Well, I had a pretty awesome day until baseball came on. Went to Nordie's, which is always fun. I didn't buy anything; my mom was doing the shopping, but I just like being there. Then - THEN! - we went to the Verizon store, and guess what Iiiii orrrderrrred? That's right, what else but an iPhone 5! I was going to get the 32 GB one, but I ended up going for the 64. Jeez I'm excited! This is the best thing I've ever bought myself, other than my guitar. The spoiled, competitive little bitch in me can't wait to spring it on my friends. Yep, I openly admit it...maturity is not my strong point. Can't wait to see how this Siri thing works..."Siri, when is hockey coming back?" "Never." "Why?" "Because Gary Bettman is an asshole." "Thanks, Siri, you always have the right answer."
Speaking of sports, then it was home for baseball. Oh. God. Why. At least we had the lead at SOME point during the series, thanks to Monsieur Triple Crown. Still got swept, though. Really embarrassing. I was being all positive on Twitter, which is unusual for me. It probably just hasn't hit me yet. Tomorrow I'll be playing all the sad songs I usually play when the Wings lose in the playoffs and bawling in calculus and that kind of thing. It's been a good year of baseball for me, though. The Tigers had big ups and downs, and the Padres sucked steadily like they usually do, but I went to 3 Padres games and had a lot of fun with friends and family. Plus, it's been great getting to know the Tigers better over the past couple of years of watching on and off (with special thanks to the Wings fans I follow on Twitter for educating me on baseball in general), and I think sometime in about August they finally really hooked me. Now I'm all excited for spring training and shit. Pretty sure I'm in for the long haul now. It was hard to get into it at first because I'm used to hockey and all its fast-paced excitement, but now that I have a way better clue of what's going on, I think all the strategy and mind games that go on between the pitcher and batter are really interesting. Yeah, so...come on, March. Ain't like I've got anything else going on. What the hell did I do before I started watching sports? My life feels so empty right now, and yet in another time and place, I was content without it. Inconceivable.
You know what else I miss? My fucking chemistry class. I had, like, almost-friends in that class! We had good times! I even enjoyed lab, even though I kind of panicked the morning of every lab day. I guess that's how you know you're meant to do something - even when you're scared of something, you end up enjoying it while you're doing it and missing it when it's over. Baby come back. Hopefully I can get in to the last general chem class I need next semester...fingers are crossed.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Thursday, October 25, 2012
It's 3:45 am. No way am I going to think of a title now.
Haha, I haven't updated since my last calculus test. Got an 89% on this one - still not bad, but argh, just one more percentage point... I have a 94% in the class, though, which doesn't seem right, but I'll take it! Must be the quizzes...I have been doing pretty good on those.
Still no hockey, so I've been balls deep in the MLB playoffs, cheering for the Tigers, of course. Sports, jeez. I can't think of anything that gives you highs and lows like that except drugs (not speaking from personal experience, of course, except where the legal ones come in). One minute you're making the Yankees look like little league, and the next your Cy Young winning MVP pitcher is giving up home runs that make even him wonder how the hell that just happened. What a night. Oh well, it's only one game. Andy Dirks and his sick flow are going to save their asses in Game 2, though (goddamn he's cute...there's my bandwagoning fangirl thought for the night). Fister might come in handy, too. HARRRRR. Sad, I wasn't even trying to go for the zinger there, either...I'm just full of bad puns waiting to be vomited out, that's all.
I think I'm finally going to get an iPhone. No Winter Classic means I actually have some extra money. I've certainly done my time with the phone I have now. I got it in...'08, I think? I thought it was badass at the time just because it had a texting keyboard. My friend had the same one, broke it, got another one, broke it again, got a Blackberry, hated it, and finally got some kind of Android dealy in the same amount of time as I've had this one phone. So yeah...I'm ready to take the plunge. I hope I don't get glued to the thing; I have kind of a love/hate relationship with technology. I love how it makes life easier, but I hate how it makes us miss what's going on around us. My computer was down for the last couple of weeks, and I feel like I got so much more done and just kind of enjoyed my surroundings way more than I usually do. Oh well, back to Tron again - it's been real, real life.
