wishfulaces: (Default)
I moved in with the boy almost two years ago, and he already had a roommate at that time. This weekend, the roommate has vacated to her girlfriend's house (with all 3 of her cats), the boy is at a conference, and I HAVE THE HOUSE TO MYSELF. Myself and the cat that I'm responsible for because she's my mom's only my mom can't really take care of her anymore and it's totally cool because I have my couch and she has her loveseat and everyone's happy. Other than I should scritch her ears more, but she thinks I should scritch her ears 24/7.

I don't quite know where to begin. What music shall I blast? what tv show or chick flick shall I watch? What food shall I eat? How shall I tidy the house? How much of the bed can I in fact sprawl on all at once?

On the other hand, I haven't been this properly alone for this long in almost two years--because I'm pretty sure I'm going to have the house to myself all week, unless roommate actually decides to bring her cats back that quickly or the boy has to leave his conference suddenly and early--and OMG WHAT IF THE ZOMBIES FIND ME AND KILL ME. Or the toilet breaks. That's probably more likely to happen. WHAT DO I DO THEN.

I told the boy I was watching Doctor Who and Castle this week with or without him. He retaliated by buying the entire season of DW on Google Play. Whatever, man, I HAVE NEW WHO TOMORROW. And a couch all to myself. With sea salt dark chocolate caramels and chicken salsa verde BECAUSE I CAN. I am going totally going to live up alone time while it lasts.
wishfulaces: (squee!)
See now, if the cat would just lie down next to me on the couch all the time, we'd both be far happier. (I don't think she agrees with me, I think she insists she's happiest lying in my lap with me constantly scritching her ears, but my allergies and my laptop do not agree with her.)

The cat is lying down next to me on the couch right now, you see, calmly and purringly, and that just does not happen very often.

So this past weekend visiting my mom she mentioned, once again, the Aunt Dimity books by Nancy Atherton. And these are mystery books I have not read before, and I'm in the mood for trying something new, so I pick up a couple on Kindle and apparently am probably going to have to pick up the rest because I kinda adore Lori and Bill and Dimity and all the other characters. The writing style is immediately engaging too. (Also, there are recipes at the end of all the books. Any book that involves baking is AOK in my, er, book.)

And Lori got divorced a year ago and lost her mom recently and is having a really crappy time of it and comes out alright in the end, and, okay, I'm weeping on the plane reading this book, you know? Because it's about grief and love and learning to live with loss and it's really hitting home for me. It doesn't help that I was also reading ceremony scripts our officiant gave us to peruse and weeping at all the sappy love bits. I'm sure every other passenger on that flight near my seat wondered what the hell was wrong with me. I've already told a friend she has to pinch me if I start weeping at my own wedding.

In other news, they got me onto the new network system yesterday, which meant I spent the entire day at work today IMing one of our IT gurus, going "C, this is broken now. C, do you happen to have that password because I totally never bothered to save it myself? C, I can't even *find* this software on my laptop now!" It's okay, he got a lot of M&Ms out of hanging out in my office with me half the day.
wishfulaces: (twins)
This weekend, sitting in Red Lobster with just a tiny portion of my extended family, my cousin K's girlfriend said, "I don't think I've been in a room with so many sarcastic people before," and we were all like, "This? You should see a proper family reunion," and sitting at that table that evening, with people I hadn't seen in a few years and only ever have seen every few years--this cemented why family is important to me. Because there is some throughline, some connection, deeper than constant and everyday contact; some pattern of behavior and thought and style that transcends and cuts through the morass to help us recognize each other. R. may still have no idea where I live or that my sister has left the Midwest; K. may not have known that we moved our aunt to assisted living; none of us may have known K. was dating or now a grandfather ye gods and little fishes, but we are still able to catch up and laugh and tease and be ourselves in some way that we can not with others.

So, despite the panic of taking my mother through airport security for the first time since 1995, despite going stir-crazy and feeling trapped in the hotel room yesterday afternoon when the elevator broke down and mom didn't feel comfortable leaving in case they couldn't fix it, despite my nephew being a typical ten-year-old boy yesterday and reminding me once again why I am so not ready to have kids, it was an excellent weekend.

