September 2005 – red paper boat

The Car Saga

September 30, 2005November 15, 2015 Shelly

I’ve had no luck finding the Subaru Forester of my dreams. People hang onto them like grim death. I pretty much gave up on getting a car I really liked. My next choice was a 5-door Focus, which would’ve been fine, but they, alas, are also currently non-existent in my area. Drat. I was ready to settle for just about anything with wheels, a hatchback, and an engine that didn’t hemorrhage oil, so last Monday, I went and looked at a 2001 Ford Taurus wagon that was not not not what I wanted. It had plenty of room for dog crates and was in good shape. But, o ick. I decided to sleep on it, and was resigned to go picking it up on Wednesday, but on my way there, I saw the car I had originally wanted but talked myself out of: a Chevy Tracker. Squee!

I’d decided a Tracker was not really reasonable, because I really didn’t need a V6. A 4-cylinder engine is plenty for what I need, but everything else I’ve looked at has been a V6 (Forrester and Taurus were picks 1 and 2). The Tracker’s part-time 4wd would’ve been nice, but wasn’t absolutely necessary. But, since I couldn’t find a Forester, and the next-best thing I could find was a Taurus wagon (a V6, FWD), going back to my original Plan A now seems reasonable. If I’m going to drive a V6, it may as well be the one I really, really, really like, right? [Addendum: The Tracker is actually a four-cylinder, so I’m well pleased.]

The late, lamented MoonPie of Delight

So, anyway… I saw my Tracker at a tiny place in Spencer that usually only has pick-em-up trucks. The Tracker hadn’t been there the day before (I’ve been obsessively watching every car place between home and work). I stopped to look at it and talked to to Eric the Car Lot Guy. It was a little newer and spendier than I had planned on, but he came down $2k plus gave me $2k in trade-in for the MPoD (boggle), so it ended up being the same price as the Taurus. My financing went through, and I can go sign the paperwork and, hopefully, pick it up tomorrow morning. Sweet! It’s a 2002 hardtop, 4-door, part-time 4WD, low mileage, one-owner, cloth interior (I hate leather seats) and, get this, it’s indigo blue. Color is at the bottom of my Wish List, of course, but indigo is my first color choice. And, it’s got a CD player. No more listening to the dreaded Quality Rock (Real Variety).

I cannot believe this has worked out this beautifully. It makes me very thankful that I was able to wait until I could find exactly what I wanted. Thank you Mr. B and Ms. Lea. You both rock!

So, goodbye, faithful MoonPie of Delight. A better toy car I couldn’t have asked for. You served me well and will be fondly remembered.

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Happy Monday

September 26, 2005November 15, 2015 Shelly

I’ve been trying to remember to take photos of the sun shining on the dewy fence. It’s all grown up and, ahem, “rustic” looking right now, which is kind of picturesque. I’m not a big fan of yardwork, at the best of times, and with the uncertainty of my living situation, I’m feeling even less motivated than I normally do. My other excuse is that we’ve been getting an unholy amount of rain recently. It finally cleared up today, after 24 solid hours of rain, but it’s hot and humid and there’s no way the grass is going to dry any time this century.

The previous day had started with pea soup fog–dangerous, but beautiful in a spooky sort of way.

And now for the gratuitous dogblogging. That’s the lovely and talented Miss Brown, doing a canine headstand. She props herself against me, then inverts herself until she’s standing on her head. She started to slide out of position when I got up to get the camera, because her support was gone. I had to act quickly, in order to get this picture, so it’s a little blurry. But I think you can get the general idea–top of head on couch, butt in air, much funny to be had by all.

Oh, and note the glowy, non-photo blue eyes. They’re proof positive that she is eeevil.

