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frog update
08/30/2008 = 10:49 AM

Overheard in Vegas:

Girl to friend, outside Bally's: It was like being buttfucked, and not in that good way.
Andy (sotto voce): I love bimbo-speak.

I don't get a lot of computer time here. I'm still living with That Computer Hog of Mine, plus two other people who are not computer hogs in the slightest, but who have computer priority over us due to the facts that they are the owners of the computer and that they are the ones who were kind and dear and wonderful enough to take us under their wings and protect us while we try to find a nesting spot of our very own.

So I wait, and when it's my turn, I pretty much dash on, apply for as many jobs as I can, answer emails, and that's it. No time to read blogs; no time to write.

While I wait, I read, and watch TV. It's unproductive to say the least, but it's too hot to go for walks, at least for a few more weeks.

One of my new favorite shows is Ninja Warriors. I know. I'm sorry. It's just so freaking funny.

Great conversation.

That Man of Mine: They should let real ninjas compete in this.
Me: They do. You just can't see them.

As I mentioned, I'm also reading. Not ninjas, though. Vampires.

Dear Stephenie Meyer:

I don't think you're the greatest writer, but I have to hand it to you, you're a damned good storyteller, which is probably better, in the long run.

However, I can't believe you don't know this already, but bells don't "peel" unless you sharpen them and use them to remove skins from potatoes. Fire your editor.

Sincerely,

Golf "I Have a Wolf-Crush on Jacob Black" Widow

Hrm, what else?

I took some pictures enroute across the country, but Andy doesn't have an FTP uploading app on here, and doesn't want to load any new programs till he has a chance to fix some stuff in his operating system. So those will have to wait. They're mostly dirt and mountains, depending on where we were driving at the time. I feel sad whenever I look at the pictures I took in Denver. I feel like there's a Denver Doug-shaped hole in my heart.

I still don't have a job, but I've already broken the Connecticut bad-luck chain, what with all the people actually calling me back for interviews and things. I've even had a few job offers that I had to turn down. I know, I know; beggars can't be choosers — but I already know about myself that I am unable to make a living at commission sales unless I rip people off, and I'd rather not be responsible for that.

So, let's see what else I can tell you to amuse you and keep you up to date.

Oh, I know. The frog.

Andy has, in the bathroom that That Man of Mine and I share, a small aquarium containing a swimming frog about the size of a cricket. The frog's name is, of course, Frogma. Like dogma, but for amphibians. Anyway, one of the few requests Andy has made of me is that I toss a few crumbs of froggie Alpo into the tank every other day, which my subconscious, that fun plaything, has decided to use as a diversion for all the stress I'm currently under.

I dream frog dreams, is what I'm saying.

I dreamt that I left the little stopper out of the tank after I fed Frogma, and he escaped to the kitchen and raided the fridge, there growing so big I couldn't fit him back into the tank.

Another night, I dreamt that Frogma sneaked out and brought a tadpole back to live with him, but it turned into a frog and I had to explain to Andy why he now had two frogs instead of one.

I guess it really isn't that easy being green.

The only other thing of note is that I got ambushed in Albertson's by a young girl who asked me if I had trouble with dry skin. Naturally I said yes, because, first of all, I have immense trouble with dry skin; second of all, hello, we're in the desert — EVERYBODY has trouble with dry skin, so no mysterious guesswork is needed; and, third of all, I thought she might be giving away lotion samples. Yay free samples, especially when you're unemployed.

No such luck.

She laid her hands on me and prayed to Jesus, who I would presume is busy enough trying to end wars and things, to heal my dry skin.

Anyway, I thanked her politely, and when I got home, I prayed to the god I believe in that the girl will have success healing people. Not for my own sake, but because she seems to believe so deeply in the power of prayer that it would ruin her faith to find out it was misguided.

Really, the underlying difference between my religion (Golfwidowism) and hers (some extreme form of Christianity) is that I don't get all up in strangers' faces with mine.

Anyway, the god I believe in answered me, and told me to drink lots of water (which I already do) and put on lots of lotion (which I already do).

My skin doesn't look or feel any better, but it's not worse. I have faith.

Tags: life

drinking: ice water
listening to: nothing
praying for: lotion samples and an end to frog dreaming