Ok, I've been coughing for 10 days now. At least. It finally moved from being just an annoyance to knocking me on my ass; I think I slept most of Friday, Saturday, and a good part of yesterday. Or maybe not so much in Friday...the days are kind of blurring together.
But I'm sitting upright today and coughing up some wonderful goop, so hopefully this is the tail end of it.
Whilst I was feeling like crap, we had a hellacious thunderstorm that knocked the power out. And my computer, as well. So I'm on my laptop until we can find the Windows XP disk that goes with my desktop system (though I'm not completely convinced it actually came with one, in which case I'm kind of screwed.) There's not a lot on that hard drive that's not irreplaceable--it's mostly backed up--but there are a few things that I kinda need off of it. Like passwords to my domains, and some revisions to the book I'm working on (though those are minor revisions that I can recreate...I think I still have the rest of it on a jump drive. I hope.)
And thinking about it, I don't have a hard copy of my FTP software, and if I have to re-download it, that's another $40. Phffft.
=cough=
Being sick sucks.
Monday
Thursday
Wednesday
Tuesday
Saturday
Oddz N Endz Part 1,300,294
How does one accumulate so much CRAP? Really…we weeded out a good 25% of the junk before the last move, yet we still have way too much CRAP. Where did it all come from? Is there a CRAP fairy sprinkling our belongings every so often so that they multiply?
There’s a guy around here, he drives a white Cadillac, who looks an awful lot like my dad. Enough that it freaks me out every time I see him. Especially yesterday, in the grocery store parking lot, where I think he tried to run me over. Well, not on purpose. I don’t think. But he came awfully close to landing me on my ass on the asphalt.
Evil One next door told me today that the Skinny Little Bitch who really ISN’T a Bitch, just a thorough Boot Camp Aerobics Instructor, is leaving in six weeks. Right about the same time we are. While I feel bad for those left behind without her there to provide adequate levels of torture, I feel better about that being one of the things I didn’t want to leave behind. ‘Cause it’s not going to be here anyway. Sucks to be them, holding Y memberships and having no Boot Camp to go to.
The cat is insane. But y’all knew that already.
One o’my bestest friends sent me Godiva Chocolate bars, SIX of them. This shall be quite helpful in my quest to lose weight. Heh. I might--might--share them with the Spouse Thingy.
I had blood work done last week to prep for a doctor’s appointment coming up this week. Spouse Thingy got the results back, and all looks normal. The thyroid is just barely normal. As in .78 is the bottom of normal and mine came back as .80. we’re trying to decide if we should place bets as to whether the doc will find that acceptable (he seems to be a medical minimalist) or if he ups my Synthroid dose. I’m still symptomatic—I’m cold all the time, my nails break if I blink wrong, and although I am exercising pretty damned hard these days my weight will not budge—but since it’s “normal” he may decide that’s good enough.
See the kitty in the box? You know how most of the time you give a kitty a box and 2-3 days later you can get rid of it?
Max loves this box. He’s had it for over a month now, and still plays with it.
I think we’re taking the box to CA. Seriously. We are going to have to tell the packers to very carefully slip it inside another box, so that Max will have his see-through box in CA.
Obviously, the cat isn’t the only insane creature around here…
How does one accumulate so much CRAP? Really…we weeded out a good 25% of the junk before the last move, yet we still have way too much CRAP. Where did it all come from? Is there a CRAP fairy sprinkling our belongings every so often so that they multiply?
There’s a guy around here, he drives a white Cadillac, who looks an awful lot like my dad. Enough that it freaks me out every time I see him. Especially yesterday, in the grocery store parking lot, where I think he tried to run me over. Well, not on purpose. I don’t think. But he came awfully close to landing me on my ass on the asphalt.
Evil One next door told me today that the Skinny Little Bitch who really ISN’T a Bitch, just a thorough Boot Camp Aerobics Instructor, is leaving in six weeks. Right about the same time we are. While I feel bad for those left behind without her there to provide adequate levels of torture, I feel better about that being one of the things I didn’t want to leave behind. ‘Cause it’s not going to be here anyway. Sucks to be them, holding Y memberships and having no Boot Camp to go to.
The cat is insane. But y’all knew that already.
One o’my bestest friends sent me Godiva Chocolate bars, SIX of them. This shall be quite helpful in my quest to lose weight. Heh. I might--might--share them with the Spouse Thingy.
