ok, so it's now looking like we will be able to make it to Dallas; however, we won't arrive until late at night/early in the morning. This is pretty much ok for our normal time table, but I am really pretty sure that the natives in Dallas won't really appreciate it.
Therefore, Ninsi needs to call me (even though she will end up talking to Luigi) so we can discuss how to work this if it is to work.
And Neko, thanks for the concern. It's better now.
And now, for something to laugh at.
Yesterday, Luigi had a really good shower, the kind that really relaxes you and makes you nice and sleepy. He said, "Man, I'm gonna sleep like a baby."
and I said, "Or like a rock. Or like a baby rock."
and he said, " Like a dead baby rock."
I laughed so hard.
Of course, now that it is in text, it looks evil and creepified; talking about dead baby rocks on the page makes me feel like I've done something almost unforgivable.
But I swear, it was insanely funny at the time.
So I'm off to bed now.
To sleep like... something. I don't want to think about it right now.
More later.
Thursday, July 29, 2004
Tuesday, July 27, 2004
pbbbbbt.
*NOTE*
I don't think that the trip to Dallas is going to materialize, now.
Because, life being what it is, we now have to send out more money than we have.
I'm sure you all know what that is like.
Thanks very much for the invitation and the enthusiasm.
Have a nice ... something.
I guess.
P.S.
If I don't post for a while, the blogstapo can kiss my ass. If I don't feel like it, you can't make me and you probably won't want to hear about it anyway.
Leif, in my drinking this weekend, I'll drink a margarita to you.
did you get that email, btw?
Anyway.
Yeah.
I hope that everyone else has a better time than me.
See ya.
I don't think that the trip to Dallas is going to materialize, now.
Because, life being what it is, we now have to send out more money than we have.
I'm sure you all know what that is like.
Thanks very much for the invitation and the enthusiasm.
Have a nice ... something.
I guess.
P.S.
If I don't post for a while, the blogstapo can kiss my ass. If I don't feel like it, you can't make me and you probably won't want to hear about it anyway.
Leif, in my drinking this weekend, I'll drink a margarita to you.
did you get that email, btw?
Anyway.
Yeah.
I hope that everyone else has a better time than me.
See ya.
Sunday, July 25, 2004
Friday, July 23, 2004
stream of conciousness
I stole this off of someone else's blog. but it is very good, so share nice.
by Li-Young Lee
Persimmons
In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose
persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet onewill be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down the newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew on the skin, suck it,and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet
all of it, to the heart.
Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down,
I teach her Chinese. Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I've forgotten.
Naked: I've forgotten.
Ni, wo: you me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.
Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.
Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn't ripe or sweet, I didn't eat
but watched the other faces.
My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,warm as my face.
Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set them both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang. The sun, the sun.
Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father would stay up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons, swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.
This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents' cellar, I rummage, lookingfor something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.
He's so happy that I've come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.
Under some blankets, I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.
He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?
This is persimmons, Father.
Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.
-- Li-Young Lee
I really like this. I copy/pasted it, not sure i got the spacing quite right, may the artist forgive my barbaric transgressions.
Someone once told me that there is a (chinese?) poem that says something about: there is tea for two "and all my neighbors are barbarians"
I only remember the barbarians part, obviously. but I like that too.
Every day I have things that I think I should write about, but by the time I get home, to the computer, and finish distracting myself from anything that might be constructive or worthwhile by enviously reading what everyone else has written, it's all gone. So I guess I'm self-sabotaging, shooting myself in the knee for no other reason than- than what? I don't know. Fear? Of what? Critisism, maybe. Crazy ideas of being broke and insane because I gave in and gave my all to the musing siren of words on the page. Or maybe that's just my o'erweening pride, there. Being a leo, I can be amazingly smug, even when I'm (what is the word I want? degrading? denigrating? where is my dictionary?) myself.
Gods above and below, what a strange creature I can be. What a strange creature I am. Like no other, and yet so familiar you know me without knowing me.
Or do you?
Do I?
What was my point?
Oh yes.
I forget; that was my point.
Well, sportsfans, today I made a note; so I remember.
Things to bitch about from work: (note: workspeak is about to commence. please feel free to ask for definitions/clarifications in the comments.)
1) Ice machines.
we have three out on the floor. Two in the north break area, right by the lines, and one in the south, in the midst of finish.
Today, we had a line for the singular ice machine in the south break area.
The person in front of me told me that the other two were out.
When she had filled her jug, she headed back to the lines.
I looked at the catch tray beneath the dispensing chute, and gripped my mug very firmly as I viewed the heap of melting ice that threatened to overflow the tray.
What the fuck.
How can I put this into a linear thought pattern?
Quit pouring out your drinking containers, people. Just put more fucking ice in your fucking cup because you are drinking fucking water, you assholes. it isn't as though the ice in the machine is colder than the ice in your cup, you idiot fuckwads. this is why the other two ice machines are out, you empty headed over-paid screw monkeys.
Good lord.
It makes me want to throw things, or blow stuff up, or both.
These are the things that will finally shove me over the edge and result in my rebirth as a super villain.
2) "ROBSTOY"
there is a burgundy Miata (very new looking, too) in the parking lot.
The tags says : ROBSTOY
this makes me think: ROBISANASSHOLE
The plate frame says: God Loves You
This makes me think: "God loves you, but I'm his favorite" is what Rob is saying with his new-looking burgundy Miata.
When I fall off the edge and go into super villain mode, I will start with ROBSTOY and the explosions will last for days.
