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azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
Physics and I are on a break until I forgive them for ejecting the egg carton from the refrigerator door.

Whereupon I called for assistance, Alex unloaded the fridge, Silver picked up egg with a series of implements and ointments, and I put away dishes so the sink could become useful and otherwise tried to stay out of the way.

My tweets

Dec. 15th, 2016 08:38 pm
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)

My tweets

Dec. 9th, 2016 12:01 pm
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
  • Thu, 16:14: RT @anildash: IMPEACH WENCESLAS
  • Thu, 16:19: RT @restartthevoid: security certificate of void has expired.
  • Thu, 16:30: RT @NWSBayArea: Unofficial 24 Hour Rainfall totals across the area. Scattered showers expected to continue into Friday. #CAwx https://t.co/
  • Thu, 17:37: RT @dreamwidth: ...and we're back! Everything's looking shiny. -Mark
  • Thu, 18:11: RT @civilwarbore: OK look. Modern burials at sea done by the US Navy involve cremated remains, because nobody wants to haul dead bodies aro…
  • Thu, 18:11: RT @civilwarbore: Do not bury my ass at sea, incidentally, I will fucking haunt you so you never know a moment's peace. ANYWAY.
  • Thu, 18:11: RT @civilwarbore: The burial detail is usually volunteers and they try really hard to make it ceremonial and respectful but there's physics…
  • Thu, 18:11: RT @civilwarbore: I trust y'all begin to see where this is going. By the end of a burial at sea, the entire aft end of the ship is covered…
  • Fri, 00:24: RT @davidehrlich: 2014: don't read the comments 2015: don't read the news 2016: move to the moon 2017: don't read the moon comments
  • Fri, 01:38: RT @RobMayeda: Pretty view of the Transamerica Pyramid tower beacon cutting through the low clouds and light rain over san Francisco. @NWSB
Read more... )
azurelunatic: Dreamwidth is powered by [disco ball] (dw disco)
I woke up and got online to the devastating news that Leonard Nimoy had died.

Some months ago, Purple and I had discussed the way that both of us, and a lot of weird nerd children, had had a particular alien who had helped us get through a fuckton of loneliness and rejection by our alleged peers. His alien had been Mork. My alien had been Spock. After I cried hysterically in #yuletide for a few minutes, I guess the brief idea of calling out grieving floated through my mind but didn't attach to anything: I knew without even having to think about it that the news would be bouncing through #cupcake and [off-topic] and I would be among fellow mourners. I grieve with thee.

While my fingers and eyes were working, my brain spent a good chunk of the morning before lunch curled up next to a friend.

Over lunch (pizza, because the burritos are contaminated this week) I happened to mention that I'd gone to bed without writing about the day on Thursday night. Purple asked how much I typically wrote. I made a reasonable guess. After what I reckoned to be smiling at the quaint measurement system, he was impressed, because 3-4 kilobytes of text is not a small amount to just dash off, and he would probably not generate that much text about what he'd done in a day (and this is why he doesn't keep a journal). I allowed as how some days were more than others, and I did things like foreshadow and put in running themes. I gave the SUV thing as an example of a thing that I would have woven throughout the day until it reached the culmination in the parking lot. "You wouldn't have even recognized that it was the same guy who passed us if I hadn't told you!" he pointed out. (Let alone the part where I didn't even register that someone had passed us.) Hooray faceblindness.

So tonight, after writing up Thursday properly, I checked to see how much text I'd generated. That one was a little over 9 kilobytes. Oops.

Purple and I had been having a quiet conversation about Leonard Nimoy, a bit, and I was feeling sad, when Lennon Glasses Guy and one of the other lunch crowd turned to Purple to ask them to solve a debate: what exactly did it fuck up when there were two copies of one mac address on the same network. That got Purple going. He's the guy that everyone turns to as an authority about many of these things. So he held forth. It turned out that he had in fact personally experienced the bad effects of a MAC address conflict at work. His not!boyfriend had said: "Purple, I just logged in to your dev box..." Turns out a lab machine had faked the same MAC as Purple's. Oops.

I asked Madam Standards how many colors black I was wearing. She had not realized that there was so much variation in the things that she had thought were just 'black'. This was apropos of The Dress. (She and I do not see eye to eye.)

Got a chance to chat with my manager on her way out the door. She's had the flu, and there were allergies overlapping; she said something about all the yellow dust. I made an Amber Spyglass crack. She giggled.

Between all of the things that were going on, there was no milkshake run. radius discovered that he was actually kind of hungry, and his side of the office had run out of M&Ms and no one had restocked them in the afternoon. There were also no gingersnaps.

I reckoned that I needed a walk to clear my head, and it was also time that I checked in with lb's Overlady, so I decided a supply run could be in order. I grabbed a few little plastic cups and got together some chocolate covered espresso beans, a ginger cookie out of my break room, and some M&Ms. That was a little more than was easy to carry, so I stuffed the espresso beans in a mug, balanced the cookie on a napkin on top, and carried the M&Ms in my other hand.

Going out doors is easy. Going in doors often requires a badge. So I swapped the M&Ms to balance them on top of the cookie, operated the badge with my right hand, and opened the door with my left hand -- and promptly spilled the M&Ms off the top of the cookie onto the floor. As I tried desperately to salvage the situation, the cookie toppled as well.

I picked up the scattered M&Ms, looked at them and the cookie sadly, and put them in the nearest compost trash. Friends don't give friends floor cookies. At least I had the espresso beans, protected within the cheerfully patterned mug.

radius was glad to see the espresso beans. I cautioned him against overenthusiasm, as caffeine poisoning often offends.

My next stop was lb's Overlady, who gave me intelligence that the new guy, the one who was taking over everything after the last three clowns had been shuffled out, was also not much longer for the company, and his last day would be ... Friday! Yay! She urged caution and diplomacy. She was also glad to see the chocolate covered espresso beans.

