Ok; this made me freaking *laugh*. How cute! Plus, I love the song (Crazy Bitch), and eventually (even though it's been out since November) will get around to buying the Japanese cd (extra songs). But I digress. Frickin' *adorable*. And only a TRUE fan would wear the t-shirt of another group as they make their video. Awesomeness. :-)
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
The Jungle of Despair
I popped Squoosh in the forehead with a bizzy ball. I am a bad kitty mommy.
Well, I hadn’t *meant* to; he was running towards me to ARGH! on my toes some more, and I tossed it to distract him so that I could pull my feet up under the afghan, but I mis-aimed and popped him in the forehead pretty hard (the bizzy ball is made of a harder plastic, not like the flimsier plastic ones). When that happened, Squoosh just sat right down and looked at me; I think that I gave him a headache. Poor baby! I am so sorry, my Squooshable! Mommy didn’t mean to do that!!
I think he is ok, though; if I had any reason to think he wasn’t, Paranoid and Overprotective Moi would have him at the emergency vet right now. :-)
Butsoanyway.
They have had trucks in the loading dock area of Eviljob for the past almost-week (we’re getting new stuff in or shipping stuff out; which I shan’t say), and I’ve not seen Mehitabel in a few days, but I am 99.999% sure that she’s hiding from the traffic because the food I am putting out is going away at the same rate, and I have heard *nothing* about kitty carnage ::knock wood::, plus Mehitabel’s like that—when the going gets busy, Mehitabel hides. Smart kitty.
My lawn has become The Jungle of Despair, and it is only getting worse. I lost my lawn guy(s), the previously-mentioned Harley David and whatever friend, employee, or co-conspirator he brought along when they decided to get drunk (and, knowing Harley, probably high) in my backyard. Sigh.
Now, I am generally an easy-going girl. Do I care if they do this? No. I only care when their actions encroach my freedoms, and as long as my yard looks good when I pull into the drive, my concern in the matter is over. Harley is (was) fairly famous for trying to shake lizards and other animals out of hedges before he went at them with the trimmy-thing; I seriously doubt someone who does this is going to accidentally run over someone’s child with a lawnmower whilst drunk. Plus, it’s not as if he is going to quit doing it if I ask. Ergo, I don’t care; there’s no point in caring.
Butsoanyway.
The (retired) Colonel next door (with whom Mummers has been enamoured for several years, but enough on her silly besotted ass) recommended someone (how convenient…I think the two of them ran a freaking sting operation) that I’ve been trying to get hold of by phone—Darcel, Montel, Kal-El, Jor-El, whatever the El—and I have a tentative appointment for an estimate sometime this week, so I will just cross my fingers and hope that I don’t have to buy a machete and hack my way out of my garage any time soon. I am going to start wearing a pith helmet, and I already am refusing to collect my mail from the box at the end of the driveway in protest.
Well, I am afraid of snakes, jungle rot, and necrotising facsiitis; being the paragon of femininity that I am, I have a fragile fucking constitution. I am a god damned delicate flower, for christ’s sake. :-D Plus, every time I peek out my front door, Father Excess screams at me.
What are you doing at the Amazonas near Manaus, full of piranhas?
Butsoanyway.
Tonight was not too terrible; I did have one point where I sort of became a little…sad, depressed, lonely, or whatever. Which I actually do relatively often, but I am really trying to not focus on that. But I had to sit through watching this couple (that I am, of course, seated facing) snogging all over each other, and I am really happy for them and all, but the breaking point was when he started with the petting her and playing with her hair, and—check this out—she didn’t even ask, or anything, and here *I* have to go back to the Amazonas near Manaus, Full of Piranhas, alone, past all the torches and little guys in grass skirts and tiki masks beating on congo drums, so that I can get my toes chewed on by a tiny black cat, and hit in the face with a meezer tail.
It’s almost too much to bear sometimes, is what I’m saying.
:-) So that’s when I started singing Chilliwack songs. How can anyone not be happy singing My Girl? Huh? It is *impossible*. Really.
Of course, no one joined in with me. Losers. So I had a brownie sundae. If you listen closely, you will find that brownie sundaes actually *do* sing with you. Brownie sundaes know all the words to every song ever written; they are magical like that. Order one and listen sometimes.
No, rilly.
So I got back home and beat the path with my walking stick to scare off snakes as I made my way to the boat dock near the river. As I waited for Cap’n Halfnut to pilot the African Drag Queen back to the dock to pick me up, I changed my socks three times, swatted twelve thousand mosquitoes, and hoped that I wasn’t sitting on or near a big furry tarantula six times. Then I watched the campfires of the native settlements flicker across the water; they were really pretty, but more than that, they were comforting, ‘cos seeing the fires and hearing the far-off drums, I knew I didn’t have to worry about any of the local tribesmen trying to shoot poison darts at me through their blowguns, and that’s always a nice thing to not have to worry about; the poison-tipped darts they use come from the Xohacho plant, and everybody around here knows that one poke and you turn into a zombie for six hours. It’s bad—you come to, and all of a sudden you’re in a Starbucks in downtown Seattle, wearing a three-piece suit and holding a half-caf, talking to some soccer mom about what a bad mother Britney Spears is and how you sure hope Brad and Angelina stay together for the sake of the kids, and the thing is, for a couple minutes there, you actually care.
That Xohacho plant is not to be fucked with. Eew.
As I sat and watched the fireflies and the fires reflected on the river, I wished I had a cool-ass safari jacket and a spiffy cravat, or at least a nifty parasol. If Banana Republic didn’t suck as bad as they do now, and they still had their mail-order catalogues with the blurbs by Ferlinghetti and such, I thought, I would probably have bought a cool-ass safari jacket by now. Probably a wrinkle-free one even. Or maybe tarantula-proof; if Charles Bukowski were writing a blurb for a cool-ass safari jacket in a Banana Republic catalogue, he’d probably promise you that it was tarantula-proof. And I would believe him. After a while, I saw the spangles and heard the familiar putt-putt of Cap’n Halfnut. The boat itself is pretty quiet and non-descript; it’s Halfnut that tends to draw attention.
The ride down the river was pretty uneventful, save a small engine stall-out, a little spear-chucking, and a minor crocodile attack. If I’d had a nifty parasol to smack the croc with, he might not have eaten the outboard motor. This is what being prepared is all about, I guess.
Though I amn’t certain, ‘cos all we girls learn about growing up is how to push cookies off on people once a year and sing songs that we don’t mean about liking friends. I would have preferred to have learnt how to fend off crocodiles.
Sexist bastards.
When I arrived home, I paid Halfnut in papaya; he left grumbling, and I brought out my walking stick to cut through to the front door. Even the loud noise of the stick cutting into the foliage couldn’t overcome the cacophonous serenade of the frogs and crickets. Off in the distance, I could hear a monkey shrieking. Damn. That means I have to set out more Raid Monkey Hotels tomorrow, I thought to myself; and if I have to go out, I might as well pick up a machete and some D-Con Pygmy Spray. Sigh. My mental list-making was interrupted by a booming voice:
“What are you doing at the Amazonas near Manaus…”
“Oh, shut up,” I interrupted.
