Help!

Last week my outgoing email stopped working. The error emails I got were from AVG, not my email host, so I turned off AVG's outgoing mail scans. It didn't help, and the next day I wasn't getting incoming email either. (I was able to check it on the server, but it wasn't coming through to Outlook Express.) I requested assistance from my web host. Their response was decidedly not helpful.

I haven't changed any settings whatsoever, except for the AVG email scanning.

I can't send email (incoming mail is mysteriously functional again).

I am so annoyed!

Anyone have any ideas?

Bloggity-Blog-Blog-Blog

So I'm reading this blog I like, which is mostly about comics, and then I read this Bloggity-Blog-Blog-Blog post about a letter her husband received. Her husband happens to run the best Wizard Of Oz site I have ever seen, so I was intrigued. Right up to the point where my eyes started to glaze over.

Yeesh.

Update!

The building manager, who is a very nice guy, just stopped by. I showed him all of the damage and he told me that a roofing company is supposed to come next week. (Apparently they're very busy, since every building in Los Angeles is poorly equipped for rain.) He promised to make repairs inside, and also (!) said that if we feel the need, we can move into an empty apartment across the building.

So I feel much better now. And also very full of tea, which I have been sucking down all day.

Happy Birday, D+D!

Ha ha ha, you're older than me!

Story: MIDDLE AGE(S)

This blog may be changing to The Eviction Chronicles

Ha ha.

Following is the stern letter we've left for our building manager. I wrote it intending to edit it severely, but Will thought it was good as is, and who am I to argue?

January 28, 2005

To Whom It May Concern:

We (William and Annika K) have lived in [Apartment number] at [name of building] since February 1st, 2003. Since October 18, 2004 we have had to call maintenance several times because of leaks in our ceiling. We understand that the amount of rain has been excessive and somewhat unexpected, but we feel that we have a right to expect that, in the nearly five months since the problems began, something would have been done to fix the roof and/or ceiling and eliminate the problem. The leaks are getting worse as time goes by. They have not been repaired, nor have we been told if there are any plans to repair them.

Several of our belongings have been damaged. Thus far nothing has been destroyed, but we are somewhat on edge, which is not a nice way to feel in one�s home. Today the bulbs in our lamp exploded from having water drip on them. There is glass all over the living room. This is a danger that could have been avoided had something been done to fix the problem.

We are tired of using our pots, pans and towels to collect water; they have purposes for which they are intended and we would like to use them in those fashions without having to disinfect them. We are tired of moving our furniture every time it rains; we like our furniture where it is. We are tired of worrying about our audio-visual equipment. And mostly, we are tired of paying rent for the privilege of fearing the destruction of our worldly possessions.

There are cracks and discoloration on our ceiling from water damage. This is both unsightly and nerve-wracking, as we fear that we may have something worse than water (such as the roof) falling into our home.

Most worrying is the mold that is growing on our walls and in the faux fireplace. This is a serious health risk.

We insist that permanent repairs be made.

In addition, something must be done about the tar that was poorly applied to our front balcony. The rains have spread it over the concrete and some of it has made its way onto our carpet. We will do our best to clean the carpet but it should not have been an issue in the first place.

We would like some sort of compensation for the state of our living space. Immediate repairs must happen. If we have not witnessed reasonable attempts to fix our ceiling and repair the damage done by the leaks by February 15, we will seek legal counsel.

We seek assurance, in writing, of your plan to make these repairs.

Thank you.

William K
Annika K

As angry and worried as I am, I think the whole thing is totally hilarious.

stabstabstab killkillkill

(With apologies to Jamie, who used nearly the same subject line recently)

I have just had the singular experience of a lamp exploding. The bulbs, to be specific.

Let me back up.

It started raining the night of our wedding. I mention this only for time frame - we were quite delighted to hear thunder from our honeymoon suite. (Not Honeymoon Suite, just the suite where we honeymooned.) It rained through most of October, and our ceiling began leaking. We kinda freaked out, management sent maintenance to check it out, it stopped raining, we put the furniture back in order, everything was fine. It rained again for most of December and January. We had leaks again, in new and exciting places! It sucked. Maintenance came by again. It eventually stopped raining.

