I'm working two jobs right not for reasons as I can't quite fully remember. It's not as though they're HARD jobs, I'm not doing construction or figure skating or wrestling lions or anything. They're actually really boring, officey type jobs. I'm starting to see in-boxes in my SLEEP. Also, one uses a color system to organize millions of scraps of paper and I'm very quickly realizing that I must either be rather daft, or colorblind, because I'm actually having difficulty with the whole color thing.

Therefore, if I am not updating this often or if it doesn't seem to make any sense, that is why. I'm not doing too badly now, but I'm sure by May I'll be a walking zombie. That will be fun. I wonder if I can actually get any pastier than I already am?

I've been spending the morning yelling at the animals, making pancakes, doing eight hundred loads of laundry (how do we make so much laundry? I'm gone all day and someone else doesn't ever put on pants unless he's attending a State Dinner or something.), doing dishes, and installing stuff on the laptop.

I haven't "installed" anything for a long time since the old computer could barely handle turning on, so it took me a good twenty minutes to figure out how to download Windows Messenger. Stop laughing.

I was immediately perplexed by the mystery that is the Contact List. There was a buddy icon that said "me" and it appeared to be Away. I don't know how this happened, since I was pretty sure my status at the top said "online." I decided to troubleshoot. I clicked randomly around, trying to figure out why I was appearing in multiple places and why "Me" showed an entirely different email address before finally realizing that "Me" was a display name and not, in fact, myself.

Thank you, Chud. I spent the morning thinking I was a freakishly tall guy with a penchant for sharpie-ing people in their sleep. Glad I got that straightened out.

Is there a remedial course for people who haven't done anything technological since 2003? Surely MSN Messenger can't be all that difficult.

Labels: idiocy, technology

I've been using the same computer since 1996. My parents bought a family computer waaaay back in high school, and as I grew the computer grew with me. Like a favorite pair of jeans, there have been times over the past few years where things just stopped fitting. As the Internet grew, buttock like, so did the computer fail to stretch to accomodate the extra girth. There was a brief period back in 2001 where we installed Windows ME onto it, thinking that perhaps Windows ME was a good idea.

You know how sometimes you do something that seems brilliant at the time of conception, such as trying to make candles using old crayon stubs and a microwave? And you know how those ideas usually turn out to be really destructive? That was Windows ME. If we hadn't wiped everything and started over I'm sure my little IBM would have caused some sort of nuclear holocost. That thing would radiate so much heat that it became the epicenter of my apartment. We'd huddle around it for warmth, at least, until the thing would start whirring and beeping and flashing on and off again.

Come to think of it, maybe it wasn't the OS, maybe we had a Poltergeist or something. Enh.

Anyway, the computer is now 10 years old, and it has been experiencing a rapid progression into the frozen-rock state of electronics, so I put Skipper on the case. I know nothing about computers, and everyone has their own damn opinion. Screw that. I told Skip what I wanted to do with the computer, told him that I wanted something that would last me another ten years if need be since I think it's sort of dumb to have to keep upgrading something just to keep it "top of the line."

Skip evaluated my needs and my lifestyle, and arrived today with a new-to-meIBM Thinkpad. I guess these things are sort of like tanks, which is good because I'm planning on using this until it's held together with duct tape and cat hair. It's working pretty well so far, and it's a lot faster than the original IBM. Plus it doesn't sound like it's going to blow up everytime it's "thinking," which is a plus.

Bryan wants to do "something" with my old computer, and I know that means installing Linux. He's wanted to do it for awhile, but I hate Linux and I resented that someone who manages to blow through a computer a year would insinuate that I would fix MY problems (my problem, apparently, is that I don't destroy computers) by installing a pretentious system I hate onto the only system in the house I can use without going blind, since apparently he can only read letters that are the size of individual electrons. Whatever. He can do what he wants now. I'm just happy that I can watch streaming video now, and open a picture without it taking five minutes.

Thanks for the birthday present, Skipper! Keep my husband away from it.

I did it! I achieved all my personal goals this weekend.

I finished all my unfinished knitting for the people at work (right now I am nervously fulling Ben's "Penis Envy" gigantic wool socks in the dryer...*crosses fingers* Let's hope they don't end up smaller than his actual feet. I call them his "Penis Envy" socks because I had to make them twice the size they need to be 1) for fulling and 2) because that's what he wanted. )
I also finished Julie's Red Hot MILF hat. It's rather cute, although I fear it might be too loose on her because she has a much tinier head than I. If so I'm prepared to stitch a nice seam into it and take off half an inch or so. This hat has given me more trouble than you can imagine. That's what I get for picking a yarn I can't find a suitable pattern for, so that everything ends up totally the wrong size.

I'm also about half done with Vikki's Emo Scarf, made to match her Emo Sweater. I'm told that when it's finished she'll give me back my Browns Scarf, which was the first thing I knit when I returned to knitting. She stole it on October 13th, and I'm still missing it. Sigh!

I also cleaned the kitchen (which is trashed now, and I'm not going to be the one to clean it again) and baked two lasagnas.

