I found this in the bin at work.
I’m currently fighting for space in front of the fire with the two boys. I can’t get a picture as it is too dark, but Lokii is jammed between my thighs and Spot is making sure that I cannot stretch my legs.
Oh wait, iDJ just came in and I got him to take a pic of us. This is live-blogging, folks!
He Himself has recently brought to the house his old electric guitar, and bought a small amplifier. He was just playing, and I tried to get a pic but he stopped too soon. He is going to figure out how to hook up a microphone to the amp so I can sing while he plays. This is something I’ve wanted us to do together for a very long time!
An earlier, ‘action shot’ of Lokii when he was doing his stretching exercises. Along with my feet still in winter indoor booties and the dog bed (brown thing with green fluff) that Lokii is entirely responsible for chewing up. Little shithead.
I think our robins have abandoned the hose-reel nest. They weren’t expecting us to be outside so much, or throwing smoke in their faces every weekend when we grill. iDJ just loves to grill.
Not taken tonight: this was last weekend. But since I have shared kitty pics, I must include a doggie pic of Neko looking so sad that she can’t have BBQ. Tonight we are having sausages, drumsticks, and my homemade hamburgers. Maybe an ear of corn for me, if I get up away from the lovely fire and open the oh-so-difficult package of Spanish corn for him. *snark*
Back to the birds – we bought them dried mealworms. Because, supposedly, robins love them. I opened the package and they smelled really good. So I ate one. On purpose, and all. It actually wasn’t bad – like popcorn without butter and salt. Nicely crunchy, a slight taste of fat. So maybe they just need warming, and salt.
It didn’t bother me to eat one, as mealworms don’t have legs or a distinctive head. Does that even make sense? Maybe I’ve just been reading too much about alternatives to protein in our diets and wanted to give it a go. Seriously, it wasn’t disgusting at all.
I’m going to have to title this after I’m done rambling. My brain is all over the shop! Probably I should break this up and do a few posts rather than dumping everything in my noggin out on the screen and stirring it up to see what rises to the surface.
I’m going crack open my egg and get out a big wooden spoon to see what happens, anyway.
I had to come to a first-gear-and-hazards-on stop this morning on the way into work, as there was a cow in the road. I immediately learned that they don’t like being honked at – said cow jumped from the side of the road to directly in front of my car. When you drive a Mini, a cow is huge! Hmm. How is the farmer going to know they lost a coo if I don’t honk my horn? Cow is now looking for food on the centre line of the asphalt…honk! Whew, I only had to go entirely into potential oncoming traffic to creep past.
Think my use of hazard lights caught on – the car behind me did the same. I used them again to warn a car coming the other way, too. Irish life!
I am still irritated over some jackass who tried to troll me on FB. I know I did the right thing by not engaging, but the instinct for “I should have said” is strong in me. Probably because I was bullied so much as a kid. The great thing about the Internet is you have plenty of time to come up with those “I shoulda said’s”. The terrible thing about the Internet is that sometimes you have to still keep that shit to yourself as it isn’t worth it. I have no need to explain myself to an aggressive total stranger who took my words entirely out of context and called me an obnoxious narcissist with bad taste in music who bullies others and looks down on other cultures. No, no I do not – nothing I could have said was going to change his mind. But it still pisses me off to no end that someone thinks that about me – or said it to get a rise out of me.
I felt better for a while, and actually laughed when my only response was ‘Go troll someone else’ and his was ‘take your own advice’. Seriously, he pulled the kindergarten, “I know you are but what am I?” card? So very troll. Fuck him.
Just wish I wasn’t still thinking about it. Wonder if it is a form of PTSD? Not belittling PTSD, don’t get me wrong. It’s just … it’s been days; get out of my head already!
I changed the wiper blades on the car today. Why does that have to be so damn difficult? I can assemble furniture or anything IKEA like a boss – I repair all kinds of weird stuff at work that I’ve never seen before – but those tiny diagrams on the wiper blade box baffled me. I kept the crappy old blades in the car just in case I screwed it up – again. I already screwed it up once, and had to put the rotten one back on. The new bastard was whistling while wiping. Something so common should not take 20 minutes to do!
Right, I think that is enough. I’ll save the plant stuff for another day, when I’m not all stuck in my melon.
Unfortunately, the THAT in question wasn’t something awesome and cool and deadly and spiffy and gnarly.
It was poor Spot having a sudden and shocking case of projectile vomiting.
He had been running around the house like a kitten, despite being…13 or 14? (I actually don’t want to know how old he is, despite knowing him since the day he was born. I worry too much.) I know for sure he was born after 9/11. Oh crap, that makes him thirteen. He doesn’t act or look it….
So. Spot was rocketing around the downstairs – kitchen, hallway, living room – up and over the back of the couch, as a cat does – and back to the kitchen again. Apparently he had also recently had a big drink of water from the dog bowl. Evidence provided of the big drink: a sopping wet front paw and splatters all over the floor from where he shook said paw dry, several times.
Bengals love water. Nutters. Seriously, that cat makes a bigger water-mess than the dog when she is just back from a walkie and drools her drink in parabolas around the kitchen.
Spot came haring into the living room, across my lap and launched a torrent of water onto iDJ’s lap.
Well, I’ve never seen that before.
He was as shocked as we were, and proceeded to avoid me and drool a lot. I think he aspirated some of the water, and as cats aren’t great at coughing, he just swallowed a lot for the next hour. Of course we kept a very close eye on him, and I rubbed his throat and his belly several times to make him feel better.
He’s fine today, but – for the third time – well, I’ve never seen that before. Have any of you?
I still haven’t gotten another chance to go firewalking, and I’ve been so damn bored around the house. Sure I have projects I could do – but cleaning mildew off the bathroom ceiling isn’t nearly as fun as goofing around online and/or/while drinking beer.
