little_tristan: (Bloom County cutter john)
The boys are back at work. I love that the bosses "allow" them to do their own work there on their own time because they know they'll reap all the benefits. The only way the orders get filled is with out machines but the royalty is such a small fraction of a penny that even Russ can't quite figure out what we're actually getting. It comes down to something like a dollar an hour at top speed. At that rate, it'll take about ten years just to break even on the machine.


In better news, I may have a new home for Mom's power chair. Heather called this morning to ask if I still had it. Her mom's fiance at the time of her death is dying slowly of liver failure and needs a little help getting around. He's been a family friend forever and he and Heather are still close.

It's been hard to give the chair away because I let the batteries go flat for so long that they won't take a charge. Batteries are expensive. I didn't want to buy new ones and then send it to Goodwill or something, and no one else will take it since I can't prove it works. The batteries I get are $300 each, and of course they need two. But I get the really good ones that last a long time. I put a lot of miles on my chairs and our insurance only buys them once a year, no matter what kind you get.

But there's usually a fairly cheap option that gets cheaper still when you pay cash. Maybe $50 or $75 each. It depends on the make and model of the chair. I'm going to call the shop I like best and find out how to get them. It'll be nice to get the chair out of the library (it's in the Fiction Closet--YA to the left, horror to the right, literature straight ahead) and back into useful service. I wish the next owner was a little bigger, though. It seems like a waste giving a 600 pound weight limit to a 200 pound guy. But I understand he has a puppy now. Puppy will probably enjoy rides on the extra-wide seat.

And a grandkid is all lined up to take puppy home when Uncle D passes so no worries there. (He's not really an uncle, but Heather's always called him that. If he'd married her mom, I'd have called him cousin.)

I'm bidding on a piece of Billy Martin's--Poppy Z. Brite as was--jewelry on eBay. It's not only beautiful, I really want to own something that was owned and worn by the person who wrote the Liquor series. It breaks my heart, as a person and a writer, to see him selling his little treasures to make rent when his books are so great. And there are so many of them! How can someone so huge and famous and wonderful be forced to suffer this much? Does good writing really pay this badly?

I'm really torn between wanting to get it at a good price and not wanting to disappoint him or rip him off. Maybe I'll be outbid by someone rich. Then I'd be sad, but I'd be happy for Billy.

That's hard to write. I want him to still be named Poppy. But it's not up to me.
little_tristan: (Kitten Perpetual Pre-Pounce)
It's already a good day. We got to sleep two extra hours(!) and the boys left not all stressed and freaking out for a change.

Dinner will be tricky because they completely fucked off buying pie last night to go to Fry's and get me a new monitor. It's substantially larger than the old one and the color is beautiful.

They've taken Willow off to work, leaving great peace in Gilead. When Will's not around, Ranger pretty much sleeps all day. And I'm told that Will barks at the bosses when they drop by to see what's going on. That should be bad but it makes me happy.

My icons look different on this monitor. Better, somehow. I hope they look like this to all of you, too. It's very pretty.

Now I have a book to finish reading. Then I'm going to watch Seeking a Friend for the End of the World to see if it's funny enough for Mark. I like proof-watching and reading for other people. Also looking things up. I should've been a personal assistant.
little_tristan: (Default)
Sunrise here, at least. It could be noon where you are. I don't know.

Murphy Sloane is eating! Mark brought home a Fancy Feast assortment and he took right to it. This means it will now cost as much per month to feed one seven pound cat as it does Ranger, a 70 pound dog. But it's Murphy. He has to eat.

I can't stop thinking about the scene I wanted to write for The Dancer but couldn't fit in. Now I'm thinking about sliding those two characters into the new story that I'm thinking about. Not as a sequel, it would stand alone just fine, but it would happen to involve them. That may or may not be a good idea. I'll probably throw some words on paper soon and see what happens.

Today I have to call all those people who haven't been calling me back. Heather's making plans to come out tomorrow with Tammy and take our VW out to the mechanic. It has no taillights right now, and an incorrect number of turn signals. We've made all these plans, and yet haven't actually talked to the mechanic about it because he doesn't answer his phone.

The dentist didn't get back to me with an appointment date on Tuesday and my teeth hurt. I hate to nag her since I'm such a bothersome patient, making them put out the ramps, and put me in the big chair of loathing. But my teeth hurt. And our insurance might change again. There's always a waiting period after it changes.