I had blood work done last week to prep for a doctor’s appointment coming up this week. Spouse Thingy got the results back, and all looks normal. The thyroid is just barely normal. As in .78 is the bottom of normal and mine came back as .80. we’re trying to decide if we should place bets as to whether the doc will find that acceptable (he seems to be a medical minimalist) or if he ups my Synthroid dose. I’m still symptomatic—I’m cold all the time, my nails break if I blink wrong, and although I am exercising pretty damned hard these days my weight will not budge—but since it’s “normal” he may decide that’s good enough.
See the kitty in the box? You know how most of the time you give a kitty a box and 2-3 days later you can get rid of it?
Max loves this box. He’s had it for over a month now, and still plays with it.
I think we’re taking the box to CA. Seriously. We are going to have to tell the packers to very carefully slip it inside another box, so that Max will have his see-through box in CA.
Obviously, the cat isn’t the only insane creature around here…
Thursday
In two months we’ll be home. Granted, we probably won’t HAVE a home, but we’ll be home, looking for a home, most likely. Homeless at home. Yeah, my mind works that way.
We’ll be getting there right around the 16th of October, missing our high school 25th reunion by just 14 days. Two weeks. Yep, all the peeps from the Casa Roble HS class of ’79 will have to party on without us. I’m sure they’ll manage. If we weren’t related to a class member, I’m not sure anyone would realize we’re not there anyway (and hey, if you’re a classmate, specifically someone who emailed me and didn’t get a reply, it’s because your ISP hates me and won’t let me past your spam blocker!!!)
But while they’re celebrating 25 years away from high school and getting reacquainted, we’ll be having the Spouse Thingy’s retirement dinner (presuming anyone shows up…I suppose the ultimate practical joke would be to leave us at a restaurant with reservations for 20 or so and have no one show up. Well, maybe a flamingo or two…) And then a few days later, on the 5th, is his retirement ceremony. On the 6th and 7th the packers come to pack all our crap into boxes, they pick it up and whisk it away on the 8th, and then we just clean the house and wait for Columbus Day to be over so we can get on the road.
PsychoKitty will be so thrilled.
I wonder if he remembers the 4 and a half day drive out here, and how he howled most of the way…
He’ll hate it, but he’ll get over it. I’m getting more excited, but I have a lot of mixed feelings. I’ll have a hard time finding anything like the Boot Camp class to kick my ass, and no one =sniff= to drag me there if I do find it. I suck at meeting people and making friends.
But…
It’s home, and we get to go back, and I’ll figure out a way to get past the things I’ll miss. Including my car, which I’m starting to lean towards selling instead of having it shipped out there. I love my little red toy, tho…we’ll see.
Yeah, I’m rambling.
My mind works that way.
We’ll be getting there right around the 16th of October, missing our high school 25th reunion by just 14 days. Two weeks. Yep, all the peeps from the Casa Roble HS class of ’79 will have to party on without us. I’m sure they’ll manage. If we weren’t related to a class member, I’m not sure anyone would realize we’re not there anyway (and hey, if you’re a classmate, specifically someone who emailed me and didn’t get a reply, it’s because your ISP hates me and won’t let me past your spam blocker!!!)
But while they’re celebrating 25 years away from high school and getting reacquainted, we’ll be having the Spouse Thingy’s retirement dinner (presuming anyone shows up…I suppose the ultimate practical joke would be to leave us at a restaurant with reservations for 20 or so and have no one show up. Well, maybe a flamingo or two…) And then a few days later, on the 5th, is his retirement ceremony. On the 6th and 7th the packers come to pack all our crap into boxes, they pick it up and whisk it away on the 8th, and then we just clean the house and wait for Columbus Day to be over so we can get on the road.
PsychoKitty will be so thrilled.
I wonder if he remembers the 4 and a half day drive out here, and how he howled most of the way…
He’ll hate it, but he’ll get over it. I’m getting more excited, but I have a lot of mixed feelings. I’ll have a hard time finding anything like the Boot Camp class to kick my ass, and no one =sniff= to drag me there if I do find it. I suck at meeting people and making friends.
But…
It’s home, and we get to go back, and I’ll figure out a way to get past the things I’ll miss. Including my car, which I’m starting to lean towards selling instead of having it shipped out there. I love my little red toy, tho…we’ll see.
Yeah, I’m rambling.
My mind works that way.
Saturday
First, it was Flamingo Porn (btw, most of those birds are still in my flower bed and still doing it; only one couple finally called it quits, and only because one of ‘ems leg broke clean off…) Yesterday, it was Ladybug Porn.
