Regina Noctis

Off I go for a fabulous, fun-filled weekend in that vacation hotspot, Delano.

You may all envy me now.

(Can’t you just feel the sarcasm here.)

But I am, at least, looking forward to seeing my mom and talking with her. If not for her, I’d never go near Delano.

Well, okay, I’ve got a mercenary streak so I would for enough money, but otherwise, no.

In spite of feeling sick from the heat, I went and helped transport some things from the carport area to ’s trailer out on the street.

I’m both drinking and dousing myself in the coldest water I can. After I got back into the apartment, I started feeling faint as well as all the other symptoms. I hate this. I get this every summer day that I’m not in a nice, air-conditioned building like my former place of employment.

Very, very poor heat adaption.

But thanks, nevertheless, to Drew for helping us get rid of the stuff that needs to go to the dump, before the landlord could get here and see it all piled along the back fence.

Nauseated and dizzy from the heat. Headache, too. I’ve taken to pouring ice water on myself to try and cool off.

This whole thing with not being able to sweat, so I don’t cool off in this heat, is getting really old.

I’d give a lot right now for sweat glands that worked.

What the article says makes a lot of sense.

A Nation of Victims

Pass it along.

(Thanks, !)

A couple weeks ago, I woke up from a nightmare, and sat there shaking for a while until the panic from the dream subsided.

This morning, what woke me, leading up to my discovery of the bathroom flood, was actually a kind of dream callback to that nightmare.

In the dream, I was living with my mother… again or still, I’m not sure which. I was in the kitchen preparing dinner, and she was elsewhere, another room of the place we were living. While I was chopping something, a panic started growing in me, and I wasn’t sure why.

Finally, I remembered. It was a flashback, and the strange thing was that it was a flashback to that previous nightmare. Of course, if anyone would, I am the one who manages to have post-traumatic stress disorder in a nightmare about another nightmare.

The nightmare I flashed on, which I had forgotten consciously until reminded, was also one that began with me in the kitchen (same dream kitchen, even) and preparing dinner. Mom was elsewhere in the place, some other room. I began to feel like I wasn’t alone, and there was a strange dark-haired man with a moustache. He was dressed in dark clothing, and holding a gun. Then it jumps, and in the flashback, he was standing over me, and I was bound with lengths of tape. There was tape across my mouth, too, so I couldn’t yell for help. And then he tore off one final strip of tape and slapped it across my nose. He walked quickly out of sight, and there was this rising panic as I needed to take a breath, and couldn’t. I was fighting down the rising panic, trying to think rationally of a way to save myself. Mom was just over in that other room. If I could only signal her, somehow, then she could peel off the tape. I slammed my feet into the floor, making a loud thump. I kept on doing it, as my lungs screamed for air and the tide of panic threatened to overwhelm me. And she didn’t come, and didn’t come.

Then, in the current nightmare, the flashback was over, and I was panicking and irrational, as I had been fighting not to be during the other nightmare. All the reactions that I had tried to sublimate then hit now, and the only thing I could think, over and over, was, “That was Thursday. It’s Thursday again. Oh God, it’s Thursday. It’s Thursday…”

At which point I woke up.

And it was Thursday.

There’s just too much going on. Way too much bad stuff. More than I could possibly enumerate, and growing. Not just for me, but for people I care about, and it’s all mounting up.

The latest thing, while not that huge a deal, just feels like the last straw. Right this moment, I want to go back to sleep and not have to wake up to all of this again. Maybe wake up to something different, and all of this turning out to be a bad dream.

I woke up today at about 7, really feeling like I needed to hit the bathroom. When I stepped out of my room, it was to discover that the toilet had flooded again, nonstop apparently from the time the last person used it last night until I got up today. The hall carpet was a bog, the bathroom was an inch deep in water.

I got the water turned off, and I knew I really should clean up. But I had too much water to drink before bed, and I couldn’t wait. So I went out and hit a restaurant, turning it also into a trip for breakfast.

