Debate-o-rama.

Wow, I actually watched a presidential debate. I think that's the first I've watched since Reagan/Mondale in '84 for elementary school (all hail the G/T program). As it so happens, I'm really not a really good person to judge this sort of thing. I know I'm voting for Kerry, largely by virtue of the fact that he's not Bush, but I can't really tell how well he did. I admit my bias, so it's obvious I'm gonna view the debate through those eyes. But I have to say, one thing I saw: Bush looked pissed. In the cut aways, he actually looked mad at what Kerry was saying. Even when Kerry was denied the rebuttal he obviously wanted, he just kept his cool and addressed it in the remainder of allotted time in his next question.

So yeah, I wish I had a better eye for that thing. It does more fully enhance what I've been saying about Bush being president, however: if it's done nothing else, it's actually made me finally vote.

On another note, we're up to about a 70% chance of Mount St. Helens going boom. Should be fun.

The Gods are mildly irked.

Looks like Helen might be waking up, and she doesn't sound happy about it. You know, if this does lead to stuff, this should be extremely interesting ... from a "I hope nobody dies in a horrible way" sense. On a clear day, you can see Mount St. Helens easily from Portland. I can't imagine what a spectacle it'd be if the thing was errupting at the time.

From my slight humanitarian standpoint, I hope nothing happens. But from the standpoint of someone who loves watching this sort of stuff on The Discovery Channel, I admit, I kinda hope it does.

Ha.

Mike's response to the below when he came home tonight and read it? To go to the balcony door, peer out, and say "Oh, was it this thing right here?"

Okay, he didn't do that, but he said he really wanted to, so that's damning enough in my book. Hrmph.

Though he kinda made up for it after by making me laugh. He started going on a big tangent ... "Hey, look, its eyes are glowing this really deep red colour. And check out all the energy waves coming off of it. It's like an anime! You made it go all Dragonball Z on you."

I'm still all traumatized, though. I predict nightmares.

JW vs. the Stinging Thing

I just spent about ten minutes recounting this story to my mother, and she insisted that I Blog it so the world could laugh at me. Please, enjoy my tale of irrational fear and ineffectiveness.

---

It's a fairly pleasant day outside, here in the Portland, Oregon suburbs. Nice and blue - not very cloudy, but not too hot either. As I'm often wont to do, I opened the balcony door to let some fresh air and a nice breeze circulate. I was settled comfortably on the couch, working on the future web page layout for season 9, despite the fact that there were several other things I should have been doing. MST3K's Catalina Caper played in the background, my puppy was curled up next to me dreaming happy little puppy dreams, and life was good.

Then it came. It was big. It was black. It buzzed angrily. And I suspected very strongly that it would sting me.

I have this thing about insects, in that I hate them. More than that, they ... what's the word? Terrify me. Eh, I suppose that's a little bit strong, but it's fairly close. I absolutely can not handle stinging bugs. I have never in my life been stung. I think that has escalated the threat of a sting to epic proportions in my eyes, to the point where a sting = painfully slow death. This, plus one too many documentaries on Animal Planet, means I turn into a 50's housewife at the slightest threat of a stinging thing. But that only gets things done when you have your Ward Cleavers to come and save you, and mine's at work.

So there I am, creating happily, when I spotted it in the corner, in the window by the open door. I think it probably wanted to leave. That would've been smashing, as that's what I wanted as well. I'm not out to commit genocide on things that sting - I have no problem with insects, provided they come nowhere near me. This one was violating that cardinal rule, however, and upon sighting it, my instincts kicked in. I reached over and grabbed the ever-present can of Hot Shot® Flying Insect Killer.

Braving the threat, I crept forward and sprayed. I sprayed long and I sprayed hard. The curse'd thing fell to the window sill, where I sprayed it some more for good measure. Then I jumped back and hoped like hell the "Kills Fast!" guarantee was in effect.

Unfortunately, it was not. It lay there, on its back, little legs flailing in the air, and I felt immediately bad. I'm not a cruel person, and as much as I loathe these things, I don't want them to suffer. But I can't handle bug guts and stuff, so squishing it was out of the question. So I sprayed again, hoping that a double dose of poison would do the trick. Its flailing slowed, but didn't stop. Unable to watch any more, I went back to my work and tried not to keep glancing over.

Several minutes passed. Then I heard it. The buzzing. The angry, frantic buzzing. Wide-eyed, I turned to the windowsill to see the bug twirling around on its back like some unholy break dancer. I couldn't believe it was still able to move, let alone get its groove on. I snatched the spray and applied another unhealthily liberal dose of poison. Again, its movements slowed, then stopped. I watched for a long moment. Nothing. Convinced that the spins were death throes, I trudged back to Lil' Bit, having every intention of leaving the carcass on the sill until Mike came home and he could deal with it (because dealing with things I don't want to is what Mikes are for).

Five to ten minutes passed. Tom Servo sang a tribute to Creepy Girl. I was pleased at my web page progress. My serenity was shattered by a buzzing even angrier than before.

