The Dog House

New Journal

Thu, 14 Dec 2006 19:54:44 GMT

New Journal! New Attitude?

Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you know lies. I don’t want to get too deep into it, but I was accused (privately) of being habitually negative and just a tich whiney. In reviewing the entries here, I had to concede that it was true, and that’s not the impression I want folks getting of me. It was also time to upgrade to the new SCC styles and go friends only so I figured what the heck.

The link is: http://tobias-cur.livejournal.com/

The journal is set for friends only, most of you should already be friended, but if I missed anyone drop me a line and I’d be happy to add you. At the new journal, I will attempt to keep a more even keel on my posts including some political links and fun tidbits. There will still be some editorials but I’m going to try – as in my real life – to strike a better balance between the positive and the negative.

Name Origin: Tobias is a very old (some might say ancient) family name. Cur as you know is an old English word for dog which could be negative, but I think of it this way, “if you kick the dog, he’s going to bite.”

What animals are these?

Fri, 17 Nov 2006 21:57:00 GMT

For the past day and a half there has been a pile of someone’s stuff on the easement in front of our apartment complex. Now, I’m not talking about a few boxes of clothes or even books, I’m talking about a U-haul truck sized load of stuff. Computer monitors, a bicycle, books, records, small furnishings, lamps, and a mountain of clothes. There are several operating theories for this; first is the psychotic-ex theory; followed quickly by the eviction theory. While I no longer doubt that there are places where the landlord will without remorse toss your shit out on the lawn if you don’t pay your rent, our apartment complex is the type to FINE it’s residents for littering, or storing more than patio furniture and a grill on their balcony, so I highly doubt they were the responsible for making any kind of a mess. Pack your stuff up in a truck and take it off to good will, maybe, but throw it out on the lawn definitely not. This leaves me with the idea that someone left in a hell of a hurry - and couldn’t get all their stuff into the van - or someone’s ex put their stuff out on the curb. While I find the ‘left in a hurry’ theory strangely comforting – at least the asshole responsible is gone – I find the psychotic-ex theory the most probable, and disturbing.

I don’t care what happened, how does anyone do that to another person? How does a human being, take another human beings belongings and toss them out on the lawn to be rained on and pillaged? Or, should I ask, how does a human being do that, and feel rightly justified. In short, how do they do it and not immediately check themselves into a mental health facility? I’m sorry but if you’re sneaking your ex-lover’s, or ex-roommate’s, or soon to be ex-spouse’s belongings out onto the lawn in the wee small hours of the morning, you have to know there is something wrong with you!

Beyond the outrage and disgust I feel for the person who littered our property, how does anyone, seeing this occur, not report the person? How do groups of people drive by, stop their cars, get out and scavenge from the mess. Yes, you read that right, there were several people out there picking through the stuff. What the fuck? Are we vultures now?

The strangest reaction I’ve had to this incident is not just anger at someone I’ve never met, and never want to, but sadness and fear. I was seriously worried I would get accidentally shot or otherwise attacked when the ousted ex came back to collect their things. (Because, statistics prove, where there is one psycho-ex there is usually two.) This fear is all the more unreal because this is a ‘nice’ neighborhood, or at least used to be.

When I got home today, I saw the maintenance crew from the complex beginning to clean up. Being the kind of person who offers a helping hand before he’s thought about it, I offered to help. I was told in these exact words that, “they could not allow me to help with the clean up for legal and safety reasons.” Then I was thanked for offering, and told that most of the people who have bothered to stop only wanted to know what happened, or if they could look through the stuff before they took it away.

So, today I feel like the world is a little less nice to live in, and I am seriously beginning to worry about what kind of animals we (as a society) are allowing ourselves to become.

Hard Drive Hell.

Fri, 10 Nov 2006 21:18:38 GMT

Well, I did it! I resurrected my poor computer from the depths of out-of-dated-ness; I got and installed a new hard drive. The process did not go with out hindrance, in fact, it did not go well at all.

First of all, I was cocky, I mean, teenagers build their own systems all the time right? I can handle installing a new hard drive. HEH! I started by backing up all my documents to an external hard drive, because I was cocky not stupid, then I cracked open the box, the hard drive box not the computer. Inside I found clear instructions and a CD to help me through the process of first installing my new hard drive, getting the BIOS to recognize it as a hard drive, and then swapping it out as the master or main hard drive for my computer. I followed the instructions explicitly, all went well, including the hour or so when the installation software copied the contents of my old hard drive to the new one, then I swapped the master and slave switches – and they say computer guys aren’t kinky – put the hard drives in their appropriate bays, replaced the cover and rebooted the machine.

Then there was nothing; definitively nothing. My bios could not see the new hard drive, nor could it see the old hard drive.

“Uncle” I said, this I might add was now four am on a Saturday with my parents due to arrive Sunday morning. So I had a good two days to ponder my predicament, and pray for blue screen of death because at least I know what to do from there. Then I spent another full day diddling with switches and hard drives, the BIOS and drivers, before I finally decided to do exactly as I would have done if I had never read the freakin’ directions in the first place. I turned off the computer, opened the case, unhooked both hard drives, then booted the computer from the driver CD – which immediately loaded a primer to the BIOS then told me to turn the computer off and hook up the Seagate (new) hard drive. I did so, and poof I had a hard drive again.

*bangs head on desk really, really hard*

Another full day of loading software – and updating it – and I have a working computer that is actually faster than it had been. I discovered in the process that my old drive was 5400rpm and the new one is 7200rpm numbers I never even considered until a nice man (my partner) asked me how fast my old hard drive was, and I had to go hunting for the Dell invoice from four years ago.

So, I have a 120gig hard drive now, a sreamin’ fast (comparatively) 120Seagate Barracuda with 8MBCache, and I’m just a little bit pleased with myself for not taking a sledgehammer to the whole works.

Traveling...

