Warhead On Legs

( 日本語 )

And Arabic accounting here and here. I think it's getting easier, slowly but surely? My handwriting is also getting way smaller. Although I might need to reinstitute the practice of using lines. Which might just involve making a sheet of lines and slipping it under whatever page I'm working on. And I definitely need to figure out how to refill my ink cartridges with a syringe, because they're emptying way too quickly. Problems I hadn't realized I'd have when I started this! In a way, this makes me even more eager to get this house deal done and get the house, because then I can have a real desk at which to do this. I hope.

Well, that was possibly the weirdest collection of dreams I've had in a while. Highlights include going to the women's bathroom of some communal living thing that was laid out a bit like an old dorm or a hotel. Either it was a woman's dorm or it was the women's bathroom, I'm not sure which. I was talking to some friend, and we were getting undressed to bathe. Yes, bath, not shower, as is customary. The bath was pretty nice and deep, though, it would have been a fun soak. People are going up and down the hallway of both sexes, so I'm assuming in was the women's bathroom, or during the day men are allowed? Or something. And there's a knock and I open the door and it's either Rupert Graves or Lestrade. I'm more inclined to believe Lestrade. And he makes some kind of would-be snarky comment except he's too busy trying not to stare. And I'm not helping by basically being aggressive with my very naked body language. Sort of Irene Adler-y, at least Moffat's interpretation of her. And then I wrap my arms around his neck and kiss him, and ... OH. Oh god, ahaah, now I remember what the conversation was about, somehow this got around to my weight. I think because he threatened to pick me up. And I told him yes, I was 5'1" and about 150, 160. And he started to say 120 and I corrected him and he sort of stammered, and I pointed out that I was very, very solid. And he could find out for himself, and that led to pressing up against him and arms around and kissing and so on. And I'm pretty sure he didn't know where to put his hands.

So, that happened in my dream. And then later I'm wandering the halls in my bathrobe and somehow I end up knocking on Misha Collins' unit door, because he's in the dorm hall? Or his wife is and he's just bunking with her, as you do when you're in college. In your late thirties. I don't judge. And I'm in my bathrobe or lounge clothes, or anyway not real grown up clothes but not naked anymore. And I come in and for some reason there's been a last minute cancellation and I need him or his wife for something. I ask... first I ask him about calculating something. Then he shrugs and says ask her, she's on the computer. So I ask her to calculate something, allowing for inflation in the last 5 years and the increase in value in something-to-do-with-Misha. I don't know what. I mean, the increase in value I get given that he's now all over the internet, but I don't remember what I was asking originally. She calculates in, we talk, we bond apparently over my economical savvy? Of all things. And their taste in comics, since they have most to all of the Akira manga on their bookshelf.

Anyway, so we end up running off with Misha Collins' wife as some last minute addition to some kind of team doing something? And we all have to prepare for this mission, which might have been what I was doing in the bathing sequence. And apparently for Misha's wife this involves drinking some foul tasting concoction of milk and some kind of powder that looks like blue flecks. And she drank half a small pitcher in one swallow and made terrible grimaces while I stretched out on the floor, using some guy as a spotter. And all of us were discussing our assignment. And then I woke up.

So, really, what the hell, brain. Although now I have this urge to write shameless Lestrade-oriented self-insert steamy fiction. Not even necessarily NC17 rated, just steamy. Or maybe kinky porn. I don't know. It's a weird urge. And I need to finish that All You Can Kink Kink Bingo before February ends. Too distracted with house stuff. God, there's a whole list of things I want to write today. This weekend. Plus pack, plus make beans. All right, let's ennumerate them.

1. Lestrade fic-kle.
2. Loki/Darcy
3. J3

4. Long Road
5. Subversive Mummies
6. BigBang Mixups
7. Organize Triumvirate world-building
8. Organize mecha for BBM story.

And that's not as big a list as I thought, but it's sizable. Okay, and now for the latest in house news: WE ARE UNDER CONTRACT. Which means finally, fucking finally we might be able to get the inspector in. Appointment's scheduled for Thursday. And right now it's just the inspector and getting the funding, which we have to do quicklyish, but which should be very do-able. I'm not sure how close to home we are, I'd say, pretty close? But at least we're a step further than we were, which, considering this all feels like slogging through sulphur-reeking mud, is all good by me. (And then again at the same time we started just casually looking in January. So it's probably moving much faster than I think it is.) We're under contract. That means, I hope, that no one can snipe the house out from under me. That's all I want for right now. Now I can collect data and chew on it till it becomes clay.

