(Two installments in less than two weeks, who'd have thunk it??!? Note to Self, do not let Muse suggest any more #@$$%'ing road trips...)

Trevor and Jason, Vignette #58: It's a relief to be back to work... )
Um, well, yes, at least eight months is better than nine, I guess? And I do swear that a certain reference has been in this section or thereabouts since Muse decided to take this @!##$ing road-trip in the first place lo these couple of years ago now, and not marking recent events as it may now appear. (There was originally another one in a sequence cut from the outset of the trip, which may give one some indication of how much bloody rewriting this stretch has undergone throughout and just why it's been taking so long to get these segments released.) Anyway, for the couple of you who haven't died of old age waiting yet:

Trevor and Jason, Vignette #57: I know why Jason has looked at every... )
The car is home. Final damages to the Other Guy's insurance: about $4500, and another grand for the rental. Not to mention that I have my fingers crossed that it's really going to be as nice out this weekend as has been promised, since apparently they washed it inside as well as out and it stinks so bad that Mum had to roll the windows down from it. But, the car is home, and that's a thing.
robling_t: No, seriously, bollocks (bollocks)
( Jan. 29th, 2016 03:13 pm)
...More than $5k damage estimated to the car, not to mention several days of work lost already because it's taking forever to sort a rental. As I've seen people saying, could somebody turn 2016 off and back on again to see if that would help...?
On today's episode of "Mum's Adventures In Driving", she parked the car, went inside to pick up the delivery-job, and came back out to find that a guy from the company she was picking up at had backed the sticky-out-bit of the back of the company's truck through her back window.

They are allegedly going to pay for this.

I think that if they don't SHE WILL FIND THEM, ifyouknowwhatImean. She's a bit stressed.
Still sewing up blanket -- edges done, now I have to experiment with ways to secure the strips to one another in the middles. This may well take another year...


I've been trying all week to wrap my head around the idea of a world without David Bowie in it. The depth of my own response has caught me by surprise: I think at least half of it's coming out of that old Brainweaselly "and here nobody even notices you when you're in the room, much less would your passing be the lead news around the world", which may be an impossibly high bar but tell that to Brainweasels; but the other half is that simple shock of having a rug that's always been there pulled out from under you, because I'm very nearly the same age as his fame and I've never known a world without his influence. A well-played life, indeed.




Did I mention that the yarn shop I hang out at as 2/3 of my Alleged Social Life is closing at the end of this month? Yeah, there may be some serious emotional displacement going on here.
And all that remains is the assembly; once I've got the pieces woven together and sewn at the edge, I shall have a blanket that's about... um, six foot square. Yeeeeah. Surprisingly, did not have to buy any additional yarn, though my worsted-weight stash is pretty well cleaned out and I'll have to nick one skein back from Mum for the edging.

Onward to other ongoing yearlong endeavours: 2016 marks year eleven of Media Consumption lists, with year ten coming in at 146 books, and 57 films, and ten years tilting at this bloody windmill at a grand total of 965 books and 491 films. Um. Yes. If anyone cares to check the math, go ahead, I'll just be lying here with a cold cloth over my eyes. On to the second ten years:

Media Consumption List, 2016 )
She wants to stay up to see if the wolf will bring the sun back.

A good wolf would, she insists. And it's not like I can argue with her there. It's lesson number one around here, no matter how weird her extended pack is. Never let anyone tell you that raised by wolves is an insult.

"Look, Pupcake, we can wake you up real early and it'll be almost the same, right? You don't have to try to stay up all night."

I don't know where she got that glare from. Maybe Sandra. I'll have to ask Mom. "They get to go out."

We're not quite at the developmental stage where I can even explain which part of that is the most ridiculous, when I did let her have some of Cecily's glitter for her hair when she asked. When Millennials parent, Max murmurs.

"All right for you, Grampula, maybe you noticed that I don't get to go out clubbing either."

Trev's pleading look says that he'd happily, happily stay home with her if he thought he could get away with it, or get the eyeliner off by himself either. "We'll wake you both when we get back in," he promises, with an expression to say that if he has anything to do with it that'll be in about an hour. There's more honking from down in the street, and a moment later Trev frowns and pulls out his phone; "-- She 'has her dancing feet on'," he reports, and gloomily lets himself be herded towards the door to the horrible fate of a night out of dinner, dancing, and dinner. I hope it goes okay, Cecily's looking a little eager.

Oh, well, there's always midnight mass and Chinese to look forward to, if nobody's on the run by then, and we can bring the Pup to that. I sigh and go to fetch her a bedtimey book: "Okay, so, which do you want, 'Goodnight Moon', or 'Go The Fuck To Sleep', huh? Please?"
robling_t: (Default)
( Dec. 16th, 2015 04:36 pm)
Decided to go on ahead and finish up the knitting on the blanket.

