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I said goodbye, and then Mama and I talked for a while. I told her she should call my aunt, who hasn't got cell reception at her house, regardless of the hour. She was going to go do that, and then she called back unexpectedly. She said he must have taken his last breath while we were on the phone.
I'm waiting on some family news. I expect it to arrive in the next two weeks, right when the chaos of installation prep and NaNoWriMo are peaking.
I spent a lot of last night waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in and for my hip to feel better. The hip didn't feel better until about 5 am, when there was a click and suddenly things were Not As Bad and I slept like a rock instead of a hot dog on a convenience store hot wheel device.
We did our shopping yesterday (and our seasonal candy shopping last month) so all that remained today was to set our lights to [big pumpkin button] and sort the candy into functional bins. For outside, that was Fruit, Chocolate, and Chocolate With Peanuts. For inside, that is Mostly Belovedest, Only Alex, Not Belovedest, Everybody, Big Jars, and Scavengers. (That last bin is left outside overnight in a cardboard box, and whatever remains is taken to Belovedest's work in the morning.) Peanut M&Ms went there; plain M&Ms had their packages sliced open and dumped unceremoniously into the big jar. Skittles had the same treatment. I like to use Skittles as ballast with should-have-a-small-snack pills like my bedtime set. They also make good 100-word celebration sweets for my word-crankin' grid.
My NaNoWriMo grid goes like so:
(S) (S) (S) (S) [Starburst!]
(S) (S) (S) (S) [S!]
(S) (S) (S) (S) [S!]
(S) [S!] (S) (S) [S!]
It is a grid of 20 small sweets because I use a D20 as a counter. (I picked up this habit from something Seanan said about her writing process.)
We took shifts saying hello to the trick-or-treaters. It took a little while after we put out the candy for them to show up, but since we have a nice storm door it's easy to set up a chair and a tv tray and wait for the next crowd to say hello to. There were over 70 this time, almost at pre-plague numbers. There were a number of cop costumes (ack) but at least one Spiderman, some Pokemon, a tiny bear being pulled along in a red wagon (an adult came to claim the candy), and two large hot dogs. Belovedest duly recorded the number on our Halloween sheet, which will be cycled back into the sheaf of holidays that gets stuck on the refrigerator, ready to remind us of our obligations next year.
We have six very large pomegranates. After tomorrow's appointment, perhaps I'll dismantle one. Or perhaps I'll wait for news.
I spent a lot of last night waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in and for my hip to feel better. The hip didn't feel better until about 5 am, when there was a click and suddenly things were Not As Bad and I slept like a rock instead of a hot dog on a convenience store hot wheel device.
We did our shopping yesterday (and our seasonal candy shopping last month) so all that remained today was to set our lights to [big pumpkin button] and sort the candy into functional bins. For outside, that was Fruit, Chocolate, and Chocolate With Peanuts. For inside, that is Mostly Belovedest, Only Alex, Not Belovedest, Everybody, Big Jars, and Scavengers. (That last bin is left outside overnight in a cardboard box, and whatever remains is taken to Belovedest's work in the morning.) Peanut M&Ms went there; plain M&Ms had their packages sliced open and dumped unceremoniously into the big jar. Skittles had the same treatment. I like to use Skittles as ballast with should-have-a-small-snack pills like my bedtime set. They also make good 100-word celebration sweets for my word-crankin' grid.
My NaNoWriMo grid goes like so:
(S) (S) (S) (S) [Starburst!]
(S) (S) (S) (S) [S!]
(S) (S) (S) (S) [S!]
(S) [S!] (S) (S) [S!]
It is a grid of 20 small sweets because I use a D20 as a counter. (I picked up this habit from something Seanan said about her writing process.)
We took shifts saying hello to the trick-or-treaters. It took a little while after we put out the candy for them to show up, but since we have a nice storm door it's easy to set up a chair and a tv tray and wait for the next crowd to say hello to. There were over 70 this time, almost at pre-plague numbers. There were a number of cop costumes (ack) but at least one Spiderman, some Pokemon, a tiny bear being pulled along in a red wagon (an adult came to claim the candy), and two large hot dogs. Belovedest duly recorded the number on our Halloween sheet, which will be cycled back into the sheaf of holidays that gets stuck on the refrigerator, ready to remind us of our obligations next year.
We have six very large pomegranates. After tomorrow's appointment, perhaps I'll dismantle one. Or perhaps I'll wait for news.
Perhaps Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy is not my favorite person in the world. (She made a point of telling me that my nice black lacy party skirt was "girly", and upon my dubious look, insisted that "lace is girly!" I found something to do which was out of the RV.)
Uncle Davy has a tiny mop-dog, as if Gabrielle had been hit by a shrink-ray and had rolled in some spilled coffee. The dog has a Tile chip on her collar, and a bell, because she will crawl into remote corners of the house (Uncle Davy and Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy's house) to take a nap and no-one can find her. Uncle Davy's keys are likewise Tile'd. The Tile only tells you the rough geographic area, so the bell is necessary so you can hear when she moves.
( Read more... )
Uncle Davy has a tiny mop-dog, as if Gabrielle had been hit by a shrink-ray and had rolled in some spilled coffee. The dog has a Tile chip on her collar, and a bell, because she will crawl into remote corners of the house (Uncle Davy and Doctor Mrs. Uncle Davy's house) to take a nap and no-one can find her. Uncle Davy's keys are likewise Tile'd. The Tile only tells you the rough geographic area, so the bell is necessary so you can hear when she moves.
( Read more... )
A note on formatting: the pipe, '|', is used to denote multiple instances of the same person. The slash, '/', is used to denote pairings.
Family:
Immediate: I have mother/father, and sister. Mama and Dad live in Alaska (where I grew up); Tay-Tay has moved to Seattle, where she lives with her consort. She is younger. She plays violin in several bands. (She plays other instruments too.)
Guide Dog Aunt is local to me, a few minutes away by car, and is my aunt by way of being the youngest sister of Dad. She is a bit of a mother hen, tiny, hilarious, loves (and trains) dogs (her current dogs are the four-year-old "blue" (smoke-grey) Standard Poodle, Dazzle ("the poodle", or "Poodle! stop humping!"), and the 11-going-on-12-year-old Black (turning white around the edges) Lab, Deacon, who is not allowed to hump/be humped anymore because his joints are starting to go), tangoes, gardens, and is generally excellent. She is married with two boys, both now with their bachelor's degrees. The older one (and the 5th-youngest of all my cousins, also the family member closest to me in age aside from my sister) is my Infamous Cousin![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raranax, who is best known for The Chocolate Penis Saga, but also makes a habit of supplying me with every hilarious and needs-titanium-eyespork thing he can find on the internet.
