The Minutiae of Life as a Militant Squirrel

redfirecracker @ 2016-06-19T16:50:00

2016-06-19T20:50:48Z

Penny Dreadful, 3.01, scene in Victor's lab between Frankenstein and Jekyll..... JFC, the slash JUST WRITES ITSELF.

redfirecracker @ 2016-06-04T19:23:00

2016-06-04T23:23:03Z

My neighbors directly across the street have four people living in their house...and nine cars.

THE FUCK YOU NEED NINE CARS FOR, PEOPLE.

The part I really hate is that they park on the street, in front of MY HOUSE. Assholes.

Too much fanfic, perhaps.

2016-05-29T03:02:54Z

So last night, I dreamed that I was Bucky... and not, you know, romantic-love-interest-Steve's-magical-cock-getting Bucky, but full-blown PTSD recovering-Winter-Soldier Bucky. Vodka bottle in one hand and blade in the other, back to the wall and mind full of holes.

Fuck you, brain. Seriously.

And FUCK YOU WITH A FORK, fanfic.

Aarrghh.

2016-01-20T02:36:52Z

My brother and I never had much in common, but one thing on which we agreed was that it is always better to overdress than to underdress.

I swear, if I attend ONE MORE wedding where one of the guests is wearing sequined jeans and thinks that's "appropriate attire"? I'm not gonna be responsible for my actions.

And another one rides the bus....

2015-11-09T22:46:55Z

I'm thinking that if I *actually* call this girl THE VAPID TWAT she deserves to be called, I'll end up in yet another fistfight on the bus.

But OH MY GOD, it is increasingly difficult to keep my mouth shut.

redfirecracker @ 2015-06-17T14:17:00

2015-06-17T18:17:19Z

Yay, almost two years since last post. Jeez, it's not like I'm doing anything useful with my life.

Sometimes, I think that in a former incarnation, I was a magpie: easily distracted by all things bright and shiny. Or maybe I just don't want to grow up.

Monday was my birthday, and I am now officially middle-aged at 46, I am told. Who decides these things? Other than various health problems, I still feel like I'm twenty-one. SO THERE. Not much celebrating going on, unfortunately, and I'm a wee bit disappointed that I did not get to enjoy a cake THE SIZE OF A VOLKSWAGEN at work, but I'm trying the gluten-free thing anyway. I should probably stay away from cake, heh. So I guess it's just as well that nobody brought anything, even if it made me pout at the time. I did get a celebratory cheeseburger and cherry pie a la mode at the local diner with Mom, so that was mightily awesome. My friend Amanda flew out from Wisconsin this week and we're getting together tonight, wheeeee! I'm leaving work shortly so that I can catch an early bus.

Tomorrow, Stoli goes to the groomers' to get all gussied up in preparation for Take Your Dog To Work Day, which I JUST NOW discovered is actually on June 26, not June 19. MOTHERFUCKER. I've been functioning under this misapprehension for MONTHS. Well, it's probably better for Stoli to have the extra time to calm down; she's so high-strung. Anyway, since Amanda and I are going out tonight and will probably stay out late, it will be nice to have an extra hour or two to sleep in the morning. It will be even nicer to work from home until it's time to pick up the furball, and then I only have to go in for the staff summer picnic. Woot!

Fannishly, I'm voraciously reading Teen Wolf fanfic, Sterek pairing. Don't ask me why... I haven't watched the show since Season One. I'm not sure if I'll ever get my writing mojo back... it's depressing to think that the well has run utterly dry, but it's been so long since I felt that spark of creativity, I've just about given up hope. I'm reading more and watching less, weirdly.

Hopefully, in my next posting, I will remember to talk about how our entire department was packed up and shipped off to the wilds of East Falls, inside of two weeks. Bit of shock, that.

Hope everyone's having a decent time of it. Cheers!

STATE OF THE SQUIRREL.

2013-09-19T20:23:34Z

Lots of stuff going on in my life this year . . . work life and personal life and health life. Rather than attempt any sort of organized discussion, I shall do what I do best and ramble endlessly instead about whatever comes into my head.

I finally gave in and bought a new car. It's the Kia Soul, and it's the CUTEST THING EVER! The color is Molten, which is bright red, and his name is Marshall. I was sad to say goodbye to Sherman, who has served me well and faithfully these many long years, but I got a good trade-in price for him and I'm sure he's going to enjoy a graceful retirement. It took me months of research to settle on the Soul, and for a while there it was looking like a tossup between it and the Scion xD, but the Soul has twice as much cargo space for the money and that's really what I was interested in. On my first tank of gas, I got thirty miles to the gallon, which is already better than the EPA estimate for that trim ( I went with the bigger engine ), and the way I drive, I expect even better mileage now that the breaking-in period is mostly over. And I just love driving it!

The whole car-shopping experience was immensely stressful, though. And when it finally came down to the purchase? Ugh, I got so sick of getting yanked around by weaselly salesmen! Even sitting there ready to sign paperwork, they were STILL playing games with dollars and cents. I'd finally had it and just snapped, "That's it-- I'm walking, watch me walk!" Happily, that ended the nonsense over sales figures, but I still had to sit there for FOUR FUCKING HOURS for the goddamn paperwork. JFC.

