Sunday, December 30, 2007
I think sometimes about the pure arbitrariness of time measurement and how we designate some particular day or hour as an ending and another as a beginning. New Years in particular strikes me that way -- it isn't really connected to the natural signals of time passage. Solstice, a more traditional dividing point, is several days past. Other particular positions of sun and moon are used in other cultures. I'm not even sure where this particular designation of the New Year derives (and at the moment I'm too sleepy to look it up.)
But since this is when a majority of intelligent life on this planet has chosen to divide time, I hope for each of you a new beginning with the New Year. May 2008 bring you the lessons you need, the wisdom you lack, the love you want, and the end to some of your searches. May it bring to all the people of the world a little more understanding of how to live together tolerantly and peacefully, with greater harmony with our planet and with each other.
Thursday, December 27, 2007
After all, if you kill off all the people who disagree with you, doesn't that make you right? I mean, we are doing such a fine job of demonstrating this fact, I don't wonder that others want to follow, in their own, low budget way.
And it's a long tradition among peace loving people to bomb, shoot, stab, imprison, torture, drown or hang anyone who scares them.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
Sunday, December 23, 2007
It's not funny. It adds more to the pile of things that make me avoid Best Buy. Why do we think these things are funny? It's funny when the little guy gets beat on by the big guy. It's funny when people show how little they care about family and friends when there's some magic thing waiting for them. I know Best Buy is a retail store trying to make money, therefore they want people to desire the things Best Buy sells. I'd just be more disposed toward them if their message was more in line with the idea that 1) we give gifts because we want to show others we care and think about them 2) that holidays are a time we set aside for special recognition of others, which we choose to do via gifts. I know fully well that a retail business doesn't want people to think that the things we buy AREN'T the be-all and end-all, but I wish they weren't so OBVIOUS about it.
And now it's Heineken commercials that are bugging me. A guy walks into a home Christmas party with a 6-pack of the beer, and everyone is grabbing those beers until they are all gone. Then another guy walks in with a 12 pack. The first guy targets him to continue the beer stealing.
This one is in the same vein as one where a guy signals for another Heineken from the bar, which is passed along from person to person until some guy with a mixed drink gets it. He then takes the beer and passes his glass along to the original guy.
Both these commercials say that Heineken is so good that it's ok to steal it from someone else. The Christmas one in particular says that sharing is going to leave a person without anything, so you're better off being greedy (there it is again) and hoarding beer for yourself.
I'm willing to bet there are other commercials I haven't seen that promote similar themes, and that thought makes me feel uncomfortable. I think that advertising both affects how we see ourselves and reflects how we see ourselves. I try to stay very conscious of the meta-messages in advertising. These messages bother me a lot.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
I've got a lot of things on my mind currently -- The Husband departs for locations northward in a little less than 2 weeks and he has nothing packed. We need to get the security system turned back on, which means getting a land line turned on for the house (haven't had one of those in 5 years or so). Need to get back on the packing-up-to-move bandwagon and start stacking boxes in the garage. House needs cleaning, which I am barely inclined to do.
And then there are the things I want to do but haven't -- books to read, writing to write, organizing to be organized. To save money, I'm going to be shutting down the HVAC and using fans or space heaters for the rooms I'm in. I'm emptying and closing down part of the house, which means more packing. Our income is about to be slashed by three quarters, so living in this house is going to be problematic if I can't control my expenses. That means trying not to HAVE any expenses per se.
On top of that are a couple of less pleasant issues with family that must be dealt with, for which I have no energy left. There are the usual burdens of this time of year -- thoughts of my mom, my dad, even my pets now gone. The day is grey, chilly and damp. I have to plan defenses against my own propensity for depression. I have to take on duties that were never mine before. I've never actually lived by myself for any extended period of time -- my life has been, for all the difficulties, relatively sheltered. So this will be a difficult time as I adjust to being on my own for more than a few weeks. Even though the Husband will be visiting as much as he can, we can't afford a lot of weekends home.
The house must sell. It must sell soon. I've lived, it feels like, on the edge of a cliff for a year now, teetering, waiting to fall off and see if I can fly. I can't crawl back to the flatland behind me, but I can't get airborne either. The particular tension of having to hold on to the edge takes all my effort to withstand and maintain. Nothing I do or can do will make a difference (unless I win the lottery.)
So I think I'll donate some more rice.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Monday, December 17, 2007
Your Score: The Cat
You scored 65% domestic, 27% gregarious, 25% trickster, and 58% intellect!
Domestic, Solitary, Serious, Intellectual: you are the Cat!
Cat represents a balance of strength in both physical and spiritual, psychic and sensual powers, merging these two worlds into one. Curious, intelligent, and physically adept, cat people tend to live in a world all their own.
This test categorized you based on four different axes of personality, which were then associated with a different animal. The four axes, as well as all possible results are explained below.
Wild/Domestic: This first axis categorizes you based on how much you are drawn to the outdoors, versus how much you are drawn to civilized situations. Domesticity has many shapes and forms, and varies from the joy of dolphins leaping next to a ship to the steadfast loyalty of a family dog.
Gregarious/Solitary: This axis measures how solitary you are. If you scored high, it means that you enjoy the company of other people, while a low score indicates that you prefer a more solitary lifestyle.
Trickster/Serious: This axis measures how well you line up with conventional trickster archetypes. People who fall into this archetype have a sense of humor and an excitable, highly chaotic streak. Scoring low doesn't mean that you don't have a sense of humor; it just means that you probably don't think dynamite is very funny.
Intellectual/Emotional: This last axis determines whether you are more emotional -- acting based on feelings and instinct, or rational and intelectual -- acting more on thought than on your gut feelings.
|Link: The Animal Archetype Test written by crumpetsfortea on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test|
I'll catch up on my lying ways shortly.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
This morning, I felt better, but now I have headache and sick stomach. I haven't eaten anything yet and now I'm not inclined to do so.
Is this a pattern? I don't feel sick, just ick.
This is piling with other things to sap the last three drops of interest in Christmas I had right out.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
Monday, December 10, 2007
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Three confabulations for Jammies
1) Cover girl Jammies lived off her trust fund for a while as a New York party promoter. Famous for her neoprene bikinis and sequined faux albino zebra striped trench coat, she stunned the fashion world by attending Andre J.'s birthday party at Hiro's in fuschia colored faux Lasa Apso footie pajamas (complete with little bows on the ears and small wet nose) and 4 inch heel electric blue Manolos to which she had attached miniature LED scrollers that read "Jammies is TEH". Her entrance brought the house down. The NYPD were called to control the riot.
