Anyway, she wouldn't be here right now if not for the sad circumstance of my grandmother's passing last Friday. So in an odd way I have to thank grandma for kicking the bucket and giving us another chance to try and be father and daughter instead of long-distance ... whatever.
*sigh*
Sometimes I hate being The Man, because I'd really rather be Atticus Finch. Fictional characters have answers for everything.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
drunk
( Wherein I wax reminiscent. )
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
pensive
But, oh, such a couch! Soft and cushiony, with a fold-down center console that contained not only cup holders, but a speaker phone as well. Each end reclined AND had built-in massaging vibrations. So what if the brownish-gray, faux leather upholstery was a bit worn? This was the King of Couches! As it turns out, we never did take advantage of the phone or massagers. The couch was too far away from a phone jack, and the vibrations were more annoying than pleasurable or relaxing. It sure was nice, though, to put our feet up on a lazy Friday night for a movie or the Sci-Fi Channel lineup, laying back comfortably as the Wife knitted and I drank a beer.
(If you are reading this and are a parent or a pet owner, by now you've already heard the other shoe drop.)
Unfortunately, within about a year the couch had begun to show significant signs of wear, such as screws occasionally, inexplicably falling out of the undersides of the foot rests. By this evening, it was in an extremely sorry state. Large areas of the upholstery were worn down to the underweave, many of the seams torn and resewn with my heavy-handed stitches. Because of its construction, things that had fallen down under the seating required a Cirque du Soleil-level contortionist's skills to retrieve -- or just declaring them lost. Stains from countless spills, colored markers and crayons made the original color impossible to recall. And just this morning a 3-inch rip appeared out of nowhere near the center of the seating area.
The last straw to which this story's title alludes was at about 8:30 tonight, when the Younger Son spilled (or purposefully poured?) an entire bottle of Power Ade (never mind where he got it) onto -- and into -- one end of the couch. We spent about 5 minutes fooling ourselves into thinking we could salvage this sinking ship, but finally resigned ourselves to a Craig's List search after I lifted it up and disgusting blue electrolytes poured down and out of the other end. Considering (a) how difficult life has become recently and (b) the fact that the couch had always taken up a huge amount of floor space, I decided that tomorrow's big project while watching the inauguration will be to dismantle the monstrosity and get it the hell out of our lives. I will likely take pictures.
Problem. Solution. That is all.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
determined
( More photos behind the cut. )
- Location:The Burrow
We had twelve people (including ourselves) at the house for Christmas dinner. Usually in our family, holiday meals are potluck affairs, with two or three dishes being prepared by the host and the rest brought by guests. But I cooked more food yesterday than ever before in a single day -- with the possible exception of my brief stint as a short-order cook at the base NCO club. We also used more dishes, pots, pans and other cooking implements than ever before. I can't even begin to describe the exhaustion I felt at the end of the day.
( In attendance: )
( With recipes and inspiration from: )
( What I cooked: )
( What they brought: )
( Special thanks to: )
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
thankful
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:jolly
Delivered in a stuporous monotone as we stood embracing in the kitchen:
"I have a yawning emptiness inside that is mostly existential in nature, but might be filled with junk food. Do we have any chips?"
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
giggly
That's what the Wife asked last night not long after I returned from the hospital. I'd say a little high and hateful.
A few items:
1. No, no change in taste, texture or consistency.2. The doc did not know why the coffee might cause such a fishy odor from my urine, but he experiences the same thing.3. The usual 10 cc's of Lidocaine was not strong enough to numb my supergonads.4. The vas deferens originates in the abdominal area, so although the anesthetic prevents pain (once they give you enough), there is an odd wormy feeling in your belly as the doctor tugs and snips.5. If you can help it, schedule your return home for well away from high commute hours. Failing that, remember to bring Tylenol with you to the appointment.6. Cold is your friend. Whether ice, soda cans, frozen peas, whatever ... I've got frozen green beans.7. There is no single Olympic sport I have seen that this surgery would not get in the way of. Not even air pistol or women's gymnastics.Boy, am I lovin' life. Although some extremists might say that doing this means I hate life.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
restless
In approximately 2 hours, I will intentionally allow my precious family jewels to be violated, and will officially no longer be a breeder. As previously mentioned, the Wife wants me to ask the urologist whether my semen will taste better, and has reminded me to inquire about texture, too.
Honestly, though, my main question (so long as I'm there) is going to be why Starbucks makes my pee smell like tuna.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
calm
Thanks.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
annoyed
I am 38 years old.