Still. For the price I made them swallow, I guess the hassle was ultimately worth it.

The weekend before buying the new car, Stoli got really sick suddenly and spent four days in the ICU with IVs in both front legs. Three thousand dollars later, and the working diagnosis ended up being "a perfect storm" of infections: anaplasmosis, Lyme disease, and pylonephritis. Her immune system probably could've fought off any one of those infections alone, but not all three at once . . . and then the ER vet that I took her to compounded the issue by feeding her chicken, despite the fact that I clearly marked her allergies on her intake sheet. Assholes. I'm never taking a dog to that ER again, I don't care how close to home it is. She almost died! Fortunately, she's back to her normal, lovably crazy self now, though she's still on antibiotics and has to undergo some more blood tests in a month. I knew she was feeling better when she clawed the upholstery on the new car and got into the garbage in the kitchen.

Disappointed in my TV tennis boyfriend, Novak Djokovic, this year. His performance has not been up to the level I've come to expect from him, and the US Open in particular was a terrible letdown. There was some great stuff, and a lot of potential, but man . . . that fourth set? Seriously, dude, if you were just gonna phone it in like that, you should've retired from the match so I could watch something else. Oh, well, I suppose there's always next year. My boy is sleeping on the couch 'til he pulls it together, though . . . I'm just sayin'.

Went to see a double feature of Insidious & Insidious: Chapter 2 with lucifrix last week. Lots of fun jump-scares, and I liked the way the sequel tied in to certain plot points in the original movie. There wasn't too much "huh?" going on for me, which was a refreshing change. Not impressed with Rose Byrne's acting, though admittedly she didn't have much to work with.

Hopefully, this weekend we're off to the drive-in to catch some cool stuff.

Well, that looks like enough for now, especially since the work day is wrapping up. Sigh. At least it's finally Thursday, which means tomorrow is-- sing with with me-- FINALLY FRIDAY!!!!!

BEEN TOO LONG.

2013-07-18T12:38:15Z

Getting way too close to a year... time to post something, even if it's just a stupid avatar. I can't understand why Yahoo did away with their avatars-- mine was SO CUTE!!! This one's okay, though. I had fun making her.

CHOOSE YOUR OWN ADVENTURE.

2012-08-21T01:57:43Z

Okay, folks, it's one of the most important times of the year . . . it's time to CHOOSE MY HALLOWEEN COSTUME.

Here, have a poll. That should help. You should be able to click on the title of each costume, and it should take you to the website for visuals. Or, go to BuyCostumes and search individually for each one by title.

View Poll: Choose Red's Halloween Costume 2012

Thanks for playing!

TECHNICAL POST.

2012-07-24T03:27:59Z

And by technical, what I really mean is just so that I can say I stuck to my weekly posting plan.

I've got some stuff to say, but it's going to have to wait until tomorrow, because it is just too damn late and I'm too damn tired. Bleah.

Going to bed, now.

MISCELLANEOUS.

2012-07-17T03:16:33Z

Couldn't remember how to spell the noun form of "miscellaneous" . . . was too lazy to look it up, so there's an inappropriate adjective as my subject header. Whatever.

The "check engine" dashboard light came on last Monday evening, so Thursday night, I took the car to the shop for a diagnostic. Sherman was in the shop all day on Friday, to the tune of $250. Worst of all was that Midas wasn't able to get the correct solenoid purge valve, whatever that is. Something to do with emissions. Anyway, the part is a dealer exclusive, and they would've had to order it and wait, like, a week. So instead, they just cleaned up the one that was in there and replaced it. I saved about a hundred bucks on the part, since they just charged me for the labor, but they did warn me that the check engine light would probably come back on eventually.

I just didn't expect it to be today.

Seriously. TWO LOUSY DAYS?!?!?!? You've got to be KIDDING ME.

I know that I'm going to have to give up Sherman eventually. I'm putting it off as long as possible, but it looks like the time is coming sooner, rather than later. I saw an ad for a very good deal on the Kia Soul, which I can't help but call "The Rapping HamsterMobile".

They get decent gas mileage, they're a good price, reasonably safe, nicely equipped, and they're cute. What else could you ask for in a car?

Dad does NOT want me to have one. And since he'd basically be buying it for me, I don't really have the high ground, here.

I think it's silly, though, to spend twice as much on a monthly car payment for a bigger car that I don't want to drive. Dad wants me to drive the new Hyundai Sonata, which is like a total land yacht. I've test driven the thing, and I just don't fit in it. There really is such a thing as being too short to drive certain vehicles. It's not just an issue of personal comfort--although that's part of it--but it's also a question of safety. If I'm groping for the controls for mirrors or flailing for the gearshift, it's distracting at best and dangerous at worst.

It doesn't matter how well your car is supposed to survive a crash if the reason you get into a crash is because your car was too big for you to be driving it IN THE FIRST PLACE.

You know what's stuck in my head right now? That friggin' commercial for Rosetta Stone language learning software.

Which is weird, because you'd think that I'd be earworming one of the Kia tunes.

SOMETIMES IT'S TOUGH TO BE A TENNIS FAN.

