(no subject)

I was saying goodbye to Emma, in that cutesy coupley way, when she reached down and cupped my junk.  "Mine" she said.  I answered "Yup.  But the rest of me comes with.  It's a package deal."

(no subject)

Today's thunderstorms have driven maddy under my desk, to quiver until she exhausts herself. She'll live, she always does, but I feel so bad for her. I can't tell her she's safe; all I can do is cuddle her until she believes.

'All I can do is cuddle her until she believes' also applies to my other relationship, too. She was sleeping on my lap earlier; woke up, looked at me sleepily, and asked "forever?" Usually I say yes... but right now all I can answer until is "until you get bored of me, dearest."

Overshare? YEAH.

So I've dropped soda from my diet for May, and I have never been so hungry ALL the time. I'm waking up ravenous, eating all damn day, and I'm still losing weight. Three pounds might be a normal variation but I usually range from 165 to 170. Stepping on Emma's scale and showing 162 was a shock. I broke part of that diet today to have a cup of black coffee this morning, but that's related to only getting 3 hours of sleep last night (I caught up on over a year of Warren Ellis' FREAKANGELS. (READ IT!))

All that eating comes at a cost, though, and the coffee kind of provoked it. All I'm saying is OW. I've been eating fiber, and drinking a lot of milk and water, but still.

AAAANyway. I hear monday about a temp job downtown that I've been trying for, (and had Keri's help in hearing about and getting my resume in for...She's Awesome.) that would be a 50% raise over my current position. I'm thinking of trying to keep both jobs, in case the temporary one doesn't become permanent. It might burn me out, with 40 hrs downtown and up to 20 at the CVS, but I've been sinking, slowly, into debt ever since I got a young girlfriend. It's been entirely my choice, but man, dating gets expensive. We went to see the Avengers last night, and I think I spent 5 hours worth of work on dinner, tickets, and concessions. Worth every bit, and it's not like she hasn't bought dinner occasionally, but oldfashioned pride keeps me doing it much more often than she does. (She also only works 20 hours at her paying job... and has rent and bills of her own.) Long story short, I hope that a few weeks of two jobs can pull me a long way toward the black, if not entirely out of the red. I have to admit that I'll likely be spending a lot on myself if that happens, too.

Diablo 3 is coming, and I don't have a working video card to play it with. So I'll need one of those, and a new powersupply to feed it. And I want to replace or fix my XBox, too, as I never quite finished Skyrim. (and by finished, I mean "Advanced the main quest beyond stage 2 of X, where X is probably at least 20.) And after all that, I think I want to buy some precious metals and stones... girls look good in shinies and lace, right?

(no subject)

I know, I flat out /know/, how much happier I am in my space when it's clean, but I usually can't get up the momentum to really put stuff away on a regular basis. Thinking about that makes me feel a bit silly, usually. Fortunately; I have this girl, and when she comes over, I clean. Emma was here for breakfast yesterday (yes, just breakfast) and while she was creating the food, I got to have company while I did the dishes. Well, some of the dishes. But more than I had! Net result: happier AND full.

Yay for girls.

stupid temp-company employment tests.

I'm so scared that I screwed up the tests I just took. I /need/ this new opportunity. Regular hours would let me match emma's schedule... and give me enough money to finally live a little.

But I was fumbling over and over with outlook functions. And I couldn't bring myself to lie ALL the way about my EXTREEEEME passion for customer service. And my typing isn't, y'know, fully 100wpm.

I'm pretty sure I got all the math right, though. feh.

JOOOOOOB, come to me nao!

Posting time optimized for night-owls and foreigners. :D

It feels weird to be impressed by Busta Rhymes. But I'm listening to a Legend of Zelda / BR mash-up that seems to be working really well. Of course, it's not words, just sounds because I can't resolve much of what he's saying, but I might be happier that way. I realized a couple of days ago, when the BritBrunchers were commenting on my late late late night post, that I haven't let anyone know what's been going on in my life, despite seeing so many other people drop massive updates here. (Congrats, Lucy! *so jealous!*)

So. It's been nearly 3 years since Keri and I broke up. Equitably, but definitively. We've stayed good friends, and I was happy to see her married. She's much happier now. It's been 2 and a half years since my partners bought me out, forcibly, of the business we opened. I'm still good friends with one, and much less so with the other. But that's a long long story that I'm not going to tell. The game store itself is doing well enough; surviving is itself an amazing success these days. It's been about the same amount of time since I got together with my current girl; she really helped me through the depression that getting basically fired from a dream caused. We're having our own minor troubles now, but we communicate really well, and have more solutions than problems... just not enough time recently for everything. She's about to walk for her masters in secondary education; hopefully she'll have a job in the fall. it's been almost 2 years since I started working in the front store portion of a Pharmacy chain. They've been promising me promotions for 14 months, but I have a shot at a new job downtown that would give me the same hours as Emma's theoretical teaching job, so I'm really hoping for that.

Finally, it's been almost 40 hours since I last had a soda. I have high hopes for the rest of May, but I know the headaches and cravings are coming.

Ok. Questions? Actually, let's go ahead and treat this like the questions meme from way back. You get one, I answer as honestly as I can, and then I get to ask -- that'll let me see if I can catch up with you, too.
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(no subject)

So, I generally need two days off in a row before I'll clean house, or start any real projects. Weekends make sense that way; Saturday you waste just so you can remember /why/ being idle is dissatisfying, and then Sunday you get things done. Maybe not /all/ the things, and maybe you have a nice long nap right in the middle, but that's nice. It's what you do if you're your own boss.