Oh, yes, so many things will go up in flames.
But I will resist the call of the evil super genius in my soul.
For my kung fu is strong.
Or something.
3) the Plad Platypus
(I know that it is normally spelled "plaid". Wait for it.)
I'm not tremendously fashion conscious, but Plaid is passe, no? (stupid american keyboard. No accent ague.)
Why, then, O God, are so many of the manegement men wearing it?
We monkeys are convinced it is a plague, first carried by the Plad Platypus. (this is actually an insult to platypi. they are wonderful creatures. the Plad Platypus is not a wonderful creature.)
It has spread to my boss, and to several other radio-wearing males of medium importance.
We have watched the onset of the illness, and it is an illness, for it makes us all ill.
We find no answer to the disease other than the oh-so-overdue removal of the original carrier.
Unfortunately, the Plad Platypus remains in his position; how, we know not.
His stupidity and intolerable personality are apparently unnoticed by the management above him. Again, we know not how.
and now you are saying "yes, yes, but why Plad instead of Plaid? this is all we care about right now."
"Keep your shirt on, and let me read."
My Favorite Little Freak named him, and decided that the referencing phrase should be without the "i" to identify him uniquely. (does that sentence read well? -- ok.) And at the company picnic, he brought the t-shirt he had made that said "Just say no to plad" so that everyone who was in on the joke/silent protest could have a good laugh together. There was a picture of him with his shirt in the newsletter the next week. I saved a copy, just for that picture. It was good.
ok.
next.
Stories that I miss because I am going the wrong way:
1) Yesterday on the way home, I noticed that there was a person standing in the middle of the highway (169) on the other side of the dividing wall. Just standing there, looking in the direction of oncoming traffic. And there was oncoming traffic. Not lots of traffic, but it was coming towards him. And he just stood there. I didn't see a car broken down nearby, and he wasn't looking on the ground like he lost something. I thought about exiting and going back to see if I could help him, if he needed a ride or if he knew where/who he was.
But I didn't.
So I guess now I will never know what that story is.
Ah, well.
2) Today there was fire on the way home. Again on the same highway, on the same side; I don't think that I have ever seen feral fire like that. I have only seen it safely caged, in a corral of wood; or domesticated, in the confines of the fireplace. ( I like the ideas in that word, fire place.) I have also seen it huge and roaring, consuming buildings, but that is also a kind of urban animal.
This was small, and feeding on the grass on the side of the highway;
it was translucent, in shades of heat I've never seen;
it was free.
It was completely wild, newborn, and without knowledge of containment.
And I exited to call the fire department to come and put it out.
Does this make me a bad person? I did nothing about the man in the middle of the road, that noone else might have noticed until they tried very hard not to hit him. But I took the time to call about a small fire that I knew other people would have reported. I did nothing to try to protect the man in the road, and I took action to destroy that beautiful fire. (yeah, that last phrase makes me sound chock full o', doesn't it?) I feel very conflicted by this set of choices. I'm not sure what they say about me. I'm not sure I like the implications.
I suppose I should have my shower and go to sleep, especially now that Luigi can cuddle again. I just don't sleep right anymore unless we are nestled together in the "comfortable postion".
I hope you have enjoyed my stream of conciousness post; it was unintentional, but it was fun.
Perhaps I will do it again.
we will see.
Thank you for your support.
by Li-Young Lee
Persimmons
In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose
persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet onewill be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down the newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew on the skin, suck it,and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet
all of it, to the heart.
Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down,
I teach her Chinese. Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I've forgotten.
Naked: I've forgotten.
Ni, wo: you me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.
Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.
Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn't ripe or sweet, I didn't eat
but watched the other faces.
My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,warm as my face.
Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set them both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang. The sun, the sun.
Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father would stay up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons, swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.
This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents' cellar, I rummage, lookingfor something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.
He's so happy that I've come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.
Under some blankets, I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.
He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?
This is persimmons, Father.
Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.
-- Li-Young Lee
I really like this. I copy/pasted it, not sure i got the spacing quite right, may the artist forgive my barbaric transgressions.
Someone once told me that there is a (chinese?) poem that says something about: there is tea for two "and all my neighbors are barbarians"
I only remember the barbarians part, obviously. but I like that too.
Every day I have things that I think I should write about, but by the time I get home, to the computer, and finish distracting myself from anything that might be constructive or worthwhile by enviously reading what everyone else has written, it's all gone. So I guess I'm self-sabotaging, shooting myself in the knee for no other reason than- than what? I don't know. Fear? Of what? Critisism, maybe. Crazy ideas of being broke and insane because I gave in and gave my all to the musing siren of words on the page. Or maybe that's just my o'erweening pride, there. Being a leo, I can be amazingly smug, even when I'm (what is the word I want? degrading? denigrating? where is my dictionary?) myself.
Gods above and below, what a strange creature I can be. What a strange creature I am. Like no other, and yet so familiar you know me without knowing me.
Or do you?
Do I?
What was my point?
Oh yes.
I forget; that was my point.
Well, sportsfans, today I made a note; so I remember.
Things to bitch about from work: (note: workspeak is about to commence. please feel free to ask for definitions/clarifications in the comments.)
1) Ice machines.
we have three out on the floor. Two in the north break area, right by the lines, and one in the south, in the midst of finish.
Today, we had a line for the singular ice machine in the south break area.
The person in front of me told me that the other two were out.
When she had filled her jug, she headed back to the lines.
