Cry Havok, and Let Loose the Weasels of War!

Not my god damned day...

I had been typing for two hours this evening about how I'd been the past few weeks, and then my browser froze, and I lost EVERYTHING.

I'm discouraged now, because I felt like I had a really awesome flow going. 

Alright, I'll try again, and hopefully be as funny and witty as I (felt I) was the first time. It may be a losing battle as I am now 3 drinks into a pretty decent drunk.

Adventures In Weasel-Sitting

I have been so busy the past few weeks, so I'm sorry about the lack of posts. I'm honestly horrible when it comes to packing, and moving. I'm awful. And Husband isn't much better to be honest. So between us, we're pretty ineffectual. It's amazing. But tonight I started putting away the last of what was unpacked, such as the pots and pans we had been using for day-to-day cooking, and the utensils. From here on out, if it doesn't come pre-prepared... then we're not eating it.

To add to the chaos, I've been babysitting a friend's ferrets while she's in New York visiting family for Memorial Weekend. Over Christmas I watched her ferret Shiver, and I loved her. She enjoyed sitting in my lap while I watched TV, or snuggling inside of my bathrobe while I typed on my laptop. She was awesome, and sweet. But what I didn't realise was that Shiver was an older ferret at the end of her lifespan. She was mellowed by time.
Roscoe and Hannalore are about a year old, and feisty. They chase my cats, wrestle my feet, and like to attack unsuspecting shoes with unparalleled ferocity. Seven seems to love them, and will allow them to in turn chase, and be chased by her. They lay in the hallway and wrestle until she's done with it, and then she holds one of the ferrets down and grooms it. Data on the other hand will climb to the top of his cat tree out of their reach and give us looks like "What the shit... really? You're gonna let them do that?" They're so ornery that we've taken to calling them "War Weasels" rather than ferrets. They get all riled up, and do this insane war dance. It's laugh out loud funny, I mean seriously.

I love Roscoe more than is reasonable, and he's adorably fat, like a badger. Hannalore is more dominant, and would rather play than cuddle. Neither of them ever bite, ever.
If it weren't for the fact that they're only 90% litter box trainable, I would want a pair for myself.

Oh, what's that you say..? I didn't mention the litter box part? Oh yes, how silly of me. They're pooping in my corners if I don't watch them.
Pooping. In. My. House.
In the corners.

Yep... it's lovely.

We've only had three accidents on carpet, but there have been a few of them on tile. And ferret poop smells delightful. It's wonderful* actually.. No seriously, it reminds me of a movie scene, hold on.

What a wonderful smell you've discovered... no seriously, is that ferret shit?

But they're hysterical beasts to watch. I do sort of love them. Musky smell and all.** Here's a video of Roscoe killing my socks for the betterment of all ferret-kind, because apparently war weasels must have a battle to fight, even if that battle is against fabric.

 

Chicago!  

June 10th I'm headed to Chicago to see The Bloggess! I have my copy of her book, and I will probably buy another copy as a gift for my best friend. I get to hang out with the ever lovely Lauren on this trip as well, so how cool is that?

 It'll be a whole weekend trip, so look for a lot of photos to come from it, especially since my dSLR is now working again. I can show off my mad photo skillz, yeah baby, yeah!

I promised Bob that I'd get a photo for him, so he knows we're thinking of him, so look for that as well.


I'll leave you with more weasel insanity:

PS. My home is not usually so messy, I keep a very tidy house most days, but please refer back to the previous statement about being ineffectual about packing and moving. Thank you.

*By wonderful I, of course, mean disgusting.
**To be fair, I would rate "ferret smell" as somewhere better than "wet dirty dog" but worse than "hamster cage"

EDIT: OH! I almost forgot to mention that I have a beautiful bike now! I've been riding it fairly often so for, and I love it. Here's a photo I took the first day I had it, when I was riding it home.

It's very fancy, and shifts gears automatically. Because I'm trying to lose weight... but I'm also lazy. 

Till next time my lovely readers!

A Promise, not a real post

This is just a place holder, I will be writing a proper blog soon about my amazing* adventures in Ferret sitting. I have video, and photographs. Also, I move on Thursday, so look for more frequent blogging soon! Yay!



*omg kill me now, they're on meth or something...

Mister Sandman, Bring Me A Dream

Just A Short Post

I had a bad dream last night. I woke up this morning very disturbed and uneasy. I dreamt that I had pet rabbits, and when I went to feed them I realised that they were out of water, and I couldn't remember the last time I'd filled their water bottles. They were so thirsty, and dehydrated. I cried in my dream because I felt so bad about it. These creatures depended on me, were members of my family, and I'd neglected them!
I awoke intensely disturbed, and upset.

Laugh all you like, you have your fears, I have mine. *chuckles* Mine happen to involve failing to protect animals, and loved ones. 


What kind of bad dreams do you guys have?


"-People think dreams aren't real just because they aren't made of matter, of particles. Dreams are real. But they are made of viewpoints, of images, of memories and puns and lost hopes." -Neil Gaiman's The Sandman, Preludes and Nocturnes 

 

Five Things I'm Scared To Tell You... And a Video!

Five things I'm Afraid to Tell You

Lauren from "Filing Jointly... Finally" did a post about five secret things she doesn't like to admit to. She followed it up with a challenge of sorts for her followers with blogs to do the same. I'm always up for a challenge.. right?

