darkitysnark

That book just flew to the top of Snarky's "to read" list! She still has a copy of Eat Me! somewhere in the boxed up library. The Mister bought a book written by a food critic (something and sapphires... ) when we was stuck in the Northwest alone for a month. Snarky forgot about the egg dish from "Moonstruck" but it sounds a lot like what the two main male characters in "V for Vendetta" prepare for Evey (sans the tomato paste) and now Snarky has a fierce craving for some eggs.

I fear success as much as I fear failure. Unfortunately I also fear stagnation. The thing that bubbles up from my subconscious in the form of the occasional overly-emotional dream is a fear of understanding, though. So maybe that's my most basic fear - an inability to connect with anyone.

I'm glad you and your husband are safe. I'll add my wishes for a rapid righting of your world.

"Wings of Desire". I love that the love story isn't so much the story of the angel and the woman for whom he fell from grace being together, but it's the story of their journey toward each other, and your mind can sort of continue the story from there. Also, who knew Germans could be that hopefully romantic? But my favorite all time love movie is "Tampopo" because I have a huge food=love thing going on. And Tampopo is such a celebration of food, life, and love.

Ha! Your site is blocked by my company's firewall! You must have the p0rn on it. Naughty, naughty woman! I'll just have to check this out when I get home tonight. I abhor sloppy eating as well, though I suspect that I might be a sloppy eater myself. Or at least a noisy one. I mean, crunchy food is really crunchy in one's own head anyway but I swear my skull is is some sort of naturally occurring accoustic phenomemon. Like a brain-encasing bullhorn or somesuch.

Never been neither... though I almost had a chance to over a year ago (too bad The Mister was in classes for eight hours a day during the week and had homework - I kid you not.). And if it weren't for the Lutheran side of the family, Elvis (or some reasonable facsimilie) would have married us there six years ago. But even I have heard of the Rio buffet. It is the stuff of legends. The Mister was able to get away once during that crazy week to gamble just enough to win money to cover a ticket to a Tori Amos concert at the Hard Rock Cafe. I still punch him in the arm out of the blue for that one.

Yeah. I should see it for myself. Last time I was on there was during the last forum downtime... which directly led to me signing on with bpalanonymous. But, yeah. I should see it with my own two... thanks!

Duude! My nickname used to be Velveeta! I completely forgot about minilux's avatar. That lady is a riot with the tongue-in-cheekiness.

Whoa. This is new news to me. Mostly because I jumped the alchemylab ship a while ago. I think I made my move shortly after Beth created bpal excathedra, and then I glommed on to bpalanonymous instead because despite my username I am all about the luurve. To be honest, I had forgotten that Beth created alchemylab in the first place until you mentioned it just now. But yeah, makes sense.

Xena knew something was up the way She was calling to her with that nearly-falsetto voice. She never called to Xena like that unless Something Bad was about to happen. Last time it had been twenty hours in that blasted carrier in the loud growling metal box, Junebug mewling plantively like the little whiny bitch she is. Xena had saved up her displeasure to generate one particularly foul poop that filled that metal box with the smell of her indignation. Then they had been moved into a larger metal box that roared enough to shake the ground. By that point even Junebug was too terrified to make a noise. They were finally freed by Him into a small, carpeted room. Xena found all her new hiding places within the first few days. After a while, it seemed perfectly normal to be two cats and two humans in a small carpeted room. There were three windows that opened out to trees and crazy talking people down below. The food stayed good, and the litter box was (mostly) fresh. Xena and Junebug got used to it and began to forget about their ordeal. And then one day She came back from Outside, talking in that cracking, anxious voice that should have rumbled with impending doom. Xena recalls with horror how She resorted to using half of a wooden paddle to sweep her out from underneath the coffee table. A paddle! Oh she hissed. She hissed and did that low, lingering growl bourne from sheer panic. She even released her bladder a bit, which only made Her voice go even higher. Then He got home. He that was usually their saviour. And He stuffed her in the hamper. Traitor. She was too frazzled to even muster a good protest poop as they rumbled in another metal box. Junebug still found the air to yowl a few good times, and Xena tried to answer back with her own timid "meh-reow?"s. When the world stopped rumbling and lurching about, they found themselves in a small room that stank of laquer. The windows were too high to reach, and there was a lone lamp on the floor. The litter box was not where it was supposed to be, it was in the corner. There was food, but it tasted of ashes. Xena nudged the litterbox out of the corner and created another slender hiding space. She stayed there for two days. Junebug, and Xena is convinced that she might be a little damaged in the head for this, hid in her carrier every time they heard the clomp-squeak noises in the ceiling. Who hides in that place of impending anguish? Only cats who are Not Right in Their Heads, Bless Their Hearts. Finally on the third day the door cracked open and He released them into... into what? There are too many places. There are windows to look out to trees, there are windows where they can see Them coming and going in their metal box. There are old familar smells behind the doors Xena has already figured out how to open, smells of His feet and Her perfume piled up and hung down like layers of comforting curtains in the dark. There are new smells and strange, smaller metal boxes. There don't seem to be other cats in these boxes, but They seem to spend a lot of time cooing at them anyway. He has been gone for a few days. She seems to be quieter, less active because of it. She is giving lots of belly rubs, though, so Xena thinks it will all be OK. If not now, then soon. She is still keeping an eye out for the carrier though, and a cautious ear for any change in register in Her voice.