A friend in another department did some research. Now, there is always a small element of Musical Executives. It is a very small valley. Thus we learned a few things:

The incoming exec implemented something based on the same root technology as the helldesk program at his old place.
The incoming exec is therefore unlikely to discard the helldesk software out of hand.
The incoming exec may actually know what $SOFTWARE looks like when it's functioning properly.
The incoming exec, if we are very very lucky, may recognize the helldesk situation as being terrible.

Lannister has a helldesk derivative of her own to deal with. She did not escape unscathed.

I'd had to do my hours first thing in the morning, because this was the day that the Old Contractor Management Company was letting go of me, and therefore I had to do my hours ASAP so they could get them put in ASAP and get everything done in the coming week. So 7pm was my deadline. I'd be done by then. Purple pinged me about dinner. I assented. This time I would not do dumb car tricks!

Purple thought he saw a little white car behind him as he made the U-turn, but it was a different little white car. It's so hard to tell these things in the dark.

We wound up attempting to explain Cards Against Humanity to Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly. It was great.

I saw a guy who looked almost exactly like the guy who runs the Secret Milkshake Bunker, except he was wearing an orange headband, walking out. However, my facial recognition skills are dodgy at best, so Purple was not at all sure that this was the right guy.

Purple got something with a side dish of sour cream. So did Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly. Mine didn't have it. Purple had extra, and offered me some. My knife was covered with the very bright red sauce that was all over the ... cheese thing.

"Sorry for getting my sauce in your sour cream," I said.

Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly made the face that meant that she was thinking dirty, dirty thoughts.

I made the appalled face, and it was only a tiny bit forced. "Oh god no," I said. "I know we're very close, but we're not THAT kind of friends."

Purple didn't entirely follow exactly what she'd meant, but he knew it was entirely filthy. Heh.

I have been enjoying doing all the bill-related math in my head. It makes a fun exercise for me. It had been a while since I'd refreshed my cash on hand, so I retrieved some fives and rather a lot of ones. Ms. Antisocialest Butterfly stared. "Why do...?"

"Ice cream," I said. That didn't actually answer anything.

Purple clarified: when you get a $3-and-something serving of ice cream using decimal currency, you get a lot of ones. I'm not actually a stripper. :D

It came time to go home. I claimed a hug goodnight. "See you tomorrow!" Purple started to say, and then corrected himself. We both had plans. Mine involved shopping with Tif, and Jupiter Rising. He said I'd have to tell him whether he should watch it or not.
azurelunatic: Seated baby in incubator shell with electrodes.  (Cyteen)
13:49 Saturday, 17 January, 2015
Today I woke up, decided to have a nice lie-in, and lolled about in bed for a bit. Pelvic floor exercises may have been involved. So then I rolled over to get out of bed and felt that peculiar sensation and ran *very carefully* to the bathroom, to find that one of the epic, epic blood clots had fallen out into my underwear. If I had "nice" underwear anymore, it would have been stained into ruin. As it is, it's merely stained, and it's been rinsed so the blood will drip out of it and won't cause a scene no matter how late I am with the laundry.

22:46 Sunday, 18 January, 2015
The thing about starting a tale "There are way too many $NAMEs in my life, so I label them; this was Shrimpy $NAME..." is that when you are done with the tale, the other guys at the lunch table are looking at you bright-eyed, and then ask, "So which one..." and nudge a shoulder in the direction of the engineer who has brought you to this lunch table. Because clearly they have a grasp of the important issues.

"Purple," you answer.

"That's not so bad," they murmur.

Purple provides further color commentary, and the guys nod understandingly.

00:01 Wednesday, 21 January, 2015
My weekend was sort of a mess. The theme turned out to be "flooding". There were the events of Friday, of course. Then there was Saturday night.

Saturday night was going to be the night where I stayed in and watched the code push roll and kept on top of the comments. Then, about 5 minutes before push time, came a conversation shaped approximately* like:

Tif: Azz, what's your weekend like?
Azz: uh, sleep? maybe?
Tif: could I get a ride to Home Depot for a wet/dry vac tomorrow if I order it tonight?
Azz: sure?
Azz: Hold that thought, let me see if my shopvac swings both ways.
Azz: So, guess what! Also, I'm bringing the steam cleaner. Have pants on; I ride at midnight.

* actually it was 12:30-ish, by the time I left

So that happened. Which was why by the time it was all over, we swung by a diner for much needed breakfast lunch dinner breakfast, and then I didn't get to sleep until 9:30am because Costco gas was almost open by the time I passed that way, and then I was a little hyped up, and ... yeah.

So my sleep schedule was a little discombobulated all weekend, culminating in going to bed around 8pm on Monday, waking up at 11, only realizing it was because I was hungry at 12:30 ... and nothing in the kitchen looked like food. So it took a while to get back to sleep after that, and then I was up and out the door and actually to work before my first alarm went off. It was just as well, because there was a conference meeting, early-ish.

The thing about PCOS is that you find yourself accepting situations like "and then I bled through my second overnight pad of the day in under 4 hours" in stride, and people like Madam Standards are looking at you aghast and saying things like "And why didn't you get me to drive you to the hospital!??!" because apparently for the more typical uterus, this is a bloody nightmare.

Party committee kickoff went all right, if sparsely attended. I had a few words of caution: yes, by all means, improve on last year, but don't get into a game of one-upmanship with last year.

At lunch, I keep being The One With The Internet. So I showed the guys what Purple meant by "caber toss". The Rollercoaster Tycoon hung around to chat with Purple and me as the other guys wandered off. He's a very energetic fellow, and we'll miss him.