I looked at the catch tray beneath the dispensing chute, and gripped my mug very firmly as I viewed the heap of melting ice that threatened to overflow the tray.
What the fuck.
How can I put this into a linear thought pattern?
Quit pouring out your drinking containers, people. Just put more fucking ice in your fucking cup because you are drinking fucking water, you assholes. it isn't as though the ice in the machine is colder than the ice in your cup, you idiot fuckwads. this is why the other two ice machines are out, you empty headed over-paid screw monkeys.
Good lord.
It makes me want to throw things, or blow stuff up, or both.
These are the things that will finally shove me over the edge and result in my rebirth as a super villain.
2) "ROBSTOY"
there is a burgundy Miata (very new looking, too) in the parking lot.
The tags says : ROBSTOY
this makes me think: ROBISANASSHOLE
The plate frame says: God Loves You
This makes me think: "God loves you, but I'm his favorite" is what Rob is saying with his new-looking burgundy Miata.
When I fall off the edge and go into super villain mode, I will start with ROBSTOY and the explosions will last for days.
Oh, yes, so many things will go up in flames.
But I will resist the call of the evil super genius in my soul.
For my kung fu is strong.
Or something.
3) the Plad Platypus
(I know that it is normally spelled "plaid". Wait for it.)
I'm not tremendously fashion conscious, but Plaid is passe, no? (stupid american keyboard. No accent ague.)
Why, then, O God, are so many of the manegement men wearing it?
We monkeys are convinced it is a plague, first carried by the Plad Platypus. (this is actually an insult to platypi. they are wonderful creatures. the Plad Platypus is not a wonderful creature.)
It has spread to my boss, and to several other radio-wearing males of medium importance.
We have watched the onset of the illness, and it is an illness, for it makes us all ill.
We find no answer to the disease other than the oh-so-overdue removal of the original carrier.
Unfortunately, the Plad Platypus remains in his position; how, we know not.
His stupidity and intolerable personality are apparently unnoticed by the management above him. Again, we know not how.
and now you are saying "yes, yes, but why Plad instead of Plaid? this is all we care about right now."
"Keep your shirt on, and let me read."
My Favorite Little Freak named him, and decided that the referencing phrase should be without the "i" to identify him uniquely. (does that sentence read well? -- ok.) And at the company picnic, he brought the t-shirt he had made that said "Just say no to plad" so that everyone who was in on the joke/silent protest could have a good laugh together. There was a picture of him with his shirt in the newsletter the next week. I saved a copy, just for that picture. It was good.
ok.
next.
Stories that I miss because I am going the wrong way:
1) Yesterday on the way home, I noticed that there was a person standing in the middle of the highway (169) on the other side of the dividing wall. Just standing there, looking in the direction of oncoming traffic. And there was oncoming traffic. Not lots of traffic, but it was coming towards him. And he just stood there. I didn't see a car broken down nearby, and he wasn't looking on the ground like he lost something. I thought about exiting and going back to see if I could help him, if he needed a ride or if he knew where/who he was.
But I didn't.
So I guess now I will never know what that story is.
Ah, well.
2) Today there was fire on the way home. Again on the same highway, on the same side; I don't think that I have ever seen feral fire like that. I have only seen it safely caged, in a corral of wood; or domesticated, in the confines of the fireplace. ( I like the ideas in that word, fire place.) I have also seen it huge and roaring, consuming buildings, but that is also a kind of urban animal.
This was small, and feeding on the grass on the side of the highway;
it was translucent, in shades of heat I've never seen;
it was free.
It was completely wild, newborn, and without knowledge of containment.
And I exited to call the fire department to come and put it out.
Does this make me a bad person? I did nothing about the man in the middle of the road, that noone else might have noticed until they tried very hard not to hit him. But I took the time to call about a small fire that I knew other people would have reported. I did nothing to try to protect the man in the road, and I took action to destroy that beautiful fire. (yeah, that last phrase makes me sound chock full o', doesn't it?) I feel very conflicted by this set of choices. I'm not sure what they say about me. I'm not sure I like the implications.
I suppose I should have my shower and go to sleep, especially now that Luigi can cuddle again. I just don't sleep right anymore unless we are nestled together in the "comfortable postion".
I hope you have enjoyed my stream of conciousness post; it was unintentional, but it was fun.
Perhaps I will do it again.
we will see.
Thank you for your support.
Wednesday, July 21, 2004
alphabet stuff.
Stolen from Neko, who stole it from Non-Girlfriend.
A ct your age?: I don't know. How am I supposed to know? I guess so, since I just act like me.
B orn on what day of the week?: um. No clue.
C hore you hate?: Not terribly fond of dishes. Cat box, believe it or not, is kind of ok. But that's because there's only one, and she's small.
D ad's name?: hah. this is a story all by its self.
E ssential makeup item?: black mascara, really the only thing I wear IF I wear it.
F avorite actor(s)?: kevin spacey, johnny depp, Edward Norton, um, Ewan McGregor (I think that's him) Cary Elwes, Mel Brooks, Mandy Patinkin, and more later.
G old or silver?: depends. what's with it?
H ometown?: Tulsa
I nstruments you play?: I don't play anything anymore. I used to play the flute to a minimum degree of proficiency; took the obligitory piano lessons for a while; I like the idea of the clarinet and I own one. but that' s about it.
K ids?: not the momma!
L iving arrangements?: great apartment with just me, Luigi, Danger Cat and all my stuff.
