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Going For Broke I am broke. I was stressing out about it, but I took a pill, and now I don't care anymore. In fact, I'm totally fine with it. I'm just thinking about all the cool things I can do with no money!

Stare in restaurant windows at people eating and make them uncomfortable.

Chase the cat with the vacuum.

Extol the virtues of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

Clean the kitchen floor, all the while wondering where the singing mice and birdies are.

Watch TV shows On Demand. Because I am nothing, if not demanding.

Teach the dog to sing.

Try to make my computer games work with Windows Vista until it makes me weep.

Meditate on the meaning of hockey. Try to catch Cheese-its in my mouth.

Chase the cat again, while vacuuming up Cheese-its.

Yell at my bank manager for screwing everything up, even though it's not her fault.

Lie around like a lump.

Sit smugly in my house while everyone fights rush hour in the rain.

Read comic books.

I better get busy, I have alot to do.
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 2:07 PM No comments: Links to this post Labels: Broke, free things to do, things to do with no money


Calling Names Well, lately, since I've been working from home, I haven't had to deal with people as much. At least, not face-to-face. Which is a good thing, in my case, since I tend to not like people very much. I do go into the office on Mondays, though, and while I was in yesterday, I noticed that I have a habit of naming the people that I see alot, but don't know by name.
Some of the nicknames are innocuous, like "Mail room Lady", or "Boss Guy." Others are more indicative of my prejudices. My office has some interesting characters. There's the woman who always smokes outside of the smoking area. I call her "Rules Don't Apply to me."
The guy who hasn't changed his haircut since 1st grade is "Little Boy Hair."
There are a couple of guys that I can't even tell apart, who like the long hair with beard look. I call them "The Bearded Ladies."
The person I most try to avoid is the non-stop talker I've named "Please Pay Attention to me." I may strangle her one fine day.
There's a group of gay girls who work down in the mail room. I know them, collectively, as "The Downstairs Dykes". They include "Dude, Where's My Neck?", "Stretch", and "Short & Sweet".
Then there's the overly smug silver-haired guy, "Look How Smart I am", the false bravado of "Insecurity Guy", and the political demagogue "Listen To Me."
Other male characters include "Too Good For This Place", "Parties Too Hard", "The Clueless Kid", "Overcompensation Man", and "Stuck In The 60's."
And let's not forget the women - "Yes, I Am A Bitch", "One Day I'm Gonna Kill You All", "You Will Respect Me", and "Please Be My Friend."
I guess my nickname should be "Judging You All."
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 7:41 AM 1 comment: Links to this post Labels: judging others unfairly, nicknames



Oracle of Bacon - Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. This is a fun site.

Alien Abductees - Alien abduction experiences and research. OK then.

Holy Taco - One of my favorite quirky, cool sites.

Geocaching - Treasure hunting via GPS.

Infiltration - Urban exploration. Cool idea, kinda spooky. I like that.

Best of Craig's List - Angry, bitter, foolish people post weird stuff on Craig's List. Gotta love it!

Geeks of Doom - All things Geeky. A must see.

The Tortellini - Bites of Law and Politics, with Sauce. Very interesting stuff.

{dŭm’ăs-ə-fō’bē-ə} - A guy after my own bitter heart.
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 11:52 AM No comments: Links to this post Labels: cool links


Losing The Edge

OK, so, here's the problem: I'm not myself lately. I've...lost my edge. I haven't wanted to punch hardly anyone in weeks. Well, except the people in front of me in traffic, I can always count on them. Oh, and those assholes at AIG. And Ann Coulter, Rush Limbaugh and their ilk. Yeah, and myself, kinda, because I continue to be baffled by my checking account, and it turns out they charge for cluelessness. And whatever programming tool at Fox that moved Terminator to Fridays. But hardly anyone else.
Maybe it's the meds messing with me. It could be that my personal life is humming along pretty well. I have the strangest feeling lately. I smile at people. I say, "Hello" to strangers. I know what it is, I've seen it before in Disney movies. I'm just embarrassed to say it. It's all so different and out of character for me, and I'm not sure what to do with it. Alright, here it is: I'm....I think that I might be......happy...ish. I mean, I'm not angry, or bitter, or cynical, or any of the other stuff that makes me who I am. Well, it's probably temporary, but it's f***ing with my head.
Does anyone know how this sh*t works?
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 7:41 AM 3 comments: Links to this post Labels: anger, bitterness, happiness, meds


Greedy Bastards at AIG There's an excellent piece on the AIG debacle by Matt Miller on The Daily Beast today. Those guys are throwing gas on the fire that's raging through our economy. These robber barons of the new millennium really don't get it, do they? They already have millions of dollars, and they want to take more from us?! Way to call bullsh*t, Matt!
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 11:43 AM No comments: Links to this post Labels: AIG bonuses, greedy bastards

Catching Leprechauns From Chiff.com:
How to Trap a Leprechaun
You can make a trap with common household items. Take a net, a cardboard box, green paint, green tissue paper, some pennies and an old shoe. Firstly, paint the cardboard box green and place the old shoe inside. Cover the opening with thin green tissue paper. Carefully lay the pennies on the tissue paper. (If you don't want to use real money, you can easily substitute chocolate gold- wrapped coins or make your own by cutting circles out of cardboard and painting them gold).
Place the trap near some trees or hedgerows. Make sure it's disguised well and blends into the surroundings. When the Leprechaun sees the coins he will try to collect them. He will step onto the tissue paper, it will break and he will fall into the box. Now quickly throw the net over him.
You can also try to lure a leprechaun with some poteen instead of an old shoe. When he falls into the box he will drink the brew, get drunk and then you can grab him.
No one has yet caught a leprechaun, but don't be discouraged. Start looking today. Good luck !!