On the way out from lunch, I explained to Purple that flooding had been the theme of the weekend. "And there was Friday, of course," I said.

"Refresh my memory? One or two words?" he asked.

I could have been deeply obnoxious, but instead of the verboten #bloodcannon, I chose the tame but evocative "Menstruation."

Rollercoaster Tycoon, who sits in the same building as Purple and hadn't yet entirely split off from our little group, would have done a spittake had he been drinking anything.

I feel a little overwhelmed by the number of demands on my troubleshooty nature. There are three distinct things at work. Researcher Haystack is Shocked and Appalled by some of the shenanigans of some on-premise-hosted software the team is considering, but compared to *cough* the current thing, he nearly fell out of his chair when the external vendor's thing turns out to be night and day better than the homebrew thing with the wack UI actually is.

It could have been a milkshake day, but the meeting overlapped that.

The former intern who is leaving so unexpectedly soon (announced today, last week is this week) is doing so because his wife is going back to Korea to accept a much-hoped-for university teaching position. Which, if you're doing that, that is an entirely legit reason! The ladies (the Dogesitter, the visual designer who shares the office with the very buff guy, and Designer Sparkles) were talking about how sharing offices tends to mean that someone leaves. I noticed that Sparkles phrased it as "and [Overlady] kicked her officemate out" even though, in the most technical sense, Haystack is the one who has remained with the company and on the team. (Exceptions include, of course, the Stage Manager and Non-Boring Manager, who have been roommates forever, Madam Standards and the Norseman, and the lady with the tiny dustmop dogs and the Hawaiian Shirt Dev. The Monkey House used to have three, and now it has two because the guy from Bulgaria chose the peace and quiet of a cube, so now it's just the two skinny blond bearded white guys who are fortunately different heights so I can tell them apart reliably. Not to mention all the people off in other buildings.)

Some of the recruiters were making the rounds, hoping to see some of the more unusual things people have done with cubes. It was "our guy" (someone the others recognized but I didn't), who was giving the tour to someone from Cambridge and someone from Home Office, Arizona. I shared espresso beans. I don't have much out of the ordinary wall-wise, but the interior is an entirely different matter. Most people's cubes do not contain a large metal rooster, a disco ball, a very tiny mini fridge, or a couch. To say nothing of the loon hat.

The evening saw me rapidly getting cranky to where Everything was Terrible, more so than Friday night, as I told Purple. Friday night had been hilarious, if horrifying. This was tedious and I was cranky. Unfortunately, this was not the helpful sort of cranky that lets me successfully explain why the suggested fix is insufficient. Sometimes you ride the flux, sometimes the flux rides you. Declining to explain Emory, I instead found a snack, and that made many things better.

My friend's department has discovered that the helldesk software generates flowcharts. They are really, really, really inexplicable things, and a source of wonder and terror all at once.

Some of the helldesk software tickets are reaching revolving-door level epic status. The Stage Manager and I are both generally of the opinion that until the fix is live, we stay on an open ticket about the issue. To make matters even better, the helldesk software is now issuing duplicate notifications about each change, one for each type of tracking number. (There are two now, thanks to the hilarious way they stuffed the implementation in sideways at the beginning in an attempt to not scare the horses. Things done to "not scare the horses" tend to be ... less good ... if the 'horses' are in fact Companions...)

It was, however, time to go home. I poked Purple and he came to collect me. His hair was freshly washed, and formed spirals that shone silkily in the lights of the parking lot. The top of his head was fluffy. Because both of our brains went there, I told him that no, he was not a pink fluffy unicorn. "You're a Purple fluffy unicorn!" I told him.

It turns out that "purple unicorn" is now on the List of Unfortunate Phrases. "One-eyed purple unicorn" is worse, and "one-eyed weeping purple unicorn" is just right out. From there it was a quick step to Weeping Angels. (Steph declares that Weeping Angels, like loon units, do not belong in the pants.)

#dammitpurple is not a regular hashtag in my things. #AzureLsInTrouble is, but that's a slightly different thing.

Fetched dinner, and about a zillion tubs of cold soup for when nothing else is food. Did laundry. Reloaded laundry card. Checked mail. It was a good mail day, all told:
* spam
* W-2
* utility statement
* two free drink cards from Starbucks because their survey sucked
* my 2015 sticker from the DMV

So that's my tomorrow morning before work sorted then! An alcohol wipe, a sticker, and a coffee. I can live with that.
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
Wednesday afternoon, it was made abundantly clear by my workplace and department that everyone who could stay home Thursday, should. Plus it was not the greatest money week, and I needed to refuel before another 60-mile commute. So home I stayed.

I am a little uncomfortable with being considered indispensable in the running of an event which is supposed to be infinite and not tied to any particular person. I suspect that in my absence, people could bumble through my notes about what we did. I still want people to be aware of this better.

That said, the meeting about the thing was good, and I called into it. Yay.

Helldesk software is being helly. Thursday was the day when my quasi-helpdesk-level access to the thing went away. I tried to follow the instructions to subscribe myself to arbitrary tickets, during the course of trying to sort the tickets from lb's Overlady's list. The process drove me nearly to tears.

And then, of course, I discovered that the high winds had at some point in the past 24 hours knocked out the pilot light on my gas fireplace. As a matter of course, I do in fact keep my patio door open a few inches and have an exhaust fan running while I'm at home. I didn't smell gas near the fireplace, nor did I smell a difference when poking my head outside, nor did I have a headache, nor had the CO alarm gone off, nor was my skin any redder than it ought to be. So I opened the panel under the unit, looked at the control, Google image searched for something similar, followed it back home, did some further search refinements, and eventually got it first turned off and then re-lit. Which was excessively exciting.

