Hey DABs. As long-time readers may remember, when I was a broke-ass grad student and a slatternly single mother, my elder jerk expressed a desire to have some kind of Xmas thing at my house. I thought this was interesting, because traditionally before that I had ZERO xmas decor, choosing instead to mooch xmas cheer off of other places, like parties and Nordstrom. But NO. Xmas ’03 was it. That was the genesis of the XMAS FICUS! I have no pictures of Xmas ’03, which is not to surprising as I had just moved and that was a suck ass Xmas anyhow. But.

Here’s Xmas ’05:

And here we have Gwen Steponme for 2006.

This year we decided to do something different. In October I got back into the free online game the Kingdom of Loathing, and every year they have a Xmas celebration called “Crimbo.” This year the Crimbo elves have been assimilated by cyborgs, and part of the game is fighting twisted characters inspired by the song “The Twelve Days of Christmas.”

So we are making ornaments every night to celebrate Crimbo. At the top of our tree this year serving as a star is “The Sinister Dodecahedron.”

In game, the images are tiny gifs and blow up very poorly into pixelly messes. Yesterday I hand-copied the first five images as best I could on a full-sized sheet of paper, scanned them, and made them ornament size with Photoshop. We had fun coloring the results, and now they hang on our tree with dental floss. Elegant! They are living here in my botofuckit account. I can’t imagine anyone else would want these, but help yourself if you like.

FOUR Killing Birds!

THREE Swiss (Army Knife) Hens!

TWO turtle mecs!

And a Death Ray in a Pear Tree!

I can’t wait to see what the other days bring. Today is a gold ring…a killer one, of course. This morning Strudel asked me, “Where’s MY ornament on the tree?” Crap. I guess she’s taking the gold ring tonight.

Here’s my jolly little elves working yesterday.

Here’s the Death Ray in action:

I love weekend fambly time.

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Nietzsche is on the mend. Every morning and night I am popping hyperthyroid pills down her gullet and she seems better. Just as she was getting on the mend, or mend-ish anyway, she got hit with a rogue pack of fleas that apparently just missed the frosts we’ve been having and we had to treat that too. So now she is sleeping again instead of dealing with THE BUGS THE BUGS that were bothering her before, both in her body and out. For a few weeks there, every time she pestered me, her dish was empty and she was starving, but now she comes to see me to hold down my lap again.

Today I was thinking about years ago when she was a younger kitty and used to get on top of things, overcoming physics and stumpy peg legs. One day I came home from work and she did not greet me like she usually did, which I didn’t notice at first because I also had two needy boy cats. After an hour or so, I noticed she was AWOL and called her. She didn’t come, which wasn’t totally unusual because she is a pretty classic cat who comes when she feels like it. She’s not going to get off her fat ass for me if she is having a nap or watching her stories.

That evening all was quiet and I was sitting on the couch reading a book.

“Urk!” I hear, from somewhere in the living room. “Urt!” She was muffled and quiet.

“Neech?” I called her.

“Mer!”

I finally isolated the sound to the piano. Oh, please don’t let her be in the piano, I thought. I peeped behind it. There she was, upside down with her head tilted toward the ground, fully wedged in between the back of the piano and the wall. When she saw me, she wiggled her legs like some kind of giant fake movie spider.

The piano was on wheels and I pushed it out slightly, with my hand under her back to catch her. I set her upright and she shook her head a couple of times, washed her back, and went on her way.

Thus we learn it is possible to be dignified, even if we are potato-shaped and have stumpy legs. Dignity, always DIGNITY.

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Okay, so the editors of that book I accidentally got put into sent me a really ace letter for maximum pimpage. I thought I should probably just reproduce it here. I don’t usually count chickens pre-hatchage, but it seems likely that I am going to go down to San Francisco early next year and read a little from it along with others who have worked on the book. And I am so excited I could throw up. I want to help Shan, who is an old blogfriend, but I am pretty much mostly excited about hanging out with her. Stupid internet. You meet people who live 4 jillion miles away, and then you miss them.

Hi Folks,

Looking for that perfect holiday gift, the one that will both please
its recipient and make its giver feel good?

Can I Sit With You? is a book co-edited by special needs parents
Shannon Des Roches Rosa and Jennifer Byde Myers. It is a collection of
stories about schoolyard social experiences, both good and bad. All
proceeds from the sale of Can I Sit With You? go directly to SEPTAR,
the fledgling Special Education PTA of Redwood City (www.septar.org).

These beautifully written, heartfelt tales should speak to anyone who
has ever struggled to fit in with the other kids at school, wondered
about feeling different, or felt like no one could possibly understand
what they’re going through. We hope they will inspire elementary and
middle school students, or at the very least temper their bewilderment
as they grapple with issues such as popularity, making friends,
puberty, sexual orientation, religion, race, special needs siblings,
and bullying.

