monster sarcasm rally

I can't handle the truth

My housemate, Anne, has been behaving oddly.

A few months back she casually told our other housemate (Ford) and me that one of her two jobs had recently made her full-time instead of her previous part-time status. As a result, she works eight hours a day, seven days a week.

Around the same time I noticed that sometimes she left for work far earlier than she needed to. As in she left the house at 6:00 instead of her usual 8:00. That's strange, I thought. And a few times I noticed her heading the opposite direction of the bus stop, towards the train station. Hmm... Also weird.

A few times the tube line she takes to work has been screwed up, and yet she hasn't known about it when I've mentioned it in the evening. On the days she left early and headed towards the train station she was dressed up. Dressed up as if she worked in an office — not a smelly lab. Again with the weird.

I wondered if she was taking days off and volunteering with her friend's employer. It makes sense. It's the field she wants to work in. Volunteering is a good way to get experience, which will help her get a paying job in the future.

But working so much has — shall we say — a negative impact on her personality.

Ford and I have suggested to her that she should take some time off, given that she is accruing holiday pay. At first she told us that she couldn't take it. Then she said she was saving it for her mum's visit in September. I said that unless her mum was visiting for a full 5 weeks, then she had extra she could use any time. Then she said he asked her employer about holiday pay, and they told her she wasn't entitled to any.

I looked up the regulations on the government website. She is entitled. And yes, five weeks. I showed her. She brushed it off.

Today I figured it out.

It's not occasional. It's not random. It's every week, at least twice a week. She's not taking time off her full-time job; there is no full-time job.

She lied about being made full-time at the lab. She's been lying about where she goes twice a week, every week for at least two months. She lied about asking about holiday pay. Not just omitting the truth — I wouldn't object to that. No, she has actively lied on repeated occasions.

The thing is, I don't know why. I mean, I get why she's doing the volunteer work. I just don't know why she's lying about it.

I told Ford. He says I'm being ridiculous. He says I'm imagining it all.

I'm not.

Anybody here speak gibberish?

I need a translator.

We're moving house next week. Specifically, we're moving from a 3-bedroom furnished house into a 3-bedroom unfurnished house. So, I'm in furniture-buying mode. I've bought most of it on eBay, and for the most part my experiences have been positive. All but one that is.

I won the auction for a used wardrobe at £16. I contacted the seller.

I said I would need to arrange for a delivery service to collect the wardrobe and asked him to let me know when would work. He immediately offered to deliver the wardrobe for £15. We arranged for him to do so a few days later. He never showed up.

A few days later I e-mailed and asked what was up. I said I didn't need the wardrobe for a few weeks, but that I did need to know when he was planning to deliver. Alternatively, I said I had a van booked for the 13th of August and could pick it up then.

On 20th July he responded and said he'd been having trouble with his van, but would let me know when he could deliver.

Fast forward to the 3rd of August. I was at the Beer Festival with the Cool Kids from work. My housemate called me in a huff, demanding to know why I hadn't told her somebody was coming to deliver a wardrobe.

Oh, yes. He showed up at my house unannounced. Nobody was home, so he sat in his van, watching the house for an hour. My neighbour saw him there and almost called the police to report suspicious activity.

He then made my housemate help him move the wardrobe into the house, breaking off one of the knobs in the process. (Punny aside: too bad it wasn't his knob.) He wanted her to give him cash, but she didn't have any. He told her he'd give me a discount for the damage caused.

By the time I got home he had sent me an e-mail demanding I pay him immediately — £30. He tossed the word 'sorry' somewhere into the message in a less-than-heartfelt apology. Thanks for the £1 discount there, mate.

Needless to say I left negative feedback (after paying him his £30 of course). The text limitation meant that all I could say was: 'Goods fine, but terrible comms. Showed up at my house unannounced — not cool.'

