they don't try recruiting customers nobody really cares.  (By the way, this is a good quality hotel.  The attitude is just the typical New Orleans perspective about vice.)  So it surprised me that this pair was immediately ushered out of the hotel with undisguised glares directed at them and pointed comments between housekeeping and the front desk.  I've never seen so many of the crew agitated at one time.  The housekeeping manager made it a point for me to get as good a look at the two as possible before they left.

When the head of housekeeping explained they were gypsies who'd been in before, I understood.  The look on the lead's face was one of pure disgust and loathing.  Gypsies are not the images of romance and adventure they're made out to be in books and movies.  They're shysters who are trained from birth as part of their culture to rip people off, especially the weak and naive.  Typical gypsy tactics are to send in one or two unassuming (or deliberately distracting) people as scouts to figure out the best way to divide and conquer while the other thirty or so (minimum--I'm not joking) wait in the sidelines for the cue to swarm.

Tonight, the same two girls came in wearing decidedly different clothing than two days before.  Had I not taken a good look (though that sixth sense definitely kicked in) I might have missed the correlation.  I say girls but they were easily in their forties and were road beaten.  Their dark, gritty complexions had lines like leather and an air of permanent travel b.o..  Definitely rough around the edges, but given that they were posing as blue collar workers it fit the disguise.  They came in asking about room rates, discounts, could they pay half up front and the other half in the morning...you see where this is going.

Sure enough, as soon as they were told in no uncertain terms that the rate would stay and must be paid up front per management they left; chittering in obviously disappointed Romanian.  One truck full of gypsies down, and a van with no windows carrying god knows how many following behind them.  Score one for the good guys!

Wait a minute, did I wear underpants today?  Dammit!