So I've been ill this past week or so. I'd actually caught a minor cold right before Phoenix, but shook it off in time for the trip. I then proceeded to be rather travel-weary for the next few days, only to be tossed into a car for twenty-four hours with Dad and E, burning rubber to Tampa to check in on Joanie and Ed (who'd been hospitalized last month, rather near death's door, complete with funny (not funny ha-ha and more funny 'that's really sad') story about him waiting in his doctor's office while the doctor was out and Joanie demanding a breathing machine for him because he was turning blue and the office staff having to send someone across the street to the actual hospital to get one, only to discover no one in the office knew how to use it and poor cousin Phil having to figure it out while Joanie sits there thinking she's going to watch her husband asphyixiate because her doctor's employees have no medical emergency training. When the doctor came back, he made Phil show each and every employee there what he did to get the machine working).

So my sleep schedule got really out of whack, complete with my immune system taking a little vacation, and I got my cold back- possibly out of remission, more likely a different virus. Knocked me flat out- couldn't breath, couldn't sit up without getting dizzy, couldn't stop sneezing, couldn't really focus my brain on anything for too long without it meandering away, couldn't always eat because the cold made everything taste weird and gross. And on one memorable occasion, puked the food and cold medicine back up. That's been going on since Tuesday. It was worst over the weekend- I spent four hours on Maya's couch on Sunday staring off into nothing waiting for my head to be less dizzy so I could drive home and take a nap before getting on Vent with the CSC. (I was highly annoyed by the spaceyness, I mean, if you're going to be home sick, you should at least be able to play video games, and I got dizzy doing that. Possibly because that's what I did all Saturday...)

Anyways, I had already scheduled a visit with the doctor last month. My prescription was up, and he likes seeing patients again before he renews them, and I had no idea, because I haven't seen a doctor since high school, and I've never been on prescription needing renewing before. (It's only my second time on anything prescribed, period. And the migraine medication didn't really work, so I only refilled it once before giving up on the whole thing and going back to ibuprofen and washclothes.) His clinic is apparently really busy, because they scheduled me for an appointment five weeks out. (I can only hope that people who are actually sick get a closer appointment date. What if I'd called Thursday, would they have pushed me ahead a couple days and seen me Friday? I could've been dying.) So I went and saw him today and was explaining the cold thing to him, and that it felt like I wasn't getting enough air, even though most of the other symptoms- barring the cough, which was a latecomer anyway- were clearing up.

So I've been given a week's worth of Xyzal. For allergies.

(Because cold symptoms and allergy symptoms overlap? I did say it started with my throat, which has nothing to do with allergies, it would seem to me.)

... I'm more than a little confused, but I'll give it the week, and if I still have this awful wheeze and air flow problems, I'll give the office another call and get to shell out another $100 for a twenty minute visit and hopefully better advice as to the cause.

I bowl Mondays. It's a fun league- nine pin, no tap, which means if you hit nine pins on your first throw, it's a strike. $10 a week for ten weeks, and you get to play round-robin with a bunch of friendly strangers. Before two weeks ago, I'd bowled maybe three times in my adult life. So yeah, my average is not something to brag about. It hasn't reached three digits yet, and considering the no-tap, that's sad. It does mean, however, that my handicap is FANTASTIC (numerically speaking, as anyone else would rather have an average of 130 than a handicap of 130...) so that, when I do bowl a good game, I'm the winner. Because fun leagues are meant to make it fun for sad people like me who think they've bowled a good game when they get 102 (last week's first of three games, it just went downhill from there.)

So today, the parents and I are bowling against a trio of guys about my age who all have decent scores (ie, have averages higher than my handicap). Mom's feeling under the weather (possibly the same bug I've just gotten over), and Dad's pulling his usual 'it's not a good game unless I break 200', and I bowl pretty much my average for the first two games. (93 and 94, which have me satisfied, as I have beaten my 90 average.) I'd been bouncing off the walls the entire time- I possibly over-saturated my bloodstream with caffeine. But by the time game three rolls around, I am in the zone. The wussy eight-pounder and I are as one. That second arrow mark might as well be a magnet for all the times I hit it. Spare here, no-tap there, strike there. I only have two frames that I don't get my ten pins. The guys are scratching their heads, wondering where the hell all this came from? (I have possibly stolen their groove, because not a one of them breaks 100 that last game.)

My score? 183
With handicap? 313

Booyah, baby! Guess who gets to be top of the handicap game and series lists next week? And probably will for game for the rest of the league? *dances*

Even with the no-taps discounted, my score would still be way above my average. So yay, I had a bowling Zen moment game and want to drag people back there again so I can try and find it and keep it.

So talking cell phones with Dad right now. Apparently Margret broke hers and had to have to replaced? That's a new phone, you ditz, how did you break it already?

Anyways, he mentioned that he only calls people when he has something he needs to ask or whatever. Not much of a conversationalist, he is. And apparently he's annoyed with the twins for never answering the phone when he calls them. (I cannot vouch for how true this is, since the only time I've seen him call Laura, she answered the phone. Margret the ever-busy is probably the guilty party here.) So hey, you two, you see the home number, either pick up or call back when you're not busy so Dad won't feel like you're blowing him off. Because he's the one who's paying for that phone and that comes across as more than a little ungrateful. Especially seeing as how Mom just had to swap in her phone upgrade to replace the phone you broke.

