Saturday, February 28, 2009
There are times when not being a morning person is bad. When you're both bloggers and you've got cat photos waiting to be uploaded is one of them.
Anyway. Max and Polly:
Polly shows her true form: Vampire Cat
I love how spectacularly unimpressed Max looks in that shot. As if he isn't loving it.
Shots from outside (Polly decided to head indoors before the camera made an appearance)
Max doing is best Simba impression:
Max on his Dad's chest. I'm a little proud of this one, because it's the first time I've taken one and thought it was one of Jeremy's, because it looked too good to be mine (Although he did tell me where to focus. Turns out men do know what they're talking about occasionally!):
And no, he doesn't love his Dad at all:
Two typical Max poses, one with extra "I wasn't about to eat the cord, honestly!" action:
And one I love that Jeremy snapped at an inopportune time for Polly:
Friday, February 27, 2009
Monday, February 23, 2009
The spare room is unpacked.
Thank God, is all I can say.
Now, it's just the enviro bags next to the bed, and I'm done.
The pile of ironing? That's another story.
Friday, February 20, 2009
Last night, I went to bed physically angry. A few weeks worth of anger I’d been bottling up, I think. My heart was beating faster. I was breathing heavier. And not in a good way. I’d waited for something to load an hour earlier, and couldn’t sit waiting for it. I’d paced into the kitchen and back again. Tense wasn’t the word.
I’ve dealt with bullies before. There’s only two ways I’ve ever found of dealing with them effectively; hit them hard, once, to let them know you won’t take it, or don’t let them bully you.
The physical violence bit I’ve tried to eschew. My attitude was always that they can only bully you if you let them. If they try and ostracize you? Walk away first. If they mock you, don’t respond. Don’t react. Stone face. You’re only a target if you stand still and take it. Walk away.
That was when I could turn around and look the bullies in the eye. And to be fair to those who bullied me (some of whom I’m still in loose contact with), I got an apology off most of them.
On the Internets, you can’t force someone to look you in the eye. You can walk away, but that doesn’t mean the attacks will stop. Flying under the radar up until now has leant me a certain protection – as has the fact that I’ve always attacked arguments on their relative merits, and not attacked people personally. I’ve had run-ins with those from both sides of the political divide, but it’s always been kept within the boundaries of decency.
Up until now. We all know why, and I’m just going to say this on why we didn’t hide it:
My attitude was that there would be those who would be watching closely enough to divine our relationship anyway, and that by not posting things we wanted to post, we would be losing something for no gain.
I refuse to hide in shadows because a select group of people will try and have cheap shots at Jeremy through me. But I will not be used as a weapon against him by responding and encouraging them. At the same time, although I left a comment or two on certain blogs when it first became clear I’d be used as a target, I’ve nipped that in the bud. I don’t gain anything by reading or commenting at sites determined to mock people I care about, and I certainly don’t get anything out of reading anonymous comments talking about my supposed sex life and supposed weight.
I’d take it personally if it wasn’t clear that these people are the lowest of the low. But they aren’t worth my time. My energy. I’m angry at myself that they’ve gotten this much, but I’m getting this down once and for all, and then I’m walking away from the nastiness. This is my detox.
Anonymity on the internet I’ve never craved. Even now, even when things are starting to get nasty for no other reason than who I am happy with, I don’t want to hide. Others might, but that’s not for me. I’ve got nothing to lose from this position: you know who I am, you know my name. I’m not hiding. I’m happy, we’re happy. So what? You want to have a crack because of who I’m with? Go ahead. But you won’t get anything from me. At the end of the day, I go home to someone I love and respect. And nothing anyone says or does on the Intertubes – no amount of anonymous high school bullying is going to change that.
But I’m not playing the mind games, either. You’ve got a problem with something I’ve said? Fine. Disagree? Dandy. Take it on. But I won’t engage with anyone who uses low-blows, trades insults from a position of anonymity or drags my personal life into discussions where it has no place. Especially if you’re using me as a way of getting to my partner.
