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I'm on my way back from dropping KoE at school, with a detour to the mall to pick up an app store gift certificate.

There's a good chance that Apple didn't let us down and KoE's iPod Touch will arrive today. Not that I'm home to receive it. I have faith.

I sold the glass-fronted cabinets that housed a mountain of junk but were wrong for our dining room.

My folks are coming over for dinner tonight. I have a metric ton of stuff to shift in a house without room.

Then I have to get dinner into the crock pot. Make a birthday cake. Clean the house.

And somehow get two pots of soup to the church this afternoon for the simple supper, without a car. Maybe I'll get a Zip car for an hour.

And that's just today'a madness. There are three websites to design tis week.
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Dear, Beloved Authors,

Please do not get prickly when you do not agree with my suggested corrections. They are merely that, suggestions, and I have no ego in this project. My only purpose is to make you look good, so if you wish to write a report that spouts two or three statistics (and often four or five) in a single sentence... indeed, in each sentence... exact, to the decimal point, and bristling with % across the page... AND include the Annex and Table Number in which each set of statistics might be found, right there in the body of your report, in demure parentheses, far be it from me to move these parenthese'ed references to the footnotes, or try to suggest that, in a report, a more narrative approach would better serve your audience.

And if you are writing about something in a country whose language of diplomacy is still French, but the main client of your report is British, might I suggest that, even though you yourself are French Canadian, the use of commas to mark the radix point, rather than the British standard point, might be a bit annoying for the people interested in funding your further research into this program?

But as I said, this isn't my work. This is yours. I have agonized for hours over each Franglais phrase you've mangled into your report. I've offered you three and four different interpretations of a single sentence, where the placement of a comma radically alters the intended meaning. These are the details I wish for you to approve or not, with the understanding that I am sympathetic to your situation. I myself could not have written a sentence of this report in French. I am here to make you look good.

So please, do not get snooty and pissy with me about anything I have suggested.  Simply go through the document and accept or reject items as you will.

Not that there will be a next time for us, but next time? Don't accept all changes to a document and THEN find issue with my suggestions. I now have to cross reference your submitted document with my original changes and painstakingly verify, myself, that the meaning is accurate, or write yet another comment asking you that you do this, yourself. You know. That thing you were supposed to do two weeks ago?

Thanks,

C
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Logan the kitten has probably just solved 90% of my troubles.

You see, a few months ago, there was this sad little mewling from the alley that wedges up against the jumble of housebacks that touch on my patio. I couldn't find him, but he was definitely insisting that someone in my building come and adopt him. The next night, same thing. The third night, some Spanish lady started leaving him offerings of cat food and water on my patio steps, and then I came home to find a business card taped to my gate saying there was a little black kitten in my back yard and if I didn't own it, could he have the little guy?

So I called the number on the card and said sure, come on over. I went over to Delicious's house with the kid and thought nothing more of it.

He called as the KoE and I were nearly home. On the way over, is it still okay to get the cat? When I pulled up, three fabulously tenderhearted gay men were running around on my historic building's perfectly manicured lawn, absolutely beside themselves. One had blankets and towels. One had a cloth bag. One had absolutely no equipment but sported the biggest grin and he was dancing up and down, up and down, he was so thrilled that they had heard the kitten.

Mark, o he of the kitten-desire, dashed into my back yard as soon as I'd opened the gate, threw himself over the back fence, and reappeared two minutes later with the most adorable little bundle of WTF. Kitten Whisperer saves the day.

The scene was just frabjulous. We were all laughing and crying, didn't know which end was up. My son mooned about with cartoon puppy eyes, tenderhearted and all choked up with overwhelming emotion. The kitten was mostly nonplussed until too many human faces peered into the bag at once.

Nice claws, kitty.

They all oohed and ahh-ed over the apartment, the building, the historic-ness of it all, and Mark wondered if any units were available... all and sundry waved bye bye, TTFN as was my son's favorite affectation of the moment. I asked Mark to keep me up to date on how the kitten was faring and if it be a boy kitten or a girl.

Well, he is a funny man who sends me pictures of the kitty from time to time. The kitten's name is Logan, and he is a boy.

I texted the Kitten Whisperer tonight and asked, "know anyone who wants my apartment?" and got back MEEE CAN I CALL YOU NOW?

