Tuesday
Thursday
31 December 2009
Because we are hard core partiers, and the Spouse Thingy finally had a New Year's Eve off, we decided to go all out and celebrate in a major way this year.
Which means, basically, that we were all, "Maybe we'll go to a movie and then go get some Chinese food," which eventually became, "We really should have picked a movie sooner because it's getting kind of late," and then "Well, call and see if the Chinese place is still open."
I mean, it was 8 p.m., who eats that late?
We headed out to find this brand new Chinese restaurant/Sushi bar (yup) and behold, it was right where the last Chinese place was located in beautiful downtown Dixon. We peeked in the window and decided that we might be able to get a table, what with the 5 other customers inside spread out between the 6 foot long sushi bar and two of the booths.
This is one of those spectacular places, where the decor is mid-century modern with dashes of duct tape on the vinyl booth seats and unlit paper lanterns dotting the ceiling. When we walked in we were immediately taken with the heavy smell of grease in the air, and the 19" TV perched behind the cash register that probably had full use of its color spectrum in 1985 (the TV, not the cash register. I could rephrase that but I'm too lazy to. Also, I dangle participles. Or articles. Whatever.)
It was so inviting that of course we stayed, and because I am hard core, I ordered the Kung Pao chicken because it had a little hot pepper drawn next to it on the menu, and some chicken chow mein. The Spouse Thingy, being slightly less hard core, ordered sweet and sour chicken, the yardstick by which he measures all Chinese restaurants.
He surmised that this end-of-year dietary blowout just might wind up being a cause of massive amounts of weight loss, in the form of bodily evacuations of the unpleasant sort. And hey, what a way to start a new year, ten pounds lost in one night.
The thing is...the food was excellent. The chow mein was not too oily (as it is at the other place we've tried a few times) and the sweet & sour chicken was just right. The Kung Pao was awesome, and not too spicy.Well, not until the Spouse Thingy
pointed to a red pepper on my plate and said, "Go ahead. Take a bite of that."
The red hot chili pepper in my Kung Pao Chicken
Now, because I am hard core I forked one of these bad boys up and bit off the end. And it wasn't so bad, kind of spicy and not much flavor...
AND OHMYGAWD OH HOLY HELL WHAT HAPPENED TO MY MOUTH!!???!
Almost instant fire. The pain began at the tip of my tongue, and with the force of a culinary blowtorch it spread to my lips and the roof of my mouth. It was burning piled upon a vice clamp being squeezed over my lips and tongue with fire ants and a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass under the sun.
The Spouse Thingy laughed, until he realized I was in some real pain.
And then apologized, and then laughed some more.
Liquid did not help. Chow mein did not help. A bite of sweet and sour chicken did not help. But, as minutes ticked by slowly, the fire abated and I took another bite of my Kung Pao, and then,
OH HOLY CARP!
I shoveled in the rest of the chow mein, because hey, it certainly couldn't hurt. And then there was the fortune cookie, which when sucked upon, actually did help. As did the promise of ice cream...when all else fails, give the hard core New Year's Eve partier some Dreyer's slow churned chocolate ice cream, and pray that the fact she is also lactose intolerant doesn't rear its ugly head.
After all that--again we have this hard core nature--we headed home to feed the kitties.
At 9 p.m.
Because that's how we roll.
Happy New Year!
Which means, basically, that we were all, "Maybe we'll go to a movie and then go get some Chinese food," which eventually became, "We really should have picked a movie sooner because it's getting kind of late," and then "Well, call and see if the Chinese place is still open."
I mean, it was 8 p.m., who eats that late?
We headed out to find this brand new Chinese restaurant/Sushi bar (yup) and behold, it was right where the last Chinese place was located in beautiful downtown Dixon. We peeked in the window and decided that we might be able to get a table, what with the 5 other customers inside spread out between the 6 foot long sushi bar and two of the booths.
This is one of those spectacular places, where the decor is mid-century modern with dashes of duct tape on the vinyl booth seats and unlit paper lanterns dotting the ceiling. When we walked in we were immediately taken with the heavy smell of grease in the air, and the 19" TV perched behind the cash register that probably had full use of its color spectrum in 1985 (the TV, not the cash register. I could rephrase that but I'm too lazy to. Also, I dangle participles. Or articles. Whatever.)