By the time that was done, I was no longer feeling up to the emotional ordeal of beating myself against the docs until I was in High Dudgeon and then calling helpdesk in that state. I had also had a conversation with Tay which in retrospect I should have seen coming, but the alternative was not taking her at her word, and I'm really bad with certain kinds of evasiveness. She'll be headed back to Seattle imminently. I'd been getting used to the idea of having her around, and I'll miss her.
azurelunatic: "enjoy Cock-Cola" (Cock-Cola)
My sleep schedule was unfortunate.

Left for work at 7am, rather than 6:30. This was not my best decision. I arrived at 8:30 rather than 7:15-8. Researcher Carmageddon said that traffic was ass for him too, so apparently it was more ass than usual.

Meeting happened, no notable disasters. Though we really do have to get internal people to label themselves better. (Ordinarily Researcher Carmageddon wouldn't have asked an internal person to introduce themselves, but it wasn't a familiar name.)

Desk shenanigans followed. The Hipster Researcher had engaged in desk-moving shenanigans; the chatter about the sudden appearance of a corner desk in the team table area attracted the attention of the Stage Manager and then my manager. While I had been aware that it was at least an unspoken no-no, apparently removing the second desk from a two-person office is in fact an actual no-no upon which managers will Frown. Also, facilities is supposed to do the heavy lifting. I filed a ticket.

Today was yet another instance of helpdesk "fun". My feelings are that the helpdesk software should go away entirely, the helpdesk staff should be re-educated, and the responsible developers should perhaps find another line of work.

Read more... )

I got a good chunk of transcription in. And then there was the team meeting. Unfortunately, they seem to have turned down the a/c, either on account of the repairs or the season. The room was hot, although my sleep-deprived state possibly contributed more to my nearly dozing off while the Grandmanager went through some stuff.

Mr. Zune and I decided that the guy on his team who I nearly accidentally clobbered with my cane that time, the one who is organizationally his eccentric bachelor uncle, should be henceforth known as his Overlord, as the guy gets to boss him around in time-honored Overlord fashion. When passing through Mr. Zune's department, I saw to my delight that Mr. Zune had indeed ordered a Caution: Bees sign for his teammate the beekeeper on the occasion of his wedding. It is now proudly posted on the beekeeper's office door. (And now I can actually ask "And your wife? And your bees?" in the same tone of voice for both when we get coffee at the same time.)

lb was still out sick, and Purple and R were still at the hackathon; radius and phone were either working from home or working from Australia or maybe in a meeting, so it was just Mr. Zune and me who went on the trek for ice cream. We compared scar stories and I introduced him to both the game prime/not-prime (by way of introduction) and the game lube/not-lube. He mentioned a very bad and perhaps apocryphal piece of sex advice as found on Reddit: Read more... ) So that's a thing that has been said on the internet. We saw R going thattaway on our way back. We said hi. Purple was at the next table over from her, so she promised to relay our greetings.

I managed to knock over a glass of soda. Fortunately, it was carpet-cleaning night anyway.

Eventually I decided it was time to go home. I figured the hackathon was probably still going on. I pinged R and asked her if she wanted some chocolate-covered espresso beans. She did not, but told me to ask Purple. Purple being notoriously hard to get ahold of via text, and this not being a world-shaking emergency that warranted calling, I didn't bother to check. I came by with my vat of the confection, and grabbed a couple paper bowls on my way down. Purple seemed happy to see me (when he registered my presence), and "This is probably a bad idea, but what the hell" accepted a few. I put them on the table, and added a warning label (as it's not immediately obvious what they are if you don't know, and accidental caffeine poisoning often offends). I hung out at R's table for a bit, then bade Purple goodnight. (I did not get any more caffeine tonight. I will probably want it tomorrow. I had sufficient caffeine today already. I did not have sufficient sleep. I did not have even half sufficient sleep. Purple winced.) (My weekdays feel oddly incomplete without saying goodnight to Purple.) One does not hug goodnight at this hackathon, and we did not.

I called [personal profile] zarhooie on the way home, yay!

Once I got home, I basically stripped, brushed my teeth, and hopped into bed. I may have made sure that nothing blew up in IRC, and emailed Purple to advise him that I had arrived home safely, but that was about it. I chatted with [personal profile] sithjawa, who had pinged me just as I was getting home, for a few minutes while horizontal, but conked out with alacrity for four hours before waking up hungry (as I had not bothered with a meal). Soon I will sleep again.

Tomorrow's big plans: door sign party with the Dean! I can't wait! Plus more transcription.

My tweets

Dec. 11th, 2013 12:01 pm
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
Read more... )
azurelunatic: A woman's cleavage.  (cleavage)
The first thing: I maintain a candy dish at work. Most of the time it contains ... stuff. Things. Whatever random candy I happen to have around. Often fun-size, often chocolate.

I went out to grab something to eat (more on that later), and on the way back, I stopped at Safeway.

Tomorrow, that candy dish will contain:
* Pink peeps
* Easter candy corn
* pop rocks
* My Little Pony fruit snacks
and last but definitely not least...
* fruit-filled Hello Kitty marshmallows

So I was on my way back from Jack-in-the-crack. Stoplight. I stuffed the straw into the cup. I took a sip of strawberry soda. I set the cup back in the cupholder --

Soda-related obscenity. ) There was really no other way to describe it. My gods. No foolin'. The universe has fuckin' pranked me. I am entirely satisfied with the holiday.
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
So last week I noticed strange things afoot with the wall-mounted toilet in the bathroom at work. After a bit of running around (tightening the bolts is a good place to start, but chips of porcelain larger than a quarter falling off are not cool) they did discover not one, but two of them were cracked, and replaced them (with identical wall-mounted toilets).

I'm glad that the obvious problem has been solved, but wall-mounted toilets are still a poor decision from a physics standpoint.

