Ever have one of those days?

Pay Attention to the UserPic

Okay, so it's been a while, but I've got a good excuse: On January 25, 2011, a dumbass in a red Dodge Ram ran through my apartment wall. See?


No, the idiot was not drunk. Just a fucktard who mistook the gas pedal for the brake. He told the cops that his "brakes failed".

*eye roll*

Yeah, and my middle name's 'Gullible'. Two of the employees of the apartment complex watched what happened and heard the moron hit the goddamn gas.

So, I was out of work for nearly a full two months because my job was work-from-home.

Notice the past-tense there? Not a mistake. More on that in a bit.

Anyway, more pics of the shit-for-brains and the mess he left behind:




Two things I want to point out about the photos above: Firstly, the window (which miraculously did NOT break) is the big window in Mom's bedroom. So, the photos below are the inside of her room (the majority of the mess is where her computer desk used to be). Secondly, the small pipe just to the right of the truck (it's less than 18 inches away) is the gas main to the building. Though I would have rather this not have happened to begin with, I am grateful that the goddamn motherfucker didn't hit the gas pipe. I have no desire to end this life as a human torch.

And here are the pictures of what the inside looked like after the truck was moved:




With those out of the way, a few more tidbits about my close-encounter-of-the-idiot-kind. It took the complex a full six weeks to fix the wall because the fucktard's insurance was/is dragging their feet. The company that now owns the complex finally gave up on hearing back from the insurance company and went ahead and fixed the wall - they are currently in the process of suing the insurance for their expenses. On Mom's and my side, we are also suing the fuckwit's insurance company - Mom was injured (not horribly so - she got hit with some debris and had a ginormous fuckin' bruise that went down to the bone and is still going away). The insurance paid the hospital visit (since Mom's got stainless hips, I didn't want to take any chances), but recall how my job was work-from-home? Yeah, I'm asking for lost wages. Mom's got nearly ten grand worth of stuff that was outright destroyed when the idiot went through the wall, and our lawyer is also pushing for 'emotional damages'. Now that they've finally got all the bills and whatnot, they expect it to take, and here I'll quote directly, "no more than a year, but not less than two months" before we can expect to see so much as a penny.

Okay, now that that shit's outta the way... I'm no longer work-from-home. Back at the end of March, I got moved on-site. And the stress began to escalate. And escalate. And fuckin' ESCALATE. First, there was the added hassle of having to commute. Then there was some bullshit about not being able to park in the parking area for the building where I worked - I had to park about half a block away (wouldn't have been a problem, except that the lot was across a very busy street where the closest intersection was over a mile away). And then, less than a month later, I got packed up and moved to a building all the fuck across town. What was a six-mile commute suddenly became a sixteen-mile commute. And since I was the ride for one of my fellow former work-from-homers, this turned into having to leave a full hour early because the goddamn twit doesn't know the meaning of 'on time'. Most days, our schedule began at 0600, which meant I had to be up at 0400 and at the carpooler's place by 0500. I literally cannot count the number of times the bint wasn't even awake when I got there, to say nothing of actually being ready to leave. And that doesn't even touch on the fact that the new site's 'dress code' would not allow us to wear t-shirts and jeans. They tried to say that I had to "get rid of" my bright pink hair, but backed down when I asked them to point out where in their precious fuckin' dress code it addressed hair color.

In any case, all that is now in the past. I quit on Monday. I'll let someone else get yelled at all goddamn fuckin' day.

No, I'm not completely nuts. I already have a second job lined up: On the 25th, I'm going to start school to get my CDL. The only downsides are that the class is going to be about six weeks long and is in Dallas, so I'm not going to be home for over a month. I just pray that the hotel they set me up in has WIFI.

Well... That about sums up my life so far this year. What about y'all?

Oh, and as a side-effect of the fuckwit's Hollywood performance, I missed the entire second half of Supernatural's season six. So, no spoilers please. Thank you in advance.

