January 3rd, 2004

running, bomb tech

Mmmm... treats.

Clover (we have got to get her on LJ one of these days) came over bearing treats. There had been leftovers, and she snagged two trays of goodies for us.

Raspberry and lemon tarts; chocolate stuff including almond bark.


This spawned the pun attack, of course. I was going off the old memories of the time Mama got chocolate that was especially formulated for making almond bark, and it really, really was lousy chocolate.


...either it was really lousy, or I was really mildly allergic to something in it, like with the Milka. Because, thinking about it, I bet that was the issue with those Belgian chocolates that I thought sucked. Any chocolate containing ground-up nuts in it is not likely to be my friend.
running, bomb tech

Why I can't stand Tori Amos

(from my comment on theferrett's entry on things associated with too-painful memories)

My high school best friend That Idiot Shawn was a young man who had, among other stunning deeds of ineptitude, managed to explode a can of beans and smoke a squirrel. So I should have known better than to get involved with him, and hang out with him in my first (disasterous) year of college.


Shawn and I were in a sort of fuckbuddy relationship, where he had all the advantages, and I had all the disadvantages. He had recently met a girl, a friend of mine (soon to be former friend), and was hitting on her. She had a dreadful little apartment off-campus, and one night Shawn decided to drag me over there. It was maybe thirty below outside that night.

We were hanging out, she put on some Tori Amos videos, and they started to get naked. This was not a good thing, in my headspace. The apartment was tiny -- bed, dorm room fridge, TV, computer desk, closet, assorted junk, and about three square feet of floor space. It was late, and I was tired, and I was sort of trying to sleep on the bed that they were getting busy on. I rolled up my coat and stuffed it under my head and sulked as the guy I fully intended to marry sexed up my friend.

I got little to no sleep, and discovered the next morning that I'd left a chocolate-covered cherry, one of those foil-wrapped ones that you can get at convenience stores, in the pocket of my coat, and I'd squished it, spreading goo and chocolate all over the inside of the pocket of my winter coat.

I'm hearing "Cornflake Girl" in my head as I write this.
running, bomb tech

Amazon reviews gone horribly wrong

"Star Trek: Shadow Lord wriiten by Laurence Yep is a Sulu/Spock with a flavor of "Highlander" to give it some character. So sword fights are the norm and phaser fire is kept to a bare minimum."

Sadly, the reviewer doesn't know about the fandom conventional meaning of the character "/"...
running, bomb tech

Stuff, things.

I have some X-Files game or other that I'm never, ever going to play.

I do believe I'm entering Clean Up & Throw Out mode.
running, bomb tech

Another Tale of Woe: Why I Don't Drink Strawberry Milkshakes

(Again, from theferrett's Squick Stories marathon.)

I'm not entirely fond of strawberry milkshakes to start with, and this makes me avoid them entirely.

Year: 2001. Setting: The Bachelor Apartment from Hell. Characters:

Me. Not quite 21 years old yet. College student. Engaged.
My Fiance, hereafter known as BJ. Not quite 21 yet either. Not a college student.
The Elder Bachelor: 30-something, friend of BJ's. Wise in the ways of booze.
Dances With Underwear: 20-ish, another roommate of ours.

The Elder Bachelor declared that it was going to be a night of drinking. I was cool with that, and so were the other guys. The Elder Bachelor advised me to eat something first, so the booze would not hit me as hard. I did so. BJ had already consumed 2 or 3 McDonald's triple cheeseburgers, as well as fries and a strawberry milkshake. I don't recall what Dances With Underwear had or hadn't eaten.

I stopped at two screwdrivers, as I figured that was about my limit, and I had no desire to feel even more woobly than that. BJ and Dances With Underwear kept drinking. I was amused.

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Little Fayoumis, Nephew

Actual Productivity: Toy Reduction

We should have done this before $WINTERHOLIDAY. The living room is cluttered by the standards of the household, and a good deal of it is the Little Fayoumis's toys, a good half of which he doesn't play with.

So, today, he and I cleaned up.

I came out to the sound of a panicked kid crying -- it wound up that he'd lost one lego bit of his new Transformer, and that wasn't good, as he'd looked everywhere and couldn't find it and it was frustrating and his new toy was RUINED!

So he got hugged and calmed down; Marx's lessons on deep breathing are working, though he seems to be better about using the deep breathing when I prompt him to, for whatever reason. He and Marx will probably wind up looking for the bit later on.

But he and I sat down with his toy box, which was overflowing, and I had him triage the toys by whether or not he actually played with him: Yes, No, and Maybe. We also sorted out stuff like his drum simulator, his solar system lecturing pad, sports stuff, pool toys, and weapons (Sting, a foam sword, a bow, his armor, two lightsabers, and a wand), apart from the rest of his stuff. The "Yes" pile wound up being about half the toys, the "Maybe" a third, and the "No" one-sixth.

I put the No toys in a bucket, and shoved the Maybes into the mesh laundry basket that had been sitting up behind the TV for a while from when he hadn't been putting all his toys away.

It looks like much less of a disaster area, especially with his sports stuff (lots of balls) shoved into a separate bucket. We'll probably sort through the Maybes, pull out the cards he put in there and put them in a box, give him a few of the Duplo blocks (the useful ones) and give the rest away to charity with the No toys.

I think the toy-triage is much better than the two usual alternatives: sorting into Keep and Throw, or having the grown-ups do the sorting. I have no idea what the logic was behind his sorting of the beanie critters, but there was evidently something, and I'm not about to quarrel with his priorities.

We're going to sort through his choices, of course, and see what things are appropriate to give to charity, which ones should go to Grandma and/or the cousins, and which ones are actually things that the grown-ups want to hang onto.
  • Current Music
    Boiled In Lead - Drowning...
running, bomb tech

Sister (new), Bunny.

On the phone with Dawn tonight. It was good to have a gossip with her.

We're both fans, so naturally we were off on tangents all over the place, and a slight trip of my tongue caused a very unique crossover bunny.

Voldemort and Valdemar sound too much alike, don't they?

Harry would be Chosen as a Herald, of course. Hermione would be a Blue until she was Chosen. Fudge and Malfoy Senior would both make excellent senior courtiers/government officials. Dumbledore strikes me as a particularly politically something-or-other White Winds mage, Dawn suggests that he's an associate of Kerowyn's. Hagrid would be right at home cozying up to assorted Pelagris beasties, and Dawn says that if Fred and George are to remain in Haven, they've got to be Herald trainees or they'd be out on their ears. Draco Malfoy would be excessively pissed that that bushy-haired lowborn Blue got Chosen and he, heir of the Malfoy, was passed right over. Madam Pomfrey would be highly placed in the Healer's Collegium, and I could see Snape as a political refugee not entirely trusting of the other "turncoats" in Haven. Huh. And James Potter and the Marauders as having been a band of the young courtiers, whose exploits are still legend just under that of Skif...

Fudge still doesn't quite believe in magic; Lord Malfoy believes in pure bloodlines and not allotting powers of decision to those who don't have a history of being accustomed to the burdens of command.

Dawn adopted me as a virtual little sister. So yay! I get to be pesty to her as well as to votania and ralmathon!