The random thoughts that flutter through my mind...
In the year 2006 I resolve to: Start spamming people I do not like. Get your resolution here. |
howard on doing my part for th...
rustymadgal on doing my part for th...
My birthday: April 17
My anniversary: April 25
YIM: downbutterflylane
If I had a billion dollars, I'd give a million to each of my friends and family. I'd have an indoor gym and pool built at my college. I'd pay for teachers aides at my daughter's school. I'd buy every book Nora Roberts ever wrote, and I'd fly to her next book signing so I could tell her thank you for saving my sanity by giving me an escape from reality for a few hours at a time.
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1,000 Shades of Fool
American Girl
Buddhists Do Scratch Their Heads Too
DJGroovySlug
FlyLady.net
He Wrote, She Wrote
I choose not to believe
I Was Just Thinking...
Jill Shalvis
Long and Writing Road
Miss Snark
Passionate Chaos
Pub Rants
Questions Asked, Questions Answered
Running With Quills
Still I Rise
Sublime Vacuity
The Steal-Me Book
Turn the Page
Woodland Rambles
today
April 2008
May 2007
March 2007
February 2007
January 2007
December 2006
November 2006
October 2006
September 2006
August 2006
July 2006
June 2006
May 2006
April 2006
March 2006
February 2006
January 2006
December 2005
November 2005
October 2005
September 2005
August 2005
July 2005
June 2005
May 2005
April 2005
March 2005
February 2005
January 2005
December 2004
November 2004
October 2004
September 2004
August 2004
July 2004
June 2004
May 2004
Taken from the ALA website
Books I have read are italicized.
I just wrote a very long detailed post about what I've been up to, but my husband's laptop hates me and ate it.
So, if you wanna know what I've been doing you'll have to come visit me at The Knitting Librarian,
And sorry, Howard, I only left because I wanted to consolidate my blogs into one and blogger lets me edit the date and time of posts... otherwise I would have stayed here... I miss motime.
I just finally decided to compile all of- okay, well, most of- my blogs into the same place. Unfortunately motime doesn't have the funky 'change date and time of post' feature, so I'm stuck with blogger. (All together now, ewww.) Just wanted to let anyone who cares know that I'm still alive and in one piece. And if you wanna come visit, I'm at andeylayne.blogspot.com.
Ethel told someone what to do one time too many.
Ethel and the little girl and boy who live across the yard were playing in the dirt. She told him what to do, and when he didn't want to, she took his bike. He said that he wanted it back, and she told him that she would go put it in his yard. Apparently he took exception to her executive decision, because he punched her.
In. The. Face.
Broke her glasses, busted her lip, and gave her a doozy of a nosebleed. Oshu, of course, freaked the hell out- mostly because he seriously dislikes the demonspawn in the first place, but also because her nose was really bleeding a lot. He yelled for me, and when I walked into thd kitchen to assess the damage, he was ranting about "the little asshole broke her glasses, and I think he broke her nose". Considering that she wasn't even crying, I was pretty sure that the nose was going to be fine. So, I left him using my favorite pastel blue beach towel to soak up the blood and walked over to talk to the kid's mom.
She, of course, blinked innocently and claimed that her son "never hits anybody unless it's in self-defense" which I happen to know is bullshit since I watched him punch a teenage boy in the balls earlier today... but I just let it go. After all, we've been warning Ethel for years that someone was going to get tired of being told what to do and punch her. It just finally happened, that's all... and fortunately for us, it wasn't George who did it, so we don't have to punish him.
And kudos to Wal-mart Vision Center- they were able to straighten the frames and put the lens back in, so the glasses are fine.
The best part? He's only four. Yep, my daughter just got her ass beat by a preschooler half her size.
18 more days until 
comes out. Yay! I loved the first two books in this series, and the hero of this new one is one of my favorite characters- so I'm really looking forward to seeing him meet his match.