“What?” [BURP!]
“I said shut up. I am not in the mood for this right now.”
“But…”
“I’m just not in the freaking mood! Get lost!”
Just as I got close enough to see the torches lighting the path to the front door up ahead, a sure indicator to leap to the left of the 600-year old cypress tree to avoid the quicksand, I saw a flash of fire spit up in my path and then vanish! “Damn it!” I yelled, throwing down my stick, “It’s only a matter of time before the Rodents Of Unusual Size take up in may damned front yard! AAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!”
“Too late,” boomed Father Excess, “They’re already here.”
“What?!? When?”
“This afternoon, after you left; they pulled up to the dock with a U-Haul boat” [BURP!]
“Aw, shit.”
“Tell me about it; they smell.”
Irritated as all hell, I gathered my walking stick and cut through the fleshy leaves towards the torches lighting the overgrown walkway, now on the look-out for ROUSs in addition to everything else. Damnation. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.
The natives were wearing grass skirts, shell necklaces, and wooden masks, chanting Putz Karam Sheoba Kitch Daboum, and happily drumming away by my front door as I pulled the vines off and then searched in my purse for some WD-40 for the lock, rusted over from days of disuse. A few spritzes, and I was in!
I cranked down the A/C, and did a quick First Response Malaria Test. The little strip showed a skull, but…no crossbones! Yay! So I am malaria-free…at least for now.
I need a new lawn guy. Fastly-like.
[Fin]
-------------============*==========-----------------
Great Mission, by Yello (which, ironically, sounds just like my yard)
The jungle near Manaus The Amazonas full of piranhas The birds of paradise Disappear into the green desert For years and years We are hungry and desperate For the only thing worth living The excess We end our Great Mission Exhausted and sad And there is no hope left When suddenly In a cloud of golden smog The Father of Excess Jumps out of the water ofThe Amazonas full of piranhas And screams to the lost souls What are you doing at the Amazonas Near Manaus full of piranhas [burp!]You will not find excess in the jungle And then He opened the green curtain Made of fleshy leaves and said I show you the excess of the Asphalt a Montmartre The excess of the belly-dance In Abu Dhabi And the excess of the everlasting night in Manhattan [burp!] Are you ready for the sensation del tango a Rosario? Leave him, the gorilla Leave the jungle of the Amazonas Near Manaus full of piranhas And follow Father Excess...
.
Well, I hadn’t *meant* to; he was running towards me to ARGH! on my toes some more, and I tossed it to distract him so that I could pull my feet up under the afghan, but I mis-aimed and popped him in the forehead pretty hard (the bizzy ball is made of a harder plastic, not like the flimsier plastic ones). When that happened, Squoosh just sat right down and looked at me; I think that I gave him a headache. Poor baby! I am so sorry, my Squooshable! Mommy didn’t mean to do that!!
I think he is ok, though; if I had any reason to think he wasn’t, Paranoid and Overprotective Moi would have him at the emergency vet right now. :-)
Butsoanyway.
They have had trucks in the loading dock area of Eviljob for the past almost-week (we’re getting new stuff in or shipping stuff out; which I shan’t say), and I’ve not seen Mehitabel in a few days, but I am 99.999% sure that she’s hiding from the traffic because the food I am putting out is going away at the same rate, and I have heard *nothing* about kitty carnage ::knock wood::, plus Mehitabel’s like that—when the going gets busy, Mehitabel hides. Smart kitty.
My lawn has become The Jungle of Despair, and it is only getting worse. I lost my lawn guy(s), the previously-mentioned Harley David and whatever friend, employee, or co-conspirator he brought along when they decided to get drunk (and, knowing Harley, probably high) in my backyard. Sigh.
Now, I am generally an easy-going girl. Do I care if they do this? No. I only care when their actions encroach my freedoms, and as long as my yard looks good when I pull into the drive, my concern in the matter is over. Harley is (was) fairly famous for trying to shake lizards and other animals out of hedges before he went at them with the trimmy-thing; I seriously doubt someone who does this is going to accidentally run over someone’s child with a lawnmower whilst drunk. Plus, it’s not as if he is going to quit doing it if I ask. Ergo, I don’t care; there’s no point in caring.
Butsoanyway.
The (retired) Colonel next door (with whom Mummers has been enamoured for several years, but enough on her silly besotted ass) recommended someone (how convenient…I think the two of them ran a freaking sting operation) that I’ve been trying to get hold of by phone—Darcel, Montel, Kal-El, Jor-El, whatever the El—and I have a tentative appointment for an estimate sometime this week, so I will just cross my fingers and hope that I don’t have to buy a machete and hack my way out of my garage any time soon. I am going to start wearing a pith helmet, and I already am refusing to collect my mail from the box at the end of the driveway in protest.
Well, I am afraid of snakes, jungle rot, and necrotising facsiitis; being the paragon of femininity that I am, I have a fragile fucking constitution. I am a god damned delicate flower, for christ’s sake. :-D Plus, every time I peek out my front door, Father Excess screams at me.
What are you doing at the Amazonas near Manaus, full of piranhas?
Butsoanyway.
Tonight was not too terrible; I did have one point where I sort of became a little…sad, depressed, lonely, or whatever. Which I actually do relatively often, but I am really trying to not focus on that. But I had to sit through watching this couple (that I am, of course, seated facing) snogging all over each other, and I am really happy for them and all, but the breaking point was when he started with the petting her and playing with her hair, and—check this out—she didn’t even ask, or anything, and here *I* have to go back to the Amazonas near Manaus, Full of Piranhas, alone, past all the torches and little guys in grass skirts and tiki masks beating on congo drums, so that I can get my toes chewed on by a tiny black cat, and hit in the face with a meezer tail.
It’s almost too much to bear sometimes, is what I’m saying.
:-) So that’s when I started singing Chilliwack songs. How can anyone not be happy singing My Girl? Huh? It is *impossible*. Really.
Of course, no one joined in with me. Losers. So I had a brownie sundae. If you listen closely, you will find that brownie sundaes actually *do* sing with you. Brownie sundaes know all the words to every song ever written; they are magical like that. Order one and listen sometimes.
No, rilly.
