So on this, my second day as a newly employed memeber of the masses, I have a tale of dharma to tell you, my lovely audience. But first a review.
I am now employed. At the Chicago Botanic Gardens, a place I want to have my children, yes I want to give birth on the rose garden lawn. This is amazing. This is wonderful, outstanding, news. But I had to move to make it posible; because I am poor, I have no car; because I am poor, I have no apartment, and now live with my mother... again.
Everyone with me? Yah? Gut!
Today, I was going to ride my bike, which is not really my bike, cuse MY BIKE is still in Ur-Paign, but really a bike the custodian was gonna toss, but my mother, being the packrat she is, would not allow such outrage. Thus, My Bike. Sadly My Bike has no kickstand, although the tires hold air; and has a biker's skinny ass seat, although it has over 15 speeds. And I was happy enough until 0535 this morning, when Im grumpily, cuse Im outa shape, biking along, and the pedal crank fell off. Yes it fell off. What? The? FUCK?
So thinking to myself that I will be sooo late to work, ON MY SECOND DAY! I fiddle with the pedal crank under a streetlight, cuse its still frelling dark out at 0540 but to no avail, so I decided to wait for a bus, cuse I was about 20 yards from the pace bus stop which was also handily, cuse here comes a train, the metra stop. Long story short, I make the train, have to pay extra fare, and in fact the last of my pocket cash, cuse I buy my ticket on the train, and am still late to work, GAH!
Not a terrible problem it turns out, but still embarassing, all I have to do is stay late, no biggie. But because I stay late, I am graced with a ride home from a most wonderful, beautiful person, my boss Linda the Mighty, and dont have to worry about train fare AT ALL.
But today, Im happy cuse Im working, doing a job I love, so I smile and say hi to everyone, which sometimes can lead to interesting exchanges, especially with people who dont really know what to say to a grubby blonde pulling weeds in the shrubbery. Take, "You look like you spend alot of time on yer knees," for example.
oh my
And it was some random old guy, oh I was so tempted to say, "thats a rather personal statement for you to be saying, buddy," but instead I just said, "alot of weeds to pull," and smiled.
Okay so I get home, my feet are killing me, and I have a broken down bike. I hatch a plan, hit Uncle Dan's up for boots, and see if they know a good bike hospital. It must be the day for old men, cuse some cute old backpacker with a sunny smile charmed me into buying ridicuously expensive insoles for my ridicuosly expensive shoes. But he was cute! And a really muscley for an old man! And a backpacker, he knows about feet!
The bike hospital was closed.
My day is finished. My tale is completed. Dharma you ask....
Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Saturday, March 12, 2005
Moussaka!
I decided, in alll my mental glory, that since I like moussaka so damned much, I would learn how to make it. And as first tries go, not bad. I have a few things I would like to fix of course, but thatll have to wait until, well, three years from now :P
But the thing that really gets me, is dishes. One simple casserole, and I used every single pan in the kitchen, three different spoons, two spatualas, and maybe seven bowls. And of course, no measuring devices, cuse, pfaa, who needs em? You see, I bake, and cook, like I do chemistry.... measure as little as possible, add stuff until it looks right, and hope I dont blow anything up. I try to say... less to clean... but grrr I still end up washing everything in the kitchen. I swear things just hop out of the cabinets, and drawers into the pile of dirty dishes.
Sigh.
Im sure there is some equation that equates the number of dishes indirectly in proportion to the difficulty of cooking, but hey Im not a mathematician either. Oh wait, there is something wrong there... eh I cant think about math while trying to remember all the words to Mammal by TMBG, which by the way, is a great song, educational and catchy.
Im scatter brained today, it seems.
But the thing that really gets me, is dishes. One simple casserole, and I used every single pan in the kitchen, three different spoons, two spatualas, and maybe seven bowls. And of course, no measuring devices, cuse, pfaa, who needs em? You see, I bake, and cook, like I do chemistry.... measure as little as possible, add stuff until it looks right, and hope I dont blow anything up. I try to say... less to clean... but grrr I still end up washing everything in the kitchen. I swear things just hop out of the cabinets, and drawers into the pile of dirty dishes.
Sigh.
Im sure there is some equation that equates the number of dishes indirectly in proportion to the difficulty of cooking, but hey Im not a mathematician either. Oh wait, there is something wrong there... eh I cant think about math while trying to remember all the words to Mammal by TMBG, which by the way, is a great song, educational and catchy.
Im scatter brained today, it seems.
Friday, March 04, 2005
Taxes and Death
Since the evil efile-ing morons from Aldeberon VI sucked out my brain, I am now deceased. Yes I spend all my daylight hours avoiding garlic and sunshine in my plushie fyarl booties and matching green leopard print lounging wear while absorbed in the pages of Martha Stewart's Undead Living, or waiting for Alton Brown to tell me why my blood mayonaisse keeps collapsing.