26 strips in total, which I now have to math into one big piece; going with the weaving idea, that means trying to get them all blocked into a size that's 1/13th as wide as it is long, so proooobably about 5'x4.5" -- I've pulled out the two longest and the two shortest to see how well they can be massaged into being the same dimensions. And then I have to find the space and the time-stroke-patience to pin them all out to dry in shifts, because as you can see it's quite the area they cover and this ain't gonna happen all in one go... More To Come.
robling_t: (Default)
( Dec. 14th, 2015 05:00 pm)
And then there was the part where Mum bumped the lightswitch that's been on notice for Suspicious Behaviour for a couple of years and it made sizzly noises and smelled like melting plastic; we've declared that circuit off-limits for realsies until we can get an electrician in to assess the situation, because clearly that is not normal or reasonable by any stretch, but now we're sitting here mostly in the dark because it's one of the 3-way switches for the hallway and god only knows what it might be cross-connected to given that nothing in this place seems to have been wired up correctly in the first place. More money we do not have, more resentments we did not need.

(My suspicion, for what it might be worth, is that since this particular switch sits roughly across the line where the two halves of the building are settling unevenly, "somebody" never left enough slack in the wires for this eventuality and something's pulled loose. We shall see.)

Here, have a picture of Festive Ren to compensate. I note that he's just about stopped speaking to me at all at this point, but I'm sure that this has nothing to do with that...
Yep, this is still happening. Which no one is more surprised by than me, believe me. Only two more strips of swatches to go...
robling_t: (Default)
( Nov. 16th, 2015 07:37 pm)
Following on from other recent expenses and disasters, last week was bookended by serious DNW:

First, on Monday I was woken up by a call saying that Mum had had a fall at work. Fortunately she remembered to grab her phone as the Nice People were helping to sort her out and get her to hospital. Nine hours later she turned up home with a spectacular black eye but otherwise surprisingly little damage for a 75YO, IE no broken bones or serious trauma besides being kind of pissed off about the general situation. Apparently while she was checking into a building for a delivery the drone behind her in line set down his box and when she turned around she tripped straight over it and went down flat on a marble floor. Supposedly, someone, somewhere within this chain of events in insured for something, so. She still looks impressively horrible.


And then, the week's other episode of "What Fresh Hell: Medical" started when I woke up Wednesday to discover that Snip had pooped on the bathmat. She's done a lot of questionable things, but that's never been one of them. And she hadn't eaten her breakfast, which was even more suspicious for this cat. Over the course of the day it became apparent that she wasn't feeling so great, horking up blobs of spit and depositing looser and looser poops in the box. So I kept her under observation, fingers crossed that the episode would pass once she'd emptied herself out, because hey, cats do get the occasional attack of Angry!Colon like anybody.

But it didn't seem to be clearing up.

By Friday the "fuck you I'm busy" face had devolved into the "I don't have the energy to tell you to fuck off" face, which is the point where it seemed like a really really good idea to say we'll figure out how to pay for it later we are calling the vet now. And, nearly $900 later, that turned out to have been the right call: Snip was so dehydrated that she'd lost three pounds -- 1/4 of her body-weight, for those keeping score -- and in addition to various stop-oozing-out-both-ends meds had to be re-inflated with subdermal fluid like a camel's hump.

If we'd waited even until Saturday morning to bring her in she might not have made it.

Snip's on the mend now after a worrying weekend of further refusal to eat; she started begging for food again by Sunday morning, although for the first few hours she only stared at her plate like gooshyfood was some sort of cruel joke, and now she's back to something like her old patterns of demanding to be fed again every time the monkeys go even vaguely in the direction of the kitchen. And she pissed on Mum's chair, which is annoying but since it means she's back to her usual self we just cleaned it up... again... and wrote it off as a good-enough sign.

This is the second time I've been in the position with this cat, and the second time with a cat this year, that I've had to look at them suffering and try to figure out "how bad" it is, is it time to say hang the expense yet, how compassionate can I "afford" to be. And it really, really, sucks.

So that was my week. You guys?
robling_t: (Default)
( Nov. 11th, 2015 05:26 pm)
Mum just got an invite to a driving seminar for seniors.

Very tempted to tell them "Sorry, she'd be at work at 10AM. DRIVING."
I keep thinking "I should post more and get some of these hamsterwheeling thoughts out", but so far nothing's really cohered into more than a vague ball of rants that mostly come down to 'other people having veto power over my existence'. Never entirely sure whether the reflex that nobody wants to hear that is Brainweasels or just realism.

Did have the tangentially related thought that Billy Elliot actually has a horrible underlying message when you get thinking about it: Thatcher wins, the miners go to hell, but at least this one special snowflake got out. Getting very tired of 'feel-good' entertainment where nobody actually stops to deconstruct the idea of society as a bucket of crabs...
robling_t: (Default)
( Oct. 27th, 2015 12:22 am)
Still dogpaddling in Suck, today's having been a flat tire -- A) expensive, B) a missed day's pay on top of expensive, and C) Mum underfoot and on edge all day which didn't do a damn thing for either of our dispositions. But looking on the bright side, at least I've requalified for something at least vaguely resembling health insurance for another year, which fear had been hanging over my head since, oh, April or so. I had had a half-formed notion to spend today sorting out what's next on the health to-do list, but, um, see above about "Mum underfoot etc". Spoons, I do not haz...
The last couple of months have been one of those "Someday, we'll look back on this and laugh... right...?" sort of experiences. The biggest inflection-point of Suck was the part where the condo board finally got fed-up enough about the past-due assessments to demand that Mum come up with a concrete plan for catching up, which meant weeks of stressing out about which bones we could actually disjoint from the budget to address the situation. Still not sure that this has resulted in a plan that's A), viable RE her always-variable income-situation, and that B) they've actually bought, because, as I have complained here many many times, nobody ever bothers to tell us anything. So, um, yeah. Direct stress, because Threat To Living Situation, and indirect stress, because In Living Situation With Someone Worrying About Budget, and if you don't think that's a major stressor, you've never lived with anyone who remembers when bread was a nickel. *ahem* Still Least-Bad Option, but I do find myself wishing I'd ever been in a position to exert any sort of control over the outcome of my life what-so-ever.