This morning it was sprinkling. While Will was driving to work, it started coming down much more heavily. I kept alert for drips. I heard a drip. I realized quite quickly that it was dripping into our standing lamp. I ran downstairs. In the time that it took me to get to the switch (about six seconds), both bulbs burst. Glass everywhere. And I mean everywhere. We'll be finding shards for weeks. I put a plate over the lamp and something to catch the water on top of that. I called Will and cried, then called management and left a very stern message on the machine which won't do any good because the assholes who own the place are certainly not likely to, oh I don't know, FIX THE ROOF.

I am so angry, but all I want to do is cry.

Sick.

Or possibly stressed out.

Maybe even both.

We had to go to court today and this morning I couldn't eat anything. My mouth felt really dry and yucky. I drank lots of water and choked down what I could.

Got to courthouse. Felt faint. Got all flushed and hot after feeling quite cold. Had that feeling of needing to sit down immediately. Sat down.

The legal business is taken care of, not entirely to my satisfaction but I think it will be perfectly fine, and we settled which meant not having to stand in front of the judge (the standing being the possible problem, not the judge).

Came home. Will made me some tea. I was cold again, so turned on the heat despite it being in the 60s outside. I'm feeling all right, just a bit weak. I finally was able to eat, which surely helped.

Nap soon, or maybe bath.

My outgoing email seems to be kaput. I have been replying to people but apparently the replies have not gotten to their destination. I will try again when I am feeling more myself. My apologies, especially to Mindi who I owe feedback (I have been too busy and planned to write it up today, but that isn't looking good).

Oblivious, party of two

So I was going through my box of wedding-related crap (to-be-organized, someday), looking for some paperwork for this ridiculous legal thing we have to deal with, and in a pile of cards I found a Best Buy gift card that I have never seen before. It must have fallen out of the card it was in. Luckily, it was still in the little Best Buy sheath, so I was able to determine who it was from (if Sean still reads this, THANK YOU!). Then I called the 800 number to find out how much it's for so I can begin shopping in my head. It's for a hundred smackers! Man, I love getting married. We are thinking of doing it every year. Combined with the leftover balance on the card Will got for his birthday, we have something like $220 to spend. Which is really, really nice. We already plan to buy Deadwood and The Shield (we still have not seen any of the third season!), but otherwise I'm stumped. Half my brain says we ought to catch up on Buffy and Angel, but the other half tells me that free-to-us or not, they are overpriced at Best Buy and we should wait to buy them from Amazon. I really want a scanner or a better printer, but if I get something for the computer it REALLY ought to be more memory. Or an external hard drive. Oops, I just drooled on myself.

So, what should we get? Movies and music are options too, of course.

some numbers

8: the number of loads of laundry that I washed today

2: the number of washers that I used despite the fact that they were kind of gross (one was full of powdered detergent, which I painstakingly removed, one had a wet sock in it...I removed that too)

5: the number of dryers that were not broken

12: the number of dryers in total

3: the number of dryers I was able to use

1 the number of broken dryers someone else used out of what I assume was desperation

4: the number of people who were watching my dryers like hawks, waiting for me to take out my clothes so they could steal the dryer, despite the basket of wet clothing I had sitting right in front of the dryer

0: the number of times those vultures (hawks?) got away with it. I am quick!

5: the number of trips it took me to get my clean, dry, folded laundry back upstairs

ten billion: how tired I am right now

I did a Grr! (Sort of.)

I was looking at the Crate & Barrel 2 website. Someone had linked to a particular item and while I was there I was browsing the Sales, because if you can't afford to buy anything, the best thing to do is look at stuff that is closer to your price range but still unaffordable and depress yourself even more. Anyway, all of their Christmas items (excuse me, "holiday") were onsale and I was admiring some ornaments and I started thinking about pretty little snowflake decorations. The ones that are like doilies. And I thought, "I can crochet that!" And I did. I'm making them up (no two alike) and I don't know very many stitches, so I haven't quite gotten any to come out just how I want, but I think they're going to be pretty damn awesome when I'm finished. I'm going to go all 50s housewife and starch them. Um, where do I buy starch? Does it have instructions? Who the hell uses starch? Oh my goodness, what have I gotten myself into?

Furthermore...

