Friday, March 27, 2009

I amaze myself in a bad, bad way.

I just caught myself being jealous of a girl with anorexia because she had enough self-discipline to starve herself skinny.

Thursday, March 26, 2009

I feel pretty. Occasionally witty. Not terribly gay, though.

I love it when I turn around and suddenly notice I've had a relatively productive day.

My back yard is nicely cleaned up.  Not perfectly; I need to figure out how to throw away large objects like busted kid pools and yard debris, but at least the garbage is stacked nicely to once side.  The plants are all arrainged, the grass is (to my deep and delighted surprise) growing, and I discovered that my lilies, irises, and daffodils are already blooming!  Yay!  I'm hoping my Lucifer survives.  I planted the bulbs this morning, but since they were out of the ground for a little over two weeks while I was in Cali, I'm not terribly hopeful.  BE STRONG, LUCIFER!

... Oh geez, that's kind of funny.

Anyway.

I've made a little headway into getting the house cleaned up on the inside.  Granted, by some standards, it was pretty damn clean to begin with.  However, I was raised by a slightly OCD mom and an even more OCD grandmother... make that two OCD hyper-clean grandmothers.  No shit, one of my grandmothers could see a cat hair on her kitchen floor from across the room.  I'm not quite that bad, but I do like to be able to see stretches of carpet when I walk into the living room, and I do like cleared flat surfaces in general, and... well, I'm working on it.

Man, my back yard looks good.

I got a lot of work done on Infernal Shenanigans! as well, which is nice and lovely because that's where I'm hoping money comes from.  See, I haven't found that mythical chocolate dick that ejaculates money yet, so I'm still looking to get greenbacks the old-fashioned way: bank robberies.  Or was that extortion?  ... Anyway.

On the bright side, getting things done means that I won't feel bad taking the rest of the evening off to draw and write!

Also, best of luck to my unbiological brother who is taking the ASVAB right about now.  If you don't score a perfect, man, I'm never talking to you again and you'd better wear sackcloth and ashes and yell "UNCLEAN" when people pass by close to you.  Seriously.

Nah, I kid.

Seriously, dude.  Do not dishonor our ancestors.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Hell. Oh.

Welcome to San Jose Airport, a nice enough airport when traveling alone (hey, free wifi that actually works goes a long way with me), but a waking nightmare with one cool oasis (again, free wifi) when one is sick with a cold and traveling with two very healthy, very active children.

Now, my two darlings are very polite, extremely well-behaved kids. Most of the time. They are very courteous, use their manners well, and generally get along well with just about everybody. Put them on a plane when they're relatively tired, and they'll peacefully listen to my iPod and stay quiet. Put them on an airplane early in the afternoon after a twenty-minute nap, and they turn into two noisy little slap-boxers with insatiable appetites and the urge to pee every two minutes during takeoff and landing, and every ten minutes while camped out at the gate.

So, take two hyper preschoolers-going-on-schoolers, factor in the lack of sleep and excitement of travelling by AIWERPWANE, and multiply that by having to walk across a crowded terminal packing a stuffed laptop bag, a camera, a purse, three jackets (it's hot in San Diego, but rather cold still in Portland), a bag of food, a couple of drinks, and one small hand trying to tug you in eight directions at once, none of them in the direction you're actually trying to go, and to all that add in sinuses that burn with the brimstone promises of a thousand Baptist preachers that is simultaneously leaking like a busted fire hydrant and two very sore ears, and on top of all that add in the disgusted looks of a million people who are better parents than me while mysteriously absent of any wee hangers-on.

Of course, they're totally mocking me right this minute by playing nicely with the toy monster truck that my son got at Burger King, both of them wearing the paper crowns symbolic of that magic Burger Kingdom. For some reason, I want to shake them both and cry out for them to meet my lowered expectations. That would be foolish, though. We still have one more flight to go, and a car ride home after that... and their bedtime is in an hour and a half.

At least we're back in our own beds tonight.

Monday, March 9, 2009

Update on the computer situation...

Hey, did you guys know it's possible to boot a laptop off of your iPod?

Even if you don't want to?

... I do now! :D

In other news, Gerald is feeling much better now that Erynn isn't all up in him...

This cat wants to die.

Allie is on a roll.

She woke me up this morning after Irk left for work, yowling up and down the hall, then parking her butt at the door and yowling there. I finally hissed at her and she took off running downstairs, but the damage was done. I was awake.

Luckily, the kids slept through her wailing, or the story might have ended there.

On the bright side, I was able to shower and get dressed before the kids woke up, so that was nice. I had to go to the Social Security Administration office today to figure out what on earth was going on with my son's SSN. That was enough to drive me batty. I get home, I start lunch, and I open the laptops to prepare to catch up on email. Suddenly, my body informs me that it is also time to do some business in the bathroom, so.

When I get back, not TWO MINUTES LATER, Allie is jumping off the table, and poor Gerald is frozen. Asmodai is also experiencing some difficulties, but he seems to be made of sturdier stuff than Gerald, and straightens out with a couple of keystrokes.

Gerald, poor poor Gerald, is... dead. BIOS splash, then nada.

I bitch at Irk about her cat (as you do), then settle in to try to fix the damned computer. As I'm downloading the .iso so I can format one of my USB drives to be a 'nix booter (and surfing the web a bit while I download), I hear a horrid sound from under the table.

YULK YULK YULK YULK

"Great," I think, "Allie is going for an encore. WONDERFUL."

YULK YULK YULK YULK YULK YU-HRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAK!

I realize with dawning horror that the universe surrounding my foot now feels rather hot and drippy.

If Irk posts about the sudden and horrid death of her darling Allie, the world will know why. Provided the damned feline doesn't give me another excuse in the meantime. I mean, really, how's she going to top that?

...

Irk, if that effing cat pees on my bed...