I've been adopted ... again.

So our house is kind of surrounded by stray cats. I have counted at least fifteen, ranging from feral to obviously abandoned pets, and it just breaks my heart. I'd love to adopt all of them, but um, our house is kind of beyond capacity now with our recent addition of Little Shit. 

About a week ago, I was taking out the trash when I noticed this beautiful orange and white kitty that was sleeping under our car in our gravel driveway. He was curled up in this little ball, and he had a fresh scratch on his nose. At first, he didn't seem to know I was there, even though I'd unintentionally made quite a bit of noise, but when I dropped the trash into our bin, he jerked a bit and looked at me. Then, he stood up and loped over to me, meowing. He rubbed up against my leg and even followed me toward the house, trying to get in the door. Of course, Kitkat, our resident hall monitor, was not about to let him inside, so I closed the door and brought out a little bowl of food.

Which, I know. I know, I know, I know. This is how you get strays to stay around. But he was very clearly starved. You could see his backbone through his medium-length fur, and he had this strange gait that made me wonder if he'd been injured. 

Anyway, he ate and ate and ate, almost as if he hadn't done so in days, and I just stood there, occasionally petting him and making cutesy voices at him. It was cold outside, and I was basically in a T-shirt and pajama bottoms, so I told him I was sorry that I couldn't bring him inside but that he could come back for food any time. 

The next day, right as Three got home from work, the kitty was at the house. Three was just smitten with him (Three is a giant cat person), and he cuddled with the cat after he ate. Then we saw the wound on his leg: something had taken a huge ass bite out of his rear left leg. I couldn't tell if it was infected or anything, since I'm not a veterinarian, but Three reminded me that we couldn't really afford to do anything about it right then. 

"Maybe with my next pay check?"

I sighed and nodded at him, disappointed that this poor little guy was obviously suffering. He had adjusted his gait (he walked kind of like a German shepherd) so the other tomcats wouldn't realize he was injured. I called around the local shelters (in our county, there aren't a lot of cat shelters, so it didn't take too much time) and a few vets. None of the shelters responded to me, as they were probably already overwhelmed with cats, and all of the vets were telling me that it would cost $50 just to get him seen. Not even for any treatment. Who knows what that would cost? Plus, I was worried that he had feline leukemia or FIV, and God, what would we do, then? 

Then, my lovely sister offered to help pay for a vet visit, and I called up Value Vet, about whom I'd completely forgotten, even though six months ago I took Bina there because she was acting weird (she had a fever and, we discovered, a very sensitive tummy). Plus, they are absolutely awesome and have great pricing. It was only going to be $33 for a visit, plus whatever other services it took (i.e. cleaning the wound, antibiotics, etc.). 

So I took the kitty, who Three named Zeus (because why the hell not), there this morning. It was a pleasant ride, actually, compared to Kitkat and Bina who act as if it's the end of the world if they're in a car: he sat on my lap and just chilled the whole way. They cleaned out his wound and patched him up, giving him an antibiotic shot and taking some blood for tests. 

I cannot tell you how worried I was about this cat. The whole time we were in the exam room by ourselves, he was in my lap, purring loudly, and even though I'd just forced him to sit there while they cleaned him up and gave him shots, he still oddly trusted me. He was friendly with the vet techs, except when he tried to bite the guy who was cleaning him, but he seemed to just be bonded to me. And I'd scratch his chin (his favorite), telling him that he'd be A-OK.

The vet came back with great news: 100% healthy, as far as FIV and leukemia were concerned, although she did want to get him get rid of what she thought were worms, on which she blamed his thinness. Unfortunately, I had a budget, so in two weeks, he'll be going back for treatment. 

When we got back to the house, I put him in the crate on our covered porch, where it's about 10 - 15 degrees cooler, with a little bowl of water and a bit of food. He slept for about two hours and then decided that he wanted to go exploring. Or it's just that he's a stray and being confined is kind of scary for him. Either way, he screeched until I let him out, and then he sat on my lap for about forty-five minutes before trotting on his merry way. 

Zeus looked back at me and meowed, almost as if he was saying, "I'll be back tomorrow!" I know that he wasn't because he's a fucking cat, but I can't help but to feel connected with the little guy. It's possible that, like Tramp from "Lady and the Tramp," he has several people that treat him this way, but I honestly don't think so. There's no way right now that I can let him inside, but he's got a nice, comfy blanket on our porch and a plate of food waiting for him. 

I have been suckered. 

If it wasn't such a soul-sucking corporation, I might actually like Wal-mart.