It was so inviting that of course we stayed, and because I am hard core, I ordered the Kung Pao chicken because it had a little hot pepper drawn next to it on the menu, and some chicken chow mein. The Spouse Thingy, being slightly less hard core, ordered sweet and sour chicken, the yardstick by which he measures all Chinese restaurants.
He surmised that this end-of-year dietary blowout just might wind up being a cause of massive amounts of weight loss, in the form of bodily evacuations of the unpleasant sort. And hey, what a way to start a new year, ten pounds lost in one night.
The thing is...the food was excellent. The chow mein was not too oily (as it is at the other place we've tried a few times) and the sweet & sour chicken was just right. The Kung Pao was awesome, and not too spicy.Well, not until the Spouse Thingy
pointed to a red pepper on my plate and said, "Go ahead. Take a bite of that."
The red hot chili pepper in my Kung Pao Chicken
Now, because I am hard core I forked one of these bad boys up and bit off the end. And it wasn't so bad, kind of spicy and not much flavor...
Almost instant fire. The pain began at the tip of my tongue, and with the force of a culinary blowtorch it spread to my lips and the roof of my mouth. It was burning piled upon a vice clamp being squeezed over my lips and tongue with fire ants and a sadistic kid with a magnifying glass under the sun.
The Spouse Thingy laughed, until he realized I was in some real pain.
And then apologized, and then laughed some more.
Liquid did not help. Chow mein did not help. A bite of sweet and sour chicken did not help. But, as minutes ticked by slowly, the fire abated and I took another bite of my Kung Pao, and then,
I shoveled in the rest of the chow mein, because hey, it certainly couldn't hurt. And then there was the fortune cookie, which when sucked upon, actually did help. As did the promise of ice cream...when all else fails, give the hard core New Year's Eve partier some Dreyer's slow churned chocolate ice cream, and pray that the fact she is also lactose intolerant doesn't rear its ugly head.
After all that--again we have this hard core nature--we headed home to feed the kitties.
At 9 p.m.
Because that's how we roll.
Happy New Year!
Sunday
27 December 2009
I wound up at Wendy's this afternoon, because I needed socks. I left the house at 2:20 and headed for Walmart, because they have socks, and because--conveniently--Wendy's shares a parking lot with them and I wanted chili.
Ok, mostly I just wanted to get out of the house, but socks and chili made for a good excuse.
I sat there with my hot chili and plain ("are you sure you don't want butter and sour cream?") baked potato, minding my own business. Still, I couldn't help but overhear the woman at the counter demanding to speak to the manager. I have no idea what she was upset about, but from the tone of her voice and the venom she spit while demanding him made it pretty clear she was super pissed.
He was not in; she wanted his phone number. His personal phone number.
Wisely, the shift manager refused to give it to her, but did offer her various other numbers to call, as well as the time the manager would be in.
That apparently was not good enough. She stomped off in a huff and tried to slam the door on her way out...not so easy when the door has a slow-stop hinge. It whooshed slowly, forcing a burst of cold air to wash over me.
It was a diversion for 2 minutes. And while there were plenty of other people around, I wasn't sitting close enough to eavesdrop on any conversations. What I did was eat my chili and curse myself for sitting so close to the door, because in spite of my spiffy neon orange sweatshirt, by that point I'm pretty sure my nipples were close to be able to cut glass.
(Apologies to my kid. I'm pretty sure he thinks I don't have nipples. Or that they ever stand up and get perky.)
A few minutes later the door swung open and this very nicely dressed guy walked in; suit, tie, neatly trimmed beard. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the previously pissed off woman in the parking lot, still looking pissed off, so it didn't take much to add 2 and 2.
So yeah, I paid attention, because it might be entertaining.
He marched toward the counter, stopped about 5 feet back, and huffed, "You...you...Mexicans!" and then turned around and headed for the door.
I didn't realize I was saying it out loud, but what spun through my head and then slipped out my mouth was "What the fuck?"
He looked right at me and said rather proudly, "I said that."
"Yeah, I know. Very classy of you."
He threw the door open and left, and I watched as he walked across the parking lot and kissed his previously pissed off wife/girlfriend/hookup like he was some sort of hero.
This is the joy of living in a small town, because dammit, that was major confrontation...
Seriously.
Ok, mostly I just wanted to get out of the house, but socks and chili made for a good excuse.