Allow me to preface this gripe by saying that I love the woman dearly. That being said, she's a happy forwarder. She loves to forward all these cheesy/cutesy type things.about babies and friends and... well, you get the idea. Because of this annoying yet harmless habit of hers, I have only given her my old hotmail address. I check it once or twice a month. She somehow got ahold of my school email address. Now, this wouldn't be a big deal, except that when she forwards, she forwards to her entire address book. So... everyone she knows now has my school address. I already get emails from someone I don't know that are sent to her email also, so now I"m a little (okay, a lot) pissed about this.
Of course, there is absolutely nothing that I can do about it, because if she ever finds out that I deliberately gave her an address I rarely check- and just as deliberately didn't give her the one I use regularly- the shit would hit the fan.
Shoot me now, please.
We did a cookie booth last weekend. Set up in the grocery store for three hours, sold 112(?) boxes. Had another one this week. Sold a little more than that, but still not all of them. We're going to have to do another booth.
Imagine, if you will, standing for three hours behind a table covered with cookies, while three third-graders dance around the table in between requests for cookies. Last week we were verbally accosted by a woman who spent five minutes telling us of the dangers of trans fats. She also informed us that even though the boxes say 'zero trans fat' that the FDA allows them to contain up to HALF OF A PERCENT of trans fats. And after all that, she didn't even buy any cookies.
I finally have a working laptop again. The screen got broken months and months ago. I finally ordered a used screen from ebay. It arrived Tuesday. Tuesday night I -all by myself- replaced the screen on the laptop. I am very proud of me. It even still works. :P
And my cold is doing much better at the moment.
I really need to get some sleep. I had several funny George and Ethel stories, but I've forgotten them all. Oh, except that George cut his hair yesterday at school. He then blamed it on his teacher. Needless to say, I emailed her and asked her to take his scissors away.
Oh, and he says that he has three girlfriends. The boy's a player already and he's only five.
Ethel has been her usual grouchy self lately. And just when I'm ready to tape her to a wall, she does or says something absolutely adorable and sweet.
Yeah, this is a pathetic post, but it's all I got for you.
I totally want to go to one of these now.
I have a cold. I sound like a frog. I feel like there's an elephant sitting on my chest. When I sneeze I sound like a seal. I have a whole freaking zoo going on here.
In other news...
There isn't any. I'm in my last semester of my undergrad- yes, I get to gradjitate in May. I'm working on my application for library school- which means that I'm all done but the essay writing part. Gah.
I quit taking my happy pills. I was explaining to my mother the other day that I was almost at the point of killing myself when I finally started taking them, and her response? "Oh, you couldn't do that, you'd go to hell." Why does nobody believe me that I was as desperate as I was? I just don't get it. My husband's response when I say I'm depressed? "Well, stop it." I feel like I'm speaking another language or something. I'm trying to decide whether to start taking the damned things again, because I don't want to get to that point ever again, but I'm sick and tired of my husband blaming the pills every time something goes wrong.
Argh.
Um... I can't think of anything amusing right now. I feel like shit and I'm sitting here at work doing nothing because there's nobody who needs help.
Christmas was nice- the short people got most of the things they asked for.
Ethel wanted an I-Dog. She also informed us that she was too old for toys and wanted teenager type stuff. She got nail polish, an awesome book about nail designs, a manicure set, make-up (heaven help me, what was I thinking when I bought THAT) and a bunch of music cds.
George wanted 'lots of cool cars' and a helicopter that he could ride in- but he promised 'to tape it to the ground so he wouldn't go too high'. Needless so say, the helicopter didn't materialize under the tree, but there were lots of cars and car-related paraphernalia. He also got a tabletop Christmas tree since he has asked for one for the last two years running.
I got the new watch I asked for. Lights up and is water resistant. I'm happy.
I was going to post pictures, but for some reason my computer has decided that it doesn't like the camera and keeps trying to shut it down. Argh. Anyway.
Is this thing on?
I don't know anything interesting. I still have a quilt to sew before tomorrow, other than that all of the Christmas present knitting/sewing is finished. All of the kids presents are bought, almost all are wrapped, and the kids are driving me nuts already. 17 days until they go back to school. (Yesterday was their last day of class for the semester.)