My poor roomate is also convinced that I am a vampire, being as she hasnt seen me in the light of day for almost two weeks.
What is this nonsense Im spouting? Well, I decided, you see, to file my taxes online, and since Im paying student loans, and have basically no income, I felt hell, I could prollly do this whole shebang for free. I, like a good spawn the beaurocrazy, go to the IRS webpage and see what options I have, and after a couple of clicks and buttons pushed, I find myself answering some questions to see if I qualify for a free efile, you know the standard... "were you injured? are you married? are you blind? are you deceased?" and I happily was pushing the no buttons, until woooops the page refreshed, and hrmph it seems I just died, and now I have to fill out more information, because I cant very well be filling out my taxes if I am also dead, so I just must be someone else filling out my taxes.
And I say wait a min! Im not dead! And then I think... heeey, was I filling out my taxes? I hate taxes, there is just something about them, that makes perfectly intellegent people, with high IQ's, and decent problem solving skills, devolve, (err deevolve?) like that episode of ST:TNG were warIv tuns into a big cockroach, Dianna into a guppy and Spot's an iguanna, and Data uses Nurse Ogawa's uterine fluid to innoculate the crew. Yeah, eww.
My poor roomate is also convinced that I am a vampire, being as she hasnt seen me in the light of day for almost two weeks.
What is this nonsense Im spouting? Well, I decided, you see, to file my taxes online, and since Im paying student loans, and have basically no income, I felt hell, I could prollly do this whole shebang for free. I, like a good spawn the beaurocrazy, go to the IRS webpage and see what options I have, and after a couple of clicks and buttons pushed, I find myself answering some questions to see if I qualify for a free efile, you know the standard... "were you injured? are you married? are you blind? are you deceased?" and I happily was pushing the no buttons, until woooops the page refreshed, and hrmph it seems I just died, and now I have to fill out more information, because I cant very well be filling out my taxes if I am also dead, so I just must be someone else filling out my taxes.
And I say wait a min! Im not dead! And then I think... heeey, was I filling out my taxes? I hate taxes, there is just something about them, that makes perfectly intellegent people, with high IQ's, and decent problem solving skills, devolve, (err deevolve?) like that episode of ST:TNG were warIv tuns into a big cockroach, Dianna into a guppy and Spot's an iguanna, and Data uses Nurse Ogawa's uterine fluid to innoculate the crew. Yeah, eww.
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Dialects, and moussaka
Over dinner, suz and I discussed the dialects of midwestern buffy watchers, who happen to have grown up in Chicago land. I know I havent mentioned suz before here, cuse, well although I live with her, at times we clash so hard that all I can think of is grumpy things to say about her, but she is not mean, or evil, but in fact one of the coolest people I know. And tonight we were having one of those conversations that you have with a long time best friend, half in a language only the two of you share, and only a third out loud, about something as inane as Chicago-English.
Now I love languages, I love to taste them, feel them on my tongue, play with the grammer, compare one to another. Things like the similarities between the word puppis, which in latin means prows, as of ships, and the norwegian word for breasts, pupper, tickle my funny bone. Hell, its not like Im a trained antro-linguist, or what every they call themselves, I dont know if they at all relate to one another, but its still funny. So when suz started talking about the Chicago accent, I more than willingly began to mumble along with her, words like Minnasota, and thirty, and shut up, and shit, and cant over moussaka and greek fries. She had pointed out that although the classic "Chicago-accent" is portrayed as something along the lines of "'ey you, go ge' me da pehper!" or "da baihrs, and da buhlls" a level to which normal chicagoans dont normally stoop, one does hear a lot of softened, or non-existant internal and terminal t's. Yes, people, if you fit in that, "Im from Chicagoland" bracket, I want you to say to yerself those words I previously mentioned, and Im sure you can think of more. They sound more like d's to you? And dont forget all those funny vowels, hrm try cars, or milk, for example.
I dont myself know if this is just Chitownish or midwestern, or what, but think... if yer from Minnesota, how do you say it? Yeah, nice hard t.
Another ideosyncratic dialect marker, as has been pointed out to me by my brudder-in-law, bubu, we of the midwest love to use inappropriate, and unnecessisary, prepositions. Prime example, "Im goinging to the store, wanna come with?" That with is entirely useless, but without it the sentence seems obscenely naked... a point on which both suz and I agree. And I am avidly against missusing prepositions, they are the bane of my existance, as well as people who missuse whom.
I will not rant about these gramatical errors, cuse, gosh, Im just as bad as the next schmoe, and its not really important in the light of the rest of my problems. Just yesterday, I recoded someone's webpage, so I could read it.
