wordinista: (I shall conquer this)

It looks like my Wednesday is going to start out with a migraine. AWESOME.  I am taking measures to cut it off before it progresses, but that hardly ever works so mostly I'm sitting here until I finish my tea.

Mom took Gramps to the neurologist yesterday, and the news is... not so good.  His MRI showed significant shrinkage in the frontal lobes since his last MRI, which was a year ago August.  The neurologist has since diagnosed him with mid-stage fronto-temporal dementia, which, apparently, is the worst kind of dementia to be diagnosed with.  It doesn't affect memory quite as much as other types of dementia, but rather affecting personality and behavior.  It's progressive, and most patients, after initial diagnosis, have about a 2 year life expectancy.  The neurologist thinks he's had this since last August.  Mom is... understandably upset.  I don't think I've really let it sink in yet.  I sort of don't want to.

I almost didn't go to agility last night, because this news had left us... kind of out of sorts, but in the end I went and had a really good time.  I talked with my agility instructor, Vickie, a breast cancer survivor (who, this time last year, was bald).  She gave me a hug and talked a bit.  "Don't feel guilty for doing the things you like to do," she said.  I told her it wasn't so much guilt that made me almost skip class, but my concern that my head wouldn't be in the game, so to speak.   But... the funny thing is, I've sort of reached a point with agility where when I'm on the course and running obstacles with Darwin, I almost go to a very zen place.  (Well, this happens when we're running WELL. Not when I'm screwing up and giving miscues.)  And even though last night I was a little distracted, and definitely screwed up and gave miscues, I still left class feeling very centered.

In other news, I would like very much to rant about this Roman Polanski BS until the cows come home, because I am thoroughly OUTRAGED at how many people seem to have turned into rape apologists overnight, and am doubly outraged at the media for using what I personally believe is misleading language regarding his crime.  "Having sex with a teenager/minor" conjures a completely different picture than and is NOT the same thing as "drugging and anally raping an adolescent."  And what the shit, do Hollywood A-listers actually believe they are above the law?  HE DRUGGED AND SODOMIZED A THIRTEEN YEAR OLD, GUYS.  LIVING THE HIGH LIFE SKIPPING AROUND EUROPE FOR THIRTY ONE YEARS DOES NOT CONSTITUTE "PUNISHMENT."  HE HAS NOT PAID ANY SORT OF DEBT TO SOCIETY.  COME ON, PEOPLE.  HE IS NOT SOME SORT OF TRAGIC HERO.  HE IS A RAPIST.  SAY IT WITH ME NOW: RAY-PIST.

So, hopefully someone on my f-list will compose a lengthy and vitriolic rant about the subject, because that's about all I can muster -- this headache is looking like I'm going to be out of commission for the rest of the morning.

wordinista: (confident ignorance)
It's kind of dawning on me that I've been extremely incommunicado for the past few weeks. Like, extremely.

Long story short -- everything's fine, but between doctor appointments, working on my Staffing Management take-home exam, birthday, and working on my Staffing paper/presentation, and then basic, everyday obligations I found myself in the rare situation where I kind of... did not realize I had dropped off the face of the earth so completely.

Birthday was wonderful -- we did not go to The Yellow Dog Cafe, as we have the past few years. For some unknown reason I was less enthused about it this year, so George made me dinner instead, and we spent Saturday together just doing goofy couple-y things, and Sunday Mom made a phenomenal birthday dinner (filet mignon with a green peppercorn sauce, oh my GOD SO GOOD), and somewhere in there was an ice cream cake from Ben & Jerry's. Mom surprised me with The King Arthur's Baker's Companion, which made me VERY happy (I was shocked she even remembered I wanted it), and I've already tried out a few recipes (zucchini lemon muffins are to die for).

The sole blemish on the weekend was our experience going to see Coraline.  For a while it looked like we were going to have the entire theater to ourselves when -- FIFTEEN MINUTES INTO THE MOVIE (not the previews, the movie), a family of six came in: two adults, three children who appeared to be under the age of six, and one infant.

And sat right behind us.  In an otherwise empty theater.  RIGHT. BEHIND. US.

And then proceeded to talk.  In conversational tones.  And then the children proceeded to whine about godknows what.  And then the infant started to fuss.  And then the jackoffasaurus sitting behind George started to kick his seat.  Oh, and about five minutes after this lot came in, another family with small children came into the theater, and sat further towards the back.

