foot-salad surgery
I was supposed to have had foot surgery yesterday. Having not eaten or drank anything since midnight, I felt extremely hungry & thirsty by the time we arrived at same-day-surgery, in Car-girl's car. After they had me all prepped for surgery, Trish & I waited a long time before the nurse came in to tell us that there'd been a delay, because some of the hardware hadn't been delivered, due to the Labor Day holiday.
Once we left the operating room, both of us being hungry & thirsty, we ate at the hospital cafeteria. I had nuggets, mac-&-cheese & some corn, though Trish also insisted on buying me some peanuts.
Car-girl couldn't be reached by phone, so we finally called on Fred's Taxi. Having not-taken Abilify that morning, I felt depressed all afternoon. Then we have bozos from Scientology who'd really complicate things by having everyone off everything.
We re-watched Halloween; not terribly profound, in my opinion, then ate some leftover noodle-stuff, after a period of silence. (God & I need to get some new CDs, fast.)
I invited Jeffer Auss over, who, apparently in spite of his non-descoobied lifestyle, didn't seem to remember how fraked up the Skiffy sound was. It seemed for awhile he was agreeing with the tech, but... it did the same thing with a digital cable box as it did with an old VCR, so the problem has to be theirs.
So today will be the last chance I have to begin anew on GCF. All the crits are in, mostly to the effect of there's too much techno-babble (but yeah but gee-whiz, the story revolves around it) & the literal deus ex machina ending doesn't work.
Some real stupid rude ignorant bitch did send in a "review" which deliberately poked fun at my writing, & offered no advice on how to change it -- she implied that the story was hopeless. If so, why did Stan Schmidt return it with a comment? I must be doing something right, & it's a lot more than this dildo is capable of.
I commented on this Thing's crit that "It's hard to take seriously someone who can't even spell the story title & author's name right." Predictably, the bitch sent a note back, complaining "it's hard to take seriously someone who doesn't catch typos (yeah, one) & inconsistencies..." & she's still fraked in the head, for thinking she has even one iota of intelligence or the ability to make a sale to a pro market.
Rather than replying to the dipshit, I simply forwarded it to aburt, with a note saying that I believe it violates the diplomacy standard in a couple places. If he doesn't do anything, I will see that she receives some choicely-written words.
But for right now, I'm more concerned with trying to turn GCF into the best story possible. Critters have helped me with this. Other Critters. Not some dumbass who doesn't know how to spell. Or write.
Finally, the doctor came in, & said, "They sent us the wrong part". I've rescheduled for Friday.
I'm also being jerked around quite a bit by the insurance over my sleep medicine. The doctor tried to put me on Ambien-CR, but CommunityCareRX wants me on Lunesta instead -- ever hear of practicing medicine without a license?
The weather is still hot & dry, but is supposed to start cooling down soon.
Once we left the operating room, both of us being hungry & thirsty, we ate at the hospital cafeteria. I had nuggets, mac-&-cheese & some corn, though Trish also insisted on buying me some peanuts.
Car-girl couldn't be reached by phone, so we finally called on Fred's Taxi. Having not-taken Abilify that morning, I felt depressed all afternoon. Then we have bozos from Scientology who'd really complicate things by having everyone off everything.
We re-watched Halloween; not terribly profound, in my opinion, then ate some leftover noodle-stuff, after a period of silence. (God & I need to get some new CDs, fast.)
I invited Jeffer Auss over, who, apparently in spite of his non-descoobied lifestyle, didn't seem to remember how fraked up the Skiffy sound was. It seemed for awhile he was agreeing with the tech, but... it did the same thing with a digital cable box as it did with an old VCR, so the problem has to be theirs.
So today will be the last chance I have to begin anew on GCF. All the crits are in, mostly to the effect of there's too much techno-babble (but yeah but gee-whiz, the story revolves around it) & the literal deus ex machina ending doesn't work.
Some real stupid rude ignorant bitch did send in a "review" which deliberately poked fun at my writing, & offered no advice on how to change it -- she implied that the story was hopeless. If so, why did Stan Schmidt return it with a comment? I must be doing something right, & it's a lot more than this dildo is capable of.
I commented on this Thing's crit that "It's hard to take seriously someone who can't even spell the story title & author's name right." Predictably, the bitch sent a note back, complaining "it's hard to take seriously someone who doesn't catch typos (yeah, one) & inconsistencies..." & she's still fraked in the head, for thinking she has even one iota of intelligence or the ability to make a sale to a pro market.
Rather than replying to the dipshit, I simply forwarded it to aburt, with a note saying that I believe it violates the diplomacy standard in a couple places. If he doesn't do anything, I will see that she receives some choicely-written words.
But for right now, I'm more concerned with trying to turn GCF into the best story possible. Critters have helped me with this. Other Critters. Not some dumbass who doesn't know how to spell. Or write.
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