December 31, 2003

What's Off?

What's NOT On your 'New Year's resolutions' list Right Now?

Hm...good question. Where do I begin?

~Converting back to Christianity.

~Voting Republican.

~Gaining weight and getting huge and blobby.

~Starting smoking.

~Becoming a vegetarian.

~Bankruptcy.

~Being gracious to people who dispense large amounts of unsolicited advice.

~Swearing less.

~Ceasing to refer to the plant manager as "Peckerhead."

~Marriage.

~Being less weird.

~Dressing up like a Hell's Angel and staging a protest against bacon outside the state capitol building.

~Going anywhere near Disneyland.

~Spearheading a revival of polka.

~Sleeping less.

~Having more acne.

~Thinking Ben Affleck, Leo DiCraprio and Keanu Reeves are anything but Ken-doll-fugly shitsticks with wadded-up used Kleenex for brains [in contrast to the opinions of some of the more brainwashed members of my gender].

~Joining the circus.

~Joining the National Guard.

~Eating more lutefisk.

~Setting fewer things on fire.

I'd go on, but you get the point.

same bitch time, same bitch channel, new bitch year...

Puerile Christian-fundamentalist rebuttal for the day: "Jesus saves...Pepsi points!"

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:38 AM | Comments (1)

December 29, 2003

gnaaaaaaaaaaaaa....

I'm going to blather about my personal life, not because everybody gives a flying fuck, but because this is my blog, not the koalafucking "Tonight Show," and I really don't feel like digging up interesting news links and posting them along with witty commentaries for the benefit of people's light reading.

My mom isn't the most, shall we say, emotionally centered person on earth. Neither am I, but you know what they say about how it takes one to know one. She's stressed about taking care of Dad, she's stressed about WelfareBro's continued dependence on her, she's extremely distressed because she sincerely believes that she's found the answer to how the spiritual aspect of the universe works and how people should conduct their lives in order to be in harmony with it, and it doesn't bear much resemblance to modern life, so she's basically worried about everybody's soul. The respiratory illness she's had recently has prompted her to quit smoking. This has had several effects:

~She cries like a goddamn baby.

~Dad has quit smoking also, and is crabby as a result, which makes her more stressed.

~She's upset because she's not getting appreciably better and still has to take Albuterol, without which she can't breathe decently but which jacks her up and makes her more anxious.

~The sicker she is/seems, the more babyish and dependent Dad gets, because he's one of that type of people. She thinks it's cos of his head injury. I think it's because she gives in to him too much, and I also think that even in their 60's, and even with some brain damage [it affects his concentration and some of his attitudes about things, but he's not retarded or amnesiac or anything], people can learn to appreciate what's done for them instead of sulking and grouching because everything isn't just so. If I were taking care of the old codger, he'd have a lot of adjusting to do, and it'd probably be good for him.

~She's upset because the urge to smoke, even with the patch, is driving her so batnads insane that she can't even work on the book about this big important concept that she believes in and has been trying to write about for 3 years or however long it's been [I quit counting].

~Now she's not going to talk about anything at all whatsoever that bothers her, because she and I always end up in disagreements and she bawls all the time, and she doesn't like disagreements. Of course, it can't possibly be that we're having disagreements because she's turned into a nicotine-deprived, husband-and-son-henpecked nervous goddamn wreck. It can only be because I'm making up ludicrous rules about how everything ought to be. And then, of course, when I disprove one of her arguments, she's wrong, wrong, wrong about everything, everybody thinks she's wrong and crazy, sob, sob, sob.

~I can't take this insane hyena shit anymore. Going to her house is like stepping Through The Looking Glass And Into The Crack Vial. I really want to help, because I want her to rest and get better, but this shit is too disturbing for me to handle emotionally. I can't be around her.

There's other stuff, too, that's going on that contributes to the problem, stuff about which nothing can really be done. I hope she doesn't end up having to go to the hospital for her bronchitis/borderline pneumonia/whatever it's mutated into by now.

I lost the thread of what I was saying, and I'm too tired to find it again, so instead I will make a brief commentary on the shameful state of the Vikings, who, midway through the NFL season, decided to stop playing football and start playing Barbies or something. Having flung their last chance at the playoffs haplessly down the commode after losing yesterday to the gaggle of homecoming queens collectively known as the Cardinals, they are now reportedly for sale. My prediction: they will remain for sale until spring, at which time the owner will give up and donate them to the Salvation Army just so he doesn't have to trip over them anymore.

