Illegal immigrants aren't taking all the jobs.

I am.

I picked up job #6 on Monday. It's another shelter affiliated with my original shelter, so all I had to do was call up, say I'm interested in getting some hours there, and boom, the next day I was in for my first of 2 6-hour shadow shifts. By day 2 I pretty much had it under control, although it's very hard to be confused by "eating chicken and rice while a woman talks about how someone at her last job sabotaged her" and "watching people watch The Young and The Restless." Incidentally, that show is not even remotely worth the money I got paid to watch it.

I have my first "real" shift on Sunday. I hang out from 10 am to 6 pm. Then, I run to my other shelter to supervise dinner. I might accidentally be doing crazy overtime again this week, but I'm currently pleading ignorance.

To be honest, although it's possible for me to work 40 hours a week at this shelter, I'd rather not, because I love the day shelter so much. As soon as I mentioned picking up time over there, the face of one of the awesome guys I work with fell and he begged me not to leave. I'm not. I can't. I love him and a bunch of the other people, and the clients, and it's not the same at the women's shelter. I just can't get the hours I need at the day shelter, and the schedules aren't made nearly as far in advance, so it's hard to say no when I'm offered a 9 hour shift, especially when I might end up with a one hour shift at the day shelter.

The best part of this whole situation is that it clears the way for subbing to be a "fill in the open time, just once in a while" sort of thing for me, instead of my full time job. I can't tell you how sick I was of subbing, and how liberating it felt to be away from it for a week last week. That's when I realized that there was no way I could go back to it, and if I could get enough hours elsewhere, damn, that's fine. I had a great time hanging out in Portland last week, visiting the library and taking walks, so it'd be fine if I had a weird shift setup that left me with a few open hours in between. As long as it's not randomly SNOWING like it did for three minutes today. Yes, seriously. Goddamnit, Maine. Cut the shit.

So, abrupt subject change. The theme of the week, well, really, my life right now, has been "say fuck it and do what I want." And accordingly, I got pierced, I called up the women's shelter about hours, and I went to a concert by myself. I saw Against Me! at Port City Music Hall last night, and it was an incredible show! I'm actually a little cut up from the mosh pit. I wasn't in it, per say, but a guy did fall on me. He apologized for knocking my glasses off my face. Aww, polite moshers. I had a fantastic time, and I'm so glad I took the risk of going alone instead of saying "well, none of my friends want to go, so I guess I'll just stay home and feel sorry for myself." I did start talking to a guy, but he wasn't terribly interesting, so I focused more on dancing and enjoying the show instead of HERE'S A MAN, I MUST MAKE HIM MY CONQUEST. I'm just hoping if I go to more shows, maybe I'll start meeting more people and making more friends. At the very least, it'll be a new hobby for me. And I desperately need a hobby that isn't a little embarrassing (see also: title of this blog, URL of this blog, main subject of this blog.)

The ear is healing up nicely. I can move the jewelry around to clean the hole much better now, and it didn't even really hurt when it got bumped when someone pulled me into a hug the other night. If I wasn't so embarrassed by my panic attack wooziness, I'd be running back to Nate for a tragus next. I guess I should at least let this one get halfway healed first.

I think it's time to change my "about me." "I'm a 23 year old knitter and substitute teacher, usually in special education" isn't quite the story any more. Shit, being 23 isn't even accurate in a couple weeks. That's a little bit horrifying. And at some point I'll deal with that sidebar about FOs, actually post about them, and actually link the other ones. If I sum up the effort/am home for more than 2 hours at a time.

Look at my ear.

I got a helix! My very first piercing by choice. When I was three, my mom had my ears pierced, and she says she did it early so I wouldn't remember the pain and be scared by it. This backfired, as I later became afraid of everything, pain included. So although I admired piercings, I could never bring myself to even consider it. My best friend and former college roommate had plenty of them in her ears, and I admired the helix in particular, but again, I'm a wimp.

Then my mom got her nose pierced.

If my mom can get pierced, it'd be pretty sad if I can't handle it. I did text her and make her encourage me today. She had been trying to get me to get my nose done for years, but I totally saw through that. She just wanted an excuse to get hers done. And I always worked in places where that wouldn't fly.

Then I started working at the shelter.

I fucking love this place. As I said last time, it's just so fun and low-key and awesome. I swear, everyone I work with speaks Spanish (working on it), has tattoos (some day, but I'm prone to sudden loss of interest in passions), and has piercings (ta da). If my boss can have a helix, so can I.

A friend had offered to go with me, but this was one of those "I have to do it right now or I never will" things. So, with the time I had to kill between jobs, I did it! I'm embarrassed that I got woozy, but I suppose that's nothing surprising to them. And honestly, it didn't even hurt. What hurts is when I accidentally touch it or when I'm cleaning it, that's totally nauseating. I'm a little freaked out by this "it takes 6 months to heal" thing and I'm not terribly sure what constitutes healing, since it's not like this is streaming blood or something, but I guess it's strangely reassuring that my ear might be fucked up for a long time. At least I won't assume I'm dying, as I tend to do.

For anyone in Portland, Maine, I got this done by Nate at Hallowed Ground. He was a total sweetheart and got it done super fast.

There's a good chance I'm five.

I wasn't hungry for dinner today because I had a really big milkshake at lunch. I felt obligated to eat something, so I had cookies and milk.