So I got back home and beat the path with my walking stick to scare off snakes as I made my way to the boat dock near the river. As I waited for Cap’n Halfnut to pilot the African Drag Queen back to the dock to pick me up, I changed my socks three times, swatted twelve thousand mosquitoes, and hoped that I wasn’t sitting on or near a big furry tarantula six times. Then I watched the campfires of the native settlements flicker across the water; they were really pretty, but more than that, they were comforting, ‘cos seeing the fires and hearing the far-off drums, I knew I didn’t have to worry about any of the local tribesmen trying to shoot poison darts at me through their blowguns, and that’s always a nice thing to not have to worry about; the poison-tipped darts they use come from the Xohacho plant, and everybody around here knows that one poke and you turn into a zombie for six hours. It’s bad—you come to, and all of a sudden you’re in a Starbucks in downtown Seattle, wearing a three-piece suit and holding a half-caf, talking to some soccer mom about what a bad mother Britney Spears is and how you sure hope Brad and Angelina stay together for the sake of the kids, and the thing is, for a couple minutes there, you actually care.
That Xohacho plant is not to be fucked with. Eew.
As I sat and watched the fireflies and the fires reflected on the river, I wished I had a cool-ass safari jacket and a spiffy cravat, or at least a nifty parasol. If Banana Republic didn’t suck as bad as they do now, and they still had their mail-order catalogues with the blurbs by Ferlinghetti and such, I thought, I would probably have bought a cool-ass safari jacket by now. Probably a wrinkle-free one even. Or maybe tarantula-proof; if Charles Bukowski were writing a blurb for a cool-ass safari jacket in a Banana Republic catalogue, he’d probably promise you that it was tarantula-proof. And I would believe him. After a while, I saw the spangles and heard the familiar putt-putt of Cap’n Halfnut. The boat itself is pretty quiet and non-descript; it’s Halfnut that tends to draw attention.
The ride down the river was pretty uneventful, save a small engine stall-out, a little spear-chucking, and a minor crocodile attack. If I’d had a nifty parasol to smack the croc with, he might not have eaten the outboard motor. This is what being prepared is all about, I guess.
Though I amn’t certain, ‘cos all we girls learn about growing up is how to push cookies off on people once a year and sing songs that we don’t mean about liking friends. I would have preferred to have learnt how to fend off crocodiles.
Sexist bastards.
When I arrived home, I paid Halfnut in papaya; he left grumbling, and I brought out my walking stick to cut through to the front door. Even the loud noise of the stick cutting into the foliage couldn’t overcome the cacophonous serenade of the frogs and crickets. Off in the distance, I could hear a monkey shrieking. Damn. That means I have to set out more Raid Monkey Hotels tomorrow, I thought to myself; and if I have to go out, I might as well pick up a machete and some D-Con Pygmy Spray. Sigh. My mental list-making was interrupted by a booming voice:
“What are you doing at the Amazonas near Manaus…”
“Oh, shut up,” I interrupted.
“What?” [BURP!]
“I said shut up. I am not in the mood for this right now.”
“But…”
“I’m just not in the freaking mood! Get lost!”
Just as I got close enough to see the torches lighting the path to the front door up ahead, a sure indicator to leap to the left of the 600-year old cypress tree to avoid the quicksand, I saw a flash of fire spit up in my path and then vanish! “Damn it!” I yelled, throwing down my stick, “It’s only a matter of time before the Rodents Of Unusual Size take up in may damned front yard! AAAAUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!”
“Too late,” boomed Father Excess, “They’re already here.”
“What?!? When?”
“This afternoon, after you left; they pulled up to the dock with a U-Haul boat” [BURP!]
“Aw, shit.”
“Tell me about it; they smell.”
Irritated as all hell, I gathered my walking stick and cut through the fleshy leaves towards the torches lighting the overgrown walkway, now on the look-out for ROUSs in addition to everything else. Damnation. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse.
The natives were wearing grass skirts, shell necklaces, and wooden masks, chanting Putz Karam Sheoba Kitch Daboum, and happily drumming away by my front door as I pulled the vines off and then searched in my purse for some WD-40 for the lock, rusted over from days of disuse. A few spritzes, and I was in!
I cranked down the A/C, and did a quick First Response Malaria Test. The little strip showed a skull, but…no crossbones! Yay! So I am malaria-free…at least for now.
I need a new lawn guy. Fastly-like.
[Fin]
-------------============*==========-----------------
Great Mission, by Yello (which, ironically, sounds just like my yard)
The jungle near Manaus The Amazonas full of piranhas The birds of paradise Disappear into the green desert For years and years We are hungry and desperate For the only thing worth living The excess We end our Great Mission Exhausted and sad And there is no hope left When suddenly In a cloud of golden smog The Father of Excess Jumps out of the water ofThe Amazonas full of piranhas And screams to the lost souls What are you doing at the Amazonas Near Manaus full of piranhas [burp!]You will not find excess in the jungle And then He opened the green curtain Made of fleshy leaves and said I show you the excess of the Asphalt a Montmartre The excess of the belly-dance In Abu Dhabi And the excess of the everlasting night in Manhattan [burp!] Are you ready for the sensation del tango a Rosario? Leave him, the gorilla Leave the jungle of the Amazonas Near Manaus full of piranhas And follow Father Excess...
.
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
And as my will, so mote it be, you little rectangular bastard…
You sucky laptop battery, you. Charge and discharge properly—HEAR ME! Because not only am I *fully prepared* to rain all kinds of ‘Codiamagic spells down on your ass (whichever end that may be), I am about to give you up for a better model.
Yep, that’s right. *Now* you’re shaking, aren’t you? Aren’t you?
I thought so. You’d better be like, TRULY quaking in fear of my Incantation of The Infinite Listingness!
Oh, yessss…
If you don’t do what the nice people at HardwareHell (Oh, how appropriate!) say that you are going to do, I am going to sell you on eBay, and I’m going to keep you up for sale until some silly son of a bitch is dumb enough to buy you. End of sentence. I’m so sick of your shit that I might even offer free shipping. Mwa ha ha. I am Codia-Ra, Mistress of Merchantry, and I have the power of like, fuckin’ Greyskull, or whatever. And I’m gonna do it all sky-clad, too. Just you wait and see. Stupid freaking battery. I hate you.
.
Yep, that’s right. *Now* you’re shaking, aren’t you? Aren’t you?
I thought so. You’d better be like, TRULY quaking in fear of my Incantation of The Infinite Listingness!
Oh, yessss…
If you don’t do what the nice people at HardwareHell (Oh, how appropriate!) say that you are going to do, I am going to sell you on eBay, and I’m going to keep you up for sale until some silly son of a bitch is dumb enough to buy you. End of sentence. I’m so sick of your shit that I might even offer free shipping. Mwa ha ha. I am Codia-Ra, Mistress of Merchantry, and I have the power of like, fuckin’ Greyskull, or whatever. And I’m gonna do it all sky-clad, too. Just you wait and see. Stupid freaking battery. I hate you.
.
Friday, May 26, 2006
W00t here I is...
This week has been unbelievable as far as being busy goes, and it hasn’t ended yet! :-) The picture of the shirt came from shopping for my brother’s birthday present; it turned out that the shirt was on sale, so I bought it for my oldest nephew.