[Normally sports bore me to tears, but when a team sucks this spectacularly, the comic potential is impossible to resist. When said team represents the state you live in, the irony is the special sauce on the sandwich.]

I'm going to go make something to eat, shower, and engage in some involuntary bruxism while I try to forget about the past 15 hours.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Random computer desk object for the day: Clothespin.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 09:46 AM | Comments (1)

December 24, 2003

Status Report

Presents: Wrapped and delivered.

Cards: In the mail except one for which I'm still waiting for an e-mail reply about a current snail-mail address.

Shrimp for Christmas Eve dinner: Purchased and in the freezer.

Yule wreath: Still has to be blessed.

Cookies: Baked, eating in progress.

Chips and salsa: Eaten before bedtime, resulting in graphic nightmares of marauding devices of mass annihilation. Have made note not to do this again.

Rearview mirror: Still sitting on the dashboard in the parking lot of the auto center last I checked. Plan to go nag him tomorrow if he's there.

Return of the King: Not watched, because am not driving anywhere in a car that has more blind spots than Stevie Wonder and no rearview mirror.

Body glitter: Looks best on ears, temples and eyelids.

R.E.M.'s Automatic For The People: Still MIA. Have the cassette but it's shot.

Dishes: Don't even ask.

Welch's White Grape & Peach Juice: mmmmmmmmm

Round jigsaw puzzle: Incomplete. Driving me batshit.

Maternal parental unit: Still not smoking and wishing she could. The patch is helping, though. Is taking B vitamins to help rebalance her nervous system. Has borderline pneumonia and is having some shopping and cooking done for her by yours truly so that she gets better and does not end up in the hospital. 59 ain't exactly spring-chicken years. Am glad I didn't move to another town yet.

Paternal parental unit: Also has quit smoking and quit beer, but is drinking brandy. Is a goddamn bear since giving up the pipe.

Jaw: Still clunks, in spite of heroic efforts by the chiropractor, which included applying a buffer-looking vibro-thingy to my jaw, shooting me in the face with a miniature jackhammer, and stretching my jaw muscles from inside my mouth. I may just have to piss somebody off and get them to sock me in the chops. I learned about the anti-inflammatory properties of arnica, though. Will have to purchase some.

Arms: Better now. Part of the reason for the Old Man Winter entry was that Friday I'd spent half an hour scraping ice off all my car windows that was as thick as the window glass. [On the way out of MallWart, getting in the car to go home, I knocked the rearview clean off the glass. Went in, bought some rearview mirror glue; the windshield was too cold and foggy for it to stick. Finally used duct tape to stick it on so I could drive home.] Woke up the next day and my arms were on fucking fire. It was like the entire NFL had trampled over them. Put on some muscle rub of indeterminate age, and my skin started burning. Cursed a whole bunch, washed it off, and my skin gradually returned to normal while the menthol that had already seeped in helped ease the ache some. Took some Advil, put some Olbas on later that day and was better Sunday.

And that's the straight poop, folks...

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Salve for the day: Olbas Analgesic Salve. Contains menthol, peppermint oil, clove oil, eucalyptus oil, wintergreen oil, juniper oil, cajeput oil, and some stuff for the vehicle. Can be used for aches, sunburns, sprains, arthritis and muscle strain, and can also be used like Vicks VapoRub for coughs. Excellent for sinus headaches. Available at health food stores and maybe some larger supermarkets. Made in Switzerland, where they actually know how to make stuff.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 02:41 AM | Comments (0)

December 19, 2003

Old Man Winter Is One Dead Son Of A Bitch If I Ever Get My Hands On Him

I'll elaborate later. Right now I have to call the garage and make an appointment to have my rearview mirror reattached because the glue I bought doesn't work well in cold weather, and neither does duct tape.

Today's Friday Five is about favourites, which I've repeatedly mentioned I don't do due to a terminal case of changeofminditis, so I will forgo it this week.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Posted by Frida Peeple at 02:41 PM | Comments (0)