Xena has already declared the upper bedroom's window perch (the Snarks made a temporary one for them with the sawed off card table they used as a dining table in their first apartment together) as her personal throne. It opens to a mature dogwood tree and is occupied by all manner of interesting little birds. Junebug keeps returning to the temporary bed. The Snarks think she'll move with the mattress once the upper bedroom is finished. She has a bedding fetish. You're welcome! The furbabies were also especially clingly last night when The Mister returned. Normally they scatter about the house in the evening (eventually convening on Snarky's chest as she tries to sleep) but last night they hovered around The Mister as he dozed on the futon. Snarky told him all his cats were glad he was back.

Yay for getting into the new house! Also, brain-usingness ()! Woo! I need to get back into reading/crafting to work out my brain... especially since I can feel it liquefying here at work from disuse. Blurble. What other books are you eyeing at the store?

Hm. That works too. Sunday night was pretty rough. There was a rare (for 'round these parts) thunderstorm that caused Junebug to cry from the temporary bedroom. She did the same thing last night. Snarky suspects she's just trying to get some belly rubs in the place that smells the most familiar. Daaaaw!

Christ in a Sidecar Sweet, Honey Lemon Jebus Great Googly Moogly ... and the all-purpose, Yosemity Sam-inspired sub-vocal muttering of "rassafracka rassafracka" when things just aren't going well at all. What an amazing portrait of The Prophet Raoul. I can almost see the skittish, slightly confused pigeons scattered around him, heads cocked questioningly.

Given that her attention span is normally comparable to that of a fruit fly on a normal day, Snarky's ability to maintain "workplace workface" today has been a hopelessly lost battle from the get-go. Not only is her heart and mind still racing through MoveIntoTheHouse scenarios, but their contractor is currently tearing up the subfloor in the main bathroom right now, with no way of being finished until the ordered flooring (Asian Tiger! Rawr!) gets in tomorrow at the earliest. And tonight is The Great Cat Migration '06. The Snarks' furbabies do not take to their carriers very well. At all. EVER. They could be going to the land of catnip and cheeses and still with the yeowling and bloody murder. Before TGCM'06 comes The Death Defying Cat Wrangling of Ought Six. Snarky only hopes that they have managed to leave one polypro jacket unpacked in which she can suit up in order to protect her fragile, extremely claw-able hand/arm/chest/neck skin. She has had to have medical attention applied to her body in the past. At the vet's office. Cat Wrangling is that violent, swift, and gory. Tomorrow is the Official Day of Moving, though the Snarks have been schlepping bits and pieces of their lives over to the house for the last two weeks. Last night Snarky did their first quarterless load of laundry in their very own, new washer and dryer! They also have a shiny new fridge! The Snarks are a bit disconcerted by the new appliance smell coming off of said fridge, but they are confident that a few trips to the Safeway will eliminate the problem. One more hour left before the bloodletting fun begins. Snarky suspects she will be radio silent after tomorrow morning possibly through Monday. The Cable Guy is supposed to be hooking the Snarks up Saturday morning (between the hours of 10 and 12, of course). Even if all goes well, Snarky might opt for the more alluring prospect of blissful unconsciousness Sunday rather than playing catchup. If Snarky gets too caught up tomorrow, she wishes all of y'all a wonderful weekend in advance.