He sent a message through eBay, insisting I change my feedback to positive. For comedy's sake I will leave his original spelling and grammar intact.

i did appologise for that delivery. you asked me to deliver it before 13th of august*. is that a big problem that delivery man knocks to your door??? you didnt give me your contact number to let you know and i wouldnt complaint even if no one would be at home at the time because i didnt arrange it with you. new handles has been sent to you buy post as well free of charge! i didnt request a payment yet. apprieciate if you remove your feedback. thanx

*Note that this is in fact NOT what I asked at all.

I responded that my feedback was accurate, that he never asked for my phone number, that he made no attempt to contact me for two weeks prior to showing up unannounced, and that my neighbour had nearly called the police.

I then received one final message from him. And this is where the request for translation services comes into play.

i only TRIED to make you remove your feedback it doesnt mean i acctually sorry. i dont worry too much:) sometimes it happens with cheeky buyers (making £14 for not paying for delivery this is not even enough to pay cleaner to clean the house) so dont feel so bossy buying wardrobe for £16 lol, which was found on the street dumped by someone and soaked of water! lol hopfully you will find some bed bugs lol. you only making me reactiveting my accout. ive been surprised you are happy with the goods lol but your house is not clean either so it will look perfect:) by the way.. what would your neighbour tell the police? "please help! someone is trying to deliver goods for my neighbour" they dont even care about such a silly out calls :) what a joke lol i like it you made me laugh :) thank you x

Anyone? What the hell does that actually say?

Sigh

My two housemates (Ford Prefect and Anne Brontë) and I are moving house in a few weeks. Our current house is furnished, whereas our new house is not. I am buying all the furniture.

I bought two double beds. One is a good quality model I bought used. It's got a wooden frame, slats and a mattress. The other is brand new. It's a mid-grade mattress and box base on castors with  two drawers.

I told Ford and Anne they could sort out between themselves who got which.

Ford doesn't like doesn't the divan bed. He wants the one with the wooden frame. Because the base-drawer-thing interferes with his lifestyle of shoving things under the bed...

Anne sighed and said the divan bed was 'fine'.

Now I have learned enough about women to know that 'fine' sometimes means that what I am suggesting is precisely the opposite of fine and that I am cruel and heartless for even proposing it. Further, I've even learned enough to know that this is one of those times.

Then she said, 'well, you're going to have to find somewhere to store my suitcases then'.

So, now I'm probably going to have to sell the bed I just bought. I won't make a profit.

Sigh.

Oh, and yes... For the record I do know that either or both of you may be reading this.

Close encounters of the naked kind

My mum is in town for a visit. This evening after she went back to her hotel I decided to jump in the shower.

When I turned off the water I heard my housemate talking. Strangely, it sounded like she was standing right outside the window, which is odd — what with it being upstairs and all.

I opened the window and stuck my head out. I found myself face to face with not only my housemate, but strangely her mum as well. She was leaned out of her window, holding her computer facing outwards. She was on skype with her mum and was attempting to show her our garden.

Instead they got an eyeful of me. Surprise!

Oops.

The only way is Sars

Previously on...

I had e-mailed two different offices of the same estate agency few days ago about two different properties. One responded and said they would never, ever, under any circumstances present any candidate with pets to a landlord. Company-wide.

Period.

Go away.

And now...

An agent from the other office got back to me yesterday afternoon to say the property was still available. I responded saying that I had since discovered the company's no-pets policy. I thanked him for following up, but said that because I had dogs, he would be unable to help me.

He got back to me this morning, sounding very confused. He said he wasn't sure where I got my info, but there was no such policy. He said that individual landlords may refuse pets, but that they'd never turn a candidate away without giving the landlord the option to decide. He said he'd be happy to assist in my search. He also said he had left a message with the owner of the specific property I had inquired about, asking whether she'd consider a tenant with pets.

Stay tuned next time...

When I will do the very British thing and write an angry letter...

 

Numfar, perform the dance of my landlord is a twat

Still can't get my TV to work. Something about needing an aerial. What is this, 1978? Continuing BSG marathon instead. And much streaming...

 

After two months, landlord calls to see how things are progressing with the oven (i.e. finally getting one next weekend). Good, good, anything he can do to help, blah blah blah... Oh, by the way, he adds... Some of the furniture actually belongs to the former tenant. He's coming to pick it up on the weekend. Grr. Get everything emptied out, cleaned off and moved to front door. Jackass never shows up.

 

Welcome to my surreality

My prospective employer is currently doing a complete background check on me. This morning I woke up to an e-mail informing me that I had failed to properly justify the gap in my employment history. The 'gap' in question covers the period of January 2000 to May 2000.

I had been asked to provide 10 years' of employment history. Since my work at a small local company fell entirely outside of the 10-year window, I left it off. But apparently, when they said 10 years, what they meant was 10.5 years. Or maybe 11 calendar years... Not sure. Either way, I hadn't provided the info because it hadn't been requested (it had specifically NOT been requested). And now it's an issue.

I love HR. Really...

Ugh. I'm sure it will work out, but I figured there was bound to be some HR ridiculousness along the way. I wouldn't have predicted the specifics of the absurdity, but I was sure there would be some.

When I got out of bed I found my street looking decidedly autumnal (although it was 40 degrees out). Several people were spreading the finishing touches of dead leaves and detritus around.

After taking the boys to the vet for their pre-flight check-up and picking up a bottle of anti-depressants for Velcro, I went to work. Well, sort of. I kind of — erm — went to the wrong work. I got on the completely wrong subway line. After several stops I noticed that something felt wrong. Ya, I was most of the way to the job I left in November.

Sigh.

And now some scenes from my 'hood.

Also, Noah Wyle stood about five metres away from me at one point this evening. He looked over and smiled right at me Velcro dog. Then he blew up. Safely, of course. Lots of fire and smoke, but no harm to anybody.

I sat and watched as they filmed a few scenes. I've never seen so many iPhones in one place before.

At another point I accidentally walked into the middle of a scene. A guy screamed: Stop! Somebody just came out of that house.

Also also, I've never really noticed before, but Noah Wyle is kind of gorgeous.

Update the First: You know, it occurs to me that it probably didn't help that I was reading a Douglas Coupland novel in which the characters matter-of-factly discuss characters in a Douglas Coupland novel.

Update the Second: The picture I couldn't get because I was busy sitting on the road, covering Velcro Dog's ears (courtesy of my housemate)...

Futurose

Dear Rose,

It's been a while, eh? But I saw you today. 

I suppose I should explain. See, at some point in your personal future timeline you will not only return to Toronto, you will travel back in time as well. Which is how I came to (will come to) see you this afternoon...

You were telling people that you were 88 years old, but I think that figure must have been exaggerated by about a decade. Or maybe they use a base 9 numbering system in the future. Well, I mean maybe you do. And you said that you had single-handedly won the Second World War.

Generally, you were just talking a load of old wank, which is a great phrase. So, anyways, talking a load of old wank, as you are sometimes wont to do. You were talking to pretty much everybody. Well, everybody but me... At first I thought you were just being rude, but then I figured it must have been one of the conditions of your voyage. Or something...

The thing is, it was definitely you. Clearly. I mean I have never seen anybody more obviously you, only old.

Anyways, hi! 

Sars

Socially retarded: the Christmas edition

A few weeks before Christmas my housemates and I had a conversation in which we decided not to buy each other Christmas presents.

I distinctly remember this conversation. Unfortunately I am the only one.

Everybody else bought gifts (nice ones) for each other. Including me, I mean. I received three very nice presents. So now I look like a complete arse and I need to go out and get three cool, thoughtful, slightly belated Christmas gifts.

Maybe I can say I've decided to convert to Ukranianism?

Things my dog has eaten this week

Because he didn't learn his lesson after the Santa Claus Incident.

1 children's book (we found approximately a third of it shredded on the floor and bits of it stuck to his mouth)
1 box of tissues (just the box; the tissues were left in a pile on the floor)
1 AA battery (after breaking through to the acid, he changed his mind and left the hulls on the living room rug)
1 stick Several sticks of incense
1 4-inch chunk of kielbasa (he walked past my housemate and swiped it off his dinner plate without breaking stride)
1 Christmas pudding (complete with both cellophane and foil wrappers)

Also, one of my housemates is missing her bank card.

Update (6:30 am): Add 1 Christmas card and envelope.

Update (26 Dec): The foil and the tissue box have been [ahem] returned.

Update (27 Dec): Something made of wood???

Notes from a pub quiz

• Drinking in bed is just not a good idea.
• ...especially at seven in the morning.
• I do not like things that come from goats.
• I apparently don't know anything about 1970s folk music.
• ...or baby boomer icons.
• Remind me to tell you the story of 'but your fly was down the whooooooooooole time'.
• First round: Sars came in 5562nd nationally.
• New round... We've moved from 70s folk music to current pop. Ugh.
• More scotch now, bar wench.
• If Canada had chavs, they would be in this pub.
• I was right. I was right. I was right. Ha!
• Here comes the rain.
• Apparently I do not know stuff about things.
• Dingos ate my baby!
• Archaeologyrulez.
• Let's send the winning dude with his mullet a Shirley Temple.
• No, Plavalaguna, we will not sandwich mullet dude.
• Hans Moleman, awesome.
• Stupid mullet man beat me again. Jackass.
• Listen up, bar wench, you think because I'm drinking scotch I won't notice that you're charging me for too many of them? Never underestimate me, except maybe in a pub quiz.

Friday night

I went to the opera — yes, I did. And then I went out drinking with a gaggle of (literal) divas.

A week (+ a day) in the life

On Monday I quit my job. Management tried to talk me out of it, while demonstrating exactly why I made the right decision.

On Tuesday I was told to train Mimi in all the troubleshooting.

On Wednesday Mimi (i.e. the source of roughly 90% of the trouble I need to shoot) called to say we'd start the training on Thursday.

On Thursday Mimi called to say we'd do the training over the phone with her working from home. I said no, that wouldn't work as I couldn't see what she was doing. She promised she'd come into the office on Friday.

On Friday guess who didn't show up at the office.

Much later on Friday I turned off the lights as I was getting ready for bed. I reached for the glass of water on my desk and instead of picking it up, I knocked it over. That's right, a full pint glass of water, all over my desk. Just call me Spilly McButterfingers.

I picked the computer up and moved it out of the way, so it didn't get wet. The keyboard, on the other hand, was soaked. Being half asleep I didn't think to disconnect the keyboard from the computer, so it continued to amuse itself all night long.

On Saturday I was overcome by the urge to try to persuade small children that Velcro Dog was not, in fact, a dog, but rather a boy dressed as a dog for Haloween. See the back legs? Those are just wooden pegs that I stapled some bits of fur to. Alas, no children spoke to us.

Also, my computer would not boot up, no way, no how. I even bought a shiny new keyboard and tried again, but to no avail.

On Sunday I made beer & cheese soup with roasted red peppers. I thought it was quite good. When I mentioned it to a friend, he very loudly and insistently proclaimed that it was the second most disgusting meal he'd ever heard of — topped only by something Ford once made.

Today... Well, let's just make it clear from the outset that Mimi did not show up for any training. Also, it seems news of my resignation had finally hit the rumour mill. One of my co-workers came up to me this morning and asked, What? You don't want to help us rearrange deck chairs on the Titanic?

Anyways... I walked up to the Apple Store this morning and 3 hours later walked out with the same computer I'd walked in with. My operating system had been irreversibly corrupted by my little mishap. That was the most expensive glass of water I've ever never drunk. The good news is the techs were able to retrieve all my files and I didn't have to shell out for a new computer. I bought a new external hard drive on which to store all my files while they wiped my machine and started over. 

The moral of the story, in case you're wondering, is to stop being such a lazy arse and maybe back up your files once in a while, you nitwit.

And the shower's finally done. Pictures to follow.

Two thoughts

1. If I got a job where I didn't have to start until nine everyday, I could stay up until 11:00 every night. If I started at eight o'clock even...

2. Dogs, as it turns out, do not like bathroom renovations so much.

Dirk Gently

When the Beandog was alive, if you held out a treat to him and said gentle, he would carefully roll his lips away from his teeth, and ever-so-slowly and cautiously reach out and take it from you gently. If you didn't say the magic word, he'd lunge at you full speed, taking the treat along with 3.5 of your fingers.

Flatula was surprisingly polite in accepting food; she never bit. Ditto the Smelly one, but in the present tense.

Velcro Dog, well... He's a lot like the Beandog — minus the magic word. Maybe it's a German Shepherd thing. I've been trying to teach him.

Thus far, I have been successful in teaching him that if I hold out a piece of tasty food for him (oh boy!) and say gentle, it really means Away with you, you horrible beast. I am holding this tasty morsel in front of your face merely to taunt you. Begone from me lest I banish you from my home forever.

Really?

Dear Velcro Dog,

Hi. Just wondering if you wouldn't mind not eating things that aren't food. Pretty please. It's good that you like to eat, but please limit yourself to food. Here are some guidelines.

• That pill bottle I accidentally dropped on the floor: NOT FOOD.
• The little pills that fell out of it: NOT FOOD.
• The freshness capsule that also came out of the pill bottle: NOT FOOD.
• The well-rinsed foil take-out containers in the recycling bin: NOT FOOD.
• The spool of thread under the coffee table: NOT FOOD.
• The spatula on the counter: NOT FOOD.
• The Smelly one's sex pillow: really NOT FOOD.
• The little plastic ball the neighbourhood kids tossed into our garden: NOT FOOD.
• The stuff in your dish: FOOD!
• The leftovers on the plate I offer you: FOOD!
• The peanut butter I offered you: FOOD!
• However... the spoon on which I offered it: NOT FOOD.

Please keep these ideas in mind.

Much appreciated.
Mummy

Jackhammering outside my office window all week just wasn't bad enough apparently

Look at the time!

But Sars, you say, you don't usually post things at two in the morning.

No, I don't. That's because I'm normally asleep at two o'clock in the frakking morning. I mean, I have to be at work in four and a half hours!

The storm a few hours ago knocked over a tree just up the road. Actually, I think it was a branch of a tree. It fell down in the front garden of one of my neighbours' houses. As a result, the city thought it would be really frakking brilliant to send a bunch of troglodyte workmen and a woodchipper out at two o'clock in the frakking morning to clear away the mess, and possibly to wake the dead.

Me, I can sleep through just about anything. I once slept an entire summer. But not this. Nope, this sounds like an apocalypse outside my window.

Oh, I think they might be done. Okay, back to sleep.

New rules for a new era

Rule no. 1:
There shall be no having sex on the living room couch.

Subsection a:
Rule 1 is especially applicable to non-residents of the Monster House.

Subsection b:
Rule 1 really, really applies in such cases where sex would constitute cheating.

Subsection c:
Rule 1 really, really, most especially applies to skanky night-club sluts pulled by guests of the Monster House.

Note i:
Rule 1 is all the more applicable given the fact that the living room is a main thoroughfare through the Monster House, and as such has no door.

Note ii:
Yes, wanking off counts equally, so pick up your used tissues and get out of our house, you filthy man-whore.
______________________________________

I must admit, though, the slut's walk of shame the next morning was pretty funny. We laughed when we saw her with her clothes back on. [Really, sweetie? A crotch-length, backless, shiny, orange spandex dress with stripper shoes? Really?] We laughed when she tried to walk down a street that dead-ended after a couple of metres. We laughed when she almost fell over trying to turn around.

He may not want me back

I dropped off the Velcro dog at the vet this morning so they could do the snippy snip. A woman took his lead and led him into the back room.

So far so good.

She put his Pooh Bear in a cage. Um... That was less good.

Then she tried to make him get into the cage. No way. Nuh uh. Not a chance in hell. WHERE'S MY MUMMY?

