Monthly Archives: July 2011

Disconnected

For the past five, maybe six days, this redheaded stepchild of technology has been without internet. Some problems arose, tears were shed, and I think a few angels lost their wings. All in all, it was a fairly productive week.

Unfortunately, this loss of the electrical black hole came at a very bad time in my digital career. I’m currently working on a story that I hope to turn into a book before my ADD kicks in. Up until this tragic turn of events, everything was going well. I was writing a few thousands words a day, basically, and now I have 14 written pages to type, edit, delete, retype, have a nervous breakdown over, and finally say “screw it” and leave it as is. Yay.

Also, I’ve been watching a lot more TV. And I realized that I may be addicted to those little Popsicles which are just fruity frozen syrup in a plastic tube.

Anyway, a big problem seems to rear it’s ugly head whenever I’m left to my own devices. I really do get productive. Not the Clean-my-room or wash-the-dishes productive, I rearranged my room several times, much to the displeasure of my cat, planned out how I was going to go about the final rearranging, tried unsuccessfully to install a new light fixture, and I even asked around for ideas on how to turn my bed into a four-poster bed.

I really want drapes around me when I sleep. It feels fancy.

After several wholly unrealistic project ideas that would have taken more money than I have and way more patience, I decided just to ask my brother to fix my desktop. 40 minutes later, I was back on the internet and as happy as… well… someone who’s really happy.

Too bad I don’t have any epic adventures to blog about.

Maybe next time.

 

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Stitches’s Bitch and Moan hour.

Welcome to my own personal bitch-and-moan space!

I’m a cynical, sarcastic college student with nothing better to do than surf the internet and gawk in horror at the mind numbing idiocy I see on a day-to-day basis.

In the past few months, I’ve felt the need for an outlet for my petty frustrations, and I was just too lazy to actually seek one. Then I found wordpress. Oh happy day.

And now, dear internet reader, let us frolic in the vast wasteland of my cynical mind.

 

I’m going to start of with something small; a rant that was inspired by the wonderful Adam of booksofadam.com.

My cats.

A couple of years ago, I rescued a black stray that I affectionately named Baby. She hung around my grandparents’ house for three or four years until they decided to move, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her being alone and forgotten. So, I scooped her up and brought her into my home, hoping to whatever deity exists that she and my other demon from hell cat, Styxx, would get along.

Now, Styxx is not really a friendly cat, unless you happen to be my dad. He’s old, crotchety, and just a general grump. I have fond memories of trying to leave for school in the mornings and, without fail, this cat would be lurking by the door ready to claw my legs to shreds. His idea was I could leave, but he’s going to try to give me incentive not to come back.

Anyway, I brought this barely-out-of-kittenhood feline home, fully expecting to have a normal, loving cat to cuddle and dote over, in an attempt to train myself into being the crazy cat lady I’m sure to become later in life. Just a few months in to her settling in to her new home, I noticed there wasn’t something quite right about her.

She’s dumber than a bag of bricks, to put it lightly.

She has this amazing ability to slam her face into anything and everything that is up to six feet away from her. Today was particularly hysterical disturbing. She was calmly sitting on the steps in the den, looking at me imploringly to come feed her, so I got up and moved towards her. She got a bit over excited and tried to turn to dash to her food bowl, except she didn’t quite make it on the first try. Next thing I see is her face bashing into the corner between the wall and the door frame. It takes her a second, but she manages to shake that off and keep running. Until, of course, she runs right into the door in the hallway. Undeterred, she keeps running, past her food bowl, and skids to an abrupt halt into the leg of a table. By this time, I’m on the floor with a very sore abdomen, and she’s looking at me like “Well?” So I feed her and that’s that. Until she gets hungry again. This time she’s stretched out on her stomach when I get up and tries to do what I can only assume is a barrel roll, and manages to flip her fuzzy ass right off the cough. I lost it.

As accident prone as she is, I love her, and I especially love the expressions on her face. “I meant to do that!”