They just picked the wrong person to mess with. I have 39 pages of logs, webpages, emails, trouble tickets, and receipts, all fully annotated, ready to send off to American Express. I’m going to take them to Kinko’s tomorrow and copy them all just in case the Florida AG’s office wants them.
Background Running ProgramsWe may allow programs to run continually in the background. These are called croon jobs and are considered on a one-to-one basis and an extra charge will be incurred based on system resources used and operational maintenance needed, if applicable. In most cases Featureprice prefers not to impose any extra charges on the customers.
(emphasis mine)
So that’s where they buried Frank Sinatra!
Richard “Dick” Cheese and Lounge Against the Machine a/v area. Download. Listen. Watch. Wear Depends and don’t eat anything while doing so.
This kid took an insane amount of drugs while on IRC and webcam and died. The little dumbasses on the IRC channel kept insisting that nobody should call the cops because it might get him in trouble. Even more disturbing – he’d been prescribed Klonopin, Restoril, Methadone, and Inderal – all at the same time, all apparently without a thought to “might a 21 year old guy abuse these drugs with high abuse potential? Shouldn’t we just give him a prescription for a small amount at a time?” It’s disgusting, that he was prescribed the drugs, that he took them all at the same time, that he was egged by other IRC weenies, and that nobody called the police.
Today I would like to explain to you the proper usage of a word. The word is pique. As in “to pique one’s interest”. If your interest is peaked, that means either that it comes to a little point on the top, or (if you’re using the two syllable pronounciation of the word) that it isn’t looking very well.
Now that’s out of the way, I’d like to tell you about what happened while we were out of town. On Monday the lady who cleans our house came. She made up the bed in the three-year-old’s room, which basically consists of putting the quilt straight on the bed. Then we took the baby to Houston, where her sister was already, and then hub and I skipped town on Tuesday. Which is all a long and drawn out way of saying that nobody had been in the room since it was cleaned up, except me to peek in there briefly and make sure nothing was out of place.
When I went in there today to look for a coat, I noticed that the quilt was messed up. It looked just like a cat had tunneled under it, laid there a bit, then snuck out.
Speaking of cats, Lilly’s bloodwork looks better today, and they think she might not have cancer after all, but rather pancreatitis. Keep your fingers crossed!
We had a quick trip to Fredericksburg these past two days which was cut short by an acute case of homesickness. We did manage to eat at a couple of places that I felt needed comments, as well as stay in the best B&B in town. I’m not quite sure I want to say where we stayed because I’m greedy and would rather keep it a secret.
For a late lunch we stopped at the Lindenbaum, which was eerily deserted. We waited. And waited. And waited. After 5 minutes or so of hanging out at the front door without seeing a living soul in the place, we decided to sneak out and find a place that wasn’t run by ghosts.
The place turned out to be the Auslander. I ordered the wienerschnitzel (I thought you pronounced it “veen-er-shnit-zul” but the waitress called it “ween..” – who’s wrong here? and it better not be me). I also ordered two sides, red cabbage and German potato salad. I hadn’t had good German food in a long time and was greatly anticipating my order.
It came out, looked good, so I started cutting into it. It’s important to note that my allergies were bothering my so my nose wasn’t up to snuff. Hah, up to snuff. I slay me.
After 3 or so bites I noticed an aroma. Spoiled meat. Meat that had been sitting in the sun for 2 days and was rotten. Stinky Meat. My weenurshnitzul was kaput, and I had just taken 3 big bites of it. Apparently cutting into it let loose that magic spoiled aroma, and it started to permeate the table to the degree where I couldn’t eat my sides (‘sok, the German potato salad was consisted of vinegar, potatoes, and cornstarch, and had the uneasy appearance of chunky snot) and I was too disgusted even to have a sip of water.
I told the waitron that the meat had gone bad, and she took it off my bill, but that didn’t help my stomach troubles all night long. Sure, I could have had a tummy bug, but it’s a strange coincidence, n’est-ce pas?
Around 9:00 I dragged myself out of bed long enough to realize that all I’d eaten that day was an uninspired side salad and a few pieces of rotten meat, and since we were staying in the Burg, we needed to get moving fast if we were to eat anything at all that night. We headed down to the Fredericksburg Brewery, where my order was “Schinken Schnitzel- Veal Cutlet pounded thin, lightly breaded, sautéed, then topped with Black Forest Ham and Swiss Cheese and laced with a Dijon Cream Sauce served with Sauerkraut, German Potatoes”. It was very very good, and I managed to eat another 3 bites or so before my stomach started chanting “Attica! Attica!”. Doggie bag, please. Went back to the room and went comatose for the night.
For lunch today we stopped at the Peach Tree Tea Room, a name that made hub quake in his boots. Just after the waitron (who had an unccanny resemblance to the zombie-Linda in The Evil Dead [haHAHAHAHAHAHahah *CLANG* heeheeheeheeheehEEHEEHEEHEheehee *CLONK* etc.]) described to us the velvet chicken soup in loving terms that had my mouth watering, she came back to the table to tell us they ran out. We ordered a bread variety appetizer (the variety was that you had 2 choices of focaccia – pepper filled or walnut-something filled). I ordered the special quiche of the day – jalapeno and potato. Which meant there was a little crust, a tiny grating of cheese and a dab of egg, huge massive chunks of bland potato, and one little bitty slice of jalapeno.
Well, what the hell, it was nourishment. We ate, went shopping in the 50 degree rainy weather, then retreated to our suite.
About that suite – it’s over 1300 square feet with 2 huge rooms, one of them has an entire wall filled with floor to ceiling bookcases full of books, of course. They stock the room with pastries and fruit and juice and milk and cereals and coffee and heavy cream and a bottle of wine and chocolate mints for at night. The bed’s got a memory-foam top on it and 360 count sheets. When you walk in you see that the owners have filled up an ice bucket for you and set out a plate with jalapeno jack cheese, crackers, and hard salami. It’s just amazing, and they charge about half of what they should. I think we’ve been spoiled. Email me if you want to know what it is, because I can’t bear the thought of it getting booked and us not being able to get in.
I called the vet to check on the kitties who had their teeth cleaned this morning. Wrong, only one got her teeth cleaned. The vets decided not to do the other one when they saw her bloodwork. Turns out her pancreas-related numbers are FUBAR, and the vet thinks she might have pancreatic cancer.
Perhaps I need to send those freaking chain letters on after all.
I finally got my favicon.ico to work.
Some smart people have formed a collaborative Austin weblog at www.austinbloggers.org that automagically posts if you send it a trackback ping, which I think is cool as hell. And it abates some of my jealousy after seeing the new H-Town Blogs site (spotted on Big Pink Cookie).
A Valentine’s Day weekend without the kids, spent in a romantic hotel.
A birthday/wedding anniversary week in Las Vegas, also without the kids, spent in a 900 square feet suite at the Treasure Island for $175 a night, and all the good things that come with a trip to Las Vegas – shows, good food, gambling, seeing the Grand Canyon for the first time, risking life and limb to get a picture of Area 51, getting my In-N-Out burger fix, and of course the possibility of winning millions of dollars – a pipe dream, to be sure, but where would the human race be if we didn’t dream?
We have three choices of transportation to Las Vegas – first class flight ($2400), Southwest Airlines cattle car ($500), or driving (about $300 in gas plus 48 hours of driving).
Southwest’s pretty safe, aren’t they? I mean, who’s going to hijack a plane and say “Take me to… Yuma! Yes, Yuma, now!”