Well, seems his house was sold and he has to have his stuff out by the 16th of this month and he wants the apartment and he can give me two or three months' rent in advance and so if the landlady allows cats and I think my lease says yay, I CAN HAS TENANT.

The end.
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Our two families will be getting married on November 20th.  

Delicious came over last night after a long day at work and we puttered, drinking some wine while i finished the delicious pork loin roast I'd been marinating.  I told him I had decided we'd get married on December 18 and his reaction was less than enthusiastic: "We have to wait that long?"
Seems he had his sights set on getting married before Thanksgiving, so we could go to his folks as a fait accompli. Considering, however,  that tickets to visit said folks for Thanksgiving will run us around 2k, I don't think the Kid and I will be joining them in 29 Palms.  I just can't leave my son behind to go meet the new in-laws. it's just not right. I'll talk to KoE about it, though.  Maybe he doesn't want to spend six hours on a plane for a three hour time difference to hang out with total strangers for a day or two. ;)

Over dinner last night, Delicious told me he'd finally broken all the news to his daughter K, that we were planning to get married in the next couple of weeks, and wanted a ceremony for just the four of us, to become a family, and then a church wedding in the summer. She was really happy, and asked him if she could start telling people now. Her mom? No, not really. Her FRIENDS. 

I like this kid. Apparently, she did a book report last week that brought the house down. The teacher actually said it was the best book report he'd seen.

I'm stressed about money, spending on odd things like a wedding ring for my fiance, tickets to the Christmas Revels, etc.  Doesn't look like there's much proofing/editing on the horizon, either. I'm stuck in a well of apathy that I hope a trip to the prescribing doctor can patch up.  Doesn't help that I'm on day six of excruciating back pain.  But having my Delicious back at my side after a week of being apart was a wonderful thing. 

I spent an hour and a half yesterday with a woman going for her doctorate in shrinkage, and we talked about the KoE. I've got evaluation forms to fill out, and on Friday he spends three hours with her doing diagnostics, with a two-hour stint the following Friday.  I want to know why he doesn't transition, and how we can help him. This is going to break me, financially, but I have to do it. Wait til I have to pay court costs and maybe give the Asshole Client his $500 back. I can't afford this, even with two incomes.
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I've got tabs open all over the place. Wedding rings. Dresses. Inns in Virginia, though RWKN is trying to convince me to elope in North Carolina.  And suddenly this swoopy feeling zings around my insides.  This is so right. 

Had another great cuppa with my dad. I love to make him laugh. I surprise him a lot, because he spent a lot of time dismissing me for lack of common ground, so he thought. But I'm not liberal when it comes to money and gummint in my business. I just want human beings to give each other and the world a fair shake.If my easy client goes back into government after the elections next week, I can either convince him to take me to the Hill -- where I'll still make him look good -- or my dad will we hope take over his clients and I'll go to work with my dads. And dammit, I'd like that. 

I finally had to call my mother this afternoon and admit to being in a state of panic over the next few days.  Tomorrow I'm setting up a picnic for KoE's class while they do a field trip to a city garden, then running up to Baltimore to check on a problem with the house there with Delicious.  Thursday AM I go grocery shopping with Mom for our two and a half days in the Catoctins with da Kid, and then we drive up to Thurmont VA when school's out on the half day.

So I'm already frazzled Somewhere in there I have to do about eight hours of work, and not a chance in hell of doing any of it.
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It's beautiful country in Orange, Virginia. Mom, the kid and I drove out there  this morning to attend the Fall Fiber Festival. A tiny little event, with perhaps thirty or forty tents, under 100 artists displaying their wares. No funnel cake this year, alas. But there was roving of all types and condition, the softest alpaca  I"ve ever touched -- I should have bought some as two skeins would make a man's sweater. But I need to knit out the wool I have, first.

My push through yesterday's protesters at the Mall resulted in a lost knitting needle, and I'm sad to say it was a hand made wooden needle that I bought at the first festival we went to, just before I moved to Dubai. I was on the lookout for a new pair of 7's to continue the uncursed Boyfriend Sweater. I went back to the vendor with the tools of the trade, scooped up a beautifully engineered circular set (for those of you who knit, the needles rotate independently of the wire between them, which makes knitting on circulars so much nicer!) and my eye was drawn to another bin. Hand crafted drop spindles made by Running Deer, with inlaid wood patterns. Beautiful.

