Just stuff.

Lessee…

I had to run a bunch of classes at Eviljob all day as a favour, and then I fell asleep at my desk. Yay, dignity. Then I had to run home and feed The Brood, and then run back out and meet Fluffer for something we are working on together (it actually was a good time). Then I met a friend of dinner (which was only an ‘eh’ time). Now I am EXHAUSTED.

I am playing poker online until tiredness hits me again, and then I am going to bed.

When I came back from Reno, I felt Romeo all over ‘cos he was due, and I found a lump by his butt. So I took him to Dr Vet and it turned out that it was just, basically, a really big cat butt-pimple.

I know; TMI.

Dr Vet said that it may have been from the cortisone shot he received about a month ago for his breathing, and I am just supposed to watch it (watching cat butt-pimples is high entertainment ‘round these parts), and check him every week or so to make sure it isn’t getting bigger or troubling him. So he’s fine, but now for the past two days, he has been a freaking eyebooger FACTORY out of both eyes, so I am now wondering if he has some eye infection, or something. I haven’t ever had a cat that had one, Romeo never goes outside (so I am at a loss to explain how he would have gotten one), and it doesn’t seem to be troubling him, but if this keeps up, then I guess it’s back to Dr Vet.

I am beginning to think that, when I am gone, my cats plot new disorders to come down with.

Argh.

I fed and watered Mehitabel today—Brenda set up a feeding station (I never thought to do that because I am retarded), and Mehitabel has really taken to it; I always see her there anymore. I switched from feeding them Iams kitten chow to Purina, ‘cos Brenda was really upset that I use Iams because she said that they test on animals. I just figured it was good food for them, but the Purina I started using has DHA in it also. And it is less expensive (which I actually feel guilty about, like I am trying to cut corners on Mehitabel), and Mehitibel seems to like it just fine. I had to swing back by Eviljob to give her fresh water, because when I left I was so tired that I forgot to refill my bottle of water. Sigh.

Mehitabel is still pregnant; hopefully, if I can get a little bit done, I can try to catch her this weekend with Brenda.

Doublesigh.

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It's Wednesday...

Smptecb, originally uploaded by Ancodia.

And I am already tired of listening to people. Bwaah! I am so very eager for this semester to be over. I need sleep. And...I don't know. Not this.

Booo00000OOO000oooop!

I am in a small seminar class with someone who, no matter how many times something is explained to them, however many different ways, they respond with, 'ok, yeah, sure...but I still don't understand'.

Oh, for god's sake.

At our break (which feels as if it will never come), I have to refill my water for Mehitabel; I always stop by Wednesday evenings on my way home to feed (and water) her. I hope that she is okay; I hope that I (or someone else) can catch her. And I hope I can get all her babies--that one I am most worried about. I don't want to hear about any more cat carnage. Let's not even go there. I need to think about something else; annoyance is always good.

Sigh.

I may add more later. Whee.

Well, whee *and* Booo00000OOO000oooop!

fishin' in the rivers of life

Sigh. I am drowning. Gurgle.

I saw Mehitabel today--she's still porked out. I fed her and gave her fresh water, but she knew I was up to something (trying to take a picture of her football-shaped tum), and refused to come out from under a car until I left. I wanted her to eat, so I left.

She's on to me.

I have two things to write before tomorrow, and it looks as if I will be up all night...again. Frick.

In Cuter News, Squoosh has started cooing as his main mode of expression. It's kinda cute; he sounds like a 200-lb pigeon when he really gets going. When I came home today he met me at the door just a-mmmrrrpp-ing and a-brrrppp-ing away. He's such a funny baby; every week, it's something different as he fine-tunes this being a cat thing.

I need to do something nice for him for his birfday coming up.

I have to get back to work...one of my teammates on this project reminds me of a guy I went to high school with; adorable, but...let's just say not a hard or devoted worker. Sad thing is, I miss him and like Mr Teamie because of the similarities. Without them, I would have reamed a new asshole for him by now. Argh.

Last chance: Who wants to type this all for me?

I thought so. Hmmph.

Ok...back to work.

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The 27th (of March) Sally, or How Lem's Own Age Led to No Good.

This sucks.  I am sad again. 

Stanislaw Lem has died. 

Damn it.

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Cat Tales

People really tick me off sometimes.  I didn’t have time to meet with Brenda (The Cat Whisperer) today, because I am backed up with stuff again.  This week is going to suck.  But I did see Mehitabel last night, she is still pregnant, and I did feed her and give her fresh water.  I wanted to take a picture, but my camera was full from all the shots I took in NV and CA.  Grr.  

About a month ago, an Eviljob co-worker (the one who asked me why I am stealing all the parking lot cats at one of our Christmas parties) sent an email asking me if I wanted a cat, because she had one that she desperately needed to get rid of because it was ‘just crazy’.  

I forget to blog about a lot of things, or something even bigger happens later, and it overshadows minutiae, or whatever…this is one of those things.  

I sent an email back asking if this was the same cat (kitten, really) whom I’d pled with her to not de-claw a few months back.  This is what I had forgotten to write about; I knew she wouldn’t keep the cat indoors, I knew she wouldn’t commit to the cat for life (I have worked with her for a few years, and know her pretty well; I am not just automatically judgemental of people like that), so I asked her to please reconsider having the cat’s claws taken out.  Not that I should really throw stones; when I received Romeo, I had him de-clawed in front at the same time I had him neutered.  I didn’t know any better then.  I do now, and in the meantime, Romeo has a Forever Home with me; I *owe* him that because I de-clawed him, I owe him a life 100% indoors and protected, and I owe him good medical treatment (on the grounds that under different circumstances, he could have gone to someone who showed cats—his mom was a show cat—or something, remained un-neutered and with claws, and would have received excellent medical care).  The neutering isn’t really the issue, but the de-clawing is. So I asked my co-worker to please mull it over a bit.

Of course she didn’t.  Reconsider, that is.  

She de-clawed him, and he is now not only ‘just crazy’, but he still gets outside (or she *lets* him outside, rather).  And of course it was the same cat that she emailed me about, wanting to get rid of.  I told her at the time (I am too honest…considering what I am about to tell you, I should have just lied and taken the cat) that I personally couldn’t take any more cats, but I could take the cat and try to get it placed, and to PLEASE not de-claw any more cats unless she is 100% CERTAIN that she is keeping the cat FOREVER, and keeping it INDOORS…and ideally not even then, if at all avoidable.  I should have just shut up and taken the cat.  At the very least, I should have stopped short of explaining that some countries view de-clawing as *mutilation*.  But I didn’t.  I am so stupid.

Butsoanyway.

So he came home two weeks ago with a hurt back leg, and she *still* kept letting him out.  And not taking him to the vet.  

God, I hope someone does that to you some day.  May you rot in a bed when you are in your eighties ridden with bed sores, and may your family just take their own sweet time to get around to you.

Butsoanyway.

So the leg became slowly worse, and when the kitten couldn’t walk any longer, she finally took it to the vet. So what she was emailing me for yesterday was to tell me about the craziness, the high vet bill, and the cat trying to get out all the time, and ask what she should do.  Now it is on antibiotics, and she thinks the cat is too much trouble, too expensive, and ‘just crazy’.  I offered to take the cat, but she ‘doesn’t want to give it to me if I am just going to give it away, ‘cos she wants to know that it is going to a good home’.  Plus, her daughter really wants to keep the cat.  Her five (or six, I forget) year-old daughter.  

Is this bitch on DRUGS?!?  

I suggested that she keep it in her daughter’s room if everyone in the home couldn’t be bothered to mind the doors (I left out that last part), and play with it more—get some farking cat toys; it is a damn *kitten*, for god’s sake; teach the daughter to care for and play with the cat kindly, not to let it out of her room, and let it be ‘her’ cat (under the guise of teaching her responsibility).  And give the antibiotics on time.  And I offered to take the cat.  

She says that she will try keeping it in her daughter’s room until it gives up on getting outside.  She liked the idea of using the kitten to teach her daughter responsibility.  Internally I was alternating between snickering derisively and pounding my head against a brick wall at that one.  Whatever.  

I am going to keep offering to take the cat.  Poor cat.  

I need a break.  I am *so* ready for this semester to be over.  I want it to be August or September, NOW.  Whine.  Gripe.  Moan.  

I have to get back to work.  And I was offered another job…now I have to decide if I can take on a third job (highly unlikely), or if I should let Eviljob or Job II go.  Or turn down the offer.  

I’m thinking, I’m thinking…

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What's the difference between a mule team driver and a poker dealer?

Augh!

I am never going to have more time, it seems. So let me get a few things out of the way:

Look at the fat cat!!! WOW! He might be bigger than Molly, the Obeast!