I’ve been wanting to do something physical. I can’t play team sports worth a hoot, or run far, and cycling is not of any interest to me (I’d rather look at the scenery up close than see it as a blur). Swimming means a drive and a massive dose of chlorine, or a drive and a wetsuit that won’t keep me from freezing my proverbials* off. Plus its still dark when I get home from work, ugh.
(*proverbial balls. I don’t literally have them, so I call them my proverbials.)
When one of my coworkers – who is also a FB friend – put up a notice that he would be teaching a self-defence class starting at 6:30 in the evening, I jumped on it. I could get there just 15 minutes late each class, if he didn’t mind? ‘Not a problem.’ Anything I need to buy or know in advance? ‘Not a thing.’
So I jumped online and did some research on the type of art he teaches. It is called Krav Maga. Here’s the Wiki definition:
“Krav Maga or “contact combat” is a self-defense system developed for the military in Israel that consists of a wide combination of techniques sourced from Boxing, Judo, Aikido, and Wrestling along with realistic fight training. Krav Maga is known for its focus on real-world situations and extremely efficient and brutal counter-attacks. It was derived from street-fighting skills developed by Hungarian-Israeli martial artist Imi Lichtenfeld, who made use of his training as a boxer and wrestler as a means of defending the Jewish quarter against fascist groups in Bratislava, Czechoslovakia in the mid-to-late 1930s. In the late 1940s, following his immigration to Israel, he began to provide lessons on combat training to what was to become the IDF, who went on to develop the system that became known as Krav Maga. It has since been refined for civilian, police and military applications.”
Well, hell. That sounds okay to me. Not exactly what I was looking to do, but it’s something! Deciding factors: I like that it was developed to help the oppressed, I know the trainer, I can get there nearly on time, it isn’t on a awkward day of the week, and it sounds bad-ass.
Who doesn’t want to be a bad-ass?
While I can’t (at this time) see myself going for belts and whatnot, I have had two classes now and have enjoyed myself immensely. I’m pretty strong from walking 10+km per day and hefting boxes five days a week at work, and pretty much everyone knows I have excess aggression to work off. That said, I’d never worn boxing gloves or thrown an actual punch in my life until last week. Proud to say I’m not timid about it: I only go lightly until I think I have the move down and then I try to hit as hard as I can! I find if I stop focussing on the pad and look at the human behind it, I hit harder and more accurately.
I think that means I want to beat people up, not objects. Or maybe I just really get the point? I do see quite quickly the reasons why you do or do not move a certain way – how you can leave yourself open, for example. This is not polite dancing around, this is the stuff that teaches you to break fingers, arms, legs, poke out eyes, rip off testicles. I never saw the need to fight nicely, so it suits me. If someone comes at me, they should pay for it.
I’ve discovered that I don’t care for being the body that is used for examples. My wrists are flimsy and thin – wrists and fingers are some of the main points you use against an attacker – amazing how many ways your wrist can be bent that makes you fall to the floor in agony. I also bruise easily, so in addition to the numerous bumps and whatnot I magically seem to grow on a daily basis, I also have new ones from being pinched in the bingo-wing (holy crap that hurts: a good move if you don’t really want to beat the shit out of your opponent but stop them cold).
I really enjoyed the sparring, fists only, during my first lesson. I bet if anyone had taken video, I had a smile on my face the whole time.
I’m better at the kicks, for power only. My accuracy sucks. My left leg is only really good at side-kicks, so far. I think my wonky back makes it hard for me to move certain ways, too. I’ve gotten quite good at ignoring my back over the years. My right shoulder decided to give me shit after the first lesson – never had that happen before. Rotator cuff? I didn’t baby it during the second class when I did an elbow punch that let me know right away that that was what my shoulder didn’t like the week before. The Boss said I could stop but I did another, and I think I feel better this week. Screw you, shoulder!
Other than that, I’ve not been very sore at all after a class. Either The Boss is taking is easy on me, or I am ignoring the aches and pains as I’m used to doing, or I actually don’t hurt. Hard to say.
This week, I learned how to keep someone off me while flat on my back on the ground. This involves lots of spinning about on your spine while holding your head up to see. My neck got quite sore during, but what got me the next morning was my lower back. I felt bruised to the touch. So last night, I asked hubby dear to have a look at my lower back to see if there was a mark.
Him: “Yep, you have a Tijuana Licence Plate!”
Me: “Say what?”
Him: “A tramp-stamp of a bruise!”
Maybe I should get it tattooed on – I get the feeling I’m going to have a lot more.
This scene unfolded an hour or so ago. It happens a lot, but this time I managed to get a photo:
To give him some dignity – he was licking his leg, not his furballs!
Full site here – historical thesaurus of drinking words – but I’m going to take screen shots in case you can’t be arsed to follow the link. Perhaps you might be half-shaved, toxic, poggled, shickery, or peloothered yourself right now. Why not, it is a Monday, after all!
I love language. And I love drinking. We still do use a lot of these terms commonly, of course.
In Ireland we have quite a few that may or may not be on the list. I’ve had a few cans and I’m not going back to look!
Rotten (usually preceded by absolutely), rat-arsed, baloobud (likely regional to my town), steamboats, mashed, pished, totalled, poleaxed, writ off (also regional, apparently is said ‘rit aff’), buckled, spannered, slaughtered, wankered (sounds like a really good night, that), pissed as a fart (I love that one), langered or langers, locked, off yer head… it does go on!
Did you find favourites in the list, or have any new ones for the class?
I heard you!
Oh god shut up.
What? What do you want?
Anything, anything to make you shut up…
What do you want from meeeeee?!?