wordinista: (Yuki: ...?)
For the past three weeks, not only have I been walking the doggies over one of the local causeways that link the mainland to the barrier islands (it's about a 2 mile walk w/ a significant incline), but in the afternoons Tora and I have been walking over a different causeway (a couple of miles north of the other one).  This bridge is a little over 2 miles and has a more significant (read: hateful, evil) incline.

So!  Three days a week I'm walking about four miles a day.  Go me!  And I assume someday I will stop being completely exhausted all the time.  Today is not that day.

However, never let it be said that our workout regimen is without excitement.  Yesterday, we went over the causeway, like we do, and on the return trip we noticed that there's a walkway that actually runs under the bridge.  So we, being the inquisitive-type people we are, took a walk along this walkway.  Under the bridge.

It was quite obviously a hotspot for fishing types, given all the... fish guts (oh, the aroma), and there were empty beer bottles and discarded bits of fishing line, and the whole "walking under the bridge" thing seemed like a much better idea when I hadn't considered the olfactory aspect of it.  Needless to say: gross.

Anyway, we're walking and we're walking and-- okay, so you've got this cement walkway that runs under the bridge (about halfway out, leaving enough room for boats to pass under the bridge).  And there are these enormous cement supports that are... yes, supporting the bridge.  These supports (which, to reiterate, were HUGE) have four sides to them, and about ten feet above the water line, the support widens about five feet on all four sides, creating a sort of ledge. 

And as we're walking, I saw a man standing on this ledge, fishing.  He... also appeared to be talking to himself, and there was what looked like a sleeping bag rolled up next to him.  And I felt that pang of "Aw, man" you feel in a situation like that.  I assume everyone knows the little twinge.  Then, as we passed, I glanced over my shoulder and saw that it wasn't a sleeping bag at all, but a woman curled up on her side, sleeping, and... yeah.  Another pang.  Weirdly, I almost felt as if I was... intruding?

And then, out of nowhere, Tora whacks my arm and says in a very low, urgent voice: "Turn around and walk."

I, being reasonably quick on the uptake, did just that.

"Keep walking," he said, also quietly.  "Don't look.  Just keep walking."

So as I'm walking -- quickly, I might add, to keep up with George (who ALWAYS complains to me about my death-march pace and long-legged strides) -- I'm wondering what his damage is.  As unfortunate as it is, it wouldn't be the first time we've seen a homeless person, and it's really not necessary for him to wig out like that.

"Did you see that?" he asked me, when we were out of earshot.

"Yeah, I think they were homeless."

Insert long pause wherein my darling husband gives me a look that... is not easily articulated (but I like to refer to it as his "Oh my god, you're supposed to be smart" look).  "He had a gun, Kara."

".......A gun?"

"In the waistband of his pants."

Insert a longer pause wherein I walk faster.

Evidently he hadn't been talking to himself, as I'd thought, but had instead been talking on a cell phone.


So... yeah.  I still don't even know what to make of any of that, but let it be said there is NEVER A DULL MOMENT with us.

wordinista: (I shall conquer this)
So, for pretty much my whole life I've struggled with my weight. Right now, I live pretty healthily -- I walk 2 miles a day, 4 days a week (Fridays are errand days, weekends are for fun things); I have agility lessons with Darwin once a week (wherein I run around like a lunatic for about 40 minutes); I buy nothing but lean cuts of meat; I eat plenty of vegetables and fruit; I have cut hydrogenated fats out of my diet pretty much completely. My worst habits are that I sometimes skip meals and I get a nonfat latte from Starbucks once a week. Last night I had fast food for the first time in quite literally YEARS.*

And yet, am still overweight.

In fact, since upping the dog-walking distance from one mile to two, and cutting out the fats, I have in fact gained weight.

One of the few times in my life when I was anywhere near my ideal weight was during my first year of grad school when I was barely eating enough to keep a gnat alive, and would skip dinner in favor of falling into bed at night, completely exhausted. During my undergraduate years, I went to the gym regularly -- would get up at 6:00 AM for the sole purpose of going to the gym... and I was still overweight. When I was 19, I was -- again -- barely eating enough to keep a gnat alive (I was going through some emotional stuff), walking 1-2 miles a day and horseback riding. So apparently, for me to lose weight, I have to be on the cusp of developing an eating disorder.

I went to the doctor today -- just a routine new-patient appointment. I have an excellent resting pulse (64 bpm), very good blood-pressure (117/78), and -- aside from the weight issue (and the hand thing) -- am perfectly healthy. I left with a slip to get my right hand X-rayed (FINALLY, yes, I know), and a slip to get some blood work done.

He wants to see if I have a thyroid problem.


My grandmother had a thyroid problem, and I did not know about this until I got home and was telling Mom about the appointment.

I have one question:

Why the hell was this not addressed sooner?

*It occurs to me that it says very good things about Whataburger that someone who does not eat fast-food can eat there and not experience a gastrointestinal uprising.
wordinista: (Bunnicula)

wordinista: (The things I put up with...)