Sigh.
Now I love languages, I love to taste them, feel them on my tongue, play with the grammer, compare one to another. Things like the similarities between the word puppis, which in latin means prows, as of ships, and the norwegian word for breasts, pupper, tickle my funny bone. Hell, its not like Im a trained antro-linguist, or what every they call themselves, I dont know if they at all relate to one another, but its still funny. So when suz started talking about the Chicago accent, I more than willingly began to mumble along with her, words like Minnasota, and thirty, and shut up, and shit, and cant over moussaka and greek fries. She had pointed out that although the classic "Chicago-accent" is portrayed as something along the lines of "'ey you, go ge' me da pehper!" or "da baihrs, and da buhlls" a level to which normal chicagoans dont normally stoop, one does hear a lot of softened, or non-existant internal and terminal t's. Yes, people, if you fit in that, "Im from Chicagoland" bracket, I want you to say to yerself those words I previously mentioned, and Im sure you can think of more. They sound more like d's to you? And dont forget all those funny vowels, hrm try cars, or milk, for example.
I dont myself know if this is just Chitownish or midwestern, or what, but think... if yer from Minnesota, how do you say it? Yeah, nice hard t.
Another ideosyncratic dialect marker, as has been pointed out to me by my brudder-in-law, bubu, we of the midwest love to use inappropriate, and unnecessisary, prepositions. Prime example, "Im goinging to the store, wanna come with?" That with is entirely useless, but without it the sentence seems obscenely naked... a point on which both suz and I agree. And I am avidly against missusing prepositions, they are the bane of my existance, as well as people who missuse whom.
I will not rant about these gramatical errors, cuse, gosh, Im just as bad as the next schmoe, and its not really important in the light of the rest of my problems. Just yesterday, I recoded someone's webpage, so I could read it.
Sigh.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Wil Wheaton signed my book!
Yeah? so? Im a geek. I fully except my geekitude. But I bet you dont understand the full depth to which Ive fallen.
I just got my selfpressie, you know, the kind that is sponsored by a generous grant from some wonderful aunt/uncle team, a splurgerific splash into commercialism, possessionism, and capitolism. The three C's... err... so here we go. Three CDs, one which was the new TMBG kid's ablum, "Here come the ABCs", the other two being just some oldtime stuff. Then TWO buffy books, and then TWO, count em, one, two, books by Wil. Wheaton.
And one is signed.
I did not expect that. Hell I was just excited about reading the books, but hehe, look, it was signed. I whooped. WEll okay it was more of a WOHOOOOOOOOOOO.
But Im sad that I did not get to see him in person :(
Did I mention that Wil, one l by the way, not two, changed my life, well just about as much as Neil Gaiman, and CJ Cherryh, hrm and Paddy. Yes, Patrick Stewart... And Mark Orkrand, and Baudelaire, and Colin Dexter, and Professor Scurvin, and Darwin, and both Adams' (sorry had to use the oxford apostrophe)... Richard and Douglas... no I dont think they are related, and Roget, yeah him with that cool thesaurus... Hmm now that I think about it, there are alot of people that changed my life, and mr. wheaton is only my current infatuation, I suppose the enamel will wear off... punny eh?
Hey, yer supposed to stop me rambling... back to the subject. Me the geek. You know, although I feel superubergeekie, there are just so many ways, so many directions, geeks can go. I mean besides the classic example of the techno-babbling-spectacled-unwashed-pizzabreathed-computer-geek, are techno-babbling-spectacled-in-erlenmyer-flask-tea-making-science-geeks, and pastey-rumpled-spectacled-book-geeks, and all sorts of others, like just plain old music-archivist-geeks whose holy grail is just some old recording of Cousin Emmy playing Peartree, which by the way I really would like to hear. I think the true stamp of geekitude is a childlike awe of things, an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a mad curiousity.
Here's the truth kiddies, you dont have to know things to be a geek. Although, sure, that helps one spring into action along with your fellow knowledge parched travelers on the road to enlightenment, geekdom is that spark in yer eye when, like a toodler faced with pressents on Christmas, you are faced with something new, or a puzzle, or maybe a hunt for information. And like that same toddler, if you hang with the analogy for another min, you have to unwrap and fish, and research, and experiment, cuse thats the best part.
Geeks just get to have Christmas everyday.
I just got my selfpressie, you know, the kind that is sponsored by a generous grant from some wonderful aunt/uncle team, a splurgerific splash into commercialism, possessionism, and capitolism. The three C's... err... so here we go. Three CDs, one which was the new TMBG kid's ablum, "Here come the ABCs", the other two being just some oldtime stuff. Then TWO buffy books, and then TWO, count em, one, two, books by Wil. Wheaton.
And one is signed.
