27 August 2012

At McD’s yesterday:

I’m sitting at a booth near the back; it’s not particularly busy so I don’t feel weird about being there with just a drink cup; I have my iPad and wireless keyboard, and am typing pretty hard because obviously pounding the keys makes the words get onto the iPad faster…or I was just frustrated because there’s a huge lag between typing and seeing the words on the screen. While I try to not punch the iPad right in the feels, a woman and little girl sit at a table across from me.

Little Girl: How come that lady isn’t eating?
Mom: Maybe she’s not hungry.
LG: Then what’s she doing?
Mom: Typing.
LG: Why?
Mom: I don’t know. Maybe she’s writing email.
LG: Well, whoever she’s writing to I think she’s mad at.

After a few more frustrating moments, I decided to stop for a few minutes, before I chucked my (potentially dying) iPad across McD’s, and got up to refill my drink and get a hot fudge Sundae. By the time I got through the line again and was able to sit back down, I really didn’t feel like writing anymore, so I opened up Flipboard and surfed through things in Google Reader.

LG: Well, that makes sense. Ice cream makes everything better.

Yep…well, unless you’re lactose intolerant.

Yeah, I went straight home after that, just in case…


18 August 2012

When I went to bed last night, Max was stretched out on the far side of the mattress, but as soon as I climbed in he exhaled sharply, got up, and stomped off.

Clearly, he did not want to share the bed, even though I was no where near him and not disturbing him in the least. I curled up and read for a while, turned off my iPad around 1:30 and went to sleep.

Four thirty in the freaking morning Max jumped up on the bed, meowed right into my ear, sounding almost panicked. Still, I rolled over, assuming he was just being a butthead...but instead of staying there and bugging me--what he usually does--he jumped down and I hear him running.

Ok, fine, this is not normal and on the chance that something was wrong, I got up.

He was hiding in the bathroom, hunched down on the floor close to the vanity, where he could see out the door. This certainly wasn't normal, but my best guess was that Buddah was stalking him and he was just trying to protect himself.

I headed down the hall to the living room, and he scurried behind me. Buddah, however, was stretched out on a chair, sound asleep.

Nothing else was out of order, but just in case, I went from window to window and looked outside, then went to the back door and turned the patio light on to check the back yard.


Max was still acting odd, so I sat down in the living room and waited, on the off chance that he really had seen something or someone out there. I left the lights inside off so that I could easily see outside, and while he sat at the back door staring out, I kept an eye out for movement or shadows, fairly sure I'd see absolutely nothing, and when I was positive, I went back to bed.

Max positioned himself halfway down the hall, and meowed his little head off for a good fifteen minutes.

An hour after he woke me, I drifted off again.

Twenty minutes later, he was in the bedroom doorway, registering a complaint about something or other; I didn't care to get up to see what was bothering his royal highness.

He stomped off, I rolled over.

Fifteen minutes later he was back, on the bed, sitting by my head, determined to tell me a long and complicated story that if I would just listen, he seemed sure I would understand.

He kept at it, off and on until nearly 7:30 this morning, letting me almost fall asleep and then either shouting from the hallway or jumping on the bed to talk to me. I had high hopes that when the Spouse Thingy got home from work and fed him, Max would finally shut up.

And he did. I am Max's bed. He tends to come into the bedroom and crawls on top of me, where he snoozes until I get up. This morning, I must have been a mattress that's a tad too lumpy, because he could not get comfortable. He plastered himself one way, then got up, turned around, laid back down...over and over.

Once or twice I gently pushed him off and told him to sleep on the actual bed and not me, but apparently I was speaking a foreign language and to him it sounded like "Sure, stomp all over me, I don't mind at all."

I think I did sleep for a while with his face resting on my cheek, one paw jammed into my throat, but by 9:30, I gave up. He willingly slid off me when I wanted to get up, he followed me into the bathroom because I am apparently not capable of managing my morning goings-on without him--I might forget what order I need to do things, and trust me, he knows the order of things and directs me to them--and then he followed me into the living room.

Once satisified I was where I usually sit in the morning, he turned around and went back to bed.

My bed.

He's sound asleep and has been for the last three hours, and I am working hard to resist the temptation to go in there and start talking right into his ear, then spend the day waking him repeatedly by bouncing on the bed and breathing right into his face.

