Not to complain...

But what is with the weather? On Sunday it snowed, Monday it had a high of 15 degrees, and right now it's 63 degrees outside.

My friend Nikky from Florida was giddy with excitement over the snow, and now it's all gone. My heart grows heavy as I picture the look of disappointment on her face when she saw that, with the exception of the colonial houses and the Italian deli across the street, she may as well be back in the Sunshine State.

Well, almost. I checked and it's actually 72 degrees there right now.

Interview

I had my first real job interview today with an architectural firm in Cambridge. I thought it went really well! The woman I'd be working under was very nice and pretty straight-forward about her expectations for an admin, which I appreciated. My recruiter said she gave me a positive review when he spoke with her, so hopefully I'll hear some official tomorrow.

In the meantime, I'll celebrate by posting a sketch I made on the train:
This was probably inspired by the Mythical Creatures exhibit at the Museum of Science, which I went to on Sunday. It was cool, but not nearly as magical as I hoped. I suppose I won't find a real concentration of magic until I visit Disney World.

Irony Alert

It would appear that the unemployment office in Quincy is understaffed, since they only have one person who is available to process unemployment claims.

No Job

So, I've been jobless for over a week now, and I have to say it's not so much fun. I've been applying at every administrative assistant job I can find on Craig's List and I've met with a staffing firm (and was told that "it's slow out there"). I honestly thought I'd kind of bounce into a new job without any problems, but now I'm starting to get a little worried.

Granted, it's only been about a week, but I've never been that patient.

This situation has been forcing me to reevaluate all my assumptions. Back when I had a job and was easily capable of making my mortgage payments, it was easy to say that I trust that God will provide and I will never be in want and if I have to lose the blessings he has given, then it's all right. Now faced with the reality of these things occurring, it's a lot harder to close my eyes, take a breath and say "It's in your hands, Lord."

Honestly, Taylor and I aren't in bad shape, and I can be out of work for a couple months without really being affected more than having to give up some luxuries like name brand toothpaste. The hardest part so far is getting used to the idea that I need a job and I don't have one.

The good news is now I have a LOT of free time on my hands, so I might do a better job keeping this updated. Of course, I said that when my hours got cut, and it took me losing my job entirely before I got around to writing another post. I'll probably have lost my house in a fire before I think, "You know, I don't have any house cleaning to do, I should update the old blog."

Life Update

I haven't been posting much lately because my job keeps me pretty busy, and then there's all the other times that kill my time, like house chores, hanging out with friends and family, playing video games, so you can see that my life is pretty full.

That's probably about to change, since I've just had my hours cut to part-time at work. For some reason, people just don't seem inclined to spend $100,000+ on remodeling their homes right now, and their tight-fistedness is causing difficulties to my status as a homeowner.

This is where so called "trickle-down" economics comes into play. When rich people have money, they spend it on putting radiant-heat flooring in their new "zen" bathroom, purchased at a percentage above cost from my company, part of which is then broken down into my weekly paycheck.

When rich people don't have money, they tighten their belts, forgo the luxuries, and I have no money. If that pattern continues, I will soon have no house.

In all seriousness, my situation isn't that dire. Taylor and I have tried to be good stewards of our money, and I have complete faith that no matter what may come, God will fully provide for my needs. And I don't really "need" a house - it's a blessing that I have been given, and the time may come when I have to give it up. I am confident that I will always have employment, even if it's at Wal-Mart for minimum wage.

Things could have been much worse. I was told by my boss that they seriously considered letting me go entirely, but they didn't know how they would get anything accomplished like filing parking permits and taking the company vehicles to get their oil changed (that wasn't their exact words).

Knowing that I was on the brink of having no job come Monday makes only having half of a job come Monday go down a lot smoother, plus there's the added ego boost of knowing that, for now, they can't function without me.

In the meantime, I have some decisions to make. I can work part-time indefinitely and see how that goes, or I can work part-time and find supplemental income, or I can leave the company and try to find full-time work somewhere else.

