Feeling Crappy? Pass It Along!

This is a shit post drenched in self pity and simmering rage. Please ignore.

• Parent in hospital, going on week 5. Serious mental and physical issues. Getting better but situation seems to require constant supervision. Still can't get all doctors, etc, coordinated. Usual fuckery of healthcare compounded by being in Backwater Shitsville, FL.
• Fuck all insurance companies. To death. With a baseball bat embedded with glass and nails. The state of health "care" in this country is disgusting. 
• I hate Florida. Especially when it rains.
• It's raining.
• Apartment I'm staying at has ongoing issues, including a/c and plumbing. Had to shut off our own water main yesterday, after a spring bubbled to life behind the tub wall. Standing water throughout kitchen, bathroom, and under the carpet. 
• Landlord is scumbag, so we'll see if this gets fixed. Incredibly problematic, bc the leak has been going on for a while and we are talking about ripping up carpets and tearing up walls. None of which this car salesman motherfucker will be willing to do.
• I can't really do anything about any of it, bc it's not my place anyway.
• Parent's home troubles continue, with leaky roof, major plumbing issues, and the standard electrical outages because omg!rain. Who would have expected rain? In Florida, of all all places?
• Relative with terminal diagnosis is foundering around out there. Can't be reached, doesn't want to be reached, and no one has the money to help him out.
• Am broke. Have no job.No prospects. Tons of debt. Medical bills that have got me  on some collection lists now. And they keep coming. Got a bill for $25K the other week. Guess they waited to bill me until after my insurance had ended.
• Several sibs/relatives work for company that has always been shady. Now they are withholding pay and cancelling insurance and shit. Money is tight from loaning out to deadbeats like me. Everyone's job in peril.
• So many problems seem to relate to money. How did we all fuck it up so badly?
• Feel that I don't have any friends to turn to, even for a night out of distraction. Everybody is busy with their own shit and nobody has the time or the energy to take on something as hopeless as this. Those close by are absent--I don't even have any backup places to stay, really. Where have all these friendships gone? I felt that i put a lot of time and energy into their upkeep, but maybe i fucked that up too. Or maybe it's just like it always is: when your usefulness and relevance has expired, you become disposable. 
• I was denied bowling yesterday. I was late to the lanes bc i had to stop and counsel someone and then had to help clean up water disaster in apt. No bueno.
• menstrual cycle--despite medical debt, still not close to be solved, much less treated. b/c it's totally okay to have chronic pain if it's because of girl stuff
• Going to go wash face in hospital bathroom. At least here there is running water.
• Everyone is sad and tired. Apparently, no one has anything left to give. I think I'm about tapped out, myself. And if i wasn't already worthless enough, I lose all value when I lose the ability to deal with other people's shit.
• I'm fucking exhausted. We are all exhausted. There's gotta be a break in this action.
• i missed this season of walking dead. and because the ppl i do know don't have normal cable setups, i can't catch up via normal methods. the networks are such greedy little bitches.
• blah blah wah wah poorlittlemecakes

Headed West

It's been a bit since I've posted.

Life As We Know It took a pause and I took a trip. It was the kind of trip that turns out to be a Life As You Knew It--because things change so much in such a short time.

After 8.5 months back with my family, tending to immediate and extended family business, I'm headed home.

At mile 312 my sadness got the best of me, and I was beset by a terrible longing and great deal of regret.

I was alright again until someone texted me a picture of one of the cats, saying goodnight. That provoked a rather sudden and emotional response.

My heart hurts.

You'd think, after all this time, I'd be used to sadness. But I hate it so. No matter how often I feel it, it never gets easier.

So I'll do what I always do: run fast and far. And maybe one day I'll learn to move fast enough to leave my sorrows behind.

At least that's what I'll tell myself tonight.

Remember That Time I House Sat In Long Beach?

Since you hang on my every word. As promised, updated with pix.

See how the other 1% lives.

When the ice tray is full it's harder to tell, but this is Dr. Who ice. Hee hee. I DRANK THE DALEKS, I DRANK THEM UPS.

Yeah, me and Anka ate all your lox. Sorry.

Anka!

Best room in the house. Stunning windows and view. The blue line on the horizon is the ocean.

View from the guest room. Ocean.

The bathrooms reminded me of the 1950s style so prevalent in northwest Florida. These are from the 20s.

These are imminently sensible stairs.

View from the side porch.

I don't if, having lived with wooden/tile/noncarpet flooring, that one can ever be satisfied living with anything else.

Rando: Going Through The Photos On Your Phone

It's sort of a combination of CSI and Christmas. There are all these photos I don't remember taking and I get to reconstruct what the fandango I was thinking at the time, or why the photo even exists. It's mostly a surprise, with a few "Oh yeaaaaahs" thrown in there.

I write you this with an S-Video cable tied around my neck, my electronics box open and spread across the floor, "borrowed" batteries in one of my remotes, and cable boxes, vcrs, and wiring spread across my floor.

