Bring on the wee ghoulies!

So, Blogger is being a douchebag and won't let me upload a Halloweeny picture for today's post. Huh. Good time for the picture function to go wonky, Halloween day, am I right? Nice job, Blogger. Cunt.

BUT I WON'T LET THAT SPOIL MY DAY.
Christ, if my commute to work this morning didn't do it, I won't let blogger have the satisfaction.

Tonight is the night when I'll see how my new neighborhood stacks up for the little ghouly trick or treaters, and holiday spirit. And I am ready. I've got my witch hat and stripey stockings, and a big bowl of sweets all ready to go. Got a perch in the front window for my big green-eyed black cat (I don't know how she knows, maybe she's just fascinated by all the activity, but she sits in the front window every Halloween, watching - and the kids go wild. You should see the big wide eyes as they approach and realize Luna is NOT an inanimate decoration, but a live animal. It's priceless.) and a compact disc of Gregorian Chant, which I will be blasting out the front windows to entice the little buggers.

Child stew this weekend. Yum.

Halloween. Me likey.

ONWARD!!!!

(Photo absolutely pirated from Boston.com.)

Well, that was some series, huh? I am physically and emotionally drained and we have to do it all again in two days? Not complaining, by any stretch. BELIEVE me, I would much rather have more baseball to look forward to than not. I just need to work on my stamina. I'm so tired I can't really do much in the way of useful work.

So I spent most of the day on a Cleveland sports message board, reading fan reaction to the ALCS. Plenty of energy for that, it seems.

Some are angry, some resigned, some hopeful for a better outcome next year, some are whiny, some are bitching about bad officiating, etc. Mostly they're just incredibly, heartbreakingly sad. As I would be in their shoes.

Sports fans are the same everywhere. They really are. You could change some of the names and stats in that forum, and it could be ANY city, after ANY post-season elimination.

And I don't know if everyone else was watching the same series I did, but let's just say we're lucky it's not us, this time around.

My mornings

Pretty much every goddamn day of my life.

Enough Said.

These are my slippers

Sexy, non?

Here...Hare...Here...

The rabbit lifts its head from its evening silflay...
...rubs its whiskers clean and shouts, "Holy Shit! I haven't posted in almost two weeks - I'd better get my bitch on and type something in that damn box or everyone will think I'm dead or something, for the love of Tito."

Well...been busy, much regular work, much freelance work, much baseball, much socializing, much, much, much...yadda yadda yadda. Today was the first day I could take an actual lunch break in almost a month. Not whinging, mind, there's enough cash in my account to justify a few things.

To wit:
Firstly, I just spent over a hundred bucks on a pair of shoes that are NOT BOOTS. That's right, pals o'mine, I bought an actual pair of pumps. Nice little suede jobbies with a MaryJane type strap, and a reasonable heel. Justified the purchase by telling myself that this one pair replaces about 10 pairs of girl shoes that were thrown away because Luna pissed on them. Since none of THOSE had been out of the box in over three years (the last time I wore a dress may well have been my wedding in 2003, but I can't really remember) these ought to last me for the rest of my life. They'll remain in the box, on a high, non-cat-accessible shelf, for when I need them. Which I hope won't happen more than once a year or so. Weddings, funerals and job interviews are about the only reason I ever dress like a girl - and I'm sincerely hoping none of these occasions will come up anytime soon.

- Flashback to strawberry blond toddler, circa 1969, being forced into a dress for some family event or other, and great was the battle, with tears, screaming, violence, and gnashing of teeth. Dressing up is vile. Dresses are a patriarchal tool used to perpetuate the myth of feminine weakness and uselessness for anything but fucking and breeding. End of fucking story -

Also, donated some money to MoveOn.Org to help override Bush's idiotic SCHIP veto. Honestly, Shrub - your head is even further up your arse on this one than even I suspected. You fucking bag of laundry.

