The Heat is On
The heater is fixed. We are several thousand dollars poorer. But I'm not wearing three layers of clothing and a blanket two feet from a space heater. So that's good.

Seriously, so glad it got fixed before Christmas. Thank you for all good thoughts for us and bad thoughts for the murder-plotting heater, and offers of fruitcake.

And now, off to read in bed without worrying that my exposed hands will get frostbite.

My brain can't decided which way to look at this.

Bad news: The heater/air conditioner is dead. And, apparently, it was plotting a way to take us with it through carbon monoxide poisoning.

Good news: The heater people came out today and said they could have it fixed by tomorrow.

Bad news: Said "fixing" is actually replacing. As in, with a whole new unit. For about $6,000.

Good news: We are 9 days within the window to get a $1,500 tax credit for installing it.

Bad news: I still didn't have $4,500 lying the fuck around to spend on broken heaters!

Good news: I don't have to choose between the heater and, say, eating. We can afford it. It just hurts.

Bad news: It is COLD in the house right now. All the furniture is cold, so when you sit down on anything it gets worse.

Good news: Can make one room semi-habitable by hauling my parents' space heater into it.

Argh. Seriously, I know it could be a lot worse. We could be in the cold and the dark, along with all of Tulsa while an ice storm rages outside. We could not have parents who live down the street and will let us hang there as much as we want. We could be having to take out a loan to cover the cost of the new heater. It could have happened on Christmas Eve, leaving us in the cold for days. There are so many "could haves" out there, but the truth is that I still feel crappy about the whole thing. I want my house heated and I don't want to have to spend thousands of dollars to make that happen!

But that's not a choice. So I'm just going to try to remember that it could be worse. Grrrr.....

Fairy Tale Pendant Sale
A new Fairy Tale Pendant sale starts tomorrow, and there's a chance to win a pendant if you help spread the word.

Check it out!

Fingers crossed!

Oh Dear
So it's Jorm's birthday today, and we had dinner with my folks and his. After dinner, my mom, my brother's friend, and I go into the kitchen to rinse off the dishes. And the following conversation ensues.

Mom: So, how did it go last night?

Me: It was GREAT! I had sex!

Mom: Really? Cool!

Me: Yeah, I had sex with Jareth. It was totally awesome. Of course, I had to get a little drunk first.

Mom: Why?

Me: Because it turns out I'm related to this evil sorcerer who caused a cataclysm that destroyed half the world and I'm feeling a little freaked out . . .

At this point, my brother's friend lets out this huge whoosh of air, and I realize that he's been staring at my mom and me with this confused/horrified expression. "Oh," he says in relief, "This is a game."

Apparently he'd been a tad concerned about the way I was blithely and excitedly telling my mom about how I'd had sex with someone not Jorm, while Jorm was sitting with his parents in the next room over, and the way my mom was acting like this was a really neato thing.

Atlantis, breaking into the real world one confused guy at a time.


So, I've apparently done something bad to my knee. I've had weak knees for years now, ever since I used to do hunter-jumper riding as a teenager. Usually, they've just gotten twingy or achy for a while, then they'll slack off for a few months. My preferred method of exercising is to do step workout videos, and sometimes I'll have to make sure not to do anything high impact like jumping kicks. But it was never anything too extreme. Annoying, but it would usually die off right before I got concerned enough to go to the doctor.

About two weeks ago, though, I did something to it. Jorm was helping me take posters around campus, and I stepped up one small, shallow step, and felt this stabby pain in my knee. I went around gingerly, and it seemed to get better, but that night we went to the Tom Petty concert at the BOK center. In the nosebleed section. By the end of it, I'd gone up and down the stairs enough that Jorm practically had to carry me out at the end. So I babied my knee for a week, and it seemed to go away, and I pretty much forgot about it.

Except today, when I was starting to exercise, it went completely haywire again. I can't go up and down stairs without it hurting, can't bend over to pick anything up, have to get out of chairs too carefully.

I'm going to have to make a doctor's appointment, I know. And I will, because I think Jorm will drag me by my hair if I don't. But it frustrates me. I feel like I'm too young to have knee problems, even though I know that's silly--lots of people have things like this at lots of different ages in life. I feel frustrated with myself, like I should be able to just make myself better. But I don't know why. I don't usually get this way about medical stuff. If you have a problem, you fix it. End of story. It doesn't mean anything about you.

So why do I feel irrationally annoyed and frustrated with myself over this? Like I did something wrong, or I should just be able to suck it up and deal with the pain. I tell myself that lots of people deal with worse pain all the time, even though I know that, if I don't get it checked on, I could be setting myself up for much bigger problems later in life.

