little_tristan: (Riptide Murray Too Early)
Everything falls apart when I go to the bathroom in the morning. Today when I came back, not only had Willow chewed up the trash, my master monitor had died. I was going to steal the arch-nemesis' monitor long enough to switch control over to the slave, but luck smiled on me. When I unhooked the master, control switched over automatically to the slave. I didn't know that would happen.

The slave monitor sucks a little bit, but it's better than being offline. Or trying to explain to the a-n why I need his monitor, but only for a minute.

Sister and I have been trying to figure out how to get together tomorrow, with her confined to her house and my boys working. She said she'd been told they weren't having dinner because they can't afford the food. Her husband's out of work again and his mother's being a non-contributing leech for the fifth straight year. (At least my soul sucking dickhead nemesis in-law pays rent.)

We don't have time to cook the meal, but I said we could bring pizza and hang out. That's the point of Thanksgiving, right? Hanging out with your family and being thankful for what you have, even if it's Figaro's instead of Butterball? She was good with that. MiL the Hutt was not.

Ensuing conversations in Yahoo chat have escalated the crazy. Now that we're coming over for an hour in the late afternoon, MiL has to climb up on the cross and produce a full Thanksgiving dinner with all the trimmings. This is not a generous act on her part. This is her slaving over a hot stove all day for people she hates so she'll have something to punish my sister with until Christmas. Which is a whole other, but cruelly similar, drama.

The timing will fail, of course, because that's what she does. Always. We'll get there at five, after Russell's worked eight hours, spent an hour getting home, and driven another hour to Sister's, and the food won't be ready. She'll say it'll be another hour or two, and we'll end up leaving before dinner so Russ can get home and go to bed because he has to work on Friday, too. Hopefully McDonald's will be open.

But whether we get to eat at all is irrelevant compared to what she'll do to Sister if we leave before dinner, since she went to all that trouble for us in the first place. I wish I'd never brought it up at all, but Sister gets so unhappy when we miss holidays. There's just no way to save her.

Everyone blames the boys for working but that can't be helped either. They have to finish welding parts for the machine or the orders won't go out and the deal will fail, just like it did before. And our shop lease expressly forbids welding so it can't be done here. The machine has to be on the production line in two weeks and it's not going to be good for much without all these fiddly bits welded together in straight lines. Who knew the electronic designing and software writing were going to be the easy parts? Okay, that's not true. There were no easy parts.

I wish we could stay home and not bother the MiL from hell at all, but I haven't seen my sister since July. I don't want to wait another month.

At least my dentist appointment got canceled so I don't have to go outside. Their portable front door ramps got stolen. I actually have to find a new dentist now. One with a building I can get into. I love these people. They have an all female staff and the receptionist always remembers me. Now I get to go to whatever schmuck happens to not have stairs.

Everyone downtown has stairs. Even the physical therapists and chiropractors. All the good buildings are Historic and immune from current ADA standards. Historically, cripples stayed home. Some traditions just never die.

Oh good. The sky has gone completely black. I need a better look at that.
little_tristan: (Kitten Monster)
Remember all that cell phone crap I was whining about a couple hours ago? Yeah, I'm over that. Mark just called to tell me that Steve called him (at work! because that's how stupid he is!) to say he'd be over this afternoon. Mark's afraid he'll be late and keep us up past our bedtime, which could happen. But really? It's way more likely he'll be early.

If I could trust the aged nemesis to not open the door I'd just go to the park for the rest of the day. But someone must guard the gates of Gilead, and Ranger, our head of security, will need the troops behind her.
little_tristan: (Daria: Mr. D)
Originally posted by [livejournal.com profile] electricdruid at The fiasco continues

ACTA in a Nutshell –

What is ACTA?  ACTA is the Anti-Counterfeiting Trade Agreement. A new intellectual property enforcement treaty being negotiated by the United States, the European Community, Switzerland, and Japan, with Australia, the Republic of Korea, New Zealand, Mexico, Jordan, Morocco, Singapore, the United Arab Emirates, and Canada recently announcing that they will join in as well.

Why should you care about ACTA? Initial reports indicate that the treaty will have a very broad scope and will involve new tools targeting “Internet distribution and information technology.”

What is the goal of ACTA? Reportedly the goal is to create new legal standards of intellectual property enforcement, as well as increased international cooperation, an example of which would be an increase in information sharing between signatory countries’ law enforcement agencies.

Essential ACTA Resources

  • Read more about ACTA here: ACTA Fact Sheet
  • Read the authentic version of the ACTA text as of 15 April 2011, as finalized by participating countries here: ACTA Finalized Text
  • Follow the history of the treaty’s formation here: ACTA history
  • Read letters from U.S. Senator Ron Wyden wherein he challenges the constitutionality of ACTA: Letter 1 | Letter 2 | Read the Administration’s Response to Wyden’s First Letter here: Response
  • Watch a short informative video on ACTA: ACTA Video
  • Watch a lulzy video on ACTA: Lulzy Video

Say NO to ACTA. It is essential to spread awareness and get the word out on ACTA.

