The Amazon Store of The Beast

self portrait thursday, at long last...

That is a Mod-Glo make up mirror type thingy. It's very neat-o and works like a charm. Unfortunately it's not worth much. I found two of them, both in travel cases, two different colors.


I went to the dentist today.
R3 and R2 have to go. She (she! my first she dentist. She's pregnant, too) said she might be able to do a root canal on R3 but I told her to forget it.
“Just forget root canals exist. Can we do that?”
She had a hard time with it but finally I got out with a scrip for vicodin and antibiotics and a promise to call Leticia the receptionist, in a week to schedule an emergency extraction.
My insurance will only pay for one emergency extraction at a time. Leticia said it could take two weeks or more to get two emergency extractions ok’d.
I said, “Well, can we put in for one, get it sooner and then just fudge the next one?
Leticia looked happy that I suggested it, somehow.
“Yes, we can do that,” she purred, as her nimble fingers danced over her keyboard.

I don’t want to take the vicodin but if the pain gets as bad as it did last night I will. Before I go to bed.
Vicodin has always annoyed me because the effects only last four hours or so. Never seems like enough.

I solved the “how to eat cereal at work at 6:30am” problem.
I went to Whole Foods and bought bulk oatmeal, oat bran, brewer’s yeast, millet and banana chips.
I have a 16oz plastic container, like a yogurt cup, but twice as big.
I tried it this morning and it worked wonderfully.
I scoop the dry ingredients out of each bag and into the cup, snap the lid on and throw it in my bag, and head to work. When I heat up the water for my instant coffee, I heat up a little cup of water for my cereal, too. Pour the water in, snap the lid back on, shake it up, let it sit for five minutes or so, et Voila!
Delicious, nutritious hot cereal, just the way I like it without a bunch of sugar or artificial flavor and color and about a million grams of fiber, at least.
I haven’t done any price comparison, but I would be willing to bet it’s cheaper than prepackaged oatmeals.

I’m happy about that.

So here I sit with antibiotics and vicodin. A six pack of beer resting at the foot of the bed. I know you aren’t supposed to take antib-s with alcohol so I’m resisting the siren call of the short-necked vixens.

It’s Thursday, I usually do my bizarre shaving rituals on Thursday. Right now I am making tomato soup, so the bizarre shaving rituals will have to wait a bit.
Ok, I think the soup is hot. I will go and eat it now and pretend my mouth doesn’t hurt.
I will try not to think about the phrase “proximity to sinus cavities”

I washed my curtains this yesterday. I dragged down the whole dusty mess that hasn't been cleaned even once in the almost four years I have lived here and threw the whole bunch into a washer with some laundry soap that someone left behind at the laundromat. I love it when that happens.
While the curtains were washing, I washed the inside of the window. I'm not hanging out the window to wash it.
I folded the heavy green draperies that came with the apartment neatly, put them in a plastic bag and threw them up on top of the closet with all the other things I never want to see again.
Some day I will have to get up there and throw all that crap away.
I rehung the sheers, dazzlingly, blindingly white sheers. Then I tossed the purple mod 70's shag pad piece of polyester cloth over the sheers and it looks great.
It's much lighter in here with out the rubberized green drapes.
The bad news is I can now see how dirty the walls are. Not that I care.

I have a little bit less than half the room done with the skully tape and I took down the Spawn poster that was covering the hole in the wall where someones stovepipe once went out with four rows of the tape which I like better than the Spawn poster. When we first moved in here there was a cheesy magazine photo of a man and a woman, sunset, the beach, etc.
I immediately tore it down and discovered the chimney hole behind it. Tommy stuck the Spawn up there and that was it. Until yesterday. Now it's 12 little skullys.

