thewhitelily: (Lily)
Yay, I have solved a major plot problem.

This is better, this is perfect, this makes sense of everything, both narratively and structurally, and this stupid scene that hasn't been working for me?  Poof!  It's awesome now!  AND I've got worldbuildy threads to pick up later for a couple of other bare scenes I know are coming up.  Things that make me build this world up more are veeery very good.

Of course, it means some rewriting but not actually that much, just tweaking a couple of mediocre scenes one chapter back in ways that should actually make them better, and maybe sliding a little more worldbuiding in earlier on my next pass.  The research I had to do to get to this point also meant I got to spend last night's approximately biannual date night debating awesome sci-fi concepts with Hubby, which was great fun since we're both massive geeks and... well, the way we get when we're talking about this kind of stuff?  Well, there are many, many reasons he's the love of my life, but this is definitely one of them.  :)

High five, Brain.
thewhitelily: (Lily)
"No, no, you haven't seen the system. I put the plate--"
"But look, then it interferes with this plate here!"
"You haven't seen the system!"
"Oh, I've seen the system, many times, and had to deal with the consequences!
"I put the plate here, and the chopping board here, and then the next plate goes here."
"And look, none of these get water on them, and you can't fit plates on the other side and it takes twice as long to sort the all out when you unload it."
"But look!  If you have a saucepan like, say, oh look, a saucepan!  You can fit it right here!"
"But not all the dinner plates."
"Minor detail."

"What is this?  Where is the box?!  It's like you and the oil bottle!  I mean, how hard is it, you use the oil, you put the cap back on, then we never have this problem!"

"But that section is always full by the end of the day!  The only thing loading the bread and butter plates like that in the morning means, is that I can't grab a stack of plates and load them with one hand going (machine gun sound)."
"Well, I never do that, I just put them in one by one."
"I know."
"Otherwise, you couldn't thoroughly rinse each one before you--"
"I know!"
"Look, I'm not saying we don't end up at the same place, I'm just denying it's--"
"You're dragging me down to your level!"
"Well, it gives us something in common!"
"... what, like, Breakfast at Tiffany's? *singing*
Well, I said, what about, loading-the-dishwasher-incredibly-slowly?
She said, I think I, remember-how-annoying-that-was!
Well, I dunno, I said, I always kinda liked it,
She said, well that's why, we ended here!!!"
"That is why we ended up here!"

"I don't like to complain, is all I'm saying.  I'd rather you put plates in the dishwasher at all, despite--"
"Well, there's no danger of that stopping."
"--so don't hold back is what you're saying?--despite your completely insane packing system!"

"You know, if it weren't for this physical metaphor of our entire relationship, people might imagine we were alarmingly compatible."
"Crazy, isn't it?"

NB: I don't think either of us stopped laughing about how much it really didn't matter the whole time.  The fact is, we have a kickarse dishwasher that will wash things pretty much any way.  But there's ways and ways, okay?  Right ways.  And wrong ways.  Guess which way is Hubby's.
thewhitelily: (Default)
Hubby: I'm just on the last beer, so I'll head off to the liquor barn in a few minutes. Anything else we need?
Lily: Hmmm... Well, we've only just started in on that latest cask of my red, but it's always nice to have a backup. Oh, and I'm going to a party tomorrow night, so I should probably bring along a fourpack of girlie drinks.
Hubby: Sure. Oh, we're nearly out of my white, too - do you think we should try a cask rather than bottles?
[boring conversation about corks vs screwtops vs casks removed]
Hubby: Hey, how's the vodka doing? I know we used quite a bit that other night... ah, we should be okay, there's over half a bottle left - but if it's on special, I might as well.
Lily: Oh, that reminds me! We're completely out of Cassis - we finished it off that other night drinking Cosmos.
Hubby: ... should I make a list?

*grin* All evidence aside, no alcoholics live in our house. Enjoy drinking in moderation, kiddies.

Unless it's Cosmopolitan Night, in which case, go to town!
thewhitelily: (Default)
Hubby and I are unwinding an argument at the moment.

Last night, after an entire day of having snide comments made about me or to me, or grunting silences returned to my conversational attempts or outright anger greeting my reasonable propositions, I snapped, spent half an hour crying, and went to bed early.

This morning, I was still feeling horrible and hurt and confused, and it was stupid to feel so bad about something that was all his fault anyway. So I started yelling at him, the accusations getting more and more outrageous until he snapped in return, and started yelling back.

Hurrah! We're finally getting somewhere!

Sound strange? )

The problem will now be solved: this lunchtime, I will mop. Hubby will be happy and feel that his work was properly appreciated, I will stop being randomly snapped at and not apologised to, we will both stop holding grudges against one another for the perceived slights of the last couple of days, and the floor will finally be clean.

Still, wouldn't it have been easier just to tell me that he was annoyed because I hadn't mopped the floor yet?
thewhitelily: (Default)
If you have a nasal congestion including runny nose and blocked sinuses to the point where it's very obvious in your voice and aggravating everyone around you with your incessent, disgusting, drawn out sniffing - assuming you have no actual allergies or other reasons for staying away from medication - and assuming that the tablets of nasal decongestent are right in front of you, brought by your frustrated colleague who is forced to remain in the room with you... why would you refuse to take the them and relieve not only your own discomfort, but that of those around you?

Is it a male thing? Some kind of macho "I'm not sick, I just like to drive everyone nuts and complain a lot"? Or is it just that Mummy didn't teach him to blow his nose when he was little and so he sees no problem with snivelling his way through every day until he's better again?

Gaargh. I know I'm probably overreacting, because I have an unusually low tolerance for biological sounds - I get driven into a homicidal rage by the sound of someone eating an apple - corn chips and crunchy pizza reheated in the oven are of the devil, and woe betide anyone who slurps a hot drink nearby me, but...