Still no hockey, so I've been balls deep in the MLB playoffs, cheering for the Tigers, of course. Sports, jeez. I can't think of anything that gives you highs and lows like that except drugs (not speaking from personal experience, of course, except where the legal ones come in). One minute you're making the Yankees look like little league, and the next your Cy Young winning MVP pitcher is giving up home runs that make even him wonder how the hell that just happened. What a night. Oh well, it's only one game. Andy Dirks and his sick flow are going to save their asses in Game 2, though (goddamn he's cute...there's my bandwagoning fangirl thought for the night). Fister might come in handy, too. HARRRRR. Sad, I wasn't even trying to go for the zinger there, either...I'm just full of bad puns waiting to be vomited out, that's all.
I think I'm finally going to get an iPhone. No Winter Classic means I actually have some extra money. I've certainly done my time with the phone I have now. I got it in...'08, I think? I thought it was badass at the time just because it had a texting keyboard. My friend had the same one, broke it, got another one, broke it again, got a Blackberry, hated it, and finally got some kind of Android dealy in the same amount of time as I've had this one phone. So yeah...I'm ready to take the plunge. I hope I don't get glued to the thing; I have kind of a love/hate relationship with technology. I love how it makes life easier, but I hate how it makes us miss what's going on around us. My computer was down for the last couple of weeks, and I feel like I got so much more done and just kind of enjoyed my surroundings way more than I usually do. Oh well, back to Tron again - it's been real, real life.
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
I'm on board the RMS Titanic...a titanic amount of bullshit, that is
So I got a 91% on my calculus test! Not bad! Especially considering that I probably got a C at best on the same material when I took (and subsequently dropped) this class last semester. Yay me!
The shit I'm going through to get that A, though. I'm not even talking about the difficulty of the class, though - I'm talking about the supreme bullshit I've been putting up with that's emanating from my community college. First of all, this summer I was informed that I was getting dumped from the front of the line to the end of the line for registration (too many units). That meant my registration date was two days before you'd get kicked out of all your classes for not paying your fees. Now, I qualify for a fee waiver, so I applied right after I registered for the only measly night class I could get into. I checked back in the two days afterward, and when the day came for you to pay up or get kicked out, the waiver still hadn't been applied. Not cool. I went ahead and just paid the damn fees so I wouldn't get kicked out, and figured I'd get a refund later. I remember doing that once before the first time around at this school, so I didn't think it was a big deal.
Fast forwarding to now, I finally had time to dick around with the cashier's window, so I walk on up and try to make my explanation simple - I'd paid my fees but had also applied for the fee waiver, so I was due for a refund. Skinny bitch looks at my account, asks me when I applied for the waiver. "Two days before the fees were due," I tell her. She says it takes a month for the waiver to be applied, so I should just keep my fuckin' shirt on until then. I guess she thought I'd meant I applied for it two days ago, and not two days before the due date. I wasn't prepared to argue since I hadn't looked at my account in a while, so I just said thanks in a pretty shitty tone and left. Sorry, skinny bitch. I might not have been so pissy if you would've actually talked into the microphone mounted into the glass separating us so that I could hear you. I'm sorry the microphone doesn't have a better range and that you have to strain to lean forward and speak into it. The whole exchange was like, "I'm sorry...don't...have...-ee waiver...refund...account." "WHAT?" Fucking ridiculous. So yeah, I'm going to come back armed with printouts of my account. It's a little confusing, but it looks like what happened was that they saw that I'd already paid my fees, so they took back the fee waiver. There are my fees, my payment, the fee waiver, and then a line that says "overpayment" and a charge for the same amount as the fee waiver. This seems logical, right?
