Come for the politics, stay for the snark.
Steve sleeps with flair and panache:
If you are wondering why the lighting is all screwy, it’s because that is the coveted pet bed underneath the desk at my feet, and I just have a light strip down there set to a little blueish purple hue. The second most coveted bed in the room is the lounge chair behind me, and the #3 spot is the other dog bed by the armchair. Usually 2-3 are occupied at a time.
Regardless, it is Friday. Be like Steve. Kick a leg up.
First things first, thanks to everyone who contributed by clicking the paypal link the past two weeks, the server is paid up to June 1st, so we got that going for us.
Second, the pet calendar will be here shortly. I swear.
Third, I went out to an early dinner tonight. To spare you all the energy of having to make age related early-bird special jokes, I was there BEFORE the early birds. I had a late breakfast and skipped lunch and was hungry and wanted to get out of the house. And off I went.
Dinner was fine, but what I want to talk about was the salad. It was fucking horrible. One of my biggest peeves about dining in the US, and I am sure it is worse here in the Ohio Valley, is the sad state of salads at restaurants. Most establishments just do not give a shit, and even though they are on the menu, you get this sad fucking melange of lettuce (worst case scenario browned iceberg) and uninspiring vegetables and then they give you a tiny container of some shit they invariably call a vinaigrette (unless, of course, they hand you fucking Ranch).
It’s awful. It’s upsetting. I really like a good salad, and I am not very good at making them myself, so I would really like to be able to get one now and again. BFF Tammy and my father are both EXCEPTIONALLY skilled at making good salads, so they occasionally spoil me.
But many if not most restaurants simply fail to execute or simply do not even try. My lemon “vinaigrette” this evening was tart, flat, one dimensional, and wholly uninspiring. It just made me angry. This was not my experience in Europe. I still remember the insalata italiana from a small greek/mediterranean place in downtown Fulda, and that has been over thirty years since I had it. God, it was so good.
That is all. Also, check out this ANGEL:
I feel better now.
Look at that face. Adorable, elegant, lovingly demanding. Let us step back to Hime’s first Christmas with the family.
There she is. A delicate little flower.
Brother Odoriki had the kitty snuffles when he was adopted, hence the booger snout. Hime was just naturally perfect. Or so I thought. So, on Christmas Day, Hime demonstrated she had a tender stomach. And a bad case of the runs. Worse, she was intimidated by the litterbox. And shadows, slight motions, a slight breeze. She was a complete coward about everything and still is Queen Jitters. After the 3rd cleanup of a poop spill outside the low box, I was determined that this time, I’d wait patiently and just help her keep her tiny butt in the giant litterbox.
This, of course, did not go well. It’s Christmas morning, I’ve been cleaning all week and the result of my frustrated attempt at kitten corralling was… a tiny white projectile spraying liquid shit across the linoleum, the carpeted downstairs, up the stairs and under the sofa.
I really wanted to cry. My lovely quiet Christmas was a fetid, poop garlanded mess. My housemate came down to see what the hubbub was about and managed to pin Herself. We looked at each other and just burst out laughing. Finally, after capturing the little biological weapon, I called my friend’s dad, who’s a large animal vet as well as the head of an NGO that teaches about zoonosis & husbandry in African countries, and drove her over for a Christmas freebie checkup. We cleaned EVERYTHING, including her butt and put her on very simple food for a day or so. The rest of Christmas was lovely, since she forgave her humans for daring to pen her and get her muddbutt checked out.
Yes, I was still finding little poop spots days later. But I feel very loved. Merry Not Stinky Christmas!
Gerald and his wife are at a work Christmas party, so I got to play Uncle Buck tonight and I took to this dive spaghetti bar in Steubenville called Naples. They all got hoagies that were the largest most ridiculous things I have ever seen:
Her order was the “half” hoagie- what she is holding is a quarter. It’s just absurd. I got physically ill watching the boys eat their entire dinner. I would be full for two days and I am a fatbody.
***
At any rate, if you haven’t been able to tell by my lack of posting and my diminished wit, I have been in a funk the last few months. I get depressed in the winter every year, but this year has been particularly bad. It’s just so harsh- you go from everything being green and lush to just damp, dark, and depressing. Even my house plants look like shit. Then you add in the rest of the usual shit we go through, work, worrying about money, the health of your parents, etc., and I just go into a funk. And then there is the website.
On top of all this is just the never-ending barrage of shit in the political sector. It’s just overfuckingwhelming. Every god damned day it’s something new and worse than the day before. It just never fucking ends. It wears you down.
I’ll be fine, of course. But I do worry about some of you out there who may be going through the same thing but aren’t willing or able to get help. Please do so. Talk to someone- talk to a professional. I don’t have anything else more helpful than that other than to stay hydrated and get some exercise, but definitely talk to someone.
Harumph.
