Reason #9786 Why Texas Scares Me
Last night in a fit of pique after seeing a roach, I got a little crazed and started throwing down those RAID roach bait things like they were going out of style. Unfortunately, with two inquisitive cats, I'm rather limited in where I can put them and not have to worry that Chet or Dante will decide they are kitty toys. So I set one inside the garage door because I'm sure the Evil Bugs are sitting out there waiting for me every time I go out to do laundry.

I went out this morning with a load of laundry and the bait was gone. Completely gone. No black plastic case to be seen. Not scooted across the floor of the garage. Just gone.

Why do I have this nagging worry that I've just offended the roach gods by offering them an offensive sacrifice and now they will come to wreak their revenge?

Meet the newest addition to my household. :)

His name is currently Dante - we'll see if that sticks around once he's made himself at home. He was abandoned and on his way to the local shelter (yes, the one where they, dispose of animals) when he was saved by a rescue group. He's about two years old, mellow like Chet, currently kicked back on the living room couch surveying his new home. I think his tail was broken at some point - it's got two pretty major kinks in it in just the right places for a small tire.

No matter. I'm happy to have him here - and I think Chet is too.

Note to Corey: I've not only heard of Leonard Cohen, I have one of his CDs. Booyeah.

Monday morning and people drive like morons. Whee!

Just a quick update this morning for Bear, who left me something very wrong in my inbox while I slept last night. So in return, I offer this and this to appease the great Bear of Wrongness. (Warning - if you can't appreciate silly music, don't bother.)

As I was driving to work this bright, sunny Texas morning, I passed an SUV with a passenger that made me smile.

Because in life, there are few things as purely, blissfully happy as the face of a dog hanging his head out of a car window, catching a breeze.

Well, I've never been to England,
But I kinda like the Beatles.

Go ahead - get it out of your system. Call me callous, heartless, jaded - but today I don't want to talk about it. Yes - it. You know why? Not because I'm not still hurting. But because I'm really sick and fucking tired of talking about it. So. I'm not going to talk about it.

I did get a very sweet letter from a bloke in London this morning, which in its sweetness reminded me that I have a passport now and should damn well be using it to visit my British twin and grant my approval of choice in men. Maybe sometime in the new year - I might have a few moments to spare by then.

My CD drive did me the courtesy of dying this weekend, giving me an excuse to buy a CD burner. Now I understand why Napster was reviled by the recording industry. I'm going to be in mixed-CD land for life. Whee!

I'm sure I had something funnier to say two hours ago, but I can't think of it now. Be kind to each other.

Yesterday Blogger ate my post, and tonight, I have nothing to say.

I could write about the number of times in the last day that I have suddenly cried out, "Oh shit!" as I remembered yet another person I know in the world of the Internet who lived in or around New York City. I could talk of refreshing my email over and over waiting for them to respond to tell me they and their loved ones were alright.

I could write about what a subjective term 'alright' can be.

I could write about the blank stares of my friends and co-workers. The vague, uncomprehending stares, the long silences, and the red-rimmed eyes of the people I've grow to care so much about in the last few years.

I could write about driving downtown today to pick up my passport, and the strange quiet that had settled everywhere, like after a fresh snow when the world is muffled. People walked down the streets, but no one was speaking. Everyone seemed vague and uncertain. I wondered if there were a single person around me who wasn't thinking of the attack. I sat at a stoplight watching some construction workers erecting a billboard and realized that I was jealous - they had hard physical labor to keep them occupied. I wanted to be doing something, anything, that would just clear my mind.

I could write of how my thoughts just won't go in certain places. If I try to imagine the thoughts of the people atop the WTC, or in the Pentagon, or on the planes, my mind just stops. I can't do it. I can't comphrehend. I just can't.

I could write of coming home last night, sitting on the couch with my cat on my lap, a single lamp and the glow of the television lighting the room. I could write of feeling very much alone for the first time in a long time.

I could write of how impressed I've been with Giuliani, and how scared I've become everytime my president opens his mouth. I could write of terrorism and religious wars. I could write of the subjective nature of good and evil and how this week, this time, we're on the side of good, but as a nation, we've been on the other side of the line more than enough in our past. I could write of dying - or killing - for one's beliefs. I could write of a concept of God that demands such actions. I could write of how different people are, and yet how very much the same we all can be. I could write of out-pourings of caring and love - of people dying so that others might live. I could write of anger and hysteria. And fear.

I could write about all of that. But tonight, I don't want to.

Tonight, all the words have been written and spoken.

Tonight, I simply have no words.

As I watch the videos roll again and again, my brain is refusing to let me grasp the scope of the tragedy. I start to think of the friends and families and loved ones. I start to think of the degree of loss. And I can't. I have to stop.

May the countless men, women, and children who died today rest in peace.

Die worthless pig-dog sleazoid roach boy scum!

I should have known I was tempting the fates. We were sitting having a conversation about life, the universe, and everything, and the topic turned to bugs. And then it turned to roaches. We all amused ourselves telling our Texan roach stories and crying, "Ewww!" at each other. And I sat there and caught myself thinking, 'Gosh. It's been a long time since I've seen a roach around." And right as I thought it, I knew I was calling down the wrath of the six-legged gods of darkness.

And of course, I was.

And now I'm waiting for his Raid-induced death throes to subside so I can figure out how to get him out of the house without touching him. I've got another 10 minutes to kill til he'll be safely dead. These Texas boys take a long time to die.

I really hate these things. Hate. Hate. Hate.

After watching "The Stand" on DVD tonight, I have but one conclusion. In an ideal world, I would get to make out with Gary Sinese a whole lot more than I do in this one.

That is all.

15 minutes ago, I was awakened by the buzzing, swarming sounds of the lawn company tackling my lawn. I grouched through the house, dodging windows while I looked for a pair of shorts, thinking vicious thoughts, 'You could have done this later! It's a holiday! Let me sleep in! Snarl!' and finally made it to the kitchen where I opened the fridge and reached for a soda. And realized the buzzing had stopped. I peeked out the front window and realized their truck was gone.

15 minutes. It used to take me an hour to do the lawn myself.

And now why do I feel like the victim of a drive-by mowing?

Things noted this evening:

When, at 10:30PM on the night of an office move, the IT guys look at you with puppy eyes and say it would be really, really cool if you'd stick around and help them just a little bit longer, it's really very amusing to make them sing "Stay" for you. (You know - "Stay hey.... awwww, just a little bit longer. Oh won't you staaaaay, just say that you will!")

At about 1:30 AM, you will begin to lose your ability to type the word "Administrator". You'll do alot of backspacing. "Admisintra...damn. Admin9strat-...damn. Admiphin..aaagh!"

At 2:00 AM, the thought of waking up the other IT guy by calling his cell phone to ask if he knows where the fire extiguishers are in the new building will seem like a really amusing idea. Fortunately, you'll decide against it.

At 3:00 AM, after 18 hours at the office, the phrase "That's something you don't want to hear in prison" will reduce you to laughing until you cry. Especially when followed up by, "Ow! Ow! My face hurts!"

At 3:45 AM, you'll be in full-on zombie mode.

Zzzzzzzz