1) Before I left, I met Brenda the Cat Whisperer, showed her where Mehitabel hangs out, gave her $50 to cover gas and stuff, and bought a bunch of food for her at PetsMart. She—bless her heart—fed them every day, and even struck up a relationship with Mehitabel. She said that she will help me catch Mehitabel. Let’s hope. We may try this Sunday, despite the fact that I have way too much to do. Bwaah! But Brenda said that she has another friend who takes in feral moms all the time, and what she usually does is let the Momcat have the kittens, spay her by going in on the side (a little more expensive, but she can still nurse), and if the mom will feed the kittens and all, put her back out (if she is too feral) once the kittens are old enough to eat solid food. But she said she has had some Momcats who are so feral they go psycho when caught, and this friend will give a mom like that a week (sans kittens) to recover and put her back out and hand-feed the kittens, which isn’t ideal, but it makes them even friendlier. So we will see.

2) I never did see Drang the next day; I can only assume that he took off hitching as he had said he would. Which I guess ends up being all the same, as someone I talked to a lot at le Pokerfete really took me to task for thinking about buying a bus ticket on the grounds that Denver isn’t really that far, and if he suffers no repercussions this time, next time he will do something even more dumb, like travelling to Atlantic City. Another person (TG, below) said basically the same thing, so I am kind of two for two on that point. I think this falls into the ‘how can I help you when you won’t even help yourself?’ category. I am letting it go, and hoping he will be okay.

3) Meg’s heading over to Atlantic City, and then Vegas after that. Unfortunately I cannot go, but I hope she has fun. As punishment, I should send her to Vegas with a sealed envelope for this one dealer who is like, the lust of my life (more about that later), with a note that reads, ‘My sister likes you; do you like her? Circle one: Yes No’.

Oh, c’mon—you know, like you used to do in Grade 5? :-) HA-HA! I can just *hear* Meg screaming at me on the phone. That *alone* would be worth it! Well, plus he might circle ‘Yes’, which would always be good, too. ;-) I could tell her I forgot to tip him a few times…she’s conscientious like that and would understand…

Giggle…I am *so* Evil. :-) Plus, even if he did circle ‘yes’, she’d never tell me. She gets her panties in a wad like that sometimes. ;-) Can’t imagine why.

4) I was extremely uncomfortable at Meg’s table, so she went with me to a lower table (to her; higher to me). There were two raging assholes there, an unrelated man and woman, being total bullies. I’m calling them Reel One and Hefty Heifer, because I am mean like that (no, really—these two were EVIL INCARNATE, I swear; she—HH—was choking everyone out of play with ridiculous raises, and he—Reel—just thought he was Mr Poker High-Ass Muckety-Muck). I sat down and immediately was given (almost back-to-back) AK, KK, AA. Go fricking figure. So I more than doubled-up right away because Reel One and Hefty Heifer didn’t know me, or maybe could tell I had them, and were folding to me after a bit, though post-flop, when I had made a hand (every time…go figure again). Then I blew a little of that because Reel One decided to start raising me, and I wasn’t getting massively good hands any more. So I gave him a bit and then decided to lay low and wait for his ass to be mine.

Well, he had pissed me off with the bullying.

Then This Guy (TG) sat down next to me. He was hilarious, and immediately went after Reel One and Hefty Heifer, and we got along smashingly. He won some, then he lost some, and we got on well ‘cos I was really entertained by it. Yay, Justice. And he wanted a tequila and couldn’t flag the cocktail server, so I called her because by then I’d learnt her name, and he was really surprised that I knew her name (since I had already told him I wasn’t from there). We started talking, and it made the hours go by so much faster.

Yes, I said hours. Bwaah!

TG tried to help me a *bunch* of times, ‘cos Meg was sitting on the other side of the table; for example, I got a pair of tens, and tried to go for it, but was screwed on the flop, when all three cards were potential overpairs to mine, so when I was raised, I folded; at that point, there was nothing else I *could* do. TG asked me what I threw away, so I told him. He explained that the way I play, I should have raised a lot more pre-flop, but whatever I did, I should have raised more (his choice) or less (to lure more people in)—not what I raised. Meg explained later that the difference is in how good my post-flop skills are, and in my case they aren’t. So more would have been better. But stuff like that—he tried to help, which was very nice of him, considering that he was trying to skin everyone else alive. I mean seriously; I would have been scared off the table if I hadn’t been talking to him. :-) For what it’s worth, Meg hated TG, and didn’t realise until I told her later that he was helping me and really being quite nice to me. I think it is just because (a) he was getting better hands than she was, and (b) she was convinced (especially when we walked off together—more about that later) that I was trying to pick him up, or he me, and thought that was inappropriate when I had gone to play with her to make money.

Butsoanyway.

Finally—FINALLY—I got another hand. And I just knew that the planets were aligned, or whatever. Knew it in my heart. So I went for it. I went to raise, and my Little Voice™ (the one that keeps me out of all kinds of danger—or tries to—and leads me into ridiculous fricking luck sometimes—or tries to) told me not to throw out chips, but to toss bills out there. Cash plays at this table—which I am not accustomed to—but only certain denominations, and I had won a few of those some hands back. So I grabbed and raised with it.

Little Voice™ sure knows what she is talking about. Reel couldn’t see past his own hand and that damn cash sitting out there; it really was as if his brain shut off when he saw the bills. Here, kitty, kitty, kitty...

See? Greed will get you, every single time.

So Reel calls me, and Hefty Heifer folds (after having raised it in the first place); HH’s is too much of a coward. Damn. The flop came garbage-A-Q, and Reel gets to go first. He goes all-in, looking at me with this smug-assed face that I wanted to rip the hell off.

Well, I hate bullies. And braggarts.

Whatever. I called him before he had finished talking. The other two people in the hand folded, which was nice; I didn’t want their money.

Reel turns over AQ; I show him AA. Mwa ha ha.

As if the Poker Gods wanted to add insult to injury, the turn was a Q. TG let out a whoop when he saw that one. The river was garbage, and Reel looked sick.

Yay, me. Well, me and Little Voice™. And Luck.

Reel had more money than I did, but I did double-up again, and I really knocked his stack down. And, like the lame-assed coward I had figured him to be, he picked up his chips and left, because he had already had one large loss to TG, and now a second one to a set of tits…it was more than Reel could handle. And I was totally shaking. Whew.

TG suggested we step away and have a celebratory cigarette; I had picked up the most *fabulous* cigarettes (Sweet Dreams' Vanilla, Cherry, and Chocolate Mocha…yummm!), so I agreed. After a minute, TG says, ‘you know, it’s ok to be happy.’ I was still flustered at how well it had worked out—things *rarely* work out that smoothly for me; perhaps I should start listening to Little Voice™ more often. ‘What do you mean,’ I asked him, trying to make a joke, ‘I *am* happy; this is my poker-face.’ ‘It’s a bad one, then,’ TG said, ‘probably the worst I have ever seen.’ We talked for a while as we watched Reel tuck-tail, cash out, and leave. TG was a sweetie, at least to me; he totally didn’t have to take time with me like he did—that was all just kindness. :-) I ‘fessed up that I was uncomfortable playing at that table because of the amounts of money that were being thrown around. TG said that I should take my winnings and leave (he meant it nicely, pointing out that I may never see anyone here again, so who cares what is ‘polite’?). I told him I was going to play a few more hands, and then leave. We talked for a little bit longer, and then went back to the table. He asked me why I threw bills out to raise when I could have pulled out chips. I told him, and he laughed and said that was very good. :-)

I am really rather proud of Little Voice™. Who knew she could play poker?

Deprived of her bully-buddy, Hefty Heifer picked up and left one hand later, after TG took QQ, flopped a set, and tried to goad her into calling him. It was hilarious. I had folded pre-flop, so he set his cards on their side (not obviously) where I could see. HH lost some money on that one, and so she left. I lost a little bit to a new person (a really little bit, just to be polite), and then decided to take my winnings and leave. Meg stayed for a couple hours, and said that once I left, TG got worse. :-) Knowing Meg, that means she lost some to him, though I am sure he didn’t gouge her—he saw me flop a straight and I was heads-up against Meg, so I checked it to the river and just called one of her raises; TG asked me what in the hell I was doing, and I told him that was my sister, and she would beat me up and take all her money back if I won, anyway. ;-) Meg was surprised to find that we weren’t buddying up to hook up (thanks for the vote of confidence, Meg…not), and even more surprised that TG had actually been trying to help me. Whatever.

And, truth be told, I do not think that it would have been hard to pick up TG. I was getting some signs. I just don’t do that anymore.

Butsoanyway.