Another lesser but still wearying point of Suck is that the cats still hate each other, 3/4 of which now seems to be conditioning on Ren's part. (He has developed an unfortunate tendency to roll over and scream in a high-pitched voice whenever he can't get away from Snip fast enough for his liking.) He's still camped out in Mum's bedroom, and since he appears to have maxed out at a weight of 7.8 pounds he may well have to stay in there until Snip starts slowing down with age, which at 12 1/2 she's as yet showing no real signs of. (We joke that her probable cause of death will be "shootout with police".)

Ren is also a bit weird cognitively, in that he seems to have missed the developmental window where "monkeys making noises" = "I am being addressed" got handed out, because not only hasn't he learned his name yet, he's pretty much completely indifferent to most of our efforts to get his attention in any way at all, including "kitty, kitty" or "NO GET OUT OF THAT YOU LITTLE", and most cats will at least startle at that. We know his senses work perfectly well, because he can hear Snip coming from another room; he just doesn't give a rat's ass about either of his humans. (Is this why people think that "oh, cats can't learn their names"? We've certainly never had this problem before in 30 years of having them around...)


There's also been some "what fresh hell is this" medical Suck that hoooopefully was mostly just an ear infection, but is still troubling me enough that next up on the diagnostic checklist is an MRI, which I've been dragging my feet about scheduling because my Alleged Insurance comes up with a new way to keep me metaphorically off-balance about being covered every couple of months and the latest shoe-to-drop would probably be coming home from the MRI to find a letter in the mailbox saying I've been dropped as of the day before the Expensive Procedure. Because this is how my life goes.

(It also does not do anything for my ongoing Self-Esteem Issues that Mum's reaction to I need an MRI was, quoted verbatim, "That sounds expensive". Yes, Budget Woes, but seriously.)


There's been other Suck as well, but it's not my Suck to tell. In conclusion, I need a hug. And breakfast, because stupid thyroid-meds and empty-stomach rules, but mostly a hug.
Well, my perfect record of having the problem that stumps the tech guy is still intact after my internet provider finally made good on their vague threats to forcibly upgrade our service; three hours later, after it turned out to be yet another "if your internet is not working, use your internet to diagnose the problem" logic-bomb, plus a lot of ominous "...huh" when he looked over our wiring, it's all untangled and working AFAICT, although whether I'm back to anything resembling normal service is debatable, since my flight-reflex always kicks in after about an hour of questioning whether I even wanted the thing that they're trying to do to me in the first place and I'm still kind of adrenalin-shaky.

I'm not entirely sure whether this may in fact be the sane response, considering.
...Did I say three months? Apparently Muse has been vacationing on some planet with a much different rotational arrangement... Anyhoo, several deadlines-out-of-the-way later, The Next Bit. Computer willing -- which, um, yeah; George is five now, and starting to make the occasional arthritic noises in his dvd drive when he starts up, which I don't even know how panicked to be about major-organ-wise -- I'm hoping to get back to this in a more timely fashion. Assuming the fashion for blogging and literature and indeed civilisation hasn't ended altogether whilst I was attending to other matters...


Trevor and Jason, Vignette #56: For our supper Jason manages... )
As of yesterday I'm caught back up on the Blanket Project after setting it aside for a bit to wrangle other knitting deadlines. (Yes, knitters encounter deadlines. Most of these were self-imposed "I want to finish this piece of $PROJECT_RELEASED_IN_PARTS before $NEXT_PART is revealed", of which I was following, oh, three at the same time, but one was a proof-of-concept piece that... also was being released in parts as the designer worked out how each part of it should go based on feedback, with occasional Hilarity as I kept out-knitting the pace of designing it.) So I'm now back to "only" having to work one of these each day, and should therefore be a little more patient about the patterns that have basically made their freakin' point already and not filling in half the block with plain knitting, as I did end up doing on a couple of particularly irritating examples during the catch-up phase. (This is much more likely to happen if A, the stitch-pattern is one or two lines, B, it's annoying to work, or C, I fail to see any point to what it does when it is worked; one of the skips on the first-half-of-July strip failed on all three criteria.)

I have also arrived at a point of knitting-fu where I am snickering behind my hand that two patterns in a row in the Source showed photographs of the wrong side of their swatch.
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