M um's name?: Sheila.
N eed?: money. and less stuff. I guess I could sell some of my stuff and get more money. I'd rather just have money.
O vernight hospital stays?: nope.
P hobias?: falling! and, um, something that is not revealing itself right now. You'd think I'd remember things like this.
Q uote(s) you like?: "It ain't ignorance that causes all the trouble in the world. It's the things folks know that ain't so." -- Mark Twain (courtesy of Uncle) and "Time flows like water; Memories are like snow" -- me. (shameless self promotion.)
R eligious affiliation?: inbetween devotions as of now. also known as a crisis of faith.
S iblings: Four that I am actually related to. If you count all the friends of the family that have been around long enough to be family, then it grows to like thirty. Or more.
T ime you wake up?: about 1:30 P.M. (hence, the sleepwalking title.)
U nique talent?: unique? nothing is truly uniqe in this world. and I'm not feeling very talented right now. Ask again later.
V egetable you refuse to eat? BLACK EYED PEAS. I will eat almost (I said almost) anything but fucking black eyed peas.
W orst habit?: forgetting.
X -rays you've had?: only dental. do those count?
Y ummy food you make?: I make a pretty tasty lemon cake, even if it is someone else's recipie. But it is damn good.
Z oo animal you like?: I like meerkats.
WTF? I just noticed that there's nothing for J.
So.
J ust wondering? maybe.
there.
A ct your age?: I don't know. How am I supposed to know? I guess so, since I just act like me.
B orn on what day of the week?: um. No clue.
C hore you hate?: Not terribly fond of dishes. Cat box, believe it or not, is kind of ok. But that's because there's only one, and she's small.
D ad's name?: hah. this is a story all by its self.
E ssential makeup item?: black mascara, really the only thing I wear IF I wear it.
F avorite actor(s)?: kevin spacey, johnny depp, Edward Norton, um, Ewan McGregor (I think that's him) Cary Elwes, Mel Brooks, Mandy Patinkin, and more later.
G old or silver?: depends. what's with it?
H ometown?: Tulsa
I nstruments you play?: I don't play anything anymore. I used to play the flute to a minimum degree of proficiency; took the obligitory piano lessons for a while; I like the idea of the clarinet and I own one. but that' s about it.
K ids?: not the momma!
L iving arrangements?: great apartment with just me, Luigi, Danger Cat and all my stuff.
M um's name?: Sheila.
N eed?: money. and less stuff. I guess I could sell some of my stuff and get more money. I'd rather just have money.
O vernight hospital stays?: nope.
P hobias?: falling! and, um, something that is not revealing itself right now. You'd think I'd remember things like this.
Q uote(s) you like?: "It ain't ignorance that causes all the trouble in the world. It's the things folks know that ain't so." -- Mark Twain (courtesy of Uncle) and "Time flows like water; Memories are like snow" -- me. (shameless self promotion.)
R eligious affiliation?: inbetween devotions as of now. also known as a crisis of faith.
S iblings: Four that I am actually related to. If you count all the friends of the family that have been around long enough to be family, then it grows to like thirty. Or more.
T ime you wake up?: about 1:30 P.M. (hence, the sleepwalking title.)
U nique talent?: unique? nothing is truly uniqe in this world. and I'm not feeling very talented right now. Ask again later.
V egetable you refuse to eat? BLACK EYED PEAS. I will eat almost (I said almost) anything but fucking black eyed peas.
W orst habit?: forgetting.
X -rays you've had?: only dental. do those count?
Y ummy food you make?: I make a pretty tasty lemon cake, even if it is someone else's recipie. But it is damn good.
Z oo animal you like?: I like meerkats.
WTF? I just noticed that there's nothing for J.
So.
J ust wondering? maybe.
there.
Thursday, July 15, 2004
Pooh.
I think Gmail sucks. It takes forever for mail to arrive, as compared to the instant reaction of Yahoo. So I guess I'll stick with Yahoo.
I know the blog look still has issues. I'm working on it, you will just have to cope.
I am up way too late, as is usual.
I have decided. I am going to Dallas for my birthday. It had better not suck. (No offence meant, folks. I'm just in a bitchy mood, and have now tried to spell "mood" three times as "mook". What the hell is "mook" supposed to be?)
I am stressed.
I am tired. Phyisically, emotionally, and of the job.
Hey, Leif. Do you need a personal assistant, or a Journalism major? One is me, one is not. Guess which is which. Although I suppose they could be the same person...
I *need* to get Danger Cat FIXED. She yells horrendously, and it makes me lose my cool. I try not to be evil to her, but when I realized that you can hear her outside, if you are anywhere near the windows or door (which is incredibly easy) I was decided.
So I'll add that to the list.
Traffic sucked on the way to work.
I put a hole in Luigi's favorite jeans.
I had to work the crappiest parts of the line, both in one day.
I don't get paid enough. (Who does? You either get paid too little, or way too much. Guess where I am in that scale.)
I would so be a super villain if I had some goons, or flunkies, or even well trained turtles...
Pretzel is moving to a different shift/line.
I don't have a whole lot of vacation available right now, and being at work is nigh on intolerable. But I don't have enough points left to just call in. Besides, I need the damn money.
I have more clothes than I want to talk about, and too damn few I can wear to work or want to wear otherwise. (don't say anything, I don't want to hear it.)
My 10 year reunion is theoretically happening, somewhere, sometime.
I don't think that going will be as fun as I think it could be.
