Hollywood is a factory. You have to realize that you are working in a factory and you're part of the mechanism. If you break down, you'll be replaced.

"After drinking alcohol on Thursday night, I did a number of things that were very wrong and for which I am ashamed. I drove a car when I should not have, and was stopped by the LA County Sheriffs. The arresting officer was just doing his job and I feel fortunate that I was apprehended before I caused injury to any other person. I acted like a person completely out of control when I was arrested, and said things that I do not believe to be true and which are despicable. I am deeply ashamed of everything I said. Also, I take this opportunity to apologize to the deputies involved for my belligerent behavior. They have always been there for me in my community and indeed probably saved me from myself. I disgraced myself and my family with my behavior and for that I am truly sorry. I have battled with the disease of alcoholism for all of my adult life and profoundly regret my horrific relapse. I apologize for any behavior unbecoming of me in my inebriated state and have already taken necessary steps to ensure my return to health."

TRANSLATION:

Wow…if I hadn’t been so fucking drunk, I would have realised that those comments were going to come back to haunt me, and I would have kept my mouth shut about how I really feel.  You know—like I usually do when I am sober.  But, all that aside, I sure am sorry.  Really, really sorry.  No really, Sugar Tits—I’m awful sorry.  Please come see my movies, because I need more money to be able to continue to demonise and slander those Christ-killing Jews.  And I know that they are Christ-killing Jews not as the fruits of any actual research or intellectual pursuits of any kind; I know this the old-fashioned way:  My father told me they were.

Well that, and the fact that I am far too ignorant to be able to do anything but blindly accept what Authority tells me is Truth; in this case, Authority would happen to be my dad, and a 2,000-year old book that was written anonymously about events that had occurred generations before.  

So please support me as I try to appear to be penitent in the upcoming months, so that when I do something REALLY psychotic, no one will see it coming—you know, like founding my own religion because Catholicism just isn’t firm enough on some issues and moving to a small town in South America with a cadre of followers, a bag of strychnine, and a vat of Kool-Aid.  And making all my female followers change their name to ‘Sugar Tits’.  

I have already taken steps to appear to be Deeply Remorseful in that I have enrolled in rehab for my alcohol addiction because I want to act as if it is wrong to be addicted to alcohol.  I would be eternally grateful if you, the American Movie-Going Public would see fit to ignore the fact that I feel my alcohol abuse to be a personality defect in need of more desperate attention than my other personality defects, such as sexist behaviour and Jew-hating, which dad and I view as harmless hobbies.

I solemnly vow from this point forward to not allow any brainwashing that has occurred in my affiliation with my father to outwardly manifest itself in any clearly observable way, as I feel that hatred is truly Christian only when it is hidden from public view.

.

Okay; one more Specimen video...just one.

I just found this, the same video that is on the Wet Warm Clingfilm Red Velvet Crush cd (Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang). Cool, iddnit? Ollie (or Oli, however) is so awesome! :-) I want those boots as well; nice job of trying to pry them off! And the action at the start with the can of pop is just artistic and enthralling.

Okay, not rilly.

But *damnation* do I love The Specimen! Particularly Ollie; I have had a raging crush on him for *ages*. Sigh. He was probably my first real, major, obsessive, I-must-bear-his-children-else-I-shall-die crush. :-)



And I'd like to point out, for the benefit of the melodramatically inclined, that I did not, in fact, bear his children, and I have not, in fact, died. Yet another false alarm; you also shall survive whatever it is. :-)

I *do* wish they would re-release Batastrophe though. I might very well die if they don't.

All right--I'm stopping now.

No, rilly.

.

Tell-Tail Signs and Happy Endings

Wow…so I hear that some part of The Specimen might be re-grouping. Cool.



Awesomeness. And yes, I know that it is tell-tale.

Today I went with around with Meg to have one last fling before she takes off without me; we had fun. I know…thrill-a-minute. :-) We did some shopping on the way over to see Dad, who already knew about Meg’s trip, probably from my brother. On the way back, I made Meg stop at one of my favourite pizza parlours, where they have the most awesome Greek salad ever. Yay.

So today was pretty cool. Since I knew that I wouldn’t get over to Eviljob today, I left a bunch of food and water. I hope that was ok. :-\ I always feel bad if I can’t go there every day, but I know that I just can’t. I still need to do something. Sigh.

Ok; now for the cat videos; I especially like the one where the cat pummels the human squooshable what scared it:





And the very first clip in this one reminds me SO MUCH of Romeo and Squooshable. ‘I’ve had just about enough of your shit, boy…’:



Awright…enough YouTube for tonight…






.

Wenn ist das Nunstück git und Slotermeyer? Ja! ... Beiherhund das Oder die Flipperwaldt gersput!

I forgot! One more thing!

I done solved it!


Clearly this can be easily decoded as:

Zere vere zwei peanuts valking down der Straße, and von vas assaulted. Peanut. Ho, ho, ho.


:-D

I had you going…admit it.

.

Uber-post!

Catching up, from most-to-least recent…

Math Groupie

My hero Grisha was in the news again this morning as I drove to work!  The story is worth a listen; it is laudably easy to follow, especially considering that Meg can put me the hell to sleep once she gets going with this stuff.  Here’s a picture of Grisha, hard at work (and we even have the same patronymic!  How cool!).  I should probably idolise Meg instead out of loyalty, but…well…I don’t.  She’d find satisfaction in that, plus she honest-to-eggrolls put me to sleep when I went with her to one of her lectures.  I snored and everything, then she had the nerve to get angry at me when she was the one who was boring.  So no.  ;-)   Go, Grisha!

----------------------------

Ancodia Has Rabies

Oh, am I pissed off.  Just skip this entry if you don’t want to hear me rant.

Mel Gibson is proof positive that the Jews do not ‘own Hollywood’.  

What a fucking jack-off.  This anti-Semitic fucktard can kiss the Jewish half of my ass (that would be my right butt-cheek, Mel; bring a dental dam for *my* comfort).  I was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt (civilised fool that I am) over his silly little movie, but now…forget it. Fuck you, Gibson; you represent the worst of xtians, and I generally disliked them to begin with.  And Jesus was Jewish, you imbecile; and even assuming he actually was a real person, I doubt he would approve of how you behaved.  What a WONDERFUL example of xtian behaviour you are; surely I want to sign up right away, ‘cos it’s clear that Jesus has certainly brought you so much peace.  Snort.  I don’t even NEED a god to be a THOUSAND times happier than you, you pathetic drunkard.  One look comparatively and any fool can see that Judaism is closer to the religion *of* Jesus than the cockamamie shit you xtians practise, which is a religion *about* Jesus, and is practically all completely thefted from Mithraism anyway, you self-absorbed, illiterate retard.  Go worship your fake sun-god and stay the fuck off my TV, and out of my theatres.  What a waste of a nice ass and pretty eyes.  I wish that Hollywood really were ruled by Jews so that the Zionists of Hollywood could black-ball you, creep.  Hmmph.  So, Mr Mel Gibson with your alcohol, disrespect for authority, and stupidly unquestioning religiosity…is you happy?

And more…

And yet more…

And where the hell is police brutality when you really need it?  This is why I could (and should) never be a cop; he’d say something like this in my presence, and I’d truncheon the fuck out of his empty skull just on principle.  

No, Sergeant—he was comatose when we responded.  Rilly.  Dunno what those taser burns on him are from.  Go figure, eh?  

Oh!  And!  No—I do so very much NOT accept your apology, even if you sobered up tomorrow and delivered it personally and grovelling.  Go fuck yourself.  

Oh—and I may sell any DVDs I have with you in them on eBay, just to screw you out of royalties.  So NYAH.  

OH!  AND!!  I’m going to beg Sarah Strohmeyer to stop writing in her Bubbles series that Steve Stiletto looks like you, ‘cos that is a major turn-off for me at this point.  Barfy.  So DOUBLE NYAH.

Why don’t you turn up to be a sexist, whoring wife-beater as well, and just complete the picture, hmm?

Oh—wait:  Sugar Tits.  You ARE sexist; I had forgotten.  

I hate you, Mel Gibson.  But your blog is pretty funny.  And so’s this.  

