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?)

I apologize for the subject line. I just really needed to scream.

The week is finally 0V4R and I have a headache and my legs ache from sitting in the goddamn car pretty much all day, and I'm going to compound this by going to dinner with Joy. If she makes me pick (even though I picked last time), I'm going to pick someplace with a liquor license. And I have to get up early tomorrow to get the proverbial feet worked on, and I sort of really just want to work on t3h n0v3l. Except I haven't seen Joy in a while, and I need to schlep the produce into the house before it goes bad; it's been riding around in my car all day too. (Don't ask, unless you really want a dissertation on southern Indiana geography.)

Other plans for the weekend involve "seeing The Last Legion" and possibly "seeing The Last Legion and complaining about it here" if it turns out to ping the Bad-History-O-Meter. Also I want to finally finish the disappointment that has been The Dream Thief by Shana Abé. (I read The Smoke Thief last summer, and was also disappointed in it. See under "Really Cool Premise Ruined by Crummy Romance". However, my covenant with reading way the fuck too much requires that I finish it, or I am a moral failure. Plus, if I finish it, I can mock the ending.) And then I want to read a bunch of other stuff.

My point here is that, as of right this very instant, it is the freakin' weekend and I'm gonna go have me some fun. Back later.

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. ♥

This week is shaping up to be a steaming pile of unpleasantness.

I need a goddamn cigarette.

Like this Monday hasn't sucked enough, I am now getting telemarketing calls on my cell phone.

Yes, let's just ignore the federal Do Not Call list, which federal law requires you to check every 31 days. Also? My phone number went on there in December.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go cry in the arms of my sekrit boyfriend. F'rinstance.