( This is going to get long. )
Family:
Immediate: I have mother/father, and sister. Mama and Dad live in Alaska (where I grew up); Tay-Tay has moved to Seattle, where she lives with her consort. She is younger. She plays violin in several bands. (She plays other instruments too.)
Guide Dog Aunt is local to me, a few minutes away by car, and is my aunt by way of being the youngest sister of Dad. She is a bit of a mother hen, tiny, hilarious, loves (and trains) dogs (her current dogs are the four-year-old "blue" (smoke-grey) Standard Poodle, Dazzle ("the poodle", or "Poodle! stop humping!"), and the 11-going-on-12-year-old Black (turning white around the edges) Lab, Deacon, who is not allowed to hump/be humped anymore because his joints are starting to go), tangoes, gardens, and is generally excellent. She is married with two boys, both now with their bachelor's degrees. The older one (and the 5th-youngest of all my cousins, also the family member closest to me in age aside from my sister) is my Infamous Cousin
raranax, who is best known for The Chocolate Penis Saga, but also makes a habit of supplying me with every hilarious and needs-titanium-eyespork thing he can find on the internet. ( This is going to get long. )
A good birthday!
Jun. 5th, 2009 01:34 amMy father called on the 3rd to wish me a happy birthday a bit early. Birthday wishes have been coming in all day for the past two days, and it makes me feel cherished. (My best friend even replied to an e-mail, which is not quite earth-shattering but certainly notable.) Wednesday night was a delightful small group birthday gathering with Star Trek, Love Songs, and many, many forms of dessert (including a somewhat shaken fruit tart like the 2005 one). (The night ended on a slightly scary note with a freaky BART stalker, but I got home safely.)
Very excitingly, I now share a birthday with not only my "twin" from elementary school, but alsorizzo's new daughter! Congratulations!!
My aunt and I went to the farmers' market as is usual for Thursday mornings. I caught a bit of a nap while she collected lunch and stuff, then she picked me up and we headed for a little beach she'd found, dogs and all.
The beach had cellphone reception about as bad as my cellphone reception at home, so joiningzarhooie's birthday songs on my voicemail was another message from my father.
We spread out towels and had sandwiches and lounged in the sun. We both had books. The dogs found their own entertainment. Deacon was mostly drooling on things. The poodle decided to say hello to everyone, and eventually found a golden retriever who was playing catchball with the sea, and there was much running around. Deacon knocked over the dog pop-up tent from the inside. He also got sand all over every wet part of his face, including the drool. He even found a dead seagull to roll in!
I got sand all over too, but happily not in places that no sand should be. My sunblock seemed to have been sufficient, so I am not toasted.
When we got back, my sister called! We chatted about this and that.
I didn't manage to get a call in to my best friend, and when I stopped saying that I'd have a moment later, it was too late. Ah well, there will be other days and other calls.
As always, this day is not wholly mine. I will never forget 1989. It has been 20 years now.
Very excitingly, I now share a birthday with not only my "twin" from elementary school, but also
rizzo's new daughter! Congratulations!! My aunt and I went to the farmers' market as is usual for Thursday mornings. I caught a bit of a nap while she collected lunch and stuff, then she picked me up and we headed for a little beach she'd found, dogs and all.
The beach had cellphone reception about as bad as my cellphone reception at home, so joining
zarhooie's birthday songs on my voicemail was another message from my father. We spread out towels and had sandwiches and lounged in the sun. We both had books. The dogs found their own entertainment. Deacon was mostly drooling on things. The poodle decided to say hello to everyone, and eventually found a golden retriever who was playing catchball with the sea, and there was much running around. Deacon knocked over the dog pop-up tent from the inside. He also got sand all over every wet part of his face, including the drool. He even found a dead seagull to roll in!
I got sand all over too, but happily not in places that no sand should be. My sunblock seemed to have been sufficient, so I am not toasted.
When we got back, my sister called! We chatted about this and that.
I didn't manage to get a call in to my best friend, and when I stopped saying that I'd have a moment later, it was too late. Ah well, there will be other days and other calls.
As always, this day is not wholly mine. I will never forget 1989. It has been 20 years now.
Keeping a Lunatic busy...
Sep. 15th, 2007 01:07 amSo SCO is bankrupt?
I'd only read 1/3 of this poem aloud before Heather made me stop. Viasraun.
That career meme:
( My results. )
TMBG is going to be in Tucson! Hmm... Except that's right in the middle of Prime Moving Time, dammit.
Wednesday: Took a look at the place that M found. Whatever the woman's motivations in picking out the spot, her instincts were dead on. The place seems fabulous, and a great fit. It's a coffeehouse/gym/art haven/stuff-shop/retreat kind of place, by and for the LBGTQ population. It's well-lit, well laid-out, has wi-fi (keyed), and has the most comfortable and sheltering aura of any place I've walked in to short of my best friend's room on a day when he's feeling especially protective of me. I'd be comfortable moving right the hell over there next time, but this is something for the group to decide. Group was small that night; I wound up half in IRC, half ripping Circle of Fire into shreds and rewriting it tighter and better, and half present for the plotting, gossip, and medical woes catchup session. Fruitz is a blessing -- I can be listening to my music without stressing out my laptop even more.
Happy New Year, by the way, for those celebrating.
Thursday night was again minus the traditional dinner, because that night has become not the best night. Negotiations are in progress about a good replacement night. I'm reluctant to suggest a work night, because of how early we have to get up in the morning. That'll become a little better once we get moved out thattaway, but it's still not an easy timing.
I wound up with the His Dark Materials trilogy in omnibus form, and commenced reading that as soon as I finished off Born to Rock. In the bookstore, I had found the books in shiny new release form, in connection with the movie coming out soon. I wandered over in search of Born to Rock. In the YA section, I observed an employee letting an older couple know that the book down there had the book that they wanted, but it was an omnibus with the rest of the trilogy. My ears perked up, and I wound up swapping the omnibus they were holding for the trilogy I was holding, and we all walked away happy.
hcolleen and I went to the little Turkish restaurant in the same plaza as Changing Hands. Their hummus is tasty. It's a great place to unwind from work.