Now I'm going back to work, and this week I'm also starting training for a temporary part-time night job, which is going to help out immensely around tax time, and also for when I DECIDE TO BUY A LOT OF ROPE TO TIE THE DAMN PUPPY UP BECAUSE I JUST FOUND OUT HE'S EATING MY WORK SHOES, THAT BASTARD.

Grrrrrr.

I once drove from Hiram, Ohio to Eaton Township, Ohio (approximately 100 or so miles) in what became a level 3 snow emergency. I drove the whole way on the shoulder next to the barrier and DIDN'T KNOW that I was on the shoulder. That was nothing compared to tonight's blizzard.

I drove the last fifteen miles home from work totally unable to see the road. I work about 3o miles away, and at that last 15 mile mark I had to unroll both my windows and drive that way, or else I would have gone off the road. I actually did pretty good, until I got to my apartment complex, where I promptly got stuck in the parking lot and Bryan and I had to dig my car out.

Ted Strickland, the governor, has refused to call it a snow emergency.
I vote we stick HIM out on Lake road with all HIS windows down unable to see anything but an inch of snow in front of him, and see how he feels after two and a half hours in an economy car with frozen wiper fluid. I wonder if he'd change his mind.

Thursday night the gas was shut off because of a gas leak. The problem was tagged and fixed the next morning.

Today, Monday, we got a letter in the mail from the gas company stating that if we didn't fix the problem with our appliance, we would die.

Gee, I'm glad I got that letter in the mail. I wonder what would have happened if the guy had decided to say the heck with it, not tag the furnace that night, and we'd had to go four days without the letter?

Ah, Columbia Gas. While your technicians are nice guys, the rest of you could use some work.

I had another incident with Columbia Gas once, in another city.

I lived in a house that was divided into three apartments. Each apartment had its own mini-furnace. Our downstairs neighbor, Pepper, had been having a problem with his billing. He mailed a check which was cashed, but they were calling him and threatening to shut his gas off. Well, one day in the middle of a snowstorm, the gas company came out and shut off ALL THREE FURNACES. Despite the fact that Pepper was brandishing a cancelled check, they still didn't have authorization to turn the heat on. This went on for hours. Our apartments were not warm to begin with, I was living in the snow belt (you Ohioans know exactly the horror I'm talking about) and it was forty degrees INSIDE. We decided to solve the problem by putting on lots and lots of clothes and drinking. Eventually the heat turned back on, but not before half of the residents were good and drunk. It took my roommate an hour on the phone to get them to give us a credit to compensate for their error.

I'm sure four days later we received a letter saying they were going to come shut off our gas, although I don't remember, probably because of the booze.

I think my next place of residency will be a dugout and I will rely on geothermal heating and cooling.

Today I went to a yarn store with the Ladies, and I was horrified by my urge to spend money on yarn and patterns, when I have tons of patterns bookmarked on my computer and a bag full of yarn and unfinished projects on the bedroom floor. I realized I have a problem. A big problem. You see, I am an Inspired knitter. I see lots of things I WANT to do and then realize that I'm either unmotivated to finish them, or I see other things I want to do and I do those instead. And lately I've been knitting for others instead of myself, which sucks. Here's the thing, people. When you request something, know that a lot of time and effort goes into it. And it doesn't turn out exactly as you'd imagined, shut your face and wear it anyway. Or learn to do it yourself. Right now I'm so tied up doing things for other people that the sweater I want for myself seems but a distant dream.

So my goal is to finish my knitting projects, and then say the hell with it about knitting for others unless they sign a pre-knitual agreement FIRST. Or unless it's for charity, which brings me to the next paragraph:

I agreed to make prayer shawls for shut-ins and people in the hospital without quite knowing what they are. I called my mom and she explained that the North Eaton way of making prayer shawls was NOT the sort of hippie/spiritual/or Orthodox type of shawls that other religions do, and therefore all I was really doing was making long fat scarfs. I was very relieved to hear that, because I don't know exactly what I THOUGHT they were, but I'm glad I don't have to try to knit Jesus into these things because really, I don't think ANYONE'S that good of a craftsperson. Apparently all I have to do is pray for these people while I'm doing the shawls, and it lets them know people are thinking about them and caring for them. That sounds a lot less complicated than trying to knit a rosary or something of that nature.

Jen, Nicole and I have decided to have a craft night once a month, so I'm going to make them keep me motivated to finish my stuff. I suppose if any of you Ohio hobos want to learn how to knit, crochet or quilt, you can email me and join. Crafting is fun! It's also an excuse to have cocktails and gossip. I mean...to talk about church business and eat little sandwiches. Because that's what we do when we're together *shifty eyes.*

Labels: craft night, knitting, prayer shawls

Last night was a thrilling exercise in what to do when your apartment smells like gas.

Like most people, when we smelled gas, we were freaked out. What was interesting was that we weren't smelling natural gas, we were smelling gasoline. I called Columbia gas and explained the problem, and the dispatcher sounded a little perplexed when I said I smelled gasoline, but she sent someone out anyway. She told us to stay in the apartment if the smell was only in one room, but not to mess with appliances. As it was, the smell was so nauseating that we ended up waiting in the hall for the last few minutes.