I did not expect that. Hell I was just excited about reading the books, but hehe, look, it was signed. I whooped. WEll okay it was more of a WOHOOOOOOOOOOO.
But Im sad that I did not get to see him in person :(
Did I mention that Wil, one l by the way, not two, changed my life, well just about as much as Neil Gaiman, and CJ Cherryh, hrm and Paddy.
Hey, yer supposed to stop me rambling... back to the subject. Me the geek. You know, although I feel superubergeekie, there are just so many ways, so many directions, geeks can go. I mean besides the classic example of the techno-babbling-spectacled-unwashed-pizzabreathed-computer-geek, are techno-babbling-spectacled-in-erlenmyer-flask-tea-making-science-geeks, and pastey-rumpled-spectacled-book-geeks, and all sorts of others, like just plain old music-archivist-geeks whose holy grail is just some old recording of Cousin Emmy playing Peartree, which by the way I really would like to hear. I think the true stamp of geekitude is a childlike awe of things, an insatiable thirst for knowledge, a mad curiousity.
Here's the truth kiddies, you dont have to know things to be a geek. Although, sure, that helps one spring into action along with your fellow knowledge parched travelers on the road to enlightenment, geekdom is that spark in yer eye when, like a toodler faced with pressents on Christmas, you are faced with something new, or a puzzle, or maybe a hunt for information. And like that same toddler, if you hang with the analogy for another min, you have to unwrap and fish, and research, and experiment, cuse thats the best part.
Geeks just get to have Christmas everyday.
Sunday, February 13, 2005
Happy bday
I forgot to mention I had a birthday in that interum, and my sister's is today, so we are both a year older :)
Its travelin' this new road, looking for a job, travelin' and lookin' I hate
Hela everyone, I know its been a month since last I posted, and well, Im now unemployed. Thankfully, though, not also friendless in greenland. So I have to find a job, gah, this is my wandering in the desert time. Whose gonna hire a demi-educated groundskeeper in the middle of winter, anyway? But to bouy me on my job hunt, I do have the good wishes of family and friends, and woot, a new piercing.
Ah, yes, this is something I would recomend to anyone who is depressed. If you cant, that is, afford pets, one can usually afford some sort of ear, face, body piercing. And tending to something, eg, a pet's physical welfare, or in this case the unpestulation of my brand new nipple piercing, takes yer mind off things. Its hard to wallow in the pits of despair when you need to take seven showers a day... okay just one, but you understand what I mean. Not to mention the added boost of a kick in yer serotonine, sheesh dont knock it if I cant spell, levels.
So this is my homework. Go out and get a new hole in yer body, youll thank me later, well if it doesnt get infected and you have to see a doctor. Which by the way, if yer getting a hole in yer lip or tongue, and you see signs of infection, do see a doctor, immediately.
Ah, yes, this is something I would recomend to anyone who is depressed. If you cant, that is, afford pets, one can usually afford some sort of ear, face, body piercing. And tending to something, eg, a pet's physical welfare, or in this case the unpestulation of my brand new nipple piercing, takes yer mind off things. Its hard to wallow in the pits of despair when you need to take seven showers a day... okay just one, but you understand what I mean. Not to mention the added boost of a kick in yer serotonine, sheesh dont knock it if I cant spell, levels.
So this is my homework. Go out and get a new hole in yer body, youll thank me later, well if it doesnt get infected and you have to see a doctor. Which by the way, if yer getting a hole in yer lip or tongue, and you see signs of infection, do see a doctor, immediately.
Tuesday, January 18, 2005
Yea! snow!
Oh yeah, sarcasm. I hate snow, which is a very recent thing, hrm since this winter actually, I hate it very much, and when it warms up, we will get it. Thats how it works kiddies, from crazy-freezing to warm... snow, and back from warm to witch-tit-freezing... snow, and most likely snow when its warm too. Maybe even snow when its cold (but I still dont think its very likely).
Soon I will have to seek the confines, err, comfort, or my bed in preparation for tomorrow's snow, but until then...
LAlalalalalalala.... I will sing a happy song, for lela's mother is doing better, and might come home tomorrow! I recrochetted her hat, thinking only happy warm fuzzy thoughts, and now it doesnt make me feel icky:) But I might need more yarn... so it wont be finished until the weekend :(
Hugs and kisses go out to all my peeps, especially noonie, and lela, and mumsa, and sophie.
Soon I will have to seek the confines, err, comfort, or my bed in preparation for tomorrow's snow, but until then...
LAlalalalalalala.... I will sing a happy song, for lela's mother is doing better, and might come home tomorrow! I recrochetted her hat, thinking only happy warm fuzzy thoughts, and now it doesnt make me feel icky:) But I might need more yarn... so it wont be finished until the weekend :(
Hugs and kisses go out to all my peeps, especially noonie, and lela, and mumsa, and sophie.
