little_tristan: (Christina's World)
The good news is I sold some books! I gave a box to Cousin Heather to take to a craft/rummage type sale she's doing this weekend where people rent a table and sell whatever they want. But before she could get there, a friend of hers who'd read The Bedlam Boys asked if she could get him more so his book club could read it. He bought the whole box and I had to send another with the boys so she'd have some for the sale. (Their work is close to her house, so she can sneak over there and take things from their truck during the day.:) I doubt she'll sell any more, but it's still pretty cool. And if it's not raining, they want me to come speak at the club meeting. Only in good weather, though, as I won't be able to get into the house. Of course I've no idea what speakers do at these things, so I'd love advice from anyone who has experience. Or just good ideas.

I also think I've finally lost some weight, as today I was able to cross my legs for the first time in about 4 years. That was exciting.:)
Cut for depressing shit that no one wants to read )

Oh, and the boys put up a higher door between the kitchen and dining room so Willow can't even see over it, let alone jump it. The a-n still teases her over the door until she leaps for him, but she can't get to him so he can't complain. And the latch is way easier for me to work.
little_tristan: (Kitten Glowing Kitten is Glowing)
Things have sort of come to a head with the arch-nemesis. We had a bit of a dog-related blow-up a couple of days ago (sorry you were there for that, [livejournal.com profile] catyah), and he hasn't spoken to me since. The quiet has been kind of nice but it's also given me time to think. With a little help from my boys, who are very good at shifting my POV. Sometimes I hate that. This is one of those times.

I'm starting to get what senility actually means. In three words: He. Can't. Learn. It's really that simple. When The NY Times online logged him off, as it does every couple weeks, he had me come and log him back in. Only he doesn't ask for that. He says it's not working right and he can't get it to do anything. I've explained the log in concept maybe twenty times, but to him it's a great technological mystery. And it always will be. In fact, this time he said he'd never seen that screen before and didn't know what it meant. He said he'd have to try and learn it some day. When I showed him the card next to the keyboard with the user name and password written on it in his own handwriting, he didn't recognize it. He had no idea what it was. I told him to forget it and logged him in.

He's also relapsed from leaving the soap in the kitchen where I can reach it. At some point in his past, he developed the habit of putting it behind the faucet, and after a couple of weeks of leaving it beside the sink, he just switched back. Presumably because the memory of my shouting at him about it only lasted that long.

So this is where we are. He isn't going to change. He isn't doing this because he's stubborn or mean or trying to piss me off. He just can't learn any new or different ways of behaving. Which means I have to. I'm the only one here who can change, and if I don't, I'll spend the rest of his life in a rage. Which, believe me, isn't fun. And, though this admittedly concerns me a little less, it's probably not fun for him, either. It's probably very confusing and maybe a little scary, having everyone around him be angry all the time and not understanding why.

I don't know exactly what's going to happen--how I'll adapt to this mental paradigm shift--but things are going to be more peaceful from now on. Now that I've fully accepted my part in all this, and the boys understand the source of the trouble (my failure to grasp the true situation up til now), I think we'll be able to work together to make things better for everyone.

Although I'll probably get some books on senile dementia. Best to stay ahead of these things.
little_tristan: (Kitten Interwebs)
They should do a remake of My Two Dads and, near the end of the first season, have the dads actually fall in love. They wouldn't even need to change the dialog much. (Joint custody is unnatural. A child should have both her fathers.)

I'm supposed to be writing checks and paying Mom's bills. I've figured out that I don't want to because then it'll be over. When it's over and we split up her money, she can't come back. Grief logic is easily the most fucked up mode of thinking I've ever experienced, and I've been mentally ill all my life. I know that the money could sit there forever and she'd never come back for it. And yet--I wait.

On the other hand, [livejournal.com profile] catyah, who is alive, will be here tomorrow and I won't enjoy it nearly as much with this hanging over my head.

The living room also needs dusting, but at this point that would just be an excuse. Ditto brushing Ranger.

Why can I not get Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Cape Town for Kindle? It's 500 pages. I'm thinking about filing some kind of discrimination lawsuit against publishers who only put out books in inaccessible 2 pound versions. I'd be willing to settle out of court for e-books.