As we were getting settled into Vash in the parking lot outside Changing Hands,hcolleen commented about the magnetic sign on the side of a nearby car. I took a look. hcolleen was curious about the domain name, of course. I took a look, and something about that domain name struck me as familiar - www.masterpiecemassage.com - and suddenly I was leaping out of the car, flying across the parking lot, and shouting. I was right! It was karlita. After exchanging a hug and doing a happy little dance around, she wanted to know who I was. And then there was more hugging and giggling! There were introductions all around. warrior_priest got a picture with my cellphone, and I posted it immediately. It was the sort of event that someone of V's generation might describe as "cosmic", and I agree profoundly!
Friday: Morning: checking email, answering comments, reading. Afternoon: gettinghcolleen's banking done, hitting IKEA to take a look at furniture (Myrrh's dad is going to be pitching in on a couch, especially given that relatives will be descending upon her soon and will need a place to sleep), hitting Lee Lee's for tea, LJ, shower, and now bed.
At IKEA, we started looking at couches. It started out subtly -- none of us was really feeling that there were three people involved in the process -- there was a silent fourth. When we started bounce-testing couches withgameboyguy13 in mind, we knew why. One of the things that IKEA does not necessarily test the happy raw pine basic futon frames for is the ability to be repeatedly bounced on, and the one that myrrhianna had is well-nigh totaled (a group effort, actually -- I helped). It'll be all right just sitting there, but it'll have to be used gently and with a mind to how it's fragile, and it won't survive the move. So the next couch we get is going to have to survive far more bouncing. (It wasn't as bad as the CLIMB-IT episode* with Dad, because that was a single moment of pure bad idea. This was just constant heavy use involving flopping and ROCKETBOY and some injudicious leaning.) We're planning as if JD will definitely be coming back this summer (and coming for Thanksgiving), because while it's still up in the air on his end, it won't cause any difficulty to be prepared and have JD make other plans, it would be inconvenient if we needed to prepare but didn't, and ... well, he's sort of like a little brother now, and he'll always have a place with us.
We had a great old conversation with an IKEA co-worker in the couch section. We wound up on the topic of Kitchen Disasters We Have Known, at some length. I thought we were going to try to take him home with us.
Curtains in the living room are going to be the next big debate. I like the leafy ones! I like blue, of course, but my taste in blue doesn't get to dominate the public areas.myrrhianna gets the master bedroom, because otherwise hcolleen and I would fight and be disgruntled no matter who got it -- we know we're too much like sisters, but we can agree that myrrhianna gets it, on the condition that we get to use her bathroom too, as necessary. The couch color coordination problem was solved, at length -- neutral/white couch stuff, and then COLORFUL FABRICS to make things work. Hooray fabrics!
I nearly got lost at Lee Lee's, because I wandered off. It turned out to be in search of pickled sushi ginger slices (mmm) and more vinegar-based dressing, and a few other random things. Perhaps they should leash me, as if I were an errant toddler?
I still need to make sure that HR got that paperwork faxed to the apartment complex.
* Mama was reading a book on (I think) Woolly Mammoths to Tay-Tay and me. She had finished with the book-part, and had moved on to the glossary. "Climate," she started reading. "Climb it?" said Dad, in that bright and cheerful tone that our clan (especially the male members of our clan) substitutes for the phrase 'Y'all watch this!' Dad proceeded to plant his great booted foot on the arm of the couch, and pushed off from the ground with his other foot, intending to climb the couch as we children (I think we were four and two) did. Instead of the desired effect, of Dad standing on the arm of the couch, there was the sickening sound of a 2x4 cracking. When the catastrophe was over, Dad stood there, looking very silly and no little ashamed, with one foot on the floor, and his other leg up to the thigh inside the newly broken arm of the hideous orange burlap couch. The couch was broken like that for years before it finally was thrown out.
I'd only read 1/3 of this poem aloud before Heather made me stop. Via
sraun. That career meme:
( My results. )
TMBG is going to be in Tucson! Hmm... Except that's right in the middle of Prime Moving Time, dammit.
Wednesday: Took a look at the place that M found. Whatever the woman's motivations in picking out the spot, her instincts were dead on. The place seems fabulous, and a great fit. It's a coffeehouse/gym/art haven/stuff-shop/retreat kind of place, by and for the LBGTQ population. It's well-lit, well laid-out, has wi-fi (keyed), and has the most comfortable and sheltering aura of any place I've walked in to short of my best friend's room on a day when he's feeling especially protective of me. I'd be comfortable moving right the hell over there next time, but this is something for the group to decide. Group was small that night; I wound up half in IRC, half ripping Circle of Fire into shreds and rewriting it tighter and better, and half present for the plotting, gossip, and medical woes catchup session. Fruitz is a blessing -- I can be listening to my music without stressing out my laptop even more.
Happy New Year, by the way, for those celebrating.
Thursday night was again minus the traditional dinner, because that night has become not the best night. Negotiations are in progress about a good replacement night. I'm reluctant to suggest a work night, because of how early we have to get up in the morning. That'll become a little better once we get moved out thattaway, but it's still not an easy timing.
I wound up with the His Dark Materials trilogy in omnibus form, and commenced reading that as soon as I finished off Born to Rock. In the bookstore, I had found the books in shiny new release form, in connection with the movie coming out soon. I wandered over in search of Born to Rock. In the YA section, I observed an employee letting an older couple know that the book down there had the book that they wanted, but it was an omnibus with the rest of the trilogy. My ears perked up, and I wound up swapping the omnibus they were holding for the trilogy I was holding, and we all walked away happy.