( Deutsch )

Remember that whole thing I said about all the paperwork getting turned in and no more having to hold ten billion things in my head? I lied. I mean, okay, I knew the loan paperwork details were going to come in soon, that's less annoying, but apparently my instincts were correct yesterday on two points and so the forms got filled out wrong. And then I had to do about 30-40 minutes of last minute running around (literally, I was running back and forth between the store and the Horse and Cart bank, which is the next block over) to fix things up. However. That's done. And when I get home from work today I will track down all the relevant paperwork, most of which should be either in my bag or in my box and fuck. I forgot, today's a payday. Which will make getting consecutive paystubs easier but dammit, I forgot to turn in my timesheet. Where the fuck has my brain gone.

Ahem. Anyway. So, yeah. Tracking down all the relevant paperwork when I get home, not worrying about it now. I had a moment of terror when I saw that list and thought, there's no way I can possibly get this all to Mortgage Lady before noon tomorrow! Then sanity reasserted itself in the form of friends and Also-Mes and smacked me upside the head with, no, what they needed was the signed addendums to the offer and the earnest money check. This is mortgage stuff, they need this before closing. Which is in April. And anyway, we can scan that all in and get it to Mortgage Lady tomorrow.

Keeping all the logistics of this in my head is a pain in the ass. Or a pain in the head. Or both. Actually, I haven't been having much in the way of headaches lately, though. Just really tired.

Also I feel like I need to plant a tree or three as an apology for all the damn paper I'm wasting on this.

( Some Once Upon A Time Spoilers )

( Gaeilge )

You know, I didn't actually forget that, usually, you're sore the next day. And somehow I thought it would be worse than this. That said, ow. Although more oof than ow. Really, really tired, physically exhausted. Starting to hit brain drain, too. The point at which I cannot cope with taking in any new information without letting go of some of the old.

That said, hopefully the bank visit today will clear some of that. If we can get the paperwork done on that and get a time estimate on completion, I'll know when to start the clock between now and Friday morning. And then the inspector has an appointment open next week that's pretty close, that will fit right into everyone's schedule, and I can get that rolling too. And then we still have until mid-April to close, but sweet mother they want this closed fast. I wouldn't have so much of a problem if they weren't trying to rush me through it fast enough that I doubt my ability to get everyone else to move as fast. I mean, I want to curl up and nest in Old Hotness and fend off all comers, but really? A week? To get all the financials and inspections done? Seriously?

I suppose the relatively good thing is, even if the house does appraise for less, I suspect my family can leap in to cover the gap. I really, really don't want to have to go to them, though, and be all "Yeah, the banks are fucking me over, can I have $Canada more to cover between what it appraised for and therefore what the Horse and Cart bank will give me, and what Jackass Bank is actually selling it for?" Ugh.

Although of all the difficulties, this is... not the one I expected.

Proof that my town is wackier than yours. A local weapons/ammo manufacturer is making anti-zombie ammunition. The article says it's live, defensive-quality ammo, with such features as glow in the dark tips. I have no idea if they're selling the apparently very good crack they're smoking with the rounds, but. My god. This town be crazy, yo.

Okay, at this point I think I've gone over what I need to do today enough times in my own head that I might even remember it as it's happening. If not, I've talked about it enough here, those of you who find me in chat can smack me upside the head and remind me. After this week I am curling up over the weekend and doing nothing but immersing myself in fake people problems. TV, books, writing of my own, whatever. Fake people problems that I can solve by turning off the TV, closing the book, or closing the document. Because I am sick and tired of my real people problems/obligations already, and it's only Wednesday. ... Shit, really? When the hell did it get to be Wednesday? Dammit, time, stop passing when I'm not looking, slow down so I can catch up.

( Deutsch )

Tired. So very tired. I think I keep underestimating the emotional toll this whole house thing is taking out of me. It's not unreasonable to carry some stress over where you're going to live in a couple of months. Are the odds good that we'll get the house and not pay over what we can afford for it? Yes. Does that mean this is in any way shape or form settled? No. Thus, uncertainty. Thus, stress. Come on, Jag, you know this. Account for it, install coping mechanisms, do not beat yourself up for needing coping mechanisms or ignore the need for them.

Really, I want to just curl up with Once Upon A Time and write stupid Gold self-insert fanfic forever for the next week. So far I have, self-insert character breaks into his house, curls up in his chair, drinks his juice/booze, and tells him he's an idiot and a jackass. Because he is. Admittedly, mostly the latter than the former, but still. I have... Okay, I don't have so much self-insert fanfic. I have The Courtship of Rumplestiltskin and his Lady to finish and I have probably another Ruby/Gold to write. I also want to do that self-insert pointless fic set to Florence + the Machine's Howl with someone/Gold but I haven't figured out how to do that one yet. I also want to write fic involving smacking Rumplestiltskin upside the head every time he giggles like that. Or, no, every time he fakes that stupid high-pitched cackling mad persona. I think that was one of the things I liked most about Skin Deep; it gave us a glimpse of Rumplestiltskin speaking openly, honestly, and normally, instead of pretending to be more erratic and deranged than he really is.