I did get in touch with a feral cat group nearby (people—not a group of feral cats!), and the lady I spoke with is going to put my contact information in their bulletin to see if I can get some more help; Chrissy just got a few more litters dumped on her, and her helper from my school went away for the Summer, so I am stuck again. Pfft. I am still feeding Mehitabel and Friends, so she and the rest of the cats out there are fine, at least as much as any feral cat can be fine, I guess.
Meg is gone, again, to another tournament. She just sent a text message a little bit ago to tell me that she was sitting one table over from Hachem and Matusow; I hope Matusow doesn’t start throwing things and hit Meg. :-) More than that, I hope that she does well.
Mom is off—literally. We all knew about the figurative part already. She left to go visit her oldest sister, which was really convenient for her, ‘cos I’m about damn ready to kill her. *She* is the reason that I no longer have a lawn guy, and it requires a little explanation, plus I have a lead on a new lawn guy, so I will ‘splain later. I am going to have to get some sleep soon; hopefully I can work in a blog post or two tomorrow after Eviljob and in-between playing with this editing thing and trying to get some of my own crap done for next week.
I really have a lot of talking to do (or writing, whatever), but…things are good. Everything is good. :-) Yay.
.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
Wear a tie...
Okay; this was HILARIOUS!
Mother’s Day Photo
I was on the *floor*!
I talked to a non-profit group for feral cats today, and Mehitabel has an appointment for a spay on the 19th…now I just have to catch her. At least the good news is that they have a newsletter, and the lady I talked to will put a blurb in it for me asking for someone to volunteer to help. And they have a manually-sprung trap that I might borrow.
Sigh.
I had a nice time tonight, with the exception of the fact that Harry’s trying to start crap with his apartment complex (in fairness, they’re in the wrong, but he’s not going to accomplish anything the way he’s going about it), and so I had to listen to his kvetching for a good chunk of the evening. But we played poker and then trivia, and it was fun.
I have to look for a new group to do my lawn, and that really sucks; I *hate* that. And I’d whine more about it, but I’m tired. :-)
.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
Come sweet slumber, enshroud me in thy purple cloak
Hmmph. Doesn't even rhyme.
I am deciding whether to go forage for nuts and breakfast, keep trying to sleep, or finish watching Batman Begins.
Sigh. If I had to pick what superhero I would be, I would totally be Batman; he has all the cool shit. I guess that means I have SGID--Superhero Gender Identity Disorder. :-) sigh... Nuts and
breakfast are winning, I think.
...does that mean tea's made?
:-)
Saturday, May 20, 2006
Mehitabel has faith in me
When I showed up today, she was sitting at the feeding station,
waiting for me. Now that's faith; that's why I am guilted into
showing up for her almost every day. She walked away and watched me
from a distance as I put food down, but regardless, she believes in
me. That's kind of heartbreaking, really--that she's so hungry that
she'll wait for the velociraptor. I love that little cat.
Friday, May 19, 2006
It calms down and then...
Ack! Everything gets busy!
I was gifted with a last-second thingy to do, and I have just finished it! Whew. Whenever I do that, I just have to stand back and look at what I have done for a few minutes to soak in the fact that it’s *over*. :-)
I have the usual stuff to do tomorrow, as…well…usual.
And before, when I was working, I had a ton of things running through my head, but now I just have (almost) nothing. This, incidentally, is kind of cool.
I have to decide if I want to go a-travelling, and I am waffling on it—that is one of the big things still rattling around. If I am, then I have to decide by Monday. I am still iffy about it; I am exhausted, more mentally than physically.
Meg’s taken off for an event in New Orleans, and has decided to start doing weekend junkets to fit it into her schedule. :-) She’s cute.
And I am supposed to be editing something for Mom over this weekend. It’s actually for a friend of hers (he’s written a book), and she volunteered me up to do it as if I know what in the hell I am doing—I ‘do’ English completely by ear—but on the other hand, it’s paid work and it will make Mom happy, so I am going to do it. It actually looks pretty interesting, so I guess that could suck worse.
And with that, I guess I had better get to sleep.
.
I was gifted with a last-second thingy to do, and I have just finished it! Whew. Whenever I do that, I just have to stand back and look at what I have done for a few minutes to soak in the fact that it’s *over*. :-)
I have the usual stuff to do tomorrow, as…well…usual.
And before, when I was working, I had a ton of things running through my head, but now I just have (almost) nothing. This, incidentally, is kind of cool.
I have to decide if I want to go a-travelling, and I am waffling on it—that is one of the big things still rattling around. If I am, then I have to decide by Monday. I am still iffy about it; I am exhausted, more mentally than physically.
Meg’s taken off for an event in New Orleans, and has decided to start doing weekend junkets to fit it into her schedule. :-) She’s cute.
And I am supposed to be editing something for Mom over this weekend. It’s actually for a friend of hers (he’s written a book), and she volunteered me up to do it as if I know what in the hell I am doing—I ‘do’ English completely by ear—but on the other hand, it’s paid work and it will make Mom happy, so I am going to do it. It actually looks pretty interesting, so I guess that could suck worse.
And with that, I guess I had better get to sleep.
.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
Ancodia's First Puppy Rescue. Kinda.
Ancodia's First Puppy Rescue. Kinda.
Originally uploaded by Ancodia.
I rescued a puppy tonight. Kinda.
I was at trivia, and Chrissy phoned to ask me if I could pick up a wounded puppy and take it to Dr Superhero, who is open 24 hours; Chrissy was almost two hours away, and the lady who found the puppy only had Chrissy's number, and couldn't drive at night to take it to the vet. So I went. She's a she, and she has a big tear on the corner of her mouth, she's malnourished, and has raw patches all over her (from what I just don't know--she really looks as if she's run through a few hundred rose bushes--she has these little pricks all over her!)
So I left trivia and drove over to pick up the pup, and she was SO good! She just stayed in her box and never made one single sound the whole way to Dr Superhero; I kept the cabin light on and pretty much kept my hand on her just to make sure she was still breathing and everything.
Did I mention that my car is a standard shift? Yeah, it is (and yeah, I WANTED one; sought it out, in fact. I am a CONTROL FREAK, and *I* know better than any hunk of gears when shifting needs to occur). So the short of it is don't fear my putting on cosmetics--fear my animal rescues. :-)
Butsoanyway.
So I got Li'l Miss to Dr Superhero, and she seemed fine. I mean, definitely not in top shape, but the lady who found her (with the help of two guys across the street from her, but that's a whole 'nother story) said she ate, pooped, and peed, and was giving puppy kisses. So it sounds pretty promising. I think.
Dr Superhero is so amazingly amazing. :-) At the same time he was taking care of Li'l Miss here, he was also taking care of two big dogs that had been hit by the same car! And the car just drove off! I hope whoever that was rots in hell. I hope someone hits *them* and does something horrible like drive off. Bastard. The car that hit them ran all the way over one, and smacked the other so hard it spun around four or five times, the owners said (I had to wait a LONG time in the waiting room with them, 'cos I was near the bottom of the triage totem pole tonight, and understandably so). I told the owners (who had never been to Dr Superhero before) that he was amazing...and he really is. I cannot say it enough.