Herr very adorably thinks he's getting his Volkswagen back today, just because the guy said so. He can't seem to understand that this mechanic, M, may be the best in the county, but when he says Wednesday, he means Friday. When he says Thursday, he means Monday. Maybe Tuesday. Also, three days = one week.

But after two weeks of driving the Chevy Venture, I'm not sure how much he really misses it.

Yeah, okay. Pay bills, brush dog's butt, then I get to finish House of Leaves. I can do this. Maybe even before the sun comes up.
little_tristan: (Ranger)
Yesterday I got into all kinds of trouble when the old man found out I've been leaving the back door unlocked during the day. I go in and out a lot and the latch is kind of a bitch. You know how it is. True, there have been a lot of robberies in the area lately (20 in the last month!), and they all involve unlocked doors, but only between the hours of 1 and 4 in the morning. Which is when our house is waking up, and we lock the doors at night anyway. I explained all that (and wasn't he disappointed that I had heard the facts already), and that there's too much activity here for daytime burglars. Too many cars out front, too many voices inside, not to mention his radio cranked up so you can hear it across the street and down the block, and him standing in the window in his underwear all day. We're just bad targets.

When I added that, besides, no one wants to mess with my dog, he had what he must've thought was the final answer. He said all it would take was a pellet gun. He told me that when he lived in Albuquerque, someone broke into his trailer, killed his white German Shepherd with a pellet gun and stole everything in the place. I stuck to my theory in spite of that (he wasn't home, Albuquerque is a cesspool, our retired neighbors are outside all day and crime on the block is way down), but he wasn't having it.

Now here's what's interesting about his little dog story. It's. Not. True. I told the boys about it this morning and both of them were stunned by the length and breadth of the lie. He never lived in a trailer in Albq, and he never owned any such dog. The boys had a white Shepherd when they were kids in Texas, living with their mom, but he never did. And all his years in Albq, he lived in a motel that was essentially a concrete fortress. Bruder had a room there for a while to run his business out of, just because it was so impossible to break into.

So this is what we've come to. He's making up dead dogs to try to scare me into thinking someone will kill MY dog, so he can have his way about something that doesn't matter.
little_tristan: (BBT Sheldon WTF)
But she called last night to say she still hadn't found office space. She has an office, it's just on the second floor of an extremely old historic building, much most of the professionals downtown. I'm about to give up on the whole thing, at least with her. I wanted to go to her specifically because one of my cousins does and seems to like her. But from the few phones calls we've had, I'm starting to wonder if she might be an idiot. I'm not too good with idiots.

It's little things, really. Like when we first discussed office space, she asked if I'd be taking the city bus and I said no. It has to be walking distance from my house (defined as Walgreens downtown and McDonald's uptown), and she said okay. Then she called back with a place about half a mile past Walgreens. I said that was too far for a regular thing, and she said she assumed I'd be taking the bus. She seemed rather put out with me for not telling her I wouldn't. (So far as I know, I'm still not allowed.)

After that I didn't hear from her for a while. Turns out she was sick. In every subsequent phone call, she talks a lot about how sick she was. She's also told me all about why she specialized in grief counseling and all the terrible things that have happened to her this year. I don't get to say much, but maybe that's because I'm not as skilled at interrupting. Whatever it is, I'm not sure I want to pay $100 a week to listen to her problems. (Any need I might have to pay huge amounts of money to other people while doing the work myself is amply filled by estate management, thank you very much.)

