I am life's buttmonkey

[cornerofmadness]

Seriously. I'm beginning to think I was a serial killer in another life. Let's see, what else has happened today:

a) found that the raccoon just holes up in a safe spot in the attic when I put the sonic bombs up there while my own sensitivity to sound makes the bombs feel like someone is crushing my chest...
b) my stuff is now floating in the basement but mom assures me that 'everything is in plastic' My 1932 Evette Shaffer saxaphone had best not be on the ground is all I have to save. So much for my furniture...
c) that I can't be trusted not to maim myself on hike. I stabbed myself in the eye...well between my eyebrow and the eye despite the sunglasses (which I caught as they came off). Don't ask me how. One minute I'm looking at Spur Lake all full of wild rice and the next my hand with my walking staff is in my eye. Here's a hint, blood under your contact is irritating and the tannins of oak leaves staunches blood flow.
d) there is a real reason I don't live by my parents even though I love them. Someone will die. Maybe them, maybe me but there will be blood if I live too close. As mom is telling me about day three with no water and them shutting the water off mid-wedding reception yesterday (but not before half the partiers already contracted an intestinal bug, happy honeymoon Bitchy Jo) we start talking about me going to FL. She doesn't understand how I could possibly have this much stuff down there when I moved there with just what was in my car. I reminded her that a) she mailed me tons of stuff that didn't fit in the car b) i DID live there 3 years after all and I did buy things c) even if I hadn't bought things I had 3 christmas' there with no less than 12 people sending me gifts.
Her response: I NEVER sent you anything. You know a lot of the boxes I have my stuff in storage down there have HER name and address on them from mailing them to me. She's lucky I'm here or I'd introduce her to my homicidal walking stick.

On a different note: I have a Connor story due in for a contest in like two weeks. It's half done. It's NC-17. Anyone wante to edit it? blaar_rosir  just finished the Lindsey/Faith one and is still working on the Holtz/Steven thing.  leni_ba  gets routinuely huge chunks of Hyperion's Son bashipforever and maren  have two other wip's (which are idling as I get these ficathons done) so is there anyone else out there willing to look at Connor fic? See, be thankful you aren't evil_little_dog  who had to read all this stuff all the time.

Comments

[esmerelda-t.livejournal.com]

Ay yes, mothers and their inexplicable ability to say things that clearly did happen, didnt, usually when something's their fault.

Id offer to look at the fic, but my internet connection to my laptop is down, and I cant open documents on the house computer, but it should be fixed next week, so if you cant get anyone by then I'll do it.

[cornerofmadness.livejournal.com]

Oh good so it's not just my mom. I reminded her today of somethng i had forgotten. I came home the first summer and went back to Fl with ANOTHER car load of shit. Her response - that stuff wasn't important.

Thanks. I'll let you know what happening with the story

[esmerelda-t.livejournal.com]

It must be an undiscovered hormone released during pregnancy, the "Im right, always!" hormone.

[cornerofmadness.livejournal.com]

Hmmm I think you might be on to something

[masqthephlsphr.livejournal.com]

{{hugs}}

I hope your stuff is OK. Nothing like adding injury to insult.

Especially your saxophone! That's an antique, isn't it?

And mothers. Don't even get me started on mothers... *oy*

[cornerofmadness.livejournal.com]

There was more insult today when the ticket price I checked on two weeks ago has skyrocketed by doubling...sigh.

Yeah, the sax is an antique and even if it wasn't it's still worth a thousand or more.