Via Tumblr

little_tristan: (BtVS Spike Sod Off)
I'm catching up my flist and just finished reading a couple of LJ posts by an author whose books I like. But I ended up unfriending her because, frankly, I don't need anymore things in my life pissing me off. I already have the arch-nemesis, and I live in a neighborhood without curbcuts. Why invite more irritants in via LJ?

What set me off was this: She's anti-Kindle. Not just prefers not to use one, but actually hates that they exist. Although she takes the money fast enough when I buy her books for Kindle. And isn't reaching the audience the point? Anyway, everyone's entitled to their opinion, but no one's forcing her to use one, and I can't see them replacing paper books, which seems to be her big fear. (I refuse to say "real" books because I believe the book is the content, not the package.)

But what really gets up my nose is her calling them toys and fads and ridiculing the people who use them for being trendy or lazy, or just not appreciating the beauty of "real" books or the written word. As a person who uses it to get around a very real physical disability that was threatening to stop me from reading altogether, this puts her right up there with those idiots on the street who say they're jealous of my wheelchair and tell me I'm lucky that I "don't have to" walk.

Now, I couldn't say this on the author's journal because that's her space and anyway she deletes comments that she doesn't like, but this is my space so I'll say it here. STOP JUDGING AND RIDICULING ME, YOU BLIND, STUPID, ARROGANT FUCKING BITCH. You want paper? Great. Buy paper. But don't put your petty shit off on me, or anyone else who doesn't have the privilege of indulging their preferences. Not everyone is a trendy, techy show-off. Some of us just want to read a book without inflicting serious pain and injury on ourselves.

In summary, I'm sorry if this messes with your personal view of what a book is and how it should be read. fuck you.

(PS: This is in no way meant to suggest that one needs to be crippled to enjoy electronic media. It's also neat in its own right, so read how you please and fear not any judgment from me.:)
little_tristan: (Emergency! Johnny facepalm)
I'm not qualified to say for sure, but if the answer is really "yank a crippled lesbian out of her wheelchair and drag her around on the ground", then that's it. I'm getting a new god.
little_tristan: (Possum)
There are thousands in the basement... Or at least one or two. The amount of hissing that accompanied the echoing thumps has me wondering if it's mating season. That's just what I need. More freaking possums. The dogs are going bugshit up here, but when I send them downstairs, they can't seem to find anything. The giant rats must be up on the retaining wall still. More convenient for crashing into the ductwork.

And the worst part? I actually have Mom's favorite possum popping pistol and I can't use it. Stupid stairs. And city ordinances. But, at this point, mostly stairs.
little_tristan: (Daria: Mr. D)
All weekend, Herr and Bruder have been worrying about going to work today. They were supposed to start working split shifts, with one of them running a morning crew, then an overlap from about noon to three, and the other running an afternoon/evening crew. They badly didn't want to do this for several reasons: a) it's a long commute and with both of them driving themselves, it would double our gas consumption without increasing pay; b) Bruder really shouldn't be driving in the dark, and in Oregon in February, almost everyone goes to and from work in the dark; c) they're so co-dependent (a term they actually agree with) that they only really work effectively together. Dividing them doesn't spread the productivity, it reduces it. So they've been pretty upset about the whole thing.

Turns out, though, that they should have been worried about something else. Yesterday they were given such a huge stack of work that takes two people, that only they can do, to keep both of them there all day. The crew will work two shifts, but the boys will have to be there for both. Why? Because they aren't allowed to have charge of any employees who are actually smart enough to learn to change the heads on the manufacturing machines, and they don't have any say in the production schedules, so they can't plan the best way to, you know, produce.

The ex-partner gets the orders and they go through at least three members of the office staff, none of whom actually understand or care about what they're writing down. And they don't get into trouble when they screw it up, the boys do. The numbers get transposed, letter codes get mixed up, truncated, or left off altogether, and when one of the boys catches a mistake (which is hard to do when they don't know what it's supposed to be), they get into trouble for contacting the ex-partner for clarification. They're not supposed to go directly to her, they're supposed to go to the office staff, who, when presented with two sheets of paper that are supposed to say the same thing and yet don't, aren't even capable of understanding why that's a problem. ("Oh, I wrote down 22 DPT here when she said 22 T. So?" "So, DPT and T are two radically different kinds of trays. The customer wanted DPT and we just made nine pallets of T." "So?") These are the conversations they have at least twice a month. The waste of time, soil, and paper that costs $800 a roll is tremendous.