When the gas guy arrived, he walked in and immediately said he didn't know why he was there, since the problem was obviously that we'd spilled a solvent or something. The smell was coming from under the sink, so we opened that up and it got really bad. He stuck his meter down the drain, and in the dishwasher, and determined that yes, it DID smell like gasoline, but damned if he knew what to do about that. We remembered that we'd soaked some mittens that had gasoline on them in the sink before tossing them in the wash, but that had been Monday, so surely the two couldn't be related, right??

So the gas guy called the fire department, asking what we could do to get rid of the smell. The fire department asked a dozen questions and then decided THEY needed to come out to take a look personally.

Meanwhile, the gas guy, who was really very understanding considering it wasn't his problem, decided to poke around by the furnace anyway, since what the hell, he was already at the apartment. He opened the door to the furnace and said "woah, I smell gas." Well, duh. The whole freaking apartment smelled like gas and everyone was about ready to vomit. Well---turns out that in addition to gas fumes leaking up our kitchen drains, we also had a NATURAL gas leak in our furnace. Not a big one, but a small leak that had actually been happening for at least a month. We didn't smell it because the furnace closet has some outside ventilation. Hurrah! So the gas guy, grasping the gravity of an apartment with TWO types of gas leaks, shut off the heat.

We're in a third-floor apartment, so usually the place is very warm. However, Cleveland's been pretty cold lately (eight degrees, three degrees, negitive seventeen with the windchill...) so it started to get really cold rather quickly.

I couldn't find the handyman's number, so I had to go knocking on doors until one of our neighbors reluctantly let us in. See, less than a week ago the apartment management had put a sign on everyone's door saying that "someone" was smoking pot in their apartment, although they'd been "unable to determine which apartment the smell was coming from." Yeah, right. In the memo they asked us to spy on our neighbors and report their suspicious activity to the police. So, here I was at nine at night knocking on an apartment door with a lot of urgency. There was a lot of mumbling behind the door, and finally the woman let me in and gave me the number. She was very nice when she realized I wasn't a spying neighbor or a cop with a drug dog. I went back to the apartment and called the apartment complex dispatcher and reported the furnace thing.

Then the fire department showed up. Four fully dressed firemen. They brought one uniformed police officer as well. I'm not sure why he was there. I guess when they smell gas in an apartment they bring someone along to see if there was any sort of foul play or abject stupidity going on or something. The three of us tried to explain the situation. "Yeah, it smells like gas" they told us. REALLY? An apartment with two gas leaks smelling like gas?

While they were poking around, four full grown men crouched in our small apartment kitchen, taking readings, I got a call back from the handyman. Our furnace wasn't going to be fixed till the next day, he was twenty minutes away, and did we want a space heater? Bryan and I decided no.

Anyway, the fire department said that apparently whoever designed our apartment didn't know jack shit about drains, and the gas we'd washed down the sink in a responsible manner on Monday was somehow trapped in a bad drainage system somewhere between the dishwasher and the garbage disposal. They couldn't fix it, but the handyman could maybe try to take it apart when he arrived to turn the heat on in the morning. The fire department suggested we throw a towel over the traps to minimize the smell, assured us that it was safe. The police officer told us not to throw any matches down the sink for a few days, and they trooped out.

So a handyman is coming today, and this guy is really pretty sweet, so I'm sure he'll take a look at our dishwasher. If the trap is cemented down they might need to take the whole thing out. Hurrah!

So now it's cold, I have a headache and want to throw up, and I'm still really embarassed about last night. I didn't know this utility men could even fit in the apartment, and I'm sure they went home and laughed about the idiots who tried to wash gasoline down the sink four days ago.

I hate February.

Today I am very excited. First, Payton Manning is going to be prancing all over a football field in tight little pants. If you don't know who Payton Manning is, he's the tall dude in the Sprint commercials who wears a fake mustache, cleverly disguising himself as someone OTHER than Payton Manning. It's a pretty water-tight ruse, but if you can manage to crack the spy getup, you'll see that he's a pretty funny guy underneath that horrible wig.

Secondly, today is also they day of the Puppy Bowl, which if you ask me is MUCH more entertaining than the Super Bowl. The Puppy Bowl airs on Animal Planet and features a lot of puppies in a room painted to look like a football field. Sometimes they're bad (well, more than sometimes), and a referee has to come in and blow the whistle and call a foul. The offending dog will usually get benched. The referee is my favorite part. He's usually some college intern type person dressed in full costume. Sometimes he has to come out and clean up the accidents. It's HILARIOUS. I bet that guy's friends and family are really proud. The Puppy Bowl also features a kitten half time show, which is also funny because kittens are a lot more aggressive than people think. It's good to flip back and forth between the two. Last year we watched the Super Bowl intermittantly between swilling beer and eating pizza, but afterwards we turned the TV to Animal Planet and we were positively entranced. We watched for HOURS. And this was room with mostly men.

Hurrah for football pants, bad animals on TV (as opposed to the bad animals I'm currently raising, two of which tried to drink bleach water this morning)and for pizza.