"Woe for the mousies and shrews which did sustain us, though they did taste funny."

From the mighty pen of the even mightier cluegirl: Tales of the Faithful—The Parable of the Snow. (Those of you who do not believe beverages and sinus cavities should come into casual contact might wish to set aside that Snapple bottle while reading. Thank you.)

(no subject)

Never let it be said that the Eternal Deities of Auto Repair don't have a sense of humor. A warped sense of humor, make no mistake, but a sense of humor nonetheless.

Amongst the many ongoing ailments suffered by Harold the Arthritic Oldsmobile is a nonfunctioning driver's side power window. It started acting all uppity-like back in September, and stopped working altogether by November or so. Ah, bugnuts, I thought, but didn't panic, since window-opening weather wouldn't be kicking in for months yet, and although having to open the door for drive-up windows and toll booth operators was kind of annoying, I could get by.

Today, once I excavated the car from the foot of snow that had alit upon it while braving the nasty wind that showed up for the occasion, I took the car out on a few errands, and as it was past lunchtime I decided to pick up a bit of McDonald's while I was out. As I pulled up to the speaker, I absent-mindedly flicked the effectively for-display-purposes-only switch to open the window...and the window opened! Four whole inches!

"Oh, sweet!" I said, as well I may. "Does is close again, too?"

...No. No, it doesn't. EXPLETIVE.

So! Freezing weather, gale force winds, probable snow, and a partially-open window. Yay, or something. At the moment I have a garbage bag jammed over half the door just so I'm not sitting in a snowdrift next time I get in, but I need to get it fixed (which I don't have the time or inclination for) or else find a more viable kludge.

Thank you ever so much, O Eternal Deities of Auto Repair, for playing jai alai with my delicate sanity. I've got a nice finger gesture here for ya.

Please do not eat the chivalrous

As you will no doubt recall, the talking (talking, I say!) plush bacon toy has received the name Francis by popular decree.

As of Saturday? That's Sir Francis W. Bacon to you, cupcake.



The knighting above took place during Christmas morning festivities with fiddle_dragon, zeyr, mllelaurel and wired_lizard, the one doing the honors. Still trying to figure out what benefits accompany the honorary titles bestowed upon quasi-sentient breakfast meats. Not trying too hard.

In other bacon plush news, Francis is no longer allowed in public view in my apartment. Long story.