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Fab-yew-liss Fridaze

Friday morning I spent trying to get Rhonda Reindeer’s prescriptions cashed, which meant that I had to find my new prescription card that I received back at the beginning of the year and promptly lost.  And Rhonda Reindeer (I found out Wednesday) is Scandinavian (I’d meant to ask what the accent was for like the past few visits and kept forgetting), so she’s really something like Rhonda Reindeer Abbasdottir, or sumpin’ (ABBA is Scandinavian or Swedish or something like that, aren’t they?), but she just uses Rhonda Reindeer in the US.  How cool is that?  Then I went with Meg (under the guise of shopping…liar) to get her oil changed (woo-hoo…some shopping) and pick up school supplies which Meg has to donate (unofficial peer-pressure type of job requirement), and then I was talked into going to see The Devil Wears Prada with some of Meg’s (and sort-of my) friends.  I made a joke about having already grown up hearing the story The Devil Reads Pravda all the time and Amelia (Our Girl from Minnesota’s guileless soil) offered to sit through another movie with me since I already would know how TDWP ends.  

Sigh.  

Well, she’s sweet.  :-)  Really…ummm…gullible.  But sweet.  

The movie was cute—I so totally need Anne Hathaway’s lipstick from that one scene!—and I guess it wasn’t a total waste of money.  I also liked that one brown polka dotted outfit with the blue belt.  Meg hated that one.  This says so much about the two of us.  But Meg’s wrong—that shade of blue was fantastic with that brown.  

After the movie we went to this trendy restaurant with the music and the lights and…and…and the damn children!  Gah!  A horde of twenty-year-olds, all noisy as hell, but it was a pretty cool place and the food didn’t suck.  In short, I am glad I went; I don’t do things like that nearly enough.  

----------

Has anybody got any veras?  Lovely…

Well first off, Lance Bass is gay.  Like actually homosexual, not just a ghey musician.  We all knew he was a ghey musician already.  

What a shocker, one might say.  Until one considers the fact that ‘N Sync was a pretty ghey band, and it’s rare to find a confluence of gheyness and gayness.

Ever since I found the word ghey, I feel so much better about criticising things, because I *like* people who are actually gay.  

Well, except Lance Bass; not even being gay can redeem him in my eyes.

Butsoanyway.

Ever have one of those days where WAY more was fit in, and you feel as if you’ve actually covered four or five days in one?  Where you think back to something that happened in the morning, and you realise that it feels as if it happened four days ago?  

That would be today.  Bwaah.

The day started off normal-ish, and how it went from normal-ish to freak-ridden is a really *long* story, but basically here it is:  

One of the girls I work with at Eviljob—let’s call her Charlotte— used to date a local radio personality; things were actually going pretty well, then he met another girl and proposed to her out of the blue, dumping Charlotte on her tuchas in a quite unexpectedly undignified heap.

Or so saith Charlotte; who in the hell knows what really happened.

Butsoanyway.

Charlotte’s not over it, and it’s actually been quite some time—long enough for Mr Personality to get divorced, even (these things tend to happen with whirlwind romances, I could have told her if I had known her well back then), and move to another station.  And time slot.  

Yet still Charlotte is obsessed, even though Charlotte herself is living with someone else now.  Someone who, if he had an ounce of pride in his body, would want to throttle her if he had any idea that Charlotte spends a goodly chunk of her day writing up stupid memos whilst screaming at the radio that it is a damned idiot.  When the RP is on, that is.  Vacuous yapping and music...who could ask for more?

So we were all listening to Charlotte kvetching at the RP (a doubly-ironic name since his pronunciation—or elocution, without the connective stretching—sucks if you ask me.  But he is, as we shall soon see, a big hit with a different demographic), when RP mentions his My Space site.  

So—of course—Charlotte pulls up his My Space (or as Meg calls it, That Stupid Space World Or Whatever It Is Called, and other funny ones… but I haven’t even addressed that issue, which I will have to soon) site, and forces a few of us to come over and look at RP’s site so that we may appreciate in living colour what an absolute loser RP is.

They *do* make medication for this…I just know they do.  

So we were acting all disgusted at the little girlies that are friending RP and putting up the silly sparkly ‘THANKS FOR THE ADD!’ crap, and the flirty ones, and then I see this one comment, and I think to myself (‘cos the pic is right by the poster’s comment), ‘Goodness, that girl looks a lot like Muffin!’  

Then it hit me—that HAD to be Muffin!  

I butt-bumped Charlotte off her chair and drilled down on the profile of Muffin, complete with a drug-referencing screen name.  It’s a clever enough name (though before I realised it was Muffin, my reaction was ‘oh puh-leez!’, and I’m hard-pressed to think of an equivalent; let’s just say that it was Eezergoode420, mmmkay?  

Oh, I had to try hard to come up with a clever one that wasn’t taken already.  

Butsoanyway.

So I am going through Muffin’s site, and I am just amazed.  I knew she smoked pot, but I didn’t know about all the other stuff…which Muffin has kindly laid out (including her first name, enough pics that one could spot her in a crowd anywhere, her city and state, and from her friends’ comments, I can see where she works, and etc…)

WTF?!?!?!?

I can also see from her friends’ comments that Muffin does a LOT of drugs.  Her idiot ‘friends’ (what ever happened to the Druggie Friend Code where they are cool and you are cool and you all have each others’ back?  Am I really that old, or something?) are posting all kinds of things about how wasted each other was (and on what) on various weekends, where they are meeting, etc...  The only thing I don’t see is flat-out offers to buy/sell, and blatant statements like one from someone like Shiffurbrainz Narkyazz that say, ‘everyone come over to my house at 1488 Dumb As A Box O’ Rocks Way tonight at 8pm!  I have a vast quantity of ecstasy, cocaine, heroin, and marijuana that I have stashed in my garage on the right-hand side in some boxes!  I take checks, major credit cards, and parents’ jewellery!’

Just shoot me.  Could they really be THIS stupid?  

So of course I phoned Harry (Son-Friend, Muffin’s father) as I left to go to my appointment with Rhonda Reindeer Abbasdottir, and I made him pull up Muffin’s site.  After I translated most of it for him (Harry is so out of the loop about things like this that it’s frightening; he kept asking me, ‘are you sure?’ to the point where I had to get him to google some of what I was saying.  No, seriously), he was as upset as I was freaked out, but didn’t know what to do, because Muffin is an adult (legally, if not mentally).  

So he sent an email asking her to meet with him, and so Muffin may join us on Tuesday if she can’t get by this weekend.  Oh, joy.  And I really don’t know what to tell Harry; I just don’t.  The time to figure all this out was when she was still a minor, really.  

So we’ll see how all that goes.  

I have to go play trivia now.  Yeesh.

.

What a difference a day makes...96 little hours...

...or so it feels.

Holy crap! Scads of things have happened in the past day, and I started a post about it, but I ran out of time. And from where I am right now, I can't pull it up to finish it. If I get back early enough from tonight's festivities, hopefully I can finish. Unless something else comes up. But first, this: Boys will be the downfall of America as we know it.

I thought it was interesting because it is really true. Especially the part about the crappy language skills in corporate America. I mean, I tested at an above-college reading level in grade 4, but I do English solely by ear--I really have no idea whether each sentence I am constructing is 'correct' or not; I just write as I would speak. More or less. So when I end up having better language skills than people who are making America's Major Corporate Decisions, well...there's a problem. At one point, I wanted to post some of the more ridiculous emails I've received, but it proved too difficult to cut out identifying aspects whilst still retaining the humour. Plus, I know that is a morally iffy thing to do, to post private communications for public perusal, no matter how damned funny they are. So I would have to essentially re-create the email, and for a lot of them, that's just too much like actual work. :-)

But it's bad--trust me. And right now I cannot spell check or really even proofread, so wouldn't it be all ironical and stuff if I were to make some really hideous gaffs just as I'm kvetching about others' skills? :-)

Butsoanyway.

I will get my previously-started post up just as soon as I can, but everything and everyone is fine. It's just mostly random silliness, which really is a large percentage of my life. After I get finished with the crap I am currently doing, I am taking the rest of the day off and driving out of town to meet Nurse Betty at the mall. Yay. We haven't been able to keep to more frequent meetings for probably about the past year, 'cos Betty's oldest daughter's schedule has been crazy, and Betty traded out her mega-stress full time position at her hospital for a lower-stress position in erm...palliative care. She only does the hospital stuff part-time now, and it may sound odd to think that palliative care would be less stressful, but it really is. For Betty, at least. If nothing else, she gets subpoenaed a lot less (okay, that was a joke--it only happened once in the past few years, but it was this huge brouhaha and Betty was about to go batshit. No, not over anything Betty did--over something that happened external to her or anything she affected).