So this morning I popped up, drove from Charlotte to Charleston, SC, and got my car and my parents care unloaded and the folks settled in. They went off to a bar to watch the Steelers game, and I hopped back in the family truckster and headed north so I only have half the drive to do tomorrow.
I know it takes a lot of balls for someone from WV to say they are in the middle of nowhere, but right now I am in the middle of fucking nowhere and the only dining option was a Snickers bar in the vending machine or a waffle house. I have never been to a Waffle House, so I went. I got the chili with extra raw onions because I hate myself, and an omelet and some hash browns. It was precisely what I expected- hot and greasy and salty, I am full, and I will probably have the shits tomorrow.
In other news, we are slowly getting some ads installed and in the right places. Bear with us. This god damned blog will pay for itself.
Greetings From the Middle of Nowhere, VirginiaPost + Comments (168)
Made to the island, and am now sitting outside at a cafe waiting for lunch and waiting on my parents to get to the rental so I can unpack their car and then head back north to home crap home. Stopped at a gas station this morning, and they proudly offered boiled peanuts with multiple seasonings.
WTF people, why are you boiling your peanuts?
Speaking of boiled nuts, this is the first campaign billboard I have seen this election cycle:
Apparently either Tulsi has a following outside of Columbia, SC, or the Republicans are trying to ratfuck the primary. Either is equally possible, because South Carolina.
Currently sitting in a hotel in an undisclosed location somewhere in the city of Charlotte, NC. It’s been seven years since I was last here (not counting driving through it on the highway to get to destination farther south), so I think most of the warrants have expired. Not sure if that is the case for AngryBlackLady, but she is on the west coast and they’ll never catch her, the coppers.
At any rate, I am here because I am helping my parents transition to their winter place down in South Carolina. It’s just too much for them and the dogs to go the full distance in one day, so we stopped here. Tomorrow we will finish the drive, unpack, and then on Monday I will return back home to my lovely critters.
I was going to bring Lily with me, but when I asked her this morning if she wanted to go for a ride, she woke up long enough to lift her head, look at me, and then fall back asleep, so I just left the old gal at home. I also thought about taking Thurston when Lily said no, and then immediately thought “WHY WOULD I DO THAT TO MYSELF?”
So I am alone in a room with the tv off and no animals, and the sensory deprivation of it all may mean I will be in bed by 9:30. And I am ok with that.
COMING TO YOU LIVE FROM THE CITY OF CHARLOTTE, NCPost + Comments (92)
Dad: “Did you ever take that DNA test?”
Me: “What DNA test? And no, I wouldn’t have taken it anyway.”
Dad: “Why not? Don’t you want to know about your family history?”
Me: “I know enough about you people and I don’t want the government to have my DNA.”
Dad: “How would the government get your DNA?”
Me: “All those companies give their data to law enforcement. How do you think they caught the Golden Gate killer?”
Dad: “Are you a Golden Gate killer?”
Me: “No, not yet.”
Dad: “But don’t you want to know about your heritage?”
Me: “You took the test, mom took the test, and the other kids took the test. I think we have it narrowed down by now. Unless there is something you or mom want to tell me.”
Dad: “Goodbye.”
I’ve always been the ‘difficult’ child. Part of it is instinctive, though- if everyone is doing something I generally don’t want to do it just because they are. I need a reason I should do it.
Cancer 0, Lily 1:
Just got back from the veterinary hospital for Lily’s final round of treatment, and she was given a clean bill of health and t hey all just gushed about how she was really tough and was doing great. Been a long 18 months, but we did it. And now we nap:
We don’t have any more treatments, I just need to monitor her and in three months go back for some bloodwork.
I am very excited to report that the maple out front, in the last 24-28 hours, has had its leaves change, and I can look forward to many years of a deep majestic red tree:
I am so excited for it to grow big and tower over everything.
In other news, I remain consistently horrified by the random thoughts that run through my head. I saw a pumpkin today and my thought was “Oh god when do those little fuckers dress up and come mugging for sweets I need to get candy bars in 50 years I don’t want to be remembered as the guy with the shitty candy.” I can do nice things and pretend to be civil but the monster on the inside is terrifying to me.
Speaking of terrifying, I just finished reading the Taylor intro that Adam linked to. Jesus christ.
I dropped my friend off at the airport tonight, and all the empty kegs and the tap have been returned for the deposit, and the floors no longer stick, and I am once again free to roam my house in only boxer shorts and slippers and Homecoming 2019 is finally over. I’m really all over exhausted.
Steve was a total dick the entire time I had company- I’m not mad at him, he’s a cat, and all these people in the house was disruptive for him. He hid all day long, then came up at 11 at night, demanded to be fed, then prowled the house meowing at all the closed doors. He wanted in the bedroom, then out of the bedroom, and one night he got locked into a bedroom and shit and pissed on a pile of folded clothes.
As soon as I got back from the airport, and he knew everyone was gone, he was back to being his normal self.
