Pickleship 003

Moving at the speed of...

The final stage of our moving project is almost complete. Down to packing the boxes full of things that weren't important enough to be packed the first, second, or third time around. All the stuff I know I'll be throwing away later rather than unpacking. It's a real bitch to have insight without initiative. I know what I'm doing, I can see what I'm gonna do, but I'm not stopping any of it. Oh well.

In the meantime I'm studying like mad for an assessment of my skills as a Rorscacher (It's a psych word ^_^). The whole thing is very tightly scripted for the person administering the Rorschach--and yes, it is still used and is fairly widely accepted within the psychological community. I think the Wikipedia article is a little harsh on the Exner comprehensive system of scoring and interpretation. Actually, I think the scoring is kinda fun. It's like a puzzle. A puzzle that directly impacts the potential access and use of services for another human being. *swims in the power*

Pickleship 002

An invasion of space

I had always counted myself fortunate that I'd never really suffered any kind of theft. Sure, I had a purse stolen from a gym once, but the whole thing (minus my cucumber melon hand sanitizer--go fig) had been returned. Then Sunday night I came out to find my car's window had been completely smashed. My stereo faceplate and GPS were gone, along with other less valuable items (i.e. cell phone charging cord). I was...immensely perturbed. Someone broke into my space and grabbed my stuff. Now, I'm the first to admit that I had a tumultuous relationship with my GPS, calling her many derogatory nicknames, including Maggie the snaggle-toothed crack whore, but she was MY snaggle-toothed crack whore! Of course insurance is only as helpful as they can see profit in doing so. They'll replace the window, but I hafta eat the stereo faceplate and GPS. (For the record, they said the GPS was not covered because it's a home or personal item--and all this time I thought it was for use in my car. I guess it would've been very useful when I was completely snockered, trying to drive my couch around the living room)
Concerning the faceplate - my insurance company said I'd need to replace the whole stereo (they were not volunteering to pay for this, of course) because the faceplates are "specially coded" to work only with the stereo they came with. Uhhh....can I get a bullshit on this one? It's heartening to remember that this bit of wisdom came from the guy in the CAR AUDIO department of the insurance company. I'm buried under the avalanche of incompetence.

In happier news, after days of epic battle, my glass is currently being replaced. In just a few short hours, I will have a new and improved little Baja. And a security alarm. And motion sensors. And a gun.

The green fairy and the morning after

The joy of living in the city finally dawned on me--cool crap happening everywhere. Last night my hubby and I went to an absinthe tasting. It was...amazing. The price of admission was very reasonable, and went toward a large amount of absinthe and a free Kubler absinthe spoon to take home. My favorite absinthe of the evening is a local Illinois creation, Sirene, by the North Shore Distillery. During the tasting they handed out small vials of the herbs used in creating absinthe, and to my taste, Sirene seemed to taste like the purer forms of the herbs. The Kubler absinthe blanche was also very good, but clear (as all blanches are). I guess the color shouldn't matter so much, but I like my fairies and my absinthe green. It had a very smooth taste, but nothing like the richness and aroma of Sirene. I think the Kubler would be a very good absinthe for popping your green cherry, while Sirene will take you to a whole new level. It's not even like drinking alcohol. After enough sips (oh yes, and it needs to be sipped) the wormwood oil, the main ingredient and the origin of the green color, lightly coats and numbs the inside of your mouth. It's a strange experience. And speaking of experiences--no, it will not make you hallucinate. Thujone (a chemical component of wormwood and a bone fide neurotoxin) is present in absinthe but not conclusively linked to psychoactive responses. For more information on the studies on thujone and its effects, read the Wikipedia article linked above. Bottom line: bad research led to absinthe getting a bad rap. Historically it is the only alcoholic substance to be singled out for prohibition. But fear not, the green fairy has returned.

Guh....not even 7 am and I'm writing about alcohol. The light of the monitor is almost enough to kill me. Later I'll do more research on where to buy absinthe-related goods. There seem to be several reputable sites, but I need to shop and compare before dropping $150 out of my financial aid refund to buy an absinthe fountain.

But for now, it is time to shower and go act like an adult...an adult with a very specific headache.

nothing good ever comes from drunk blogging

So that's why I'm blogging before I drink. Ha! I didn't get my college degree for nothing, you know.

This semester I'm studying the Minnesota Multiphasic Personality Inventory-2 (or MMPI-2 if you're that kind of cool). Neat stuff. Apparently I'm a slightly neurotic control freak. Whatever. I just think I could've made a better test :P School is getting marginally better. The truth is, I find myself distracted by my old life. I wonder what's going on in Missoula right now. I think about how the mist looks tumbling down Mt. Sentinel at 8 in the morning when I used to be rushing to work. I think about all the people laying in the Oval, kissing and playing music as if 1969 never left. Life here is so loud. Wherever you are, someone is shouting. On the train, at home, at school--the noise is omnipresent. I miss mountains. I miss certainty. I miss feeling like I could come out here to the city and make it my bitch. I might complain about school or about Chicago, but the truth is, I'm most disappointed in myself. I'm not urban. I thought I'd find myself here, as if I was trapped in Montana but that the City of Giant Shoulders might free me. Instead, I find myself staring out at Lake Michigan, wondering if there's a better place for me on the other side.

Now then, I've stalled long enough. No school tomorrow means plenty of drinking tonight. Cheers to a morning of Alka Selzer and bad eggs.

physics makes us all its bitches

Seriously, I need to stop listening to "Gronlandic Edit" (by Of Montreal) on continuous loop. But that's another story.

Reason number #1 to hate public transit:
The guy who randomly begins making bird noises. Now I'm not talking about a pleasant little whistle here. Think giant egg-bound ostrich gargling Drain-O. There are some seriously unhinged individuals in this town. And they're all on the Red Line.