Saturday morning, I had to take the cats to the vet. This appointment was supposed to be for the previous saturday, but after I booked it, they looked at my cats' files and postponed it for a time when they would have two assistants there to hold Rogue down.

This is how bad she gets at the vet - even after being given a pill to make her calmer, she still needs to be wrapped in a towel and have two people with thick leather gloves to restrain her. And the vet can't really do much beyond give her a shot. She can't even listen to Rogue's heartbeat because she's growling and .... well, caterwauling.

To be honest, I don't think the pills do any good. She certainly doesn't seem very sedate. And they just seem to make her mean. I tried to get her into the carrier 20 minutes after giving her the pill, and she started swatting at me before I could even pick her up. And, very unfortunately for me, once I had her, I tripped on the way to the carrier and she freaked out and scrambled free, using my face as a means of escape. So today I look like I either faceplanted into gravel or got glassed.

Now, she's never liked being picked up, but she's never done anything remotely that bad before. Earlier that morning, I had picked her up and carried her into the bathroom so I could weigh her (never can get her onto the scale at the vet, so I figured I'd do that myself). No problem. Oh, she whined a bit, but didn't even squirm. But give her those pills, and she doesn't even want to be petted, much less moved, and she's not shy about her displeasure (as evidenced by my recent facial scarring).

The funny thing is that when she gets like that, she's happy to climb into the carrier. That's a safe place for her. And once I get to the vet, or any unfamiliar place for that matter, that's the only place Rogue wants to be is inside the carrier. She only gets violent if we try to take her out of it. Tiki is the exact opposite, she deals well with the vet, but can't stand to be in the carrier and meows and thrashes around inside it until I let her out.

So the whole experience is as unpleasant as it could possibly be. Tiki having some kind of seizure from the minute she's put into the carrier to the second she's let out, and Rogue lashing out at everyone within range if she's taken out of the carrier and screaming like a banshee the whole time. It's pretty traumatic for all involved, and none too pleasant for those within earshot.

And yet, after I've taken them home, and they've forgotten the ordeal and the drug has worn off, Rogue becomes the cuddliest, snuggliest cat ever, demanding belly rubs and falling asleep on my lap. It's like living with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.

Whenever I think about the TV show Extras, I usually think about the ones with either Daniel Radcliffe or Kate Winslet. I completely forgot about the Orlando Bloom one until today:

Orlando Bloom in "Extras"

I received a phone call last night from a charity, attempting to raise money for organ donor research. Fine, good cause, I might be willing to donate some cash to it, ( had the conversation not gone something like this: )

Still having not decided whether to sell my place or fix it up, I thought I would start implementing the phases that both plans have in common.

Phase 1 was:

1. clear everything off the crappy Ikea Ivar bookshelves in the living room.
2. clear space in the storage room for the crappy Ivar bookshelves.
3. move the crappy bookshelves into the storage room.
4. organize storage room.

Phase 1 was done last night.

Phase 2 is:

1. finish assembling the tetris bookshelves.
2. stain the bookshelves
3. artfully arrange bookshelves in living room with the tasteful and/or impressive-looking books and knick knacks. (i.e. the "Magic Eye Kama Sutra" stays in the box for a while, "The Art of War" gets placed on the new bookshelves.

Phase 2 will hopefully be complete before the end of the weekend.


Phase 3 is:

1. hire house cleaners to clean every square inch of the apartment.

Phase 3 will happen on Saturday afternoon.


Now, if I'm going to sell, what would happen after that is that I would continue decluttering and get the fluffer in to see how pretty he can make it look. If I'm going to fix it up, then decluttering is probably still a good idea, so I'll call that Phase 4.

Then Phase 5 will either be to bring in the fluffer, or to get an estimate on kitchen and/or bathroom renovations. Phase 6 will either be holding open houses or making two more of the Tetris bookshelf sets to place in the second bedroom so that I can get my books out of boxes.

So it looks like everything up until Phase 5 is the same. I can even get estimates from both the fluffer and the renovation guy without committing either way. So I have at least a week before the two paths diverge.

Ever since I met up with my realtor three weeks ago, I've been obsessed. Driving around looking for open houses, checking the MLS website every hour or so to see if there are new listings, and crunching the numbers over and over again.

OCD can be very exhausting.

Anyway, having all of this stuff rattling around in my noggin has been problematic, so I thought I'd just get it all out in a big brain dump, rather than a bunch of disconnected facts.

( Loads of real estate gibbering lurks below. Enter at your own risk. )

In the old testament, the verb "to know" often referred to having intercourse with someone.

