Virus, catalogs, why do we elect them, fiction marriage, adults only.

I got a virus Thursday. I know where I got it. I was surfing for images of Danica Patrick. Nothing smutty, I just think she’s an attractive woman who fits into the parameters that men have have for the woman of their dreams. I hit a site and it took a long time to load. I couldn’t cancel it, so I diminished it and went on about my business. I finished up on-line and was playing solitaire when my screen froze and I got a message from the Justice Department. They wanted me to go to WalMart, 7/11, or any one of a list of pharmacies and other outlets to pick up a cash card, load it with $300 and send them the card number. I’d been there before. It happened when I followed a link with the promise of racy pictures of some starlet du jour. I thought I’d stopped that. I shut down the computer, it was 1am. The next morning I called my IP and talked to Amy. A tech with an entrancing southern accent and a cheery manner that made me feel that stuff like this happened. They Roto-Rooted my system and I made a promise to myself to be more careful. The computer is quicker and I’ve decided to stay with the settings I’ve got. The time I spend clicking Favorites and going to Yahoo is better than just having it pop up. There’s another thing; I’ve ordered a new laptop on-line. Maybe, just maybe my trusty Dell senses retirement and doesn’t want to go gently into that night. Retirement isn’t that bad. A comfy backpack, no longer being submitted to my (occassional) temper tantrum when the cursor wanders or the word I’m typing winds up as part of another sentence is in the future. I’ve got a WiFi adapter and it’ll see action when the tablet is out of its league. There is an upside, I was so enamoured with Amy’s voice I’ve decided to use it in a story that’s been bouncing around my brain. It’s about a caller and a techie. Hijinks ensue.

I’m lookig at a major clearing out in the living room. It’s the catalogs, they’ve multiplied. I’ve ordered maybe ten items from catalogs and a bunch on-line. I know the source. What I want to know is who extrapolates the info and after ordering CDs and books I need a catalog from Duluth Trading Co., a purveyor of work pants, flannel shirts and fire hose pants. The last item I’m not sure about. I get Chef’s Catalog because I ordered a cast iron pizza pan from it. Harriet Carter, they were the source of some gimcrack that I needed at the time. I own up to the record catalogs, but catalogs devoted to British television? I’m a fan of the BBC, but I’ve never confessed it by buying the entire series of Dr Who. I get LL Bean but that is mandatory for people who live in New England. You know, what started out as a rant is turning into an analysis of what I’ve spent money on in the past. Yes, it make sense that I get some catalogs but Duluth Trading Co. still bugs me. One other issue, why do I keep them until I’ve got a nice pile tied in string before I toss them. I’ve got a clue on that, a paper drive, Boy Scouts and a rampart of bundled newspapers and magazines.

Why do we elect them? Last night I was watching The Rachel Maddow Show, yes I have liberal tendencies. She did a piece on Harry Reid (D-Nev) and his comments and proclamations on the fillibuster. I won’t explain that because if you’re reading this you probably don’t need a definition. The piece she did was on what Reid said over the years.

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of how she smells, looks etc.
There might be a bit of info that isn’t relevant to Harry Reid and the fillibuster. Please abide with it. Rachel makes sense. As a hopeful who wants the Libertarian Party rescues from the loony Right and made viable for the average voter. As I’ve said in the past the two party system is horribly flawed and we need a new option.

Thought up a story. It started with a couple in bed, the guy is white, he’s propositioning his black girlfriend of four years. She’s indifferent. She’s got reasons. He’s a horndog. He sells soft ware. He’s paired with a trainee who’s cute, white, kinda hippie. They hook up. The girl friend goes to the doctor to find out the reason for a dull ache in her right part of her back. She has tests. They keep secrets. They grow apart. There’s no good ending that I can come up with. The second story, a man is in the ER with a cut that’s dripping on the floor. He’s been BPed and temped. A stunning Indian physician appears at the entry to treatment. He can hear every male’s mind say “I’d do her now in front of God and everybody” in varying degrees of civility. She calls his name. As they walk to the treatment room he comments “Oh my”. There’s a description of how she smells, looks etc. She sews him up. After he gets instructions on care and feeding of a stitched wound. As they wind up, she asks, “What did you mean by ‘Oh my’?” He explains using “jaw-dropping, stunning” He’s got a problem he works with word at a local paper writing a city history column. He also has a potion of his brain that is unfiltered. He spaces. She asks what happens. He tells her about “flash fantasies”. The immediate ones concerning the both of them the examining table and the swivel chair, the other is that she’ll go out on a date with him. She takes this without slapping him. In fact she smiles. She asks why he hasn’t asked her out. He has a laundry list of reasons. She knocks down the points. As he walks out she gives him his prescription and a note. The note has her phone number, address and “Call me Wednsday after 5pm”. Again this story needs a lot of slogging to move it along. It hit me last Wednesday. Combine them. I had great descriptions, bits of business and I could avoid a really crappy ending.

Send the kiddies away, it’s “Adults Only” time. Bed bugs, I’ve fought them down to a small insugency. I’ve used “green” products including the ultimate green, sub zero temps. The bastards are still here. I don’t want to drain and fill the waterbed. Dustbusting the mattress every night and daily visitations to the washer and dryer are getting old. The fuckers have got to go. I’ve decided “Screw green, I’m going toxic.” I’m going on-line to hunt up a deadly solution to my problem. It may kill me but I’ll take those buggers with me. I’m willing to rethink this. If anyone has a fool-proof solution, you’ve got until midnight tonight to give me a solution. If not the web search will be implimented.

See you on Monday, maybe.