Life Just Sucks.

So... I'm sick of being lonely most of the time. I'd heard good things about eHarmony, but when I finished creating a profile there, this is the message I received:

We're very sorry, but our matching system cannot predict good matches for you.

WTF? Seriously? I refuse to believe that I'm all that unique. They went on to say:

eHarmony's patented matching system was developed after extensive research into marital satisfaction. We use each person's responses to our Relationship Questionnaire to predict the pairings of individuals that are highly likely to result in satisfying long-term relationships, based on what we learned through our research.

Unfortunately, based on responses to our questionnaire, we occasionally find situations where our matching system cannot identify high quality compatible matches, and this has happened in your case. Please understand that it is a result of our matching process and in no way reflects on you as a person or your ability to be in a happy relationship.

We apologize and regret our inability to find good matches for you. The time you spent completing our questionnaire, however, has enabled us to provide you with a free Personality Profile.. This Personality Profile lets you learn more about yourself and should provide you with valuable insights.

We wish you all the best in your search for that special someone.

I read through their personality report and found nothing new. I know who I am and how I react to both people and situations... Maybe that's a part of my problem - I've spent so much of my life figuring this out that I no longer have the capability of surprising myself.


I'm beginning to hate the internet.
Ever have one of those days?

So...Shit Happens.

I found out last Friday that work fucked up my paycheck. And not just for the last check - no way, that would be too fuckin' easy, ya know? No, they've been paying me at the flat-rate for call-floor reps ($9.21/hour) when I was supposed to be makin' $11.50/hour since 06/29 - that's almost a whole two fuckin' months here, people!

However, on the upside, after all my overtime is taken into consideration, my take-home on this coming Friday should be right around $1300. It woulda been more, but the OT's been a little more limited since 08/01 than it was back in June.

Mom and me are going to take a 3-day weekend to the Grand Canyon, and provided my camera holds out, I'll have some pics when I get back. Hopefully. Either the camera will fuckin' work or I'm just gonna break down and use my back-pay to buy a decent SLR (*laughs at the mental image of Mom trying to use a digital SLR with all the trimmings* - she had issues with the old Kodak 35-mm we used to have back when cameras still used film). Last I checked, Best Buy had a pretty decent 10-MP SLR for $500. Upside to it would be that the camera doesn't generally care which lens apparatus is used and Nikon's got some nice staying power... If anyone else has a better suggestion, I'll take it under advisement.
Ginormous Dork

Yeah, I had to do this one, too.

From my latest chapter of my NCIS fic:

I write like
Stephen King

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I got the same result when analyzing one of my SPN fics that's still a WIP (not one that's been posted yet, though).

But this came up for another NCIS fic I'm working on (likewise, not one that's been posted yet):

I write like
Chuck Palahniuk

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I also checked some of my original fictions, and all of them were either of the above, save one story I've been working on for years, which came back as:

I write like
James Fenimore Cooper

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!


I ain't dead yet...

Nope, not dead - just working way too much.

Got my first tattoo on the 19th - it's a bindrune and if I happen to think about it later, I'll post a pic for y'all. I plan to get at least four more in the coming months - the only reason I'd waited this long for my first was that I thought it was going to hurt. It didn't - I got the inside of my right wrist done, but it didn't hurt at all. Tickled like hell, sure, but didn't hurt. Wonder if that says something about me?
Ginormous Dork

Anyone else have Thin Lizzy stuck in their heads?

So... My reaction to the epicness that was the 100th ep?



Anyway, to explain the recap-post's title:

I have this song running through my head now. The italicized portions are those that keep repeating.