After about twenty minutes of incomprehensible rudeness and having turned around to give the adults my best "Are you fucking kidding me?" glare, I said "Fuck this" (possibly audibly; I cannot remember -- THAT'S HOW ENRAGED I WAS), I got up and nearly walked out, then decided to switch seats instead.  (George, I think, was disappointed that I didn't make a beeline for the door; that's how fed up he was.)  So I headed up towards the back, basically placing us closer to the OTHER family.

Dude, seriously -- who screws around with a celophane wrapper for two solid minutes?  ARGH.  These children were marginally better behaved, but that's not really saying much. (And having gone to the movies with R&C and their three munchkins, I am perfectly aware of the fact that it IS possible to teach children how not to behave like complete animals at the movies.)  

At some point during all of this, the cockbites we moved AWAY from apparently had not turned off their cell phone, either.

Usually I'm one of those people who WILL say something in a movie theater.  I WILL shush someone who is being a complete moron.  I WILL turn around and let the person who is kicking my seat know that I do not appreciate their percussion solo vibrating against my tailbone.  However, I did not speak up this time -- and I think I know why:  I try to make it a point not to swear like a sailor in front of small children, and I was so completely furious that if I opened my mouth, the tirade would not end until I had insulted someone's parentage in language decorated vibrantly with as many creative invectives as I am capable of conceiving.

So, yes.  I finally saw Coraline.  No, I cannot say that I particularly enjoyed the experience.  Not for lack of trying, mind.

OH.  OH OH OH.  And when the lights went up?  And everyone left?  We took a look behind us at where the other family had been sitting?  OH MY SWEET MONKEY JEBUS, THE MESS THEY LEFT BEHIND WAS A PILE OF EPIC FAIL.  A pile of juice boxes on the floor, wrappers, spilled popcorn, cups, GOD IT WAS FOUL.  There was a trail of popcorn down the stairs.  It defied words.  Honestly. 


So, other than THAT, it was a lovely birthday. 
wordinista: (Well Read Fandom)

Isn't it the most awesome thing ever when you wake up feeling yucky, and then proceed to have your ass kicked sideways for the next 24 hours by what is either SOME KIND of food poisoning or a stomach bug?

Yeah, thought so.  I was a most unhappy bunneh yesterday, and I still have no idea why.  But today I woke up feeling perfectly fine, aside from being a little headachey/lightheaded from not eating anything yesterday.  I'm just glad it's over.  Yeesh.

Today was... hmm.  We took a little outing to this one dog park in Sanford, FL that got rated something like #2 in the country by Dog Fancy magazine, and was... disappointed!  There were no attendants, which basically means people have to be responsible for their own dogs, which... ha, is so unlikely to begin with.  There was one yellow lab that was intent upon mounting Darwin, who -- understandably -- was having none of that.  And the dog's owner never once showed up to correct his damned dog.  No attendant also means that the whole "your dog must have up-to-date vaccinations and tags" thing kind of falls back on an honor system.  As does the "no aggressive dogs allowed" rule.  It was a big space, though, and we found a reasonably unpopulated corner where Darwin and Sydney were content to run around like knuckleheads, which was great until another dog decides to join in, and promptly gets ignored, and then tries to mount Darwin, and then Darwin's like "WTF GTFO" and I look around for an owner so I can say "PLZ TO KEEP YOUR DOG FROM TRYING TO HUMP MINE KTHX."  And then of course I don't FIND an owner, and end up having to snap, "OFF!" at some strange dog, which just isn't my job, thank you very much and it's one thing when it's a young yellow lab that Darwin outweighs by 25 pounds, but it's entirely another when it's a husky that is a head taller and twenty pounds heavier than Darwin. 

So, after about an hour of this, we left.

An hour.  After an hour-and-a-half drive there.  Sigh.

I mean, it was a nice day, and we got out of the house and all.  So there's that. We get so few brisk days that it would have been a shame to miss out on that.  And at least now we can say we've been to this supposedly amazing park, and maybe I would have been more impressed had we gone there on a weekday when it was less crowded, but overall?  Solidly meh.  There's a beach down in Jupiter that's supposed to be dog-friendly, so that might be next on the list, weather depending.  We shall see!  (I did order this, though, which might make the search for weekend day-trips a little easier.)