2) Jammies was one of Jackson Pollock's many disciples, following up his 'action painting' style with her 'hyperactive painting'. Also drawing on Pollock, who used industrial and household paints instead of artist's oils, she favored the use of Jello and Kool-aid, mixed with Elmer's Glue, due to her own straitened financial condition. Her relationship with Pollock caused a certain amount of tension with Lee Krasner, Pollock's wife, and Jammies ended her association with the alcohol fueled genius after Krasner threw a bowl of potato salad at her, missed, hit one of Jammie's canvases, and claimed the result as her own artwork.
3) Jammies spent five years at the Martha Graham Center of Contemporary Dance, as both a lead dancer and choreographer trainee. Dances she created included "Superheroes without Capes", performed first at the Lincoln Center, and "Big Otters, Little Ponds", which toured North America for six months to varied critical and popular response. Discouraged by what she termed "the stubborn misunderstanding of the mustelids", Jammies retired from dance to become a assistant at the Monterey Bay Aquarium.
Three fabrications for Jeff
1) Teen aged Jeff caused consternation among his teachers when he turned in an extensively researched senior project on the notorious Leopold and Loeb' 'perfect crime' which included a diorama with two modified G.I. Joe's and a Skipper doll dressed in period costume, a reproduction ransom note, and other items of a suspicious nature. The project was confiscated by the local police and later turned over to the FBI. The locations of all children in the area under age 14 were ascertained and no suspicious bodies were located. Jeff admitted nothing, declaring his innocence repeatedly. His history teacher awarded him an "A".
2) Jeff has achieved some local fame in the town of Natchez, Mississippi by his occasional appearances as "Old Man River". Dressed in a rubber wet suit covered in bits of waterlogged wood, assorted trash, a piece of a steamer paddle wheel, iron scrap, some human bones, and other detritus, and a long bedraggled white beard and wig, Jeff walks the shore of the great river near Natchez and berates the local inhabitants for slovenly river care. His appearance has been the spark for two river cleaning events, both of which raked 8.4 tons of garbage out of a quarter mile stretch of the river. The events were considered failures, however, when it was discovered that by morning, Jeff had put most of the garbage back because, as he said, "If he didn't, he'd have nothing to bitch about."
3) Jeff spent several years in training with a San Fransisco troupe of Beijing opera performers, where he was groomed for the Sheng role. While applauded for his performance as Guan Gong, the Chinese God of War, Jeff was reluctant to play the 'red faced' roles and expressed a yearning to be in the Chou role, despite its lower level of stage time, because he had developed an unhealthy attachment to the guban. It was rumored that he slept and ate with the traditional instruments. His activities so unnerved his fellow performers that he was ejected from the troupe. He worked for a while as a clerk in a UPS store, but his painted face makeup and elaborate costumes caused him to knock over boxes and even Chinese customers would not come into the store.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Six lies for Ken (or five lies and a half-truth)
1) Ken has baffled science for years since his pediatrician discovered he had specialized facial pits that could sense infrared radiation. His mother, embarrassed by the attention, insisted he'd just tucked some batteries and lights from his disassembled Simon (tm) electronic game.
2) Ken was for a short while a suspect in the failure of Project Vanguard, until FBI investigation found conclusive evidence that he had not yet been conceived. However, other evidence remains in his recently declassified FBI file alluding to a time traveling incident that will take place in 2009, and a scrap of men's Hanes Underwear.
3) Ken underwent two years of intensive therapy for post traumatic stress syndrome stemming from a childhood incident, in which he wandered into a skate park during a training session of the Buxom Blonde Bombers, who mistook him for a midget mascot of an opposing team and buried him under a mass tackle. The therapy was mostly successful, although the sight of a buxom blonde will occasionally make him twitch, and the sound of roller skates can cause undue excitement. He takes medication to treat these symptoms.
4) Ken is one of the leading xenobiologists searching for the legendary Pigeontoed Rocky Mountain Ape. His writings on the subject include the story of his single face-to-face encounter, when the Kooplatush (as the native tribes of the area called the creature) tripped and fell into Ken's tent while trying to cross a field in the middle of the night. Unfortunately, the Kooplatush destroyed all of Ken's carefully rigged photographic equipment, so no evidence of that kind has been produced. Rumors are, though, that certain of these photographs can be purchased from Weird_Porn.com.
5) Ken still holds the record at his elementary school for stuffing the most jelly beans up his nose. A gum-and-marker 3-d commemorative portrait of his triumphant moment is preserved on the underside of desk 15, room 204.
6) Ken spent 10 years as the foremost director and producer of equine erotic film. The familiar "Big Stallion" emblem appears on many of the most well known 'blue horse' movies. His career was ended, however, when the filly Ta Wee sued him for releasing photographs of her taken before her illustrious racing career. The photographs showed Ta Wee in compromising positions with another filly. She accused him of attempting to blackmail her after her early wins.
Three lies about Jay
1) Jay suffers from a rare condition known as 'porcine magnetism'. Whenever bacon is in proximity to him, it is irresistibly drawn into his mouth. The phenomenon is under study by JLA and Stephen Hawkings is said to be writing a paper including an explanation of 'porcine magnetism'.
2) Jay is an avid mouldywarp hunter, and has taken his place in the Mouldywarp Hunter's Hall of Fame in Alms, GA among the exemplars of the sport. His prize winning take was a 22 inch Golden Mole during a trip to South Africa. Some disputes arose by competitors declaring the Golden Mole was not a 'true mole'. Jay was able to silence these naysayers via his ninja assassin executive assistant. No one has stepped forward to remove his plaque from the hall since.
3) Jay has the world's third largest collection of famous toenail clippings. The Left Front Big Toe Edge of George Plimpton recently sold at auction for a record $7.50.
Three Lies About Buzz
1) Buzz achieved notoriety in his youth by reenacting Lady Godiva's famous ride through the streets of Coventry, clad only in his nose hair. There were no reports of anyone being struck blind for peeking, and rumor has it that he earned about $15 in singles stuffed into his horse's girth strap.
2) Buzz rose to a brief and giddy fame as a drag queen couturier in Chicago in July of 1987, known mostly for his highly imaginative use of chicken feathers, soup can tops, and iridescent sequins. He was unseated from his throne by a designer known as Pu-Pu and a fall in the chicken feather market.
3) Chief Buzz Paheka Odonkedonk, leader of the little known and mostly non-existant Padonkadonk hapu of the Maoiri, publicly failed in eight of his last ten attempts to hunt and kill a great boar. His two successes were both later revealed to involve prepackaged soy bacon.
Three Lies about Scott
1) While he never allows his own name to be used in the credits, preferring to work under the alias Slobomor Scovotnick, Scott was a popular character actor in Russian Westerrn films. He was distinguished by a convincing Tex-Czech accent, and played such diverse roles as the hog-killing bounty hunter in Большие пушки на лошадях and the school marm in Повелительница имеет усик.
2) Scott has written, produced, and done the lead voice acting in a series of audio-only self help books for rodents. His most popular titles (via Audible.com/rodentia) are "Big Balls, Big Hearts: A Guide to Gerbil Polyamory" and "Seeds and Weeds: Getting into the Birdfeeder You Want".
