I’m still alive. More or less. Anyway, it’s been quite the month so far. Let me see what random crap I can update about…

The weather has been either rainy and stupidly chilly, or so warm that I sleep with the balcony door open and a fan blowing on my bed. Very weird weather of late. It’s as if Spring and Summer are arguing over whose turn it is.

I have absconded with my youngest demonspawn’s Sonic Boom Alarm Clock because I keep forgetting to order a new alarm clock, and my cell phone alarms just don’t cut it. However, I am offended by having a pink heart alarm clock, so I must rectify this soon. Should I get the Laser Target clock, the Flying clock, or the oh-so adorable Clocky? I like them all…but alas, I can’t afford them all, so there can be only one.

Speaking of the younger demonspawn (and clocks), she and Geoffrey are going to a concert the week after next, along with my other demonspawn and the Dustinator. It’s some band I’ve never heard of called Dëthkløk. So every other member of my family is apparently psyched up for this, but I believe I’ll remain happiest to continue in my ignorance.

Lyse’s roommate/tenant has turned into a consistently overripe asshat, and so she gave him his 30-day notice a few days ago. She was stewing a bit over losing the income, but luckily Dustin & Angst have also been less than thrilled with their roommate of late. Since they’re not on the lease (they’re subletting, which I’m pretty sure is technically illegal in this town), they’re going to ditch the bitch and move in with the witch. As Lyse put it, quite cheerfully and with lots of happy bounces, “I get my Annie back — and this time, she comes with a Dustin!”

I put up a clothesline on the back patio. It works great. I even got the cute old-fashioned kind of clothespins — and the whole set-up cost me a whopping $3 at the dollar store. And it’s actually fun to do the laundry (or, at least, the laundry that I hang out there, which doesn’t include denim & cotton, since they dry rough on a clothesline even when you use a ton of fabric softener in the wash). Now if I had just brought that last batch inside before it started raining again…

Anxiety got harassed at school again, and apparently the kid who called her a “fucking faggot” in class only got a scolding. The district had damned well better approve her transfer to the school next door, or things will get ugly. Here’s a kid that doesn’t suck up but still gets comments from several teachers on her report card of “a pleasure to have in class,” and yet gets treated this badly. All I can figure is that she’s too self-secure and individualistic to be included in the popular cliques but too confident, smart, and attractive to be accepted by the outcasts. And — of course — telling her it won’t matter in a few years (or months, even) doesn’t help.

For some strange random reason, the subject of call-signs came up recently, and I explained to Anxiety how the use of them on Battlestar Galactica is similar to the use of them in the US military. I joked that if she joined the military, her call-sign would be “Mohawk” (due to her new haircut, which doesn’t look at all like a mohawk when it’s not put up, and which even her teachers said was adorable), and Geoffrey said, “No, her call-sign would be Wombat.” If she joins the military, we are soooo telling her commander about her loathing of wombats. Bwa ha ha ha.

Speaking of hair, mine is getting within spitting distance of being the longest it’s ever been. It has a few inches to go, but it’s (at least technically) below my shoulders now. And it’s so wavy it’s almost curly! I don’t remember it ever doing this before. Nifty! Once I beg, borrow, or steal a digital camera, I’ll get piccies. Sadly, piccies will not convey how thick and soft my hair is, but them’s the breaks.

Last weekend, I got to drive out to the middle of fraking nowhere to pick Anxiety up from a sleepover. (And I mean nowhere — I couldn’t even get cell reception!!!) That’s the last time she goes out there, considering that her friend’s stepmother is a total bitch who teaches her own kids (the oldest of which is 13) how to mix alcoholic drinks but heaps scorn & ridicule on her stepdaughter for being a vegetarian. And then has the nerve to question whether I’m a good mother because I let my daughter get a tongue-piercing! If they weren’t a rude and dysfunctional family from hell, I might be able to stomach a drive that includes directions of “when you turn off the paved road,” but when my own kid is telling me that those parents are rotten & pathetic, it’s just not happening.

I’ve had mixed feelings about work lately. Being up at the basement site this week has sucked supremely, but the good news is that it was only 3 days rather than 5 (swapped a shift on Tuesday, which gave me an excuse to work downtown, and then taking Friday as a vacation day). The upcoming 4-day weekend I’ve got is a Very Good Thing. However, I have mentoring duties next week, and it’s nerve-grating. The trainee is older (i.e. less flexible in general), dumb as a post, and annoying to boot. She’s the one meandering through La-La Land, who suggested I use her “magic” scarf to get rid of a migraine. Puh-lease. If magic worked on migraines, I sure as hell wouldn’t be spending $7 a pill on Imitrex (and that’s with my health insurance)! I’d just twitch my nose or something.

I finished another crochet project, my purple spiral wall decoration thingie. Now I just have to block it and figure out where to hang it. But after finishing the pretty jacket thingie that was too small for me, I decided I didn’t want to make another one that would fit, so I started on a completely new project. I got this terrific book called 201 Crochet Motifs, Blocks, Projects, and Ideas, which is AWESOME, and I’m making a bunch of the individual motifs. When I get enough of them to sew into a sweater- or jacket-shaped design, I will do just that! It will be entirely one-of-a-kind. Yay!

Two people this week have asked me if I’m going to the Gathering. Hello? (Hell no!) I haven’t gone to an SCA event in almost 5 years, for the love of furry codpieces. And I can’t imagine enjoying going to one again, either. All the stuff that made it fun (flirting, drinking, wild weasel sex with casual acquaintances, drinking, pretty clothes, drinking, buying pretty things, drinking) just barely offset the fact that I was usually cold, wet, hungry, and uncomfortable at least a few times during the course of a weekend (why else would I be doing all that drinking?!). Hell, if I get the urge to experience that again, I’ll just pitch a tent in the side yard on a rainy day and put Geoffrey in charge of the cooking.

A few weekends ago, I cleaned out the entire garage. Another weekend, I steam-cleaned the downstairs carpet. Another weekend, I put together the new entertainment center and cleaned the hell out of the rest of the downstairs…excluding the computer room. This weekend, I need to clean out & reorganize the entire computer room (which includes re-shelving at least 11 shelves’ worth of books). The slave labor is already lined up (teenagers who want money, it’s a beautiful thing!), and I expect to have it finished in plenty of time to enjoy the rest of my weekend crocheting and drinking Starbucks while watching my Netflix documentaries.

And some people say I don’t know how to live it up. Sheesh.