Outside, there was a small lake starting. The flooding had been going on for long enough that there was a leak down into the carport.

When I got back from the restaurant, I discovered that a roommate had woken up and laid down towels to start sopping up the water.

Just a moment ago, while I was writing this, came out and let me know that she was the one who took care of it, and that the landlord would be by to deal with it around three today. I pointed out that we either needed to disguise that is living here, or pretend she’s a short-term guest, because otherwise we’re in violation of the lease. We were going to wait for her to get a job before negotiating with Nicholas about this.

Apparently, it may not matter. It depends on whether Nicholas’s daughter, who lives in the downstairs apartment, tells him what’s going on. Dev told me that she knows.

So now, for all I know, we may get kicked out. I am going to keep my fingers crossed that it’s otherwise, but there is the possibility now.

Update, 11:17 AM: Okay, now that I’ve had a little time to calm down, I realize that the landlord’s daughter must have known for a while now, from the way it sounded when Dev told me. And she hasn’t said anything to her father about it yet. I’ll do my best to prepare for the worst, but I have to stop assuming that the worst is what’s about to happen.

I’m off to Mountain View to meet up with . How silly is this… we’ve been friends for about three years, and never met in person, even though she’s in Saint Frank and I’m in Scummyvale. We’ve both met down in the LA area, and haven’t met each other.

That’s going to be corrected today.

Off to the CalTrain station I go.

Poor Rhe. She’s gotta put up with me for a large chunk of the day.

When I first see things like this, I can’t help but laugh. Good thing that this appears to actually be a parody site. The sad thing is that I’ve seen similar things, and they were serious.

Sunday morning, I finally got to meet , , , and . All people I’d heard a bunch of good things about, or had read a bunch of good things from here on LJ. I also got to meet Mermaid, whose LJ name I unfortunately don’t remember. And Lawrence, who apparently doesn’t have an LJ, though plans are being made to change that.

I rode over with , who graciously offered to drive. She looked positively gorgeous in white linen, but when doesn’t she look gorgeous anyway (no matter what she has to say about herself.) It was great to spend time dishing with her. She’s an excellent audience for dirt. Hehehe

Brunch was at Bella Mia, one of my favorite Italian places. I blame (or is that thank?) for my addiction to the place. Warm avocado prawns… my mouth waters just thinking about it. Though the prawns, as it turned out, weren’t a part of the brunch menu. That’s okay, the crab and shrimp melt that I got was plenty yummy.

I was quieter than I might have been at the brunch. I seemed to have slipped mostly into my people-watcher mode. I was enjoying just listening to the conversations. I did contribute some, but it wasn’t necessary for my enjoyment. Observing, listening, they were a great pleasure. Especially since I was around so many funny and intelligent people. There were a couple moments when I thought I was in serious danger of spraying iced tea across the table, but managed not to do so in spite of the timing between the joking and me taking a sip.

I’m very glad I met everyone. Especially Miss Sometimes. She even managed to exceed my expectations. I was expecting someone very cool and very fun, someone who was, as the Dancer put it, “very good people.” But she was even better than I’d figured on.

Definitely keeping my fingers crossed on her finding workage and a place here in the Bay Area. It needs folks like her around.

And as for the artwork… yes, ma’am, Miss Sometimes! *salute*

:D

This woman really throws a party when she sets her mind to it. She prepped for this for two years. I wish I knew her, especially when she threw it. I’d have loved to be there!

That, as they say, is that.

I just finished reading Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.

Now everyone else I know needs to finish reading it so I can gripe freely!

The book was worth waiting for, and I’m glad I read it. It’s worth reading again sometime. The feeling was different in this one. It was still most definitely Harry Potter, and each book seems to carry, at least somewhat, a different emotional theme in some ways. There was a lot of anger and frustration in this one. Though some of that is because of the issues I used to have with my father, things that I was reminded of during some of the scenes in the story. Other people probably won’t be quite as livid as I sometimes managed to be while reading this.