Anyway, we stopped on the way home and picked up dinner, then watched Leatherheads, which actually wasn't as bad as I'd been bracing myself for it to be.  AND THEN we did something totally uncharacteristic and went out for ice cream, which was both delicious and also sort of felt like I was tempting the gastro-gods, but all seems well so far.  Tomorrow is the Superbowl, and I have no real stake in either of the teams playing, except I kind of want the Cardinals to win, because they're such underdogs, and I find the Steelers to be vaguely annoying.

And now, I believe I will get back to re-reading one of a few favorite books!

wordinista: (ARGH!)
Had a slightly weird thing happen tonight, and I'm finding myself kind of... still vaguely annoyed over it.

In the middle of watching the 'Bama-Gator game, Darwin ran over to the front door, barking. He shoved his muzzle through the mail slot and started sniffing, and then paced the foyer, really agitated. I peeked through the window and saw two dogs standing in our driveway. Since I'd seen a flyer around regarding two lost dogs in the area, George and I went outside armed with a flashlight, leashes, and liver treats. They weren't the right dogs, but had collars and tags, so they were obviously someone's pet, and we brought them over to Mom's house, since she's got the fenced-in yard. (I'll just skip over the part where I tried to call her over and over again and she did not pick up her phone which seems to be par for the course when there's actually something wrong.) We got her two little dogs inside, and herded the two strays into the yard, at which point we got the collars off the doggies to look for owner information.

Now, one of the pups was a fairly young-looking Golden Retriever. I'd guestimate him to have been about a year old, maybe a year and a half. He was pretty small, and his coat hadn't come in completely yet. The other dog was a Leonberger, and ... y'know, "huge" really does not cut it. A giant, bear-like dog, who had absolutely no manners whatsoever, and seemed obsessed with humping the Golden, and then tried to hump ME, and he and I had a talk and I expressed to him quite clearly that that was not on. Neither seemed to know the "sit" command, and neither had been fixed (made evident by the Leon humping everything and also marking various points around Mom's yard -- Gizmo will be very busy tomorrow...).

Now, the Goldie was ... he was actually in pretty good shape. But the Leonberger looked like he'd been roaming for a while. He stunk to high heaven, and his coat had just... godawful mats, especially around the collar. According to their collars, the Goldie was named "Sparky," and the Leo was named "Mattei."

But anyway! Called the phone number on the tags! Like you do!

...The phone number was out of service. Insert WTF here.

The address, however, was less than a mile down our street, and I volunteered to drive down to the house. George wanted Mom to go with me, which subjected me to a round of "Mom Standard Time" -- when she says she'll be out in X minutes, but the reality is anywhere from two to four times the initial estimate. SO! We finally got to the house, and there were cars in the driveway and the lights were on (cue sigh of relief here). I knocked on the door and apparently the owner did not realize his dogs had Houdini'd out of his yard, and was like, "ZOMG ON MY WAY," so we went back to the house, he collected his dogs, and all was well.

Except.

Um. What the hell, man. Who in their right mind has a dog like a Leonberger and not only doesn't teach it basic manners, but doesn't bother to make the effort to train it to a point where the dog is remotely controllable on-leash. Because, uh. This guy? Had NO control over his ENORMOUS, GIGANTIC, BEAR-LIKE DOG. None. Seriously, NONE. The dog all but dragged the owner to his truck, and he needed me to help the Golden get to the truck, because he was so overwhelmed by the Leo. (Also, the Goldie seemed kind of hand-shy, which broke my heart and pissed me off in turns.)

And also. ALSO. The condition of the Leo's coat was DEPLORABLE. There were mats ALL up in his fur, some of them roughly the diameter of a dime. How -- HOW do you let your dog's coat get to be in that kind of condition? And if you ARE a lazy sumbitch, then why have a dog with a high-maintenance coat in the first place? According to the breed-club's website, the Leonberger requires daily brushing. Now, maybe you can push that to a couple of times a week, or maybe even a weekly brushing, but if that dog's been brushed within the past month, I'd eat my hat.

I just... don't understand people. I'm trying not to think too hard about this, because both dogs tails started wagging like crazy when the owner came to pick them up (even if they were utterly out of control). But I'm still feeling... vaguely annoyed.

AND WHO THE HELL KEEPS A DISCONNECTED NUMBER ON THEIR DOGS' IDENTIFICATION TAGS?

Argh. People.
wordinista: (Trouble and Tequila start with "T")
1. Being told "I'm nearly ready to go" when I am 20 minutes away from picking someone up, and then being made to sit and wait AN HOUR AND A HALF before actually going anywhere.