Anyway, so then I tried to go make a counseling appointment to see if I can maybe get my registration priority back (since I DO have a plan and honestly just want to get out of their hair ASAP), or if I'm going to need to move out of this godforsaken state and either enroll at another community college or try to get a second bachelor's degree at a university that grants them. Or, y'know, give up and make minimum wage for the rest of my life. Jesus, this is like the backwards Dust Bowl - "Don't go to California, whatever you do! They have no jobs and you can't afford to live there!" I am NOT going to give up, though - I've finally figured out what I want to do, and no stupid recession or the fact that I'm becoming an old fart rapidly is going to stop me! I'm sorry I dicked around with an English degree, and maybe I'm being unrealistic here, but I don't think that should bar me from achieving future success. Ok, huge tangent there, sorry. Anyway, I go into the newly-remodeled counseling center, and there's a big sign on the counter that says, "No appointments available - come back on 10/1." Gotta love the irony there; nice new counseling center, no fucking counselors. Same with the science building - it was just finished the year before last, but there isn't enough money to create enough class sections to serve all the students. "That money comes from a different funding source!" all the administrators and politicians love to say. Blow me, I say. I just want to take more than one class a semester, get a counseling appointment when I need one, and not get ripped off in the process. If California can't provide enough tax money for that, then what the fuck do we even have a state government for?
The shit I'm going through to get that A, though. I'm not even talking about the difficulty of the class, though - I'm talking about the supreme bullshit I've been putting up with that's emanating from my community college. First of all, this summer I was informed that I was getting dumped from the front of the line to the end of the line for registration (too many units). That meant my registration date was two days before you'd get kicked out of all your classes for not paying your fees. Now, I qualify for a fee waiver, so I applied right after I registered for the only measly night class I could get into. I checked back in the two days afterward, and when the day came for you to pay up or get kicked out, the waiver still hadn't been applied. Not cool. I went ahead and just paid the damn fees so I wouldn't get kicked out, and figured I'd get a refund later. I remember doing that once before the first time around at this school, so I didn't think it was a big deal.
Fast forwarding to now, I finally had time to dick around with the cashier's window, so I walk on up and try to make my explanation simple - I'd paid my fees but had also applied for the fee waiver, so I was due for a refund. Skinny bitch looks at my account, asks me when I applied for the waiver. "Two days before the fees were due," I tell her. She says it takes a month for the waiver to be applied, so I should just keep my fuckin' shirt on until then. I guess she thought I'd meant I applied for it two days ago, and not two days before the due date. I wasn't prepared to argue since I hadn't looked at my account in a while, so I just said thanks in a pretty shitty tone and left. Sorry, skinny bitch. I might not have been so pissy if you would've actually talked into the microphone mounted into the glass separating us so that I could hear you. I'm sorry the microphone doesn't have a better range and that you have to strain to lean forward and speak into it. The whole exchange was like, "I'm sorry...don't...have...-ee waiver...refund...account." "WHAT?" Fucking ridiculous. So yeah, I'm going to come back armed with printouts of my account. It's a little confusing, but it looks like what happened was that they saw that I'd already paid my fees, so they took back the fee waiver. There are my fees, my payment, the fee waiver, and then a line that says "overpayment" and a charge for the same amount as the fee waiver. This seems logical, right?
Anyway, so then I tried to go make a counseling appointment to see if I can maybe get my registration priority back (since I DO have a plan and honestly just want to get out of their hair ASAP), or if I'm going to need to move out of this godforsaken state and either enroll at another community college or try to get a second bachelor's degree at a university that grants them. Or, y'know, give up and make minimum wage for the rest of my life. Jesus, this is like the backwards Dust Bowl - "Don't go to California, whatever you do! They have no jobs and you can't afford to live there!" I am NOT going to give up, though - I've finally figured out what I want to do, and no stupid recession or the fact that I'm becoming an old fart rapidly is going to stop me! I'm sorry I dicked around with an English degree, and maybe I'm being unrealistic here, but I don't think that should bar me from achieving future success. Ok, huge tangent there, sorry. Anyway, I go into the newly-remodeled counseling center, and there's a big sign on the counter that says, "No appointments available - come back on 10/1." Gotta love the irony there; nice new counseling center, no fucking counselors. Same with the science building - it was just finished the year before last, but there isn't enough money to create enough class sections to serve all the students. "That money comes from a different funding source!" all the administrators and politicians love to say. Blow me, I say. I just want to take more than one class a semester, get a counseling appointment when I need one, and not get ripped off in the process. If California can't provide enough tax money for that, then what the fuck do we even have a state government for?
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Winning at Life...the right way
I will never understand my grandfather. Never. So...I'm a tad on the high-strung side. I wouldn't say I'm uptight - that makes you sound like you're the kind of person who'd like to make fun illegal - just a bit on edge. I didn't get it from him. My mom's dad was the goddamn picture of serenity. Of all the fucks in the world from 1920-2007, none were given by him. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why.
