Just got home. Very, very tired. The coworker has crashed in my spare room and neither of us want to go to work tomorrow.

Tomorrow I shall post about a) the honking, b) the scary back rooms, c) the parking ticket (!@#$%) and d), the Chunnel.

Don’t ask.

I haven’t been comment spammed since I started this thing many months ago, and now, within ONE day of being plagiarized (well, technically that was in August but follow me here), I’m getting comment spam.

I wonder if it’s from posting my URL in her comments? ‘Cause I mean Yahoo! is notorious for spam proliferation.

It kinda makes me feel noticed though, so eh. 😉

Going shopping now! Off to NYC I go… anyone need anything? (I’ll be looking for a job for Anne… she doesn’t know that yet though… and granted it will be more like shouting at well dressed people as we shop down Fifth, but still—I’m trying.)

😉

If you are boiling eggs, and you get busy doing something else ::coughfixingwendysblogcough::, the water will boil away and bad things happen to the a) pot, b) eggs and c) smell in your apartment (yech).

For your perusal…

Edible or not? Will they kill me?

I think this is one of my grandmother’s pots… and that means my mom is going to kick my ass.

Lovely.

And really, the Internet should be scratch-and-sniff—or click-and-sniff—because my apartment smells terrible right now. So terrible, in fact, that I had to open a window—and it’s 18 degrees outside.

I am now chattering as I type. Must. go. shut. window.

I have no words.

I need this.

And wendy can use it to beat the stealer-who-we-shall-not-name.

🙂

The Fiery One has, of late, been posting about someone who took his content, changed the names, and posted it online. Someone with an Open Diary account who clearly plagiarized his content.

He’s funny—I can totally understand why someone would want to lift his conversation. It’s wrong and he complained and it looks like her site was finally taken down.

I, however, would not expect that to ever happen to me. Imagine my surprise, then, when I find this. Which links to (via the title that absolutely doesn’t look like a link) this… and looks remarkably exactly like it. (Save for the name changes, of course.)

WTF?

Is there a policy about this? Because she linked the title to my blog, is that considered a citation… even though she changed all the names?

If so, I am going to prepare an ENTIRE POST on proper citation techniques. It will be long and arduous and you will be tested.

Alright, so tell me… should this bother me? It kinda does, to be honest. Why take my content? You’re supposed to take content from funny and brilliant people. WHO ARE DEAD.

I. am. flumoxed.

UPDATE: After looking around her blog… guess who else she is plagiarizing? Wendy. And it’s not just one. It’s several—post after post after post—with no attribution whatsoever. BTW, she is who I mean when I said you should steal from brilliant and funny people. Fortunately, she isn’t dead. Which kinda messes up the thought, but nevertheless.

Now I’m righteously pissed.

Adorable… I just had to share.

I have this scrape on my right index finger. It’s a small, oval shaped owie that looks as if the top layer of my skin has just been shaved off—with a cheese grater.

The thing is, I don’t remember scraping my finger. Granted, it’s the finger I slammed in my car door earlier this year—when I was ::sheepish shrug:: a little drunk—and the nerves are still a little off. It aches when the weather changes and it stays colder than the rest of my hand, no matter what… so it’s possible I scraped it and just didn’t feel it.

Then I went to make myself a cup of tea (it’s very cold—17 degrees, sigh). I pulled the lid off the pot and… well, well, well, ouch. It seems that the lid comes off with a pop and between the handle and the pulling of the lid… yeah.

My teapot is trying to injure me. Fantastic.

When people are on the phone, but walk over to their office door, look out and call me an asshole.

Then, when said person gets off the phone, again comes to the fucking door and yells at me for initially answering the phone.

Lovely.

If you don’t want someone to answer the phone, SAY SO. Don’t just let the damn thing ring and expect me to read your mind through a wall and know you don’t want the phone answered.

Doesn’t that sound logical?

I’m freezing. FREEZING, I tell you. My fingers are partially numb, lord knows I haven’t felt my toes since I left my house and now my arms and legs are cold, too.

(The coworker is cold as well, so I know it’s not just me.)

Technically, it’s not that cold outside—39 degrees—and we have the thermostat set to 78 degrees, but I swear it feels like it’s at 50.

::brief pause to answer phone, during which time I look behind the couch::

And see that, shit, we had shoved the couch all the way against the heater… no wonder we’re cold.

The couch, btw, is made of leather. Leather that, right now, smells awfully crispy. Oy.

Maybe we’ll be heating up soon…

The coworker called, cranky that I haven’t posted all weekend… lol.

Sorry. There’s just not much going on.

Let’s see… I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind… I love this movie. It’s a brilliantly acted, highly evocative film.

Oh, and now I’ve just finished reading The White Plague by Frank Herbert—another book from the Man. It’s ridiculously disturbing—and makes me think that in the event of some sort of worldwide plague, we’d be blessed to die, and not live through the horror that the world becomes.

Then this morning I had to go to Wal-Mart to buy cat food and cat litter—that was a lovely hour-long nightmare… where 45 minutes was spent in line.

And that, my fellow blog people, was when I remembered why I despise this time of year—there are way too many cranky, irritable people shopping.

They shove, they yell, they threaten their kids with no Santa… ::shudder:: Today, I believe, is the day I shall swear off Wal-Mart forever—even though Target only sells the small bags of cat food that I use.