omfg damnit.

I swear, Aaron only has to leave the house (in the only functioning car, by the way) for things to get disgusting.

I just had to disinfect the table after wiping the fresh chunk of poo off of it. Timer got one stuck on her ass and that's where she tried to rub it off.

And now the fucking printer won't work. I found a lovely pattern I want to make (and even a good yarn for it), but I can't get it to print. Fighting with the printer was how I discovered the shit, in fact. And now I can either hand-copy five pages of knitting instructions or figure out why my printer thinks full ink cartridges are empty.

there's also some chocolate wine left.

jeeeeeeze.

Rape builds character

Just bumbling about the internet, I found the latest of those goddamn "depression is good for you" reports. I'm just going to leave it at "what the fuck?" Is being a victim of violent crime also good? Rape is a motivator for many people to get pepper spray pens and screamer pendants and home security systems and take self-defense courses, but is it really good?
For fuck's sake, pop science.

I'm really just angry today because my car breathed its last breath (for now--it's waiting on a timing belt transplant) at a busy-ass intersection and the tow bill cost more than if I'd just been able to crawl into it and notice before it slipped. Here's to saving money by putting off car repairs, eh?

All this at the same time I notice my left index finger is starting to curl and there is nothing I can do about it. It's going to happen: I will have scary hands by the time I have my first child, and so on for the rest of my life until I can't use them anymore. If I could've seen a doctor any time in the past several years it might not be this way, but here it is.

my vibrator is also busted.

Getting knocked up

It would be nice.

I have enough Fry and more than enough Laurie (but is it ever enough?) to catch up on until one of the little bastards decides to implant itself. Maybe. I don't know if I can stretch it out until next July when I've "returned" to "fertility."

psh.

I'm barely in the mood for talk anymore. I've been writing a whole ton (NaNo practice rounds, trying to keep all of my words on pages instead of falling out elsewhere) and kind of spacing when people actually talk to me. The pretend world where I make a lot of never-existed folks go through exposition, rising action, climaxes (and not really the sexy ones usually), and denouements is much easier to grasp, and when I'm bored, I watch others' creations. I've gotten too lazy to read. The television drama turned out to be informative.

When does my fucking free Windows 7 upgrade get here? I kind of want it. Vista frustrates me. It's far too garish for a little blue computer, but I do love having this little blue computer. Going nearly three inches smaller was a wise choice for portability. It is, at least, until I get somewhere and realize I need the optical drive but left it beside the bed.

Georgie just tried to steal my wallet a little bit ago. Very sad. She's only a kitten.

Catmissing

I keep thinking I can handle this and then I come home and nobody's in the front window...

Damn, this sucks a lot.

It's quieter with only two cats.

Kiki, you tongue-out cat in a party hat, I miss you

I'm still grieving pretty hard...

Kiki, my oldest baby cat, died this morning just before 11. She'd been slowing down, but was doing okay last night...she came out of her window to eat and have a drink, used her box, then climbed back up into the window for the night. I sat in the blue chair and tried to get her to come down and be petted, but she's never been a lap cat so I got up and gave her an ear-scratching at the window. She was grateful. I tried getting the cane and some yarn to get her to play, but she wasn't interested in that, so I gave her some petting and talked to her a little bit and tried to entice her back down. She was more interested in just hanging out in the window, so I let her rest and went to bed a little later.

Aaron woke me up on his way out the door to say goodbye and tell me he scooped the catboxes and ask about dinner. I'm glad he lingered a little...Kiki fell out of the window while he was talking to me in the bedroom and she died on the couch within about 30 seconds, probably of a heart attack. (I'm guessing because of the suddenness and the heart murmur the vet heard just three weeks ago...damn, it wasn't that long ago that I was only worried about her fleas.) We drove her up to my parents' house in Fairborn to bury her, and I held her for the whole hour and a half up the highway. I kept having to check her heart and her breathing just to be sure. She's wrapped up in a mint green garter stitch blanket she frequently loved.
The last time she visited Fairborn (her home roaming grounds before she became an indoor cat), I didn't have a carrier for her and she sat between my knees on the floor while I was driving. She alternated between that and sitting in the back window. I think she wanted me to get pulled over as payback for making her be in the car.

It wasn't truly strange until we got home and there was no little cat-shaped gray circle of dryer lint in the window.

I've had Kiki since early 2002, when my sister couldn't keep her anymore. She's been my buddy ever since. She was shy about getting too close to people, but she always wanted to be around, and she was always around when I was feeling my absolute worst. And she had the sweetest meow, which she would use on me to say "where you been while I been in this dumb house?"

I miss her a lot. She was my little support cat, and the first non-caged pet who was ever truly mine.

I'm too offended by the heavy hand on this shameful picher to care about the artist's actual statement

McNaughton "Fine Art"

I just stumbled across this shitty painting by What's-his-ass, and...what? I do have to commend the dude who made the pritty picher for so adeptly jacking Thomas Kinkade's style: full of detail, busy, but dull and useless. Not everybody can stray from the Victorian house and horses so close to Christmas theme and still make a picher. Good job.

I just have one question here... if you read the artist's very proud descriptions of each figure (the mouseovers don't seem to work well on subversive, left-leaning Firefox), you see that the college professor is on the shit side of Jesus (at his left hand--you asshole, some of us were born that way!) and the schoolteacher is stage right, on the good side of Jesus. Where does this artist think schoolteachers come from? I think they all have to go to college these days. Even substitutes have to hold a four-year degree in something. Is he saying "congratulations for making it through hell?" I bet most of them still got great information from (rather than in spite of) their professors.

Now back to explaining why it's a shitty allegorical tangle: the symbols suuuuck. How am I supposed to know that the guy in the gray suit is a politician just because he's bald and using a cell phone? How do I know the child on his mother's lap is handicapped? His body is turned to face Jesus. I can't tell if it's Down's Syndrome (and come on, how could it not be what this smug asshole has in mind?) or if he was born with his heart on the outside, so I don't know how to be proud of him. I do think it's nice that the lady in the gray suit is doing karaoke for everyone (I hope it's "Genius of Love"), and I think the guy who is either a judge or an executioner with his hood off is just pissed to be in this stupid painting. And who dropped all those one-page landmark legal documents? Dumbass, you just left part of the abstract!

I hear I could order this print, but if I were to buy it and hang it over my kitchen table I would no longer be able to conveniently mouse over it whenever I forget what the little kid wiping a booger on the Constitution means.

also, LOL.

I am no longer comfortable living here

I feel more and more recently like we accidentally went home to the pod-apartment. It's all wrong in here. My neighbors used to be quiet and not annoying or creepy. Even if the police came through the parking lot, they never had to stop and get out. My bathroom used to be dry and didn't look all moldy and scary. There wasn't a steady drip into the toilet from the ceiling. (Using the toilet here is now like water torture several days a week.) I'm waiting for another mushroom to show up.

Dayton area, please let us move back to you. It would mean so much.