To recap backwards, in the order it occurs to me, we started out early (at my pestering…errr…request), and had a beautiful early-morning drive last Wednesday out (up?) to Tahoe; the snow was so gorgeous, and the water was BEAUTIFUL, although we weren’t, all toqued-out. Yay, toque-heads! :-P My camera’s battery died partway through the trip, and so after we decided to not go skiing (too much bother to rent everything), we vowed we would come back next year ready to ski, had lunch there, and walked all around. I saw an icicle that had to be ten feet long! Way-cool! We picked up so much crap in Tahoe (and had already picked up other crap in Reno) that I had to make Meg stop for more luggage (which is on sale right now at Dillard’s…at least in Reno…so run go get!). And Meg confiscated the luggage set I bought, so I have to buy another one for myself, if I want to replace mine…which I might; it is a cool set. And I also had to re-stock on cocoa and shea butter, and other moisturisers. Ai yi yi, is it drying there.

Oh; speaking of which…I did start another post about nothing but how dry my skin and hair were, and never got around to posting it. I am sure the world will be a better place with it posted, so here:

I am moisturising everything I own…lord, this is fun. I am going to have to make a run for more cocoa butter and/or shea butter, and more Neutrogena oil slop probably tomorrow or the next day; the only thing the Hilton has (have I mentioned that they are on my Shit List?) is a travel-size of baby oil (ummm…only if I can find nothing else thanks, and even then not for the $3 or $4 you want; I can get it at a convenience store for less…unless the Hilton wants to throw in that one dealer—then it’s a sale.), and travel-sized tubes of Jergens or I think Suave for five times more than they are worth. Ummm…no to that, as well. Thank god I brought enough face-crap—I am glomming Hydra Zen, Dramatically Different Moisturiser, Moisture On-Call, and Moisture Surge three times a day. And I still feel dry, but I haven’t gotten chapped lips…yet. I started to Friday night/Saturday morning going over Donner Summit, but I found my shea butter lip balm. Yay.

One would think that I am one hideously greasy bitch by now, but I amn’t.

And I put in a hair treatment just a little bit ago—Redken’s Extreme Fuel, or whatever it’s called. My hairdresser, The Goddess, did a phone consult with me before I left and I bought the stuff she told me to in one of the mall salons the day before I left (which was really cool of her, ‘cos she’s T&G-trained, and in a salon that carries only T&G and whatshisname who makes Halo, but she told me other manufacturers’ stuff to get ‘cos it was easier to get Redken, Nexxus, and all that than going over to her). :-) Last time I had to be in weather such as this, I went the cheap route and just put a daub of hand lotion in a bottle of spray conditioner—that works, but it’s not ideal. Now that I am doing the demi-permanent glossing thing, I figure that I am throwing away my money if I don’t care for the glossing. So right now I am letting the hair stuff percolate on my head, or whatever it is doing.

It is beautiful outside; it snowed for most of today, and everything looks so frosty, clean, and sparkly outside. I should go do Winter things tomorrow, and try to recoup my money later. Well, I should. In reality, I am going to go down, earn my poker room rate, and kick some major ass. Don’t we hope.

I had better go get this stuff out of my hair now. Hope it works. Then I have to forage for nuts and berries. Whee.

And it’s Graham Webb that makes Halo, iddnit? They also make the Back to Basics line, but The Goddess’ salon doesn’t carry that, ‘cos it can be gotten everywhere.

Ok…laterz.

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There. Aren’t you a better person for having read that? Yeah…me either. :-)
Speaking of foraging for nuts and berries, the food there could suck worse. We had comps for almost everything (excluding Johnny Rockets and Chevy’s, so we paid for that) because the manager kept giving me (and Meg, once she came up with me once—he has a good memory!) bunches of comps, so we mainly ate at the Hilton. It is not the greatest (I actually did try every restaurant there), but it isn’t the suckiest, either. The first time I ate at Asiana (their Asian fusion restaurant), I had the Shrimp Foo Yung from HELL. I took a picture of the thing—it was GINORMOUS. It was pretty good, but it wasn’t the best I have ever had, so I focussed on the spring rolls and plum wine. The time after that I got the Sunshine Noodles (you know it’s not an *authentic* Asian restaurant right there…what’s with this ‘noodleS’ thing?), and I don’t remember what I had after that. The steak house (whatsitsname) is just…a steak house. We only did that once, ‘cos it was just average. Asiana was slightly above-average. Round Table Pizza SUCKED and was just plain nasty-tasting. The Lodge Buffet was, well, a buffet. An average one, if you’re talking about casino buffets, though they did have very good crab legs (how can one screw up a crab leg, though?), and the indoor/outdoor effect was kind of cute. Andiamo’s was really good; I had a tortellini-something and tiramisu, though we only went there once ‘cos the other times we went to go, they had a few minutes wait, whereas Chevy’s didn’t, etc…

Lindy’s sucks, though not as bad as some place like Denny’s or McDogfood, but we were stuck with it a few times ‘cos of how late Meg wanted to play. Java Coast was just, well, a coffee store like every other coffee store. At least they are less uppity and snooty in comparison to Coffee-Cool-O-Rama, though; they don’t insist you call things by stupid made-up names (think Keillor’s skits). Points for that. Bonus points for being attached to the gift shop so I can buy whilst you brew. Go, Java Coast!

Johnny Rocket’s & Chevy’s were like they always are everywhere else on the freaking planet, but sometimes generica is nice. All the Hilton’s nightclubs I saw (and heard) without having to go in. Well, why should I? I’m at a poker table, I am playing a game, talking to people, laughing my butt off (generally), flirting (whenever that gorgeous dealer was over), and having free drinks (one more cranberry juice, pleez; I am not a big drinker)…why should I go to a noisy club? Especially when Left of Centre is playing there. Augh. Worst…cover band…ever. They do the same set every fricking night, and they make the beginning of Ring of Fire sound like they are trying to play something by The Ramones.

No, I am *serious*! They do! And that’s just WRONG.

Someone told me that they have been playing the Hilton forever. Why, I just cannot understand. You haven’t lived until you have heard their cover of Cult of Personality. Remember that part in Silence of the Lambs when Jame Gumb is singing? Yeah…it sounds a *lot* like that. Jame Gumb does In Living Colour. God help us all.

And the Hilton is going to look like this. Meg says she wants to buy a condo there. She was trying to make it out to be so close to Tahoe, and everything…she’s funny. I am calling dibs on the DMD Suite…I need a bearskin rug in front of a fireplace to get nailed on, and look—here they’ve drawn one in for me, even! Oh, Mr Dealer…here, kitty, kitty, kitty…

Giggle. As if I had luck with that ever but that once. Just ask Mehitabel.

And the guy in the video that was playing in our rooms to announce the Grand Sierra totally looks like he at least cross dresses, not that I want to out him, or anything, but umm…psst…it’s hardly a secret. I mentioned that to Meg, and she just stopped and looked at me for a minute. ‘You know,’ she finally said, ‘you are fucking remarkable.’

I know I am. I just have non-vanilla-dar like that. Though I don’t think that’s how Meg meant it. :-)

He really looks like a future old queen—you can just see it—and he prolly scares the kids. No, rilly. I think I saw him twice in the poker room, walking through, and ummm…M.A.C. has this really great blotting powder. I just wanted to throw that out there.

Well, that, and don’t get face lifts from a graduate of the University of Papaya. The University of Papaya is not a real school. Hope this helps.

Oh, okay, *fine*…he probably looks better than I do all decked out, and I’m jealous. So there. Hmmph.

Butsoanyway.

Speaking of getting nailed, I had *such* a gorgeous dealer scads of times! Oh, my…he even made me forget about the guy who reminded me a lot of the Former Future Mr Ancodia. I mean, and that’s despite what appears to be a jail tattoo. :-) Well, I can overlook some things; I am a very liberally-minded girl. But *damn* he was cute! And funny! And had the most unusual accent; I just loved to hear him talk, which he did a lot, another thing that is fine by me, especially because it wasn’t pointless babbling (some dealers do that, and it is rather annoying; I would prefer they just be quiet if it is some rote script they’re going through, though I do understand the temptation to do so); he was just a *major* Chatty Cathy. And he’s a travelling dealer, so hopefully I will see him again, and maybe by then can do something stupid and fruitless. Woo-hoo! Yay, humiliation! :-)

God, I am pathetic. But, oddly, I did find out that dealers seem to like White Linen. The first time I wore it, every single one commented positively. One even mentioned that it was a very welcome relief from some guy with halitosis at the previous table, and if that’s not a compliment, I don’t know what is, dang it. No comments on Angel, Youth Dew, or Red Door. Go figure. Maybe those days Mr Halitosis had brushed. :-D

We also went to eat at the Black Bear Diner, which was very cool. We picked it because Squoosh’s nickname is ‘Big Black Bear’, ‘cos he is so thick and he has a bunny butt, and we were really pleased, though the portions are so huge that we were afraid to order dessert. Yii! All of us threw out so much food (no point in taking it back to the hotel, where it would just sit in the refrigerator), that I know the cats that are around there must be eating well every night! And now that I wouldn’t have to lug it home, I may order some souvenirs from there. Their garlic fries were so wonderful that I felt bad throwing more than half of them away ‘cos there was just no way we could (or should!!) eat all that.