Mon, 02 Oct 2006 18:23:29 GMT

So…today I’m a nervous wreck because I’m getting on a train to have a 9 day adventure. Why am I a wreck? I have no freakin’ idea. BUT I am, and I hoped writing about it would help pass the time before I board the train.

I’m traveling to Savannah, GA by train, and then driving to a resort near Buford, SC where the event I’m working is going to take place. I barely know what I’ll be walking into but then that isn’t exactly a new situation. Luckily I know the guy I’m going to assist very well, and he’s given me a heads up, but I still haven’t seen the book, and until I see the book I can’t really get an event into my head.

Meanwhile, I’ll be on the train for the better part of a day and half to two days, with delays, really it’s no worse than driving, and while I’m assured that flying is safe, it was vastly more expensive to fly. All this means is I should have a ton of time to write, provided I’m not so bloody distracted I can’t think.

To that end, I think I’ll be taking another Ativan before I board the train…it will either enable me to think, or knock me out…and I’m not sure I’m real particular which it does.

Wish me luck!

Fri, 29 Sep 2006 02:53:23 GMT

I’m on a kitten break. We picked up Shazah this afternoon. Here’s a pic:

Isn't she cute?

We're Expecting...

Mon, 25 Sep 2006 15:41:36 GMT

I LOVE the new coffee pot that my Mommy bought for me during their most recent visit. It has a thermal carafe, no fancy dials or clocks, and it makes coffee in eight minutes, warms the carafe and then turns itself off! The stainless decanter keeps the coffee steamy and hot for six hours. It’s just…a beautiful thing. It’s also the same brand, and makes a very similar tasting cup of coffee to the beloved BRAUN that stopped working earlier this year. For folks that like a strong cup of ‘not bitter’ coffee I highly recommend the cone style filter of the BRAUN coffee maker.

In other even more exciting news…Tarc and I are…expecting. (insert cheesy grin) We went and adopted a kitten yesterday. Some of the paper work is still pending, but basically the Humane Society called today and said she’s ours. Her name is “Shazah,” though some disturbed soul wrote “Linny” on her name tag at the PetSmart adoption center.

Linny…**twitch** It’s just so…wrong.

Shazah is a Siamese/Tabby mix, mostly she looks like a Grey-point Siamese. She is almost pure white with grey ears and tail, and the most intense blue eyes; thus, the exotic name. We pick her up on Thursday, but today I need to shop around for some kitten supplies etc and go ask the folks at Banfield about health insurance for her, which, I think is $11.95 a month and covers all her shots, check ups, and common blood work.

We weren’t planning on getting another kitten after our old cat left us, but, we both couldn’t resist, and I have no other way to put this than “she’s our cat” and be both knew it when we saw her. Shazah can’t take over the memory of Shadow, but she will help to fill the void she left behind. And; Alex will have someone to mother again, which will make our eldest cat happy and keep her and Chelsea active.

I’m so excited I could pee.

Sunday Update

Sun, 17 Sep 2006 16:33:24 GMT

Over the past couple weeks I have somewhat slipped from my Domestic God perch. This is an attempt to reclaim the throne.

Yesterday (and Friday too) I spent cleaning. The kitchen was…well if a health inspector had been round, it would have been condemned. With the loss of our smallest kitty, and all the painting/redecorating I’ve been doing I just couldn’t be buggered and it showed. The dishes are all tucked away in their cupboards and I have a work surface and floor that Mr. Clean could be proud of. I also baked and made dinner in the process and as all of you know, that meant more dishes, but I obsess about dishes I washed, when I should be talking about the dishes I made.

I made some tasty Shepard’s Pie. I realize to those of your without an English heritage, ground meat, stewed with carrots, celery, onions, and peas, covered in mashed potatoes and then baked in the oven doesn’t sound like ambrosia, but it’s actually a fairly labor intensive dish, and to me it’s a memory of my childhood. I can’t wait to re-heat it for lunch, because like most stewed or casserole dishes it’s much better the second day. I made a huge pan of it, so we’ll probably be enjoying that for a couple days to come.

For desert I made Brownies…that didn’t turn out so hot. I’m struggling to find a Brownie recipe and the one that worked last time, just didn’t bake right this time. So if any of you have an excellent recipe I’d be glad to give it a try.

I also made Low-Fat Apple Muffins that are delicious, if I do say so myself. They have this incredible walnut and brown sugar crumble on top that makes you forget about the lack of butter and the whole-wheat pastry-four inside. They are very moist and have real apple in them. The apple chunks very nicely migrated to the center of the muffin so they’re like a sweet surprise in the middle. Next up, I’m going to try something similar with pumpkin. Being that it’s fall and we live in Michigan, Apples, Pumpkins, Gourds, Zucchini, and Sweet Potatoes are damn near falling out of the sky, well, they’re cheap and abundant at any rate.

I have to mention, it IS Domestic GOD, thank-you-very-much. I haven’t surrendered my penis to anyone. I am a man who likes sewing, crochet, cooking, cleaning, fabric, flowers, and interior design. I have the same (gorilla grunting) reaction to paint swatches that some men have for power tools, (though I like those too) and my admiration of fine linens, furniture, or a well made bed, matches that of some men’s lust for fast shiny cars. While I even joke at times that it’s not ‘traditionally male’ it doesn’t make me any less of a man, and I’m growing tired of the implication that it does.

Some like making pastry, some like making cement, they’re both men. The same way my sister would rather sling ceiling joists around, or build a house, than cook dinner, I’d rather build a soufflé, and sew a shirt. Remarkably; we’re both skilled in all of those things, I can sling joists around, and I can make a decent soufflé, I don’t know if that makes me less male, or just well rounded. I guess what bugs me most is when some folks act as though because of the activities I do, I’m not masculine, when I know (from experience) that I can do all those typically male things – with the exclusion of working on cars – skillfully, and I even like doing them, BUT I’d rather be inside baking than laying cement any day.