2012-07-09T17:24:10Z

So Friday morning was the Wimbledon semifinal between Djokovic and Federer, which I expected Novak to win, if not easily, then at least successfully.

And he didn't.

Losing in the semis was bad enough, but losing to Federer? Just added insult to injury.

I was more puzzled than anything else, because honestly? Djokovic was not playing anything like what I've become accustomed to seeing at all. I wanted to reach through the computer monitor and shake him and demand, "What is WRONG with you?"

One of the things that has always most impressed me about Djokovic is his movement on the tennis court. He's speedy and sneaky and it surprises me every time, probably because he doesn't look like he should be able to move that quickly. Those long limbs of his aren't graceful, just lanky, and it gives the impression of sloth as well as awkwardness. He's skinny, yes, but every inch of his body is roped with solid muscle, and he is astonishingly flexible even so. He can slide into a point that makes my knees twinge in sympathetic pain just to watch, and make the most impossible shots by doing so, yet on Friday, it looked like his feet were nailed to the grass.

One of the fundamental rules of tennis is, "Go for every shot." Now, granted, at the professional level, that's just not practical. There just really isn't going to be enough energy available to chase down every ball, especially a clear winner. "Know your limits" might be a better interpretation. Still, on Friday Djokovic was watching balls sail by him that he would've gone for on many other occasions that I'd seen him play.

I don't think Federer's ace count would've been as high if Djokovic hadn't been so clearly off his game.

Which brings me back to the question: WHY?!?!?

I kind of feel like I'm the only one asking it.

The sportswriters seem to have universally decided that Djokovic was nothing more that a flash-in-the-pan anyway, and this is his natural fall back into the bottom of the pack.

The commentators are pretty much united in the belief that Djokovic hasn't been able to handle the pressure, both internal and external, of being Number One in the world, of trying to capture and hold all these titles and break or set records, of upholding the faith not only of his family and loved ones but of an entire country.

I'm sure that's part of it.

But pressure is generally the kind of thing that gets you underestimating your opponents, that gets you losing Miami in a surprise attack from John Isner and bouncing back to win Indian Wells, not necessarily the kind of thing that upends your entire mindset and throws your entire game out of whack for months on end.

I'm wondering if the problem, while still mental, might be something a bit more prosaic.

Djokovic's beloved grandfather died while Novak was playing the Monte Carlo tournament.

He hasn't played the same since.

When my maternal grandfather died suddenly, I was a freshman in high school and we were on vacation in North Carolina. I remember that my mom was absolutely DEVASTATED. For months after, maybe as much as a year, she was just barely functioning. I used to come home from school sometimes and find her in bed, and let me tell you, that was not something my mother EVER did.

It was decades before she told me that the reason for her excessive distress was guilt: the night before we were to leave for the trip, she had taken me and my brother up to visit her parents and say goodbye, like we always did. We'd been late, of course, as always, and apparently Grandpop had been annoyed and left for his Knights of Columbus meeting without waiting for us. Mom had been mad at him for not waiting, so we'd visited with Grandmom and then gone home. The next day, we'd left for North Carolina.

A week later, her father was dead, and not only had she had never said goodbye, but she'd parted ways in anger.

Of course, it didn't have to be anything quite that drastic for Djokovic. Losing a close family member as an adult is different that having it happen as a child. And everything for his family is colored by the war, and what they went through during the bombing of Belgrade. I can't even imagine what a difference that makes: it must draw an already close-knit family even closer, and make it that much worse to lose a member of that family.

For Djokovic to be away from his family when he got the news, and even worse, to miss the funeral, must be a very difficult thing indeed. I wonder if he's even really had the time to grieve properly.

And that, I think, is the kind of thing that weighs on the mind, that can cause the kind of erratic play I've been seeing.

It's a terrible shame, really. This is high season for tennis, and there's really no break, no time for him to take without withdrawing from important tournaments. And doing so could mean not just a financial loss, but also one of clout. He's already lost the No. 1 ranking because of this loss to Federer, and in the politics of the tennis world, that also will have lost him a significant percentage of power. And it's not just his own bank account that suffers, but also the livelihoods of the people who work and travel with him.

It's an awful decision to have to weigh, and I don't envy him.

Of course, this is all speculation. I could be totally off-base, here.

But I get the funny feeling that maybe I'm right.

GOING POWER-FREE IS OVERRATED.

2012-07-03T00:54:53Z

So on Friday night, a truly vicious wave of thunderstorms passed through the area, and of course, the power went out.

Which sucked beyond the telling of it.

It was out for about thirty-six hours of total misery. I am seriously rethinking my stance on the zombie apocalypse.

Because living without electricity fucking SUCKS ASS.

The worst part was calling the electric company for a status report on the outage, and hearing that the estimated date of service restoration was NEXT SATURDAY.

I actually started to cry. I'm kind of ashamed of myself for that.

Even worse was that I'd scheduled vacation time for Monday and Tuesday, figuring that I could be at home, happily sucking up the air conditioning, not sweating like a barnyard animal. I could've stayed at my mom's for that.

