we’re awesome

We’re awesome, in a special way.

Today, I had to take Mr Uggs to the vet because he was snotty. Well, it’s nothing serious, just his normal yearly upper respiratory infection. But, the only difference is that he’s on two different medications. Yay. Just what I want to do for the next few days is wrap a grumpy cat in a blanket and shove a pill down his throat twice a day as well as squirt a liquid down his throat twice a day.

Uggs is pissed.

He’s going to be even more pissed when he realizes I asked for his “compound goop” to be refilled. We ran out of the goo last year and around that same time we realized that his Twitchy Kitty Syndrome kicks in during winter. We had the first year we got the stuff, last year where we didn’t have to refill it, but now we’re at this winter and they called the compounding pharmacy to make it for us. So while that’s acting up, we get to wrap a very unhappy cat in a blanket and rub an amitryptiline compound on the inside of his ears.

Coming home and bringing him inside, I somehow managed to sprain my wrist (I’ve fucked my wrist up so many times that it doesn’t bother me to type, but it does hurt like hell when a dog runs right into it). It’s kind of crunchy, but I’ve got wraps so I’ll just ignore it like I usually do. I can waggle my fingers, type, and move my wrist around just enough to show that nothing’s broken, so I’ve got nothing to worry about until it goes numb and I can’t move one or more of my fingers.

A short time later, Ty (the foster dog) ran past me down the basement steps while I was walking down them with a load of dirty dog laundry in my arms. This caused me to slide down the last two steps. My immediate thought was “oh gods, I am going to fall and bust my head open and I am going to sufficate under dirty dog laundry.” I didn’t fall and bust my head open, but I did twist my ankle (I’m waiting on my ankle to swell and match my always-swollen foot. yay for inflammatory arthritis)

And, a little bit ago, we ran to an immediate care because Jamie had become paranoid enough to agree to go to the doctor for his earache. He’s got a sinus infection so bad that it is pushing stuff into his ear. He’s been presecribed prednisone (that would figure, he didn’t get poison ivy this summer, so he’s got something now to warrant the medication) as well as something else.

At least Firefly’s gotten over her “It’s autumn, therefore I will itch like crazy and drive you all nuts!” yearly allergy.

We’re a special family, that’s for sure.



I’m a bit frustrated about work, so I am going to write a bit.

I read Truman Capote’s Breakfast at Tiffany’s, and, well, I fucking hated it. It took me forever to read, which was weird since it was the same length (according to my kindle) as Troll Bridge and The Sea and Little Fishes by Sir Pterry. I blew through the Pterry books fairly quickly, but this book took me forever and I had to keep stopping and going to something else before I could continue.

I tried to read it as though I were reading a journal or blogpost, but all I could think of was: Wow, I could easily blow through the Toasterverse  by Sci or Tiny Spy Assassin Steve by Sam easier than I could slog through this. (The TSAS series is something that I’m not interested in at all as well, so there’s that. and I love me some Toasterverse along with the DJ stories). I tried to read it as though I were reading a short story by an author I was unfamiliar with, which is what I was doing. I’ve never read any Capote stories and it’s been so long since I’ve seen Breakfast at Tiffany’s is that all I can remember is: Sunglasses.

The story, in itself, is of a writer who has a whirlwind friendhip with a “Woman About Town,” who turns out to be, well, a trollop and got conned into sending coded messages from a prison inmate to their lawyer while she went on her visits to him. So, basically, she’s a fucking weirdo who ran away from home, is an escort, and is an idiot who inadvertantly works for the mob sending messages via verbal code. How is it that this isn’t more intriguing?

I spent 85-90% of the book hating it, but telling myself that maybe it’ll get interesting and so I’d continue to slog through it. I kind of regret reading it, because I could’ve spent it reading something else (like David Morrell for instance). But, I kind of don’t because now I can complain about how much I hated it. I still don’t see how this was a “great peice of work” that spawned a film.

I’m not going to say “Oh, I bet I could find way more interesting books that would’ve been great films from the year this was published” because I know me and I am a lazy bastard. I’m sure I could find something fascinating to read from that year, but it’s not something I feel the urge to go and look for. I’ll meander through books as I go along. But I am definitely not planning on reading anymore Capote after this.

The other day, HBO released a 40-second clip to steer us towards a reminder that April is Coming. I watched it, I squeed with delight, and I shared a link to it on my fb feed.

Later that afternoon, I got, what I felt, was a slightly pompous response of how it was “nothing new,” and that “we all saw that in the last episode anyway.”