I never thought I'd say this, but thank GOD for Wal-mart. This week has been trying, for multiple reasons, and ugh, today? TODAY.

I'm actually thinking of doing this just to ease some stress.

As some of you know, our debit card information was stolen so some idiot or idiots in Canada could order liquor, and honestly, that's just about shitty enough. But of course, as soon as you say, "OMG THIS IS THE WORST DAY EVER*" the world just laughs and hands you a big Pile O' Crap.

Just a rundown of the events as they were. Three called up our bank to report fraud and they closed the credit card, which is standard procedure and everything, and when Three asked for a new card, the CSR - possibly the dumbest, most incompetent person in existence - ordered it through regular delivery. The problem here? That's the only card we had, and our bank is online only, soooooo ... how in the hell are we supposed to get access to anything resembling money so we can, you know, buy gas to get Three to work?

Checks. Because those aren't going down the path of cassette tapes or anything. I was hopeful, though, as we drove around town, trying to find someone to cash a personal check**, although even Kroger was like, "Nope, can't help you." And everything down here closes at 4P because of course it does, so even if any banks in our town would have accepted our check, they weren't fucking open. I was trying to remain even-keel about the whole thing, but even I was getting to the point of just wanting to scream.

No desks or Alan Rickmans were harmed in this gif.

No one would let us write checks for more than was due, either, which I guess makes a sort of sense if you are used to people fraudulently writing checks, but dear God, it was getting ridiculous.

And what sucks is, the only reason that we had one card in the first place was because our bank had sent my replacement debit card (for my expired one from oh November of last year) to some random place and had yet to get me a new one. Because why not. I had basically decided there was no use in trying to get them to send me another one, but I just got so fucking mad today that I called the bank up again.

Our exchange went something along these lines.

Me: Um, hi, remember how you guys never sent me another card last year? You record everything (and tell me so every time I call you), so you have it somewhere in your data files about all the times you had to hear from me. Yeah, anyway, I really need that card like yesterday.
Bank: Oh! Well, your card is showing as active.
Me: Have any purchases been made by this card in, oh, ever?
Bank: ... No. Actually, no.
Me: That's because I never got it.
Bank: Oh. Well, we'll expedite you a card. Should be there by Monday.
Me: What about my husband's card?
Bank: We're showing it was sent out ... Monday?
Me: Yeah ...
Bank: Hahahahaha it won't be there until next Friday.
Me: Well, I'm sure he'll be happy to know that his CSR was a dumbass who didn't believe him when he said that we only had the one card.
Bank: I hate banks***.
Me: Me, too.

Now, even though this has been somewhat resolved - and by somewhat, I mean not really because we still have no card - we're still in a pickle. Three has only twenty dollars in his pocket to pay for gas. We're running out of groceries, and eating is kind of important.

But then, like a shining star of opportunistic capitalism, Wal-mart appeared over the horizon, and both Three and I were like, "Seriously, we have nothing else to lose."

I think this is the first ever Matt Smith gif I've used. 

This plucky little thing behind the counter was super sweet and let me bitch (after I told her that I really just wanted to bitch at something) for about five minutes, and although we couldn't use a personal check to get one of those prepaid cards (again, we had to use cash or a card), we wrote a check for a gas card plus some extra cash so we could buy food. And then, as if she was an angel from some type of asshole-free heaven, she let us know that we could do the same thing inside the store if we needed more cash. We left that store with our hearts a little lighter.

Now, I'm not saying that Wal-mart is this great bastion of what good's left in the world. It's still kind of a shitty company that treats its employees horribly and completely abuses foreign workers for its own benefit. But their policies helped us out, which is more than I can say for the many banks and the Kroger. It's almost like they understand that a lot of their consumer base isn't necessarily the wealthiest set, who also work during the day and probably can't make it to their money center by four. And I kind of like the gas card thing, too; we get ten cents off every time we get gas from them, and since we're in a small town, gas is about thirty cents cheaper than in the city. Win/win.

I will tell you this, though. If this entire experience hasn't given me a reason to never, ever use any kind of card that has access to my bank account, I don't know what could. I know that there are all these credit bureaus and everything, but I'm kind of with Dave Ramsey on this one (mark today on the calendar, Mom): if I have the cash up front and you still won't work with me? Well, then you don't get my money. If I have to put more money down on a house instead of being some sort of weird slave to banks and their credit ratings, then okay, I'll rent for a bit longer. I just hate that our current bank - who also decided that we no longer could have full access to our account, only the mobile version because it's somehow different or something, after we filed for bankruptcy - is holding us hostage after someone stole our information.

