naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Do I have anyone familiar with Spanish, specifically Mexican Spanish and associated vernacular and profanity, reading me who would be willing to translate a sentence or two from time to time? Wiktionary/Babelfish/Google are not that helpful.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
Do I have anyone familiar with Spanish, specifically Mexican Spanish and associated vernacular and profanity, reading me who would be willing to translate a sentence or two from time to time? Wiktionary/Babelfish/Google are not that helpful.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Key)
Written on my bedside paper:

Bad catchphrase #1,026: "I could chew through that."

I must have thought that was really funny at the time. The writing is very careful. I don't know. I just don't know.

In other thrilling news of great importance, I went thrifting with [livejournal.com profile] bat_cheva yesterday and scored a BIG pirate chest for $15. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do with it, and lord knows I should NOT spend the money, but it was too sweet a deal to pass up considering I am actually going to, you know, use it to put stuff in.

Right now I am in a horrible fucking mood and hope it dissipates in time to enjoy group gaming tomorrow. The fact that I somehow pulled a muscle on the right side of my stomach just below my ribs and now it hurts like all hell is not helping. It's hard to even take a full breath. I don't even know how I did it. I've been trying to figure it out and I just don't remember--

Wait.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, I guess it could have been that.

Um.

Freak occurrence, hasn't happened before, won't happen again, I'm sure. Never mind.

So, while I sit here and feel stupid about it, fun question for the audience: what's the funniest/most embarrassing way you've ever hurt yourself? Stories about other people are accepted too, but first-person really is more fun.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Key)
Written on my bedside paper:

Bad catchphrase #1,026: "I could chew through that."

I must have thought that was really funny at the time. The writing is very careful. I don't know. I just don't know.

In other thrilling news of great importance, I went thrifting with [livejournal.com profile] bat_cheva yesterday and scored a BIG pirate chest for $15. I don't know exactly what I'm going to do with it, and lord knows I should NOT spend the money, but it was too sweet a deal to pass up considering I am actually going to, you know, use it to put stuff in.

Right now I am in a horrible fucking mood and hope it dissipates in time to enjoy group gaming tomorrow. The fact that I somehow pulled a muscle on the right side of my stomach just below my ribs and now it hurts like all hell is not helping. It's hard to even take a full breath. I don't even know how I did it. I've been trying to figure it out and I just don't remember--

Wait.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh, I guess it could have been that.

Um.

Freak occurrence, hasn't happened before, won't happen again, I'm sure. Never mind.

So, while I sit here and feel stupid about it, fun question for the audience: what's the funniest/most embarrassing way you've ever hurt yourself? Stories about other people are accepted too, but first-person really is more fun.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Tootsie Pops!)
This is eating my brain.

Could someone who has Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's Saint-Germain series look up the name of the Roman horse race in (I THINK it was) Blood Games? The horse race that was conducted through the city and not in an arena. I'm trying to find more information about that sort of race historically, but I borrowed those books to read them and thus don't have access to them. This question is burning a hole in my brain RIGHT NOW. Google is full of crap.

I need to rectify not having those. They were really cool books.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Tootsie Pops!)
This is eating my brain.

Could someone who has Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's Saint-Germain series look up the name of the Roman horse race in (I THINK it was) Blood Games? The horse race that was conducted through the city and not in an arena. I'm trying to find more information about that sort of race historically, but I borrowed those books to read them and thus don't have access to them. This question is burning a hole in my brain RIGHT NOW. Google is full of crap.

I need to rectify not having those. They were really cool books.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (BTiLC Crazy Problem)
I am righteously pissed off and pretty stressed out for various reasons right now, so I'm going to lighten the mood with one simple question.

What do you do when you're alone in the car?