Guess who just got back today?
Them wild-eyed boys that'd been away

Haven't changed that much to say
But man I still think them cats are great

They were asking if you were around
How you was, where you could be found
Told them you were living downtown
Driving all the old men crazy

The Boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
(I Said) The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)

You know that chic who used to dance a lot?
Every night she'd be on the floor, shaken what she got
Man when I tell you she was cool she was red hot
I mean she was steamin'

And that time over at Johnny's place
When this chic got up and slapped Johnny's face
Man we just fell about the place
What that chic don't wanna know forget 'er

The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
(I said) The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)

Spread the word around
Guess who's back in town
You spread the word around

Friday night they'll be dressed to kill
Down at Dino's bar and grill
The drinks will flow and blood would spill
If the boys wanna fight you better let 'em

That kid rocks down at the corner blasting out my favorite song
The nights are getting warmer and won't be long
Won't be long till the summer comes
Now that the boys are here again

The boys are back in town (the boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (the boys are back in town)
The boys are back in town (the boys are back in town)
(Spread the word around)
The boys are back in town (The boys are back in town)
(The boys are back, the boys are back)
The boys are back in town again
They're hanging out at Dino's
The boys are back in town again

(The song's The Boys are Back in Town by Thin Lizzy ~ circa 1976, just so y'all know.)

And yes, the nights are getting warmer and it won't be long until summer comes now that our boys are here again. And who's looking forward to seeing them spill a little fallen-angel blood?

Aside from that - I remain convinced that someone who's got some say with show's been reading my fics. I had Dean using one of those nifty angel-killing swords in my one-shot over at fanfiction.net (the one-fer is 'Plan B' - my penname over there is, of course, 'Aurilia').

*wanders off humming*

'Dark Side of the Moon' reaction post

I didn't think it was possible, but then Kripke had to go and prove me wrong.

I didn't think any episode could end on a more painful note than the season finale for S3.

How very, very wrong I was.

However, on the upside, the boys are finally seeing just what makes each other tick - a good thing, but it still contributed to how horribly painful that metal-meets-plastic thunk sound was.

I think I need to borrow a concept (from Anteka, I believe): *assumes lotus position* Kripke has a plan. He isn't needlessly torturing me. Kripke has a plan. The boys will eventually live happily ever after with bunnies and rainbows and free beer and ponies. Kripke has a plan. Kripke has a plan.

WIP Meme stolen from hells_half_acre

I stole this from hells_half_acre... Fuck knows I've got far too many WIPs, so I may as well tease a bit:

Post a sentence (or two or a paragraph) from as many of your WIPs as you want, with no explanation attached. I added a minor bit of explanation, mainly because I dabble in three different fandoms - and,yeah, I never was all that great at followin' directions.

1. Fandom: NCIS

Abby, desperately wishing for something remotely resembling caffeine, took several moments to process her friend’s rush of words. What? It was a good question. “Hold up, Sammy. What about a dead man?”

“I woke up next to him, Abby! I don’t know who he is or how I got there! I just woke up and there he was all cold and not breathin’ and stuff and so I ran. Got here ’fore I figured that I need help, so I called you. You
can help, right?” Sam stopped her ceaseless pacing of the otherwise deserted bar and leveled a complex look at her friend. Flitting in amongst the panic and begging was a large dose of fear, seasoned with confusion and a dash of hope.

2. Fandom: SPN/HP

It was raining. There wasn’t any thunder and lightning, not yet, but the rain was still coming down at a good clip and had been for the last week. It was almost like the storm had been following him – or maybe it was that he was following it. Dean didn’t know, nor did he particularly care. In either case, that wasn’t why he pulled over when he saw the slight, drowned-rat figure standing by the side of the road with a battered backpack at its feet. No, it was the silence and what his dad didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Dean shifted the Impala into park and reached across the seat to unlock the door. He cracked it open enough that the hitchhiker would be able to hear him when he said, “Where ya heading?”

The hitchhiker pulled the door open a little further and ducked down some to reply, “Nearest place that’s warm and dry will do, though I wouldn’t turn down a bit of something to nosh on, too.”