And there was *S*N*O*W*! Well, a lot of the time. It was awesome! Well, except for the constant trying to stay moisturised. I needed my olive oil soap and some other stuff, but I made it. Somehow. Though it was rough.

Giggle.

Yes, I will probably go back next year.

Oh—it’s that, at any given time, a mule team driver only has to look at *two* assholes.

:-D

.

At least *someone* is thinking...

I am still swamped, still trying to catch up, and still owing a post about my trip, victory, and wild lust, but a friend just sent this, and it was amazingly powerful to me:

I Second That Emotion

Wow.

Dr Sultan, I want to be just like you when I grow up.


.

Toujours Frais

I am now back home and I fell into The Sleep of the Dead for about five hours.  There’s a ton of things that I want to write about (especially that justice-delivering stuff), but I have some things to get out *quickly*.  Bwaah!  

At least I feel better after my nap.  

Yay.

Look ahead as we pass try and focus on it; I won't be fooled by a cheap cinematic trick...

Lord, but the Californians just love their cars. I am blogging in a
stand-still by Maritime street. Last night was a total score for
Justice and Good, but I will have to describe later. Picked up some
nice jewellery in Reno and SF, and now I am off to Chez Sporkgirl. At
least I will get to hear this NPR feature about literature. So yay.
Oh, life is good. Even when it is at 2 mph. Doesn't anyone own a
damn bicycle in this town?!?

Hoping for the best

I may be throwing money away...but I certainly hope not. I'm taking a
crack at Meg's table. Sigh.

Women suck.

I just went out in the ladies' tournament, damn it. Women play like
shit. I went all in on a set, anyone with half a brain would have
folded (my all-in was enough to make most calls a REALLY stupid move),
but two--TWO--called, one putting herself all in on a straight draw
(the other on a pair of kings that she'll call on, but not raise
on...huh?) and thimble-brain made her straight on the river. WTF?
Horseshit is what that is. One just DOESN'T slow-play kings. That
alone is dumb enough in a tournament, and she deserved to get the boot
for that play...but calling that much on a low straight draw?? Only a
fucking GIRL does that. Shit. I am bitter...does it show? :-)
well, i hope she keeps up these lovely bad habits she's developed, so
that Meg can eat her for lunch. Meg's still in, and I hope she wins.
I am going back to live action tables to lick my wounds (and play with
some normal players--men) right after I finish my consolation vanilla
cigarette. Gawd fucking damn it.

P for Pokervendetta

 

I am still having fun.  After going down *again* (and not in the good way...  Sorry; had to), I am back up within 24 hours.  This never fails to amaze me.  Meg took a dive today also, but she rebounds faster than I do because (1) she's better than I, and (2) she's playing at much higher tables.

 

The nemesis I mentioned earlier is a 'friend' of this other person that I find hugely annoying.  Or did, prior to tonight.  Well, I still do find him annoying, but...he has some good points.  Some.  As in a couple.  Like maybe two.  Maybe.  His blogname is going to be Mr Papagiorgio, and he is an obnoxious ass.  He has a WSOP bracelet (how is anyone's guess), and he plays like a raging fucktard.  I first bumped into Papagiorgio a few trips back in Tunica, where I had to play him in a satellite (back when I was still doing satellites).  *He* was first off the table; I was sixth or seventh off.  That alone should tell a lot about how Papagiorgio plays, 'cos wish as I might, I just am not that great.  Mr Papagiorgio will come and sit at a table (any table from 2/4 limit on up; it doesn't matter), and start going in on everything.  Raising, raising, raising--anything, everything--it doesn't matter; Papagiorgio is a table disruptor extraordinaire. That may play on some tables, but on the lower tables (especially limit tables), it doesn't--at least not for long.  For example, Papagiorgio already plopped down at a 2/4, scared the shit out of the players at first then went broke (on his buy-in, not totally), and left just the other night.  I know because one of the players raced to tell me as soon as she saw me come into the poker area that she had won money off a WSOP bracelet-holder.  Sigh.  Me too, Sweetness--and probably half of Nevada, California, and Mississippi.  No, I didn't say that; I just let her bask and gush a lot.  :-) 

 

Butsoanyway.

 

Friend of Papagiorgio, whom I will call The Lifeguard, disrupted the hell out of my table last night and cost me money.  I only found him mildly annoying before; now I classify him as another raging fucktard.  If you cost me money and it's not because you have outplayed me, you are a raging fucktard.  It's really that simple.  I had backed back down to a lower game (despite Meg's advice), and Lifeguard was doing everything humanly possible to piss me off--raising blind, straddling, you name it.  He was getting irritated at the rest of us because none of us were straddling, and I finally told him that *I* don't straddle, to which he protested that he cannot do it every hand (thereby implying that some of us then should).  I told him that he must not know much about the game, 'cos it's possible to straddle *every* hand, and why doesn't he do just that? 

 

It actually isn't possible to straddle every hand, but I was leading towards a point, so allow me the misrepresentation for a moment. 

 

Lifeguard snorted at me (just as I had planned) and told me that it was clear that *I* knew little about the game, as he was a dealer (I didn't know that, but that only better laid my trap), and one may only straddle in front of BB.  I just smiled and told him that, although it isn't *called* 'straddling', the exact same effect can be achieved if he would not look at his cards on ANY hand and just put in twice the BB, so why does he not just do that instead?  Lifeguard looked at me as if I were insane, and said that to do so would be beyond stupid.  I gave Lifeguard my hardest, coldest stare; 'so's straddling,' I said, and turned away from him. 

 

Well, *someone* had to take him down, at least verbally--he should not try to push the other players into a situation they don't want to be in, and I hate bullies.  I still lost money on him because I am a moron, and tried to take him out...which I could not do.  Eh.  Pfft.  So I left.

 

Today I was hoping that he wasn't coming to my table again, and--thank goodness--he didn't.  He ended up at Meg's table, and though Meg made no money off him, others did, and bully for them.  Asshat. 

 

Butsoanyway.

 

When I came downstairs this morning, I was greeted by a happy, bouncy Drang.  Drang was here for a Newage-y convention (from Newage...rhymes with 'sewage'), and did acceptably at a few tables...so he told his ride back to Denver to go on without him 'cos he decided to stay for the rest of the tournament, and maybe just follow the Tour around--you know, living the Poker Pro lifestyle?

 

Oh, for god's sake.

 

Later on in the day, I ran into Drang again--he'd already lost half his bankroll, and was feeling depressed.  He had no place to stay, wasn't looking forward to sleeping in the fleabag $25/night place his friend told him about, but didn't want to spend the money he had left towards staying here at the Hilton.  I offered to talk to the Poker Room Manager on his behalf (we've been getting on well with each other all week--Meg's even up to teasing me that he 'likes' me because he keeps giving me all kinds of things, including higher comps than he is giving others, though it's in fun only--the man is married; I think he just thinks I am a nice person...which I am.  Usually.) and see if we could sneak him into a way-late poker rate on the room, but Drang declined 'cos it would still be higher than his $25/night place.  I tried reasoning with him that it might even come down to an issue of safety, but Drang couldn't be budged.  We talked for a while, and it turns out that Drang is actually homeless, having been kicked out of his girlfriend's apartment after they broke up and she moved away, and unemployed--so his poker money is actually all that he has, and he has no where to go really.  He has friends back in Denver with whom he could stay, but he *wants* to be a poker superstar.

 

Oh, fuck.  It just keeps getting better and better.

 

I wanted to do something, but giving someone like that money is a BAD idea; they'll probably not spend it where you could see, but he would run off and blow it in the poker room at Peppermill or something, figuring that he was on the verge of building a poker empire.  So giving him money was out.  O-U-T out.  Drang ran off to try to rebuild his empire, and I took Meg to dinner just as she was pulling in a pot that was over six times my farking car payment...and that was one of their lower ones.  I don't have the stomach for that kind of thing; I don't know how she does it.  She and I don't really discuss how she does (just like asking someone's name, it's bad form to discuss earnings; if someone *offers*, then fine--but one does not come out and ask.  Some people are fine with it, but others are not; if I want to know someone's name, I err on the side of caution and give them mine first; if they reciprocate, then great--if they don't, then I drop it.  Similarly with earnings--if I want to know how Meg--or anyone else--did that night, I have to start off with my own information, and sometimes I am just too damn embarrassed to do so.  :-)  Someone else's milage may vary, but as for me, I have found this to be true and unoffensive in every situation in which I have been thus far), but I can generally tell by her level of grumpiness how she's doing; so far this trip, she's mostly been higher than a fricking kite. 