Death of a Feline Friend.

Mon, 11 Sep 2006 14:10:53 GMT

WARNING: Sad news about a pet, if this disturbs you, flip to the next entry on your friends page.

To begin with, I haven’t slept very much this weekend at all. Saturday night I was basically awake until dawn and then back up at 11am, and last night it was 3am to 7:30am. I feel as if there are literally a set of matched luggage under my eyes and ‘oh look, there is.’ There is unfortunately reason for my madness, which I’ll unfold after this thing here >>>>

The most immediate cause of my insomnia is that one of our cats died. This wasn’t a surprise, she had been ill for sometime and we kept hoping for a recovery. In the grand tradition of stubbornness (that she perfected to art form no human could ever achieve) she waited until the weekend – when no vet would or could see her – before taking a turn for the worst and by late Sunday evening she was gone. She loved her people, and she had both of us with her at the end. I will miss her terribly. I can’t say that I’m surprised or shocked at how saddened I am. There is the very butch (man) part of me that wants to denounce it, but after fifteen years, she was a member of our family, and one of our three (four-legged) children.

After the sudden death of our first cat ‘Hamlet’ from FUS, we had gotten Alex but neglected to tell my partners family that we had gotten a new kitten. A few days later, we received a phone call telling us that Tarc’s sister had found us a small black kitten, and to come and get her from his parents house. I had to be out of state for work, and Tarc made the trip alone. Who he met when he arrived was a small black ball of fur, more raw determination than cat, with bright gold eyes. The runt of her litter, she fit easily into one hand, but never hesitated to show any other kitten who was boss. She knew no fear, and adapted immediately to new surroundings.

We called her Shadow, (to re-phrase that her name was Shadow - we just figured it out) and her behavior throughout life matched her name. She was never much for being held or picked up, but she was happiest remaining just a few feet away with in reach for a quick pet. She liked to sleep in dark corners in the day time, and moved silently and gently always. Shadow never weighed more than 5 or 6 lbs, she was the smallest feline I’ve ever known, and also the most stubborn. If she wanted something, there was no deterring her; this was possibly in part because she wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, and when she got something into her head it was the only thought it could hold and therefore the only thing in the world to pursue.

She spent most of her time staring at blank walls, missing the top of cabinets she wasn’t meant to be on, and sleeping on the dinning room table (see places she wasn’t supposed to go.) She also had a penchant for sleeping in high places that, quite regularly, she would roll off of in her sleep. Whenever this happened, she simply shook it off, and trotted away as if she’d meant to do that. I remember most vividly, her first trip to the vets office in which, while waiting in the waiting area, she saw two huge Newfoundlander’s. (Big fluffy dogs with black fur) She walked right up to them as if they might become her new best friends. Thank god at the time she was hardly more than a toothpick to these giant sized dogs, or at least that seemed to be the look they gave her, but that didn’t stop her from being obsessed with getting to them, or trying to flop down beside them like they were her match. No Black object regardless of size was ever safe from being slept on, she liked to blend in and pretend to disappear. There was something completely refreshing about her ‘every days a new day’ approach to life. Her gentle and accepting behavior to change, and the simplicity of her needs.

Unfortunately, she had a genetic predisposition towards abscesses in her scent glands. Both of her anal glands required surgery during her life, and it was the scent glands in her muzzle that became infected this time. I feel slightly comforted by the fact that she was at home when she died, with us, and frankly given her stubborn streak I don’t think she would have had it any other way.

I will miss her annoying the hell out of me most, as strange as that may sound. As I’ve mentioned before when she got an idea into her head there was little to nothing that would deter her from that objective. She was the first to let us know when she could see the bottom of the food bowl, or when she wanted water. She had an obsession for milk, which, she could not digest well and though some years have passed since she got ‘that white stuff’ out of the fridge, it didn’t stop her from dancing between my feet every morning, or asking for it by name. “Miiiiiiiiilk.” I think it was her only word.

So all in all, though I’ve very sad, and I’ll miss her terribly. She had a good life, and a long one - outliving the Vet’s prognosis by about seven years from her first anal gland infection. She was very well loved and cared for, and for a barn cat with out any fear at all I’d say that’s pretty darned good.

I was going to report on my health and the back problems I’ve been having, but it seems fairly inconsequential now. I pulled a hamstring approximately two weeks ago, which I’m told by the Doctor was setting my pelvic bone (and my spine) out of whack, and putting pressure on my hip joint. I’ve had my hip reset twice and a shot of cortisone, I’ve also been on some pretty heavy duty pain medicine and muscle relaxants. Thus far I am improving, SLOWLY, but then I’m thirty-seven and can’t expect to heal like I did ten years ago. Also after the abuse I put my body through, dancing and marching in Drum Corps when I was young, I have to expect that I’ve done the kind of damage that catches up to you. Either way, I’m on the mend.

RANTING!

Wed, 06 Sep 2006 03:56:54 GMT

There are times when I swear I’m ready to put a sledge hammer through the television screen, these are usually when Big Brother is on, however I have found a new show to hate. Survivor The producers, or whoever was responsible for their recent decision to divide the Tribes by race, should be hung up by their privates and left to die in a public square! Now that’s a show I’d watch! I cannot believe how utterly and disgustingly low they have sunk, and for what? Ratings. Yes, lets set racial stereotypes and segregation back a few hundred years just to make a little more money.

Here’s a reality show twist I could get behind, select twelve monkeys to do your fucking job and throw you in their cages where you belong…you useless excuse for human beings! Or better yet, give twelve contestants a cushy chair and air conditioned office while you get off your useless, over fed, inflated ego (ass), and actually do something to earn those millions! How ‘bout we have you sign an iron clad waver, and send you off into the jungle, and allow past contestants to decide your fate. Now that would be interesting! And hey, lets make your loved one’s call in to keep you alive, and the one who doesn’t get enough calls, gets voted OFF THE PLANET FOREVER! That would be fun! Good for the kids! Family entertainment at it’s finest!

