AUUUUGGHHH!!! Or, My Butt and the Black Widow

The first and third Thursday of every month my mom and I embark on the Big Shopping Trip.  Early in the morning, we leave in her one-and-a-three-quarters ton van furnished with two monstrous coolers, a couple of  blankets and plenty of Purel hand sanitizer (my mom has a Purel bottle velcro-ed to the base of each front seat so hand sanitation is more convenient—I am not making this up!).  Touring our favorite stores in order of refrigeration needs, we spend the balance of the day shopping, gabbing and buying too much food.

However, this month’s schedule was disrupted by the arrival of our respective new computers. We were all too happy to forgo fresh fruit and milk for the pleasure of uploading programs and customizing our desktops. Tragedy struck at 9:am yesterday morning. Our ISP crashed. After an hour of phone calls to our ISP and each other, we gave up on connecting to the internet and decided upon an impromptu Big Shopping Trip.

So, I drove over to her place, where she was fixing a lunch tray for Dad and prepping the van for our adventure. Anyway, before leaving, I made a pit stop since peeing at Wal-Mart is loathsome.  Flushing the toilet, I noticed a black wriggling thing fighting the water vortex. Horrified, I peered into the bowl. Was that the Evil Queen Mother of all Spiders struggling for her life? Was that tiny tickle on my bum moments ago her wicked spider legs searching for purchase to escape her porcelain prison? Yikes!

Not wanting to be in the same room as a flushed spider, I bolted to the kitchen, crying out, “MOM!!! Sweet Jesus, was that a black widow spider in your toilet?!”

Mom blinked and frowned, “Ah yes. She was on the front porch this morning so I stepped on her and tossed her in the crapper.” (Note, Mom believes in bleach, soap and Purel, but not pesticides. She cinnamons the ants, garlics the aphids and squashes the rest.)

I went on a semi-hysterical rant about spiders and toilets and making sure that you really squash them, instead of stunning them, because they will want revenge. Contrite, yet amused, Mom apologized and promised to more vigorously stomp future black widows spiders before gathering their remains for toilet disposal. She also reminded me to wash my hands.

Yay! New Computer! Yay!

My wonderful new desktop arrived!!! Hooray! Just in time, my poor laptop was fading fast. I shall now embark on an installation and file transfer frenzy. Gosh, I sure hope my bookmarks can be imported without any problems. I guess I collect gazillions of 'em since the word "book" half of "bookmark." I can't live without a single one! Yay!!!

Nukestock Shots

I am pleasantly surprised that a few photos from Nukestock turned out. Unfortunately, I was unable to do justice to the spectacular decorations created by Robert, Delphine, Mukor and company. Enjoy!

Mukor (L), our host as Baby Cthulu and as the Dead C.

Lizard and Countessa Light.

's lovely fiancee, . What great hair! has requested her to be my future wig consultant.

with sparkler. I was so entranced by folks playing with sparklers that I took a dozen photos, but this is the only one that turned out. Despite the number of red wigs at the party, Nirik's locks are all natural (envy, envy!). BTW, he makes excellent mead.

Pastafarians unite! The Flying Spaghetti Monster has finally arrived!!

Chris, forlorn without his Romanian sweetheart.

Rrrraaawr! The Dead C is mighty pissed that I drank her Mimosa!

Yours truly as the Red C. I should actually call this the the Traveling Costume. The top traveled north, the skirt cruised towards the equator and the cape voyaged into the back of my red fishnet tights! Thank heavens for Ewbliette's sharp eyes!!!

Whoa.....

'Nuff said.

Thanks Mukor, Ewbliette, Lizard Light, Robert, Delphine, et. al. for a fantastic party! Yay!

Red Sea and Dead Sea

I imagine several people are feeling rather hung-over from last night’s revelry at Nukestock. Nukestock, the annual Halloween gala hosted by Mukor ( 's sweetie) is a four day affair that brings college and RPG buddies together from several states. Each year Mukor selects a theme and his posse pulls together a small festival featuring a costume contest, scavenger hunt, trivia game, cookout, good-natured hilarity and other delightful activities. In college, a hundred people would show up for his famous parties, which once were accompanied by impressive pyrotechnics and exploding televisions.

Ewbliette will be supplying the majority of exciting details after she recovers from her duty as this year’s festival hostess. Anyway, I will gladly supply a few details concerning our plans for this evening (I should mention that the theme of this year’s bash is a Cthulu Mythos inspired "Year of the Cephalopod," which involves all things oceanic. Mukor has transformed his home into an unbelievable undersea domain, I hope to capture some pics to share. Forgive me, I digress.).

For tonight, Ewbliette and I selected matching theme costumes. Wearing two red-toned wigs from my collection, we will be The Double Cs. Ewbliette will be The Dead C ("Dead Sea") and I will be The Red C ("Red Sea"). We have homemade superhero costumes, with giant "C’s" on the front.  Ewbliette is in goth black and I am in hooker red. We plan to drink Mimosa's, eat delicious cookout, dance frenziedly and laugh until we wet ourselves. What fun!


Red Sea and Dead Sea.