I'm going to watch Supernatural until everyone's open.

I forgot to mention that our fridge is fixed. There is water again! I'm even remembering to drink it sometimes.
little_tristan: (Books Not Blogs)
But first, today: Blasted Heath is giving away a Kindle book TODAY ONLY that sounds like a lot of fun. If you have Kindle capabilities, or are interested in downloading the desktop reader, grab your free copy of Fireproof.

Now yesterday:

Apparently I was so busy, I forgot to play FarmVille. This is a good thing. My crops withered in the fields like Biblical justice, but my hoard of foals is fine. Animals that are cute and don't die are awesome.

Heather brought her son and the babysitting (babysat?) girl over yesterday. It was a little rough. I adore them both, but the girl is a bit scared of me. She's five. She's terribly like I was at five, which means scared of almost everyone, yet really, really needing to talk to them. I think she's afraid I'll yell at her, because I yell at the boy so much. But he's horrible and his mom can't do all the yelling. It's exhausting. He needs people working in shifts to get it all done in a day. Otherwise his parents would have to yell at him while he sleeps just to stay caught up.

The girl is smart and imaginative and able to obey as well as carry on conversations so I never want to yell at her. Except when the boy is climbing on something and there's about to be a smash of broken glass and I nearly run her down getting to him because she decides she needs to get there first and help yell. I'm afraid I hurt her feelings then, but it's better than breaking her leg. They never understand that it can really happen until it does.

But Heather did round up all the returnable cans that we've been saving in random bags (and strewn across the floor) and carry them away. She has a recycling center near her where they give out barcoded bags. When you return them, they count up the cans and bottles and add it to your account. We give her ours to buy gas to keep visiting. Luckily we drink a lot of rubbish with deposits.

More this week, since there's suddenly no water from the fridge. The tap water here is unpleasant so I rely on the Whirlpool and its inline filter. But the waterline from the basement ruptured somehow (Mark says it looks like it was deliberate, which is deeply strange) and now there is no water. The arch-nemesis, who is weird about ice, can't cope with this either. Only he fails to cope by trying to get ice two or three times a day and making us explain each time that it's just not going to happen. (For fuck's sake, just drink the whiskey neat, old man!, is how these talks usually end.)

I stopped drinking water, which also isn't smart, but is less annoying for other people. Heather brought me a couple of bottles yesterday. It's very good, but I'm trying to make it last. Maybe the boys will get me more today. I need to send someone to the library. There's probably a store with water between here and there. I miss going to the library. But it got to freezing last night and not much higher since. The light outside is yellow, like there's going to be thunder.

I hope there's going to be thunder.

Murphy Sloane is slowing down at last. He sways so continuously, and falls down often enough, that I've taken to calling him Wobbles. It's a fun word. I asked Mark if he thought it was insulting to a cat of Mr. Sloane's age and position to be addressed as "Wobbles", and he said no. In fact, he thinks it's cute and that it should be the name of our next kitten. They are adorably wobbly.

I predict that theoretical kitten to be at least five years out, though. Plenty of time to come up with a name for the litter-mate we'll also need.
little_tristan: (Default)
Comes a severely leaky faucet in my bathroom. The hot tap, of course. They've shut off the water to the sink and the main hot water source is going next. I just had to squeeze in my shower first. It's too bad I didn't have enough warning to clear out under the sink, though, because the boys are deeply baffled by the sheer number of products jammed under there. And, no doubt, why there's a Dave Barry collection in the middle of it.

Not sharing bathrooms with other people is awesome.

Anyway, I'm washed, robed, and writing so it's a standard Sunday. Watching YouTube vids of live Gin Blossoms performances and marveling over how much Robin Wilson has come to resemble Steven Tyler. Could that be on purpose? Did he see how his face was going and decide to throw on a hat and glittery scarf? I guess I'll find out. Unfortunately I already found out who Ambrosia, the other act on the bill, actually is. Holy 70s easy listening, Batman. I wanted the Gin Blossoms to go on second so they'd get a longer set, and that would, of course, be awesome. But if they play first, I can skip Ambrosia, buy my t-shirt, and get home before midnight. Win/win.


little_tristan: (Default)

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