Also, my brother has an adorable miniature poodle that charmed me so much it was all I could do not to put her in my luggage and take her home with me.
wishfulaces: (yellow roses)
[livejournal.com profile] troyswann! I have it on good authority that today is the day of your birth. So I have a tiny present for you. That may or may not be [livejournal.com profile] jenlev's fault, if I can remember how I can blame her.

Ahem.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, sweetie! *throws confetti, hands over some balloons*

Jack O'Neill and his favorite pasttime, with a very special guest appearance )
wishfulaces: (sunflowers)
I have cleaned today. The kind of cleaning that involves actually moving the furniture so I can vacuum under it. This was after waking up at a quarter to seven on about five hours sleep (or maybe less), driving 3.5 hours across the state line, and doing some Christmas shopping. Tomorrow I still have to do the real hard work--cleaning the kitchen and bathrooms, not to mention laundering the sheets at my aunt's house so my mom will have somewhere to sleep next week when she visits--but at least the bedrooms and living room are officially clean. And they'd bloody well better stay that way for the next couple weeks while company are around.

My Thanksgiving weekend so far has been pretty marvelous. I enjoyed visiting with my family, going from group to group to listen to and participate in the conversations, I enjoyed playing with my cousin's kids and then giving them back to her and my aunt when I drove away, I even enjoyed watching the blasted football games. And then I got to hang out with a couple of my friends on Friday, watching the sunset at the top of a hill drinking coffee (because we were so tired, but we'd all agreed that taking a nap would not be a productive use of our time together) and discussing Important Things, eating cheese and drinking a bottle of wine, watching a Christmas movie with one of my friend's family, staying up late playing music and talking. There were lots of pets everywhere for me to play with too. No leftovers for me, but I did get my pumpkin pie.

Last night, as we walked down the hill back to the car after sunset, I said to my friend that we're all settling down, the people in our age bracket; we'd both noticed ourselves changing a lot just in the past year or so, and that it's not thirty when this all happens. "I hope not," was her instant response, and I hastened to explain what I meant--becoming the adults we're supposed to become, phrases like that. But I think what I really meant is that we're getting a little steadier, internally if not externally.

But that's quite enough contemplation and physical labor; I'm going to take a bath, get dinner, and sprawl in front of the idiot box. Yay.
wishfulaces: (blessed)
For one week, recommend/share:

Day one: a song
Day two: a picture
Day three: a book/ebook/fanfic
Day four: a site
Day five: a youtube clip
Day six: a quote
Day seven: whatever tickles your fancy


Driving home from my aunt's house, I decided: fuck this shit, let's have some fun.

So, have Well, Did you Evah? from High Society, as sung by Bing Crosby and Frank Sinatra.

And you might as well have Always Look on the Bright Side of Life, from Spamalot, too.

And here, possibly the most random picspam ever in the history of random picspams:

right here under this cut )

And that, ladies and gentlemen, concludes this meme.
wishfulaces: (Yorick the mini)
Today was shit. Yesterday was shit. So here is random pic spammage.

Read more... )

mememememe

Sep. 5th, 2006 08:29 pm
wishfulaces: (fandom collision)
Oh, that was fun. My brain actually worked and stuff! Yaaaay!

5 times Fawkes will swear he never saw Bobby Hobbes crying. )


Five things that happened in the lead-up to Fitz finally leaving the TARDIS for good. )


5 fun things Daniel and Jack finally made time to do together that went well. )


My mom is so groovy. She sent me a bunch of CDs, including Sinatra, Bobby Darrin, Chad & Jeremy, and Everly Brothers. Hot diggity damn. She also emailed me this picture of the cat Honey. Honeycat is infamous for attempting to murder the family out of love. The family in this case including the computer.
See more... )
wishfulaces: (crack)
My parents have been making repairs to the house, including getting new windows (like the living room bay window and the sliding glass door in the kitchen). This, of course, leads to a conversation between my mother and I via email. (Most things do.) Rascal, Coco, and Honey are three of the pets currently living at the house.

