pesto pizza

Alan's got antibiotics and prescription cough syrup, so I'm hoping he'll be better soon. The verdict is sinus infection compounded by allergies.

While he slept this afternoon I picked up the living room to work off some of this queer nervous energy. The next project will be the bedroom and the large closet in there. Once all that is taken care of I think I'll be able to move the last of my stuff and be done with it all.

We're having pesto pizza, thanks to all the things Cate sent home with us this weekend. Fancy stravecchio cheese, basil pesto, onion and portabello mushroom topped off with a little olive oil.

horroscope blues

10/16/2003 G R E E T I N G S Gemini

You know exactly what you want, but you can't really find a way to
get it. Instead of going about your business in a professional and
logical manner, you're much more tempted to throw a tantrum right
now. However, that really won't get you anywhere -- and deep down you
know it. Acting like a child might have worked when you were a
younger, but whining and carrying on just isn't going to cut it now.
Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and go in using another, more
mature approach.

I suppose that's in reference to the wedding photographer issue. I need to call someone tomorrow and set up an appointment with the only freaking photographer in this town who gives an idea of his rates on his website. Hopefully he will have something we can afford, because I know we can't shell out $1500 for this. Alan's suggesting we get a photography student with a decent portfolio to work for an hourly rate and food, and let us have his cousin develop the prints. (This of course would be so much easier if his cousin would just take the pictures, but he doesn't leave Bryan and he's got stage fright for such a task.) If we could just get someone to take the photos, and let us do the developing it would save so much but I don't think we'll be able to find someone to agree to that.

Do not pitch fit, do not have tantrum. Check.

In other news work volumes are horrendously low. The acquisition of our competition's database has raised our hit rate, eliminating 1200 manual orders a day. Factor in the recent holiday, general annual slowdown trend and you've got people organizing binders of plat maps to kill time.

I think we're playing D&D tonight, though I'm not sure if Alan will make it. He's obviously exhausted, more subdued than I've ever seen him. It makes me feel a little guilty for being so spastic and full of weird energy. Maybe I'll sleep on the couch for a change.

I want more pesto pizza.

I've largely reduced my presence in most online fandoms to a 'peek my head in the door every month or so,' and thus I keep missing out on the temper tantrums, conundrums and other assorted hooha. I just read scattered entries on my friends list that say things like 'my fandom needs an earl grey enema' and wonder what's been going on. It's weird. But I have no energy to expend there right now, and I'm so full of hate for so many things about fandom that I just can't deal.

Much observation has led me to the conclusion that there are precious few authors I want to write about their own lives. If it's not on my short list, I can't stomach much of it. Then again, I read so much crap for the train wreck appeal. That's why I read Just Desserts, because I wanted to cackle over how evil Martha Stewart seems to be.