I hope this doesn't loose me the few followers I have. *laughs* Alright, let's do this.

#1 I am terrified of loud noises

When I was a kid, we lived on the railroad tracks. And I mean almost literally. You could stand on my grandmother's front porch and throw a rock onto the tracks without that much effort. They're not very busy now, but in the 80's there were many trains travelling that length of track, and they would blow their whistle as they went through the area. I remember laying in bed, absolutely CERTAIN that there were awful things, possibly undead things, using the train's passing to cover their approach. I wouldn't know they were coming because the trains were too loud. It was terrible! So I'd lay very still, hoping that if I was still enough they wouldn't find me. To this day slamming doors, fire alarms, when the radio is up loud... anything above conversation level... is very alarming to me. I love live concerts, but I'm also very anxious during them.

#2 I grew up in the ghetto, very poor

And by ghetto, I mean the fucking ghetto. I grew up near Oakland California, and I saw my first shooting at the age of 14. I've seen people hurt, I've known people who've died. People I've gone to school with have over-dosed on drugs, or gone to jail. A sickeningly large portion of the girls I went to high school with have been sexually assaulted, sometimes brutally. And for a long time.. I accepted it as "normal". It's just what happened. Now that I no longer live there, I'm often embarrassed by where I came from. It never occurred to me for years that the home I grew up in would be considered unlivable to most people. Quite honestly it should probably be condemned. My in-laws have gorgeous homes, with huge manicured lawns, and nice jobs. Many of the friends I have online and in real life come from lovely homes, and families I would consider wealthy, and I often feel like any day now they will discover that I do not belong in their world. "Not Our Kind, Dear".

#3 My ex husband was abusive

And I don't mean he shouted at me a lot, although he did that too. Not that verbal abuse is any better... but yeah. My blog here is fairly anonymous, there isn't any connection from my Facebook to this blog on purpose. There are one or two people who are still in loose contact with him, and I'm scared of him finding this blog. It is my haven, my safe zone where I can rant all I want, about anything I want. In saying that, I'm not ready to share details, because I tried to talk about it in an online forum before, on another account, and he found it, and threatened my Gramma. His sister was (Still is? I dunno, I stay away from any and all contact) a psychopathic meth addict, and I totally believe she'd hurt my family. I think he would too. I hate him though. I feel anger for people, but he's the only one I hate. For years I felt like I must have deserved it, at least somewhat. He had a reason for it, every time. I finally broke down and told my husband why I'd felt I'd deserved it, and he hugged me, and loved me and told me there was never, ever an excuse for it, no matter what. And something in my chest loosened a little. It's better now, but I still fear him.

#4 I was a drug addict

Yep! Oh boy is that a fun thing to talk about at parties. Actually no, it isn't. So I don't. I usually don't mention it at all. But yes, I was. The particular drug of choice is a rough one, and I'm one of the few I've heard of who were able to come off of it. Apparently, it's difficult. But I managed. I kept all my teeth, all my hair, no scars, and no (obvious) permanent damage. So I win! I'll be damned before I ever go down that road again though, and I have no time for addicts of any kind now. I understand that it is REALLY hard to kick addiction, and I know a few people who are doing awesome at it (alcohol, not anything rougher) but people who are not seeking help, or who keep failing, and letting themselves fail... No time at all. It's not a reflection on them, or their struggles. I do not, let me repeat DO NOT feel like I am better than them, or stronger than they are, or that they are not worth my time. I simply cannot allow that sort of behavior into my life. I've got shit where I need it to be, and messing it up would be detrimental to my well-being.

#5 I am an Atheist who wishes I had something to believe in

I was raised by my mom, and Gramma. My mom is Wiccan, and raised me amongst Tarot cards, and candles, and incense. I remember being really excited when she gave me my very own tarot deck at 7. As I got older though, I found it didn't answer things for me. I checked out Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, and even Christianity. None of them spoke to me of truth, none of them resonated in my soul. As a matter of fact I was extremely frustrated and appalled by the bible after I read it. Judges, Numbers, Deuteronomy (several places actually), Samuel, Exodus, and Zechariah all condone, and in some cases encourage, rape. As someone who has been raped, I felt nothing but disgust. There were those who tried to say that those were old, and didn't count, but if you're going to live your life by the rules of a book, you can't just cherry-pick whatever pleases you. I decided to live the best life I could, without a invisible Father-Figure looking down on me, judging me. I don't need a book to tell me what is, and is not right. So I donate to charity, help others, love my fellow people, do kind things for animals, help the elderly, and play with children. I am a good person, who does good things, and will leave a wonderful legacy behind me. I don't need religion to help me with that. But when things are hard, I secretly wish I did believe. Because then I could say "God has a plan" or "The universe has a plan for me" or even "Karma will come around, and things will be better". And I would be comforted. Also, I wish I believed that after I die, I would see all my loved ones again. But I don't.

So... there we go! I hope none of you hate me now, or find me creepy. I also hope I don't get hate mail for not liking Christianity. I have lovely, wonderful friends who are devout believers, and I don't think that they're awful for believing. >
Anyway, this was a pretty heavy blog post, so I should leave it with something to lighten it up a bit.
Here is a video of Seven, attacking a handmade stuffed toy that was made for me by one of my Gramma's coworkers at the hospital. I've had it since I was three years old. Watch all the way to the end. It's only a minute long!



Till next time!