Mom: Remember what I was saying about my clear window to the deck?.... there are little pawprints about fifteen inches from the bottom...

Me: I knew there would be. Will you keep the windows clean, or will you hire me again to wash windows?

Mom: Will you still do it for fifty cents?

Me: If you still pay in quarters. :)

Mom: Okay. I can do that.

Me: Does that mean I have a new contract?

Mom: You can sign it when you get here. 25 cents a window.

Me: Um, we're negotiating on that, depending on the size of the window. My union rep *will* have something to say otherwise.

Mom: Who are you getting to represent you? Rascal? Coco? Maybe Honey? She’d lick me.

Me: She'd cow you into submission! You don't stand a chance against her loving tactics!

Mom: We'll negotiate.

*

Went and saw Legend of Zorro tonight. Possibly *the* most cracktastic movie this year. I say that with all heartfelt appreciation and deep enjoyment of cracktasticness. It was like Van Helsing from a couple years ago all over again. Sheer, cheesy-rific bliss. Mmmm, cheesy-rific bliss.
wishfulaces: (flutter by butterfly)
Today has been a good day.

Starting with walking to the museum this morning when it was still 70 degrees outside, and then walking over to the city performing arts venue/art gallery to buy tickets, and then walking over to campus to check books out at the library & buy a few textbooks at the student center. And lunch. And a couple bottles of orange Slice, since I swear nobody else sells it. (Is it being done away with? Is this city banning it? How am I supposed to survive without my occasional orange soda fix?)

And then randomly I called my parents and talked to them again, for almost an hour. (Oops.) Dad was true to his word and only spoke to me for a couple minutes, but it was basically to thank me for a CD I made for him for Christmas almost five years ago. (I swear, the older I get, the stranger he gets, but at least sometimes it's a fairly nice strangeness.)

Mom and I talked about Honeycat. Honeycat is the sweetest, most darling little vixen anyone could ask for out of a cat, but she really does need to learn some self-restraint. First she took to sprawling on mom's keyboard and deleting things randomly, now she's apparently taken to batting at the arrow on the monitor. (Claws are sheathed, mom says. I'm just waiting for the day she comes home to find a smoking, holed computer monitor and a very singed cat.)

One time, Honey managed to accidentally turn one of the top stove burners on. "Can you take insurance out against a cat?" I asked today. And I did my impression of Honey: "You will loooooove me! And I will destroooooooy you!"
wishfulaces: (wilson)
Okay, if nothing else, I came home at exactly the right time. The street I live on has to be one of the most beautiful streets in IN (or at least this county)--there's an area thick with trees, with a pond on either side of the street, and it's seventy-five degrees with a light breeze and hardly a cloud in the sky and sunlight changing the space into a hundred different shades of green.

I've been taking the dogs for a lot of walks.

And that moment in House last night, when Stacy's standing right next to him and he's got his eyes closed? It's that sunlight look, when you tilt your head up and close your eyes to feel the light a little better.

Um, strangely, I have fic. SG-1 fic no less. Well, really, it's just Daniel Jackson and some thoughts strung together. Um. Yeah.

Read more... )
wishfulaces: (shirtsleeve fetish (intervain base))
We have a cat whose name is Honey (a dominance of orange-ish fur; when Marmalade still lived here, I used to confuse them a lot if I just caught a glimpse of one of them out of the corner of my eye. And it's interesting that only the orange-coloured cats ever seem to get names denoting their colouring, because there was Buttermilk back in the day too). We inherited her a while after my uncle died--and he sort of inherited her himself, in that she walked in one day and decided to stay.

Honeycat is the friendliest kitten I have ever met. Though on occasion I call her a seventeenth-century French mistress. Or Marie-Anoinette. It's all very awful and stereotyping of me, but there you go. She does have white pantaloons and a beauty mark on her nose...