AAARGH! STOP SNIVELLING AND JUST TAKE THE DARN DRUGS, HUBBY!!@!@$@!
thewhitelily: (Default)
When I was little, I always said I wanted to have a family business, because it seemed that my parents could always take enough time off when appropriate to go on a proper holiday - they'd just close up the building business for that long!

Of course, I didn't realise that it's actually more to do with what the business is doing than who's doing it.

*sigh*

Hubby's just left for work, for the fourth time this weekend. It's 11pm on Sunday night, and if he doesn't go, a client in South Africa will go without a fix for the problem they've encountered - and then when his dad (Teh Boss) gets to SA to help said client demonstrate our product to a possible new Uber Client, there won't be good things to show. A client is in trouble - enter Super!Hubby!

Is it any wonder he suffers from a stress-related illness?

On Friday, Teh Boss comes back and takes over operations again. On Friday, we leave for our first holiday together in three years. Hopefully, it'll be the first of many. Hopefully, given his favourite holiday activity if we don't leave the state is going in to work, Hubby can decide that travelling and getting some sort of break is less stressful than being at work at midnight on Sunday night.

Hopefully.

Perfection

Jan. 27th, 2007 12:26 am
thewhitelily: (Default)
With all the little annoyances of day to day life, it’s easy to forget sometimes how happy I really am.

There are things that could be better in my life – I could do without the sudden resurgence of Hubby’s illness, and his frequently recurring temper tantrums – I could do with being able to stop work and write full time or just, you know, whenever I feel like it – I could do without insomnia or losing vast quantities of weight every time I stop paying attention to what I eat – I could do with having forty-three hours in each day – I could do without the extra stress of worrying about the judges who are yet to appear at the Orions – I could do with some more rain to stop my garden looking so crispy – I could do without feeling like the hunchback of Notre Dame whenever I see a photo of myself – I could do with being a fair bit further into paying off the mortgage.

Life isn’t perfect, and I doubt it ever will be, even if all those things are handed to me on a platter.

But the fact remains, I am totally, absurdly, ridiculously happy with my life.

This simple fact occurred to me this evening, lying on the bottom of the pool, staring up through the expanse of water at the blurry stars.

It hasn’t been an especially unusual day apart from being a Friday where I didn’t have to work. The in-laws had been over for a barbecue for Australia Day. I’d spent a few happy hours preparing delectable (and barbecuable) delights to serve up, I’d blackmailed Hubby into vacuuming and then mopped the floor where the tiles had started growing mould, I’d finally sat down when the guests arrived and spent an evening of pleasant conversation on the patio, realised with some regret I’d forgotten to make a pavlova, seen everyone off and finished up the dishes, then gone to have a dip before bed.

And I lay on the bottom of the pool, just short of neutral buoyancy, pinching my nose shut to avoid getting a lungful of the water which has just hit thirty degrees, thinking... does it get any better than this?

I don’t know. But this’ll certainly do until something better comes along.
thewhitelily: (Default)
Approximately ten seconds ago, Hubby appeared at the door of my study.

“What do you do in your spare time, [Hubby]?” he asked himself rhetorically.

Intrigued by the mundane question, I looked over to realise that he was looking rather more like Michelangelo’s David than is entirely appropriate for me to describe in a PG rated journal.

“Well,” he answered himself, once he’d got my attention, “sometimes I read, sometimes I play computer games, and sometimes I just like to get nude and install a new firewall.”

Then he wandered off to do just that.
thewhitelily: (Default)
For your personal edification, I thought I'd transcribe a conversation Hubby's currently having on the phone with Teh Boss, on the other side of the desk from me.

The phone's tucked up under his shoulder as he continues programming, totally unhindered by the conversation. This is why:

Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Yep.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Mmmm.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Uhuh.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Yep.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Sure.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Mmmm.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Mmmhmmm.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Mmmm.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Yep.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Uhuh.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Yep.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Okay.
Boss: [inaudible]
                           Hubby: Mmmm.

All right, I'm getting bored of following this thing.

Actually, I'm getting bored of it going on in the same universe with me, let alone the same room.

I don't know what they're talking about, but SOMEBODY PLEASE LET ME OUT OF THIS OFFICE!!!
thewhitelily: (Default)
It occurs to me that I've probably had more poetry written for me than most other girls around. In the first couple of years of our relationship, Hubby felt that the appropriate compensation for having to spend more than twenty-four or so hours out of email contact was a poem - sometimes more than one - which sounds sickeningly romantic until one realises the exact nature of these poems.

I've kept them all, of course, and while procrastinating today, I came across the whole collection. Here's one that I consider possibly one of the most romantic of them - and that mainly because it was a takeoff of a top forty song of the time.

Win2K Box (to the tune of Wheatus's Teenage Dirtbag) )

*brain implodes* To all of you who doubted my previous tale of Hubby's extreme geekhood: the proof is in the poetry.

As far as my reinstall goes... gaaargh, it doesn't. It turns out it wasn't a problem with the installation being screwed up at all. (Haha! Windows is VINDICATED!!) It's just that my hard drive's bad in a number of places, and has been getting slowly worse and worse. Since I hadn't run scandisk, like I should have, we only discovered halfway through reformatting, and now I have to wait for my replacement hard drive to arrive in the mail before getting my machine back again. *shakes fist*

Still... the end is in sight. In the meantime my laptop is completely out of commission. Fortunately, I've managed to resurrect my old laptop, so... I'm still around. If slightly more slowly.

[/procrastination over actually writing fic *shakes fist at the Smallville Scene which is Still Not Behaving*]
thewhitelily: (Default)
My husband has recently reminded me of the answer to this very question.

This is a PG rated story. )

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