It's almost 2:00 AM, and the sweat is pouring from my brow, dripping down the back of my neck, and trickling along sides of my torso. I've just taken the puppy for his final walk of the day -- or his first walk of the day? The thermometer on the front porch indicates it's still 85 degrees outside. There is no breeze, and the smokey haze of hundreds of remaining wildfires mingles with the remains of today's surprising humidity.
My body reeks. The first thing I did upon arriving home in the afternoon was to take the dog for a quick stroll down to the end of the block and back. At almost 110 degrees, I was quickly out of breath, my hat and t-shirt soaked through, work boots like ovens roasting my feet. After an hour or two of relaxation, we all went to the gym. Although air conditioned, 35 minutes on the treadmill followed by leg presses and calf raises wiped me out further, drenching me once again.
I will shower once I am through writing, and then finally let sleep take me. Before that happens, however, I will savor the images that are swimming around my head, toying with my exhausted mind and reminding me of days gone past. It's said that smells trigger more memories than any other sense, so for a little while longer I will allow my body's oily, sour odor to take me back.
---
I am 35 years old. The flowers outside the state capitol building are blooming red, white and blue, and I am walking back to my car in the full glare of the summer sun. The air is so moist I can practically see drops suspended in front of me, and my suit coat is slung over my shoulder. I have just helped a medal of honor winner, a California legislator, my boss and countless ATM companies across the state advance a bill that will soon become law, allowing extra fees to be charged to foreigners withdrawing cash from our machines. I'm not happy about it. Avoiding the interstate, I opt for the very long drive back home along Highway 160, watching the delta pass by as the seeds of my eventual resignation begin to germinate. --- I am 30 years old. My wife and son are on the St. Charles Streetcar with me, riding back downtown through the Garden District, past Loyola and Tulane Universities, and Audubon Park and Zoo. The freezing cold rain that greeted our arrival has given way -- at least for the time being -- to a muggy, oppressive heat that weighs on our weary bodies. My wife is unimpressed by New Orleans, and before our honeymoon is over she has no desire to return. The seats on the streetcar are antique, hard wood, and although the tracks bounce us with a bone-jarring forcefulness, our son still manages to nap soundly. I am greatly looking forward to our visits to Mardi Gras World and the D-Day Museum, neither of which disappoint. --- I am 27 years old. Sitting across from me on the enclosed front porch of the trailer she shares with her husband and children, my ex-wife smokes and tries to hold back the tears. It is long past the time everyone else has gone to bed, and I have just finished packing from my weeklong visit with my daughter. I will return home from Tampa Bay tomorrow. The storm outside is a reflection of my ex-wife's mood, and the air is steamy and dangerous; a tornado watch is in effect. After a couple of drinks and a long conversation bordering on argument, she has just confessed that she is still in love with me. Were I to ask it, she would leave her husband and son and return to me. What can I say that won't hurt more than what she's already feeling? --- I am 23 years old. The summer air is hazy and damp, but there are brief moments of coolness. I am on one of my periodic hikes into the forest bordering our tiny village of Hagenbach, during which I always search in vain for the wild garlic that fills the air with its enticing aroma. Despite the pleasant surroundings, my thoughts are always dark when on these walks. My marriage has crumbled, but we still live together because I can't yet afford to fly back to the United States. Our arguments are heated, and sometimes end with me fending off her physically violent outbursts. Despite her own forays back into the dating world, she tries to discourage me from seeing other women. --- I am 21 years old. My buddy and I are sitting in his yellow '78 Camaro, cruising the streets of Fruitland Park. The open windows only sporadically relieve the musty heat of this small town. We have both just gotten out of the Army, and I have opted to spend a couple weeks seeing his home state before heading back to California. The daughter I love and the fiancee I do not want to marry won't be joining me for another couple months. During this trip my buddy's sister will develop a crush on me, I will almost have one night stands with two other women, and either Chip or Dale at Orlando's Disney World will squeeze my butt. --- I am 17 years old. We are attending my uncle's wedding in Scarsdale, NY. The ceremony is held in both English and Hebrew, which means it takes twice as long as it otherwise would. This wouldn't be such a bad thing if the service weren't taking place in the back yard of the bride's parents' house. Unfortunately, it rained this morning and the temperature is somewhere above 90 degrees. My cheap, grey department store suit is weighing me down, and my shirt, underwear and pants are sticking to my skin. I doze off through most of the ceremony, but manage to wake up just in time for the breaking of the glass.---
I am 38 years old.
It's almost 4:00 AM, and I will be leaving the house in a little more than 5 hours. Time to wash away the sweat and memories, and go to bed. I'll make some more memories later. And probably some more sweat, too.