3) Scott is frequently called upon for his diplomatic skills as emissary between the US and the island of Ikkiput, one of the less reputable of the Antipodal Islands (49.69° S 178.74° E) in the South Seas. This island was declared in 2001 to be part of the Rhomboid of Evil by President Bush when CIA reports indicated that the Ikkiputtians were secretly stockpiling Dixie Chick cds as part of a Weapons of Mass Destruction plan.
Do you want some lies of your own? Post a comment.
Wednesday, December 05, 2007
Did you get all that? There will be a quiz.
So, just for my own entertainment, I offer a little challenge. Reply in the comments here, and in my next posts I will make up three lies about you, some of which may be slanderous, some of which may be PG 13, and none of which will look good on your resume (although you can try it if you want).
Consider it a little Holiday gift.
Monday, December 03, 2007
Friday, November 30, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
1) spend $5000 on laser eye surgery that will correct my distance vision (which I've never had, thus meaning I require glasses for driving/theatre/reading the blackboard) and then buy reading glasses for the rest of my life
2) spend $500 for one new pair of distance/driving glasses and one new pair of reading glasses, and replacing them every 2-4 years for the rest of my life? (the cheapie cheaters from the pharmacy don't cut it.)
Yes, the presbyopia is a reality. Not just myopic anymore, although I get to KEEP that, and the astigmatism. They can't correct presbyopia with laser surgery or even lens implants.
Important note -- I'm going to be more annoyed with wearing reading glasses than I've ever been wearing glasses to drive, since I spend far more of my daily life needing to see up close than I ever spend in a car needing to see at a distance, which leaves me with
3) get arm extensions for reading and give up all close work/beading/jewelry making/sewing
"Be free from glasses"? Um, no, now I'll have to wear glasses MORE THAN EVER. I'm not seeing any winning outcomes here.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
There are successes, and failures.
It's not really surprising. It certainly isn't unique.
Mostly, I'm tired. I feel like I should retreat to a nice cave somewhere, maybe furnished with a mossy rug and a fire pit.
Winter comes. Hibernation time. Then spring, and time to awaken, and maybe eat some berries.
Anyway, I'll be around later. If I'm not where you expect me to be, check my cave. I'll be underground somewhere.
Friday, November 23, 2007
We are not planning to leave the house today. I can hear the distant roar of the shoppers from here.
NaNo word count is rising nicely and is about 38,258 at the moment. I am planning to continue my forward plod, perhaps to get ahead. There is huge satisfaction in finishing before the deadline, although with my poor luck on the site, I may not get an upload done so I can get my little NaNo blog widget, which would be sort of sad.
Monday, November 19, 2007
Sunday, November 18, 2007
On the way there, just before the turn into the grocery store, I saw one of those light-up street signs they have in the better areas, except this one was bright yellow and, when I first looked at it, said "Presbyterian Crossing".
I was stunned at both the specificity and the inherent discrimination. Then I blinked, and the letters rearranged (without benefit of Vanna) to say "Pedestrian Crossing".
"You know, " I said to him, still a little stunned. "For a second, I thought that sign said..."
"Presbyterian crossing?" he finished. "So did I, and I couldn't figure out why they needed their own crossing."
Marriage is having the same hallucinations as your spouse.
Thursday, November 15, 2007
Monday, November 12, 2007
Greed. It's all about the greed. Best Buy sells such wonderful stuff that it's worth more than the love of family, kindness, spending time with others, or even commitment and promises.
Lately, I've been getting a lot of messages about consumerism -- that is, the CREATION of need in order to supply a market. The idea is that someone makes a product and then spends money convincing people they need this product (as opposed to the old fashioned idea of finding a need and making a product to fill it.) Radio news series, magazine articles, a lecture on tape I listened to in the car...just bits and pieces filtering to me from different sources, but all with the same message. So now I'm looking at my own consumer habits. Oh, I have am a good American Consumer. I find peace in the retail outlet, and somewhere in my brain is a voice that says if I only find the right box, bag, can, carton, CD, DVD, dress, shirt -- whatever -- I will find happiness, fulfillment, contentment, love, success, and the perfect jeans to make me look skinny.
Only that hasn't happened yet, and I don't believe it will.
Sam Keene calls it a myth, the Myth of Consumerism. He asks "What do you really want? What do you REALLY want?" So, as Christmas approaches, I'm thinking carefully about what it is I want and what I don't want.
I'm certain that nothing I want can be found at Best Buy. That's for sure.
Saturday, November 10, 2007
So, if you did happen to squeeze out a good thought, THANK YOU.
Think a good thought for my cat, Bea.
Last night she and Ben ripped through a window screen and got out. Ben came back this morning, yowling to come inside. We haven't seen or heard Bea yet. We haven't found her anywhere. She's not an outdoor cat, so she must have been chasing something or followed Ben.
This isn't a good area for outside cats.
Think a good thought for her that either she will come home soon, or she is peaceful now.
Thursday, November 08, 2007
Saturday, November 03, 2007
Anyway, I'll check in now and again just so the three of you who still read this will know I'm alive.
Thursday, November 01, 2007
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Sunday, October 28, 2007
and found the remote control to the TV I'd been looking for.
It still works. It smells nice, too.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
The scene -- a courtroom. A woman is testifying. The lawyer -- apparently the prosecutor -- is asking her what she saw. She talks about the evidence being all over the floor (so clevah!). The prosecutor says "Can you point to the defendant?" She points an accusing finger at a broom sitting behind a table. "There! RIGHT there!"
Didn't they mean something else, like, oh, perpetrator? mess maker? I dunno, something that implied that the dirt on the floor was a CRIME or something?
Yeah, I know, it's a stupid commercial! What bothers me is the utter ignorance of the mistake. I'm no lawyer. What I know about courtroom procedure is from Perry Mason. But I knew that! Being a defendant does NOT mean one is guilty of anything. Innocent until proven guilty. The commercial intends to say the broom is guilty of leaving a mess behind, but all it DOES say is that the woman knows where the defendant in the courtroom is sitting.
And those implications bother me. Little breezes and all that. Little things, innocuous things, indicate where people's heads are. A TV commercial isn't the work of one person. A LOT of people work on them. Dozens of people. And none of them caught this big, fat, OBVIOUS mistake. Why is that?
Maybe because our understanding of our court system is shifting or fading? Do we now believe that to be accused is to be guilty? Courtrooms exist only as arenas, places of entertainment?
It makes me nervous, it does.
I wonder -- I've noticed commercials being edited and revised. If I sent off this little 'mistake', do you think they'd fix it?
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
So I hit 'save now', which is SUPPOSED to save a draft of the post to the Blogger back-end/dashboard thingie, so you can work on it and publish later.
