Confessions of a One-Track Mind

Canasta night did NOT go as planned. I got over to J's, and she was all, "Oh, I forgot you guys were coming over. TRT is going to be here in a little while."

TRT is one of my least favorite people on the planet, at least of the people I've personally met. J thinks the sun shines out her arsehole, but I don't like her and never will. I'm civil, because I *am* fond of J (although not so much at the moment), but shit like this---!

Mind you, TRT called maybe five minutes later, and did J say, "My bad, I forgot, I made plans for tonight with Fluffy and Mb."? No. She didn't.

Mb got there a few minutes after I did, and TRT showed up a few minutes after that, along with her significant other and yappy little dog and generally crashed the party.

J didn't say anything, because hey, it's not my place. They took over the kitchen and made meatloaf, which they didn't offer to Mb and I, although J got a big plateful.

We played one short hand, then J cried off. Mb and I both left, pissed.

I haven't had dinner---we didn't break into the munchies we'd brought---and I'm hungry and evil-tempered. And I got caught by every single fucking traffic light on the way home. Grrr!

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I'm not in the habit of taking down stories I've posted, but I got trolled once too often over at The Pit and pulled "The Heat Wave" (Still available here and at AO3). That was the Adam-12 slash I did a couple months ago. It's pretty much the only thing I've written this year, and I'm over the constant bitching I got from everyone there.

For the record, I still ship Mack and Malloy, and I have no qualms about presenting Pete as an avid bisexual. That's just how I see it, and I don't think it's any more ludicrous than the canon premise of Adam-12 stamping out crime in LA practically single-handed. However, if there's no audience for it, or worse, everyone's going to dog-pile on me becaue YKINMK and that's NOT okay, well, why bother?

So...I pulled it. And because I've come to the reluctant conclusion that The Pit has jumped the shark*, I've started posting the cream of the crop over at AO3. That's gonna take a while, since I have over 150 stories at the Pit, some of them multi-chapter. Although some of it really isn't worth the trouble.

Meanwhile, karaokegal is hostessing her annual "Come As You're Not" Halloween party. (http://karaokegal.livejournal.com/1520607.html) This makes me happy, as it's produced some good fic in years past. I'm working on something, a very old something that's been unfinished in my closet for a looong time. It's one of those stories I can't seem to quit, so I'm going to make a big push and finish the damned thing. At the moment, it's around 10K words, and that's *maybe* two-thirds of it? IDK.

So, dear f'listies, if you write, you're invited to come up with a costume for CAYN. Hope to se you there!

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* I'm so over it I've stopped replying to reviews. Since the beginning (2004), I used to reply to ALL of them, even the incoherent ones, even if it was just "Thank you." Now, I don't care any more. If it's someone I *know* personally, I'll email them, but the last few months, the site has been such a clusterfuck that it's been more aggrevation than it's worth.

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This has been a weird week, and yeah, I know it's not over yet.

Spent a day at J's dog-sitting---she was over in Orlando and the neighbor who usual acts as doggie-butler has her own drama going on and was unavailable. I got to sleep in a/c, which was sweet. Came out to a dead battery and had to wait for J's return and a jump-start---my own fault: The door didn't latch properly, the light stayed on, which wasn't noticable when I got there in broad daylight.

My lights got turned off for non-payment. I have the money, but because I've been nervous about how fast it's shrinking, I delayed paying, which led to me sitting in the heat for several hours after I made the payment, which cost me an additional service charge. *facepalm* Yes, I know it was stupid of me, please let's not rub my nose in it.

I heard about Ray Bradbury's death and was startled, as I *thought* he'd already passed. I may have confused him with Kurt Vonnegut, both of whom I considered somewhat subversive in high school. IDK. Anyway, good-bye, Mr. Bradbury. You were a great American writer.

Speaking of writing, I'm really pissed with ff.net, which is on my last frackin nerve. It doesn't want to load---it takes multiple attempts every time. I hate their new log-in. I hate that they no longer give you the option to block ads. And I'm livid about their "reiteration" of their ratings policy. I'm about ready to jump ship for AO3, which annoys me mightily; I've been over their for about eight years now. I have a shitload of stuff posted there, including some major multi-chapter works, which it'll be a four-star pain-in-the-ass to crosspost, because AO3 does NOT make it easy. Grrrr.