It was such a relief when I suddenly heard the soothing hum of the refrigerator kick in at around nine on Saturday night. Lights and TV soon followed, and I was practically singing the Hallelujah Chorus as I scurried around, resetting clocks and timers.

I found out later that there are 24 electrical grids in Cumberland county, and 22 of them went down for various reasons. Fortunately, living near the airport means that our neighborhood's power was restored relatively quickly-- it was the third priority for restoration, after police / fire / emergency services and then the hospital. That's a pretty lucky break, and certainly one I'm glad broke my way.

Here's a map.

Any way, so all things considered, the fact that the AC is not actually blowing cold air at the moment seems like a kind of petty concern. The guy who does that stuff is coming tomorrow afternoon to check it out . . . I would not be surprised to find out that the unit has finally given up the ghost. I hope that's not going to be the news, but I'm braced for it.

On Wednesday, I have to head back up to Mom's and pick her up to go to Aunt Jinny and Claire's for a "mini-barbecue". I'm not sure what, exactly, that entails, but whatever.

I'm already wishing I'd scheduled more time off.

Vacations never last long enough, have you ever noticed that?

WEEKEND ROUND-UP.

2012-06-25T14:30:46Z

Friday afternoon was the annual Staff Summer Party, which is usually an exercise in both futility and boredom, but this year was actually really fun! Someone came up with the idea to hold it at Dave & Buster's, and it turned out to be the the BEST THING EVER.

I hadn't been to Dave & Buster's since they first opened in Philadelphia, more than fifteen years ago, and the group of us who went were so confused and overwhelmed just by walking in the door that we ended up fleeing without even doing anything. It was a lot more fun to be there on a weekday afternoon, when it was less crowded and much less crazy. I'm actually looking forward to a return trip!

The weekend was mostly laundry, cleaning, and napping. And marathoning American Ninja Warrior, which is a total guilty-pleasure show . . . and yet, I still watch it.

No, I still haven't caught up on my other shows. Enough with the judging, already.

Sunday evening, my dad took me out for my belated birthday dinner. It was nice to get all gussied up for a change-- I wore my bridesmaid's dress from Kristin's wedding, and it looked perfectly nice, which was awesome, and had been one of the selling points of buying it in the first place. The food was fabulous, and I have leftovers for lunch, which will be excellent. I got to bed at, for me, a decent hour, and although I didn't sleep well because I totally need a new mattress, I was counting it a good weekend.

Then the alarm went off at five this morning, and when I stretched out, my right foot hit a cold, wet spot in the bedding.

I shot upright and shrieked, "STOLI!!!! What did you DO?!?!?!?!"

Ah, yes, the joys of a dog sleeping in your bed with you . . . a dog on steroid medication. Side effect: incontinence.

Son of a bitch.

I was thisclose to making a rug out of her.

So I had just enough time to strip the bed and stuff all the bedding into the washer before I left; Dad will get it dried for me, which is definitely one of the good things about having him there.

At least it didn't soak through to the electric heating pad or to the mattress itself . . . seems like the blankets and sheets soaked up everything. Small favors, I guess.

And, since I got to work, I have been able to happily watch Novak Djokovic wallop Juan Carlos Ferrero in the first round of Wimbledon. So the day is looking up, I suppose.

FML. NO, SERIOUSLY.

2012-06-18T17:27:24Z

So, Friday night I took the dog to the vet for her annual shots, which I'd already put off for a month, and found out that she also had a massive hematoma in one ear, which is why it's been flopped over for like, a week now. Options: surgery, steroids, or do nothing and cue massive scarring . . . the canine equivalent of "cauliflower ear".

Sigh. I picked the non-invasive option treatment plan, steroids, which have the added advantage of being relatively cheap.

Still, after the shots and the heartworm and the antibiotics and antifungals for the underlying ear infection, the bill was almost three hundred dollars.

On the way home, I noticed that the brake light was still lit on my dashboard, even though the emergency brake was off and my foot wasn't anywhere near the brake pedal. I pulled over and messed around for a while, thinking it was a fluke, but no, the light persistently stayed lit.

After another mile or so, the battery light came on, too. My poor car! I know it's definitely getting on in years, and obviously, the electrical system is going to be the site of a lot of problems, but still . . . I sweat bullets every time something else starts acting up. So far, it's still been cheaper to keep fixing the stuff that goes wrong, rather than commit to a car payment every month.

So instead of heading home on Friday night, I stayed at Mom's and took the car to Midas on Saturday morning, where the very nice fellows determined that I needed a new alternator. Almost five hundred bucks, all told. So much for my last paycheck-- I was just glad I'd paid most of my bills already.

FUCK MY LIFE SO HARD.

As birthdays go, this was right up there with the year I turned sixteen. Mom used to leave us notes on the kitchen counter when she went to work with our list of chores for the day, and mine read:

Happy Birthday!

Clean the cat box

. . . yeah. It's like that.

Anyway, pluses. Sherman's running nicely at the moment, Stoli is taking all her meds without resistance and without puking them back up again, and my supervisor is on vacation, so I can play my music as loudly as I want in the office.

I may be broke, but at least I can be loud.

HOW WEIRD IS THIS?

2012-06-15T17:11:58Z

I forgot today is my birthday.