My shoes are all wet because some stupid upper-managment is going to tour the facility -- and that is the way they put it out there -- so we had to clean to a retarded degree. It's just going to be almost as dirty as if we cleaned like normal by the time he/they get there, and would he/they know the difference anyway? Really, now.
I can't communicate with my mom. Never could, really.
I'm still trying to cope with Uncle's death without shutting down completely.
I have a hard time relaxing enough to really enjoy my sisters.
I worry about my brother.
I'm not going to get enough sleep tonight/this morning.
I gave the game Tinker loaned to us to someone who works with him, and they gave it to someone else, so I have to go track it down because Tinker is on vacation this week.
I dream and plan bigger than just about anyone excepting Donald Trump. But I never have the resources/energy/inclination to carry anything out. Which is lucky for the world, when I am in my super villain mood.
I need to buy bags for the vacuum, because somehow my indoor cat got fleas.
I need to bathe said cat, again. This will be the third time.
I need to win the lottery. And a big one. I've got really good plans, and not really for stuff for me. And I feel like God owes me. If you had to listen to Danger Cat yowl you would agree.
And don't tell me that God doesn't owe me. I don't want to hear it.
I know the blog look still has issues. I'm working on it, you will just have to cope.
I am up way too late, as is usual.
I have decided. I am going to Dallas for my birthday. It had better not suck. (No offence meant, folks. I'm just in a bitchy mood, and have now tried to spell "mood" three times as "mook". What the hell is "mook" supposed to be?)
I am stressed.
I am tired. Phyisically, emotionally, and of the job.
Hey, Leif. Do you need a personal assistant, or a Journalism major? One is me, one is not. Guess which is which. Although I suppose they could be the same person...
I *need* to get Danger Cat FIXED. She yells horrendously, and it makes me lose my cool. I try not to be evil to her, but when I realized that you can hear her outside, if you are anywhere near the windows or door (which is incredibly easy) I was decided.
So I'll add that to the list.
Traffic sucked on the way to work.
I put a hole in Luigi's favorite jeans.
I had to work the crappiest parts of the line, both in one day.
I don't get paid enough. (Who does? You either get paid too little, or way too much. Guess where I am in that scale.)
I would so be a super villain if I had some goons, or flunkies, or even well trained turtles...
Pretzel is moving to a different shift/line.
I don't have a whole lot of vacation available right now, and being at work is nigh on intolerable. But I don't have enough points left to just call in. Besides, I need the damn money.
I have more clothes than I want to talk about, and too damn few I can wear to work or want to wear otherwise. (don't say anything, I don't want to hear it.)
My 10 year reunion is theoretically happening, somewhere, sometime.
I don't think that going will be as fun as I think it could be.
My shoes are all wet because some stupid upper-managment is going to tour the facility -- and that is the way they put it out there -- so we had to clean to a retarded degree. It's just going to be almost as dirty as if we cleaned like normal by the time he/they get there, and would he/they know the difference anyway? Really, now.
I can't communicate with my mom. Never could, really.
I'm still trying to cope with Uncle's death without shutting down completely.
I have a hard time relaxing enough to really enjoy my sisters.
I worry about my brother.
I'm not going to get enough sleep tonight/this morning.
I gave the game Tinker loaned to us to someone who works with him, and they gave it to someone else, so I have to go track it down because Tinker is on vacation this week.
I dream and plan bigger than just about anyone excepting Donald Trump. But I never have the resources/energy/inclination to carry anything out. Which is lucky for the world, when I am in my super villain mood.
I need to buy bags for the vacuum, because somehow my indoor cat got fleas.
I need to bathe said cat, again. This will be the third time.
I need to win the lottery. And a big one. I've got really good plans, and not really for stuff for me. And I feel like God owes me. If you had to listen to Danger Cat yowl you would agree.
And don't tell me that God doesn't owe me. I don't want to hear it.
Wednesday, July 14, 2004
Irritation
I heard today that the republicans didn't get enough votes to pass the amendment banning gay marriage. I'm so glad. Honestly, now, what are they afraid of? That people might be happy? The idea that gay marriage will cause the "institution of marriage" to disintegrate is silly. What is the current divorce rate? It reads as a percentage, yes? Do you really think that the percentage will grow that much? And something else -- I betcha that gay couples don't produce multiple children that they didn't plan for and can't care for. Think about that one.
********
The other day on my way to work, I made the left turn to get onto the on ramp, and a red taurus, I think, got on behind me. We get up to speed, and I pass the blue truck in front of me, and I notice that the red taurus follows. I look again in a few moments, to see the red taurus swerve wildly, almost hitting the blue truck full in the side.
And I thought, "Are you on drugs?" Because it wasn't like the almost clipped the front of the truck with the rear of the car; no, no, they were still fully beside the truck. So you see the source of my irritation, confusion and amusement. They swerved a little more, a little while later, after they had gone past me. And of course, I didn't have the cell phone or I so would have called the police on their ass.
********
The other day on my way to work, I made the left turn to get onto the on ramp, and a red taurus, I think, got on behind me. We get up to speed, and I pass the blue truck in front of me, and I notice that the red taurus follows. I look again in a few moments, to see the red taurus swerve wildly, almost hitting the blue truck full in the side.
And I thought, "Are you on drugs?" Because it wasn't like the almost clipped the front of the truck with the rear of the car; no, no, they were still fully beside the truck. So you see the source of my irritation, confusion and amusement. They swerved a little more, a little while later, after they had gone past me. And of course, I didn't have the cell phone or I so would have called the police on their ass.