My manager concurs on all this. She'd been meaning to say something about them (apparently they were creaking dangerously any time *anyone* sat on them) but it kept slipping her mind.

When, inevitably, the bolts loosen again, I will be ready and waiting to complain. Again.
azurelunatic: stick figure about to hit potato w/ flaming tennis racket, near jug of gasoline & sack of potatoes (bad idea)
6:35 PM 5/24/2010
Hmmmm. http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/99700.html

7:41 PM 5/24/2010
Google Analytics and an unfamiliar couple keywords led me through my archives and on a bit of a dive into archive.org; the result: I found the new home of a game I was playing in 2003: http://2addicted.com/letters
It's a lovely typing game: type the letters streaming across the screen accurately, they explode, and you're rated for speed and accuracy.

9:32 PM 5/24/2010
Just crocheted color-coordinated leashes for both of my sets of traveling craft scissors. Small loop around the handle, long chain, larger loop at the other end, good for wrapping around the handle of a craft bag. One is on my afghan craft bag (big IKEA bag); the other is on my everyday black totebag. This, so I won't have to fish for them too much, so they aren't too awkward to use, so I don't cut myself on them yet again, and so it takes fewer pairs for me to reach a saturation point.

9:37 PM 5/24/2010
And for whatever reason, a while ago I wound up thinking about the Hermione Sue instances where Hermione goes home for the summer and comes back all gothed out and with a rebellious, depressed, angry personality transplant.

Hermione isn't just smart. She's also obsessive about rules Read more... )

10:17 PM 5/24/2010
Perfume of the day: BPAL: Katharina.
Perfume of the evening: Pepsi: Mountain Dew.
So my tote bag was getting fraught, so I dumped it all out to sort it out. And one of my pairs of scissors (not one of the ones with a leash) was in the mess/tangle. I tried to extract it. It's the very sharp pair that I cut myself with the other day. Naturally, the tip found the soft aluminum of the highly pressurized can. A fine spray of Mountain Dew (throwback, so it's real sugar to get sticky with) caught me square in the face. (Of course.) I clamped my finger over the hole, found a cup, found the sink, and allowed the overpressure to drain, then opened it and poured the rest in. So now my glasses are still slightly sticky, I smell slightly orange-lime, and I'm enjoying the rest of the Mountain Dew, from a cup, for once.

10:41 PM 5/24/2010
The Altoids box that holds the spare ink cartridges for my pen is now properly labeled. The other spare box that's been kicking around is now properly labeled and holds the hairpins that live by my desk. I used the whiteout pen that kicks around my desk.

10:43 PM 5/24/2010
Geek personality flaw: lecture-to-oblivion. (I could probably leave this item at that, and make my point for anyone who's ever witnessed it.) It combines the desire to educate or to make the point with a partial or complete obliviousness to the social signals that the other party is actually ready to move on. (Sometimes this is due to not giving a damn about the other party, sometimes this is due to lack of training or practice, and sometimes this is due to various disabilities in the area of sensitivity to the emotions of others.) Sometimes it's consciously employed as a weapon, particularly in flamewars.
azurelunatic: AO3 rating glyph: Explicit, Multi-relationships, choose not to warn, unfinished.  (how is this my life)
10:03 PM 3/31/2010
Since it's technically personal information, I keep a Gmail label now for people who have my address. Then I found myself adding a store where I'd registered for a rewards program to it, and blinked at the mental collision.

10:15 PM 3/31/2010
I've been having One of Those Evenings in #dreamwidth. Observe:
In which Azz screws on something so tightly she can't get it off, then gets an impromptu shower, then gets a rain of balls. Also, how to scare the Castro, and an earworm chain. )

12:44 AM 4/1/2010
Oh god, it keeps getting worse.
Read more... )

1:40 AM 4/1/2010
That was bad physics. This is crackfic.
Read more... )

2:04 AM 4/1/2010
So yeah, what did I do today?
Random inside tasks.
Went to the office, paid rent, confirmed electronic key was working on the clubhouse door, confirmed physical key was not working on hot tub door, got new physical key for hot tub door.
Checked mail.
Went back to the office to pick up AWESOME Obama '08 shirt from [livejournal.com profile] norabombay (a T-shirt sale is fun for the whole family, thanks!)
Since I had already braved my door and was on the wrong side of it, shopping time.
Stopped at "I love this bakery". Stopped at Walgreens. Stopped at Cost Plus. Stopped at Trader Joe's. Stopped at Papa Murphy's.
Had a Bad Physics moment or two.
Commenced with the long-procrastinated Moving of the Refrigerator Shelves.
More Bad Physics.
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
Warning for people with medical/injury squicks: I am fine now, and on the mend; anything below the cut is probably more detail than you wanted, complete with images. Contains no horror from medical professionals, however.

Oh, what a day. What a day. Will I ever live this one down? I can, however, say that I have indeed had stitches (first time that I've had to have them), and that it is due to an incident involving a glass, a steak knife, and YouTube.

This is how it all started:

Reading down my reading page this morning, I saw that [syndicated profile] smartbitches_feed had brought me


In case the name wasn't clear enough, there is more glitter in this than ten Edward Cullens, a Pride parade, and an entire disco. It is also hella catchy and enthusiastic. I found myself bouncing around in my computer chair, gleefully flailing my nightgowned arms in time with their antics.

A crash, from the adjacent laptop table, not even two minutes in.

A sudden halt to my flailings as I stared at oh dear me ) I had left the aforementioned steak knife point-up in the innocent glass on the laptop table, rather than carrying it over to the sink as I ought to have last night. Dirty, of course. Ham and mashed potatoes.

It did not hurt as much as I thought it ought to. I headed over to the sink where I rinsed the wound under the tap and tried to assess the damage.