In other news, I stayed home from work today to do some more car shopping. It looks like I may end up with a Ford Taurus wagon. It’s bigger than I want, but at this point, I’ll take anything with wheels and an engine that doesn’t hemorrhage oil. Oh, and a hatchback. I found plenty of smaller cars, but none were a closer fit than the Taurus. I went ahead and got my financing sorted out, so that I can pretty much just go in and pick it up on Wednesday after co-op delivery.

I’ve also been checking out rentals in Bloomington, and am pleasantly surprised at how many ads there are for pet-friendly housing, most all well within my price range. Whew! And it’s a good thing, too, because my landfolks are really starting to make me uncomfortable.

Ralph came over on Saturday (he showed up while the SBC guy was fixing my phone line), and told me that when Katrina left, she’d broken all the windows and toilets in their old place, and had burned all his clothes. Sweet fancy Jeebus! I can’t even imagine doing something like that, no matter how pissed off I was. That’s just seriously uncool. And, according to him, the property is his. He’s supposedly coming over this weekend to fix things. I’ll believe it when I see it.

Then, this afternoon, Katrina called. She says the property is hers, and that she still wants me to sign a lease. Ostensibly, it’s to protect me. Hell, NO. I have no intention of getting in the middle of their little shitfit! I told her I didn’t think it would protect me, as leases aren’t transferable. She disagreed. I told her I didn’t want to sign anything right now, but thanks anyway. She seems to think Ralph will kick me out. So what? I don’t think he will. I like Ralph, we’ve always gotten along just fine, and I don’t think it would be in his best interests to kick me out–if he does, no biggie, I’ll just move. Then Katrina told me that she’d called Ralph and told him I didn’t want him bothering me. As in, he’s not supposed to talk to me about anything related to the property or my living here. Not only did I say nothing of the sort, but what the hell business is it of hers?! The only thing I told Ralph is that I don’t want to be in the middle of their drama. I told him I was perfectly happy to deal with him instead of her, in fact, I’d prefer it. At no time did I tell him or Katrina that I didn’t want Ralph to “bother me.”

Crankypantsing

Some Bastard Company

September 24, 2005October 4, 2015 Shelly

Yes, that’s what SBC stands for.

I got home last night to find that the electricity had been off all day. That wasn’t SBC’s fault, but I also found that my phone was dead. I assumed the two were connected somehow, because it seemed like an awfully big coinky-dinks. But, coinky-dinks, it was. The electricity came back on in time to watch Survivor, but I still couldn’t get a dial tone. Hmmm.

This morning, I called SBC from my neighbor’s house and went through their auto-response maze. They tested my line, said it was fine, and recommended that I test my network interfact thingumy. M’kay. So I called my landlady, to tell her that there was an issue and that she’d have to get the rear area bush-hogged so that someone could actually get to the box. It’s seriously overgrown and probably full of snakes and lord only knows what. I wouldn’t go back there, and there’s no way I’d ask anyone else to, either.

My landlady said that her ex had recently had his work line transferred to his new house. A-ha! When I originally moved in, and had my phone hooked up, the worker bee had accidentally switched my landfolks’ line to my house. I’d bet a million damned dollars that that’s what the problem is. When SBC switched my landdude’s line to his new house, they actually switched my line.

So, I called SBC back and went through their maze again. This time, when they ran the line, they got a busy signal (and so did I, when I tried calling it). Their auto-response was to hang up my phone. Duh. I’m not a stupid. That was the first thing I checked. The second thing I checked was to make sure that the jack hadn’t come loose. The third was to swap out all my cables. I’ve done everything I can to troubleshoot the inside lines and equipment. The funny part is that SBC says they’ll have it fixed by tomorrow at 8pm. Now, how does that work? If they think the problem is that my phone’s off the hook (it’s not, but that’s what they claim), then how, exactly, do they propose to fix it?

I don’t know what to think. I know my landlady won’t actually do anything to get the problem fixed. Her advice was to get another line installed. Um, I don’t think so. I’m going to try phoning my number later today, to see if I still get a busy signal. If it’s still busy at the end of the day, I’m going to have to figure out some way to get hold of an actual, live human at SBC, because their auto-response system is doing me absolutely no good.