Also taking my first evening off from transcription in ...oh, nigh on a month now too. Just got back from a lovely pub dinner with SPOUSE - at Tommy Doyle's in Newton. The Donegal Scallops: not bad. The mashed potatoes: Fuck, YES.

So - now you know the minutiae of my day. And you waited almost two weeks for it. You poor bahstids.

Tomorrow, Sassy and Hell and I are meeting for drinks again. Hoping that our presence in one of these saloon type places or other will bring our boys of summer some luck. I hope it works. But even if it doesn't, and the Sox are eliminated from the 2007 ALCS, and shipped off to golf courses around the American south, we'll still have had a blast, I'm thinking.

Now - where are my slippers...

EDIT: Oh yeah, two new links. Take a look. Stranded on Gaia and Dante and the Lobster. Cracking stuff. Cracking.

My commute home last night was a little hairy.

But I am alive, no thanks to:

THE ABSOLUTE SHIT FOR BRAINS DICKHEAD WHO CAME FLYING OUT OF SOME SIDESTREET ONTO NORTH BEACON STREET IN WATERTOWN LAST NIGHT, WITHOUT BENEFIT OF SIGNALING OR CHECKING TO SEE WHETHER THERE MIGHT INDEED BE ONCOMING TRAFFIC, THEREBY MAKING ME SWERVE INTO THE ONCOMING LANE TO AVOID HITTING HIM BECAUSE EVEN SLAMMING ON MY BRAKES WOULD NOT HAVE GUARANTEED THAT I WOULD NOT PLOW INTO HIM AND KILL HIM BECAUSE MY TRUCK IS BIGGER THAN HIS FUCKING LITTLE SMALL DICK SPORTS CAR.

That is literally THE CLOSEST I have ever come to an accident and required much Gnarly Head Old Vine Zinfandel when I got home to calm the shakes of RAGE and FEAR that this idiot caused.

Hey, ASSHOLE - YES, YOU IN THAT LITTLE BLACK CAR?! HANG UP THE PHONE AND PAY ATTENTION TO WHERE YOU ARE DRIVING AND TRY TO BE COGNIZANT OF OTHER DRIVERS ON THE ROAD IN THE FUTURE OR YOU WON'T FUCKING HAVE ONE.

Kthx.

Okay, tantrum done - it is Friday and it's a holiday weekend. Baseball, football, beer, blah, blah, blah.

3.5 hours till beer o'clock. Not that I'm anxious or anything.

Bleugh.

You know when you randomly touch your ear and realize there's a little bump there, and think "hello, an ear zit," and then play with it and play with it, even though it's really sensitive, and eventually it pops in a really agonizingly painful, yet eerily satisfying way, and you then have the puerile satisfaction of seeing a little blood and pus on your fingernail and then later in the week you have a lovely little scab to play with and worry about people seeing so you don't wear your hair in a ponytail, but leave it down to cover your ears, but still keep playing around with it and playing around with it until you finally start to worry about infection and stop, and then it heals up?

No?

Me neither.

The eye of the storm

Right, survived the first wave of The Great Hooch Hurricane of 2007, and am in the middle of a good 48 hour health recovery before Game One of the MLB playoffs tomorrow. I shall be at Fenway, arse firmly planted in my bleacher seat (with our ticket package we get moved out to the bleachers, which is FINE, because I'm JUST HAPPY TO BE THERE) with a crappy beer in one hand, one crappy beer in reserve under the seat, and one of them big, fat, soft pretzels serving as the only nourishment I'll have time to grab before the 6:30 start.
Thursday at work should be a treat.



Speaking of treats, how come I can't find Cape Cod popcorn in the stores anymore? Had a good supply of two bags per week coming from the Shaw's on Pleasant Street in Waltham - and now? No love. Smartfood is NOT an option as it is a far inferior product, and a girl's gotta have the real thing.

So if anyone has seen any of this Cape Cod goodness in the stores lately, please tell me where. SPOUSE will only let me order a case through the Cape Cod website after I've tried, and failed, to find it through normal channels.

Dammit. I have NEEDS.