And I am deVOURING World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War. Talk about your creepy political allegories. Man! JB gave it to me yesterday when I stopped by the office, and I’ve been glued to it ever since. Iff’n I hadn’t been so tired after a 5 HOUR COUNCIL MEETING last night, I’d have probably plowed through it, it’s that good. Wiki does a good job of outlining, but it’s a book about the aftermath of the zombie virus’ descent (yes, as in flesh-eating, living-dead people) on Earth 10 years out. The author, Max Brooks, wrote it as a compilation of the interviews he conducted with survivors from all over the world that weren’t allowed to be published in the government’s white papers on the incident, and it’s just unbelievable. The insight is amazing.

It’s a nice diversion, anyway, since Mother and I had another one of our knock-down drag-outs earlier. See, it looks like someone—and we suspect it’s her creepy forner neighbor who got evicted a year ago—tried to break in to her storage unit at her crib by taking a hack saw to the lock. They didn’t get all the way through, but there is a substantial chunk taken out of the hook. Anyway, after panicking enough to get me to rush her to the locksmith yesterday (because, you know, the would-be thieves were going to return within the one or two hours that I couldn’t get to her) we got a heavy-duty German circle lock that ain’t no one gonna break. And you know how people get flummoxed when they’re panicked? Yeah, Mother was on Defcon 5 and couldn’t get the lock on. So today, I go over and, well, lookee there, I get the lock on. Granted, the door on the locker is a bit warped, and it could’ve been tough for her yesterday since she was on Defcon 5, but it was on now and that was the point, right?

No. No, no. Because then, she insisted that I get the lock OFF to prove that she won’t have a problem doing it herself. And when she’s sitting there clucking and rending her garments, it’s never easy to do anything except pray for death, doesn’t matter whose. Long story short, SHE got the lock off, but is going to take it back because it’s too hard to get off and on when she wants to go in and, oh, put her Christmas tree away or look at the 50 year-old stationary bike she has in there.

When the whole ordeal started yesterday, I came into the office and unloaded on a couple of my colleagues, one of whom was kinda taken aback at my frustration. And when I later went back into her office to apologize and clarify that no, I really DON’T hate my mother even though it may sound like I’m going to throw her out of my moving vehicle, she of course said, “Be glad you HAVE a mother.” And you know, thanks, I get that, but I defy ANYONE to try dealing with her for one week and see if they wouldn’t be driven to drink after the first three days. No one has any idea how difficult it really is.

But you know the other thing I can’t talk about? That’s doing just fine, thankyew. So at least I have THAT going for me.

Get your scare on, yo.

[Pic ganked from Extreme Pumpkins]

Now I got Weird Al’s “White and Nerdy” stuck in my head. And I never even heard “Catch Me Ridin’ Dirty” before that.

Took the day off to take part in a market research study for Vox (another thing Zoot digs, so it’s all about Zoot today, it seems) and then took Mother to her post-op appointment for her second cataract surgery (which is fine, she’s fine, etc.). Gorged ourselves on faux Mexican, and then I came home to await my small brother’s arrival with the DVD player I bought off him. (Check it OUT, Tara! I’ve made it to the LATE ‘90s in terms of my viewing technology now. Woooooo!) He’s fine, if a little bummed right now because someone he considered a friend is being an asshole. It’s not like he’s losing tons of sleep over it, but still, it’s annoying. And he burned me his latest mix CD—he’s quite the mixer, much more talented with music than I ever was—so I need to pop that in the ol’ playa and see what he mixed up this time.

Since I’ve been shamelessly ripping offinspired by topics Heather’s recently covered, I thought I might bring another one over here to perhaps draw out the lurkers (because those stats I see in my cPanel everyday canNOT be all pr0n spammers). Last week when she was pimping out her friend’s book on good blog topics, she asked her readers what they consider dating dealbreakers. So I pose the question to you: What qualities/habits are so offensive to you in another person that you would run from the room screaming, figuratively or literally?

[UPDATED TO ADD: For our purposes, cheaters and beaters are going to be classified as “understood,” since they should be, anyway, and I know few people who would be like, “Yeah! I WANT my man/woman to cheat on/beat on me!"]

thanks to mac the knitting goddess: sweater_de_la_sprog.jpg

You know, because little ladies need to think about appearances and shtuff. Besides, with all the stuff she got at her mom’s baby shower, it looks like Pink barfed in her closet.

So yeah, dinner with my little (alleged) sister was a pretty damn good time. She's cute, funny and definitely has a mind of her own, so we got that in common. Plus, she's loud just like me, and if there were anything in this world that would serve as an identifier, it would be that. (Ok, not really. But still ...)