Go on, fess up. Don't be embarrassed. I will even go first! This is my list:

  • Give magazine/radio interviews as an imaginary person, usually about my line of work/personal history/most embarrassing moment/formative tragic moment.
  • Argue with imaginary people, as an imaginary person.
  • Pretend to be having an important phone conversation with a person who does not exist.
  • Practice howling.
  • Practice making crow noises.
  • Sing very loudly and probably very badly.
  • Talk dirty to imaginary people, as an imaginary person. (I don't do this often, but it's tremendous fun.)
  • Explain my real-life problems to an imaginary person and ask for advice, then give it, usually in a different voice.
  • Explain imaginary problems to an imaginary person as an imaginary person, ask for advice, then give it. Sometimes I disagree violently with myself.
  • Practice swearing floridly.
  • Cuss out real people who have made me angry.
  • Pretend to be piloting a spaceship (usually when making the approach to my driveway, or in heavy traffic).
  • Pretend to be an imaginary person on the run from the law/witch-vampire-werewolf hunters/my archnemesis, planning my escape to an imaginary person.
  • Practice villain rants and monologues -- this will one day come in handy in real life, for dressing someone down. Sub-creature!

    I have actually done every one of those in the past week, and I'm probably forgetting some. Yup. If some government agency has me under surveillance, man, my car is where it's at. Some crazy shit goes down in there.

    So! Cough it up! What would the CIA hear if they bugged your car?
  • naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (BTiLC Crazy Problem)
    I am righteously pissed off and pretty stressed out for various reasons right now, so I'm going to lighten the mood with one simple question.

    What do you do when you're alone in the car?

    Go on, fess up. Don't be embarrassed. I will even go first! This is my list:

  • Give magazine/radio interviews as an imaginary person, usually about my line of work/personal history/most embarrassing moment/formative tragic moment.
  • Argue with imaginary people, as an imaginary person.
  • Pretend to be having an important phone conversation with a person who does not exist.
  • Practice howling.
  • Practice making crow noises.
  • Sing very loudly and probably very badly.
  • Talk dirty to imaginary people, as an imaginary person. (I don't do this often, but it's tremendous fun.)
  • Explain my real-life problems to an imaginary person and ask for advice, then give it, usually in a different voice.
  • Explain imaginary problems to an imaginary person as an imaginary person, ask for advice, then give it. Sometimes I disagree violently with myself.
  • Practice swearing floridly.
  • Cuss out real people who have made me angry.
  • Pretend to be piloting a spaceship (usually when making the approach to my driveway, or in heavy traffic).
  • Pretend to be an imaginary person on the run from the law/witch-vampire-werewolf hunters/my archnemesis, planning my escape to an imaginary person.
  • Practice villain rants and monologues -- this will one day come in handy in real life, for dressing someone down. Sub-creature!

    I have actually done every one of those in the past week, and I'm probably forgetting some. Yup. If some government agency has me under surveillance, man, my car is where it's at. Some crazy shit goes down in there.

    So! Cough it up! What would the CIA hear if they bugged your car?
  • naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian No Pants)
    This is a bit . . . explicit, so I'm putting it under a cut. I'm hoping we have a vet or vet tech around who can answer this question satisfactorily.

    Oh, no, she didn't just ask that. )

    This is actually not for the perverse reasons you might think. Cross your legs and wince, dudes, because it's not a sex thing, it's a trophy thing. Ouch.

    I am having a lot of fun with tags for this entry, and also with the icon. I've also been googling some pretty horrendous search strings with no success. Please, please don't make me take this to [livejournal.com profile] little_details.

    ETA: Correct answer found, discovered to be very wrong anyway. Goddamn. I knew it was awesome to be a werewolf.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian No Pants)
    This is a bit . . . explicit, so I'm putting it under a cut. I'm hoping we have a vet or vet tech around who can answer this question satisfactorily.

    Oh, no, she didn't just ask that. )

    This is actually not for the perverse reasons you might think. Cross your legs and wince, dudes, because it's not a sex thing, it's a trophy thing. Ouch.

    I am having a lot of fun with tags for this entry, and also with the icon. I've also been googling some pretty horrendous search strings with no success. Please, please don't make me take this to [livejournal.com profile] little_details.

    ETA: Correct answer found, discovered to be very wrong anyway. Goddamn. I knew it was awesome to be a werewolf.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (LMAO)
    I'm now dead of wrong. I just hit a sleeping cat with a Hitachi Magic Wand attachment.

    I was switching the boring vinyl head out for a more entertaining one, lost my grip, and the durn thing sailed across the room and right into Tazendra's amorphous black mass. Specifically, the portion of her amorphous black mass with eyes.

    Is it cruel of me that my first reaction was not concern but poorly-stifled, convulsive laughter at her look of utter reproach?