Also, to repeat, Margret, you do know you lose your military ID and thus, its health care benefits when you marry? That's a who-knows-how-long amount of time where you aren't covered. I understand the marraige before posting is neceessary for joint-spouse, but you also need to get coverage for that break in time so that, should anything horrible happen- like your car getting t-boned by an eighteen-wheeler and you getting put in traction for years and no longer in the good health necessary for a military career- you need to have something to cover medical bills. Because you sure as hell can't afford it, the parents can't afford it, and mooching is not a way of life you want to get into.

So kindly do some research, maybe get some paperwork together, and let Dad know you're not blowing off his justifiable paranoia. Because that's his big issue about you getting married before your commissioning. Big mystery solved, now get to work communicating with him again. And I'd like to point out that this huge passive-agressive, nonconfrontational fight could've been avoided if you had just asked him why he was upset about you two trying to set the day pre-graduation, instead of bitching like a little girl on your blog or to your sisters or to your friends. Communication is the key to maintaining a good relationship.

/rant

Blargh. I hate stomach bugs. Just when you think it's safe to eat normal food again, you're puking it back up. Monday was bad enough- I couldn't hold down water until after noon and I'd been up since half 6. Tuesday saw me nibbling on saltines while drinking water like a fish. Half a can of ravioli stayed down for dinner. Wednesday was more water and pizza to try out new foods. While those days were non-pukey, I had zero energy and a major headache. I had more energy this morning, so went with a normal lunch, though I skipped on the soda because the last thing a still-queasy stomach needs is carbonation. Unfortunately, it's the same for dairy products, which milkshakes disguise themselves as. Combine that with the most nauseous smell emanating from the work microwave, and I am yet again paying worship to the porcelain god. I should've known better- even if I hadn't been upchucking, my stomach's been making really obnoxious noises the entire week. So here's hoping tomorrow's better and I won't be skiving out of work to crawl into my bathroom to die again.

So E. is all hyped up about some book series she's reading. Twilight something-or-nother. Yeah, that's nice, whatever, you said vampire. I continue on with my life, not caring any more. Then Head Trip referenced it, and I went looking. (I now know who the Edward Cullen is I keep randomly seeing in icons.) And this is gold.

Seriously, I wrote better crap than that in middle school, and it's not like they weren't self-absorbed, better-left-unwritten-never-mind-published little monstrosities. Sparkly vampires. Dear god. (Really, I can't believe E. is reading these books. Those are for the YA, of the YA, by the YA. You're 21, not 12. And then to suggest them to *April* to read? Those aren't doom-and-gloom vampires. I don't think they even drink blood. And the reason they stay out of sunlight is because they sparkle under the brightness of the day star? I can feel brain cells dying just reading the reviews of these books, never mind actually touching them...)


Have been promoted up the corporate ladder at work. Margret started last Monday, and I've taken to being bossy like a pro. Admittedly I give her five minutes before I step in, take over, and complain that she's messed the entire thing up. By the time I'll have gotten her properly trained, her two months will be up and I'll be back to being low man on the totem pole. It's nice having her there- makes me realize I've learned a crap-ton about the industry in the 2+ years I've been there. Though she makes person number three to mock my phone voice. Waaah! It's not my fault! The only way I can slow my voice down is to completely Southernize it! I hate speaking and kind of rush through the words to get them all out as soon as possible. So yes, I do say Stiii-ulls. I made her make phone calls, and every time she got voice mail, it was "thisisMargretatStiles!Yourpartsarehere!kthxbai!" So she has no room to talk. At least I make the effort to be intelligible.

Have discovered she's got the same fear of drive-thru that I do. For different reasons though- she's kind of short and has to pretty much get out of the car to get her food from the window. Hee. (It probably doesn't help that the first time she tried drive-thru, she skipped the speaker and went straight to the window and sat around wondering why they weren't opening the window with her food.)

So my birthday was yesterday. A big thank you to all the well-wishers, even Lee, who keeps different time than everybody else. It's was still night, so it counted, right? Spent the entire day answering the phone to different family members saying happy birthday. Well, except for E, who just took over my chair while I dressed and wished me happy birthday.

Best story of the those happenings is a certain twin (who will remain nameless,just like the last time she messed up hilariously for my birthday. She's got feet-in-mouth disease, but luckily, I just find it funny. I've never been huge about birthdays and presents) calling me up to tell me she forgot to mail out my birthday card. (I forget her story as to why, but I'm sure it had to do with the two tests she had in one day and the two hours of sleep she'd gotten because she'd been studying forever...) So, she continues on to say that she can just use it for E's birthday (come May) instead. Woohoo. One can only fall silent in contemplation of the utter lack of brains involved in making this statement. Happily, I am thick-skinned about such things and don't find it insulting.

Man, I still can't keep a straight face just thinking about it. She cracks me up, that girl.