Whatever, so I'm forty-three now? I think. I'd have to do the math, and I hate math. Born in 1969 . . . you figure it out, if you care that much.

I sure don't.

For the sake of consistency, I'm going to put up my shiny, sparkly birthday banner, though I really don't feel particularly shiny. Or sparkly.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME!!!!

Birthdays. SUPREMELY LAME.

I'm gonna have ice cream for lunch, because it is my birthday, and because I wants it, yes I does. SO THERE.

FRENCH OPEN FINALS, YAY!!!

2012-06-10T03:03:32Z

Anyone who hasn't figured out yet that I'm rooting for Novak Djokovic in tomorrow's men's final of the French Open has clearly NOT BEEN PAYING ATTENTION.

I'm fully armed with snacks and drinks and all the positive thoughts that I can bring to bear at that hour of the morning.

It's not like I'm obsessed . . . just deeply, deeply interested.

GOOD LUCK NOVAK!!!!

AT LEAST I'M STAYING WITH THIS WEEKLY POSTING THING.

2012-06-04T20:18:07Z

Cleaning out my DVR this weekend led to watching:

Beastly, a predictable retelling of Beauty and the Beast. I dunno, I'd rather go reread Robin McKinley's Beauty. Oh, I'll grant you that Neil Patrick Harris was pleasantly snarky, and the ending had kind of a cool twist, but I'm really not a fan of Vanessa Hudgens, and I didn't see much in her performance to change my mind.

Rewatched The Order, mostly to make sure that I still wanted to buy it when the opportunity arises, and Plunkett & Macleane for the same reason. Jonny Lee Miller is one of those actors that I like best in period work-- not to say that he's not perfectly admirable in contemporary roles, just that I prefer watching him in historical work. Jack Davenport is another I put in that category, although with him, I actually don't like the modern roles that I've seen him perform. And, of course, he'll always be Commodore James Norrington to me.

I also glutted myself on French Open tennis, of course. Djokovic WIPED THE COURTS with his opponent on Friday, and then yesterday struggled from a two-set deficit. Nobody was showing the game live, so I have no idea what the problem was. I was reduced to clutching my phone and desperately refreshing my French Open app with its little tennis-ball icons, maniacally chanting the tennis basics we all started learning along with how to hold a racquet: use your head, move your feet, keep your focus, play one point at a time.

Beats me if it actually helped him, but it sure made me feel better. And in the end, Djokovic won, so, you know . . . drinks all around, right?

Actually, I went back to BED, I was so wrung out emotionally.

Washed the rest of Stoli's dog beds. I got tired of doing laundry last weekend after taking her to the groomers, so I just started tossing clean sheets over her beds at Mom's house. Then Friday night, I stripped everything and carted it all home with me, because Mom has fits when I "clog up the washer with dog hair". WHATEVER. I bought you that washer and dryer, I can bloody well glut it with dog fur if I want.

Mom came down to stay overnight last night and tonight because her car will be in the shop today and tomorrow. It's weird how well my folks get along now that they're not married any more. I called a little while ago, to make sure she hadn't blown up my tv by messing with the remote ( yes, she's done it before! ), and she and my father were sitting in the living room discussing where to go for lunch. BIZARRE, I TELL YOU.

It's gonna be AWESOME to have Mom's house to myself overnight tonight. I think both my folks forget that I lived entirely on my own for fifteen years. It's really hard to adapt to living with people again, and honestly? I hate it. I need a lot of alone time, and I don't get it from either of them, because they want to be joined at the goddamn hip with me all the fucking time.

I'll probably just end up vacuuming my room at Mom's house, and possibly really living it up and changing the sheets on the bed. Still, it will be nice. And if I want to go to bed early, I can.

SO THERE.

THAT'S MY STORY AND I'M STICKING TO IT.

2012-05-28T22:48:33Z

I refuse to blow my weekly-posting idea this early in the game, so I'm forcing myself to write up a post even though it's basically the last thing I can think of that I'd like to do.

And I can barely think of anything to discuss.

I took Stoli to the groomer today, and amazingly, Karen was able to get her shaved down for summer. I was so impressed that I overtipped LIKE WHOA, but seriously, I'm pretty sure she deserved it. I don't think Stoli would've let anyone else come near her with clippers, let alone tolerated her entire body being buzz-cut.

What's really funny is that Stoli looks like half the dog she used to be. Clearly, most of her size was fur. I tried taking pictures of her silly-looking naked self, but you can't really tell from the pics that she's basically bald.

I also went and got myself a long-delayed pedicure, which would have been nicer if the staff hadn't been rushing me out of the place. No, seriously-- they actually threw me out! I was quite surprised, especially since I'd called ahead and they'd promised they'd be open until 6pm. They booted me at 4:45, but I guess you can't expect much from these cheap-o nail places. I'm just crossing my fingers that I don't catch some horrid nail fungus. I'd tried this place last year, though, and been happy with the results, so I figured it was worth a repeat visit. Note to self: go back on a Saturday, next time.

The French Open began this weekend, and I'm delighted ( although unsurprised ) that Novak Djokovic made it through the first round. The French Open is notorious for upsets, though, and there have already been a couple of surprises . . . no doubt, more are still to come.

