terribleturnip: (willow)
Okay. Riffing on the old analogy of “when you’re up to your ass in alligators, it’s hard to remember that your objective was to drain the swamp”…

The alligator level went zooming past my shoulders a long time ago. Swamp? I can’t even SEE the swamp for the alligators. As a matter of fact, my problem now is that I may even be INSIDE one of the damn alligators.

I’ve been trying to review this all of the entry work on a contract to make sure it was done correctly, since 8am this morning. I JUST finished. This is a 15-20 minute job. But those alligators……

This here is your trigger warning for sexual assault and also some rough language. Because I am mad. )
terribleturnip: (percy)
Right. October. Mid-Atlantic. 90 degrees. I know, given the weather we've had, I shouldn't complain. It's been brilliant. But really, I so look forward to this time of year and since it hasn't rained in weeks and it's going to be near 90 degrees and humid this weekend, there's a high likelihood that I'll either spontaneously burst into flames...or accumulate enough sweat and dust to turn me into a golem. Please feel free to write something on my forehead backwards so I can erase it and put myself out of my misery.

Turnip at Toad dot net appears to be dead and while it comes to no surprise to me, if any of you are still using it, well, don’t. You can PM me if you don’t have anything else. That had become what I’d considered my “throwaway” e-mail, the one I used when shopping or if required to submit an e-mail or post an e-mail in a less than secure place, figuring that when/if it got compromised, or so spam-ridden that it was breaking my filters or patience, I could walk away from it. But of course, once again, the company it ran through went feet up with no notice and the parent company is so far uncommunicative.

But it was time to set up another “throwaway”, so I set up another gmail account that would forward to my main e-mail inbox. Now let’s ponder the irony that Gmail thinks the messages that Gmail is sending me, welcoming me to Gmail…are Spam. “We can’t verify the source of this message.” I feel like I’m in the technological equivalent of the horror movie Black Christmas “The calls are coming from inside the house!”

(Sorry, three hours of Wil Wheaton, Paul & Storm nerd-references and the whole 70’s-80’s horror/sci-fi/geekdom attic in my head got swung wide and bits of trivia are swirling around like the storm of cat hair that a Furminator, four cats and a ceiling fan make in my living room once a month. And realizing that they’re all about my age, so that finally, the geek/nerd jokes and references were ones I got and found funny, THAT was delightful as pretty much any gaming reference after 1985 is lost on me….unless it’s tabletop-related.)

Every problem I’ve tried to solve today has created half a dozen new, even harder ones to solve. If I keep this up, it’ll take me only another three weeks to ensure that I have a year’s worth of work, even if I don’t get a single new assignment. Awesome. There’s a part of my brain that is rat terrier busy right now calculating the odds that doing NOTHING will actually put me farther ahead than trying to accomplish something.

Maybe you’re in the same boat. So let me give you some distractions:

I loved the book The Shining. LOVED it. I thought the movie was highly overrated and didn’t think it came close to doing justice to the book, although to be fair, I suspect that part of the reason so many King books ARE so good, is that they’re tapping/relating so directly to your brain or imagination, that they just CAN’T be effective when someone else represents them for you. I was never really sure WHY I didn’t like The Shining movie though, beyond it leaving out some parts I’d been fond of, and a visceral dislike of Shelley Duval, which I’m sure is directly related to the characters she played and not her actual personhood. She’s probably a very nice person. (Kubrick, on the other hand, I have no problem believing that I wouldn’t like HIM.) But this writer sums up why I didn’t like the movie, and I think it’s a hole a lot of movies fall into, even if they’re Kubrick-ego-free.


And here, you need a break from being pissed off at Congress. Let’s all get pissed off at the people who are funding the very expletives who are currently holding our country hostage. This is just awful. Well, no, wait, actually, it’s BRILLIANT. Brilliantly awful. If only it weren’t using lies and scare tactics…and could theoretically cause woman to DIE, I’d admire it. Also, the irony that the people who are bringing us bucketloads of legislature across the nation that are aimed at regulating my uterus and vagina, required trans-vaginal sonograms, trying to prosecute pregnant women for endangering fetuses, and all sorts of other shenanigans that seem awfully focused on my ladybits are implying that…..