She also has a past that would make the toughest survivor cringe in sympathy/horror, and that unfortunately has left her very closed up while opened like a festering sore to the rest of the world all at the same time. If I in my two-parent white-bread childhood world thought my other sibs had it bad when they were growing up, I can at least take comfort in the fact that they didn't have it nearly as bad as Baby Girl did. Think, among other things, a multitude of stepdads (and a mother who isn't quite over the whole married thing yet after all this time), a sperm donor who gave up his parental rights so she could be adopted by one of the stepdads, drugs, a real live mohawk and multiple piercings, a failed marriage and her own daughter's death before the age of 20 (!), then a complete life turnaround by the age of 25 and you have the REAL A Million Little Pieces right there. In fact, a great story about the sperm donor: She was 17 and after having last seen him when she was 12, she gets shipped out west to visit him for what was supposed to be a three-week trip, right? Can't remember what day into the trip it was, but he takes her to Old Country Buffet for dinner, which is fine until he starts putting nine, 10 little bowls of condiments on the table and six glasses of milk, then proceeds to eat seven or eight plates of food BY HIMSELF and yells at her in the restaurant that her eating two plates of food "isn't getting his money's worth." And then there was the crackhead that showed up at his door at 3 a.m. and him being all like, "Uh, I TOLD you he doesn't live here anymore (wink, wink)," and the pot smell wafting from his room that really wasn't pot, according to him. Yeah, it took her four days of that before she was like, "I'm out."

No, she has not gotten herself into therapy toot sweet after all this, and that worries me, because underneath the bravado, her terror is palpable. But she seems to dig me; she says we have to be the same because we're both extreme smartasses.

My (possible) baby sister and I are meeting for Mexican tonight at 5-ish, 5:30-ish.

Details at 11, or something.

I just watched a police officer sit across from my building for about 5 minutes, which wouldn't be disturbing except that when I came back from the vet with Rube, there was a silver Malibu sitting in the same spot. It's prolly nothing, but with the latest crap coming from the Crackhead camp these days, the paranoia's running a bit rampant, I must admit.

So, when the vet walks in with a 300-pound vet tech equipped with gloves and a towel, would that give y'all pause? Yeah, that's how it went down with Rube's appointment this morning. See the last time we were there, he BIT the vet, and I guess that was marked on his chart. Heh. Anyway, it turns out that the explosive diarrhea he's been having for the last month or so is apparently a direct result of the food I switched him to, so we need to go back to the old stuff. The doc said it could also be IBS -- which in cats is often a precursor to intestinal cancer -- but since Rube is relatively young and not showing signs of being sick, it's likely not. Oh, and there's the matter of giving him an antibiotic once every day for the next two weeks, though; thank God it's a liquid, because that might be marginally easier than shooting him a pill.

The best part of the appointment: When the woman vet tech tried to force Rube out of his carrier by tipping it forward, and he planted his front paws firmly against the lip of opening. My boy's a smart one, make no mistake. In fact, I was quite sure that had I left him alone in the carrier for any length of time, he'd have gotten himself out of it. Oh yes, he would. As it was, he was working on the lock as we were driving there.

[UPDATE: Okaaaaaaay ... A third officer was just here about an hour ago, but he parked down the street for about 10 minutes before pulling away. Curiouser and curiouser ...]

Hey, everybody! Guess who landed in jail on a prior felony theft warrant after she was busted driving on a suspended license with a dude carrying a nonpermitted gun stolen from Texas!?? Anyone?

Awwww, c'mon now. This is easy!

Yeah. Crazy Aunt called me tonight with the news. Imagine my surprise (yawn). So I called the detective to let him know what's what. We'll see if anything happens.

So tonight before covering a muni meeting, the Gary Bureau editor called and asked if I wanted to cover the NAACP's annual dinner, with Dick Gregory as its keynote speaker. Well, the editor gave me the wrong time for the event -- he said it started at 6 when it really started at 7 -- so I didn't get to hear his speech. I did accost him while he was heading to the can "to go pee" (his words), though, and he made some interesting points about landowners in the states hit by the hurricane. Whoever they are, how're they going to prove they own the land when all the paperwork and/or computer archives have been effectively destroyed? And because of that, who's to say that the gubmintbig business isn't going to go on a massive land grab? Not that I necessarily think something like that is going to happen, but it certainly could, and I guess it wouldn't surprise me if it did. Anyway, about the time we ended our chat, the group was singing the Black National Anthem, and so we stood arm-in-arm and swayed as they sang.

I stood arm-in-arm with a major celebrity. How you like me now?

Then I ran into this idiot on my way out of the casino. He was going in to gamble because apparently, he's gotten off the sauce again.