Even though we've sworn off sibling gifts for the last few Christmases, my sister was sweet enough to surprise me with the fourth season of Babylon 5 on DVD. I'd begun collecting the DVDs of the series shortly after the first season became available, and then I got wise to the fact that, if I could just keep my pants on for a little while, I could find new or nearly new copies at a greatly reduced drain on my finances. So the last season I'd purchased was the third, and that's been a while.
I've had the fourth season for little more than a week, and already I've devoured each episode, listened to every commentary, and watched all the extras. It's been years since I've had B5 marathons (not since back when I had every goddamned episode on VHS), but I've certainly made up for it in the last eight or nine days. I even dug out season three and started watching those, because now that I've reignited my passionate love affair with the giant, phallic space station, I find myself insatiable.
Shameless, I know.
It's possible I may have gone overboard this time. Nothing seemed amiss until I was combing my hair yesterday, and noticed something that wasn't quite right...
I'm afraid I've gone Minbari.
Can someone come over here with a hammer and chisel* and try to help me fix this thing?
Thanks to all for the Christmas wishes, tidings, and what-not. I won't lie, it's been a tough Christmas for me, but I have also received a most welcome outpouring of love, and some very unexpected gifts that arrived for me in the mail last week.
Lots of love and big, sweaty hugs to you all. I hope all your days, not just your holidays, are filled with jizz joy and unabashed affection. And lots of sinfully fattening food.
Perhaps I've mentioned a time or two that my kittens can't seem to stay away from my computer. They sit on it, they walk through the cords and make me insane, they slap the mouse onto the floor, and quite often, they use their crafty little paws to trigger key combinations. I can't tell you how often I've walked over to my desk to find emails open that I did not open, or Firefox help application launched.
Until today, the cutest act of computer criminality I'd seen either of them perform was the day when Friday clicked on the tab that was open to Flickr, and then scrolled down on the page until he found pictures of himself (no bullshit).
Today, both kittens were being "special" while I was trying to sleep. When I say "special" in this case, it means I was considering stuffing them in boxes and sending them to people I don't like as Christmas presents. Both of them were makin' like pinballs, all over the room, on top of me, around me, on all the furniture, smashing into empty water bottles with such force that it sounded like Smidge's dream bowling alley in here. At one point, I cracked an annoyed eye and saw that Friday was sitting on my desk, right in front of the monitor. Generally, I get up and unceremoniously dump him onto the floor when this happens, and that's exactly what I had planned, until I got close enough and saw this:
I don't know where it came from, but he managed to click a link and launch this quiz in its own window, then pose in front of it all puffed up with naughty kitten pride. Yes, he still got put on the floor, but not until I'd snapped about a dozen pictures and laughed until tears ran down my legs.
(Oh, and to prove that these quizzes are total crap - I took it and scored 83% - a "Charming Conformist")
As you can see, I was able to recover most of my previous template design. Thanks to those who suggested using the source code from a Google cached page - I tried it, but there was so much extraneous Google code in there that it was taking me longer to weed it out than it would have taken to just rewrite the template. Ultimately, I remembered that the "companion" site for the Cotillion uses roughly the same template as I was using here, so after slapping myself in the forehead for not thinking about that sooner, I went and grabbed that. I still have a few tweaks to make this like it was before, but I feel a whole lot better about it now.
And now, for no particular reason other than my own childishness, I bring you photos of my new favorite consumer product:
I guess you know how I'll be spending all my spare time for a while.
Please disregard the powder you may see wafting out from under my door. It's nothing illicit - just my attempt to avoid the Dreaded Monkey Butt.
The bridge of my nose is sighing in relief (so does that make it the Bridge of Sighs?)
Oh, I loved my Ray Bans so. You know I did. I considered them my "signature" shades, and wouldn't even pose for pictures in regular glasses until I got my most recent pair.
But the Ray Bans have a problem. A weight problem. Perhaps it's embarrassing for me to even discuss that here, but it's the cold, hard, lead-filled truth. You see, my eyes are kind of, well...what's the word I'm searching for here? Oh, yeah - crappy. My eyes are very crappy. They don't see too well without the aid of a prescription as strong as the All-Steroids Boys' Choir. Add those big Ray Ban frames and the fact that plastic couldn't be tinted as dark as I needed it, and you come up with a pair of shades that weighs slightly less than my car does (with five people riding in it).
As a result of their bulk and the damning effects of gravity (that bitch), it was tough to keep the Ray Bans in one spot on my face - the fuckers even fell off and cracked the frames on the sidewalk one day when I was hurrying out of work, keeping my face down to avoid an icy rain. Also, they would rub on my cheeks when I pushed them all the way up on my nose, and when I'd take 'em off, there'd be powder and foundation all over them. Yecccch!