I.  I think there's a cicada in the house.


How do I get it out?  For that matter, how do I find it?

EDIT:  Okay, possibly NOT a cicada, unless cicadas chirp in identical patterns, once every minute.  (Yes, one minute exactly -- I timed it.  Unless this is one very OCD cicada.) 


wordinista: (Yuki: ...?)
So, uh.  Some people might know that my baaaaaaaaaaaaby cousin is getting married in October.  (Okay, so she's not really a baaaaaby. She's six years younger than I am.  BUT SHE WILL ALWAYS BE MY BABY COUSIN, so there.)

Anyway, I'm in the bridal party!  And the bridal party were given a number of dress styles to pick from, in a specific color ("Harvest Gold").  I chose a really pretty strapless A-line dress.  I had my measurements taken at a dress shop down here, and sent those measurements to my cousin, who ordered the dress from her shop.  

The dress arrived today!  Huzzah!  It's pretty!  Double huzzah!

It. Fell off.

It.  The dress.  It.  It's.  It's too big.  Like, "I must have lost two inches in three months" too big.  


wordinista: (Up to no good)
There is no one else -- no one else -- with whom I could have a conversation including the following three things at the same time:

"Bloodletting," by Concrete Blonde.

"The Teddy Bears Picnic"


The vampire Pomeranian from Blade Trinity.

Cut for HILARITY. (And isn't that a nice change?) )
Bunneh: .asdjlfka;sdla;lsjdf;alskdjf
Evvie: :D?
Evvie: a picnic OF YOUR BLOOD
Bunneh: that image. is now. burned. in my mind.
Evvie: okay, I can't make myself laugh or they'll think I've lost my mind back here.:Dbd
Evvie: now I'm thinking of the vamp Pom from Blade Trinity
Evvie: XD must... not... write... lyrics
Bunneh: ...........
Evvie: XD
"If you go down to the woods today, you're in for a big surprise/ if you go down to the woods today, you'd better go in disguise"
"For every bear that ever there was/ Is gathered there for certain because/ Tonight's the night vampire bears have a picniiiiIIIIIIEEEEEEEEERGH"
Bunneh: ;FA;LSDK <3
Evvie: [is giggling again]

Also, just because it is by far the best news I have today: I saw Bronte EATING today. \o/
wordinista: (Hatori Idiot - creds to linachu)
Dear Guitar Hero III:

Boss battles are a bad idea.  No one plays GH for boss battles, and I'm PRETTY SURE no one said, while playing GH and GH II, "You know what this game needs?  It needs a completely impossible BOSS BATTLE at the end of each level, because the increased difficulty of the song choices themselves WASN'T ENOUGH.

Bad idea, guys.  Bad idea.

No love,
wordinista: (Default)
[Error: unknown template video]
I should not be allowed to roam the intarwebz unsupervised. That's all I'm going to say.
wordinista: (Erika & Largo)
We can dance if we want to, we can leave your friends behind;

'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance,

Well they're no friends of mine~~
wordinista: (Evil Geniuses)
So far I cannot figure out how to make a voice post of the voicemail short of using two telephones, and honestly, the recording is hard enough to understand on its own in certain parts.  I tried forwarding the voicemail to the LJ access number, but my VM service isn't acknowledging that the LJ voicepost number is a valid voicemailbox number. 

HOWEVER.  What I can do is share this madness with you lovely people.  Because I can forward the voicemail to y'all.  If, of course, you have a voicemailbox.

So here's what I'm gonna do.  I'm gonna screen the replies for this post here.  If you want me to forward you my dose of surreal, leave me your cell phone number.  I cannot promise that I'll get to it today, because I have class tonight, but I will do it tomorrow.
wordinista: (Je ne parle pas... creds to weenie)
I meant to blog about this yesterday, but was too busy.  I was running some errands when I saw that I had 3 voicemails on my phone that I'd somehow managed to miss. This... is not new for me, really.  So, in the middle of Wild Oats, I listened to my voicemail. 

The first was a telemarketer -- deleted.

The second was a message from my mom that was about a week old -- deleted.

The third -- oh, the third one was something special.  I've transcripted it here to the best of my ability (no part of this is a joke, and if I could figure out how to get a voicemail to play as a voice post I WOULD):

Hey, Kara, this is Amber.  I was given your phone number by Rick, and I was told to give you a call and see if you'd be interested in (garbled - nooo idea what she said here).  I'm not really sure what he told you about me.  Um, I'm 5'4", I have strawberry blonde hair, baby blue eyes, cute smile. I weigh 109 pounds. I think I'm pretty hot, and I'm totally shaved, and I hope you will be too!  And I just like to have fun.  I'm not really sure if I'm looking for a relationship, but I just think you'd be really fun to meet, go hang out with, and maybe have a little fun in the bedroom from time to time.  So I'll try to hit you back up in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to call and say "hey."  Hey!

I only know one Rick, and he... did not do this. 