And earlier today, on the way to the nail place (oh, check out my picture below!), I saved a turtle. I live in a largely woody, lake-y, golf-y kind of area, and as I was driving, I saw what looked like a low-slung, fat cat goosestepping across the road in front of me.
'WTF?!?', I thought as I slowed down.
And yes, I was so wearing my glasses.
Since this is a two-lane road, the other cars behind me have no choice but to slow the hell down, and as I get closer, I see that it is this GINORMOUS turtle! This turtle was HUGE! So I pulled over, and tried to grab the turtle, but the little peckerhead goosestepped away from me, right under this SUV that was behind me!
AUGH! How can I help you if you can't even help yourself?!?
The lady in the SUV said she wouldn't move 'cos she thought it would be gross to run over a turtle, so I found a fallen smallish tree branch and tried to poke it into walking out the other side. Then the lady got out and took her tire jack out and tried to poke him (on the shell) from one side as I tried to get the tree branch behind him and slide him out. During all this, Titus Turtlever (I named him after Titus Welliver, 'cos I already used up the most obvious name--Einstein--on a turtle a few years ago, and no--I am not implying that Titus Welliver is as dumb as a turtle; he's probably pretty bright. I just thought 'Titus' would be a good name for a turtle--Titus Turtlever. I like it.) just scootched up in his shell, hoping that this would all work out for the best.
Finally we pushed him close enough that I could reach under and grab him and hope he didn't bite (turtles bite sometimes, right?), which he didn't. And that was really cool of him, 'cos I would be dreading explaining to my GP how I got rocky mountain spotted fever from a turtle.
...or turtle rabies, whatever. It would just HAVE to be something that would make my GP give me The Look and mention that other girls my age are coming in with crabs and cramps...not turtle rabies.
Butsoanyway.
So when I pulled it out from underneath the SUV, I grabbed it finally so its head was pointing away from me, and walked it all the way back down to the boat dock by the house where I figured that it came from while he peed on me. At least I think that was pee. Well, actually, I would rather *not* think about it, so I'm just going to assume that it was probably turtle pee. Now there's some gratitude for you.
And Titus was *heavy*! Heavier than Squoosh, and he is 9.5 lbs, and I think heavier than Romeo, who is 11.5 lbs. This was a big-ass turtle. And I tried to pep-talk it a little about how hiding in our shell when the going gets tough might not be the best thing to do in every situation. And the importance of asking directions. I sure hope Titus listened.
Butsoanyway.
On the drive back from Dr Superhero tonight, I took that same road and saw no sign of Titus, so I guess I picked the right place. Or maybe he just gave up; if that was where he'd come from, he walked a long way. For a turtle. And he was really booking it across the road when I first saw him! And at trivia I was eating nachos and telling about saving the turtle, and everyone stopped eating nachos and asked me if I was touching the nachos with turtle hands!
Sigh. No, I wash my hands. Regularly. Long enough to sing the alphabet. It was required in my household. Geez. Assholes.
So of *course*, I look down at my hands, give them my trademarked Bambi in the Headlights of a Buick(TM) look and say, 'no...why?'
Ha, HA! MY nachos! MINE!!!!!!
:-)
So...this has been a busy day. And I have to get some stuff ready for our meeting tomorrow. Pfft. I'm tired.
And I hope that Titus and Li'l Miss will be okay. I hope that we all will.
:-)
Stupidest...invention...EVER!
Stupidest...thing...EVER!
Originally uploaded by Ancodia.
And Meg thinks I run *my* life in a materialistic manner...sheesh. I snapped this when I was having my nails done today before trivia, in the May issue of In (nobody's) Style.
And what exactly *is* this piece of shiny shit, you ask? Well, let me tell you: This piece of flashy crap is a jinn-yew-wine LifeSavers holder that is beaded with--check this out--AUSTRIAN CRYSTALS. Yep, for people who are too good for keeping candy in the wrapper.
How...I want to say gay, but all the gays I know have too much self-respect to tote something like this around, even though it is sparkly. I need a word *like* gay (in the derogatory, 'that is *SO* gay!' sense) that doesn't impugn the taste of gays; I would bet my life that no gay that had a hand in *this* 'choice pick of the season'. None.
I would call it nouveau-riche--my Mother would call it nouveau-riche--but I never hear anyone using that term anymore. It's trailer park-tacular! It's trashariffic! It's bling-blingbastic! It's...it's...
...sad and stupid, that's what it is.
And it can be yours for the low price of like, $445. Or something. Made by Judith Igottoomuchtimeonmyhands. Carried proudly by retards everywhere, 'cos they just don't know any damn better--they're retards.
...at least I think that's what the blurb next to it says. :-D
Monday, May 15, 2006
Cake or Death?
Yii…I ate way too much.
We took Mummers to Ruth’s Chris for Mother’s Day; it isn’t even one of my favourite restaurants, but Mom likes it. Why? Who knows? Because I don’t, perhaps. I personally think their sides are average at best (and a couple of them flat-out blow goats), and as long as one starts with a decent cut of steak and is half-trying, it’s pretty hard to FUBAR steak, so they get no real points for that.
Or perhaps they’re really faboo, and I just don’t like steak houses; Meg mentioned that I was torpedoing the steak house in Reno that was supposed to be a four-star one, too. I don’t think I torpedoed it; as I recall, my comment to her was that it was just a steak house, and it wasn’t anything I would write home about, or hasten back to. Now here it is some two months later, and I cannot even remember the name of the place—proof positive that it was unremarkable. And I wouldn’t remember Ruth’s Chris’ name if it weren’t for Mom—it would be ‘that over-priced place with the stupid name that has steaks…you know…the…uhhh…’
Butsoanyway.
Meg was back today from an Omaha tournament where she came in first, so that was cool—she was in a good mood. I was tremendously irritated at her because I came in late last night (yes, it was for a good reason, and if that reason pans out, I’ll eventually get around to talking about it), and as I was scanning through for something to watch, I saw that the 1997 WSOP was on ESPN12, or whatever; that’s the one with Stu Ungar in it, the last one he won. I wasn’t sure that Meg already had that one (turns out she has all of them, but I didn’t know that), and as I am trying to one-handedly wrestle a blank tape out of the box, I am trying to phone Meg, but she won’t answer ‘cos she’s off doing things without me.
C’mon, let’s sing and really start to get pissed off: However I look, it’s clear to see--I love you more than you love me…
Then, in trying to get it taped by VCR, I somehow turned on my DVD player (mastering the new TV/VCR/DVD/DVD-recorder set up was on my To Do list over break), and I think it was taping the DVD in there; so I tried to turn the DVD off, and turned the cable off, then I turned the TV off, and all this time the damn VCR was still taping the DVD.