My sleep schedule is back to being buggered up; I'm never quite sure of what day it is unless I check my phone. I hate it, but sleeping during the day is more bearable than being awake for it. Lots of cold showers either way.

Watched Rosalind Russell in "Sister Kenny" the other day. I figured Roz as a nun dealing with an epidemic would be a triple-play as far as my kinks go...alas, no nuns, but it was still okay. Saw "Walking Tall" (the Rock remake), which I'd seen when it was in the theater...prime case of "I didn't know he/she was in that!"...in this case, the love interest was Aisha in Dark Angel and Emily in Jericho. One of the minor villains was also in Dark Angel (Joshua), and the factor that sucked me in as I was flipping channels, Neal McDonough as the uber-villain. Justified just won't be the same without him next season!

Apologies to jdsgirlbev and gwyilliondream, both of whom had birthdays earlier this week. Hope they were awesome like you!

Hope it gets better from here on out. I cracked my neck a little while ago...sounded like my head was about to fall off, which wouldn't surprise me.

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Why doesn't ASOS have this dress in something a little closer to my size?! *pout*

I'm lusting after it, all navy and white and summery-fresh looking. I'm tall enough to pull it off, and I have The Perfect Hat to wear with it. And some cute little shoes in red or yellow. I'd be even more awesome than usual!

However. The biggest size they have it in is the equivalent of a US 16, and I'm pretty damn far from a 16. Currently, more like size 26. If they had it in US 22, or even 20, I'd snag it for motivation---it's a sweet deal at that price!---but NOT 16. (ETA, The UK site has it in US20, but I hate to imagine what the shipping would be, even if I *could* finagle it.) I know my personal sizing; I'm at least 50 pounds away from that.

Damn and double damn.

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Things are finally moving, after a series of persistant phone calls from yours truly.

Made several calls yesterday and today to the Permit Office---since when is it my job to light a fire under their asses? And no, I don't particularly care that they're short-handed today, because a) They should've had this in their hot little hands a week and a half ago and b) They should've had it done a week ago.

Showed my teeth to the fence people this morning...couldn't get through to them yesterday afternoon after talking to Permits, then today...first I tried my regular phone and got their machine, which I hate---it doesn't allow one to leave a message---then tried on the iPhone a minute later and they picked right up. Think they're screening calls and trying to dodge me, but I made it clear that I wasn't happy about having to do their jobs for them, was tired of the delays, and if there wasn't action by tomorrow, I'd be in Friday morning for a refund of my deposit.

Undoubtedly, I haven't made any friends there, but welcome to I Don't Give a Fuck. The fence company has had my signed contract for two weeks, which should have been more than enough time to get all that nonsense done. The only reason I wasn't nagging them last week was because I was house-sitting, so again, they've had ample time. It's not my fault that their salesman doesn't know what he's doing!

Meanwhile, I have to cope with the Idjit Neighbors. Every time someone goes thundering past my window, I stress. This has been going on for months and getting worse and worse. At first, they dashed through as fast as they could. Now, they're strolling past, yakking, laughing, bitching, whatever. And I'm choking back the urge to scream at them to FUCK OFF, this is private property. (The adults ignore me, the kids laugh at me, it only makes me look impotent.) This goes on daily at all hours. Hence the fence.

Meh. Anyway, because I've been trying to follow up on all this, I haven't been out of the house since I got back on Sunday. I'm getting ready to make a mail run, connect with PJ, who's going to bring a few things I forgot there to the church this evening, and pick up a couple things at the store. I'm craving hot dogs, and trying to resist because of the sodium.

Friday, God willing and the Creek don't rise, Mb and I are going to go locate and explore the local Habitat for Humanity ReStore on Friday.

And lfinally, ast night's Justified-inspired ficlet is doing nicely. Better than the SoA/SPN story that preceeded it, that's for sure.

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No, I don't have a fence yet. Just because I set a date for the installation TWO WEEKS AGO is certainly no reason to think it would actually happen as scheduled.

According to Them, they're waiting for the official permit. They were supposed to call me this afternoon and let me know what the status was on that. Notice use of "supposed do". Didn't. Nope. Not a peep. That was AFTER I called them this morning to find out WTF was going on, because they don't have the courtesy to keep me in the loop.

Possibly they are going to come 'round and ring my bell at the crack of 8 tomorrow. I am not holding my breath, but damn it, I *do* have other things planned that don't involve sitting around the house waiting for them to get off their collective asses and get to work. But why should I expect them to tell me anything? I'm just the homeowner!