I sat there with my hot chili and plain ("are you sure you don't want butter and sour cream?") baked potato, minding my own business. Still, I couldn't help but overhear the woman at the counter demanding to speak to the manager. I have no idea what she was upset about, but from the tone of her voice and the venom she spit while demanding him made it pretty clear she was super pissed.
He was not in; she wanted his phone number. His personal phone number.
Wisely, the shift manager refused to give it to her, but did offer her various other numbers to call, as well as the time the manager would be in.
That apparently was not good enough. She stomped off in a huff and tried to slam the door on her way out...not so easy when the door has a slow-stop hinge. It whooshed slowly, forcing a burst of cold air to wash over me.
It was a diversion for 2 minutes. And while there were plenty of other people around, I wasn't sitting close enough to eavesdrop on any conversations. What I did was eat my chili and curse myself for sitting so close to the door, because in spite of my spiffy neon orange sweatshirt, by that point I'm pretty sure my nipples were close to be able to cut glass.
(Apologies to my kid. I'm pretty sure he thinks I don't have nipples. Or that they ever stand up and get perky.)
A few minutes later the door swung open and this very nicely dressed guy walked in; suit, tie, neatly trimmed beard. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the previously pissed off woman in the parking lot, still looking pissed off, so it didn't take much to add 2 and 2.
So yeah, I paid attention, because it might be entertaining.
He marched toward the counter, stopped about 5 feet back, and huffed, "You...you...Mexicans!" and then turned around and headed for the door.
I didn't realize I was saying it out loud, but what spun through my head and then slipped out my mouth was "What the fuck?"
He looked right at me and said rather proudly, "I said that."
"Yeah, I know. Very classy of you."
He threw the door open and left, and I watched as he walked across the parking lot and kissed his previously pissed off wife/girlfriend/hookup like he was some sort of hero.
This is the joy of living in a small town, because dammit, that was major confrontation...
Seriously.
Thursday
Tuesday
22 December 2009
So far only for the Kindle:
For only $3.99...the first three books in the Charybdis series.
Not exactly worth your time if you've read them but still... I just like the cover image.
And there will be a print version next month. A massive print version...not sure what the list price will be.
For only $3.99...the first three books in the Charybdis series.
Not exactly worth your time if you've read them but still... I just like the cover image.
And there will be a print version next month. A massive print version...not sure what the list price will be.
Sunday
Friday
Thursday
17 December 2009
MSNBC.com has a slide show of the Decade in Pictures up right now...there are some really cool pictures there--some are pretty graphic but they give you a black screenshot that lets you bypass those is you want--and some are just outright funny, like Squirrel Kung Fu, and this one, my favorite:
Heck of an arm on that nun...
Heck of an arm on that nun...
Wednesday
16 December 2009
Barnes & Noble, apparently because of the introduction of their Nook e-reader, has been embracing e-books written by other than A-list authors. This is a good thing, as it gives me another venue for sales.
They obviously have some kinks to work out, though, as evidenced by this:
That's not exactly the correct cover to go with Charybdis.
Of my other books, only 2 have the correct cover images; the rest are covers for my books, just swapped around. As Simple As That has the cover for Charybdis; It's Not About the Cookies has the cover for Finding Father Rabbit. Other indie writers are having the same issues, and it's become a "Who has the funniest cover error?" game.
Supposedly they're working quickly to correct the errors...still...it made me LOL a bit...
They obviously have some kinks to work out, though, as evidenced by this:
That's not exactly the correct cover to go with Charybdis.
Of my other books, only 2 have the correct cover images; the rest are covers for my books, just swapped around. As Simple As That has the cover for Charybdis; It's Not About the Cookies has the cover for Finding Father Rabbit. Other indie writers are having the same issues, and it's become a "Who has the funniest cover error?" game.
Supposedly they're working quickly to correct the errors...still...it made me LOL a bit...
Saturday
12 December 2009
I'm watching Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer for the first time in years, and wondering how the hell this became such a classic. Face it, Santa is a douchebag, the elves are total dicks, and the reindeer are freaking sexist. Sure, there's redemption in the end, but really...Santa is someone who should have never needed redemption.
It really is a major suckage as far as cartoons go.
Just sayin'...
It really is a major suckage as far as cartoons go.
Just sayin'...
Wednesday
9 December 2009
Bulleted for the hell of it...
- Max seems to be feeling better. He's eating for the most part; he's asking for food and slurping down more than half. That tells me he's not 100% because, face it, this is Max. he lives for his food.