Damn Harry and his stupid universal remote.
So I ended up having to get up and manually turn on the TV, eject the DVD, and turn on the cable. Then I couldn’t figure out how to get back where I was from the stupid manual controls (I think ESPN needs a few more channels; what say you?), so I had to go back to the remote, and in flipping through the schedule-thingy, I see that Eddie Izzard’s Dress to Kill is on. Damn it! DAMN IT!!
Eddie, baby…marry me. Please. I’m growing tired of asking. ;-)
Butsoanyway.
So of *course* I kick the thought of watching Dress to Kill for the 900th time to the curb, because I am pretty sure I have the DVD already anyway, but to know for certain I would have to get off my tuchas and actually organise something that doesn’t have a due date (like my DVD collection) and, well…that’s not going to happen any time soon. If someone really wants it to be done, they can threaten to grade me on it.
Butsoanyway.
So I try to find ESPN6000 or whatever…only I’m going to do it and watch Dress to Kill in the little box. So I accidentally scroll past it probably three or four times, then finally notice that I’m scrolling past the same thing. Frick. And then I see that one of the shopping channels (I forget which, I think it was QVC, but then again, I tend to call all of them QVC) had a jewellery show on, so I click over to that so that I won’t get all into watching Future Mr Ancodia Candidate #1, and I click over just as they’re showing a cool pair of earrings that are coming up…in the next segment. Of course. So I am scrolling and hoping the next segment comes up before I get to ESPN9800, but they are taking TOO DAMN LONG with the jackass bracelet that no one in their right mind would buy, and so I get back to the ’97 tourney (somewhere around Ch 198), and have to switch over. Foo.
So I tape it, and yes, I know that I can tape one channel and watch others, and if I knew how to work the fricking universal remote, I’d do just that; not only is Eddie on, but there’s the jewellery, and I think a Cold Case Files or something. But whatever; I don’t know how to make it do that (yet), and I’m not going to find out now. Anyway, *I* haven’t seen the ’97 tournament, so I watch it.
And when I met Meg today, I proudly gave her the tape, and she told me that she already has it, but since I also taped my favourite poker episode ever on there also (it came on right after the 1997 tournament), then she’d watch it.
And I can freaking *guarantee* you that she’s not going to appreciate it. Hmmph.
After all I went through.
Butsoanyway.
Both Chrissy and I had forgotten that today was Mother’s Day, so we decided to call off the hunt because I had to go be with Mummers eventually, and Chrissy’s mom is dead, so she was going to the cemetery and church, and then PetsMart. I went up and fed Mehitabel anyway, of course.
And now I really have to get some sleep. Or something. We had fun today, and I love my Mom and all that. And she was hardly nutty for nine-tenths of our time together. So maybe she was trying. Or the medication kicked in. Whichever.
.
We took Mummers to Ruth’s Chris for Mother’s Day; it isn’t even one of my favourite restaurants, but Mom likes it. Why? Who knows? Because I don’t, perhaps. I personally think their sides are average at best (and a couple of them flat-out blow goats), and as long as one starts with a decent cut of steak and is half-trying, it’s pretty hard to FUBAR steak, so they get no real points for that.
Or perhaps they’re really faboo, and I just don’t like steak houses; Meg mentioned that I was torpedoing the steak house in Reno that was supposed to be a four-star one, too. I don’t think I torpedoed it; as I recall, my comment to her was that it was just a steak house, and it wasn’t anything I would write home about, or hasten back to. Now here it is some two months later, and I cannot even remember the name of the place—proof positive that it was unremarkable. And I wouldn’t remember Ruth’s Chris’ name if it weren’t for Mom—it would be ‘that over-priced place with the stupid name that has steaks…you know…the…uhhh…’
Butsoanyway.
Meg was back today from an Omaha tournament where she came in first, so that was cool—she was in a good mood. I was tremendously irritated at her because I came in late last night (yes, it was for a good reason, and if that reason pans out, I’ll eventually get around to talking about it), and as I was scanning through for something to watch, I saw that the 1997 WSOP was on ESPN12, or whatever; that’s the one with Stu Ungar in it, the last one he won. I wasn’t sure that Meg already had that one (turns out she has all of them, but I didn’t know that), and as I am trying to one-handedly wrestle a blank tape out of the box, I am trying to phone Meg, but she won’t answer ‘cos she’s off doing things without me.
C’mon, let’s sing and really start to get pissed off: However I look, it’s clear to see--I love you more than you love me…
Then, in trying to get it taped by VCR, I somehow turned on my DVD player (mastering the new TV/VCR/DVD/DVD-recorder set up was on my To Do list over break), and I think it was taping the DVD in there; so I tried to turn the DVD off, and turned the cable off, then I turned the TV off, and all this time the damn VCR was still taping the DVD.
Damn Harry and his stupid universal remote.
So I ended up having to get up and manually turn on the TV, eject the DVD, and turn on the cable. Then I couldn’t figure out how to get back where I was from the stupid manual controls (I think ESPN needs a few more channels; what say you?), so I had to go back to the remote, and in flipping through the schedule-thingy, I see that Eddie Izzard’s Dress to Kill is on. Damn it! DAMN IT!!
Eddie, baby…marry me. Please. I’m growing tired of asking. ;-)
Butsoanyway.
So of *course* I kick the thought of watching Dress to Kill for the 900th time to the curb, because I am pretty sure I have the DVD already anyway, but to know for certain I would have to get off my tuchas and actually organise something that doesn’t have a due date (like my DVD collection) and, well…that’s not going to happen any time soon. If someone really wants it to be done, they can threaten to grade me on it.
Butsoanyway.
So I try to find ESPN6000 or whatever…only I’m going to do it and watch Dress to Kill in the little box. So I accidentally scroll past it probably three or four times, then finally notice that I’m scrolling past the same thing. Frick. And then I see that one of the shopping channels (I forget which, I think it was QVC, but then again, I tend to call all of them QVC) had a jewellery show on, so I click over to that so that I won’t get all into watching Future Mr Ancodia Candidate #1, and I click over just as they’re showing a cool pair of earrings that are coming up…in the next segment. Of course. So I am scrolling and hoping the next segment comes up before I get to ESPN9800, but they are taking TOO DAMN LONG with the jackass bracelet that no one in their right mind would buy, and so I get back to the ’97 tourney (somewhere around Ch 198), and have to switch over. Foo.
So I tape it, and yes, I know that I can tape one channel and watch others, and if I knew how to work the fricking universal remote, I’d do just that; not only is Eddie on, but there’s the jewellery, and I think a Cold Case Files or something. But whatever; I don’t know how to make it do that (yet), and I’m not going to find out now. Anyway, *I* haven’t seen the ’97 tournament, so I watch it.
And when I met Meg today, I proudly gave her the tape, and she told me that she already has it, but since I also taped my favourite poker episode ever on there also (it came on right after the 1997 tournament), then she’d watch it.