I realized today that I live alone and don't have to hide all my stuff behind the bed anymore so sticky boy hands won't touch it. The bed is about a foot from the wall and that was always my special space. Don't touch! Mememememememine.
I spent some time dragging junk out from under the bed and throwing most of it away.
Three knives. There were three knives stashed down there. Do you think I may have been a little nervous about something? I don't know.
I'm going to clean it all out and scoot the bed up against the wall. Then I will scoot the table over a foot and there will be a foot more space, theoretically. I'm sure it won't work out that way in real life.

This is the whole article in the SF Weekly from Sept 20, 2006.


This is just the part about us.

Among the cluster of people of all ages on Hippie Hill who call themselves and each other "kids," there's one honest-to-God child, on a blanket with his young mother and two men. He looks to be 5 or 6 years old, a redhead in jeans and grungy sneakers, eating a cheeseburger. He plays with a small tree branch, tussles with one of the dogs, and accidentally knocks over a bottle of beer. Although the bottle has a cap on it, the two men act angry. Then they pretend to beat the boy up. With a scream, one guy mimes a punch to the child's stomach that stops just short. The other grabs the branch and mimics cracking it over the child's head. The boy rolls over onto his stomach, and one of the men jumps onto his back, pretending to pummel him on the sides.

The noises coming from the child don't sound like laughter. When the guy gets up and the child rolls over, the little one is scared and crying. He flings his arms around the neck of his pretend attacker. "Hey, what?" says the man, apparently surprised. "You're OK. You're fine!"

Ha! Young Mother. That's me. His Pretend Attacker. That's his dad.

We went to the park the day they had the opera there. I remember the incident but I remember it a bit differently.
What really happened was Jr had a Thomas Kemperer root beer, the kind in the brown glass bottle. He spilled that on the blanket and started crying over that. That is when Jr Sr and E started to pretend beat him up. He would have been crying anyway.

I bought black masking tape with white skull and cross bones and I am putting it all around my room, like wainscotting. I already have the door and the wall on that side of the room done, but I need to move some stuff to do the rest of it. I need a day off.
I will put in for some vacation tomorrow.

Howdy stranger.
Long time.
I've been missing you. Thinking about you. Feeling guilty for not answering your emails.
I don't know why but I just don't feel like it anymore.
It's not you. You, I'd like to hug your face off and talk for hours in our jammies with hot toddies and cookies and soft music and talk all night.
It's me. ME!!
I'm as lazy and as self-centered as is humanly possible.
I spend all day at work on the internet and when I get home, I just can't think about it anymore. I still spend a couple of hours on line every night but it's not like it used to be where I could do it all night and had to drag myself away some time after midnight.
I don't have any internet access on the weekend. I spend the time in MV with the boys and there is no computer there. Well, there are computers, just no internet.
Good god's this thing is slow.
My dial up was out for a couple of days last week and I got used to it being gone.
It's getting easier and easier to not be online.

I miss my internet life
The way it used to be. Chatting with people all night, all day.
Writing and writing and writing. I haven't had much to write lately.
Things have hit this even keel.

I don't feel like I can safely write about my job anymore. If I did it would all have to be good and positive stuff (which would mostly be true) which is very boring.
I have almost nothing to rant about anymore.

Knock on wood, I'm happy.
Happy?
I still look in the mirror every morning and shake my head. "I hate my life" is the mantra.
But I really don't anymore. It's just a habit.

I never carry my camera anymore. I see things all the time and wish I had it, but the nature of the business I'm in dictates that I should not bring personal electronic devices to work with me on a regular basis.
If I do bring an electronic device (or a book, ,DVD, CD, pair of shoes, extra shirt, sunglasses, or any other item that feasibly could have been donated, the list goes on forever) I have to fill out and have signed an "exit pass". Pass is short for Pain in the ASS, but you must have seen that coming.

I don't even look at my stats. The stats for my eeeeBBBBaaaaylkjdfgyyy store are much more interesting!

Our sell through is still at 80% which is un-freaking-heard of for most sellers.
That's because we rock.

I'm sure you have had enough of this randomness. I will say goodnight.
night.