If this is what technology can do, then fuck it. I'd like bartering to make a comeback in a big way.

* Which I totally didn't do because, um, I understand not to coax the universe into proving me wrong.
** I kept thinking about that episode of Miami Vice with Suzy Amis (you know, James Cameron's wife? I couldn't pinpoint where I'd seen her before when she played Rose's granddaughter in Titanic, but I kept thinking, "I've seen her personality-less acting before, but where???" And then I rewatched the second episode ever of Miami Vice and was like THERE YOU ARE! See also: Al Bundy.) where she was playing a role in a porno and they guy who's there to "fix her furnace" is like, "Oh, I don't take personal checks but I'll totally check your person winkwink."
*** Direct fucking quote.

An Open Letter

Dear Assholes Who Stole Money from Me and Three to Buy Alcohol in Canada*:

I know that your actions aren't even close to those of the perpetrator(s) in Boston, and ultimately, complaining about such an insignificant thing seems, quite frankly, insipid. I actually wondered if I should even address the issue, especially in light of the shittiness that was Monday, but I decided that I might as well just get it off of my chest. Because I'm actually more angry than I thought I was.

So.

Let's get the trivial stuff aside. The husband and I had plans this past weekend. They weren't big plans - just a cheap sushi dinner - but they were plans. The past few months have been incredibly hard for us, particularly since I rarely get to see Three. For a while there, he was working six twelve-hour shifts a week, and then Sunday, his only day off, he slept the whole day, just to prepare for the following week. Thankfully, his bosses decided that they were being assholes and shortened his work week (and his fellow press operators) to five twelve-hour shifts with weekends off to recharge and, well, be with his wife. But because you chose to steal over $100 from us, we couldn't do that. Plus, add the stress of realizing, "Oh, shit, we have a lot less money than we thought," and then having to cancel our accounts and try to figure out who withdraws directly from us ... well, we didn't really get to spend much time together.

So, thanks for that.

Then there's the fact that you spent it on fucking alcohol. I mean, really? Really?? Do you realize that we use that money to pay for bills and try to save what we can (which right now isn't much)? Right now, Three is wearing shitty work boots that are about to fall apart and hurt his feet (he is on his feet for his entire 12-hour shift, in case you were wondering) because we can't afford to go buy him new ones. We don't go out ever because we want to preserve what little money we have so, later on, we won't have to live paycheck to paycheck. I could have handled it better if you'd bought, oh, food or paid an outstanding utility bill. But instead, you shit on my good will and buy a vice.

And also, really? Have fun with those two bottles (or maybe three, if you got the cheap shit) of liquor you got. Totally worth it?

I guess what really gets me, though, is that what you did was a violation. I mean, sure, it's only money, and yes, once our bank can prove that we did, in fact, not purchase alcohol from Canada and that this is, in fact, fraudulent spending, we will be reimbursed, but what actually makes you think that this is okay? Was it for the thrill of being a thief? Was it to prove your coolness to your friends? Was it just because you are a shitty person? I just don't understand it. I don't want to understand someone who is so callous as to take from someone who has essentially nothing.

Oh, and also, USAA's fraud department is awesome. So get ready to feel paranoid.

Sincerely,

Juju

* Did you know that you can buy alcohol online if you're in Canada? Methinks this may need to change.

In an effort to expand my literary horizons, I decided to start reading romances. I can't really explain why I chose this particular genre, since they generally are not my cup of tea - I prefer explosions and well-crafted fight scenes - but it's been ... entertaining? Smart Bitches, Trashy Books has actually kind of been my savior here, and not just for the hilarious book rants that actually make me want to go read the horrible novels that send these women into seething rages*.

Well, actually, I take it back. I do kind of know one of the reasons I've chosen romances over the plethora of other genres that I might enjoy more: the pricing on Kindle. We're not necessarily broke, but the funds aren't exactly rolling in, leaving us wondering what to do with them, and playing videos games or watching TV when I'm not working can only pass the time for so long before I start going crazy. It's also been nice enough the past week that I can actually go sit out on our front porch, and well, the Xbox isn't coming out there with me. I looked through my bookshelf and was kind of upset that I couldn't find anything I wanted to read, despite the fact that I have about a bazillion books, many of which I have always intended to read but just didn't because ... I have no real answer there. I grabbed my Kindle to see what books I'd purchased when I first got it - my habit of buying books and not reading them does not limit itself to only hard copy books, I'm afraid - and found a romance novella a friend of mine wrote that I had intended to review for her. Only I didn't because 1) I am a bad friend and 2) I'd forgotten about it. Which I guess kind of goes with No. 1.