- My endocrinologist says I'm mostly normal; I can achieve optimum normalness with salt.
- Christmas shopping is 98% done. Most of it is even wrapped.
- No gifts will go under the tree, however. It's too visible from the front window.
- We did our annual Toys for Tots shopping trip tonight. Spent a little less than last year, but got way better toys, I think. And we still filled two carts.
- Our neighbor must be a life long Californian and not used to sub 30 temperatures, as evidenced by the ice covering her driveway because she forgot to turn the sprinkler system off.
- I would like Santa to bring me a new lower back. He can do that, right?
Monday
7 December 2009
The good news is the new sofa was obviously treated with Scotch Guard before it was delivered.
The bad news is I discovered it when Max threw up all over it last night.
Ugh.
He was feeling sick most of today--couldn't even bring himself to eat breakfast--but he seems much better now and ate some dinner.
But...ugh...I hate cat barf, but I'm glad he did it when I was right there to get it cleaned up quick. The bathroom carpet didn't fare as well, but that I can toss in the washer...
The bad news is I discovered it when Max threw up all over it last night.
Ugh.
He was feeling sick most of today--couldn't even bring himself to eat breakfast--but he seems much better now and ate some dinner.
But...ugh...I hate cat barf, but I'm glad he did it when I was right there to get it cleaned up quick. The bathroom carpet didn't fare as well, but that I can toss in the washer...
Sunday
6 December 2009
The economy is supposed to be in recovery, right? People are supposed to be out spending money? Are they shopping in droves near you?
I dragged my feet this morning because I had to head to Walmart to return a purchase that in hindsight was the not quite right thing to buy...I dreaded it because of the weekend holiday shopping crowds.
Except there was no crowd at Walmart.
I then went in search of blue LED lights, and while I didn't find them, I also didn't find long lines in any of the places I looked. On my way home I stopped back at Walmart for yogurt and milk, and the only people with loaded carts were grocery shoppers.
I hope it's just that people are waiting for better sales...right now it doesn't look like a recovery to me.
I dragged my feet this morning because I had to head to Walmart to return a purchase that in hindsight was the not quite right thing to buy...I dreaded it because of the weekend holiday shopping crowds.
Except there was no crowd at Walmart.
I then went in search of blue LED lights, and while I didn't find them, I also didn't find long lines in any of the places I looked. On my way home I stopped back at Walmart for yogurt and milk, and the only people with loaded carts were grocery shoppers.
I hope it's just that people are waiting for better sales...right now it doesn't look like a recovery to me.
Saturday
5 December 2009
Yesterday, I caved into a moment of blatant unkindness, but I don't feel particularly sorry for it.
It also happens to be this years holiday make-a-person-feel-bad moment, something at which I apparently excel.
In search of a particular gift, I went to several stores, including Sam's Club. The parking lot was surprisingly packed for a weekday afternoon (don't you people have jobs?) and one lane was jammed with oversized trucks crammed into compact car slots. Because really, who wants to walk that extra 15 feet when there's a perfectly good, way-too-small place to park right there?
I left Sam's empty handed; walking in the same lane in the parking lot as I was a much older couple. They shuffled along slowly, pushing a cart, probably going as fast as they could. They weren't walking down the middle; they were reasonably close to one side, just shy of the ends of all the vehicles parked there. Between them and me was another woman. An extremely obese--beyond morbidly obese, we're talking pushing 500 pounds here--waddled behind them.
No, waddling is mot my unkind contribution to this holiday season. It's an observation. Her legs moved in a static motion that didn't allow for the bending of knees and I was actually surprised she was mobile at all.
She was not a nice person, at least not yesterday. She was in a hurry to get to her van, and the old people were in her way. She berated them angrily: "Move the fuck over. Get out of my goddamned way, you're too fucking slow."
By then I was close enough to pass her up, and said as I went by, "Just go around them."
There's the rub.
She couldn't.
Between the trucks parked in the wrong places and her sheer physical size, she couldn't go around them. And the suggestion that she do just that pissed her off and she turned her ire to me.
"I can't, and they need to speed the fuck up or get out of my fucking way."
And then it came out, that which 1) probably embarrassed her and 2) made her want to deck me--I'm 99% sure she wanted to slap the hell out of me.
"It's not their fault you can't get around them."
