can we skip friday entirely?

I have this burning desire to write something, but I have absolutely nothing to say.  Maybe this is a cry for attention.  Or perhaps I’m just desperate for the last 20 minutes of my work day to be over, and need whatever distraction I can possibly get.

So…

What is Caro thinking right now?:

  • I could really get into this bento thing.
  • I love my car, Tyrtle, a little green Volkswagen Golf.  It is a wonderful car, except this morning it leaked on me.  It seems there is a broken seal around the moonroof, because when the S.O. braked, water from last night’s rain came streaming into my lap.  Good morning, Caro!  Fancy a shower?
  • I do not have enough money to warrant having such a bad case of the gimme-gimmes.
  • There need to be more games like GrowCube.
  • Speaking of growing, my job is growing on me.  Growing on me like mold on stale bread.
  • I can walk!
  • I am going home to a new dishwasher!  Though word around the cubicle is, the S.O. left the house and forgot to turn off the tap.  I may be going home to a flooded kitchen, too.
  • 4:21?  It’s only 4:21?  Arrrgh!
  • Finally, I just want to take a moment to thank Mr. Columbus for making the upcoming three-day weekend possible.  Now if it would only get here faster.

 

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my other ride is a succubus!

Good news:  I am mobile!  As in, walking!  As in, HURRAH!

And being that I’ve spent the last three weeks cooped up in the house with nowhere to go and nothing to do (unless it involves the world of Azeroth), I spent most of the weekend jumping for joy on my not-entirely-healed-but-getting-there foot.

Saturday:  “We needa go here!  And there!  And here!  And over there!  And oh, look!  Shopping!  Movies!  Shopping!  Assembling furniture!  Rearranging furniture!  Cleaning!  There here there here there here WEEHEEEEEEEE.”

Sunday:  “Owwwwww, why does my foot hurt so much?”

Very surprised the S.O. didn’t shoot me full of tranquilizers, or better yet, break my other foot.  But no, being the wonderful S.O. that he is, he mostly just tried to keep up with me in his quiet, humble way.

In any case, it was a good weekend, full of movement.  And walking.  And did I mention the walking?  Grand.

In other exciting news, we’re getting a dishwasher.  One of those portable/convertible ones, on wheels.  This is particularly exciting because currently the only portable dishwasher in the house is yours truly (and I haven’t exactly been portable for the last few weeks!).  So, I’m being replaced by a GE Nautilus on Thursday, and we are purposely letting the dishes pile up in the sink until then, because what fun is a new dishwasher if you don’t have dirty dishes to wash?  That’s what I’m telling myself, anyhow.

Not Your Average Family Portrait
Mmm, Shiny Dead Things

And finally, it wouldn’t truly be an update unless I talked about WoW, would it?

My guild made its first attempt on Hakkar a week or so ago, and we killed him on the second try.  This was a particularly big accomplishment for us, since we’ve been running Zul’Gurub for over a year now – we can finally say we’ve cleared it.  Our recent success had us acting all, “C’mon Blizzard!  Why dontcha throw something hard our way for once, eh?  BRING IT!”

And then, there was Ragnaros.  Back to the drawing board, guild!

Meanwhile, Cyspar ventured into Dire Maul last night with a group of familiar faces:  Mom’s mage, Dad’s priest, the S.O.’s druid, a guild tank and myself.  The family that plays WoW together dies mercilessly together… many, many times.  Our objective:  To attempt Cyspar’s epic Dreadsteed quest.

Much glass chewing ensued, mostly because I’d forgotten how hard it is to run 5-man instances when you’re not outfitted in epics.  Situations that would be a piece of cake for Sheara are near-deadly for Cyspar.  It doesn’t help that I’m still not used to playing a DPS class instead of a healer – I spent most of the run watching health bars go up and down, and panicking when the tank dropped below 20%.  “Oh crap!  Gotta heal him!   Bandage, bandage, banda… oh, wait, we have a priest.  And a druid.  Right.  Throw a freakin’ shadow bolt now and again, won’t you?”

In the end, we succeeded… barely.  We survived the summoning ritual – waves upon waves of imps and big ugly demons – and defeated the dreadsteed itself, but died at the stinky feet of his ugly demon companion.  The entire thing had me shrieking obscenities at my laptop while the S.O. looked on in something that came precariously close to amusement (but he knows better than to admit it).  Thankfully we were able to run back as a group and defeat the big guy, and now Cyspar has a flaming, pointy, demon-horsey.  Rawr!

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