hcolleen and I went to the little Turkish restaurant in the same plaza as Changing Hands. Their hummus is tasty. It's a great place to unwind from work. As we were getting settled into Vash in the parking lot outside Changing Hands,
hcolleen commented about the magnetic sign on the side of a nearby car. I took a look. hcolleen was curious about the domain name, of course. I took a look, and something about that domain name struck me as familiar - www.masterpiecemassage.com - and suddenly I was leaping out of the car, flying across the parking lot, and shouting. I was right! It was karlita. After exchanging a hug and doing a happy little dance around, she wanted to know who I was. And then there was more hugging and giggling! There were introductions all around. warrior_priest got a picture with my cellphone, and I posted it immediately. It was the sort of event that someone of V's generation might describe as "cosmic", and I agree profoundly! Friday: Morning: checking email, answering comments, reading. Afternoon: getting
hcolleen's banking done, hitting IKEA to take a look at furniture (Myrrh's dad is going to be pitching in on a couch, especially given that relatives will be descending upon her soon and will need a place to sleep), hitting Lee Lee's for tea, LJ, shower, and now bed. At IKEA, we started looking at couches. It started out subtly -- none of us was really feeling that there were three people involved in the process -- there was a silent fourth. When we started bounce-testing couches with
gameboyguy13 in mind, we knew why. One of the things that IKEA does not necessarily test the happy raw pine basic futon frames for is the ability to be repeatedly bounced on, and the one that myrrhianna had is well-nigh totaled (a group effort, actually -- I helped). It'll be all right just sitting there, but it'll have to be used gently and with a mind to how it's fragile, and it won't survive the move. So the next couch we get is going to have to survive far more bouncing. (It wasn't as bad as the CLIMB-IT episode* with Dad, because that was a single moment of pure bad idea. This was just constant heavy use involving flopping and ROCKETBOY and some injudicious leaning.) We're planning as if JD will definitely be coming back this summer (and coming for Thanksgiving), because while it's still up in the air on his end, it won't cause any difficulty to be prepared and have JD make other plans, it would be inconvenient if we needed to prepare but didn't, and ... well, he's sort of like a little brother now, and he'll always have a place with us. We had a great old conversation with an IKEA co-worker in the couch section. We wound up on the topic of Kitchen Disasters We Have Known, at some length. I thought we were going to try to take him home with us.
Curtains in the living room are going to be the next big debate. I like the leafy ones! I like blue, of course, but my taste in blue doesn't get to dominate the public areas.
myrrhianna gets the master bedroom, because otherwise hcolleen and I would fight and be disgruntled no matter who got it -- we know we're too much like sisters, but we can agree that myrrhianna gets it, on the condition that we get to use her bathroom too, as necessary. The couch color coordination problem was solved, at length -- neutral/white couch stuff, and then COLORFUL FABRICS to make things work. Hooray fabrics! I nearly got lost at Lee Lee's, because I wandered off. It turned out to be in search of pickled sushi ginger slices (mmm) and more vinegar-based dressing, and a few other random things. Perhaps they should leash me, as if I were an errant toddler?
I still need to make sure that HR got that paperwork faxed to the apartment complex.
* Mama was reading a book on (I think) Woolly Mammoths to Tay-Tay and me. She had finished with the book-part, and had moved on to the glossary. "Climate," she started reading. "Climb it?" said Dad, in that bright and cheerful tone that our clan (especially the male members of our clan) substitutes for the phrase 'Y'all watch this!' Dad proceeded to plant his great booted foot on the arm of the couch, and pushed off from the ground with his other foot, intending to climb the couch as we children (I think we were four and two) did. Instead of the desired effect, of Dad standing on the arm of the couch, there was the sickening sound of a 2x4 cracking. When the catastrophe was over, Dad stood there, looking very silly and no little ashamed, with one foot on the floor, and his other leg up to the thigh inside the newly broken arm of the hideous orange burlap couch. The couch was broken like that for years before it finally was thrown out.
Hooray friends and family!
Sep. 1st, 2007 12:07 amVash is in the parking lot at the Sam's. He's been slow to start for a while, like old cars will get, which I thought odd, and I was going to get him checked out, but I was waiting until there was a little more room in the budget. I was shopping, and then he would not start. It's not the battery. The starter sputtered and ticked; myrrhianna has not heard anything like it before!
I followed a quite logical path instead of panicking. First, I tried starting him again. Then I added the new minutes card to the phone. Then I called Myrrh to make sure I could get a ride home. Then I went back over to the store and made sure that it would not cause problems for anyone if I had to leave Vash in the parking lot there overnight. Then I pulled out the card for my friendly little auto shop on the corner and tried their number (no love). Then I called Mama.
Myrrh got me and my groceries (in a freezer bag with ice packs) home. By that time, there was already a call back from Dad on the machine. I hung out with her for a while, and there was gigging. Tomorrow, I shall see about getting Vash retrieved and fixed. Contingency plans for getting to work while this-all is happening are in place, should he not be fixed by the end of tomorrow. (Translation: I owe Myrrh groceries or somethin' already.)
myrrhianna has not heard anything like it before! I followed a quite logical path instead of panicking. First, I tried starting him again. Then I added the new minutes card to the phone. Then I called Myrrh to make sure I could get a ride home. Then I went back over to the store and made sure that it would not cause problems for anyone if I had to leave Vash in the parking lot there overnight. Then I pulled out the card for my friendly little auto shop on the corner and tried their number (no love). Then I called Mama.
Myrrh got me and my groceries (in a freezer bag with ice packs) home. By that time, there was already a call back from Dad on the machine. I hung out with her for a while, and there was gigging. Tomorrow, I shall see about getting Vash retrieved and fixed. Contingency plans for getting to work while this-all is happening are in place, should he not be fixed by the end of tomorrow. (Translation: I owe Myrrh groceries or somethin' already.)
When Dad was feeling particularly oppressed and he'd forgotten to bring his fork, he'd eat his cold spaghetti with his ruler. Mama pointed out that lack of a fork did not preclude him going down to the damn microwave (this was the late '80s; there was one microwave in the 8-floor building) (only she didn't say "damn", but she sounded like it) and heating up the spaghetti. He insisted otherwise.
Posted using TxtLJ
Nov. 18th, 2006 07:57 pmOn the other hand, I am never bringing dad here. He would try to get in trouble. He has little sense of social propriety in the way that mortifies small fry.
A nice afternoon
Nov. 27th, 2005 08:42 pmI'd ordered a shiny from Amazon. It came yesterday! The soonest Amazon thought it might show up was Tuesday. It's a little silver ring with an oval blue topaz and minimal Celtic knotwork, three overlapping arcs, tripointed, on either side of the gem. Naomi lost her ring sometime in or about the move, and was much pouting but behaving herself otherwise. That was in my mailbox when I got out of work.
