The Dangerous Existence of Madame Lee

I worked in Lawn & Garden today, manning a cash register, which is likely what I would be doing if I transferred back there permanently. At least I get to be in close proximity to the greenhouse and see the sun and feel the breeze, though. More perversely, it has bred in me a desire to farm. Seriously, the Burpee catalogue has turned into Produce Pr0n in something like the past 18 hours. If I had a few acres, I would totally be growing a riotous orgy of produce. (And probably some flowers, but the garden that we had when I was growing up in Maryland is, for me, the standard by which all gardens are to be judged, and while the climate here isn't dissimilar, our yard here is shadier and some of the flowers wouldn't tolerate it very well. Inevitably, these are the flowers I'd most want. You know, stuff like roses and poppies. At least we have irises up in the backyard now!)

The lolmom has been talking about growing an herb garden on the windowsill for some time, and she has a book called Farming in a Flowerpot which she bought around the time she and my father were married (apparently in hopes of stretching a fewbucks on the grocery bill). Naturally, these two things were immediately taken to their logical conclusion and now we're all excited about growing honest-to-God FOODS in a very small space. (OMG YOU GUYS DID YOU KNOW YOU CAN GET SMALL CITRUS TREES? THAT PRODUCE EDIBLE FRUIT?? AND DWARF NECTARINE TREES???) Mom was, surprisingly, tolerant of my whining and crying for a lemon tree, but put her foot down on the nectarine-tree request. I may have to get one anyway, sneak it in, and lovingly tend it without telling her, if this proves a cost-effective solution. Also, I have not resigned myself to not!getting an orange tree, even though I recognize that my image of orange trees is shaped by seeing some sort of Grand Marnier or orange juice ad or something when I was a kid: glossy green foliage and gigantic orange globes.

I really miss having an apple tree; we had one in Maryland, which was great from the free-produce standpoint and less so from the lawn-cleanliness standpoint (our compost heap constantly smelled like cider because we'd chuck apples that had gone rotten into it, and we had to pick up fallen apples that we couldn't get to before my folks mowed the lawn).

At least we've learnt from mistakes made early in my parents' marriage (and a few I was around to witness and remember) and aren't planting corn, watermelon, or mint.

In less squeeful news, we have an unwelcome house guest, of the rodent variety. Mom found that someone had chewed through the raisin lid and quickly used her powers of observation and deduction to conclude that we had a mouse, as there were droppings everywhere and the damn thing got into everything. Why are movie-and-children's-lit mice cute and real mice are just a pain in the ass? More to the point, why is this dumbass mouse unaware that a cat lives here? Usually they're pretty quick to figure that out. Is it some sort of robo-mouse from the future? Also, why is Callice defective in re: fulfilling her evolutionary destiny, viz., hunting/killing/eating mice? Seriously, she's current on her shots, so it's not like the mouse can do a whole lot to her. Unless it actually is a robo-mouse from the future. I know from my highly scientific experiments that she actually is afraid of those.

Not much to report, otherwise. I never thought I'd really get all that into gardening, though I suppose producing vegetables follows naturally on my interest in cooking. (Side addendum: samanosukesgirl thinks I should not bahleet deliciouspastry when I'm done migrating fic, but that it should enjoy a second act as a food journal or something. Y/N?)

Some belated shout-outs: Yo, dethorats! Just a note to say that the package came a few days ago, and was opened with many noises of delight. :D I look forward to Bomba the Jungle Boy, in a hip, postmodern misappropriation-of-The-Boys'-Own-Paper sort of way, as you have your finger eerily on the pulse of my literary tastes.

Also, while I'm going "yo" at people, yo to beldar and the_dark_snack, both of whom I met once, whose card came a day or two ago. The Penguin Fairy of Joy is welcome in my home any time, and can no doubt kick the Bluebird of Happiness' ass. (As we're fond of saying at my house, "But what this scene REALLY needs…is a PENGUIN.")