Anyway.

It was a quick read and, for the most part, quite enjoyable. I liked the main character, even with her Mary Sue-style characteristics, and even the love interest dude didn't completely make my eyeballs turn over in my head. For a romance novel, that's actually pretty good, at least for me. I'm the annoying person watching a rom-com (or ahem "Titanic") who's like, "Wait, what? They just met. How can they be madly in love??" (even though I met and married my husband over the course of three months), but I didn't really do that with this book. Well, I did initially but then told myself what I tell my husband when he gets annoyed with sci-fi movies that take liberties with science: "It's fantasy."

Surprisingly, it worked.

Once I finished the book, I was kind of intrigued because I wasn't annoyed like I usually am when I'm done with a romance novel - which to be fair I haven't done in years. I ended up on amazon.com, looking at more romance novels, just to see what my options were, and I found that, well, there are a looooooooot of free ones that vary between supposedly five star and one star. I think I downloaded about twenty, and yeah, I'm planning on reading them all. Well, after I finish The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, which I bought and started to read, oh, a year ago.

Like I said, I'm horrible about this sort of thing.

And if I run across anything so ridiculous that it makes me nearly throw my Kindle across the room, believe you me, I'll be writing about it here. Wish me luck, guys, because I'm kinda scared.

* And seriously, go read those reviews. I've nearly peed my pants with laughter each time I've done so.

I have missed having a kitten.

Esther a.k.a. Little Shit

So we were adopted this weekend by a scared little four-month-old kitten that was being attacked by two tomcats (you can see the scratches on her nose). It was actually a little strange, seeing as I had just started using my office that morning (it's had boxes and all sorts of shit stored in it), and only fifteen minutes after I sat down in front of my computer, I saw this little white blur out of the corner of my eye. When I focused, this little thing was staring at me and mewing, so of course, I turned into putty. Because ... kitten, duh. Before I could get to the door, I heard this horrible yowl, and I saw two tomcats approaching her. One lunged at her, and she went into this flail-y attack mode out of desperation. There was no way she could have defended herself against them. So I start yelling and scare them away, thinking that the kitten would bolt, too, but nope. She gets all wide-eyed and trots over to me, her little nose bleeding from where one of the tomcats scratched her. I pick her up and carry her inside, much to the consternation of Kitkat and Bina. Well, mostly Kitkat, who kind of tolerates everyone who isn't Three*. After cleaning up her nose, I bring her into my office, where I set up a little box of litter and a bowl of food, which she gobbles up. And honestly, it looks like she hadn't eaten anything in about a week.

And then she started playing with me and I was like OK YOU ARE MINE.

Now, it was not my intention to keep her. Two cats and a dog is ... well, stinky is one word. It's manageable now that we're in a house instead of our rat ass apartment, but I already hate cleaning out the shit and piss of two cats. But I connected with this little thing. When I called Three to warn him that he now had another child, he was actually really sweet about it. And then he suggested that we call her Esther (because calling her Easter, in honor of the weekend we found her, just seemed a little too hipster), although I'd already taken to calling her Little Shit. I figured I would probably get lots of judgment at the vet's office for naming her Little Shit, so I was like, "Alrighty then. Esther it is."

As we speak, the super-excitable ball of energy is sleeping on my lap because of all the OMGILOVEEVERYTHING jumping around that she's done all day, and even though I kinda have to pee, I don't want to get up. I'm liking this reprieve from all the activity.

Well, shit, she's awake again. I best go try and hide the rest of my hair ties.

* Their relationship is actually really cute. She follows him around everywhere and gets mad when he doesn't pay attention to her. She even tries to sit on him when he's in the bath.

The Year I Forgot Easter

I completely forgot about Easter this year. It's a weird feeling. Three and I went to Wal-mart to pick up trash bags, and I noticed all this pastel-colored candy and decoration and asked, "Wait, didn't Easter already happen? Are the Cadbury eggs on sale??" Luckily, I remembered before being called by my mom Easter morning, wondering where we were.

I'm not going to lie. It was kind of embarrassing. Plus, people heard me and gave me all sorts of side-eye. Mind you, I live in a more rural part of the South, where a lot of life is dictated by religious (cough Christian) holidays, with a few others added in for spice aka fireworks. There are actually days that I yearn to live in an area where multiple faiths and cultures are openly and proudly embraced, so I don't just see a small section in stores dedicated - begrudgingly, I might add - to other religions*. But I don't, so yay for me.