2. People who take their immeasurable good-fortune entirely for granted, and STILL find petty bullshit things to bitch about.

3. Being asked, "Would you like me to put your meat in a plastic bag?" when I'm at the grocery checkout, only to get home and discover that not only did my meat not get put into a plastic bag, it leaked and just about ruined one of my favorite grocery totes.


Things that go a long way to make me feel better about the above three things:

1. Hershey's Kisses

2. A husband who can make a kickass alfredo sauce and who does not judge me when I proceed to gorge myself on what was easily the best seafood alfredo EVER.

3. Tequila Sunrises.

4. Goofy, fuzzy doggies.

5. Being told I'm the "best wife ever" for remembering that Kenny Dorsey wore number 11 while he was at Miami.



I'm a very lucky Bunneh.

...Also a slightly buzzed one.

Augh!

Oct. 7th, 2008 10:34 am
wordinista: (ARGH!)

I really need to be working on my research paper, but financial news is EATING MY BRAIN.

And Barney Frank really, really needs not to be implying that people criticizing Congress's lousy financial decisions are racist. (Isn't that some variation on Snacky's Law?) Granted, the Community Reinvestment Act is just a part of a much larger problem, but, come on, Barney.  That's no way for House Financial Services Committee Chair to act.  I know he's pointing the finger at the GOP, but given that, according to a recent Rasmussen Poll, something like 59% of voters polled would have no problem voting out the entire Congress and starting over again, that implies to me that pointing fingers (and basically calling your critics racists) is the dumbest thing to do right now.

This whole mess is nauseating. Did no one learn ANYTHING from Enron, Tyco, and Arthur Andersen?  ARGH!  STOP.  BEING.  STUPID.  RECKLESS.  IRRESPONSIBLE.  JERKFACES.  These people are ostensibly intelligent!  THEY SHOULD KNOW BETTER.

And I have a feeling this whole thing's going to get uglier.   That's a serious conflict of interest, right there.  Pair that with the youtube video going around where Frank asserts there's nothing wrong with FM/FM, and you've got the equation for some serious facepalming.  Is this what happens when you put a lawyer in charge of finances?  He's a Harvard Law grad, right?  Or am I remembering someone else?

*checks* 

Yup, Harvard Law.  I would seriously love to know how a background in law qualifies Senator Frank for being the Chair of the HFSC.  I've looked at his biography, and... if he's got any background in economics or finance, it's well hidden. 


Aaaaaaaaaand now back to my paper.  (Guys, diversity management is fucking awesome.  I really kind of love HR.)


EDIT:  Yup, still eating my brain.  I'm starting to wonder if these CEOs think they're playing with Monopoly money. Seriously, what the hell -- you're going to shell out twenty MILLION DOLLARS on "special payments" for departing executives four days before you declare bankruptcy?
wordinista: (Why me?)
So the tile guys finished the job yesterday, except they have to come back today to do the grouting. They're not here yet, shock.

But what they're doing today isn't the problem. It's what they did yesterday. See, the tile guys tiled the bathroom yesterday, and in order to do that, had to take out the commode.

Leaving a big fat HOLE in the middle of our bathroom. A hole that leads, gosh oh golly, DOWN TO THE SEWER.

Fun with idiocy... )

EDIT: 10:45 am -- GRAR. My landlady just popped by (I hate that they do that), and was telling me that the plumber can't get here until between 2:00 and 5:00 to put the toilet back and UNHOOK THE WATER HEATER SO THE TILE GUYS CAN TILE UNDERNEATH THE WATER HEATER.

Possibly leaving us without hot fucking water.

And I was like, "Uh, yeah. That's a problem. George leaves for work at seven in the morning."

"Well, you could shower at your mom's house, or come over to my house."

And I'm thinking, Did you not hear what I just said?

George? Has not the best temper in the world. George is also righteously pissed because he had a lousy night's sleep last night. If I tell my tora-chan that we're not going to have hot water for... oh, however long?

I do not even want to consider the fallout.

So, I'm trying to make this clear to my landlady, who seems not to be the brightest bulb in the box, and she's like, "Well, those are the inconveniences we have to live with."

And I'm like, "WHAT FRIGGIN' INCONVENIENCES HAVE YOU HAD TO LIVE WITH?"

