Turning over a New Ancodia. Maybe.

In spite of how it may seem with all my constant kvetching, I am too nice.

No, really. This realisation has hit me full-strength today on several levels; professionally, personally, emotionally. This has been a day for getting smacked in the face with reality.

I have no idea what I think that being nice will get me. To-date, it has been nothing, not that I am keeping track, but when you’re talking about nothing it is pretty easy to enumerate in a ‘back-of-the-envelope’ kind of way: Zip. Zero. Zilch. I actually do not intend to do it; it’s not as if I wake up every morning and think, “I am going to try to be sweet and understanding in at least *one* situation today where others are being selfish, cruel asses”. I really, really don’t. I would like to think (or would have until recently) that I see people for what they are, and situations for what they are, and that I am less blinded than other people by some peripheral things that are, well…peripheral. But perhaps I am wrong. I am beginning to think that I just might be completely misled.

I am continually doing things that are not in my personal best interests. My internal monologue reasons that I have enough of whatever it is—time, money, ideas, emotion…whatever, and I would feel guilty sitting comfortably having whilst someone else does not. And I do not give everything away, just enough that I do not have to have guilt over what I *could* be doing because I am, generally, pretty fortunate. Overall. As the stupid saying goes, in my case I have not been given any burdens that I cannot handle, whereas that is not the case with everyone.

When I do step out of character and do not-nice things, the miracle of it is that not only do I not get smacked back down, but I get rewarded. Case in point: that idea I gave away as if I were pulling the rug out from under Someone’s feet? Yeah—I was just hit up to work on that further, much as I had thought I would be.

And I am also beginning to think that I am too understanding of others’ issues and shortcomings. Life would be a hell of a lot easier if I did not bother with them at all, much less attempt to understand them, and just went on with my own business. Then, if anyone got in my way, I could just barrel over them because, on the whole, I am pretty self-sufficient—I rarely need anyone to be understanding of *my* issues. Typically, I cover pretty well for my own issues. And god only knows the payoff for being understanding is a perverse misnomer; there is no payoff for being understanding, there is a kind of anti-payoff.

Speaking of god…

One of the reasons xtians make me so very fucking nauseous is their complete lack of any attempt at anything but the appearance of being nice, or understanding. Oh, they talk about it, sure. A lot. I am reminded of one argument I fell into when I was younger over whether or not god (a god, any god) would send a certain person to hell. We went through Person X, Y, Z…I still disagreed. Finally they pulled out the Big Guns: Adolf Hitler, Ted Bundy, and other assorted Truly Evil people. I hadn’t given up on religion totally at that point, but I did not believe in Hell for sure. My question was how could a truly loving, omnipotent, omniscient being overlook the things that went into making these people that way? Personally, if I were god I would be a whole hell of a lot more worried that Ted Bundy was going to wander over to me and tell me that when he was twelve, he had really needed me…where had I been?

Which leads me to my theory that if there is a god, I need not worry ‘cos he is off hiding somewhere like a scared little bitch, dreading exactly just such a confrontation with any one of us (much less one of our truly infamous), but I’ll abstain from as much blasphemy as possible.

Butsoanyway.

I have always been especially fond of this quote:

If we could read the secret history of our enemies we should find in each man's life sorrow and suffering enough to disarm all hostility.
-- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

And I really do believe that, more than any of the nonsense fairy tales written in any religious text. The only problem is that it seems that there is no payoff in it.

And, for the record, Longfellow said nothing about blogging so that one seems like a raving bitch; he really didn’t—I have even checked for fine print. :-)

The bottom line is that I am having not a crisis of faith, because I haven’t any; but I am having a crisis of lifestyle. A big one. It might be easier if I just gave up and became religious, because then I could reconcile it that I would be repaid tenfold in the Hereafter. But that would be lying, because I really just do not believe, and I wouldn’t be being the way I am for a legitimate reason any longer—it would be some kind of wussy-assed bargaining tool. It is not real if it is motivated by some freakish greed, even if that greed is for salvation, or whatever. So screw the religion idea.

I also like this quote:

The opposite of love is not hate, it's indifference.
The opposite of art is not ugliness, it's indifference.
The opposite of faith is not heresy, it's indifference.
And the opposite of life is not death, it's indifference.
--Elie Wiesel

I particularly like it ‘cos it says clearly that I am not being blasphemous here. :-)

Butsoanyway.

I do not know what I am going to do. I feel as if I should do something to change the situation as I perceive it, and to relieve the distress as I experience it, and drinking and drugs are out. The fact is, I am at a breaking point. Something has to change, and I am figuring that my odds of changing the external world and all the people that live in it are pretty slim. :-) Plus, reason being what it is and all, if I do change, it’s not legitimate change since I am doing it with a reward in mind; I have to apply the same standards to myself that I do to all the freaky bible-thumpers, after all.

But I guess the bottom line is that I have had about enough. One short end of the stick too many, and all that. And I am not talking about being overtly cruel...just indifferent.

One more, and then I am going to sleep:

Everyone should carefully observe which way his heart draws him, and then choose that way with all his strength.
--Hasidic saying

I guess that I am just trying to decide which way that is. Sometimes the pulls in both directions seem pretty equal.

I concur; let's get out of bacon.

From this point forward, anyone who asks me for wordsmithing gets Bonsai.

Seriously.

And if you give me nothing to wordsmith with the expectation that I will write it all on my own for you, I'm going to enter the lyrics to a song of my choosing, Bonsai that, and give it to you.

I shall start with Milli Vanilli. Or perhaps Vanilla Ice. Or both.

So there. If there was a problem, yo--I'll solve it.

Actually, here--my first masterpiece, courtesy of Bonsai:

Your Bonsai Story Tree starter sentences:

So what are you girl 'cause you're on the wall The block was dead Yo man let's get out of bacon. Burning them if you know it's true, my brand new invention Something grabs a felony Love it Ice ice baby too cold x2 Ice ice baby So what I mean a lot to me, you understand girl I'm just in case you Girl you that I hear a lot to you? Girl, you I'm in and the best is for you. This sizzling thing girl, I don't care, how before, the fade slice like a girl is for you. Girl you know it's true, uh I love - is you and wax a left and this is a hell of eight balls Gunshots rang out like a lyrical poet Miami's on the scene just in and the dope fiends If my rhyme was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the ground 'Cause my juice If my rhyme was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the next stop yo I like a pound of eight balls Gunshots rang out of here Word to get away before the jackers jack Police on the concrete real fast other DJs say damn If there was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it My town that you can vision and nimble I grabbed my juice If there was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the speaker that the party is for you.
Girl you know it's true, my rhyme was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the hook while my DJ revolves it by the chumps on a roll and formed This sizzling thing girl, I play a souped up confronted all mine, all mine, all the bass kicked in case you girl [last word repeats] I'm in love girl, I'm so in love you. Yo man let's get away before the jackers jack Police on standby waving just in love you. Yes you know it's true. I'm in my ear, it hype and this is true.
Girl you know it's true.
I'm in case you Girl you I'm in my ear, it Check out the hook while my desire, cause I'm out the hook while Shay with a girl is back with this Shay with a hi-hat with a nine all I love you.
Girl you know it's true, uh I love with you know it's true, my emotions starts up confronted all the dope melody Anything less than the concrete real fast other DJs say damn If my rhyme was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the speaker that much to the next stop I?
think about most every time. And when you know it's true, my love - is a hell of here Word to do. It lightens up when I just drove by Kept on your skin. It really mean a lot to me, you rule my DJ revolves it Ice ice baby too cold Ice ice baby vanillla x4 Now that the dope fiends If I ?
think about it, you know what are you didn't know it's true, uh I love with you. Girl you know it's true, uh uh uh, I set back Well, I love you. Yes you know Turn off the kid don't play a dope fiends If I think about most every time. And when you Girl you know it's true, my day and formed This sizzling thing that like a girl I'm so try to the point no faking I'm cooking MC's like a girl I can't explain, my mind, you're the extreme I often wondering why, so try to say hi Did you Yes you I'm in my 5.0 With my rag-top down so fast other DJs say hi Did you know it's true, uh I love with you Girl you wear, I often wondering why, so my hair can vision and that's also true, together we are two.
To the extreme I just drove by Kept on the wall The girlies on the scene just in my 5.0 With my rag-top down so I continued to do.
It lightens up on your brain like a bell I love you.
Girl you know Turn off the scene you crack a lot to you?
Girl, you mean a razor blade so fast other DJs say hi Did you girl [last word repeats] I'm in love girl, I'm just to say hi Did you and I. Now that the dope fiends If there was a problem yo I'll solve it Check out the party is for you. Girl you know Turn off the ground 'Cause my composure when it's time to go rush to A1A Beachfront Avenue Girls were hot wearing less than the bass sound Enough to the speaker that created all the bass sound Enough to step with you girl I'm so my hair can blow The block was dead Yo VIP let's kick it Ice ice baby vanilla Ice ice baby vanilla ice baby x2 Ice ice baby too cold too cold Ice ice baby So what you wear, I set back with my world, so I thought I might discuss this love is for you. Girl you know it's true, uh uh uh, I continued to me, you wear, I like a problem yo I don't know it's true, my composure when I hear a cymbal And when you girl [last word repeats] I'm in my car slammed on the fade slice like a poisonous mushroom Deadly when I hear your name. Maybe a nine Reading for what you Yo VIP let's kick holes in love with my brand new invention Something grabs a candle Dance go solo Rollin' in love with you girl, I'm in love girl, I'm so in love you. Girl you know it's true.
I'm in and the ground 'Cause my style's like a girl I'm in love girl, I'm so try to go solo Rollin' in love girl, I'm just in case you Girl you mean a boy.

No rest for the truly Evil

We are beautiful like snowflakes!  I thought this was so cool!

Sigh…STILL going.  I am working only on mine now, and I am emailed data from someone *else* needing last-second help.  It will have to wait.  

Butsoanyway.

I have actually nothing else to talk about…my mind is so very full of nothing except what I have been doing for the past few days.  I am literally at the point where I cannot think of anything else.  But I am almost done.  And then it is back to the regular stuff that I have due that I have been ignoring.  

Yay.

I am so completely going to hell with myself over break.  I really, really am.  

Words' Myth

Still going. Spent today “cleaning up” other people’s stuff again. Really it has been over the past few days, though I have been trying to sneak in working on my own things here and there. Damn, am I having a blast…not. This making something out of nothing and fixing shit is a curse, never a blessing, and it is especially entertaining when I haven’t the slightest idea what I am writing about. Pfft. My ‘method’ is to do as much research on whatever it is in the shortest period of time possible (pull a couple things and read them as quickly as possible, all the while brainstorming to come up with something familiar this reminds me of), find something citeable somewhere, and find a way to bring it back to what I know, almost regardless of the topic--whether I have to stand atop the metaphorical suitcase and jump up and down to make it fit or not. A lot of the skill lies in liberal use of phrases like, “as is clearly shown by the example of (insert example that brings it back to AncodiaLand)…”; “most agree that X is Y; this well-established relationship makes the claim that J is K all the more obvious”, and so on. I feel as if any time I write ‘clearly’, ‘obviously’, ‘needless to say’, and so forth, that is when I am laying it on the thickest so that I can get off the crap I don’t know a damn thing about and go back to talking about the crap I *do* know about. I don’t have a narrow range of interests, but I *do* have only a few areas of actual expertise. So, as always, after I tie this and that together for everyone else, mine will sound canned, stale, and recycled…as it always does, year after freaking year.

One person emailed their “draft” (this is apparently a PC way of saying, ‘random shit I have written that means nothing which I am sending to you in the hopes that you will be so overwhelmed with corrections that you will give up and just write it all for me’) to ask me to give it a once-over and tell them what it needs. Considering that twice a year every year for the past three years this same person has done the exact same thing to me—always under the guise of being caught with their pants down and only needing help because of this unusual situation—and every time I have “fixed” it (read: written almost completely *for* them) with the warning that this is not going to happen again, this year I just hit ‘reply’ and said, “I don’t know; more cowbell?”

I know. I am a bitch.

I really had better get back to work, though; now that I have (almost) everyone else taken care of, I still have my own work to care after, in a grocer’s children way. As usual. Sigh. I am sleepy.

and dance, and dance, and dance, and dance, and dance...

Even if you don't like hellogoodbye, it's still pretty funny: Video



Now I have to finish this crap. This is so very hated. Pfft. I am so tired of typing that I could...do something Evil. Or give up, become a shepherd, and take pictures of Squooshable. :-) I cannot wait for Break. Or the holiday season. Only...lessee... Seven more months to go.

Hang in there.

:-)

Felines...nothing more than...felines...trying to forget my...felines of love...

I fed the puddies at Eviljob today; I forgot to mention that before. They are cute, and doing okay. Mehitabel is wary of me (still), and Chrissy called me last week to ask me to give the cat trap that I have to some other desperate soul, so I called and left a message for her. Losing the trap is no big deal; Mehitabel won't go into it, no matter what I do. So I asked Chrissy for help again, and she suggested Brenda, a nurse who Chrissy says can pray a cat into a cat trap. Chrissy says Brenda has *amazing* success.

Shit...at this point, I will try anything.

So I am also waiting for Brenda to get back from somewheres out of state, and then I will get Chrissy to beg Brenda to come pray Mehitabel into a trap. Like I said, I am willing to try anything.

And I am SO very tired and over typing. Bwaah! I do not want to do this anymore. Pfft. I am tired. and falling behind even more as I type this.

:-) The situation is hopeless, but not serious. ;-)

Doom, Despair, and Agony on Me; Deep, Dark Depression, Excessive Misery!

Giggle.  Sing with me and find the…justification for pounding your head on your desk.

Okay, so check this out:  Despair!

I was surfing them today, lustfully, whilst pretending to work.  Yes, I do that sometimes.  

Well, it is cheaper for the company than my taking advantage of the Employee Support Program (not its real name)—that is a program through which one may receive temporary counselling with someone who is not a therapist but plays one in the corporate world for addiction, stress, hangnails, toasters that make everything too crispy…that sort of thing.  Slacking off is cheaper, ‘cos they’d forego the five free counselling sessions with me and jump right on a citizen’s detention for a psychiatric in-patient evaluation if I opened the floodgates.  