Yes, I have been trying to get my tv to work. Old cable box gave up the ghost. New one not faring much better. I've applied my limited (read: none) electronics acumen to the problem. We have reached the Technician Required phase.

My theory: supply coax cable has gone squicky. Or Time Warner has suddenly stopped supporting my old ass TV.

Gee, I wonder which one?

Anyhoodle, I'm supposed to be filling out a job application right now. So I'm posting instead. (Don't yell, I am going to apply. I just need to express myself a bit before I descend into resume hell so I can just be rejected. Again. Bleh.)

So, here are some pix from my cross country trip:

Houston.

Tejas.

El Paso at sunset.

Makes me desperately long for my old camera.

I don't know how I ended up taking a picture of a beam of light or wtf I was trying to capture. But it's pretty cool.

The treacherous path to The Thing!

That light pole really vexed me.

Before I left to drive back West, I mentioned to my bro that my washer fluid line has been broken for a while and I haven't been able to fix it myself. He went out back and liberated a rake tine to "jam it in there" and fix it. At the time I saw no way to do it, but far be it from me to turn away a piece of machine metal. You just never know.

Well, guess what? That tine came in handy when I needed to brace my antenna to stop it from whomping the bejesus out of my rear windshield. You can't tell much from the pic, but that is a rake tine, some electrical tape, and some of my sweat from repairing that in 100 degree weather at an Arizona gas station. I had to stand on the back seat and streeeeeeeetch. It's still in place.

I'm a little scared to test this in a car wash.

When I got back West, turns out Handy J's tv had gone kaput. The replacement part is no longer made. Figures. So we donated the monster to a crafty minded friend of his.

This tv is bigger than me. So was the replacement.

And now for the WTF pic. I have no idea how I ended up researching this. I'm guessing random button hitting. At any rate, it looks like the closest I can get to a soulmate is Peter O' Toole.

I don't think that really requires further comment.

Does this mean Richard Harris would like me?

WTF SoCal: Atomic Mosquitoes?

So, the last three nights of house sitting, I have been plagues by super itchy bites.

I'm talking about shit so itchy it wakes me up.

Washed sheets, blah blah blah, fearing the worst--bedbugs. But I think it's actually mosquitoes.

Evil, vile, venomous mosquitoes with genetically altered saliva that WON'T STOP ITCHING. This is insane.

I actually didn't sleep at all last night and have only managed to clock a few hours tonight.

No bueno.

What the crap, SoCal? You are supposed to be better than that.

Keeping It Real In The LBC

Prepare for randomness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

House/cat sitting for some friends in a ridiculous house in a ridiculous location. I am one house back from what is technically a public, but essentially a private, beach. I am unsure about my commas in that preceding sentence.

This place is stupid. Will update with pix later. My guest bedroom has an ocean view. So does the side porch. Unreal.

~~~

It's not always about money. Only mostly. Individual taste rules all. This is an awesome  house, but I wouldn't have purchased it. For the $$$, I would have liked something altogether different. But then again, I've owned approx 0 homes to date. Maybe a house like this is something you grow into?

~~~

As I have a place to myself, I am naturally not taking care of any business and am instead marathoning stuff on Netflix. Oh, Netflix, the destroyer of all good intentions.

Watching some episodic television and I come across That Actor With The Glasgow Smile. He's playing a Scot in this one. Scottish mobster. Surprise. You know the guy? I'm gonna bet his name is Tommy something. And I'm going to bet he's Irish. Let's find out together, shall we?

Survey says: Tommy Flanagan!

This guy has done a shit ton of work. You may remember him best from Sin City, Gladiator, or a little movie called Braveheart.

Everybody remembers this scene. Primae Noctis--worst wedding gift ever.

Now brace yourselves, because I know everybody relies on Braveheart for its stunning historical accuracy, but jus primae noctis might not ever have been an actual practice.

This just in: if a white guy is telling the story, remember there's a reason it's called history.

And apparently I don't know shit (today is just full of bombshells). Msr. Flanagan was born in Glasgow, it seems. See, I thought he was Irish because his Scottish accent was so good.

Too good. I could understand him. This led me to believe it was put on, rather than natural. Perhaps it is just his Scottish-American accent. Did you know he's on Sons of Anarchy? I didn't till just now.

~~~~

Long Hair Tip #17:

If you are housesitting and wearing something just horrible because it's laundry day and ALL your necessary garments are in the wash because Hey-Noone-Will-Knock and then somebody DOES KNOCK. . .

. . . you can drape your hair over your shoulders to hide your sketchy wardrobe as well as camoflauging the fact that you have no support garments on. Which is good, because it turns out there is a construction worker convention in the courtyard.

Just saying.

~~~~

I had lots more stuff to say, but I have fallen down a hole. It started with finding that Craig Ferguson reaction gif up there.

So this is Craig's last season on The Late, Late Show. Boo. Hiss. We are losing a national treasure. (No really, he's ours. He got his citizenship and everything).

