Well, there is some good news on my end. We got the house we've been trying for (insurance is taken care of and all that) and now we just need to give the landlord a down payment. We'll give him a chunk now and the rest when we move in (probably the first of October, so we get a full month). Awesome, yay, whoopee, etc. etc.

The issue here is that I now need to worry about where the rest of the money will come from. Landlord will get the entirety of my next paycheque AND I'll need to borrow some cash, considering that my boss has now schedulled me for three days a week. I need to borrow enough for not only the rent/deposit but the down payment to get utilities turned on (some utility companies will suck you dry that way). We also need money to fix our car, the computer of which took a dirt nap in a timely fashion yesterday. Karni wants to ask his father for cash, but we'll be in debt to the man for the rest of our lives if we go that route; the man doesn't let anything go. So, it's off to the cheque cashing place for me.

I'm telling you, once we're all moved in and our financial woes are sorted out, I will be kissing the floor and praying to the Christian God.

Scratch that. I could never be insane enough to do THAT. I'll just kiss the floor.

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Fear not, loyal subjects - I have not disappeared from the face of the earth. The past few weeks have been quite a blur, what with all the activity that's been buzzing about. Now, I take a quick breather and get some blogging done.

Aside from work, I've been in the process of moving to a new house with Karni (boyfriend) and taking care of all the stroke-inducing details that accompany it. I'm buying renter's insurance today, which will take a chunk out of the money that was to be used for first month's rent and the security deposit. I'd just say, 'Fuck the insurance,' but I've made a deal. The new landlord insists that we must have a co-signer, and the only person who can co-sign will only agree to it if we get insurance. We're too desperate to turn it down. So, it's decided.

Karni and I are also expecting our first baby. It's been 18 weeks now, and I'm getting bigger and hungrier by the day. No word yet on the sex; we'll probably find out at the next doctor's appointment. Which reminds me: I need to find a new OB/GYN before then. My current one ruined my relationship with her by telling me that I need to talk to a psychiatrist and get on some medication for my 'anxiety problem.'
Why, you ask? Because I dared to become faint when my blood was being drawn for a test. I told the woman a million times that I'm not afraid of needles, which is true: in fact, I like to watch them put the needle into my skin to show them that it doesn't bother me. I was, in fact, jovially chatting with the nurses when I started to faint mid-sentence. She's convinced that I have some fear of getting my blood drawn. frick her.

School is another thing that will be on my plate soon. I've been looking into a medical assisting program at Remington, which I would greatly enjoy and would open the door to a job far better (and higher-paying) than Valero.

I'm so thrilled that I found out the truth about coffee during pregnancy: I can have about two cups per day. Good. I need some.

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Hoorah!! A day off today!! :)


*dances about with glee*

I don't know what to do with myself. One thing that I should probably do is find my portable CD player; the damned thing's gone missing, and I could really use a music fix right about now (and I can't bring myself to wake a certain grumpy woman).

I know what to do: I'll look for cookies. I know that they're in the kitchen - I just need to figure out where.

Come out, come out, little cookies...

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Turns out, 50's rocker Eddie Cochran was right: there ain't no cure for the summertime blues. You never fully realise the validity of such words until you are stuck in a glass booth only slightly larger than a fish tank, running solely on super-strength coffee and working double shifts until six-thirty in the morning as others are going on vacations, leaping headlong over chilly sprinklers, grilling mountains of food in their backyards, and spazzing out at the biggest metal concerts of the year (granted, I'm a night owl, but the above scenario is not my ideal way to spend the dark hours).

The fun quotient is not at all heightened by a viral infection in one's eye (try finding the correct buttons on a register when you have no depth perception; it's a trip).

I'm exhausted. I want to go out and play. I want to get ridiculously drunk at a bonfire. And I have every right to complain. Everyone does. Instead of holding in their frustrations, more people should stand up and bitch about their shitty jobs. Will it change the situation? No, but it will certainly prevent the lot of us from having strokes before the age of forty.