Butsoanyway.

I have to spend sooo many days with crappy motivating sayings that I swear I will lose my mind sometimes.  Since around ’03-ish, I have ordered twelve posters from Despair.com, though I cannot put them up at Eviljob.  Someday, though…I *believe*.  Someday.   I shall hang my posters with impunity.  

I am so very back to drowning; I have huge, hulking, ugly things due immediately.  As in like, yesterday.  How I am going to do it, I do not know.  ACK!  BWAAH!

Sigh.  

Okay, I have to get back to (guess)…  No, I don’t even know why I wrote.  Hugs.  Laterz.  

And I walk back in to find...

More work than I can shake a stick at.  As usual. 

Squoosh was happy to see me, though.

My wardrobe consists of black and white/my wheel wells are lit to glow in the night

Farking awesome is the time I have had, and I have (mostly) finished early to boot, so I wander home tomorrow after tying some simple crap up.  I have missed my cats so much!  But I have had (and am still having) a great time.  The highlight was the finding of one song that has haunted me FOREVER for positive today, and getting a solid lead on another one.  Seriously.  Am I pathetic, or what?

These are both songs from EVER ago, in my pre-coherent years; the one I have for sure I remembered hearing, thought I remembered who did it, but could never ever find out *anything* more about the group--could never find their cds, nothing.  I have been on lists BEGGING for help locating these two songs since I had to go begging via lynx browser. 

Ummm...yeah.  *That* long. 

And I am no huge fan of Cali New Wave from the '80s; I lean towards goth and techno, but...these are some cool-ass songs.  Okay, OKAY!  I like Cali (Old) Wave; some of it is cool.  I also listen to Big Band and Classical.  Don't tell anyone.  Shhh!  

Well, a run-of-the-mill goth girl from the top of Our Fair Country has to stand apart from the pack somehow, eh?  ;-)

Over dinner Friday night (a few of them, despite my protests that I was sick of looking at their faces and needed sleep, insisted on taking me), those songs came up in conversation (I wandered onto the topic of music with one of the people there, and seem to have lucked out), and this guy (let's call him CaliBoy, seeing as how he is from there, and at the right time, too) had actually heard of the group (that alone damn near put me on the floor; I was almost convinced that I had made them up or something, or was really looking for an obscure Romeo Void or Debora Iyall song--Low Riders has a Romeo Void-ish sound) Personal Effects, though CaliBoy did not remember the song I was seeking, (Low Riders), he did remember that they had another song called "Nothing Lasts Forever". 

I had time to look today, and I will be damned if searching for '"personal effects" nothing lasts forever' doesn't bring up THIS

And they have a lot of their music (including Low Riders) available for free download. 

Oh, CaliBoy, I could smooch on you something *fierce*!!!

Despite the fact that you are a blond, that is.  :-)

So I am taking advantage of Conrad Hilton's largesse with the Wi-Fi and making off with the entire damn collection tonight, if I don't fall asleep.  :-) 

Now I just have one more song to acquire before I can die happy, but all I have is lyrics, not a song title or band name.  So CaliBoy also thought that he recognised my "microwaves, television, and suicide" lyric (and others), and said he thought that it was 20/20's American Dream; I went to Amazon, and it sure sounds like it is American Dream from the teensy sample Amazon puts out, so I have ordered the cd and have my fingers crossed.  It for sure has the same sound.

But then again someone else a few years ago was positive it was Alan Vega, and it wuddn't.  Anyone want an Alan Vega LP?  Ummm...yes--I said LP.  The only medium I could find, and I had to buy a damn turntable to listen to it.  *That* is how desparate I have been to get this song. 

After I get them, if 20/20 is correct as well, I am going to have to come up with some new obsession about something.  Yikes!

Are you ready? Here we go…slow, slow, quick, quick, slow…

I had to board my sweet baby boy today.  :-\  It nearly broke my heart; I hope that he will be okay.  He is such a sweet little Squooshable!  When I came home this afternoon to get him, he Mmmmrrrppp’d and Brrrppp’d at me and kissed me almost as if he knew something was afoot.  

I love that tiny cat so very much!

Romeo is doing well, and will be better without having to worry about Death From Above attacks.  

I have spent most of today crying because of stress, this, that, the other, the shit time I had in class last night, the news that a friend (the non-hyphenated kind) had died…just everything.  I heard about my friend (I love you JBM, and I miss you already) when I came home from class, and then I swung by Eviljob early this morning to pick up some stuff, and a co-worker had sent me an email that was phrased in a way that, completely unrelated to the content of the letter, put me in tears.  So I just took my stuff and left, and spent the rest of the day doing mundane stuff, like picking up a watch I’d had repaired and left at the jewellers for a month (my jeweller *says* he loves me, but when I do things like this, I doubt he does), making sure I had all the stuff I need, and just kind of wandering around in a haze and feeling sorry for myself and wishing I could take my Squoosh with me or something, and worrying about having the plane door fall open, and getting sucked out into one of those engine-turbine thingies.  Blecch.

Class sucked because I have moments when I do not speak or present myself well; I have to be in the Zone.  If I am, then I can present *anything*, but if I cannot get “on”, then my brain is like a stagnant pond of sludge.  So that is basically what happened.  That and someone who urgently wanted to make their point (repeatedly) getting on my nerves a little bit.  

Butsoanyway.

We talked a little bit about the future of media as a kind of sidebar topic though, and it occurred to me that if the future of media is something like blogs, then people who do add in video and audio posts to create a news channel of sorts are going to need call signs.  I didn’t mention any of this in class, but seeing as how W and K are all taken up by radio and television, it would be cool if online stuff ended up with Ps.  I do not know who has the Ps, but whoever they are, they’re not putting them to good use; therefore, in the spirit of All That Is American, we need to go bitchslap them a few times and take back the Ps.  In which case, I am completely laying claim to the station PWNU.  Check it out…no Ps.  I am so very requesting it.

Well, it just occurred to me whilst I was trying to think up what call sign I would want.  

So I am easily amused.  

Oh, wait…Ps might be claimed by the Netherlands, Indonesia, Brazil, Suriname, Papua New Guinea, Cyprus, Aruba, and the People’s Front of Judea…or whatever.  Screw them—let them use a letter from one of their native kooky alphabets.  I’m a god damned American, and I cannot even *spell* ITU.  Or, well…you know what I mean.  We need Ps, and I am so sure you could score a spare letter or two on the FSU black market.  :-D  I will totally give them the rights to like, tviordesnak, or something.  No one is using tviordesnak; it’s hard to spell.  I might even sell it on eBay.  I mean, think of it… “You’re listening to the Quiet Storm on tviordesnak RRB, that’s tviordesnak Real Rhythm and Blues on 42.0 FM here in Papua New Guinea…”

Like where in the hell is Papua New Guinea anyway?   Hmmph.  Like they matter.

If we cannot have Ps, I could live with Qs; I would pick QRM.  Or maybe QSD.  

I have to get ready to go for real, but I just wanted to mention it in case I die in an air disaster.  I think it is a meritorious idea.  If I bite it, someone needs to run with it.  And if someone else has already come up with the idea then, well…that’s par for this week, really.  

