I’m too irritated to be thoughtful today, so this is just random crap.

~Wordpress Gets The Thumbs Down

So, Antonio is awesome and updated WP for me the other day, but I guess something is wonky with the update or a widget or something because I can’t reply to comments now.

It lets me open the little box… And type the reply… And then it treats the “Submit” button as a “Top of the page” button and zooms me to the top of the page without submitting the reply.

Of course this would happen when I have about three posts worth of comments I am desperate to reply to… And at the moment I barely have time for emails (I’m getting way behind on those.  I’ve had one sitting for about three people for AGES and I just… I am a wee bit preoccupied at the moment trying to figure myself out.  But it BUGS me.  I WANT to email these people.)

Bah.  Wordpress must die.

~There ARE Legal Grounds For Homicidal Rampages, Right?

I live in a nice part of the United States.  You know, the kind of place that makes asshats tourists people turn the word “summer” into a verb so they can tell their friends they “summer” here.

A lot of the locals, if they have a place to go, will vacate their houses in the summer and rent them out.  And no wonder – it costs an arm and a leg to vacation here.  Want to come visit me?  Go ahead, and bring the kids, there’s a cozy 3-bedroom place nearby for a mere $8,500 a week.  (Same place in the winter would be like $1,500 a month, btw.)  *sigh* Rich people ruin my summers, lemme tell ya.   It’s not just the houses that get more expensive – the restaurants change their menus, the hotels cost quadruple what they used to, the bakeries up their prices, etc. I know, I know, it’s how we make money in our area – rich people come, drop their cash like they know the apocalypse is coming tomorrow, and our little tiny two-stoplight town gets wealthier as a community…

BUT, I’m still complaining… Because the house next to me becomes a rental property in the summer.  And for some reason, there are MAGICAL acoustics in that place. In the winter, nothing that happens over there is disturbing in the least.  But in the summer?  The renters open the garage door, and drink beer, and I can hear EVERY WORD THEY SAY.  And, typically?  They’re saying them drunk, at 2:30am.

“Duuuude, do you like THIS chair?  I LIKE this chair!!!” (Said with the enthusiasm people usually reserve for things like the birth of their first child.)

“Five, four, three, two, one… GO!  I said Go.  GODDAMMIT Gooooooo!” (Oh, just skip the stupid games and drink the beer already, jerkfaces.)

“I love Beirut and, and, oh, oh, oh-my-God I love this song!  TAKE ME TO THE PLACE I LOOOOOVE!!!” (I’ll admit, I sang along too while curled up in my bed.  I mean, I was awake, so what the hell, right?)

Last summer, I called the police on three or four separate occasions just so I could get some goddamn sleep.  I haven’t slept well for DAYS now because this particular batch of renters is oh-so-fond of playing Beirut at stupid o’clock in the morning.

It’s doing my imagination NO favors that we have a veritable arsenal in the basement, and I know that even when it’s NOT sighted in?  I can still hit a target the size of a grapefruit 38 times out of 40 at fifty yards with our AR-15…

(I kid, I kid.  I DO enjoy target shooting – the concentration and heightened awareness it requires soothes me greatly.  But I’m not violent.  I won’t even shoot at silhouette targets because I can’t stomach the thought of working on my aim shooting at a human-shaped piece of paper.)

~Minus The Penis, Good Looks, and Helmet, That Was Me

I had to cut off all my nails because I broke one.  I’m considering having a funeral/burial for them.  They were so preeeeetty…  The most nail-demolishing activities I do are all cleaning-related, and I housecleaned for an agency one summer and got really good at not breaking my nails every time I scrubbed a floor.

But at work?  I broke a friggin’ nail.  I had JUST popped ten meds for a client, and she was about to dump them on the floor.  And there was just no way I was going to go through the process of collecting the pills, crushing them all, adding bleach to them, then throwing them away.  THEN making notes on the backs of the medication pages that my count is wrong because a pill was dropped and wasted, and I had to give another.  It would have been about 45 minutes of pill-destroying and writing.  So I SHOT my hand out and grabbed the pill cup.  But I misjudged and nailed the table too.  Bam, broken nail.

Sulky sulky sulk.  I was about to self-manicure them too.

I’m TIRED.  But I’m also ALONE in the house!!!  So I think I’ll try to nap while the neighbors are taking a break from pretending they are college-age.

I have a post going that is my random musings on the biological imperative.  So, tomorrow, or maybe later tonight, I might post non-whining.