I couldn't believe it. The thing was not dead!! I'd nailed it with so many poisons that I think I would've keeled over by now, but still it thrived! Was this some sort of undead bug? The Superman of the insect world? Was I simply mutating it, creating a stronger, better, even-more-likely-to-sting-me-to-death harbinger of doom? That was it. It had to go, and it had to go now.

Resolved (and clutching the spray protectively, despite its seeming in ability to "Kill Fast!"), I rushed into the kitchen, but there I was stymied. What to use? Which tool lent itself to the disposal of quite-possibly immortal bugs? I didn't want thing dead, I just wanted it the hell out of my apartment, where it would hopefully either terrify some other poor soul or die without me having to watch and become increasingly freaked out. I considered my tweezers, but ... you know, those are my tweezers, and besides, they don't have a very long reach. I'm looking for something that will do the job, perferably from about ten-feet away.

The tongs then? No, those are sort of hard to control. I mean, I mutilate fishsticks with those, and the last thing I thought I could handle at that point was squishing the bug in half or something. Not to mention that if this happened and it still didn't die, I think I would've passed out. Then who would protect me from its wickedness? No, tongs are out.

A spatula! But the only ones I have that aren't dirty have slats in them, and I didn't want to chance it falling on the carpet (or quite possibly my foot - that way lies instant insanity). Oddly enough, the idea of using a dirty utensil for this task was dismissed outright. I have no idea why.

I bounced from one foot the other, shifting my weight like a prizefighter. A very stupid, completely-at-a-loss prizefighter. I think I may even have whimpered. Desperately, I began fumbling through the drawers, and lo, I found salvation in the form of a big Farberware spoon shoved way in the back. The handle was long. The spoon was long. And it would probably hold up to the boiling I'd give it later. I approached the window cautiously, the spoon held in front like a weapon.

At first I didn't think I could do it. Even just looking down at it was closer than I wanted to get. But I couldn't handle the angry buzzes, death throes or otherwise. My imagination was getting seriously out of control here. So I tried to scoop it up.

The problem is, you see, Farberware didn't seem to include such a purpose in its testing phase, and the bug couldn't really get on the spoon well. I was terribly afraid that I'd squish it, and I didn't think I could handle knocking off a wing or a leg or anything either. Meanwhile, I swear I can stare into its eyes, and see the hatred burning there.

Seriously, I'm getting freaked at this point.

I start trying to flip the thing onto the spoon like a flapjack. After several failed attempts -- SUCCESS! Faster then I knew I could move, I hurled the thing outside, then slammed the door shut. I breathed a sigh of relief, that was more heartfelt than any I think I've ever given.

Then I heard it. The buzz. It's quite possible that I broke the world's standing jump record as I leapt away from the door, certain that my imagination was playing tricks on me but taking no chances. I turned to the window.

It was back. The fucking thing was back, and what's more, it was moving like I'd never sprayed it. It was a loop. I was stuck in some awful Groundhog Day-esque loop where I was forever locked in battle with this thing. And don't try to tell me that it was another one, because it wasn't. I knew. Oh yes. I knew.

Swearing like a Vietnam soldier for whom death is assured, I grabbed the spray again and let loose. No holds barred this time, this son of a bitch was goin' down. Deadly toxins were sprayed into the air, the condensation growing thick on the window pane. Years were shaved off my life as I tried my best to not inhale the noxious fumes, and finally -- FINALLY, the fucker fell to the sill.

And moved.

Taking up my other faithful weapon once more, I was able to get it on the spoon. It was a challenge, but I forced my eyes to not leave its still twitching body as it tried with all its might to exact its revenge upon me. With every ounce of strength still left in my body, I hurled the thing, watching as it sailed through the air and out of sight. Without hesitation, I ran back inside and slammed the door shut behind me.

I was alone.

I was safe.

And what I learned today was, I am not opening up that goddamn door again until winter.

Now showing: Disturbing Mind Theater

Okay, so my "I just woke up eight minutes ago" report on the dream I was having ...

It involved me on my birthday, but I was running late to class. I was going to skip it, but then I remembered that it was a literature course that was taught by Joss, and I'd already missed one quiz. One was dropped, so I was okay with that one, but I didn't want to possibly miss another and get a zero on it, so I decided with only a little bit of time to spare that I wanted to go. So I was rushing around the house, trying to get ready.

There was a cat in a cat carrier in the bathroom, and another in a smaller carrier in the bedroom. I was perfectly okay with keeping the one in the bathroom there, but I had to keep moving it out of the way and it was kinda irritating.

Someone was downstairs who I knew absolutely would not understand that I had to go to class. I don't know who it was, but I remember knowing that she was crazy. Seriously crazy. We're talking Wiegle from Reno 911! crazy. So I knew I had to hurry before she realized what I was doing. While I was brushing my teeth, Mike was talking to me about what I needed to do, and he was balancing in place on a unicycle while he did it. He had to go to work himself, so he understood, but there was something strange about how he was talking, and I couldn't understand him. He couldn't understand me either, as I was brushing my teeth. And I remember there was something written on his back in black marker, but I can't remember what it said.