I'm about ready to go down there and demand the return of my deposit. If, that is, I don't lose my good words and just start swearing in a very unladylike fashion.

More as it happens.

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So here's what's been going on. ( I don't usually do cuts for entries other than spoilers or fiction, but I go on at length here, so I won't sandbag your f'list with a wall of text. )

Hope your week's been going better than mine. Except for the weight loss---I totally own that!

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Knock wood, Hurricane Irene is going to slide by offshore and miss us. Meanwhile, it's raining fish at the moment. The TV has lost the cable signal (In mid-F-Word, thanks so much) and there's booming and banging going on. My folks used to refer to it as "giants bowling", which I could easily imagine as my dad was a terrific bowler. He was also an excellent golfer.

You see, he'd been scouted by a major league baseball team while still under-age. However, his father, a staunch Lutheran minister, refused to sign for him because horror of horrors, it would've meant he'd be playing ball on Sundays. Small wonder that one of Dad's oft-repeated messages to his children was, "Nobody ever made a living doing what they like."

Me, I'd just like to make a living. My dad worked for the same company (Gulf Oil) for 35 years. He got service pins, a watch when he retired and all that. In those days, that was normal. These days, companies have no loyalty whatever to their employees, and working at one place for one's entire career is a complete pipe dream.

You've worked for us for five years? Too bad, so sad---we're shipping your job offshore---to India! To Guatemala! To wherever we can gouge the most profit out of our workforce!

It makes me furious, it really does. Things like, the medical billing office I used to work for has been outsourced---which makes me very uncomfortable when I think about the protected information like birthdates and SSNs those accounts contain. Gee, you think that stuff like that might help terrorists and other unsavory individuals create fake identities? Me too! So why the fuck are we allowing it to leave the US?!

Grrr. I wasn't planning to go off on this tangent, but rant happens.

Sometimes, upward mobility isn't all it's cracked up to be.

When, for instance, the lawn crew begins work at 7:45 right under your bedroom window.

I was going to say "being rich" as opposed to "upwardly mobile", but I suspect the Cs don't regard themselves as such.

What criteria do I use to proclaim upward mobility?

Okay, for starters, they have a home in a desirable neighborhood. If my house was the Taj Mahal, it would still be in a crap neighborhood.

When things break, they repair or replace them. Which sounds like a no-brainer, but if you've got zero savings or credit, easier said than done.

They have domestic help inside and out, a weekly or bi-weekly (as needed) cleaner in addition to the yard service.

They have automatic bill-pay on everything. I don't have it on anything, because my finances have *never* been that secure. One payment at the wrong time could topple the whole house of cards.

They buy new things. As in, lots of books and videos. I have yet to see a used bookstore stamp or a pawn shop sticker on any of them. I *have* run across a few 3-figure Barnes & Noble reciepts.

They both drive new cars. Not new as in "this model year", but as in "not previously owned".

They have savings, retirement accounts and credit. I have four bags of aluminum cans.

They win. I can't begin to comete. Not that it's a competition---keeping up with the neighbors is a mug's game---but I'm completely outclassed.


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Mb and I went to return some books at the library Tuesday evening, and she told me about the plot of hers, where one of the characters was motivated by something "unfair" that happened in their childhood. It reminded me of something that happened 40-odd years ago which has bugged me all this time.

My sainted Aunt Mary took me with her on a visit to her cousin in New Jersey. I'd been there before over the years, and was acquainted with the cousin's family and had met the neighbor kids. The kids next door to the cousin had a wading pool. Just a dinky little above-ground kiddy pool, nothing fancy, but more than I had at home.

So, I was over there in the pool, and the kids who owned the pool were really possessive about sharing their pool toys. They'd let me hold one for a short minute, then demand it back. I was keenly aware of the unfairness of this; I wasn't hurting it.

The way I was raised, if I had a visitor who wanted to play with something of mine, I let them, because I could play with it any time. I guess not everyone got that message.

Yes, I can carry a grudge like nobody's business over all kinds of piddly shit.

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Things being somewhat dire, I applied online for food stamps a couple weeks ago.

Yesterday I got a letter telling me I needed to call them for a phone interview. I couldn't get through then, so I was up and pounding the keys at 8 sharp this morning.

At approximately 8:00:37, I got through...to their hold system.

I'm still holding. Only the thought of running out of some vital ingredient that will magically enhance beans, rice and eggs compels me to stay on the line.