Irony, I don't think he gets it.

I also don't really blame him, because I knew when he first woke me up that it was likely a false alarm; he just wanted me up and knows how to accomplish that.


Tempting. Very tempting.

11 August 2012

I am fairly sure this is exactly why the Spouse Thingy wants one of these RC toys:

Christmas is coming...


7 August 2012

It's a lot like this, but with more cat on the keyboard
Brain Dump #87,269,876.876
  • No matter what Max is trying to tell the world, the Spouse Thingy did not leave. He’s at the AANA conference and will be back tomorrow. Swearsies.
  • Last weekend was the Cleveland 3 Day walk…last year they have over a thousand walkers and raised 2.8 million; this year they had 960 walkers and raised 1.6 million.
  • Interesting (to me) tidbit about that: they had over a thousand people register, but they’ve removed the delayed self donation option, so a whole bunch of people couldn’t walk.
  • I fully intended to work on Max’s next book this weekend, but so far have only really proofread what I’ve already got. I kind of lost the direction I was headed with it…I’m pretty sure where I was going was lost in a Percoset haze while I was sick.
  • He is not being helpful about getting me back on track. Half the time I sit here at my desk, and he plops down on the keyboard.
  • There’s half a page of mmmmmmmmmmmbbbbbbbbbccccccccccmmmmmmmm embedded in his manuscript now. I’m tempted to leave it because, hey, he wrote it.
  • It’s not helping that I have these other story things pinging around in my head. For the last few months I’ve had a young adult story brewing in my brain, and it’s fighting with Max’s story to get out.
  • I have also spent way too much time surfing around online, getting new tattoo ideas. There will be ink in my not-too-distant future.
  • No, not you. You either.
  • My desktop PC system is about to croak, I think. I won’t need to replace it, but all my music is on there and I can’t find the software I need to transfer it all off that computer to another, and not sure I can transfer from a PC to a Mac.
  • Yep, my life is First World Problem heavy. Envy me.


6 August 2012

This is my favorite toy.

Out of all the bikes I've had, it's been my favorite. Hands down. It's zippy, it's comfortable, it's easy to control, and it's pretty.

It's also loud.

Very loud.

When it arrived at the dealer, it was a stock black Triumph Bonneville, and for whatever reason--just because they could, I suspect--the dealership got it a custom paint job (no one else in the world has this paint on their bike!) and they slapped on some highly coveted aftermarket pipes.

These pipes, British Custom Predators, are the pipes a whole bunch of Bonneville owners want. The stock pipes make the bike sound like a sewing machine; the Predators make it sound...louder.

The problem is that I don't like louder. I don't like what it does to my hearing, and I've never bought into the "loud pipes save lives" thing.

They don't. Loud pipes piss off the neighbors, scare car drivers, and damage your hearing, and that's about it.

I surfed around online looking for stock pipes, just trying to get a ballpark idea of how much it was going to cost to buy a set and have them installed. I only found one online store that listed them, and there it was for the wonderful price of $480 per pipe.

Two pipes...that's more than I wanted to spend.

The Spouse Thingy got on the phone to the dealer to get a price from them, but their computer was down and they never got back to him.

So I went to a Triumph specific forum and posted a question there: can anyone give me a ballpark price on a set of stock pipes for the Bonneville?

A couple of the guys there told me to not buy new; that was a waste. People are always taking them off their bikes to put on louder pipes, so I would surely be able to find a set for cheap.

But then one guy posted... he has a set; if I want them, he'll send them to me. There are a couple of blemishes, but mine if I want them.

For the cost of shipping.

That's it.

No, I'm not worried about getting ripped off; he's a long time member of the forum and I doubt he's been hanging around there waiting to pounce on someone. He's also shipping them first, then telling me how much the postage is.


This morning I got email from another Bonneville owner. "I had to replace my stock pipes. It was $820 plus another hundred for install and remapping."

So. Wow.

Talk about generosity.

I will find a way to pay it forward.


4 August 2012

Hangin' in SF with Flat Max back in June

Many, many months ago, the Spouse Thingy mentioned that this years' AANA conference would be in San Francisco, and I squealed and told him he had to go, because then I could tag along and explore more of the city while he attended sessions or classes or whatever the hell they call those multi-hour blogs of lecturing and teaching and sharing.