 

Unlike myself, might I add.

 

Butsoanyway.

 

Over dinner, I related The Tale Of Drang to Meg.  Her most insightful comment was 'jesus fucking christ--PLEASE tell him not to play at my table, so that I don't have to worry about what he's going to eat tonight'. 

 

Christ.  Sure.  I'll tell him. 

 

After dinner, I was back waiting for a table for about an hour (Meg had just taken a meal break, whereas I'd left 'cos I always schmooze and talk way longer than my meal break would allow), and Drang wandered over again.  Mr Papagiorgio'd taken him to dinner, and had a talk with him. 

 

Oh crap, I thought.  Does the fact that I think little of Mr Papgiorgio show much?

 

Butsoanyway.

 

Mr Papgiorgio, as much as it pains me to admit it, had showm some heart, though.  He suggested that Drang go back to Denver, get up a bankroll, and try again on some other part of the tour.  Drang--considering that he was down to almost nothing at that point--had decided that this was a good idea.  Thank god.  So he is planning to play some more tomorrow to have money to travel with, and hitching back to Denver. 

 

Yeah, I said HITCHING BACK TO DENVER.

 

Oh, fuck.

 

So I think that I am going to offer to buy a bus ticket for him.  We'll see how that goes.  For now, I have to get some sleep because I have decided to try a tournament event tomorrow.  Sigh.  Argh.  Pfft.  Bwaah.

 

Well, I need the damn money.  :-)  I have to try to take some obnoxious people out, and I need the cash behind me to do it. 

 

 

 

 

Green beer is people! Green beer is people!

Giggle. Everything could suck worse. I called to check on Squoosh,
and they said he has an 'awesome personality' and is doing fine. Rome
and Weebie are great also, I am told. I am waiting for a table just a
few feet away from my nemesis, a real table-disruptor. Above Meg's
protests of 'if you've seen one crowded, polluted, stinking town...',
we spent all Wednesday in Lake Tahoe playing; I think she had fun. We
had to stop at The Summit on the way back to buy more luggage, and
thankfully Samsonite was on sale at the new Dillard's that just
opened. I haven't seen any dead malls, just two that look to have a
moderate limp, but I *did* see a dead casino, which is almost as cool.
I am downstairs and posting by phone, so I will save the rest for
later.

Well, cool...

I am back up--finally--and afterwards repaired to a lower limit table
to just play for fun for a few hours. I saw a man who looked
amazingly like the Former Future Mr Ancodia, but I had to quit staring
obsessively at him (damn, so cute!) when a celebrity joined our table.
Yes, Ancodia spent about 6 hours playing with William Hung. :-)
What a sweetheart he is! He had a TON of people coming up for
pictures and autographs, and he was SO nice to everyone! What an
awesome guy! More when I am not tapping out on my cell.

Woo-hoo!

I guess Meg was right. When I posted last, I was waiting on a table;
after playing for Damn close to from then to now straight, I am now
back even. Even works. I can live with even. It's that pre-fuck
jitter thing; I was letting that screw with my head. Now I just have
to get up the guts to do it again. Argh. It was fun, though. And I
miss my Squoosh and my Measles. A lot.

Here we go again...

Meg and I played at the same table last night. She says I am losing
because I am at too low a table, and playing too passively. So I'm
trying something new today. She's kicking butt, however. Hope this
works.

Travelling with the Griswolds...

 

 

 

This is my post so that I can test my damn laptop.  Hoo, buddy, am I pissed.  

….

Okay, it's later now, and I am not pissed as much anymore.  I won't be able to post this until we land, but I am currently up in the air.   I cheaped-out (lesson learnt) and took an indirect flight instead of one going directly into Reno.  Plus, I thought that I would like the drive into Reno (no, I am not kidding; I love to drive).  So on the first leg, I gave a flight attendant my carry-on to stow, since the overhead compartments were full in my section (she asked; her words, and I quote, "let me put that up front for you").   So then she comes back to my seat with a receipt.  When I go to disembark, I asked for my luggage, and was told that it had been checked, and was at baggage claim, "Probably" (another quote).

 

Ohellno.  Allow me to repeat:  Oh, hell FUCKING no.  

 

First-off, I hadn't had enough time after going through security to re-pack the damn thing—everything was loose in there, practically.   Secondly, I have things that I didn't check for a REASON.  I have one change of clothes, a bitchload of cosmetics, some pretty meaningful pieces of jewellery, my laptop, and other electronic stuff ( e.g., mp3 player, psion, etc…). 

 

And don't give me any shit about my Psion.  I loof it.  

 

Butsoanyway.

 

In short, everything I cannot afford to lose, therefore I am doing the 'keeping it with me at all times' thing.   So I went ballistic.  Not a little ballistic, either.  Ballistic to the point where I was damn well aware that I was risking having someone with an attitude decide that I didn't really need to make my connecting flight.   Finally, a Supervisor came over and (I guess) got tired of listening to me, 'cos he took the claim chit, and it took him thirty minutes to find my case, but he did find my case.   What a doll, and I say that begrudgingly.  But at least he did admit that the flight attendant was in the wrong for, at the very least, not advising me of what she was about to do.   By that time, they were calling final boarding for my flight, so I checked to make sure my jewellery was still there and my laptop wasn't overtly rattling, and then I got on.   And so here I am.  Sigh.  And I am juice-deficient, so I have to listen to Outpost Transmission and PWEI on my farking laptop.  It seems to be okay.  Ai yi yi! 

 

And it is definite; when I get home, I am buying a smaller laptop.  The guy next to me on the first plane had this weensy likkle Thinkpad that was just soooo convenient for him.   I love this wide screen, but I am having monitor envy.  But at least this one is durable as hell, Q.E.D.

 

It nearly broke my heart to board my Squzzball; sensing something was up, on the way to the vet's he burrowed under the pillow in his carrier and hid (Squoosh loves to burrow—simply plopping down on the bed or in a pile of pillows on the sofa is verboten in my house since his arrival) so that when I brought him in, it looked as if the carrier was empty!  He is such a cute little baby!   And then I came home and threw shit in cases until Harry showed up to take me to the airport, thereby saving me $125 in parking fees (are they insane?). 

 

And I am listening to Strawberry Letter # 23.  I just love that song.  I want to collect a bunch of versions and just have them on one cd.  :-)  So far, though, I only have Bros. Johnson (of course), Tevin Campbell's, and Shuggie Otis.   Like, how stupid am I, right?  I cannot help it—it's probably my favourite song. 

 

Okay.  I was typing the above, then I got tired and quit.   I am in Reno now…finally.  We landed, rented a smaller SUV (a Saturn Whateverthefuck; it's a nice car, and Meg likes it too much—my third eye is sensing a Saturn Whateverthefuck in her future), and headed to Reno via 80, which goes to Donner Summit, a/k/a Donner Pass.  There were nastygrams all over that said 'chains required', and so after swearing a lot, I found a place that sold chains (actually cables, but I am going to keep saying 'chains' 'cos I am so old-school) and a Jack in the Box so that I wouldn't have to eat Meg.  I was trying to get the chains on—I couldn't find a chain monkey set-up for anything—and was faring kinda okay when two Nice Guys came and offered help.  Since I hadn't brought gloves that were anything but cute-looking and was starting to feel it, I let them and gave them $20.   *Then*, about fifteen minutes down the road, I see the chain checkpoint and the chain monkeys.  Sigh.  Since I was going up 7k feet through cannibal territory (and back down again), I decided to pull over and let them re-fit them if needed.  They checked and did stuff to them and they said it didn't count enough to charge, but I gave them $20 anyway.   Impetus to be nice to someone else some other day, I guess. 

 

Meg, meanwhile, was along for the ride on all of this.  Sigh.   And she thinks I am an idiot for paying for chains, to have them put on properly, and then to have them re-checked; when we got to the checkpoint and she realised that we would have been turned away, she shut up about buying the chains, I told her that *she* could put them back on if needed if she wanted to save me money so damn badly before she would shut up about that, and I had to show her in the instructions where it said to re-fit them after a few miles before she would shut up about that.   Jesus Christ. 