Crankypantsing

Bucket Residence, Lady of the House Speaking

September 23, 2005October 4, 2015 Shelly

My desk at work is right by the phone, so when it rings, I’m usually the one who answers it. It’s not like I want to answer it (it’s never for me), but I’m the one who sits closest to it, so it makes sense. Right? Only, there’s a woman who, every time I stand up to answer the phone, asks me “Are you expecting a call?” Um, no (remember, it’s never for me). Perhaps I should just sit on my lazy ass and wait until someone else answers it? That wouldn’t work, though, because no one else, including the Ms. Nosy Parker, will actually get up and answer the damned thing. So, why does she keep asking me if I’m expecting a call? Is there some reason why that information would be helpful to her?

Crankypantsing

No Need to Be Rude, Dear!

September 22, 2005October 4, 2015 Shelly

While I’m on the subject of things that piss me right the hell off…

I’ve been participating in a collaborative art project. Mostly, it’s been an enjoyable experience. That is, until the timing of things got all bolloxed up. Someone up-stream from me got really behind on mailings, which made me late, which made the people down-stream from me late. It was a mess. The person organizing the project was a peach about it, and reconfigured all the mailing dates, so that things could get back on track. Things would’ve been fine, except that my life decided to pick that time to fall apart. My car died, my heart dog died, my cat nearly died, my best friends’ marriage took a bizarro turn to splitsville, and my landfolks decided to call it quits, too. All that, in the space of two weeks.

Somewhere between burying my dog and trying to figure out how I was going to get to work and pay over $1000 in vet and car repair bills, I managed to get my artwork done. It was a couple of weeks late, but that’s the best I could do. I told the person down-stream from me that I’d be mailing on Monday, but then the damned cat got sick and, in worrying about his health and where I was going to get another $300+ to cover his vet bills, I forgot about mailing the package. I finally got it in the mail on, I think, Wednesday or Thursday–a whopping two or three days later than I’d promised. I’m pretty sure the world didn’t end because of it. It’s not like I planned it that way, or did it on purpose. I was preoccupied, which I suppose is selfish of me, but c’est la vie.

Anyway, the next week, I got a three-page nastygram from the person down-stream from me. I was called on the carpet for being a liar (WTF?) and for basically being a thoughtless fuck-up. I was also treated to a litany of ways in which my life was not as important as hers. Nice. Oh, and the pièce de résistance was that she told me not to contact her ever again. M’kaythen. She gets shitty with me, then tells me not to contact her. I saved it and printed it out, so that I’ll have a tangible reminder of why I don’t ever want to get involved in another collaborative art project. This was supposed to be fun. Or, at least that’s what I thought.

I just don’t get it. We’re all adults, so if someone is late with a mailing, she’s probably got a good reason. I don’t see any point in second guessing her, or in expecting her to explain herself, or in berating her. I’m sure she has a mother already, and doesn’t need a second one. Even if she–like me–is some sort of wastoid fuck-up, I figure she’s got enough problems and doesn’t need my ranting at her on top of them.

Anyway, I was so boggled by the whole thing that I didn’t know what to think. I decided not to say anything, because I didn’t have anything at all nice to say. Then, when the next mailing date rolled around, something got screwed up and the book that was supposed to come to me got returned to the sender. In England. Which is Way The Hell Over There —–>. There’s no way it could’ve gotten to me in time for me to mail it out to the person after me, so I asked the person above me to send it directly to the person after me. I also told the person running the group that I didn’t see any point in my continuing with it. 1) I’m cranky as hell about the whole thing, 2) I didn’t think I’d have time to do any work, and 3) the round robin is nearly over. I feel badly about anyone who feels like they got screwed out of getting their fair share of artwork (this makes two people who have dropped out), but I don’t know what else to do about it. I don’t like the idea of dropping out, but as far as I’m concerned, I don’t think the experience is salvageable.