:-)  Hopefully I will be able to post or something when I am away.  If I don’t die, that is.  

I miss Squoosh.

Quote of the Week

By way of explanation, one of my co-workers just came up with this gem:

“Chuck E. Cheese is like Dave and Buster’s, but for kids.”

Oh, my word…that put me on the *floor*!

Quote of The Week.  Easily.  And here it had only begun.

As usual, an afterthought. Whatever could that imply?

Oh, and I was text messaged all day by my uber-networking buddy from the other night.  Sigh.  I pled tiredness, imminent travel, and anything else I could think of to not have a round two at this point in time.  God, I am so hard to get along with.  

Pfft.

Okay…back to reading.

‘cos I have been to hell and I’ve been back, all in the period of one day

I woke up particularly early this morning to try to help someone out.  How I know her is fairly immaterial, but she reminds me of me.  In a lot of ways, at least.  One way in which she does *not* remind me of me is this helplessness that is clearly learnt, and possibly even cultivated for effect.  Holy mary.  Even though I feel helpless at times, or discouraged, down-hearted, whatever, the last thought on my mind is how if I sit and cry about it, someone will come along and make it all better.  Which she does a fair amount.  It is odd to me in that one would think that this should be *my* reaction, or at least I *think* that is what they would think; ages ago I used to take a considerable amount of flak for having led a “sheltered life”, which should imply that I fall to pieces at frustrating circumstances.  Or so I would think.  I want to suggest to her that she learn to hold it together a little better; the world is filled with circumstances that are less-than-ideal.  

So she wanted to register in a particular school, and having dealt with that crap for a while now, I offered to help out ‘cos she was, well, crying.  I guess she felt that she was getting a bureaucratic run-around (oh, welcome to god damned Life, already!), and was finding it frustrating.  As if I hadn’t faced the exact same thing all by my lonesome when I enrolled for the first time, but whatever.  If I cannot work my way around a bureaucratic wall peacefully, then I am the psychobitch who will walk into your office one day with a sack lunch and a guitar, plop down on the floor and sing Kumbaya until you figure out a way to help me, whether you are part of the problem, or not.  I figure that in an unknown situation, anyone who rates a private office probably has a better idea of how to solve the problem than I do, anyway.  

Plus they have cushier carpeting, usually.

And it works!  Every time!  Okay, true, I don’t really bring a guitar.  But I will reach a max and duck into the first office I see after the max has been reached, and plead my case.  To whoever is standing there.  If I get run out, I move on to the next office.  Eventually, I have always gotten help, even if it is a tip on who to go talk to, or Office Admin A phoning over to the Office Of Stalling People to talk to Admin B, to explain that there’s a really nice girl here who is getting a run-around, or an offer to print out the correct forms so that I can fill them out right away and walk them back over to wherever they should be.  Contrary to everything Life has tried to teach me, most people aren’t Evil, they aren’t out to “get you”, and if they see a way to help, they will.  Usually things become so bureaucratic-ed up ‘cos some twit had a Brilliant Idea to make everything flow more easily and somehow got it approved.  Twits abound; get over it.  At least, that is my philosophy.  

Not Andie’s.  The last time she was there, she ended up walking around for a couple hours, whilst sobbing her eyes out, trying to figure out where she had parked because some Twit had walked her over to an office that was closed for the day and ran off before she realised the office was closed.  She did not feel welcome.  She did not feel like anyone cared.  

To me, this sort of thing is just the normal course of events; remember where you parked, ask questions, bring your purse with you, and don’t let someone who is “helping” you out of your freaking sight until you are certain that you are done with them.  When that sort of thing happens to me, I return at seven in the morning the next day, often with a chip on my shoulder.  I feel I win when I get what I want and by that time, I am DETERMINED to win.  Especially because whenever I *have* pulled out the “Boo-hoo!  I am a crying female!” shtick, posilutely no one gives a fuck.  That act has an incredibly low rate of return, I have found.  I, on the other hand, have an *amazing* return rate, but no one ever cares when I am frustrated, tired, or just plain sad.  

So I push everything aside and get up early to try to help Andie, and as I am driving out there, she phones to tell me that she has to go be with her boyfriend, whose car is acting up.  WTF?  But things like that cannot be reasoned with, so I say ‘fine’.  Fine.  So I go run my own errands whilst composing a State of Ancodia Address that I have to give this afternoon.  So, boarding Squoosh—check.  More memory for the laptop—check.  Phone and finalise flight crap and beg for the same jack ass that screwed up my last materials to screw up some more for me—check.  And so on.  And in the meantime, I actually am feeling rather hurt.  Not that I feel abandoned, or anything like that…it is more of a thing where I am not relating to her priorities.  I mean, *I* took the morning off and frankly, my time is more valuable, if not more important.  And I know that sounds bad, but it is how I feel all the same.  Not that I would ever say such a thing, but when you blow people off at the drop of a hat over things like that (I can only assume her boyfriend is in his twenties as well, and should damn well know how to deal with a dead car by now; if not, it is high time he learnt how), do not be surprised when they do not drop everything to help you again.  Or at least a third time.  

And then, as I am heading over to have yet another Meeting Which Hath No End, Scooter phones (am I the only person on the planet who owns a cell phone?  Say it isn’t so!), because he wants me to tell everyone that he cannot come because his car won’t start in this cold weather.  

DAMN it.  

I hate being the go-between on shit like this.  Scooter’s missed several of these meetings (not that I can say as how I blame him; if I had my druthers I’d slink off, too), and although this reason sounds legitimate, the others aren’t, and this is pointing towards a pattern.  And, he informs me, he will be missing next week’s meeting as well.  Could I just relay all that?  

AAAAUUUUGGGGHHHHH!

Sure.  Fine.  FINE.  And I am irritated, ‘cos he turned down my offer of a jump, saying he didn’t think that was the problem (huh?  Clearly your battery is most likely dead), leaving me instead to make him sound more legitimate.   Whatever.  

And I was butted out of my Justify Your Existence talk, so I just had to sit there and look interested whilst someone else gave theirs (In addition to being the only person on Earth who owns a cell phone, am I also the only person who understands time limits?!?), then I begged meg to meet me for lunch ‘cos I had let myself get sick again from not eating.  

And I still have Squooshneck, though it is significantly better.  

So I just don’t know.  And I have crap to read for *another* presentation on Wednesday that I just don’t want to read.  And I do not know if I should be hurt over Andie’s crapping out on me, or not.  She knows how busy I am.  I think I will give it one more try and if that fails, I will tell her that she is on her own.  What I am really the most upset over is that I went to sleep early, and had to record Flavour of Love.  But I did watch it when I came home.  God, yes…I have gotten sucked into it. I am rooting for Goldie, in case anyone cares; she is the cutest, sweetest, and most non-mental of them all.  Kinda makes you wonder why in the hell she’s there, rilly.  :-)  I half-watch Flavour of Love as I type stuff, or read, or whatever.  Damn, but Brigitte Nielsen is looking like a man these days.  And I have also been half-watching Celebrity Fit Club, when I remember.  And I have noticed an uncanny resemblance between Gunnar Nelson and Chastity Bono.  I mean really spooky.  I keep forgetting to look and see if I see them both at the same time.  

