Martha speaks

Monday, 3 October 2011 18:38
fatrockstar: (1960)

This morning I was getting ready for work and could have sworn I smelled something. I think it was Martha's butt, because I found no doodies anywhere and the smell went away as quickly as it arrived. If she is a farty cat I guess I'll deal with it. She hasn't been much of a lap cat, really. Farty lap cats aren't my ideal companion...


I didn't smell anything else, either. Instead I caught something shiny in the corner of my eye and realized it was a pool of liquid sitting in the bottom of the kitty astroturf under her litterbox...


Yup, pee.


I kinda flipped out a little.  Grady never did that!  I angrily told Martha that I wasn't going to have any of that, and if this was about being left alone all day or my unwillingness to pet her constantly as she eats then I'm sorry, there isn't much I can do about that right now! After cleaning up what I could I stood back and waited, paranoid she'd do it again. Then a strange thing happened.


Martha walked up to her litterbox and stopped.  She looked at me to make sure I was watching and then approached it from the side with the most of the mat to cross.  Step, step... then a hasty backtrack.  She then got in from the other side where there is a bit of carpet remnant to walk on, did her business, and leaped from the box to the carpet when she was done.  She sat in front of me, waiting.  We stared at each other.


"Well?" she asked cautiously.  Okay, I think I got it.


She is a smart cookie.  Weird, but smart.  I bought a shaggy replacement rug on the way home. So far it has been deemed acceptable.

Posted via LiveJournal app for Android.

fatrockstar: (The Man in Black)
You are an idiot. Pull your head out of your ass and email your daughter. She is pregnant with your grandchild and wants to know that her daddy loves her and cares about her well-being. There are no "lessons" to be conveyed here. Nothing at all will be gained by sharing long-winded philosophical navel-gazing with her. She will simply think that you are a loony who cares only about himself.

Please, for all that is sacred, do the Christian thing and show your daughter some love and consideration. Our children inevitably disappoint us, but that does not make them unworthy of love and acceptance.

Oh, and Fuck You for being a pious asshole in the first place. "Intellectual Christian" my ass.

Read more... )
fatrockstar: (WTF?)
A couple of days ago my dad hit a patch of black ice on the way to work. His Ford F250 slid into a light pole and knocked it off its base. The light pole then fell on my dad's truck.

I read the email he sent today and went to his blog to get more details. He had a few scrapes and bruises but cut his hand deep enough to bleed all over his clothes and part of the interior. He says he's fine, that his insurance is going to total the truck, and with the check they cut him he will put a down payment on something called an Equinox. He then groused about having to take on a car payment again.

Me, this is my only living parent. I posted a secure status message on Facebook that he'd been in an accident and a couple of those people commented. When I told my dad, he got crabby with me. "Great - now everybody is going to call me and think I've been hurt worse than I really am." "Well, yeah, they're your family and they care about you." "I don't need you telling the internet my problems." "Dad, you already told the internet your problems -- YOU HAVE A BLOG." He then griped at me that it took so long to call after he sent me email about the whole thing.


Daddy is fine. At conversation's end he was making a pound cake to take to his office pot luck tomorrow. I guess that's better than "visiting hours are over, Ms. Blue."
fatrockstar: (Default)
In the year 2000, I had just begun my relationship with Garret. In the course of two weeks I started a new job, attended a family reunion, and had my 19-year-old sister join me in my one-bedroom apartment. It was a little crazy.

I promised my sister I would not bring up anything about the month she stayed with me to her, mainly because it was a difficult time and I was stressed out by her visit. I wrote a lot of things on my then-blog,, vented with Garret, and butted heads with her. Not that it helped much, but in an effort to set a good example of not dwelling in the past I told her I didn't want to discuss it anymore because there wasn't a damn thing either of us could do to change what had happened. All we could do was move on.

Ken was getting acquainted with my art supply cabinet recently and found one of my old sketchbooks. It had a lot of old sketches in it that I had forgotten about. A lot of them were of Garret, back when I was all memegoo over him. Some were of Teamun in all his turtley goodness. I think there were some character sketches for a comic I wanted to do in there, too, but I digress...

Behind the cut is a strip I did of a daily occurrence in my apartment while my sister stayed with me. )
fatrockstar: (poon)
I finally replaced the light bulbs in my side-runner lights on the Blazer. I took off the front grille, twisted a few things, cursed at dropping screws into an impossible part of the chassis that required me to fabricate a magnet on a stick to retrieve them from, and when I was done, I talked to my neighbor.

One of my neighbor's dogs dug a hole big enough under her back fence that he could get out of the yard. He has run away. His companion was not so adventurous and stayed. I am told that she does not like to go out into the yard alone any more. Poor goggie. They looked all over for the runaway but weren't able to find him. Now she is prepping her house for sale.