Had dinner with the parents at Longhorn's. (mmm, steak) Was meeting them there, so talked to my grandfather when he called to wish me a happy birthday. And to begin to reminisce (reminise? wtf? Fracking French) about my younger years. He's gotten really depressing of late, without Grandma. Luckily the parents showed up when I started getting twitchy, so I bid him farewell and stuck the phone on silent so anybody else calling would go to voicemail. Because I just knew Diana would be calling to say 'hey, let's do dinner sometime' any moment. And you know what, she did. Also missed a call from Jon, who was trying to show initiative and head over to the house to wish me happy birthday, except I headed over to the Wests' directly after dinner. (Is it sad I find that adorable?) Maya seemed weirded out by the fact I had no plans for my birthday or for the weekend to pretend it was for the birthday. I'm not huge into celebrations. Mostly, I see birthdays as an excuse for people to call me and chat for awhile. (I like to think I'm beginning to get over this phone phobia, but since it's still primarily my relatives calling and talking to me more than making conversation, I think I'm deluding myself.)

Also, I don't do consoling well. (I'm a depressing kind of person and don't understand other people's need to be exuberantly happy as often as they can. It's tiring.) Whoever is yelling at E. better stop it the hell now. She's always something of a baby during the winter time (needs more sun in her diet, I swear), but if you make her cry again, I will end you.

PS- Laura, say thank you for the advice, ignore her as you wish, and stop poking the bear back. She knows she's making a huger deal of this than really it needs to be (though, honestly, I think there needs to be some sort of fuss about it because you weren't this bad in high school), so if you could show some of your famous politeness to your sister, I'd appreciate it.

Dad's humming Toreador. I am amused. He's got to have picked it up from me, because I've been doing it for years, and he's not much of a hummer.

No real news here. Had to swim to my car a couple of days last week. Poured nonstop for two days straight and the house is apparently on low ground. It was flooded halfway up the neighbor's driveway. We've dubbed that corner of the road Lake Tahoe. (Nobody's entirely certain who came up with it, or why, but it's Tahoe now.) It's mostly dried up, but the drainage ditch at the entrance to the division is still full to the brim. I liked it better iced over with needles poking out.

It's supposed to rain some more today. Very nice- even if it does mean the roof at work leaks like a sieve and is uninsulated and thus sounds like a hurricane even when it's just sprinkling. (Don't even ask about the noise tree branches and acorns make...) And for such a water baby, I don't actually get in it much, except for standing outside in the rain. (I miss swimming. But I hate the beach- too much sand, sun, and people.)

Why do the twins keep calling my work number to chat? It ties up my credit card line, and if I've got customers, I can't talk. E. and I tend to text each other- mostly because I'm paranoid I'm going to call her and her boss'll be talking to her and hear the phone ring, even though I know she's got her phone on vibrate. But seriously, you two, unless it's some 'need to talk to dad' thing, call my cell. I do try to answer your calls. (Except when I've yet again left my phone on the floor I'm not on at home and thus don't hear it ringing.)

I will confess to never answering the phone without seeing who's calling, because I don't like talking to Diana. She likes choosing awkward conversation topics and doesn't seem to notice how completely tactless some of her comments are. ("Come have dinner over here, Katja, since I know you don't have any plans for Valentine's Day." .... Chyeah, like that was gonna happen. That would've just made me more depressed. (Apparently Grandpa thinks any virgin over the age of twenty-five has mental problems. On the other hand, I think he has mental problems. And motor mouth problems. And if you've ever met my mother, you'll be horrified to hear she's only half as bad as he is.)) Diana also has this horrible habit of calling me at eight in the morning on the weekends. I only meant to pick up the phone to turn the ringer off, but it flipped open and I was stuck talking to her for twenty minutes all the while thinking "I went to bed at three, shut up already." Eventually she'll take the hint- but it's sad that I'm not known for subtle and she still misses it for so long.

I should probably get around to having her over to see the new place, but a huge immature part of me wants to never see her. (And how is it I've become the responsible one about family members of the four of us? ... No wait, I know. I'm fracking masochistic and easily guilt-tripped.)

Left some leftovers in my car Friday night. Didn't really worry about it too much until I stepped outside noonish and discovered it was a bright, HOT day. There is only so much open windows and aerosol air fresheners can cure. (Also, rainy days make it impossible to leave my windows cracked for fresh air. Very annoying.) It smells like spaghetti and just getting in my car makes me hungry.

Note to self: wash car, investigate changing own oil.

Interesting times this holiday season. I visited Carmen after Christmas (dropping Laura off along the way, since FSU band doesn't get the same days off everyone else does, apparently). Accidentally left my trunk open after I grabbed my bag out of it (even though I double-checked because I'm paranoid like that, so really, no idea how it was left open...), and went to start my car to leave (two days later...) and ta-da, dead battery. So got to meet a couple of her (sort-of) early-riser co-workers. (A pair of youngish twins from Ireland, who I could probably tell apart if given longer than twenty minutes to meet them.) Double-checked with father about length of time I ought to give battery to charge to make sure it didn't die on the way home in Nowheresville, FL. Because I only had half a tank left, and that's definitely not enough to get home from Gainesville. But it's enough to get me to Tallahassee apparently, so woo-hoo, car did not die again. Sooner or later, will have to replace battery, it's going on two years old, and it's been slower to start my car of late. Probably not holding as much of a charge as it ought.
*
So a couple of days after that, get a panicky call from Lee saying "hey, come pick me up, my car's broken." Luckily, it's just a flat tire. Unluckily, it's New Year's Eve at night, and driving over was something of a hassle. Would've been more of a hassle two hours later when the drunks started leaving for their New Year's parties. (Which was actually the only reason I was still wide awake and dressed. Usually I'm getting ready for bed, but E. convinced me to come with her to one. I'm always up for free food.) Have issues getting her jack to work (sucker's rusted shut) so I dig E's out of her car (whose car I have stolen because it was blocking mine in the garage). E's has some sort of goop all over it and the tire. *Very* unpleasant. (BTW, I think Lee still has the jack in her car. Could be a problem.) Lady cop stops by to see why we're peering over her owner's manual using the trunk light and my dying flashlight. Get to watcher her swap out the blown tire with Lee's spare, only to discover Lee's spare is flat. ... Crap.