... Which actually makes me wonder just how over the top he went after we left him in Desperate Souls, and how long it took him to regain some semblance of normality. Obviously some parts of him broke forever, he goes around exploding fairies and turning people into objects without blinking even when he's not the tittering idiot, but the gleeful rage we saw when he slaughtered the soldiers doesn't seem to be there. And it all reads like he went, well, mad with power for a bit and then dragged himself back to some form of stability. And, see, that's a story I'd be interested in seeing. As opposed to Regina, who only seems to be doing things for the Evulz.

Actually, that's another thing. Rumplestiltskin has issues which have subscriptions to entire catalogs of back-issues, but to me, he doesn't read as either psychopath or sociopath. Severely damaged person who went through a horrible war, spent years twitching with PTSD, then flipped into a whole other phase where all these feelings burst out into murderous violence. Which made him a very dangerous person to be around and, in all likelihood though we never see it, a highly unfit father. Which is kind of sad, but there you go. And then years pass and somewhere in between then and 'now' in fairy tale land he became someone so detached from humanity in general that individual lives have little meaning for him, and so dangerous in a whole other way. But at neither point was he inherently psycho- or socio-pathic. It's all learned behavior/reactionary, whereas we've seen nothing from the Evil Queen in either incarnation to indicate she ever had any ability to relate to other human beings on any kind of emotional level, ever. Two different types of monsters. One, heh, significantly more interesting than the other. I mean, there probably can be interesting sociopaths, just look at half the crime dramas, but god, EQ is so damn dumb sometimes.

I also feel like I should double check my definitions to make sure I'm using the correct term for murderous-volatile-Rumple. Ah well.

Right. I want to go home and curl up with all the Clayne Crawford episodes of everything ever. What will probably happen is I'll go home, do my guitar practice, do my Japanese, and then curl up with writing and try not to create several characters with my latest lust object's face while I'm doing my writing. Such is this crazy life of mine. And I have to make sure the goddamn fridge and freezer are actually working, I forgot, fucking hell. God I want to be in this new house and fuck the rest of this stress crap.

( Deutsch )

We went to the bank today and came out with a fucking pre-approval letter for the amount we needed. And depending on how the inspection goes, if it turns out to be a house and not a heffalump, we will be calling her and asking maybe to pick up on the way by the bank to the real estate office a pre-approval letter for a more appropriate amount for what we're going to offer. But yes, we are fucking approved. And I have the necessary monies in my hot little account and everything is beautiful. But the waiting is still the hardest part. I've been assured on multiple fronts that probably no one is going to grab Old Hotness in the next two days, before we do. I still dislike the waiting.

But, you know, there it is. And I have my homework for Thursday, which is to say, looking over all the inspection reports I have and taking note of the boojums therein, for although common snarks do no manner of harm, there are the boojums... And, you know, that's why we pay the inspectors.

But yes. I have a pile of excitement, you guys. And on Friday if all goes well and we put in the offer I will tell you straight of Old Hotness and all of its glory. In the meantime, Prop 8's blatant and unashamed unconstitutionality has been re-upheld (which is to say Prop 8 has been deemed Not Suitable for Law) and somehow Bill O'Reilly jumped to our side for a second, which, really? Is it opposite day and no one told me? And I can do my taxes now and it has been largely an awesome day. Except for the whole waking up almost an hour early thing. Now I just have to go home and get some goddamn sleep. And Thursday, ohhh lordy Thursday the excitement happens.

Hopefully, there will only be snarks.

( Deutsch )

I present for your perusal, the next creation of CBS, a romantic time travel musical. I only wish I were joking. The hell, people? Seriously, what the hell?

Also, argh. That's it, tonight I am packing up all that crap I keep meaning to send, since none of it is exactly perishable, and I am shipping it out tomorrow. Because I really need to remember that. And part of it is that I keep shipping footstuffs and therefore I try to remember to ship it at the beginning of the week, but books and DVDs are not going to suffer for languishing in a warehouse over the weekend.