Within the first six syllables of the hitchhiker’s words, Dean realized three things. The first was that the dude was, all appearances aside, a
dude and not a drowned-rat. The second was that he was from the UK, Ireland, or Australia – Dean never had been able to tell those accents apart. The last nugget of information was that, unless he wanted to spend a full day conditioning the leather, the guy was going to need a towel or something to sit on. “You can toss your bag on the floor in the back, but if ya gimme a sec, I’ll find ya something to dry off with.”

“Can do, mate.”

While the hitcher reached around and unlocked the back door, Dean slid out from behind the wheel, taking his keys with him. It didn’t take more than half a minute to locate a towel pilfered from a hotel four hunts ago. He tossed it to the hitcher and resumed his seat in the car. He was only slightly damp from his excursion into the rain. The hitcher used the towel to dry off his face and hair before shrugging out of his jacket and setting the sodden denim overtop the pack. He spread the towel on the seat before joining Dean in the car. “Thanks again, mate. Can’t tell you how much I appreciate you stopping for me. The last car passing this way slowed down enough to make sure they had a good aim before pelting me with an empty beer can.” The hitchhiker paused and leveled a narrow-eyed gaze at Dean. It made him feel oddly exposed. “Name’s Harry,” the hitcher said. “Harry Potter.” He offered his hand and smiled, the momentary suspicious look gone as though it had never been there to begin with.

3. Fandom: HP

Harry jumped when the stone in the centermost part of the floor began to rise with a groaning, grating sound. “What the…?” When it reached waist-height, the stone stopped rising. The air above it shimmered, like heat waves bouncing up off of hot pavement, and then thickened to resemble fog or smoke. It flared with white light before collapsing in on itself. When it was gone, a small rectangular object was resting on the stone. It was sleek and dark gray, with rounded corners and was about eight inches long, four inches wide, and only a centimeter or so thick. “Huh…” It also had a yellow sticky-note on it that read ‘Open me, Harry’.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Harry muttered to himself, knowing that things that suddenly appeared out of thin air without a reasonable explanation – like a nearby wand – usually portended bad news. “This is so very
not a good idea,” he repeated, and then, like many who came before him, he promptly ignored his own advice.

4. Fandom: HP

“Hey, Dad!” Fred shouted across the main workroom while George double-checked to make sure he still had all their notes.

Arthur jerked a little as he was placing some sort of liquid on a circuit board. He reacted faster than most would have given him credit for – in the space of an eyeblink, he dropped to the floor, shouting, “Duck!” The circuit board he had been toying with exploded in an impressive display of light and smoke.

As they climbed back to their feet, George took a quick look around and grinned, “So, that’s an improvement, yeah?”

Arthur wiped his hands on the apron he was wearing and removed the safety glasses from his face. “Yeah, it is. No more shrapnel to deal with when they explode. Still haven’t figured why the boards keep blowing up, though. They shouldn’t be doing that.”

“You’ll get it eventually,” Fred said.

“So, what’ve you two got now?” Arthur turned his back on the workbench and faced his boys.

“Did you know that…”

“…the muggles have actually walked on the

Arthur nodded. “I had heard something to that effect. Personally, I never really believed it.”

“Why not?”

Shrugging, Arthur headed across the room to the small cluster of writing desks shielded from the rest of the room by something called ‘blast glass’. “Well, I don’t know. It just seemed too…impossible at the time. Now, though, after seeing what else they can do without magic, I’m wondering if maybe I might not have been a bit too hasty in my original assumptions.” He began sorting through a thick stack of sketches and notes when some inner sense had him eyeing his sons with suspicion. “What’s this about, boys?”

“Well, we were just thinking…”

“…it’s a bit unfair, yeah?”

Arthur scratched the back of his neck as he replied, “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Why should the muggles have all the fun?”

Looking from Fred to George and back, a slow grin split Arthur’s face. Had anyone else been present, it would have been obvious just where the twins’ senses of adventure had come from. “Sounds like fun,” he said.

5. Fandom: SPN/HP

“Watch what you’re doing, Vasallus! You almost hit that whatever-it-is!”