Good thing I'm not trying to do this on my prepaid, I'd've run out of minutes by 9.

I have to wonder how many people they actually have manning their phones. Not enough, clearly. Which, considering this is the governemnt, is stoopid (but I repeat myself); they need to open a couple more call centers. That way, they would have more help,AND they could put people like me to work. Not only would we not be on unemployment, we might not even need food stamps. Whoa, radical concept!

One of these days, I have *got* to get a cordless phone.

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Too much cloud cover---couldn't see a thing. Felt it, though. The ground rumbles when a shuttle gets going.

So you have an idea of how it looks on a GOOD day, here's a pic of Discovery's final launch:





Another thing that ticks me off: The way all the announcers are referring to Endeavors's "historic" mission. They're ALL historic, damn it.
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This morning, I accompanied Mb to a doctor's appointment. According to her, he yells less when she has someone in the room with her. He didn't yell at all, he seemed very calm and on top of things. FWIW, I liked him; he reminded me of Cesar Millan.

Afterward, when we got out of there, it was about 10:30. Cracker Barrel was on the way home, so we dropped in for brunch.

Usually, I adore Cracker Barrel. Today, however, they were not up to par. It was close enough to 11 that we could've ordered lunch, but I was in the mood for eggs I didn't have to cook. To begin with, it took so long for our order to get there, I started to wonder if the hens weren't laying well. The toast that came with it, when it did arrive, was charred on one side. I asked for fresh toast, not burned, and some jelly, preferably blackberry.

Oh, and my bacon? Was jerky. I have nothing against crispy bacon, but I draw the line at dessicated. We got two containers of jelly, one each: Grape and strawberry. Um, wrong berry.

Waited. Waited some more. In the interim, I got two beverage refills from another server who passed by and noticed I was out. By the time the second round of "toast" appeared, my eggs were rubber. (Quotes because it was barely-warm bread that didn't even have a tan.)

I wasn't happy, and Mb was, if anything, even more pissed on my behalf. (That's how you know you've got a true friend!) The only reason I left any sort of tip was because she *did* bring some lemons wedges for my drink, which was the first thing I asked for---that was done promptly. So she got a flat 10%. Usually, I'm a 20% tipper, if only to disprove the study that said "middle-aged" women are the worst tippers. Her loss.

We sought out a manager before approaching the cashier, and he gave good grovel. Said that our server was usually very good, and he didn't know why she wasn't on her A-game, but he'd talk to her. AND he comped our meals, which I was hoping for, because I could've stayed home and cooked better than that!

The gift shop beckoned; we wandered around for a little while, since we were unexpectedly a bit wealthier than we'd thought we'd be. I found a reusable tote bag for J---her birthday is next week---it has a picture of a dachshund on it, and says: "You had me at 'Woof!". Everytime the subject of dachshunds come up, she says how stubborn they are. *grin*

If I weren't so short on sleep, I'd make some clever quip about a dog's breakfast, but not today....

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Car du jour: Saw a very nice yellow Year One GTO on the way down to the doctor's, and on the way back, a Vecchio-era Buick Riviera, champagne beige.
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Ah, the Oscars. I *was* amused by the montage at the beginning of the awards, particularly in light of Friday's thread about Morgan Freeman doing voiceovers. The presenters did an adequate job. I loved Anne Hathaway's elegant white dress. James Franco in red, eh, not so much.

Big cheer for Kirk Douglas, whom I've adored since I was 10 and saw him in 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea. Am happy for Christian Bale; although being so gob-smacked that you forget your wife's name---! Dude, you owe her for that. I'm thinking lots of roses and some serious bling. Javier Bardem scores points for being a JDM look-alike. (I hear he can act, too.)

I'm disappointed that "True Grit" was snubbed by the Oscars. I don't think there was much doubt that The King's Speech was going to get the Best Picture, but SOME recognition, especially for young Hallie Whatsername would've been good. Damn it, westerns are a dying genre; what, we get one maybe every other year? Overlooking a gem like this is the kind of thing that's helping to kill it off, because studios only greenlight projects they think are going to bring in money or prestige. And I *don't* think Cowboys and Aliens is going to be a prestige picture, so let's hope it makes gobs of money.