My plan for now is to work part-time and see if four days of loafin' are worth earning half my income. But I can't help but be curious to see what my other options are, so here's preview of job listings on Craig's List:

Experienced asphalt shingle roofers and laborers

Doggie daycare assistant needed for small breed dogs!

Boston Women - Earn $7000 through Egg Donation

See? I'll be fine! :)

Teen 'detective' leads police to stolen bike

It's a real-life Enclycopedia Brown!

'Stache

As I was primping in the mirror the other morning, I discovered that I reached my first milestone on the path to "middle aging."

I had the beginnings of a mustache.

In fairness to myself, all women have a little bit of facial hair. I'm at a disadvantage because I have very fair skin, dark hair, and Norwegian ancestry, so I'm genetically screwed as far as visually appealing hair goes.

Still, literally coming face to face with signs of aging wasn't a pleasant experience. I've become a little paranoid that I'm going to wake up one day and have a mustache that rivals that of a 70's anchorman, or perhaps the Pringle's Chip Man.

Gate

Taylor's dad, Larry, was in town for business. He had Friday off however, and he asked what he could do to help us around the house.

"Build us a gate," I said.

"Well," Taylor mused, "We could use some help with the car -"

"Build us a gate," I said.

"But the hot water heater is also having problems -"

"Build us a gate!"

In the end, Larry and Taylor decided to build a gate. Initially, they were going to use pre-built fencing material, but after seeing how low-grade it was, they decided to build the whole thing from scratch.

This is what I got to come home from work to. Needless to say, I was very pleased!



They bought pressure-treated planks, cut them in half, and dog-eared the top edges.

There were a lot of intricacies to the building of the fence, but you'd enjoy it so much more hearing it from Taylor, so I'll let you ask him about it.

It's a real improvement over the redneck chicken-wire setup we had, but the downside is that it emphasizes how bad our current landscaping is! But we'll get to that as time and funding permits.

It is finished!

Taylor's dad came to town on Wednesday, and that provided the push we need to finally get our last bedroom painted, as well as do some touch up in the upstairs bath.

If you remember, the upstairs tub was a pink nightmare. Taylor spent four hours last week sanding, priming, and painting with a special tub paint. It's now a brilliant and clean looking white, a vast improvement.

For my part, I painted the wood trim, the vanity, and the medicine cabinet. While I like the beige paint we chose, it blended too closely with the wood trim. Now it feels stylish but casual, and I'm really pleased with how it came out.

Finally, the guest bedroom has been painted a sunny yellow. The trim we used isn't really doing it for me - it's far too creamy and doesn't jump out enough, but frankly, I don't really care right now.

I'll repaint the trim eventually, probably in ten years when we plan to sell. In the meantime it's such a relief to be done with the inside. Now we just have to finish unpacking!

Geek Bookstore

So, it's finally happened, I've surrendered and given in to my inner geek. To those who may protest that my inner geek wasn't that deeply immerged, I protest! For the most part, I've been a mere dabbler in geekdom - watched some Star Trek, played Zelda for eight hours straight, read Harry Potter fan fiction to feed my addiction until the next book came out, but I've never made the jump to hardcore stuff.

Until I discovered the gateway drug know as Pandemonium Books, where I met this guy :
It started innocuously enough. I was reading David Eddings on the train, when I struck up a conversation with a nice man who told me I could find the book I was missing from the series by visiting this bookstore in Central Square.

I walked through the door, and a little threw shot through my spine - here was a whole bookstore dedicated to what is usually regulated to a tiny corner in the back of Barnes and Noble.

It shames me to say that the only genre I like to read is SciFi/Fantasy, and I could really skip the whole SciFi part. I feel like I'm not a truly literate person, because I ought to be curling up to War and Peace or something else written by a foreigner.

In any case, I pick out my selections, and as I'm checking out, I get asked by the man pictured above if I'd like become a member.