So I loan Lee my car so she can get to work, tell her to either buy a tire or call a tow truck come the second (since few people are open New Year's.) She buys a tire. I should've specified tire with rim. (It's not like I've actually changed a tire before. My knowledge is solely theoretical, and it's solely based off what I've learned from where I work.) Get back out there after work, park in front of her car this time, only to discover I've parked in sand... Fantastic. Now, not only do we a three-wheeled tire that we can't put a new tire on because we're a couple of goof-ups, but we also now have my car stuck six inches down in sand it's dug up trying to get out. Helpful guy in truck stops by and says "I'll be back with tow cables" and I continue to try and seesaw my car out. Finally manage to do so as he shows back up. (Personally, I think my car picked up on my irritation over the fact that she waited until it was late in the day- and thus cold and dark and after fracking store hours- to do the car thing. But she'd been packing and probably hadn't slept in two days, so I can't blame her for wanting a nap... Doesn't stop the illogical rage though. And my car didn't want to become my target. Because I probably would've taken to kicking tires to vent.) All the tow companies we can think of are closed for the day, so I reclaim my car and drop Lee off at the apartment. Bring her over to the repair place the next day, where they punch her in the wallet. Repeatedly. Not certain what she did with the tire. Probably returned it to WalMart.

Note to self, when I finally get out of here, move to city with good public transportation system.
*
So she finally manages to make it out of town (even with her moving company problems), except her timetable's so screwed up that now, instead of the two of us cleaning up the apartment, I've got to cart out the leftover furniture and clean up. Don't feel like doing this in the dark, so it's weekend work. Get some done one weekend, get the rest done the next weekend. Rent a U-Haul to cart off the smelly couch and the dresser (which E appropriates, because her 'no dresser' experiment has gone horribly bad, clothes-wise. (For awhile there it looked like she had no carpet, just a crapload of fabric swatches.)) Finally finish up and head back to the house, to see I've missed a call from Lee. Call her to find out she'd gotten a call from the rental place because someone (just what is Charles' title, anyway?) had stopped by during the week and seen it was a mess.

I'm glad he thinks I can afford a day off from work to clean up a place he could never bother doing any repairs in. Let's discuss my doorbell situation. Four months into moving in, my doorbell stopped working. However, it continued to ring at odd times for no particular reason we could discover. Finally figured out everytime someone visited apartment G next to us, our doorbell rang along with hers. (In December, people moved into B and spent twenty minutes listening to all the tunes theirs played. (I hate small children.) Guess who's bell rang as well, every single fracking time theirs did?) Fantastic, someone set up a wireless system here. Call to leave messages about this a couple times, then give up on it. It's probably just as well, since he doesn't make a very good electrician. The metal rack in the laundry had serious voltage running through it for ages, before they finally called an actual electrician to fix it, instead of continuing to try their fucked-up in house fixes. Good thing our hangers were plastic.

So you'll pardon me if I don't care if he was annoyed about that. He never had time for us, I'm not losing pay to clean it up. If it had been summer time when we moved, I probably would've done it after work. But guess what, there's no light in the public rooms. I'm not working in the dark. Also am annoyed about the fact he wanted the washer and dryer out of there. They couldn't have brought it up *before* I returned the U-Haul? (Which had still been hours before Lee's missed call.) The people moving in are going to need them, too. (Probably want to squeeze more money out of them. Buy a package washer/dryer deal.) So got that done last Monday, made one last turn of the place, and returned the keys. Doubtful about the deposit being returned- I couldn't get out the weird stains on the carpet where Roscoe apparently knocked pink stuff over. Not to mention all the blinds he destroyed in his need to peer out the windows to stare at birds and lizards. To be honest, I don't even care about it. Lee can try and argue some of it back out of them, but I'm washing my hands of it. Too much bother.

Note to self, need to change air filter in central air system. (Yay, central air. No more huddling under three blankets to try and keep warm.)

My internets is broken! Fix it over the phone! Frakking Monahan store wouldn't know RAM from a motherboard, and they keep bothering me to somehow magically fix it, sight unseen. Like I've got Tech Support training. Reboot your computer, maybe you hit something funny. If that doesn't work, restart your modem thingy. It's that blue box that says Sprint on it. If you can't find it, it's not my problem, you didn't need the internet anyway. Let's not even get into the Bossman not getting the printer to work and overloading it with fifteen copies of the same document because maybe he just didn't hit print.

Considering how little work there is to be done, shouldn't this time of year be *less* stressful? And that's just work stress, nevermind all the stress with the parents about the moving.