"So what if he was a calm dude?" you ask. "There are all kinds of Tibetan monks out there who don't give a flip all day, every day. It's not that hard to do. A little meditation here, a little yoga there, and you're chilling out with the best of them." Yeah...not if you had my grandpa's life.
Let's set the scene a little, shall we? His parents were two Ukrainian Jews who were born in the late 1800s. There's a big 9.5 on the ohhh-shit-o-meter already, right? His father, Henry, was an orphan; Henry's parents were said to have been killed in a buggy accident. He and his wife, Dina (who everyone apparently said was too good for her husband, heh), fled the Russian Empire in the early 1900s in order to escape the Pogroms. I'm not sure how many kids they had at this point - they had five altogether in the end - but I do know they had to leave one daughter behind because she didn't pass the medical exam they had to take before they could get on the ship. Yeah. My grandpa hadn't been born yet at that point - he was the youngest, and he came along after they'd reached America at Ellis Island and moved to Los Angeles a couple of years later (smart choice).
Here's where shit got real for him. His mother died when he was about a year old. His father remarried. It was a fairy tale wedding - the kind of fairy tale where the the new wife turns out to be the Evil Stepmother Incarnate. See, she wasn't big on kids, and since Henry was pretty much broke, they decided it would be in the kids' best interest for them to go into an orphanage. I'll repeat: they sent the kids to an orphanage. Apparently, according to what I've heard, this wasn't completely unheard of. If you were a poor Jewish man who couldn't support your family, it was acceptable to send them to an orphanage so they could be fed and taken of. I don't know about that generation, but I think that frigging sucks, and I think my grandfather would agree for the most part. He wouldn't talk about it much (which I completely understand), but what he did say leads me to believe it was like most things in life - some parts were good (he said a couple of people there helped him out a lot) and some were bad (that was around the time he stopped being a practicing Jew...although he always had a mezuzah on his door until the day he died).
Next stop: World War II. He joined the Army, fought in the Battle of the Bulge (where he was awarded a Purple Heart), and freed at least one Nazi concentration camp (one was at Peenemünde, for sure). I've seen pictures he took at Peenemünde...those are enough to haunt me for a lifetime, so suffice it to say I can't imagine what he went through. He never talked about that much, either. He did give a talk at a school about it once, but I guess he didn't want his family to have to go through that. If it were me, I wouldn't want to talk about it to anyone ever, but I'm very proud of him for having the courage to face a room full of kids in hopes that they'll learn from the past. I always wanted to ask him what it was like being Jewish and freeing a concentration camp, but hell, how would you answer that question? Anderson Cooper couldn't get you to put thoughts into words in that situation. The only thing that puts it into perspective a tiny bit is when my mom asked him if he ever thought about going back to Europe, since he'd been on a lot of other trips to Hawaii and Alaska and Mexico and such. "I've seen quite enough of Europe," was his response.
After that, things got exponentially better. He came home, married my grandma, moved to San Diego, had my mom and my uncle, and started a business. This was the origin of the grandpa I knew: the goofy, unassuming guy who used to take me and the dogs for a walk and sing "McNamara's Band" like we were the world's smallest marching band. The grandpa who used to drive my grandma crazy, literally, by making wider and wider circles in the car in the general vicinity of the place they were trying to get to until they found it. My grandma was much more of a hothead, like me, but no matter what was going on, my grandpa would never lose his cool. I don't think I saw him angry once in my entire life. Every once in a while he'd bellow at one of the dogs, Honey, who was extraordinarily hyper, but even then he wasn't really mad - he was just trying to get her to stop moving in every direction at once for two seconds. I mean, I guess it kind of makes sense; after all the crap he'd been through, there wasn't much in everyday life that really required getting worked up over. It's just amazing that he was able to overcome everything and give my mom a normal, happy, American childhood. It's definitely inspirational, although if I told the truth, I couldn't say I've really been able to put it into effect in my life so far, but I keep trying. Every time I'm about to lose my shit, I try to picture him having a good time at the pool parties he and my grandma used to give, sending out a big F U through his actions to every person or thing that tried to keep him from having a fulfilling life.