And it went up Blogger's ass, never to be seen again.
Just sorta ruined my Friday. And I have a nail in my rear tire, so I have to remove the tire, get it fixed, and put it back on (well, I get to supervise while The Husband does this, because even though I CAN, I don't WANNA). I cleaned out his van, though, and threw away the WEEK OLD HALF-A-SANDWICH that's been putrefying in a bag in the back.
Oh, and I have two Bosszilla stories, just little ones. He's been getting ambitious with the computer lately -- he does email, he prints it, and he even looks up websites for himself from time to time (I still order stuff for him on MY Amazon account -- he is SO DAMNED LUCKY I'm honest, because I HAVE his American Express Card). So, anyway, we have two little incidents today.
The first one -- he downloads an email attachment. It, of course, does NOT conveniently pop up in a bright red window saying "Here I am, Bosszilla! Here! HERE!". It does what most downloaded attachments do -- heads for the nearest inconvenient folder it can find, preferably one that's hidden and six layers down under a series of almost identically named folders. In this case, however, it managed to get to his 'My Documents' folder.
That doesn't help. He doesn't BELIEVE in 'My Documents'. Oh no, it's GONE, faster than the Easter Bunny in Santa's sleigh. Where IS it? WHY can't he FIND it? He HIT the link that said OPEN. WHAT'S THIS FUCKING COMPUTER DOING? (that's a quote).
I suggested closing a couple of the windows he had open (full screen). OH, but he didn't HAVE any windows open, just AOL. I decided that, since someone else was in the office with him, I could safely evacuate the area. I don't know how it ended, but then again, maybe I don't want to know.
The second one -- He's having a meeting and just before it, he hands me a business card for a new business venture of his. "Go to that address", he said, pointing to the bottom of the card. "I want it up for my meeting."
There is an email address and a url, but he's pointing to the email. It's still early and pre-caffeine, so I type in the email address after he leaves. It, of course, produces an error message. I check my typing -- error -- and fix it -- one of those pages where they try to sell you a web address. So I look at the thing, realize at last that it's an email, and type in the web address. The website comes up.
"No, that's not the one Mrs. Bosszilla got last night. Go to this one -- there's nothing there." I let the illogic of this go by and type in the last part of the email address, where the server is. It comes up with a mostly blank page that requires a log-in.
"This looks like a back-end site," I say in my best geekspeak. "You have to log in to get anywhere."
"No, no, that's the site for [new business venture] and there's nothing there. I'm gonna tell them we should either put something in there, or get rid of it."
"But the website is..."
"No, no, that's not OUR website, that's the main website for [business venture company]. What if someone goes to this like Mrs. Bosszilla? Why isn't something there?"
I refrain from attempting an explanation about all the strange things Mrs. Bosszilla has found online which I had to later correct or disprove. "But that's an email address, probably the server..."
Not good enough. I escaped to another office for the duration of the meeting, only to be called back up for the same thing. The OTHER members of this business venture were trying to explain the exact thing to him. He seemed much more likely to believe them, possibly because at least two of them had penises. Vaginas are stupid, you know. And that's why it was all my fault.
Oh, and one little extra story about Mrs. Bosszilla. She's a perfectly nice woman, and she HAS to be somewhat intelligent. But she had Bosszilla delegate a little project for some charity work she's doing -- a series of plain, square signs, white with black text. She had a list of what text was required. At the bottom of the list was this note:
Arrows -- three right, three left.
I was proofing the signs when I got to the arrows. They were simple arrows, like this:
She'd drawn a little picture.
As if printing one arrow six times and then ROTATING them might be too difficult. I can only hope that the signs don't get shifted around before she gets them, or she may never figure out which arrow is which...
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Stolen without shame from Czeltic Girl.
After a minute or so, I can make her twirl in either direction. It's sort of fun, but I don't know what it means, except that apparently the problems I have telling right from left are consistent.
Or I'm a soooper genius.
Monday, October 15, 2007
THEY call it 'marriage', but with all the current controversy, I'm not using that word here. Marriage indicates a religious or societal/cultural sanctioning of a relationship, and the state shouldn't come near that with a 20 foot borrowed pole. Besides, that happened later.
So, today The Husband took me to our favorite local bistro for lunch. Glynne took it upon herself to do incredible special food for us -- roastbeef and wasabi rolls on spinach, Gorgonzola torts, and avocado/mint pea soup. I can't even begin to tell you how good it was, but there's something about wasabi that makes Gorgonzola too good to be true. She finished with a piled high chocolate cake decorated with strawberries, so rich that we could only eat half.
And - best of all -- The Husband had a replacement of my engagement necklace made. I had a lovely gold disc pendent that was lost/stolen during a hotel stay for Dragon*Con. I was hearthbroken that it was gone. I've missed it. Now I have a new one. It's a little smaller, but all the more precious to me. I have to get a good chain for it. I want it to have a dedicated chain (I have a couple that I trade out pendents).
I have the best Husband I could possibly have, the only one I ever want.
Sunday, October 14, 2007
My back hurts.
Lesseeee...met up with someone I know from Goodreads, a very nice lady and author, Laura Stamps. I have her new book on my reading list. We caught up for a quick meal and conversation. I like making those connections from the interwebinet to the world of flesh and smells.
This move was MOSTLY books, which are heavy and yet delicate, and expensive to haul via a moving company. We did NOT go through every single box of the 30+ that made the trip. We only went through about 10, looking for a book The Husband needed (which we didn't find) and only removing about 10 books we realized we can't live without (5 for each, with one of mine technically shared). At this point, we are trying to plan contingency-wise while keeping our thoughts positive. The house WILL sell, and it will sell soon (that's the positive thought). If, however, some snag occurs and I have to remain behind to handle things while The Husband goes north to start classes, we want to have as much of the house emptied as we can, preferably already moved north. So, the books I have out right now may constitute my entire library for a while, (and I still have some shelves to pack down...*sigh*). It's hard to be both optimistic and prepared for the worst.
What books did I rescue from storage unit confinement? My copy of Good Poems, which I have been surprisingly lost without, a copy of Between Heaven and Earth which is on Chinese 5 element medicine/philosophy, and the first three of the Diane Duane 'Young Wizards' series that I want to read/reread.
I know, I know, like the 150 or so books I have at the house aren't enough. THEY MIGHT NOT BE!
Thursday, October 11, 2007
I remember how I hated driving anywhere with my mom. I'd crack the window and press my face against it to get smoke-free air. Her smoking was the biggest factor in my not wanting to do things with her.
However, I'm sure that there will be many an outcry at this encroachment on the sacred ground of The Car. I think most of us view our cars as extensions of our personal space, part of our kingdom where we make the rules and control everything.