In any case, Honey doesn't know how to take no for an answer. She is most decidedly a lap cat. Your entire existence (according to Honey) should revolve around scratching her ears, rubbing her chin, and on occasion giving her food. On the table, natch, because who wants to eat on the floor?

(Little Rascal, who on occasion and somewhat inexplicably impersonates a prairie dog, *does* like to eat on the floor. But then, he's a lower-class rough. Unlike Marmalade, who was in fact a mafia thug, complete with beat-up nose. I miss Marmalade, because while he was a thug, he also had some very interesting philosophical viewpoints he liked to pontificate upon while taking a walk with me down the street.)

So that while you really, really want to yell in frustration, "Honey, get off the table!" instead you end up with her bumping her head against you in an attempt to move your hand to scratch her ears, and it's too, too adorable for words, and you're still a bit aggrieved but you're laughing too.

Though last night, with a paw on each of my breasts? That, Honey, was a little too familiar, even for you.

In other words: thank the gods for antihistamines because, despite all my ambiguous feelings toward the drugs, I would never survive in this house otherwise.
wishfulaces: (disbelieving newkirk)
Am home.

*twiddles thumbs*

Home is place of conflicted feelings, as usual. But then, technically grew out of home about three years ago. Maybe only two.

Smothered in snow. I was worried for the cats going out, because they might drown in the stuff. It's bad enough when the dogs come in looking like moveable quadrupedal snowmen. And I left my winter coat in the car, 'cos yesterday? It was about 40 out and not snowing at all. Thank you for the reminder of your whimsy, midwestern weather.

(Did I mention the first stereotype I've actually ever come across as a Hoosier? Other than the occasional "I'm sorry" when mentioning my birthplace. I brought fudge to a little end-of-semester get-together last weekend. Girl who has, I think, lived her whole life in Arizona & Colorado said, "I expect someone from Indiana to be able to make fudge." I had to blink a lot. Forgot to mention it's supposedly from Mamie Eisenhower's recipe...)

I should be wrapping presents, hunting out kitchenware that mom no longer wants so my brother & I can have it, working on my reading list, cleaning the bathroom...but, dude. I need a vacation. I can't live anywhere anymore without thinking, "Okay, what do I have to get done today?" Which is good for keeping me busy and un-bored but not so good for lazy-slothful-"do I *have* to?" side of me. Which on occasion needs to be pampered.
wishfulaces: (up wi' the lil' people!)
I have arrived.

I have started moving in.

Panic is still coming and going in waves. Currently it's receded, but that's because I got through the ordeal of checking in to my apartment. Think I'm just numb right now. But hey, thanks to previous experience, I know it gets better.

We spent a couple nights in Topeka with my sister (or rather, at my sister's house--she was barely home for the time we were there because of work). The full day we were there I spent mostly in the back yard, playing with puppies.

Puppies.

The next-door neighbours have a lovely little dog (well, on the small end of medium-sized) with six babies, probably about five weeks old. There's a fence between the two properties, but back when my Uncle Buddy lived there the dogs next door were used to coming through the gate and playing with my uncle's dogs, and this dog is, I think, old enough to remember that time (she's certainly friendly enough). Plus, the puppies were still small enough to just wiggle right under the fence.

Six of them, all roly-poly little furry, playful sweethearts. (Well, except for the white twins, who were out-and-out rascals, but I still loved 'em.) There were two white ones, two tan ones (one was very shy and would only get near me--and not for long--until after all the pups and mama-dog got out and crossed the street, and mom and I chased them all back into their yard but this one, who we had to trap before she'd let us get near her--I carried her back, and after that she would play with me), the colour of their mum, a darker brown one (who was feeling poorly for a while, the poor sweetie, and slept the entire afternoon away pressed against the fence), and a white one with a grey back and head. She was our favourite. She slept in my mom's lap for a half-hour, and she came bounding over to me every single time I stepped outside and rolled onto her back so I could rub her tummy, and barked at Lowell who was working in the other yard before running back to mom's feet, either to guard her or to be protected by her. One of the white ones kept jumping up whenever I was bent over, as if he were trying to get my nose. It might have been him, it might have been his twin, who when I said "I have to go now" latched onto my arm and wouldn't let go. (It was heart-breaking every time I went inside, to see our favourite little grey-and-white pup standing on the bottom step looking up and wagging her tail, just wanting to play with me some more.) I have two pairs of jeans that are covered in mud from the knee down because I was surrounded by squirming puppies who all wanted to play with my shoes, bite my legs, have their ears scratched, and just be loved.