With that in mind, is the phrase - which is often attributed to Socrates, or a philosopher of similar standing - "know thyself" actually ancient Greek for "fuck off"?

Homeopathic accident and emergency.

I have been having deep, intense cravings for a bacon cheeseburger since about 10 o'clock tuesday morning. I fought it for two whole days, and finally decided to give into it, and give into it properly by going to Vera's Burger Shack (the best burgers in Vancouver).

Bear in mind that, apart from the occasional prawn vindaloo, and one extremely ill-advised pizza on my birthday, I haven't eaten meat since last October. So, I'm not really sure where the craving came from to begin with, but clearly it wasn't going to stop until I fed it.

One of the weird things is that meat tastes kinda gross when you haven't eaten it for a while. Seriously, I used to absolutely love those burgers, and if I hadn't been starving when I went there, I don't think I could have eaten it. As it was, I had to lose the bacon because it was just too icky. I had to pile on the condiments just to make it palatable. So, some positive reinforcement for the anti-meat stance I've been on.

And some negative reinforcement, too, because my stomach has been in pain since about 10 minutes after I stopped eating, along with some reverse peristalsis urges. I thought it would take longer for my body to not be able to process meat, but I was very, very wrong, and will go back to my tofu and chick peas like a good little vegan as soon as I can contemplate eating at all. Ever again.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee for thy dialogue, for it is witty, erudite, interesting, and fast-paced. You keep me on my toes.

I love thee for thy characters, not just the obvious ones of Josh, CJ, Sam, Jed, and Leo, but also for the minor characters of Mrs. Landingham, Charlie, Aynsley, Danny, Andi, and even Ed and Larry. How can you not love those characters?

I love thee for thy casting, the choices made there were the perfect embodiment of my beloved characters.

I love thee for thy plots, which are engaging, intriguing, and renders the world of politics completely engrossing even to my engineering and software trained brain.

I love thee for thy cinematography. The long, sweeping camera shots that convey the immediacy of the situations.

And yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of season 5, and mix my metaphors horribly, I know that my loyalty will be repaid with season 6 and 7. Thy shark-jumping was just a phase, and thou outgrow'st it in shorter order than I'd imagined. And I sayest this not just because Jimmy Smits makes damn good eye candy. Yea, verily, the handing down of the mantle to the next generation is powerful and compelling symbolism.

(But seriously, folks, I lovelovelove this show. I did give up on it during season 5, and only started watching again in season 7. Yes, it jumped the shark when Sorkin left, but, astonishingly, it jumped back about two-thirds of the way through that season. This is unprecedented in my experience.)

It turns out with our new phone system, that if you hit "9" for an outside line, then "411" for directory assistance, it connects you as if you hit "911".

And if, for example, you notice after dialing what you thought was "411" (mostly because that's what the readout on the phone says) that there is a telephone book handy and hang up, they send an officer to investigate.

This was not covered in our training.

(My best guess is that it was still clicking over to the outside line when I hit the "4". Lucky I have call display, or else we might have gotten hit with a charge for a fake 911 call.)

Current Mood: embarrassed

I met up with my realtor for lunch today. Just to catch up, see how things are going. We got to be friends in the years since she helped me buy my first place five years ago. Unfortunately, it got me to thinking about my place and why I moved there. The main reasons were:

1. the noise at my old place was making me crazy.
2. the break in attempt made me feel less than safe there.
3. my job was at a start up company, so lowering my debt and monthly payments was a good risk mitigation strategy.
4. it was looking like the top of the market, and therefore time to cash out.
5. moving to Burnaby made sense in that it was a compromise location for me and Jim.

Well, 3 no longer seems to be as much of a worry for me. My company is doing reasonably well in terms of raising capital, and I should have at least a 6 month warning of any change there. Number 4 no longer applies, and we might be getting close to the bottom of the market. And number 5 is obviously no longer a concern.

So, the main reasons to stay in my current place is because it's quiet, it's safe, and because it makes financial sense.

Theeeennnnnn I looked at the open house listings. There's a place that's for sale in a building where I used to live. This was my favorite apartment that I ever lived in. Right in the middle of the West End. Three blocks from Davie St., same for Robson. It had a surprising amount of storage space for its size, and a funky loft bedroom. And it was surprisingly quiet for its location. The only issue I had was that it didn't have many windows, so it could get a bit too hot in the summer. The only reason that I moved out is because I got that job in England, and the commute would have been a bitch.

The one that's for sale actually has a second bedroom, and is about 200 sq. ft. bigger than the unit I lived in in that building. It's about 250 sq. ft. smaller than my current place, but I don't honestly need as much room now that Jim's not living with me.

