aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Hundred and eighty-two, maybe? Somewhere in that neighborhood.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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The ability to make every driver around me use his or her turn signals.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (meter)
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Some relevance.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Well, I'd gladly do it for free, but if they insist on bribing me I'd say perhaps enough to cover a nice scenic location in which to do it, and lodging, and a couple of nice dinners while I was there...
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Gosh, let's see. Brilliant and comfortable financially, or super-rich and a C student? Well, as much as only one would ever let me be president, I think it's a no-brainer. Hell, I'd take poor and smart over rich and dumb enough to fall for teabagger propaganda. ;)
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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The first car I drove was Pud, the Nutless Wonder: a 4-cyl Chevy S-10 pickup that belonged to my dad. That was the fuel-efficient successor to Oso Negro, the '76 Chevy stepside where my sister and I used to ride wrapped in an old quilt and buckled together into the center seatbelt to take my mom to nursing school.

I'm not sure I named the Volare, as she was laid up for a great deal of the time I owned her, but I know my first "real" car was Erkel the Tercel (it needs a hard C, you understand), aka the Geekmobile. (My first plate was #### GK. The plate, and the name, carried over to several other cars.) Then the Little Red Wagon, with four doors of child-seat-access goodness. The blue Prizm, so similar in color and demeanor to the Terkle, defaulted to Geekmobile again.

Bluebird, teaching once again the same lesson of the Volare (never buy a car that's been stored in a tobacco barn. They're gigantic humidors) then the mighty Starling, of course. Her new owner kept that name as preferable to Purple Jesus.

The Fat Bottom Girl stubbornly resisted a proper name. We tried Mockingbird, as she loved to mock [ profile] ursamajorra, but it never quite stuck, and Fat Bottom Girl was more a descriptor than a name.

Stitch, the GTI, wasn't named by me, but I can't argue with the accuracy of it.

The little white Cabrio is, of course, the Mini-marshmallow. That's to differentiate it from the full sized Marshmallow, which is either the white Routan or the white Touareg, depending on which one's currently parked in our driveway (don't worry, we don't own either.) I really am not a fan of white cars, did I mention?

Also, for mothers' day I acquired a car time consuming project in the form of a 1985 Audi 4000S 5cyl 5spd quattro- you know, that thing that Starling was meant to be but never was. Given that we're definitely painting her and possibly also doing an engine swap, it may take a while to suss out the personality.

Cars, like cats, really ought to be allowed to name themselves, as they're far less prissy about answering to it that way.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Um.... shit yeah. Especially if I got to live there rent free. I'll even clean the blood and brains, for that. And really. Neighbors warning that it's haunted? You expect me to walk away from a setup like that, to mess with them AND avoid going to tiresome fondue parties?
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Don't get me wrong, I think my clients are adorable, grateful, and only slightly daft. Plus none of them have patted me on the ass and told me I'd make big babies (yes, this happened, on the dementia ward.) All but one of the families are awesomesauce on toast- Sweet Italian Grampa's family would do better to hire a maid service for the house and foster him out, he's my first candidate for Grandma Rescue, but since I've managed 9 months without having killed, robbed or beaten him and have demonstrated at least marginally acceptable soap scum removal skillz, they don't so much check up on him. This means far less face time with Mr. "I'm a 1970s Computer Engineer", confirmer of stereotypes and possessor of an exceptionally douchey moustache.

If it weren't for the inconvenient hours, the low pay, lack of benefits, and complete lack of upward mobility, it'd be great. :P

As far as dream jobs, I can tell you that there is only room for one in our household, and [ profile] ursamajorra is absolutely, beyond any shadow of the doubt, in his, so. I am working towards "decent hours, decent pay, not entirely mind-numbing, and doesn't suck" while clinging tightly to the Sheep Whisperer fantasy.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (boot)
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There are a handful of places that I'll never set foot in if I have a molecule of choice in the matter. Wal-Mart springs immediately to mind. I won't patronize McD's (except to use the bathroom on road trips, because you can always find one), Cracker Barrel or Best Buy. None of them are formal boycotts, or part of a mass movement, although I can always find agreement on Wal-Mart... Ultimately, it's not about sending a message to any one particular corporation.