But the probable deal-breaker here is that she knows a few things about me, or should, because I've mentioned them several times, and isn't taking them into account. One is that we get up very early. I keep having to tell her this when she asks if I'm "up and dressed" in time for ten and eleven o'clock appointments. I've also explained that I have to be quietly at home by 3:30 because the boys don't know about this and I don't want them asking where I was if they beat me home. When they find out, I don't want to have lied about anything. I've also said that I don't even want phone calls about it after that time because someone might be in the room. So when I say she called last night, I mean last night. It was after eight and Herr and I had been asleep for well over an hour. I couldn't answer, I had to send it to voicemail to stop the ringing, and then lay there with the phone in my hand to stop the voicemail alert, too. (We use an alarm on the phone to wake us up in the morning, so turning the ringer off isn't an option. My cell is the home line, and about 4 other devices all in one. It's everything to us and it's never off.) Herr didn't ask who it was, yet, but he was pretty pissed. And I kind of am, too. Even if I hadn't explained two or three times about the whole in bed by 6:30 thing, since when did professionals call people at home after eight pm? Or am I just a complete dinosaur?
little_tristan: (BtVS Spike Sod Off)
It actually makes the opossum thing look pretty good, I think. The story goes back years and years, to when I went to a state agency that helps disabled people find jobs. They gave me a caseworker, D, who got me the interview that led to my only "real" job. We stayed in touch until D moved to the other side of the state. Then I kind of forgot about him until two or three years ago, when he moved into a house up the street and a couple blocks over from me. I ran into him once and decided not to walk down that street anymore. Then, a couple days ago, I ran into him again on a street that I always use, since it has the best curb cuts. We talked for a bit and, since I'm an inherently honest (read: stupid) person, I gave him my real phone number when he asked. Because, you know, old friend.
Click here to find out how stupid I really am... )
little_tristan: (Catloaf Blue-Eyed Kitten)
I'm tempted to generalize and say that this is everyone's experience, that it will happen to all of you, too, but I won't. It might not be true, and even if it is, many of you won't believe me until it happens, and in the meantime, you'll be pissed at me. So I'm going to try to limit it to my own experience, YMMV, and try not to come off like I think I'm somehow older and wiser than everyone else. If I do anyway, I'm sorry.
Long-ass ramble behind the cut )
little_tristan: (Books)
Day 1-- A fictional character you identify with and why

Scarlett O'Hara. She's the problem solver, the one in charge who gives up her thinly held values and sells her soul to keep her family afloat, only to find in the end that she's lost it all and was never the hero of her own story.
The rest of the questions this way, for those who want to play along... )
little_tristan: (Christina's World)
The episode of King of the Hill where Hank's obnoxious father dies has long been a favorite of mine. But somehow all the formerly hilarious jokes are poignant at best. I wonder how long this part lasts.

In related news, Mom's coming home to us tomorrow. I don't know how long we'll have her, just until my uncle can come back for the internment. I've been doing better the last couple days, but I rather expect this will cause something of a setback.
little_tristan: (Star Trek Scotty)
It was supposed to be a family outing, but Herr took an Advil earlier and had to throw up all day instead. He's better now, but the list of things that mess with his stomach grows ever longer. Still, Bruder and I had a great time. It was a silly, juvenile movie that relied heavily on pot smoking, inappropriate cursing and gay jokes, and I could NOT stop laughing. There's something about knowing that Simon and Nick wrote the movie to tell those jokes about themselves that makes it okay. They really should be a couple. If only it weren't for that pesky being straight thing. Anyway, Seth Rogan was great as the voice of Paul the alien, a real break from all the cutesy, squeaky, adorable cartoon alien voices we've all become accustomed to. I've seen reviewers complain there were too many references to other aliens in pop culture, but the explanation for that made perfect sense. And it's the first road trip movie I've ever seen where the complete destruction of the vehicle wasn't an ongoing joke, (eg: National Lampoon's Vacation). So, yeah, it was a lot of fun.

And I had a great dream last night where [livejournal.com profile] catyah and I were friends of Nick Frost and Simon Pegg and we were hanging out with them one evening. There was another man whom we all knew, but I don't know now who he was. We were just sitting around, talking and drinking and passing a bowl (sorry, Kitty, my subconscious corrupted you), and laughing like fools. It was too much fun. But eventually I had to go home, and not being able to drive, I called my mom for a ride. But before she'd agree to come pick me up, she wanted to talk about how she'd decided to watch a video and accidentally put in a movie called Smokey and the Ass Bandits, which she apparently found among my things. So I'm sitting there, half-drunk in a room full snickering friends, going, "I don't even remember buying that. And what were you doing--why were you in my--" Everyone was asking what was wrong so I covered the phone and said, "I'm in trouble, Simon. Me mum found me porn," and we all just fell apart again. I felt terrible laughing at her when she was so upset, but it was just too absurd. I finally got back on the phone and asked her why she didn't know that movies with funny parody titles involving the word ass were just in general going to be things she shouldn't watch. Then I covered the phone again and said, "I have got to my license back."

