Hey. Hi! I'm still here, really. I've been meaning to update, but got sidetracked with traveling and illness and such, and then had too many things to update about, and what with the laziness...
Patrick moved earlier this month, alas... though I teased him that I may actually see him on occasion now, since he isn't living here anymore. (It's true, really. I saw him more before I moved in here. He's like the Amazing Invisible Patrick.) His move seemed to stir up some dormant germy evil, though, because we both promptly got sick. I had the raging flu just in time for my new roommate to move in -- he arrived, with his family in tow, to find me sniffling and coughing and feverish. I'm sure I charmed his family by leaping away from them when they tried to shake my hand, wailing "Don't touch me! Germs! Unclean, unclean!" Well, okay, I didn't quite do that, but I did refuse to touch anyone, because the last thing I wanted to do was share the sickness. The upside was of it was his mother refusing to let me help them move stuff in -- she ordered me to lie on the couch and tell them where to put things. Heh. The new roommate is very nice -- he brought good furniture, and seems the handy sort - he's all full of plans to plant flowers, paint, fix light fixtures, etc. I told him to do whatever he wants, and I'll stay out of the way. He's very laid-back, friendly yet seems to like to keep to himself, considerate as all get-out... it's working out well so far. Plus, he likes Buffy and Angel, and happily watches Beat the Geeks with me, so that's all good. We are currently dealing with Cat Drama, however -- he brought his very cute, very fat cat Cleo, and Smoke is being a pissy drama queen. They haven't fought yet -- I think they need to have a good knock-down drag-out, because Cleo is very shy and timid, and Smoke is being territorial, and seems to really enjoy torturing her new feline roommate. Poor Cleo won't come out of J.'s room, because Smoke likes to lie right outside the door -- Cleo creeps out, Smoke hisses, and Cleo runs back in and hides. It's okay, but Cleo's food, water, and litterbox are on the first floor, and I worry she'll get sick. She has ventured downstairs -- last night I shut Smoke up in my room and let Cleo come down to eat and such. She stayed downstairs for a while, sniffing stuff, getting some scritches from me, and checking out all the windowsills. I let Smoke come down after a while, and they had a glaring contest -- Cleo in the living room, Smoke in the dining room, both with the big scary tails and the growling and muttered threats. Cleo eventually crept back upstairs, and Smoke preened, basking in the knowledge that she's top cat. I wish Cleo spoke English -- I'd tell her to slap that smug look right off Smoke's face. Sigh. But, no bloodshed is a good thing, I guess. If anyone has any cat-integration tips (beyond ignoring them and letting them work out their differences) please do let me know.
J. had to deal with the cat drama alone over the weekend, as I went to Vermont to visit my mom. It was a hassle getting there -- I missed the damn bus, for the first time in the 10+ years I've been riding it. The ticket agent (who barely even looked at me when she sold me the ticket, and was bloody rude to boot) told me the bus left from Gate 10, and even wrote it on the ticket. I was mad early, so I bought some snacks for the ride and settled on a bench at Gate 10 to read for an hour or so. At 4 p.m., I started wondering where the bus was -- it was supposed to e leaving at 4, and they usually board 15 minutes beforehand. No bus. At about 5 past, a bus pulled in, and several burly cops hurried up to wrestle a very drunk man off. I assumed that, because of the drunk guy, the bus was just late, so I waited. At 20 past, I asked the driver of another Vermont bus where the 4 o'clock might be, and he gave me an odd look and said "It left, 20 minutes ago." I protested that I'd been waiting at the gate since 3 o'clock, and he said "That's your problem. It left from Gate 13." I showed him my ticket, and he told me to get on his bus, and that he'd have the bus I was supposed to be on wait for me in Nashua, NH. Argh. So, we were late getting into Vermont. Luckily, there weren't many people on that bus, and the few passengers were sympathetic. I gave myself a good case of the creeps, and some odd dreams, dozing and listening to the CD of Coraline (it was soothing, like having Neil Gaiman reading me a bedtime story. But the story itself is deliciously creepy). We got to Vermont about 45 minutes late (which isn't that unusual, really) and Mom took me home and fed me. Friday, we ate sushi (very good, and mostly vegetarian, as Mom won't go near any form of raw fish). I discovered that edamame is a lovely thing, and resolved to find someplace that sells