It's about looking beyond "hey, I can get this thing that I like" and considering whether it's ethically made, ethically sold, and so forth, whether you need it- becoming a more conscientious consumer. It's about unlearning bad habits trained into you by the routines of modern (American) society, and just living a more thoughtful life overall.

I'm fully aware that voting with your dollars doesn't have an immediate impact when you're measuring on the scale of my budget, and for every publicized boycott ($Company supports Evil! Don't shop there!) you will get an equal number of people who'll go out of their way to shop there because of differing politics (see also, why I paid for every Dixie Chicks album in the wake of Toby Keith's lackwitted "patriotism") but to me there is satisfaction in knowing that I'm at least trying to make ethical, sustainable decisions on a daily basis.

Also, I've paid enough attention again lately to realize that every time I pay attention, I am filled with the urge to become a career radical. *twitch* *twitch*
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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A sincere apology? No. But I've seen plenty of cases of "your mouth says sorry, but your dumb ass keeps doing the same thing that you're apologizing for with nary a pause for breath." After one or two of those, the meanie pants go on and it becomes "Sorry is lovely, how about you stop doing that instead, k?" and, if needed, progresses to the more succinct "Nope. Fuck off."

I will admit that I am a firm believer in fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me. There are just certain categories of offense that, even if I had reason to believe the apology was sincere, it's not something where all is forgiven. I suck at poker- I can't be nice for very long without a genuine interest in at least a superficial friendship- but I trust 'em as far as I can throw 'em (oh, and did I mention I have a bad back?) I mean, this is not for stuff like "um I borrowed your sweater for my date and I kind of spilled beer on it," we're talking "Oh, so you're that kind of asshole? Good to know, I'll file that for future reference" fundamental betrayals of trust. I guess that's not precisely accepting the apology, because to me that's the kind of offense that has to do with your basic nature, and thus has a high rate of recidivism.

That's not to say that people can never change; I can think of a few specific examples of people who pulled assholish and juvenile crap when they were, well, juveniles, and have turned into reasonable and genuinely sincere adults with the passage of time. Lord knows I'd hate to be judged forever on my 17 year old self (although the diner waitresses from my HS haunt seem only to remember that I'm a good tipper. Either that or they all died of lung cancer from the clove smoke and have been replaced with Diner Waitress clones from a vast factory down south somewhere.)

So, yeah. I am very patient and forgiving with legit screwups, misunderstandings and the odd accident, and very much less forgiving of people revealing themselves to be assholes.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (paintyhead)
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Oh, god, it's too YM magazine embarrassing moments to even tell, and too stereotypical-drama-nerd besides, but.

Senior year we put on Pride and Prejudice (see also, the last time my hair was down past my shoulders, at least until I hacked it off at the cast party over the edge of Brenda's deck.) No, we didn't have actual period costumes, we had something about 80 years off from the local Gilbert and Sullivan troupe, but by god they were old! and made of polyester! And had been through many, many actors and actresses...

So I'm playing Miss Bingley, and here's my big bitchcakes scene, right? And I am waiting in the wings with Boy Of Much Crushing And Total Non-Heterosexuality (cough) to go freeze that stage COLD with my icy bitch stare, when the clasp on my skirt disintegrates.

As in, step, step, hitch, thud. It hit my ankles about 6 inches before my entrance O THANK GAWD, and there was frantic hand-waving and I was wearing bike shorts underneath anyway but somebody hurriedly procured a safety pin and a few quick stabs later, I was able to sweep vaguely regally onto the stage and deliver my stunningly plated bitch cakes with one hand behind my back holding the ensemble together.