By then the older couple was at their car, and I hope they didn't really hear any of that. Neither of them said a word or acted like they heard anything going on behind them, and if they did hear they were good about not showing it.
But Miss Congeniality certainly heard what I said.
Yes, it was mean. No, I don't feel all that bad about it. If she'd just been walking along and minding her own business, I wouldn't have said a word. If she'd been in my way, I just would have slowed down. But the way she sniped at that couple, her choice of words, pissed me off to no end. They couldn't have walked any quicker than she could have slipped around them, and didn't deserve the venom spit their way.
Hopefully, that's the only Feel-Bad holiday moment I'll inspire this year...but I am awfully good at it.
It also happens to be this years holiday make-a-person-feel-bad moment, something at which I apparently excel.
In search of a particular gift, I went to several stores, including Sam's Club. The parking lot was surprisingly packed for a weekday afternoon (don't you people have jobs?) and one lane was jammed with oversized trucks crammed into compact car slots. Because really, who wants to walk that extra 15 feet when there's a perfectly good, way-too-small place to park right there?
I left Sam's empty handed; walking in the same lane in the parking lot as I was a much older couple. They shuffled along slowly, pushing a cart, probably going as fast as they could. They weren't walking down the middle; they were reasonably close to one side, just shy of the ends of all the vehicles parked there. Between them and me was another woman. An extremely obese--beyond morbidly obese, we're talking pushing 500 pounds here--waddled behind them.
No, waddling is mot my unkind contribution to this holiday season. It's an observation. Her legs moved in a static motion that didn't allow for the bending of knees and I was actually surprised she was mobile at all.
She was not a nice person, at least not yesterday. She was in a hurry to get to her van, and the old people were in her way. She berated them angrily: "Move the fuck over. Get out of my goddamned way, you're too fucking slow."
By then I was close enough to pass her up, and said as I went by, "Just go around them."
There's the rub.
She couldn't.
Between the trucks parked in the wrong places and her sheer physical size, she couldn't go around them. And the suggestion that she do just that pissed her off and she turned her ire to me.
"I can't, and they need to speed the fuck up or get out of my fucking way."
And then it came out, that which 1) probably embarrassed her and 2) made her want to deck me--I'm 99% sure she wanted to slap the hell out of me.
"It's not their fault you can't get around them."
By then the older couple was at their car, and I hope they didn't really hear any of that. Neither of them said a word or acted like they heard anything going on behind them, and if they did hear they were good about not showing it.
But Miss Congeniality certainly heard what I said.
Yes, it was mean. No, I don't feel all that bad about it. If she'd just been walking along and minding her own business, I wouldn't have said a word. If she'd been in my way, I just would have slowed down. But the way she sniped at that couple, her choice of words, pissed me off to no end. They couldn't have walked any quicker than she could have slipped around them, and didn't deserve the venom spit their way.
Hopefully, that's the only Feel-Bad holiday moment I'll inspire this year...but I am awfully good at it.
Thursday
3 December 2009
Sunday night I was sitting here, in front of a nice fire with the TV blaring complete crap, with my laptop warming my lap. I was playing around at JigZone as I am wont to do when I'm avoiding doing anything that is actually productive.
I noticed that the battery icon came on, indicating that the laptop was operating off the battery; I didn't think much about it, because once in a while it does that. A few minutes on the battery, then it recharges.
But this time it kept right on working off the battery. So I set it aside and looked at the power adapter, and the little green power light was not on.
I shut down to preserve what power there was left in the battery, reasoning that the adapter was shot, and I would just go get a replacement in the morning.
It seemed reasonable at the time.
However.
A new power adapter was not the answer, because it did not work. And the laptop would not power up at all. The Spouse Thingy has the exact same laptop, so I plugged the old adapter into it; no dice. I plugged the new adapter into it; it worked. I then plugged his adapter into my laptop; nothing.
This distressed me mightily, as I can't just sit here and watch TV. If I'm watching TV, I tend to have the laptop here, and I surf the net or do puzzles and JigZone. So we took the sad little dead laptop the the local computer geek, who said it sounded like the motherboard...but as it was a relatively new laptop, he suggested I save the bucks it would cost to have him open it and try calling Gateway, because it was still under warranty.
And this is where Thumper learned a lesson: when you buy a laptop, or any computer really, register it with the manufacturer. and keep the receipt. I did neither; Gateway had no record of my purchase, and I had no proof.