What.  Seriously.  Just.  What.


And, no, she didn't call back.
wordinista: (The things I put up with...)

For the past few weeks/months, we've had, for reasons I have yet to understand a rooster wandering around the neighborhood. 

We are not zoned for agriculture, so this is kind of not what you'd call normal.

But... nonetheless, a rooster.  A rooster.

We think he belongs (insofar as a rooster can "belong" to someone who does such a crap job of keeping it contained) to a house on the block, but aren't sure.  (WTF, rooster.)  So I called Animal Control today to see what can be done because (a) ROOSTER, (b) not zoned for livestock, (c) ROOSTER, and (d) avian flu paranoia, shut up.

Evidently they won't come out to catch the rooster (a shame, because I would pay to see that), but they will come out and collect it if it's already contained.  The girl I spoke with said that I could try luring it into my garage, or possibly tossing a recycling bin over it to keep it in one place, or some other similar Elmer Fudd-meets-Wile E. Coyote type trick.  Conversely, I could figure out the house to which said poultry belongs, and Animal Control can send a letter ascertaining whether the rooster belongs to them, and if it does, I can then have Code Enforcement go over and be all, "No fowl in the suburbs, yo."

I... don't want a rooster in my garage, man.  However, I'm pretty sure tossing a recycling bin over it in this heat might not be the best thing for the rooster.

Dude.  A rooster.  Just get your kids a hamster, for crying out loud.

wordinista: (Question-mark Bunneh)
There is actually a Marvel series called "Marvel Zombies."  Wherein, like... Spiderman and the Hulk, and Wolverine and EVERYONE.  A-are.  Zombies.



What.  Just.  What.




Okay, finishing my paper now.


wordinista: (Sleepy Yuki)
So I got the notice that my paid account expired, which... okay, I'd been meaning to renew it, but caught up with other things.  Fine.  I went to renew it this morning, and chose manual payments, because I have a deep phobia about automatic payments.

I was filling out my credit card information, and in the spot where you put your name, address, etc., there is, as most all of you know, a drop down menu offering American states and Canadian provinces.  Except there were no states listed -- just provinces.


Okay, good enough.  There is also a box for "other."  So I put "Florida" in the little box and hit submit.

......And then got told that I needed to enter a valid US state.


So out of idle curiosity, I wandered over to the automatic payment section.  There they had a full list of US states and Canadian provinces.  So I renewed over there.

Why does this strike me as very weird?

In other news, I'm learning what happens when you don't give your Aussie enough exercise.  It means he jumps on your bed at 3 in the morning, wired.  Then again at 4:00.  Then again at 5:00.

Augh.  Kill me now.  He's still on restricted activity for the rest of this week.  KILL ME NOW.
wordinista: (Bunnicula)
I got a notice from the doggy daycare place about a Halloween party they're throwing for their human and canine clients on the 28th.  Part of this party is a costume contest.

Me:  Pff, please.  I would never dress Darwin up in a stupid costume.

And then I looked at a picture I have of him and thought to myself:  Damn, he'd make a fantastic Phantom of the Opera!

I'm not going to hell for thinking it, only if I DO it.  And I won't. 


wordinista: (Yuki: ...?)

Tora and I just watched "Silent Hill," and we both have the same question:

What in the fuck?

Um, anyone want to clear this one up for us?  Because... yeah.  We... yeah.  No.  I mean, aside from a lot of yelling "You stupid bitch!" at the screen, we're both... pretty damned lost as far as the ending goes.  I mean, it was a frustrating movie as far as movies go, but the end?  Holy crap, dude.  I mean, maybe it's one of those endings you only "get" if you've played the game (neither of us have), but...

What in the fuck?

wordinista: (Bunnicula)
Dear Hollywood,

In light of the latest installment in your The Fast and the Furious franchise, The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, I would like to know where to send the hate mail once the Inuyasha fandom starts getting flooded with a bunch of "street racer" AU stories featuring the IY gang.

Just trying to get all my ducks in a row, you see.  Because I can feel it brewing, and I doubt I'm the only one.

Love and Kisses,
wordinista: (Mayu: Why me?)
There'd be days like these, my mama said.


Okay, universe -- I give up.  I surrender.  I yield.  You win.


Cut for whining and general fist-shaking, directed at the sky )


Mar. 28th, 2006 08:58 am
wordinista: (Curiouser and Curiouser)
Why does this concept fill me with fear? It couldn't possibly have anything to do with the plethora of awful cosplayers out there, could it?

I will probably watch it, hands over my eyes and peeking through my fingers.  I hate feeling embarrassed for people.
wordinista: (The things I put up with...)
Am I overly prudish, or is there something fundamentally fucked up with the MTV show, "Date My Mom"?  The basic premise is that a guy decides whether or not he wants to date the daughter after going on a date with the mom.


It's not quite Oedipal, but close enough for me.


wordinista: (Default)

April 2011

242526272829 30


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 25th, 2017 12:42 am
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios