snow day and creature comforts

This was the scene the greeted us a few days ago (out the front door):

Proving snow is an equal opportunity type of weather, the back patio and yard received a dusting as well:


And one mustn't forget The Koi Pond:

Meanwhile, inside, we had this cozy love fest, everyone all snug as bugs in/on rugs:

And now, several days later, we finally have the trappings of a living room (including an actual rug!):


Piper seems to be enjoying the creature comforts of this situation; here's a pic of him watching Law and Order (okay, so it was I that was watching LAO, and the dog was merely sitting in front of the t.v. Or was he?):

bunny of leisure

As I toiled outside in freezing rain (yes! freezing rain!) with the thankless task of sweeping the patio, sidewalks, etc, with naught but a straw house broom, meanwhile, back at the lodge we had this very idyllic scene:


And this one:


And yet another:


All they need is a pipe, silk slippers, a tumbler of brandy, and a copy of the evening newspaper.

suburbia, ho!

So, we've moved to the Little House On the Hill (pictures forthcoming, when it's not so bloody cold out, and I get off my arse and put batteries in my camera). We have a partial view of Lake Washington (a pretty cobalt color when the sun is shining; slate grey when--as if often the case--it rains) and, on a clear day, we can see the downtown skyline to the northwest, and the snow capped mighty Cascades to the northeast. Lurvely.

Piper now has a back and a front yard, which he surveys self-importantly--and rather less impressively with his diminutive stature--despite the inclement weather, and lately, the frosty chill in the air (the trade off is sunshine, the lack of which was driving me to Seasonal Affective Disorder Overdrive. I was seriously considering buying those light boxes for insane prices. Yes, really.)

Piper even has his own room (largely because we have very little in the way of furniture yet, and the den will probably last on the list of Rooms in Which To Put Stuff). So, what he really has is fleecy blankets piled strategically near a heat vent (donated generously by David, who has since graduated to Jamie's Handknit Crap.)

As for lack of substantive or interesting blog posts as of late--forgive me. I'm aware nothing I say on here has any universal meaning or indeed, even entertains the 2-3 devoted readers who do take the time to look up the site. Furthermore, the quality of said posts has sort of mimicked the Dow Jones/financial state of the market at present (stories of Germans cashing out worthless retirement savings to buy a loaf of bread in a post-War Weimar Republic now sound like chilling echoes of history beginning to repeat itself.)

I can't think of a reason why this should be (the brain melt/crappy posts that is, not the financial state of the world market). My brain is not so much frozen as much as I suspect it has melted into goo over months of subpar intellectual stimulation. I'm a bit worried as I'll have to recover some semblance of study skills for ICU consortium (I love they use a fancy Latin word for "lots of crappy classes in which we teach you stuff that's guaranteed to leak right out your ear the minute a real-life medical crisis asserts itself"; I love Latin in part because makes the mundane and trivial sound so official and regal.)

I'm also worried because New Job at New Hospital is starting soon, and I'm realizing, with rising panic my God, there's a 5:30a.m., and people actually get up at this hour! Seems like a cruel, however usual, punishment for the work-a-day world.

Must not think about New Job.

Must think about something interesting and noteworthy that is not boring. (This crap definitely isn't it).

Stay tuned.

damn it feels good to be a gangsta'

I'm listening to some distinctly un-gangsta'ish American rock 'n roll right now, but I got all inspired by The Geto Boys earlier, who made some timeless remarks about the U.S. political system (you tube link here) in verse four of Damn It Feels Good To Be A Gangsta (1996)* (full lyrics here).

So voters of the world keep supportin' me
And I promise to take you very far
Other leaders better not upset me
Or I'll send a million troops to die at war
To all you Republicans, that helped me win
I sincerely like to thank you
Cuz now I got the world swingin' from my nuts
And damn it feels good to be a gangsta

If you still can't get enough of the 1990s rap scene nostalgia, try wasting a few brain cells on this site, which will christen you with your very own gansta name.

Fat Ugly Goat Smuggla out, suckas and thugs!

*Remember this gem from the Mike Judge's 1999 film, Office Space? Of course you do!

so easy, anybody can do it.

One of the things that brings me marginal hope in a week that can best be described as absolutely shitty is the fact that a former stripper wrote the screenplay for the movie Juno, which is supposed to be whip-smart and funny.

This gives me hope precisely because it feeds my fantasy that one day, I too, will be a recognized writer, despite my current crap career as a beleaguered, war-weary nurse. (I think strippers probably have slightly better working conditions than most nurses, to tell you the truth. Definitely more respect from the general public.)

My contract was unceremoniously canceled without warning on Wednesday morning (a day which, note, I was supposed to work). Now I'm out of a job for four weeks, and facing another extended period of more-than-usual worry about finances and housing.

It feels weird to be suddenly unemployed, and wondering if dog food is a good source of protein.

On the other hand, probably watching t.v. shows about spouses murdering their other halves is probably not going to cheer me up, either.