I finally got a new cellphone. I'm doing the pay-as-you-go thing, because right now the last thing I need is another bill to worry about. Anyway, should there be intermittent disruptions in twittering, that's why. (Incidentally, if you're on Twitter, my username is, unsurprisingly, xifeng. If you want me to follow you thereon in a creepy, stalkerish manner and I'm not already doing so, do let me know.) For whatever reason, I'm not getting tweets from some of you; no doubt Twitter is malfunctioning or something.

Last night, ran around to libraries (didn't go to Bloomington as originally planned, but I'm off Saturday so I might do it then, weather permitting). Got home at 8:30 and was surprised to find that the lolmom was not there; on examining voicemail, complete with several panicky messages, the following saga unfolded.

Lolmom: o hai iz me. i r @ w0rk. car iz ded. i haz it towed. plz come pix me up DDDD:
l33: *is at the library; comes home*
Lolmom: iz me again. plz dnot maek me spend nite @ w0rk DDDD:
l33: OFUX. DDDD: *dials lolmom at work*
Lolmom: o hai. i cans come home nau? :D
l33: OH GOD. I'M SORRY. I DIDN'T TAKE THE PHONE WITH ME.
Lolmom: iz ok. plz u pix me up nau? kthx. :DDDD

And so I undertook the Voyage To The Center Of Nowhere in order to pick her up.

(Random fun fact: The lolmom has a degree in English and doesn't actually talk like this, but sometimes our conversations verge so much on the WTF that I feel compelled to represent her in Netspeak. I mentioned that she's sort of like my blog mascot-cute, lovable, occasionally bumbling-and she asked if she had a cute cartoon avatar. I said no, I usually use :D and D: to represent her as necessary.)

We're not sure what's wrong with the car. Mom said it wouldn't start at all, and when she called someone to come jump it for her, he was unable to do so (either with the battery pack or with jumper cables); the battery's only a year old and shouldn't need to be replaced for some time to come. Oddly, she had lights and radio, which isn't consistent with a battery issue. She's had intermittent problems with getting the car to heat (the heating system has extracted concessions from her but shows no signs of actually capitulating). We're really hoping it can be fixed easily, because we're in no position to buy another car.

Tomorrow is 2009! It's a SHINY NEW YEAR which I haven't managed to dork up yet. (Wait.)

Kiss my ass, 2008.

So this morning, when I was going to work, I pulled the door shut behind me, and the doorknob promptly came off in my hand. I attempted to screw it back on, but had no luck, and eventually put it back on and shut the storm door before I went to work.

(Any day during the course of which I have to go to Terre Haute automatically sucks. It's the land-title equivalent of "go to jail go directly to jail do not pass Go do not collect $200".)

I called m0mmy at work, and she said that since the deadbolt itself was untouched, I should be able to get back in without much trouble. By the time I came home, I was in a rotten mood (not to mention tired), and I just wanted to get in without having to climb in through a window or utterly destroy the door. I unlocked the deadbolt, which went fine, and tried to turn the doorknob a little; it wouldn't turn, but fell off again.

Lee: Fuck.

At this point, I could see the rod mechanism inside the doorknob, and thought perhaps I could turn it and open the door that way, so I tried to turn it but wound up poking it, and then heard a CLUNK! as the doorknob inside the house promptly fell off too.

Lee: Fuck.

The Podunk Princess was out in her yard and staring at me, but after all, I was holding scrap metal I could have thrown at her. Now I was in a bind: How was I to get in without a.) going in through the den window, which was closed or b.) going out to the garage, getting the axe, and hacking the holy living fuck out of the door?

The answer is obvious, and came to me like a bright ray of fuckwitted sunshine: I'd have to kick it in. Having never really had to kick down a door, I don't know how to do it properly, and probably didn't apply as much force as necessary. On the first kick, nothing happened, and continued to happen even when I tried to push it in to see if I'd loosened its resistance any.

Lee: ¡VIVA LA REVOLUCIÓN!

The door opened the second time I hauled off and kicked it harder; Mom and I were able to put the doorknob back on, thankfully, though we're probably ultimately going to have the front door fixed as well so that it also opens. I am sure the locksmith will be very interested to know why there are scuff marks on the door.

I've (sort of) survived a tornado and a jailbreak, and now I've (sort of) kicked down a door. I wonder what the next action heroine lesson is, and if I'll be required to fight terrorists or chase escaped monkeys or anything.