But my biggest gripe, I can’t gripe about. It gives too much away. And I so want to gripe about it!

I’m roughly 300 pages into Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix now. I would be farther, but I have to keep taking growl breaks. Not because the writing’s bad, or because the plot’s going a direction I don’t like. I’m enjoying the book immensely. It’s living up to all the anticipation.

But some of the people that are introduced, or brought back this time around are just… and so… and they’re…

GRRRRRRR!

I think I identify a little too well with some of it. I have been around people like the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. My father was, in some ways, like that. And I’m getting as angry reading the fictional goings-on as I was angry when dealing with him.

I want to really gripe and growl about it, but I’m not willing to ruin the experience of reading the book for anyone else who’s been anticipating it.

Finally, after too long waiting, the fifth Harry Potter book.

I went over to Borders and hung out for a little while during the release party. and I were both in costumes. She was such a ding-a-ling. *grins and ducks out of Dev’s reach for perpetuating the joke*

Dev’s ticket was fourth place in line. But she worked, off the clock, for about three hours and was busy at the time they started handing out books, so we were some of the last bunch to get their copies.

But I have it now, and I’m off to dive into it. It’s very likely no one will see me until I’m done. Of course, with my reading speed, that shouldn’t be too long.

Tah, all you people. Until I’ve pried myself out of Hogwarts next.

sent me a zip file with several pictures. One of them was from BayCon 2002, and is one of the few pics that I’m in that I like. And is so cute dressed up as Granny and the Wolf.

Anyone wondering why my head is at that angle, it’s because I was getting poked in the side of the head by a wolf ear. lol

I tried to log onto ICQ to add there. My password didn’t work, and I figured, no big deal, I’m using the wrong one. I tried my other “usual” passwords, variants on them, and the kind of “unique” ones I’d occasionally choose. No dice.

So I went to lost password request, and it informed me that the email I entered didn’t match my ICQ number. What the hell?

From there, I hopped over to view user details from the website, and discovered that some asshole hijacked my ICQ account.

Why even bother? It’s not like ICQ is exclusive, or paid for. It’s a free thing that anyone can sign up for. I know that there are some people who covet low-numbered accounts, and I have one. But really, what the hell difference does it make if you have a six-digit account number, or a 10-digit one?

I don’t particularly want to start a new one for myself, since I have the number memorized to give to people, and it’d be a pain in the ass to try and reconstruct my friends list. I have a lot of people on it.

So, I sent email off to ICQ to get my account back. But it really does baffle me why anyone would bother stealing an account there.

I am an aerobics instructor.

Which cat that thinks it’s human are you?
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On Sunday for brunch, since we live fairly close to each other, would you like to narrow down to one car from two? Your vehicle or mine, either is fine. And if you’d rather go on your own, that’s cool too.

How funny. I’ve acquired my very own kinderflamer. I’m sure that pity and bursts of laughter at their expense were not the things that were being aimed for, but with an attempt at flaming that bad, that’s all my little anonymous poster was going to get from me.

But then I decided that a critique was in order. Or perhaps a class in Improving Pathetic Flaming: The Basics.

1. At best, it’s hit or miss to try and flame someone you don’t know. If you really want to piss them off or hurt them, get to know them well enough to know what buttons will get those reactions, or target someone you already know well enough to have some idea of those buttons. This short, pathetic effort, for example, didn’t get anywhere close to my buttons, and only pointed out how piss-poor you are at this. Or else that you’ve two brain cells that rub together for warmth on alternate weekdays, and this was their day off. So which one are you? Fuckin pathetic, or just a run of the mill shit-for-brains moron?