The stories are told from the point of view of the former students, in
their own words. We did not censor the profanities a former
eight-year-old screamed at the boys who beat up her special needs
brother. There is no preaching or patronizing. As one reviewer wrote,
“Perhaps the most important lesson in all of [the stories] is that the
writers all survived and grew up to have something to say, and a place
to say it.”

We think Can I Sit With You? is a wonderful book. And we would be so
grateful for your support. You can purchase the book and have it
shipped to you or your friends directly at:

http://www.lulu.com/content/1466612

Happy Holidays,

Shannon and Jennifer

P.S. Can I Sit With You? is also an ongoing blog project. You can
discuss any of the stories in the book, read new stories, and submit
your own stories at www.CanISitWithYou.org /
ciswysubmissions@gmail.com.

In Other News

Companion’s father, a man I really like and admire, was visiting for Thanksgiving weekend. He asked me how things were going and I told him a little about mediation and so forth. He has legal issues of his own right now, that are of a different nature than mine.

“It’s like we’re two people boiling away next to each other in two seperate pots, just looking at each other,” he observed.

Somehow this is making me feel better as I think about going back into mediation this Saturday. Blub blub.

In Other, Other News

“Taibas” Jones is ailing. Like many old lady cats, she’s got the hyperthyroidism. The good news is there’s a little pill for her to take twice a day. The bad news is that her metabolism is so cranked she’s acting like a meth head who just drank three cups of coffee and REALLY WANTS TO TALK TO YOU about this GREAT NEW BAND SHE’S INTO. Poor thing. I love her so much, but she’s like a needy little dog right now, and I signed up for regular deliveries of Elderly Cat, aka lapwarmer, aka doorstop.

She’s been eating four squares a day, up from two, and the vet informed me that Nietzsche has actually gained weight since August, the last time she was seen. Many cats lose weight. Not my gal. She’s a dedicated eater, for sure. But I hope she starts eating less soon, anyway.

Get well, Nietzsche. Who else will remind us that Mouse is dead, and no one cares?

I don’t know, I got nothing.

Pot pie+book+bed=mental heath day!

WAAHOO David Lee Roth PANTS SPLIT! It’s Fangsgiving, fuckers! Four day weekend FTW.

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The history of LOLCats. Hell yes this pwns.

Proof positive that I have been spending too much time at disreputable BBSes: I tried to link the image above using board code. LE SIGH

It took me twenty minutes to walk the block or so home today. As soon as we rounded the first corner, Strudel had a cataclysmic meltdown. People were looking out their windows at the screaming child in the street. Then she came home and screamed for another half-hour. Bonus!

I have been taping her for the past couple of weeks with no real plan in mind, until today.

IP Address: 67.52.15.37
Name: Wisdom
Email Address: challkhmc@comcast.net
Comments:

Jeez, that is the ugliest fucking kid I have ever seen.

moar funny pictures

A couple of months ago I compared my child to a Vulcan. Try again. This time be sure to include something about my failed marriage(s), my weight, and my mental health. FAIL!

The child screamed for most of the morning. She was infuriated about something to do with her horsie tights. I wasn’t following it; it was complicated. She was left to scream in her room. Eventually she went to school.

But first she climbed into bed with us.

“Aww, were you scared? Want to be snuggled?” She nodded. I am so trusting.

We laid there for a few minutes.

“Mom!” My breasts were punched, evil, criminal things that they are. “You are in my part.”

“What? What part?”

“My part! You are in my PART!” Her hand shot out like a traffic cop: STOP. You are on my part. My part of the bed. My part of life. Quit breathing, I require that air.

I got up.

“What are you doing?” she said.

“I am getting out of your part.”

SHEESH. At least the other one only demanded sugar in her sleep.

After she was gone, there was a band saw, somewhere. Companion piled every blanket on me and even pulled the coats out of the closet. I still felt weird. My fella went upstairs to lay in bed.

Then it was “HOW COULD YOU, LUCY?” (Note: I am not Lucy.)

“Companion, do you hear someone being betrayed?” I called up the stairs. Maybe I was imagining this.

“Yep.”

“Who is it?”

“Who do you think?”

It was my neighbor, Drama King, who stands out on his patio having looooong winding conversations with his girlfriend which no one can win, including him. If someone talked to me the way he talks to her for THREE HOURS I would fucking shoot myself. They sound something like this:

Him: So do you see how you put me in a position here?

Her: Hmm.

Him: I mean, what I am trying to explain to you is, this is just like two weeks ago when the problem came up with your brother, right?

Her: Oh, I….

Him: All I’m saying is, I do everything for you. And to have you put me in a position like this, it’s just not right.

How could you do this to me, Lucy? Keep doing it, Lucy! RUN, LUCY!

Anyone know any famous furry bloggers who are “out” or blog about furry issues?

Thanks.

ETA: by “furry” I specifically mean grown people who dress in fursuits with the intention of looking like or roleplaying as animals. Sexual or not.

I am doing research and I just don’t know if there are furry “superstars” within the community.