Chaos Attraction

Shopping Queen

2003-03-05, 6:30 p.m.

I got some incredibly good news yesterday: the head of my department sent an e-mail around saying that as far as he was concerned, there weren't going to be layoffs of any career staff and it was not up for discussion. We get to have a meeting discussing the issue next week (I'm sure the entire office is all, *gulp* at that thought, but we knew it was coming), and that doesn't necessarily mean I won't get a big pay/hours cut, but hey, at least I will probably stay employed. Woo fucking hoo!


Some amusing gossip from the vampire game (like anyone cares, I know) lately. Apparently, there was a ton of cheating going on at the last game, and it is debateable as to whether or not the so-called cheaters were actually cheating. So how does someone cheat at this, you're wondering? Hell, I was wondering myself. I will attempt to explain this one as best I can.

Nobody's allowed to do anything physical in role playing. Instead, if they want to do something or other to your character, they have to bid on it. Everyone makes up a list of traits for their character and then bids one. For example, "I am brutal enough to kick you in the ass!" vs. "I am graceful enough to dodge your kick!" Then they play Rock Paper Scissors to see who wins. The winner gets to kick or not be kicked, whichever.

Okay, that's the simple explanation. The complicated problem that came up that night was involving a mass challenge. Imagine a bunch of people doing RPS on everyone else, with a storyteller (think referee, in this case) going around keeping track of what everyone said they were going to do to someone else after RPS was done.

In this case, Dave and Nikki's characters had been plotting to go after somebody that night, but called it off. Said character was not supposed to know about it, but the guy playing the character did in real life. They do not know if the guy used out-of-character info or figured it out in game, but either way he sent a mob after them, hence the mass challenge. Dave called me at midnight on Sunday royally pissed and about ready to quit playing because some people in this, after hearing that D&N planned to run for the back door, went and changed what they were going to do so they could catch them. The storyteller allowed it.

Anyway, both D&N's characters are close to death and will stay that way unless a bigshot intervenes, and they're all mad about it. Now I hear that some folks are about ready to start their own game, which has a distinctly unusual and funky premise so far. Frankly, I hope they do and pull it off, as if I'm going to end up going to these things, I'd prefer to go somewhere where the folks in charge actually DO something or other so that the players have something to do besides stand around and look pretty.


I find this thread rather sad. I'm going to restrain myself from saying much about this since every woman alive automatically wants to beat my ass if I say anything un-stereotypically-womanly lately, but really, is wifehood really ONLY about if you cook and clean for your husband so he never has to lift a finger at home, STILL? (And yes, I realize given the place I found this at, I should expect this kind of attitude.)


Much to my amusement, I got a phone call from the annual fund people the other night. I had an interesting time comparing and contrasting the spiel Dave has to give for doing a similar job to theirs. They are sticking freshman on the job here, and it was rather obvious as to what parts were on the script (lots of pleasant "oh, that's great" comments, repeated comments about my double major, asking if I'd been to the Chi-Chi-Foo-Foo-Rich-People-Only New Theatre yet or went to campus events), versus the "well, just get into chatting with them about college life" bit. And then, eventually, the $1000 pitch *choke* I ended up pledging $20 just because I felt guilty after hearing Dave gripe like every single day about this sort of thing at work. Rather wish I hadn't now, but boy, are they rabid to get money out of me. I got called at work the next day to find out why I'd given them a different address instead of my "home" one. Oy.


And speaking of spending money, I spent an absolute shitload yesterday. I am ashamed of myself. Here's how my downfall went:

(a) Got a bug up my ass yesterday to check around online and see if the new Kage Baker Company book had come out yet, as I am rabid to find out what happens to Mendoza in the "next" book. You'll note the "quotes" there because it turns out there is a new book out, but it's not the followup to Mendoza in Hollywood- it's a collection of all the Company short stories she's written, filling in details. I never even knew this was out! It's been out since September and I have yet to see it in a bookstore. I snapped and had to get it. Though I must admit that even with shipping costs, it still cost me a few bucks less via Amazon than it would have at a bookstore. And about half of the stories in this book are offered for the Palm online that I'd been thinking about getting, but this way at least I haven't paid $7 for the stories and then over $20 for the book with the rest of them.

