He hit me, and it felt like a kiss.

Arrgh my head hurts and all I want to do is dumb internet shit, but the first of the month arrives in two days and I am trying to prepare myself for the onslaught of interviews and having cases up to my neck. It doesn't help when I try to be nice and really help my clients out instead of giving them the bureaucratic runaround, and they do things like roll their eyes when I ask them for the kids' GD shot records. Listen, lady, I know you've brought them before? But that was 2006, and this is 2008 and IT'S JUST THE RULES. I CAN'T CHANGE THE RULES. Be responsible for your shit, in other words.

I got some prints of vacation pictures and the like and put them up in my darling adorable little cubicle. Did you know that the cubicle turns 40 this year? Oh, tis true, tis true. I don't love this cubicle, but I do appreciate the fact that if I start crying from a particularly stirring episode of This American Life, I can just hide my face toward the inside of it and no one will try and ask me what's wrong. People die tragically, that's what's wrong, dumbass. Anyway, as you may have picked up or know, I interview applicants for food stamps daily, and I thought it'd be pretty insensitive to put travel pictures of myself & Mr. Husband on prominent display for people who don't have any money to buy themselves food, so I cleverly placed them to the side of a cabinet, so they won't be like "Goddamned white girl is rich." Because I'm not. I just saved my tax return and some other money, man.

Those are my heroics for the day.

Also, after letting my birth control prescription run out, yesterday I finally got to replace my best friend, the Nuvaring, in its warm safe home, and next Tuesday it's game on again. FINALLY. Jesus.

I have to go home today and prepare my home for this weekend's visit of my mom & niece, which pretty much means removing any trace that humans live there and have bodily functions and drop things on the floor. Or that I have cats. My mother would never say anything, but if I went in the bathroom while she was there and saw, oh, I don't know, let's say some dust on the floor, I'd be horrified because she had seen it and 9 months from now she'd casually mention that I'm fucking nasty. Which sucks because I am fucking nasty and although we can keep the dishes washed pretty much daily, we don't really notice things like the bathtub, and these are the places in which grime forms and makes my mom puke a little in her mouth.

They're coming to town because I invited them to go see Gone With the Wind at the Orpheum Friday night and do some other city stuff. My niece is 11 and lives in the same little-shit town I was raised in, so I am hoping it will be fun for her to come spend time in a place where you don't have to drive 15 minutes to buy a gallon of milk. Last fall she stayed with us a night, and ended up feeling pretty intimidated by the whole thing, but maybe it will go better this time around.

If there are any Memphians out there who have not experienced the movie series at the Orpheum, you should really check it out. It's only $5 for an adult ticket, and the theater is just breathtaking. Upcoming showings can be found here; we saw To Catch a Thief last week and it was fucking awesome. Things that puzzle me in old movies: the men are always just whapping th women across the face, really hard, and then they kiss, just as hard. Of course I don't approve of this behavior but I find it utterly fascinating.

I know, I know, GWTW is completely racist and inappropriate in a lot of ways, but it's a movie I had a lot of love for as a little girl, before I became politically aware, and to see it at the Orpheum will be some sort of pinnacle of cinema-loving-Southern-womanness for me. Be there or be square.