“Calm down, boss, I know what I’m doing. It’s a mailbox, by the way.”

Lilith merely shook her head and planted her forehead in her hands. “Why did I pick
you for this project?”

The man who used to be known as Wyatt Bonnet shrugged and ground gears attempting to downshift the truck. “Thought it was because of all of us who never had a personal encounter with those hunters you’re after, I’m the only one who’s been topside in the last thirty years. But I know better than to question anything – thinking’s best left to those in charge.”

Lilith only
just managed to keep from sending her minion back to the pit. “Find the diner. They’ll show there sooner or later.”

“Sure thing, boss. Rumor has it we’d have better luck at the pub, though.”

Lilith quirked an eyebrow. “Vasallus…last time I checked, children were frowned on in pubs. Find the damn diner,” she continued in a whisper to herself, “and maybe I’ll get lucky and find another two or three vessels so it won’t just be
you I have to put up with.” She rolled her eyes, “Yeah, right. Lils, hon, if you were lucky, you wouldn’t be in this position to begin with. No reason to assume things are going to change now.”

“You say something, boss?” Vasallus glanced over at the girl in the passenger seat.

“Nothing important.”

6. Fandom: SPN

“Where’s that damn kit, Sam!” Dean was now putting pressure on the spurting wound in Miguel’s neck.

“It’s too late for that,” Melody said, “and you know it.” Though she didn’t speak loudly, her words carried easily to everyone watching. Carrying Sam’s gun, she stepped around the taller Winchester and approached the hunched-over figure of Dean. Dean looked up when her shadow fell across him. “He’s already dead,” she met Dean’s gaze with her own, and Dean had to forcibly suppress a rash of goosebumps at her expression. She leveled Sam’s Taurus at Miguel’s head. “Lucky for us, he’s gonna stay that way.” Melody braced her left wrist with her right hand and pulled the trigger. At a distance of only a couple of dozen inches, the slug didn’t miss.

The biggest part of Dean was in shock at the events of the last sixty seconds, for that was about how long it had been since that freaking
moan had echoed out from under the wrecked SUV. A slightly smaller portion was highly unnerved that this girl – this little girl who didn’t even have tits yet – had just coldly dispatched someone that, had it not been a zombie-bite, should have been savable. And the smallest portion, which wouldn’t have a chance to be heard until much later, was thinking that this little girl would make one hell of a hunter someday.

A stray breeze wafted the curling trail of smoke from the gun’s barrel away into nothingness. With the last of the smoke, the girl’s expression shifted subtly, losing the coldness and becoming once again the face of a twelve year-old who’d been forced to see things no one should ever have to see. Without saying anything more, she slowly turned around and walked back to the truck, returning the gun to Sam on her way.

7. Fandom: SPN

It was a rare luxury to sleep in for a change; there wasn’t a driving need to have to be anywhere, there weren’t any supernatural nasties lurking just out of sight, and if Nicki’s spare bedroom had a check-out time, no one had told him. Even rarer was the chance to be lazy just for the sake of being lazy, to stay curled up in a nicely warm cocoon and know he wasn’t there because of broken bones, torn muscles, or – even worse – because of a virus (there was just something inherently humiliating about being laid low by a freakin’ bug, to Dean’s way of thinking). Eventually, however, he did find that though remaining in bed sounded appealing, both his stomach and bladder had other ideas. Besides, there was coffee in the air, and he was pretty sure something foodlike would soon follow.

Dean threw on the jeans and t-shirt he’d been wearing the day before and paused in the bathroom before heading down to find some caffeine. Halfway down the stairs, he realized that the living room was occupied, but the words didn’t really sink in until his feet had hit the foyer floor.

“So you don’t think either of them’re cute? Not even a little,
teensy bit?”