"So what if he was a calm dude?" you ask. "There are all kinds of Tibetan monks out there who don't give a flip all day, every day. It's not that hard to do. A little meditation here, a little yoga there, and you're chilling out with the best of them." Yeah...not if you had my grandpa's life.
Let's set the scene a little, shall we? His parents were two Ukrainian Jews who were born in the late 1800s. There's a big 9.5 on the ohhh-shit-o-meter already, right? His father, Henry, was an orphan; Henry's parents were said to have been killed in a buggy accident. He and his wife, Dina (who everyone apparently said was too good for her husband, heh), fled the Russian Empire in the early 1900s in order to escape the Pogroms. I'm not sure how many kids they had at this point - they had five altogether in the end - but I do know they had to leave one daughter behind because she didn't pass the medical exam they had to take before they could get on the ship. Yeah. My grandpa hadn't been born yet at that point - he was the youngest, and he came along after they'd reached America at Ellis Island and moved to Los Angeles a couple of years later (smart choice).
Here's where shit got real for him. His mother died when he was about a year old. His father remarried. It was a fairy tale wedding - the kind of fairy tale where the the new wife turns out to be the Evil Stepmother Incarnate. See, she wasn't big on kids, and since Henry was pretty much broke, they decided it would be in the kids' best interest for them to go into an orphanage. I'll repeat: they sent the kids to an orphanage. Apparently, according to what I've heard, this wasn't completely unheard of. If you were a poor Jewish man who couldn't support your family, it was acceptable to send them to an orphanage so they could be fed and taken of. I don't know about that generation, but I think that frigging sucks, and I think my grandfather would agree for the most part. He wouldn't talk about it much (which I completely understand), but what he did say leads me to believe it was like most things in life - some parts were good (he said a couple of people there helped him out a lot) and some were bad (that was around the time he stopped being a practicing Jew...although he always had a mezuzah on his door until the day he died).
Next stop: World War II. He joined the Army, fought in the Battle of the Bulge (where he was awarded a Purple Heart), and freed at least one Nazi concentration camp (one was at Peenemünde, for sure). I've seen pictures he took at Peenemünde...those are enough to haunt me for a lifetime, so suffice it to say I can't imagine what he went through. He never talked about that much, either. He did give a talk at a school about it once, but I guess he didn't want his family to have to go through that. If it were me, I wouldn't want to talk about it to anyone ever, but I'm very proud of him for having the courage to face a room full of kids in hopes that they'll learn from the past. I always wanted to ask him what it was like being Jewish and freeing a concentration camp, but hell, how would you answer that question? Anderson Cooper couldn't get you to put thoughts into words in that situation. The only thing that puts it into perspective a tiny bit is when my mom asked him if he ever thought about going back to Europe, since he'd been on a lot of other trips to Hawaii and Alaska and Mexico and such. "I've seen quite enough of Europe," was his response.
After that, things got exponentially better. He came home, married my grandma, moved to San Diego, had my mom and my uncle, and started a business. This was the origin of the grandpa I knew: the goofy, unassuming guy who used to take me and the dogs for a walk and sing "McNamara's Band" like we were the world's smallest marching band. The grandpa who used to drive my grandma crazy, literally, by making wider and wider circles in the car in the general vicinity of the place they were trying to get to until they found it. My grandma was much more of a hothead, like me, but no matter what was going on, my grandpa would never lose his cool. I don't think I saw him angry once in my entire life. Every once in a while he'd bellow at one of the dogs, Honey, who was extraordinarily hyper, but even then he wasn't really mad - he was just trying to get her to stop moving in every direction at once for two seconds. I mean, I guess it kind of makes sense; after all the crap he'd been through, there wasn't much in everyday life that really required getting worked up over. It's just amazing that he was able to overcome everything and give my mom a normal, happy, American childhood. It's definitely inspirational, although if I told the truth, I couldn't say I've really been able to put it into effect in my life so far, but I keep trying. Every time I'm about to lose my shit, I try to picture him having a good time at the pool parties he and my grandma used to give, sending out a big F U through his actions to every person or thing that tried to keep him from having a fulfilling life.