Embarrassing or not, it was a nice change from the rest of the night, which was mostly fighting zombies and, at one point, hiding in a port-a-john with six other people after escaping a haunted house.
little_tristan: (Rex Goliath)
Mostly I'm extremely tired. We had to get up at 2:30 this morning. Herr was talking about something but I'm not sure what. The only part I really heard was "jackboots and Wagner".

The possum(s) live(s) in our basement now. No one likes this, but we haven't been able to come up with a solution. A sign of the weirdness of our lives is that this isn't really a priority. In the interest of not being cruel, we may start feeding them. I'm tired of homeownership. And possums.
Fandom-related tired )
So, yes. I'm very tired. I did buy Herr a Valentine's Day present today, although I sort of hate Valentine's Day. I was always the one kid in a class of 30 who got 11 cards, even though the teacher sent everyone home with a complete list of classmates' names the week before, and we were required to bring a card for everyone. There's something extra special about being excluded when it's actually against the rules. My dad always tried to make up for it, though, with candy and stuffed animals and such. And then, on Valentine's Day, 1997, he died. So it's been a sort of mixed emotion kind of holiday all my life.

But. Herr needs a new wedding ring. It's only been 11 years, and I got him 10k gold so it would be stronger, but more the half the thickness of it has worn away already. It's like a brittle little shell now. Not only is he worried it might break, it's gotten too big because it's worn from the inside. So I ordered him a new one, slightly thicker and a bit wider, from Amazon. (I looked on eBay, but the only one I saw that I liked was pictured on some strange guy's hairy finger, and it had someone else's name engraved in it. Okay, I got the original at a pawn shop, but no hairy finger makes all the difference. A store is a store.) It won't be here until tomorrow, but since he doesn't care about holidays, it doesn't really matter. He cares about our anniversary, but that's not 'til May and I'm not sure his ring will last that long.

I hope he doesn't fuss about the cost. He often does, and I'm quite tired of it.

Still, in spite of all the tired, I think I'm going to write a story now. It's been a very long time, and I rather miss it. It will still be about the wrong characters, but I like them and they have unfinished business.
little_tristan: (Firefly See Kaylee Smile)
Day 11 - If you had to give away a million dollars, who would you give it to?



The lack of specifics here make me feel crafty. I would give it to my mother, for her retirement and to help out my sister (who couldn't be given a share directly because her husband can't handle money at all). And mom would have to leave the remainder to me in her will, because there's nothing here about getting it back.:)
little_tristan: (Happy)
Day 10 - When was the last time you felt really happy?

Probably yesterday when I found cool stuff in my attic box. But I don't trust this "happy" thing. It's usually inspired more by a happy combination of medication, a good hormone upswing, a new book, and something fun to watch on DVD, than it is by anything substantial or important.
little_tristan: (Super Squirrel)
Day 4 - What would your dream job be, if you could do anything and get paid for it?

Another of those impossible to answer questions. If I could do anything in the sense of if I could get any job that I'm currently able to do or if I were capable of doing any job? When I was a kid, I wanted to be a firefighter. I'd still kind of like to do that. But in all seriousness, if I were of average health and strength, I'd go to work with Herr and get minimum wage (I think it's $8.50 now) to do the repetitive shit job that they seriously can not get an American citizen to do with any reliability for more than two days at a time. (That's right. Even in the state with the third highest unemployment rate in the country, and the county with the highest rate in that state, white folks is still being picky.) I actually like manual labor, both for the constant activity and for the mindlessness that lets me plan and plot what I'll write when I get home. (I pumped gas during most of my free time between the ages of 11 and 14, and I'd do that again if I could. I love the smell of exhaust in the dark of a winter morning.) Still, I'd rather work with Herr, because if his work went more smoothly, everyone would be happier and our home life would improve drastically.

But so long as we're dreaming, I'd settle for just getting paid better for doing what I already do--reading and writing and spreading memes.
little_tristan: (Quincy Instructive)
Day 3 - What is your biggest hope or greatest dream?

I hate these kinds of questions because all of my dreams are pretty much unattainable. Obviously, if I could have that one big wish, that one handed down from God Himself with none of that monkey's paw bullshit where other people have to suffer for it, I'd want to be cured. Then I'd get a job and carry my weight and Herr wouldn't have to work so hard all the freaking time. I might also get a horse, while I'm at it.