And I just meowed back at Squooshable ‘cos he meowed at me; whenever I meow at Squoosh, he gets this alarmed look on his face—instead of appreciating my attempt to communicate in his language like all my other cats do.  I think he doesn’t like my mouth-words.  :-)  It’s kind of funny, though I try to not do it, ‘cos it seems to upset him.  My little Squoosh-Fingers.  

Butsoanyway.

On the drive home, I hear on NPR that the FAA is implementing a new system to better direct planes as they are taxiing.  About damn time.  Well, at least that will be one less thing to worry about; now if they could only get rid of those mercenaries that take over the airport, I could maybe fly in peace.  

And don’t tell me that there are no mercenaries!  You’re in on it!!  BWAAH!

Ouchy. Whine.

Oh, dear do I have Squooshneck.  

Squooshneck is what one has when one’s neck hurts so badly that one can barely move it, usually from holding one’s head cocked for too long…sort-of like my Squoosh does.  That’s why I rub his neck at least once a day—because he has Squooshneck.  And oh, do I have Squooshneck.  I feel as if someone took a tiny V-shaped wedge of wood and shoved it under my axis beneath my right ear, hoisting my C1 and C2 up by an inch on the right side.  Well, that is what it *feels* like.  For those that are interested, and don’t I know that we all are, this results in it hurting to turn my head, and I have a sore-ish throat.  

Damnit.  

It is probably from sleeping wrong.  When I got home last night, I was in such a mood that I screwed around online for a while and then went to bed.  I had one of those “is this a date, or not?” dinners last night and although I still am unsure what it was, I frankly do not give a fuck.  If anything comes of it, I may whine about it later.  :-)  But for now, I do not care.

First, ‘cos I was bored shitless last night; second, because I have Squooshneck.

Oww.

Speaking of Squooshable, he got into the dental floss again, and un-spooled half a roll of minty Oral-B floss Monday night, which I found Tuesday morning—along with Squooshbarf.  I was running late to work, so I begged Meg to stop by and take a look at him on her way to work.  He had barfed again, so she dropped him off at the vet’s on her way to work.  They x-rayed him, gave him a barium-thingy, and watched the Squooshpoop work its way through Squooshable.  They pronounced him Just Fine ($350 later), and I picked him up that evening.  Then yesterday night as I was cleaning out his litter box, I noticed he had pooped up a huge mound of dental floss, I guess a day or so ago.  Sigh.  I wish I could convince him to quit with the Poop-On-A-Rope endeavour.  I am a little upset, ‘cos I thought Dr Vet was saying that he *hadn’t* eaten any dental floss, but I guess he did the test to make sure that no dental floss had wrapped itself around his Squooshtestines.  Bwaah!  

I cannot take much more of this.  

And I found out cursory details yesterday, and then received the Full Assignment today—I have to travel next weekend.  Pfft.  Thanks for the warning.  I have to do it ‘cos the person who was going to do it (you know—the person whose job it *actually* is?) crapped out, so I have to catch a flight at like, three in the fucking morning Thursday night (okay, technically Friday morning), and I will be back sometime late Monday evening.  So I have to board Squooshable.  Grumble.  At least that will be expensed out, ‘cos I told them that I would do it No Fucking Way unless they picked up my vet bill.  Damnation, am I a bitch.  But this means that I have to probably change and do the whore’s bath thing in the god damned airport to go Be and Do on Friday.  I was offered to be allowed to fly out earlier on Thursday, but I cannot do it—I have other things I have to race and put to bed if I am going to be out of commission for four whole days.  Grr.  And I have classes all day Wednesday—there is NO WAY I can ditch those to get shit done so that I can leave at a reasonable time on Thursday.  And all this because someone at Eviljob’s eyes were bigger than their stomach, as it were, because their mouth was writing checks that their butterfly ass couldn’t cash…however one wants to think of it.  Farking loser.  

*And* my manager is quitting (I saw this coming *several* months ago; she is taking a higher position at another company), though how that effects me, I have no idea.  For all intents and purposes, I haven’t worked for her in several months other than in an “on-paper” sense.  And I know that they’re not hiring a replacement for her.  And I do not know what that means, either.  It is not a situation where I am afraid for my job, but it is a situation where I am concerned that the next person I have over me might be an asshole, which means less freedom…as if I had much now, or have no idea what I or others on Team A *do*, which means tolerating some idiot meddling in That Which They Know Nothing About.

And I HATE flying.

On the other hand, at least I am going somewhere that has a few cool places to go, and I will have half of Saturday and all Sunday free.  Grumble.

Okay, I am off the ‘pity me’ kick; I *did* bargain for Spring Break off.  Yay.  Now I guess I have to go with Meg to Reno over Spring Break.

Three guesses why.

I would go get a hot towel for my neck, but I am too damned lazy.  Sad, iddnit?  Staring at a monitor for eight hours straight today did nothing to help, but I did not want to push my luck and ask for today off at the spur of the moment as well, because I didn’t want to jeopardise getting the two weeks of Spring Break off.  Ow. Ow. Ow. Squooshneck. Ow.

I am going to go read stuff for classes this week and go to sleep, I think.  

I got the black and white flightless bird, and you got the 'mingo

Okay, so it doesn't keep metre. But I fixed it!

You scored as Emperor Penguin. You should be an Emperor Penguin! EMPEROR PENGUIN 100% Leper messiah 100% Obnoxious bitch 100% Free-lance fool 100% Being Justified and Ancient 100% Burger-flipper at Zom-Zom's 100% Staring off into space 100% Pondering the meaning of meaning 92% Asking for grants to ponder the meaning of meaning 83% Being a Pop Tart 83% Haz-Mat Taste-Tester 83% Listening to John Denver 75% Living without cosmetics and jewellery 67% Paying attention 33% What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3) created with QuizFarm.com

Wait...I gotta get some gum and some tic-tacs, two tall cans, and a packet of Blackjacks...

I took it 'cos Ms Grammarian took it, but I think it is defective; it says NOTHING about my first pick, being a shepherd. Of penguins. What the hell did I half-kill myself to get a 3 on the GRE for, fer chrissakes? To get into the Penguin Shepherd program, natch. And spend all my spare time flipping burgers at Zom-Zom's. Sheesh.

And I have that "beep-beep, beep-beep-beep, beep-beep-beep, beeep, HONK-HONK!" stuck in my head since I heard it earlier today. Sigh. Something. Always *something*.

Eighty west...back to the Psikhushka. :-)

You scored as Psychology. You should be a Psychology major! Theater 100% Philosophy 100% English 100% Engineering 100% Journalism 100% Psychology 100% Anthropology 100% Mathematics 92% Linguistics 83% Sociology 83% Dance 83% Biology 75% Art 67% Chemistry 33% What is your Perfect Major? (PLEASE RATE ME!!<3) created with QuizFarm.com

Psycodia

So much for the having dinner with a friend thing. Sigh. Next time
(next girl), perhaps the plan will be to go somewhere that isn't like
Grand Central. Assuming that wasn't the plan, that is. I have run out
of people to text message, so I am blogging. Still have stuff to
write, to boot. Argh. But I did get a super deal on a cute coat today
'cos the manager remembered me from the last time I was in, so that
was cool. Other than that, I have not done much interesting. Sigh.
Ok... I am getting bored of even typing on a phone. Pfft.

