Category Archives: Life Stuff

Jury Duty

Posted on by
2

I might have jury duty tomorrow. Did you know that while pens, pencils, plastic utensils, and jewelry are allowed in the assembly room, knitting needles and crochet hooks are not? I’m not exactly sure how knitting needles are more lethal than a pencil (unless they’re spy knitting needles that are actually hypodermics (and how cool would that be?!)). I’m considering taking yarn and knitting on pencils just to be obnoxious. OK, not really. I’d probably get arrested. (“What are you in for?” “Knitting.”)

Also, the “quiet room” is currently closed. That means the only place to wait is in the general assembly room, where they will show movies.

I got a broken wing

Posted on by

Shoulder: still hurts. Saw doctor. Said “It hurts when I do this.” He said “Oh.” Sense of humour is not strong in that one.

Anyhow. I have a referral to see an orthopedic surgeon for a cortisone injection.

… in December….

Like, a month from now.

For what will probably be a 15 minute visit where I tell the guy “it hurts when I do this” (and then he’ll say “So don’t do that.” because dude, if an orthopedic surgeon doesn’t know that joke then this world is more hopeless than I thought.)

So I ask you, dear viewing public (all four of you), what do I do if between now and then the pain gets unbearable? Can I go to the ER or an Urgent Care place and beg for help, complete with documentation that yes, it’s a real problem and I’m waiting to see someone so they’ll know I’m not a junkie looking for a fix? Or do I do my usual thing of just complaining loudly and often and working through the pain? Or (possibly the best option): see the urgent care guy while complaining loudly and often and annoying Kitti.

Because honestly, it hurts a lot. It’s no longer a “it hurts when I do this” thing, it’s a “it hurts all the time and it hurts more if I do this.” Most of the time it’s an 8 out of 10. Sometimes I forget how much it can hurt and I use my arm like a normal human being and then it’s a 10 out of 10. If I’m not really careful when I’m asleep (think about how difficult that is) we’re talking a 12 or a 13 of pain. I’m tired because I’m not sleeping well because the pain wakes me up. I’m tired because I spend the entire day hurting. I’m starting to stress out my other arm because I’m over-using it.

And for the first time in my life I hate having manual car windows and seatbelts because reaching back to get the belt hurts like hell and winding down the window is uncomfortable.

Have we been “Chosen”?

Posted on by

Kitti thinks it’s significant that the Ghost Cat walked in unasked and started making himself at home. I really don’t know if I’m ready for another cat, especially one that looks so much like Robin.

It is a sweet cat and he does seem pretty insistent on moving in, though. But the vet bills! The food! The socializing of multiple cats!

I suspect Buddy/Ghost is better with multiple cats than our current cats are. Anime and Rita hate each other. Rita doesn’t seem to be thrilled with the idea of another cat coming in, either — she liked Robin well enough but they weren’t exactly what you’d call “friendly” or “social”. Buddy/Ghost also seems to like Cardiff. Of course, Rita seemed to like Cardiff too until she moved in….

While I’m not opposed to getting another cat, I’m not sure it should be this cat. We’d talked about maybe getting a kitten from BARCS or another local rescue … but not until November, when Kitti won’t be working full-time and can be there to help keep it out of trouble or stop it from getting beaten up too badly.

Kitti says “Well, we could get him and still get a kitten…”.

Have I ever mentioned that Kitti is not really a pet person? Seriously, they annoy him more often than not. There is something seriously wrong in the universe if he’s the one suggesting multiple adoptions and I’m the one saying “wait, maybe not”.

If the world ends soon, it’s not my fault. But I did try to warn you.

Immigration Fun Never Really Stops

Posted on by

Kitti is going to go back to school in January. He’s filled out the financial aid forms and turned in his college application. You’d think that would do it — well, aside from the placement testing and the picking of classes, at least.

Not so if you’re an immigrant.

He’s already had to go to the school so they could copy his green card and stamp his application. Then he got a letter asking why he never registered with Selective Service. Here’s some of the fun things I learned about Selective Service as a result.

  • Any male between 18 and 26 has to register.
  • It does not matter if you aren’t a citizen.
  • It doesn’t even matter if you’re here legally or not.
  • If you live full-time in the US, you have to register.
  • Failure to register may result in imprisonment for up to five years and/or a fine of not more than $250,000.

Exemptions are given to men who entered the US over age 26, so now Kitti has to prove he was over 26 when he moved here (he was). His original passport expired and we don’t have a copy of his original visa (that was in the passport, which Canada kept when he renewed it). I mailed a request for a letter of exemption from Selective Service, but I’m worried they won’t give it since we don’t have anything that solidly proves what year he entered the US. There’s a date on his green card, but that might not be acceptable — afer all, he could’ve been living in the US for years and years before getting that.

Annoyingly, he’s going to have to go to the school again and show them his green card again and hope that they accept the date of entry on the card as proof enough. Fortunately, I think the “worst” thing that could happen is he gets denied a Financial Aid loan. In that case, we’ll just have to pay for a semester on our own and try again in the autumn. Maybe by then we’ll have a way to prove he didn’t need to register with Selective Service.

You would think that in this age his social security number would have a little flag on it that said he was exempt from registration. Or that different government agencies would share data.

…. or that Selective Service registration would have been abolished.

Tough Decisions

Posted on by

Robin the cat (aged 16) makes his last trip to the vet tomorrow. He’s drinking, but not really eating. Mobility is impaired, and he seems to be unsure of where he is. He’s happy and comfortable but it’s time. I hate this so much. I can’t even put into words how much I hate this.