So, better location, better neighborhood, much, much closer to work (and everything else), and it is pet-friendly. The only thing is the financial considerations. How much would it cost me to get out of my current mortgage? How much could I sell my current place for? And what would the closing costs be?

And am I absolutely insane to even consider this only a year after I moved into my current place? After I spent all that money on the new furnace, water heater, washer, and dryer?


ETA: GAAAAAHHHHHH! Stopitstopitstopit! I just found out that the place that I absolutely fell in love with, but couldn't even contemplate putting an offer on because of the issues with the building, has fixed those issues and there are 3 units for sale in that building!

How can I block real estate websites from my browser?

1. Woke up fifteen minutes late with a screaming headache, and had to rush around like a madwoman to be ready by the pre-arranged carpool time with my co-worker.
2. Had nothing to bring in for lunch, since I couldn't be bothered to go grocery shopping yesterday.
3. Had a commute that was 33% longer than normal, for unfathomable reasons.
4. My computer refused to start up correctly, and took over an hour to get into some semblance of working order.
5. Found out that the thing that I had been told to do on friday was the complete opposite of what my boss had wanted done.
6. Am spending this morning arguing against sending all of our test equipment out at the same time for reprogramming and upgrading. The rest of the free time is spent explaining why it's a bad idea for my team to test with the brand new equipment that is reserved for the clinical trials.
7. Coffee is doing nothing so far, except making my grumpiness more energetic.

I can't even think of anything that I can distract myself with that will elevate my mood. Kickboxing is supposed to start in half an hour, but I honestly think my head might explode if I go.

Inmates at the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines performing the dance to "Jai Ho" from the end of Slumdog Millionaire

Last week, Future Shop was having a sale on games, so I picked up a few. The first one I tried out was Prince of Persia. I'd heard a lot about it, and it was only $10, so what the hell.

Verdict: I can't decide if I really like this game or really hate it. It's both the most forgiving and unforgiving game I've ever played. It's forgiving in that Elika saves your ass every time something goes wrong, but it's unforgiving in that things go wrong with tremendous frequency. Jumped off the wall a fraction of a second too early or too late? Elika saves you. Jump is too far, and you didn't realize that it had to be an Elika-assisted one until it was too late? Elika saves you. You're in combat, your opponent knocks you down, and you missed the 0.25 second window to hit whichever button they flashed on the screen is the only thing that will save you? Elika heals you. You're fighting the Warrior, hitting X repeatedly in a manner which is either too fast or too slow for the game's liking? Elika heals you.

Another mild annoyance are the light seeds. They're placed such that you can't get to all of them unless all of your "powers" have been activated, but you need them in order to activate the powers to begin with. Which means that you have to go back to levels that you've already played in order to collect the ones that you couldn't reach before. It's easier the second, third, and presumably fourth time you go through it, but it's still a pain in the ass.

However, it clearly is appealing to my obsessiveness, because I've played well over half the game since 8 pm Saturday.

After merhawk reminded me about He Who Must Not Be Named, I started to think about other people whose presence in my life has not been missed. Having access to google and not enough work to keep me busy can be a curse sometimes.

Anyway, I found one of them, and he was the Green Party candidate for a riding in Toronto in the last election.


GAAAARRRRRRHHHHH!!!!eleventy!!!!!!!11111!!!

He's incompetent! He's a fuck up! He's a pathological liar bordering on sociopath! He flunked out of university 4 times! He's committed one sexual assault that I know of, and sexually harassed at least one other person! Don't you people vet your candidates?

(Granted, my information is 20 years old, but unless he's had some serious therapy in the meantime, I doubt he's changed much. And I would think that the sexual assault complaint would disqualify him, regardless of the time passed since it occurred.

Current Mood: infuriated

Sooo..... I'm back from vacation. We've just finished the testing of the last project and I'm waiting to see if the product manager approves it for release, my contract with my old company ended and they don't have the budget to renew it, things look like they're sorted out with me and Jim, and there's no new family drama.

So, what the hell do I do with myself in the evenings? I have this nagging feeling like I should be working, or dealing with something, or .... I don't know, just doing stuff.

This having free time thing is a bit disconcerting.

6 down, 44 to go.

The Chinese government's response to the 20 year anniversary is to censor all news reports, newspapers, flickr photos, MySpace pages, Tweets, and Hotmail messages that refer to the incident.

Glad to see that they've enacted so many reforms since then.

( ... or 'what I did on my spring vacation'. )