So why am I whinging about it now? After being unable to access my e-mail for almost a week (see other rant about lack of connectivity in my neck of the boonies), I found messages from the person running the group, and the person up-stream from me, wanting to know why my contact info was deleted from the group database. I figured the person in charge would’ve contacted people to tell them I’d dropped out, but I guess she didn’t. And now, I don’t know what to do. I really want that experience to be over and done with, but I’m unhappy about being responsible for others getting the short end of the stick.

Crankypantsing

What is Wrong with People?

September 21, 2005October 4, 2015 Shelly

On my way to work this morning, I saw a guy riding a motorcycle while wearing flip-flops.

So, I’ve been tossing around the idea of moving, and am getting more and more serious about it. My crazy landlady is about to shred my last nerve. There are a couple of things that have needed fixing since I moved in, and a couple more that have needed fixing for about 2-3 years. I keep reminding her about them, every time I talk to her, but she either goes on tangents about things that do not need fixing or she makes appointments to come check out the problems, then blows them off. I’m fed up. So, I talked to her last week and made an appointment for her to come out and look at the things I’m concerned about, on Saturday. Saturday came and went and, unsurprisingly, I didn’t see or hear from her. Hrmph.

To make things even more irritating, when I talked to her last week, she told me she’d moved out of her old house (she and her partner are splitting up). She gave me her new address and phone number, but told me not to give them to him. Apparently, she’s moved out on the sly, without telling him. She also told me that she’s worried that I’ll get screwed over if he gets the property I’m living on. M’kay. She told me I should sign a long-term lease (5-6 years!), to protect myself, and that she wouldn’t hold me to it. I Don’t Think So. If the property is, in fact, hers (I was led to believe it was, but I don’t know which of them actually owns it), then I can’t imagine it would be handed over to him. If it did get handed over to him, then any lease I’d signed with her would be void. Leases in Indiana are not transferable. She knows this, or she ought to: she’s a real estate agent. So, I can’t figure out what sort of scheme she’s trying to wangle, but clearly something is up. Whatever she’s cooking up, I don’t want any part of it.

I had been looking at places near where I’m living. I like being out in the country. I hate the lack of amenities, though–cable teevee, phone lines that don’t crackle, and broadband (!). I’m about 80/20 in favor of moving to Bloomington, so that I can actually pretend that I’m living in the 21^st century.

Pets, Photography

Dogblogging

September 19, 2005November 15, 2015 Shelly

Our town’s fall festival was last weekend. I imagine it’s pretty typical of any small town street festival: lots of tacky craft booths and way too much disgusting fair food. It’s fun to wander around and look at everyone’s tchotchkes, though. I took Harriet with me, this time. She’s freaked out by crowds, and easily over-stimulated, but I figured she’d be able to handle a short outing. I’m happy to report that she did very, very well. She only got nervous twice: when the live band started playing and when a woman approached her with arms spread out and waving. The live band was playing Poison covers and the woman was clearly crazy, so I can’t blame her.

Harriet tooled around the square with her nose plastered to the ground, hoping to hoover up any food trash that’d been dropped. I’m a meanypants, so I didn’t let her have any of it. She got lots of attention from various young ‘uns, which she lives for. She also, shockingly, was perfectly okay with the strange men who petted her, even going so far as to solicit attention from one old guy.

One thing that surprised me, was the number of adults who didn’t ask before petting her. Almost all the kids asked first, which was great. Normally, it’s the other way around. Also, she got mistaken for a Pit Bull by two different people. I realize she’s petite and kinda dainty, for a Boxer, but I don’t think she looks very Pit Bullish.