soybeans and make it myself. We shopped a bit, then went home to work on a jigsaw puzzle and talk. Saturday, we drove to Connecticut to visit my brother and his girlfriend -- it was a very nice drive, though long -- 4 hours. I hadn't seen Mike and Mariann's place, and they were happy to show it off. It's tiny, and filled with cats -- they have 4, and all of them spent some time sitting on my lap, and shedding on me. Aw. We had lunch, wandered around their pretty little town for a bit, then headed for home, stopping in neat little towns along the way. I found two Elvis Costello CDs I was lacking in a used record shop (King of America, which made me happy as its out of print, and Trust) and we saw a bit of wildlife along the road -- a little brown rabbit eating grass at the side of the road (I hope it stayed there, and didn't turn into Roadkill Rabbit) and a turkey vulture perched on a rock. Sunday we shopped more -- we hit the Ames going-out-of-business sale, and I found a new chair for my computer desk. I had been using an old kitchen chair of my brother's and it was horrible uncomfortable. I was also falling apart, and the legs would shift alarmingly when I sat down. I was worried that one day soon I would break the damn thing. This chair is a studio chair -- a steel frame with a canvas seat and back. It was cheap, easy to put together, and it comfy, although the extended typing is making my back hurt. It's also low-slung, so reaching the keyboard is a tad awkward. But it looks nice, and doubles as an extra living room chair, so I'm not complaining. I also got more shelves for the kitchen (on sale for $12, woo). Sunday night we went to see Road to Perdition, which was excellent. I knew exactly what was going to happen from the first line of dialogue, but I didn't mind -- it was a good enough movie that I didn't care that it was predictable. Also, I didn't jump at the scene at the end that's supposed to be startling, because I knew just what was going to happen. Didn't stop me from sniffling at the ending, though... Monday, Mom and I drove back to Boston. she spent the night here, and headed home Sunday. She called when she got home, to tell me she'd had an interesting phone call... her sister, who hasn't spoken to her in about 15 years, called to tell her that her aunt, my great-aunt Clara, had died, and left my mom a small sum in her will. I don't remember aunt Clara, though I wish I did. She was my mom's last living relative, aside from her two estranged sisters. (That's a long story. Suffice it to say, wills tend to bring out the worst in people, and her sisters are horrible, beastly people.) I had thought that maybe my mom's sister calling was a good sign -- she's the executor of the will, so she had to contact her... but she really didn't have to call herself. I thought that until I saw the online obituary for my great-aunt. They listed her surviving relatives... and left my mom's name out, not to mention me and my brother. How shitty is that? How horrible, and petty, and wrong. I really would like to find these women and slap them so hard my hand bruises. My mom says she's fine with it, but I'm so angry. It's weird enough knowing that I have aunts and uncles and cousins who are total strangers to me. It's sad that my mom doesn't have a relationship with her sisters. But my God, what a slap in the face. And for what? Grrr. At least we have a good relationship with my dad's parents and brother -- they've been better family than these two sorry excuses for women could ever be. And as long as my mom's okay, that's all that matters, I guess. I told her that her sisters have only hurt themselves by refusing to have a relationship with her, and it's true -- she's a wonderful person, and they don't know how much they've missed out on by cutting her off.
Anyway. I ought to go to bed, now that I'm done ranting. G'night!
I've spent the majority of the past three days at home, dealing with migraines, and wishing for a new head to replace my current, obviously defective one. I'm better today, so far, and back at work. I was going to post this in the LiveJournal, but it ended up being longer than I expected, so I moved it over here instead.
A Friday Five!
1. Do you have a car? If so, what kind of car is it? Nope. I haven't had a car for about 11 years. I wouldn't mind owning one, but it's not a terribly pressing need at the moment.
2. Do you drive very often? Nope -- see above. I drive my mom's car when I'm visiting, sometimes. I really like driving -- the only reason I want a car is because I miss being able to go out on long, aimless drives.
3. What's your dream car? A Volkswagon Beetle, convertable. Preferably red.
4. Have you ever received a ticket? No, though on a few occasions I really should have. When I did have a car, I drove like a lunatic.