My mother, bless her, tends to squash everyone else in the conversation. It's not like she means it, she just equates conversation with 'me talking always'. (Which gives me a whole set of other issues with speaking, as Lee will attest). I just wanted to do something without her butting her nose in. I know she means to be helpful, but she always ends up running the show. (I don't have a strong personality, I don't need her running roughshod over it.) And she's not too good on the follow-through. Just look at all the house jobs she's left mid-task to start something else. It annoys the hell out of the rest of the family, is it any wonder I didn't want her trying to pull that shit on me trying to find a place to live? Yes, I need to apologize to her for blowing her off, but shouldn't she apologize to us for all the times she's blown *us* off? She runs on Marcie-time, and I wanted out by new year. In Marcie-time, that would've ended up being my birthday. Like when she wanted E. to go see a place over on Hollywood, then thinks a good time would be 0730, which is when E. needs to be leaving for work, not adding another forty minutes of driving to the other side of town during the morning traffic jam. (Not to mention the tweny miles over the speed limit she was going in a town famous for its speeding tickets...) Mom may not have to be at work until noon or whenever, but E. is struggling to keep her her boss happy, she doesn't need to add 'tardy' to her list of defects.

Anyways, Dad needs to get off his hypocritical high horse.
Maybe I should've moved to Navarre, so she can never visit me just like she never visits her widowed father. (Of course, then I'd be bothered by Aunt Diana ten times more than I already am.)

Speaking of Diana, just because I'm masochistic and easily guilt-tripped doesn't mean the sibs should completely blow off their grandfather like that. Your definition of Christmas apparently contains self-centered and selfish, and considering how much the man has done for you over the years (can I say cruise trips, anyone?), spending a couple hours over dinner with him is not going to kill you, you skanky whiny little bitches.

For those of you not in the know, I've spent the last three weeks apartment hunting. Lee's moving out to Texas (and I was going to go with her, but I don't *like* Texas. The only natural disaster you don't have to worry about is tsunamis, and for a paranoiac like me, that's something to worry about.) and I really don't need to be living on my own, so E. and I (plus April, oh jeez. Already I'm worried, because if you think I'm picky about my food, you haven't met her. I'll try new things. I'll mix my vegetables with my potatoes. Let's not talk about the fact she's been house hunting like she's buying, not renting. Perfect ain't gonna happen, honey, now get your head out of the sand.)

So, house hunting. April's mother works for a realtor, so she can look in their system for everybody else's three bedroom places, not just the one's her employer has. So April spent who knows how long looking through places and sent E. a group of fifteen or so to look into. We looked through, axed all the ones too expensive and went to view the outsides before bothering to call the listed numbers to view interiors- because I'd rather not live in crack alley again. Also, no kids. They keep playing in the street and I'm paranoid I'm going to hit them.

So a lot of the past few weeks has been calling numbers, being told we had to pay three months rent up front, no overnight visitors, no pets, blah blah blah, you're young, single females who will have wild parties, don't call us, we'll call you. Also, don't hold your breath.

It's been a major hassle. Even more of a hassle is the fact I'm the only one with good credit. E. doesn't have any (because she refuses to get a credit card, which I completely understand, but it's either that or take a loan out that will get her a credit score) and April's mother did something weird to hers back in high school. They do have good rental history, unlike me, since I don't think I'm on the lease for my current residence. I might be.

So last Monday, I went enough is enough. First place to agree to rent to us, we take. Because I'm getting sick of the run-around and the unreturned calls, and I'd like to be in a new place by the end of the year.

My mother, in the meantime, is trying to be helpful (read poking her nose in without asking) and looking around at places. In crappy neighborhoods that April is definitely going to axe immediately that even I'm kinda squeamish about. And she keeps finding townhouses in Shalimar. I don't want a townhouse- people with kids live in those areas. I'm going to hit someone and go to jail, I know it. I don't want Shalimar- she stops by randomly already and it's six miles to where I am now. Everything in Shalimar is within a mile. She'll powerwalk over or something. Every weekend.

The current place I'm looking at is townhouse, though. I went over to look at fully intending to say no. Because it's $1200 and a townhouse that doesn't take pets. However, the owner is willing to bend on the price and let us pay the security deposit in installments (the first time anyone's allowed that), isn't going to bother with the credit checks because he already knows our problem there (even called current employers for verification of working there and is just as worried about April's 'pending the need for more employees' job as we are), and comforts me with the fact he's an anal-rententive neat-freak who thinks his garage floor needs mopped before anyone can move in. That means when stuff breaks (because sooner or later it will), he will actually fix it. We'd just have to make sure to vacuum before we call him.

Accepting the over-priced *townhouse* apparently hurts my mother's feelings. April's willing to cover the extra hundred E. and I are quibbling over, and this neighborhood has a bunch of single spinsters living there (who I've met), not young families with half a dozen kids playing basketball in the street. So yes, I am okay with it. I didn't ask for her help, and frankly, I'm tired of the whole thing. He just has to mop his garage floor first, and the place is ours. He also has to plant some shrubberies so we don't run over drainage pipes, but the place doesn't need to be vacant for that.

I am kinda hoping ERA calls about the other place, though. It doesn't have stairs that you need to carry furniture up.

And Carmen thinks she hasn't updated in forever...

I plead temporary (read: permanent) addiction to computer games as my excuse. Besides, anything terribly interesting that happens gets posted by Lee, since, well, living together. Such as the recent addition to our household of the conehead kind.