Yes, two ladybugs on the windshield of the car, going at it like horny college students.
I first noticed them as I sat waiting for the Spouse Thingy, who had run into the TMO building on base to ask that we not get stuck with a particular moving company when we finally leave here. I have my doubts that the female was all that willing at first; she was scrambling, her little legs pumping hard, tiny feet sliding across the glass as she appeared to attempt to buck him off.
He wasn’t letting go or giving up; after five minutes or so, she finally did give up and held still.
For a while, I thought she was dead.
Humped to death in a parking lot at Wright Patterson Air Force Base.<
I considered reaching out and flicking them off the windshield—I mean, come on, this was bordering on necrophilia—but she moved, little legs once again moving across the glass.
So I left them alone, and sat there for a good fifteen minutes, figuring that they had to stop soon.
Ladybugs have awesome stamina.
Just about then the Spouse Thingy came out and we headed for our next destination. We hit 15 mph, and they were still there.
30 mph, and still hanging on.
45 freaking miles and hour and those two were still clinging to the windshield, with no signs of stopping.
We kept going, they kept going.
Finally, a good 5 miles away, while we were at a stop light, she started to crawl, trying to shrug off her horny little parasite.
She crawled towards the top of the car, moving this way and that way, trying to be free.
And then we moved. The light changed to green and we had to go.
As the Spouse Thingy put his foot on the gas and turned, a gust of wind picked them up and sent them flying—still connected—over our car.
Right into the grill of a pickup truck.
In my head I imagine I can hear her tiny little scream of terror as they hurtled towards the Grill of Doom, and a sleepy little male ladybug voice muttering, “but was it good for you..?”
Yes, two ladybugs on the windshield of the car, going at it like horny college students.
I first noticed them as I sat waiting for the Spouse Thingy, who had run into the TMO building on base to ask that we not get stuck with a particular moving company when we finally leave here. I have my doubts that the female was all that willing at first; she was scrambling, her little legs pumping hard, tiny feet sliding across the glass as she appeared to attempt to buck him off.
He wasn’t letting go or giving up; after five minutes or so, she finally did give up and held still.
For a while, I thought she was dead.
Humped to death in a parking lot at Wright Patterson Air Force Base.<
I considered reaching out and flicking them off the windshield—I mean, come on, this was bordering on necrophilia—but she moved, little legs once again moving across the glass.
So I left them alone, and sat there for a good fifteen minutes, figuring that they had to stop soon.
Ladybugs have awesome stamina.
Just about then the Spouse Thingy came out and we headed for our next destination. We hit 15 mph, and they were still there.
30 mph, and still hanging on.
45 freaking miles and hour and those two were still clinging to the windshield, with no signs of stopping.
We kept going, they kept going.
Finally, a good 5 miles away, while we were at a stop light, she started to crawl, trying to shrug off her horny little parasite.
She crawled towards the top of the car, moving this way and that way, trying to be free.
And then we moved. The light changed to green and we had to go.
As the Spouse Thingy put his foot on the gas and turned, a gust of wind picked them up and sent them flying—still connected—over our car.
Right into the grill of a pickup truck.
In my head I imagine I can hear her tiny little scream of terror as they hurtled towards the Grill of Doom, and a sleepy little male ladybug voice muttering, “but was it good for you..?”
Wednesday
I’m just curious.
When did it become all right to allow children to run screaming through a public library? When I was a kid—yeah, shut up, the wheel had long been invented by then—we were taught to whisper in the library, and if we were caught misbehaving the librarian would come up with some suitable method of punishment. We were never sure what that would be, but we were sure it would be awful, horrible, and might involve the loss of some bodily fluid, probably blood.
Granted, we thought it was stupid, but we were reasonably quiet. People could sit back and read or study in our pre-pubescent presence. They only had to worry about looking up just in time to see some kid pull a finger out from the depths of his nose and shove his newfound treasure right into his mouth.
I went to the base library to work today. I thought I could get more done there in the peace and quiet, where I would not have the distraction of the Internet and computer games (oh, BTW, I am now over 6 million in my current game of BeSpelled…) The base has a nice library, bright and spacious with study areas and tables for people to sit at and work.
They also have this huge fish tank with several nice sized fish. And, apparently, the fish are deaf and kids need to scream at them in order to get their little fishy attentions.
The kids’ parents didn’t stop them.
No one working at the library stopped them.
They just stood there and yelled at the poor fish, who had no where they could go to get away from the little mosters.