So I got online with my ancient desktop system and whined to Murf, who was only online to check email and peek at Facebook. He didn't have a lot of time, but he listened to the details of my favorite toy's demise, and called his friend Dack, who does unspeakable things to computers these days.
Dack asked a lot of questions, but in the end said he was fairly sure I'd gotten a power surge that took out the adapter and the motherboard. He asked what model Gateway I had and looked it up in his nifty database and reported back the price of replacement parts.
Almost the cost of a whole new computer.
He also recommended I get a much better surge protector, because, obviously, I cheaped out on the one I was using (and, um, yes...I did...)
Funny, more than one person suggested I get a better surge protector. My cheapness apparently shines through.
So.
Now I sit here with a spiffy new laptop, but it is not with the thrill I would normally get from getting a shiny new toy. I got this one with replacing the ancient desktop system in mind, as it's not very happy about some of the software I ask it to run, and in the next year I plan on upgrading the publishing software.
No, I did not want to wait for Christmas to see if Santa would replace my laptop. Since this is at least 50% a business need, Santa could not be sure exactly what I would need.
Besides, as a business purchase, it's at least 50% tax deductible.
And yes, I registered this laptop. And I'm keeping the receipt.
Just in case.
I noticed that the battery icon came on, indicating that the laptop was operating off the battery; I didn't think much about it, because once in a while it does that. A few minutes on the battery, then it recharges.
But this time it kept right on working off the battery. So I set it aside and looked at the power adapter, and the little green power light was not on.
I shut down to preserve what power there was left in the battery, reasoning that the adapter was shot, and I would just go get a replacement in the morning.
It seemed reasonable at the time.
However.
A new power adapter was not the answer, because it did not work. And the laptop would not power up at all. The Spouse Thingy has the exact same laptop, so I plugged the old adapter into it; no dice. I plugged the new adapter into it; it worked. I then plugged his adapter into my laptop; nothing.
This distressed me mightily, as I can't just sit here and watch TV. If I'm watching TV, I tend to have the laptop here, and I surf the net or do puzzles and JigZone. So we took the sad little dead laptop the the local computer geek, who said it sounded like the motherboard...but as it was a relatively new laptop, he suggested I save the bucks it would cost to have him open it and try calling Gateway, because it was still under warranty.
And this is where Thumper learned a lesson: when you buy a laptop, or any computer really, register it with the manufacturer. and keep the receipt. I did neither; Gateway had no record of my purchase, and I had no proof.
So I got online with my ancient desktop system and whined to Murf, who was only online to check email and peek at Facebook. He didn't have a lot of time, but he listened to the details of my favorite toy's demise, and called his friend Dack, who does unspeakable things to computers these days.
Dack asked a lot of questions, but in the end said he was fairly sure I'd gotten a power surge that took out the adapter and the motherboard. He asked what model Gateway I had and looked it up in his nifty database and reported back the price of replacement parts.
Almost the cost of a whole new computer.
He also recommended I get a much better surge protector, because, obviously, I cheaped out on the one I was using (and, um, yes...I did...)
Funny, more than one person suggested I get a better surge protector. My cheapness apparently shines through.
So.
Now I sit here with a spiffy new laptop, but it is not with the thrill I would normally get from getting a shiny new toy. I got this one with replacing the ancient desktop system in mind, as it's not very happy about some of the software I ask it to run, and in the next year I plan on upgrading the publishing software.
No, I did not want to wait for Christmas to see if Santa would replace my laptop. Since this is at least 50% a business need, Santa could not be sure exactly what I would need.
Besides, as a business purchase, it's at least 50% tax deductible.
And yes, I registered this laptop. And I'm keeping the receipt.
Just in case.
Saturday
28 November 2009
1 all night wind storm + 1 terrified little black kitty curled up on the pillow = mostly sleepless night for the Person.
Add in the wind continuing all day, and you have 1 tired Thumper with 1 little black kitty Velcro'd to her all day long. I actually felt bad for him when I had to run to the store; I was only gone half an hour, but that was long enough for him to curl in a tight little ball of What's Happening?
It still hasn't really let up, but he's wandering around the house now, so I have hopes that I'll actually get to sleep tonight. Not high hopes, mind you, but I might get to squeeze in an hour or two when he's not trying to plaster himself to my neck...
Add in the wind continuing all day, and you have 1 tired Thumper with 1 little black kitty Velcro'd to her all day long. I actually felt bad for him when I had to run to the store; I was only gone half an hour, but that was long enough for him to curl in a tight little ball of What's Happening?