THE DRYER. IS. BROKEN.

After I finished ranting last night, I went to go watch me some Trigun, after which I threw my wet laundry into the dryer. I pushed the button, distinctly heard it start tumbling, and went upstairs to crash. Assuming, like a fool, that it would actually dry my clothes, I went downstairs before work to get some clean underwear.

The underwear was slightly damp; I was surprised, since I hadn't done a particularly large load, but not really upset. Imagine, then, my equanimity quickly fading into BLINDING RAGE when I reached further into the dryer and touched THREE PAIRS OF SOPPING WET JEANS. I don't mean "slightly damp", which again, I can live with. I mean "wtf I thought I fucking dried these" wet.

I checked to make sure I hadn't put the dryer on the wrong setting, and to make sure I'd shut the door all the way (we have a front-load dryer); all was as it should be. Figuring I'd fucked up, and that I would let my clothes tumble while I was at work, I pressed the start button, expecting to hear the familiar sound of clothes happily tumbling their way to aridity.

Nothing. Just a click and a faint buzzing noise. I frantically pushed it again and again, displaying that peculiarly human fuckwittery which thinks perhaps the dryer just doesn't understand. Still nothing.

Pestering teh m0mmy at work provided me with the helpful information that the dryer had probably been living on borrowed time (we got it at the beginning of our stint in Maryland, which was in 1991), followed by angst over the repair vs. replace quandary. I said that Best Buy had raised my credit limit, so she could pick out a new dryer, which brought on OMG ONOS ANGST D: and suchlike. Mom exhibits difficulty grasping the concept of X-chan's and my being grown and able to afford (fairly) expensive shit.

Also, I am really pissed with Wal-Mart for classing sunscreen as a "seasonal" item and thus taking it off the shelves. It may well be for most people, but I am not most people. None of my ancestors came from climes where the natives are renowned for their robustly tanned skin. I would no more leave the house without SPF 35, which is the minimum I feel safe wearing, than I would without my pants. Perhaps in the winter I would blow it off a little, but summer isn't over yet. Rawr. LEE SMASH!

Other than that, today really didn't suck. I went to the Peach after work, and I'm going foraging for more YA Poo tomorrow to celebrate Hump Day, and I've finally arranged to have someone who has any idea what the hell s/he's doing do something about my dreadful toenails, and then I get to wrangle Callice into the kitty taxi later this week so that HER dreadful toenails can be taken care of. (She's started to click when she walks on the hardwood or tiles, which is how I can tell; I tried doing it at home with Mom to help hold her down, but she struggles and cries and I don't want her to see me coming and think OH NOES!. Though she probably thinks, "Here comes Mommy to tell me to stop doing whatever I'm doing and clap loudly at me if I keep at it.")

Promise will get to e-mail and comments and entries and such, but am presently going to go crash. ♥

I have the beginnings of a headache for the third night in a row.

The cat has been peeing on things again, so I lost my temper, sprayed the wing chair down with cat repellent, picked her up, brought her to the chair, and waved her in its general direction, yelling, "NO." I figured it was the strongest thing I could do that wouldn't hurt her, but that she wouldn't like. Of course, now she's curled up at my feet purring, so who knows how much of that she actually absorbed.

If I ever get an order from KTC that does not come through LLS, I am going to send it back unworked and write on it, in big angry letters, By no means will I retrieve these documents. They appeared on the prior title evidence, and no competent title company would throw them away...or need to see them again. Either learn to keep decent records, or refrain from wasting my time with this nonsense. NO FURTHER ORDERS FROM YOU WILL BE ACCEPTED.

Persons waiting for t3h n0v3l will have to wait until the end of September, because all I've got right now is horrid pabulum that I can't force myself to make you read. Dammit.

Persons who would like to wait for t3h n0v3l, but have not yet indicated any interest in so doing, can comment here.

Randomly, have realized that August is over to all intents and purposes and that it has been three years since my last cigarette.

Am very, very excited about this weekend, as it is three whole days for a l33 to sit on its ass and read and catch up with things and otherwise be unproductive :D