Am also disappointed that my cataloging of fics hasn't brought about any flurry of reviews. (First typed that as "a fluffy of reviews", there's a Freudian typo for ya! No, damn it, the world does NOT revolve around me.)
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I powered up my laptop and was glancing through the "news" stories on my default homepage, AOL, and I ran across this, with the title of "My Birthday Wish: A Kitchen Makeover" (One writer explains why all she wants for her 50th birthday is an updated kitchen, even if her friends think she's a bore.).

Okay, I thought. Here's a gal who's my age, with one of the very same problems I've got, a crappy, outdated kitchen.

Then I clicked on the article and got a look at the kitchen she's bitching about and began to *headdesk*. Her cabinets are at least 20 years newer than mine, she has easily twice the counter space I've got, her fridge is probably from this century and her ceramic cooktop definitely is. Oh, and she has those cute little display nooks above her cabinets.

My circa-1960 kitchen has brown mock-walnut laminate cabinets, a white countertop that was originally glitter-flecked but is now just speckled and grungy, the appliances are 20+ years old and semi-functional (I have burners that don't work and the fridge is tempramental.), about three feet of functional counter space and there's not a goddamned thing cute about it.

Our little domestic diva does on to say, oh no, she doesn't want diamond jewelery or a fantastic trip for her 50th, not even a face-lift or "body work", no, *just* the remodel.

Lady, can I just slap you? Your sense of entitlement really ticks me off.

At this rate, I'm going to dent my desk.
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Aldi's has little chocolate-covered marzipan logs for 99 cents each. Nom nom nom...must not eat them all at once...must not spend bill/gasoline money on them, either.

Very annoying; I had something intended for a house-warming gift for a gal at church sent to Ahab's, since I *thought* I'd be spending more time there. Now it's there and I'm here, and it doesn't look like I'll be getting it in time to give it to her at church this Sunday, unless I want to roughly double the shipping expense, IE, what it would cost to drive down there and back.

I would post a picture of the item, but for some reason, my screen capture isn't working, grrr. Very inconvenient and yes, annoying.

SPN tonight was pretty good...I've been waiting for the show to use the gimmick they did for the MOTW. I'm sorry that we seem to have seen the last of certain people, especially the individual who instigated what was instigated. (Look, I hate to be cryptic, but it's late and I'm not in the mood to fiddle-fart around with cuts. Maybe tomorrow.) Next week is going to be a hoot.

Being in a pissy mood is annoying. Bunch of things bugging me...in addition to the above, I haven't been able to write since, like Yuletide. A few ideas, but nothing that sticks. The whole "poor and unemployed" thing has my head ready to explode, and yes, that includes the Ahab business and some backstory that I'm NOT going to go into, but suffice to say, it's annoying. Feels like I've been thrown under the bus. *sigh*

Then, too, there's the first anniversary of Kat's death on the heels of Susie's passing. And GK reneiging on her visit, and generally feeling needy and stressed all the damn time!

From a distance, being stuck in quicksand may look an awful lot like wallowing in it....

I take it back. There is not enough marzipan in the world.

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Every woman who's used to having a place of her own has her own standards and her own little ways of doing things. Stressful is two women in the same house, and worst of all, it's the house of a crochity old guy who's been on his own for a long time.

I will be the first to admit that my standards of house-keeping are modest. When it comes to the domestic arts, Mb has me beat; she's particular about things that I don't even notice, IE, the proper disposal of soda cans. Mind you, when I shop, there are some things I'm fussy about; I'm more inclined to go with good paper towels and cheap-ass toilet paper than the other way around, I get jumbo eggs, not large, and mayo, not Miracle Whip. But that's just me, YMMV. But---I love Mb and that's fairly minor.

The thing that's making me crazier is the hardware. There's a flat-surface cooktop, which I could deal with---IF all the pans were flat-bottomed. Some are and some aren't, and it's a pain in the ass to start cooking something, realize the pot wobbles, and have to find another pot to dump it into to finish. Most exasperating, there are NO lids for any of them. I know what I've got at home; if I want to make a casserole, I can lay my hand on the right sized dish. If I want to heat something up, I have a pan WITH a lid right there....

I think at some point, Mb and I need to take a day, go through the cupboards and donate the dross to Goodwill. Because seriously, HE'S not going to be cooking again, and WE would be a lot happier if we weren't up to our asses in surplus warped teflon.

Or a yard sale. The odds are Ahab will be going into assisted living at some point. Dementia is progressive, after all. It makes sense to start editing now, since he can't take it ALL with him.

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