It still hasn't really let up, but he's wandering around the house now, so I have hopes that I'll actually get to sleep tonight. Not high hopes, mind you, but I might get to squeeze in an hour or two when he's not trying to plaster himself to my neck...
Monday
Friday
20 November 2009
Wednesday
18 November 2009
So we moved in last January, but finally got around to making a space for the clock. We think that space was originally supposed to be for entertainment equipment; there was a shelf and there's an outlet in the back, all conveniently located over the media nook, which is apparently supposed to house a TV.That media nook will become a kitty hangout... we just have to figure out an unobtrusive way to block the cable from Buddah's Jaws of Death.
Speaking of Buddah...he has a bed. He refuses to use that bed, but we did buy him one when he was a kitten.Once in a while he sniffs at Max's bed like he wants to get it it, but doesn't because he's smart and fears for his life.
A few days ago a pillow wound up on the floor; it was destined for the trash bin, but when I found him curled up on it, sound asleep. And he used it the next day. And the day after that. So I think we're keeping the pillow, and I don't mind that it doesn't exactly go with anything in the family room.
It's not like we've finish putting the room together, anyway.
He's a good kitty. He deserves his pillow.
Oh...you know how you get a tall clock to fit in a slightly not so tall space?
Poke a hole in the ceiling.
Hey, whatever works...
Monday
16 November 2009
I've been riding this spiffy scooter for the last year and a few odd months. It's still tons of fun and I'll part with it when I'm dead most likely.The thing is, it's an automatic; twist and go, no shifting required. And because of that extra wheel, there's more contact surface to the ground, which makes it feel little less risky than riding a motorcycle. And that's all well and good, but I did learn how to ride a motorcycle and really didn't want those skills to diminish.
I also wasn't going to grab the Spouse Thingy's motorcycle and hit the streets, hoping I could shift and lean and brake well enough to not wreck.
By a stroke of luck, I was poking around online and discovered the local Harley dealer is now running a riding course, the Rider's Edge program, and this week they were having a women's only class. And there was one slot left open.
The Spouse Thingy said to go for it. So I did.
Now, I really enjoyed the MSF class I took a little over three and a half years ago, and it obviously got me onto a bike and riding. It was one 5 hour classroom session, with two 5 hour range sessions where one learns just enough to be able to get a bike and practice riding in empty parking lots. It takes you from OH MY GOD THAT'S A MOTORCYCLE to Hey...I think I can do this! in short order.
The Rider's Edge class is four 2 hour classroom sessions, and two 7.5 hour range sessions. So you get more time in the class--more time to discuss things--and the test isn't at the end of a solid 5 hour session of "Huh?" It's broken down, so you have time to read and digest the information you really need to know.
The riding portion of the class is so much longer that brand new riders have a better chance to grasp the fundamentals. And instead of being in a classroom with 30 other people, and on the range with 11 other people, I was in a class of 5 in total (there as supposed to be a 6th, but she didn't show up. Which means somewhere in the area is, in theory, a woman who didn't get to take the class because that slot was filed...)
That's a lot of individual instruction. And it helps. A lot.
The meat of the course is identical to the MSF course; same information imparted in the videos the students watch, the same text book is used. The range exercises are identical. But with so much more time dedicated to discussion--and it's more student interactive--and more time on the bikes, the Rider's Edge class seemed to work a little better.
Granted, other Rider's Edge classes will have 12 in total (this one is new, and with only one Rider Coach, there can be only 6 students) but they'll still have all that extra time learning to actually operate a motorcycle without freaking out.
Taking the class a second time gave me a whole new appreciation for how the entire process works. The women I took the class with were not riders (one had taken the MSF class seven years ago and left it partway, but was just now ready to go for it again) and they weren't even sure they wanted to learn to ride (except the one) but they were definitely going to give it a shot. I watched them go from OH MY GOD I CAN'T DO THIS to 'Dang! This is fun!' and from being terrified of shifting and leaning to getting into 2nd gear, and going through curves without panicking. They even managed the dreaded Box--two tight U-turns in a box that looks way too small--fairly well. It was just impressive all the way around to see them go from total nonriders to being able to at least appreciate the ride from the front seat.
It helps that they were fun...they all knew each other and I was the odd person out, but they never made me feel that way.