Sunday, January 16, 2005
Sunday evening blues
I work tomorrow, isnt that sad? Eh I need the money, and no I dont like thinking about my imminent release from my current 40 hour week. You see I only have a certain amount of hours, 1,000 to be exact, that I can work where I am currently. But Im tired of the humdrum that is my job. I dislike working with the guy who has been hired to replace me, (oh dont get me wrong hes nice and all, but I have a raw nose now), Im tired of macho Mexicans who are all secretly cheating on their wives, and gosh it was fun for a while, but I am damned tired of ass-watching with those same macho Mexicans.
To be honest whats really bugging me right now, is I dont know what to do about lela. Hehe, I get secrete pleasure out of calling her that, being a mommy name :P But seriously lela's mother, aka mumsa, is very sick, and has been, on and off, for a good long while, and is currently in hospital with a high fever. Now anyone who reads lela's blog, hrm lets see if I can remember my html... Present Tense Imperfect, knows about her mother's health, but I get to see the family on a semi regular basis, I have seen mumsa spend all day sleeping, because she lacks the energy to get up off the couch.
Grr makes me grumpy. My adamantine apathy is crumbling under this onslaught. I seriously worry about how I will hold up as one of her bestest friends in the whole world, my words not hers, if the family collapses.
Okay I'll see yer fatalism lela, and raise you 50.
I have been making a warm soft fuzzy hat for mumsa, with my newfound crochetting skills, and today I made it to the end of my skein, (of course I need more yarn). Somebody said something beautiful once, maybe it was the Ba'ab, about creation being a sort of prayer. When I crochet, I try to think happy warm thoughts, you know to reinforce the innate warmth-giving power of said scarf or hat, but mostly I fail and end up wandering mentally all over, and I sometimes find myself falling into a bit of trance, just thinking no further than 'yarn-over, push through, yarn-over, pull through, yarn-over, pull through' and will 'wake up' hours later, with a cramp in my fingers and arm. Today I was a wreck. I couldnt think straight, thinking what will happen whens and what ifs, I lost track of my stiches, dropped some, added others, the poor hat is misshappen, hardly worthy of anyone's head. Im tempted to pull it all apart, and start over.
Undo all my negative thoughts.
To be honest whats really bugging me right now, is I dont know what to do about lela. Hehe, I get secrete pleasure out of calling her that, being a mommy name :P But seriously lela's mother, aka mumsa, is very sick, and has been, on and off, for a good long while, and is currently in hospital with a high fever. Now anyone who reads lela's blog, hrm lets see if I can remember my html... Present Tense Imperfect, knows about her mother's health, but I get to see the family on a semi regular basis, I have seen mumsa spend all day sleeping, because she lacks the energy to get up off the couch.
Grr makes me grumpy. My adamantine apathy is crumbling under this onslaught. I seriously worry about how I will hold up as one of her bestest friends in the whole world, my words not hers, if the family collapses.
Okay I'll see yer fatalism lela, and raise you 50.
I have been making a warm soft fuzzy hat for mumsa, with my newfound crochetting skills, and today I made it to the end of my skein, (of course I need more yarn). Somebody said something beautiful once, maybe it was the Ba'ab, about creation being a sort of prayer. When I crochet, I try to think happy warm thoughts, you know to reinforce the innate warmth-giving power of said scarf or hat, but mostly I fail and end up wandering mentally all over, and I sometimes find myself falling into a bit of trance, just thinking no further than 'yarn-over, push through, yarn-over, pull through, yarn-over, pull through' and will 'wake up' hours later, with a cramp in my fingers and arm. Today I was a wreck. I couldnt think straight, thinking what will happen whens and what ifs, I lost track of my stiches, dropped some, added others, the poor hat is misshappen, hardly worthy of anyone's head. Im tempted to pull it all apart, and start over.
Undo all my negative thoughts.
Saturday, January 15, 2005
Oh my, Wil Weaton is sexxy
So I was listening to this radio interview with the ex-Mr. Crusher, which by the way is real weird to hear, cuse its through the puter and cuse hes really articulate. Hell, its strange to hear Wesley's voice, or maybe what would be his voice if he grew up.
Okay I know I never really liked Wesley, being more agog over Pidard, or warIv (Worf), hell ever Yar, well cuse he was this annoying genious kid, but I have no reason to hate the man now... I mean he was just a kid. And he was playing this kid character. I even feel sorta sorry for the bugger, I mean as he tells his story, one understands a bit what shit it is, being a child actor.
Now I have a friend who was all... dont beat down on Wil, cuse hes a cool guy, I know him, you know... but this was years ago, and now I see her point. The man is cool. And now hes a writer!