Get your paws off of me, you damned dirty ultraconservative!

(Do you remember THAT movie, children?)
terribleturnip: (percy)
So, it’s not even noon and I’ve damn near lost the will to live. So, I’m taking a mental health break. Well, to narrow it down, today I’m really questioning a bunch of life choices.

Like, next time on the wheel, that’s it, I volunteered enough this time around. Screw it. For the record, I am not talking about the Pyrate camp here – the ratio of fun to work is definitely in balance there, and there’s plenty of appreciation. Which I do get in my other volunteer positions…just sometimes that can’t overcome the paucity of fun to hard work ratio and the feeling that I’ve just got a second job…one that actually costs me money. And I start to feel that somewhere along the line I got on the wrong path…

And then, I took a half day on Friday and I gave five people assignments, relatively small, that they needed to complete so that when I got in on Monday, I could just approve stuff and send it out. What are the odds that not a single person would have done what they needed to do?

Apparently 100%...so now I’ve lost another half day in following up on things that should have been done…and I’ve missed FIVE deadlines.

And I can’t even feel sorry for myself, because there’s a shooter loose in the Navy Yard, and I’m trying not to think about all the friends I have who work there…and then really, what does it matter whether they’re friends of mine or not…they’re friends of someone, and some nutbag with a crazy agenda is after them. Expletive.

Okay, shaking that off. Too.

When I came out of the house this morning, my neighbor was coming out with her adorable three year old son and packing him into the car. She looked at me and said “I’m so envious of you, after having spent the morning trying to wrestle this three year old into clothes and breakfast and then out of the house and you can just walk out and get into the car.” And I laughed and said “oh, well, you missed the part where I had to give a cat liquid antibiotics.” Although it is true, it’s nice being responsible for just getting me out of the house in the morning.

But the more I thought about it, the more it reminded me of all of those hoary old clichés and homilies: the grass is always greener, don’t judge by appearances. Because here’s what she missed – that I’d been up since 5am, while her house was completely dark. I’d done a load of laundry, unpacked from the weekend, emptied and filled the dishwasher, cleaned litterboxes, toilets and the upstairs bathroom counter. I’d actually visited with her husband while he was taking out the trash and I was taking out mine. She was probably getting her son dressed and fed while I was out watering the garden and picking up the trash that had blown into my yard over the weekend. And then yes, breakfast and antibiotics for Jasper the cat. Changing the pantyhose that had run when I failed to avoid the pile of yard debris that I still haven’t taken to the dump. And Neosporin on the scrape. It’s harder than it looks to be me – most of it I chose for myself (not the clumsy part, oh, golly, do I wish THAT away!) but still, yes, you have a lot more freedom living alone…but it’s a lot more work. And someday, someday soon, that son of hers may be taking out the trash, or even driving her to work.

My kids will still be pooping in a box and will probably eat me if I fall down the stairs and don’t regain consciousness fast enough.

Grass is always greener….

Thankfully I found this gem last week and just didn’t have time to post it. Because if I ran across it today, I might just explode.

In case you thought just extremist Christians, Muslims and other hard right of whatever religious fanatics had a corner on the market of subjugating women…especially FOR THEIR OWN GOOD:


Trigger Warning: if you haven’t taken your blood pressure medication today, reading this might kill you. Keep reading though, because just when you think it’s batexpletive crazier than possible, the writer pulls out another gem. Okay, that sounds like I’m trying to kill you. Save it for another day, then, as I have few enough readers as it is.
terribleturnip: (percy)
So, last week, out of the corner of my eye, I caught the front page of the New York Post and I know that frothy, outrageous headlines sell papers. It was a picture of Hilary Clinton at the hearings, clearly in “are you expletive kidding me? I am only going to explain this one more time!” mode, which is near and dear to my heart, and if not my homeland at least my vacation cottage by the shore, responding to a question. And the headline was “No Wonder Bill’s Afraid”.

You think the look on HER face was scary? I think I actually snarled. Maybe even growled a bit.
From here on in, I'm not censoring my expletives. So, proceed at your own risk, it's going to get bumpy. )
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