CBS Evening News, just joined the line up of people who deserve to go up against the wall when the revolution comes, with this sound bite: “Steve Irwin, see his last tragic moments of video.” OH MY GOD! A man died, do we have to fucking capitalize on the tragedy so blatantly? Really, it makes me sick to my stomach! I don’t care if he was famous, his kids didn’t sign away their right to morn in private! Nor did his wife! So I guess I just scratched them off the list of stations to watch EVER AGAIN!

I believe the line goes: “Have you no decency, Sir. At long last, have you no sense of decency?”

Have we the viewers lost all sense of what is right and wrong and are we going to continue to have this disgusting display of avarice and greed shoved down our throats? OR are we going to demand that television be responsible for it’s actions! What happened to that? Where the big three stations were actually concerned about content and responsibility to the public and the good of all?

Now all they seem to care about is if a twelve year old sees a nipple or if two faggots “god forbid” kiss each other…but hey disgusting shows of avarice, greed, lying, stealing, capitalizing on tragedy…it’s all good!

**HEAD**

**DESK**

**REPEAT**

Twenty-One Days

Tue, 22 Aug 2006 13:12:38 GMT

I don’t like to Polly Anna things – this not smoking thing is tough. Last night was our last group session and I received a Certificate of Achievement “In recognition of outstanding perseverance and patience in working toward a smoke-free life.”

I am waiting still for the day when I just ‘don’t think about it’ like some of the folks in group *claimed* they were experiencing. Yes, I put claimed in those funky little pay attention to me things because I’m not sure I entirely believe them. To be honest, there are times I want one, I want one real bad, but I don’t and it passes. It’s been twenty-one days since I smoked, which believe me is an achievement but I still feel as though I’m taking it one day at a time, and sometimes it’s a matter of verbalizing that A: I’m having a craving and B: I’m not going to do that right now. Then I go do something else.

Is my writing still suffering? A bit, when I have focus, it’s limited, but then again, it was always limited by the need to stop and go out for a cigarette so it’s hard for me to put any real perspective on that, other than to acknowledge that I haven’t been as dedicated to the RPG as I had been in the past. AND then again, maybe that’s a good thing too.

I have been working on a testimonial piece:

I should pre-warn you that this needs another revision:

I smoked my first cigarette behind the garage of a neighborhood friend’s house at age twelve. I don’t even remember the name of the person who’s father we’d swiped that cigarette from, but I do remember the cigarette. The blue smoke curing around us, the smell of it, the coughing, the way it burned the back of my throat, the excitement of being naughty. Smoking became a salacious thing in my life…a bad boy activity for an otherwise non-descript pudgy youth. I identified myself as a smoker; that one activity – smoking - defined who my friends were, where I went, how I spent my time, even what I ended up doing as a career. And it should be said that after twenty five years of smoking, I was really, really good at it.

Growing up, both my parents smoked, as did most of their friends. In fact, many of the influential people in my life smoked, even my teachers. In time, they all quit, but I remained a diehard smoker. Fifteen years after both my parents quit, I continued to smoke, though of course not in front of them. My aunts, my cousins, my brother and sister, all quit. I had read all cancer and heart decease and emphysema and the myriad of other health problems that could be directly linked to smoking; but I was going to smoke, and live forever.

In the years that I smoked, I tried every smoking cessation product on the market, from anti-depressants, to patches, gum, the lozenge, and acupuncture, even a few herbal remedies from the local health food store. All of those attempts failed, and I began to feel powerless and weak. I *was* powerless and weak; I had given my power away to a small cylindrical object roughly the length of my index finger. With each cigarette I smoked, I told myself my addiction was stronger than I was. It became rare that I actually enjoyed the cigarettes I smoked, and more often than not, I found my activities and my life driven by them. I would plan errands according to where and when I could smoke; I would have two cigarettes before entering the movie theater; I would light up every time I got in or out of the car regardless of how far I had traveled, or how far I would be going. On the occasions I was forced to travel a long distance without a cigarette, by plane or bus or train, I looked on the trip with dread instead of anticipation. I wasted the hours I could have been enjoying the view, reading, or simply contemplating my own navel, working myself into such a state that I could barely stand the feeling of my own skin. When the trip was over, I smoked twice as much, as if drawing nourishment from the cigarettes. I smoked because I was happy, I smoked because I was sad, I smoked because I was mad, I smoked to relax, I smoked because I was worried about how much I smoked! In time, I grew to realize that this *thing* - this habit - was taking over my days and nights. These cigarettes, which I claimed to enjoy, were creating discord. My smoking, a right I would have fought tooth and nail to protect, was constricting not only my blood vessels, but my life. I told myself, “I should quit,” repeatedly. With each pack of cigarettes I purchased, I promised myself, this would be my last, and every time I broke that promise. Both my parents have had, and survived, serious cancers, but even that was not enough evidence to make me change my behavior. I was ashamed of my smoking, I felt impotent and out of control.

If you are reading this as someone who has never smoked, perhaps your thinking I am being over dramatic, or questioning my reasoning ability or intelligence. Let me assure you I have an above average IQ (139 Avg.) and last time I checked I was a sane person. I have a college degree, and spend the majority of my time engaged in intellectual pursuits such as writing, reading, music, and theater. I exercise on a fairly regular basis, and eat a decent diet. I do not drink to excess, nor take any non-prescribed drugs. I have a stable home life, and people who love and support me. I write all this, to give you - the reader - an accurate picture of my addiction to cigarettes, and how ‘not-easy’ they are to give up.

I had my last cigarette on July 31st, 2006, and I really can’t remember it distinctly from any other cigarette I had in the almost twenty five years that I smoked. I’m certain it was outdoors, away from a public building, and out of sight of small children. I didn’t particularly enjoy it, nor did it feel all that special, I was more occupied with the knowledge of what I was about to do, which was put it out, and not look back. I imagine you asking yourself what is different this time? What gives me the confidence to say this time it’s for good. The answer is quite simple really; this time I have a plan!