What bothers me the most is that I'm not bothered by it, if that makes any sense. I guess it stems from the same place that told me, nope, going to church is actually hurting your relationship with God, so anything that I connect with the legalistic aspect of Christianity is not really something I espouse. I mean, I'm still a Christian, albeit a very liberal one that also incorporates other aspects of other faiths, such as Buddhism, but I really dislike the way the church is headed. And Easter is such a hodgepodge of pagan symbolism (bunnies = fertility), church dogma (there were so many eggs available at Easter because Catholics couldn't eat eggs during Lent and they had to do something with them), and pageantry (passion plays) that I'm just, ugh, over it. And it's not like I need a day to specifically celebrate Jesus' crucifixion, which sounds kind of macabre actually, if you take it out of context. I guess you could say that about Christmas** and celebrating Jesus' birth, too, but that's a whole 'nother fish to fry.

I'm in this strange place these days when it comes to religion, Christianity specifically, although I think a lot of people, both inside and out of it, are in the same boat. I'm tired of having to argue with people who disagree with my interpretation of the Bible, which I do not believe is the word of God, anyway***. I'm tired of hearing about the attack on Christians whenever someone wants to remove religious views from government policy or whenever someone who does not practice Christianity is given a voice to express his/her opinion. Most of all, I just want to do what I'm supposed to do: love people and love God, and I'm tired of people telling me how I'm supposed to do that.

So I suppose it makes sense that my brain shut out anything related to Easter, at least the current version of it. It also helps that I've kind of been a shut-in the past few months, where most of my contact with others has been through the internet or phone. Maybe being a hermit is the path to spiritual enlightenment. Who knows?

(In addition, Mom, since I know you're reading this, I expect my Easter basket again this year. As long as I am childless, I will reap the benefits of a grandchild.)

* And it's not like those are well-stocked or diverse, either, mainly focusing - again, begrudgingly - on Judaism. The craptastic menorahs they had on display was actually more offensive than if they didn't have any at all. I mean, come on, Target.
** It does amuse me that both Easter and Christmas - centered on Jesus - are so close to, if not directly on, pagan celebrations (Vernal Equinox and Samhain, respectively). It's like the church wasn't even trying to be subtle about appropriating pagan holidays. Way to go, guys.
*** And that always opens up fun doors full of spikes and angry zombie dogs, waiting to attack me.

Opinions on the internet are like assholes.

The internet is an amusing place. I lived through its advent and have witnessed it grow from being an awkward infant, completely unsure as to how to behave in its environment, to its current state as an ornery toddler. I don't even think we're even close to the teenager stage of this technology, sadly, so it's going to get worse and more defiant before it matures into generally an okay thing with some bad habits, like any healthy adult. Or maybe it turns into a sinister serial killer. Who knows?

Most of all, it's populated with people, and we all know that some people can be assholes. The whole anonymity thing kind of allows for this type of behavior, which is why I am kind of okay with people having to register and at least put a face to their assholery, although this is not a newsflash. I mean, why else do people write slur-laden graffiti on bathroom stalls? Because they can, and, unless they get caught by some over-zealous bathroom guard, they're not going to be punished. For some people, there's a thrill to be gotten out of pissing someone else off, which I can kind of understand; I mean, it filled me with joy every time I got my old supervisor angry by telling him to get out of my cubicle so I could get some work done*. But to just be offensive for the fuck of it? I dunno. Plus, people freak out over the absolute weirdest shit, online or otherwise.

One of my favorite things is when people react to other people not liking what they themselves like, as if I'm making a decision to offend you by not getting enjoyment out of a thing. Like, I don't like musicals**. Does that mean I don't think anyone should enjoy musicals? Of course not. I mean, my sister went to school for it, so I'd kind of be dooming her to failure if I tried to make people hate them. But dammit if people haven't tried to convince me that, if I just go out and watch more musicals, I will suddenly like them. Nay, I'd start to LOVE them. Isn't that kind of the argument people use against others who don't want to have kids? Um, no. I do not wish to subject myself to more of what I do not like. Thanks, though?

Sometimes, though, it can get downright nasty. An article of mine was published, in which I discussed my dislike of Jane Austen, and yes, before you say anything, I compared her to Stephenie Meyer. I don't take it back, either. In the comments, I further explained that it was more of a thematic comparison than anything else, since Jane Austen wrote quite well. It's not my taste of writing - not much from that era is - but it's well-crafted. (My issue with her has multiple layers, and you can go read it if you'd like, since I don't really want to rehash what I already said.) I was told, as predicted, that I should just read her again, "more carefully" this time, which no. I took a course on her in college, in hopes that I'd develop a taste for her so I could talk with my roommate about her work, and that was enough for me.