 

So since she wouldn't shut up, I made *her* drive it. 

 

Oh, I stayed awake and kept an eye on her.  She got irritated at me a few times when I was telling her how to handle some parts but she did as I said, and that is what's important.   I made her listen to the advisory station for the entire drive (it was updated pretty well—I was impressed) so that she would maybe learn something, and she misunderstood the station's instructions about braking to mean *don't* brake (now that I am typing this, it occurs to me that I might want to find a way to provide feedback to them about that because, in Meg's defence, it *was* poorly-phrased), and this caused a minor tiff 'twixt us when I had to scream at her on a downhill winding slope (where we picked up speed to right under 45) to tap the brakes with increasing pressure until she was riding the brakes for the entirety of the slope (I told her to bring us down to 5mph, or I was putting her out of the fucking car), but she finally saw that I (1) wasn't going to quit screaming at her until she obeyed; (2) was right; (3) actually was helping her regain control of the car; (4) was right; (5) probably was really going to put her ass out at Donner Pass, and (6) was right.  

 

Sigh.

 

Well, I *had* to scream at her to snap her out of her freak-out when we started picking up speed; she *really* started to lose her crackers, not that I really blame her—the first time it happened to me, I freaked the fuck out, too…only that was a million years ago, and now I know better, and like to pretend that I cannot imagine anyone having a problem with it.   Oops.  Cat's out the bag.  :-)   Plus, freaking rarely helps things, the both of us don't get to freak at the same time, and the sneaky bitch took dibs when I wasn't looking.   And for the record, I don't actually scream in situations like that; I've been told that I sound like a drill sergeant.   I guess that's called bellowing, but I prefer screaming for artistic purposes. 

 

It worked when we had an emergency in the theatre, as well; that's where I really *cultivated* the talent for keeping my head and hollering at people.   Go figure.  It's like 'he who bellows loudest with the simplest instructions gets obeyed', or something.  And what's doubly-cool is that as long as you're right, not only do the other people never really gripe about being yelled at, but they usually thank you a lot.  Weird, that.

 

Butsoanyway.

 

When we emerged from the chain control area, I *again* had to fuss with a very tired-and-testy Meg; I got her to pull over opposing the oncoming checkpoint, and couldn't find any chain monkeys on our side, so I sashayed my ass around in fifteen-degree weather (the temperature display on the rear-view mirror was alternating saying '15° and 'ICE'…how helpful.) until I found a trucker who would do it for me, but wouldn't take any money (sweetie).  

 

Butsoanyway.

 

The trip over Donner Summit took only about a thousand times longer than we'd anticipated, and so by the time we came into Reno, we were both punch-drunk from lack of sleep, so we went to sleep practically immediately (after a desperately-needed shower…blecch).   When I woke up, I felt like shit, but went downstairs, got something to eat, and made the mistake of going to a live-action table whilst Meg did whatever Megs do at WPT tournaments.   Boy, was that a god damned mistake.  We aren't going to even go into how much of a mistake.   Oi. 

 

It didn't start out that way; at one point, I had more than doubled up, but then I went on a nosedive.   Finally I gave it up and decided to recoup…later.  Then I woke up today, went to check my email, and found out that a project that I'd thought was turned in on Friday hadn't been…so that is what I have been doing all today.   Which is okay, really; I needed the rest.  I do not think that I will play today, here at the Hilton or elsewhere; I am pissed at the Hilton because thus far, their comps have sucked.   One more reason to stick to Tunica.  *And* they LIED about wireless access in the rooms (they have high-speed access for an additional $11/day), and they LIED about having VH1, so I am going to miss the final episode of Flavour of Love.   Bastards.  I have already phoned Harry and asked him to record it for me, but now I have to decide whether or not I am going to search and find out if Flav picked New York or Hoopz.  Sigh.  I swear, I will never get into another reality TV show ever again.   Ever. 

 

Or I may go down and see if one of the bars here has it, or something.  Addiction is a horrible and sad thing.  

 

Sigh.  Never again.  NEVER.  

 

Now that I have the project-thingy formatted and off, I need to figure out what I am going to do with myself, and I think that it is going to have something to do with finding a bar with VH1.

 

Yay.

 

If New York *is* a transvestite named Thomas, that is going to be SO funny!

 

.

 

 

Here. Safe. Down, but it's not over...

Sigh.

Jack be nimble, jack be quick...

I bought chains. I could've gotten them on myself, too if I hadn't
gotten help. And then I found the chain control checkpoint. If you ask
me, they should have put it about ten miles earlier. ...did I mention
that I am going through Donner Pass? How...appropriate.

Holiday Road

Shit. I'm on a chains required road. Sigh. If i die, who wants to take
care of Squooshable for the rest of his life? Did I mention I don't
have chains with me? Doesn't matter, 'cos I see no chain monkeys. Wish
me luck.

G'bye...almost.

I am almost ready to go…I just signed on to check mail before I put Squoosh in storage and get on the damn plane.  I’ve not even had the opportunity to go through my usual lugubrious wallowings about having to travel by plane.  

It is about time to leave, and definitely time to get Squooshable gathered up.  

Yay.  Snow.  

.

What you do?

What you do?, originally uploaded by Ancodia.

Squooshable finally notices that I am taking his picture. 'What on Earth is wrong with you,' it looks like he is thinking, 'you are mocking the Toilet Tank Gods! They can make you WET, Baby! Don't you understand?!?'

TTG is *angry*, Baby!

TTG is *angry*, Baby!, originally uploaded by Ancodia.

You can just *see* the concern in his little furry face! Or perhaps I am making it up in my own mind...but to *me* he looks so very deeply concerned!

I still watch you, TTG!

I still watch you, TTG!, originally uploaded by Ancodia.

My gorgeous cock-headed beast, the funny little bunny-butt. He was too busy watching the toilet to notice that I took his picture. Doesn't he have a cute head-tilt?

I watch you, Baby!

I watch you, Baby!, originally uploaded by Ancodia.

Mr Squooshable Bobby Vinton Baconface, Esq. Safe in the bathtub, on the lookout for more vindictive acts from the Toilet Tank Gods.

I love you, Squooshable!

Revenge of the Toilet Gods II: Electric Boogaloo

Ok, that was fun.  

I now have a new toilet installed, and will have the other ones done when I get back.  Yay.  And most everything is put back to normal.  Yesterday I did my required stint, and then headed off to pick out a new commode.  

As if they didn’t all look the same, or something.  

Harry insisted that I go with him (despite my blow-up that morning when I handed him a  credit card and told him that I didn’t give a damn what he did, as long as he made all the mess go away by nightfall), and he wanted me to get one type, but I didn’t like it because the tank was not high or long enough (all three of my cats like to perch there sometimes, and I didn’t want one possibly hurting itself by thinking a tank was there when it wasn’t), and the whole thing was in one piece besides, which I thought would be unwieldy to manoeuvre.  The one I did get is cute, small (but with a high tank), and…  

Forget it; I couldn’t describe it to save my soul.  It’s a damn *toilet*, fer chrissake; they all look alike in my book.  :-)  My Official Description is that it doesn’t look like the ones I didn’t like, and almost looks kind of like an old-fashioned one where the tank was raised…except in the manner in which it doesn’t look like that.  And it is white.  And it has FlushMaster parts, not American Standard, which is important for reasons that Harry knows and I couldn’t care less about.  

And I think that I am going to sneak back to Home Depot and get a neat light that I saw there.  It would look cool in the foyer.

Butsoanyway.  

When I was debating this with Harry, I took some pictures of Squoosh on my phone—Squoosh was taking cover in the bathtub, where he could safely keep an eye on the Toilet Tank Gods.  He is so damn cute!!  I got some really good pictures, though I forgot to get one of The Pose—where you can only see the SquooshEyes, top of the head, and ears as he looks cautiously at the toilet tank.  

When I cleaned out the bathroom (I stripped everything out in case even *more* water went flying), I discovered something—cats seem to LOVE Kiss My Face’s olive oil soap.  All three of my cats were taking turns rubbing their faces on it, which is notable because all three of them have *never* liked the same thing *ever*.  I usually keep it in the closet, waiting to be used, or in the bath stall up high after it has been opened.  (  I guess I will have to keep it up very high.  

