We had snow, and also it's Cold Out. This has resulted in discussions (not even debates) about The House And How To Heat It. Due to the mini-splits and the basement not being acquainted with each other, see. Result: furnace thermostat turned up, mini-splits will Cope.

I re-did my nails all snow-themed; pics on Mastodon: https://blorbo.social/@azurelunatic/111746342254103550

I did the background color and main glitter before today's appointment, then added things on top after we got back home.

One of my technical challenges is rhinestones. Some of them really don't do well with getting covered in rhinestone glue, and yet just putting them on the surface with a dot or so is a recipe for a lost rhinestone. I've been playing around with various methods, but I think some of it is down to the material. Strong reflective tints retain the faceted look better than a clear color or a faint reflective tint.

Therapy goal from yesterday, long-term: perhaps I could recover to the point where I don't feel like roaring at terrible phone menus. (The prelude to yesterday's conversation about mammograms!)

Today was a heart scan, an appointment engendered by the summer's trip to the ER with moderate chest pains (which I subsequently think were an annoyed ribcage). You can see exactly how concerned they were by the appointment timing...

I was warned that "the nuclear department" (which is in the basement) was Cold, and I should dress accordingly. Also, I should avoid a one-piece outfit, and avoid metal in my top layers. Result: heavy duty yoga pants, a long skirt, a tank top to serve the role of bra, and a pajama shirt. This worked out fine, though I did keep the sweater layer of my outside clothings on as well.

I checked in upstairs, and was ready to wait; I then got redirected to the basement! (Belovedest joined me in singing one of the relevant snatches of Phantom of the Opera.) Then we waited some more. ( Read more... )

Eventually: "You're free to fly!"
I stood up and flapped my wings. (Physical therapy really is helping with the standing up part, incidentally. I added the abdominal exercises to the program myself, and I have the choice of crunches or merely activating the muscle groups without motion.) Then waited for the restroom to be available, and then we were on the road.


Talking with the household about certain workplace entities that need punched in the balls.
"That's what the auto-ball-puncher is for!"
"But I don't trust the automation on that."
"Those are only for infractions that you haven't personally seen happen."
...
"GEESE ARE STORED AT THE COTTAGE."
...
"No, that's built in, no special training needed: if it's dangly and below the waist, they'll go for it."
"NUDE HOT TUB PARTY! ... WHO INVITED THE GEESE?!"
...
"Untitled Goose Game: it needs a character creator."
"Any way you put it, 're-skin the goose' doesn't sound good."
"Does 'reanimate the goose' sound any better?"

Apropos of horizonchaser's metaquoted gander adventures, which led me to Hyperbole and a Half's "Dinosaur", I was moved to give some sage advice to Allie. (Comments there are moderated, so it may be a while before it shows up.) I reproduce it here for your delectation:

Angry geese are immensely scary. Unless you have a hockey stick. In which case they're silly because they're attacking the hockey stick and oh man, do they go to to town. Unless there are more of them than you have hockey sticks, in which case they're scary again.

My parents kept geese. At first they were adorable and fuzzy and liked to hang out under Dad's beard and nibble his eyelashes. Then they got big and they were still cute, but a lot featherier. Then the goose started laying eggs, and the gander turned into an asshole.

Hockey sticks by the door became a fact of life. I learned a lot of techniques for dealing with angry ganders.

Anything can make a gander angry. If you walk past, he gets pissed off. If you mess with his woman. If you mess with his woman's eggs, you're dead, but he'll only attack you after his woman is done killing you. If the feed bucket displeases him. If the wind is blowing wrong.

I would say, avoid taunting the angry gander, but if a gander's already angry, anything you do short of vanishing on the spot will make him angrier. If you back off, it will make him mad that you don't stay and fight like a man. If you just stand there, he gets mad that you're taunting him. If you advance, he gets good and mad because it's time for a fight.

Ganders fight with their wings, not just their fearsome serrated bills. They hold you in place, grinding you with their beaks, and then they start kicking you with their wings, and attempting to rend you limb from limb, or at least tear your clothes off you.

Never fight a gander while naked. I cannot stress this enough.

If you slide your foot under a gander, then launch him off the top of your foot like you would in a really smooth soccer trick (not kicking, more throwing with your feet) it startles him, and you may have time to run for it before he flies forward and catches up with you.

A gander can't grinch you if his bill is held shut, but he will try and flap. He can't flap at you if you're holding his wings down. He will, always, be able to shit on you. There is a reason they say "loose as a goose", and this is not because geese are adept at yoga. (Some of them might be. They're very good at a particular one-footed posture.)

Our gander took a liking to Mama, and tried to follow her everywhere. Including into her pottery shop. He had to stay outside, where he proceeded to shit all over the porch, and also to chew the temperature indicator off the little pottery kiln. So Mama had to call the manufacturer and order another one -- not the dial, but the metal piece that goes behind the dial and says where 'off', 'low', 'high', and 'incinerate everything' is. They laughed.