My opposite came in for the evening shift, which was good, as I was starting to fade a little. This allowed me to get back up one last charge of steam to get stuff and people squared away. It seems that the scary Disagreeable Old Lady, the one who carpools with Trader Joe's Queen, the one with the utterly foul mouth and habit of saying the most outrageous things, has taken a liking to me. This makes working with her ever so much easier, because if someone likes me, I start liking them a little more in return, unless they're just too much of a weirdling at me. The Scary Disagreeable Old Lady has become ever so much less Disagreeable now. It's amazing! I have a reputation of being able to talk to and smack around computers now.
I have Wednesday off, hooray!
I got home around fourish. I wound up calling Darkside around sixish. We had a good solid half-hour chat about anything and everything, including the concept that I shamelessly borrowed from someone who won't mind me borrowing it: that of certain computer games being not just entertainment, but research, for someone in the field or trying to break in to the field. He'd not quite put that angle on his thoughts before, and it may just sharpen his senses that much more in his chosen field.
The recent sinus cold has diminished my hearing; that and job stress have made it so I have difficulty hearing co-workers talking to me at some points. I used an online hearing screening tool and found out that the remnants of the sinus cold and whatever else have conspired to give me a hole in the 500Hz range, a not-so-great 1kHz range, and another hole in the 2kHz range. I can hear just fine higher than that; 3kHz gives a notable jump in audibility; 4kHz is loud and clear, and 8kHz is a little diminished in volume but is painfully high.
After my head clears out again, I'll go back and see what the differences are. As it stands, I can hear people most of the time, but quiet males not much of the time, especially if they have a name I don't know the sound of. Spelling "Karim" gave me a lot of trouble today. Quiet males are at special disadvantage if they're trying to get my attention or tell me something when I'm distracted. Tenors are the least audible.
Hearing loss does run in the paternal line, so I have been understandably concerned. I was taking a look around that site, though, and a few things jumped out at me. I know that Dad had fun with things that went BOOM! in his youth, where youth has continued up into his sixties. Dad also rode a motorcycle. Dad owned and used a chainsaw, albeit with hearing protection later on in his life. But he had his motorcycle back before the '80s, and probably did not use ear protection. That site mentioned that wind noise on a motorcycle is equivalent to the noise of a chainsaw once you get up to 65mph. Between chainsaw, BOOM!, and most especially motorcycles, I think I perhaps needn't fear so much for my own hearing so long as I take decent care of it.
My opposite came in for the evening shift, which was good, as I was starting to fade a little. This allowed me to get back up one last charge of steam to get stuff and people squared away. It seems that the scary Disagreeable Old Lady, the one who carpools with Trader Joe's Queen, the one with the utterly foul mouth and habit of saying the most outrageous things, has taken a liking to me. This makes working with her ever so much easier, because if someone likes me, I start liking them a little more in return, unless they're just too much of a weirdling at me. The Scary Disagreeable Old Lady has become ever so much less Disagreeable now. It's amazing! I have a reputation of being able to talk to and smack around computers now.
I have Wednesday off, hooray!
I got home around fourish. I wound up calling Darkside around sixish. We had a good solid half-hour chat about anything and everything, including the concept that I shamelessly borrowed from someone who won't mind me borrowing it: that of certain computer games being not just entertainment, but research, for someone in the field or trying to break in to the field. He'd not quite put that angle on his thoughts before, and it may just sharpen his senses that much more in his chosen field.
The recent sinus cold has diminished my hearing; that and job stress have made it so I have difficulty hearing co-workers talking to me at some points. I used an online hearing screening tool and found out that the remnants of the sinus cold and whatever else have conspired to give me a hole in the 500Hz range, a not-so-great 1kHz range, and another hole in the 2kHz range. I can hear just fine higher than that; 3kHz gives a notable jump in audibility; 4kHz is loud and clear, and 8kHz is a little diminished in volume but is painfully high.
After my head clears out again, I'll go back and see what the differences are. As it stands, I can hear people most of the time, but quiet males not much of the time, especially if they have a name I don't know the sound of. Spelling "Karim" gave me a lot of trouble today. Quiet males are at special disadvantage if they're trying to get my attention or tell me something when I'm distracted. Tenors are the least audible.
Hearing loss does run in the paternal line, so I have been understandably concerned. I was taking a look around that site, though, and a few things jumped out at me. I know that Dad had fun with things that went BOOM! in his youth, where youth has continued up into his sixties. Dad also rode a motorcycle. Dad owned and used a chainsaw, albeit with hearing protection later on in his life. But he had his motorcycle back before the '80s, and probably did not use ear protection. That site mentioned that wind noise on a motorcycle is equivalent to the noise of a chainsaw once you get up to 65mph. Between chainsaw, BOOM!, and most especially motorcycles, I think I perhaps needn't fear so much for my own hearing so long as I take decent care of it.
Dreams about flying scorpions in the family house in Alaska do not improve my sleep. It was scuttling around and crawling up things and flying, cross between the actions of a cockroach and an enraged wasp. Dad was not wearing street clothes, and no shoes, but was keeping an eye on it and telling about what it was doing and recommending courses of action. It flew at my face; I put something between my face and it and it bounced off when I whacked it like a badminton birdie. Mama finally stepped on its head wearing her old wear-around-the-house sneakers.
Flying scorpions are a genetic "improvement" that I do not recommend.
Flying scorpions are a genetic "improvement" that I do not recommend.
Four Faces
Jul. 29th, 2005 04:52 amI'm Eve made a distinct impression on me. I was already well on my way to fragmentation, with the two separate lives of home and school, plus all the teenage personality experimentation selves I created while trying to decide what "me" I was supposed to become...
The book put a name on what I was experiencing the edges of. There were other people out there like that. Chris Costner Sizemore had an extreme case. I decided that what had happened to her was too scary, and proceeded to make sure that there was harmony throughout the Collective, once it formed. The beginning stages had already been set for serious fragmentation -- I was Joan at school, Joanie at home. Two different cultures. Two different names. Eventually, two different girls. (One boyfriend tried calling me "Joanie-Joan". I abhorred the nickname. It felt wrong. In retrospect, it may have been self-preservation, to keep my selves separate, to keep the strategy working.)
After reading the book, the outlook on the world changed in a slight but significant way. Circumstances were no longer forcing us to keep creating new selves by default, and collapsing them into one or the other of us -- we could choose to create one of us to face something, and we could keep conflicting stuff that needed to be kept isolated separate from the rest of our day-to-day operating personalities. We could choose. We could control it. We could sit and talk to ourselves, and no one else, no one outside the Collective, ever had to know.