I had plans, dangit. Shopping. Wandering around the Museum of Modern Art. Finding a place to sit and people-watch. Shopping.

Then a month ago I got sick, probably sicker than I have ever been, and going was seriously in doubt.

But then I started feeling better, and figured I would be fine by the day we were supposed to leave. Still, on Monday I told him I wasn't sure, because I was still awfully tired, so I wasn't counting on going.

I wanted to, for sure.

A couple of days ago I realized I was actually feeling pretty good. And I started thinking I would probably be fine as long as I didn't push it too hard. I could go, crash in the hotel room when needed, and shop and wander and shop when I felt like it. And even if I didn't go, there's a lot around the house that needs to be done, because face it, I haven't done anything around here for a month.

In fact, I felt so good yesterday that I decided to move a few things around in the bedroom.

I cleared off a TV stand that was used for everything but a TV, intending to move it to the front room where it would wait for a week or five to be donated to Goodwill, after which I would move a bookcase to the spot where it had been. With everything off and out of the stand, I bent at the knees, leaned over to get a good grip...and felt something near my hip go pop-pop-pop.

Oh joy.

Almost the right spot...
Still bent over, there was a nice ribbon of Ouch running from my backside, over my hip bone, and into my groin. When I stood up, a nice, thick, jagged knife of Oh Hell No joined it, which resulted in the Spouse Thingy having to move the stand and the book case, complete with books, while I shuffled into the living room and tried to to sit in my recliner.

Motrin, heat, was pretty clear pretty fast that I was not going anywhere this weekend.


Nor was I going to get any of that delayed housework done.

That's much less of a dammit there.

On the bright side, I don't think anything actually tore, or if it did it's not too bad. I have really good pain meds on hand for night, and I suspect by Monday or Tuesday it won't be bad at all.

But yeah...I need a new body because all this tearing of things and pulling of things and getting sick is getting really, really old.


1 August 2012

The whole Chik Fil A dustup? It's not really about free speech, folks.

Truthfully, I have no problem with the CEO publicly stating he is against same-sex marriage and that he finds any support of it to be from “a deprived mind.” That's his belief, so be it. He has every right to say it, every right to conduct his personal life according to his beliefs. I don't have to agree with it to respect a person's right to voice an opinion.

My problem? Chik Fil A has donated upwards of 5 million dollars to thwart same sex marriage, and actively works against gay rights. That's company money, not money coming out of the pockets of the Cathy family. If it was their own money, it's none of my business. But when they actively use corporate funds to back what is essentially their own religion beliefs, I have a problem with that.

This isn't even on the same plane as advertising that is either pro-gay or anti-gay slanted. Chik Fil Ahas donated money to a certified hate group in its efforts; its management has no issue with firing people whom they deem to be“sinful.” I wonder who gets to hold the moral compass, and how sinfulness is defined.

Yes, it's a privately held company. That doesn't change anything.

When the donated money comes right from the corporate coffers...if I've eaten there, some of that is my money. And I refuse to have one dime of my money used to deny anyone basic human rights and dignity.

When the personal religious belief is corporate policy, it's not free speech; it's propagation of hate. If they want to donate a billion dollars of their own salaries or savings, that I can shrug off. But it's the use of company funds that pushes this from free speech to being completely inappropriate.

I'm not a fan of boycotts; they just don't work. So many people got all butt-hurt over Oreo's rainbow cookie in support of gay pride day on June 25th and were practically frothing at the mouth, swearing they would never eat another Oreo cookie.

Fine. Don't. I get that.

But I'm not sure how many people stopped to think about the bigger picture. Oreo is made by Nabisco, which is owned by Kraft. Give up the Oreos on principal and you'll have to give up a whole bunch of other things.

If it mattered to me, I would. As far as I know, Chik Fil A only owns Chik Fil A, and while I won't actively boycott it...I also doubt I'll make any kind of effort to eat there again.

(And to be fair...I did not agree at all with Boston's mayor saying they didn't want Chik Fil A there and would deny a business license. That's crossing the line. They have every right to exist as a business as long as they follow the laws.)

But no, it's not about free speech. It's about money. My money. Your money. And I dunno about you, but I want my money to fund kindness, not hate.