I joined a Smoking Cessation group through the Tobacco Consultation Service. I attended meetings in which I learned about not just smoking in general, but my own smoking habit. I learned what smoking was doing to me, and gained an accurate perspective of the process of quitting. I learned what triggered me to smoke, and I learned methods with which to make a different choice. Most of all, I learned that I was not alone, both in my desire to quit and my enjoyment of smoking. I learned that I was not the only one who struggled and who had failed in the past. I was dubious about the whole group atmosphere, but my fears and doubts were put aside at the first meeting.

The plain and simple truth is, for many smokers, it’s not enough to want to quit. It is equally true that this is an drug-addiction, not just a nasty unhealthy habit. You have to first understand what your up against; you need a realistic picture of what is really going on, what you can expect, and what will be required of you to succeed. The literature I received in ‘group,’ the same literature I used to regard as health-nut propaganda, was backed-up, explained and broken down; in short, we did the math together. We talked about our own experiences of smoking, and our own experiences as we went through the process of preparing to quit, and we talked about what we were going through when we did quit. Not disconnected half-truths or something extracted from a book, but the real life nuts and bolts of what the diverse group was actually going through as we quit smoking together. The empowerment of verbalizing my fears, and frustrations, and to see a diversity of people nodding along in silent empathy was something I find difficult to describe. If anything, it was key – along with my own effort and desire – to my success thus far.

Each day that I choose not to smoke, prepares me for the next. It is impossible to predict the future; therefore there is no need to think of quitting smoking forever. (What a daunting thought!) It is a choice to be made today, and tomorrow, and the day after that, the year after that, five years, a decade. The decision not to smoke occurs in the present, not the past, or the future., but in the moment, in saying to yourself “Today I will not smoke.”

Chances are if your reading this, you have a similar story, or a similar smoking history. Perhaps most importantly, chances are if you are reading this, you have a vested interest in quitting smoking – even if your not the one who will be quitting, but a spouse or loved one of someone who smokes. You have already taken your first step to find out more, you want to quit.

Don’t stop here, contact the Tobacco Consultation Service, talk with your doctor, ask a friend, join a group! Take the next step, and the one after that, find your own path to free yourself from smoking. Don’t hesitate, because you can do this!

You CAN do this.

So, that’s where I’m at.

Tue, 15 Aug 2006 17:57:00 GMT

I was beginning to think it was just me, but it looks as thought Invisionfree is down or at least our server Z14 is down. I wonder if it needs cheering up, or antidepressants? What would be the electronic equivalent of an antidepressant? Or maybe they’ll just lobotomize the sucker and reboot. Ar ar ar ar ar ar ar...

“God I’m bored.” *head desk*

Not Smoking RPG

Mon, 14 Aug 2006 16:58:59 GMT

Group meets tonight for more relapse prevention information. The group is shrinking as people fall off the wagon, which is both disheartening, and being a competitive person, also encouraging. Yes, I am that shallow that it feels good to know I made it two weeks when someone else did not…mostly it feels good to know I’ve made it this far, and at times I am still slightly amazed I quit at all. There is no prize at the end for the winners, well, not a cash reward anyway. **wink** There are lots of benefits like, not being totally winded when I make it up the stairs to our apartment, or getting kissed any old time I feel like it, or not continuing to be dependent on something that the people around me find repugnant. There’s the whole, not dying a horrible death thing too, but that’s not guaranteed…

I owe, I owe, I owe…

Piotr to Betsy/Sean/Bishop

Scott to Aviary/Warren/JP? – better check

Bobby to Marco

And probably a bit of a longer LJ opinion thing coming up soon. Something I’m calling “Phat doesn’t stop the Fat.”

Heaven...I'm in Heaven...Or I will be.

Tue, 08 Aug 2006 22:12:42 GMT

It's meant to go down to 54F tonight; that's 12C! After almost six weeks of 85-95F (29-35C)I think I may just have to go for a midnight walk and enjoy getting a bit of a chill.

Smoking Cessation.

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 19:21:46 GMT

I’m actually quite amazed with myself, I didn’t honestly think I could do it, but I’ve been smoke free for a week.

There are times when I am VERY tempted of course, but they are fewer and farther between. There are some facts I need to remind myself of from time to time, and that I wanted to share with any of you who are interested.

The addiction to Nicotine is very real, and second only to Heroin.

Nicotine binds to the following receptors:
Dopamine – makes you feel good, gives you that rush
Serotonin – quiets strong emotions, anger and depression
Norepinefrin – strong appetite suppressant
Acetylcholine – cognitive enhancer

There are 4000 toxic chemicals in cigarette smoke. Some of them are:
Arsenic; Acetic Acid; Acetone; Ammonia; Benzene; Cadmium; Carbon Monoxide**; Ethanol; Formaldehyde; Hydrazine; hexamine; Hydrogen Cyanide; Lead; Methane; Methanol; Naphthalene; Nickel; Nicotine; Phenol; Polonium; Stearic Acid; Tar; Toluene…to name a few.

Carbon Monoxide Facts
AT 6ppm and below is the acceptable norm for a non smoker
8ppm – the carbon monoxide in you bloodstream if you have even one cigarette
9ppm – the carbon monoxide detector in you home will sound
20+ppm – the average for a heavy smoker
35ppm – OCSHA will condemn a building as unsafe for human habitation
72ppm – your dead.

Weeks one and two of the class I blew: 21ppm and 35ppm
After being smoke free from just forty eight hours: 3ppm

Behavior Aspects
Each cigarette represents approximately 10 puffs or ten times that a smoker lifts their hand to their mouth.