This proved invaluable when the depression first started hitting. I would later learn that I have a family background of depression, and that Dad did not get diagnosed or treated until after I left the house. The major opinion of home on mental health professionals was that they were more nuts than the people who went to see them, they would discover problems that you didn't actually have, make any already-existing issues worse, and that if one had problems, one would do well to keep them politely to oneself. And so the little poisonous thoughts, the ones that said, "You suck. Life sucks. Why not just die?" did not get aired to my major confidante, my mother, and remained rankling inside. (My riposte to Dad's homily about "a permanent solution to a temporary problem", which would have been, "Depression is a permanent problem," was fortunately never brought up in family discussion.)
Without Mama to turn to, and it being one of the things that Wasn't Discussed In The Family, not my sister either, who did I have left? My high school buddies? Ha. I learned within the first week that some things were safe and some things were not, and something that deep and vulnerable would not have been safe to talk about. That left ... me. Myself. I. Her. Them. Us. We.
It started out as writing in a notebook to myself, stream-of-consciousness. I wrote what was on the mind, and then the words started coming out weird -- not like an alien, but like a note passed back and forth in class. Two different streams of thought intersecting, in two different handwritings. It was a delight, having a friend I could tell anything to, someone who loved me unconditionally, someone I could trust absolutely. I was fourteen.
Gradually, two handwritings became three, and more. There was a babble on the pages, writing swapping from tiny to loopy to angular to smooth and everywhere in between. There were names, self-images, a whole cast of characters, all engaged in the somewhat scary struggle to get "me" (the main front personality) through high school intact -- and most importantly, alive.
The book put a name on what I was experiencing the edges of. There were other people out there like that. Chris Costner Sizemore had an extreme case. I decided that what had happened to her was too scary, and proceeded to make sure that there was harmony throughout the Collective, once it formed. The beginning stages had already been set for serious fragmentation -- I was Joan at school, Joanie at home. Two different cultures. Two different names. Eventually, two different girls. (One boyfriend tried calling me "Joanie-Joan". I abhorred the nickname. It felt wrong. In retrospect, it may have been self-preservation, to keep my selves separate, to keep the strategy working.)
After reading the book, the outlook on the world changed in a slight but significant way. Circumstances were no longer forcing us to keep creating new selves by default, and collapsing them into one or the other of us -- we could choose to create one of us to face something, and we could keep conflicting stuff that needed to be kept isolated separate from the rest of our day-to-day operating personalities. We could choose. We could control it. We could sit and talk to ourselves, and no one else, no one outside the Collective, ever had to know.
This proved invaluable when the depression first started hitting. I would later learn that I have a family background of depression, and that Dad did not get diagnosed or treated until after I left the house. The major opinion of home on mental health professionals was that they were more nuts than the people who went to see them, they would discover problems that you didn't actually have, make any already-existing issues worse, and that if one had problems, one would do well to keep them politely to oneself. And so the little poisonous thoughts, the ones that said, "You suck. Life sucks. Why not just die?" did not get aired to my major confidante, my mother, and remained rankling inside. (My riposte to Dad's homily about "a permanent solution to a temporary problem", which would have been, "Depression is a permanent problem," was fortunately never brought up in family discussion.)
Without Mama to turn to, and it being one of the things that Wasn't Discussed In The Family, not my sister either, who did I have left? My high school buddies? Ha. I learned within the first week that some things were safe and some things were not, and something that deep and vulnerable would not have been safe to talk about. That left ... me. Myself. I. Her. Them. Us. We.
It started out as writing in a notebook to myself, stream-of-consciousness. I wrote what was on the mind, and then the words started coming out weird -- not like an alien, but like a note passed back and forth in class. Two different streams of thought intersecting, in two different handwritings. It was a delight, having a friend I could tell anything to, someone who loved me unconditionally, someone I could trust absolutely. I was fourteen.
Gradually, two handwritings became three, and more. There was a babble on the pages, writing swapping from tiny to loopy to angular to smooth and everywhere in between. There were names, self-images, a whole cast of characters, all engaged in the somewhat scary struggle to get "me" (the main front personality) through high school intact -- and most importantly, alive.
Night Music
Jul. 25th, 2005 04:04 amI was thinking about bed when figment0 called. When we converse, we converse -- and we stray all over the map of possible topics. Things wound up with me talking to a very worried half-twin sister about specific issues about our particular biology, and experimental cures for PMS. I'm not even sure I followed myself...
My apartment complex is doing the annual apartment maintenance budget planning inspection Monday and Tuesday (that's later today and tomorrow), so I've given the place a bit of a once-over as far as cleaning is concerned. Still somewhat messy, but that's unavoidable. It seems as if just as soon as I've gotten things reasonably tidy, something happens to make not enough space to store things again. (I suppose the next thing is unpacking books.)
In any case, I am seeing floor. Well, rugs on top of carpet, but still.
I went down to the office after getting home from work. I left a maintenance request, or tried to. The person in the office was an ancient woman with too much eyeliner in a color that did not match, complement, or enhance her existing eyelashes. She looks (in my memory) to have greying ginger hair, and correspondingly pale eyelashes. The darkest one would sensibly use would be a brown of some sort, and that sparingly. This woman? Black. Unevenly. It looks like a five-year-old took a Sharpie to her face in a sort of reverse red squirrel effect. I would probably not harsh her makeup choices so severely if she were in fact effective at what she was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, she got lost at "double pole double throw", and told me that I would have to make an appointment to speak with the maintenance staff so I could tell them myself. (And she couldn't just take down my words, even if she didn't understand them?)
That was frustrating, but maybe I'll get results. I have left sticky-notes stuck to the thermostat and the bathroom door, explaining the two major problems, should the maintenance people come by when I'm out (yay Murphy).
I called V and checked in that she was still alive. She was on her way to her first destination, and having a lot of fun. The yard sale last weekend disposed of almost all her worldly possessions, and the rest are in her car, or something. She set out Sunday morning.
When I went to take out the trash, the sky was utterly clear, but I could taste the water in the air. Monsoon season is fun for those of us who have working climate control and do not have to be out in the heat for any great time. (It's been causing deaths for those who don't have working climate control and/or don't have anywhere to come out of the heat.)
The late-night hour and my general sleep-deprived state conspire to make me feel drunk.