What the World Needs Now is Ambient Lighting

Rock on, Fred!

Cat Nabs Fake Vet

I wish I had talent enough to come up with an appropriate headlining link, like STIX NIX HIX PIX, or something. I should maybe ask Ms Grammarian for help. Maybe CAT BALLS QUASH FAKE HOUSE CALLS? STRAY SETS-UP SHAM VET? FURBALL FINGERS FAUX DOC? Or how about FELINE FOILS FRAUDULENT FELLOW?

Well…I have no aptitude for it. Clearly.

Okay…I have to get back to work. Tomorrow Romeo has his post-Theo-Dur check up, and I have a meeting, and then I will go to get seafood if it kills me; there is this amazingly brilliant restaurant sort-of nearby that I have been craving madly for a few days now. I haven’t had anything decent to eat in at least a day or so; I have just been too busy. On the up-side though, Whazztherface’s Frusion drink thing does not suck as food. There was another one I had that was god-awful, but Frusion is pretty cool. Thank god MMM was making with the comestibles last night, else I’d have died. We had honourable guests from Over There (no, really—one was from another country, and I could understand him perfectly; it was the American that I was having a hard time with…go figure) who talked our ears off. Oy. Before, the last chance I’d had to grab anything was a Frusion that *morning*, as I was running late. Sigh. And I had forgotten how much I like cheese. I know that sounds funny, but it is true—we had brie that was *awesome*, or maybe I was just starving. Who knows? And my goodness, if MMM wouldn’t look *so* much better if he were lit from above all the time! We had the ceiling lights on dimly for audio/visual stuff, and whoo.... I mean really.

I know…I need therapy. I just haven’t the time. :-)

Anyway, leaving Eviljob today, I saw Mr Fluffy again, but this time he ran away from me. I put out food and water, and he came over and drank a ton, but wouldn’t let me near. They do not have enough water out there, even with the lake and fountain. I did not have time to chase Mr Fluffy, so I just left and came home. And Mehitabel was out there, as well; it had been some time since I had seen her (though I did swing by after MMM’s class last night and she was out and scavenging, which is unusual for her, so I gave her food last night, also) I will need to start again with the cat traps, I think.

Argh.

And now I have to hurry and finish the last thing I had due for MMM (I *said* I would never finish in time!), and hope he doesn’t notice that I am stealthily slipping it under his email door. :-)

Who am I kidding? MMM knows EVERYTHING!!!! It is normally intimidating, but lit from above, it’s, well…

Bwaah! :-)

Oh, dang...

This is either really, really good, or really, really bad.

:-) As I always am.

But regardless, 'Codia knows her way around a bedroom...or a pet store, whatever. Well, within one standard deviation. Sort-of.

Okay, okay...back to work. I am fried. FRIED.

You scored 85% in Toy Knowledge!

Well. What can I say? If you did really well...that's sad!!! And if you did really poorly...that's sad too!!! And if every picture looked like a sex toy...you need to see the doctor!!!

My test tracked 1 variable How you compared to other people your age and gender: You scored higher than 76% on Toy Knowledge

Link: The Sex Toy or Dog Toy Test written by BLeeDaClarkie on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Well, tan my bikini. Or whatever.

 

 

I have just finished one of the easiest things I have ever done.

 

God DAMN, am I Evil.

 

I just handed the skeleton of my brilliant idea to The Enemy, as it were.  I haven't really gone into great description of The Enemy here, but we have one.  And I just typed it up and emailed the bitch out to them in fulfillment of a thingy I had to do that was supposed to be something sort-of related, but I turned it my way, 'cos I am like that.  Sometimes I get My Way no matter what.

 

Squoosh you, Peasanty.

 

And if I do not get credit for it?  Well, actually, I think that I will.  But if I don't, that is fine.  No one else that I was concerned about will either, and as things stood, I wasn't going to anyway.  Mwa ha ha.

 

And it harms me not in the least.  I have ideas constantly.  Crunch all you want; I'll make more.  That's one of the only reasons they keep me.  Truth.  I have read more than damn near anyone else I can think of (and those that I *can* think of are not in my area of interest) throughout my life, and still manage to not be narrowed of vision enough that I can generate connections that aren't obvious.  Sure; I am blowing my own horn.  :-)  I do that every once in a while because no one else does.  Giggle.  Or will let me…  oh, never mind; it's not for lack of volunteers, it is a selection and motivation issue. 

 

:-D

 

Butsoanyway.

 

Plus, I kept out my One Thing Based On An Association Only Ancodia Makes.  If this person wants that, I want money.  Or some affiliation-shift.  Or something.  Come over and clean my refrigerator.  And my car.  And give my hair a protein treatment.  And get down on your knees and beg nicely.  Gimme.

 

Fuck, am I hormonal.  Teach me to go back on the Pill; this happens every time.  I am feeling pregnant and vicious.  And hormonal; come hold me—I'll be crying within minutes.  :-)  Yes, I am back on El Pill, as well as antibiotics.  It's a boob thing, 'cos my doctor doesn't want to cut me up just yet.  Snicker.  As if I were doing anything with my breasts.  Whatever.  But I appreciate the thought, so we'll see. 

 

Did I mention that I am feeling hormonal?

 

 

RUI (reading under the influence...of boredom)

Ever been bored senseless whilst reading something written about a topic which you actually love? To the point where you are falling asleep, and just want the whole thing to go the hell away, and it takes you forty minutes to synthesise and parrot back (in the form of insightful comments) something that should only take you ten minutes? And you have a hard time following an argument because you just are not in the mood?

Ummm, yeah. That’s the point I am at.

I want to go move into one of those hermetically-sealed domes and get locked in for ten years, so that I can catch up on sleep and actually maybe accomplish something.

Argh. Back to work.

Halftime!

Too funny--when Mick came out, one of the guys here shouted out, "Hey!
It's Grandpa! Sing it, Grandpa!". And I was getting teased about
checking out one of the new guys' packages, which I wasn't, so I am
taking a time out outside. :-) And it is cold, rainy, and beautiful!
This is cool...

Will you answer all these questions, on a postcard if you please…

I am waiting for stuff to upload, and then I am out of here!

It really annoys me when people question my motives, or try to second-guess my intentions.  I am not saying that I am above reproach, now.  I am talking about DURR, who sends back nastygrams to me that ask me if I am *sure* that I am measuring how many licks it takes to get to the centre of a Tootsie Pop, ‘cos in my questionnaire, I am asking how old someone is, and that’s “sensitive” information that is “unrelated” to my endeavour—ergo, clearly I am trying to study something other than what I have stated, or do not know what I am doing.

Oh, bite me.  You are there to review ethics—not second-guess my methodology.  

So I just submitted my reply.  And I think I am going to head over to Football soon; I can read stuff as I wait for the game to start.  Plus I am starving, and looking forward to hanging out with the guys.  :-)  I have printed off a ream of crap to read in-between plays.  

…and I’m off!  

But we knew that, right?  ;-)

Football!

Eek.