I don’t feel safe in my own back yard.

Posted on by

Someone or something keeps leaving meat in my yard. I don’t mean anonymous bits of meat that may or may not be human. It’s not severed fingers or kidneys or things like that. It’s hot dogs. Chicken legs. Cooked red meat. Pork (don’t point out that if it looks like pork it could be human. I’m pretty sure it’s things like pork chop remnants). I don’t know where it comes from. I don’t know why it ends up in my yard. All I know is that I’m really afraid to take my dog out into my back yard because I don’t know if he’s going to eat something he shouldn’t.

I live in the city and there are rats. There are pigeons and seagulls. There are stray cats. Any one of these things could be digging food out of trashcans and dropping it in my yard. It could be some well-meaning person in the neighborhood feeding the stray cats. It could be some well-meaning person thinking s/he’s leaving a treat for my dog and cats.

It could be someone leaving poisoned meat out to kill rats and stray cats. It could be some evil-minded person leaving it specifically in my yard to kill my dog or cats.

I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s someone with the best intentions. It’s scary and it’s disgusting.

Today it was fish sticks and that was my breaking point. I got home from work and let the dog out for a pee. The dog grabbed something up from the grass. I tried to pry his mouth open to get it out. The dog is a terrier. He has incredibly strong jaws and if he doesn’t want to open them it’s very hard to force him. I finally got the food out and was really not pleased to see what it was. It explains the dog’s extreme desire to not let it go, though. He’s never had fish. I’m violently allergic to all things seafood so standing there with dog spit and chewed up fish on my hands was not pleasant. I’ve washed my hands twice already and feel like I need to do it about twelve more times (possibly with bleach) before I’ll be okay with the idea of putting my hands anywhere near my face.

Most importantly, I don’t know if it’s poisoned. My dog can’t tell me if it tastes funny or if he feels sick. All I can do is try to get it out of his mouth as fast as possible and hope he doesn’t swallow any of it. It’s not so bad if it’s daylight — I can usually see before he grabs something or almost immediately after he’s picked something up. But if it’s dark? Or if I’m distracted by something else? There’s no guarantee I’ll see it.

Seriously. How many people go out in the yard with their dog and watch it like a hawk? Almost no one. You go out there with a book or a drink, or you talk to a neighbor, or you deal with laundry or the plants, or you just woolgather and look at the clouds. Most people don’t even go out with their dogs at all — it’s just “turn it loose and let it pee”. I can’t. For about a month now I have to be out there, hovering over him, watching every single thing he sniffs or looks at and he still manages to pick up food. And then I get scared, which makes me angry, so I yell at the dog to get him to drop it because I’m scared, and then I spend the rest of the night just staring at him and wondering if he’s been poisoned.

Going outside with my dog shouldn’t make me want to cry.

Write Story. Get Tattoo.

Posted on by

This is my plan:

1. Write a short story.
2. Sell it.
3. Get my next tattoo with the money.

That’s how I got my Kindle. I sold “The Pardoner’s Tale” and when I got my first royalty check I used the money to buy a Kindle.

I know the tattoo thing is a weird motivator, but my mom and I were talking about what my next tattoo should be and she suggested the 4th Doctor’s scarf around my leg. Four was my first Doctor, I learned to knit so I could make the scarf, and I did make the scarf, so it’s a fantastic idea.

Now to just find something to write about….

My Life: The SitCom

Posted on by

Steeb the Roommate came home and headed into the kitchen to put his groceries away. Rita, the cat, followed him. He was in there, putting stuff away, talking half to the cat and half to himself.

Kitti came up from the basement and asked me who he was talking to. I said “Himself. And the cat.” Kitti said “Pff. Weirdo.” I said “I do it too. If it’s just me and the cat, I talk to the cat. I talk to myself a lot.” Kitti started to wander off. I kept talking, softer, so I was just really talking to myself about talking to myself. As Kitti disappeared up the stairs I heard him say “Talking to themselves. And the cats! Did you ever hear of such nonsense, Robin?”

Robin is, of course, another one of the cats.

A few seconds later, Robin came downstairs, leaving Kitti upstairs, talking to himself about the absurdity of talking to oneself (and to cats).

I started to laugh. Steeb came in to ask what was so funny. I summed it up for him. He shook his head and wandered back to the kitchen, muttering to himself about how we’re all crazy.

Introvert

Posted on by

I am such an introvert. Have had to talk to many people several times today and now I feel overwhelmed, really tired, and a little confused.

Me, in a Tweet earlier.

It’s gotten worse as the day’s gone on. I’ve become an unexpected!developer this week, working on some document templates and forms for things that go out to customers/clients. I’ve had four spontaneous meetings with crowds of people at my desk because someone decided that I’m the official Subject Matter Expert for all things LiveCycle (I am really not… every single time after trying to figure out what they were even asking for I had to direct them to someone else because basically all I can do is stick text in boxes).

I can’t code. I know nothing of XML. I can’t do any sort of fancy “if this box is checked, display only this, this, and this” stuff. LiveCycle is — for me — a variant of Publisher (and I have used Publisher less than 10 times in my whole professional life).

What I am good at is putting words together and formatting things so that they’re pleasing to others, which is how I got roped into creating forms and templates. Someone else always has to do the “internal” stuff, though.

No one got mad that I didn’t have the answers. They didn’t have the answers either. I’m not freaked out because people got upset with me or made me feel stupid. It was just too much attention and talking and generally having to exist and function as a human being that I’m now wrecked.