    Thank heavens they can't be traumatized by things like this, or they'd be drawing some pretty fucked-up shit in kindergarten.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (LMAO)
    I'm now dead of wrong. I just hit a sleeping cat with a Hitachi Magic Wand attachment.

    I was switching the boring vinyl head out for a more entertaining one, lost my grip, and the durn thing sailed across the room and right into Tazendra's amorphous black mass. Specifically, the portion of her amorphous black mass with eyes.

    Is it cruel of me that my first reaction was not concern but poorly-stifled, convulsive laughter at her look of utter reproach?

    Thank heavens they can't be traumatized by things like this, or they'd be drawing some pretty fucked-up shit in kindergarten.
    naamah_darling: A gray cat with a white chin squinting as though she smells food. (Fish)
    You all may or may not remember Notes From Cat History.

    I only ever did two entries, here, and here, but I've been wanting to resurrect it for a while now.

    I am going to continue the feature for a super-secret project that I promise I will reveal to all of you once we have settled on a name. Which brings me to the crux of the matter.

    I like "Notes From Cat History" just fine, and will happily use it if nothing better occurs to me. However, it doesn't pop. Something catchier, pithier, is out there, and so far, I haven't been able to think of it. Probably because I am still recovering from watching Sheena the other week.

    But there are something like a thousand of you. As I wrote to my partners in crime, you lot are like an entire herd of those backup brains that dinosaurs had,* only you are not in my butt.** Surely you, with all that combined cleverness, can come up with something good.

    So, share your ideas with me!

    [Poll #1157360]

    If I go with a name one of you submits, I promise I will credit you in the announcement and incorporate you (or a mention of your cat) into the first new episode.

    * Somehow, this was more flattering when I was just thinking it.

    ** That I have noticed.
    naamah_darling: A gray cat with a white chin squinting as though she smells food. (Fish)
    You all may or may not remember Notes From Cat History.

    I only ever did two entries, here, and here, but I've been wanting to resurrect it for a while now.

    I am going to continue the feature for a super-secret project that I promise I will reveal to all of you once we have settled on a name. Which brings me to the crux of the matter.

    I like "Notes From Cat History" just fine, and will happily use it if nothing better occurs to me. However, it doesn't pop. Something catchier, pithier, is out there, and so far, I haven't been able to think of it. Probably because I am still recovering from watching Sheena the other week.

    But there are something like a thousand of you. As I wrote to my partners in crime, you lot are like an entire herd of those backup brains that dinosaurs had,* only you are not in my butt.** Surely you, with all that combined cleverness, can come up with something good.

    So, share your ideas with me!

    [Poll #1157360]

    If I go with a name one of you submits, I promise I will credit you in the announcement and incorporate you (or a mention of your cat) into the first new episode.

    * Somehow, this was more flattering when I was just thinking it.

    ** That I have noticed.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Tootsie Pops!)
    My dad is a font of fatherly wisdom.

    When I was a teenager, we were at a rock and mineral show, and someone there had a genuine Smilodon skull. For reasons that currently escape me, they were asking some ridiculously low sum of money for it. An arm, as opposed to an arm and a leg.

    This was right when my dad's company was folding. Colleagues were deserting left and right, and our family's financial future was not looking so rosy. In fact, it was looking pretty grim.

    He didn't buy it and he is, to this day, kicking himself for not buying it. It would have hurt, yes, but he knows damn well that he is never again going to come across another opportunity like that. Not ever.

    Talking to him about it, he expressed regret. "I still would have been able to put you through school. We wouldn't have gone hungry or naked. And I don't remember what I did spend it on. I have no idea where that money went. I don't even remember what specific thing was deviling me so much that I felt like I couldn't part with the cash. What I remember is that I had the money in the bank, and I should have bought the fucking thing when I had the chance."

    My dad is an accountant, and is one of the most responsible guys I know. He's the exact opposite of the "spend it if you have it" sort of person who goes around buying neat but unnecessary shit left and right. For him to have said that indicates a sincere, bone-deep regret; a missing mental tooth that is going to trouble him for the rest of his dorky, fossil-collecting days.

    "Sometimes you see something, and you have to have it. And in twenty years, it won't matter that you were late paying your bills for six months because you bought it. You don't remember skipped bills and skipped meals. What you will remember is that you were smart enough to take the shot."