Another person who read the article told me that she was actually criticizing her culture, which I can see more in her later books, particularly Persuasion, but that actually got me thinking about Seth MacFarlane. Okay, stay with me here. This does make sense. When he hosted the Oscars, many feminist websites were railing against him because of how incredibly sexist a lot of his jokes were, and his supporters were like, "No, it's satire! You're just too dumb to recognize it." My argument was pretty much, uh, if the majority of people - even smart ones - don't get that you're doing satire, you're not very good at it. Jonathan Swift? Obviously satire. Stephen Colbert? Undoubtedly satire***. Seth MacFarlane? Not so much.

What baffled me the most, though, was how many commenters (not on the website itself, but also on Facebook and other sites where it was reposted) were just incensed that I spoke negatively about Jane Austen. I'm like, "Dude, I'm not trashing you personally. If you like her, awesome. If you view what she wrote differently from me, awesome." That's the beauty of art; it can be interpreted in many ways, depending on your lens. But I might as well have run over a box of newborn kittens twice. In a gas-guzzling SUV, nonetheless.

But I am not the worst case, either. The reactions I got were actually quite tame in comparison. Somehow, while I was browsing Google+, I came across this thread that initially started out expressing concern over the Monsanto rider in the bill that Obama just signed (I could do the research and find out the name, but I don't want to). I was hoping to find out more information about the bill, including a link to where I could read it for myself, and found myself staring at this really strange train-wreck sort of thing. People on both sides of the issue started out outraged at either the actual signing of the bill or the fact that the others were outraged. Some tried to present facts, while others posted links to dubious sites that were obviously some type of propaganda. And then the beast known as Name-Caller reared its ugly head, which eventually invited its cousin, Troll-Labeler, and brother-in-law, Crazy-Ranter, to join in the fun. I eventually had to quit reading because of an uncontrollable desire to find all of these people and slap them right on their faces. And it didn't inform me at all about with what they were up in arms****.

I mean, I'm not sure how to combat this or if it should even be attempted. I mean, I don't watch reality television, so I have to get my "watching people I don't know or care about do stupid things" entertainment somehow. There will always be disagreements, and some will be able to handle it in a mature, level-headed manner. Others? They'll threaten to stab you with a spoon because it will hurt more and they're not just trying to be funny with their pop culture references. It makes me hesitate to post anything because I don't really want to deal with people yelling at me. People yelling at me makes me stabby. I can handle criticism or disagreements as long as they are civil and respectful, but the second someone starts being an ass? Oh, I'm done. As a matter of fact, I have sworn off the internet at least 987354761 times, give or take a few (I'm looking at you, Tumblr). But I guess I should just get used to it, kind of like how I'm used to stupid drivers being everywhere, talking on their phones and being generally obnoxiously unaware that, oh, yes, there are other people on the road.

Sigh.

* In my defense, he always came over to my cubicle to talk about one of the following topics: 1) his daughter's bisexuality which I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know was discussed; 2) Vanderbilt sports, about which I do not care; 3) my dating life, prior to getting married to Three, and afterward our married life because everyone knows that's exciting; 4) the fact that he was a coach for a youth league of some sort; or 5) OMG my son needs special food that is expensive and you have weird food allergies what do you think? I actually just got annoyed just thinking of these. Ugh.
** I enjoy "The Lion King" because the stage technologies they use throughout that play are amazing and "Wicked" because it's fucking "Wicked." But, yeah, that's about it.
*** I have heard stories of people who think he's a For-Real Conservative, which does make me wonder.
**** I did find the bill online, and seriously, I fucking hate legalese. I'm no dim bulb, but shit if it's not hard to interpret what in the hell they actually are saying. I'm not asking them to write at a first grade level, but come on, there are simpler and clearer ways of doing this.

How to Know If You Have an Addiction

I woke up this morning in kind of a panic, but I really couldn't pinpoint where the anxiety came from. I've had panic attacks before (I can count the instances on one hand), but they were all caused by underlying stress that I'd been pushing onto the back burner. So I sat down, grabbed a Dr. Thunder, and tried thinking about what stresses could be causing this minor panic attack.

To my horror, I felt the most overwhelming wave of relief come over me when I took my first swig of Dr. Thunder. For those of you not in the know, Dr. Thunder is Wal-mart's ripoff of Dr. Pepper, and - I hate to actually admit this - but I prefer it over the "real" thing*. I eyed the can suspiciously and then quickly ran over to our recycling bin. Good GOD, over half of the recycling was used soda cans. And those cans were only one or two days old.