Butsoanyway.

Just a little bit longer. Yay.

.

Murjani is so too waiting for me. Somewhere, you bastards.

I have gotten a few emails thanking me for posting the lyrics to Positively Lost Me, including a really cute one that promised undying fealty.  Having just let Potential Fealty Candidate #1 go (PFC was upset, but for reasons I haven’t felt like getting into yet it was the best decision), I’m not really in the market for more fealty; if someone really wants to thank me, point me in the direction of 20/20’s reissued cd,  20/20/Look Out—the one I tried to order from Amazon was out of stock, and it only took them two months to advise me of this, after emailing me numerous times to assure me that the cd was, in fact, en route.  Assholes.  Now the other sellers want a minimum of $150 (well, $149.99, $375.21 CDN$), and I think they are delusional weenies.  I managed to get Haysi Fantayzee’s Battle Hymns For Children Singing for less than that, and I also picked up The Batcave compliation, Young Limbs, Numb Hymns (in cd format, tyvm) for less than that (that was the auction a while back that I just *had* to win).  I will be damned if I am going to pay that much for 20/20/Look Out.  No way.

Especially since Cleve’s sort of cut me off from my money (well, in spirit; he can’t do it in actuality; I am agreeing ‘cos I know he’s right).  Everybody is a bastard, I tell you.

So the point is that I am in *desperate* need of 20/20’s 20/20/Look Out.  Just point me there.  

Butsoanyway.

I haven’t had time to try to find traps of my own, and I know that I suck, but I have had to get some things out with relatively little warning.  I *STILL* have not heard from the damned apartment complex; I don’t know what to do with that one.  There’s no way in hell that I can go trapping scads of felines by myself—I don’t have the time to man the traps, and I am extremely limited in where I could hold them if they needed recovery time—Chrissy has her own world going on, and Bonnie is having family issues (I gather; it’s not my place to come out and ask if she hasn’t volunteered).  Originally I had thought that with a week-ish of rotating trap duty, I and one other person could probably at least make a big dent, but the fact is that there is no one else, I guess.  In a way, this is good—I cannot handle more than one trap myself, which cuts down on how many I need to come up with, and I cannot set one every day; I could only do it when I would be able to check and collect within 24 hours.  These two points combined means that this is something that I would be doing for some time.  So I have to figure out how I can fit this in.  Bwaah.

Just shoot me.

I went to trivia tonight, and find that Harry’s had a bunch of seizures yesterday, but ‘didn’t want to bother me’, ‘cos he ‘knows how busy I am’.  Christ.  He seems to be of the opinion that his neurologist told him that this is as controlled as his seizures were going to get (he’s currently being maintained on Keppra alone), and so I guess I have to take that cause back up.  Sigh.  He switched neurologists a year or so ago—the previous one had him WAY too tranqued to function and also gave him a VNS implant that doesn’t do squat—and I like this new neurologist better, but…I don’t know if Harry’s misunderstanding (highly likely) or what.  Sigh.  

And I had to make an appointment with my Dermatologista, Rhonda Reindeer (no, I’m not really exaggerating all that much on the name), because all this stress is making me break out something god-awful.  Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, right?  To his credit (unfortunately not enough credit, but…), PFC said that I was beautiful right at the apex of my pinkle production.  What a nice guy, hmm?  

Ahhh…don’t fret; he’ll find someone just peachy for him.  I just realised that it wasn’t me, and I did so (thankfully) before I did anything stupidly permanent, like going to the upcoming department tea-like thing together.  Once one makes a step like that, it’s irrevocable.  So that’s all okay.  As am I.  

And I am simply desperate for autumn to get its ass here.  Even though that means that I will be back snowed under so deep in work that I may never get out, I don’t care.

And, lastly (because I have a conference-thingy to be at tomorrow morning, bright and early), the more I think about it, the less thrilled I am about Meg leaving.  :-\  She’ll be gone for over a month, and driving around (most notably Vegas-to-LA), and not only am I jealous (she’ll be driving by Area 51, I think), but I am also hoping that she’ll be ok—as in safe.  She’s not an idiot, but…I just like to worry.  Before she leaves I want to get a newer cell phone for her as a present, so I had better hurry my ass up on that one.  Sigh again.  

Okay; that’s all my whining; I’ll leave with today’s gem from Ancodia’s Inbox, an Ole joke I’d not yet heard.  And no, I’m not going to fix the colloquialisms…’night.  

Ole vas vorking at the fish plant up nort in Dulut vhen he accidentally cut off all ten of his finkers.

He vent to da emergency room in the Clinik and vhen he got dar da Norsky doctor looked at Ole and said, "Let's have da finkers and I'll see vhat I can do."

Ole said, "I haven't got da finkers."

"Vhat do you  mean, you hafen't got da finkers?!?" he said.  "Lord--it's 2006 and Ive's got microsurgery and all kindsa incredible techniques here!  I could hafe put dem back on and made you like new!  Vhy didn't you brink da finkers?"

Ole says........"How da fock vas I suppose to pick dem up?


.

For all the Frauleins keeping score at home…

I forgot in the hullabaloo that was this past weekend to mention that there is—as of Friday—a fifth phone numbers station.  Same everything as before:  posted on Craigslist, to Mein Fraulein, with a phone number, blah, blah, woof, woof.

I should *so* be working right now and not distracting myself like this, but…I cannot help it!  BWAAH!  I am dying of curiosity—You People (you know who you are) cannot do this to me!  Wieners.  Dorko spy wanna-be, Ancodia-distracting wieners.  

Butsoanyway.

I really *do* have to try to get this thingy I am working on finished.  After that, perhaps I can devote some time.  Grr.  

.

Ancodia's Inbox

Today's mail brings us:


CATS AND COOKIE MAKING

Baking Cookies (with your cat)

1. Look in cookbook for cookie recipe.
2. Get cup of coffee.
3. Get cat off of cookbook.
4. Find that special recipe.
5. Get cat's nose out of coffee mug.
6. Go to fridge and get eggs.
7. Get dry ingredients from cupboard.
8. Break eggs in small bowl.
9. Sift dry ingredients in large bowl.
10. Answer the phone.
11. Cat ate eggs; get more from fridge.
12. Get cat out of flour bowl and dust cat off.
13. Get Band-Aids for scratches on hands.
14. Throw flour out and get more.
15. Preheat oven for cookies.
16. Looking at cat & wanting to bake cat now. Cat runs for cover into bathroom.
17. Flour the counter to roll out cookie dough.
18. Big crash in bathroom; run to see what happened.
19. Cat has TP all over floor; stuff spilled and knocked over on top of bathroom counter.
20. Yell at cat. Cat falls in toilet bowl.
21. Can sense cat is angry.
22. Take cat out of toilet to dry cat off.
23. Get bandages to cover more scratches on arms and legs.
24. Clean up bathroom.
25. Hear a thump in kitchen ... Oh Golly ... now what?
26. Get cat off floured counter in kitchen.
27. Try to pick out cat hairs from flour.
28. Step on cat's tail and get bitten.
29. Get coat, car keys, and go to store to buy cookies!!!

And then...


If you yelled for 8 years, 7 months and 6 days you would have produced enough sound energy to heat one cup of coffee (Hardly seems worth it).

If you farted consistently for 6 years and 9 months, enough gas is produced to create the energy of an atomic bomb (Now that's more like it!).

The human heart creates enough pressure when it pumps out to the body to squirt blood 30 feet (OMG!).

A pig's orgasm lasts 30 minutes (In my next life, I want to be a pig.).

A cockroach will live nine days without its head before it starves to death. (Creepy. I'm still not over the pig.).

Banging your head against a wall uses 150 calories a hour (Don't try this at home, maybe at work).

The male praying mantis cannot copulate while its head is attached to its body. The female initiates sex by ripping the male's head off (Honey, I'm home. What the...?!).

The flea can jump 350 times its body length. It's like a human jumping the length of a football field (30 minutes...lucky pig! Can you imagine?).

The catfish has over 27,000 taste buds (What could be so tasty on the bottom of a pond?).

Some lions mate over 50 times a day (I still want to be a pig in my next life...quality over quantity).

Butterflies taste with their feet (Something I always wanted to know).