    I very badly want to call him and ask for his advice, because I've run across what could be one of these situations, and I am practically crapping out my own thumbnails trying to decide whether this is one of those opportunities.

    You know (or you do now) that I collect bones, both cranial and post-cranial, with an emphasis on carnivore skulls. I've got a nice little grouping in my bedroom: bobcat, fox, coyote, dog, and wolf. All legally obtained, all beautiful specimens, especially the wolf and the bobcat.

    I have access to a nearly-perfect adult spotted hyena (Crocuta crocuta) skull, ethically obtained, maceration-cleaned.

    The spotted hyena has been on my most-wanted short list for many years, and I have been watching for an acceptable one to become available through the limited channels I will buy from. Frankly, specimens this fine don't come along often -- not from people I'm comfortable dealing with. I am not going to say what they're asking for it, but I will say that the price is neither too high nor ridiculously low. I have the money, it won't put me in hock or create any great hardship.

    It is still a very large -- ridiculously large -- amount of money to drop on a bone. Even if it is something I have always wanted, and will always want.

    I am so very torn.

    ETA: The photo above is a high-quality replica. I now have pictures of the actual skull in question, here and here and here. You can see in that last picture the only area of damage the skull has sustained. One of the protrusions flanking the foramen magnum has broken off.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Tootsie Pops!)
    My dad is a font of fatherly wisdom.

    When I was a teenager, we were at a rock and mineral show, and someone there had a genuine Smilodon skull. For reasons that currently escape me, they were asking some ridiculously low sum of money for it. An arm, as opposed to an arm and a leg.

    This was right when my dad's company was folding. Colleagues were deserting left and right, and our family's financial future was not looking so rosy. In fact, it was looking pretty grim.

    He didn't buy it and he is, to this day, kicking himself for not buying it. It would have hurt, yes, but he knows damn well that he is never again going to come across another opportunity like that. Not ever.

    Talking to him about it, he expressed regret. "I still would have been able to put you through school. We wouldn't have gone hungry or naked. And I don't remember what I did spend it on. I have no idea where that money went. I don't even remember what specific thing was deviling me so much that I felt like I couldn't part with the cash. What I remember is that I had the money in the bank, and I should have bought the fucking thing when I had the chance."

    My dad is an accountant, and is one of the most responsible guys I know. He's the exact opposite of the "spend it if you have it" sort of person who goes around buying neat but unnecessary shit left and right. For him to have said that indicates a sincere, bone-deep regret; a missing mental tooth that is going to trouble him for the rest of his dorky, fossil-collecting days.

    "Sometimes you see something, and you have to have it. And in twenty years, it won't matter that you were late paying your bills for six months because you bought it. You don't remember skipped bills and skipped meals. What you will remember is that you were smart enough to take the shot."

    I very badly want to call him and ask for his advice, because I've run across what could be one of these situations, and I am practically crapping out my own thumbnails trying to decide whether this is one of those opportunities.

    You know (or you do now) that I collect bones, both cranial and post-cranial, with an emphasis on carnivore skulls. I've got a nice little grouping in my bedroom: bobcat, fox, coyote, dog, and wolf. All legally obtained, all beautiful specimens, especially the wolf and the bobcat.

    I have access to a nearly-perfect adult spotted hyena (Crocuta crocuta) skull, ethically obtained, maceration-cleaned.

    The spotted hyena has been on my most-wanted short list for many years, and I have been watching for an acceptable one to become available through the limited channels I will buy from. Frankly, specimens this fine don't come along often -- not from people I'm comfortable dealing with. I am not going to say what they're asking for it, but I will say that the price is neither too high nor ridiculously low. I have the money, it won't put me in hock or create any great hardship.

    It is still a very large -- ridiculously large -- amount of money to drop on a bone. Even if it is something I have always wanted, and will always want.

    I am so very torn.

    ETA: The photo above is a high-quality replica. I now have pictures of the actual skull in question, here and here and here. You can see in that last picture the only area of damage the skull has sustained. One of the protrusions flanking the foramen magnum has broken off.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Christmas Clark)
    I was going to do a 12 Days of Fishmas, and post a fun picture of one of the cats or my friends or me every day until Christmas, but like the giant tosky floop I am, I forgot about it yesterday in the midst of assorted other chaos. So I offer you the first picture today.