Monday, August 13, 2012
Oh god. I think a cat just adopted me. I had nothing to do with it, I swear. It was just there in my backyard, and it came up looking for pets and snuggles. It didn't even want food! You see, I know all the cat tricks - the ol' "Give me food and I'll love you forever" ploy doesn't work on me - I know you're just going to ignore me after I feed you. But this one wasn't even hungry...it just wanted to come in the house, hehe.
So here's the whole story: my next-door neighbors just moved out. They'd been "fixing up" the house (it's like Frankenhouse over there...it was fine before, but this guy, who is a pastry chef by profession, had to go and chop it up and try to put it back together again), but now they're finished (not sure how they knew they'd come to a stopping point, but okies), so they rented it out to some poor unsuspecting lady. Anyway, while they were still living there, they had a cat. A grey cat. And all of a sudden, a grey kitten and a black kitten show up from nowhere. We hadn't had any stray cats in the neighborhood for years. Hmm, where could these two have come from? Especially the one with the grey stripes that looked exactly like the neighbors' cat? We just assumed it was theirs since SOMEONE was at least sort of taking care of them because they were getting food and water, and they seemed to hang around their house.
Then one day they ask US if the kittens are OURS. Really? Do I look like I was born yesterday? It's not my fault you didn't spay your cat - now deal with the consequences instead of trying to look innocent and pawn them off on somebody else. Didn't happen. Fast forward a couple years, and guess what? Now it has kittens! A grey striped one and a black one, just like the last generation! Jeeeeesus. The kicker of the whole thing is when they moved out, they took the original cat with them, and left the rest of the whole mess to fend for themselves. Never would admit that they had anything to do with it.
I was willing to give the neighbors a bit of the benefit of the doubt because that's some hardcore denial right there, but check this out. These two third-generation kittens (3G? Well, they definitely make noise like a cell phone) must have come from two different litters. The black one is pretty young - it's really small and afraid of people, like you'd expect (and was probably born right around the time the neighbors moved out). The grey one, on the other hand, looks older and is not afraid of people whatsoever. In fact, it followed us right in the house before we could shut the door and proceeded to try to make itself right at home. Gee, could that be because it's used to being in the neighbors' house? Plus, this cat has eye problems. If someone else in the neighborhood was taking care of it and letting it in their house, they wouldn't have let its eyes get all infected. I'm guessing the eye infection started sometime after they left, and nobody's been around to notice.
So yeah, that's the cat drama. If those aren't my old neighbors' cats, I don't know where they came from or how they got people-friendly. Anyway, we're thinking about keeping the grey kitten. My at-least-23-year-old cat (no word of a lie) finally met a not untimely end last year, so we've been catless since then. As much as I miss my cat (I've had him since I was 6 or 7), I can't say I miss the cleanup, so I'm not sure how I feel about adding the litter box and the extra vacuuming back in, but...gosh, he's cute!
I've been thinking about cat names, so you what side I've been leaning toward. There's the usual boring-but-nice-sounding names like Smoke, Shadow, Storm, etc., and then there's a couple I thought of once I let my inner geek go wild. One is Castiel (Cas for short, of course) after the angel from Supernatural, and the other is Thor, which isn't quite so nerdy, and goes well with a grey cat since he's the god of thunder and all. Hey, at least I'm not going to name him Earl Grey, like I've seen on a couple of websites. Honestly, people. Of course, that's not as bad as all the ones like Mr. Shmoofles McShmoofington III and crap...I know cats don't understand English (and if they do, they're not very literate, are they?), but come on, surely the poor thing has got to feel a little humiliation every time you call him. It's like when two people are speaking a language you don't know, but you're pretty sure they're talking about how your ass crack is hanging out or something, and not about what they had for dinner last night or the movie they just saw.
So here's the whole story: my next-door neighbors just moved out. They'd been "fixing up" the house (it's like Frankenhouse over there...it was fine before, but this guy, who is a pastry chef by profession, had to go and chop it up and try to put it back together again), but now they're finished (not sure how they knew they'd come to a stopping point, but okies), so they rented it out to some poor unsuspecting lady. Anyway, while they were still living there, they had a cat. A grey cat. And all of a sudden, a grey kitten and a black kitten show up from nowhere. We hadn't had any stray cats in the neighborhood for years. Hmm, where could these two have come from? Especially the one with the grey stripes that looked exactly like the neighbors' cat? We just assumed it was theirs since SOMEONE was at least sort of taking care of them because they were getting food and water, and they seemed to hang around their house.