And I can freaking *guarantee* you that she’s not going to appreciate it. Hmmph.
After all I went through.
Butsoanyway.
Both Chrissy and I had forgotten that today was Mother’s Day, so we decided to call off the hunt because I had to go be with Mummers eventually, and Chrissy’s mom is dead, so she was going to the cemetery and church, and then PetsMart. I went up and fed Mehitabel anyway, of course.
And now I really have to get some sleep. Or something. We had fun today, and I love my Mom and all that. And she was hardly nutty for nine-tenths of our time together. So maybe she was trying. Or the medication kicked in. Whichever.
.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Da-Doing-Doing-Doing...
Holy crap. I have had Ass Like That stuck in my head ALL DAY. What'd I do?
Sheesh.
Monday, May 08, 2006
So we'll see...
Yesterday we couldn’t come close to Mehitabel, so after about two hours we gave up; Chrissy had to get over to PetsMart, and there’s no point in my trying alone. But we did decide that Sundays are the best days to try for her, since hardly anyone’s there; only a small part of Tech Support and a few other stragglers. So this weekend, I won’t feed her at all on Friday or Saturday so that she’ll eat our doped food on Sunday.
Butsoanyway.
I got my grades, and I guess my Person was right about ol’ Someone—my Person’d said not to sweat the GPA issue, that Someone would give me a high grade regardless of the presentation debacle out of a desire to maintain nice-nice between our department and Someone’s department—and I’ll be damned if my person wasn’t right about that. So that is cool. One less thing to worry about, though I am still going to attempt to avoid Someone for the one remaining class I would have to take with them; that leaves me with the options of talking one of my favourite profs into running it as an independent study, or my taking it at a quasi-local technological university as transfer credit. Right now, I am leaning towards the second option just because of the change of scenery and peeps it would afford. So we’ll see; I don’t have to do it this semester, so I will mull it over for a few weeks; I do not want to appear ‘contrary’ to my HoD; that would be A Bad Thing. And I already know that it does not take much for me to *seem* contrary, so I try to save the digging the heels into the mud shtick for when I have to. Our current HoD (and the HoD before him) thinks our department has little to benefit from going to the Other Place (it’s just competition, plain and simple; they have a program very similar, if not identical, to ours), so that may not be the preferred choice, even though it *should* be preferable to running an independent study. So, again, we’ll see; when I speak with him about it, I’ll take the benefit-pointing-out tack as my Person suggested.
I have been over to their campus a few times, and it is really very pretty; they—like us—have a very large area; theirs is a little more sparse (ours is tres-way more woody), but it is nice, and it’s in a very nice city; scads of stuff to do. Plus, Nurse Betty lives out that way.
And when I am on break, I do not check my ‘official’ mail regularly; I just checked it, and an undergrad that I was sort of third-party running an independent study for (I was in charge, they gave the grade) has emailed twenty seven times (practically) since last Wednesday to find out what he got. So much for auto-response messages, I guess (‘In case no one has told you, the semester has ended; as such, Ancodia no longer gives a fuck about you, and this may also explain why you have been sitting in empty classrooms. Happy to help…idiot. If you must email Ancodia right now, be prepared to sit on your question or issue for several days to a week, or check back in a couple weeks when she is required to care again. Thank you.’). What did you get? How about a bucket of ice in the pants when I see you next semester? Try checking your online transcript, dingbat. Uhhh…duh.
I know—I am totally the nurturing Earth Mother type. Guilty as charged.
Meg’s back from Las Vegas, and back at work; she’s taking the next two or three weekends and going to another leg of one of the tours, I forget which. She said that she did okay this past time, but not great—she says she covered her expenses plus a little, but with people in our family that is like saying nothing at all; I guess I would have had to have been there. I would criticise her on it, but I am like that as well—as is everyone else blood-related to me. I know it’s annoying. I cannot stop doing it. :-)
I wish that I could go with her, but I cannot; or, well, I guess I *could*, but the schedule-shifting it would take I am just not up to right now; I need rest. I begged off a trip at the end of this month, and have three others that I may not be able to scootch out of between now and September.
So, as with everything, we’ll see. Mehitabel’s fed and watered, which I will keep doing until Thursday. Then we’ll see.
.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
Mehitabel dances escape-o, left to right is de tempo, and when she get de sen-sa-tion, she go up in de air, come down in slow motion…
Geez. I was fired today. How heartless.
No, not from Eviljob or Job II—from the Mehitabel hunt. Mehitabel would not come near us (or me, rather), and so finally Chrissy told me to please go away, because everywhere I walked, Mehitabel would try to walk off, or step back from me and just glare. She was staring me down!
As god may or may not be my witness, one day I expect to pull up to Eviljob and find that Mehitabel has—on the asphalt, in cat food—spelt out something like:
I HATE YOU, VELOCIRAPTOR. I HOPE YOU DIE.
Sigh.
So they (Chrissy brought a bunny-hugging undergrad from my University) told me to go away. And they told me to not take it the wrong way. So I did, and I didn’t. I want to be there, but…they’re right. And so Chrissy-n-Kidlet went Mehitabel hunting…
…and caught what I think is probably her brother, or one of them. I have to admit, he does look just like her. I think Mr Peabody was another one of her brothers, too.
Sigh. So we are trying again tomorrow.
Butsoanyway.
I guess that I had better get to sleep if I am going to (somehow) help get Mehitabel.
.
Friday, May 05, 2006
If you were a momcat, where would you hide?
Well, no Mehitabel this morning; I went out again this afternoon, and still no Mehitabel. Chrissy and I will try again in the morning before I have to go in Eviljob, and then again Sunday morning if it doesn’t work out tomorrow. Pfft.
But I have a nice new net on a pole, and a casting net. And some cat-dope. I wish I spoke cat, so that I could explain to Mehitabel that I am only trying to help her. Sigh.
Butsoanyway.
On the way home, I stopped at Petsmart to get more MeasleTreats and SquooshChow, and I went by their adoption centre where I met Sylvester, a black-and-white who will be one year old in June! If I thought I could handle him, I would adopt Sylvester; he needs someone to play with, and so does my Squoosh; the old cats who live in Squoosh’s home aren’t much fun—they don’t like to battle all day. I held Sylvester and let him ARGH! all over me (he was arghing gently, for a baby—I barely have any scratches), and he had a blast—he even gave me a few kitty kisses on my chin (and then a couple of arghs on my chin!). :-) The lady there cleaned out his cage while I was holding him, and he had sure been arghing all over everything—there was food and litter everywhere, and all the paper was shredded to bits! But it was probably because he had no toys, I figured (and because he’s a baby), so I bought some toys for him. The rescue lady there (not one that I have dealt with before—this was a different PetsMart) said that they could be his toys, that went with him when he was adopted. :-) So now Sylvester owns property.
