Horny Miss Titties

Having just finished the rough for a website template I need to present to a client tomorrow, I decided to take a break and have a little snack. (Given the hours I keep, this is roughly suppertime for me.) Anyway, as I was eating, I watched a bit of TV.

Roberto Benigni’s The Monster (Il Mostro) is playing on Radio-Canada as I write. I can’t stand Roberto Benigni, but I watched anyway. I watched as he was going on to a friend about this woman who supposedly goes naked around him all the time. And that reminded me of my story about Horny Miss Titties.

This happened one summer’s morning more than 10 years ago. I remember because I was living in my funky bachelor apartment in South End Halifax at the time, and I was expecting one of my Atlantis proofreaders to arrive at any minute. In fact, when there was a knock on my door, I thought it was my proofreader; however, it was my neighbour from across the hall. She had just locked herself out of her apartment and wondered if she could use my phone to get a hold of the building’s superintendent or a locksmith. I didn’t know her other than to say hello, but surely I didn’t mind letting her into my humble abode.

She made her calls, and she was told that she should wait where she was, that is, my apartment …if I didn’t mind. Of course I didn’t! So we sat at my sectional sofa and engaged in small talk. But then I started to realize that something was just a bit more than off colour.

She was wearing a loose, short t-shirt and tended to lift her arms way up over her head. At first I wasn’t sure if she realized it, but each time she did that, I would get a full view of her bare tits. I suspect I probably blushed, all the while pretending I wasn’t noticing, and that was obviously all the encouragement she needed. At one point I wanted to burst out laughing, for it was clear she wasn’t clueing in on how she didn’t understand her audience.

Anyway, at one point she asked if she could use my washroom. When she came back to the sofa, she resumed her little flashing game. Of course THIS was the day my proofreader was running a bit late and therefore not knocking at my door to “rescue” me, so to speak. However, finally the superintendent arrived and Horny Miss Titties went on her way.

Moments later, my proofreader arrived. She could tell I was rather frazzled, so I told her about the incident with Horny Miss Titties. And when I told her the part about Miss Titties asking to use the washroom, she started to laugh.

— You really don’t get chicks, do you!”

I just looked at her and said nothing. I was amused and confused since obviously I was missing something that would have been glaring to a straight guy.

— Checking out the washroom is a classic move,” my proofreader finally explained. “She was trying to figure out if you’re single and living alone based on the number of toothbrushes, towels on the go…”

— Oh my god, you’re kidding!” And I started to laugh, too.

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Meanwhile, My Big Fat Swedish Neighbour downstairs is having a loud but good ol’ time tonight. He’s been fucking this chick on and off since about 9:30 this evening. And of course, since I hear him all the time when he’s alone, you can be sure I’m hearing every bang and moan tonight!

Listen… I don’t begrudge him getting a little ass. But overhearing him tonight might be funny if I didn’t hear him whenever he’s home. I can’t wait for him to return to work in Europe for x months.

Anyway, back to work I go…

Light Foot

I just came back from the corner store, where I picked up 2 litres of milk — essential for the coffee as I work. I decided to wear my Docs instead of my big winter boots, which was a first since mid-December. And I was struck by how light my feet felt as I climbed back up to my third-floor walk-up.

To think there can be times of year when I would do this climb in sandals…

Geek’s Break

You might want to check out what or whom Bush Whacker is up to on this, the day of her Big 3-0!

As for me, I can’t even begin to tell you how deep in coding hell I am right now. I have one client breathing down my neck, although I actually can’t blame them at this point. Right now I’m concentrating on a bug in something I coded nearly a year ago. The problem is related, albeit indirectly, to the code I’m having to produce for the above-mentioned client. If I don’t fix this bug, there’ll be a nasty domino effect on the new code. What I’m finding challenging at this point is that, despite being pretty good at commenting my code as I write it, I still can’t quite figure out tiny little passages here and there. I could also kick myself for having done some things one way rather than another last year, but then that wouldn’t accomplish much.

This is to say that I fear there won’t be much that’s amusing at aMMusing in the coming days. I always have my head in code, but then I get into phases, like now, when I get swallowed by it. And that doesn’t make for entertaining blog entries.

Oh, there was a major fire yesterday about a mile down the street from where I live. Four buildings gone; several businesses destroyed and quite a few people homeless. To make matters even worse for these poor people is that we’re in the middle of another mass of Arctic air. Anyway, this fire was next door and across the street from two of Halifax’s three gay bars, which are on a street that has been on a steep decline for a few decades now.

Anxiety Attack (Complete with Rant)

Okay, I admit it: I’m having an anxiety attack.

I was playing around in Movable Type and figured out that part of its “Upload File” function relies on the ImageMagick module. Fair enough: I started reading about ImageMagick in relation to PHP because that would be something I’d need to integrate into my TextStyleM system. In other words, I would want to take an image a user has uploaded and, like in MT, allow the user to resize that image proportionately to create a thumbnail. But 5 hours later, I’m no closer to understanding image creation with ImageMagick or PHP. In fact, I’m more confused than I was when I started because now I have all these strange bits of incomprehensible code floating around in my head.

I’m too far into the development of TextStyleM to throw in the towel. In fact, that’s the last thing I want to do. But this is a rather odd place for me to be. I mean …I’m an editor by trade, not a programmer! I understand English and French pretty well. But geekspeak, I must say, not only goes over my head, but also irritates the hell out of me.

I do have to wonder why I keep doing this, and why I still can’t imagine myself doing anything else at this point of my life. I think the answer might be that I feel such a thrill when I finally do figure something out and it works exactly as it’s supposed to work 100 percent of the time.

I’m also stubborn. I don’t want to back down from a challenge, even though that challenge was probably fit for a team of two or three people rather than a solo act like my own. Plus, like some people I know, I’m probably being too hard on myself.

The Love of a Son

My mother isn’t one to send a lot of joke e-mails. When she does, she picks the good ones. Like this one (which I’m having to translate from French although I’m sure it was originally in English)…

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An old man who lived alone in Idaho wanted to plant his potatoes in his garden, but this task was far too difficult for him because he had to turn the soil. Usually his only son, Bubba, would give him a hand, but he couldn’t because he was in jail. So the old man wrote his son a letter, in which he described his dilemma.

Dear Bubba:

I’m feeling very unhappy, for it looks like I won’t be able to plant the potatoes in the garden this year. I’m too old to work the soil. If you were here, all my problems would be solved. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind working the soil for me.

Love,
Dad

A few days later, the old man received a letter from his son:

Dear Dad,

For heaven’s sake, don’t go digging in the garden, that’s where I buried the BODIES!

Love,
Bubba

At 4 o’clock the next morning, FBI agents and the local police stormed the old man’s house and started digging in the garden, but they found no body. Perplexed, they apologized to the old man and left. The same day, the old man received another letter from his son.

Dear Dad,

Go ahead now and plant your potatoes. It’s the best I can do under the circumstances.

Love,
Bubba