Then one day they ask US if the kittens are OURS. Really? Do I look like I was born yesterday? It's not my fault you didn't spay your cat - now deal with the consequences instead of trying to look innocent and pawn them off on somebody else. Didn't happen. Fast forward a couple years, and guess what? Now it has kittens! A grey striped one and a black one, just like the last generation! Jeeeeesus. The kicker of the whole thing is when they moved out, they took the original cat with them, and left the rest of the whole mess to fend for themselves. Never would admit that they had anything to do with it.
I was willing to give the neighbors a bit of the benefit of the doubt because that's some hardcore denial right there, but check this out. These two third-generation kittens (3G? Well, they definitely make noise like a cell phone) must have come from two different litters. The black one is pretty young - it's really small and afraid of people, like you'd expect (and was probably born right around the time the neighbors moved out). The grey one, on the other hand, looks older and is not afraid of people whatsoever. In fact, it followed us right in the house before we could shut the door and proceeded to try to make itself right at home. Gee, could that be because it's used to being in the neighbors' house? Plus, this cat has eye problems. If someone else in the neighborhood was taking care of it and letting it in their house, they wouldn't have let its eyes get all infected. I'm guessing the eye infection started sometime after they left, and nobody's been around to notice.
So yeah, that's the cat drama. If those aren't my old neighbors' cats, I don't know where they came from or how they got people-friendly. Anyway, we're thinking about keeping the grey kitten. My at-least-23-year-old cat (no word of a lie) finally met a not untimely end last year, so we've been catless since then. As much as I miss my cat (I've had him since I was 6 or 7), I can't say I miss the cleanup, so I'm not sure how I feel about adding the litter box and the extra vacuuming back in, but...gosh, he's cute!
I've been thinking about cat names, so you what side I've been leaning toward. There's the usual boring-but-nice-sounding names like Smoke, Shadow, Storm, etc., and then there's a couple I thought of once I let my inner geek go wild. One is Castiel (Cas for short, of course) after the angel from Supernatural, and the other is Thor, which isn't quite so nerdy, and goes well with a grey cat since he's the god of thunder and all. Hey, at least I'm not going to name him Earl Grey, like I've seen on a couple of websites. Honestly, people. Of course, that's not as bad as all the ones like Mr. Shmoofles McShmoofington III and crap...I know cats don't understand English (and if they do, they're not very literate, are they?), but come on, surely the poor thing has got to feel a little humiliation every time you call him. It's like when two people are speaking a language you don't know, but you're pretty sure they're talking about how your ass crack is hanging out or something, and not about what they had for dinner last night or the movie they just saw.
Friday, July 13, 2012
I have thoughts...about Indiana Jones
But not like that. Well, okay, maybe every once in a while...Harrison Ford is an über-hottie, after all. But what I want to address is...Shia. Of the beef kind. Because nothing in this world, except for spiders, scares me more than the wedding scene in Kingdom of the Crystal Skull where the hat blows across the floor to him and he picks it up. I didn't actually mind him that much in the movie - I mean, this is the series that features Willie and Shorty, for Pete's sake - but I'm not doing it again. If they DID do another Indy movie, which I honestly kind of hope they don't, here are my thoughts:
Yeah, that's Jensen Ackles. Maybe I am blinded by the fangirl light, because right now I'm like, "Do ALL the movies!!!" but I dunno, it works for me. I thought I would never watch an Indy movie without Harrison Ford, but...apparently there's one exception. Am I wrong?
I'd like to think I'm being picky about this, too - I mean, I've seen Romancing the Stone, like every person over 25 has. Decent movie (from what I remember...it's been a while), crap casting. Michael freaking Douglas? Are you kidding? What exactly was it about Michael Douglas that made the casting director say, "Watch out, we got a badass over here!"? It's not happening for me. And it hasn't happened for me with anybody else. But Jensen Ackles? I can get on that train. Now put down that hat, kid, so we can get on with the Nazi hunting.