I realized that it was not exactly good ), and that it really ought to be cleaned out by a trained professional. My last tetnus shot was whenever I twisted my ankle last, probably in '01; I would probably need antibiotics. I would need to see a doctor. DAMMIT, AND ME WITH NO INSURANCE. Oh well, things like not dying of blood poisoning were good reasons to see doctors. First things first, though. First aid: apply clean pressure to the wound. ) I realized that I could not keep pressing on it forever; I hunted down one of the velcro-ended bandages I typically use on my wrists for a carpal tunnel flare-up, and wrapped it neatly.

Back to the computer I went, in search of a suitable urgent care facility, and to share my shame with the internet, as the sheer ridiculousness of the situation had hit me early and hard. One hand on the mouse told me that actually, perhaps my plan to drive myself to said urgent care facility was a generally shortsighted and foolish, given that moving my right arm in normal ways was not going too well. I debated calling JD and seeing if he could bus over, and then drive me, but common sense again overrode my inclination to not bother people, and I determined I would call my aunt.

First things first, however. I got dressed, bemoaning my lack of foresight in not showering earlier. Pro tip: behind-the-back bra-fastening is not recommended with this kind of injury. I felt generally icky, even after I attacked myself with a washcloth. Then I called my aunt.

Me: "Hi! ...Are you doing anything this morning?"
Aunt: "No..."
Me: "Could you drive me to urgent care, please?"
Aunt: !!! "I'll be right over." !!!
Me: "Don't worry; I'm not bleeding much."

I popped a book into my bag and headed out to wait for her, hand at the level of my eyes. She whisked me off to her favorite emergency room, dropped me off at the entrance, then went off to find parking in the hellish lot.

The security guy advised me to fill out the triage form as best I could, eyeing the prominent bandage wrapped around my right forearm. (I am, of course, right-handed.) It was a short form. I described my injury succinctly: "Stab wound right forearm (stupid)."

Triage saw me fairly promptly; I had amused them with my description. I went into a little more detail. I was not in a lot of pain, and I was keeping my spirits up with the sheer slapstick cracktastic glory of it all, and the thought of relating the whole tale to the internet.

I ran through triage in fairly short order. )

The wait was enlivened somewhat by the other people in the emergency ward. Read more... )

At length a doctor for me came in, examined my wound, and told me the game plan. Ouch. )

There was more waiting, and he returned.

Medical details ensued. )

After 24 hours, I can get it wet. I cannot wait.

At length, someone came around, gave me instructions, and told me I could go. My aunt went to fetch the car. I waited for the financial person to get back. The price is painful. She gave me some hoops to try jumping through.

They deemed another tetnus shot was not necessary; given that I only showed up as a 1-2 pain, they didn't see the need to offer me srs bizns drugs to take home either. I was a little apprehensive about that, particularly given that I don't feel that I deal with pain well, but I didn't feel the need to ask, and it seems to be doing OK so far. For some hours it was aching even when not disturbed at about a 2, and when disturbed at a 3+, but it was only as bad as the day after a day of overexerting myself walking, and quite decently bearable given that it was only in my forearm and not in both legs, part of my back, and my upper arms too.

I snapped a few shots of the knife before washing it. I didn't have a ruler to hand, but I put it up next to an object of knowable length, a BART card, which is the same size as a standard credit card. Read more... )

I spent a certain amount of time on the phone, assortedly reassuring people about my well-being and cracking up laughing. ("I guess that was a mis-steak?" my best friend put in, along with several others in that vein.)

Later on in the evening, the constant ache died down. Currently, it only hurts when I make complex maneuvers such as twisting or bending, and it's no more than a 2, maybe a 3 if it's behind my back.
azurelunatic: stick figure about to hit potato w/ flaming tennis racket, near jug of gasoline & sack of potatoes (bad idea)
My aunt and I were in the grocery store seeking ground turkey for supper when I saw it: a log of what appeared to be woven bacon. "Omigod!" I cried. "A Bacon Explosion! ... I didn't think those existed except for with hobbyists on the internet!"

"That's where I saw it," said the meat department guy, a fellow perhaps my age, with a lot of piercings. He looked proud of his accomplishment.

"Should we get some?" asked my aunt, eying it dubiously.

"Yes!" I said.

"What is that?" some random guy asked.

"Woven bacon, wrapped around sausage," I said at about the same time as the meat department guy did.

The meat department guy wrapped it up for us. "Please tell me how it turns out," the meat department guy said. I got the feeling he was slightly surprised that someone had bought it, and perhaps was scheming about the next crazy meat-related experiment he could see if people bought, and was probably going to cheerfully tell his boss that see, someone bought it, he was right, it would too sell.

"Why did I let you talk me into getting this?" my aunt asked as we were walking for the car. "People could DIE from this!"

"From trichinosis or a heart attack?" I asked cheekily.

"Nice having known you," my cousin put in from upstairs, as I announced myself and the Grand Purchase upon our return. (He, too, is a denizen of the internets, and knows what a Bacon Explosion is without me having to define it.)

I put it in the oven below the hamburgers while they were grilling, with the temperature probe stuck in and set to 170°F.

a woven log of bacon, uncooked

Eventually, the hamburgers were done. I switched to cooking it at 330°F. The top started to look done after a while, and the internal temperature hit. However, the lower half of the bacon was not yet done. I turned it over and continued to cook it. After the internal temperature was well above where it had to be, I turned the broiler back on low again.