As usual, I haven't yet caught up on my TV shows, although I did download the CW Android app for my phone. Maybe I'll watch an episode or two on the bus and make some inroads that way.

It's hard to think with this heat, actually. I wasn't prepared for summer to hit this hard and this soon.

I miss having access to a swimming pool. It's probably the only thing I miss about living in Delaware.

Huh, is that the time? I've got to finish the laundry and then pack for another week at Mom's house. BLECH. Eh, fine, off I go.

WEEKEND ROUND-UP.

2012-05-22T20:58:36Z

Haven't done one of these in quite a while. It should be good writing practice for me, especially as it was quite the busy weekend.

Friday night was the annual SPN finale party. Amanda and lucifrix came down and we went to dinner at Longhorn Steakhouse before heading back to my house to dig through each other's giveaway clothes. Amanda and I have been doing this for years . . . before we donate anything to Goodwill, we each take a crack at each other's stuff. The first year we did it, I'd gone up a size and she'd gone down, so we basically just traded wardrobes-- well, except for trousers, because she's five-seven and I'm . . . totally not. The following year, we ended up trading back again.

I think there's one top in particular that has migrated between us about six times already.

Anyway, since Diane is tall too, Amanda finally has someone to whom she can pass on all her jeans and pants. Diane loves it because it means not actually having to set foot in a store and shopping ( the horror! ), and also . . . nothing free is ever bad. I think it's awesome not least because it means less packing and hauling of bags, and also because I've always loved hand-me-downs. There's something about knowing that my stuff is going to a good home-- and more than that, knowing the home to which it goes-- that I really enjoy. I love seeing Amanda or Diane in something that's come out of my closet and knowing for a fact that they're enjoying it, instead of passing it off to a thrift store and just hoping for the best.

We were very close to just bagging the whole idea of watching SPN afterwards, since it was one in the morning and we were all exhausted, but hey! What was another hour at that point?

It was weird, though . . . when the episode ended, we all looked at each other and asked, "What just happened?"

I can't put my finger on anything in particular, it's just a general feeling of lack of cohesion, lack of resolution. I suspect that the writers were all locked in a room for seventy-two hours straight, mainlining coffee and screeching, "Whaddya mean, IT'S NOT THE END OF THE SERIES?!?!?!?"

Like they were grasping at straws, trying to figure out how to prep for a last-minute decision to create a Season 8.

Granted, I'm behind by a couple of episodes, so that certainly may have had something to do with the feeling of disconnection, but I guess we'll see once I've caught up on the season.

Amanda texted me at quarter to three to let me know she made it home, and I turned out my light and settled down in bed . . . only to hear, five minutes later, the distinctive sounds of Stoli retching in a corner.

I turned on the light, sighed, and got up to deal with the mess, thinking as I did so, "How is this my life?"

Seriously.

I remember when being up at 3am meant a hot date or an awesome party, not CLEANING UP DOG PUKE.

Saturday morning, I got up at a disgustingly early hour to meet with the landscapers-- oh, and that's a WHOLE 'NOTHER STORY OF JOY AND PAIN-- and then took my car to be detailed, because, yeah, Stoli puked in it earlier in the week. UGH. Anybody who tells you that dogs are less work than kids obviously doesn't have dogs. Or, possibly, kids. Anyway, that didn't take as long as I thought, thankfully, and I was back home running laundry and happily watching more tennis in fairly short order.

My TV tennis boyfriend, Novak Djokovic, rather handily dispatched Roger Federer, which made me very happy in all kinds of ways . . . and yes, I know, he's almost twenty years my junior. I feel guilty enough for perving on him, DO NOT JUDGE ME, THANKS.

Saturday night, Diane and I went to see The Avengers, which was quite enjoyable, if rather confusing. I never read the comics, so I knew very little about the characters or their history. And seeing Thor last summer didn't really give me much to go on.

But! I did leave the movie with a new and truly great appreciation for Jeremy Renner's arms. Whomever designed the costuming for Hawkeye-- sir, I salute you.

And I kinda have the hots for Loki, now. Something about the snark, I suspect. And the power . . . I like all that magic he's got at his fingertips. Not a half-bad fighter, either, though it's clearly not his strong suit. I desperately want to read more of astolat's Thor/Loki fic, now.

The second movie at the drive-in was Dark Shadows, about which the less said, the better. We got back to my house around two-ish, and so that was another late night.

Sunday morning, my alarm went off at nine, but I couldn't make myself crawl out of bed until almost ten. Around eleven, Diane and I headed out to our favorite brunch place, and I dropped her off at the bus station afterwards. I got home with just enough time to settle in with my computer to watch the men's final of the ATP Rome-- well, more accurately, the Internazionali BNL d'Italia. And that would be why the stops on the ATP tour are mostly referred to by city name.

At any rate, the match was postponed for rain in Rome, which pissed me off immensely, especially when Djokovic lost the rescheduled match yesterday morning. I'll have to make a separate post about that, because otherwise I'll be here all night, and this round-up has already taken me two days to create.

