What on earth are a few little bruises between friends?

The person, of course, is Mandy's main human—Rose. I'm merely a backup human who walks her on occasion.

And, no: I haven't figured out how to P-shop out the demonic green eyes. Partly because I don't have Photoshop, and I haven't mastered iPhoto yet.

What? Me? A technophobe? Surely you jest . . .

Posted by: Attila Girl at 12:33 AM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 68 words, total size 1 kb.

a) shooting smack;

b) playing volleyball;

c) transferring her normal "clumsy girl" bruises, very painstakingly, from her shins to her arms;

d) kicking ass in a jujitsu tournament.

Please advise; short-term memory is the first thing to go.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 06:49 PM | Comments (6) | Add Comment
Post contains 50 words, total size 1 kb.

1 F) Biting her fingernails. -B

Posted by: Bob at October 29, 2007 07:31 PM (k94s3)

2 The safe answer is (d). I'll go with that. Bob, those are the nails of a professional editor. Closely trimmed, but no evidence of biting. Middle finger primed and ready.

Posted by: Darrell at October 29, 2007 08:04 PM (sJ3qn)

3 Ah! You understand the publishing industry! Actually, I solved the mystery: it was Mandy, getting rowdy and nipping at me/jostling against me when I crashed at my mom's place last week. I was reminded when I dropped by today to take a nap there, and remembered that she likes to get rowdy when her humans are tired (their resistance is lower, then, and she can pretend not to hear the "n-word" as she digs around on my mom's bed or on my favorite couch). Fortunately, my mother was awake, and led the girl away whenever she came over to bother me. I swear: if she weren't so cute, I'd make her into doggie stew.

Posted by: Attila Girl at October 31, 2007 12:04 AM (aywD+)

4 Well I've been on the receiving end of a lot of those middle fingers. If I considered them sexual encounters (and as a man/nerd/geek you know I do), I have as many notches as Wilt Chamberlain or Julio Iglesias. Ah, good times! In my defense, with the type of writing I do there is often no room for creative license--certain technical jargon has to appear the same way always. Some creative types can't seem to grasp that concept. No, "undiscovered recoverable resources" can't be restated as "undiscoverable resources." Really. Ever. Never. Unless it's in the suicide note for my career. And let's not even start with the chemical names/reactions, etc. No room for word play there, either. Except in private, off-the-record, of course. There we laugh and laugh and laugh for hours at our cleverness. It's the most effective form of birth control, by the way. But you've already guessed that.

Posted by: Darrell at October 31, 2007 12:02 PM (8xVaL)

5 Well I've been on the receiving end of a lot of those middle fingers. If I considered them sexual encounters (and as a man/nerd/geek you know I do), I have as many notches as Wilt Chamberlain or Julio Iglesias. Ah, good times! Yes--but a lot of 'em came from driving around in Chicago, right? In my defense, with the type of writing I do there is often no room for creative license--certain technical jargon has to appear the same way always. Some creative types can't seem to grasp that concept. No, "undiscovered recoverable resources" can't be restated as "undiscoverable resources." Really. Ever. Never. Unless it's in the suicide note for my career. I cannot see how someone could have inserted the word "undiscoverable" in there; it certainly changes the meaning. When I was editing psychology papers for publication in an academic journal, I used to cover them with little sticky notes that contained arch little remarks about scientists' writing styles. But I did try to be restrained . . . I tried. And let's not even start with the chemical names/reactions, etc. No room for word play there, either. Except in private, off-the-record, of course. There we laugh and laugh and laugh for hours at our cleverness. It's the most effective form of birth control, by the way. But you've already guessed that. Yeah, well--I once did a newsletter for my dad that had a lot of chemical names in it. Pretty dry stuff. But it was work! You just need some engineer groupies--hot ladies who read your papers and then throw their underwear at you. How difficult can that be? Think of all the idiot rock and rollers who manage it just fine!

Posted by: Attila Girl at October 31, 2007 03:49 PM (aywD+)

6 Yeah. One day we can compete with idiot rock-and-rollers. I believe. But I think it's best that the Japanese keep working on those robots. . .

Posted by: Darrell at October 31, 2007 07:59 PM (rilDu)

Hide Comments | Add Comment

Eeyore Man made a joke about cannibalism today. He's Jewish, so I remarked that I hadn't ever heard before that "the long pig" was kosher. No one got it except Desert Girl, who teaches English in Parts East.

As I slid my eyes over to her she smiled. "Extra credit," she told me quietly as the conversation moved along.

That's all I've ever really asked for, you know.

Well, that + sex/drugs/rock 'n' roll.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:37 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 78 words, total size 1 kb.

I thought it was funny.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 12:34 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 9 words, total size 1 kb.

Three weeks for the public utility, and two weeks for the bimonthly magazine.

And now I need to sleep for about five years, go to a Halloween party, do some housework, and catch up on my staff job.

Then I get to scrounge for clients again.

I know I sound tired, and I am. That is not, however, the whole story: when I'm working it reminds me how fucking good I am at what I do, and that fact really keeps the depressions at bay. If I were to learn how to sell my editing and production abilities on that basis (or, for crying out loud, my fiction), it would indeed be a grand thing.

But in the meantime, sleep sounds good.

Over at Hog Beatty's, a few of his friends and neighbors met for drinks in the eveing. This was cool, and I had a little gin, nibbling my way through the appetizers brought over by one of the people in his housing complex. When someone offered me a good cigar, I accepted. Count Linguist and I shared a smoke there on the back deck in Santa Monica, and my jaw finally unclenched after over a month as I listened to people speaking Arabic and Russian and Ukranian&none of which, of course, I understand. It was all so fucking good.