Mama called earlier in the afternoon, waking me up from a short nap in a nicely timely fashion. The blueberries have been epic this year. They were at Virtual Aunt's bog-meadow picking some just recently. Dad combined blueberries with the good vanilla ice cream and had too much fun distributing it to friends and associates at the Farmers Market on Saturday.
I haven't seen the little white kitten with the black trim for a while. I hope it found a home with a suitable human. The dark cat who lounges by the pool was presiding over the Game there when I went down with the trash. I'm human and therefore don't understand the rules of play very well, but it seems as if s/he is master enough of the Game that s/he can choose an obvious central spot and still play effectively.
figment0 called. When we converse, we converse -- and we stray all over the map of possible topics. Things wound up with me talking to a very worried half-twin sister about specific issues about our particular biology, and experimental cures for PMS. I'm not even sure I followed myself... My apartment complex is doing the annual apartment maintenance budget planning inspection Monday and Tuesday (that's later today and tomorrow), so I've given the place a bit of a once-over as far as cleaning is concerned. Still somewhat messy, but that's unavoidable. It seems as if just as soon as I've gotten things reasonably tidy, something happens to make not enough space to store things again. (I suppose the next thing is unpacking books.)
In any case, I am seeing floor. Well, rugs on top of carpet, but still.
I went down to the office after getting home from work. I left a maintenance request, or tried to. The person in the office was an ancient woman with too much eyeliner in a color that did not match, complement, or enhance her existing eyelashes. She looks (in my memory) to have greying ginger hair, and correspondingly pale eyelashes. The darkest one would sensibly use would be a brown of some sort, and that sparingly. This woman? Black. Unevenly. It looks like a five-year-old took a Sharpie to her face in a sort of reverse red squirrel effect. I would probably not harsh her makeup choices so severely if she were in fact effective at what she was supposed to be doing. Unfortunately, she got lost at "double pole double throw", and told me that I would have to make an appointment to speak with the maintenance staff so I could tell them myself. (And she couldn't just take down my words, even if she didn't understand them?)
That was frustrating, but maybe I'll get results. I have left sticky-notes stuck to the thermostat and the bathroom door, explaining the two major problems, should the maintenance people come by when I'm out (yay Murphy).
I called V and checked in that she was still alive. She was on her way to her first destination, and having a lot of fun. The yard sale last weekend disposed of almost all her worldly possessions, and the rest are in her car, or something. She set out Sunday morning.
When I went to take out the trash, the sky was utterly clear, but I could taste the water in the air. Monsoon season is fun for those of us who have working climate control and do not have to be out in the heat for any great time. (It's been causing deaths for those who don't have working climate control and/or don't have anywhere to come out of the heat.)
The late-night hour and my general sleep-deprived state conspire to make me feel drunk.
Mama called earlier in the afternoon, waking me up from a short nap in a nicely timely fashion. The blueberries have been epic this year. They were at Virtual Aunt's bog-meadow picking some just recently. Dad combined blueberries with the good vanilla ice cream and had too much fun distributing it to friends and associates at the Farmers Market on Saturday.
I haven't seen the little white kitten with the black trim for a while. I hope it found a home with a suitable human. The dark cat who lounges by the pool was presiding over the Game there when I went down with the trash. I'm human and therefore don't understand the rules of play very well, but it seems as if s/he is master enough of the Game that s/he can choose an obvious central spot and still play effectively.
...ugh. Dreams.
Jun. 9th, 2004 12:09 pmDreamed that I was here, in the apartment, and that Mama was calling from Sis's cellphone to say that hot_chocolate's successor was sick and we had to take him to the vet. At this same time, I was moving my stuff out of the living room, and FatherSir and swallowtayle were teasing each other and me and FatherSir was doing his usual running commentary on the things (regarding a MoveOn.org book, on its political strategy, "That's how it gets its hooks into you.") I was quietly freaking out in my room with the door closed, because I just could not take it any more. swallowtayle had been remixing something she'd recorded with some music from some rap song, sampling the intro and layering that over a song that was already decent and making it pretty damn awesome.
There was something going on at work. I was wandering around, and it was the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
freshstartwrite ladies there, having a sort of get-together in the bathroom, and I was trying to figure out how to work on P's papers that needed grading. It was sort of like my job, only we were all gaming or reading in the booths instead of being on the phone with people. Hee.
But I was stressing trying to find the papers, and not knowing what they looked like nor how I was supposed to mark them...
It was a relief when the phone rang and woke me up from more job stress while sleeping.
hot_chocolate's successor was sick and we had to take him to the vet. At this same time, I was moving my stuff out of the living room, and FatherSir and swallowtayle were teasing each other and me and FatherSir was doing his usual running commentary on the things (regarding a MoveOn.org book, on its political strategy, "That's how it gets its hooks into you.") I was quietly freaking out in my room with the door closed, because I just could not take it any more. swallowtayle had been remixing something she'd recorded with some music from some rap song, sampling the intro and layering that over a song that was already decent and making it pretty damn awesome. There was something going on at work. I was wandering around, and it was the
freshstartwrite ladies there, having a sort of get-together in the bathroom, and I was trying to figure out how to work on P's papers that needed grading. It was sort of like my job, only we were all gaming or reading in the booths instead of being on the phone with people. Hee. But I was stressing trying to find the papers, and not knowing what they looked like nor how I was supposed to mark them...
It was a relief when the phone rang and woke me up from more job stress while sleeping.
Uninvited...
Oct. 2nd, 2003 12:57 amAll the wassailing tonight reminds me of a particular party.
So our family was in the habit of throwing absolutely awesome Solstice parties. There were kids playing all over the upstairs, a potluck supper, music and caroling downstairs, and generally we kids would stage an Entertainment.
This particular year, we had chickens. The pet kind, in a coop outside. Mama told us girls sternly that we were not to go out and get any birds and bring them in, not even Calico and Aurora, because there were some co-workers of FatherSir's, and the one guy's wife was fastidious, and chickens in the house would not be a good plan.
swallowtayle and I were disappointed, but agreed.
The party was going strong, and I was perched downstairs with the grownups when I saw FatherSir put on his boots and red down vest and slip outside. I perked up my ears, because the way he was leaving made it clear to me that he was sneaking, and when he was sneaking, he was Up To Something. I kept an eye on the door, and sure enough, when he returned, he crept up the stairs with a lump under his red down vest.