He says write everyday. Hah, if he had my killer job, Id like to see him write every day... but Ill see what I can do, Mr. Weaton.
Okay I know I never really liked Wesley, being more agog over Pidard, or warIv (Worf), hell ever Yar, well cuse he was this annoying genious kid, but I have no reason to hate the man now... I mean he was just a kid. And he was playing this kid character. I even feel sorta sorry for the bugger, I mean as he tells his story, one understands a bit what shit it is, being a child actor.
Now I have a friend who was all... dont beat down on Wil, cuse hes a cool guy, I know him, you know... but this was years ago, and now I see her point. The man is cool. And now hes a writer!
He says write everyday. Hah, if he had my killer job, Id like to see him write every day... but Ill see what I can do, Mr. Weaton.
Continuation of Rain Stories, but slightly colder now
Yes, I went off and wrote some shite which Im now gonna wack right here cuse I want some critism, yes be liberal, yes be harsh, I need the pokes. and yes its fanfic... of Buffy, gosh I look like a total dweeb, but there is no slash, and prolly will never be.
Lonewolf and Hyenaboy
Chapter One. Pallet on the Floor
Weeding is calm work. Playing little games of “one of these things is not like the other” singing strange half songs under his breath, he could do this all day. It is lucky that he was so unruffled about the work, because he does have to do this all day.
“Someone has been neglecting you, little potatoes.” He was almost done in this bed, easing weeds from around the tuberous rhizomes and tossing them in a pile to be composted later. Next were the tomatoes. Hopefully this year the petite tomatoes would be as delicious as they were last year. Danny spent the next few minutes daydreaming about little yellow cherry tomatoes, his mouth watering in anticipation.
When he stood in a stretch to loosen sore muscles from crouching all morning, he felt the air change, signaling a late spring shower, and thought about bringing in the laundry before finishing on the vegetables. If it didn’t rain too hard he could still weed while it drizzled.
Danny was satisfied with his life here in these half-wild woods, it was a wonderful change from the Hellmouth. Here, it was calm, not surprising, far as he was from any civilization really. Yes, there was lots of hard work, to keep the little Maine cabin cozy and snug against the weather, but each night he would sleep the untroubled sleep of the weary. There was very little to trouble him, except the age-old problems of rain and pests.
And the full moon.
It was not longer much of a problem, now that he was so isolated, but he made it a point of not becoming attached, the teachings he had learned in Tibet held him in good stead and he could control his changes. He had chosen this cabin for its isolation, in fact, a retreat from the world. Tthe woods behind his property were protected national forests, and this place was peaceful enough, so that he could go untroubled through his life. He had a beautiful place to meditate, he had long tracks of land in which he could safely run, and he had his work, the surplus of which could always be sold at the market, or bartered for thing he couldn’t make himself. He had enough. He was content.
He never asked himself anymore if he was happy. Happiness came at too high a price. Willow had shown him the danger in that and now, he no longer wanted close intimate human interaction. The contact he had with the outside world was strained and stilted enough when he made his weekly summer journeys into town for the market. In the winter his isolation became even more acute, when he could barely leave for months on end, snowed in, as he was wont to become.
While lost in thought he quickly bundled all the laundry inside before the first fat drops of rain started to fall, it was still damp, but he could hang it back up later, and it would still have time to catch the afternoon sun. And weeding in the rain is really no hardship, mud made the weeds easier to pull. It was while he was weeding in the rain that his life changed again, between one breath and the next.
When he thought about it later, Danny would wonder why he had not caught the stranger’s sent earlier, but the man was suddenly at the edge of his garden clearing when the rain started to fall harder and Danny was thinking about going inside to dry off. Maybe he would have a bite to eat. He looked up, startled a twig snapping, and looking at the man standing there, tall, dark and wary. Danny doubted the twig was an accident. It was Xander, a feral and strange Xander, not truely a stranger, but a man long removed from the boy he knew in Sunnydale
Danny motioned his guest to follow him to the cabin, for it seemed hardly appropriate to leave Xander standing out in the rain when he himself was about to be warm, dry and full of decent food. Xander followed after a moment, like a stray dog, leaving a fair distance between him and any possible threat. At the threshold of the door he paused again, recognizing the shorter man’s reticence as the test it was, before stepping silently into the cabin.
In a room barely large enough for the few furnishing and the two men, Danny bustled about doing the normal things one did when entering a cabin, after shucking his wet outer layers of clothing. He coaxed the banked coals in his fireplace back to full flame, stirred a covered pot, from which the welcome smells of stew wafted about the place, lighted a kerosene lamp, and pushed his still wet laundry all bundled in a wicker basket into a far corner.
All the comfortable necessary movements of home might have been acts of strained normalcy but in doing so Danny made his small home welcome to his visitor, who had standing resolutely silent just across the lintel during the whole operation.