"I may have a problem," I told Three when he came downstairs to see why I was making gasping noises.

"I didn't want to say anything," he said, almost with a hint of guilt.

Now, Three does most of the grocery shopping, not because I don't want to do it but because, well, he likes doing it. And because he usually has the car due to him having an out-of-home job.** So he's the one who was buying me all these cartons of Dr. Thunder. Once, he even brought home a 24-pack, and I remember thinking to myself, "OMG IT'S THE HOLY FUCKING GRAIL." That really should have been a heads-up, but oh, well. Oblivious might as well be my middle name.

There's a reason I don't gamble or do drugs, and it doesn't have anything to do with morality, although I'd like to say that it does. This current (and recent) affliction just proves my point: I have an addictive personality. My aversion to most vices is more akin to self-preservation than anything else. Take poker. I love poker. And I'm actually pretty good at it. But I won't go into casinos. I've seen what people like me do: go into several bankruptcies and eventually get killed by loan sharks. I've been through one bankruptcy, thank you very much, and have no desire to do so again. I have no idea about loan sharks, though, unless you count, like, my exposure to movies and TV. I also don't buy lottery tickets. A friend of mine, who has a similar problem with addictions, spent over $300 in one day on lottery tickets, and when he tried to get me to buy one, I had to run out of the room. I wanted to buy one. I really did. Just to test my luck! But I did not have the money or the will not to spend what little money I had. So running was really my only option.

This translates into my life other ways, too. When I was in college, I was what you may call a professional smoker. I didn't even care that my clothes all smelled like an ashtray or that I constantly had the sniffles. Nicotine is awesome. Honestly, if cigarettes didn't lead to cancer and death and shit, I'd probably still be smoking. I occasionally slide back into the habit - usually when I'm severely stressed - but for the most part, I just crave them when I see somebody smoking, be it on the TV or walking down the sidewalk. It's a monumentous task when I have quit in the past, enough to where Three has specifically asked me to never smoke again so he won't have to deal with my mood swings when I decide to quit. And he never asks me to do anything, really.

It hasn't gotten to the point of erratic behavior with the Dr. Thunder, but if I go without one for a day, I get a splitting headache, damn near a migraine. It's horrible. At first, I thought it was dust or mold or something allergy related, but when I tested my theory, a day after realizing that I had indeed downed nearly an entire 12-pack of Dr. Thunder in less than eight hours, my fear was realized. It's like when I figured out that I was allergic to latex, gluten, and lactose; I just kind of crumbled.

So I'm in this conundrum now. I don't really want to quit drinking Dr. Thunder or any of its alternatives, but it is pretty much all empty calories. And caffeine is just a stimulant. I lived most of my life without it, so I'm sure I can do that again? But then I teeter back to "but I don't want to." Ugh, caffeine addiction can't be any harder to kick than nicotine, right? RIGHT?? I honestly don't know. I'd go look it up on WebMD but I don't want to worry that I have H1N1 after reading a few pages.

Sigh. It's like Sophie's choice all over again.

* This kind of creeps me out for some reason, but Dr. Pepper has a sort of floral taste to it now that I never noticed before.
** Also I'm not allowed to go alone because I'll come back with a bunch of food that we didn't need plus all sorts of teas.

Bravo, Bioware. BRAVO.

Okay, so I don't usually do reviews because ... honestly, I don't know why? Maybe I just don't really feel like something is worth mentioning unless it makes an impact, either positive or negative. Plus, there are endless amounts of sites that provide professional reviews, so I figure that's an area that stays pretty covered.

But I just cannot resist. The Mass Effect 3 DLC Citadel is quite possibly the best video game expansion I have ever played. I'm going to go back and replay it I don't even know how many times - probably enough to where I hear all the unique dialogue from all the characters and then some. Hell, I may even play it with my ManShep. From what I can tell, it has no effect on the ending*, but it was damned fun to see all of the characters back in action. Particularly Wrex. Oh, how I missed Wrex.

