Friday, January 17, 2003 - 7:54 pm

Oh Christ. Christ almighty. It just goes to show there's no limit to the amount that my life can suck. There's no "Ceiling of Suckitude" as it were. You remember the neighbor I was talking about last night? The guy with the cat? He lives right across the hall from me. Anyway, he calls me over to have a talk with me about the cat and about what he should do to get it to go in its litterbox, and at the end of it, kind of out of the blue, he declares his love for me.

Yup. You heard that right. Now this is a guy who's like, in his forties, has a couple of kids and...well.. he's nice and all...but.... we're just not right for each other. I mean, he's good-natured. Not a psycho or vengeful or anything, as far as I know... I just...don't think he's my type or I his. But there he was, declaring his love for me and, in as diplomatic a tone as I could muster, I gave him some lie about my already having a boyfriend (which is something I HATE doing, but this guy looked about ready to drop through the floor and I didn't want to lay a crusher of the likes of "I think you're a nice guy but I think we should just be friends who continue to run into each other only very occasionally as we have been doing all up until this time" on him.) *Sigh.*

And so now, here I am, back in my own apartment, feeling guilty and horrible and feeling as though I really want to get the fuck out of this town. Especially now since the Awkwardness Ratio around here is probably going to be jacked up at least 400% from here on in. So anyone got any suggestions where I could move to? Preferably someplace warm and where I have a good chance of landing a job in the graphic arts.

Oh man... I don't know how much more of this I can take....

Thursday, January 16, 2003 - 10:06 pm

It's kind of a sad situation in the apartment next door. Apparently, what happened was that my neighbor had to give away one of his cats because it decided to forgo use of the litterbox, but the family he gave it to, instead of taking said cat to the Vet or to the humane society, decided to dump the hapless feline onto my neighbor's doorstep. (Admittedly, it probably wasn't a good idea for my neighbor to pawn a problem cat off onto another family, but still, said family could've shown a little more heart and compassion when it came to dealing with said animal, once the ball was in their court.) It is unknown what is going to happen to said cat, although my neighbor has plans to call the vet tomorrow to try and figure out some plan of action which will hopefully result in the saving of said cat. (Which is doubtful if said cat has to go to the Humane Society, seeing as we have a glut of homeless cats around here.) People around here never seem to bother to get their cats fixed, so it shouldn't come as any surprise, I suppose to see hundreds of scrawny, malnourished cats running around. Another neighbor of mine recently told me her cat was pregnant. I asked her why she hadn't had the cat fixed. She said she couldn't afford it. Right. I see. So letting the animal give birth (--possibly undergoing complications which might lead to it needing to be taken to the vet--) to a passel full of kittens which need to be cared for and fed and given to suitable homes is ultimately cheaper and far less trouble than taking the animal to the vet and plunking down 80 dollars to get her spayed. Good God. Here's a little rule of thumb to follow for those of you contemplating cat ownership: If you can't afford to have your cat fixed: you can't afford to have a cat. Period. (For the record, both of my cats, Moonie and Sunny were spayed before even reaching their first heat. And I think I can say with confidence that neither of them are really missing the extraneous parts which have been removed from them. And I can certainly say that it has made MY life much easier not having to deal with that 'attitude' crap that cats in heat seem to display during their waking hours.)

My car's still running, which is something of a miracle considering how cold it's been lately. Geez. And what was it only two weeks ago? 50 degrees out? Now it's minus -15. Cripes. Someone tell me. Why do I live here again?

Work on Hamlet will re-commence once my latest cosplay project is finished. Said cosplay project will not be finished until I can get my hands on a new can of white spray paint to replace the can of white spray paint I bought before which does nothing but drizzle when I try to spray with it. Yes indeed. Proof once again that nothing absolutely fricking NOTHING IN MY LIFE can ever run smoothly and as planned. Grrr.

Wednesday, January 15, 2003 - 11:31 pm

Today, I got my car back from the mechanics. It's not fully fixed, but it's fixed to the point where it (hopefully) won't stall somewhere on a lonely stretch of Highway 2 while I'm driving to the fabric store. (This is good, since it suddenly, for some reason, decided to go back to being winter around here again.) One of these days, I'll have to take my car down to my mechanic brother in Minneapolis and have him complete the repairs. (When I have the money and brother-man has the time...)

Ugh. I can't believe my boss bitched me out for taking the time from work to bring my car into the mechanic's. I also can't believe that she bitched out my co-worker as well for leaving her workstation (without punching out) to give me a ride to work. (Apparently the ten minutes she took out to do this nice thing for me cost the company approximately 127 million dollars in lost revenue. How ELSE can I explain the venom and the indignation with which Boss Lady reprimanded us today?) Boss Lady suggested that next time my car broke down for a day, that I should go rent a car so I won't be late and/or have to make unreasonable altruistic demands of my co-workers. Yeah. Sure. As if I had the money to rent a car for even a day. Apparently Boss Lady has forgotten how much they pay me here. And just how do I rent a car in a podunk town which doesn't even have a decent restaurant, much less a rental car outfit? Methinks Boss Lady just doesn't get it. Or is trying to be pettily cruel for no good reason whatsoever, in keeping with the fine, time-honored traditions of pointy-haired bosses everywhere.

*Sigh* To those of you who have been sending me encouragement, thanks. It's nice to know that, for every person who's hard at work trying to make the world a colder and darker place; a place where no good deed (no matter how insignificant) EVER goes unpunished, that there are still some people in this world who are trying to keep it filled with hope and light and sunshine and the twittering of little sparkly-eyed birdies. To such people: Verily, I thank thee.