Yeah, sometimes I miss working on that side of the curtain.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (blue nude)
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...oh, you mean into other clothes. In that case, no. ;)

Actually it's too damn cold here for wandering around naked, even when I have the house to myself, but yes. I have 4 sufficiently-soccer-mom outfits for the homecare job that have to be hoarded and re-worn, so they come off right away and get nicely folded. And anybody who's ever worked in a kitchen knows why those clothes come off the second the door shuts behind me (and my back is still breaking out, goddamnit.)

My current loungewear involves fleecy PJ pants, one of the Air Force issue tan undershirts that have been washed into soft, comfy submission over 15 years, and whichever of Paul's sweatshirts I haven't spilled something on since the last washing. Oh, and a revolving combo of knit slippers plus fuzzy slipper socks. Did I mention the heat was set to 56?
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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I want a serum that can turn violently homophobic conservatives and their frat boy tadpoles into flaming gay men.

[1. Assuming they aren't already, which seems like something that'd get decent odds in Vegas, what with the lengthy and lurid descriptions of the male body and graphic depictions of sex acts I think most of the gay people I know would consider a little too "out there".]

[1a. And damn it, why aren't there equally detailed descriptions of hawt lesbian action conveyed with the same tone of fascinated horror?]

[2. Yes, I am aware of the well justified fear that if science were to isolate the particular hormonal or genetic switch that makes people gay, that it would encourage a subset of the population to cure it. I took a damn seminar on Foucault, k? Any discussion touching on how our bodies became fair game for legislative authority still makes my bung twitch. And I've read way too much of the dystopian sci-fi wherein we "improve" our species out of existence/ nature finds a way to circumvent our "improvements" and we're all eaten by mutants/ we turn ourselves into horrible mutants by messing with things we don't properly understand. Nearly all of them are way less hot than an ass-kicking ballerina.]
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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It's 40 degrees out and snowing like a motherf***er. You tell me, what season is that?
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (cluebat)
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I'll skip the annual "No, you fuckers aren't all Irish today just because you're drunk" rant, but feel free to read the ones from past years...

I am not allowed to wear green to work today, because the owner of Ye Snootye Coffeee Shoppe is convinced that if there is a speck of green present we will be mistaken for a Starbucks.

This, of course, raises the dilemma of the warring desires to Poke Things(TM). Do I steadfastly refuse to wear green today (shit, my hair's bright copper and I'm covered in freckles, you'd think I'd get a pass) or do I drop a buck on the headband with boingy green sparkle-covered shamrocks just to tweak my control-freak boss? I mean, my hair is pretty unruly, what with the growing out.

I feel like I should at least know when the NYC parade was/is.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Texting, hands down. It's imperfect communication (even with a qwerty keyboard) and lacks tone, but I'm talking to people who are at work, most of the time. A text can be read at leisure, and unlike a voice mail it gives a hint of how urgent the message is.

It's also easier to send a content-free "poke, what's up" text. A phone call is an interruption, and you don't interrupt somebody's work day unless it's something that can't wait, and probably 99% of what I communicate to people during the work day can wait, easily. (I remember when I was a wee latch-key kid, and my mother was quite adamant on the fact that I was not to call her at work unless something was broken or on fire.)

I will confess to being one of those people who has a hard time ignoring it whenever my phone makes a noise, no matter what kind of noise, but at least if a text comes in when I'm up to my elbows in dishwater I know the content will still be there after I dry my hands off, instead of having to run to answer.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (i hate our freedom)
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OOOH OOH OOH PICK ME PICK ME /hand-raising nerd

Oh, gods, this is too tempting. And it's gonna take way more than a day, fellas. Shit, I think I might need a full day to finish thinking things up.

1. How fast can you get somebody hauled before an international court for war crimes? Well, actually, it's like 3 or 4 somebodies. Can we get a rush on that?