(So the last time I saw a puppy was probably ten years ago, and at that time Coco was a couple months old, so not nearly as small and roly-poly as these little cuties.)

Driving across the middle of Kansas, I discovered hills. We don't have hills like that in northern Indiana. Hell, not in central Illinois either. And there were entire farms of sunflowers, which was really, really cool to see from the interstate.

And then I got to Denver, and I'm driving along watching the traffic like a hawk, and I glance up and go, "Holy shit! Those are mountains!"

(So the last time I saw mountains was *twelve* years ago, when I was in Boulder for a few days. It's nice to have a landmark that gives me a sense of direction, other than the sun.)

But in any case, I have to go somewhere else now. Woo.
wishfulaces: (daniel gone wilde)
First. I think I can say, and really truly mean it without hedging or uncertainty, my sister and I are going to London this summer. Where I shall hopefully meet up with a variety of friends I've never gotten to meet in person and where I shall see all manner of cool and wonderful things. It's a graduation present from my mother, who is a darling in any case.

([livejournal.com profile] troyswann, we'll be getting in the morning of the 28th, it looks like--so perhaps we can grab a late lunch or something together and get you back to your hotel with plenty of time for sleep before the insanely early flight?)

Second. My aunt's dog, Sheila McCollie (a play on the fact that she is part collie and on the family name Macaulay--why yes we even had a Thomas Babington in our family, named after t'other one), died today.

This is deeply, deeply depressing. Because Sheila was the wonderfulest, sweetest dog, who crossed her front paws in the most ladylike way possible when sitting down, with the most gentle brown eyes and the most cheerful disposition. You could take her on walks around the neighbourhood without putting her on a lead, she was terrified of the fireworks when July rolled around, and she'd bark and bark and bark at you if you didn't run around with her enough in my aunt's backyard (really, she could be quite bossy at times). She curled up under the piano bench to sleep, and sometimes she and the cat Gracie were partners in crime, and once I had to help my aunt tend to her because she'd been attacked by another dog and she was bleeding and badly scared.

She was another pet I grew up with, and she's another one who's gone. And I don't know how my aunt will handle it, with only the cat Gracie left in her home with her.

*twitch*

Nov. 25th, 2003 01:08 pm
wishfulaces: (daleks)
Need faster Internet access. Hate dial-up. Hate mother's wretched old compy that runs on Windows 95. Have only just managed to trudge through friends' list. At this rate, will not get back to the RPG until January 3rd when I get my lovely, blessed, sexy black goth computer back to campus.

Gripe, gripe, moan, moan...

But in other news, much amusement has been had. Me, explaining why DW canon doesn't actually matter: "We're on adventure! We're going to save the planet from these villains, who look a lot like many previous villains, but it doesn't matter, because we're going to beat them anyway! Companion shiny moment! Other companion shiny moment! Numerous Doctor shiny moments! The end. Unless it's the first Doctor. Then it's numerous companion shiny moments! While Doctor snores. Off screen."

Also, I think I broke my mother when I told the dog quite seriously, "You're so very halotistically challenged."

Am going to ask for DVDs for Gift-Giving Day. (I have just now decided no longer shall it be called Christmas in my vocabulary, because that's rather stupid and probably highly hypocritical.) Even though DVD drive is still not working. Wishful-thinking will force it to play DVDs. Either that, or calling for help might work too...