No. Not all of us saw the last episode. Jamie and I have not watched the last three or four episodes of Season Five of GoT because, well, Jamie’s a purist and doesn’t want to be ruined by stuff that David and Dan know and we don’t. (I’ve managed to convince Jamie to have a GoT marathon on Christmas so at least then I can watch the last few episodes). Jamie and I are both excited for Season 6 and Winds of Winter, but Jamie’s kind of standoffish. He’s really afraid that watching something that hasn’t shown up yet in the books will ruin his relationship with the books. I can see it, but we agreed when we started watching that we would watch it together and, well, I really want to watch the Walk of Shame.

So, I responded…pretty shittily. This person is an Unsullied (a fan who has seen the show, but not read the books) but not so much of an Unsullied fan as to go on websites like westeros.org or winter-is-coming to look up information or find out things. They’re a casual version of Unsullied. Like, if no one went out and told them when the new season came out, they wouldn’t notice.

I went off on tangent about how Jamie and I have read the books, we’re not Unsullied. We know that there are peices within Season 5, and the upcoming Season 6, are going to show things that were not in the books because GRRM told David and Dan about the gist of the whole thing. I told them about how we knew about this and that, this character and that character. I named off a couple of characters this person has never even heard of because I am a smug bastard and how can you not know who Lady Stoneheart is?

They responded with something benign like “omg I didn’t know those things!” Well, no shit.

I told Jamie about it and he, for the fourth time in like two months, reminded me that I just need to unfriend this person on my fb page because they make me want to smack them upside the head.

I downloaded a book yesterday because I forgot we have Kindle Unlimited. I booted off some paleo book that Jamie had found (he likes looking for new recipes. We have a 500-page cookbook that we made. it’s pretty awesome). I had seen an ad on my fb feed near something and it mentioned this trilogy that was an interesting take on Alice in Wonderland.

It’s called The Insanity Series because apparently it’s a series, not a trilogy. But you can get the trilogy omnibus for free if you’ve got kindle unlimited.

I started the first book, Mad in Wonderland, this morning on my way to work and I should’ve known. The first bits of it say Christ Church, and I immediately thought of Christchurch, which is in New Zealand, and I was all what the fuck. Then the damn thing mentioned ruining an “original copy” of Alice in Wonderland.

It’s Alice’s Adventures in WonderlandAlice in Wonderland is the Disney film. This made me feel kind of stabby. I texted Jamie that I was starting to hate the book and I was only 2% in. Then I continued, thinking maybe it’ll get a little better, and the author has shoved in all these weird little bits that reference the original Adventures and Through the Looking-Glass. (e.g: “…and a writing desk the colour of ravens.” it might not be the direct line, but it’s close enough. I highlighted it and made a note of “ha. ha.” because by this time the references were pretty grating)

I told Jamie that I hated the book. The book made me all stabby and I wondered if Charles Dodgson was rolling in his grave. Jamie reiterated that I should stop reading and I did, when I realized that Neil Gaiman was right: if you were at a party with these characters, would you want to be around them or would you be in the kitchen hoping they’d eventually go away? (sic) I realized that no, I would not want to be at a party with these characters. In fact, I’d be loudly proclaiming that I was either leaving or that the party was over and everyone needed to get the fuck out of my house.

So I started Trigger Warning and got super excited when I realized that Click-Clack the Rattlebag is in here. It’s a wonderfully spooky story.


(or: watch me ramble for gods know how long. no, seriously. I’m already on my third beer by the the time I put this parenthetical area up on this post because, y’know what, it’s my day off and fuck it, why not.)

Jamie’s nickname for me is “Turtle.” For a myriad of reasons.

He says it’s because I don’t get in a hurry for anything, I “don’t age” (dude, I’ve got some awesome genes. I still look like I’m in my teens, although I’m finally starting to look like I’m around 18 instead of 15. yeaah sure it’ll be great when I’m in my 40s and look like I’m in my 20s, but it gets kinda creepy when little old people hit on me because they think I’m 15 and I’m really working my way to 30.).

I’m cold-blooded–an oddity because I am, in reality, a homo sapien sapien, a human being, therefore a warm-blooded entity. However, I am always fucking cold. I can walk around our little city’s yearly fair, and I will be in pants and a hoodie, and complaining about it being cold.  (aka: “The Carnies are in town. Watch your tills; you will get robbed and cheated.” I’m not talking about all traveling carnivals and fairs, I’m talking about the traveling fair that comes to us. Last year, we had a guy try to pass off counterfeit $20 bills on tissue paper. This year one of them bought a grilled-cheese maker and cooler, kept the reciept, and then returned both of them when they were packing up and leaving. We had to accept them. Everyone involved on my end (including me) was pissed off.)