    It's Friday anyway. Time for cat pictures.

    I've been wrapping a lot of presents, but they look worse this year than ever before. Seriously crappy, folks. Why should that be the case? Because this year I have help.

    Here she is.

    Fish Sniff

    If I sit on the floor to wrap presents, she immediately has to come and interpose herself, just like the little pain in the butt she is, because obviously there's no reason in the world I'd be sitting on the floor except to pay attention to her.

    She's the fat, grey center of the universe.

    This is me telling her "Bad. Bad Fishie." Note she is not so much listening as sniffing to see if I am edible.

    In other news, I would like to share with you a piece of advice. On the holidays after any given year in which you have lost three relatives and had several other friends and relatives break up or move away, delegate addressing envelopes. Seriously. At least delegate the task of gathering and updating information. I got kicked in the gut SO hard last night when I started flipping through my address book. Seeing the old addresses there in black and white was worse than . . . I don't know. It was just worse than. And then it hit again when I had to address the one to my dad. Just Dad. I know that address by heart because I lived there for 18 years. And writing it just Dad looks so, so wrong.

    Ow.

    The lighter side of this is the neverending card debate I have with myself each year. When sending a letter to a couple, as a couple, and none of the four of you has the same last name, whose name comes first? Even if I'm only using first names, I'm pretty sure grammar tells me to put the man's name first, married or not, same last name or not, but that's just bullshit. Yet when I don't do it, I feel like I'm giving slight by saying "I'm thinking of you first, and that other stupid buttwipe second," which isn't the case at all.

    I've settled on "random" as my method of choice, but it still bothers me.

    And when you add in people you know mostly online, and the other names you know them under, it gets really confusing. If someone knows me best as Amanda, but knows Sargon as Sargon and not Paul, then it seems odd to say from Amanda and Paul. But . . . Amanda and Sargon? Sounds even weirder.

    And then there's the whole nasty pickle I'm sure many of you have bitten into: I didn't change my name when I got hitched, and there are extendeds on both sides who still haven't twigged to this. I don't mind being referred to as Mr. and Ms. the Terrible, since that's a nickname that I gave him, and I'm pretty terrible myself, but Sargon's real last name . . . I love it, I adore him, I cherish his family, but I am through and through a Gannon, and that ain't going to change. I don't like having that part of me casually pushed into the back of a drawer by anyone. Names are magical, significant, and my last name is a very big part of me.

    I don't know. It probably shouldn't bother me, since I know they mean it in love and good faith. But it does bother me. Not so much the fact of it as what it implies about the thought processes behind it.

    Then again, I've wondered from time to time if I didn't give offense to his side of the family by not changing my name, so that door swings both ways. These are changing times, and I think a lot of people are still trying to figure out how to deal with the name thing. There really isn't a consensus. Most people don't bat an eye over it, but certain individuals still think it's horrible and snotty if a woman won't take her husband's last name. Heck, even when I got married the folks at City Hall seemed surprised I wasn't going to be a Mrs. anything. Of course, they also seemed surprised that I didn't want the box of newlywed freebies, which included diapers and formula. I supposed they must have talked to the distant relations of mine who thought I was only getting married because I was knocked up.

    But, fussing over names aside, the cards are getting done. They are pretty, but didn't print out as well as I had hoped. Still, they're what I've got, and at least they're done by me. Drawn, composed, inscribed, and addressed, all by hand. A friend of the family, my honorary "uncle," does an original card every year, and I treasure all of them. Mine aren't nearly that high-quality but I aspire to it, and led by his example, I've vowed to never buy cards.

    And in the Christmas spirit, here, have a bonus picture to make up for the one I didn't put up yesterday. This one was in the running for the holiday card this year, but though I may be turning into a sentimental, maudlin old fartbag, I'm not one to inflict my illness on others, so the idea got nixed.

    Tree Festival 01

    I think this shot is very Hallmark. I took it at the Philbrook's Festival of Trees early this month. I have a ton of neat pictures from there that I'll be sharing in bits and pieces over the next few days. I figure as long as I cuss some and throw in some pictures of cats and me giving the finger, y'all can deal.
    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Christmas Clark)
    I was going to do a 12 Days of Fishmas, and post a fun picture of one of the cats or my friends or me every day until Christmas, but like the giant tosky floop I am, I forgot about it yesterday in the midst of assorted other chaos. So I offer you the first picture today.