Ten minutes later, it was done! (Well, eight and some. My aunt smelled something suspiciously like overdone bacon. Some of the edges were blackened.)

a woven log of bacon, cooked

My aunt and I took slices. Yum! I forewent the barbecue sauce. My aunt nibbled off the bacon from hers, then started tossing pieces of sausage to the dogs. (She is not a fan of Italian sausage.) I was still eating my tasty sausagey slice. One of the tosses went wild, and the sausage chunk ricocheted off my laptop's power cord and slithered under the couch I was sitting on. The poodle dove after it, upsetting me, causing me to drop my table knife on his head and also my skirt. He paid that no mind, and kept rooting about under the hem of my skirt and under the couch. I abandoned my position. My aunt grabbed the abandoned knife and fished the sausage back out from under the couch.

I repaired to IRC to soothe my ruffled composure.

The Random Word hEll bot got involved. )

I tried another, thinner, slice, this time with barbecue sauce. I am not much of a barbecue sauce fan, however, and it didn't taste quite like I thought it should. Maybe it should be glazed in the last few minutes of baking.

The rest of it is in the refrigerator. I may have a slice of it with breakfast. A very thin slice.

(Cross-posted to [livejournal.com profile] trashy_eats.)

azurelunatic: California poppies, with a bright blue sky and the sun. (California girl)
Userdoc-type links that I was using today, lots


So I drove to [livejournal.com profile] gameboyguy13's for a [livejournal.com profile] lj_userdoc party. We started in on status-pending stuff pretty much as soon as I showed up around noon. We took a break at 3:45 to run errands. We eventually made dinner (it involved fettuccine alfredo out of a box, plus ground beef, garlic (powdered), and slightly-caramelized (and slightly scorched) onions, and green beans (I insisted that we needed a vegetable). Back to userdoc. Then there was cake. It was delicious and moist.

I had a bad physics moment trying to equalize the distribution of flour on the cake pan.

Pics or it didn't happen. )

Chocolate cake, lemon frosting. Does that make it a lemon party?
azurelunatic: A baji-naji symbol.  (baji-naji)
... did not go exactly as planned!

Due to some planned electrical upgrades over the weekend, power is turned off at one location of my workplace. This happens to be the one I work at. So we were shipped over to the location that I started out at. We're operating with a skeleton crew right now, and some of the people who would ordinarily be there are out for the weekend (like Captain Picard, who keeps getting the chance to work in that location and then always being thwarted at the last minute) and some people have quit and still others have moved into other positions.

The location that I trained and started out at is significantly newer than the other building I've been in, significantly larger, with newer computers, and giant whopping cubes. The location I'm in now is all right, well-maintained, and has tiny booths, standard call center fare. You can hold hands with your neighbors. Both next to you, and across the aisle, if you have three hands. I was expecting to go back there into paradise!

The reality, once I skidded, was not quite so. I was just barely late after just barely not hitting someone who did not notice that while there was one ENTRANCE to the turn-in lane from the main drag, there were two EXITS - the one she was pulling out of (that she thought I was turning in to) and the one that is actually a road and not a parking lot. She pulled out in front of me after making eye contact with me, and I did not cream her, although I certainly shook up my lunch.

I can say with a certainty that the door lock code-pad does not like me. Why? Because half the time it does not catch the first press of the key, leaving me one key behind in my lock sequence, which, as we all know, Just Does Not Work. (Not unless one has a Really Stupid Code.)

By the time I actually got inside, I was really running late. Instead of seeing my teammates in one of the friendly cubes, I wandered haphazardly over the call floor until something at least vaguely supervisory (she was labeled, and she looked familiar although I didn't remember her name, though she knew me on sight) flagged me down and pointed me to a room I didn't remember having been in before. I barged in to a scene to give a kindergarten teacher pause.

There were three vaguely-supervisory characters there: the second shift supervisor, my supervisor, and my shift's team lead. It is an exaggeration to say that they were dancing around with lampshades on their heads, but the scene was festive. This was perhaps enhanced by the utter lack of anything like visual separation -- this was a training room, with long bench desks with closely-gathered workstations, each blending into the next in a riotous celebration of water bottles, shed sweaters, slightly-mismatched office chairs, tangled phone cords, whiteboard markers, post-its, company-branded handheld whiteboards, personal items of baggage that were in theory strictly taboo outside the break room, and assorted trash. Upwards of fifteen people were spread all over a room designed for thirty friendly people in close quarters, but after regular business hours, so the place was sweltering. Of course the doors were shut, effectively containing the heat, and also the general babble and the frequent hoots of laughter at customer e-mails and the infrequent slightly off-colour joke.

I remembered this room. I'd undergone my initial screening interview in this room. It was cooler that night, and I was dressed better, in high heels, and without a battered sweater with chocolate, elastic bandages, sports rub, and antacids bulging out of the pockets. It looked very, very different now. I settled in, and spent the inevitable ten minutes discovering that no, my roaming profile had decided to not roam with me, and no, the email with my clippings file really didn't want to load, and yes, they'd anticipated that the IM program would be down for the duration of the upgrade, and no, they hadn't told us, so sorry, please to exercise your email skills, people, and that's what the whiteboards are for...

My supervisor could see forever! he declared. Or at least, what everyone had up on their screens from his vantage point at the back of the room. I didn't have anything to guiltily shut down, unlike some other people.

The room was set up with a training class in full swing during normal weekday hours, judging from the artwork on the walls and highlighters all over. Someone found the training class beachball (this is a staple of training classes) and it was soon bouncing here and there in the room, to much hilarity. My supervisor discussed dining options -- the fact that the local sandwich shop was in fact OUT OF BREAD was up on the main whiteboard in the "Known Issues" column, which is usually reserved for problems with our systems that our customers will encounter, but today also featured the fact that internal IM was out. Our team lead read a selection from the post-its with random questions from the trainees, and there was giggling.

