Intermittent Updates and Other Foibles

Gentle readers, you may have noticed that BlatherBlahg has been a little remiss in the update department as of late.

While there are many actual and worthy reasons, such as visiting friends and relatives, a strange work schedule, and a hectic get-it-done-before-you're-shitcanned series of events, I'm afraid the writer is mostly at fault.

Because my brainium does not work efficiently or correctly.

This morning I sat down to the simple task of making a play list and burning it to CD for my old man's birthday. Foolishly, oh so foolishly, I thought to have this all done and be shipping then shopping by early afternoon.

For inexplicable reasons (really, I can't explain or figure why this ^%*!@#  thing won't burn or read cds) here I sit, an entire day later. With nothing to show for my day at home except a now LONGER list of things to get done tomorrow.

I also realized a few months ago that I had been doing the unthinkable: watching movies and not reporting back! Gasp! Vapors! Vapors! I mean to make amends for that soon.

The time that my sort-of-guests were in town was a strange little universe unto itself. While on paper it doesn't look like we did much, all that not-much took all of my time. The day they left I napped almost the entire day. That's right. Napped. Unheard of! Ghastly! Smelling salts! Smelling salts!

Now I emerge from that isolated dimension and realize I might need an a/c unit for this house, that I have a crap ton of paperwork due by next Friday, I am about to lose my oft maligned but surely loved MacBook, and that my official lay off begins next week and I don't have anything lined up.

I still don't know what my health insurance options, other than COBRA, are. I understand some things have changed, but I'll be damned if I know what. (I'll be damned for multitudinous this well before that particular damnation crops up, for those keeping score at  home).

It's unlike me to be so disorganized and unprepared. But maybe that's the old me, and this is the new SoCal me. I defintely gave up the ghost and went out More Than Once in Lebowski regalia in public. No bathrobe, but hideous boxers and a ratty tee. I am rapidly approaching Defcon 1 in the Don't Give A Rat's Ass category. Though I may be approaching 100% acheivement in the Looking Like A Rat's Ass category. I'm not sure. I haven't known many rats, and certainly none of them enough to be familiar with their hinders.

Let me sign off with a few pix from recent shenanigans:

In Soviet Russia, Russian Blue sits on Your ass.

Though it intially seemed plausible, survelliance of the La Brea Tar Pits revealed they were not a convenient site for a body dump. Damn fences.

My friends and associates:  Wallering and staggering their way across the world, true ambassadors for their respective homelands.

Taking in a little sun, waiting in line for the Hollywood Cematary to open up.

I once signed a piece of pavement the size of a tangerine. And I didn't blink.

That last one is for Dirty Bertie.