You'd think I'd catch up on TV shows, but no, I just watched HGTV and hockey until my head exploded, and then I finished the laundry and crawled to bed around midnight. Blech.

And so that, dear friends, was my weekend. More or less.

SOMETHING NEW-ISH.

2012-05-15T16:17:01Z

I've been miserable for a couple of years, now, because I feel like I've completely lost my mojo when it comes to writing. I'll have great ideas, and maybe even get a sentence out, but then everything just comes to a sputtering halt. If I try to force it, it becomes such dreck that I have, occasionally, actually gagged.

So I had this thought . . . perhaps, part of the problem is that I'm not doing any real writing of any kind any more. And by that, I mean, I'm not posting regularly in LJ -- I'm certainly not talking about anything useful on Facebook. I've given myself no chance to put together any cohesive thoughts about any of the myriad topics that usually strike my fancy.

Okay, and yes, I'm bored senseless, true.

Still, I think this is worth a try. I'm not going to set some sort of crazily high standard for myself like daily posts . . . that takes a sort of discipline I just don't possess! My goal right now is just once a week.

Once a week, I want to put together a post about something, fannish or not, fic-related or otherwise. Hell, I might really go out on a limb and talk about politics.

It sounds like a simple enough idea, but I've been horribly lax about posting in the last ( LET'S ADMIT IT ) few years, so I'm hoping I can make myself stick to the plan. I'm not usually very good at that sort of thing, but I do want to try.

We shall see.

IT'S TENNIS SEASON!

2012-02-07T15:31:25Z

Yep, it's that time of year again.

I love tennis, even though I suck at it. When people find out that I played on the tennis team in high school, they all say, "Oh, you must have been really good!"

Uh, no. Not really. My high school was just so small, making the tennis team was pretty much a matter of showing up and looking vaguely interested. My parents had both played, so I did start learning the basics at a relatively young age, but I was never going to be more than just adequate.

Still, I loved it and had fun, and if I gave up everything I was bad at, I'd never do anything.

Watching the elite of the sport, though, has always been AMAZING.

I loathe Roger Federer with the fiery passion of a thousand burning suns, but I have to give him credit for making tennis look like the easiest thing ever. His physical grace on the court is truly astonishing, and in the current era of power tennis, points to him for sticking with the one-handed backhand.

Rafael Nadal has the most savage forehand I've ever seen, and an impressive-- if overwhelming-- game that raises the power game by several orders of magnitude. Sometimes I wonder, though, why nobody else realizes that he's OCD, and that his numbers are all odd. It must be killing him by inches to be ranked No. 2. Maybe that's why he can't seem to beat Djokovic.

Ah, yes, Novak Djokovic.

I've had my eye on him since he turned pro in 2003, when he was just some Serbian throwaway who showed up on TV long enough for the big guys to wallop into the ground. He caught my attention, though, because his style of play reminded me of Ivan Lendl, who I'd admired very much back in his heyday. So I kept on studying Djokovic, watching how he improved and climbed steadily up the ranks, and then came the 2008 Australian Open. When he won the trophy, I said, Someday that kid's gonna be Number One.

Everyone in the sports world called Djokovic a flash-in-the-pan. When he made it to the Number Three ranking, they said he'd never get any higher. When he kept losing in quarterfinals, semifinals, even finals of majors, they said he'd never win another title. They sneered at his fits of temper, his on-court antics, the dramatics of the family members who made up his entourage. He wasn't as courtly and polished as Federer, as humble and likable as Nadal. It was easy for them to badmouth Djokovic.

And then came the 2011 season.

The No. 1 ranking finally his, an astonishing 70-6 record . . . and still, the naysayers are out there trying to tear him down.

I think a big part of it is that Federer and Nadal have had things locked up for so long, anyone else who challenges their duopoly is dismissed by the tennis world as an interloper. It's "ostrich tennis", in my book . . . they refuse to acknowledge Djokovic, so therefore, he doesn't actually exist. Part of it is that tennis is seen as a gentleman's sport. It's very rule- and class-oriented, even if people don't like to admit it out loud. There's not much room in there for upstart young players from war-torn Balkan nations. Tennis is extremely snooty-- remember the fuss when players started adding color to their ensembles? ( And to wear anything other than all-white at Wimbledon is still unthinkable. ) The establishment of tennis likes its players to come from a certain world and to behave a certain way. It's what made Federer their poster boy.

Then Nadal roared in and didn't just upset the status quo so much as he bulldozed it flat and poured new courts over it. But he was so personable, so likable, that everyone was utterly charmed by him. Even Federer, I suspect.

Djokovic comes across as very genuine, however. He's not always charming, though he often is. Sometimes he's snippy, even through the constant joking around that earned him that ridiculous nickname. He has a temper that he has to work to control, just like everyone else in the world, and sometimes, he fails. He turns that temper on himself, though, rather than on others like Murray does. In the 2010 US Open, during his loss to Nadal, there was a point where Djokovic actually turned away and started smacking himself on the side of the head with his racket. It was a very . . . humanizing moment. He gets carried away with his celebrations and does crazy things like rip his shirt off or eat blades of grass, but when he takes that brief moment and crosses himself, it seems very sincere. So does his congratulations ( commiserations? ) at the end of the match for the opposing player. It looks like more that just the obligatory, "Good game!" that we all remember from our own sports days, don't we? Of course, remember too how we were secretly thinking "HATE YOU!!" the whole time?