Well, It's not so much an addition to the household so much as an extension of the klutziest cat I've ever had. (Well, lived with, since he's Lee's cat...) Roscoe has gotten much more sedate with the addition of the satellite around his neck. Poor dude keeps scratching at it, which means he's not allowed to run around with it off for fear of tearing open his stitches. He's currently sleeping under my covers and making sleepy noises every time I go over and poke my hand under to make sure he hasn't suffocated or something.

Speaking of scratching and stitches, giving Roscoe his ear medication in the morning was something of a hassle yesterday. Five drops seems simple enough, until you take into account that the radar dish doesn't hinder head movements too much, which means there's nothing to grab onto to hold his head still. Combine his thrashing with awkward positions, and I accidentally hit his stitches and he decided he had enough of that and thrashed a panic attack that left my pants torn. Huzzah. Which meant I had to break out the emergency pants (read: tragic pale blue pants accidentally washed with bright red, never-been-washed shirt leaving said pants pink in certain (read: all) lights, complete with bloodstain looking spots from previous run-ins with strange liquids that had formerly just looked like dirt stains (which they were). They also have funny yellow speckles on one thigh. No idea where those came from.), since that evening was supposed to be laundry day for pants (as was all out of clean work pants). (The laundry plan didn't work out anyway, as Tuesday was the rescheduled date for dinner with aunt and grandfather, since previous date was washed out after got sick of waiting in rush hour traffic for life flight to clear out. Three hundred feet in an hour does not a happy driver make, so E. and I called off and went to IHOP instead. Very cold there.)

E. has gotten a Nintendo DS, along with a spiffy little game by the name of Puzzle Quest. It's basically the RPG version of Bejeweled, and am seriously contemplating buying a DS solely to play this game. (Along with Brain Age, which looks like fun, because I'm fond of smart-making games.)

Have gotten onto a strange reading fix of late- I'm currently bouncing between Jane Austen (because I am somehow a sucker for romances written in the nineteenth century, when everyone was genteel and never really touched, much less had sex) and Anne McCaffrey's older sci-fi novels. (Back when she was interesting and not writing a bajillion sequels. (And zomg, my internet spellchecker is trying to tell me that's written bazillion. Is bazillion seriously a number, or is it just a word used so freaking often it's made it into the slang dictionary?))
Am currently sulking about it all, since these books can only be found on the internet and in used book stores, and there's only two within decent driving distance (since the one on Beal closed, the liars- they're in the phone book, but I drive past there everyday and there's some crafty store there now) and I can only find one store and while they did have some McCaffrey, I've fixated on the Brainship books and the only one I've found is The City Who Fought. I used to own The Ship Who Sang, but I haven't seen it since E. was in middle school. (She probably loaned it to someone, the bitch.))

Furthering the off-track loaning comment, I've somehow become a lending library. I'm not certain whether to be proud (Whee, I'm a library! Bestest thing ever!) or annoyed (Mine! Rar!). So if anybody's in want of something, drop me a line and an updated mailing address. (I'm sure I have everybody's, but I also never delete old emails with addresses, which means I've got four different addresses for Stephen alone, one of which is in Florida and we all know when last he lived here.)

Along those lines, I'm transitioning over to a new email address (csc.elfhawk (at) gmail.com) since my yahoo address is again being bombarded by spam. (I kind of miss the 'enhance your dick' spams, since they were funny. Now I'm winning lotteries, vacation trips, and shopping sprees, if only I fill out this simple form...) So update thine address books. I will sooner or later get around to sending an email as well.

I need to get my scanner hooked back up. It's been sitting in the living room for over a month, and I've been having way too much fun with pens to not inflict it upon you. (Lee is awestruck by my trees. More struck than awe, to be true, but hey, any attention is good, right?)

Saw Stardust over the weekend. It's your standard romantic fantasy quest, so I found the book so boring I never actually finished it. Course, it also goes to show you that even the most boring Neil Gaiman book ever makes for a cool movie. (I'm holding out for Good Omens.) Robert de Niro was fabulous, and the seven princes made for hilarious entertainment. Liz and I were the youngest people in the audience, barring a couple of couples that brought the kiddies. The gentleman two seats over from me kept snoring. That was pretty funny.

J.C. and Katie were/are in town. (How coupley- it's J.C. and Katie, not just Katie or J.C.) One was in for the weekend, the other left yesterday, in opposite directions, and they both made off with my Fables books. I was too sleepy to stop them. (After large meals, I have to be given time to digest, so nyah.) Katie also made off with season four of Bab5, which delays me finishing that up even further.

( Speaking of tv shows... )

Haven't posted in awhile. Let's see if I can remember anything interesting that's happened lately.
( Lengthy blathering follows )

Mark the date. Elf has had her first car accident. (Actually, it was yesterday.)
( Read more... )

Judging by the its name, I think this means I have no seduction technique.

Yay for another year older and another year dateless.

Also, got the ugliest cake ever this year. The boss got me a chocolate cake at work. (Which was surprising in itself, because his favorite cake is carrot, so every other cake given has been that. Huzzah for James having a birthday shortly before mine and me mocking carrot. Not that I don't like carrot. But chocolate is better.) The only chocolate cake available at Albertson's at the time was apparently a brown one with pink flowers. And what color does the baker do the lettering in? Orange, of course. Very bright orange. He proceed to brutalize my name. (I think it might've been Katrina?) Bud proceeds to add tacky little note to it- 23 and still free. What the hell?

Ah well, at least I got chocolate out of it.

And on a similarly related note, tactless person from previous entry got me a very nice book and I'm sorry for making fun of her. (Even if she was tactless.)

I've never had any illusions about my lack of anything respecting tact. That being said, I'd like to point you in the direction of someone less tactful than me. To protect the stupid, her name shall be withheld. I shall simply say, this person is 18, writes like a 13-year-old AIMer, and whose name begins with M. (Also, same last name as me.)

So this person calls me up several days ago (maybe last week) to ask, "hey, Kat, what do you want for your birthday?" Me being at work (even if this has been, like, the most dead week ever), I point her in the direction of my wishlist tag (because I don't make decisions like this quickly, as Lee and mine's frequent fusses over food functions can attest. It's not like there's that many restaurants we agree on, so really, we ought to just start flipping a coin) and send her on her merry way.

She calls me up a couple days later (again, at work...) to say, "hey, I'm getting your present on ebay." Okaaaay, I think, and this matters why? But then she continues, "and I was wondering, does it matter if your present is used or do you want it new?"

...

...

Dear God in Heaven. How did this child ever manage to make friends once she left fourth grade? She's lucky she's talking to me and not someone who would take offense to that question. Because, provided she's not getting me food or clothing or movies, I *don't* care. Unless it was used by five-year-olds and torn to shreds or drooled on or colored on. Then I mind. But still, this is my birthday present we're talking about. I don't get her cheap used stuff for *her* birthday and call to see if she's okay with it. (Possibly I should start saving nail clippings to give to her this year. (Maybe start eating more calcium. Would that make nails grow faster?))

I'm rather dreading checking my mail for the next week. She might've sent me a reused envelope from the anthrax scare.


Possibly I should update the wishlist to 'please, nothing bought from strange, possibly naked people on ebay who burn DVDs and pass them off as real.' (Also, no canned air. I bought some from K-Mart around the time I got NWN2. Did you know you need ID to buy canned air? What's up with that? Are you checking my age or my address, dude? It's not like you can snort the stuff. (And if you can, please don't share with the class. We have vivid imaginations and don't need the help.))

If anybody else is going to do the ebay thing, please send me cash instead. That way, you'll have gotten me lunch and not recycled bed sheets that will go straight into the trash can.

Also, Laura, please speak to your twin. Anybody less passive-aggressive than me would have ripped her a new one on the phone (regardless of audience) and driven over to beat her up instead of just mocking her on an LJ.

Item one: Christmas shopping
- Dad: stuffed under bed to keep cat from getting into
- Secret Santa: somewhere in my room to debate wrapping paper versus boxing and labeling for shipment, as I have no idea who's in town when for Christmas
- E: clueless (do I get something funny or useful stuff? Do I get both? Do I cop out and just send a Christmas card with a gift card?)
- twins: pondering (will likely bring them shopping post-holidays and make them choose their own stuff. I feel dirty buying them stuff. They want sparkles and pink and American Eagle. I can feel my brain cells dying every time I swipe my debit card when we do these trips.)
- Mom: clueless
- do I even have anyone else to get presents for? (suppose if I see something CSC-related that I think is too good to pass up I might grab it...)

Item two: Liz's birthday present stuffed under bed to keep me from getting into
This was not as difficult as I thought it would be. (I had to get something not on her wishlist to keep from possibility of duplicating gift. (So if you have her and get her this, I promise to hunt you down and steal your chocolate, because the list is for you, dummy, not me, so get something off of there. Or the desk chair. The desk chair isn't on her list, but I didn't get her one, so you have my permission for getting that. But nothing else not on the list.)) But rather than spend forever thinking about what to get her and never coming up with anything, I went wandering around the store after picking up Dad's gift and saw it and went "zomg! Buy it! Buy it now!" (Swear to god, you could see shiny arrow signs to it, blinking and blaring) without ever having to spend any time thinking about what to get her at all, because I'd forgotten her birthday was coming up until I saw it.

Item three: Christmas display at work In the works
I really hate cottonball snow, but it's the cheapest and easiest we could think of. (I should probably call that place I ordered some of the display stuff from and ask if they got my order.) Mostly we just have lights left to do, and Dad's got to bring those in from home.

Item four: See if Dad's doing Christmas lights this year and help put them up for once

Item five: Look over college stuff and ponder taking classes next semester (But I like not having to be graded anymore!)

Item six: Finish all my books I haven't read yet
(Why didn't I ever participate in read-a-thons when I was little? I remember the school having them. Maybe they started after I left. Maybe their books were boring. (It's possible. I was reading Michael Crichton in elementary school. Dr. Suess had too many pictures.))

Item seven: Work on one photoshop project at a time, as working on many at a time leads to Liz-like frustration and nothing getting finished.
Note to self, steal Liz's tablet. Drawing background using a mouse is impossible. (Hm, possible solution is printing out foreground, drawing background on that, then scanning it back in. Must think on this.)