So, go ahead - bitch a little. You've worked hard; you've earned it.

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Why is this little night stalker up so early?

Because at seven AM, I begin my NEW JOB - hoorah!!!!!!! :)

(insert happy dance moves here)

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Today at four, I have a job interview for Valero. For the unfamiliar, it's a gas station/convenience store sort of deal. I've worked at my fair share of gas stations, so it's nothing I haven't done before. I wouldn't have the interview if it hadn't been for my friend (an employee of Valero) who informed me that the place was desperate for help. We'd be working at the same location and it's likely that we'll be on the same schedule, so I'll have moral support whenever I feel like twisting a customer's head from his/her neck.

I'm thrilled at the idea of making my own money again. It's been far too long since I've had my own job, a fact that has caused me deep depression. I hate to rely on anyone else, and this job would be my ticket out of such a situation.

I should go and prepare for the interview. I still have to dry my dress clothes, dye my hair, take a shower, do my makeup and hair, etc.

Keep your eyes peeled: the next time I blog, it may be about my spiffy new job.

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Things just may be looking up for this little demoness.

We found a two-bedroom apartment, not expensive, cat-friendly, and the owner is cutting the price of the security deposit in half. The living room and kitchen aren't very big, but one of the bedrooms is rather spacious and makes up for it. Brand new appliances are being installed for us (yay!), plus new carpeting, new paint, and a few other improvements. Tomorrow, we'll know for certain if our application was approved; I don't see why it wouldn't be, but I always keep my mind open to negative possibilities.

This may be the place that we call home.

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I am always on the lookout for healthier food options, so I'd been wanting to try Flat Earth chips ever since I saw the TV commercial. I thought, Well, here's something that seems tasty and nutritious - I'll give it a go.

Yesterday, at Subway, I found some small bags of Flat Earth and decided to try the stuff. They do taste good, but when I got home and inspected the bag more closely, I was a bit disappointed.

Although a 1.25 oz bag only contains 7 grams of fat, it also contains 260 mg of sodium!! Yikes. Not exactly heart-healthy.

Looking at the ingredients, I noticed some names that I highly doubt are found in nature:

Corn maltodextrin

Mono and diglycerides

Beet juice concentrate (the concentrate is what gets me)

Disodium phosphate

Dextrose

Artificial flavours

Sodium caseinate


Why can't they just put normal salt in the things? Dextrose, I know, is a type of sugar that can be found naturally in honey and fruit, but it can also be synthetically obtained from starch.

Really, if I want a completely natural snack, I can make a salad or go to my grandmother's house and pick blackberries, but it would be really nice to be able to have 'junk food' that was good for me, too. I've been trying to forge healthier eating habits, so I've been very picky about labels.

By all means, go out and try Flat Earth - it's good stuff, and a lot healthier in some ways than regular chips; just don't expect them to be as natural as they claim.

One snack that has not disappointed me: Soy Joy!!

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For the past few days, I've been trying to quit smoking, and it's a bumpy road for this little niccotine junkie. I had an easier time quitting alcohol!!

With all the stresses I've been under lately (finding a place to live, being pregnant, this fucking hot weather), it's an even bigger struggle. Cold turkey does not work for me (believe me - I've tried many times), and it is advised that quitting slowly is actually better for an unborn baby, as the strong withdrawal symptoms that come with sudden quitting can cause stress and sickness in a fetus, so I'm gradually moving down to about seven cigs per day (I'm typically a pack-a-day smoker).

I filled out an application for food stamps today and will take it down to the nearest office as soon as I have some transportation. This is awful. I'm technically homeless. I don't have an income because the temp agency has been fucking around. If I didn't have such understanding friends, I'd be sleeping under a bridge somewhere, with my animals in a cardboard box.

We found another house that has some perks (reduced security deposit if we move in before the 22nd, all appliances included, the cats are allowed); perhaps we can slip into that place and finally have a home.

God, when do things ever get better?

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