The strongest muscle in the body is the tongue (Hmmmmmm...)

Right-handed people live, on average, nine years longer than left-handed people (If you're ambidextrous, do you split the difference?).

Elephants are the only animals that cannot jump (Okay, so that would be a good thing).

A cat's urine glows under a black light (I wonder who was paid to figure that out?).

An ostrich's eye is bigger than its brain (I know some people like that).

Starfish have no brains (I know some people like that, too).

Polar bears are left-handed (If they switch, they'll live a lot longer; let's quit funding cat pee studies and use those funds to promote right-handedness in bears).

Humans and dolphins are the only species that have sex for pleasure (What about that pig??)

Now that you've smiled at least once, it's your turn to spread these crazy facts and send this to someone you want to bring a smile to, maybe even a chuckle.

In other words, send it to everyone ! And God love that pig!

-----------

Okay, I usually don't forward things, but...those *were* funny. :-)

.

all good things...

Well, since Blogger for whatever reason decided to not post what I’d written on Saturday morning, here goes:

The Squooshable Factory What Hates Me

Today i rounded the corner at Eviljob and came thisclose to Mehitabel,who was just as surprised as i was. She crouched down, glared, andhissed at me. I wanted to try to pet her, or be friendly, orsomething, but she was clearly terrified at being so close to the velociraptor, so i walked on.  She looked quite healthy, though.

Okay, so now on to the present.

Saturday, I left Eviljob at the regular time, but ended up talking in the parking lot for almost four hours with a few different people, but primarily one person.  In addition to being a really cool, intense, and cathartic conversation, it was fun.  Both of us kept thinking that we weren’t going to be much longer, else we’d have gone somewhere for a cup of coffee or something.  So we watched the sun set, and I got to see my Furry Feral Family go eat for once.  I still haven’t heard back from the apartment complex, and the last time I went by, I was assured that they would phone me.  

Okay, fine.  There is only so much that I can do.  

But it was really nice to just do nothing and forget about the time, to relax and completely focus on someone else…to just enjoy the sunset.  Even if it was at Eviljob, which sounds kind of weird and freaky, unless you remember that Eviljob is off in this corporate park sort of area that has lakes, forest, landscaping, and so on.  Considering all that, it can be very pretty.  Well…in its own way.  

So we stayed out in the back lot and talked for decades, which actually isn’t an everyday occurrence for me.  Here I was saving up all my talking for my shopping adventure with Betty coming up next Thursday, or yapping on about nothing here.  The last time I got to spend time with another person not accomplishing anything was…well…what year is this again?  And it was also nice to see all the cats I am supporting.  :-)  Mehitabel came out, and I saw several of the boys, so I know that they are all okay.  The boys usually stay pretty hidden, as does Mehitabel anymore.  :-)  And I did get told that I am not a ‘crazy cat lady’ type, which is good, I guess.  I think that was supposed to have been a compliment.  

Butsoanyway.

Today—Sunday—wasn’t too awful, either; I met Harry & girlfriend (I’ll get around to naming her, I swear) for lunch, and then went to the outlet mall with Meg for a couple specific things, but mainly to just wander around.  She changed her trip (again) and is leaving next week to go back to Vegas, and then on to the stuff at the Bike in LA; for the past two week, I had thought that she was going to leave last Thursday, but she says that she changed it and told me right after she came back last time.  Who knows?  I wish that I could go, but I cannot.  Oh, well.  

Last week I did manage to get something pretty major accomplished at Job II, and I even had some help…go figure.  I did get a little bit annoyed that one reference, which was a You All Must Read This-type of reference, was one that I ended up assimilating and etc., because apparently no one else could have been bothered to actually read it, but I am not going to bitch and whine about that; in the grand scheme of things, it’s very minor—what counts is that what we accomplished did in fact get accomplished.  And autumn is coming up.  And the holiday season.  And I could buy a spiffy five-year pocket calendar and not be finished using it by the time I am done here and leave.  I have to keep remembering these things.  

Maybe I *will* buy a spiffy five-year pocket calendar.  

.

Meet Furble!

I probably should have named you Pixelble, but I love you, Furble! I will put you on my page-y thing just as soon as I get around to it. In the meantime, be a good kitty and hang out in this post, will you?

If you want to pet Furble, click on him and he will purr! If you want to feed Furble or play with him, just click on More in the lower right-hand corner. To feed him, you have to click the can open, though.

Furble has been moved!

Arrrgghhh...Blogger be broken!

I thought I hadn't posted something 'cos I sent it by phone, but no...I did it correctly, and Blogger's just being persnickety. 

Phoo.

Just so you know…

The typos *are* funny, but if the problem is that large (and we all know that it is), why don’t we just take my father’s suggestion (I have to give credit where it’s due) and make all antibiotics controlled substances—requiring a DEA # and so on?  I mean, we *are* killing the population…if we haven’t already.  It’s a death sentence, and once a Superbug comes along, there’ll be absolutely nothing that can be done about it.  As it stands, we’re giving people allergies and asthmas and such; there is no need for so many to be so sick all the time, save the cause of antibiotic abuse.  Well, and those melodramatic types who enjoy being sick all the damn time, but they need to be slapped.  

More on Antibiotic Abuse, with humorous typos.

LONDON (Reuters) - Children suffering from a common cold and persistent runny noise should not be treated initially with antibiotics, researchers said on Friday.


I guess the moral of this story is that there *is* such a thing as too sterile.  If you have a pet, kiss it today for good luck.  :-)  I do.  And I rarely have persistent runny noises.  :-D

In Other News, my migraine is gone, but has been replaced by Talizman’s Only You (Balearic Mix).  Criminy.  

But seriously, I *love* that song.  Good Times.  :-)  Problem is, I need to hear it to get it out of my head, I think.  Too much music to hunt through to find it, though.  Assuming I even still have it, that is.  

Lift me up, and fly me away, I ain’t gonna feel no pain today…
I want to get back where I started, popped a pill, and I’m boom-boom hearted…
I want your love, and I want it right now….because in my world, there’s only you…

.

Yay

Argh.  Not a bad day, other than having a migraine all day.  It’s somewhat better now.  Yay.  

.  

And The Hits Keep Coming…

To defuse my abiding feelings of paranoia, I have been trying to be more diligent about checking my hits, and I have noticed some disturbing searches—disturbing as in I could maybe help, I mean, like with the ruined Clavamox searches. The Call to Public Service kind of disturbing. I’ve also noticed some funny ones, like the one some time back that I probably should have been offended by, probably—ones like the someone who searched for ‘she’s just plain vanilla’, or something like that.

Yeah, you just keep on believing that. :-D Screw you, Google.

Butsoanyway, in the spirit of serving the public in any way I can:

For some reason I keep seeing hits for lyrics to The Rave-Ups song Positively Lost Me. That’s my life all summed up, whether I like it or not, I guess—vanilla sex, spoilt Clavamox, and old alternative music. Right? Right! ;-) I looked to see why people are wandering here, and it’s because the lyrics aren’t on the web. Well, they kind-of are, but the ones I found were wrong, and don’t you just know that I don’t want you wandering around singing the wrong lyrics, sounding like a dingbat? Aren’t we lucky that Ancodia happens to know them, hmm? Someday I will have to tell all about one of my sorta-friends—Jacquie—who would get EVERY song’s lyrics terribly, horribly, confuzzledly wrong. Hideously wrong; it was painful.

Jacquie Challenge! Name the original song that spawned this Jacquieism: But to these wigwam eyes it wasn’t no surprise/we got the hole-eye world in our heads.

No, I am not kidding, or even exaggerating a little—that one made us turn around and drop her back off at home on the way to the mall once. Then we stopped to get sodas, and some of us felt bad and went back to pick her back up. Although, admittedly, we only think she said ‘wigwam’, and she refused to repeat it for us. But that Jacquieism remained in our lexicon of in-jokes (and any one who would Google that would (1) already know me from other things I’ve written anyway, and (2) be on my side) for quite some time. That, and I don’t think Jacquie would spell any of it correctly.

But I digress.

Anyway, my point is don’t be That Girl. Rilly. Now back to Positively Lost Me. Until the end of time, this song will remind me of Mitch, who, along with Jacquie, is probably a story for another day—only Mitch was cool and Jacquie was, well…not. Only he was cool, but didn’t try and didn’t think he was, and Jacquie, well…did and did.