I'm still awaiting a ban on cell phone use in cars. Of everything people do in cars, that's the one I see the most when I see someone do something stupid while driving. The Husband and I now automatically look to see if the person who cut us off, turned improperly, failed to signal, wandered around the lane, braked suddenly, or almost hit us is talking blithely away with a cell phone plastered to his or her head. We see it so often that I'm now surprised when I don't see it. I have gotten to the point where I won't pick up my phone if I'm driving.
The Husband isn't so strict with himself, especially since his phone gets online maps. I can't convince him that he's doing those same scary things when HE drives trying to look at his phone or when trying to dial or talk to someone. Like most guys, he KNOWS he has super powers.
Monday, October 08, 2007
Here are pictures. I have nothing to add really.
Ok, I lied. Is this not a very cool Godzilla costume? Was my favorite thing for the whole con.
Thursday, October 04, 2007
Yes, I know, we did this last year and the year before. You guys don't miss a trick, do you?
Of course, someone will want to see the house while we are gone. Someone wanted to see the house last weekend when we were down south. Therefore, no panic cleaning and final tidying and removal of catsmells could be done. Thus, we were told the house was "too cluttered" (I left two dishes that didn't get clean in the dishwasher on the counter) and "smelled of cat" (it had been 24 hours since I cleaned the cat boxes).
I mean, my house is currently cleaner (and has been cleaner longer) than it has been in the entire 15 years I've lived here, INCLUDING when my mother-in-law was about to arrive. *sigh*
But, after this weekend, we start shuttling our belongings out of our over-full storage unit to a new storage unit further north. Then we will start pulling yet more things out of the house and putting them INTO the storage unit, which will result in a steadily less cluttered/more empty house. At some point we will either be moving or we will be living with a chair, a bed, and a folding table.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Oh, and I think Hobgoblin will eventually recover from the trauma, but other members of the Hidden City CatHorde may be for ever scarred. I pet cats, and I make 'em like it.
Oh, and a Japanese Fusion Salsa/Frenchfry salad? Just off load that at my house and I'll get back to you (Kev, do they make that for take out? In gallon buckets?)
The flight down was bumpy but FAST. The drive home was bumpy and SLOW (comparatively). Nothing special to report -- no one questioned my choices in liquids in little containers, no one tried to confisticate my death-weapon hairstick, and while they tried to keep my shoes, eventually I persuaded them that, really, there wasn't much to x-ray. I did manage to loose a heel-cap somewhere. Maybe they removed it checking my hollow heels for explosives. I didn't even know the heels on those shoes was hollow.
Anyway, I'm home again for a bit. Next week, we are at Necronomicon in Tampa. After that, we start shuttling our belongings to the More-North-Than-This lands. Lots of travel this month.
And now I'm awake after a night of odd dreaming (won't even go into it. Too odd.) and I feel JUST like I spend 4 hours in a car and got home about midnight and have no caffeine in the house...like I might have to go hunting for a Diet Pepsi somewhere.
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Would it be surprising to you to know I am not a fan of flying? I've flown many times. Hell, I've flown alone many times. I know what to do, I know it's statistically safe, and this is a very short flight.
I still get nervous. It's even more nerve wracking these days, with the extra serving of paranoia they give you instead of peanuts. I'm not worried about terrorists. I'm worried about what the airport security staff will decide I am using to take over the airplane. I'm not checking any luggage, so I have to scrutinize everything that goes into my purse and carry on.
And that's crazy-making. I've checked every bottle of liquid and gel stuff I'm carrying. All are clearly marked as being 2oz or less (because a mostly empty 2.5 oz bottle isn't allowed). The sharpest thing I'm taking is a nail clipper with a tiny file that's so freaking frail it might snap off if sneezed on. And my little survival kit of mini-multi-tool and Swiss army knife, that could be really helpful if, heaven forbid, the plane did go down? Got to leave it at home.
In any case, I'll be back -- with The Husband in tow -- tomorrow. And in the mean time, I've been promised a tour of Hidden City. That's worth the airplane ride!
Thursday, September 27, 2007
The Husband is down south for a yoga conference. I'm flying down on Saturday. Until then, I'm living the single life.
Yeah, right. I'm doing exactly what I usually do, except now only the cats see it.
Hummus makes me happy. And chocolate covered strawberries. Comfort food.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
I just returned from the dentist.
Good news! Yes, as always, I Need To Floss More, but in general (considering it's been a year and a half since my last cleaning) my mouth is very healthy and my teeth look good. Now they are all shiny and polished. Look, Ma! No Cavities!
Oh, and the new dentist at the office is maybe 1 point less than 'pretty much hot'. That's never bad. I've had two VERY hot (as in HAWT) dentists. One was the first dentist I ever went to as an adult, a young doctor in a new practice I thought was about the best looking thing in a smock and mask. His office was in an older building and not well air conditioned, so he tended not to wear a shirt under his smock, which meant I got glimpses of his muscular chest and back while he worked on my mouth. Talk about Distraction...sometimes I didn't notice when he asked "does that hurt"?
Then there was another hottie doctor several years ago at my current dentist's office -- tall, dark haired, with an aquiline nose and beautiful eyes. I was having jaw pain (the beginning of my TMD) and he was figuring it out. I felt better just looking at him.
*sigh* I hope went we get to the new house and the new life, we can find a competent yet terribly hot dentist. It makes cleanings so much nicer.
And it's not even funny how much I don't want to be at work anymore. I'm sick to death of this gol tournament and all the weird, half explained forms Bosszilla wants, his sudden ideas about promo items, and his expectation that I can somehow psychically extract information about golf handicaps and phone numbers from the ether or the gold pro. Doesn't he understand that just like he doesn't want everyone on the planet to know his email and cell number, others aren't all that eager to pass the same information around?
So, anyway, feh.
I'm flying down to Miami this weekend. The Husband is attending a 4 day yoga seminar. Now, sitting in a hotel room for 4 days (like I did last time he had a seminar like this) is NOT my idea of fun, plus with two cats needing medication, it's expensive. But it's pretty cheap to fly down, as it happens. I'm hoping to visit with a friend, and I'll drive back with him (chances are I'll be driving, since he will be wiped out from the seminar.) At worst, I'll get some reading done -- sitting in a hotel room.
Monday, September 24, 2007
I've seen the ads for the 'Cavemen' show twice now. Please stop trying to tempt me to watch network TV. I will put in a DVD if you don't stop it. Don't push me. (That link is the IMDB link. The link to ABC is fucking annoying).
I can't take a nap -- my head aches. I can't concentrate -- my head aches. I should get up and do some stuff, but my head aches when I walk around.
I think I'm just going to have a nice quiet pity party here in de nada land.
Friday, September 21, 2007
It was a long, rainy Thursday. Last night, as we were watching Tim Gunn, it really started to blow and the rain was loud. Then we lost satellite -- which is one of the joys of having satellite. Curious, I checked the weather via Internet since that was still up.