At 10 puffs x 20 cigarettes a day = 200 times a day or 73000 time a year
If you smoke a pack a day for twenty years as I have it = 1.5 million times

Can you think of any ‘voluntary’ action you have performed with purpose that many times in your life? Eating and other bodily functions don’t count.

That is the physical habit I’m trying to break. I need to give myself permission to struggle with this for a while, and if necessary to accept that it’s going to be hard, and that’s OK.

The biggest thing I’ve learned this week, I learned with XT’s assistance – though he probably didn’t know it at the time. Smoking has always played a part in the process of writing for me, either to get motivated, or to step away from a piece of work. I will need to re-learn or replace this behavior in the process. Most importantly, I need to find other ways that enable me to step away from a piece of fiction and to percolate if that’s the phrase. (Meaning step away and think about it for a while, prepare myself to go back at it) I have been white knuckling this, and trying to force myself to stay put and focus, the natural response to which was a complete lack of focus or patience, and the results were ‘forced.’ I also need to learn to give myself permission to play again, and to experiment. Being a competitive person, I think most writers are, I have gotten very keyed up about results – as is my flaw – and not allowed time for the process.

NOT HAPPY!

Mon, 07 Aug 2006 03:08:31 GMT

I am frustrated in the extreme. I cannot seem to focus on any written work. There is no flow.

Of course most folks are so bloody sick of hearing me whine about how much I suck as a writer that I’ve managed to alienate anyone who did care, and just when – thanks to my decision to quit smoking – I could really use some helpful advice on writing without being under the influence.

I quit smoking so I could stay home and write. Now that I’ve do so, I am finding I can’t write. I KNOW deep down that cigarette’s don’t control my creative process, and that I am better off without them, still, when I sit down to write, I find that something (the cigarettes) is completely lacking. I sit frozen like an idiot, writing is short incoherent sentences, and repeating myself ad-nausea until some how I manage to eek out a point, or, at least I hope I do. Though most often, I feel that it’s literally a waste of my, and the readers time.

And…that was it. That’s all I’ve got. I can’t even fucking concentrate long enough to write two hundred words without having to get up and walk away.

To hell with the dead coffee pot, this ‘really’ sucks donkey balls.

Death of a Trusted Friend.

Sun, 06 Aug 2006 14:34:22 GMT

Dearly Beloved;

We gather here, to pay a regards to an old and dear friend, who has served his time on the planet well…

“MY COFFEE POT DIED!!!” **balls his eyes out**

My old BRAUN Coffee pot that I thought I was going to have to ‘will’ to one of my nephews died this morning after making one…last…pot. **final gasp** We have had this coffee pot…longer than I’ve been RPing, in fact, I purchased it 12 or 13 years ago. Unfortunately since the appropriate replacement is now about $100, I think I’ll be hobbling along without, or finding a cheaper option.

So…everyone pray that they put a BUNN brand on sale next month.

**sigh** This sucks giant sized donkey balls.

Art Fairs

Sat, 22 Jul 2006 12:58:49 GMT

I was a little concerned when I mentioned, casually, to a long time resident of the area, that this year would be my first year living in the city during ‘The Art Fairs’ (the ‘s’ is correct) and the only response it garnered was, “Good luck!” accompanied by a sage shake of his head.

The Ann Arbor Art Fairs – consisting of The Ann Arbor Street Art Fair (The Original); The State Street Area Art Fair; South University Art Fair; and the penultimate week of The Ann Arbor Summer Art Fair; is the largest outdoor art event in the nation. The first three only run for a week, the later runs for most of the summer and is largely theater, music, and media. The Art Fairs are nearly a fifty year old tradition in this city, encompassing more that 1,200 prominent and emerging artists, not including the actors, musicians, stage craft personnel, as well as, any number of artists and artisans already working in the area year round. In short, it’s just frickin’ HUGE!

The entire city, from utility boxes, fire hydrants, to lamp posts gets a sprucing up, and if needed, a fresh coat of paint. In the case of the fire hydrants and utility boxes, these too become works of art, painted by local emerging artists. Yes,it is kind of an Ann Arbor thing to walk down the street and say, "that electrical box is really cool, I wonder who painted it. How lovely." These are good things for the city, for employment, and for art in general. Great things indeed.

Now we get to the part of this little diatribe where I gleam understanding from the comment ‘Good luck.’ During the art fair, Main St., State St., Liberty, and University Ave are all closed. In short, to travel between one side of the down town area to the other, one needs to go around, and the best advice one can give you is simply, don't. Since orange pylons and traffic signage aren’t generally considered art, there is a distinct lack of information, or directions through down town, and it's trial by fire. The city, and art fair organizers are continually growing, and trying to learn in the process, so things change from year to year.

Some busses, simply do not stop at some of their appointed stops, either because they are full, or because that stop has been temporarily discontinued to improve traffic flow to and from the down town area. There are four shuttles running approximately every ten minutes from what is known here as ‘The Park and Ride Lots’ and the Birchwood Mall. Still, the regular line busses are stuffed with folks who, in a phrase, “don’t know where the hell they’re going, and aren’t in a hurry to get there.” The schedule itself is off sequence, due to the detours busses need to take in and out of the down town area, which only adds to the frustration when you arrive at the transit center to discover the bus you need to transfer to has already left. In addition, the Ann Arbor Transit Authority retains it’s newest and prettiest buses for the shuttles, while simultaneously resurrecting vehicles from the very early eighties to ride the less traveled routs. Can you say, stripped harvest gold and avocado green upholstery? Sure you can, it’s just two letters "**EW**!"