I am cold-blooded. People think I’m weird when it’s 24 degrees outside and I’m in two jackets, a thermal shirt, and earmuffs while waiting at the bus stop. I don’t care how goofy I look, at least I’m warm. And some days, I’m wearing my super-duper long Doctor Who scarf because that thing is warm and keeping my face warm.

I cling to Jamie when I’m asleep, much to his dismay. I refuse to get out of bed until he turns the heat on (because he’s warm-blooded and firmly believes that 24-degrees outside means that the house needs to be 52-degrees and “it’s still hot.”)…he also has a tendency to open the windows in the bedroom when he knows it’s going to be below freezing.

Earlier today, Jamie posted a meme pic on my fb page that was that image of Yzma with a giant hat on her head and a birthday cake in front of her. It says: “When I was little, I wanted to be a Disney Princess. But as I get older, I realize I’m just Yzma.” (SIC).

I responded with: “I never wanted to be a Princess when I was younger, I wanted to be a ninja turtle.”

I hit “enter” and then realized. Wait. I am a turtle. So, I responded, again, “I just realized I am a ninja turtle ;)”

It’s gotten to where I’ve posted about wanting to be a “zen turtle” on my fb page. (I want to try to be more zen-like. I want to work towards stopping being so stressed out. my job stresses me out; my, as I steal the phrase from one of my favorite authors Sam Starbuck, “ducklings” stress me out; my bosses stress me out (I seriously stopped my immediate manager and asked her “When all of this is over, do you want me to buy you wine?” She said she’d rather have “dark lager” so I’m either going to get her a gift card to Barrel Chest–a shop that I looooove–or go to Barrel Chest and buy her some of my favorite dark lagers (including Voodoo, because, seriously, they need it))

I stress out in general. I’ve got that thing where, when I stress out too much, the muscle of my heart expands and grates against the lining. This is especially fun around coworkers who firmly believe I’m having a heart attack and I have to fend them off with reminding them that it is a medical condition that I don’t even remember the name of and am too lazy/forgetful to look up the medical terminology for.

I have a lot of medical bills, I have a lot of regular bills. I stress. I try to not stress and do stuff to de-stress, but it doesn’t help all of the time.

Wow, this has gotten really out of hand. fuck it.

But yeah. I want to be more zen-like. I had gotten to a point…kind of but not quite like that, at one time in my life (it way waaaaaay away from being zen-like. the aftermath was not pretty). I think it will help my maddness a bit. It will help with my stress at work.

I also realize that I need to speak with the psychologist with all of this. The increase of homicidal thoughts (she continues to be happy with the fact that I use my homicidal urges towards fictional stories. we agree that it is healthier). It’s not something that I’m happy to admit to. I’ve been working towards trying to stop this.

I also realize that I should probably make an appoinment to see a friend of ours (they are a licenced therapist who works towards more homeopathic areas. they do singing bowl classes, teach at various universities, etc. they are super awesome and I love them to death) because I think that, maybe, they can help me work towards being a little more centered in my life. They understand the use of chakras and different things (they had an urge one day to give me a tarot deck. It is a happy deck that gives very upbeat readings. The deck likes me and is not begrudging like my other deck, which I try to use, but is very…manic)

The whole thing makes me realize that stress increases my hallucinations, the paranoia, the apathy towards my job, and the increase of hatred towards some of my “ducklings” and towards a good portion of my customers (it doesn’t help that one of the other supervisors agreed that we should knock the hell out of one of the ducklings). The whole thing makes me realize what a failure I’ve become (why haven’t I created a fictional book yet? I had all of these ideas, all of these outlines. and I’ve got nothing. what the fuck)

But then I realize I haven’t brushed my hair in days, and I’m getting one hell of a knot in the back of my head. (I’ve showered, I’ve washed my hair. I just haven’t brushed my hair. it’s amazing what pulling your hair back in a bun can do).

And then I come to the realization that, yet again, I am surrounded by fucking idiots. And while I may have forgotten to brush my hair for the…third or fourth time this week, I’ve at least remembered to take my medication (which has kind of helped the increasing anger), at least I’m not a fucking idiot who’s decided the best course of action is to repeat every. little. thing. someone else said as though it is the truth. At least I’m not a fucking idiot who is spreading idiocy like a bacterial infection on facebook. And I realize, yet again, that I am the smartest person in the room.