We had a tornado warning in our area. Mt. Plymouth, Mt. Dora, Eustis, Tavares -- they were tracking where the storm was expected to go, giving times and approximate areas. The Husband and I looked at each other, and then, by mutual agreement, we summoned/captured the cats and went to sit in our bedroom closet, as it is about the only space protected enough. The cats thought this was pretty weird. So did I, when I thought about it. I mean, really, aside from the strange intervals of loud wind and silence, there wasn't any sign of the tornado near us. Isn't this silly?
And then I thought about all the shows I'd watched about tornadoes, and I hugged a cat and waited until the warning was over. You never KNOW when the tornado is going to hit until it actually does hit. The warning lasted about 1/2 an hour, after which we were still too keyed up to sleep (it was after 11 pm).
This morning I saw that downtown Eustis, about 3-4 miles away from our house, had been whacked pretty well. So I didn't feel nearly as silly. We're fine, with just the usual clumps of leaves and stuff from a long rainstorm.
Sometimes it is a GOOD thing to stay in the closet.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Last night I didn't need anything but a book.
Sometimes it takes what it takes, but I'm back to looking at the scenery from the top of my rollercoaster, appreciating the breeze and thew view, and fiddling with my seat belt.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Stress is an amazing, powerful thing. I don't understand it well, especially how it affects me and how I react to it. There's a part of me that just wants a little pill to help me cope, and another that denies such an easy, temporary out. Still, there are breathing issues still, the feeling of choking, the tightness in my chest. All the thinking, meditating, calming and sublimating I can do isn't solving the problem. Putting it out of my mind -- zilch. Distraction -- temporary.
I just want to move. I just want to go forward. It's time. It's time. It is time.
UPDATE: I finally have a metaphor that works to explain what I'm feeling. I feel as if I am strapped into the car on a rollercoaster, and the car is poised at the very top of the first drop. It's just sitting there, and has been since, oh, let's say May. Everything between last September and May was the chunk-chunk-chunk of climbing to the top. Now I'm just there. I've looked at the view. I've considered what's about to happen. Now I'm just waiting, and the one thought in my head is...
"Let's just get the screaming started, ok? OK?"
Also, last visit to the MD, I asked about the Xanax. He said "I don't think so." That amazed me. They've practically pushed pills into my hands for years, for things I didn't even think I needed pills for, but this time? This time he said "I don't think so."
But it's ok. I have cookie dough.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Now we know, though. The house must be near perfection at all times. No more panic. I hate panic.
Friday, September 14, 2007
I'm on day 3. I've slept most of today, as it helps me ignore the stabbing in my neck. It might be serious, it might not be -- I get so many sore throats in a year that I usually just muddle through them.
Ok, in other news, I made a major departure and watched Tim Gunn's Guide to Style onTV the last two nights. I was surprised. It's a fashion show with little to no meanness, minimal snarkiness, and a lot of very sunshiny positive stuff. It is much less confrontational than TLC's What Not To Wear (which I stopped watching last season). I pay a lot more attention to all these famous designers and so forth being just normal nice than I do to the 'how many clever insulting remarks can we make' sort. I don't want to slam Clinton and Stacy, because I've enjoyed them, too, and I learned a lot that has made me a better dresser and more confident about wearing clothes. But WNTW is as much about the awfulness and how many remarks can be made about the awfulness as it is about creating a positive experience.
So, if Tim Gunn keeps up this attitude and approach, as far as I am concerned, he wins.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Monday, September 10, 2007
My childhood memories of bed sheets are of my mother hanging them on the clothes line and running between them as the breeze bellied them out against me. I was particularly aware of the quality of sheets because I had a habit of rolling the folded edge of my pillow case between my fingers and rubbing it until I went to sleep. When I was very small, sheets were always smooth and soft. They smelled of fabric softener, Florida sunshine, and occasionally my mother's iron (she hated to iron, but did run one over the sheets).
Then, probably when I was 10 or so, my mother bought a set of sheets for my brand new double bed that were awful. I mean, they were very plastic-y feeling, rough and actually NOISY. I hated them and avoided making my bed with them. I suspect they were both inexpensive and made with some new synthetic. I'm a little sensitive to synthetic fabrics, especially those introduced in the 1970s.
It seems since then, I've had to pay attention to my bedsheets. Still, it wasn't hard to find soft, cotton smooth sheets, and I had several sets I loved well into my 20s.
Then I married, and I was sleeping in a queen sized bed. He, too, had those nice, smooth, cotton sheets, because none of my old bedsheets fit (of course). But years went by and sheets wear out (a lot faster than I remember them doing, but that's another thing). I had to replace sheets.
And that was when I had to learn about thread counts.
I am currently sitting on our bed, which is made up with new sheets we just bought. These sheets are supposedly 250 count, which means they should be smooth and soft. They certainly wrinkle up like 250 count. But they don't feel like them. They are perceptively rough without that nice polished surface. In the closet I have other sets of sheets, some at 300 count and higher. But, as we can't afford to spend $125 for a topsheet and $50 for a pillow case. So, Costco to the rescue, and $60 for a set of sheets. These sheets, for reasons still mysterious to us, bleach where The Husband sleeps on them. I'm serious. Most of the sheets are colored, and there are weird, blotchy, yellow-white places on my husband's pillow case and on the bottom sheet where he has slept. My side shows no such inclinations. Thus it goes for bargain sheets.
So, now that I am very aware of thread count -- yet another piece of relatively useless information thrust upon me, I am quite sure, by marketing agencies and much technological endeavor -- I must also pay attention to the blend, to where the cotton originates, and to how it was prepared. What used to be a regular, ordinary method of weaving, and a regular, ordinary standard of blended cotton used for weaving, has been analyzed and studied and experimented with until the cheapest methods and blends were determined. Thus, poor people can't have what used to be just ordinary bedsheets, and the wealthy can be tricked into thinking there really is something special about 1200 ct Egyptian Cotton sheets.
I just wish I'd managed to hold on to those old sheets of my mom's.
Saturday, September 08, 2007
Friday, September 07, 2007
Monday, September 03, 2007
Saturday, September 01, 2007
"The ones we have are fine!" said The Husband when I suggested it. So, I didn't grab them.
But when I said "You get the paint trays, I'll spread the dropcloths", he came back with "Oh, the dried paint on these is peeling. I don't want it to mix with the new paint..." Insert eye-rolling here.
He's on his way to Lowes again. This is the fifth thing in a row he's decided needed doing just as I said "Ok, let's get the paint." He doesn't want to paint. It was his insistence that we need to paint that started this (well, ok, I want to get rid of the salmon color) . We have three rooms to paint this weekend. Furniture must revolve, remove, rearrange. Our lovely faux fireplace and hearth -- gone. Again, The Husband went from "oh, leave it with the house" to "I don't see why we can't keep it."