Didn't see either of those developments coming.
fatrockstar: (Brawler Barbie)
City of Heroes has been on my list of Stuff I Pay For since about a year ago. Before then, Garret paid for it with his credit card. I rarely logged on because, you know, I had things to do like cook, clean, shop, work, and take care of myself and him. Bottom line: He wanted me to want to play games with him, but was too passive-aggressive to encourage me. Four years later, I have this MMO on my computer that I've been paying for and not playing.

Once I canceled my billing for this game I was told the month of September was pretty much paid for until the 27th, so I decided to get back into it for a while. Without a job, I have a ton of time to do this. I leveled my toon ten times in the last three weeks. How? By getting over myself and interacting with other people online.

I'm not going to lie and say "omg these people are so totally normal and kewl we should make out" or anything. Some are cool, some are not. I'm not into RPG's because I find them incredibly, painfully nerdy, but people in the game will sometimes role play, and I'm still really blurry on the protocol for these people. Parenthesis, no parenthesis... reacting to some of my "mundane" comments "in character..."

I could go on about the different things I've experienced in the game, but it would bore the crap out of you. Instead, let me tell you what I learned about myself.

Read more... )

I like to play games. I have game consoles. I do not think I can spend every single spare waking minute playing. I don't like to play alone, I know that much. I also know that when the frustration outweighs the fun, it's time to stop.



Friday, 23 May 2008 11:36
fatrockstar: (Mrs. Clean)
I got mad last night. A lot of it was out of fear. Nobody likes to see their friends suffer.

It's okay to get angry. You can fight with someone and still be cool with them the next day. You don't have to agree with someone to be friends with them. Conflict is inevitable and we all handle it in our own way. Some face it straight-on and some retreat. I've been accused of retreating, but anyone who knows a damn thing about me knows the only way I'd retreat is if bodily harm was involved. Everything else I'm incredibly vocal (and very unSeattle-like) about.

I choose not to be mean about confrontation, but often fail. It is rare that someone can respond to such aggression in a way to counter it -- you run the risk of making it worse instead of shooting it down -- and I've only encountered one person who can. As a result, I can be quite scary when provoked. I'm working on that.

My mind hasn't changed, though. Some subjects are not to be taken lightly. No exceptions.


Thursday, 22 May 2008 23:40
fatrockstar: (The Man in Black)
I've hit rock bottom before, and the only reason it scared the hell out of me last time around is because I didn't want to tell anyone what was really going on inside my head. I shut my mouth and decided to listen for a change, and it pulled me out of it. Bad times pass.

I shouldn't have to tell a grown man that some shit you just don't kid about. And no, it's not a burden -- it's manipulation. My patience for that is very low, if not nil. I should have told you to fuck off. Instead, I took you seriously. I hope whatever I said to you helped.

Therapy. Works.

fatrockstar: (The Man in Black)
And that desire to kill, nurture it, it'll keep you warm until you don't need it anymore.


it's a little early to be thinking about forgiving.

hate away -- it's toxins; they will all come out. living well is the best revenge

There are more where this came from, inspired by posts and emails where my rage has threatened to consume me. When you've been truly wronged, what good things can you say about anger and hate? I eagerly await your responses.
fatrockstar: (WTF?)
It was in a hidden pocket of Garret's backpack. The same backpack I had looked in a dozen times and found nothing. Oh well, at least I have it now. I can call off the gestapo.

Recently I've been witness to some interesting internet drama. It led me to some strange discoveries that I'm not sure I understand completely. I don't drop people from my F-list without a decent amount of thought, but I'm considering it. My reason would be primarily due to a lack of activity in favor of a newer account (one I'm not added to). But let me get on to the "interesting internet drama." The drop thing isn't even drama -- it's just a side effect of what I've learned during the drama.

[ profile] space_ghetto was a shock community. I lurked there vicariously through another person's F-list page. Its content was pure crap: The dregs of the internet. Inspired by, the members posted everything from vanilla porn to dismemberment and poop. It had a pretty good following, with a dozen or so regular posters and commenters. As a tight-knit group there was a tendency toward the vilification of posters that didn't understand the no-holds-barred nature of the community, and because of that nature the community often received complaints about its content.

It also had about 20 community maintainers, all trusted members. Until yesterday.

In the wee hours of February 15, one of the maintainers deleted all the others in order to delete the community altogether. As of this writing no one is entirely sure who it was. The regulars gathered at a message board elsewhere and a new community was founded: [ profile] sp4c3_gh3tt0 (NSFA) Regular shock content has resumed, and for the most part people are happy again. Every couple of pages there's a question of who deleted the community and why would they do such a thing. I think they have a right to know. If whoever deleted it didn't want to deal with it anymore, there were less malicious ways of creating distance (like leaving the community and removing it from their F-list).

Here's the side story that confuses me: Read more... )
fatrockstar: (The Man in Black)
My sister just sent me an irritated email telling me my grandmother's house in Montevallo, Alabama, has been sold. They didn't get very close to the asking price, either. I know my sister has been very upset at the thought of losing this house for any reason because she grew up there. It's the only home she's ever known. My mother died in that house.

