Tuesday, August 19, 2014

Favorite Hate Reads



Dooce, obviously, although I haven't actually read her in a long time.  Not sure if anybody else reads her anymore, either.  She jumped the shark with the Poverty Porn trips.

Pioneer Woman.  Remember when they were going to make a movie about her, and Laura Jean Poon ... errr, Reese Witherspoon was going to star in it?  Yeah, I'd totally forgotten about that until they mentioned it on GOMI the other day.  Oh, and if you want a laugh, head over to this post:

Reese Witherspoon Knows Shakespeare

Make sure to check out the comments, where hilarity ensues.

There's some other blogs I hate read, but they're really too small to publicly snark on here, so if you wanna know, just shoot me an email.  The woman whose blog rhymes with Sigh Sigh Die is a current hate-fav.

How about you?  Got any hate reads?


Monday, August 18, 2014

One Ringy-Dingy. Two Ringy-Dingy



So, I was all set to write about how my foster kittens have ringworm, except ...

SonofaB*TCH, ringworm sucks.  That is all.

Most of the fosters never got it.  But these final two have ringworm which has defied all efforts at a cure.

Send help.  And donuts.



Saturday, August 16, 2014

The things I do for you guys ...




Sorry, Ginny,  the kittens are snoozing right now, and the Number One Rule of Fostering is "don't wake the babies".  However, here's the hair:







It's actually darker than that; I was sitting next to a lamp. Wait a minute, let me move ...





 hahahaha yeah this is why I suck at selfies ... somewhere in between those two photos is the truth. :)




Copper



So, I had my hairs did this morning, and the blonde is now gone.  *sob*

I opted for a copper shade, think brown with a hint of reddish.  It looks pretty, and even if the red element fades fast, the brown is close enough to my natural shade (DAMMIT) that it will be much lower maintenance than trying to force a blonde that goes roots-dark much too quickly for my budget.

I ... like it?  It's okay, and frankly, I don't really spend enough time looking in mirrors to care too awful much about my hair, other than  wanting to present a somewhat professional appearance at my job.  Add to that the fact that no one really looks at fifty-plus women anyway, and it's all good.


In my dreams I can be blond ... and young ... and pretty ...  aw,  f*ckit, I'll just stick with being me.

Friday, August 15, 2014

Random




The only time I clean my desk at work is when I spill a soda all over it.

I was exhausted at work the other day, so I bought some of that five-hour-energy stuff at lunch.  Sadly, I was as tired in the afternoon as I was in the morning, so save your money.

I really like that show "Leah Remini:  It's All Relative".  I think the entire family is adorable.  However, I spend way too much time contemplating Ms. Remini's eyebrows.  They. Never. Move.  I think she's probably had so much Botox that they CAN'T move, but it's oddly disconcerting.  Especially since she has to resort to mugging like Lucille Ball in order to show any emotion, because the eyebrows ain't movin'.  Weird.

Current bumperstickers:  "Foster Parent" (BO-ring), Flying Spaghetti Monster emblem (meh), and "Things Just Haven't Been the Same Since That House Fell on My Sister" (ding ding ding we have a winner!)

I am going for a haircut tomorrow at 10 a.m.  I'm still debating what to have done.  I think continuing with the blond highlights is pretty much off the table; I don't have the time or the money for the maintenance required.   I'm thinking of going with a bright auburn or caramel color, which won't require as much upkeep, and hopefully getting my butt in for cuts on a more regular basis.  (Taking your advice, Kris!)

How does a room without a roof feel?  How can a room even have feelings?  And if I was a room, and suddenly lost my roof, I can imagine feeling a little disconcerted, to say the least.  Not necessarily happy.

I was out in the front gardens last night after work, screwing around, when I looked down and realized that I was wearing
GASP
socks with sandals.
whaaaaaaaaa?
Yeah, I have no idea how that happened.  I was just as horrified as you all are. 
and worse, they weren't even really sandal-sandals.  They were fluffy poolside-type sandals.  I KNOW.  Next thing you know, I'll be out there in a damn housedress or something.