5. Have you ever been in an accident? Just one, and it happened on one of the rare times that I was driving very slowly and carefully. I was driving on a very narrow dirt road in Vermont -- there was no shoulder at all, just a steep drop down to the river. I pulled to the side to let an oncoming car pass (the road really wasn't wide enough to be two lanes) and the car started sliding when I tried to pull back onto the road. I think what happened was, when I pulled over, the passenger side wheels slipped off the road, and I turned the wheel a bit too sharply. Whatever the cause, the car started sliding, very slowly, spinning until the front end slipped off the road, and the car flipped end-over-end down the bank, and landed upside-down in the river. I don't really remember anything after that -- the next thing I knew, I was out of the car, standing chest-deep in very cold water (it was December) and realizing that, if someone didn't come along and help me, I would likely freeze to death. There was quite a lot of ice between me and the riverbank, and I was standing on a rock. I knew the ice was too thin for me to climb up on, and I was very afraid that I would fall through and get stuck under the ice, and drown. Happily, someone did come along -- two cars stopped, and older man and a young guy with a toddler, and they pulled me out of the river, using a very long tree branch to pull me over the ice. The older man left right after that, but the younger one took me to the nearest house, called my dad, and stayed until the ambulance and my parents arrived. I never got his name to thank him, though I'm pretty sure I said thank you more than once at the time. The police seemed to take great delight in telling me that, if I hadn't been wearing my seat belt, I probably would have hit my head, been knocked out, drowned, and not been found until the spring. The car was black, and nearly invisible under the water. The car was totalled, of course. I had a badly sprained wrist, a scratch on my cheek, a bruise from the seat belt on my chest, and I still have back troubles, presumably from wrenching it when the car flipped.
I just got off the phone with a thoroughly unpleasant gentleman -- he called wanting to know if we owned a particular book. No problem; I looked it up, and found that we have ordered it, but it hasn't arrived yet. He wanted to read it, and couldn't seem to grasp the fact that he can't come in and get it, because we don't have it yet. (Well, what he actually wanted was for someone to mail the book to his local library, which we can't do anyway -- what he'd need to do is ask his local library to do an interlibrary loan for the book, if they don't have it.) Every suggestion I made to him was shot down with a nasty remark -- at one point he snapped "I am being sarcastic with you because I have asked several people about this book, and I haven't gotten a single intelligent response." Grrr. I said "Well, all I can tell you is that we do not own the book you want, and suggest that you ask your local library to get it for you. I'm sorry if that isn't an intelligent enough answer for you. Have a nice day." I hate, hate, hate people who ask a question, and then get nasty when they don't get the answer they want. I especially hate being told that I'm stupid because I gave an honest answer, instead of telling this gentleman just what he wanted to hear. Rat bastard.
Anyway. I'm in a good mood anyway, because I found a roommate! Hurrah! No more worrying about impending homelessness! I showed the apartment to a guy yesterday, and he said he'd take it, right on the spot. I had to call the woman who'd looked at it last week, because she hadn't made a decision yet -- she still hadn't, as of yesterday, so I told her I really couldn't wait any longer, and that I was renting the room to someone else. She was fine with it -- I think she wanted a place closer to where she works, anyway. The guy who's moving in seems nice -- he's got furniture, which is good, as I have very little. He has a cat, so Smoke is going to have to get used to not being the only cat in the house. She'll be thoroughly pissed off for a while, I'm sure, but she'll get used to it.
Also, my mom took some steps in dealing with her creepy neighbor. Thursday, after work, she called the police and asked them to send an officer over so she could show him how the bushes were cut under her windows. The officer who came by was very nice (and cute, too, according to Mom). He looked at the bushes, and listened to my mom's account of what's been going on, and talked to Mom's nice downstairs neighbor -- she explained how she'd seen Creepy Neighbor hiding in the bushes by my mom's front porch. The officer then went and spoke to Creepy Neighbor, who wanted to have a meeting with my mom. With the officer mediating, she told Creepy Neighbor in no uncertain terms that she doesn't appreciate him spying on her, that she's very upset about what he's done to the bushes, and she's sick and tired of him watching her every move. He first said he wasn't spying on her, and that he just liked trimming the bushes (but couldn't explain why he only trimmed the bushes on my mom's side of the house). Then he started talking about how he's been watching her for a long time, and he watches her every day, and that he "has to keep an eye on her." The cop told him to knock it off, and he apologized and said he would... last time, the police contact scared him off for a while. Let's hope that this time he knocks it off for good.