Okay, they need separated again. Maybe I'll actually get on here and post again soon.
The sequel to Poor Sparky.
The first thing Sparky did upon returning to the house- (after doing a walk-through to be sure everything was still where it belonged in her kindgom) was to roll in the litter box. My theory was that she was trying to get the smell of the other cats off of her. She was very happy to be home.
Course, when I had to remove her stitches it was a different story entirely. Originally I tried to hold her and do it all myself- not something I recommend. Sparky bit my arm- not hard, but enough to make her displeasure known. Not long after that, my youngest sister walked in, so she got drafted to hold the cat while I wielded the scissors and tweezers. I was given the evil death glare for about five minutes- even though I gave her a double helping of her favorite treat- but within half an hour she was curled up on my lap and purring. I think I felt worse about it than she did.
And another insanity brought to you by... Adjunct Faculty!
The scene: Sitting at the desk, ready to go have lunch. The phone rings. It's an adjunct faculty member having issues with her computer monitor. After asking if the cables are plugged in and receiving an affirmative reply, I, Super Library Assistant, spring (okay, meander) into action.
AF: When I wiggled this wire back here, the monitor came on. *Wiggles again. Popping sound is heard and monitor shuts off.* Oh, now it's not working again. Must be a short in the wire.
SLA: *Blinks, then plugs power supply cable more firmly into monitor. Monitor comes on.*
AF: Oh, I bet you feel so smart when you can fix stuff like that.
SLA: Not so much. *Exits before overwhelming urge to rip monitor off stand and beat faculty member wins.*
This is shaping up to be a bad day. I just got informed that I might as well not bother going back to one of my classes because there is no way I'm going to pass it. Loverly. Stupid teacher. Oh well, it's offered again in the spring, so I'll just wait and take it then from a different instructor.
I am just soooo fucking sorry that I was having a bad downward swing with my depression, and then my son got pneumonia, and then my good friend died, and that I didn't really feel like coming to class some days. I still met with my group for the final presentation, I just didn't turn in some homework that was due. Okay, a lot of homework. But you know what? I don't really like the instructor, so I don't much care right now.
Okay, that's a lie. I don't like failing. But she doesn't seem interested in my reasons for missing classes. Honestly, I wouldn't much give a shit either if I was her. It's no skin off her nose if someone doesn't pass. It's totally not her fault that I can't deal with my own shit and keep my head together- so I shouldn't be blaming her. It's my own fault that I didn't get the work turned in- Oshu managed to get his turned in and get a good grade even after everything happened... so obviously the problem lies with me, and with my inability to deal. Wow, news flash, huh. I can't deal with my own fucking life. Since when is that a surprise? I've been dealing with everyone else's issues, so why don't I just pull my head out of my ass and deal with my own?
Oh, probably because I'm an idiot. I sound like such a pathetic whining little snot. Somebody slap me. Please.
She is at the vet's, and by now I'm sure she is out of surgery. Yesterday, when I met her previous human to hand her over (since they were taking her to the vet for us, and keeping her for a few days kid-free recovery time) she was less than thrilled with me. Not only was she forced to suffer the indignity of being carried around in a pet taxi, but she was being given back to her former human. Poor baby, she probably thinks that I have abandoned her. By the time I get her back on Saturday, she will have worked herself into a royal snit. Her name isn't Her Royal Highness Queen Sparky for nothing. I have a feeling I will be paying for this crime upon her person for many moons to come. Sigh... it's a good thing I have a chubby ass, cause she'll be biting it.
And that isn't even considering that I have to take her stitches out in a week. Yup, I'm doomed.
Today, a patron came barrelling up to the desk. "Thank goodness you're here! I knew you could help me!"
"Um, what's the problem?"
"My wireless internet isn't working! I haven't changed anything since you set it up last week, and today it just won't work!"
*Check all of the connections... everything looks right.* "Are you sure the wireless switch is on?"
"Yeah, I never turn it off."
*Check everything again.* "Are you sure your wireless is on?"