He screamed and cried like he was being murdered. He categorically refused to go anywhere near the cage. It took two women to hold him back from running out the door.

They ended up sedating him just so they could put him in the cage.

So very cool

On Saturday night I went to a housewarming party at a friend's place. It was filled with lots of wild-crazy-fun people dressed outlandishly. I took a couple of my housemates along for the ride. Although I knew only one other person, he was the host, so this gave my housemates the impression that I know wild-crazy-fun people who dress outlandishly and have exciting parties. Which of course ups my cool factor substantially...

Sadly, the illusion will fail when they see that this is far from a regular occurrence with me.

Oh, and also boosting my cool factor... Several of the outlandishly dressed, unspeakably cool people asked to take my picture because they thought my zombie shirt was cool.

My gosh, I will probably never seem so exciting as I did on Saturday night. Ah well.

Life soup

Oops. Guess who didn't pay her Typepad bill for a while...

Some snippets of life from the past few weeks:

• VelcroDog has decided to stay, which means he has to start the doggy visa process right now-ish for the move to London.
• The Blue Jedi, alas, he is gone*.
• One of the chuckleheads at work was handing out free fruit-juice popcicles one day. I took an orange one. At least, I thought it was orange. One lick informed me of my error. Pineapple. My lips were numb for several hours.
• The dude I work for/with/whatever shall henceforth be known as Kara. No, not that Kara.
• Speaking of Star Trek, Sylar makes a hell of a sexy Spock.
• VelcroDog performs the sacred rite of the dinner dance, but not at dinner time. At pretty much all times except while I am making his dinner... While I'm making his dinner he sits patiently by and watches. Beandog would be horrified, or at least perplexed.
• I am so done with this MBA. I mean, I'm not, but I am. You know?

And now an office tale from this morning...

Last week the company president (henceforth: Gaius Baltar) pulled me off what I was doing and had me do a project for him. I spent a day scrubbing, sorting, aligning, and analysing 200 rows of data, and turned my report in at the end of the week.

On Monday I was told I'd been given the wrong file. The file I was supposed to have been sent contained 600 rows, not 200. So I scrapped my work and started fresh. I did up a report and sent it to Baltar on Wednesday night. This morning Bridget told me to call him. Now.

Baltar picked up the phone and demanded to know if I thought this was good work. Do you really think you're good at your job? Let me ask you something: are you actually proud of this? He spat the questions at me, more hissing than yelling. This is a man who enjoys making people cry. His non-work hobbies include stealing chocolate from small children, kicking puppies, and expensive women.

Oh dear. Did I screw the whole thing up? Make a typo? Put too much effort into a little thing? Put not enough effort in? What?

Um... Well, I was until about 10 seconds ago. Now I'm worried.

He laughed and said, I am so funny. I crack myself up. I should be a stand-up comic. Ya, shades of David Brent. He went on to say the report was great. He loved it. It's excellent. From now on, do the same thing every month.

Ya, Kara ain't too pleased about that part.

*He's not dead. He just lives with his new forever home now.

Introduction

This is my foster dog. He is 110 pounds (or 50 kg if you prefer) of Great Big Sook. He was sad and nervous his first night here, but he's calmed down now. He likes to romp around the house with a squeaky toy.

Captions courtesy of my dad.

You Know I am Not Allowed on Furniture.JPG

 This Place Will Do.JPG

This Is Making Me Very Nervous.JPG

Who Said It Was Their Toy.JPG

Seven-layer post

Every day I think of things to write and every day I'm too lazy to follow through. 

_____________________________________ 

I've been speaking with several dog rescue groups about fostering. Most have turned me down (mainly because I can't commit to more than 6 months). Two accepted me, but then didn't have any dogs in need of care. 

Today one of them called me about a German Shepherd. They're currently doing a temperment assessment to see if he's suitable to be placed with me. If he is, he'll be coming later this week. 