Me, I don't have such an attachment. The house represents something entirely different to me. After years of living with my mother in various places and moving every year or two she eventually hit a brick wall after her second divorce and was left with no other option but to move in with my grandparents. What was supposed to be "just until she gets back on her feet" turned into a permanent arrangement.

Around year number two my grandfather keeled over playing golf. I must have been about 14. My sister was barely three. It wasn't long after that I started to get antsy and rebel with a vengeance. Without my grandfather there to keep the peace, I fought with my grandmother constantly. Add adolesence to the equation and my life was pure hell. It continued to be pure hell until I left to live with my dad at age 16.

As time went on the house transformed from a humble abode to a run-down shack. My mother and grandmother weren't that great at repairs and could barely afford to hire a handyman. Then there were the cats. There were always cats. We moved in with a cat, and there were already cats. Once those cats were gone, more cats arrived. Always, always cats. They had fleas and sat on the kitchen counters. I didn't have a cat for years because of this horror. To me, owning a cat was like owning a free-range termite colony -- property destruction at its finest.

I never enjoyed going back to visit that house. After two days of being unable to eat during any visit I was unable to stay cool enough to deflect my grandmother's attacks. I couldn't sleep in the dark because I was terrified of the cockroaches. The last meaningful visit to my mother while she was alive was tainted by the deterioration of the house.

...and my sister is mad as hell that its someone else's problem now.

I wonder if she has any idea what it would take to redeem that house. Does she even know what property taxes are? Building codes? Residential zoning? How much a real repairman costs? How much does she think she can handle? If I thought the house was worth saving I would have fought to buy it myself, but I don't. I hate that house. I hope they tear the fucker down and build a new one. That stupid, tiny house with its tiny fixtures, the plumbing that never worked right, and the electrical system that should have burned the place down by now...

She and I won't see eye to eye on this. Ever. I'm glad it's gone.
fatrockstar: (Default)
Last week I was agonizing over an email exchange between myself and Ethan. It was a very difficult time for me, because it felt like a breakup -- something I haven't been through in ages and ages. I honestly thought I was going to lose my band, my closest friends, because of something I said without thinking.

Recap: Ethan listened to the demo tracks at home and heard something he didn't like. To him there were things that needed remastering. He sent out an email demanding that we listen to the demo on as many systems as we could and send him our feedback immediately. There was very little explanation for this. Laurel called me the morning she read this email. I was still somewhat asleep when I talked to her and interpreted her concern as something bigger than it probably was. Bleary-eyed and groggy I stumbled to my computer and wrote Ethan a scathing response. He replied in kind, and backed up his irritation with a bitchy IM telling me to never, under any circumstances, write shit like that to him again. I got another phone call from Laurel after that, this time I could tell the whole thing was getting out-of-hand. I assumed the blame and text messaged an apology to Ethan, who accepted (for the most part). He assured Laurel and myself, separately, that things would work out. I wasn't so sure.

So I grieved a bit, then called Ethan to arrange a time to have drinks or coffee so we could talk this out. Enough time had passed that we could talk to each other comfortably and plans were made. We met at a local bar and had happy hour snacks, cocktails, and coffee, while talking about what the fuck just happened.

His explanation? "Email-itis." Not sure what that meant and not sure I cared, so I asked for an explanation (which I promptly forgot). After asking many pointed, specific questions, I got my real answers. Most of the miscommunications were driven by panic over unrelated things, the rest were driven by his tendency to "shoot from the hip" and "get to the point." Getting to the point means actually making a point: You can't make a point if all you deliver is the fucking punch line. While the thoughts in his head were "this mastering is not good enough to submit to BMI, copyright, or a marketing firm, so we'd better clean it up some more," all we heard was "DO THIS. NOW. DO NOT PASS GO. DO NOT COLLECT $200."

As the evening went on we talked more about what goes on in his head, especially the long-ass email he sent along telling us in a nutshell that he is the self-appointed band manager and felt that our band business relationships were pretty much his doing. I chose to not take that feeling too seriously. We develop relationships as a team, always have. The only person I can think of that we didn't do that with is Dave at The Workshop.

The meeting was a success, though, meaning a number of my concerns were addressed and my fears put to rest. He apologized for his own behavior and I offered to make changes of my own (like "no answering email before I'm awake" for example). It was strange to see him and have the two of us fall into our regular flirty patterns like nothing had happened. I welcomed that. It was the reassurance I needed that we'd continue to be The TroubleFakers for a long while.

He suggested we play a little joke on Ed & Laurel and I agreed, but when the time came neither of us could keep a straight face. The rehearsal went well. I was sad to not have the group do our standard post-rehearsal meeting at The Pumphouse, but it was Sunday, things were still a little odd, it's the holidays, bla bla bla.. We all promised to go "next time."

...And that's the story.

End of days

Wednesday, 12 April 2006 14:02
fatrockstar: (Chook)
My grandmother turned 89 last week. She's fading.

Read more... )