(b) Hill wanted to go out last night- she was looking for a special kind of keychain for work she didn't find. We wandered into a movie store at one point and she said "Let's go look for anything Daria." I have a Daria tape of four episodes I got one Christmas and have been wondering if any others existed since. Lo and behold, "Is It College Yet?" is out on DVD. I went rabid again and had to get it, since it's rare to see Daria for sale anyplace. It also came with a few extra episodes, which made me quite sad that I haven't gotten to see more of the later episodes of the series. I heart Daria. She's my celebrity lookalike.

(c) Rent was due.

(d) And the worst one of all, dinner. Given the price of gas around here, Hill said if we went out of town that I'd have to help pay for the gas. (She does not get paid until Friday.) Okay, fine, but I didn't have enough splittable cash on me at the time. Okay, fine, so you pay for my dinner instead.

I admit, it was all my fault for picking TGI Friday's. On Mardi Gras night. And getting (what turned out to be $7- no prices listed on beverages) drinks. Suffice it to say I about choked when confronted with the bill. I left probably about half of the tip I'm "supposed to" leave, but dammit, it was already over $40 and I hadn't remotely expected to have to pay that much. I was really rather pissed, but it was way too late by then to do anything about it. Of course she didn't offer to throw any in, not that I expected her to with no paychecks and since I'd said I would. This is what happens when out of all my friends (except Jackie, who seems to be loaded enough to go on a cruise- then again, I don't think she ever has to pay rent or food when she lives with relatives), I am the one that makes the most money. I don't feel like I can ask them to cough up more when they don't have it.


And in a final bit of "oh joy"-type news, I get to go home this weekend, oh goodie goodie goodie. Turns out that I had an eye doctor appointment scheduled for this weekend that I had no idea about. (Mom: "I thought it was for next weekend." Thanks for mentioning that.) So I get to be trapped at home and fighting. Not that I had any better plans, mind you. And I might get to come back Saturday night since I claimed I had to do laundry very badly and Mom objected to me bringing mine home to do. I'll believe it when I'm back, though.

Come to think of it, going home for a weekend is the cheapest possible way for me to spend a weekend these days. They pay for everything but my train ticket, and the kitchen is stocked. At my apartment alone is the next cheapest route, but how much I'm going to end up spending is dicey. If Hill's out a lot or not in the mood to do stuff, I usually don't spend anything. If she's home and is, then there's spending going on for one or two meals plus whatever shopping.

Next most expensive is going to Dave's. We theoretically can eat at his place, but any meals other than dinner are usually our problem, and there's hardly any food there unless we hit the convenience store. And then there's social life- there's a lot to do there IF it can be afforded AND we can get there. Sometimes we get to places and drop a lot of money on clubbing or bowling or movies or whatever, other weekends we sit at home and are bored off our asses. The worst, sadly to say, is my place when Dave's here though. Not only is there the issue of my lack of cooking talent, there's stuff we can do here that we can actually get to.

What a pain, huh?


Not looking forward to going home. Not much wanting to deal with Hill saying "If you don't call all the banks during lunch today and FIND THAT ACCOUNT, I will kick your ass" last night either. Dammit, it is NOT MY MONEY. Not really. I don't think I'm entitled to it.

I think I have figured out where this whole thing came from. This account thing started right around when Dad first got the disease. He had to retire about six months after diagnosis (January of my first year of college). They never bothered me about money for the taxes at the start- not that they could have gotten any out of me anyway, mind you. In the years since I started getting paid for work, they've wanted me to pay part of it. Now they want me to pay everything. Why the sudden change? I'm guessing that with Dad getting worse and worse and Mom making around the same money as me, they can't afford to at all and that's why they're sticking it on me. (I doubt they'd admit this if asked, though. We Do Not Discuss Money.)

If they'd just pay all the taxes on it, I wouldn't give a shit if it was in my name or not!

I pick my battles. Actually, I choose to pick NO battles at all. Is that so wrong to want to live my life without fights whenever possible?

I don't know how to argue and win. I haven't the faintest. As far as I know, arguing is all about who has the most power and ability to scare others with. Whoever has the most of that wins. I have no power or intimidation ability to win with, so I don't see the point of even trying any more. When I've tried standing up to people, I feel like a baby mouse yelling up at a human, (tiny font) "You can't do that to me!" The human's reaction, of course, is a big laugh at how utterly ridiculous I sound, a boot stomp, and an "Of course I can!"


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