House is filled with maniacs, smoked 6 pork shoulders and a turkey and have enough food to feed an army, two kegs. Steve is in hiding.
Will send requests for bail money if needed.
I got the last run of sauerkraut out of the crocks and canned, and the bunker is 95% complete.
Still have about 10 butternut squash to deal with, but I will just clean them and freeze them, a bunch of beets and green beans still growing, and some basil to pack in olive oil, but I am done. That was a lot of work and a lot of fun to do.
John Cole’s Winter 2019/2020 Post Apocalyptic Bunker CompletePost + Comments (56)
My spider plant had babies, and I have nine of them soaking in wine glasses around the house before I root them and give them away. I’ll probably keep a couple.
Also, I am hoping that the pears will be ripe enough in the next couple of days to get them canned, and then I will basically have all the canning done for the year. I still have some pesto to make, some sunflower seeds to harvest, and I will pickle the cucumbers as they ripen and we’ll see what happens with my fall crop of beets and pole beans. Regardless, it will be nice to have my dining room back.
In other news, I have been playing a helluva lot of Warcraft classic. My old guild got back together, and we have been playing every night and having a good time. We’re alliance on Sulfuras (because these idiots wanted to be alliance but chose to be on a pvp server anyway… le sigh). If you want to join in, just email me.
Politics is depressing as hell. I watched some of the debate, and man, Joe Biden is really showing his age. I know people love him and think he is the most electable, but he just looks out of his element and too old. We’ll see- I mean, as we know, I will vote for anyone over Trump.
Today was supposed to be awesome, because Thurston’s sister Lovey was coming for a visit. I worked all morning and got all my chores out of the way (sauerkraut canned, beans cleaned and canned, last of the tomatoes in the dehydrator, etc.), and RIGHT before Lovey arrived, I was carving a watermelon so I could refrigerate the fruit and pickle the rinds, and I stabbed myself in the fucking palm with a 10″ chef knife. More on that in a bit.
So Lovey and Koda and commenter Geg and her husband arrived, and Thurston and Lovey were reunited for the first time since they were separated several years ago. I am here to report that they do not miss each other ONE BIT. They were completely and totally uninterested in each other, and Lovey was a nervous wreck. She did seem to remember me, and I missed this sweet little face:
Like I said, they were completely uninterested in each other, but it was a fun visit anyway, and amusing to see how many little personality quirks Thurston and Lovey share. That being said, when it was time to go, Lovey was ready:
Back to the stabby stab. I was kind of distracted the entire visit because as I noted, I had impaled my palm with a chef knife while cutting a watermelon. I had washed it and not dried it off, and it just slipped and I stabbed myself. I didn’t use a serrated edged knife because the other one was already out and dirty, so I didn’t bother. And I paid the price:
After they left, I went to one of those urgent care places for stitches, and they cleaned it all up for me, and it is not super huge, but it is deep.
When it happened, I was using a good bit of force and I keep my knives razor sharp, so it went right through the meat of my hand and hit the bone. My first thought was concerning tendons and ligaments, but I can move all my fingers just fine, and there was no nerve damage (I rubbed a pen all over every square inch of my hand and could feel it), so I assumed it would be a quick stitches and done.
I was wrong. Oh, and before I forget, the doctor and I had an argument about the pain scale, which always strikes me as a stupid way to gauge pain. I also never remember how the damned thing is constructed, whether it is linear and each discrete unit is equal, so a move from 1-2 is equal as a move from 2-3, or if it is like the richter scale and logarithmic, so I had to have him explain it which irritated him as much as me. Then I thought too much about it because how am I supposed to know what the worst pain I have ever been in is because when I was in it I was also on a lot of heavy drugs, so having a 1 stand for very little pain and a 10 standing for the worst pain ever isn’t really helpful. Finally I just told him that I couldn’t assign it a number but that it doesn’t hurt when I am not doing anything but if I press on it or move it hurts like I stabbed myself with a fucking chef knife.
At this point, we were both disgusted with each other, and even though he had determined that there was no real structural damage to tendons or ligaments, he could not look into it deep enough to determine if I had damaged the bone, so I needed to go to the ER. They then put this ridiculous god damned thing on me for a 3 mile trip to the hospital:
I’ve seen less bandaging on gunshot victims and amputees. I finally got out of that worthless place, and headed over to the ER, and as soon as I got through the automatic sliding doors I was hit with a wave of stench that was equal parts beer, the smell of people who chainsmoke in denim and never wash their clothes, and baby vomit. Every single seat in the waiting room was taken, and there were about 20 people standing. I muttered “Oh, fuck this” and did an about face and drove to the pharmacy. Picked up some second skin, some gauze, and some tape, got home and cleaned the wound again, glued it, and patched myself up.
If it does anything funny overnight I will head back to the ER, and if it is not healing on its own tomorrow or Monday, I will head back, but I am done with this bullshit.
So that was my day. You?