If anyone can make heads or tails of this one, feel free.

Feh Bah Pshaw.

I've been in a pretty craptacular mood today. No particular reason that I can suss. It's New Episode Day, which usually grants an automatic +50 Day Points, but still, the bar won't raise. I've felt exhausted since before I went to bed last night, and I'm thinking maybe fucking mono is simply reminding me that it's still here. Sort of like a bad neighbor who you've heard nothing out of for two weeks and just when you optimistically think they've moved out or been evicted or committed suicide or something, they decide to start blaring System of a Down at 3am. And I really hate System of a Down.

But I disgress. I think it's fm, but I actually have no idea. And it doesn't really account for the bad part of my mood, just the tired part. I feel like sitting on the couch, crossing my arms, and huffing at the world. Which I spent the past half-hour doing and my mood didn't improve, so I guess I don't really feel like that after all.

I'm on hiatus and looking at getting a really good head start for the end of the season -- something which, frankly, I didn't think I'd be able to push myself to see. School starts in a week, and despite the undeniable fact that it's going to severely eat into my free time, I'm looking forward to it. I do believe we've officially seen the end of any traces of summer weather, and the highs this week are be something like 72°. The new season of CSI starts this week. Mike is enjoying the heck out of his new video game and providing me with countless opportunities to reflect on how darned cute he is. I still have some Flakes left over from Mum's latest visit to London.

So what the hell's wrong with me? Stupid Jet Wolf.

Head Tunes

I woke up this morning with "All You Need is Love" by The Beatles playing in my head. On constant loop. I am ... very confused. And somewhat irritated -- that's no way my favourite Beatles song.

Women of Moneydale.

My "Women of Sunnydale" card box finally arrived in the post today. Very excited, may I say. Opening boxes of cards is a pasttime I've loved since waaaaay back during Marvel series I in my wee youth. I don't have the money to blow on cards like I used to, so when I'm able to get my hands on boxes of them, I savour them like a fine wine.

Then I get disappointed.

I was, of course, hoping for the Tara Trifecta: Pieceworks, auto, and -- if the gods were very kind -- figure redemption card. So, of course, I got none of the above. I didn't even get Anya, which was my second choice. No, I got Buffy's leather pants and Julie Benz auto.

Insert Jet Wolf trying to be a brave little soldier and not get too bummed out. But of all in the wide spectrum of emotions possible in the human spirit, disappointment is the one that I have never learned to disguise.

Then Mike came downstairs about ten minutes after I was done opening all the packs and announced that he'd gone on eBay and scored me the Pieceworks for Tara and Anya. And what makes it even better is that it's Tara's Death Sweater! (Which is it's official name now. Quoth Mike: "It's like Bonnie and Clyde's death car! Only ... Tara's, and a sweater.") The morbid person in me wanted this even more when I found out, and lo! I shall have one within 7 to 10 business days!

He's so indulgently sweet sometimes.

Now I just have to save up a little for that auto, because after spending <cough> $125 on the other limited figure, I can't really bring myself to get the redemption figure as well.

But yay! Tara Death Sweater! In card form!

Ooo, I wonder if mine'll have any blood on it. <starry eyed>

Blustery.

So I'm sitting here, working frantically on my next ep as I'm quite behind, and watching Hurricane Ivan plot a steady course for my old place of residence. It's quite interesting, seeing it from the outside perspective. This has been the worst hurricane season they've had down there since I left, I do believe. Though of course, Louisiana's escaped pretty much without a graze of late ... and now it's making up for it.

According to mum, they've evacuated New Orleans at this point, and the mayor's apparently told them to prepare for 12-foot waves. The problem with New Orleans, of course, is that the whole damned town is technically below sea level. So it's not gonna take much for it to be the next Atlantis.

I figure Baton Rouge should be relatively safe, though. Lots of wind, lots of rain, lots of flooding streets, but relatively speaking. It's a bit too far inland to cause much concern I think. <fingers crossed>

And so, with one eye on the weather and another on Word, I continue to work and wait for the culmination of New Episode Day.

Further Reminding

I was cleaning up the kitchen tonight, driven by a purpose two-fold: one, to get the house in something resembling a presentable order before people-who-don't-live-here arrive, and two, to allow my brain to mull over a scene I was working on.

In the process of tidying, I came across some mail that I'd opened up many moons ago and simply tossed to one side. One such thing were some dental insurance cards that I figured were for Mike. They were received around the end of July.

Today, as I unearthed them, I took a closer look. They're actually addressed to me, but I figured that was simply because Mike has me on his dental plan at work. But upon closer examination, I realized such was not the case.

Because they came from LiveBridge.

You remember LiveBridge, right? They were the company I quit back in March 2003. The ones who sent me a notice of termination three months after I walked out, called HR, and told them I quit.

So now here we are, 18 months after I left the job, and they're just now getting around to sending me information about my dental insurance.

I was going to add some sort of witty little end phrase after that, but I really don't think I have to.