In short, even if you make it to your bus stop at the appropriate time, there is no guarantee that the bus will actually **stop** for you. In addition to that, you may, or may not, want to get on the decrepit old thing when it does. What’s that? You want to drive your car through town? *dies laughing*

I realize, traditionally, that hospitality involves inconveniencing yourself in the process. I am also cognizant of the fact that by choosing to live here, I have a certain responsibility to persevere with a quiet tongue. However; me thinks that this particular guest has become belligerent and ungrateful. The type of guest that wants it’s three minute eggs cooked for precisely two minutes and forty-seven seconds. No, your not allowed an egg timer, and yes, it can tell the difference. The egg is to be delivered in the center of an oval silver tray, with the napkin folded three times - counter clockwise - to the left, and the knife and folk laying top to toe on the right. The juice should be precisely at two o’clock from the egg…simple really. </jl-cut>

So to sum up.

Ann Arbor Art Fairs = Great! Fantastic! HUGE! Come visit, bring your kids!

Living in Ann Arbor during the Art Fair = Inconvenience, confusion, and frustration. Just bar the door, and drink until it’s over!

AAAAAAAHHHHHH! AAAAHHHH! AAAHHH!

Fri, 21 Jul 2006 05:50:23 GMT

I am so pissed at myself right now I could seriously bludgeon myself in my sleep. Nine hundred words…NINE HUNDRED FREAKING WORDS! And, I like them! I was working on challenge story, things were purring along…did I even stop or even think to save the bitch? NO! Then poof, some kind of C++ file goes wonky on Internet Explorer. I think, no big, I’ll just shut it down. I have to reboot, no big I’ll just reboot. I go to save my nine hundred words and, I get an error message I’ve never seen before. File corrupt, cannot save in this format…my computer freezes and poof…Nine hundred words GONE! Fuck, fuckety, fuck!

It took an hour of sitting alone in the room to stop from shaking.

I guess tomorrow, I’ll try to reconstruct the thing, but ya know, it’s never the same the second time around.

Challenge Me!

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 20:00:57 GMT

OK F-list peoples. I seem to be hitting beau-coup road blocks with on-going fiction pieces. So…to get my butt moving, and to give myself some deadlines, I’m opening the floor to you.

I’ll accept the first ten challenges:
Stories that can be told in 500 – 1000 words (possibly more)

X-Men – no crossover’s please
I usually write, Piotr, Bobby, Scott, Shinobi Shaw, in various slash pairings.
Have dabbled with Logan, Warren, Julio, Emma
Would like to play with Kitty, Rogue, Storm

**Any other inspirational artwork or picture will also be accepted.**

Stories need not be romantic or sexual, and requests are not limited to one per customer.

Ok. Go!

More on Nature

Sun, 16 Jul 2006 17:40:56 GMT

Finches

Hmm, I’ve never seen a bird pant before…it must be hot. Yes you read that right, a little Yellow Finch was just sitting on the porch-rail outside my window, beak open, tiny chest convulsing, panting. He stayed for a good five minutes, as I tried to tell him to stop being foolish sitting in the sun like that, and go drink something. Not that I have the power to talk to birds, or that I was anything more than a nuisance to him; disturbing his resting place, by grunting in human-speak. But hey, I do what I can. Poor little guy, I can’t imagine what it’s like to be covered in feathers when it’s 96 degree’s and humid outside. Not, mind you, that it’s any cooler in here.

Dragonflies

I think I mentioned before that I’ve had regular visits from a large Dragonfly on the patio screen near my desk; well…oddly he, or she, has not been the only one I’ve seen this summer. It was, in years past, fairly rare to see Dragonflies other than when near a slow moving body of water; this year, however it seems they are everywhere. There was one just outside our door this morning, dangling itself from the ceiling in the breezeway, in fact there has been one or more of them hovering about our home for many weeks now. It’s not an every day occurrence to see them, but at least an every other day thing. I know logically that this has been a very good year for bugs like mosquitoes (hot and humid etc) and it follows with lots of food around, there would be lots of Dragonflies, but the tree-hugging hippy side of me can’t help but wonder what they mean. (I have no delusions that I am so important to the Universe it is conspiring to tell me something, but I thought I’d look up Dragonflies as omens just in case.)

Dragonflies symbolize, dreams, enlightenment, change, illusion, and the realization of truth.

“Dude! That is so cool.”

They are very good omens, and good luck charms!

“I think I have a new obsession.”

And speaking of Omens, there is currently a HUGE bumble bee that keeps flying itself at the screen. I am allergic to bees so I’m more than a little nervous, but according to what I just read “Bees are bearers of goodwill. A symbol of virginity.”

“Virginity? Hmm…No wonder he can’t get in.”

What I find most remarkable about all of this, is that I live in a cosmopolitan if not metropolitan area. We may be surrounded by farms, but we are in fact a thriving city. Nature is a funny thing.

And in other news…

Another fool workout last night. There have been a couple since the last time I whined about being sore in which I didn’t actually overdo it…Everything was warm yesterday, it felt really good to tax my muscles, and kind of good to sweat from effort, rather than just the act of breathing.

Updates from the Ramblings

Sat, 15 Jul 2006 17:33:43 GMT

It’s been a couple days, so what have I done about points one, two, three and four?

Well, to start with, I listened to Cher’s Greatest Hits Album once or twice, which means I probably killed off a few more of the ‘butch’ brain cells left in my brain. Oh, I wasn’t planning on fixing any cars anytime soon anyway.

I managed through a series of cuss words, gotten my palm pilot to sync with MS Outlook again! There was also a couple slaps to the desk involved and a reload of some software, but I have the tools to get a little more organized. I even put some deadlines in the calendar for good measure.