So, I've been obsessively re-reading my novelette from last night, and I thought of some more things I wanted to say. Clarifications, if you will.

Two of my biggest worries are that I will become That Wife who only worries about her husband getting where he needs to be (e.g. career), and that people will think that I have become That Wife. So far, the former has not occurred. I don't know if I made that clear.

See, I never forgot to look out for myself. I just forgot how to know what I want.

I've always been the type to fly by the seat of my pants, taking on jobs or projects as the inspiration/opportunity struck. I have eight billion interests and could see building a career/life/super-hobby out of any of them, but I never figured out how to choose. I never got over that feeling of not wanting to close any doors. So here I am with eight billion open doors and I can't pick one. I am knowledgable and skilled in so many areas, but can't concentrate on any one long enough to get good enough at it to, say, make money or get recognition.

For example.

I am a terrific cook. And not only am I good at it, but I also like it. But I have ZERO interest in taking it any further than supper for me and Will and the occasional dinner party.

I can knit and crochet, but I kinda just like making free-form stuff for myself. And John, if he's lucky. I know how to read a pattern in theory, but I've never actually tried.

I'm extremely organized (shut up, it's true when it comes to anything but my own stuff), can type, am great on the telephone, and know my way around a computer. But I HATE being an Assistant, which is pretty much what those skills are good for. (If I had no computer skills, I could be an Executive.)

I'm a very good photographer. I actually know how to use one of them old fashioned film cameras, and while I haven't been in a darkroom in ten years, I take great pictures. But what would I do with that? Weddings? I don't think so. I enjoyed shooting the three I've done, but only because of the people I was doing it for. I don't actually like photographing weddings, and anyway I'm better at landscapes and portraits. And yes, I know there's a fortune to be made doing headshots, but fuck that. I hate actors.

Everywhere I have ever worked, my bosses have been amazed at how good I am. I have always been the best [fill in the blank] they've ever had. But you can't put that on a resume. Oh, plus? I don't want a job. But I do want to find something to do with myself.

I kinda forget what I was clarifying. That happens if you stop a post in the middle to go get dinner and get distracted by Angel and before you know it you've rewatched half of season one...

I'll have to clarify my clarification later, I suppose.

Comments still closed. Sorry, I just don't want input right now. I've been thinking this stuff over for a really long time, and articulating it is complicated and weird.

An incomplete list of people I admire.

Shirley Jackson, James M. Cain, Betty Bacall, James K. Polk, Archie Goodwin, Tom Waits, Dashiel Hammett, Katherine Smith, Kendall Hailey, Orson Welles, Robert Rodriguez, Willa Cather, Nova Suma, Nigella Lawson, Anthony Bourdain, James W. Loewen, Bruce Campbell, Jay Munly, Laura Ingalls Wilder, Luke Short, Bat Masterson, Myrna Loy, Andrew Bird, Parker Grey, MFK Fisher, Neil Gaiman, and my husband.

Am I not your girl?

I've spent all day (the parts where I wasn't dealing with the fact that I literally had ants in my pants) trying to work out Who I Am. And while I have determined that I am probably not a replicant, I haven't really figured out anything of substance. But I did watch about half of Blade Runner.

I am starting all wrong.

I lived in New York for the first 18 years of my life. Much of it in Manhattan, much of it upstate, in and around Woodstock. I was a New York Girl, though apparently I never developed the accent.

I quit school when I was 14 and learned from life/taught myself/whatever wording works for you. I took a test and got my GED (top 99th percentile) right after I turned 17. Took the SAT as well, scored 700 on the verbal and 550 on the math. With ZERO high school. I was a smart cookie.

Went to live on West 21st Street with my father in a teensy two room apartment, not much different from the half dozen other teensy two room apartments I'd shared with him over the years. Windows overlooking a gorgeous courtyard between buildings. I put an African Violet on the sill. I count that as my first year "on my own," because my father and I are such good pals that I forget sometimes we weren't roomies. He paid for my meals, so I guess I wasn't independent. There was a laundrette on the corner and if you dropped off your clothes by 10:00 they'd have everything washed, pressed and folded for you by 5:00. The Regal Diner was up 8th Ave at 23rd, great eggs, run by a Greek (of course) woman called Anna, and years later it was still so firmly lodged in my heart and memory that I used it as a setpiece in a story I wrote.