Tuesday, January 14, 2003

Shit. I can always count on life to kick me in the crotch whenever my luck starts to get really bad. My car's still in the shop, leaving me no means of driving home for lunch, so I thought today that I might partake of something from the automat in the main employee lunchroom downstairs. Unfortunately for yours truly, said automat has been in the plant since 1966 and in all that time it has not once functioned in the way it has been designed to. Unless the people who created it had INTENDED to have it take our money and let us take out nothing in return. There it sits in the employee lunchroom, like a panel and plexiglass dragon, jealously guarding it's treasures--food which has probably not felt the outside air since the Nixon administration, sitting idly behind plastic, graffiti-etched doors where it will remain, presumably for all eternity. I'm thinking it might be a good idea for me and my fellow employees to suggest to the plant management to let us, finally and at long last, have a new sandwich machine. And by "suggest" I mean, "drag that baby over to the shot saw, slice it in half, and leave it lying under the bedsheets of the company president for him to find upon awakening the next day." Unfortunately, the chances of success for such a plan appear rather dubious, as any man who's cold-hearted enough to shut down his plant for a couple weeks around Christmastime and force his employees to use up all their paid vacation time in order to make ends meet during that interim will probably be too jaded to allow himself to be affected by the sight of a brutally murdered, '60's-Era automat. *Sigh*. So I guess the dragon remains with us, then, at least until someone (presumably, someone with more spine and who is much hungrier than yours truly) finally works up enough courage to slay it.

So I guess it's no lunch for me today. Thank you, hoary demons of the underworld who are currently helming my ship of destiny. I gotta hand it to you. You really know how to make a girl want to repeatedly smash her head against her workstation until she reaches a state of blissful unconsciousness.

Monday, January 13, 2003 - 9:32 pm

Let me just open by saying that today may well go down in history as my shittiest day on record. It began with my taking my troubled car into a repair shop to have a "Service Engine Now" light looked into. Eventually, I am told by the repair people that several things with long and complicated-sounding names are broken, and that, in order to get them fixed, I will have to shell out nearly 600 dollars. (More than I had to shell out last year to get my trannie fixed.) You think that news in itself would be enough to make me want to tear my clothing, put on sackcloth, and roll around in ashes in full view of God and everyone I know. It is, but I decided to hold off on the self-deprecation, until I got home from work tonight and found THIS is my email inbox:

To: Teresa Dietzinger
Subject: gothic angel
From: princess teresa <*********@yahoo.co.uk>
Date: Mon, 13 Jan 2003 13:43:17 +0100

Hi, my boyfriend did me an exact copy of that angel picture and told me he did it all himself, he drew all the feathers individually and stuff. He says he did the first one two and a half years ago.. Argh, please tell me that he's not lying?

Well, well.. So it would appear that not only has the universe chosen to take a big dump on my head today, but that certain of its people have ALSO taken to stealing my artworks and slapping their own names on them. Am I surprised by this? Hardly. Am I saddened that there are people in this world pathetic enough to try and impress their girlfriends by passing off other people's artworks as their own? Yes. Yes I am. I am also further saddened (and more than a little disturbed) by the sudden slew of e-mails I've received which are of THIS nature:

From: "******" <*****@hotmail.com>
To: "Amethyst Angel"
Subject: Re: Cig Game

WHERE DO YOU ACTULLY PLAY THE CIGERETTE SMOKING GAME ON THAT WEBSITE?

By "Cigarette Smoking game, I can only assume they are referring to my Cowboy Bebop Smoking Game which, as I've clearly stated in the rules (which these people were apparently in too much of a hurry---or perhaps too illiterate-- to be bothered to read):

"the Cowboy Bebop Smoking Game was designed by me to be played in accordance with the basic rules of your average drinking game. To wit: when something mentioned on the list happens, you take a drink. (Only in MY game, instead of taking a drink, you take a puff on a cigarette.)"

I then go on to say that the only people to whom I would suggest playing this game are those people with no future plans of any kind. Much like the brain donors who keep sending me letters like this one:

how do u play the cowboy bebop smoking game? email me back at *******@hotmail.com when ever u have the time. perferably asap by the way i am a really big fan of the bebop. thanks

I sent this person a copy of the abovementioned rules as written on the title page of the webfeature itself, to which I then received THIS reply:

i really want to play this gome!!! im sorry if i seem pushy, but i am a serious fan and is willing to play any of the bebops games. e mail me back at *****@hotmail.com, or ******@yahoo.com thankz! -_-

GRAAGHHH!!! It's like they're TRYING to drive me crazy! You play it just like a fucking DRINKING GAME, only instead of taking a drink, you smoke a cigarette. IS that SO HARD to understand? Did you perhaps, in your innocence, think that I was going to supply you with the cigarettes to PLAY the game?. Good God.... (You're not even SUPPOSED to play the game. You're just supposed to READ it. And then hopefully laugh. That is it's purpose. It isn't meant to be a brain-teaser or anything. Sheesh)

Needless to say, any more e-mails received by me on this topic will be summarily ignored and/or laughed at by me and my friends.

Now if you'll excuse, me I've got some self-deprecating to do. I wonder if I can find a hardware store which sells burlap fabric and charcoal briquettes at this hour....

Monday, January 13, 2003 - 12:13 am

Bleh. Mondays. Hate 'em.

It's a good thing sites like this exist to lift my spirits out of the usual life-crushing miasma of quiet desperation which is the hallmark of my existence.

Oh, I suppose you're all wondering about the next Hamnlet update. Um. I've got one more teensy cosplay project I've got to finish, and then I can start back to work on it. Thanks for your patience, and have a nice week, y'all.