I did some more research on Bulldogs, breeders, and more about the breed etc. Had a long-ish talk with Tarc about it, and thought realistically about how to go about organizing things, and saving up for a potential new family member. It’s interesting, because being cat owners, this is more akin to a child we were talking about, granted neither of us has to give birth, and we won’t be sending it to college, but there were things to talk about, like vet care, obedience training, additional food costs, and sundries such as clothing, collars, leashes. Not to mention boarding the dog when we travel, or what services are available that allow dogs as passengers, not cargo. AND, the nitty gritty of who was going to raise this animal, and be the primary handler, how we might divide up the responsibility of walking the dog etc. There was a surprising amount of negotiation involved, it almost seemed like, “OK you take the two am feeding, I’ll do the five.” For all our talk, I’m sure there will be surprises along the way…

**NOTE** I had always thought that those sweaters on dogs were just cutsie silliness but apparently, Bulldogs are very susceptible to colds, and do not tolerate cold weather well at all. So, those silly sweaters that you see some dogs dressed in? Yeah, they actually perform a function for the dogs health, the fact that they are cute – in a comical sort of way – is just a fringe benefit.

Housework, housework, housework, it never stops. I scrubbed the bathrooms down. Two men and three cats make a lot of mess, even when they try hard not to, hair, just, happens. Laundry and dishes are an ongoing thing, so I can’t feel bad if I’m not always spic and span on top of them. If I were to do that, I swear that’s all I’d do every day, all day.

In other news, I picked up Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister ~ Gregory Maquire ~ yesterday from the library. I’m rather excited to get started, as the copy is somewhat dog eared, and when I placed my hold on the book I was forth in line. The book-cover it self looks well loved, and one of the pages is complete with a coffee stain – high praise indeed I’d say.

That’s all for today.

TTFN

Slighly Organized Ramblings. One,Two,Three, Four

Thu, 13 Jul 2006 17:28:35 GMT

Point One: Damn you, “I Love the Seventies” on VH1! I have “Half Breed” by Cher stuck in my head, and the bitch ain’t leavin’ which means I’m going to have to embarrass the hell out of myself and dig her greatest hits CD out, and play it too loud…I mean *cough* I’ll have to go to the library and research this very obscure selection in the music archives… *cough*

Point Two: I am a writer who needs deadlines! I try to fool myself that this isn’t true, partially because I live with a man who can set specific goals for himself and achieve them, without having to place a time restriction on them. I need to be more specific and even if they are self imposed, enforce some deadlines on myself in order to get anything done.

**NOTE:** This isn’t just writing, I just am a right brained person who needs deadlines to accomplish things, otherwise, I’ll just…wander about.

Point Three: I want a dog. Perhaps it’s just some latent parental need for something to take care of, I can’t be sure. For some years now, I have had the vague inkling that I’d like a dog, but recently, as of the past four or five days this inkling has flared into a longing so strong it’s palpable. Weirder still, I don’t want just any dog, but a Bulldog. (British or Victorian) Both breeds are excellent apartment dwellers, socialize well with other animals, and are affectionate. I have read that they have ‘active digestive systems’ meaning they can be gassy, and I’m also told that Bulldogs are a little harder to train than other breeds. In all honesty, I love our cats, but I’ve always kind of wanted a dog, I’m just usually better at suppressing it. Am I ready for the responsibility of a dog? Emotionally? YES! Financially? Oh hell no! So I guess that’s one of my first goals, to get financially situated so I can properly raise a dog.

Point Four: Umm, tons of housework to do today. Somehow the bathrooms get disgusting when I turn my back, and the laundry breeds like rabbits, or possibly some kind of insect that only lives for twenty four hours and makes millions of babies…Yeah, more like that.

TTFN

Neighbors + Death = Good!

Sun, 09 Jul 2006 15:40:34 GMT

Self-important, spoiled, mother-fuckers! The assholes downstairs decided last night would be a great time to throw a party. I believe one of the little pricks is getting married today - which admittedly makes me ‘less’ tolerant of their behavior. At 9pm last night the floor was vibrating with bad, BAD, BAD, music, and there was a large ‘party’ limo out front. It only lasted and hour, so I figured Great! Smart People! They’re going elsewhere!

Shortly after 2am the music began again; just as loud as before, I kid you not, the living room floor was vibrating like a sub-woofer, and our dear neighbors thought it appropriate to stand out on their balcony – which is directly below our bedroom window – and talk at the top of their lungs. This continued until well after 3:30am, despite being asked to keep it down, foot poundings to the floor, and the rattling of windows being opened and then slammed shut again in disgust.

When I woke at 7:30am this morning, I was sorely tempted to strap two blocks of wood to my feet and do some kind of a maniacal clog dance on the floor! They’re out there now, round two has apparently begun, they are talking loud enough to be heard – clearly! I’m certain, that not a single one of them has the remotest clue as to why anyone would be upset with them; after all, they’re cute, they’re young, they’re male, they’re white, they’re straight, they come from affluent families (daddy makes lots of money), what could they ‘possibly’ be doing wrong?

Fucking IDIOTS! I hope they choke on thier own vomit!

Tummy Muscles = Fire...OWIE!

Fri, 07 Jul 2006 13:56:47 GMT

For all my exuberance, I have been avoiding doing sit-ups, that is, I was until the night before last. Yesterday, I was feeling confident that my tummy muscles hadn’t atrophied so far I could still do the exercise, and not be in agony the following day…I spoke too soon!

When I rose from my bed this morning (day two) I made the unfortunate and involuntary mistake of stretching, then, immediately doubled over in shock and pain. I am not speaking of the tightness and slight burn usually associated with having worked out any muscle group, but pain, when I breath deeply, or walk quickly, or change positions from sitting to standing etc. I had forgotten how much this can hurt. I had gotten cocky. I have been made to pay.

Mostly; I’m whining. I just need to keep my eye on the prize – improved health – and keep repeating the mantra of my ancestors: “Walk great distances, carry heavy things.”

People Watching.

Thu, 06 Jul 2006 15:21:44 GMT

I’m off to people gaze today. By now I’m probably known at the Starbucks on Main St. as that weird guy who comes in and sits in the corner staring at everyone. Admittedly, I don’t stare, I try not to alarm the animals in their natural habitat, and I’ve already learned that making eye contact can be dangerous, one of them might speak to you. You don’t want that, now do you?

Full report at eleven...