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Dec. 9th, 2002
Selected bits of conversation
Dec. 9th, 2002 04:14 am[04:10] AzureLunatic: Actually, I was thinking salad for breakfast, and hot cock for dessert.
[04:11] SithJawa: Hehe
[04:11] SithJawa: That sounds like a fairly healthy dessert.
[04:11] AzureLunatic: Mmm, hot cock.
[04:11] SithJawa: Unless perhaps you put whipped cream on it.
[04:11] AzureLunatic: Microwaving your dildo is not recommended.
[04:11] AzureLunatic: Especially not by the manufacturer.
[04:12] SithJawa: !
[04:12] AzureLunatic: Of either dildo or microwave.
[04:12] AzureLunatic: I have not tested this.
[04:12] SithJawa: That sounds like *such* a bad idea
[04:12] AzureLunatic: Honey dust is good too.
[04:12] SithJawa: How did you come up with such an idea?
[04:13] AzureLunatic: As a very poor substitute for hot cock.
[04:13] SithJawa: ....
[04:13] SithJawa: Very poor.
[04:13] SithJawa: Not juicy at all.
[04:13] AzureLunatic: Nope.
[04:13] SithJawa: Probably quite disappointing.
[04:13] AzureLunatic: Yup.
A good way to terrify a writer:
Dec. 9th, 2002 04:37 amTell her that she can't save the novel: there isn't enough space.
Uninstalled a few things. All is now good.
Uninstalled a few things. All is now good.
Draggin' the line
Dec. 9th, 2002 07:02 amChilling until 8:20, at which point I grab shades and brave the bright day that will be coming along any time now outside. Dentist, don'tcha know.
The attempt at sleep was rather ill-advised. I was just snuggling down, thinking happy thoughts of Darkside and the movie theatre, when the yelly lady walked past my open window. No sleep for me. Reconsecrated the Clue Stick, sealed room again, tried more sleep. Nope. Computer. Tried to save file. Panicked. Deleted. Tried sleep again. No soap.
In half an hour I get to take a shower, then get dressed, so I won't be screaming out the door at the last minute.
Ghaaa.
Novocaine, please. Make mine a double.
The attempt at sleep was rather ill-advised. I was just snuggling down, thinking happy thoughts of Darkside and the movie theatre, when the yelly lady walked past my open window. No sleep for me. Reconsecrated the Clue Stick, sealed room again, tried more sleep. Nope. Computer. Tried to save file. Panicked. Deleted. Tried sleep again. No soap.
In half an hour I get to take a shower, then get dressed, so I won't be screaming out the door at the last minute.
Ghaaa.
Novocaine, please. Make mine a double.
Uninterruptable Power Supply
Dec. 9th, 2002 07:34 amSince I'm in the mood for telling the technical stories...
Once upon a time, I lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, with my family: Mama, FatherSir, Narcissa, me, the critters, and assorted computers. When I was a teenager, and alone in the house on a cloudy summer day, perhaps in 1998, a storm rolled in while I was on the computer: working on my novel on Guardian, the not-quite-yet venerable 1995 Gateway 2000, hooked up to Cassandra, the uninterruptable power supply that screamed at us every time we turned on the microwave or started the printer. This wasn't much of a storm, so not much of a big deal: it was just rain. I headed for the bathroom, as Nature was talking to me too.
There was thunder, while I was in there, and then, much to my surprise and dismay, I saw a bright blue flash coming from the electrical outlets in the bathroom, at the same time as I heard a great clap of thunder.
Cassandra started screaming, and this time she didn't stop. Pants came back up, and I raced out into the main room, shut down Guardian fast and switched off Cassandra on my way past her to the breaker box, and shut down power to the whole house.
That was the way it remained until FatherSir came home. He heard my accounting of events, praised me for doing the right thing, saw that everything looked all right, hypothesized that since none of the breakers had tripped, especially not the main one, it must have hit the well controller, travelled up the wires and in through the bathroom circuit, there to alarm Cassandra and the rest of the household, which would explain the blue sparks I saw while attempting to sit peacefully in the one room in the house with a semblance of a door.
Power was restored to the house, and all was good. Guardian was in perfect working order.
All was good... until I smelled that telltale scent of scorched electronics. That put me into high alert, and my nose narrowed it down to Cassandra just as the small plume of white smoke became visible. Another dive for power switches and cords, and as soon as Cassandra cooled down, FatherSir had her opened up. One component had been completely fragged, but the rest of her looked just fine.
A few days and a trip to an electronics store later, FatherSir replaced the component, and Cassandra once again worked correctly. As far as I know, she's still sitting there under the computer shelf, with Guardian and the printer hooked into her, screeching every time the printer boots up, or someone turns on the microwave.
Once upon a time, I lived in Fairbanks, Alaska, with my family: Mama, FatherSir, Narcissa, me, the critters, and assorted computers. When I was a teenager, and alone in the house on a cloudy summer day, perhaps in 1998, a storm rolled in while I was on the computer: working on my novel on Guardian, the not-quite-yet venerable 1995 Gateway 2000, hooked up to Cassandra, the uninterruptable power supply that screamed at us every time we turned on the microwave or started the printer. This wasn't much of a storm, so not much of a big deal: it was just rain. I headed for the bathroom, as Nature was talking to me too.
There was thunder, while I was in there, and then, much to my surprise and dismay, I saw a bright blue flash coming from the electrical outlets in the bathroom, at the same time as I heard a great clap of thunder.
Cassandra started screaming, and this time she didn't stop. Pants came back up, and I raced out into the main room, shut down Guardian fast and switched off Cassandra on my way past her to the breaker box, and shut down power to the whole house.
That was the way it remained until FatherSir came home. He heard my accounting of events, praised me for doing the right thing, saw that everything looked all right, hypothesized that since none of the breakers had tripped, especially not the main one, it must have hit the well controller, travelled up the wires and in through the bathroom circuit, there to alarm Cassandra and the rest of the household, which would explain the blue sparks I saw while attempting to sit peacefully in the one room in the house with a semblance of a door.
Power was restored to the house, and all was good. Guardian was in perfect working order.
All was good... until I smelled that telltale scent of scorched electronics. That put me into high alert, and my nose narrowed it down to Cassandra just as the small plume of white smoke became visible. Another dive for power switches and cords, and as soon as Cassandra cooled down, FatherSir had her opened up. One component had been completely fragged, but the rest of her looked just fine.
A few days and a trip to an electronics store later, FatherSir replaced the component, and Cassandra once again worked correctly. As far as I know, she's still sitting there under the computer shelf, with Guardian and the printer hooked into her, screeching every time the printer boots up, or someone turns on the microwave.
Catchphrases:
Dec. 9th, 2002 07:41 am"Good morning, genius."
Said to my former fiance BJ in better days, the first time being when he managed to get his mother's van stuck in the snow a good 300 yards off the road in front of a softball field. Sarcastic, and indicative of extreme stupidity.
Said to my former fiance BJ in better days, the first time being when he managed to get his mother's van stuck in the snow a good 300 yards off the road in front of a softball field. Sarcastic, and indicative of extreme stupidity.
Still, of course, numb.
Dec. 9th, 2002 10:47 amThis is a good thing. Dr. F likes to go a little light on the nervewhacker juice, which would normally be fine by me -- it was last time -- but this time he was playing with some sensitive areas. We had to stop in the middle of drilling the first tooth in order to get more novocaine shot into me, because I started shrieking a little when he got deep. <obBujold>Pain hurts.</obBujold> I am perfectly fine with it if my teeth don't feel like they're mine for the next three hours, as long as when I'm getting drilled into, I am not surprised when the drill comes far too close to sensitve areas.
Other than that, I'm broke. Needed to pay more at the dentist's than I'd counted on. Glad the vast majority of my holiday gifts are homemade and/or already gotten.
Other than that, I'm broke. Needed to pay more at the dentist's than I'd counted on. Glad the vast majority of my holiday gifts are homemade and/or already gotten.
To the Universe:
Dec. 9th, 2002 04:44 pmWhen I say "job offer", I really should be saying "job offer I am likely and willing to accept".
Decided to take nap to let novocaine wear off on its own.
Was woken up by telephone. It was a man, for me, and for the first confused few seconds I thought it was Dr. F, calling to see how my teeth were doing. (Dentist. Calls. To see how teeth are doing.) No such luck: it was the army, calling because they need a few good programmers.
This guy was perceptive: he noticed that I'd just woken up, and he offered to call back another time. He must not have been doing this very horribly long, because he violated one of the principles of phone work of this nature: you never *ask* if you can call back. Instead, you tell them you can call back another time, and either end the transaction smoothly right there, or ask them what time would be good. Because that gives them the chance to do what I just did right then, and say, "Actually, no thanks," and hang up the phone.
Decided to take nap to let novocaine wear off on its own.
Was woken up by telephone. It was a man, for me, and for the first confused few seconds I thought it was Dr. F, calling to see how my teeth were doing. (Dentist. Calls. To see how teeth are doing.) No such luck: it was the army, calling because they need a few good programmers.
This guy was perceptive: he noticed that I'd just woken up, and he offered to call back another time. He must not have been doing this very horribly long, because he violated one of the principles of phone work of this nature: you never *ask* if you can call back. Instead, you tell them you can call back another time, and either end the transaction smoothly right there, or ask them what time would be good. Because that gives them the chance to do what I just did right then, and say, "Actually, no thanks," and hang up the phone.
Stressing: Grandma
Dec. 9th, 2002 09:16 pmGrandma went to the ER today because she had a blood clot in one leg from the groin to the knee. Uncle Davy took her. She's feeling just fine, and is annoyed with Uncle Davy for taking her in. Her leg has been swelling for the past couple days.
She will be in the hospital under observation for a week or more.
Darkside's not home yet.
She will be in the hospital under observation for a week or more.