And may I take this opportunity to remind you of my comments policy? Any comments using personal attacks on me or mine will be deleted. Same goes with any other commenter – if you attack them personally I’ll warn you once if you don’t know about the policy and then it gets binned: It’s my blog, my discretion. If you don’t like it, feel very free to fuck off.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
I know it's been three weeks, but there's some kind of malevolent force at work in there. It's awful. Here's how it goes:
* Walk past spare room and either clock the mess if one of the cats has opened the door or the fact that it's closed - deliberately concealing the mess.
* Feel increasingly guilty. Announce I will definitely be sorting it out now/tomorrow/on the weekend and then it will be done. Receive encouragement and mentally pat myself on the back for my virtuosity.
* Walk into room and realise the reason it's all in here - largely untouched - is that it's 80% crap Ill never find a practical use for but must find space for.
*Resist temptation to say "Sod it" and grab black bags and chuck it out, as I realise the 20% non-crap is essential non-crap.
*Weep internally at the idea of going through every item in the room considering I did that whilst packing so I've already decided to keep it and can't just bin it, because - God Damn It - it's come this far.
*Half-heartedly sort out a few bags then realise the room is actually fifteen degrees hotter than the rest of the house and might actually be hell.
Look, it's not that I'm lazy - well, not just that I'm lazy - it's that packing and unpacking is soul-crushing and offers no reward. Sure, it's unpacked now, but someday, I'll have to pack it again. It's a vicious circle. Surely by unpacking I'm only encouraging things?
*Looks at clock*
*Contemplates Bushire victims who don't have essential crap to sort out, much less non-essential crap*
Oh, all right. I'm going, I'm going!
Man, there's nothing naggier than a blank page, is there?
Saturday, February 14, 2009
And just because I like the soundtrack of cute-induced vomiting to follow me throughout my day, some photos:
N.B This post was going to be a lot less cynical, but I've had to write this twice, and I can't recapture the mood of the first post. Intertubes, sometimes I hate you.
Probably good news for those with delicate stomachs, though.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Nice moves, Xenaphon, because if you hadn't, you'd be round my place, vacuum in hand every day for the rest of your life.
This is something akin what I'm using to vacuum at the moment:
It is, in short, evil. Much more of this, and I'll be setting fire to it. I've only used it twice, and I already want to see it dropped off a cliff, whilst confined to a blast-proof safe with a bomb in it. Or dropped into a vat of acid.
So here's where my stimulus package is going:
And the rest?
Not sure yet. Any suggestions?
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Everyone will be devestated, hoping that those who have lost their homes have somewhere to go, and those who have lost loved ones - well - that they are as well as they can be.
That's really all I want to say, apart from one thing;
I sincerely hope that I don't see anyone, on either side of the political divide, use this tragedy as a point scoring exercise. I really do.
If you're thinking about doing so, read this and think again. In the time since I've read this story, it's come to light that the girl was in fact a woman who was nine months pregnant.
Perspective. People have died. People have lost loved ones, their homes, business', livestock and pets. Please have as much respect as if it had happened to you and yours.
Monday, February 02, 2009
Sunday, February 01, 2009
Also, he had his first foray into the back courtyard:
Then, of course, there's Polly. Polly has met New Cat for brief periods, and whilst there's been no actual violence (She hisses a little bit if he plays too close to her, and she raises a paw - no claws - until he backs off) and Polly has stopped hiding when he comes out of the bathroom, she remains un-impressed:
Polly's been getting a lot of love, but it's a little tricky introducing a kitten to an established cat. She's doing well, though. We were careful to consider the kind of cat both of them are - Max is outgoing but not too playful, and he's the kind of kitten to take a swat and come back. But not the type to fire up if Polly gets a bit sick of his playing. Polly has been around other cats before, so it's not a total surprise to her.
We do have one issue, though.
There's a sign in the courtyard from a previous tenant, that's been left there because it's rather apt. But Max doesn't seem to want to follow the instructions:
There's a traitor in the ranks, people.
Luckily, he's a very, very cute traitor.