I think this is all getting to him, too. I don't know that he would admit it, but I think he's feeling a little of the "oyster pried from the bed" sensation I've been feeling. I'm ready to go, I really am. It's this waiting thing. It's the having to remove the "me" from my house. This house is the first one that was actually MINE, and it was a hard, long struggle to make it so -- I'd lived here 10 years before I finally felt like it was my home. So, yes, I'm feeling some resentment over all these changes. This whole "leaving without leaving" thing is awful. It's staying in a relationship after you've broken up. It's having to go back to work at a job after you've already quit. It just won't be OVER.
I know one thing. Once I leave this house, I never want to see it again.
Monday, August 27, 2007
I'm trying to read, trying to write, trying to continue the de-homing of the house, trying to clean. Mostly I'm staring at things, or pretending not to stare. There's some day dreaming going on.
Pooty started his medication today. He liked it (hurray!) and then vomited it up shortly afterwards. We shall try it with some food this evening.
The weekend was spent catching up with friends and spending time eating. Eating was good. The Husband is doing all things mushroom.
It's too hot to move, too hot to think or breathe or even sleep. August is going too quickly, but it can't get over with soon enough. Isn't that a paradox?
Thursday, August 23, 2007
And they point me to things like this from which I extract an ecstatic little quote:
Sure, it uses the death of thousands on 9/11 as a rationale for running a picture of a half-naked Angelina Jolie. But look, if we can't exploit 9/11 when we need to add a little gravitas to that silver sheet between Angelina's thighs, the terrorists win, right?
If this is one of the dizzy pinnacles of our culture, maybe so. At least I have some vague idea where the crest of the wav was.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
Pooty has hyperthyroidism. He seems to be in the early stages of it, so we are considering treatment options. Pills first, to see if that helps, then surgery second. The "gold standard" of radioactive iodine treatment isn't within our price range, no matter how much we love him. $1500 is sort of high. Hell, I'd be reluctant to spend that on me.
LaGuz is, thankfully, not hyperthyroid. Her tests came back with lower levels than last time.
Think good thoughts for my Prince of the House.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Especially for those of you who aren't sure how you feel about poetry...
1) The new colors are picked and we will be engaged all of Labor Day weekend in laboring. Wee. Still, if it helps sell the house, it will be worth it. Will mean new photos.
2) Bought new books, read half of them.
3) Stress induced breathing problems annoy the shit out of me. Being stressed about it isn't helping. Stressed about being stressed...joy. I love my circular thinking.
4) Cats seem ok. Still waiting on results on Pooty and LaGuz.
5) Packing up more stuff. Again, wee.
6) Trying to write. Ideas are buzzing in my head like bees. Not much success with transferring bees to paper.
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Hokay, it's official. Having my books packed up is making me crazy. It's been over 2 months now, and it is not getting any better.
I don't know how many times in the last 4 weeks I've thought "Oh, I can look that up in this book" or "Wow, I want to read that section" or "Hey, I can quote this from the book" only to realize the book is IN A BOX and that box is stacked IN THE GARAGE and it would take a titanic effort to even dig around for it, much less locate the specific book.
The Husband has already stated he expects to live surrounded by bookcases where ever it is we move. He says he will build them if need be. I'm thinking a nice set around the headboard of the bed would be attractive.
Update: MIL and The Husband just took a lot of boxes from the garage to put in a storage unit. I know they took boxes of books (and left behind boxes of dishes) because they just went from the nearest end. Still, I got physically sick when I realized it. It's stupid, but true. I could just about vomit right now. I didn't think they would do that, but of course they would.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
But before I let everything go completely, let me give you a taste of what happened.
All these people tromp through my house, looking in the closets and making comments. Before they leave, they write some comments on a sheet and leave them behind. The comments are supposed to be professional real estate salesperson advice on how best to present our house for sale. Most of it was just that.
Some of it was the farting of people with, I imagine, permanent digestive upset. One commanded us to get rid of our pets. Another insisted we rid ourselves of most furniture (75%, in fact, leaving us with the bed, a chair each, and possibly a dresser, I guess.) One person said "If they are moving, why haven't they packed anything?" (this person obviously didn't look into the garage). And one extremely helpful comment was "I can't imagine living like this, but I guess they're happy."
Professional, don't you think? I could tell our realtor thought so, too, when she handed the sheets to me after it was over. However, she's the one who has to deal with these people, not me. I'm taking a positive position. Those nasty comments were obviously the only ones those people could come up with -- meaning that they had nothing helpful to say. I feel some pity for whomever is so unlucky as to become their clients.
We are going to make some changes. We are repainting that color I'd already fallen out of love with (paint chips hang on the wall right now, waiting like beauty show contestants). We are going to repaint the guest bathroom and The Husband's office, both of which are admittedly extreme (and, I think, lovely and fun to have, but...) We are continuing to pack -- I've got boxes awaiting me. The garage and storage room get harsh treatment this weekend. As for the rest -- the cats stay. The furniture will be packed up when we get a contract on the house, biyotch.
And, after all that, I'm riding my NEW BICYCLE! Yes, yes, I have a lovely new bike that I've ridden three days this week already. It's burgundy and black, it's comfortable, and I'm working my way toward being able to ride it for more than 20 minutes....
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
I was writing about it when, mysteriously, Blogger made my post disappear.
I am not in the mood to write it again. I am in the mood to either throw up or get very inebriated. Actually, if I did the second, I might do the first.
Maybe I'd feel better.
More when I'm not quite so stressed.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
I dunno, that's just the word I've got today. Perhaps because I've spoken to no one but cats since late last night.
Ok, Scott has, in his nefarious way, tagged me for a meme, and because I've thrown memes at him several times and because I sure as freak have nothing else worth saying, I'll do it. But I will eventually get him for it.
Eight Random Things About Me
1. I hate long toenails. Hate 'em. Long toenailed freaks! Thus, I have ingrown toenails ON PURPOSE.
2. I'm married to a long toenailed freak. When he clips them (with the big, industrial grade clippers) they SPROINK out and hit the cats. He earns points for how high the cats jump. If they hit me, though, he has to sleep on the couch.
3. I collect bookmarks, not because they have neat pictures or sayings on them, but because I stop in the middle of a book and start another book. I USE them. (I prefer Book Bungees).
4. As for as I am concerned, the Levenger Catalog is Reader Porn. Gimme. Then leave.
5. It's really sad how much I love those old Hanna-Barbara superhero cartoons from the 60's. No, I mean, it is REALLY sad. You don't know how sad, and I'm not going to tell you unless there's Reader Porn involved.
6. I have fallen out of love with one of the colors painted on my living room walls. I don't know that I ever really did love it. Maybe it was just a fling. I didn't know how to tell it the truth, but, man, it's over.