Danny was saddened and surprised at the silence of his guest. Xander, it seemed had run some pretty difficult trails; he was silent and lean the way a half starved fox was lean. When he finally deigned to step into the light, Danny saw he had lost more than his jokesters personality, or some weight: he had lost an eye somewhere along the way. Danny had not noticed it before, because the taller man held his face in such a way that his empty eye-socket had been shadowed by his hat. Motioning again, not seeing a need for words, Danny sat his guest on the only chair, close to the fire, and cut a half loaf of bread, and a wedge of sharp cheese. While the werewolf’s back was turned Xander had pushed the chair up against the wall in a move, Danny noticed, which left the taller man guarded at his back.
He hadn’t heard from the gang in a long time, he truly hadn’t felt the need, but in some cases, he wondered if he had not done his once friends justice by his long silence.
Why had Xander come here? Well, perhaps he wouldn’t get an answer from this new quieter, more wary version of an old friend, but he could at least put some food in front of him.
Lonewolf and Hyenaboy
Chapter One. Pallet on the Floor
Weeding is calm work. Playing little games of “one of these things is not like the other” singing strange half songs under his breath, he could do this all day. It is lucky that he was so unruffled about the work, because he does have to do this all day.
“Someone has been neglecting you, little potatoes.” He was almost done in this bed, easing weeds from around the tuberous rhizomes and tossing them in a pile to be composted later. Next were the tomatoes. Hopefully this year the petite tomatoes would be as delicious as they were last year. Danny spent the next few minutes daydreaming about little yellow cherry tomatoes, his mouth watering in anticipation.
When he stood in a stretch to loosen sore muscles from crouching all morning, he felt the air change, signaling a late spring shower, and thought about bringing in the laundry before finishing on the vegetables. If it didn’t rain too hard he could still weed while it drizzled.
Danny was satisfied with his life here in these half-wild woods, it was a wonderful change from the Hellmouth. Here, it was calm, not surprising, far as he was from any civilization really. Yes, there was lots of hard work, to keep the little Maine cabin cozy and snug against the weather, but each night he would sleep the untroubled sleep of the weary. There was very little to trouble him, except the age-old problems of rain and pests.
And the full moon.
It was not longer much of a problem, now that he was so isolated, but he made it a point of not becoming attached, the teachings he had learned in Tibet held him in good stead and he could control his changes. He had chosen this cabin for its isolation, in fact, a retreat from the world. Tthe woods behind his property were protected national forests, and this place was peaceful enough, so that he could go untroubled through his life. He had a beautiful place to meditate, he had long tracks of land in which he could safely run, and he had his work, the surplus of which could always be sold at the market, or bartered for thing he couldn’t make himself. He had enough. He was content.
He never asked himself anymore if he was happy. Happiness came at too high a price. Willow had shown him the danger in that and now, he no longer wanted close intimate human interaction. The contact he had with the outside world was strained and stilted enough when he made his weekly summer journeys into town for the market. In the winter his isolation became even more acute, when he could barely leave for months on end, snowed in, as he was wont to become.
While lost in thought he quickly bundled all the laundry inside before the first fat drops of rain started to fall, it was still damp, but he could hang it back up later, and it would still have time to catch the afternoon sun. And weeding in the rain is really no hardship, mud made the weeds easier to pull. It was while he was weeding in the rain that his life changed again, between one breath and the next.
When he thought about it later, Danny would wonder why he had not caught the stranger’s sent earlier, but the man was suddenly at the edge of his garden clearing when the rain started to fall harder and Danny was thinking about going inside to dry off. Maybe he would have a bite to eat. He looked up, startled a twig snapping, and looking at the man standing there, tall, dark and wary. Danny doubted the twig was an accident. It was Xander, a feral and strange Xander, not truely a stranger, but a man long removed from the boy he knew in Sunnydale
Danny motioned his guest to follow him to the cabin, for it seemed hardly appropriate to leave Xander standing out in the rain when he himself was about to be warm, dry and full of decent food. Xander followed after a moment, like a stray dog, leaving a fair distance between him and any possible threat. At the threshold of the door he paused again, recognizing the shorter man’s reticence as the test it was, before stepping silently into the cabin.
In a room barely large enough for the few furnishing and the two men, Danny bustled about doing the normal things one did when entering a cabin, after shucking his wet outer layers of clothing. He coaxed the banked coals in his fireplace back to full flame, stirred a covered pot, from which the welcome smells of stew wafted about the place, lighted a kerosene lamp, and pushed his still wet laundry all bundled in a wicker basket into a far corner.
All the comfortable necessary movements of home might have been acts of strained normalcy but in doing so Danny made his small home welcome to his visitor, who had standing resolutely silent just across the lintel during the whole operation.