But that's just not going to happen. So the thing that I actually wish for on a daily basis, hoping and praying as hard as I can, is that Herr just doesn't die. Like, ever. But especially while I still need him. Again, out of my hands.

But everything below that is kind of bullshit. I want Supernatural to have a happy ending. I want to sell more copies of my book. I want Doodle to stop running away every time I open the front door. I want to be friends with Thom Bray. Maybe the biggest thing I can hope for that has the remotest chance of actually happening is that I somehow succeed in not alienating everyone I know, so that I still have a couple of friends at the end of it all. (Thom is optional.) And maybe that the wiring in my house doesn't short out (again/more) and burn the place down. That'd be good, too.

So, short answer: My biggest dream? To not die alone, or in a fire.
little_tristan: (Losers Cougar Silent Tears)
Probably everyone who's interested knows that the lovely and talented Anne Francis passed away last night. Until I read the news reports today, I hadn't put her name together with so many of her fine performances. For instance, I had no idea she was the confused mannequin in one of my all time favorite Twilight Zone episodes. She was a pin-up quality beauty in her youth, and a wonderful actress throughout her career. Eighty years is a good, long life, but that doesn't make it right.

Then I turned to my morning comic strips for cheering up and guess what I found? The Widow Doonesbury in a casket. No illness, no foreshadowing, no warnings of any kind. In the 20 years I've been reading Doonesbury, I've seen Andy die of AIDS, Lacey succumb to Alzheimer's, and BD lose a leg, but at least he padded the blows on all of them. Still, I guess there's never a good way to lose a grandmother. (Favorite exchange ever--Alex: "Is it okay if I call you Notorious Grammy D?" Daisy Doonesbury: "Heavens, dear, I wouldn't know. Is it disrespectful?"")

It was shortly after that that I realized I was out of Irish cream, which is basically what I use for food these days. It was 25 degrees out when I made my first trip to the liquor store at 9:30, just to find out that it was closed. (Oregon has state-run liquor stores with mandated hours, not to mention the whole population limit thing. Our town only gets one because we're small, but at least it's 5 blocks from my house.) I went back at 11 when it opened (30 degrees), and am pretty well buzzed now. That's good. Still a little cold, though. I can't put on sweaters or coats on my own, and since the arch-nemesis demands the heat be cranked up past all toleration, I can't have Herr put one on me before he leaves in the morning. So dickhead's hanging around the house in his underwear, and I'm either sweating to death inside or freezing outside. Did I say my house before? Yeah, that doesn't sound right.

Small bright point? Les Miserables is really engrossing. Can't imagine why I didn't finish it before.

Color Meme

Sep. 22nd, 2010 01:08 pm
little_tristan: (Rex Goliath)
Comment and I'll give you a colour that I think represents you, and then you list ten things you like in that colour!

I got RED from [livejournal.com profile] milomaus.

1. Der Maus's journal background :)
2. Pinot Noir (47 pound rooster for the win!)
3. The spines of books on my favorite shelves (Microserfs, Brazen Chariots, Transparent, High Fidelity)
4. My fuzzy M&M monitor cleaner (and the real chocolate ones)
5. Netflix envelopes that bring fun in the mail
6. The rose tattooed on my oldest friend
7. Firetrucks
8. My sister's first car
9. poppies
10. Herr's truck
little_tristan: (Penny Says Explode)
I tried to watch the documentary Invisible Girlfriend and failed. But it was still illuminating in that I think I now understand what people mean by the term trigger. It gets thrown around a lot on the internet, and people seem to be triggered by all sorts of things, from men kissing men to other people dog earing pages of book . But watching a bi-polar paranoid schizophrenic talk about his literal relationship with Joan of Arc, write love letters to another woman and then ridicule her in what he must have thought were clever terms (but were really just cruel and insultingly stupid), for referring to them as love letters, and say that psych meds are what really make people sick (because he was fine before he took the meds and he's fine now), just made me want to kill. When he got to blaming his problems on his sobbing children (sorry, "bratty-ass kids"), it almost wasn't enough to shove the disc back into the Netflix envelope. I would have much preferred something more along the lines of skeet shooting. So, I guess I've dated way too many mentally ill people, because it was the familiarity of his cruelty and egotism that killed my sympathy. Sure he's sick, but I still hate him for it. At least I can now say with certainty what my trigger is.
More meandering over here... )

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