So, much as I loved those shades, I finally decided it was time to ditch them for something newer and less, ah, imposing. This afternoon, I braved outrageous traffic and unruly crowds to venture back to the mall - this time of year, that word just gives me the chills - to pick up my new specs.
Could my lips look just a little more smarmy in this picture?
The lenses are polycarbonate, plenty dark, and hardly weigh a thing - which, with my prescription, is quite an accomplishment. Also, I'm told I look "more like a girl" and "less like a Blues Brother."
I took one last picture of myself in the Ray Bans last night, and then proceeded to process it so much that you can barely see 'em anyway. But here it is, just in case you give a shit.
My babies don't feel good, and I had to take both of them to the vet this morning. They're both sneezy and poor little Thirteen is definitely tiring out faster than he usually does. I might've known he'd give me no trouble. Not my little honeybear.
No, it's that little bastard in the tuxedo you've gotta watch out for now.
Last time I took both boys to the vet together was when I first got them, when they were six weeks old and didn't even weigh three pounds combined. Now that Thirteen weighs in at four-and-a-half pounds and Friday is about five-and-a-half pounds, there's more chance for some kind of meaningful protest to be carried out.
Neither cat was any trouble on the drive over to the vet's office, nor did their little angelic faces cause any ruckus while I was checking them in. As soon as we were out of sight of the nice ladies at the desk, though, Friday made known his displeasure with the current situation. He stretched his little spider monkey arm out of the cage as far as it would go, and deftly hooked a claw into the pad of my index finger, like sinkin' a big, rusty hook into a mackerel's pouty lips.
I managed to disengage the tiny paw of death from my finger, and only bled a little teeny moderate bit onto my jeans. Once I was in the exam room and the vet was in with us, I'm sure both kittens were convinced that mommy hated them as I held them steady for the rectal thermometer. Oh, the back legs a-flailin'...
No retaliation was attempted for the duration of the visit or the drive home. In fact, Friday cuddled with me all day, as if to say, "All's forgiven, I looooove you!"
About 8:30 in the evening, I decided to lay down and watch some TV. Friday hopped up on the bed with me, and as I prepared for him to curl up next to me, he deviated from his usual routine and started to walk over me. I didn't have to wonder long what he was up to, as he promptly backed up and tried to make his sphincter meet my forehead.
I said, "Not without dinner first, you don't!"
Well, no, I didn't...actually, I said, "DO NOT PUT YOUR ASS ON MY FACE! That's crossing the line!"
He stopped, turned around, and stared down at me with his huge, innocent eyes. And then he sneezed, right in my face. Big, wet, sea spray mist sneeze. Right in my face.
I have a hunch he hasn't forgiven the thermometer in the butt yet.
It just dawned on me that I'll be a real pain in the ass to the younger generations of my family, if only for the fact that one day, who knows how soon, I'll be a doddering, drunken great-great auntie in the corner, boobs jostled by my knees as I walk, telling everyone who hasn't already bolted in terror how I handed Frank Zappa my underpants when I was 19.
Wow, I kinda just didn't post for a long time, huh?
I have to admit, I've been obsessed with my camera and with some new music software I've started to use. Last night I actually sat for a couple of hours cutting pictures out of a magazine for use in an upcoming animation extravaganza. If that goes well, I just might work back into Play-Doh again.
All that is probably why I'm the only one in the house who hasn't succumbed to the seductive allure of World of Warcraft. Even my Sims are starting to grumble that I don't take 'em out to play often enough. If I'm not grading papers, I'm fiddling with beats and tracks on the computer, or I'm poring over a photography tutorial. Well, I may have managed to sneak an ABC Soaps in Depth mag in there at one point or another, but I'm not totally admitting that.
The cats don't seem to mind, because that means I'm in here with them, where they can torture me with their toxic litterpan deposits. Seriously, kittens have deadly butts. And when Wobbles comes in here, the first thing he does is head right for the cat box. Even if he doesn't do anything, he feels the need to show the kittens that he could take a dump in here, if he chose to. So I do have to get out of my chair once in a while to scoop.
I guess this makes me a Blog Asshole. That looks something like this:
Okay, so I've been on Photoshop a little, too.
At this point, I'd like to do something I don't normally do (besides dance with grace): I'm taking requests. What do y'all wanna see a post about? Any weird questions you have that you'd like answers to? I don't mean advice questions, because I am absolutely the last person from whom you should take advice.
Ask and perhaps you will receive. After I scoop out the litterbox.