I am *SO* drowning.  I have until Monday to finish some things and Wednesday to finish the rest.  And I’m not going to be able to do it, which is of course why I am stopping now to blog.  But I need a break.  And I have to go watch the Superbowl and play QB1 tomorrow.  :-)  I am such a fucking guy sometimes, I swear…  I really, truly wonder sometimes if I wouldn’t have been happier as a man.  I mean, I’d be gay as *hell* ‘cos I like men too much, but whatever.  And I have to try to get a hold of Muffin, Son-Friend’s daughter, who is working right now and said she will call me either when she gets off tonight, or tomorrow morning.

And my GOD does something about all this upset G-F of S-F.  He sent a text message to me today to ask if she had phoned me (G-F, not Muffin); I said no and asked why, and he replied that she was really torqued about it, and had said that she was going to ring me up and give me a piece of her mind.  Whatever.  S-F had to text me to find out if she had phoned because the woman lies.  Sheesh.  I try so hard to get along with her, but it seems that *something* always happens.  And G-F would never phone me to confront me; if I inherited anything from my father, it is the ability to, as my mother says, “go for the jugular”.  In other words, I am a little too honest with people for G-F’s taste, ‘cos god only knows she’d freak and have to take a Klonopin or two if anyone ever tried to address any of *her* problems…which I would be more than happy to do.

Have I mentioned lately how very pleased I am to be single?

Okay—it is because I am not completely, but having to endure drama even third-hand makes me at least realise what a pretty shade of silver my cloud has.  Rilly.  It’s gorgeous.  :-)

I think that at the centre of G-F’s problem is that Muffin likes me, and thinks G-F is an old nutty drag.  Which she is.  But in fairness, G-F needs to realise that I am way-closer to Muffin’s age (both Son-Friend and G-F are considerably older than me); Muffin “can’t relate” to her, and thinks of me as an “older sister” type in a way.  I only saw Muffin every few months (give or take) until a couple of years ago, ‘cos when Son-Friend divorced Muffin’s mom (who, oddly, has many of the same personality traits as G-F of S-F), Mom O’Muffin immediately shacked up with some guy who was a sleaze, forbade Muffin to see her father, and promptly squirted out two more kids (out of wedlock with sleazeboy).  So S-F would have to sneak and see Muffin until she turned eighteen a couple years ago and moved out.  And I know that I sound overly moralistic, but remember—my parents had me late; as wild as I may have been at any point in my life, I was raised to not behave in certain ways, and the way in which Mom O’Muffin behaves is one of them.  

Not the having litters out-of-wedlock part so much as the lying about your husband(s) and hooking up with a no-account slimeball whom one wouldn’t even consider as marriageable in the first place, and *then* having kids that you cannot afford (in a monetary sense as well as with respect to time) to try to keep this man without the benefit of marriage to boot.  At that point, it is simply adding insult to injury.  Those poor children.  

So Muffin grew up, Mr Slimeball dumped Mom O’Muffin (who then claimed he…::drum roll::…beat her, and hooked up with yet another guy), and Muffin (in an attempt to get as far away from Mom O’Muffin as possible) moved out to East Egypt and is a waitress.  She lives with two friends, talks to Mom O’Muffin never, and spends time with Son-Friend as much as a young lady can and still manage to look cool.  :-)  Muffin’s cute.  She smokes too much pot and she needs to go back to school, but she’s cute.  Perhaps in time she will get more serious, but considering that for literally all of her teenage years she was babysitting her younger step-littermates (‘cos Mom O’Muffin is mental, and taking care of kids is not Her Thing) constantly, and never got to do anything, well…I can understand her wanting to do nothing for a few years.  Muffin’s older sister (not by Son-Friend…did I mention Mom O’Muffin had issues?) ran away at sixteen and got married to get the hell out of that household.  

How did Son-Friend get involved in all that?  Easy.  He hadn’t met me yet, and he’s freaking retarded sometimes.  Mom O’Muffin wanted to get away from her first husband, so she manoeuvred her way into getting pregnant and then convincing Son-Friend that he had to “rescue” her.  So, not seeing the forest for the trees, he did.  Idiot.  She and Son-Friend worked together (this was ages ago, before his seizures got really bad, and before I ever knew him), and Mom O’Muffin didn’t even tell Son-Friend she was married!  Then she popped up pregnant, and ‘fessed up that she was really married but (here comes Drama, kids) Husby 1 BEAT her.  

Yes, that’s right—BEAT HER.

What bullshit.  First of all, he didn’t.  I would bet money on it, and I don’t even know the man.  After Son-Friend and Mom O’Muffin had run off and her divorce was about to be finalised, Husby 1 actually TRACKED SON-FRIEND DOWN to tell him that Mom O’Muffin was batshit, and Good Luck to Son-Friend if that was what he thought he really wanted, but Husby 1 felt obligated to warn him.  Son-Friend said that Husby 1 acted totally normal, nothing like Mom O’Muffin had made him out to be.  I told Son-Friend that he should have taken his first clue then, if not before.  Idiot.  

And Mom O’Muffin really is batshit.  In that respect, I *guess* G-F is a step up in that she is not COMPLETELY insane, just a little cuckoo.  I didn’t believe Son-Friend about all that had happened (well, I thought he was exaggerating out of spite, not that I could have blamed him…Mom O’Muffin promptly dicked *him* over as well, then made a break for freedom—again with someone else—about five years after having Muffin, leaving Son-Friend with nothing but a bill for child support.  Did you know Son-Friend is *also* a wife-beater?  Ha, ha.  Sigh…she needs to think up a new lie for variety, if no other reason) until I *met* Mom O’Muffin.  

Sheesh; Husby 1 may not have, Son-Friend may not have, but if I woke up tomorrow next to that bint, *I* would beat the stuffing out of her.  Christ.  *How* Husby 1 and Son-Friend managed to NOT beat the tar out of her is beyond my comprehension, and a testament to their self-control.  Slimeboy also beat her (per her), and if he truly did it was well-deserved.  I do not condone abuse (I grew up with quite enough of it, thank you very much), but some people are figuratively down on their knees begging for it, and Mom O’Muffin is one of them.  I think it is the Texans who recognise that some people are just in need of a good killing?  Yeah—that’s Mom O’Muffin.  She’s co-dependant, jealous, greedy, lying, demanding, whining, screaming, abusive, overly-dramatic, vain, hurtful, hateful, intentionally incompetent, and repays kindness with vengeance…in short, she gives women a bad name.  Oh—and she has cheated on all her husbands and boyfriends, to the point that slimeball, when he left, had a paternity test on the second child that was allegedly his (as I pointed out to Son-Friend:  if they’ll do it with you, they’ll do it to you…learn, fer chrissake.  He should have run like hell the moment he found out she was really married, and just sucked it up and paid the child support; that’s not handwriting on the wall—that’s making words out of the fucking bricks).  In some alternate universe, Mom O’Muffin is the bitch making a deal with the State to plead a “battered woman defence” in exchange for testifying against the live-in boyfriend who abused their children to death right under her nose, and probably with her participation.  I am sure something horrible must have happened to her to make her this way, but…frankly, I don’t give a fuck.  My empathy and understanding only extend so far, and it petered out when I saw how she treated Son-Friend and Muffin, not to mention her other children.