2. If you’re going to target someone you don’t know at all, don’t hold back. I mean really, “loser?” Wait, I might be hurt… No, I’m over it. And it’s a further data point to prove that of the two possibilities in the last section, you’re just fuckin pathetic. People who think “loser” is a devastating insult obviously haven’t spent enough time around people to realize that there are words out there far more angering or hurtful than that one. Probably one of those sad little people who have no life away from the keyboard. Okay, Einstein, here’s a project for you. Get up from the keyboard, go into the bathroom and get into that strange thing you have never tried out before. You know the one. Most people call it a “shower.” Turn the handles until water comes out, and use some of that strange substance called “soap.” When you’re done, paw your way through the crusty jeans and t-shirts covered in food stains until you can get to the closet. Find the “nice” clothing that well-meaning aunt of yours gave you last Christmas and you’ve never worn, and put them on. Then leave your room (yes, I know it’s a wrench walking away from your electronic teat with keyboard and mouse) and walk to the front door. Now get out there and see all those things that you don’t understand, and get to know them. Look, there, that’s something called the Sun! Over there, those tall brown and green things? Those are trees! That blue stuff above you is that strange thing you’ve read about, and it’s called the sky! Maybe even meet someone of the gender of your choice and find a life, instead of sitting at home and wearing the skin off your hand and your genitals while looking at pr0n.

3. If you’re going to add in the names of other people as examples of your attempted flame, at least make sure that they’re people your target knows and hates. The three people you used in your pathetic flame may seem like the ultimate losers to you, but since I don’t know them, I don’t really give a shit whether you put their names in a sentence that compares me to them. If you don’t know your target, and feel that your flame is so weak that it needs to be buffered with name dropping, at least go for the names of famous people your target has a chance of knowing.

4. If you’re going to flame someone, make sure your target is the kind who will care what some stranger thinks of them. If it’s someone like me, who has spent a lot of time talking about how they don’t give a shit anymore what a bunch of strangers think, then you’re not going to get the reaction you want. Pity and laughter at your expense is what you got, followed by the desire to explain to you where you went wrong. Unless getting lectured by strangers is what gets you off, I somehow doubt this is the reaction you wanted. Did you want to hurt me? You failed. Did you want to get me angry? You failed there too. Did you think you’d offend me? Failure again. All you succeeded in was a slight bit of amusement, mostly because it amuses me to take apart this sad little attempt you made.

5. At least have the courage of your convictions, and sign your work. Nothing says pathetic coward like leaving an anonymous message. When I was an Anarch, and had friends in The Mercs and KAAOS, I was around some of the most vicious verbal fighters and flamers. Not one of them was such a sniveling little spineless piece of shit that they’d hide behind “anonymous.” Whatever they said, they had the balls to say it loud and proud. The only thing that someone like you, with your weak words that you weaken even further by posting anonymously, would ever get from any of the people I’ve seen who really knew how to flame is contempt. And, really, mild amusement and contempt are all you’re worth.

6. At least make some small attempt not to leave yourself open to get shot down in return. Sure, someone with some brains will probably do it anyway. But something like your attempt would give a six-year-old a chance to chop you into pieces. For example, the simplest and most obvious one would be: “Really? The recipe I found is a lot easier. It only needs one pathetic piece of shit, and now that you’re here, I don’t even have to go try and find that.”

Any friends of mine who care to are welcome to give my kinderflamer additional examples about any of this. Or to add on to the lecture.

And yeah, I know that any response at all is likely to encourage… but maybe my little anonymous poster will go against all expectations and actually manage to improve. And if there’s no improvement and I get bored, I can always just ignore from then on.

I’m finally tired enough to sleep.

Just so sleep disorder #7, Learned Insomnia, doesn’t kick in.

Too much time not being able to get to sleep in my bed. Half the time when I go to bed anymore, I wake up. I’m Pavlov’s dog, trained that my bed means it’s time to be awake, exhausted, and miserable because I can’t get to sleep. Which is why I won’t get into bed anymore unless I’m exhausted enough that I’ll fall asleep fairly quickly. Trying to unlearn the learned behaviour.

G’night, this morning!