Mazel Tov.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
tired
It's everywhere:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me" or some such.
2. I will respond by asking you 5 questions that may stray into realms you wish to remain private.
3. You will update your LJ with the answers to the questions. Please.
4. You will include this and an offer to interview someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them 5 questions.
As with the last time, I still don't have a lot of readers, so can't say whether too many people will respond. But I will ask questions of the first 5 people who reply.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
the_ogre asked me these questions, and here are my answers to same:1) You have two kids currently. Are you and
misanthrope_momlikely to ever have more?You don't regularly read my posts, so have likely not seen my previous entry regarding my decision to get a vasectomy. I'd very much like the kids to have moved out by the time I'm 60, so yeah ... we're done. (Plus, you forgot the Daughter, who doesn't live with us.)
2) You are a second-gen (at least) fan. What is your first memory of an SF Con?
Well, that would probably be a WesterCon or WorldCon that took place in LA when I was a very young, and the memory wasn't tied so much to the con itself as to eating breakfast at Sambo's with my dad and sister. I found a cockroach in my pancakes, and we got the meal for free. Really, the clearer memories of cons were from DunDraCon, and those involve Jeff Pimper letting me help with the film projector. "Phantasm" and Mike Jittlov left a clear impression.
3) Hands down - who is your favorite SF author?
Herein lies my embarassing confession: I don't actually read a lot of sci-fi (or even fantasy). Most of my reading is in the form of blogs, biographies and graphic novels. Just based on having read multiples from a single author, though, I'd have to say Neil Gaiman.
4) Are you and your wife ever likely to move back to the Bay Area core, do you think?
As often as she's spoken about missing Santa Cruz and wishing we could move there, the Wife just told me yesterday that if we could move anywhere in the Bay Area, it would be Mountain View. Essentially halfway between her family and mine, it's also a nice community with everything one would need.
5) Do you think you'd ever leave the Bay Area permanently?
Not likely, unless overnight I was somehow able to make a living as a professional film actor without any effort. I can't imagine that would enable to me to stay out of LA unless I was superfamous. Although New Zealand does sound nice.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood: restless
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
nostalgic
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
blah
Getting the Elder Son out of the house was hilarious, seeing as it took him longer than 30 minutes to get dressed. That's one of the wonderful things about ADHD -- it makes it hard for him to focus on anything before his meds kick in (let's not talk about how much it kills me to have to medicate my kid so heavily every day just so he can function properly).
Once I got home from dropping him off at school, I spent some time checking my gmail account, which I hadn't looked at since before Memorial Day Weekend. Oh, the wonders that awaited me! Fortunately, there weren't any new job offers or cash opportunities with time limits, but I figure that since I shave my head I would have been safe had there been anything that would have otherwise caused me to pull out my hair (it's not for nothing that I got a "CAUTION: Shakes Fist at Sky" ribbon at the con; really, I do spin, just on the inside).
After the Wife and Younger Son woke up, he and I played for a while and I did some more email and job searching. The Wife and I had breakfast while watching last week's Dr. Who (hooray, TIVO!), and then it was time to put the Younger Son down for his nap. After reading him a couple stories, I left him with his mother in the bedroom, and took off to do some errands.
My errands consisted of going to my ex-boss' house to pick up some paperwork related to the arbitration for which I get to fly to Palm Desert next week. Nobody was at the house, so I left a note for her brother-in-law ("He'll be at the house all day.") to call me when he got in. Then I drove to our county EDD to get some job search help from their veteran's benefits coordinator. That took a couple hours, and then I got a call from the brother-in-law saying he was back. I picked up the paperwork, then found out that the same county building also housed the office where one applies for food stamps (yeah, the fact that we're at the point of needing to even consider it literally makes me nauseous). Unfortunately I got there too late for the 90-minute application process, so will have to go back another day.
As it turns out, the Younger Son had not actually slept when the Wife put him down for the nap earlier in the day (he just spread toothpaste all over the bathroom and bedroom while she slept), so when I got home late in the afternoon, she had finally gotten him down and was again asleep herself. While I waited for them to wake up, I cleaned our gutter (which gathers dirt and trash, and grows algae thanks to a weird runoff spout right next to our house). While I was doing this, the neighbor's kids informed me that they will be moving out this coming Saturday. Yes, the hillbillies are finally leaving! Let's hope they take the rusty cars and dog poop with them.
Anyway, that's about it. I feel like crap, and have decided to have a couple beers tonight instead of my usual method of stress-release, going to the gym. Fat Tire down, Guinness to go.
- Location:The Burrow
- Mood:
depressed
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