Shit Karma in Theory and Practice

A small victory for the rest of us today!

I LOVE that this spammer asshole has been arrested and faces decades...DECADES in jail. The odious little prick.

In the realm of crime, misdemeanors, stupidity and general bad behavior, I would actually place spammers in the top 10, somewhere among the murderers, child fiddlers, rapists, those guys who club baby seals, and Pat Robertson.

HUZZAH!!!! Rot, you evil little fuckpig, rot.

Some random shit:

* I am still limping around like a gimp from a weird ankle injury, the cause of which remains a mystery. But I am on the mend, it does feel a lot better than it did a couple of days ago. I should be able to resume working out by Sunday or Monday, which will help lead to a recovery from this low-level depression and fat grossness I've been feeling because of lack of exercise. It is AMAZING how much of an effect exercise has on my sense of health and general mental well-being.

*I will, however, say this: because of this injury I've been forced to break my own (limited) fashion code, and wear my white workout sneakers out of the house. I feel like a mid-western tourist. I know. It is vile. And this is also contributing to my mental grossness.

*Psycho kitty has made great strides in recovering her old equanimity. I still suspect she's bipolar and needs psych meds, but at least she's on the upswing and hasn't pissed or shat in inappropriate places, and even tolerates the presence of other cats. Dare we hope...

*One of my most favorite coworkers is retiring. Honestly, the place will not be the same without her, her humor, sense of fun, her incredible institutional knowledge, and her curmudgeonliness. No one's offered me her job, and I'm not sure I'd take it if they did. But her office is twice the size of mine, so if it's available...yes, that would be the silver lining to losing her. *Sniff*

Friday Greetings from L'Hotel du Chatte

Friday. Friday before a holiday weekend. Friday with the sun shining and the scent of flowers and other spring greenery wafting into my office window. Friday...and I'm fully expecting the boss to wander in at any moment and tell me to take my tired carcass out of here. Please God, let it happen just like that...and soon. This rabbit needs a nap.

At the risk of turning this into a kitty blog, here's an update. Luna has her own fucking room now. Complete with food, water, double bed, litter box, and two tree filled windows. The spoiled little bitch. Hey, we have to do whatever it takes so we can sleep at night...though she's the one, of the three cats, who most loves to sleep with mom & dad in the big bed and greet us in the morning with purrs and head butts and cuddles. So it's more than a little sad that she has to be the one locked up... But we just can't have her in there with us, on the chance that Olive might wander in, and we'll be awakened in the middle of the night by World War Frigging Three on the pillow next to our heads. Locking Olive up in the guest room wouldn't work, she'd scream and cry and scratch at the door all night - so it has to be Luna, because she just curls up and goes to sleep, or simply hangs out quietly on her own.

Happier times. I'm pretty sure we won't see any of this from now on...

Vinegar - bless her little dominant calico soul - is above all this, and is going about her business, seemingly oblivious to the tensions between the other two. Perhaps she's just happily self-medicating with catnip. Good for her.

Happy weekend everyone! We're going to Maine for a SeaDogs game, and I'm going to drink the city of Portland dry. Dry, I tell you.

Girls can't play in threes.

Anyone out there know why two cats who've been best friends for 4 years will suddenly decide they can't stand the sight of each other? Because if I can't figure this out and make it stop, I'll soon be offering up a free cat to a good home...

Social dynamics are one thing, but dammit, I need to get some sleep. If I'm awakened at 5am one more time by the god-awful keening and howling of a cat fight, somebody will become glove liners. Oh, and having to throw away all of my girly shoes because Luna has fucking PISSED on them is no fun either. Literally, every single pair of shoes that are not sneakers or boots - this means that no one in my family can die or get married or have any kind of formal event - because I got no pumps, man.

It's a Cool Ranch Dorito Kinda Day

Oh dear, oh dear....looks as though, of late, this blog has taken a back seat to what I laughingly call "other business."
("Other business" being basically the job, the freelance job, home improvements, gardening, watching baseball...and becoming one of those angry, impatient Masshole drivers. Why, yes, thanks, I've been practicing. You set your goals and you get after 'em, is what I always say.)

I'm sitting here in my little office, with nothing to do (well, plenty to do, but none of it's close to deadline and I can't seem to focus on it), listening to the rain splatter on my window, wishing I could leave RIGHT FUCKING NOW, get liquored up and roll around the floor of my sitting room with a catnip toy.

I am in some serious emotional distress. Partly it's boredom and the dreary weather that's doing it, partly it's that my head just exploded at the sight of some little tartlet in Harvard Square, sporting a micro miniskirt, flip-flops...and leg warmers. Seems to me, bad taste aside, you must COMMIT to being cold - if you must delude yourself that it's not a raw, wet 40 degrees out there and dress for the beach - or COMMIT to dressing appropriately for the weather. You can't have it both ways. It's like the socks with sandals thing, really. If you must wear socks, then IT'S TOO COLD FOR SANDALS. If you must wear leg warmers...well, I would have said IT'S TOO COLD FOR SANDALS again, but really - if you must wear leg warmers, YOU ARE TOO STUPID TO BE LET OUT ON YOUR OWN.

Anyway, fashion rant aside (it was weak, I know, my heart's not really in it) it is Friday, and the clock ticks merrily toward beer o'clock. I'll be at John Brewer's by 5:30, and well trolleyed and beyond caring when tonight's ballgame is rained out.

Crawling from the wreckage

"JAYSIS, Andraste," I hear you say, "why don't you update this frigging thing while we're all still continent, for the LOVE of PETE."

Welllll...just you be careful what you wish for. That's all I'm saying.

Been planning my gardens. PLURAL, bitches. That's right. We have not just a yard, we have grounds. Okay, they're not very big, but they're distinct areas, so let me live the joy, will you. This house has a back yard, and a front yard, and all kinds of little thought about areas that need filling in with lovely flowering plants, herbs, ground covers, evergreens and whatever else. But first I have to do some destroying. You should see the nasty, dead old plantings the previous owner left in the front yard - KeeeeRYST, it looks like someone released poisonous gas over some weak, alien cabbages. I don't know what they are, or were supposed to be, but they don't do a thing but sit there, looking moldy and sullen. "What do you expect us to do," they ask, "Photosynthesize?" No, actually, because you're being torn the fuck out, you useless, ugly, cheerless little bastards. Just as SOON as I get a day off that isn't pishing doon with RAIN. So don't get too comfortable.

Maybe someone who imagines antagonistic conversations with dead greenery shouldn't really be sharing it on a blog. But I am unwell.

Oh yeah, the unwell part. Thought I had spring allergies, but the mild cough and sniffles turned out to be a head cold, which in turn, turned out to be the plague. Maybe I got a dose of the same poison gas that destroyed the alien quasi-cabbages, but I've been coughing things up that I could put in a stroller and take shopping. It is vile.

What else is there. The house is a mess, Spouse is now sick too. You should hear that...no, you shouldn't. Nevermind that.

Things to do, things to do...