Tuesday, July 13, 2004
*Rant*
Ok. here goes.
There's a kid in Ok. that is in jail for stabbing another kid on the bus in January, I think. He's 16, now; the D.A. is pushing for him to be under psychiatric care (and basically to be in jail) until he's 25.
25, folks.
That's 9 years of immersion in the prison culture, and in the psychiatric ward.
And then they will just turn him out into the world and expect him to function.
Hello? Is anyone thinking about this?
How is he supposed to be a functioning member of society after that? He *might* come out of this with a G.E.D. He *won't* have any work history, and he will have the jail time and the psychiatric care hanging over him; how is he supposed to get a job that will do him any good at all? How is he supposed to rejoin society -- or, in reality, join society to begin with, since he has been in the custody of the legal system since this happened? He should still be in school, just now getting into the swing of high school.
Now, I don't know why he stabbed the other boy. I haven't heard yet. And I'm not saying that he should not be punished for what he did. I'm just saying that this should be given more consideration. Because I guarantee that if the D.A. gets what he wants, then when this kid gets out it will take less than a year for him to be back in.
There's a kid in Ok. that is in jail for stabbing another kid on the bus in January, I think. He's 16, now; the D.A. is pushing for him to be under psychiatric care (and basically to be in jail) until he's 25.
25, folks.
That's 9 years of immersion in the prison culture, and in the psychiatric ward.
And then they will just turn him out into the world and expect him to function.
Hello? Is anyone thinking about this?
How is he supposed to be a functioning member of society after that? He *might* come out of this with a G.E.D. He *won't* have any work history, and he will have the jail time and the psychiatric care hanging over him; how is he supposed to get a job that will do him any good at all? How is he supposed to rejoin society -- or, in reality, join society to begin with, since he has been in the custody of the legal system since this happened? He should still be in school, just now getting into the swing of high school.
Now, I don't know why he stabbed the other boy. I haven't heard yet. And I'm not saying that he should not be punished for what he did. I'm just saying that this should be given more consideration. Because I guarantee that if the D.A. gets what he wants, then when this kid gets out it will take less than a year for him to be back in.
Monday, July 12, 2004
Villainous thoughts.
I just read one of Leif's earliest posts. He was talking about a letter to the editor that he recieved, and how much it pissed him off. I agree with his sentiment, by the way. The writer talked about how women should stay in the home and be barefoot and pregnant, and that (somehow) this was all the fault of Jesus, no less. Leif didn't post the whole letter, just quoted it, and I'm glad he didn't post the whole thing as I don't need any extra reasons to get pissed off. I am normally very easy going, but I am also remarkably easy to thoroughly piss the fuck off, if you know what you are doing.
I found a button yesterday that sums it up rather well:
"You people are just lucky I'm so terrified of prison."
That's pretty close.
If it wasn't so much work, and if I didn't have so much life going on right now, I would so be a super villain.
I found a button yesterday that sums it up rather well:
"You people are just lucky I'm so terrified of prison."
That's pretty close.
If it wasn't so much work, and if I didn't have so much life going on right now, I would so be a super villain.
What do you think?
Do you like it? I did it all myself, except for the buttons and the counter and now I don't know why the buttons are screwy, but I'm not done yet.
I'm still working on the grief thing, too. I think about it in little pieces, usually when I go to bed and it is dark and Luigi is asleep before me. But it's ok, because all I have to do is poke him and say his name, and he comes awake really fast to comfort me. I love this about him. It's gotten me through many nights and nightmares. Luigi takes such good care of me; we've been through some rough times together.
******
I'm thinking of projects to do with the girls (this would be Lady, Goat, and maybe the Beautiful) -- the kind of thing you do in summer camp, etc. I have more art supplies than I care to admit most days, and I think it would be really fun to have kind of a grown-up art camp type thing, maybe on Friday or Saturday afternoons. I think this might run really well next year, as a public thing, maybe at the Living Arts space, or something. Anyway. So I'm trying to think of stuff to do; I'm thinking paper mache, rubber stamp things, various painting projects. If anyone has suggestions, I'm happy to hear them! What was your favorite art project as a kid?
******
this weekend was ok. They never are long enough.
*****
Ninsi, Phlome, what is up w/your sites? They don't come up for me. Is it me or you?
*****
There are so many things I want to say. But when I get here, they all vanish.
I want to write the profound things I think about Life, especially in Tulsa.
For instance: Luigi and I tried to go see a Midnight movie on Saturday. We went to almost every theatre in Tulsa, and none of them had midnight movies. WTF? On a Saturday? What the hell is going on? Is this somehow connected to curfew or something, or does noone show up for that time slot?
I should go to bed. It is getting really late for me.
Don't forget to leave me suggestions.
Thanks, folks.
I'm still working on the grief thing, too. I think about it in little pieces, usually when I go to bed and it is dark and Luigi is asleep before me. But it's ok, because all I have to do is poke him and say his name, and he comes awake really fast to comfort me. I love this about him. It's gotten me through many nights and nightmares. Luigi takes such good care of me; we've been through some rough times together.
******
I'm thinking of projects to do with the girls (this would be Lady, Goat, and maybe the Beautiful) -- the kind of thing you do in summer camp, etc. I have more art supplies than I care to admit most days, and I think it would be really fun to have kind of a grown-up art camp type thing, maybe on Friday or Saturday afternoons. I think this might run really well next year, as a public thing, maybe at the Living Arts space, or something. Anyway. So I'm trying to think of stuff to do; I'm thinking paper mache, rubber stamp things, various painting projects. If anyone has suggestions, I'm happy to hear them! What was your favorite art project as a kid?