Item eight: Find Weather Channel and use it
(It didn't rain today so much as the water just sat in the air and you got wet anyway. The real problem was pulling my heavy jacket on over a light sweater earlier tonight and then dashing about the store windowshopping for people's presents. I actually have my fan on, and it's not like it isn't 72 in here. (Do those negatives work? It is 72, it's not not 72. Okay, negatives work. Moving on.))

Item nine: Loan payments
(The key is to paying more than the monthly payment says to. The lock is your account balance.)

You are The Hermit

Prudence, Caution, Deliberation.

The Hermit points to all things hidden, such as knowledge and inspiration,hidden enemies. The illumination is from within, and retirement from participation in current events.

The Hermit is a card of introspection, analysis and, well, virginity. You do not desire to socialize; the card indicates, instead, a desire for peace and solitude. You prefer to take the time to think, organize, ruminate, take stock. There may be feelings of frustration and discontent but these feelings eventually lead to enlightenment, illumination, clarity.

The Hermit represents a wise, inspirational person, friend, teacher, therapist. This a person who can shine a light on things that were previously mysterious and confusing.

What Tarot Card are You?
Take the Test to Find Out.

(I first got the Moon, which Liz already got, so I changed a couple of my toss-up questions.)

The ice-skating people are in town. Unfortunately, the roomie has bad ankles and has nixed her going, the scrooge. So you people need to get back in town so I can go ice-skating. Because it's no fun alone.

Some chocolate festival tomorrow. I went a couple years back and it wasn't very good, and even with me nibbling on all sorts of stuff, I don't think what I ate reached the ten dollar entrance fee. But my mom called, and I haven't spent time with her in awhile, so we're going to that.

So early this week I wake up with two bites on my arm. In the unamusing position of being near the elbow, but on the outer side of my arm, making it virtually impossible to notice unless it happens to be your good hand and you're brushing your teeth in front of a mirror. The next few minutes were spent trying to twist my arm so I could get a good look at them. So yay, spider bites. (Note to self, wash sheets again. Spiders may have been on vacation when you took sheets off and they could be back.) As they weren't turning funny colors (they're only red), I paid them no mind. Until I noticed at work yesterday that only one bite had healed. The other was engine red and swelling. And had a white spot where the original bite was. So yay, spider bite infection. Got home, washed arm thoroughly, then spent half an hour doing gymnastics trying to open the damn thing up. (It's my good arm! I can't even write with my right, much less pinch skin and poke- which requires two hands to begin with.) Spent all evening hissing every time I rested my arm on something. But hey, the two-inch wide pinkness is gone, and the swelling has gone down. And it doesn't hurt so much when I prod it.

So that's the only exciting thing that happened to me.
...

Besides going through bookstore withdrawal after five weeks and giving in and going to BAM for the latest David Eddings and the next Honor Harrington novel. And the Neil Gaiman scary fairy tale story. And one of the few Martin Greenberg books of short stories that I don't own yet. (Does the man do nothing but think up ideas for these things and pester authors until they give him something?) (Also, what's the word for a book of short stories? It escapes me.) And debated quite a few others (I'm so behind on Discworld, but one can only take so much ridiculousness at a time and I already have one I need to read). And bothered the people at the front desk about Keith Laumer, only to find out he's out of print and to try used books stores and I hate David Weber now because he's who got me hooked on Bolos in the first place, the rat bastard, and I don't care how cool Honor Harrington is, I'm not buying any more. ... Er. Except for that one I just got. (She's so cool, I can't help it. Sci-fi with good science and a strong female protaganist. Who could resist?) And complained about the state of their comics. The manga (having grown to three bookshelves) is all alphabetized and looking pretty, but the Marvel and DC stuff have been reduced to less than a single bookshelf and shoved in higgledy-piggledy. It's a travesty! (Is there an 'r' in there? Traversty?)

Whee. I can change out a DSL modem with a cable modem in half an hour. (Don't tell Pug it took me ten minutes to notice I forgot to plug in the power cord for the router...) And it only took restarting my computer three times. (Which was primarily me being in the habit of restarting my computer every time I restart the cable modem.)

(Also, there are now, like, fifteen wires behind the television. The OCD person in me wants to straighten it up right now, but the lazy person in me succeeded in the 'eh, whatever, just make sure the TV hides most of it' plan.)

Roscoe supervised the installing of the modem. It was more like 'Ooh, plastic noises! Ooh, stringy things! Ooh, twist-ties! Play now!' with his nose six inches from whatever it was I was doing, up until Lee got annoyed and exiled him to the bathroom. And then the serenade of the tortured cat began. Because, dastardly fiend that Lee is, she had separated him from us! And him only eighteen months old. He was traumatized. (So was my cat. She kept staring at the bathroom door.)

Only get through channel nineteen on our cable TV. I'm going to spend all of tomorrow refraining from calling Lee to see if she's fixed it yet, because come hell or high taxes, I'm watching Eureka, and it airs on Tuesdays. (Which is weird, because I'm still used to being addicted to Friday Sci-Fi shows and haven't quite adjusted (which is perfectly normal, seeing as how Eureka is new, and tomorrow will be all of episode three).) I've been spending Tuesdays at the folkses. (I've turned down dinner for it. Admittedly it was also my mother's birthday...)

Lee got a call from someone named Ruth, who I'm guessing is the one she's visiting in October, as pillows were mentioned, and geez, I thought online friends were like invisible friends. Real only to you, not real as in reality.