Edit: 10:56 am -- Yep. George is pissed.
wordinista: (bunneh of dooooooom)
Tile Guys: If you need to move the stove and refrigerator to DO YOUR JOB, then move the stove and refrigerator. Do not come to me and say, "We need to move the refrigerator and the stove."

Just. MOVE IT. Move it, lay the tile, and GO. GO AWAY. GRAR.

Fnarr.

EDIT: Tile Guys: Please, if you need to use the restroom, use it. The baby gate is a precaution so that the animals in the house will not run OUT of the house. It is not a fixture from an Indiana Jones movie. It does not require a special key to get past. Step over it. Do not stare at it as if it holds the key to the universe. Step over it, and go use the restroom. I'm trying to grade, here.

EDIT: Tile Guys: So help me god, if you left the refrigerator unplugged, I'm gonna be hella pissed.

EDIT: 3:40 PM: Huzzah! The tile guys are gone! The kitchen, dining room, and bathroom are tiled! The refrigerator was not unplugged! The godawful racket is GONE. They're coming back tomorrow to grout. Grouting I can handle. How bad can that be?

*toddles off for more Midol*
wordinista: (all this... and brains too!)
I'm going to regret it, but I have to go grocery shopping. On a Saturday. What's wrong with me?

Yesterday was a good day, despite the lack of grading I got done. I went to bed at 1:30 and got up at 6:00 (not by my choice), and ended up not going back to bed, which was dumb. But on the up-side, we got a new dishwasher, and I got a haircut. I asked this lovely women (to whom I have been a client for about ten years) to jazz up my current hairstyle a bit. Current hairstyle, if you're morbidly curious, was supershort in the back around my neck, and then something like an asymmetrical bob -- longer in the front than in the back. So, she cut the back until it was VERY short (boy short), and then made the angles a little sharper from back to front, and made it even more asymmetrical by making the left side shorter than the right (I part my hair on the left). I was very happy with the result, and it's making me want to get a couple of foils done in the front -- maybe after school's out.

Actually, once school is out, I'm also thinking about getting a second tattoo. I can't believe it's been a year since I got the one on my ankle (nearly a year, anyway). I still love it to pieces, and have been known to peek in mirrors as I walk by them, just to catch a glimpse of my ankle in action. ;) This time around, I think I'm going to get the "tora" kanji on my lower back. George is a tiger, and I'd much rather have that than his name written on my person, because ... well, I'm not fond of that look. But I think after eleven years together (eleven years in August), it's safe to have something representing him inked onto my body. But it's obscure enough to still be okay if (godforbid) we ever split up.

Yes, I think of things like that. I know all too well that people change, no matter how long you know them. I'm the emotional realist in the relationship, and George is the emotional idealist. If he were here, he'd probably whap me on the back of the head for even THINKING of such a thing as splitting up. Ah well.

Had our final exam review for Renaissance class -- I'm really not that worried about the final, but I DO have to re-read Edward II. Correction: I have to find a COPY of the play. The prof assigned it to us on a website, and I'm too easily distracted on the computer to read Marlow without, oh, clicking off to LJ-land. Unfortunately, none of the big chains have much in the way of Marlowe. Books-a-Million had NOTHING -- in fact, the woman working there just sort of gave me a blank stare when I asked about him. And then she made me repeat his name. Three times.

Me: "Marlowe. Christopher Marlowe. Elizabethan playwright and poet. Compared to Shakespeare."

Clerk: "Oh! Our Shakespeare section is right over there!" *points*

Me: "No, no, no. I didn't say it WAS Shakespeare. I said he was COMPARED to Shakespeare."

Clerk: "....Well, you could check it anyway, in case he got shelved with Shakespeare."

Me: *facepalm*

Needless to say, there was no Marlowe.

Then I went to Barnes and Noble, and... well, they at least had Dr. Faustus. One copy of it. *sigh* (They did, however, have these new-fangled editions of Shakespearean plays that have the original text on one page, and the text translated into layspeak on the other, and it'd be very tempting to incorporate that into my class when I teach Othello. I'd have to pick a copy up to see for myself.)

Soooo, I don't have time to order it from Amazon, but I could probably find it at the college library -- but frankly, I'd rather have my own copy. So I think I may try a couple of the smaller, independent bookstores. There's one down by the beach that I've only visited once, but when I went inside, it was like I'd died and gone to heaven.

Hmm. I'm now in the mood to go back. Right now. Except... yeah. Must still go grocery shopping, dammit.

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