And I got a job. Now, I'd been working from 12 on, first babysitting then retail and onward, but this was different. Paul G. hired me as an intern (at first) at Gen Art. He was directing their inaugural film festival, showcasing 7 films by young filmmakers. I became his assistant, though I never had the title officially. If we're being honest, I ran that fucker, I was the assistant director, and I fucking rocked. I kicked so much festival ass. And it was a HUGE success. Stefan (The Boss) asked me to stay, work on the next show, the fashion show, the art exhibit, the whatever. Manage the office. Just stay with Gen Art. And I did, working two other assistant-type gigs part-time and PAing on two movies, one feature one short. I was in PR, I was in movies, I turned 18 and cut bangs.

My father left and I was subletting this huge loft apartment and looking after these two kitties from HELL and it was so hot all summer that every day I thought I'd die in a pool of sweat and no one would find me because it was too muggy to come looking. It wasn't a good neighborhood but I thrive in places like that because all the little old ethnic men that run the groceries look after me, the tiny cute white girl, they want me to meet their son, you know? And I watched Empire Records eight dozen times, and Grease 2, and probably some good movies too.

Lila was my best friend, my wife, my partner in crime. Mara wasn't speaking to me. Jason wasn't speaking to me. And I was running out of money, because it turns out that non-profits run by 25-year-olds don't pay well.

So I left. I went back upstate and I took care of Melanie's children and that was wonderful too. Everett said "Annika" when he was three and a half months old. I made new friends and spent a ridiculous amount of time in the Gateway Diner. I had a boyfriend named Eric, who was a tremendous mistake. Star Wars was re-released. I filled ten thousand journals with ideas and stories and memories and poems (also a tremendous mistake). I drove to Great Barrington weekends, worked at Tom's Toys, Nell and I had plans for the future. Went back to Gen Art for the festival, ran VIP.

Nineteen and time for another shift, I took off for the college I'd gotten into (and deferred enrollment at) two years earlier. Ohio. But that was OK because that's where my father had taken off to and I like the country and I had a car with a tape deck named Marcy (the car, not the tape deck).

First semester. Box Wine. Calls home to mom. I was miserable. I had a crush on a boy named David who was a fucked up nightmare of a boy, but so cute. I drew comic strips about being rejected by him and ripping him to pieces. Half of it was true. I still have the strips. They were funny. I hated school. Took a creative writing course which got me nowhere. Wrote my epic about Orion in an effort to get over him. He's another story. Did well in classes but couldn't learn in that environment.

Home for Christmas and back to the old life with Lara and the other girls. Held Melanie's new babies.

Then back to school and you all know this part, where I met this boy and we danced around a relationship until Melanie's baby died and Will was my only comfort and we fell in love. And I was studying film noir and abnormal psych and post-colonial text, and it's a miracle I didn't fail anything because I never went to class. But I got an incomplete in my lit class, the only class I attended and turned in work for. Not my fault, except that I never fixed it.

Went back to Gen Art that year too, saw Hands on a Hard Body, met important people.

Columbus for summer, interning at a program for mentally and physically impaired people. Testing them, placing them in job training, that sort of thing. I could be good in that sort of career, but it was just $6 an hour to me. Quit school. Again.

Moved to Pittsburgh, met Darren, starting playing Deadlands, started playing house with a boy, different than all the house I'd played for years prior. Wrote. A lot. Good stuff that I didn't finish.

Will wanted to be a screenwriter.

We moved to upstate New York and took care of Mel's babies who weren't babies anymore and Will worked at a restaurant and I worked at a retail store and we couldn't afford fuel to heat our place. I wrote more. I think he wrote. And I guess we fought a lot.

So then he took off for LA and I went to Chicago because I had nowhere else to go and when I got there I volunteered at this kids' film festival and I got desperate for work and I worked at Baby Gap for three days until I couldn't take it anymore and just stopped going and then USA Today hired me and I worked as an assistant in advertising sales. And I wrote more, and I drank a lot, and I went to every rockabilly show there was and I did some porn (not like that) and I started meeting Crazy Internet People and life was OK except for Will being so far away, and getting nearer to him became the main thing and I forgot. I forgot for anything else to be important. And that is no one's fault but mine.