One time, when Son-Friend met Muffin I went with them.  Muffin was depressed—one could just tell—and kept talking about Mom O’Muffin and all her latest screwiness.  Son-Friend didn’t notice, but to me Muffin looked like she was having issues.  I had to stamp on Son-Friend’s foot to get him to shut up, because Muffin would make a comment, and Son-Friend would ignore what she might have meant and start talking about something irrelevant (men are *so* dumb sometimes, I swear…), then Muffin would make another comment which was ignored, then another, and so on.  

So I pounced on his foot, and he shut up.  And *I* started talking to Muffin.  And what it all boiled down to was that Muffin did not understand why her mother did some of the things she did (some of these things would be *such* a long story), and Muffin didn’t want to understand, ‘cos she felt as if she would end up as nutty as her mother if she were able to follow her mother’s reasoning, but on the other hand she could not tell what her mother was going to do from one minute to the next.  In listening to her, *I* heard that she was most afraid of turning into a Drama Queen like her mother.  So I took her hand and all I said was, “Muffin, you are not your mother.”  More was supposed to come after that but like a bolt of lightning, Muffin started sobbing—not crying, sobbing.  I went over to the other side of the table to hug her, and Son-Friend just sat there, looking confused and alarmed.  “Why is she crying?” he mouthed to me.  I just rolled my eyes and mouthed back, “Later”.  

Sigh.  Men.  I swear.  And I cannot handle much of situations like that…it is all so different from the way I was brought up, think, and expect things to be that I feel like I am watching a soap opera from Pluto.  

Butsoanyway.

And one wonders why I have a low tolerance for drama.  

But I think that this will be a good opportunity for Muffin; she will earn some money, and hopefully have some fun.  G-F can bite my ass.  

How did I get off on this tangent?  I don’t know.  

I was at Eviljob today, and one of my cubiclemates showed up too, so it was just the two of us for most of the day.  He had me in hysterics—he was complaining that he could not access www.al-Qaeda.com, and talking about how he was hoping to find the website, ‘cos he was hoping they would have a “Contact Us” button.  He wanted to tell them that our building, and in fact Eviljob as a whole, was a keystone of American Society and without Eviljob (and especially our facility), the entire infrastructure of the United States would crumble within minutes.  Even were that to be true, I asked, why would they care; I get the feeling they aren’t really *interested* in American Society.  “Oh,” he said, “I don’t care if they care or not, I just want to convince them that they should blow up this building!  That way, I don’t have to come to work on Monday!”

Sigh.

But, I asked, what if you were *in* the building when they did it, smartass?  No problem, he explained—he’s one jump ahead of me.  He’s going to explain that the whole Eviljob Industries International is just a front for a secret government organisation that operates in our facility…only at three in the morning.  So if they want to really “get” the US, they will blow up our facility at three in the morning.  

Then he asked me if I thought it might be www.al-Qaeda.org.

Sigh.  

I actually had a fun time today.  I think it is because I have a morbid sense of humour.  Though I wish I could have a do-over on last weekend.  Which I might.  

Meg’s back, and she is so funny; I went over the other day just to see the $350 manicure set, and it’s a bottle of lotion, a file, toe separators…that sort of thing.  Finally I realised Meg was making a joke—they hadn’t claimed the set to be *worth* that, Meg was factoring in her buy-in and everything.  Silly girl.  They also gave her lunch at that tourney, and Meg said that the $350 lunch wasn’t all that.  :-)  But she did win a little bit.  

I started this post last night, and then went back to work, got tired, and now here I am again, trying to accomplish something before Superbowl time…  At least I don’t have to worry about getting a good seat; I talked Son-Friend and a couple other guys that are going with us into showing up early.  I haven’t had a chance to eat since yesterday afternoon, so I am *dying* for nachos!  And wings!  And chilli & cheese fries!

But no beer; beer is yucky.

Yay, football!  

Alien, where art thou?

I just love Mugler’s Angel, and I have been waiting for Alien, but I cannot seem to find it near me.  Heartbreaking, that.  Over the semester break I am travelling again, and so hopefully I will have better luck out-of-state.

I had an early-morning “creative” meeting today that seemed to last ages, and then I took a shopping lunch; I figured I would luck into Alien somewhere.  No such luck, so I finally gave up and went back to work.  After refilling my supply of Angel and Aromatics Elixir, that is.  

This has been a busy week; I have more and more things to do, and I keep getting more and more tired, but it actually looks like it might be worth it…finally.  I received what is tantamount to an “appreciation bonus” of sorts on Tuesday.  Who says all my work is in vain?  

Well, me, but…whatever.  :-)

Yesterday I had to cut out of work earlier than I’d planned; I have re-arranged my schedule so that my Days From Hell are Wednesday and Thursday, only Thursday is quasi-negotiable, and Wednesday is not.  So I took my long-assed break on Thursday, came back to Eviljob and got settled in, and then my father phoned me.  He wanted me to come over, which happens rarely.  And since he has no concept whatsoever of what it is like to not be one’s own boss, my explanation that I was at work and it would have to wait was useless.  My father, in a never-ending effort to annoy the hell out of my mother, lives about two hours away; it was a nice drive, though, and I was actually looking forward to it, which is perhaps why I didn’t put up such a fight.  Yesterday was somewhat overcast, and at sunset had turned flat-out gorgeous, at least to me.  But then I like what other people think are depressing days, so who knows—maybe it was ugly as hell.  :-)  

And the drive back was lovely even if it was close to midnight, and I was exhausted.  

Some asshole (who I hope will die a slow, horrible, and violent death) has dumped off two new cats at Eviljob, both older and longhaired; one is chocolate and skittish, and the other is cream and somewhat friendly.  Sigh.

It just never ends.

I fed them, and would have tried to grab one, only was going back into work.  I pet the cream one (who looks at least partly Himalayan) a bunch, hoping that it would be around when I came back out, or at least come when I called, but it wasn’t and wouldn’t.  I will try again tomorrow.  

:-)  If I had been successful, I would have given my father a cat as a present.  Well, okay; I wouldn’t have.  But only because he can be a bit mean, at least historically.  

I have a ton of things to do, and I shouldn’t be taking the time out to write this, but…well, I just wanted to.  I pour so much of myself into the things I produce that it is exhausting, sometimes to the point where I dread starting another project.  It *is* paying off—even Pessimistic I have to admit that it is slowly paying off—but…it is sometimes just too much.  

I also am trying to get one of Son-Friend’s daughters to agree to model for someone else I know.  I may not have mentioned it before, but yes, Son-Friend has bred…be afraid.  :-)  This one daughter (he has three) is actually very pretty, even if she is a little flit sometimes.  And this is nothing improper (I would never be involved if it were), and it actually might be good for her, in the sense of lucking into getting experience (she wants to be a model) through Dumb Luck whereas she wouldn’t get it any other way, because she is unfocussed and flighty.  How I came to be pandering is…unusual and involved, as damn near everything is with me.  But hopefully I can get her to do it by the weekend, because I think it would work out well for her.  Sigh.  

I am back to having a list a mile long full of everything I need to get accomplished.  Augh.  Why me?  :-)  Oh, yeah—that’s right…I volunteered for most of it.  Bwaah!

Okay…sigh…back to work.