"It's free," he said in that monotonous yet expressive tone that only hardcore nerds are able to affect.

"Free!" I squealed. I'm still working on my tone.

Membership meant that after I spent a $250, I'd get a free $25 coupon for the store. Considering that the books I was purchasing cost less than $4 each, I know it it would take awhile to reach my goal, but what was the harm?

Then I was offered the newsletter.

The newsletter contained all the hip happenings taking place in the store, like gaming, parties, author book signings, gaming, forums, gaming, singles parties, gaming and gaming.

I know I should say no, but I couldn't. Something in my soul cried out to be unleashed!

"Sure, send me the newsletter," I said.

I walked out the door with my books in hand, but I knew that I lost more than $8.95. I surrendered to the dark side, baby, and I could never go back.

Writing

I just finished reading my lastet issue of World Magazine. This was their "2008 Books" issue, which, after their "Year in Review," is my favorite.

I like seeing all the new books coming out. It always boggles my mind how many people are writing down stories and actually getting them published! This has been a semi-secret dream of my for years.

It's also a dream that I secretly think will never be actualized, because I'm incapable of finishing any story that I start. I think the problem is 1. I have a short attention span, and 2. I'm overly critical of my first drafts, mainly because they're pretty terrible.

And yet, pretty terrible books are published all the time. My personal theory is people with personalities that enable them to complete projects aren't always the most creative storytellers. I see the opposite in the webcomic world. I'll find a really great story that has drawn me in completely, only to despair as it slowly disappears from lack of updates.

But when you can combine the driven with the creative, something really great can emerge. A story that wraps itself around you and make you a little different for having had read it.

So how do you do it?

House Update

I haven't posted in a while, because I've felt like I've been eaten alive by the house. All that effort was put to good use, as you soon shall see!

All but one room (the guest room needs painting) is complete! Future projects include landscaping the yard, moving the fence, and putting tile (!)over the kitchen floor.

This week, though, Taylor and I are off to North Carolina to see his family, and enjoy some authentic barbeque! Yee-haw!

Find Ghosts with Your Mobile Phone

Sounds great, but the roaming charges are probably out of control!

Drug Companies Rush to Harness Red Wine's Anti-Aging Properties

When will someone get around to studying the health benefits of rum? I drink that!

Bathroom Update

This is our completed downstairs/guest bathroom.

I've had people ask, so let me assure you that the walls are a faux finish, not just badly painted. In reality it's probably a combination of both, although I've learned from Home and Garden Television that imperfections in a paint job are "organic."

Our color schemes are brown, white, and blue, the brown being provided by our shower curtain, towels, and bronze accessories.

Since it's our one truly completed room, I like to hide in here when I start becoming overwhelmed by the chaos of the rest of my house. It's funny, because growing up in a family of six in a two-bedroom single-wide trailer, the bathroom was the only place I could get any privacy, and so became a avenue of escape for young Meghan. Now that I'm grown and have my own house, I'm still using a bathroom for a sanctuary. It somehow doesn't seem inappropriate.

Still better than finding cockroaches ...

Japan man discovers woman living in his closet.

Adam and Meghan's Boston Adventure

My Tuesday ended like any other day. I waved goodnight to my boss and walked down to Central Square where I'd take the 5:08 redline train to Quincy.

About half way to my destination, the train pulled to a stop at Park Street, and then just sat there. This wasn't too much out of the ordinary, as I've experienced plenty of train delays before. This time however, I noticed that there was an acrid smell filling the car, and through the buzz of passenger conversation I began to glean that there was a fire at the stop down.

We were instructed to get off the train. I went into the station to get my bearings when I ran into my friend Adam. Before we had time to formulate our next move, the station begin to fill up with a chalky-white smoke.

The fire department arrived by then, and told us to evacuate the station. I then whipped out my camera phone, deciding that if I was going to be severely inconvenienced, I might as well get a good blog post out of it.

