I find myself craving this one flavor of cookie, pretty much constantly. I like the way eating it makes me feel, and it tastes better than any other cookie I’ve had in a very long while. At first I just felt a mild, pleasant affection for the flavor, but now I feel like I want to eat the cookie more and more often, and it’s getting out control.

I need cake instead, right? Cake is more filling and comes with visually appealing frosting and sometimes even sprinkles, whereas the cookie is kind of just a standby. A last-ditch effort to shut my sweet tooth the HELL UP, when what I really want is cake but sadly there IS no cake, unless I make it myself and I’m not willing to exert that sort of effort, not when cake will leave me feeling cheap and overweight in the morning, but then there will still be a whole pan left so I’ll keep going back, and then back for more, until I’ve lost all self-respect and even the cookie thinks I’m pathetic.

What I need is a hobby, something to make me forget the cookie ever existed. Sadly, hobbies mostly require money, which I don’t have too much of right at the moment. I’ll just stay busy. Staying busy is productive AND distracting, a win-win.

Lastly, this might be a metaphor. I’m uncertain.

Today is my last day at the office where I currently work – sort of. My supervisor is already in full meltdown mode, panicking about how she’s going to manage in my absence – which isn’t as flattering as it sounds, being less a reflection on my personal performance and more about the sudden lack of bodies filling chairs here.

Being of easily guilted mind, I said I’d talk to the people in charge about possibly filling in on weekends, when they need me. In case of emergencies and such, NOT just because someone feels lazy. It doesn’t feel like today is my last day, not really, and not just because I’m volunteering my free time. Maybe it’s because I’m only moving next door, or maybe the feeling of finality hasn’t set in yet.

Either way, today has been too great for words so far, because a co-worker (the absolute last person I would expect) did something surprising and sweet – he got me a gift, and a card. A very sweet, thoughtful card. I am not a crier, people, but if I was I would’ve needed buckets to contain the mess. This from the same person who said, ‘We’re having a going away party but you’re not invited’. It’s nice to feel appreciated. A little bit ookey, but nice.

Mental stupor, you are a sweet and dear friend. Oh, and by the way – you’re FIRED. Normally I’d just give you a warning and a light slap on the wrist, but the thing is, all of this absent-mindedness and staring off into space is having dire consequences.

For example, my cat. Luna hates me. She’s been driving me up the wall (and across the ceiling, and down the other side) for the past couple of days. She’s been digging through the garbage nonstop – any attempt by me to dispose of ANYTHING is met with her immediate knowledge and following inspection, which means cucumber peels and those shiny foil Hershey’s kisses wrappers end up on my floor, along with everything else she can bat out of there with her greedy, trouble-making paws. So I yelled and squirted her with the water bottle and chased her away, waving my hands madly, only to sit down to dinner a half hour later and find her nosing onto my plate. At which point I lost it, and started yelling about how FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, EAT YOUR CAT FOOD!…except…she didn’t have any. The bowl was bare, and worse still, so was the WATER bowl. Which isn’t as neglectful as it sounds, really, because she pretty much refuses to drink out of it anyway…she prefers my water glass, or the toilet. I digress – I’m a terrible cat owner. She was starving, and I didn’t even realize it until she annoyed me into gesturing at her bowl and stomping around like Godzilla.

I feel guilty, like any minute now Animal Protective Services will pop onto my doorstep wielding a clipboard and a fierce frown of disapproval, punctuated by the frantic tapping of a scary red pen. And then they’ll take Luna into foster care or something, and she’ll screech and look all abandoned and betrayed, and I’ll have to feed her caviar and tuna with a catnip chaser for all of her nine lives if I ever get her back.

OKAY THEN. I guess from now on I’ll be checking that bowl more often.

I can’t decide whether or not to move. It should have been an easy decision, not unlike eating a delicious piece of cake. (Mmm, cake). But no, it’s got to be all difficult and transform into a pain in my ass. Or my head.

The thing is, I talked to my landlord. If I remain where I am now, in my cheery sunlit apartment – which I have unconditional love for – my rent would be the only thing I could afford but who really needs shampoo or food anyway unreasonable. Unreasonably high, that is. And while utilities are part of the package, that is NOT A CONSOLATION.

Of course, if I move (which I really really really don’t want to do because first of all packing and unpacking are activities of torment and secondly I feel that if one goes to the trouble of moving the location would have to be to somewhere like Arabia to make any of the effort worth it, NOT the same town) I’ll have to pay my own utilities, which I think would come close to being just as expensive as staying, even if I got a cheaper place. I’ll have to have a chat with the power company to find out for sure.