Haircuts, fail, and turkeys

I have this completely kickass job working at a day shelter (not officially a homeless shelter, because it's just open during the day to hang out, get showers, meet with caseworkers, etc. Like a big community room where you can also get social services and toothpaste.) and I am madly in love with it. I grab every hour I possibly can there. I just can't do it as my sole job because the shifts are weird (Tuesday I get to work 7:45 - 9:30 and then again 3-4:15) and I can't afford to work a random hour in the middle of the day and lose the day of subbing pay. But, the scheduler is really cool and just puts me on for 3 pm - whatever and lots of weekends. So this lead to that awesome 25 day stretch without a day off, but at no point did I feel overworked. I just love this place. It doesn't tire me at all. It's the third job ever (out of... ten?) where I'm always stoked to go to work. I have the most awesome time talking with clients, and I absolutely adore everyone I work with (hi Liam) and am always happy there. Of course, like every facet of my life, I end up explaining that no, I am not 16, and yes, I know you think I look like Liza Minnelli.

And just to make that a little more interesting... http://www.pressherald.com/news/Liza-Minnelli-coming-to-Portland.html

May God have mercy on me.

So, next story, genderforking FAIL. Although I have a very female presentation, I never really saw myself as what's displayed on the outside. I used to look in the mirror and be surprised that was what I look like. With the more I learn, the more I like to explore things like that, and, push-up bras aside (not that there's even anything to push up), I've been digging a genderless presentation lately. With that in mind, I chopped the shit out of my hair. And for the first time in a long time, I was able to look in the mirror and say "that's what I wanted." Look.

And the sweet thing about this cut is it's something different every day. Yesterday I had it in much more traditionally masculine style. The day before I took it high femme:

(That day, I felt like I looked like Prince, which made me feel like ten thousand times hotter)

It's pretty good flat on its own, too.

And because I'm am-aaazing, I totally did it all myself. I'm pretty fearless with the scissors. Considering I wanted to just shave it off in the first place, I wasn't too concerned about going too short, but really, with hair like this, it's pretty hard to feel bad if I fuck it up. It'll grow back in a week. Between the amazing stylability, and the drunken requests of my best friend, I know I'm never going back to long hair. That, and I tried it once, and I couldn't handle the mullet it was totally growing into in the interim.

So, back to the fail. First, It's not that I'm actively attempting to be identified as male, I just dig the idea of being a person, not necessarily one labelled thing. Just one of those odd things about me you wouldn't necessarily know, unless I was three beers in. Just trying to figure out who I am, and being a little in between makes me happy. But yeah, ever since cutting the hair, the amount that I get hit on at work has drastically increased. I always got a lot of comments like "you look nice today," but now I'm having to set boundaries and shit. I also tend to get a lot of comments about my shoes (leather sneakers, wtf?) but I have no idea what that's about. So, so much for making myself look less feminine.

God, epic baking fail today. I was tasked with making my grandmother's birthday cake. I checked it, it seemed close to ready, but I decided to go sit down for a minute to make sure it was cooked. And then I forgot for a half hour. It ended up cooking twice as long as it was supposed to. Glorious. Somehow, it looks like I managed to avoid burning it, but yeah, not good. It looks like it's fine, and I can still ride on that little kid "lookee what I made you! I tried my bestest!" appeal. I'll just make a pound of frosting and all sins will be forgiven.

Starting some socks for Sarayu. The pattern had a short row toe, and, just, no. I mean, I'm a good knitter, and I have MAD SKILLZ, I just don't need to flaunt them with bullshit like a short row toe. Turkish cast on all the way. I did 2 rows of it. Seriously. Megan and I went out to a sports bar and didn't want to be those weirdos knitting, and once we got to knit night, we felt kind of isolated behind the guys playing cards, so I took a risk (ah, God love my intense shyness that no one believes exists) and got up to join a conversation on the other side of them. I was too busy talking to care about knitting, so I just never bothered. I had a fun night, too. It was a good day off. Oh, that's right! NEW PARAGRAPH!

Yesterday was my first day off in a month! And yet I still woke up at 8 am. Because my body is now totally incapable of sleeping. I didn't feel like getting out of bed, so I did the only reasonable thing and read my car's owner's manual, which is naturally next to my bed, and learned how to use my air conditioner. It was 37 yesterday. By the time I got off the couch to take a shower (cough 4 pm) my ass was sore from sitting still. I kept wanting to call work and tell them I can come in, please please please. Having a day off felt weird and wrong. I did make something of my afternoon when I found a website that shows Mystery Science Theater all damn day, so I finished this baby hat I made for my boss and watched MST3K all day. My evening was a little more exciting, since I met one of my awesome girlfriends to go to a sports bar and watch the Sox game. We shared some spinach and artichoke dip, had some beers, and then went over to knit night. I got to see everyone I like, stayed until close, and had a great time.

Ok, one last story. So, you know you live in the middle of nowhere, when... your grandmother makes you get out of the shower to come check out the turkey fight in your backyard. PSA: Turkeys are fucking huge. I do not need them getting all territorial and shit in my backyard. Like the outdoors isn't scary enough already. I'll just be in the fetal position on the floor of my closet if you need me. Then, last night, I was late to Megan's because I went to get in my car and GIANT FUCKING TURKEY just wandering around. I hauled ass back inside before it could peck my eyes out as vengeance for the sandwich I had Thursday night. And intimidate me with its freaky neck penis.

Seriously, what is that?

I have many more bizarre stories about my Life of Perpetual Work, but, they'll wait, so I have fodder for more entries.