But I did get here and we got back to OK and then better than OK and then married, and it's wonderful.

But I worked at film festivals off and on for five years, I was on film sets and in production offices, and I loved it and I was GREAT at it, and now I am the wife of a successful movie guy and I forgot to do it myself. And I don't know why I forgot, because it's not like I couldn't do both. I stopped writing because I stopped having ideas. I got so fixated on the idea of the life I want that I wouldn't recognize it if I had it. And my husband is the Director of Development at a major production company, and he is so good at it and they sent him to Sundance which is named after one of my favorite movies of all time, and I am so happy that he has made this path for himself. But I forgot to make one for me.

So now what do I do?

I'm leaving comments off because I sat down to make a quick entry and it's nearly two hours later and I would like to leave it rhetorical, thank you.

Elegant?

Flokati rugs. We sell thousands of rugs. "Flokati rugs are eloquent. Flokati rugs are the new style of area rug. Flokati rugs have been a Greek tradition for centuries."

Dude, what month is it?

I went out on the front balcony for about five seconds and I nearly died of heatstroke.

Also, I cut my hair. Well, just the front. I took a picture but it isn't very flattering so I am still debating whether or not to post it.

My father sent the 14-DVD set of Monty Python's Flying Circus. Needless to say, it is the complete series. I am completely overwhelmed.

We had a birthday party for Will on Saturday. It was nice.

Yesterday we procured Secretary on DVD. Tomorrow Will is leaving for a week. Serious error in judgment. Oh dear.

I do have actual stuff to write about, but first I need to get some housework done.

Creative Inertia

I wonder if my inability to write actual plots is a resistance to change? I can see characters, settings, situations, thoughts, but not stories. Some might argue. But I know my muse personally, and she is a fucking bitch.

In other news, I started something today, which makes about eight months of creative constipation this round, and if I can figure out where the fuck it's going and convince myself to actually edit (I usually - and I say this with absolutely no ego - don't have to edit), and if I'm not crazy thinking that this might actually be an original thought, maybe it will be a series of sorts. Maybe.

Are muses always female? Darren said something about his Muse, and I told him that the characters talk to me. But I hear my own voice in my head, talking for them, and I am a girl, so maybe that is my muse's voice.

I am pretty tired. Pardon lack of sense.

I should be writing Screwball Comedies.

This exchange (expurgated) just took place in the Testing Forum at Buffyguide. I am reprinting it here for prosperity, and because I am so pleased with my own wit.

Beth: So. What is there to do in the "New York of the South?"

Rob: We prefer to think of New York as being the "Atlanta of the North."

Me: Next thing you'll be telling me that Japan is the "Little Tokyo of the East."

OHMYGOODNESS!

So, it stopped raining. Of course, it waited long enough to do so that an entire mountain (well, it's what Angelinos call a mountain - more of a mole hill if you're from the northeast) in La Somethingorother, north of Van Nuys (pronunciation: van eyes), collapsed and buried a lot of houses and possibly people. Very bad.

But! I cannot bring myself to be too terribly distraught about it. Maybe I am a callous, heartless bitch, but damn it! THE SUN IS SHINING!

I called Jenn at about 9:05 this morning. Just because the sun is out. She asked if I wanted to hang out this evening and I said "maybe." She acted all pretend (I hope) offended, and I said, "Lady! I just woke up." She said she knows, and I am awfully cheerful. (To say that I am not a morning person would be like saying the Christians think Jesus is just all right.) Of course I am! THE SUN IS SHINING!

I have been so depressed over the last week, and when I woke up this morning it just all fell away. I mean, it's not magic; I'm sure I'll be grumpy again soon. But this feels so nice.

VGC 3000

We got a wedding gift from Will's former boss/co-worker today. A copy of GTA: San Andreas and an empty spray bottle with the following written on it:

Girls,
Does the trash need 2 be taken out? Are you undersexed?
Is your man addicted to video games?
Here is your cure: THE VGA 3000!
Just fill with water, point at your man, and squeeze!
With two High Tec settings: Spray or Stream
you are bound to cure his addiction to Video Games.

The other side of the bottle says VIDEO GAME CURE 3000.

