Bad Drug Reactions

Evidently I have to really, really watch my caffiene now.

One large *$ cup of coffeeish stuff. Caffe Mocha. A brownie.

Now, heart-poundy, shaky, typo action, feeling of dissociation, nausea.

I guess the 'oops, did I forget to eat' thing doesn't help. I'll just go make some 'za now.

Phrases from Childhood: "pest project", "approximate"

FatherSir and Mama had something of an ongoing rivalry about building things. Mama would get a project idea, then measure and cut boards, and bang it together in a rather short time. (At least, this is what I remember.) She'd cut boards with a hand saw, of course. The projects were sturdy, and if not exact, then certainly good enough.

With FatherSir, everything was carefully planned out, and he was fiddlingly precise, and he cut things with the tablesaw or the radial arm saw. (I grew up thinking that the radial arm saw ought to be called table saw, because we used it as a table when it was stored in the house.) His projects took a longer time to make, weren't as directly useful to the kids, and always lined up.

FatherSir called Mama's methods "approximate", making it clear that this was not a good thing (even if in a teasing way), and he called her pet projects "pest projects".

I don't think Mama had much to say about that.

Mothers of boys

I'm still lastingly amused by the conversation that Lady Malfoy (my best friend's mother) and I had.

It seems that once the mother of a boy, always the mother of a boy. We got sidetracked into a discussion about our respective little ones. Never mind that my little boy is seventeen years younger than hers. Never mind that her little boy is one year older than I am.

Yep, I'm still tripping on it.

It's a natural alliance. She's got him as many days of the week as I have the Little Fayoumis, though fewer hours. I suspect that we'll be nagging them about chores almost as much. It's like an exclusive club. I was training for it in high school. I've already been the part-time mother of a teenage boy. Two, in fact. I've done fifteen to eighteen. I did sixteen twice. I've done seventeen to twenty-one, vaguely.

Thank gods I've never been Darkside's mother.

CNAME of cat

I call eris_raven "missy" a lot.

Things:

Wow, is her schedule ever going to be picked up, turned upside down, shaken, and discarded.

Did laundry. Mmmmlaundry warm.

Being silly onlist. Hee.

Zonked. Coffee finally wearing off. Did get my pizza. Yum, pizza. Suspect I hadn't eaten really today. Ooops. Cleaned out fridge a bit. Marx put dishes rest of way away, I did next load. Or something. Then put more away and did next.

Did I mention catboxen?

*snork* Parodies are our friends! Elf-slash! Sarcastic!

http://www.ansereg.com/elf_slash_sarcasm.html

Link via snowgrouse. The whole site's worth checking out if it applies to your kinks.

*bounce* *bounce* People! *bounce*

Converted stormraven23 to the joys of LJ. Well, not so much "converted" as "was the person with the code when she wanted to join".

She was one of the interesting people from last night with the NNWM TGIO meeting.

Interesting communities possibly of interest: phoenixglambomb and glamourbombs, az_insomniacs, and... heck, just check out my userinfo. *snerk*

Gifts...

Little Fayoumis wants a red lightsaber, double-bladed. He told Santa so.

Guess who has one, old and kind of junky, that she never uses?

Ahh, the power of recycling.


Giving Things Policy

I still need to get my act together, make a holiday card, get it printed up at Kinky's or somewhere, and send it out. Gifts are... ...probably not going to be very widespread, because we're on a college-student-with-car-payments-and-insurance/single-income-family budget. Where gifts do happen, they have a high probability of being small and/or recycled, and quite possibly late.

I don't like to give generic gifts. If the thought of giving someone something doesn't make me grin and carol with Milesian manic glee, I don't consider it a proper gift.

darqstar did have an incredibly good idea. In lieu of heavy gift-giving to people this year, she's going to be donating stuff to their local animal shelter in their names. Cat food was what she was thinking at first; she learned that their actual needs were more along the lines of bleach and towels. I'm planning on making a small Sam's run with this shelter wish list. Neither shammash nor eris_raven came from a shelter; both of them were directly adopted from the streets. If you would like your name added to the card, please let me know.


Getting Things Policy

I'm a cheerful semi-materialist, and I do love getting things. I definitely don't insist on it. I don't know even half of you well enough to expect that you would want to get me something.

That being said, I do have an Amazon.com wish list, which I use more as a "Oh, this is nifty, I wouldn't mind getting it when I have money" place to keep track of things than a "Other people should get this for me" list. I've also just realized that I can keep track of quite a bit of what Little Fayoumis wants on there, too.

If you want to snag darqstar's idea of donating stuff to needy people or critters, feel free to do so in my name instead of getting me anything, if you're so inclined. Or in addition to. <azzgrin>

Even with 2-wheel drive, you can get pretty far before you get stuck.

theferrett just had a piece on how having a stubborn family, all in need of different forms of help, is like that old joke about four-wheel-drive vehicles: you can go further before you get stuck.

And the truism with me is that when someone says something, it reminds me of a story.

So. Not a Shawn-story, this time, but nearly as ass-brained stupid.

Set the scene. Alaska. Late March/early April, one of the two. Before the full moon that was after the Ides of March, because that was the one that heralded the period that meant that I actually wasn't pregnant. But, at the time of this story, there was the very real possibility that I was pregnant by my just-recently-ex boyfriend.

So I'd just gotten involved with BJ, and he was sharing his enthusiastic ideas for the summer. He was going to have us pitch a tent in the woods by the softball parks. Kids and teenagers pitch their tents in there every summer. We could live there. We drove past, and he turned in to show me, drive me closer.

Now, this is early April or late March in Alaska. The snow was a good four feet high, packed, pushed up by snowplows, packed down by snowmobiles. It's almost hard enough for him to drive his mother's van onto, and he does. We get maybe a hundred feet off the driveway-place before the weight of the van cracks through the sun-softening crust of the snow and through. We try getting it out, and it gets more stuck.

My cellphone (prepaid minutes, thank all gods) is called into play, summoning first his father, then a tow truck.

My frustration and anger level throughout this little scene was rising. I may or may not have hauled off and slapped him. I did cuss him out for his shortsightedness.


The difference between BJ and Shawn, on reflection, is that BJ's plans weren't assheaded quite so often, when they were assheaded, they were assheaded on a grander scale, he allowed me to rebuke him, and in the end, I'm not capable of being friends with him.

Change

The universe is turning upside-down again. Even at half again my proper size, I'm beginning the swing around to being someone who I can think of as "beautiful". It has to do with my hair and lipstick, I think.

The mood also has to do with ... needing supper ... and also giving plasma, going shopping and not hurting for the lack of things, reading books and assorted fic all at once, knowing that I know enough makeup tricks that I don't have to scour girly magazines to figure out what to do to bring my eyes out, what to do to make me look sexy, what to do to make me look absolutely hideous.

Also, if I want to instantly get into a pensive mood, I just need to listen to "Mad World" (thank you, Shawn!), even though that wasn't the original intent.