It's been called a "love letter to fans," and yeah, it totally is. I know I always wondered what Shepard and Crew did when they weren't fighting Reapers or Collectors or whatever, and I got an answer. Garrus takes tango lessons; Zaeed is addicted to arcade games; Grunt performs teenager-esque stunts and then gets hungry for noodles; Tali watches over-the-top melodramatic romances. I mean, God. Every part of this DLC was perfect, from the beginning sushi date with Joker through the main plot all the way to the Blowout Party, where of course everyone makes fun of Shepard's dancing. I even enjoyed characters that I kinda hated, like Miranda. How FemShep and she interact at the casino actually makes me think they're friends, not just coworkers, and Miranda doesn't have this I Am Superior attitude throughout the entire thing. Even Javik, who I thought was kind of an asshole - well, he still is an asshole, but I like him more - Bioware really knows their characters, and they know what fans love about those characters. If I didn't know any better, it's like they were sitting in on conversations between me, Three, and our friend, A, as we discussed the Mass Effect series, even down to the Big Bad of the DLC.

They also understand that a lot of people that love the series feel deeply connected to these characters. I cried when Thane died earlier in the ME3 game (seriously, the game is a year old; it's not a spoiler), and I didn't even have my FemShep romance him**. When I got to Grunt's scene with Shepard, I loved the maternal aspect of her relationship with him; he's her freaking baby, even if he is a full-grown, basically teenage krogan. The date scene with Garrus (because this Shepard had a turian fetish, in my head canon) had me smiling the whole time, even more so when he was awkwardly trying to have a fake blind date with Shepard with a female turian watching on. And Wrex complaining about all the sex he was being forced to have because of the genophage cure was the icing on this incredible DLC cake. I could literally talk, point by point, about the whole damned DLC and geek out the whole fucking time, which I think is what Bioware was going for. This really was an appropriate ending to Shep's story, showing how she was awesome on her own, sure, but her friends and comrades are what makes her great.

A lot of video games, I think, should look to Mass Effect and take notes. I mean, it wasn't perfect. Each of the games had their own bugs, and the story, while expansive and highly detailed and nearly hard sci-fi in its descriptions of space travel and math, wasn't completely perfect, even in the new DLC (I won't give any spoilers here, because my main issue with the storyline here is a pretty big plot point). But that wasn't ever really the point. Bioware created this little society, led by Shep, that people just got. They fell in love with these characters and their relationships and their side stories. Why else did I play the million hours (I exaggerate) of loyalty missions in ME2? It wasn't for the higher war asset score in ME3, although that was a nice perk***.

All in all, I say, bravo, Bioware. BRA-FUCKING-VO. While I may wish to have seen Shep get reunited with Garrus and then adopt Grunt, I'll be content with having that happen in my head. Instead, they chose to give me a much better gift: a chance to virtually party like there's no tomorrow with some people I wish were actually real. And so I could call Wrex "Uncle Urdnot." Now, I have to convince myself that getting sleep is preferable to playing more ME3. Sigh.

* I understand why a lot of people were upset with the ending. I thought it was bland, actually, and was kind of hoping for an epic showdown with Harbinger, but whatever. I was more disappointed with the lack of closure and leaps of logic (how in the hell did the Normandy go from being in a battle to being propelled by a mass relay?). I am also firmly in Camp The Ending Was Shepard's Internal Battle with Indoctrination.
** At least, not this playthrough. I did have another character hook up with him, though, and yeah, even though Thane's reptilian-based? He's still ridiculously hot. I don't even know what I'm saying.
*** I'm also the person that just cannot let bad shit happen to these characters. I don't want to see them die because I didn't do a loyalty mission. And I cannot bring myself to get a lower score in ME3 just to see the Earth and everything get destroyed. I have a hard enough time watching the videos on Youtube.

OMG INTERNET SO HAPPY

I didn't really realize how much I loved the internet until I didn't have it for a week. I kind of forgot that it existed, mainly because I've been sick like a dog and barely able to walk around without getting exhausted, except when I was like, "Oh, I wonder what kind of shoes Sonny Crockett wears in this episode. They look comfy." Then it was almost as if all of the schooling I've had didn't matter because I didn't have access to the Knower of All Things Knowable.

Then I remembered that I had an iPhone, but seriously, it's a pain in the ass to type anything out on that little virtual keyboard. I did eventually end up on a Miami Vice wiki-spiral, though, that lasted well into the night.

When I got onto my computer this afternoon and saw the little bars at the bottom of my screen, I felt this sweeping sense of relief flow over me. I now had my connection back into the world. It was actually a little sad to think that I'd not realized the hold this modern thing had on me. It's how I get my news, keep in touch with my family and friends, write ... I mean, it permeates nearly every aspect of my life. And that's actually not so much sad as it is terrifying.

I, for one, welcome our digital overlords, just as long as I can stream old 80s TV shows whenever I want. Now, I have to tear myself away from my wonderful internet and actually continue unpacking. Did anyone ever tell you that moving sucks?