Danny was saddened and surprised at the silence of his guest. Xander, it seemed had run some pretty difficult trails; he was silent and lean the way a half starved fox was lean. When he finally deigned to step into the light, Danny saw he had lost more than his jokesters personality, or some weight: he had lost an eye somewhere along the way. Danny had not noticed it before, because the taller man held his face in such a way that his empty eye-socket had been shadowed by his hat. Motioning again, not seeing a need for words, Danny sat his guest on the only chair, close to the fire, and cut a half loaf of bread, and a wedge of sharp cheese. While the werewolf’s back was turned Xander had pushed the chair up against the wall in a move, Danny noticed, which left the taller man guarded at his back.
He hadn’t heard from the gang in a long time, he truly hadn’t felt the need, but in some cases, he wondered if he had not done his once friends justice by his long silence.
Why had Xander come here? Well, perhaps he wouldn’t get an answer from this new quieter, more wary version of an old friend, but he could at least put some food in front of him.
Monday, January 10, 2005
The saddest movie ever
So this weekend, my x and I, you remember the girl from my cow story, yes thats her, we went on a music buying binge this weekend. Well along the way, she bought a sweet little saz, and I bought the saddest movie ever. Now, I dont make that pronouncement lightly, it is sersiously the saddest movie, EVER.
198 mins of solid tearjerking sadness, and by the end I was sobbing, you know gut wrenching sobs of absolute dejection. God if I had been alone I would seriously never come out of my cave of solitude... Okay Im not Superman, but you get the idea. What movie is this?
Devdas. I suppose it could be said that this is the Gone with the Wind of bollywood, yeah, bollywood. As in Indian, as in big dance scenes, as in the most beautiful costumes, and the most beautiful people.
Im not biased at all.
And I want everyone to see it, so this weekend, yer all invited over to some movie watching at my place, on my ginormous tv. Just phone ahead :P
198 mins of solid tearjerking sadness, and by the end I was sobbing, you know gut wrenching sobs of absolute dejection. God if I had been alone I would seriously never come out of my cave of solitude... Okay Im not Superman, but you get the idea. What movie is this?
Devdas. I suppose it could be said that this is the Gone with the Wind of bollywood, yeah, bollywood. As in Indian, as in big dance scenes, as in the most beautiful costumes, and the most beautiful people.
Im not biased at all.
And I want everyone to see it, so this weekend, yer all invited over to some movie watching at my place, on my ginormous tv. Just phone ahead :P
Sunday, January 02, 2005
Rain stories
When ever it rains, as it did last night, (yeah I know, it is still the middle of winter IN Chigago, but what can you do?) I cant help but think about writing. Of course, I hardly ever get around to doing the actual writing itself, but I have my best thinks when it rains.
So what were my thoughts last night? Hrm, its not like I remember! I slept early, lulled by the sweet pittering persipitation, after having played all day like a giddy ten year old school girl who has snuck into her mother's makeup. Christ on a crutch, Im a twenty-something woman who has just discovered the joy of being feminine, you know, wearing makeup and flatering clothes.
My family is shocked.
But I digress, I am talking about the rain. I love rain. Sometimes I think I would love the Northwest, settle down in Vancouver, or something, but damn I love my beautiful rolling cornfields. No, central Illinois is NOT flat, thats what my unproductive years at University tought me, and yes, that is where I want to return. Me, the city girl. Id go commune with cows, and get rained on.
Gah, Im lying, I know what I thought about last night. I have been writing this one particual piece of fanfic for about two years, and have about 200 words, and when ever I look at it, I remember why I dont write for a living. You see its raining in the story, and all I can think about is what... damn I love you, blog... /me hugs her blog
I have some writing to do... I had a brainstorm.
So what were my thoughts last night? Hrm, its not like I remember! I slept early, lulled by the sweet pittering persipitation, after having played all day like a giddy ten year old school girl who has snuck into her mother's makeup. Christ on a crutch, Im a twenty-something woman who has just discovered the joy of being feminine, you know, wearing makeup and flatering clothes.
My family is shocked.
But I digress, I am talking about the rain. I love rain. Sometimes I think I would love the Northwest, settle down in Vancouver, or something, but damn I love my beautiful rolling cornfields. No, central Illinois is NOT flat, thats what my unproductive years at University tought me, and yes, that is where I want to return. Me, the city girl. Id go commune with cows, and get rained on.
Gah, Im lying, I know what I thought about last night. I have been writing this one particual piece of fanfic for about two years, and have about 200 words, and when ever I look at it, I remember why I dont write for a living. You see its raining in the story, and all I can think about is what... damn I love you, blog... /me hugs her blog
I have some writing to do... I had a brainstorm.
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