Vacation: Avoiding the Crowd

Day One, After Dinner*
I love the intimacy of a bed and breakfast. The monstrous sameness and corporate efficiency of major hotels is depersonalizing and often the only choice for travel. When available, I prefer someone’s quaint residence to a decorated industrial cubicle, especially when prices are comparable.
However, drawbacks exist. I noticed that many people use bed and breakfasts as social vehicles. When I entered the living room to connect my laptop to the only available phone line, a wall of eyes greeted me. Glistening with anticipation, eight eyes followed me across the room. No one spoke, but I could feel that a few pairs of eyes were ready to have their owners re-arrange furniture so I could sit in on the "Hello, where are you from?" conversation.
On occasion, I love to hang out, be chatty, goofy and sociable with like-minded folk. Nevertheless, my internal introvert clock eventually sounds and I must escape and do about twelve crossword puzzles. I don’t dislike people; I just prefer them in limited doses. After a six-hour drive, I sought the comforting remoteness of the Internet, not in-your-face pleasantries. I imagine I will avoid the living room for the rest of our stay.
* Since we had no Internet hook up, and my entries are backlogged on paper I’ll post my trip entries in a screwed up chronology until I get caught up.

Autism

I'm posting privately to discuss autism because this conversation includes my friend "Jules," who is exceptionally private. Everyone has their boundaries, and I dearly respect Jules' and his privacy. Anyway, this post is currently open to G and D. If either of you feel that someone else should be included, I'll add them to this group.

Forgive my bluntness and lack of grace, but I might not get this out otherwise:I suspect very strongly that Jules' brother, "Freddie," is autistic. Freddie lives overseas in a country with minimal social programs and even less tolerance towards people who are different. His family is perplexed by his behavior and battles with him frequently, especially about personal hygiene and reclusiveness.

For two months, Freddie lived with us and we got along splendidly. Essentially, he liked to keep his own hours, watch his six favorite movies repeatedly, and work on the computer. That seemed like a pretty cool life to me, so long as he washed up his dishes and didn't burn anything down. Although he would rarely look me in the eye and seemed to avoid me (especially physical contact), I could feel that he was happy here.

I never thought that his desire to be alone or away from others hurt him, and encouraged the family to respect his privacy. Freddie has had intense difficulties at school and at work. He does quite well on the tasks he likes, but he can't be bothered with those he does not care for. I realize that these few sentences are not enough to diagnose anyone, but it's a bit of background so you can see why I am wondering about autism.

Any ideas or experiences you could share would be helpful. Perhaps I'm mistaken, but I am learning that the world is bigger than I imagined. If he does have autism, maybe Jules and I can help the family understand and accept Freddie--he really needs some quality of life assistance. I feel I must also add that I am not an advocate of "curing" autism, it seems to be a part of who a peron is, and why change that? Thanks.

ETA: It turns out Freddie had been diagnosed with autism in his late childhood. The family was resistant to this diagnosis then, and is still now.

A little Vacation

Great Scott! I’ve gotten a life, complete with deadlines and surprise extra work due first thing tomorrow morning! Fortunately, I should be able to finish up everything by Thursday afternoon and take a much-desired long weekend vacation with Tennis Fiend. We will probably travel to northern New Mexico and stay at our favorite bed and breakfast.

The Hidden House near Santa Fe, New Mexico.

My folks received their new computer yesterday. I am glad that Mom finally selected and ordered something. I was afraid that the family would have to stage an intervention. She was becoming dangerously addicted to reading Dell forums and comparison-shopping. With wide-eyed glee, she'd corner family members and neighbors to discuss her latest discoveries and buying strategies. Bless her enthusiasm, it’s something we share. Heaven help everyone if I buy a new CD player for my truck.

Eye of the Beholder

Whew!
After writing/editing most of the day, my brain quivers at the idea of stringing together another intelligible sentence. So, how 'bout a list? The following books are in my bedside reading stash:
M.S. Freeman.

1. A Treasury for Word Lovers,
2. Stalin
3. One Dimentional Man,
4. The Street of Crocodiles,
5. Nightmare Factory,
6. The Lazarus Syndrome
7. TheWord Museum,
8. Million Word Crossword Dictionary,
9. Five word-puzzle books in various stages of completion, my electronic dictionary and our digital camera handbook.
S. Newman & D. Stark.J. Kacirk., R. DaviesThomas Ligotti.Bruno Schulz.Herbert Marcuse, Edvard Radzinsky.

What we’re having for dinner:

1. Slow cooked country style ribs.
2. Coleslaw.
3. Fancy bread from Albertons’, heated in the oven as if it was mine.
4. Roasted Garlic (I did nine heads so I don’t need to screw around with this for a while).
5. Sapporo beer, left over from my sushi date with Ewbliette.

Tah-dah!

The Moustache Incident

Once a year, without fail, I haul out the magnifying mirror and meticulously examine my face. After recovering from the shock of viewing my pores at 12X, I decide that my imperceptible blonde moustache must go. I pull  out my dusty  container of Strip Free Honee Wax and liberally slather it on my upper lip. With a brutally yank, the offending hair is captured in an amber-like goop, and I rejoice at my smooth-skinned self. 

Clearly, I must temporarily suffer from a combination of body dismorphic disorder and amnesia to repeat this foolishness. Consider that all women have a faint moustache. No one would ever notice,  unless they inspected all passersby with a 12X magnifying glass. And, more importantly, how could I forget that every time I wax  my face, I break out hideously?

Thursday night, I plodded through my described  annual ritual--Inspect, yikes, yank, d’oh. Friday morning, I monitored my upper lip puffiness with increasing concern. Friday night, it’s time to alert the Acne Hall of Fame that I broke the record for The Greatest Number of Angry Little Pimples in   a Two-square Inch Area. 

Take a gander at your upper lip and imagine three quarters of those hair follicles erupting into swollen, painful whiteheads. Yee-ouch. And D’oh, since I recall this happened last time I waxed my face. Sigh. So should I toss out the wax, the mirror or my ideas of beauty?