Or, there’s kind of a third option. My sister is moving in August, and the little house she’s renting is only $150 per month, plus utilities. And it’s not a bad house, either, despite the unbelievably low price. Although I would definitely be investing in some paint, because while the neon pink and yellow nursery is great for my niece, it’s just not my style. Also, it kind of hurts my eyes.

To move or not, this is my dilemma. I’m thinking I might make room for a fourth option, which was suggested to me last night – get a sugar daddy.

A lot has been going on lately, so I haven’t been posting as often – a tragedy, I know. Soon I’ll be starting my new job, and then in March I have to move, and starting the 24th I’ll be busy testifying at the trial. I’m a ball of nerves and excitement and feeling pretty scatterbrained on top of it all. I have a lot to do in a short time, but of course I still managed to squeeze in a shopping spree so I could outfit myself for my new position. I’m happy to report that so far the spree (which is ongoing) has been a success in terms of flattering colors and fit and also a triumph for my usually questionable sense of personal taste.

And yesterday some friends and I went to get haircuts together, and of course I chickened out and settled on a trim because why mess with a perfectly good thing and believe me I know, I have had some truly HORRIFIC hairstyles in my life – remind me to try and find a picture of what will be forever known as the ‘poodle cut’ so I can share the jaw-dropping gasp that was my fifteenth year with the rest of the world. And no covering your eyes, either.

So yes, aside from talking with potential landlords and calculating costs, I’ve been mostly shopping (under supervision, of course).

About three weeks ago I made a comment at work about how I planned to make Happy Valentine’s Day cupcakes for the office (because I’m just that much of an ass kiss), and my male co-worker – obviously suffering from some kind of false superiority complex – made a remark that HE could make better cupcakes than me, any day, hands down. Being of competitive nature and easily offended pride, I basically told him that he could prove it to me in a baking contest, and so we were on like donkeykong.

About two weeks ago I attempted to make a cocoa-cola cake (yes, I had to practice, bite me). DISASTER. Sort of like the coffee crumb cake I mentioned way back when, except terrifying in light of having to watch aforementioned co-worker gloat that he’s more akin to Martha Stewart than I am.

So I did what any smart woman would do – I enlisted the help of a girl I know who happens to be great at baking, and she brought a recipe for me to try and, ahem, ‘supervised’ my efforts. Naturally, my cupcakes turned out AMAZINGLY moist and chocolatey and delicious, and his…not so much. In fact, one of the judges (we made everyone else in the office act as judges) said his cupcakes must’ve been made with sawdust. So ha! I WON. Everyone agrees, my cupcakes are way better.

And yes, technically I cheated a teensy bit, BUT even if I hadn’t I probably would have kicked his ass because I tried his cupcakes and they were truly awful.

Anyway, my Valentine’s Day was pretty victorious all in all.

I got the job! They called to offer it to me today, and then asked me to come in to discuss the specific responsibilities, just to make sure I wanted it. HELL YES! Picture me doing a completely obnoxious victory dance, with excess wiggle! So I went in, and we discussed everything, and it seems like something I can handle – not to mention something I will enjoy – but they said I could think about it for a few days, if I wanted. I told them I’d let them know on Monday.

I might not have mentioned this, but the job starts at a lower salary than I make now, and then after a probationary period goes up to the amount I originally thought I’d be making (more than I make now). I politely and unobtrusively let them know that if I took the job, I’d be taking a considerable pay cut, and while I’d potentially be willing to do so, EH. Meeting adjourned.

An hour later, as I was settling into my shift at work, one of the commissioners popped in and told me that they talked about it after I left, and they don’t think it would be fair to ask me to take a pay cut at all – so I’ll start at the salary I make now, and then get periodic raises during the probationary period as discussed! HOW GOOD AM I? And as he left he said, ‘I hope that makes your decision easier.’ Damn straight it does!

I couldn’t be happier right now; I’m coasting somewhere near cloud nine, except for that fact that I can’t go out for celebratory drinks because I work until midnight (suck! but not for long!), so I must sit here and answer phones instead of have a cocktail and SHAKE IT!

Now, because I’m feeling truly cheesy, I would like to thank certain individuals OSCAR style:

First, my friend B, who nagged and prodded and generally presented herself as a serious pain in the ass until I agreed to apply. And my sister, who was excited for me and equally encouraging, although not in such an obnoxious manner. And my co-worker, who put in more than a few good words for me. And ALL OF YOU, who were so supportive and you don’t even know me, except I FEEL like I know you and believe me when I say I am fortunate to connect with you when I get the chance. Now then, would someone please pop open a bottle of bubbly because I CAN’T and have a drink for me!