I need a nap. Or less house anxiety. Or both. Preferably both. Things are chugging along and at the moment, barring unexpected Something Awfuls lurking, it looks like this might all be over quicker than anyone thought. Location's good, price is at least right if not very right if they accept our first offer, size is phe-fucking-nominal, and there is garden space. Really, there's garden space in all the candidates, but this one has a location within walking distance of the market street with the bakery of nom and a couple local grocery stores, the Guitar Mama's pretty close... etc. Plus it's Old Hotness. Next Friday someone remind me or, well, most likely no one will have to remind me because I'll be bouncing off the walls, but next Friday if all goes well I will speak to you further of Old Hotness. And how absolutely hot it is.

And, really, it would also be nice if this does pan out so we can do the damn moving thing sooner rather than later and I can get on with my life. It sounds a bit warped but I really, really am getting antsy. I want to start costuming for Dragon*Con. I want to get some sleep. With luck, we'll be making an offer next week, and after that I have no idea off the top of my head what the timeline is, or even the specifics of the procedure beyond counteroffer/accept/reject. Hopefully one of the first two. Hopefully that middle one. Need to go back and look at my post of Syn's Awesome Infodumping. I may be taking shameless advantage of actually living here (the bank that owns it does not) and having done a bit of research on it. Also being willing to say scratches in the paint/wallpaper? Two and a half bricks falling out of the front stoop? Cosmetic shutters falling off? THAT'S FIXABLE. That probably helps. Right, that's enough thinking about the house right now.

So tired. So ready for work or anything to calm down now so I can get some sleep. Only there's more looking at houses this weekend just in case, and Arabic and hopefully not a game this weekend, but you never know. We did manage to trade out the rice with golf ball sized mold balls in it without a hitch, for other rice. The lady at the desk actually wasn't surprised and was going to show it to her co-business-owner and point out that maybe now they should stop putting wet stuff all over their rice and maybe they should scrap that whole pallet. Her tone amused me. I've used that tone before. Anyway, she was apologetic and kept our mold-golf-ball-filled rice to show him. And we got new rice.

Right. Home, guitar, food possibly maybe or maybe just sleep, comma, all of the. And I have to check in and then try and get at least some writing done, and triage the rest of my writing for at least the next week or so. Because this is going to eat my brain to bits.

( Deutsch )

There. Modly duties discharged for the nonce, updated posted in Juke Joint Jezebel, and some other stuff done. And now filing and emails and blah. I have also remembered to get quarters, and made an appointment with a mortgage counselor person with my Big Evil Bank and emailed the city inspector guy to ask about his help in finding an inspector. Like a motherfucking adult.

... I apologize in advance for anyone this might offend. But at the moment I am so, so sick of the GOP circus that is their primary run that this had me laughing to the point of tears. Vote Canada Party in 2012? It plays on so many stereotypes from both countries and I think I needed that tongue in cheek gentle lambasting. Oh yes.

Oogh. It's funny how this whole housebuying adventure is affecting my thinking. I'm not losing the big parts per se, but I'm losing the little bits. The whys and wherefores of things, little details, my ability to pay attention and analyze and cope on the smaller, more minute level. This is resulting in way more frazzle than I want. And yet I suppose the plus side to this is, if it were going any slower, I might still be this frazzled and it would take forever and a data figure to get my head on straight. The way it's going, it's slower than I want it to be but just fast enough that there's measurable progress and I'm not chewing my fingers off trying to distract myself.

.... at this point, though, I think I'd just as soon have the peace and quiet of mind. Or more sleep.

　　　　　

( Deutsch )

Okay, one thing I can do to avert some of these jitters is... not so much to plan the hell out of this as to go back and do some more educating myself on the whole thing. So. Reading over the sample offer to purchase and contract that the realtor copied and gave to us, taking copious notes all over the place. (Definitely a sample, all the fields are marked with N/A and it's got "copy" scrawled all over it.) Look over all the inspection reports all my lovely friends have sent me for an idea of what I'm looking at/for. Research historical home owning in this state until I find myself dwelling or clinging too much, and then putting that down and doing something entirely else. Like languages or self-pub. I can do this. I promise.

Work, on the other hand, was singularly unhelpful in providing me anything else to focus on for the whole goddamn day. I swear, I need to start learning how to knit afghan squares or something. Or tomorrow, I go out and spin. Then again, I need to learn how to knit afghan squares anyway to start my hope chest. Ooh, maybe I'll do that one over there.

What is it with, the more time I have to do things, the less I want to? Or something, maybe I just didn't get enough sleep last night. Maybe I really am too jittery. Or tired. Or both at once. Probably both at once. I did, at least, get some things done. Just not as much as I had time/leisure to do. Maybe tomorrow if I still haven't gotten any of this done by the time UPS goes I really will try spinning to clear my head. I've gone right around the corner of jittery and hyper to exhausted and zombified. I actually think I prefer this. It might do to keep the disappointment down later.