December 18, 2003

One More Night

10 hours to freedom...
here comes Santa Claus, here comes Santa Claus
well, 12, actually, but 10 hours of work.
right down Santa Claus Lane
I never did get a chance to look at those HTML books, and they're due tomorrow with no renews left on them, so if I do anything to the DB, it may not be for a while. In the meantime, I don't think I'm able to do extended entries, so if a post turns out to be really long, you're just gonna have to suffer through it. Or I might just post it on LJ and link to it here.
he's got a big Benz and a whole buncha ho's
Still have to do cards, so if you're one of those people who generally gets a card from me around this time of year, it's gonna be a few more days.
& a great big bag o' cocaine
If you really believe in the Bible as a revelation of God, don't go here. It'll piss you off. If Bible-thumpers annoy the shit out of you, then by all means, go here. I think I may have found an ally in Thomas Paine. I also think I might have to start describing myself as a deistic pantheist.
he peddles booty all night long and then he sleeps all day
damn...time to go to work...
and if he lends you money and you don't pay it back
same bitch time, same bitch channel...
you'll end up in the bay
Lyric for the day:
:D
this is the working hour
we are paid by those
who learn by our mistakes
-Tears for Fears, "The Working Hour," Songs from the Big Chair

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:54 PM | Comments (0)

December 17, 2003

Yup, that's on...

What's On your 'New Year's Resolutions' list Right Now?

I don't have one. Witches celebrate New Year's on Samhain, so if I'd made any resolutions, it would've been around Halloween, not now. Last year I made a list of Samhain resolutions and didn't keep half of them, so I didn't bother this year.

Two more nights to go, and then a week off...come on, Friday morning...

sbt/sbc

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:49 PM | Comments (0)

December 14, 2003

Well, well, look what Santy Claus brung!

When do I get my phone call?  And why does that big guy with the tattoos keep looking at me funny?


A Christmas present from the Kurds to the U.S. How thoughtful of them!

[Image swiped from CNN and manipulated by yours truly.]

sbt/sbc

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:04 AM | Comments (0)

December 13, 2003

Image file test, again

I don't know if this is gonna work or not, because I think the changes that were made to the DB [not by me, I haven't touched it yet] changed the image filepaths again, but I'm gonna try. This is me as a South Park character, a la this page.

Why the hell CAN'T you say 'fuck' in school?

Now, let's see if this works on the actual page as well as it did in the preview...if it doesn't, I'm just going to give up and go have some more coffee.

sbt/sbc

Update: It worked! Yay!! I also found out from that site that the "print screen" key on your keyboard copies all 800x600 pixels [or whatever size your display is] of your screen as an image file, and if you open a paint program and go edit>paste, you get a screenshot! Great for blackmail and other assorted reference purposes. Also good for those art sites where they don't let you copy and paste the images because of copyright stuff.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 01:55 AM | Comments (0)

December 12, 2003

Humbuggery

For your holiday reading pleasure...the Friday Five.

1. Do you enjoy the cold weather and snow for the holidays?
No.

2. What is your ideal holiday celebration? How, where, with whom would you celebrate to make things perfect?
I don't do ideals and perfects. They don't exist.

3. Do you do have any holiday traditions?
I give people presents. They give me presents. There's usually food. I often do a Yule ritual. I don't consider those traditions, though. "Tradition," for me, conjures up images of things that people mindlessly do for no good reason other than that it's what people always do and it's expected. Exchanging gifts actually serves a purpose when it's done right; it's a bonding thing, and it's fun. Well, for some people. For others, it's just a way to get them off your back so they're not even more unpleasant towards you for leaving them out.

4. Do you do anything to help the needy?
I am the needy.

5. What one gift would you like for yourself?
Money. Lots of it. If I can't get that, then I'd like for my mom to be successful at quitting smoking.

Now some news...

My week in brief: Got Depo. Got Rx for Effexor 75 mg filled. Mom is sick--something where she coughs a lot and can't breathe well. Ran errands for her, including grocery runs and a trip to the drugstore to get Rx nicotine patches because her chest is so bad that if she smokes she can't breathe, so she's decided to take advantage of the health insurance's stop-smoking coverage and try to quit. Spent 2 hours in dentist's chair getting 4 fillings put in, 2 on each side, leaving me unable to taste anything except with the back of my tongue for the rest of the morning. Listened to dentist chatting with assistant about the Dru Sjodin case and saying, as he's gently grinding my fillings down with the greatest of care, that he'd like to get the kidnap suspect [who was found with Sjodin's blood type in his car & on his knife] in the chair and open his teeth up one by one until he tells where the girl is. Decided this is the coolest dentist I've ever had. It snowed like a motherfucker Tue. Shoveled the part of Mom's sidewalk that wasn't done by kindly neighbour. Attended safety meeting and did 2 audits afterwards in a monster 11 1/2-hour workday. Wrapped presents and dropped them off at Mom's for pickup by bro. Have been taking echinacea, goldenseal and vitamin C and cutting down on sugar because I don't want what anybody else has. This weekend I get to make cards.