7. As a kid, I got through math class by imagining the numbers had personalities and relationships. 2 is the motherly type. 4 is her dashing son. 8 is in love with 4, but 4 really has a thing for 6, and 6 is so blonde she doesn't really get it and wants 10. 9 is just jealous. 7 has a mustache and a bad attitude, and is stringing 3 along.
8. I really do read dictionaries for entertainment. I can't help it. I wish I'd thought of marking the words I looked up in my first dictionary, but I didn't until I saw "...say anything" and I'll be damned if I copy off of Ione Skye.
There. Happy now? FREAK!
Monday, August 06, 2007
Husband and I went to the doctor for annual physicals while we still have insurance. *I* have a Urinary Tract Infection. Who knew? I sure didn't. Not a clue. My past history with these is that you tend to notice. I haven't actually had one in, oh, 18 years, so maybe I've forgotten. But I thought for sure I would notice something like that. Lots of water and a 3 day anti-whatever prescription.
Mostly I'm having fun on GoodReads. I've even read a few books! If I sent you an invite that you accepted, but you haven't added any books or gotten involved in the groups, you are MISSING OUT.
Oh, and the last bit of something. My 4 disc set of Space Ghost/Dino Boy/Birdman/The Galaxy Trio arrived. There will be much retro cartoon mocking around here. Bring your own popcorn.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Typed an easy dozen+ letters for Bosszilla. Listened to him sing while he roamed the office. While his singing isn't awful and it means he's in a good mood, good moods never last.
The Blister broke last night of natural causes. Am now in the Bandaid-raw finger stage.
Must reclean the house. Won't stay clean.
FINISHED READING TWO BOOKS. You wanna know, you gotta go to to GoodReads.
Watched "I, Robot". Eh. Creepy attack robot sequences.
Made chili. Ate chili. Burped delicious chili burps.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
The Blistered Finger, soothed with ice cream, has subsided from feeling like a Fried Finger to feeling like I have a bandaid on it all the time. I don't actually have a bandaid on it, because the whole numb thing is a little much to handle as it is, and finger bandaids never work out for me. When that blister breaks -- and I know it will, blisters will do that and always before I'm ready -- I'll put a bandaid on it, because then it will be the Raw Finger and even air will hurt.
And one little tidbit for your consideration: there is unmatched pleasure to be had in tossing the minds of the unsuspecting about like so many fresh salad greens.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Because I suffer from the delusion that it takes more that 60 seconds for a 40 watt bulb to get burning hot. Au contraire, mon frer! The second degree burn on my left middle finger contradicts this assumption!
5 minutes under running cool water and three icecubes later, I have one of the most shriveled blisters in the Western Hemisphere. Exposure to air for more than 10 seconds results in a severe sensation of fried finger. I'm not happy. I am also stupid. I had forgotten the lesson of the Easybake Oven, learned when I was a child (and that picture was the model I had!)
However, The Husband agrees that the best treatment available is a pint of Ben & Jerry's.
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Friday, July 27, 2007
I'd finished our bathroom and had moved to the guest bathroom (which was a little more disgusting because I ignore it longer). All porcelain surfaces were cleaned with the fabulous Clorox Bathroom Cleaner. Smells like bleach, so you know the cooties are dead, right? At least I hope so, because after about 5 minutes I can't smell anything at all -- part of my defensive systems, I'm sure, or I'd be out of there, gagging and forcing the Husband to do it.
As part of my regular cleaning ritual, I decided to Fabreze the house. You know, the stuff you spray on fabrics to remove odors? With the goofy furniture sniffing commercials? So I sprayed freshener on the couch, the rug, the chairs, both offices, the dining room, the entry...all the while wondering why I didn't smell that nice Fabreze scent. Was my nose really that dead?
It was because I was spraying everything with Clorox Bathroom Cleaner. I'd never unclenched my fist from the bottle even as my brain happily leaped around the house spreading freshness and disaster.
So far, no bleach spots on the couch. At least everything is cootie-free now.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
At first, all my "EEWWW, YUCK, ICK" reactions came out. Then I thought back to my first Vosges experience. I couldn't picture that working, either, but oh my, it DOES! It DOES!
I may have to try this, just to say I have.
Monday, July 23, 2007
I read a book.
I saw this picture on Accordion Guy, and last night I had a very strange dream involving Space Ghost (out of costume his name is Carl) and Jace. I wasn't personally involved. Sometimes I prefer my dreams to be movies I can just watch, even if they are strange. Especially if they are strange and involve superheroes and their sidekicks in off hours.
Today is Clean Floors day. I'm halfway done. The cleaner the floors try to be, the more I notice how many spots are on the carpet.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
What is this? I hear you ask. What have you done? Cut your hair? Adopted a handsome, virile 18 year old blond as your son and personal slave?
No, no, none of that (and I prefer brunettes as it happens). This is something important, something really essential to my state of being.
I've moved my laptop back to my office. My scarily tidy, somewhat empty, office is now once more occupied.
Ok, so that seems like a pretty small deal, but you who are mercifully ignorant about how the furniture in my mental attic is arranged don't understand how these little things create big storms. I've been wedded (welded?) to the bedroom. This isn't a good thing, as it is part of the old (tired, worn, threadbare) depression pattern. The TV holds sway, and not just any TV. Only the TV in the Bedroom.
My office is on the other side of the house. There's no TV in there. All I can do in my office is read, play with a cat, listen to the stereo, or sit in a semi-comfortable and much better for my spine office chair and type on the computer. It's not really comfortable for mindless wandering through the interwebinets. The window (where Ben is now parked) peers into the back yard where birds, lizards and the occasional squirrel roam. Its not, strangely enough, as isolated and separate as the bedroom. Mentally, it's just a very different place.
I'm trying for a change of atmosphere, a shift of environment, an attempt to do something other than schlumph around, a worthless schlog of foam on the beach of life. My twisted brain associates a lot with where I am and what is around me. So, being in the office with Ben talking to me about the sudden lack of suitable cat-lounging locations (amended) and the difficulty of draping himself on my desk, I feel different than I do when I'm sitting in the bedroom (even though it has been painted and cleaned into a suitably serene environment). So, I'm out of there and in here. I have a window and music and cats (Pooty just wandered in to pass judgment). It's time to do something. It's time to make changes; write my resume, finish a novel, polish a short story and research a market to submit it to. Anything is possible, once I get moving.
Of course, I could get a little TV to go in here.
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Oh, and I'm having muscle spasms and cramps in my mid back. Whee! Woke me up twice last night.
The house needs dusting and vacuuming, I need to do laundry, and LaGuz is back to peeing everywhere but inside the litter box. There are still dozens of small tasks to do. The Husband is gone this weekend for more Yoga training, so he will not get any of his chores done and I won't see him (although, honestly, I think we've seen enough of each other for a few days. Long car trips will have that effect.)
I can't seem to settle down to doing anything. Concentration is for shit.
That's about all.