2. Legal gay marriage? DONE. Legal abortion? You can have my uterus when you pry it from my cold dead pelvis. Religious objections to either of those? Great, nobody's making you do either one. It's called personal freedoms, and your freedom to be a bigoted fuck is still entirely yours. Now, kindly note that I did not say that anyone's freedoms come without consequences. You break any laws in pursuit of said bigotted fuckwittery, we'll talk consequences. And don't give me any of that obeying an immoral directive horseshit. Legal standing to prevent you from taking away the kids, property or lives of people who deviate from your morals is not the same thing as forcing you to take it up the ass for the rest of your life. Not that I wouldn't pay to see that, in some instances.

3. While we're on the subject of morality, here's where it will be taught: At home, and in churches. Here's where it won't: schools. Note that I did not say religion, I said morality. The people in charge of teaching your child right from wrong stare at you in the mirror every morning. The people in charge of teaching your kid basic science and biology get (under)paid for the job, and I'd appreciate it if you stopped hamstringing them with this fear that your child will be exposed to a thought you didn't personally inspect and approve.

4. Oh, and effective immediately school funding is severed from property taxes. Everybody pays in to a state coffer, and it's doled out so that kids in "bad" towns get things like textbooks written in the last decade, art and music classes. You want your fancy debate team back? Throw a bake sale. Yes, you can still have sports teams- and the kids three towns over get uniforms before your town gets a field with lights. Deal.

5. Every third lawyer will be shot. No, that's not right, it'd take more like every other... Ok, fine. No shooting. But I am going to have to insist that we take a cue from our neighbors to the north and make anyone judged to have brought a spurious lawsuit shoulder the costs for both sides.

6. Any illegal immigrant working for less than minimum wage found in this country will get the choice of a first class flight home or a rush application for citizenship; also restitution from their employer in the form of back wages at a rate that brings them up to the prevailing wage. Companies knowingly hiring illegals to save a buck will have their board of directors sent to the slums of their employees' nations of origin for a year. Yes, this includes rich twits who hire illegal nannies and gardeners.

7. The FCC ruling to end analog broadcasts is tossed out on its ass immediately. So is telecom immunity. Newspapers will be forced to print exactly where their revenue comes from on page two once a week. Radio stations will be forced to read that list on air once a week, during rush hour. Television stations will air it in prime time. Any reporter devoting more time to sightings of Paris Hilton's twat than actual news will be forced to make a walk of shame in a minidress, sans underwear, for at least one quarter mile, on the main street of the town where they are employed. Anyone found to have suppressed any adequately researched story based on its content will be hung from their toes in a vat of rabid ferrets.

I can go on, you know. Seriously.
aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
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Ooh ooh ooh! This is an easy one. I need loud music, a car, and roads with nobody else on them (easy enough to find in rural New England.)

I can has ancient technology?

Land line goes in "between one and five" today. Ah, ridiculously broad service windows, how I have missed thee. (Is it a bad sign when I get a work order number and an 800 number to call in case he doesn't show?) I achieved the setting up last week like I said, this was just the first installation appointment they had. Temptation to open the "telephone interface" lurking on the side of the house next to the mailboxes: strong. The service rep said that if we guessed wrong on the apartment number, I would not get my phone turned on today, but unless service to the box can differentiate electrons inside the wire, it should be "whoops, other switch" and we're good.

It doesn't have to be wholesome to be bonding, right?

Miss Dangermouse is kicking some serious butt at Guitar Hero. She beat the third tier of songs all by herself on easy. I am presently confounded by the medium battle against Slash, and choosing to ignore that in favor of the easy gratification of 5-starring all the songs leading up to the boss battle. (Thank you for not telling me how you defeated Lou on Expert 6 months ago. We're late adopters who finally got access to a TV that doesn't blare an alarm if it's turned away from the home and garden channels.) She does not get most of the little jokes they put on the loading screen- though I think it's less age and more "not a band geek." Yet. ;)

[ profile] carneillian, you might want to pay attention to this part

Thinning the herd of clothes once again- only this time it includes the completely ridiculous collection of socks. Who wants some sock dreams goodies for free? You know you do.


aunthippie: old hippies in tie dye (Default)
Kindly Aunt Hippie's Tips For Livin' Right

August 2017

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