And it wasn’t just the yelling. It was the shrill, ear-splitting laughter (yeah, whatever was funny was funny, I suppose, but people 3 counties over don’t need to know that, I don’t think.) Usually kids laughing makes me laugh as well…but not in the library. The noise made me want to stand on the desk and shout Shut the phck uuuuppppp!, but I still have that residual childhood training.
After all, the librarian may hear me, and come after me with a steel edged ruler, whereupon I will either wet myself, or bleed to death.
Yeah.
Whatever happened to scaring our kids into compliance?
I mean, what’s a threat or two if it keeps the peace…?
When did it become all right to allow children to run screaming through a public library? When I was a kid—yeah, shut up, the wheel had long been invented by then—we were taught to whisper in the library, and if we were caught misbehaving the librarian would come up with some suitable method of punishment. We were never sure what that would be, but we were sure it would be awful, horrible, and might involve the loss of some bodily fluid, probably blood.
Granted, we thought it was stupid, but we were reasonably quiet. People could sit back and read or study in our pre-pubescent presence. They only had to worry about looking up just in time to see some kid pull a finger out from the depths of his nose and shove his newfound treasure right into his mouth.
I went to the base library to work today. I thought I could get more done there in the peace and quiet, where I would not have the distraction of the Internet and computer games (oh, BTW, I am now over 6 million in my current game of BeSpelled…) The base has a nice library, bright and spacious with study areas and tables for people to sit at and work.
They also have this huge fish tank with several nice sized fish. And, apparently, the fish are deaf and kids need to scream at them in order to get their little fishy attentions.
The kids’ parents didn’t stop them.
No one working at the library stopped them.
They just stood there and yelled at the poor fish, who had no where they could go to get away from the little mosters.
And it wasn’t just the yelling. It was the shrill, ear-splitting laughter (yeah, whatever was funny was funny, I suppose, but people 3 counties over don’t need to know that, I don’t think.) Usually kids laughing makes me laugh as well…but not in the library. The noise made me want to stand on the desk and shout Shut the phck uuuuppppp!, but I still have that residual childhood training.
After all, the librarian may hear me, and come after me with a steel edged ruler, whereupon I will either wet myself, or bleed to death.
Yeah.
Whatever happened to scaring our kids into compliance?
I mean, what’s a threat or two if it keeps the peace…?
Sunday
Friday
Since King Dork never seems to update his own blog, I'll pass along his newest tidbit here. With congratulations, even. Last month King Dork tested for and was awarded his 5th degree black belt. His wife made 3rd degree, his business parter Dack (link referenced is from 1999) made 6th degree, and his son got his brown belt (and is kind of ticked he now has to wait 3 years to test for his black belt because of his age...)
These are some of the people who have never given up on me, encouraging me even long distance, putting up with my "I can't do it this hurts" whining, always believeing that I can do just about anything... So yeah, I'm really proud of them. Even the dork.
These are some of the people who have never given up on me, encouraging me even long distance, putting up with my "I can't do it this hurts" whining, always believeing that I can do just about anything... So yeah, I'm really proud of them. Even the dork.
Thursday
Monday
Evidently, I whine. This was made clear to me a couple of days ago when a good friend say, pointedly, “Quit whining and just do it.”
Well. Pffht.
It doesn’t matter that he was right.
I don’t need to hear that I whine.
Ok, maybe I do.
But still.
The topic? Aerobics class. Now, I have no problems with Boot Camp, other than those pesky MIs and bouts of vomiting I tend to get halfway through; it’s the Hi/Lo Cardio & Weight Training class. I like the class, I like the instructor, but dammit, the not-so-varied activity hurts my hips. Enough I was seriously thinking about dropping it and just hitting the weight room and then the pool after.
After all, I only have 2 hips, and I’d like to keep both of them. So I was thinking of going another route.
Oh Wise Dorky One had other ideas, after listening to me describe the pain.
Him: “So for how long after do your hips hurt?”
Me: “About 2-3 minutes.”
Him: “You’re not hurting yourself. It sounds like your hip flexors are still just stiff. They’ll never unstiffen if you don’t give it an honest try.”
Me: “How long is honest?”
Him: “Couple of months at least. You should do warms ups and stretches at home to help yourself along.”
Me: “Wouldn’t it just be better for me to do weights and swimming?”
Him: “No…it would be best for you to stick with the class, and instead of swimming, hit the weights after that. Then you get 5 days of cardio and 3 days of weights, which is enough. Swim for fun.”