"Oh, well, no, maybe it isn't. Which direction do I slide this to turn it on?" *Moves switch to on position.* "Oh, look! The light turned blue! I guess it wasn't on after all. Thanks!"
*Smiles until patron walks away, then quietly whacks head on desk.*
Her Royal Highness Queen Sparky has a new trick. She carries small objects- like a pencil or a plastic jack- to the top of the stairs, bats it down a few steps at a time, and when she gets to the bottom, carries it up again. I really thought Oshu was making it up until I saw her in action.
Having the cat is rather like having another child. When I get home, I'm greeted by meows and followed around the house. If I go to the bathroom and don't let her in, she sits outside the door whining and sticks a paw under to wave at me. When she thinks its my bedtime, she starts meowing at me until I start to head up the stairs. Then she will stare at me until I say, "Well, come on then", at which point she will leap up the stairs ahead of me and straight into the bedroom. She usually parks her furry hide on the bed and waits for me to get in. If I go back downstairs for something after telling her I'm going to bed, she will chase me back down and meow irritatedly until I finish what I'm doing and go back upstairs. Once I get into bed, she usually lays down beside me and purrs until a) I fall asleep b) she falls asleep c) she gets bored.
Tomorrow she is being taken back to her previous home for a few days. Thursday she has an appointment with the vet to be spayed. The poor people that we got her from are taking seven cats and a dog all at once- they've both taken a few days off of work in order to take care of the animals. Not only that, but none of the animals are allowed to eat anything after midnight on Wednesday because of the surgery, so I won't be too surprised to find out that the cats revolted and ate their owners.
We won't be getting her back until probably Saturday. How will I know when it's bedtime without Sparky to tell me?
Why? That's what I want to know. Why?
Why would someone want to kill himself?
Why would he leave his son like that?
Why didn't he talk to any of us? He had to know we cared.
Why? One more question that will never be answered.
Good-bye, Dave. I'm going to miss you. I love you.
Lishy and I playing with our poi again.
Strange things that go on in my library.
Insanity #1
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Well, lets see... yesterday I had a student come up to me carrying a stack of papers. "I'm going to go look for these books- I want to see if I can find them by myself." I applaud the sentiment, and tell her I'll be at the desk if she needs help. About fifteen minutes later, she comes back. "I couldn't find any of them, can you help me? This one says it's online, but I don't want to print it out because it's 175 pages, so I was hoping you had a paper copy."
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*Blink. Blink.* "Ah, let me see if it's available in hard copy." *Typing ensues.* "This one says that it is a government document. It's only available online. You can read it online, and print out just the parts that you need."
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"Well, I wanted to work on it from home. How do I do that?"
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"Do you have internet access at home?"
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"Yes. That's where I printed these." *By this point my head is spinning.*
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"Well, this is a government document, so you don't have to be on campus to view it. It's available to everyone. Just go back to the website and you can read it from there."
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"Oh. Well, I got all of these from the same site, so I guess I'll just go home and read them."
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Insanity #2
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And then there is the student who has been here as long as I have, and who has been pregnant at least twice since I've met her. She has the kid, goes back to classes, and brings the baby with her to the library, where it proceeds to wail mercilessly and annoy everyone else.
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The first time that I felt an overwhelming urge to beat her was the day that she brought her tiny baby (kid number three, I might add) along to the library so that she could study. Now, I understand how difficult it is to study with a baby, I really do, but this kid just kept crying louder and louder.
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She finally took him out of the carseat after about fifteen minutes of shrieking, and the poor little thing had pooped clear up his back and all over his carseat. She took him to the bathroom and changed him, but she put the nasty sleeper back on him and stuck him back in the carseat while she finished her paper.
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We had just about decided to call Child Protective Services on her when she finally left. The thing that really bothered me was that we offered to hold him for her (both before and after the poop incident) and she refused. Apparently she would rather let him cry than let one of us hold him.
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She's had another one since then. She brings him along to the library too, but she usually leaves when he starts crying. I think someone may have had a word with her about it.
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I'll post some more when I think of good ones. Right now I'm a little brain-dead.