I did learn a few things in the class, too; things I "knew" but had kind of shoved to the back of my head. I uncovered a potential bad habit. And I realize I am still comfortable enough on two wheels, complete with shifting, that if I take the Spouse Thingy's bike out for a spin, it'll be all right.
This could have been a mind-numbingly boring weekend, but it turned out to be a blast and was worth every penny.
And now I can say for sure...if you want to learn to ride and have the choice between a MSF class or a Rider's Edge, opt for the latter. You learn exactly the same things, but you'll have more time to absorb them. It's definitely a pro-Harley atmosphere, but that's not necessarily a bad thing. I got to sit on lots of bikes (something you don't get with the MSF) and had some lengthy one on one discussion about the center of gravity on some bikes, and how it can make some of the really big bikes easier to handle than some of the smaller ones.
That will translate to other brands. Good info to have.
I still have the written test to take on Tuesday, but since I already have my license it's not a worry. And when we're done with the test and we all pass (because we all will) we "graduate." And there will be snacks! I'm going just for the snacks... ;)
Wednesday
11 November 2009
It's not about politics; it's not about taking potshots at the President; it's not about venting your viewpoint about the wars; it's not about pushing your personal agenda. It's about remembering those who have the guts to do what you likely don't--so that you can continue to take potshots and vent and push--and honoring them for their efforts. To those who served, and who continue to serve, thank you. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Monday
9 November 2009
More randomness...
- After my first book was published, I would get an odd email here or there from people who had stumbled upon Charybdis and had something to say about it (usually good, which gave me warm fuzzies.) With each book the odd emails have increased...not a flood, mind you, but enough to give my ego a little jolt. But with the advent of the Kindle, I'm hearing from a lot of people, and my warm fuzzies are damn near hot flashes. It's cool, in a Sally Field You like me, you really like me! way. More awesome than the ego-stroking hot flashes are the reviews; I've been getting a few, and they've been more than favorable. The King and Queen of Perfect Normal has gotten some stellar feedback, and I think my head might explode.
- Speaking of which, I have a few print copies on hand, and am willing to autograph and make them freaking invaluable. Oh yeah, because someday, I'm going to be a literary giant, and you'll want that signed copy ;)
- Week two of NaNoWriMo hath begun, and I'm so far behind I might as well surrender. I should be at about 15,000 words and I'm at 2,250. It's possible to catch up, true, but I'm finding that the story line that settled into my brain needs more time to percolate, and the main character deserves to be better fleshed out, lest she become a caricature of a giant douche. Because really, she's just a little bit of a douche.
- My laptop is fairly new, just a couple month old, and the freaking keys are sticking and falling off. This annoys me, as it requires me to go back and look for all the letters that just didn't show up. I'm tempted to create a post in which I just leave things as they;re typed, so that everyone will feel sorry for me.
- You would feel sorry for me, right? Because sticky laptop keys are just wrong...
Sunday
8 November 2009
If you have a dream in which Jillian Michaels is in your face screaming "It's not enough! It's not f@#$*&% enough!" there's probably a subconscious message there...right?
Monday
2 November 2009
Oddz N Endz Part 1,452,976.5
- The Spouse Thingy has jury duty tomorrow. He would not mind, but it fell on his day off. And who knows how many days in a row he'll be needed?
- This upsets me because I had plans, dammit!
- I wanted to go for a ride, and then go bowling. And not alone.
- I may start painting the kitchen instead.
- I will have kitty help.
- NaNoWriMo started yesterday, but I didn't not start writing until today. I should be able to get 50,000 words by the end of the month. They will be words riddled with suckage, but that's the whole point...just get the bones out. The rest can be fixed in subsequent drafts.
- If I don't paint tomorrow, I will write.
- Or do both.
- Maybe even at the same time.
- I think deep red cabinets would go with the bright yellow the kitchen walls will be when I finish painting them.
- Since we'll eventually re-do the entire kitchen, I figure red won't hurt for now.
- I have not broached the idea of deep red with the Spouse Thingy.
- Surprise, Spouse Thingy!
- Yesterday he got up after only 3-4 hours of sleep to go see the Boy in Grease. He agreed with me, it was worth it.
- If I go see it one more time, does that make me a stalker?
- I hope he auditions and lands another role soon; it's only parental pride to say he's good. He really is good.
- I ate no candy this Halloween.
- Go me.
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