Right on schedule (or The biweekly update)

Vox: Have assumed responsibility for entering bands-in-bars events into the calendar, as well as the other stuff I handle. Prior to Friday, the bar band tasks were handled by the receptionist, a woman full to the brim of evil. The kind of person that scowled at you just for walking by her desk. Apparently she threatened, yet again, to quit and the big boss called her bluff. Her last day was a couple weeks ago. I do not miss her. I am not alone in this sentiment. In her absence, I'm no longer afraid to go downstairs for a soda or my mail, which means I am now thoroughly caffeinated and in the loop. It's a brand-new, fizzy day.

At a Vox meeting the other day, a few crazy things happened:

1. Ginger, a generally intelligent woman, was saying that we need a copy editor, that people on Twitter were making fun of Vox for being poorly edited. She said, and I quote, "I don't know if that means we need to hire a copy editor or what," at which point my eyes fell out of my head. A few moments later, I piped up. Hi! Me? Hire? Me? The gal who's only working part-time and has repeatedly let you know I'm available for more work? The same person who already edits for you? Ginger glanced over with this sort of "Hey, when did you get here?!" look on her face and something clicked. Or at least one thing sort of rubbed up drunkenly against another. She considered my suggestion and a few minutes later was talking very formally, like "Then Maxine will sign off on the issue before it goes to the design folks and again when it's laid out" and all kinds of other I-carry-the-red-pen-of-great-importance sorts of phrases. Nothing is official (SHOCKER!) but at least I'm closing in on becoming... Full Time. ::cape flaps in wind:: Or, and this is only because I feel like I drop acid, turn my head backwards, and then talk to my bosses using a combination of pantomime and shadow puppet hand tricks, I'll still be squawking about being part-time a few weeks from now as poorly-edited issues of Vox continue to hit the streets.

2. While Ginger mulled over my idea (though I don't know why she even had to consider anything, aside from, perhaps, the budget that Vox apparently doesn't have), Buckethead looked at me very seriously and said, "This might change your schedule and increase your hours," as though I had suggested stepping in poop and then walking around the office. I said, no lie, "Darn!" The sarcasm was wasted. The Vox editors mention, often, that they like to smoke the pot. So do I, but I can still stitch together a rational thought. Um, usually.

3. The Earl of Pandemonium is resigning. YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS. He's moving out of state. Buckethead said we were all sad and we were going to miss him. (Lies!) I asked if I could have the Earl's desk. Everyone laughed and I quipped, "You think I'm kidding." They laughed harder. I'm totally taking his desk. HE doesn't sit in a cubby, even if it is all modern with lime-green, semi-see-through walls. I'll need to Lysol everything. Get rid of all the boy cooties and hot sauce remnants. There's a whole Lysol/he's a douche joke in here, but I'm too tired to go looking for it.

I'm tired primarily because I spent many, many hours this week (especially yesterday, holy hell) pulling together a grant proposal for an arts fellowship. The purpose of the grant is for artists to blow out the cobwebs and get really excited about their art again. It's how King V got the money for his play a few years ago. I proposed traveling around the country to various writing workshops that would normally be too expensive and/or far away to attend. I want to soak up the culture of places like Portland, OR, and commune with writers and see what develops in my work. (And my S*O*U*L ::heartsflowerspuppiesintrigue!::) When I get back, I'll publish a book of essays and poems that I create while I'm on the road. I'm envisioning rented cars and train rides and chatting with artists and reading at open mics and selling CDs and it's all VERY exciting. Today was the deadline. I'll find out in March if I got it. I know. March. I think I can hold my breath until then. The great news is that former Vox employees have been awarded the same fellowship and Vox worked around their schedules without too much hassle. I don't know yet where I'll be going or when -- at the earliest, if I was given the fellowship, I wouldn't leave for eight months, so I have a smidge of time to do some research. It's very exciting and I keep envisioning the reading I'll host when I get back (a public presentation being a requirement of the grant). In all my fantasies, my hair looks FANTASTIC.

Speaking of hair, I have a consultation scheduled tomorrow with my former stylist, the woman I faithfully went to in my early 20s for a biweekly wash-and-set. I also got my nails done regularly. They were sculptured (fake), long enough that I had to use my keys to open up cans of Diet Coke, and, at least once, painted hot pink. Twould be a vast understatement to say I'm no longer that girl. So vast it's like she's on one side of the Grand Canyon and I'm in the gift shop asking if anyone has seen Thelma and Louise.

I got a down comforter for my birthday. It is full of air and squish and awesome and I love it.

Mack Daddy Smooth will be home in just over a week. WOO!

I joined Netflix about a month ago and love it, so much so that I'm going to dump cable. I'll miss watching Frasier reruns in the morning before work but that's hardly a reason to keep paying $50+/month for a mechanism that mostly delivers shows I need not watch, like Intervention and Hoarders. And anyway, I can probably get them all online. ;) The cable rep didn't even try to get me to stay. Granted, I'm a cable customer until I hoof the cable box and remote back to the company, but that'll probably be Monday. (I'm highly motivated by words like "refund" and "pro-rated.")

As I've been putting off sleep since Sunday 8:00 p.m. and it's now two hours later, I am going to shuffle into the darkness and steal my new blanket away from George, who loves to lie both in my space AND squarely on top of the covers. As she doesn't pay rent or clean anything besides herself, maniacally so, she shall be moved from my sage-green pluff of wonderment so that I may nestle among the softitude of cottony goodness. Screw Vox. I'm going to go write catalog descriptions for The Company Store.