I followed.
To much delight, FatherSir had brought Miss Aurora Fayoumis, the lovelier and more refined of our two Egyptian Fayoumi, and we petted her and made much of her. FatherSir sat her in state on a pillow from Mama's side of the bed, and we were having quite the time (and Miss A. was behaving herself perfectly, lying upright on the pillow as a particularly regal cat might) when Mama came upstairs.
Of course,swallowtayle and I got the initial "I thought I told you..." lecture, and when there was a break in it, I informed Mama, "But we didn't! FatherSir brought her in!" Mama cross-checked with FatherSir, and it was just so: FatherSir hadn't heard Mama's initial lecture about no chickens in the house for this party...
Fortunately, Aurora was a calm lady by temperament, and remained well-behaved for the duration of the party, even with the crowd, and Mrs. H. was charmed with her unhenlike serenity.
So our family was in the habit of throwing absolutely awesome Solstice parties. There were kids playing all over the upstairs, a potluck supper, music and caroling downstairs, and generally we kids would stage an Entertainment.
This particular year, we had chickens. The pet kind, in a coop outside. Mama told us girls sternly that we were not to go out and get any birds and bring them in, not even Calico and Aurora, because there were some co-workers of FatherSir's, and the one guy's wife was fastidious, and chickens in the house would not be a good plan.
swallowtayle and I were disappointed, but agreed. The party was going strong, and I was perched downstairs with the grownups when I saw FatherSir put on his boots and red down vest and slip outside. I perked up my ears, because the way he was leaving made it clear to me that he was sneaking, and when he was sneaking, he was Up To Something. I kept an eye on the door, and sure enough, when he returned, he crept up the stairs with a lump under his red down vest.
I followed.
To much delight, FatherSir had brought Miss Aurora Fayoumis, the lovelier and more refined of our two Egyptian Fayoumi, and we petted her and made much of her. FatherSir sat her in state on a pillow from Mama's side of the bed, and we were having quite the time (and Miss A. was behaving herself perfectly, lying upright on the pillow as a particularly regal cat might) when Mama came upstairs.
Of course,
swallowtayle and I got the initial "I thought I told you..." lecture, and when there was a break in it, I informed Mama, "But we didn't! FatherSir brought her in!" Mama cross-checked with FatherSir, and it was just so: FatherSir hadn't heard Mama's initial lecture about no chickens in the house for this party... Fortunately, Aurora was a calm lady by temperament, and remained well-behaved for the duration of the party, even with the crowd, and Mrs. H. was charmed with her unhenlike serenity.
Chicken tales: La Boca vs. the cider
Mar. 8th, 2003 01:12 amFatherSir used to dump a little brewer's yeast in a jug of cider and leave it behind the stove until it got fizzy.
One day he was drinking a mug of this, and his pet hen La Boca looked interested. So he allowed her to take a sip.
She *guzzled* the stuff.
He cut her off after she'd had a few.
One day he was drinking a mug of this, and his pet hen La Boca looked interested. So he allowed her to take a sip.
She *guzzled* the stuff.
He cut her off after she'd had a few.
Birds and Parties
Feb. 4th, 2003 04:30 amAfter having Aurora Fayoumis crash the Solstice party, Mama told us that No Chickens would be allowed to come to FatherSir's retirement party at the Dogmushers' Hall.
So of course, in the Blue Truck on the way there, Narcissa and I imitated the sounds that the two current favorite hens, the Twerps, made.
Mama knew it was us after we broke down giggling, of course.
So of course, in the Blue Truck on the way there, Narcissa and I imitated the sounds that the two current favorite hens, the Twerps, made.
Mama knew it was us after we broke down giggling, of course.
Aurora Borealis and office gossip
Feb. 4th, 2003 04:26 amAnyone else ever hear of the Poker Flat Research Range? I heard a lot about it, growing up. For a while FatherSir was working out there. He talked about the stuff there, and how you couldn't drive on the road when they were doing a launch, and how one time they'd been moving the barrels of water protecting the blockhouse that the scientists hid in when there was a rocket launch, and how the bottoms had been rusted out and there wasn't actually any water in.
I got the gossip about the people around the Aurora Borealis research. Office gossip. Danny Osborne? We hung out over at his place. I baby-sat for Tom Hallinan's grandson. I heard about Neal Brown, about Akasofu, about the people down in the Seismology lab. Almost all of them are Old School, though, and have retired. It boggles me to surf the staff pages and only see a few of the familiar names. It used to be I could look at the staff in the Elvey Building and recognize names from the stories about work...
FatherSir seemed to be on remarkably good terms with most of the people he worked with. He made friends with many of the guys, and was friendly with the rest. He had a habit of declaring celebrations. He threw Solstice parties. One of his famous stunts was Hawaiian Day, which involved him wearing a lower-body wrap of loud flower-print fabric below his prominent Buddha belly, blowing on a conch shell, rolling around a cart with some variety of refreshment (I believe punch). Everybody knew him, more or less. He was a character. Still is, just not in the office anymore.
Sent an e-mail to the last maintainer of one of the Geophysical Institute websites because four of the links on their main page were down. Figured he'd like to know. He was one of the names I remember hearing. Identified myself as my father's daughter. It's a small state.
I got the gossip about the people around the Aurora Borealis research. Office gossip. Danny Osborne? We hung out over at his place. I baby-sat for Tom Hallinan's grandson. I heard about Neal Brown, about Akasofu, about the people down in the Seismology lab. Almost all of them are Old School, though, and have retired. It boggles me to surf the staff pages and only see a few of the familiar names. It used to be I could look at the staff in the Elvey Building and recognize names from the stories about work...
FatherSir seemed to be on remarkably good terms with most of the people he worked with. He made friends with many of the guys, and was friendly with the rest. He had a habit of declaring celebrations. He threw Solstice parties. One of his famous stunts was Hawaiian Day, which involved him wearing a lower-body wrap of loud flower-print fabric below his prominent Buddha belly, blowing on a conch shell, rolling around a cart with some variety of refreshment (I believe punch). Everybody knew him, more or less. He was a character. Still is, just not in the office anymore.
Sent an e-mail to the last maintainer of one of the Geophysical Institute websites because four of the links on their main page were down. Figured he'd like to know. He was one of the names I remember hearing. Identified myself as my father's daughter. It's a small state.