Then one of the groups who turned me down called me. Well, okay, they didn't so much turn me down as just hate every answer I gave to their questions (for starters, they really didn't like that I had a job). But now they're desperate, so suddenly I don't seem so bad. Anyways, I said I didn't want a bonded pair as it would be unfair to my dog. So of course, they called about a bonded pair. 

Whatever. 

_____________________________________ 

We'll see what happens. A few weeks back I had a finance exam. I sat down to write it and promptly forgot everything I know. I barely remembered my own name. Since I'd done well in the class to that point, they agreed to let me rewrite, on the condition that I do so in Waterloo (150 km west of here) during business hours. So I arranged to take Monday off. At the last minute though something came up and they decided I had to work. 

I left the house at seven, drove 90 minutes to the university, wrote a three-hour exam, grabbed a smoothie to suffice as lunch, drove 90 minutes to the office, and worked until eight. Nice day off, eh?

_____________________________________ 

So, this swine flu thing... Love this article, by the way... Now normally I'd disregard all the hype and carry on with life as usual. But two things are making me just a wee bit paranoid this time. 

First off, I just finished reading Earth Abides by George R Stewart. If you haven't heard of it, it's a sci-fi book from the 1940s. It starts off with a post-grad university student doing an eco study of some isolated area in the mountains in California. He returns home after being completely alone for a month or two to find everybody's gone. It becomes apparent that some plague has wiped them out. 

He travels all over the US searching for survivors, and finds a mere handful. The book follows the changes in the earth as well as his life (and ultimately his little tribe) for a period of about 60 years. It's an excellent, well-thought-out and profoundly sad book. But, yes, the fact that I was reading this as the swine flu began to hit the news... Um, ya, little paranoia going on in my head. 

The other thing that's adding to my paranoia is that... Well... Remember the allergy attack I've been having for the last year? Did I mention I was on nasty, evil drugs I was on? Right. I'm taking immunosuppressants. I'm supposed to stay away from anybody who's the slightest bit sick. I've been instructed that if I have the slightest fever or anything, I am to check myself into the nearest emergency department. 

I may be a wee, little bit paranoid, but I think it's understandable. 

_____________________________________ 

Also, speaking of the nasty, evil drugs... My scalp is finally in good enough shape to colour my hair. Yay! I don't even care what colour it is. Just different, you know?

_____________________________________ 

Also, also, why does nobody ever understand when I'm joking? I hate that. Somebody will be joking around, saying absurd, blatantly obviously untrue things. I'll say something equally ridiculous on the same theme. Then the original joker will explain that he was joking and that I shouldn't take everything so seriously and that there's no need to get so upset. Sometimes they even apologise for having upset me. Really, what's up with that?

_____________________________________ 

Also, also, also, um... I forget.

In the kitchen

Flatula is back where she belongs: in the kitchen. That's where food comes from, don't you know...

And she'd certainly want to be in there today. I made saag paneer this afternoon. Yummy!

And then I made a pot of chai. Mmm... A nice steaming mug of homemade masala chai.

The mug, in case you can't see, says VIRGO: You are logical but dull. Most people think you are useless. Your partner reads comics while you are making love. You are a pervert.

I'm not a Virgo, and I'm not sure I know anybody who is. But I found the mug in Value Village and it amused me.

In other news... Since I still want to move to London this year, getting another dog is impractical. Not impossible of course, but (at the very least) expensive). So I've decided to foster a dog for a rescue group while they look for a permanent home. More details will follow (when I know them).

About a girl

Saturday was gorgeous. It was warm and sunny, so I took the dogs for a long walk. They thought it was great. Along the way, I stopped and got Flatula, Goddess of Wind, a pear, which she thoroughly enjoyed. The Smelly One (as per usual) declined to partake.

Sunday was cold and rainy, so we had a quiet day in.

On Monday Flatula was tired. That night we went to sleep as usual. When I woke up the next morning she was gone. She died in her sleep.

The Goddess of Wind didn't live her life by anybody else's agenda. As saddened as I am at her loss, I know that she wouldn't have given up unless she was ready to.