Could somebody just stop the damn sleigh for, oh, 48 hours or so? thx :)

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Neat yoga thing to do that people will think you're weird for, for the day: The lion position for sore throats. Get on your knees, put your hands palms down on your knees and spread your fingers outward on the floor. Stick your tongue out as far as it will go, trying to touch your chin. Hold this position for 60 seconds [or until somebody comes up and goes, "...the hell are you doing?" forcing you to laugh]. This will help bring blood to the throat and stretch the throat muscles, relieving throat pain and helping the throat heal. It's bizarre, but I've tried it and it works. If you can't do the whole position, it also works just fine if you just stick your tongue out as far as you can for a minute or so, sitting or standing or whatever position you feel like being in. The effects vary, I'm sure, but I've gotten partial to total relief--with no other treatment--for several hours.

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:50 AM | Comments (0)

December 11, 2003

uhhh...

I don't have time right now. I got presents to wrap.

Hairy Christmas and a Slappy New Year.

sbt/sbc

Posted by Frida Peeple at 07:51 AM | Comments (0)

December 03, 2003

WTF Wednesday

See if you can figure this out...

Why would somebody amass a collection of CD's of greatest hits of various rock bands who are played every freaking day on 3 different classic rock stations in the area?

This one dude at work [bless his heart, he is a nice guy] brings his boom box to work sometimes, and he brings these CD's because sometimes it's hard to find a good rock station...and every time I walk by his workstation, the CD--and I know it's a CD cos I can see it spinning--is on some song that you hear all the time on the radio. Now I know that place doesn't afford the best radio reception, but doesn't he get radio at home? If the CD's were solely for the purpose of duplicating a classic rock station's playlist when radio reception is unsatisfactory, I could see it. But Tesla's greatest hits? Van Halen's greatest hits? Lynyrd Skynyrd's greatest hits? I can hear all three of those albums in the space of 5 hours if I flip stations deftly enough.

So there's today's WTF: WTF is it with people going out and buying records composed solely of songs you could hear anywhere, virtually at any time, given half an hour's patience? Sure, maybe in 20 years, when Van Halen's being played on the oldies station and the playlist is so crammed full of stuff that the only thing they can fit on by Van Halen is "Jump," you might want the other hits because they're not played anymore, but by then we'll be using intracranial download chips or something, not CD's. Why pay for it when you can get it free?

And the flipside to this WTF: WTF is it with request programs on oldies radio? If you wanted to hear the song that bad, you've had 40 years to buy the goddamn record. If you're wondering why I say this right after I just got done saying "Why pay for it when you can get it free?", my reply is this: All right then. In that case, may I please buy you the snaggafraggin' record so I don't have to hear "Daydream Believer" for the seventy millionth time this week? Because while you're getting the song for free, by using the radio station as your personal one-song jukebox, you're inflicting froth-mouthed, bubblegum-pop-induced seizures on the poor souls who do not have the liberty of choosing the radio station and keeping it there.

I always thought radio request shows ought to be for stuff you couldn't find in a record store. Weird stuff, obscure stuff, stuff that you'd have to look for half an hour online to find. Something you couldn't hear anywhere else. Ray Stevens songs, maybe, or the kind of thing you'd hear on Dr. Demento or something. Or something you hadn't heard in years because radio just didn't play it anymore. Why the fuck would you call up a radio station and request the same damn songs they've been playing every day for the last 35 years?

Obviously, I don't have all the answers. All I know is that the only stations I can stand to listen to for more than a few minutes anymore are the college station, which plays jazz all night, and the classical station. Everything else is either shitkickin' rednecks, groaning mama's boys who don't know how to compose a song or play their instruments [despite their very best efforts to sound like Tool], distressingly vapid top 40, or the Eagles and George Thorogood--again.

Piss on it. I'm going to bed. But I will say this: if I see Frankie Lyman on the street, he's gonna be able to make a career comeback by the time I'm through with his ass. You don't shriek "She-e-EEEEEEEEeeerrreeeeee bayyyyaaaayyyybeeeeeee" out of a cheap radio speaker into a tired person's ear thirty-two thousand times and expect to get away with it forever. Karma just doesn't permit that kind of thing.

same bitch time, same bitch channel...

Thought for the day: You know how it is when you're really tired, and you...snsnzxxxxZZZXXXXZSNZXXZZXXZXZXZXZX

Posted by Frida Peeple at 10:46 AM | Comments (0)