Am getting off now, before internet kicks me off anyway and refuses to reconnect. Bastard dial-up. Bastard internet. Grr. Etc.
wishfulaces: (Default)
When I was three years old (or so my mother relates the story), I sat on the floor with my uncle Buddy doing something. And when he tried to stand up, he groaned and muttered "oh damn, oh damn..." And I, being the cute little cheeky three-year-old that I was, imitated him perfectly, right down to the "oh damn, oh damn."

A year or two later I jumped out of a moving train into his arms. It was dark and cold, and I wore a short sleeved pink-striped shirt. Or maybe I'm just filling in a memory that I've been told should be there but isn't.

And when we drove across country to cousin Kevin's wedding (I think it was Kevin's) in Arizona--taking a side trip to visit the Curtises in California--my mother, my aunt Bev, and my uncle (plus a dog or two), we all fell asleep in the car one night. And Buddy, who was driving, also got tired, so he pulled off to a rest area and went to sleep on a picnic table.

And we went to the dumb old ocean, and I collected a 21 oz drink's worth of shells, which I gave away to all and sundry. And I learnt to like lettuce that trip too.

And when Buddy visited us for a long stretch in '93, fixing our house up--we owe the deck to him, and the kitchen chandelier and tiles, among other things--he made fun of my British science-fiction and I never forgave him for that. That was also the time of the infamous trip to Wal-Mart that my mom and Buddy took. Spending $200 on a pair of socks indeed...fools!

He used to have a drawer of chocolate, all kinds of chocolate, in the bottom of his refrigerator. He let me have whatever I wanted. And the light in the East bedroom used to have a little Disneyland castle, not quite Neuschwanstein, and could play three different tunes, one of which was "It's a Small World." I played with that light switch for hours as a little kid. Back then, I stayed at his house and slept in the same bed as mom and scratched my insect bites even though I was told not to and even rolled out of bed (and onto mom's feet) because I forgot how little room I had.

And when mom and I visited Topeka for the Treasures of the Czars exhibit--we even took a plane, wonder of all wonders! (my hand was crushed by my mother's grip)--I sat down to watch the weekly poker game between my three aunts (June, Ethel, Bea) and two uncles (Buddy, Ken). Buddy kept trying to deal me in, but I smiled shyly and said, "I'm just watching." Until at last, he gave me some of his pennies and dealt me in anyway. And after I kept winning round after round of pennies and nickels and dimes, he looked around the others thoughtfully and said, "Maybe *I* should just watch for a while."

He took us out to all the rural cemetaries one summer, so we could find the gravestones of lots of our relatives--Nellie and grandma and William John. And he drove down a one-way street the wrong way (on a weekend when it was deserted, thank goodness) to show me the Capital building, where years before I'd sat on Abe Lincoln's lap and had my picture taken.

And when I came to the 2000 family reunion, mom and I dropped by Buddy's house (not going anywhere near the acutal inside of it, because I knew my sinuses would never stand the attack of cat and dog hair and dust), and he put his arm around me and told me about the graduation pictures he'd seen. "I think there was *one* picture where you weren't smiling!" he laughed.

The dog Spotty was so taken with my uncle he just jumped into the open window of my uncle's car and went home with Buddy. Honey cat did something rather similar, coming in the front door of Buddy's house everyday, for so long that after a while they both just took it for granted they belonged to each other.

He gave me spending money my first year of college, and agreed--if grumpily, in his grumpy but generous way--to help pay for my second year of tuition.

And he wanted his body cremated, so he could be buried with his mother and father and two younger brothers and older sister without disturbing the tree that was growing against the last plot the family had in that cemetary.

And when they buried his ashes in the ground, they tossed the magnets from the fridge--the representations of all kinds of electrical appliances, because Buddy was always going to get around to fix something but never quite finished it--into the hole with him.

One of the very last things Buddy did was to badger his sisters Bea and Bev (or was it Bev and Ethel?) into getting him his wallet. He took out a hundred dollar bill, settling the small argument my aunts had gotten into about some money thing.

Good old Uncle Buddy.

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