Passengers poured out of the station, each one on a cellphone trying to figure out where to go from here. Adam and I looked at each other in dismay.

"The redline is shut down. How are we going to get home?" I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe we can walk to the next station from here?"

"Do you know how to walk to the next station?"

"No."

"Me neither."

Unfortunately, neither Adam nor I spent a lot of time around Boston Common, so we weren't sure where to go. Chris called me to say he heard that the MBTA was shuttling passenger from Davis to South Station, where we could take the train home. We called his wife, who gave us directions we only half understood, and then we took off for South Station.

We went the wrong way down Boylston Street, and on our way back to the other way it started to rain.

We finally made it to the end of Boylston to Essex Street, where South Station was supposed to be. We didn’t see any signs, so logically we went down South Street thinking we’d run into it. Well, logic is a silly thing to use in downtown Boston, because South Station isn’t actually on South Street, it’s further down Essex Street. Several calls to my husband the navigator soon set us straight and we enter the wonderland known as South Station.

I’d never been to South Station, and I was unprepared for the delights contained within. It was like Faniuel Hall combined with the Logan Airport terminal, with kiosks selling overpriced books and coffee, little boutiques, and terminal signs that didn’t actually tell you what tracks the commuter trains were arriving on.

Adam and I made our way through labyrinth of corridors until we got to the Redline platform. We sat on a bench, foot-sore but triumphant, knowing that any minute a train would come to take us home.

“Please exit the platform and wait outside the station. A shuttle bus will be by to take you to Broadway Station.”

Adam and I groaned. They just closed down South Station? What was once a wonderland became a living hell as Adam and I waited for a bus that wasn’t already full to take us to the next station.

Finally, inspiration struck.

“Meghan,” Adam said, “why don’t we take the commuter train to Quincy Center?”

“Brilliant!”

We stood in line at the commuter tickets counter, where, in light of the current crisis, they had two of four windows open.

Nevertheless, Adam and I bought our tickets for the 7:29 to Kingston, and we just a chance to see how the other side rides.

The commuter train is amazing! A quiet, smooth ride on comfy leather bench seats, making the regular trains seem like a roller coaster with smaller seats.

We pulled up to Quincy Center at last, where Adam and I said our goodbyes.

Naturally, my bus ran late, but I finally arrived at my house at 9:00 pm, four hours after I left work.

It was good to be home.

SPAM

This is a spam message that my friend got over the weekend.

SOMEONE YOU CALL YOUR FRIEND, WANTS YOU DEAD.

I felt very sorry and bad for you, that your life is going to end like this if you don't comply, i was paid to eliminate you and I have to do it within 10 days. Someone you call your friend wants you dead by all means, and the person have spent a lot of money on this, the person also came to us and told us that he wants you dead and he provided us your names, photograph and other necessary information we needed about you. If you are in doubt with this I will send you your name and where you are residing in my next mail. Meanwhile, I have sent my boys to track you down and they have carried out the necessary investigation needed for the operation, but I ordered them to stop for a while and not to strike immediately because I just felt something good and sympathetic about you. I decided to contact you first and know why somebody will want you dead by all means. Right now my men are monitoring you, their eyes are on you, and even the place you think is safer for you to hide might not be. Now do you want to LIVE OR DIE? It is up to you. Get back to me now if you are ready to enter deal with me, I mean life trade, who knows, and I might just spear your life, $8,000 is all you need to spend. You will first of all pay $3,000 then I will send the tape of the person that want you dead to you and when the tape gets to you, you will pay the remaining $5,000. If you are not ready for my help, then I will have no choice but to carry on the assignment after all I have already being paid before now. Warning: do not think of contacting the police or even tell anyone because I will extend it to any member of your family since you are aware that somebody want you dead, and the person knows some members of your family as well. For your own good I will advise you not to go out once is 7pm until I make out time to see you and give you the tape of my discussion with the person who want you dead then you can use it to take any legal action. Good luck as I await your reply to this e-mail contact:b.patbulle228@gmail.com

Mr.Celestine chuks

What happened to the good old days when nice Ugandan princes were trying to give us money?