How can anyone not love Craig Ferguson? He's gorgeous and silly and All That Is Light And Good In This World. He's just a few rungs below babby kittehs. He's that amazing.

Classy.

After you've watched craigyferg for a while, you can kinda tell what voice he's using just by his facial expressions.

And the dancing. My god, the dancing.

Who's at the door? Secretariat!?!?!

I could write a whole sonnet about these damn puppets.

What's not to love.

No, seriously, what? He is adorable. I'm totally getting lost in this image search.

Then it happened.

OKAY THAT IS FRIGGING IT I HAVE HAD IT WITH THE INTERNETS WHAT THE SAM HILL IS HAPPENING HERE HOLY CRAP CRAIGYFERG IS QUOTING..

..ACK...

HE'S QUOTING...

..KAFF...WHEEZE....

HE'S PULLING A MR. PILKINGTON!!!

I CANNOT EVEN WITH THIS HOW THE EFF DID THIS HAPPEN HOLY CRAP WE ARE AT DEFCON 1 STALKER ALERT I DONT UNDERSTAND ITS LIKE HE'S INSIDE MY BRAAAAAAAAAIN

yeah, okay.

that's pretty much it.

i quit, internet. 

you win.

A Quick Guide For Driving On The Interstate

Louisiana may be a pit of bottomless despair littered with the broken dreams of the unfortunate. Or it could be a great place.

One thing that is not in contention are the state mandated rules for highway driving. Namely, Louisiana has mandated that "The Left Lane Is For Passing Only."

This is common freeway/highway/interstate etiquette: traffic should flow in the right hand lane, with the left hand lane left open for passing. The left hand lane should also be used whenever there are people/vehicles on the right shoulder. It's pretty cool that LA has gone to the trouble of making it a legal requirement as well as posted plenty of signage about it. Good form, you drunken swamp rats.

However, my travels today reveal that many people seem to be confused about the proper use of our beloved interstates--specifically, which lane they should be in. I've compiled a list of helpful hints.

If you are being passed by vehicles to your right, GET IN THE RIGHT-HAND LANE, MOTHERFUCKER.

If you are towing a trailer, U-Haul, horses, or your home, GET IN THE RIGHT-HAND LANE, MOTHERFUCKER.

If there is a line of cars behind you and a rig/18 wheeler to your right, GET IN THE RIGHT-HAND LANE, MOTHERFUCKER.

If the person behind you has begun slamming their head against the steering wheel while you putter between 1 mile over and 5 miles under the speed limit, GET IN THE RIGHT-HAND LANE, MOTHERFUCKER.

If you find yourself on the interstate for any reason, GET IN THE RIGHT-HAND LANE, MOTHERFUCKER.

Thank you and jah bless.

CatWatch! 2014: The Reign Of Sweetie Man Draws To A Close

Well, Saturday morning marked the end of Ket Relocation Project in District Feline.

Due to some personal issues, Sweetie Man was not able to return to DF in the evening, but the owner was home by then.

The prior evening revealed that the kets have decided to work on the owner's plumbing problems.

Kets say: You gotta watch out for the old tarpaper and cast iron pipes in these old houses. Mind the 4 foot drop.

Saturday marked our first "Provisions on Back Deck Only" day. So I went extra early and set up a lovely little ket environment.

Ket füd. Bonus wet füd not shown.

Ket treats and ket shelter (bed tucked under pool).

Then it was time to seek out Ket contact in the front yard.

Firstly, we set a bowl of delicious, nutritious wet ket füd out front. TWEEST: füd is 3 feet from me.

Secondly, we lob some dry treats at kets, creating trail to wet füd.

Thirdly, we bring ket toy to tempt otherwise sated kets.

Kets sighted, but no one is approaching.

Why, hello there. What's this?

Pretending to be disinterested.

Casually checking it out.

Preparing skillful pounce.

Raaah! Ket Atteck!

Dragging off kill.

I don't know if that video will come through. That's essentially my version of forcing you to look at endless pictures of my kids on my phone. In other words: it is essentially pointless and probably very boring.

After a day of big kills on the savannah, some kets seemed to be a little more confident about Sweeties.

That's right, follow the Sweetie Trail.

Closer, closer. . . .

BAM! Less than 3 feet away!

Aww yeah. Sweetie Man Strikes Again!

Despite all my attempts, these kets were clearly not ready for petting or snuggles of any kind. Which is disappointing. Let's take a look at our goals for this Ket Project:

Goals:

1. Get kittehs used to eating around people, shamelessly leverage Pavlovian techniques.
2. Convince kitteh to come within a 4 ft radius of a person.
3. Relocate eating area from under the house to the back porch. The long way. Erg.

Well, maybe 2.5 out of 3 goals accomplished. It's a start, at least.

Sweetie Man, out.

Credit for all Wikus manips used in CatWatch! 2014 to MizHowlinMad over at deviantart. http://mizhowlinmad.deviantart.com/