When we came back with all of this crap, Harry’s friend was already here so I had to race to put the cats up, because Weebie and Squoosh are terrified of strangers, especially men; they really freak out.  The actual installation did not take that long, but all the prepping and removal and cleaning and everything did take a while.  Then they farking coated my bathroom from stem to stern in PolySeamSeal, so I had to keep the cats locked up and put out a fan to dry it and dry any remaining moisture.  Harry’d gone at my carpet and stuff already, and right now it looks 99 44/100 dry and back to normal.  Yay.  Well, ‘yay’ except for the part where Mummers showed up to see what was going on and promptly fussed at me for not calling the homeowners’ insurance.  In all honesty, I hadn’t thought to.  It didn’t even occur to me until she started fussing, but by that time, they were halfway through, so why bother?  I have never called homeowners’ myself for anything before, and Mom was in too much of a lather when she left for me to get an answer out of her as to whether I should bother to call now, or not.  I don’t know what purpose it would serve at this point; everything seems to be fixed, and I think Harry and Friend did as good a job as a professional would have.  Nothing is messy (I think it looks great), nothing is lopsided, or anything…Harry *did* manage a hardware store for ten years, and his friend said that he installed toilets a bunch of times before, so I have to believe that they both know what they were doing.  Plus they said that they could install a different bathtub for me if I decide to, and Harry is coming back to put on a second coat of some waterproofing somesuch, and is checking the hall carpet to see if it is wrecked.  If it is, I am thinking about not re-carpeting, and instead putting something else in, but I will deal with that later.  If the carpet is fine, then I am not going to worry about it for a while.  There is just too much else going on.  

And I have stuff to finish before I can leave with a clear conscience, but I *did* find someone to feed Mehitabel!  It’s Brenda The Cat Whisperer, whom I am meeting at Eviljob, so that she can see Mehitabel and determine how preggers she is.  Brenda said that if Mehitabel is really about to pop, trying to catch her right now might be a bad idea—Mehitabel might start to feel threatened, and leave Eviljob’s parking lot in favour of the nearby woods, or might hurt the kittens.  So we will see, but at least I have someone to feed her!  And the other cats—that is important to me too, but Mehitabel I worry after the most because (1) she is pregnant; (2) she is Squooshable’s mom.  

And maybe Brenda The Cat Whisperer will succeed where I have failed; maybe she will be able to catch Mehitabel.  I can only hope.  

Okay; now I have to get back to work.  Pfft.  At least I know where I can find Squooshable for the time being; he is keeping a close eye on the toilet tank.  

.

Just one word… Plastics.

In wandering around last night, I came across this. Who needs Real Doll today? Who will need Belladerma tomorrow? We humans are so much more…errr…

…I want to say resourceful, but it’s pathetic, actually.

I am waiting for Son-Friend to show up; he has Damien Thorne today, and Damien is sick, so he has to wait for G-F to come home and watch Damien before he can come over, ‘cos I told him that if he gets me sick, I’ll clock him.

Squoosh is still in communication with the Toilet Tank Gods. This has been better than a babysitter. I should not fix the leaky thing, save money on putting him in storage, and just put food and water in the bathroom for ten days when I am gone—Squoosh’d just sit and listen to the toilet issue edicts, or whatever it is that silly bunny butts think leaky toilets are doing.

I received my stuff from ShopNBC, but I am sending most all of it back. How disappointing. The pendant is too light in weight to justify the price (it looks more solid in the picture, but it is actually openwork, and not even really notable or interesting openwork; *I* could design a better one, and I think I shall), and the craftsmanship isn’t that good; it’s assembly-line pressed. So it goes back. Ummm…both of them.

Well, I couldn’t decide on which colour I wanted.

Oh…I was going to send one back…probably. Now it is both.

The cute bracelet is on its way back home as well; it is tiny, and I was really expecting something bolder. Medallions are cool, but not the way they do it. I frankly wouldn’t pay more than thirty for it; ShopNBC is batshit. Plus, I don’t wear a lot of silver, at least not enough to justify keeping something I am not crazy about. And I was going to get this bracelet, but my experience with the others has taught me to hold off; odds are it is dinky, also.

On the other hand, I did get two awesome rings for Meg for her birthday, which is why I started poking around on there in the first place—I was charged with finding something decent for her, and I did not see anything I fell in love with at my regular jewellers when I went by there, so I took to online shopping. Now Meg’s rings I *was* impressed with. Figures. Even Mummers likes them, and she is less of a jewellery-type, and more of a tomboy type (I may *have* been switched at birth, rilly). My father had to give her three different wedding sets before she found one wedding ring (no engagement ring; she has two stuck somewhere that I have not seen in ever—even when she was married—even though I suggested to her that she melt them down into something she *would* wear years ago) that she would wear because it didn’t stick up or get in the way. She has a few pieces I want to at least wear sometimes, including one amazing dinner ring that my father gave her as an ‘I’m sorry about having all that sex with other women’ present, but she won’t even let me borrow them. Though, ok, she *did* let me borrow the dinner ring once.

So I am happy that I worked everything out for Meg, but I am ripped about wasting my time not listening in our tele-lecture shopping for crap for me. Grr. Thankfully, I only lose out $5.99-ish for shipping on my stuff, and I am supposed to eventually get reimbursed other people’s part of what I laid out for Meg’s stuff.

And I am ticked enough that I am going to design my own farking pendant, and have my jeweller make it…eventually. I have a bunch of metal (I will buy something at a good price, even if I am not crazy about the setting, as long as the price is less than the worth). I think it is a good investment. {giggle} plastics. But I am almost over ShopNBC, QVC, and HSN. Meg’s stuff was good, but I am so *done* with having to return things to them. It is a little different if I watch the live show, because then the thing can be seen it in a more…realistic setting, and I did keep the sapphire ring and necklace I ordered from HSN last year, but this round of returning things has soured me on the online shopping thing. Plus, I don’t have the attention span to return things, which is what they are banking on, I am sure—just like with rebates.

Butsoanyway…

Since I started this post, Son-Friend (whom I think I am going to rename Harry Benson, since I am having a spell of getting to things that I have wanted to do, plus Son-Friend is cumbersome to type) has shown up, scared the living fuck out of Squoosh, who was communing with the Toilet Tank Gods, and had to run back out for some something at the hardware store. What in the hell is the fascination men have with hardware stores, is what I want to know. But I am going to have to remember to cut the water to that tank off before I leave, just in case Harry screws something up; I do not want to return to Lake Ancodia.

Meg brought lunch over (fish tacos) and then ran off to go do MegThings, and Romeo begged for a piece of fish so much that I finally caved and gave him some. Ever since, he has been running around the house…I think that means he is happy. Sigh. I hope that I didn’t make him sick; his kidney function has been down, and I am feeding him only Science Diet’s Senior Hairball formula and k-d as a preventative. He is not down enough to do anything about yet, according to Dr Vet, but he merits ‘watching’. And so we watch.

I am looking forward to leaving, but…I have a problem. Not only do I worry about Mehitabel, her babies, Squoosh, Mom, dying in an air disaster, and everything else, but I am not the same as Meg; I have started getting a kind of stage fright before I play anymore; it is sort-of stage fright, but it is almost more a people-fright…almost like it is an overload to interact with people the way I need to anymore. One girl I knew a long time ago (who slept with a lot of people, and witnessing first-hand her travails is one of the contributing factors to my never having done the same) termed the insecurity, nervousness, and adrenaline rush she felt whilst prepping for a ‘date’ (her definition and my definition of that word did differ, by the way) as ‘pre-fuck jitters’. And it is appropriate to this instance; I have started getting the pre-fuck jitters.

I do not know why.

This has happened the past few times, though I have hated to admit it to myself. I have deluded myself into thinking that I am becoming too attached to money to risk it, that I am not good enough, that…you name it. But it is really the pre-fuck jitters. So I do not know why I have let myself be talked into going. I really do not.

And Harry just finished the bathroom and left; the Toilet Gods have been silenced. Poor Squooshable—just when he’d found Religion.

I am committed to getting to the bottom of this jitter thing and getting over it. I do not want to be as accomplished as Meg does, but I do want to plod along slowly-but-surely and remotely competently, as I have been doing. What is strange is that this has happened without my having my head handed to me, as it were; overall, I am ahead more than I have put in, probably because I am too conservative.