There is a huge white line at the bottom of my image. Don't use Paint, kids.
Yeah, that's Jensen Ackles. Maybe I am blinded by the fangirl light, because right now I'm like, "Do ALL the movies!!!" but I dunno, it works for me. I thought I would never watch an Indy movie without Harrison Ford, but...apparently there's one exception. Am I wrong?
Kimi Raikkonen powers of indecision, activate!
I'd like to think I'm being picky about this, too - I mean, I've seen Romancing the Stone, like every person over 25 has. Decent movie (from what I remember...it's been a while), crap casting. Michael freaking Douglas? Are you kidding? What exactly was it about Michael Douglas that made the casting director say, "Watch out, we got a badass over here!"? It's not happening for me. And it hasn't happened for me with anybody else. But Jensen Ackles? I can get on that train. Now put down that hat, kid, so we can get on with the Nazi hunting.
Hockey thoughts
Let's start off with some hockey, shall we? Now, I'm a diehard Red Wings fan (and you can tell because I'm not freaking out despite knowing that we're going to suck next season), but I live in Southern California and have seen the Ducks quite a bit, so don't burn me at the stake when I tell you I have a bit of a soft spot for a certain Teemu Selanne.
I even made a special trip up to see the Ducks' last regular season home game this year (also their last home game period since they failed to make the playoffs), just so I could give him the ol' "One more year!" Well, I guess it worked because he just signed on for another year, yaaaayyyy!
Selanne's 1400th point, at home against Detroit...yep, I was there.
I even made a special trip up to see the Ducks' last regular season home game this year (also their last home game period since they failed to make the playoffs), just so I could give him the ol' "One more year!" Well, I guess it worked because he just signed on for another year, yaaaayyyy!
Now if only Red Wings defenseman and hockey legend Nicklas Lidstrom hadn't retired this year. I really don't know what we're going to do without him. It would've been difficult enough to face his loss if we'd signed Suter, but now that he's off to Minny with best buddy Parise, we are completely screwed. Like, it doesn't even matter at this point that the only two forwards we signed are Tootoo and Samuelsson because our defense is such a gaping abyss. We could've signed Stamkos (well, not really, but y'know), and we'd still be S.O.L. on defense.
The worst part is, there's no one to blame. You obviously can't blame Lidstrom for retiring - I shouldn't even have to say that. You can't blame Ken Holland - he made an offer to Suter that was pretty much the same as the one the Wild made; Suter just happened to want to go to Minnesota instead (God only knows why). As for the "why didn't we see this coming" question, we did, but we didn't have the cash to throw at a prime d-man before Lidstrom retired. There's just nothing we could've done differently to avoid putting ourselves in this situation. It sucks, and there's no one to point the finger at. Poop.
I just can't even process the fact that Lidstrom retired yet. Maybe in another couple months I can start getting mad at Suter, but right now I still can't handle that Lidstrom won't be playing in October or that I'll never see him on the ice again. Wait, did I say I wasn't going to freak out at the beginning of this post? God, I'm such a liar - COMMENCE FREAK OUT IMMEDIATELY!!!
It's MEEEEE!!!
Okayyy, five hours later and I finally thought of a URL that wasn't taken, stupid though it may be! So, um, hi. First posts are intimidating. I have another blog that has exactly one glorious post - I set the bar so high with my hopes and expectations of cleverness and English major-y type stuff that I couldn't back it up. Then there's the other blog I've had since I was about 15 (I'm 27), and it has so much whining about people in high school and ditherings about what I'm going to do with my life that it's pretty obvious I need to start over. Not that this will be much better, but hopefully there'll be less whining.
What will you see on here? Well, my current obsessions are hockey, nail polish, Supernatural (the TV show - I'm not a voodoo priestess...which is unfortunate because then this blog would be a lot more interesting), Formula 1 racing (ok, and NASCAR), Harry Potter, all kind of nerdities. Oh yeah, I also wanted a place to use all the stupid GIFs I've found. Basically, I should have gotten a Tumblr along with the rest of the fangirls, but I already have this account and am too lazy to go start another one somewhere else. Sorry to bring the quality of the Internet down yet another notch.
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