    It's Friday anyway. Time for cat pictures.

    I've been wrapping a lot of presents, but they look worse this year than ever before. Seriously crappy, folks. Why should that be the case? Because this year I have help.

    Here she is.

    Fish Sniff

    If I sit on the floor to wrap presents, she immediately has to come and interpose herself, just like the little pain in the butt she is, because obviously there's no reason in the world I'd be sitting on the floor except to pay attention to her.

    She's the fat, grey center of the universe.

    This is me telling her "Bad. Bad Fishie." Note she is not so much listening as sniffing to see if I am edible.

    In other news, I would like to share with you a piece of advice. On the holidays after any given year in which you have lost three relatives and had several other friends and relatives break up or move away, delegate addressing envelopes. Seriously. At least delegate the task of gathering and updating information. I got kicked in the gut SO hard last night when I started flipping through my address book. Seeing the old addresses there in black and white was worse than . . . I don't know. It was just worse than. And then it hit again when I had to address the one to my dad. Just Dad. I know that address by heart because I lived there for 18 years. And writing it just Dad looks so, so wrong.

    Ow.

    The lighter side of this is the neverending card debate I have with myself each year. When sending a letter to a couple, as a couple, and none of the four of you has the same last name, whose name comes first? Even if I'm only using first names, I'm pretty sure grammar tells me to put the man's name first, married or not, same last name or not, but that's just bullshit. Yet when I don't do it, I feel like I'm giving slight by saying "I'm thinking of you first, and that other stupid buttwipe second," which isn't the case at all.

    I've settled on "random" as my method of choice, but it still bothers me.

    And when you add in people you know mostly online, and the other names you know them under, it gets really confusing. If someone knows me best as Amanda, but knows Sargon as Sargon and not Paul, then it seems odd to say from Amanda and Paul. But . . . Amanda and Sargon? Sounds even weirder.

    And then there's the whole nasty pickle I'm sure many of you have bitten into: I didn't change my name when I got hitched, and there are extendeds on both sides who still haven't twigged to this. I don't mind being referred to as Mr. and Ms. the Terrible, since that's a nickname that I gave him, and I'm pretty terrible myself, but Sargon's real last name . . . I love it, I adore him, I cherish his family, but I am through and through a Gannon, and that ain't going to change. I don't like having that part of me casually pushed into the back of a drawer by anyone. Names are magical, significant, and my last name is a very big part of me.

    I don't know. It probably shouldn't bother me, since I know they mean it in love and good faith. But it does bother me. Not so much the fact of it as what it implies about the thought processes behind it.

    Then again, I've wondered from time to time if I didn't give offense to his side of the family by not changing my name, so that door swings both ways. These are changing times, and I think a lot of people are still trying to figure out how to deal with the name thing. There really isn't a consensus. Most people don't bat an eye over it, but certain individuals still think it's horrible and snotty if a woman won't take her husband's last name. Heck, even when I got married the folks at City Hall seemed surprised I wasn't going to be a Mrs. anything. Of course, they also seemed surprised that I didn't want the box of newlywed freebies, which included diapers and formula. I supposed they must have talked to the distant relations of mine who thought I was only getting married because I was knocked up.

    But, fussing over names aside, the cards are getting done. They are pretty, but didn't print out as well as I had hoped. Still, they're what I've got, and at least they're done by me. Drawn, composed, inscribed, and addressed, all by hand. A friend of the family, my honorary "uncle," does an original card every year, and I treasure all of them. Mine aren't nearly that high-quality but I aspire to it, and led by his example, I've vowed to never buy cards.

    And in the Christmas spirit, here, have a bonus picture to make up for the one I didn't put up yesterday. This one was in the running for the holiday card this year, but though I may be turning into a sentimental, maudlin old fartbag, I'm not one to inflict my illness on others, so the idea got nixed.

    Tree Festival 01

    I think this shot is very Hallmark. I took it at the Philbrook's Festival of Trees early this month. I have a ton of neat pictures from there that I'll be sharing in bits and pieces over the next few days. I figure as long as I cuss some and throw in some pictures of cats and me giving the finger, y'all can deal.

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    naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Default)
    naamah_darling

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