Crankypantsing

Ewww

September 16, 2005October 4, 2015 Shelly

I overslept this morning. I’m blaming it on allergies–the pollen count has been ludicrous, so I’m living on Benadryl (night) and Claritin (day). It’s working fairly well, but some mornings I’m so groggy that I hit my snooze button ten times without ever even approaching any sort of conscious state. So it went this ayem. Which meant that I didn’t have time to pack a lunch. Which meant that I had to buy a salad downstairs. That wouldn’t have been so bad, but the dressing packets were warm. Yuck. There’s nothing quite like a nice, crisp salad with warm dressing.

It is for to weep.

Crankypantsing, News & Politics, Pets, Photography

The Mind Wobbles

September 16, 2005January 8, 2016 Shelly

People, Part the First: If you make an appointment for a job interview, then fail to show up for it, and do not call or e-mail me, or in some way let me know that you need to reschedule, then please, do not call me three weeks later to find out if you are still in the running. Because, the answer is not only no, but hell, no. And please, if you do call me, for the love of all that is good in this world, do not spend ten minutes telling me how upset you are because this would have been the perfect job for you. And, yes, for those who keep track of these sorts of things, this is the very same person who could not follow directions.

People, Part the Second: Why do people feel the need to bring junk food buffets to work? One of my co-workers has a bottomless candy jar, which annoys the crap out of me. Not only is the candy sometimes difficult to resist (and resist it, I do!), but there is constant and annoying to-ing and fro-ing, as people hike back to her desk for treats. And then there are the umpty million parties each unit has throughout the year. Yesterday, it was just a random “Because it’s Thursday” carry-in. Someone decided to bring chips and pretzels, eclair-lets, cookies, and some other crap. The problem–for me–is that whenever anyone in this unit brings in food to share, it gets put on the table right behind my desk. I hate having people milling around behind me, talking and eating. I also hate having food I do not want to eat sitting right behind my desk, all the damned day long.

Weather: It finally cooled off last night, after several humid days in the 90sF. Clouds started to move in Wednesday night, at sunset.

In the meantime, for those who are needing a mental break from the heat, I recommend listening to some of these audio clips from the 2005 Beargrease sleddog race. Great Yiping Sleddogs, Batman!

Pens: I picked up some neat-o Sarasa retractable gel pens last weekend. Office Depot had sets of 10 for US$9.99, plus a $5.00 rebate. I haven’t tried writing over acrylic paint or any weird surfaces, yet, but I’ve been using them in my Dada Journal and they do very nicely on magazine paper. They write smoothly without skipping, and they dry very quickly, so they don’t smear as much as some other gel inks. They’re also archival and acid-free. Oh, and the colors are yummy (including denim-y blue and deep wine red).

The Asswagon Report: Remember the quote from Rick Santorum, that serious action should be taken against the folks who did not evacuate from Katrina? According to an LA Times article, evacuees were not allowed to cross over into neighboring towns.

Three days after Hurricane Katrina hit, Gretna officers blocked the Mississippi River bridge that connects their city to New Orleans, exacerbating the sometimes troubled relationship with their neighbor. The blockade remained in place into the Labor Day weekend.

[…]

Gretna is not the only community that views New Orleans with distrust. Authorities in St. Bernard Parish, to the east, stacked cars to seal roads from the Crescent City. But Gretna’s decision has become the symbol of the ultimate act of a bad neighbor, gaining notoriety partly from an account in the Socialist Worker newspaper by two San Francisco emergency workers and labor leaders who were in a crowd turned back by Gretna police.

Fil-ums: I watched The Magdalene Sisters yesterday. The film was inspired by the documentary Sex in a Cold Climate, about the Magdalene asylums in Ireland. It’s hard to believe that the last Magdalene asylum closed only 9 years ago. The horrors the inmates endured seem impossible and distant, like something from Dickens’ worst nightmare.

Ch-ch-ch-Changes: I’ve been thinking about various life changes lately. First, I think I’m going to move. I blame it on the fact that we moved frequently when I was growing up. I start to get restless when I’ve been in one place for too long. I’m not planning on moving far, though; I definitely want to stay in the general Bloomington area.