******
this weekend was ok. They never are long enough.
*****
Ninsi, Phlome, what is up w/your sites? They don't come up for me. Is it me or you?
*****
There are so many things I want to say. But when I get here, they all vanish.
I want to write the profound things I think about Life, especially in Tulsa.
For instance: Luigi and I tried to go see a Midnight movie on Saturday. We went to almost every theatre in Tulsa, and none of them had midnight movies. WTF? On a Saturday? What the hell is going on? Is this somehow connected to curfew or something, or does noone show up for that time slot?
I should go to bed. It is getting really late for me.
Don't forget to leave me suggestions.
Thanks, folks.
Sunday, July 11, 2004
Under Construction...
Please ignore the big hairy guys with their buttcracks showing and the cement mixer parked in the front yard. I'm working on it.
Friday, July 09, 2004
unfortunate news.
Uncle died yesterday. Mom is pretty broken up about it; this makes her the oldest local member of the family. Uncle was only 20 years older than her, so this is making her really think about the whole future and planning situation.
Dr. Nick and I are holding our own remembrance together with Luigi; margaritas and movies, etc. Some people might ask how this is different from any other weekend with Dr. Nick. Well, I'll tell you. Tonight, we are preoccupied. Tonight, we think about all the things that you think about when someone has died. So it's not the same as a normal weekend.
There were other things I wanted to say, but now I can't think of them.
So.
Dr. Nick and I are holding our own remembrance together with Luigi; margaritas and movies, etc. Some people might ask how this is different from any other weekend with Dr. Nick. Well, I'll tell you. Tonight, we are preoccupied. Tonight, we think about all the things that you think about when someone has died. So it's not the same as a normal weekend.
There were other things I wanted to say, but now I can't think of them.
So.
Wednesday, July 07, 2004
well.
I have noticed that the strangest things will cause you folks to comment. Well, maybe not the strangest; maybe I meant the most common, the most ordinary, the things that I think don't need commenting on.
I mean, really, now;
I bought a WAFFLE MAKER, people. And noone has anything to say??
Sheesh. What causes enough interest for comments?
Hmm... that could be an interesting thing to study...
so. the fourth, we went to eat with Master Mike and Lady Whitney (who are now engaged!)and The God of Biscuits,etc... at Cheddar's. We talked and talked and talked in a way that we haven't in a long time. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that Lady Whit and I held our own conversation that was completely separate from the guys.
After that we all played Trivial Pursuit (the Beautiful Cari joined us after a while, still recovering from too much beer the night before) until about 1:30, when we got tired of being wrong all the damn time. Stupid game.
oh! Master Mike & Lady Whit moved into the neighborhood! now we have Pretzel & Goat across the street, essentially, and Master & Lady are down the road... and the God of Biscuits has moved into Tulsa, finally. So we no longer have to trek out to Collinsville when he hosts games. Huzzah!
I drank margaritas all weekend. I feel pretty good, considering. I think we probably make them kind of weak, and I probably drink them kind of slow, but I still like them more than I thought I would. So.
I am working on a new template, and I feel really smart because I have figured out how to make three columns, etc. When I found the button that almost does it by itself, I felt so damn smart. Now that I have written that sentence, I don't feel quite so smart. But I did it, dammit. Now I just have to decide how I want this to look/work...
I so had forgotten that today was Tuesday. Hot damn. I thought it was Monday...
Ok.
Somedays I really wish I could do a little self-therapy on this blog, but I really feel weird about it being public. And the fact that I know a few of you. And I guess that the real reasons are 1) I am completely Paranoid that SOMEHOW my mom/siblings will find this and read it and oh, mama, will the shit hit the fan. Because pretty much all my mental disfunctions are rooted in the family weirdness. And I hate conflict/confrontations, so I just sit on a lot of stuff. And I don't feel comfortable talking to many people about it. So I sit on it some more.
Yeah. I have issues.
Great big ones.
With horns.
They live in my head, and sometimes they make noise. So it gets really loud in there, what with voices and noisy issues and leftover music and stuff like that there.
So.
If I seem weird to you, or preoccupied for no good reason, there are reasons. I promise. And they are that I am weird, and preoccupied, sometimes for no good reason. So you are/would be right.
ok, enough of that. Now:
I am really looking forward to the idea of Dallas for the B-Day, which is now 21 days away! Wheee! I'm not sure that we will be able to afford to go, and I'm not sure who I want to talk to about coming with, and I'm not sure how many invaders Ninsi & Co. are willing to put up with... So in short, I'm not really sure. But I am excited... I think.
I guess that's enough stuff for now, as I still need a shower and food. And it's like 4:30 A.M.
Yeah.
Working on it...
I mean, really, now;
I bought a WAFFLE MAKER, people. And noone has anything to say??
Sheesh. What causes enough interest for comments?
Hmm... that could be an interesting thing to study...
so. the fourth, we went to eat with Master Mike and Lady Whitney (who are now engaged!)and The God of Biscuits,etc... at Cheddar's. We talked and talked and talked in a way that we haven't in a long time. I think it has a lot to do with the fact that Lady Whit and I held our own conversation that was completely separate from the guys.