Me: “We do weights in the class…”
Him: (snorts)
Me: “We do!”
Him: “Go to the weight room and do the big girl weights. Prove what a bad ass you really are.”
Me: “You just want to read the newspaper article detailing how my legs ripped clean out of the hip sockets, and how the room was soaked in my blood afterwards.”
Him: “Yeah, that’s it.”
Me: “It really hurts.”
Him: “Quit whining. Just do the class and do the weights and quit making excuses.”
Me: “Dork.”
Him: “B—”
Me: “Your wife can be bribed into giving you the wedgy from hell, you know.”
So yeah, I whine. The class does hurt my hips (well, not today…) but I’ll keep going and see how it goes. Gut level tells me he’s right, but still… I hope he gets that wedgy.
And yeah, I whined quite a bit about kickboxing on Saturday, too (well, not to King Dork, but to just about everyone else.) Awesome class, but I crapped out with 15 minutes to go. I don’t mean I just got tired; I literally could not do one more thing. And frankly, peoples, that’s a little embarrassing. Granted the room was wickedly hot and I was sweating like crazy, and went into it probably dehydrated with my electrolytes off (bad DI night Friday…DDAVP wore off early and I don’t think I drank enough to compensate) but still. When you’re the only one who has to stop, it’s like 500 people are staring, pointing, and laughing (tho honestly I doubt anyone other than those who give a damn noticed.) I felt better once I stopped, and the Evilness that lives to my left gave me a ride home (and then turned around and went with her Evil Spouse to get my car)…but still. I crapped out. And it was kickboxing.
OK. No more whine left.
Pass the cheese.
Well. Pffht.
It doesn’t matter that he was right.
I don’t need to hear that I whine.
Ok, maybe I do.
But still.
The topic? Aerobics class. Now, I have no problems with Boot Camp, other than those pesky MIs and bouts of vomiting I tend to get halfway through; it’s the Hi/Lo Cardio & Weight Training class. I like the class, I like the instructor, but dammit, the not-so-varied activity hurts my hips. Enough I was seriously thinking about dropping it and just hitting the weight room and then the pool after.
After all, I only have 2 hips, and I’d like to keep both of them. So I was thinking of going another route.
Oh Wise Dorky One had other ideas, after listening to me describe the pain.
Him: “So for how long after do your hips hurt?”
Me: “About 2-3 minutes.”
Him: “You’re not hurting yourself. It sounds like your hip flexors are still just stiff. They’ll never unstiffen if you don’t give it an honest try.”
Me: “How long is honest?”
Him: “Couple of months at least. You should do warms ups and stretches at home to help yourself along.”
Me: “Wouldn’t it just be better for me to do weights and swimming?”
Him: “No…it would be best for you to stick with the class, and instead of swimming, hit the weights after that. Then you get 5 days of cardio and 3 days of weights, which is enough. Swim for fun.”
Me: “We do weights in the class…”
Him: (snorts)
Me: “We do!”
Him: “Go to the weight room and do the big girl weights. Prove what a bad ass you really are.”
Me: “You just want to read the newspaper article detailing how my legs ripped clean out of the hip sockets, and how the room was soaked in my blood afterwards.”
Him: “Yeah, that’s it.”
Me: “It really hurts.”
Him: “Quit whining. Just do the class and do the weights and quit making excuses.”
Me: “Dork.”
Him: “B—”
Me: “Your wife can be bribed into giving you the wedgy from hell, you know.”
So yeah, I whine. The class does hurt my hips (well, not today…) but I’ll keep going and see how it goes. Gut level tells me he’s right, but still… I hope he gets that wedgy.
And yeah, I whined quite a bit about kickboxing on Saturday, too (well, not to King Dork, but to just about everyone else.) Awesome class, but I crapped out with 15 minutes to go. I don’t mean I just got tired; I literally could not do one more thing. And frankly, peoples, that’s a little embarrassing. Granted the room was wickedly hot and I was sweating like crazy, and went into it probably dehydrated with my electrolytes off (bad DI night Friday…DDAVP wore off early and I don’t think I drank enough to compensate) but still. When you’re the only one who has to stop, it’s like 500 people are staring, pointing, and laughing (tho honestly I doubt anyone other than those who give a damn noticed.) I felt better once I stopped, and the Evilness that lives to my left gave me a ride home (and then turned around and went with her Evil Spouse to get my car)…but still. I crapped out. And it was kickboxing.
OK. No more whine left.
Pass the cheese.
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