There was much supervisor conferencing, and doors started to be propped open, and they confirmed that the (dumb-box) climate controls were set to C rather than W, even though the room felt about as W as you could be wanting and then some. Someone went off to schedule Security to come in with the smart controller and change the settings of C to a normal daytime sub-arctic rather than an energy-efficient nighttime tropical. Second shift started winding to a close, and winding up in that way that small children and punch-drunk older kids (of all ages) will do just before they crash. My team's lead confiscated the ball and began attempting some crowd control. He tossed the ball in his hand and wandered over to confer with my supervisor. Casually, he lobbed the ball up up in the air above the high door.

The beachball smacked into the clock above the door, and it all came crashing to the floor. My lead scrambled to pick up the pieces of clock. The stunned room burst out in spontaneous applause.

Security appeared in the doorway brandishing the climate-control controller and a bonky flashlight, demanding immediate answers. Our poor team lead turned the same bright scarlet as his lanyard. The rest of the room was laughing too hard to be of much help. My team's supervisor confiscated and deflated the beachball.

All had almost become quiet when one of the departing second-shifters made the first clock joke. That made it time for a countdown of the room's best efforts at bad puns. No one had the balls to take it too off-colour, happily. The New Girl cracked a comment, and our lead had had enough. "You can go home now," he warned.
"Is it that time already?" she asked innocently.
"You'd better cut it out!" he said.
"Or what?" I asked from the peanut gallery. "You'll clock her?"

Once second shift packed up and left, we did get the option to take cubes out on the floor. We accepted happily, and decamped, but not before I'd added "Why is the clock missing?" to the array of post-its.

Without second shift, it turned out to be three of us on the team, and both the team lead and the supervisor to keep us in line. This actually led to our supervisor kicking back and doing paperwork and the team lead distracting us and all of us deciding on theme songs. We teased our team lead some more. Our sup offered to rig his chair to collapse on him and take the fall to distract attention, but that lacked the necessary element of unintentional mayhem resulting from poorly-thought-out intentional acts. I told a few Shawn stories. We shared around the good customer spelling moments. I sketched a stick-figure diagram of the day's amusements on a whiteboard, and periodically threw chocolates at people.

It was a good shift. I can't wait for tomorrow's.

Reproduction. )
azurelunatic: Cordless phone showing a heart.  (cordless phone)
Got sleep. Woke up. Played online. Petted the cat. Read. Tried calling Dawn; she was at work. She called me back on her lunch break. Is it just me who's boggled by how people sound surprised that I don't hate Darkside's guts and/or am still (best) friends with him? Because, really, best-friend-in-the-universe is not something that I declare lightly, nor something that I give up lightly at the first sign of trouble. I may be a flake in all my other relationships, but that one is something special, and would take something more than my hurt feelings to destroy. (They'll need more than a crane.) m

Tried calling Darkside. No answer in the morning. Connected around 5pm, chatted briefly, though his headache won out eventually. Dawn is to be in town Septemberish; we will make plans. I'm still the communications hub of the old crowd. Touched base with [livejournal.com profile] iroshi. (I hadn't known that the thing in my head did referrals too! Also: soulmates and their multiple functions.)

The space bar is going out on the laptop keyboard here. It's taken a beating, in the years I've had this thing. This laptop is still in better condition than my last one, though.

Started going through the queue. It wasn't as scary as the last few times, but I didn't get half as much done. I did get sidetracked, because while I was going searching for precedents to one thing, I discovered a category of things that hadn't been tagged at all. (Screening.) So I went through the comments tag list and pulled out all the screening ones and tagged them, and tagged some freezing ones that weren't tagged as well. And then I found some older ones that had been sneakily implemented coincidentally and the "oh this happened" hadn't gotten so far as to wind up getting them tagged. So they got tagged. Well, the one that got me started on that particular train was the one that didn't have any sort of status tag on it. So I had to figure out what it was, and it was the sort of thing where I could check really quickly to see if it had happened, and, well, it had! (Adding the recent comments page to the site map, to be specific.)

[livejournal.com profile] gameboyguy13 got off work at some point in there, and came over. There was pie-related insanity.

JD: "It would be bad to have pie *and* cheesecake for dinner, right?"
Azz: "Right. Pick one. ...Or, have one for dinner and the other for dessert."

The cheesecake spawned more insanity. IRC tells the tale:
Read more... )

I dropped JD off and went off to pick up [livejournal.com profile] hcolleen, who'd had a day at least from heck, if not hell. (She got my brain on the topic of poly vs. mono wiring, more about soulmates, and me. That's going to need some reflection, possibly under lock or filter.) I dropped her off at home and made tortillas, bread, and ice cream happen. (JD, you're welcome to some. It's in the freezer.)

Monday will be a Great Stats Crunch. I can hardly wait. I have prepared, with cherries, chocolate, and documentation.
azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
Finished up the bulk of the floppy copy project at work. Today is for burning, after Management gets them sorted. There were about 400 disks in all. (Holy mackerel, I'm tired of poking at that stuff!) 4.75 hours on that, and another 1.25 hours cleaning up in field. Then, off the clock, an hour of serious geeking with the Cute Desk Guy.

[livejournal.com profile] figment0 gave me a lift home. I was tired.

A not-many-holds-barred discussion launched about the brand-new project I'm plotting with [livejournal.com profile] elysianmusings. [livejournal.com profile] onyxrising has been shanghaied in.

I was still awake poking at old entries when I heard an almighty crash from the direction of my pantry. Seems a shelf started giving way, off-balance with heavy glass and plastic bottles of assorted liquids stacked up.

Nothing says 4am quite like waking up your downstairs neighbors with your liquor cabinet cascading in their direction. Nothing broke, at least, though there were a few distinct clown car moments with me trying to figure out if I could let go of the one thing to see to the other. It was sort of like a very fragile game of Jenga, only with more 4am and less fun-for-the-whole-family.


azurelunatic: The Space Needle by night. Slightly dubious photography. (Default)
Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺

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