After that we all played Trivial Pursuit (the Beautiful Cari joined us after a while, still recovering from too much beer the night before) until about 1:30, when we got tired of being wrong all the damn time. Stupid game.
oh! Master Mike & Lady Whit moved into the neighborhood! now we have Pretzel & Goat across the street, essentially, and Master & Lady are down the road... and the God of Biscuits has moved into Tulsa, finally. So we no longer have to trek out to Collinsville when he hosts games. Huzzah!
I drank margaritas all weekend. I feel pretty good, considering. I think we probably make them kind of weak, and I probably drink them kind of slow, but I still like them more than I thought I would. So.
I am working on a new template, and I feel really smart because I have figured out how to make three columns, etc. When I found the button that almost does it by itself, I felt so damn smart. Now that I have written that sentence, I don't feel quite so smart. But I did it, dammit. Now I just have to decide how I want this to look/work...
I so had forgotten that today was Tuesday. Hot damn. I thought it was Monday...
Ok.
Somedays I really wish I could do a little self-therapy on this blog, but I really feel weird about it being public. And the fact that I know a few of you. And I guess that the real reasons are 1) I am completely Paranoid that SOMEHOW my mom/siblings will find this and read it and oh, mama, will the shit hit the fan. Because pretty much all my mental disfunctions are rooted in the family weirdness. And I hate conflict/confrontations, so I just sit on a lot of stuff. And I don't feel comfortable talking to many people about it. So I sit on it some more.
Yeah. I have issues.
Great big ones.
With horns.
They live in my head, and sometimes they make noise. So it gets really loud in there, what with voices and noisy issues and leftover music and stuff like that there.
So.
If I seem weird to you, or preoccupied for no good reason, there are reasons. I promise. And they are that I am weird, and preoccupied, sometimes for no good reason. So you are/would be right.
ok, enough of that. Now:
I am really looking forward to the idea of Dallas for the B-Day, which is now 21 days away! Wheee! I'm not sure that we will be able to afford to go, and I'm not sure who I want to talk to about coming with, and I'm not sure how many invaders Ninsi & Co. are willing to put up with... So in short, I'm not really sure. But I am excited... I think.
I guess that's enough stuff for now, as I still need a shower and food. And it's like 4:30 A.M.
Yeah.
Working on it...
Saturday, July 03, 2004
WAFFLES!
Last night, Luigi and I went to Sears and bought a blender with a spigot on the bottom of the pitcher (man, this is cool! No drippage, no wrestling with the full & heavy pitcher...) and a kick-ass coffee maker: this thing has no pot; it has a tank that holds like 12 cups of liquid, and a timer, and it dispense the coffee, folks. You put your mug under the tank and it presses the button and hey, presto! it pours coffe into your cup. I love this.
AND..
Luigi bought me a waffle maker.
I know, you probably think this is anti-climactic compared to the other items. But I HEART WAFFLES in a stupid way, and I've been wanting one for a long time. So today, we got up and I was going to make waffles, and Luigi was going to start the coffee maker; but we discovered that we needed a few things from the store to make all of this work properly. We needed oil for waffles, and vinegar to clean the coffee maker, so it was off to the Neighborhood Market since that is the closest store. Well, ok, Homeland is closer, but they are guaranteed more expensive 'cause they are/cater to a bunch of snooty bastards.
So, about $30 later, we come home from the NM and begin the cleaning of the coffee maker and the mixing of the waffle batter.
The cleaning is still going on, but the waffles turned out fabulous. I am surprised at how good the cheap pancake mix turned out to be. I am amazed, every once in a while, at exactly how good the no-name stuff can be.
So, now, the feasting is done, and soon we will have coffe, and later we will have margaritas of the frozen kind. We plan to invite Dr. Nick, and Tinker, and maybe even the Young'un (an associate of Luigi's that we like, but we're not really crazy about his friends) to come over for enchiladas and chips & queso and more frozen margaritas... I am so very glad that I don't have to work on Monday...
AND..
Luigi bought me a waffle maker.
I know, you probably think this is anti-climactic compared to the other items. But I HEART WAFFLES in a stupid way, and I've been wanting one for a long time. So today, we got up and I was going to make waffles, and Luigi was going to start the coffee maker; but we discovered that we needed a few things from the store to make all of this work properly. We needed oil for waffles, and vinegar to clean the coffee maker, so it was off to the Neighborhood Market since that is the closest store. Well, ok, Homeland is closer, but they are guaranteed more expensive 'cause they are/cater to a bunch of snooty bastards.
So, about $30 later, we come home from the NM and begin the cleaning of the coffee maker and the mixing of the waffle batter.
The cleaning is still going on, but the waffles turned out fabulous. I am surprised at how good the cheap pancake mix turned out to be. I am amazed, every once in a while, at exactly how good the no-name stuff can be.
So, now, the feasting is done, and soon we will have coffe, and later we will have margaritas of the frozen kind. We plan to invite Dr. Nick, and Tinker, and maybe even the Young'un (an associate of Luigi's that we like, but we're not really crazy about his friends) to come over for enchiladas and chips & queso and more frozen margaritas... I am so very glad that I don't have to work on Monday...
Thursday, July 01, 2004
Rum and Monkey: The Name Generator Generator
Rum and Monkey: The Name Generator Generator
ooooh, yeah, I'm getting real mileage out of this today...
My is Her Highness Hitomi Honey.
Take n00b Roleplaying Name Generator today!
Created with Rum and Monkey's Name Generator Generator.
ooooh, yeah, I'm getting real mileage out of this today...
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