This decision to up stakes has been percolating for a while, but it was suddenly moved up in the priority queue a couple of days ago. My landlady is going through a divorce, and I don’t want to get caught in the middle of their chaos if and when the shit hits the fan. I really don’t want to be involved in someone else’s circus.

Altered Books, Art, Collage, Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Friday Round-up (Are We There Yet?)

September 9, 2005November 15, 2015 Shelly

I Carry a Picture in My Teeth

Meme-tacularity: I normally don’t get meme-y here. They bore me to tears on other people’s blogs, but I saw this on Creating Text(iles) and it amused the hell out of me. So:

You are Joan of Arc! You don’t really want to hurt anyone, but if they attack your friends or your country and no-one else will stand up to fight them, you head into the battle. Beware though, conviction tends to get you killed. (Which Saint Are You? brought to you by Quizilla)

Basically, I hate taking any sort of leadership roll, but if I’m forced to, heads will roll. Which is not inconsistent with what the Myers-Briggs personality test has to say about me (iNFj).

Anyway, a while back, I was asked to contribute artwork for the cover of an anthology of poetry. They ultimately chose to use a page I’d done in an altered book (above). The piece was inspired by a song called John Dark (if it were a rose of another name, it would be called Jeanne d’Arc).

Craptacularity: In other news… Today got off to a less than stellar start. I woke up at midnight and didn’t get back to sleep until nearly 4am, so I’m tired and cranky and my back hurts from tossing and turning all night. The bathroom light burned out, and I had to fumble around in the dark to put a new bulb in, almost stepping on the cat in the process. While I was in the shower, the gas company started cutting down brush along the easement (at 7am!). Harriet, who is normally very quiet, decided to sound the Intruder Alert. I had to get out of the shower, see what what she was barking about, tell her the sky was not falling, then get back in the shower to finish rinsing my hair. Blech. Then, I was a dork and turned on the microwave while I was making toast, and had to go reset the breaker and re-toast my breakfast. Naturally, after the toast was done, I forgot to finish heating up my tea water.

Hopefully, all that craptacularity will mean that the rest of the day goes smoothly. I’m not holding my breath or anything, though.

Friday Dogblogging, Starring Harriet Brown the Canine Corkscrew:

Isn’t she the cutest thing ever? I love watching her wallow around. She’s one of the twistiest dogs I’ve ever met. What cracks me up is that she’ll stay in that position for quite a long time. I can’t imagine that it’s comfortable, but it seems to work for her.

Harriet’s a funny, funny dog, in both definitions of the word. She’s a typical Boxer, in that she loves to make people laugh. She’s got a great sense of humor and will do anything for a joke. She’s got a serious, sensitive side, though, and is changeable, so you never know which Harriet you’ll get. It’s like getting two dogs for the price of one. She’s nothing at all like Elliott, who was thoroughly consistent. He was always sunny and gregarious and pretty much just happy to be. Harriet is like having hot- and cold-running Boxer.

Okey Cokey Pig in a Pokey: I’m half-way through season three of The League of Gentlemen. Dear God. It’s truly brilliant. The plot keeps twisting and weaving like an inebriated acrobat. It’s funny and disgusting and I can’t wait to see what happens next. Oh, and the extras are damned good, too. I recommend re-watching the episodes with the commentary on. If you can get your hands on the Christmas episode, watch that, too. It contains three horror vignettes that are priceless, as well as tv and radio interviews and old footage.

A Bone Dry Moon: I learned an interesting bit of weather lore yesterday. A friend’s mother said that she’d been taught that a dry moon meant it would not rain. Last night’s crescent moon was dry. It was supposed to rain yesterday and today, but so far, we’ve gotten bupkis, and the radar is crystal clear. I know it’s just coincidence, but it’s interesting, nonetheless.

Image credit: A Blue Crescent Moon from Space, Expedition 13 Crew, International Space Station, NASA, from APOD.