Darkside's not home yet.
the Naked Barbie Club
Dec. 9th, 2002 10:53 pmNarcissa was in first grade when I was in third grade, and first and third graders got the long lunch recess together. It had become the fashion for all the first grade girls to bring their Barbie dolls to recess to play with. Narcissa and I didn't have any Barbie dolls, but we could play with Narcissa's friends.
All the boys in the first grade thought that playing with Barbies was rather silly, and that Barbies were rather silly. The core of most creative boys decided that they wanted to see what a Barbie looked like naked, to see if they really looked like real naked girls underneath. So they made a club: the Naked Barbie Club, or NBC, devoted to snagging a Barbie, stripping her, and seeing if there was a piece of the shattered sp-- Seeing if a naked barbie was actually anatomically correct.
Narcissa thought that waging war on the girls' fortress of Barbiedom was a lot more interesting than playing Barbies, and she joined the enemy camp. Eventually, all the girls but the most stodgy, prissy few defected to the NBC, which was more fun anyway.
All the boys in the first grade thought that playing with Barbies was rather silly, and that Barbies were rather silly. The core of most creative boys decided that they wanted to see what a Barbie looked like naked, to see if they really looked like real naked girls underneath. So they made a club: the Naked Barbie Club, or NBC, devoted to snagging a Barbie, stripping her, and seeing if there was a piece of the shattered sp-- Seeing if a naked barbie was actually anatomically correct.
Narcissa thought that waging war on the girls' fortress of Barbiedom was a lot more interesting than playing Barbies, and she joined the enemy camp. Eventually, all the girls but the most stodgy, prissy few defected to the NBC, which was more fun anyway.
Mr. Vacuum-Cleaner Salesman
Dec. 9th, 2002 11:06 pmNarcissa and I had a habit of building complex mandalas of snow, and declaring them snow houses. We built spiralling hallways, rooms, beds, kitchens, and other fun things. We would play together fairly peaceably throughout the long recess. She was in first grade, I was in third. One of our favorite places to build the snow house was at the long end of the dip on the playground, where few people walked except to cross the road to get to the ice rink or soccer field.
One day, there was a knock on the notional door of the snow house, and I went to answer it. It was a guy from my class, the one with the wacked sense of humor who was always the clown. (I later learned that his main role model was Kermit the Frog, which explained a few things.) "Hello", he said. "Would you like to buy a vacuum cleaner?"
"I'm sorry, we're not interested", I said, and shut the door on him.
Three years later, he and I did wind up dating. But that's another story.
One day, there was a knock on the notional door of the snow house, and I went to answer it. It was a guy from my class, the one with the wacked sense of humor who was always the clown. (I later learned that his main role model was Kermit the Frog, which explained a few things.) "Hello", he said. "Would you like to buy a vacuum cleaner?"
"I'm sorry, we're not interested", I said, and shut the door on him.
Three years later, he and I did wind up dating. But that's another story.
The Swingsets
Dec. 9th, 2002 11:17 pmWhen I was in fourth grade and my friend Lynn was in fifth, and occasionally when we were in fifth and sixth, we would spend some recesses together sitting on the little swings: there were two of them attached to the little tower that had two levels and a fireman pole, and one of the horizontal ladder things connecting it to the main tower structure on the graveled part of the playground.
There were two swings, and they weren't the popular ones, which meant that she and I could sit there together talking and swinging for the whole recess, often.
In those days, I was in love. Well, I always seem to be in love, but this was special. His name was Jay, and he would actually interact with me. He would climb to the top of the local tower, and brush snow down from the top of it onto me. That was funny, and he was smiling at me, so I would giggle, and he would dump more snow on me.
Lynn thought it was cute, and put up with the occasional overenthusiastic sprinking of snow that got on her. She teased me. I teased her back when I figured out why the redheaded guy, Chris, was putting on a one-man comedy act for us, and why Lynn would turn red and giggle. She liked Chris, and Chris liked her!
Technically, throwing snowballs was against the rules, but Jay wasn't throwing any snow, just pushing it off the tower. Granted, he would import snow from the ground and put it on top of the tower to push it off, but that was just a technicality. He never got in trouble for it.
There were two swings, and they weren't the popular ones, which meant that she and I could sit there together talking and swinging for the whole recess, often.
In those days, I was in love. Well, I always seem to be in love, but this was special. His name was Jay, and he would actually interact with me. He would climb to the top of the local tower, and brush snow down from the top of it onto me. That was funny, and he was smiling at me, so I would giggle, and he would dump more snow on me.
Lynn thought it was cute, and put up with the occasional overenthusiastic sprinking of snow that got on her. She teased me. I teased her back when I figured out why the redheaded guy, Chris, was putting on a one-man comedy act for us, and why Lynn would turn red and giggle. She liked Chris, and Chris liked her!
Technically, throwing snowballs was against the rules, but Jay wasn't throwing any snow, just pushing it off the tower. Granted, he would import snow from the ground and put it on top of the tower to push it off, but that was just a technicality. He never got in trouble for it.