The last part is not good. This is part of my psychosis. I see it, realize what it is, and realize that I really need to speak with my doctor.

On the one hand, I can’t get fired from my job (I can get demoted, but not fired), but on the other I don’t know how much longer I can take running my ass off, not being able to get any break besides my lunch hour (even with fucking idiots demanding to know when I come back), how much longer I can stand people chewing with their mouth open and being able to pop gum while talking (how the fuck do you do that??).

I’m almost at the point where I am going to tell people: You are a grown adult, either chew with your mouth shut or take that gum out. I refuse to speak with, or be near, you until you learn to not behave like an animal that you are intimidating because I cannot stand that sound and if you continue to refuse, I will have to walk away, call for someone else to help you, or commit assault because I will punch you in the throat.

There is no reason why you need to be talking with your mouth full, nor is there any reason why you need to be popping your gum like a three year old chomping on gerber fruit puffs as though they are going out of style and have not learned the concept of manners. You are old enough to know better. And if you continue to insist on being near me, I will lock myself in the office and demand that someone else deal with you or I will take off my shoe and beat you, repeatedly, over the head until you stop.

I should make a business card that has all of this on it. (honestly, I will take the “lock myself in the office” route because I am still, currently, aware of the whole pre-meditated area of crime. I’ve written about it, but y’know what. Sometimes people lash out without thinking)

I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to last before I can’t understand what’s the hallucination (a gremlin’s face through merchandise) and what’s real (speaking with a coworker for instance). My job has exacerbated my brain malfunction and, oddly, I’m alright with that. This means I can be crazy, say weird shit and piss off customers (because sometimes I really cannot stop myself), and not really get in trouble for it.

Maybe one day I’ll be too crazy for my job and I’ll be able to stay home, love on my stupid ass dogs (because Bug, while I love her to death, is a stupid fucking dog who takes life for granted now–which is awesome and I am so happy for. I’d rather have to clean up her accidents every day than not have her at all). Considering I’m on a weirdly happy decline to madness, hopefully it’ll be sooner than later.

And hey, if it’s sooner. That means we’ll have to spend less money in bus fare.

I should stop typing. I’m already over 1700 words (much more than the daily limit I set for myself), I’m rambling like crazy, and I really want to find something to listen to. I’m also keeping an eye on my fb page to see if I can spark an outrage (some fucking idiot is coming to a local civic center) and I hope to piss some idiot off.

See, there I go again. I firmly believe I am the smartest person in the room. Even if that room is my own facebook feed.

goofing off

I showed my buddy Matt some thumbnail sketches of some comic ideas and he kept cracking up. At one point he said I could probably make a book about the two of us (he’s one of the few characters I have) and the shit we talk about or do at work. I also had to tell him that I am making his character say something one of our coworkers did because, frankly, I don’t want to make some one-off characters just for one sentence.

It’s only a few pages of thumbnail sketches I’ve got in my teeny sketchpad and he liked them, so I plopped over the notebook I’m using to re-write stuff I’ve got in the little memo pads I keep in my pocket for work,because holy cow does weird shit get said while I’m around.

For example:
Me: Do you want some balls? (holding up a container of ball decorations)
Matt: What kind of balls?
Me: Some tasty balls.
Matt: Om nom nom

And just stupid shit that we find hilarious, or I find hilarious because I still can’t believe I’m an adult.

At one point, he was looking through the notebook (it’s a handful of pages mixed in with notes on some stories I keep telling myself I’m working on and I’m…kind of not because I get distracted and want to re-read things like American Gods by Neil Gaiman or something), and he started laughing while swearing he didn’t remember saying what I wrote down. We geeked out for a few minutes because we’re 12.

Things like that make me want to work on the comic more and actually work towards scanning what I’ve got and peicing it together and posting it up. I make it because it cracks me up, and if I can make one other person laugh at it, then hey, that is awesome.

But for now, I am taking my shoes off and having a beer because it’s been a hell of a day. I am reminded that I am surrounded by idiots, the holiday season brings out the worst in people, and I need to up my dose of medication because I still want to jump over the table in the breakroom and stab someone with a fork for sucking on their teeth or chewing so loud I can hear it over the podcast I’m listening to.

It’s a stressful season, I’ve had the first instance of being called a Scrooge yesterday (ha), and now I’m waiting on people to call me a Grinch. I’m at the point where I’m about to tell my manager to bump me to another position, because at least then I’ll know things will get done correctly.