I am occupying myself by looking through the Virtual Toad updates. See, right now I have all this free time on my paws, and I don’t know what to do with it. And I had wanted to get back to Disney to ride the Pirates of the Caribbean before they fuck it all up, but they’ve taken it back down as of 1 May, I hear. Yes, they’re revamping the whole thing (to make it *better*, of course—kind of like they did to Journey Into Imagination, not that I am bitter about JIA and think that Disney is run by a pack of sightless, soulless bastards, or anything) to promote the new PotC movie. Pfft and piffle.
There was once an undertaking to produce a re-creation of If You Had Wings, too…but it looks like that’s been discontinued. Double-plus pfft. So it looks like this or this is the best that can be done. Oh, well.
And I changed my picture to one that looks like Puff-Puff, ‘cos I don’t have any digital photos of her, at least none that I could find. But if someone were to have drawn a picture of Puff, that is exactly what they would have drawn. Love you and miss you, Puff.
Okay; I need to go do something productive; after last semester, I have more laundry than a Magdalen asylum, and I have barely made a dent in it. Grr. And I have to get up beastly early tomorrow to try (again) to snag a Mehitabel. Pfft.
.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
If I had a hammer...
I am going out to get a new net. Just talked to Chrissy, and we're going out together on Friday to capture the hussy. I still have drugs, so we're going to drug her, and Chrissy has a new litter of kittens that she's going to bring out in the hopes that the mewping will get Mehitabel's attention.
Bass Pro, ho!
Kittenus interruptus
Well, so I feel useless.
Sunday I spent a few hours in a quasi-deserted Eviljob parking lot, trying to find the kitten cache (unsuccessfully), netting Mehitabel (I figured I could take her to be spayed and come back and hunt for kittens who would eventually start mewling in hunger), losing Mehitabel (I cursed a lot), trying to make amends with Mehitabel, and still looking for the kittens, and had no luck with any of it.
Yesterday I got to Eviljob early and tried again; no Mehitabel, no kittens…nothing. Then I started talking with someone who works in our cafeteria (this time, Mehitabel had them in the back of our building) who came out on a smoke break, and told me that one of the girls who works in the cafeteria was trying to catch the kittens. I figured she might know where Mehitabel was hiding them (because I am a velociraptor, Mehitabel is reluctant to show me where her babies are), so I went in and found out that she’d caught the babies on Saturday—the five that were left—and took them home. She lives outside of town on a small farm with her parents, loves animals, and has been bottle-feeding them. She plans to keep two, and thinks she won’t have a problem finding homes for the other three.
Yay.
I am happy, but… I am also feeling like…I don’t know. I kinda feel like those were *my* kittens. I have been feeding Mehitabel and keeping her watered. Me. I feel kind of useless. It’s an anti-climax. I wanted to cuddle a squooshable. :-\
And I even fucked up netting Mehitabel on Sunday. I cannot do ANYTHING right.
I got depressed, so I came home and hugged *my* Squooshable for a while.
And, of course, I don’t think it is rational to be upset. I mean, I am *happy* that they are taken care of; the girl really seems to be a competent, cat-loving person, and god knows that I have nowhere to put them, and no time to deal with them. It’s just…I don’t know. The emotional/time/money investment, feeling that no one but me does things right (a//k/a, being a control freak), really wanting to see the babies (which so far I have not, though I got to hear the little things once), and…I don’t know.
But so the good news is that the kittens are taken care of. And Girly took my number and promised that, if she has a problem placing any of the kittens, she will phone me. And if she catches Mehitabel she will phone me to come get her or drop her off at Dr Superhero’s and let me know. And I am going to keep trying.
Sigh.
And I don’t get to see the kittens. Pfft. Not that I asked to, or anything. Probably she would have said yes. I don’t know; I guess I am happy. Oh! And more good news—I saw Mr Cat, the Squooshdaddy!!!! He is alive and still hanging out in the parking lot. :-)
Tonight we played trivia at my old BW3 so that I could have a break from someone who keeps showing up to our games. But the good news is that I had a really good night.
Now I *have* to go to sleep…
.
Sunday I spent a few hours in a quasi-deserted Eviljob parking lot, trying to find the kitten cache (unsuccessfully), netting Mehitabel (I figured I could take her to be spayed and come back and hunt for kittens who would eventually start mewling in hunger), losing Mehitabel (I cursed a lot), trying to make amends with Mehitabel, and still looking for the kittens, and had no luck with any of it.
Yesterday I got to Eviljob early and tried again; no Mehitabel, no kittens…nothing. Then I started talking with someone who works in our cafeteria (this time, Mehitabel had them in the back of our building) who came out on a smoke break, and told me that one of the girls who works in the cafeteria was trying to catch the kittens. I figured she might know where Mehitabel was hiding them (because I am a velociraptor, Mehitabel is reluctant to show me where her babies are), so I went in and found out that she’d caught the babies on Saturday—the five that were left—and took them home. She lives outside of town on a small farm with her parents, loves animals, and has been bottle-feeding them. She plans to keep two, and thinks she won’t have a problem finding homes for the other three.
Yay.
I am happy, but… I am also feeling like…I don’t know. I kinda feel like those were *my* kittens. I have been feeding Mehitabel and keeping her watered. Me. I feel kind of useless. It’s an anti-climax. I wanted to cuddle a squooshable. :-\
And I even fucked up netting Mehitabel on Sunday. I cannot do ANYTHING right.
I got depressed, so I came home and hugged *my* Squooshable for a while.
And, of course, I don’t think it is rational to be upset. I mean, I am *happy* that they are taken care of; the girl really seems to be a competent, cat-loving person, and god knows that I have nowhere to put them, and no time to deal with them. It’s just…I don’t know. The emotional/time/money investment, feeling that no one but me does things right (a//k/a, being a control freak), really wanting to see the babies (which so far I have not, though I got to hear the little things once), and…I don’t know.
But so the good news is that the kittens are taken care of. And Girly took my number and promised that, if she has a problem placing any of the kittens, she will phone me. And if she catches Mehitabel she will phone me to come get her or drop her off at Dr Superhero’s and let me know. And I am going to keep trying.
Sigh.
And I don’t get to see the kittens. Pfft. Not that I asked to, or anything. Probably she would have said yes. I don’t know; I guess I am happy. Oh! And more good news—I saw Mr Cat, the Squooshdaddy!!!! He is alive and still hanging out in the parking lot. :-)
Tonight we played trivia at my old BW3 so that I could have a break from someone who keeps showing up to our games. But the good news is that I had a really good night.
Now I *have* to go to sleep…
.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
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Originally uploaded by Ancodia.
my bw3 now pipes in cbc! Cool! Trivia and hockey...I'm a happy girl!
Talking to Americans
Recent study shows that a majority of young Americans are as dumb as a box of rocks. At least Talking to Americans made it sound kinda funny.
What's on TV tonight?
What's on TV tonight?
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