Yeah, why is that that the wimmen folk always get to be the Bad Lady who does the Horrible Things with the Things? Xena hid from Snarky for a good two days before finally allowing a belly rub. Then when the house was invaded by the guys who helped to move the monstrosity of an elliptical machine into the "exercise room", she hid in the closet for another day. Snarky swears during those days she was glaring at her all "YOU did this to me!"

Asshattery aside (that would make for an interesting store, no? "Snarky's Asshattery"... right up there with the "buy five minutes of insults and/or abuse" skit by Monty Python) I too have a scummy pond in my backyard! It used to have goldfish, but the previous owner cleaned out the pond and the fish died almost immediately after being reintroduced. Between owners, the hose to the fountain got disconnected and the water got all gray and cloudy. I've reconnected the hose and the water is slowly impoving. Any pointers on how to make the pond habitable again? And no, I wasn't speaking in elaborate metaphor (though now I'm wondering, who would be the goldfish? Who would the previous owner represent? How about the fountain pump?). We really do have a scummy pond!

I think you and Valentina have a good point to make about drama llamas (that is way too much fun to say and to type, also a bit insulting to llamas.. but... "dramallama" ). I had some friends Back East who weren't necessarily dramallamas, but they were always over-committed to social engagements/life stuff. Like J, who had two jobs, was contemplating a third, and was either always hosting or attending house parties every week. I'm such a homebody and proponent of quiet time that that kind of lifestyle is completely alien to me. J is a good person, but I always got a vibe of restlessness/disatisfaction from her. Her questions were always really pointed and she was always comparing herself to others. I just wanted to grab her by the shoulders and instruct her to CHILL OUT ALREADY. Just sit down with a book for an afternoon, no TV, no radio, no visitors, and just... BE. Perhaps dramallamas are just people like J, but who have decided to vent all that wild energy into creating/maintaining/propagating negativity rather than her "queen of the scene" activities.

Since Matt Groening isn't on the boards you get a gold star for Best Band Name for the week. Hootenanny is right up there with kerfluffle (you can almost hear the ruffling of upset feathers and chicken squawking) for evocative-yet-down homey nomenclature.

I understand completely. The other reason I had to turn in Always Coming Home before finishing was... I just couldn't finish it! There was too much. It was very interesting and so very deep, but whoa. I kinda missed having a general plot upon which to hang all this detail. LeGuin must be wired for that kind of prolific world building. How does she manage to do all the other stuff of life (like cook and eat and sleep and do laundry and go for walks outside) and come up with all this backstory?

I like the Poe-ish words: tintinnabulation, susurrate, mumur... all that onomatopoeia stuff. As much as I dislike hearing people read their writing (a hang up developed in Creative Writing camp back in the day) I absolutely love to hear words rolling around in certain select mouths. (I also like shorter, non-Scrabble triple-word-score use up all your tiles words like "yoink", "smack" (as an action and a noun), and "thunk" (also as sound or the bad grammar third-person past tense for "think" as in "whoda thunk it?".)

AAAAAAA! I'm screaming because valentina just used today's Secret Word. AAAAAA! I remember sampling and liking Smut, but not enough to get myself some at the time. I think it was more running up to The Mister all "Smell me! I smell like teh Smut!" that tickled me. However! Now I want to do combos just to come up with interesting names... I like your BPAL philosophy! Enjoy it, and if you don't enjoy it so much, pass it along to those who will! I didn't start trying out LE's until the last few months because of some "well, but I can't get more of it if I like it and I'll want to hoard it and never touch it" hang up but you know what? There will always be more to try! Enjoy them, love them even, but keep moving forward! Now I'm gonna be moving boxes with "Smutty Smut Smut" going through my head.

OK. I looked. I believe in venting, but great googly moogly! Plus, I'm not much for anonymity whilst trashing others by name either. Seems like a stinky sucker punch.

Like... like Mister Spock!?! AWESOME!!! One of the cats (Junebug) almost walks in to the carrier on her own. It's the other one (Xena) that hides and fights. Last night? She peed on Snarky. Cat piss! But they're in the house now adjusting. (And, bonus: no blood was shed.)

World building makes me think of Ursula K. LeGuin. I got through most of Always Coming Home before I had to turn it back in. It read like a collection of anthropological essays (complete with glossary of indigenous terms in the back).