Butsoanyway.

Here are the lyrics:

Positively Lost Me by The Rave-Ups

You lost a lot when you lost me

You lost a lot when you lost me
Six paperback books and a dying tree

You lost a lot when you lost me
Six paperback books and a dying tree
A looking-glass and a diamond ring

You lost a lot when you lost me
Six paperback books and a dying tree
A looking-glass and a diamond ring
You lost me and you lost some dreams

Oh, you lost your cool, you lost your keys
And then you lost a sense of honesty

Two blankets and a bookshelf piece

Two blankets and a bookshelf piece
A picture frame and a couple keys

Two blankets and a bookshelf piece
A picture frame and a couple keys
To a couple doors that I won't see

Two blankets and a bookshelf piece
A picture frame and a couple keys
To a couple doors that I won't see
You lost a lot when you lost me

You lost my face, you lost my laugh
And then you lost my confidence

And after work when there is no moon
And the boys come, come at the studio

Well, you win some smiles and you answer phones
And you count romances on eleven toes

Well, this little piggy went home

You lost a lot when you lost me!

You lost a lot when you lost me

You lost a lot when you lost me
Six paperback books and a dying tree

You lost a lot when you lost me
Six paperback books and a dying tree
A looking-glass and a diamond ring

You lost a lot when you lost me
Six paperback books and a dying tree
A looking-glass and a diamond ring
You lost a lot when you lost me

Oh, you lost my face, you lost my laugh
And then you lost my confidence

She loves me, she loves me not

Show this piggy the way home…

=============

So…I am over that which upset me, and I will maybe whine about it later. It’s nothing bad, just…stupid interpersonal crap, or whatever. I am fine, and …happy, really. So there. NYAH.

Back to hits:

Halvah AND Minnesota.

AND Minnesota. AND. That AND is IMPORTANT, chirrin. Sums up my life right there, too. :-) And I would trade vanilla sex and bad Clavamox for some halvah. AND Minnesota. Will work for halvah AND Minnesota—totally. You have no idea how hard! Well, some *good* halvah. I’m keeping the old alternative music, though. ;-)

How long does Clavamox stay good when refrigerated?

DON’T reuse bad Clavamox. Jesus, god, christ-on-a-cracker, how many times to I have to say it? If it is not white, throw it out. If it’s past the date of last dosage (the vet’s instructions on the label) throw it out. Please read my diatribe: Clavamox.

dog is limping on front leg and has swollen lymph node under jaw

TAKE IT TO THE VET!!! WHAT IN THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?????? May you someday lie helpless as someone decides what to do with your infirm ass by typing your symptoms into Google. I can see it now--"Mom screaming pain seizures drooling one pupil larger than the other". Bwaah! GO TO THE VET!!!!

sexist divas qvc and hsn

Okay, so they kind of are—I have to admit that. They portray women as being teensy-brained fluffernutters who are only interested in jewellery, home furnishings, and playing the cutesy dip to their male co-hosts. You are correct, they represent femininity at its *worst*. But yet I watch and buy. Go figure.

how much time will someone receive with 3 ounces of cocaine

Good lord. You *are* joking, right?

usage of hydrogen peroxide for pedicure

eew. Why would one want to do that? I would think that it would dry out the feet, and be all icky.

beautiful loser vettriano

Vettriano is not *ever*! He is a GOD! Take that back! And if you even mention the Illustrator’s Figure Reference Manual, I will kick your ASS—and not in the happy, fun way, either!

:-)

Butsoanyway.

Aren’t I glad I did that? Eh. Me either.







.

O crappy day... c'mon, sing with me! O crappy day...

Fed cat. Did not SEE cat, but fed cat. Beginning to think cat may be
able to become invisible at will. Walked through the back way to the
apartments, and was told that the property management still had not
decided over my letter. Need to quit sneaking back there during work
hours before Eviljob figures out that some days, they pay me for a
whole lot of fucking off. Well, by Eviljob's standards. Came back to
Eviljob to discover that, yes, life CAN actually get worse. No, it's
nothing bad to anyone but me. And i have no one to whine to, so of
COURSE i will whine here. Just later, when i'm not having to tap it
all out on this dumb phone. Sigh.

Take the Fricking Hint!

I have a new outbound message on my no-answer voicemail recording.

Ancodia’s New Voicemail Message

And here’s my new busy answer greeting: Confuse-A-Caller

It is my hypothesis that these recordings will enable me to effectively pre-screen my callers for a modicum of intelligence. And a sense of humour. Am I misanthropic? Well, mebbe. :-D

And, if anyone doesn’t think it is funny, well, I’m Sorry.

All thefted from Here. Shamelessly. But it’s funny, and like I’m going to sit up all night making some myself. Oh, no.


.

I see'd it!

I went to leave food for the cats at Eviljob, and i FINALLY saw
Mehitabel. She was in a decorative shrub, and froze when i looked her
way--i mean completely still, like a statue--it was cool! And she
looks fine. I also saw a new cream-coloured cat who just looked
hungry. So i fed them both. If this week goes ok, i may end up buying
my own traps. I am too dependent on the people i am asking help of, i
think. Ok... I have to go do that Sunday Dinner Thing.

Ok...one more.

Behold the Power of Squooshable.

It's a pretty funny name, really. :-)

.

America's Most Trusted Squooshable.

I'm playing with the Slogan Generator Ms Grammarian found some time ago. Here's another good slogan:

Feel The Squooshable.

And another:

When The Going Gets Tough, The Tough Get Squooshable.

And he is, indeed,

The Squooshable of a New Generation.

And lastly, it'd be cute, but murder:

An Army of Squooshable.


.

FBI on his tail; use a gun, go to jail...but Skippy can't read...

My poor Squooshable is worn out, and I think he is achy from battling the techs; he’s been extremely sedate since we came home, and mostly slept. I played with him a little and he played back, but not really enthusiastically. I think his legs are sore from all the kicking and struggling (I’m not kidding when I say he put up one hell of a fight—they were only able to do three of his four paws before deciding they were traumatising him, where I had told them to quit if that were to happen), though he is walking normally and everything—I think he’s only worn out and maybe achy. He is drinking, eating, and purring though. I have promised him that we won’t clip claws anymore. I think he remembers Pollyanna Peticide hurting him, and that’s what had him so freaked; she really over-trimmed and had to use a styptic pencil to stop the bleeding, damn her, and I’m sure it hurt, or at least felt really icky.

In Other News, I am more or less done. Yay. But that sucks in a way, because in finishing, I have reneged on my Solemn Vow to not do someone else’s work for them, and here I’ve gone and done it. One of my group members—let’s call him Skip; I have meant to get around to naming RCG, so we’re now calling him Skip; pencil it in on your programs—is, I believe, illiterate.

Okay, okay; I am being facetious. Somewhat. But the boy doesn’t read. Anything. Ever. I wouldn’t even state for certain that he reads, say, stop signs; he might just be recognising the shape and colour. And the longer something is, the less likely he is to have read it; the p of having been read as x approaches two sentences is zero, mmmkay? :-D So in completing what I have, I have done all of his reading and part of his writing for him. Grr. Do I care anymore? No.

Sigh. More later.

o/~ Summer is over, and he's gone to seed...you know that Skippy can't read...



.

Very interesting!

I have to get back to work, but I just saw this, and *have* to read the rest later!

Cats and Cat Care- A Retrospective: The Early 1900s - Feeding, Health, and General Care

Someone really took a lot of time to put this all together, and it looks to be very well-done. The main page looks to be here: Cat Archive with tons of interestingly-titled links...

Okay--this is on my To Read Later list for sure.

This was a funny morning.

Probably the funniest fail I’ve seen in a while:

> 214.92.839.32 does not like recipient.

:-)  So I forwarded it in an email to them, letting them know 214.92.839.32 thinks they are a wiener.  

I hate being put in the middle of fights between people…or one people and a mailer daemon.  Whatever.  

