A Long Long Way From My Home

This happens a lot on Wednesdays.

I am far from home and couldn't get Blogger to let me do anything but post pics before I left. I will be returning at some point tonight, but will probably have company. Enjoy the kitty pics. Be good to yourselves.

When I return, CwMM2 and a Tarot reading by the Artist about the month of April, all for you. Because I love ya.

Go tell the kitties how pretty they are.

eta: Also coming soon...tattoo pics, of me, the Artist, and Bass Playing Junkie, who made me spend about 45 minutes on the phone Monday night, transliterating Greek characters to the Artist ("Lambda, that's just L, right?" "No, lower case lambda. Draw an X and erase the upper right-hand quadrant...fuck, why didn't you take physics?" "Because I suck at math and in high school I didn't know how to read English, that's why!" And so forth. The Greek looks awesome though; BPJ was going to do it in Latin, but I talked him into the Greek and it looks much better.)

If you are lucky and the gods are kind, there will also be pics of mine and the Artists' matching pirate tattoos, that we got when we formed the Terrestrial Navy. Our tattoo guy came up with an idea for the Artist's Commodore sigil last night that, if it happens, will be pimper than Fiddy.

also eta: The Artist and I are feeding the group tonight, the usual arrangement where I buy food and he cooks it because he's better at it.

While we were at the Wal-Mart (my archnemesis, but only grocery store anywhere nearby), we went through the U-Scan line. A typically self-centered and trashy Wal-Mart denizen went up to a U-Scan lane with a crashed system, started pounding on it, then screamed at the clerk, "Why don't you get over here and fucking fix this?", then stormed out. (Because Wal-Mart cashiers are also IT people, who just choose to get paid shit for taking shit from people like her.)

The Artist left me with the groceries, stormed out into the parking lot right after her, and (in front of her five rugrats and white-trash husband) informed her that she is not, indeed, the only person on the planet, and that the people who work in the store don't make $5.15 an hour to listen to her scream at them and watch her bang on their machinery.

She just looked baffled for a minute, then FOLLOWED HIM BACK IN to give him the finger and yell "Bite me!" from so far off that he had to rely on my lip-reading skillz to tell him what she said.

He followed her back out again (grinning like a fool), said, "Excuse me?", and once he had her attention, traced a pentacle in the air, threw it at her, and (with rugrats goggling at him like he was the Antichrist), came back in the Wal-Mart grinning like a fool, while the cashier and the server in line in front of us (who was apologizing profusely because she had so many $1s to feed into the scanner) told him how awesome he was.

This is why I love the Artist. This is why he's my boy.