I hate to do this because it seems like a lot of my blog posts have been full of gloom lately, but this one will be equally laden with complaints due to the cold that’s currently kicking my ass – it feels like a tire iron is being used to pummel my aching head, no joke.

My nose WILL. NOT. STOP. RUNNING. I may as well just stuff a couple of wads of kleenex in my sore red nostrils, because I can pretty much count on a constant drip. My throat hurts, and I sound like Kermit on steroids. I am aching and weary all over, compounded by the impending visit of a certain aunt (if you’re following this, I am truly sorry).

This would all be more tolerable if I were AT HOME, snuggled up in bed with hot tea and honey and a box of actual kleenex instead of stuck at work with cheapo toilet paper and annoying tasks that should probably be completed by tonight sometime in the near future.

I know it’s only a cold, and in some places people are giving birth or dodging explosions or starving to death day by day, and as a result I should probably count my abundant blessings and SHUT THE HELL UP, but I’ve never known when to do that and I sincerely doubt I’ll be catching on now.

Adding to my oh-so-dire suffering is a total lack of phone calls all day long, including one very notable one from a certain interviewer.

Also in poorer condition than myself, and doing a lot less whining to boot: Luna, who had to be taken to the vet today to get her baby-making abilities nixed. She went into heat (with a capital goddamn H) the day after I scheduled her appointment, because she’s sassy like that, and then traipsed around the apartment like a total hussy for two days with her butt turned up in blatant invitation, yeowling nonstop at the door. Now she’s in her pet taxi (pet taxi, HAH, more like tiny claustrophobic prison) with a shaved, iodine coated belly and stitches. Adding insult to injury, the vet informed me that she’s a couple of pounds overweight for her size and then gave me a measuring cup. I’m thinking I’m going to be at the very top of her shitlist for a while.

Completely random: I love the name Roscoe for a girl. LOVE.

Maybe next time I update I’ll have good news, something along the lines of a new job or new lover (bit of a stretch) or new shoes. Or maybe all of the above.

Today was the interview. Yesterday I got a manicure, in purple, to match the sweater I planned to wear. THAT is how much I over-think things, constantly. I spent two hours getting ready today, which is an insane amount of time to be staring in the mirror, but it was strangely calming. I put on the perfect outfit and makeup and finished my hair and I still had over an hour before I had to go.

I think it went well. I think. I’m basing this on the fact that I didn’t pee my pants, or make a really bad joke, or say anything that made me sound like an idiot. I answered the questions and smiled and made eye contact and generally appeared to be a capable human being. I think.

Sadly, I found out through the local gossip channel who the other applicants are. One is a former county commissioner (ouch) and the second is a well-liked woman who works at the bank and is therefore more qualified than myself (double ouch). Odds are, I won’t be hired. But I’m hoping anyway, because apparently my MUCH LOVED co-worker (the one I consulted privately) put in a good word for me. Actually, I believe it was more along the lines of, ‘if you don’t hire her you’re an idiot’.

How true. They said they’d let me know in a day or two, and while I am not overly optimistic, I’m determined not to be pessimistic. Either way, I’ll land on my feet.

In my family, the superbowl is not merely a football game played in the early days of February. Oh no, it’s right up there with Christmas and Easter in matters of importance (actually, now that I’m thinking about it, football probably trumps Easter) and is looked forward to with great anticipation, always. Except in my case, I just go wherever the good food is.

Yesterday after work a friend and I took off for Havre to attend my brother Darren’s annual superbowl bash, which has increased in coolness quite a lot since he remodeled his basement and now has a big-ass flat screen TV and an open bar. Also included: hot college boys.

Except S & myself were very sad to learn that when men go to superbowl parties, they are not looking for a date – they do, in fact, intend to watch the game. With total concentration, no matter how much bitching they do about how it sucks compared to last year’s game. They might look away for a second now and then, to make sure they’re hitting their mouths when they reach for the beer, but otherwise, NO.

I don’t have anything against football, and actually I think it would be awesome to go to a game and sit in the actual stadium seats (and if it’s the superbowl, who cares if you get stuck in the nosebleed section) and be part of the whole super-charged, easily excitable atmosphere. But that’s probably the wanna-be writer in me peeking out, sniffing around for a story to tell, not an actual love of the game. Truth be told, I’m more of a doer than a watcher. I’d rather play, always. Even if I get squished. And in certain cases (I’m talking to you, Tom Brady) I wouldn’t exactly MIND getting squished.

So, the superbowl was fun and the spinach dip was amazing (thanks to my sister-in-law), but we came home last night sans phone numbers. Although I did get yet another offer from my sister’s husband to buy his pickup, an offer I’m starting to consider – it’s true, tenacity pays off.

What did you guys do for Superbowl Sunday?