Dean hid behind the archway and peeked around the corner. Nicki’s nieces had taken over the living room, using the coffee table as a desk. Kaila sat on the sofa and shrugged, turning a page in her textbook. “Not really. Besides, they’re way too old.”

“‘Old’?” Dean mouthed the word.
I am not old!

Rebecca had a book open, but was busy brushing her hair. “But Sam’s got those dimples!”

Dean’s indignation at being called ‘old’ melted.
Looks like you’ve got a girlfriend there, Sammy.

Kaila didn’t bother looking up from her book. “Trev’s got dimples, too, ya know,” she said, scribbling something down in a notebook.

Rebecca grimaced, “Thanks. That’s
just what I wanted to hear – our brother in the same conversation as a cute guy.”

Dean chewed on the inside of his lip to keep from laughing at the girls. It reminded him – strongly – of similar conversations he and Sam had while growing up.

Kaila rolled her eyes. “Sam’s not a cute guy, he’s a nine-foot-freak, Becca.” She smirked a little, “Though, since you’re an eight-foot-freak, don’t let
that stop you.”

Becca swatted her sister with her hairbrush. “Shut up. Besides, don’t you think Dean sorta looks like Daniel Vanderlinden?”

Too bad you’re not watching this, Sammy. You always wanted normal and didn’t believe me when I said we were normal.

Kaila sat her pencil down and leveled a glare at her sister. “No, I don’t. Daniel doesn’t have any freckles.”

Rebecca smiled, “Ooh! So you’ve
noticed! I knew it!” Laughing, she sang, “Kaila’s got a boyfriend, Kaila’s got a boyfriend!”

“Do not! Besides, I think Daniel’s scared of Dad.” When Becca’s laughter died down, Kaila continued, “At least I don’t have a thing for Sasquatch. Should we start callin’ you Mrs. Sasquatch?”

Dean’s lip was starting to hurt, but if he let up on it, he was going to burst out laughing and probably wind up on the girls’ shit-lists for the day. If he’d learned one thing in his entire life, it was to never underestimate an insulted teenage girl’s capacity for violence and inventive revenge.

Rebecca huffed and finished tying her hair up into a ponytail. “You’re just jealous ’cause it’s a law of nature that all little sisters are supposed to be taller. It makes up for having to be the little sister.”

“Where’d ya hear that?”

“Aunt Nick told me so,” Becca replied, flopping onto the sofa, “so it has to be true. She
is taller than Mom, after all.”

So that’s why Sammy’s the ginormatron of the family. He smirked. He is the little sister. When nothing further surfaced in the way of amusement, Dean resumed his search for coffee.
Mother's Milk

NCIS Needs Better Online Resources

Since there doesn’t seem to be a resource like Superwiki or the HP Lexicon available for NCIS, I’ve been working my way through the episodes, taking notes when the urge strikes. Keep in mind the fact that the vast majority of the episodes were watched on some Japanese website (complete with Japanese subtitles – I can now read ‘boss’ and ‘no’ without any problems) and the quality was somewhat poor (three-inch screen, ya know). These are those notes. Episode dates and teaser-blurbs all come from IMDB.

1.08 Minimum Security

Original Air Date: November 25, 2003

"A translator from Gitmo dies with emeralds in his stomach. NCIS investigates to find out which prisoner smuggled them in, and what he's after."

– for all of Tony’s love of movies, he didn’t know who Shane was. This suggests that he likely doesn’t enjoy westerns. Tony has also not seen the Maltese Falcon.
– Paula Cassidy is blonde with blue eyes and is the female equivalent of a womanizer. She apparently has ‘rules’ regarding hooking up with men she works with and men who investigate her.
– Tony can salsa dance.
– Tony feels guilty for having to search Paula’s apartment. And has reiterated that he never had a sister.
– Tony is extremely attracted to Paula – presumably, particularly from the final scene on the plane, this attraction goes both ways.
– It can be inferred from Gibbs’ and Kate’s reactions on Tony waking up with the iguana staring at him that Tony sleeps nude.