Still working on the cat(s) problem.  Romeo and Squoosh went to the vet today; Dr Vet decided to hold off on Romeo’s vaccines and instead keep him on cortisone and Theo-Dur.  Squoosh was there to have his claws trimmed (if I were you, I wouldn’t trust *me* to do it).  The last time Squoosh’s claws were trimmed, it was done by Pollyanna Peticide (the one who tried to talk me into snuffing Puff-Puff, even though I had already—mostly—decided to let Puff go), and she cut two of Squoosh’s claws back too far; they bled and hurt him, and so today Squooshable decided he wasn’t going to have any of it; they managed to get three of his four paws done before he went batshit on them.  :-)  This kind of pisses me off, ‘cos before Pollyanna, Squoosh would just hold his paw up and let you do whatever.  He never freaks on me, and I touch his paws and fingers all the time when I pet him (I was told a long time ago that you are supposed to, but I forget why), so I guess now he only trusts me to touch his paws and fingers.  I had told them (they had to take him in back to hold him down) that if it got too traumatic for Squooshable, to just give up, so they did when he went batshit.  He’s fine now—he was fine three minutes later, once he realised they had stopped.  Then, as I was checking out, a friendly dog surprised Squoosh in his carrier; I didn’t see the dog come up to my carriers either, but all of a sudden I heard the LOUDEST spit I have ever heard a cat give in my life, and I looked down and the dog owner was pulling the dog away from the cage—and I could see Squooshfur sticking out of BOTH SIDES of the carrier!  

Now how’d he manage that?

Romeo just sat in his carrier and growled; he was already pretty pissed off, and to him the dog was just one more indignity atop everything else that had just been done to him (he had fluids, cortisone, and more blood work; his Creatinine is at 2.9, which Dr Vet said is basically stable from last time—so that’s overall pretty good; stable is good).

But back to Squoosh:  To see what in the hell was going on in that carrier, I picked it up.  Squooshable had puffed up to look GINORMOUS!  He really looked HUGE!  And his big owl eyes were bigger then ever!  It was so cute!  I could practically hear him saying, ‘I am the biggest, baddest, most vicious cat in the universe, so don’t fuck with me, dog!  You’re gonna NEED a vet when I’m done with you!  Come back over here and I’m gonna fuck you up, motherfucker!  They’ll be giving me x-rays to find out where the missing pieces of DOG are, asshole!’

Now *I* know he was scared shitless, but he was trying *so* hard to look tough that I just had to laugh.  Two of the front counter girls had come around when they heard him spit (this really was a spitting that sounded like he had exploded, or something!), and when they saw him, they burst out laughing, too!  It was just so funny to see this ordinarily tame, friendly, and playful Squooshable blown up to three times his real size and trying to look like a bad ass!  So I picked Rome & Squoosh off the floor; the dog owner was apologising all over herself, but I wasn’t angry—I should have been watching my cats better, no one was hurt, and her dog was just being a friendly dog.  

:-)  Silly cat.

Now I have to get one more thing done, and then I am free!  

Well, temporarily, at least.

.

I feel...avoided.

Early this morning, i carefully arranged a pile of food. Mehitabel is
the only early-morning cat i've ever seen there--the others are male,
and prowl at night. I just checked, and the pile has quite definitely
been eaten. I put out more, but see Mehitabel nowhere. Grr. I also
snuck into the apartment complex, and no sign of Scruffles. Sigh. I
did talk with Bonnie last night, and she said that she will see what
she can do and phone back tonight. She just arrived back in town a
week or so ago after a death in the family, so now i feel
super-guilty. ARGH.

Sigh.

Stopped by Eviljob, and--again--no Mehitabel. Could she really be that
good at hiding from me, or has she left? Crap, crap, crap.

The Fruit of Selective (In)attention

I couldn’t sleep. Just as I was about to, something leapt into my head:

Christofferson, F., King, W., and Salla. J. (in prototype) Multi-person social problem-solving arrays considered as a form of "artificial intelligence."

I’m *NOT* saying that I have solved anything. It’s just a thought I had—that perhaps no one of any importance had solved it either, and decided to pass it on. I wonder what kind of paperwork one would have to wade through in order to get that one ok'd? I'm familiar enough with certain kinds of bureaucracy, and I shudder at the thought. :-) Asking for help: The Last Refuge of the Truly Fucking Desperate, hmm?

Oh, I crack me up. Truly.

::shrug::

Back to bed for two hours. :-)

.

Je suis un espion mauvais

Does anyone remember that commercial—where the tourist is in France and can’t speak French? He is in a police station, trying to look everything up in his French-to-English dictionary, and tells the policeman ‘Je suis un espion’? It was hilarious. Not that I remember what it was advertising, or anything. It’s really not a leap; it’ll make sense in a few minutes…

Butsoanyway.

I am having to fight to get some things done for a meeting tomorrow; it’s not hard, but it *is* tedious. Very tedious—rather like counting grains of sand, which is oddly appropriate, seeing as how right about now I am feeling like the mama of all vampires; I haven’t had a decent night’s sleep in…christ—a week? Longer?

All of my pets are just fine, though Squooshable is feeling a little subdued (he’s actually coming up from feeling subdued in the past few hours), ‘cos the day before yesterday he spewed everywhere, and I realised he’d been eating hair (mine) again. I guess I’d become negligent about how well I cleaned my drains. So he barfed it all up, but I gave him Laxastat for two days in a row just to make sure it all came out one end of Squooshable or the other. :-) So he was pooping a lot though by this point, as often as he gets it, Mr Squoosh probably thinks Laxastat is one of the five main food groups. Along with Squooshchow, hair, Kitty Kissers, and rubber toys, of course. Silly cat.

I explained this in a comment, but comments don’t count, so: I stuck a tirade about Clavamox (and if anyone reading it knows better, PLEASE correct me—let me know somehow, and I will fix whatever I have wrong) down there because I hadn’t checked my hits in months (I originally started tracking them to see if anyone from Eviljob had wandered onto my blog, either by keywords or IP), and when I checked I saw that I had a large amount of hits regarding Clavamox turning bad because it was left out. And just like I cannot sleep thinking about Little Scruffly One being out there right now (but the gated complex is currently locked), I can also not sleep thinking about someone surfing the Internet and deciding to give their cat bad Clavamox ‘cos they’re confused about what they are reading (and I have to believe that if they are wandering here, it’s because they aren’t finding an answer elsewhere). And I do know that I sound bossy, but that’s how I sound when I am not joking; I have to do it intentionally. It’s one of the (many) drawbacks to having a ‘sweet’ voice (no, I am not trying to sound conceited, just aware of my limitations; I can do ‘diplomatic’ just fine—doing ‘serious’ or ‘urgent’ requires barking out orders and sounding like a bitch) and therefore having no one realise when I am being deadly serious and not offering any options for behaviour. :-) DO NOT GIVE YOUR CAT BAD CLAVAMOX! DID I STUTTER? {giggle}

And I admit that I have my own blonde moments, like last year—I was (I think) too embarrassed at the time to blog about this one—when I mis-read the expiration date on Squoosh’s Clavamox (it looked just fine, I am simply insane and unreasonable at times; I am overly-cautious, and that has its good and bad points, I guess. This was a bad point). The box had the expiry date of something like 04/06, which I (mis-) read as DD/MM, or 4 June of—of course—2005. ‘SHIT!’ I thought, ‘this stuff is expired!’ And so I phoned Dr Vet and told them that they had given me an expired box of Clavamox, and I was on my way to pick up a new one. Dr Vet is VERY fastidious and particular about that (which should have been a clue, but no…I am the living definition of a version of penny-wise and pound-foolish at times), and he got on the phone himself and asked me to please bring the box, ‘cos he was going to find out who let that slip. Oblivious to my own stupidity, I hustled over there and was given a new box they’d just mixed at no charge. Dr Vet came out to get the ‘expired’ box, and I looked at the new one at the same time; it had the same date—04/06 (or whatever). Still in the throes of retardation, I told them that this box was expired as well; Dr Vet looked at it and as he opened his mouth to explain (as one would to a really, really, REALLY stupid person) how to read an expiration date, it suddenly hit me: That’s MM/YY, not DD/MM. God, I am so stupid.

Of course I paid them for the new box. And at least Dr Vet had a good laugh over me (yet again).

Butsoanyway.

I found a website that has a gicunda list of Hawaiian names: Gicunda Hawaiian Name List

Okay, so I am not creative.

