Thursday,
February 28, 2008

By the way

What is wrong with you people? I post that I didn't make it onto the Nebula final ballot, and not one word of condolence do I get? This is a big fricking deal in my world, people -- it's like being nominated for an Oscar if you're a geek and sit in a small room writing about time travel and vampires and shit. Not all of us can be Diablo Cody, you know.

I mean, damn, at least someone bought me a consolation beer at the con. Show me the love, bitches!

Genug! Basta!

Enough.

I must clean the kitchen. I do not enjoy this particular chore very much, but I must do it anyway. The floor is adhesive, there is low-carb flour particles EVERYWHERE, I have found cat hair where there simply should not be cat hair, the counters are covered with crap, and there is a Smell(TM).

I shall be back. Eventually. With comments about how I really want to do a podcast with my sister and my best friend because I think it would be the funniest shit ever.

LATER

Okay, I'm taking a break because Lyndon is home early and needs to make a cheese sandwich (and frankly I'd rather have him make the cheese sandwich before I vacuum and wash the floor). He's doing all of this instead of helping me clean because he has to work a late shift tonight and needs to stuff something down his throat before heading off to bed and grabbing a couple of hours of shut-eye. And you thought the life of a telecoms engineer was all glamour and champagne.

As for my comment about podcasting, my friend Walt and HIS friends Nessa and Fairy Princess Holly are seven eps into a new podcast they call "We're Mean Because You're Stupid." I find it funnier than hell, and then I keep remembering how Stacy and Patrick pretty much heterodyne on the comedy stylin's every time they're around me, so I think we three could make a completely kicking podcast.

Except for the fact that we're in three different parts of the country. And none of us have Skype. And I haven't actually talked to them about this yet. But those are minor points, I'm sure, and can be worked out with enough persuasion and Bailey's Irish Creme.

Okay, he's in the recliner with the sandwich and a drink. Back to the salt mines.

EVEN LATER

And now the Bodacious Brit is in bed, which means that the assault is temporarily suspended as the bedroom shares a wall with the kitchen. However, I did get all the main counters cleaned, wiped down all appliances, scrubbed off the burners and drip pans on the stove, wiped down the kitchen table and put a variety of stuff away, so that's all good.

Now I just have to sort through the piles of crap on the high counter/room divider, get all loose particulate matter off the floor and mop/scrub it down, all of which I can do after he gets up. In the meantime, I'm off to write because if I don't my writing group will beat me with broken beer bottles and electrical cables, because that's how they show their love.

I really should write about the weird-ass dream I had last night about World War II and this Nazi sympathizer performer who came to America and starts a really popular kid's show here. I have no freaking clue where that came from, but that's my subconscious for you -- one really f'ed up place.

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