I don't smoke enough; can't we do a PSA about the need for more cigars in the 21 Century?

I'd like to teach the world cigars,
and perfect harmony . . .

Of course, if they don't start smoking, that's more for me. And nothing else quite does it: even booze. (Though, you know: the best booze comes pretty darned close.)

Happy Halloween. Make friends with the local spiders; they are your friends, despite what J.K. Rowling would have you believe.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 01:34 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 316 words, total size 2 kb.

I worked at Job A today, and dropped by Job B with a lick and a promise. (Get your minds out of the gutter, please.)

The idea tonight was to crash here on the Westside at the mom's place, and go to bed early so I could catch up on sleep. And yet after a nice dinner my mother and I had to squabble gently about something-or-other. And now it is nearly one in the morning. See, Mom? We could have watched Boston Legal after all, with no harm done. But then—that's why God made DVDs. Helen Gurley Brown informs me helpfully that I can have everything, which sounds somewhat correct.

Honestly, though: this week in particular—with fires raging in huge swatchs of the Southwest—it's hard to complain, though I'm lying on the couch we suspect of being infested with mice, thankful for Mandy's presence at the foot of the "bed." Because I'm not here every night, I get preferential treatment from the local APBT.

Which is cool, other than the issues of (1) how long does it take this stupid dog to settle down, and (2) why is she sleeping exactly where I had wanted to put my feet?

Rule Number One in relating to terriers, whether it's the medium-large one that lives with my mom, or the teacup-size one that hangs out at work: the dog does not move. The humans move around the dog.

That's just how it is. I'm thinking of sleeping with my legs up the back of the couch, counting desperately on the slipcover to protect me from any mammals with whom I don't have any real rapport. (Rodents: you know who you are.)

Oh, Mandy—how you came and you took without giving.
But you killed a nice mouse,
Oh, Mandy—
How you toss my laptop in the fireplace
At my mom's house
And my tech's barely living,
Oh, Mandy.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 12:10 AM | Comments (1) | Add Comment
Post contains 322 words, total size 2 kb.

Although I'd like to think my hips aren't quite that big.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 08:18 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 19 words, total size 1 kb.

Actually, I'm working for my favoritest manager in my favoritest department for my favoritest client.

The job parameters:

• Figure out what to do;
• Figure out how to do it;
• Go do it;
• Figure out when you'll need to be in the office to get it done, and be there then;
• Don't bother me too much;
• Don't make a bunch of expensive mistakes.

So I do that, and then I send him a bill at the end of the print cycle. It's like I've died and gone to vocational heaven.

Finally.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 11:05 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 102 words, total size 1 kb.

The work that one does for $45 an hour, or the work that one does for $15 an hour?

Sometimes it's actually the latter: and yet, those micro-mini checks don't land with the good, solid thwumps! that distinguish the former.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:40 PM | Comments (2) | Add Comment
Post contains 48 words, total size 1 kb.

A: Good news! The estrogen fairy has come. That means I'll be out of the man-hating business for the next 7-10 days.

B: Excellent. That takes attention away from really good things, like gin-appreciation.

A: Or, more to the point—vodka.

B: Lush. How are things going at the church?

A: Really well. Are you guys still saying the rosary?

B: Yes.

A: Cool. I'm thinking of becoming a nun.

B: I'm not sure . . . you might want to think that over just a little bit.

A: No, it's okay. Now that I'm older, I'm really good at going without sex. I can manage a whole ten days at a time these days.

B: Look. You've got the wrong time frame. The horizon has to be a bit further out than that, if you're thinking of joining an order.

A: Right. Good thinking. Well, I'll mull it over a bit longer.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 02:51 PM | No Comments | Add Comment
Post contains 156 words, total size 1 kb.

. . . I have to decide what kind of gin I want in my martini. I feel that this really brings me close to the memory of my great-great-grandfather, who used to ferry people to the West Coast over the Oregon Trail.

I'm sure at the end of a long day, as they circled the wagons and started a campfire, my g-g-g was wondering whether it was a Bombay Saffire night or a Tanqueray occasion.

Times were hard back then, and I imagine he had to go without ice now and then. But he was a tough guy, like his descendent, the blogging chick.

Of course, it might be a slightly different type of toughness, now that I come to think about it. He probably had to hunt small game to keep the wagon train fed. I hunt grammatical errors, to keep my Cruiser fed.

Other than that, it's exactly the same lifestyle.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:55 PM | Comments (4) | Add Comment
Post contains 170 words, total size 1 kb.

I'm at the restaurant with my mother. She insists on picking up the tab. I protest, but I'm secretly relieved.

The waitress runs her card, and comes back with two pieces of paper. They are both the same color (white). Neither of them says "customer copy," or "merchant copy," or anything that obvious.

"I can't figure out which one is mine," she complains.

"Hand 'em over," I insist.

After less than a second of examining the slips I give them back, explaining that "this one is yours; they put a thank-you note at the bottom of it."

Had I looked for another split second, I would have noticed the fact that the merchant copy had a line on it for her to sign.

Later that evening, as we were discussing the oddity of being nearsighted in one eye, and farsighted in the other, it occurred to me that not only is that a potentially adaptable trait; it might also be one of the reasons I'm such a good proofreader.

In any event, if you want someone to compare two documents to see whether they match—and, if not, to figure out what all the differences are—then I'm your man.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:47 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
Post contains 212 words, total size 1 kb.