They'll still be there tomorrow.

Oklahoma:

Eric drinks his own pee.

The workforce welcomed me back (finally) on Tuesday for yet another job I can't blog about. I think that I'll just have to accept the fact that I'll never be allowed to blog about another job ever again. But, so far, so good. It keeps me busy, if not a little mind-numb, but the days go by quick. It's in Midwest City, a whole 19 miles from where I live in OKC. Right now, that doesn't bother me, but it might start to get on my nerves in a while. It's nice to have a routine again.

By far, the worst part is getting up early. The Sunday before I started, Chelsey and I decided that buying a 20 pack of Miller Lite at 1:30am and killing it by sunrise was a great idea. An even better idea was going to the diner down the street, still drunk, and getting biscuits and non-chocolate gravy at 9am. Well, it was totally awesome, but as if my sleep schedule wasn't bad enough, that absolutely ruined it.

I can tell you that there was a chocolate party in the building I work on Friday. No reason, just a bunch of people decided to bring in chocolate. Dudes in Oklahoma like to eat. Someone brought in chocolate gravy, which completely blew my mind. I had no idea such a thing existed. Turns out, it's super popular in the south; people serve it over biscuits and dip bacon in it. WHAT. I guess it's sort of like when I try to explain xeroscaping or swamp coolers to people here. It just doesn't make sense. Now, the most important question: how was it? Well, I didn't dip any bacon in it, but it was pretty much like eating a chocolate muffin. With butter. I guess if people can deep fry twinkies, they can make chocolate gravy.

You better call Edco.

My truck hit 200,000 miles on the way back from Albuquerque. Unfortunately, I was too distracted by construction to remember to take a picture.

In the almost 9 years I’ve had her, Joan Rivers has seen 2 oceans, 2 countries, 17 states, 2 provinces, 3 of the Great Lakes, the mighty Mississippi 4 times, countless oil changes, one entirely new front end, 2 additional new bumpers, 3 radiators, 4 batteries, 4 brake jobs, 5 new sets of tires helped move too many people to name. I normally get about 300 miles per a tank of gas, so dividing that by 200,000, then multiplying an average price of $27 for a tank of gas (and that's probably low-balling it), it means I've spent $18,000 on gas for her. Dear Lord.






Here's to my ultimate highway companion. And to her amazing ability to keep me safe, warm and out of trouble.

The flood is here.

Everything will change.

Kyle and I are taking a hiatus. It’s no one’s fault, no one’s mad, and I know deep down, it’s the right decision for both of us. I’m trying to be as rational as possible, but all in all, it’s absolutely heartbreaking. That’s the hard thing about your heart; it’s pathetic at being logical. It's the sort of thing I'm keeping close, and not on a blog.

I spent last week in Albuquerque, remembering all the things I missed; summer nights with Ashley and Joel, the smell after a thunderstorm, Jennifer’s garden, Daniel’s giant bear hugs, potatoes from Olympia, Kate nachos, Maria’s tolerance for drunk people (Lord Calvert, you and me are officially over.), the mountains, Kyle Anaya’s off-color wisdom, the amount of discretion over marijuana usage (NONE), the accent and about a million more things. I sobbed and sobbed when I left. Felt like I left behind a lot more this time.

And back in Oklahoma, I got offered another job I can’t blog about. But it’s been a mess trying to get everything in order for it. I had to get my own background check. Also, the pay schedule is screwy, so I’ll still be dirt-poor for a while. I have to remember this is a job, not a career; a paycheck, not my life.

In my hotel room, I'm wondering if you read that story too. And if we both might be having the same imaginary conversation.

They're all equal.

Continuing battles with unemployment make me somber. But today, happiness was brought via phone line. First in the form of text message updates and announcements of the birth of Drayson Matthew Mora, to proud parents Jason "Skittles" and Everetta Mora. Those kids (and I shouldn't call them kids anymore) were two of my nearest and dearest high school comrades; Skittles being my senior year prom date and Everetta being the only reason I passed Calculus.


Cat n' Skittles, circa '03.

And while I continuously battle with my own struggle to grow up, those two have seemed to have accomplished it flawlessly; degrees behind them, careers in front of them, and now the great adventure of parenting. I can't think of two finer people for that adventure. They're proof that every once in a while, your first love is your best love. Cheers to them and in Skittles' own words, "truly epic".

Also from the phone: Me and Chesley huddled around her phone, on speaker, and heard glorious news about a dear friend of ours taking the all-too important step of the first kiss with a new lady. We both felt like proud mama bears, sending our cub into the big scary world of dating.

And one more phone thing; text message I sent Maria on Friday night: "I may or may not be at a strip club. But I probably am."

So, phone, don't let me down tomorrow when I call unemployment AGAIN and try to get crap straightened out. I'd really like to get home, if only for a few days.

The man in the mirror.

So few artists ever truly perfect their craft. Michael Jackson did that, when he was only 10 years old. He perfected it and then he re-wrote the book on how to do it. I'm glad that people seem to be celebrating his life, instead of mourning his loss. I hope that somewhere in the midwest, there's a drive-in theater being haunted by a newly-minted but extra fabulous dancing zombie.

I had an interview on Wednesday and if I get the job, it's certainly another one I won't be able to blog about. One of my interview questions was, "Please define confidentiality." Well, that probably doesn't include blogging. But, I felt like it went well. Keep your fingers crossed for me.

Update on just how intelligent New Mexico Unemployment is: They have my name spelled Katherine, and I've spelled it 3 times for them. This is also printed on the debit card they sent me yesterday. Sigh. They also have the street I live on as Brookeline. Yeah, there's no 'e' in there. I guess that's my own fault for telling the lady it's spelled exactly as it sounds. Tell me dear Kyle, exactly what sound does the 'e' make in Brookeline?