I bet that's what Nadal is thinking now, every time he has to go to the net after yet another loss to Djokovic. Heh.

But be all that as it may, I think that Novak Djokovic is going to turn the tennis world on its head, and I think he's here to stay.

At least, until someone younger and hungrier comes along and chews the court out from under him.

HAVEN'T HEARKENED BACK TO MY MEDIEVAL ROOTS IN A WHILE.

2012-01-05T15:13:54Z

Stumbled across these while browsing for next year's Halloween costume. One of my all-time favorite costumes was my twelfth-century red gown. That thing was awesome! It weighed about twenty-five pounds and was warm as TOAST.

Alas for the days when I was half the size I am now.

These pictures made me feel all wistful for the days of Chaucer and butterfly headdresses. Sigh. I want to run right out to the fabric store and get started.

Medieval Dress (clipped to polyvore.com)

Ladies Medieval Cloak (clipped to polyvore.com)

dornbluth.de - mittelalterliche gewandungen (clipped to polyvore.com)

Happy Thanksgiving!

2011-11-24T16:44:22Z

Happy Turkey Day to all! Or Tofurkey Day . . . whatever makes you happy.

We're going to celebrate on Saturday, which means I get to relax and watch TV until my eyeballs fall out of my head today. I have a nice little Marie Callender's frozen turkey dinner waiting for me for tonight, and all the sale flyers I could possibly want in order to plan my expedition for tomorrow morning.

It's gonna be a good weekend.

LIFE AFTER DIVORCE.

2011-11-07T17:23:55Z

I've found myself thinking a lot about Kristin lately, probably because it's been about two years now since she divorced me, and let me tell you, just because you're hetero lifemates doesn't mean it can't be just as real and miserable and agonizing as any other terminated relationship.

I don't think a day has gone by in these last two years when she hasn't crossed my mind at least once, even if it's just to think, I can't believe she's not around any more. We were part of each other's lives for twenty-five years, with all the history of growing up together and going to school together and shared holidays with our families.

For the first few weeks, I didn't think I'd ever breathe again.

And then, weirdly, suddenly I felt like I hadn't been breathing at all for a long time, and now I finally could.

That's when I realized that this divorce had been coming for a while, a couple of years at least, and maybe I was just too stupid to see it. I knew there was emotional and physical distance between us, but I had been the one who moved, and so I thought it was me who had to try harder. It never occurred to me that maybe there were bigger problems and she was just using the move as an excuse to push me away.

Now, suddenly, I didn't have to make myself call her and be secretly glad that I got her voicemail. I didn't have to dread any more that she would call me on her way home from court at some point and I'd have to cut her short after an hour because it was it was 3pm and I'd already taken my lunch break, having waited for her as long as I could, then have to hear that tone when she said, "Oh, of course. You're at work," like I should somehow have known exactly when she planned to call. Especially when, in the same conversation, she'd probably already have told me about the three calls she made before she got to me: the three calls that could have waited, and then I could've talked during my break and it wouldn't have been a big deal.

I didn't have to hold my Friday nights in abeyance for her, just in case she decided that she felt like following through on what used to be our traditional night of the week to get together. I didn't have to worry about saying something politically incorrect in front of her pretentious law school friends, or of violating some kind of behavior that she'd later insist she told me about when she had, naturally, done no such thing.

And most importantly, I didn't have to worry any more about why she divorced me in the first place.

Yeah, she never told me.

I got six weeks of the silent treatment before she deigned to pick up the phone one night. Then she screamed at me about how awful I'd been and how embarrassed I made her, and I basically had no idea what she was talking about, but went into automatic crisis mode anyway.

See, I learned something a long time ago with Kristin: her competitive drive overpowers EVERYTHING. Then she went to law school and got four years of training in how to win at all costs, and I just never felt that I could keep up in an argument.

I mean, really, think about it. I could argue with her until I was blue in the face, and whether I was right or not, she would STILL end up backing me into a corner and forcing me to say I was wrong. So then what? Apologize? Grovel? Whatever. Why not, I figured at some point, just skip the HOURS OF UNENDING TORMENT and go straight to the said groveling apologies? Made more sense and was certainly better time management, I thought. So for the last ten years, I stopped arguing with her when she got angry with me for any reason, just backed right down and, like a guy who doesn't understand why his girlfriend is mad but knows he'd better buy flowers and chocolate anyway, I just started apologizing until she got over whatever her snit might have been at the time.

Looking back, this may not have been the wisest method of dealing with things.

And yet, despite still feeling somewhat melancholy about the whole thing, I still can't help but to feel almost . . . glad?

I wonder if other people who have gone through divorces feel the same way.

I'm sure she feels she had valid reasons to be angry with me. I'm sure she even thinks that she made those reasons clear to me. And I know that it takes two people to ruin a relationship, whether it be a marriage or friendship or life-partnership like I thought we had. I'm not easy to love, but neither was she.

And sometimes, I still miss her.