Now—back to Squoosh for a second: he is so cute! Whenever I put the Laxastat on him, I hold him like a baby, and put it on his paw (he won’t eat it voluntarily); he just holds his paw still while I do this with one hand, so accepting, with this look of, ‘oh, no…not again.’ But he doesn’t pull away, squirm, or give me any crap about it. I love that little baby! And I found out today that Squooshable can count! No, I am not kidding. He can count to four, and I know this because I give him vitamins (from Dr Vet’s—PetTabs, or something), only they are too big for his little Squooshmouth, so I break them up into fourths. Well, I wasn’t paying attention when I set the quarters down on the counter, and one rolled off—neither Squoosh nor I saw it drop (I know he didn’t, because he would have just jumped down and eaten it if he’d seen it), and after he ate the three quarters, he looked up at me, expectantly. And I had *no* idea what he wanted, so I gave him a Liver Kitty Kisser and told him he was a good cat. He ate that, and went back to looking at me expectantly. I knew he had food, so I gave up, turned around, and stepped (barefooted) on his last vitamin quarter. I didn’t smoosh it, so I picked it up and gave it to him—once he’d eaten it, he quit looking at me like, ‘Hey! You forgot!’, jumped off the counter, and ran off to play.

Now I’m an empiricist, so I might try this again, but this event was totally hypothesis-worthy. I think my Squooshable might be able to count to four.

‘One…two…three…wait a damn minute! Hey! You’re gypping me on food here!’

:-)

And—just as a side quickie, ‘cos I got all sidetracked looking up something in a one-thing-leads-to-another way and was reminded of this: Curiouser and curiouser!

Viral marketing is a good guess, but that’s a huge way to go for just any old viral marketing. Another Beast is of course what I’m hoping. Heh—as if I had time for a Beast anymore. And that’s just my personal daydreaming, anyway. Blinkenlights sounds most believable, however. Relatively boring (in comparison to the more exciting possibilities), but believable. And of course Blinkenlights would deny it; should they admit it, any planning they’ve put into it is then worthless, ‘cos they’ve lost everyone’s attention because the ‘mystery’ has been solved…uhhh, duh. Let’s, though, be realists about this; it’s cool to think about and play with, but probably isn’t anything.

Though it *is* very exciting. Well, in a wholly fantasy-driven way. :-D And there is a fourth one. But in the spirit of adventure, who knows—it could be some idiot trying to play Fidrmuc. If that is the case, that’s not too very bright, but it could be. And in that case, see? It’s *good* I have no free time, else I’d be offering to be Ostro 4.

Ummm…dog’s barking, can’t fly without umbrella? Don’t worry; I’ll get the hang of it soon. I *am* the inventor of ROT26, after all. :-D

Oh, shaddap; I believe in being up-front and honest, even in war. Plus, it’s marvellously easy to remember; I can reduce training time to mere minutes with my cipher!

‘Lookit; I’ll phone you, and tell you—ok? Or I might send it by mail—got it?’

See? Simplicity itself.

I am *so* easily amused…just rent an anonymous phone line, hook up an answering machine, play numbers station crap, and I’m your hopelessly-fascinated bitch.

Sad, iddnit? What's really sad is that I just found out that in all the time I haven't had to keep up with this, it done got solved. Well, the third one, at least. How...mundane and boring. I need thrills.

Ok…it’s really time for sleep.

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Update (after the post above, but...what the hell--who's actually keeping track of all this brilliance?)

Back to this, then; the more I am thinking about it, the more I am thinking that it's most probably something like a Fud student (spelt phonetically, of course) doing something really similar to what I am suggesting in the above post--looking at the collective approach to solving this problem. Maybe the message is gibberish, maybe it isn't. But one could write the aforementioned Beast into your DURR (governing body which is charged with approving Stuff Like This) paperwork as an example of how this has been done before with (insert appropriate word that means teeny tiny here) risk, and as an example of why, erm...obfuscation is necessary, and etc...

Looking at what, though? I dunno. Maybe looking at the approach being taken, not the results. Maybe looking at the limit for frustration, max of interest given the lack of immediate reward/feedback, limits of patriotism, use of the medium as a secure channel...I don't know. Yet. But I am still thinking about it.

As if I could not. Right. Sure.

I think the *why* is a key issue here.

I currently am in a maximally boring meeting, but at least I don't have to worry about anyone looking over my shoulder. Yay. :-D I had to laugh out loud that the first email I've received today begins, 'You are indeed a peculiar and interesting woman. ; )'

Ok, that's funny. And no; I try to be normal. I really, really do.

No, really!

Oh, shaddap.

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A quickie on Clavamox

Okay; so blogging by phone is rather restrictive. I had a crapload of work to do, and still do. I had to take a break because I was getting depressed and watch Jingle All The Way.

It’s almost the holiday season. Hang in there.

Butsoanyway.

I need to write more about this later, but I MUST get something taken care of:

If you have Clavamox that has not been kept refrigerated, odds are you will need to throw it away, because Clavamox out of its natural habitat (the fridge) goes bad quickly. Look at the colour—Clavamox should be white to light yellow. I said LIGHT yellow; it should look almost white. If it is not either of these colours, it will probably be dark yellow or brown. If Clavamox is dark yellow or brown, THROW IT OUT. And don’t save it after you are done with the vet’s dosing schedule, because even if you have some left and keep it in the refrigerator (or even freezer), it will still go bad before you need it again.

If you are not sure whether or not the Clavamox is bad (for instance, it looks to you to be a little darker than light yellow, but you’re not sure it is what Ancodia would call ‘dark’ yellow), it would be safest to assume that it has gone bad, or take it to your vet and let them tell you. And refrigerate it ASAP.

Okay, so you have bad Clavamox; what can you do? Save the packaging, ‘cos you may need it to prove that you need a refill (I once had to not only show the packaging, but LEAVE the bad Clavamox at the emergency vet before they would give me a new bottle. I must look like a Clavamox junkie, or something). Try your vet—they have customers leave Clavamox out all the time. No, you don’t look dumb, or like a bad kitty parent; it happens to the best of us.

If your vet is closed and you need replacement Clavamox immediately, an emergency vet clinic may be able to give you a refill. If they (for whatever reason) can’t or won’t give a refill, ask if they can give a shot to hold the cat over until your regular vet opens (when given before the antibiotics are started, this shot is called a loading dose). If there is no emergency vet clinic nearby, Clavamox is a children’s antibiotic; it can’t hurt to ask the local pharmacy (some states allow pharmacists certain prescription powers), or even try a walk-in clinic for humans (they don’t need to see your cat, just bring the box and explain what happened; all they will do is write a prescription for YOU (probably)—not the cat—and you take that to a pharmacy and fill it. Make sure the dosage is the same as what the vet wrote originally, though). If money is an issue and your vet is open, ask if you can pay later in the week; they are doctors and understand the importance of keeping a dosing schedule, and they get asked to carry balances all the time (this is why they have the nastygram about having to pay in full at the front desk—a lot of people are scuzzy and feel they shouldn’t have to pay if their animal stays sick, dies, or the medication gets changed, etc.; assure your vet that you realise that this is a debt that will be paid, no matter what); I have seen and heard vets carry balances, so ask. If one vet says no (none of the vets I know would say no, but assuming one did), my suggestion would be try another one; phone around enough and you will find one who will help. Missing one dose one time is not optimal (it would be best to try to get a loading dose from an ER vet if nothing else), but it is probably not a huge disaster; missing two or more may possibly be a Very Bad Thing. I personally would really recommend phoning your regular vet and letting them know what has happened; depending upon what is wrong with your cat, they may need to see him or her again to make sure Clavamox is still an appropriate treatment.

So: Once Clavamox is mixed (it is usually mixed at the vet’s; if it’s in a bottle and is a liquid, it’s mixed), it goes bad quickly if not kept refrigerated. Bad Clavamox is not helpful to anyone; you cannot increase the dose and have it still work—bad Clavamox DOES NOT WORK, AND IS POTENTIALLY DANGEROUS.

Once you have a replacement bottle (and have put it in the refrigerator), pour the bad Clavamox down the sink and throw the package out, but pay attention to the dates—keep to the original length of dosing, even if this means you have now spent about $15 just to give the cat three last doses. If kept refrigerated, Clavamox still will go bad; do not re-use it. You are NOT saving money by trying to re-use old Clavamox; you may well end up with an even higher vet bill if it has gone bad or is the wrong antibiotic to use. While it is true that Clavamox is an often-prescribed antibiotic, there are others (e.g., Baytril) that are equally as popular and used for different reasons—let the vet decide what antibiotic is appropriate to use. Cats, dogs, and humans should not be re-using old prescriptions; this is not a healthy practice (don’t even get me started on my Abuse of Antibiotics lecture).

