I need to start writing again. I need some sort of outlet for all the craziness I deal with at work. I do not, however, intend to be Dooced, so identifying details and work talk in general may be scarce.

Bare facts. I have embarked upon a journey in the housing industry. I work in the office of a rather large community here in Indianapolis and I am trying not to lose my faith in the future of humanity. The general stupidity of some humans never ceases to both amaze and depress me. Chickens are not an inside pet, okay?

I do love my job, mostly. It's stressful, but also hilarious, like what I imagine certain reality tv shows that I've never watched (and never intend to watch) might be like. Shows like Honey Child Boo Boo Head (whateverhernameis) or Swamp People or the bounty hunter dude with the orange "tan", extensions that not even Lindsay Lohan would slap on her drug-addled head and the wife who obviously owns only an overworked make-up mirror. Dog! I can't believe I couldn't remember that, since I remain a crazy dog lady. And yes, I do expect to see the Intervention crew go rolling by any day now, but not for me as the subject. This is Indiana, why smoke demon weed or just drink a forty when you can mix up some meth in an off brand Mt. Dew bottle in a Wal-Mart bathroom? Off brand Mt. Dew you've shoplifted, I might add. From Wal-Mart. Anyone who sees your mugshot will know your entire life story just by looking at that side neck tattoo you so proudly sport.

The tangent. My ruling planet.

I'm still the true crime and news junkie I have always have been. I've been half ass watching the Jodi Arias trial but it's moving so slowly and she's such a garden variety narcissist/sociopath, she's practically boring. For those of you who haven't heard of Jodi Arias, she is on trial in Arizona for the particularly gruesome murder of her boyfriend, who had relegated her to a booty call and girl just lost it. She stabbed him twenty-seven times, slit his throat and shot him. After having sex with him, photographing said sex, and photographing him in the shower after sex. As you do. She's claiming she was abused and was scared of him, claims it was self-defense after she dropped his camera and he became "enraged" and it pisses me off on behalf of all the women who truly have been abused. She's told at least three different stories, passed a magazine in the jail visiting room with a message inside to a friend, warning the friend about what the friend said to police, she showed up at his house, several hours away, with a gun. A gun she stole from her grandparents. Pulease. My Pomeranian would look at her and say, "Really girl?"

I had occasion to be in Michigan for a week recently. I was a little surprised to find out, it's not home anymore. I had a wonderful time having dinner with two old friends, spent time with my father-in-law, visited my favorite hometown steakhouse, ran into a friend I've know since kindergarten but then I came home. To Indy.

Naptown rocks.