Really must sing more. As it stands, the only times I feel I can sing are when I'm alone or when I'm with Darkside.
I do have at least a half-decent voice.
It's just that people (Little Fayoumis, these days) get all grouchy and tell me to stop it when I'm singing. Which makes me mad. And makes me shut down. A six-year-old shouldn't be able to do that to me, dammit!
Finished reading Ashes of Victory.
Nope, Inanna is still not working well with Yahoo.
I shall have to go and hax0r things to see if they will work better. Hm.
Reinstallation-fu sounds good to me.
Also, target="_blank" is being breaky with IE, very often. I am angered.
This evening, trimmed my trailing split ends.
My hair's not so ragged now, when it pours down my back; it won't tangle so badly. The ends have been fragged for too long. It's been years, and too much bleach, too much hairdye.
Symbolic, also: cutting away broken and unneeded and irreprairable parts. Cutting away the woman I was when we were with BJ.
That bit of green yarn that I tied around my wrist is still there.
It's still some sort of earth/fire binding, but there's less fire in it now than there was.
If spells like "Write something on a sheet of paper, then light a [specific color] candle and burn the paper in the flame" are the magical equivalent of 4th or 5th generation computer languages, I wonder what magical assembler code looks like?
One does not usually call one's familiar, one Miss Eris Raven [lastname], "Raver-girl".
Dim sum fun. Mina fun. Yay girltalk gossip fun!!
Mina's cat was sick today. She said hi anyway. She was leaning over and sniffing me when she was being held up near me, and then when we came back after dim sum, I knelt down in the hallway and she came up and sniffed me and allowed me to pet her face and scritch her ears a little.
...going out shopping. For, like, mundane things. I think.
I know who "bearmage" is now.
Who's my huggable fuzzy big bro?
Combinations of things involving alcohol:
Peach wine, strawberry soda.
Very fruity and not bad.
I think I shall try blackberry wine and strawberry soda at some point, perhaps the next time I feel like a glass of something (which'll be in a week or more, most likely...)
Part 1: Denied!
So. New shower on hose.
This is Attempt 2 at getting me my shower on a hose, I'll have you know. Attempt #1 was going just fine, until it proved that the old shower head was impossible to unscrew from the pipe in the wall, as it had been put on very securely, probably to prevent people from either stealing the shower heads or putting unauthorized contraptions of their own on, or both.
After the failure of the duct tape to satisfy anyone, I put the brand new shower head in the back of my bathroom cupboard and grumped to myself extensively.
So. I bought another variety, this sort purporting to attach to the bathtub faucet, slipping on over the faucet and providing instant showerhead-on-hose for great justice and maximum joy.
It said on the package that it might not fit. I was not discouraged. Surely the second time would be the charm. I depackaged it, and, smirking, brought it into the bathroom, where I procceeded to jam it at the bathtub faucet. So, what does it not do?
You got it. Fit. That's what it doesn't do.
I tried, undaunted, jamming it on from several different angles. No soap. I tried turning on the water, to see how badly it did not fit. Four perfectly matched fountains spurted out each place where the rubber did not meet chrome. I cursed quietly to myself.
Part 2: q'pla!
I looked carefully at the part that was purported to fit over most bathtub spouts. I made faces at it. I even blew it a raspberry (but I did not give it the finger: I save that for special things, like schoolboard meetings over the radio ((Mama scolded me no end for that)), the woman marrying the guy I thought I would marry as she walked down the aisle, or Fox News captioning the bombing of Iraq as "The War on Terror").
Then I looked at the shower head. Not the one that I was about to hit something with, but the one protruding from my wall.
"Hmm," I thought.
Thought was soon action, as I debated whether or not to take off my socks to better suit my cunning plan. I decided to leave them on, and stand on the edge of the bathtub rather than brave the wet bottom in my nice dry socks. Sure enough, the shower thing fit over the shower head.
I turned on the water.
No explosions. No leaks. Just water, coming out of the shower head on the end of the hose like the gods intended.