If you have accidentally given too much Clavamox, phone your vet (or an emergency vet clinic) right away; they will be able to tell you what to do. If you have given too little, you will probably be safest just picking up the next dose at the regular time unless your cat or kitten is critically ill, in which case you should phone the vet. Unfortunately, I am not well-equipped to better advise on incorrect dosing; if anyone has anything to add or correct, please let me know.

Thanks for putting up with me on this; I have to get to sleep, and will explain why I was morally obligated to post this later.

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In triplicate, too??

Shit. The leasing manager said that the property wants a written
explanation of who i am and what i intend to do to catch the cats, as
well as what i plan to do with them. Bwaah! I assume 'i don't know'
isn't acceptable. Damn it. As if i didn't have enough to type. Even
though Mr Manager told me not to, i went back to see if i could find
(and feed, and maybe catch) Little Scraggly One, but Scraggles was
nowhere to be seen. I didn't leave food in order to not wreck a
relationship with the complex, because they have a no pet policy and
discourage residents from feeding them. It's always SOMETHING. But i
left food at Eviljob for Mehitabel, whom i again did not see. But the
food i am putting out keeps disappearing. Go figure. Now i guess i
have to come up with a plan. Geez. But first i have to finish work, so
that i can pay for all of this...

I have realised tonight...

...that one of my biggest faults is that i want to save the world.
Even though there's not enough of me to go around, a goodly portion of
the world doesn't want to be saved, and an even larger chunk is
unsaveable. Sigh. I am tired. And i have a shitload of things to do
tomorrow.

What should i call this--WAPping?

Ok, so it's easier to blog by phone. Ignore my T9-influenced spelling
and grammar. And various uncapitalised letters. Bwaah! I am able to
touch-type better though; my Inner Geek memorised the keypad layout
(and letters) a million years ago. So i'm blogging whilst driving. On
the freeway. Stop screaming. So: what the hell to do about all these
cats? I just HAVE to get that little guy i saw today! ARGH.
Butsoanyway. I had forgotten that today i'd promised to drive the fuck
out to East Egypt to meet a friend for dinner and to teach them how to
play cards. I forgot to eat today, so by the time i get there (late)
and eat, I'll be worthless. You know--kind of like i always am.
Stupid, too. And every time someone phones me, it messes up what i am
writing. I guess this phone blogging thing is a lesson in brevity
being best for witless souls...or whatever that saying is. I'm angry
at myself for forgetting about this, but if i hadn't, the little
kitten i saw today might have gone to bed hungry. So i guess i'm glad
i forgot, though next time i come this way, i want to get an earlier
start because there's a cool dead mall one town over from where i'm
going. Sigh. And i'm sleepy. And have a song by The Pretenders stuck
in my head. And i can't make paragraphs like this. I am just miserable
and rambling. :-) I'll shut up now. Oh! And i don't have satellite
radio yet. Ok; NOW i'm shutting up...

Crap!

No Mehitabel. We looked, waited, and called for a few hours. After a
while, I decided to get creative, and so I drove all around the
industrial park. When that turned up nothing, I branched out to the
ancient patch of really icky housing on the other side of the business
centre (where a child told me that, for the low price of ten dollars,
she would tell me who my boyfriend or husband was
visiting...wonderful. What a charming little girl), where I saw an
adult who looked like my Squoosh (that was who I had been looking at
when I was propositioned). So next I tried the newer apartment next
to the scuzzy homes, where I saw a kitten--about 3 or 4 months old,
trying to catch a lizard. It was thin and scraggly-looking, and
obviously hungry, so I fed it. It ate a huge amount, and i tried to
approach it three or four times, but it would run away. I spoke with
one girl who lives there, and she said there are a bunch of cats and
kittens there. So i guess tomorrow i will see if the complex might be
amenable to my setting out traps. Or something. I don't know yet.
AUGH! More cats in need of help. Damn it. This is going to drive me
insane. Gah!

sure, I'm late; but my hair looks *fabulous*!

Oh…my…god, do I have scads of catching up to do!  This week has been a rough one.  If this keeps up, the only way I will be able to blog with any regularity is by cell phone.

First off, tomorrow Chrissy and I are trying (AGAIN) for Mehitabel.  If I can get a hold of her, that is.  She phoned me Friday to let me know that she picked up some more traps, and these have tops on them.  So I am going to borrow a couple from her and start putting traps out again in the next week or so.  Someone else also suggested that I put burlap over the traps and use mackerel, so…we’ll see.  I need to capture whoever is knocking Mehitabel up these days, and if I can’t get Mehitabel tomorrow, perhaps I can get her in a trap.

Well, stranger things have happened.  

Butsoanyway.

I have been typing my tuchas off, and really want to beat some of the people I work with to death, but other than that I am good.  :-)  And I took a new hairstyle, and maybe a new stylist.  Though I don’t think I *want* a new stylist.  Eek.  Go ahead; say it:  I am a wanton hairslut and a faithless jezebel.  I am going to have to get into that story later, though.  Right now, I am way too tired.  I started writing earlier, and then got off on doing something else, and now…ugh.  Time for sleep.

Oh—and I actually had a date date on Friday; that was what the hair was for.  It could have sucked worse.  I guess.

Though, in Cat News, everyone is doing wonderfully.  For once.  Go figure.  

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I don't ask for much (no, rilly--I don't)...

Please, could anyone reading this take just a moment and read No Room at the Inn.  It’s not bad, or anything—some kitties need help, and if you can’t help, maybe you know someone who can.  

Thank you

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Happy 4th!

For anyone keeping track, the only thing missing on my street right now is the wail of an air raid siren.  

I have been beyond swamped.  I am actually fucking off right at the moment when I really should be pulling crap from a year ago to appease the gods at DURR, but I am over it.  In the past week, there have honestly been days where I didn’t get to sleep until sunrise.  Augh.  

Don’t get me wrong—this is, ultimately, good.  It means we are wanted, loved, and needed.  It means (eventually) money.  It means all good things.  But it is just a lot of fricking work, and I end up shouldering a lot of it, ‘cos I am the one with (1) all the archived stuff, and (2) the writing skills, and (3) I am a control freak.  Oh!   And—(4) I have a ‘renewed relationship’, as it were in one of my job situations.  Which is very good; it makes being there significantly more pleasant.  Significantly.

Ok.  I need to get back to work.  We’ll see how that goes.  :-)  I’m fried, you know.    


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Well, I *tried*...

Yet another strange dream.  In it, I was in 2006 and 1931 all at the same time—everyone was—and when I woke up, I was just about to solve the Starr Faithfull death.  They hadn’t found her yet (in 1931), and I was at a pay phone at the beach near her body (she hadn’t been found yet, but I knew where she was; I was just waiting until I had it all put together) talking with my maternal grandmother (alive, living in 1931’s New York, and the biggest gossip this side of, well, anywhere; we’re talking telephone, telegraph, tell-a-grandmother.  Screw Broadband; my mother’s mother was the original high-speed connection to information) and using Google on my laptop (with a wireless connection and access to a 1930’s version of Google as well as the 2006 version) to double-check some things.  I’d had to do some footwork to different places in the 1931 New York (and some calls to 2006 people, to get phone numbers and addresses from 1931) because not everyone I needed to speak with had a phone in 1931, but I was 99.9% done.  And then I was going to go get my hair marcelled, just to see how it turned out.  I’d had to give a twenty-dollar bill from 2006 to a 1931 beachgoer to have appropriate change for the phone, because it wouldn’t accept my coins from 2006, and I had to convince the beachgoer that it really was good money that they could use someday.  The banks exchanged currency (2006 to 1930’s and vice-versa), but I had been too busy to stop at the bank.  I had gotten into a huge fight with Starr’s mother, who was a moron (at least in my dream, though she never sounded to me like a very bright bulb in real life, either), but I’d gotten on okay with her step-father, who was just a run-of-the-mill dingbat, and he kept apologising for his wife and step-daughter (Starr) causing me such distress and inconvenience.  And I was practically done piecing together what had happened (then I was going to phone the police and tell them where to find the body as well as what had occurred) when I woke up.  

Damn it.

And, in parting, screw you, Mrs Faithfull!  No, screw YOU!  SCREW YOU!  

There.  I *have* had the last word.  Heh.  :-D

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