I really want to post something amusing and clever, but I don’t think it’s gonna happen. I’m just not feeling it.
Shoes
I never put my shoes on yesterday. I left the house in my slippers and carried my shoes to the car, where they remained until I got home.
Shoes, I believe, are highly overrated (unless you’re wearing a really cute outfit. Which I patently was not).
Music
I have rehearsal tonight. It’ll be fun once I get there, but I’m feeling oh-so-lazy right now about doing anything at all.
Geek
Alright, I hate all web-based RSS aggregators! None of them work. I’m currently using two, because neither actually gets all my feeds updated. Why is this? Anyone?
I want a new Pocket PC. Mine’s old, and full, and some of the buttons don’t work so well. Plus I want the latest opsys just ’cause.
I also think I wanna buy a used iPod and put Linux on it.
Finally, I can only make this layout render properly in IE if there are no images in the entries. This is entirely fucking stupid. Furthermore, in IE, some of the list tags are weirdly interpreted so there are random little bullets all over the sidebar. This makes me crazy and grumpy.
Alcoholism
Apparently I drink daily now. Apparently I stop at the bar after work every single night and have a cocktail. (Good thing I only work three days a week then, eh?) I did last night, and I’m certain I’ll be doing it again tonight. In fact, B. and I were making jokes yestereve about how we’re “getting in shape for the winter drinking season.”
Yup, that’s Iowa living for you.
In which I link to the Ledger.
This is an article about my employer. Fiber, anyone?
In which I complain and talk geeky.
I’m so fucking tired! I even slept in, and got to work half an hour late.
Yesterday I did a bunch of cool geeky stuff to my site. I surfed the WP Codex and then made custom 404 pages; added an archive to the blog and removed some of the sidebar content; and tweaked stuff. Fun.
Keef asked me why I keep two blogs and I didn’t have a very good answer. I’m thinking of merging the root and the blog into one application.
Ah, hell, who am I kidding? I have nothing interesting to write about. I’m too sleepy.
If you’re my beloved blonde bartender at the Dead Cock, this is not aimed at you. It’s to those boys. And that Dew Drop chick.
Dear Bartender,
Your hands are not clean. You handle dirty beer bottles, cash, that nasty popcorn, and other unsavory items.
Please do not put your fingers on the business end of the straw you’re going to put in my cocktail. HOLD IT IN THE MIDDLE, slightly above the drink-line. Because when you don’t, my straw tastes bad.
That is all.
In which I see a Taco Bell commercial on TV at the bar and succumb.
Last night Brett and I stopped after work at the Dead Cock for a bit. I chatted with Hattie, who was bartending, and Rachel, who dropped in briefly and told me about a new game she and her boyfriend had invented on account of his new fly-fishing motifed boxers. They call it Cock Fishing. (You figure it out. Wink.) She’s so funny.
After people left, Brett and I chatted for awhile about our day. I bitched about having to do a mail merge document for the first time in like elevently hundred years and how I was too damned stuck up to RTFM and it took me much longer than it should have; he bitched about having to re-do several window casings because some moron on his crew didn’t understand that a hexagon needed to have six equal sides.
Then we went home and I ate Taco Bell drive-thru and he had a couple of meatloaf sandwiches and we fell asleep on the couch.
~+~+~
It occurs to me that Mr. Brett and I have been together now for about seven years. Perhaps that’s why the road has recently become so rocky. I never expected marriage to be easy, exactly; I’m willing to do the work. But damn it’s rough when you want different things. We-ness ain’t always easy when you’re both stubborn, independent first-borns with wicked selfish streaks.
And yes, we’ve been talking. We’ve talked more in the past few weeks than we have in the past few years. I’m really digging the new communication level, actually. And I love the man to death. It’s just that sometimes I want to hold his head under water until he quits being so irritating.
No doubt he never feels the same about me, because I’m a fucking dream to live with.
Being an exhaustive report spanning four entire days, plus this morning.