The problem is that I almost never get two days off in a row. And when I do, I get called in to work extra. All the decompression of the first day gets crushed back by another shift of stresses, and I don't feel up to tackling even the simplest of chores after that.

Oh well. At least the money's good, right? (No. It's not.)


I have no real idea where to start this story; but I guess the beginning is simple.

Jim was a brute. A thug, a vile and violent man who infused his children with his spite and malice. And when I was six, my mother started taking the four of us out to visit him. It was a long drive, in the middle of nowhere; there is no interesting scenery on a reservation. And once there, we'd stay for two, five, eight hours. There was nothing to do; James Clio Deuchar was not a man to keep books, or newspapers, or even puzzles in his home. He and my mother would sit down and swear and drink and smoke (My perfect mother, on my six year old's pedestal, brought down by this cretin! I began to hate him.) and we children would be told to go play. Go outside! Go play tag, or football. go play on the haystacks, go play basketball or HORSE.

Sometime that year, mom packed us into the car in the middle of the night and we moved away from Dad, the reservation, and everything we knew. A month later, Jim and the three Deuchar children joined us. We, the children, were unhappy with the divorces. We were rebellious, angry and distraught in turns, destructive and contentious. We drained away Jim and mom's time, energy, goodwill, and money (though there was always enough for beer and cigarettes). And soon, Jim began to hate us. He spanked frequently, at any provocation, and backhanded us as easily as walking. He liked to lunge at one of us, too see us flinch. It was abuse, and every time we threatened to report it, to call and say we were scared, Mom talked us down. She told us we'd get taken away; that she would talk to him, and get him calmer. That we shouldn't be so bad, it makes him angry.

I think I caught the worst of it. I was smart enough to know when he was wrong, angry enough to talk back to him, small enough to be a victim, and scared enough to always always cringe. (and just too damn dumb to NOT do it.) A lot of the times the punishment after the pain was to take away my books, or my games. To be grounded, effectively, and then yet again sent OUT to play. Out of sight, out of hearing, just gone. Time passed like that, full of verbal and physical domination.

A couple (three? four? I don't know) years later I was talking with my mother. begging for help, really. I don't remember the exact reason; possibly signing up for fall sports at school, possibly just being sick of getting pushed around and getting called names for preferring to read rather than run. Whatever it was, I was crying, and trying to explain that I didn't want to be who he wanted us to be, I didn't want him to change us, or me, that I didn't want to be dumb and unthinking like Chris (his eldest and closest to my age) And she promised to help me. Promised that I would never have to be a jock. Is there anything that means more, when you're ten? Anything that seems more binding, than a parent's promise?

So. Forward a little bit to christmas, a time when everything's going well enough. That year, I'd saved up and bought gifts for everybody in the family; no small feat with 7 kids and two adults. Only dollar store trinkets, but my income was based off a $20 a month paper route. We took a drive around the city to look at the lights and displays, while "santa" dropped off all the gifts from where they'd been hidden. When we got back, everyone excitedly spread out and grabbed a "From Santa"-labelled gift. Chris went first, as he was just a bit older than me, and he got just what he wanted: a new football. That was good news; the parents were paying attention, and we might all be getting what we wanted. I went next. My cubical box was kinda light, and had a soft front where the paper was over empty space, so I set it on my lap and peeled that front away. I just stared at it for a moment - Mom interjected "Well, turn it around so we can see it!" I felt my voice tremble as I snapped back "Why? YOU KNOW." "No, show it to everybody," she replied. I turned it, in my lap, so that it faced her, and she could see the Spaulding logo on my new basketball. I watched her face crash, from a smile into a reflection of my betrayal. Then I walked out, to my room.

I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. I knew then I'd hate forever. I learned harsh lessons that day. Trust is a weapon you give to someone; the more you love them, the sharper it is. It /will/ be used against you. It /will/ hurt. Trust /is/ pain, if not now, later.
In the end, Jim won. He changed us all, especially me. I'm a worse human being for having known him; meaner, distrusting, fast to resort to violence and full of gall and bile. that I know it may be some small mitigation, but were he still living... I would make of my chest a cannon, and fire my heart upon him.

The Debt Ceiling Deal

The republicans and the tea partiers have, once again, successfully imposed their will, a minority's will, on the political process and pushed the president into a compromise that is most-instead-of-all they wanted, instead of one where where both sides get some of what they want.

I am feeling entirely disenfranchised. I wanted a president, a leader, a man who could stand up and say "We do not negotiate with liars, thieves, and terrorists." I wanted congressmen who can read a graph, evaluate a trendline and figure out that tax breaks for millionaires aren't a good idea. I wanted a government that wouldn't let corporations engulf our process with "free speech" contributions of money they made by moving jobs out of the country. I wanted someone, anyone, who would stand up in the face of Sarah Palin or Michelle Bachman and say "That is crazy talk. And you are a crazy person." I begged, and voted, and donated money for a chance to have responsible people ensure that the class of manipulators who crashed our economy be punished, or at least removed, and certainly not be rewarded.

but that's not what I have. What WE have. And I don't see any real way to change it. My vote sinks into the masses, and really, is cast only so the wrong lizard doesn't get in. the lizards as a whole are kowtowing to corporate masters who would prefer to keep us as cheap labor and source of tax subsidies. The few dollars a year I could possibly donate to campaigns I support must come out of funds for food, or medical care, or education, or birth control, since the support programs are being cut, and are anyhow too few to compete with the spending a Koch can spare in any given quarter second.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what you /can/ do, when corps own the government. I don't even think I could make a difference if I started voting with a gun! Who do you eliminate? Who is Haliburton? Shell? BP? Do you just shoot EVERYBODY?

well. that might work.