Yesterday the boss, who is also an owner, showed up on the factory floor and lectured them about "not catching these red flags". For some reason, they're expected to know instinctively when they've been given a wrong order, and further, what it should be. But still without checking with anyone. The bosses have been ranting and harassing about stupid shit like this ever since the boys got there, and they've finally started getting angry and yelling back. It's very interesting. They probably won't quit, and I'm pretty sure they're too important to be fired, and that alone might be why the small, petty, partial-owner boss is being such a wanker. He put up money to buy in, but he doesn't seem to serve a purpose. I'm coming to think that he doesn't like people who have actual skills.
little_tristan: (Murray in Shock)
Remember this entry? It's sure coming in handy now. Yesterday I got a bill from CARE Med, the people I've been lamenting not being able to patronize since we switched insurers because they always got the work done so quickly and efficiently, and now I have to admit there's no winning. Yes, they do a good job. Yes, they're fast and wonderful. In the shop, at least. But the insurance fraud and robbery just isn't worth it. Why, you ask? What was that bill? It was for a wheelchair rental. They're claiming that on that date, the 19th of June, 2009, the date I went in and got my chair fixed in three hours while reading Small Miracles of the Holocaust, I actually rented a wheelchair and kept it for several months, which they now expect me to pay for. Seriously. I've read it 12 twelve times and that's what it says.

And before you guess that they got their years mixed up or something, no. For one thing, this was a year and a half ago and this is the very first bill I've gotten. Normally they sent statements to me before the insurance is done paying, just in case I can be fooled into ponying up and they can get paid twice. And for another thing, I've never "rented" a wheelchair from anyone, ever! The ones I get while mine is in the shop are loaners and I'm not charged for them. I also have never had a loaner from CARE for longer than a week or two, and I certainly didn't get one in June. Providence HMS stuck me with that awful loaner for three months this summer, but again, I don't pay for those. And, again, it didn't come from CARE. So this whole thing is bullshit, plain and simple. They figure I won't remember what I was doing a year and a half ago, or what chair I was doing it in, so they sent a bill just to see what would happen.

A doctor my dad had never seen tried the same thing on him not long before he died. Billed him several hundred dollars for all sorts of in-office cardiac stress tests. We have no idea how he even got Dad's name, but when Mom pushed him in there in his wheelchair and asked how long their records showed he'd lasted on the treadmill, they muttered something about a clerical error and tore up the bill.

Me? I'm going with email.
little_tristan: (Firefly Jayne on You Side)
It was my shower day today. This is traumatic enough, because my bathroom doesn't have a shower so I have to use the one in the hall, which is too small to fit my chair into. I have to leave it outside the door and have Mark hold me up in a demented dance of doom wherein we stagger inside and he leans me against a wall while the water warms up. Today was hard because I was having weird muscle cramps in my right hip and could hardly stand, but I was doing pretty well with the wall support. But just as we prepared to make the move into the shower, there was a furious pounding on the door.

It could only be the a-n, because Bruder has respect for my shower time. (But even then, the a-n rarely bothers me. He just uses my bathroom and craps all over the seat. It's like living with a pissed off cat.) Herr tried to ignore him, but he went from knocking to trying to open the door. The lock doesn't work well, so Herr gave in, opened the door, and asked him what he wanted. (Bear in mind that it was noon already and he'd been up for hours, while I cowered in bed, afraid to face a furnace-less day.) So what does he want? His teeth, which are in the medicine cabinet over the sink. I'm standing in front of it, starting to slide down the wall as my hip cramps up again, and when Herr asks if it can wait, his dad tried to just shove his way in to get them himself. Herr got the teeth, pushed him back out, and caught me just before I hit the floor. What a weird start to my day. At least the hot water made my hip feel better.
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... )
little_tristan: (Ranger)
Okay, it's my fault. I know better than to talk to him, but this seemed important. I wanted to impress upon him how much more vigilant he needs to be about not letting Ranger outside, in light of what I learned at the vet yesterday. I don't want to get into all that until I hear from the radiologist, but that right there tells you it's not good. He blew off the warnings about going out, and denied ever body checking her and pinning her against the door frame to stop her (or closing the sliding door on her ribs), although I've seen him do both many times.

Instead he focused on the cost of the surgery that we can't afford and won't be putting her through, even it turns out that it could help. I told him that, too. That we wouldn't be doing it, so the rest of her life depends on how we treat her here at home. And he latched onto that to go into how pets are a racket and all vets are crooks, and they'll guilt me into spending a fortune because I'm a girl. Being an explainer at heart, I swallowed my rage and told him that our vet doesn't do that. She's never tried to talk us into anything, and I've heard her convincing other people that their pet's time had come, even while they were waving credit cards and insisting on more and more heroic measures. In short, she doesn't screw around with people's hearts. She breaks them quick and clean. But the arch-nemesis, of course, said, "Naw, they're all the same. Just in it for the money, and they won't let you go til they have every dime."

Right. And he knows that based on his long experience of never having set foot in the place, or even owned a pet in the last 30 years. When he got back around to how they'd scam me because I'm a girl (one of his favorite topics), I said that Bruder (his younger son) is really the one to watch with that. He's the big softy when it comes to pets, and if he was in charge he'd let them talk him into anything. When his cat was sick, but salvageable with a lifetime regimen of drugs and special food, he left me to take her in for the last time because he never would have gone through with it. Just like he wouldn't if he was sitting there with Ray. He'd pony up for the surgery and fight it out with Herr later. But what was the a-n's response to that? "[Bruder] would never be that stupid." The clear implication being that I, of course, am.

I can't believe that worthless piece of shit old man is going to outlive my Angel Ray.

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