The Starling Saga Continues ...

Just when we thought our bird drama was over, Taylor and I heard a familiar chirping yesterday morning.

"Oh crap," Taylor said, "There's another stupid bird in there!"

"Oh yeah," I said, "I remember reading about starling colonies in attics ..."

"What?"

"Well, usually starlings hang out in groups, and they all live together in the attic."

Taylor huffed, turned over and covered his head with the blanket. Through the covers I heard him mumble, "We'll just have to wait the stupid bird out ..."

There was no signs of the bird until this morning. I was in the bathroom when I heard Taylor yelp, "The bird! The bird came out!"

This time the whole house was in an uproar as Taylor and I, the cats and the dog ran around the second floor chasing the frantic bird.

I'm not sure why I was chasing it, since I had no intention of actually touching that nasty, dirty, disease-infested bird (Taylor thinks I'm a little ridiculous about my prejudice against starlings for these particular traits, as in his opinion all birds are vermin).

Finally, my cat Healey gave a tremendous leap and tackled the poor bird, and then chased it out the window Taylor managed to open just in time.

Taylor, the cat, and I looked at it each other pride. Victory!

"Wow, you're not a useless as we thought," Taylor said to Healey fondly.

Above our heads, we heard a familiar scratching sound.

"Oh no." Taylor groaned and crawled back under the covers of the bed.

"Um," I said. "Did I mention that starlings live in colonies?"

From the bed I heard a muffled, "Yeah. I think you did."

Starling in the Attic

On our first night in our new home, Taylor woke me from a sound sleep.

"Meghan, do you hear that?" He whispered.

"...Hear wha...?" I mumbled. My sleepy brain couldn't process what he was saying.

"There's something scratching in the attic. Listen."

I indeed heard scratching, but having been interrupted from my REM cycle, I really didn't care. I muttered something, then turned over and went back to sleep.

I woke in the morning to Taylor's ire and to the sound of bird chirps coming from the bedroom ceiling.

"There is a stupid bird in our attic!" Taylor informed me. "I couldn't sleep at all last night because it kept chirping and scratching and making all kinds of noise. We have to get rid of it!"

That afternoon Taylor called me at work to fill me in on his battle plan against our feathered intruder. He thought the bird came in through an unused vent pipe, which he would seal up.

"Wait a second," I said. "You can't seal the pipe with the bird inside the attic. It's starve to death."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do? I have to keep more birds from getting inside."

"You can't kill the bird! That's cruel." I sensed that appealing to the morality of a very tired and grumpy Taylor would get me nowhere, so I added to my argument. "Plus, if the bird dies in the attic, it'll stink up our room for weeks."

He grunted.

After work Taylor investigated the attic. Our bedroom has cathedral ceilings, so that part of the attic was walled off, and there was no way we could access the bird's hiding place. As Taylor sat on the edge of the attic entrance to think, suddenly the starling flew out of it's hole into the main attic.

"Meghan, help me get the bird!"

I came up to the attic with a small box. Taylor and I ran around unsuccessful trying to chase a terrified starling (which are pretty darn big!) and praying that the floorboards wouldn't break. The bird flew back into his hole. We went back to the bedroom and banged in the ceiling with a broom, but nothing would persuade the bird to leave.

After enduring another night of scratchings and bird noises, we got desperate. Taylor drilled 2-inch holes in the ceiling where we heard the bird scuttling around, and then waited. At long last, the bird flew out of the hole into our bedroom, banging into the ceiling and defecating everywhere until Taylor chased it out the window.

It turns out that all the effort really was worth it, as during my Internet research I found out that starlings are dirty birds that carry mites and lice and other fun diseases. Plus, they build these crazy nests that can engulf your attic, like this.

Taylor sealed off the vent where the bird got in the attic. I just hope we don't find anymore uninvited guests.