The whole thing just makes me so irritated. But I'm mostly irritated because I can't quite figure out my emotional reaction to it. Grrrr....

I Think My Dreams Are Telling Me Something
So I had another gaming dream the other night. This one was unique because I was actually Amice in it, as opposed to being some me-Amice hybrid. And the other character was himself and not a weird player-character hybrid as they usually are.

In true dream fashion, it started out in one place and then moved into something else. One minute I was in a hotel room with everyone who went to FenCon, trying to figure out if the fridge worked (though there really was no fridge in the hotel room at FenCon), and the next thing I knew I was Amice, talking to Jareth Rosewood. The conversation went like this:

Jareth [looking at Amice sideways]: You don't like me very much, do you?

Amice [lips slightly pursed]: Well, you haven't given me any reason to like you, Mr. Rosewood. All you do is make snarky, one-line comments to me. That alone isn't going to make me like you.

Insert montage of Jareth telling Amice about his past, why he left the Rifles, etc. I have no idea what was said in this montage, but it must have been something good, whatever it was. Because we cut back to:

Jareth [standing behind Amice, holding her wrists behind her back, whispering in her ear]: Now, tell me what you'd like me to do to you . . .

So, though I have to say that the whole Amice-not-being-me thing fell apart a bit  there at the very end, I think my subconscious likes Jareth very much. And wants to get to know him better. Hmmm . . . . And possibly yummmm . . .

(Sadly, though, there was a distinct lack of debt collectors in the shape of cathartic boars. I guess you just can't have everything. But it was my first gaming dream after a long drought, and sexy too, so I'm not complaining too much.)
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I will not talk about my roleplaying game to people who would be utterly uninterested in it. Like Jorm's mom. Or my interns.

I will not play its trailer's music in inappropriate places. Like work.

I will not work on parody songs about it in inappropriate places. Like work.

I will allow myself to talk loudly about it while walking through parking lots and at lunch with Jorm, however, because then I get to see him have to physically stop himself from getting randy with me in public. Because that's fun.

How do you know that you live in an utterly, no-way-back house of geekdom?

When you shift something in the closet and from the pile of junk at the bottom of it comes a deep, raspy, slightly mechanical voice saying, "You don't know the power of the dark side."

Seriously, I squeaked and then jumped about three feet backward before realizing that I'd accidentally hit the button on Darth Vadar mask that I got Jorm at a garage sale last summer. It has a thing that hangs down over the chest with buttons that make it say different things, or just modulate your voice to sound like Vadar's. Gah . . . .

Fun: Going to the zoo with free coupons to get in and more free coupons to get sodas. Seeing the river otters totally hamming it up for the passersby, realizing that the zoo now has an alpaca, having many of the normally nocturnal animals be awake and active at 2:00 for some reason, and seeing a bird in the southwest exhibit wigging out over giving itself a dustbath.

Not fun: Becoming so inexplicably tired after said adventure that I came home and fell asleep for an hour, then woke up feeling completely groggy and out of it, with my lower back hurting enough (also for not apparent reason) that I'm considering Large Scale Pain Meds. Which means, of course, no writers' meeting, which I had been planning on going to all week. And I'm not very good when I have to change plans abruptly.

In short, I feel pissy and crappy tonight. The only small bit of solace is that Eureka starts. I hope this season is better than last, though.

Ice Dog
Every 4th of July, Jormungandr, my mom and I make homemade ice cream. The old-fashioned kind, where you use ice and rock salt and have to crank it until your arms feel like they're going to fall off. But it's worth the effort, because the consistency and flavor is so different from store bought ice cream. Favorite flavors include peppermint, cinnamon, vanilla, raspberry, and, for my mom, peach. Today, we made peppermint and blackberry (separately, not together).

This year, we also decided to try using Sonic ice, since it's so small and crushed and soft. It was great--SO much less resistance than normal Quick Trip ice. But as we're going along, we keep spilling little pieces on the kitchen floor when we scoop the ice out of the cooler to top the bucket off. And Nemo keeps dive-bombing the pieces as they fall and snapping them up. So I toss him a piece, and he catches it like it's a treat.

We spent thirty minutes tossing him ice. I even dropped a handful in his bowl and he gobbled it right up. And he stood there with us the whole time, watching very intently for any pieces that might fall. He was so sad after we were done making the ice cream. Apparently, we could have saved money all these years and just given him Sonic ice instead of dog treats.


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