(In case anyone is curious - he asked what we wanted and I specifically approved the video game, because I know Will wants it and it gives me more time to knit.)

Baby, it's [wet] outside...

It is incredible the way that the wind manages to get under things. (I wrote "up under things" but removed the "up" in deference to Claudia.)

It's pouring again.

I have already been outside once, to replace the grill cover and tie it to the grill. It's now blown completely off after billowing for a while and looking remarkably like a parachute. But it's attached and the Stetson I wore outside the first time is dry again so I am going to let it lie. Lay. Whatever. I'm sure the grill can get dry later.

I am just waiting for the ceiling to start leaking again. Because that is just what I need right now, god damn it.

When Will gets up in the mornings, he runs the heat while getting ready for work. Then I turn it off after he leaves and generally that's fine for the day. Today I turned off the heat at 9:00 and at 9:26 I was FREEZING. It's been on ever since. The wind is coming in through the locked doors. It's awful and I have had enough.

If the rain had been snow, we'd be house-bound by now, and have a natural layer of insulation built up around the place. It would actually be warmer (inside) if this had all been snow! I mean, assuming that the temperature hadn't gone up as high during the day as it tends to in SoCal. Stop bothering me with details! I am fantasizing about snow drifts and hot chocolate and a fireplace that does something (other than leak).

*sigh*

two by two, hoorah, hoorah

Since the rain storms (due to start up again tonight, oh joy), we've had ants inside the apartment. The teensy little Mindi-sized quarter-inch long ones, mostly by the doors and in the bathroom. (They come inside to escape the moisture and head straight for...the wettest place in the house. Brilliant.)

This morning Will smashed one that was on the sink while he was brushing his teeth.

Just now, I saw another ant carrying the corpse of Will's victim. Around and around in circles, presumably because he couldn't see where he was going with his buddy right in his line of sight. I don't know whether to cry or laugh my head off.

knit your bit

My friend Joni is co-host of a knit-along (something I'd never heard of until about this week). Knit Your Bit is, quite simply, a bunch of knitters all working on the same project; in this case, patterns that are being sold with 100% of the price going to tsunami relief.

I am not sure yet if I am going to participate, due to a combination of lack of funds and lack of faith in my knitting skills. However, I did make some extremely cute buttons to promote the group.

I know that at least four of my readers (not counting Joni) are knitters. Won't you please consider buying these patterns? They are only $5 and every penny goes to Southeast Asia. And join the Knit-along group too.

The buttons I made are below. I made them using images from World War (I and II) posters for the knitting effort. The middle one is shown twice because there is a transparent version and a version with a white background (for pages with dark backgrounds). It is my hope that one or two of you will borrow a button to promote the knit-along.

            

Awww, jeez, a quiz.

what decade does your personality live in?
quiz brought to you by lady interference, ltd


But it's so cute! And I answered honestly, so I thought for sure I'd get the 80s or 90s.

Hmmm.

I might make resolutions this year. I have not made any in at least 10 years. I don't believe in them. But I might change my mind.

More as my thinking process evolves.

Er...oops. (knittery post)

I have been wrapping the yarn around my needles incorrectly. As far as I can tell, my purls have been backwards. Except not, because then they'd be knits. Lord only knows what was wrong with those. Oddly, everything looked fine. I only noticed because they were impossible to work with, and even I could not have been pulling the yarn that tight.

Anyway, it's all taken care of now. I will post a picture of my latest project (a super-easy scarf, though I do seem to be fucking up left and right) as soon as I bother taking one.

I am in the market for some single point bamboo needles. Cassie loaned me some double points and I am using them for the scarf because I just like the wood so much. I'm using 9.5s right now, with worsted weight wool, and it looks great. Very stretchy.

But I still have fits when I look at patterns, even though I have translations of all the chicken-scratches.

Rain, rain, go away.

It has been raining for 40 days.

All right, it just feels like it's been raining for 40 days.

We have, however, had the first thunder storms since I moved here, if not ever. (After all, if I was not here to witness it, did it happen?)

I keep going outside and just staring (from the safety of my balcony).

(clicky)

Breakfast.

In keeping with this principle, I have just eaten a bowl of the ice cream and fudge sauce that Shelby and Briana left here.

I feel gross.

Note to 2005:

Try not to suck, OK?