Friday
Friday I did domestic shit: laundry, dishes, shopping, cooking, dusting and sweeping. Housewifery is boring and it sucks.
We were going to go out Friday night, but Redbone fell asleep for a nap and didn’t bother to wake back up. Since he works an absurd schedule (you couldn’t pay me enough to get up at 4:30 in the morning on a regular basis) and we were planning on going out Saturday night for the Halloween party anyway, I just watched some shows I’d TiVoed and cuddled with my dogs on the couch and didn’t take it personally. (Yeah, right.)
Saturday
We went to Keosauqua to get wood for our woodstove on Saturday. The weather was gorgeous. Jimbo and Redbone ran around cutting things up with chainsaws. Chuckie helped Ella collect rocks and things. The dogs ran around doing canine stuff, and I took a couple of walks and read the rest of Eragon, which was really cute but not the most compelling book I’ve ever read. I also took a nap in the back of the cab of Redbone’s truck.
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DST ends Sunday at 2:00. Don’t forget to adjust your clocks.
Oh, by the way: I fucking hate DST.
Every year, twice a year, I spam my various reps with long missives about how DST was allegedly begun for farmers and is no longer needed ’cause them tractors got LIGHTS ON ‘EM these days, PLUS all the farmers who farm the several thousand acres of corn (or soybeans depending on the year) around my house do it at night anyway. IN THE DARK. ON TRACTORS WITH UFO-BRIGHT LIGHTS ON THEM.
Futhermore I utterly fail to see how in this era of constantly-running appliances switching clocks an hour could possibly save on the general use of resources. I mean, they say DST reduces energy use by up to 1% but my computer’s on 24 hours a day no matter what “time” sunset is. (Plus I hate adjusting my schedule so much that even perfectly legit research may fail to move me.) Not to mention that a street light is on sunset to sunrise regardless of what the clocks say, and night’s just plain longer when the axis tilts. Making me get up an hour earlier doesn’t change that one bit.
I so hate DST. Ugh.
In which I liked the band.
Thursday after work I met Mr. Brett at the Dead Cock for drinks. He went home eventually and I finished my cocktail and went out to find dinner. I ran into Hattie on her way in to work and said I’d be back to see her later.
I walked around the corner hoping to eat at either La Petit Paris or Revelations, but both were closed and I ended up having tostadas and chile rellenos at Los Portales.
After eating I sat in my car with the heat running – I hate winter – and read Eragon in e-book format on my PPC for about twenty minutes, then went to rehearse with House 11.
The band was tight, the vibe was really mellow, and rehearsal was fun. I’ve agreed to sing with them, so now I have a New Years Eve gig at the Best Western (opening with them for Big Bambu). They’re in that business-model originals-band-with-a-constitution phase, which means more writing/arranging/rehearsal than gigging, but after talking with Greg for about two hours after rehearsal, I realized he’s right: I don’t want to do endless gigs in smoky bars – it’s far better to do fewer higher quality gigs than it is to work your ass off and get nowhere. I mean, who am I kidding? I don’t want to sing covers at The Den Two for pissed off abattoir workers every weekend. (The last time I performed there, someone threw a fucking ashtray at the bandstand.) I’d like it for a month or two, then I’d get sick of it and start to hate the audiences which is always a bad headspace for a performer to be in.
So I’m still going to check out that other band on Monday, but I’ve already committed to doing this House 11 thing.
After rehearsal and then a long conversation with Greg (he’s one of those people I can’t stop chatting with – I just have to say “Walk away now or we’ll be here another hour!” and drive off), I stopped for gas and went back to the bar. Hattie served me a big glass of water (I hadn’t taken any to rehearsal, which was dumb) and sat to chat with me. I got home about 12:30 and crashed.
So: I have a gi-iiiiiig! I have a gi-iiiiiig! Neener neener neener!
In other news, you should go check out Stanford on iTunes immediately and fill your iPod all up with nifty things.
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4 random books from my Library!