I bought myself one. I've been fascinated by spinning for years, and thought why the hell NOT!?

I have a small bag of natural white roving to spin, and two smaller kits with a range of colors I can spin.  I'm looking forward to trying it. It looks like it could be quite calming if I can do it correctly.
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I'll find it somewhere, but it's not like our budget has 'clothing' or 'vacation' categories from which to borrow. We've got transportation, food, rent and utilities, and that's all the money there is.

I'm going to try to convince the PITA client I fired that he does need to accept the fact that he reneged on his end of the contract, and the moneys paid out to the designer do NOT have to be reimbursed... but he's going to insist, and I don't want to fight with him. He's tenacious. He's needy. He will not let it go.

I'll have to ask my parents to give him dinner, and he'll be eating too many PB&J's at school, but we'll get through it somehow. All the huge work I did in September won't get paid out until November. We'll be okay, then.  

Today looked to be a continuation of yesterday's endless pile of suck.  I got up, got the kid to school, came back for a short conference call... that lasted TWO HOURS.  Hurry up, get down to the metro, where I need to stop for cash, because lunch with Mine is cash only at our favorite Pho. I go up to the bank machine and look at it for a sec, then attempt to dip my card into the slot. Rather than sliding my card in and then out, the machine ate it.

Without hope, I went to the booth and told the station master what had happened, and he kindly came out and stuck his eyeball to the slot. "Yeah, I can see it, it's right there." 

He went back to his booth with scissors, his multitool, and some masking tape and went to work, fishing for plastic. The time ticked by. I called Mine to explain to her why I'd be late. More time went by. We went to the little convenience store, but he didn't have any tweezers. I kept an eye on the book in case anyone needed him.  I try to thank him for his time, but he won't stop working on the machine. "Hey, if this is a matter of man versus machine..." I started to say.

"Oh, yeah, now it's personal," said he, and I resigned myself to letting him rummage about as long as his stubborn ol' curious self needed to do, but I was convinced my bank card was toast. Mind you, this is my only card. I don't have a credit card.

Finally, the man starts to mutter, 'what's stickier than masking tape? what do I got that's sticker than masking tape...' and DING! Off he goes back to the booth. Comes back with some Scotch tape. Sticks it to the blade of his knife... and within thirty seconds is hauling my card out of the dag-nabbed machine.

I gave him a big hug, which I think startled him, and thanked him and thanked him, and caught a train for a later than expected lunch with Mine.

holy toledo

Jun. 1st, 2010 06:03 pm
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Eventually, it will even occur to a basement dweller like me to wonder why I'm wandering around turning lights on in the middle of the afternoon.  A quick glance outside sent me angling towards a clock to check the time of day, because outside, it looked as though dusk had fallen with a belly-flop and was now floundering its way towards Armageddon.

Bifurcated sky sporting blue and fluffy clouds to the north, grey-green doom to the south, and my mother and kid somewhere in that mess, at school without any rain gear.  Off I went, trusty umbrella over my head, a slicker for the kid and an extra umbrella for my mother tucked into my purse. To the rescue!

Folks on the street were scanning the sky with confusion tinged with panic.  As I crossed 13th street, I happened to look down that wide expanse of tarmac towards the school.  

You couldn't see the school.  A solid wall of grey, clearly delineated, was moving up the street at, well, lightning speed. Heedless of the possible urban consequences, I tapped my fellow cross-walker on the arm and said, "Oh wow, look!", pointing.  She and I both stopped and stared for a moment, totally tharn. "Holy shhhhhhhhhhh!" she broke off, hurrying to reach the other side of the pavement.  I lingered for a moment longer, in love with that violent curtain slashing down, enthralled by the speed at which it hurled itself through town.  My feet  no sooner hit the curb than the skies opened up and fat drops of rain pounded down, painful in their insistence, gravid with wet and cold.  The wind that was pushing the storm hit those of us stranded outside and whipped us around... you could feel this was moving absolutely sideways,  no divine intervention here, this wind was a denizen of earth and it was going to town.  Even with the temporary shelter afforded by an apartment building entrance, my back got soaked, my feet squelchy.

And as suddenly as it came, it was gone with one last gust.  The rain pattered on, a regular, friendly shower.  By the time I'd reached my mother in the school library, the sun was streaming down and my rescue futile.  I squelched back up the avenue, and the sun on my back dried the storm from my dress before I'd gotten home.

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