I guess that I should go do something other than write this. I am *so* burnt out that I almost do not want to do anything today. In-between everything else I have been giving a lick and a promise to today, I *have* managed to put up some more links, and in an order which is roughly approximating a hierarchy of frequency, interests, or…oh, let’s not lie; I may approximate hierarchies later, or categorise, or whatever. For now it is a freaking mess. I was going to organise it in an as-visited order, but that varies with my mood, plus the list would be HUGE. So I don’t know…I may revamp it a lot later. And I made the mistake of reading some of the feral cat links, and so now I am teary-eyed. I want everyone to read the story of the Little Tabby, but on the other hand, I do not want to make anyone as sad as I was when I read it for the first time. I can only imagine how it must be to be so hurt, frightened, and unable to even eat or drink, yet that is a nightmare that is all around. Yet another instance of my wishing there was a Hell so that some Evildoer could go rot in it. Reading Wildrun makes my heart feel better. :-)

Revenge Of The Toilet Gods Intermission

Sigh… Holy christ. I am giving up and posting now, because I am taking a break from cleaning up the ginormous mess made when the toilet tank cracked and flooded the bathroom and part of the hall. I had left the computer and went to find a hand-out from last week to go be all productive before my Sunday night triv game and Flavour of Love (Goldie was given the boot, and it’s all down to New York and Hoopz, but I am doing that digressing thing), and I had just started to read when I heard Squoosh screaming. I ran back to find him, ‘cos he Mmmrps, Brrrps, and sometimes meows, but he NEVER screams. He was screaming because he was trapped in the bathtub! When he saw me, he jumped onto the toilet seat and I rescued him from the water. I grabbed all the towels I could and threw them down on the ground, shut the water off, and drained the tank. I don’t think that Harry did it—this is an older model toilet, and I think that it was destined to happen soon anyway. There is a slightly-larger-than-hairline crack down the side that was starting to POUR water.

Squooshable says that it is the Toilet Gods getting even with me for silencing them.

Once I cleared the water out, Squooshable got brave and came to watch; he says that if I apologised to the Toilet Gods, they would make the flooding stop.

Thanks, Squooshable. I’ll think about doing just that.

Romeo and Weebie sensed upheaval when I started screaming and cursing, and ran for high ground; they are at present in the sills of the high windows in my living room. I am currently running the first of probably about three loads of towels, and hoping that my hall carpet will dry without incident. Harry said that he will come over tomorrow and fix it if he decides that it won’t, and he said that I needed a new toilet anyway…so I guess I am getting one tomorrow. Considering that the other bathrooms in the house all have the old-style toilets (Harry explained to me what the difference is, but I don’t care enough to remember; I am just going to let him handle this), I might as well get them all done, else they’ll all break soon enough. To steal a phrase from Ms Grammarian, fuck, fuck, fuckety, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Crapmuffin.

Just shoot me.

Now I have to finish fixing what I have to fix before triv and stuff.

.

MO-RJITKU, not FJITKU, and me linkum!

Okay, so I have links!  Woo-hoo!  Okay, so they aren’t exactly *plural* just yet; I am using the term ‘linkS’ liberally.  I am working on it.  I finally finished the stuff I have been pecking at for the past three days, and got bored.  I am exhausted, and Son-Friend is coming over tomorrow to fix one of my toilets that just started running constantly a few days ago (which fascinates Squoosh, for some reason—he just sits and stares at the tank as if it were talking to him, or something), but tomorrow should be fairly peaceful.  I will fill in my links as I can.

No, rilly.  

My joke…  Okay, by popular request, but it requires a little explanation.  And I am also withdrawing my nomination of FJITKU in acceptance of the title of Most Obscurely-Referenced Joke In The Known Universe, a title one of my co-workers feels is more fitting.  And for what it’s worth, it has so far got two laughs, one yawn (you know who you are), and a plethora of confuzzled looks.  So it’s esoteric; it cracks me up.  

But then again, so did the bumper sticker I thought up:  I would be following you, but I am psychic.

Ok, Butsoanyway.  I am just going to have to cross my fingers and hope with this one.

Claire is probably in the top ten of Most Obnoxious Disembodied Voices Ever.  She is (or was, rather) dumb as a box of rocks.  She may well be one of the most unsuccessful interfaces since like…

Wow…sad.  I can’t off-hand think of something worse.  Poor Claire.  Okay, how about this:  She’s even more annoying than Catty.  Now that is an accomplishment.  

Claire *did* get fired.  Somewhat.  But that’s a long story.  Let it suffice to say that it isn’t often that Etherbitches (those oh-so-NON-helpful recordings!) actually receive death threats in the mail.  

So here’s my joke:

What begins with a 'C', ends with an 'R, E', and gets interrupted by Radio Habana in the middle?  Claire...in her new job at a Cuban numbers station. 

Hmmm…  I should perhaps set up a PayPal link for all this humour, hmm?

:-)  Giggle.

Claire:  “Atención!  Atención!  Cuatro Tres…  I’m sorry; I could not understand me…could I please repeat my selection again?  I’m sorry; I still could not understand me…let me transfer me to a representative who could help me…  Oh, I hate this job!”

Hee.  Interspersed with Oye Como Va, or something.  

Well, it’s the only Spanish song I know.  Well, except for La Bamba.  And that one about the cigarros and ferrocarrils, not that I know the name, or can even spell it correctly.  

Oh, pfft—as if everyone in Cuba knows Kalinka, or something.  Plus, I dated a Cuban guy for a while, except that he didn’t look Spanish, spoke English perfectly, and I actually thought that he was joking about being Cuban for probably the first three months we were going out, but that is mainly because he used an English nickname, and his surname *was* Spanish, but hell…like that means anything these days.  So I thought he was kidding; regardless, I am completely multi-cultural.  Sort-of.  Sometimes.

So I am mostly ‘Codia-Culture.  So what?  Hmmph.  

:-D

Butsoanyway.

In Other News, Mehitabel is looking quite porky.  Since I found Squoosh on 11 May and he was about four weeks old, I am guesstimating that I have maybe a couple weeks at the most left to catch her.  So I called Chrissy, and she gave me Brenda’s number—she’s the one who can pray cats into cat traps—and Brenda said that she will call me to set something up on Monday or Tuesday.  I hope, because I leave on Friday.  

Eek.

This is kind of like turning to a faith-healer when one is terminal.  Sigh.  Plus, Mehitabel’s on to me.  She will ask me for food, but she won’t come near enough for me to get her with the net.

Other stuff has been going on, but I really do need to get some sleep so that I can get up in time to hear PHC, and make sure Son-Friend doesn’t flood my house.  


G’night!  

I do! I do!

Strewth...I do complicate things for fun, don't I?

Wow, has that criticism stuck with me. :-) I was also told that by an instructor once; they actually said, "you make things too complicated!", but the point is the same. I think I do.

I am trying to finish off the lastliest thing I have to do before I spend a week ducking out on things to avoid getting sucked up into anything involved before I have to leave. Yay, ducking. And as I am trying to think this whole complex path out for MMM (b-cos don't you know, MMM's critical that way, and would pick it apart in ten seconds flat), another thought occurs to me. Well, actually two, but the second one is of lesser importance. Well, to everyone but me; it just illustrates how stupid I am, and how complicated I make things for myself sometimes...

Good god--there it is again!

The second thing is that if I had not somehow locked in my brain that Personal Effects was from CA (when, or based upon what, I decided this is lost in the depths of my brain for all Eternity) and had thought for twenty seconds about when I first heard them, I would have had more of a clue in tracking them--and that damn song--down, because the person who introduced me to that song was from Rochester area.

Uhhh, DUH. Just goes to show how important *s*o*u*r*c*e* memories are, and how stupid I am. Illuminates both at once pretty well, I must admit.

Butsoanyway.

First thing is that I am starved for a good mystery. I really and truly am. I am doing quite a bit of thinking these days (that's what that smell is!), but it isn't the type I am most fond of (but least good *at*), the solving problems kind of mysteries.

I am most fond of them because I usually get them right; I am least good at them because it can take me several months--or longer--to do so. I work by letting things bake, and one day the Easybake Oven that is my brain goes, 'DING!', the 5-watt lightbulb shuts off, and I have An Answer.

And yes, they usually don't taste as good as store-bought answers. Bite me.

Butsoanyway.

Now, I don't get every single one--not by far. There are some that have been percolating in my brain for YEARS, some so long that I have forgotten them. Others solve themselves, which is always helpful of them. Others I do not even realise I am percolating until much, much later.

I am just slow like that.

Sigh.

In Other News, I have my car back, and it has been de-hooptied; my brother has taken to text-messaging insults to me because he is trying to learn how to type quickly on a telephone keypad (happy to help, Dorkface); and I am not as sick as I thought I was going to be. Oh--and I have declared myself to be the authoress (authoratrix?) of the Funniest Joke in the Known Universe based upon the fact that I have now told my fabulous joke (heretofore known as FJITKU) three times and it was completely unappreciated. And not laughed at. This is the makings of the FJITKU nomination because the people I have told it to thus far are clearly incapable of appreciating True Brilliance and Subtle Wit in Humour, thereby making my joke's contribution to True Brilliance and Subtle Wit in Humour all the more obvious and stellar.

And it occurs to me now that if I were to put one-tenth of the effort into this terminal paragraph I have yet to do as I have thinking and dicking around tonight, I would be already done.

Argh.