I need for some new foods to be invented.  I'm tired of eating the same stuff all of the time. 


How about you guys?  Got any random?



Wednesday, August 13, 2014

One more post about Robin Williams and then I'll shut up. Promise.


I read a comment on GOMI yesterday paraphrasing David Foster Wallace thusly:

A severely depressed person who commits suicide has made a decision in the same manner that a person in a burning building decides to jump out a window. It seems like the only way to escape the horror.

I thought that was really, really excellent in explaining how people don't just cavalierly decide to off themselves.  I did a little digging and found the direct quote:


The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn't do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life's assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire's flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It's not desiring the fall; it's terror of the flames. Yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don‘t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You'd have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.

- David Foster Wallace



Sadly, we all know how things turned out for Mr. Wallace.  Even with all  his insight, he still couldn't save himself.




Monday, August 11, 2014

I don't get it.



I've got one-one thousandth of his talent, one-kabillionth of his money, and none of his fame.

And I'm as happy as a pig in sh*t.

I don't understand depression, and I hope I never have to try to.  What a terrible thing.





Well, well, well, look who found a home








Yep.  I've lost my cobweb cleaner.

We had an adoption event Saturday, and seven!  kittens and cats found their new homes.  A family came in toward the end of the event and fell in love with Cow Kitty, who is now living with Mom, Dad, two little girls, two dogs, and one other cat.

I predict Household Domination was achieved by Sunday at two p.m.


Friday, August 08, 2014

And in other TV news ...




... you may remember that I bought a new TV a couple of months ago.  Woot!  And I, cheap me, actually PAID the cable company to come out and hook it up, because I'm hopeless with that stuff.  Wires and cables and diagrams ...  time to pick up the phone and hire somebody.

And they came out and hooked it up and all was well until the first time I went to play a DVD and ... nope.  Oh, the DVD would play, you could see the timer-thingy clicking away on the player, but the show wasn't playing on the TV.  The system was not reading that there was a DVD/VCR attached.

Well.  I called the cable company, explained that they must have goofed something up when they hooked up the new TV, and requested that they send someone back out.  Which they did.  And I'll tell you what, that poor bastid worked and worked and worked, and finally got the system so it would acknowledge the DVD.  Success!

Until the first time I went to record a program, and ... nope.  The system would recognize either the DVD/VCR player or the TV, but not both at the same time, making it impossible to record a program.

Oh for the love of ...

I was NOT going to get the cable company back out there.  And I WAS going to be able to record my beloved, batsh*t crazy Duggars. (When there's nothing on TV, which is most of the time in the summer, there's nothing like a healthy dose of Duggars to fill the void.) Surely, surely, there must be a way to figure this out.  And last night it was time.

I got out all the manuals.  I got out all of the extra bits of coaxial cable wiring I had laying around.  (what?  you don't?)  I got out the flipping wrenches and pliers when I discovered that the last cable guy had evidently used vise-grips to tighten down all of the connections.

And I went to town.  Let's see ... cable in to cable box, out to RF modulator, then to TV, plug TV into cable box ... SH*T!  TV plug is three-pronged.  Grab a converter plug ... CRAP!  It still won't fit!

Okay,  Deep breath.  Cable in to cable box, let's skip the RF mod because that's probably not strictly necessary, audio/video wires from box to DVD and from DVD to TV ... F*CK!  There's no "video in" plug on the TV.  Okay, back to the manual ... hmmm ... I think I can plug the video wire in here ...

And then it was time for a test recording.  First try ... not so much.  Okay, let's see ... maybe I need to change the input on the TV to AV ...  Second try ... oh  the angels sang IT RECORDED!  IT RECORDED!

and I did a little happy hula dance around my living room.  F*CK YEAH!

It's the little things that'll make your day.  I swear.  And I sat and watched two hours of Duggars last night, happy as a damn clam.