Posted by Krystal Pistol at 8:00 AM 1 comment: Links to this post Labels: catch a leprechaun, leprechauns, st. patick's day


Cats & Dogs Labels: cat diary, dog diary



OK, I admit it, I've been distracted. I switched meds and it's taking some adjusting on my part. I'm OK, I just haven't been very creative during this process. I don't want this to turn into one of those "What I did today" kind of blogs, so I won't post if I don't have anything entertaining to say. So, no worries, I'm sure I'll get my groove back soon. Baby screech owl agrees. Posted by Krystal Pistol at 8:58 AM No comments: Links to this post 
Gay Marriage

Time has an article on California's Proposition 8 that ya'll oughta read.
See, this is why I hate people. Proposition 8 is a fine example of what happens when you let the majority make decisions that affect minorities (Jim Crow, anyone?). Evidently, Californians can change their state constitution any time the wind blows, and I'd say they need to look at changing that, for exactly this reason.
The herd mind is dumb and fearful. You tell people that gay marriage is a threat, and they believe that horseshit. This is nothing new. Look back at the reaction to interracial marriage as little as 50 years ago, and you'll see the same hateful, ugly rhetoric and faulty, convoluted logic in those arguments. I mean word for word. Hate is a powerful force, much more so than tolerance. Because hate is primal. It's born in, and driven by fear. You don't look/act/think/believe like I do, so you must be against me. You might hurt me, take something away from me. Ridiculous? Yes. Childish? Yes. Narcissistic? Of course! Anytime you think that what other people choose to do with their lives is about you? What else would you call it?
Get a grip, folks. I assure you, my life has nothing to do with your Bible-thumping, lame-ass, pathetic existence. I'm no threat to you, so leave me and my gay brothers and sisters alone. All we want are the same basic human rights that you enjoy. It costs you nothing.
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 9:11 AM No comments: Links to this post Labels: California, gay marriage, gay rights, proposition 8


The Shiny The following conversation occurred way back in 2006, but it hasn't lost it's relevance for me one bit. And since I seem to be experiencing a serious case of writer's block, I thought I'd share it with ya'll.

T- Tell me something most people wouldn't guess about you.

K- Hmm, OK. I love shopping. Clothes, furniture, food, any kind of store.I love it.

T- No way! I love shopping too!

K- It's like, I just wanna find the coolest, shiniest thing.

T- Exactly. The search for the shiny.

K- That's it! I am on the search for the shiny!

T- Me too!

K- But G doesn't seem like she'd be all that interested in shiny things

T- (laughs) No, not at all.

K- So, is she all like, "that's not in the budget!"?

T- Yes, she's much more practical. I'm like, we just won't pay the light bill. The shiny thing will light up the apartment!

K- And she's all "Well, let me check next weeks' budget, and maybe we can come back"

T- "...and if it continues to be shiny, we might get it."

K- ...and you're like...

T- I'm like, "Look! An even shinier thing!"

K- (laughs) I knew it! Next week? Who has that kind of attention span?

T- It misses the whole point of the shiny, really.

K- We are the reason Wal-Mart owns the country, you know.
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 12:47 PM No comments: Links to this post Labels: search for the shiny, shiny things, shopping



This is the very beginning of a story I've been working on. It's not humor or politics, but I thought ya'll might like something a bit different. It's a very rough first draft, but let me know what ya think so far.

My father was convicted of stealing fuel cells from the transport yard when I was yet a babe in arms. He was, of course, executed for his crime, along with my mother, as the law at that time dictated. Had I been older, I should have shared their fate. However, given my tender age, settlement law dictated that I was to be considered untainted, and given over as a ward of the territories, to be raised in the girl’s orphanage at Surma Unda.
Life at the orphanage was not as harsh as it might have been in other places. We were given sufficient food, clean uniforms and dormitories, and even provided a basic education. The Matris of the orphanage, while maintaining the discipline needed when providing for just over 100 young girls, also recognized that a certain amount of spirit in a young girl is not always a bad thing.
Being spirited myself, I had many occasions to discuss this belief with her, and she found assignments for me that fit with my active curiosity. Most days, this meant that I worked with Domina Ardinis , assisting in the repair and maintenance of the orphanage’s various machinery, including the elderly ground transport slide the dominas used to carry goods to and from the market district.
The slide was a rusting relic “donated” to the orphanage by the consulius when the Matris was still young. I had gathered from eavesdropping on Domina Ardinis and the Matris during their many discussions about whatever parts of the slide currently needed replacing that the consulius had discovered a clause in territorial law that allowed them to acquire a new transport at the expense of the territory if a presently functional one owned by the consulius were to be appropriated for the use of territorial wards. They quickly diverted the aging slide from its overdue trip to the recyclium and gifted it to the old Matris.
As unreliable as the old slide was, it was still a vast improvement over the udana cart the old Matris had to make do with, a fact that our Matris never failed to remind Domina Ardinis of whenever the Domina’s side of the discussion grew too “spirited”. I could scarcely imagine a darker prospect than having to rely on one of those treacherous beasts for transportation. Only poor Outlanders used them for cart-pulling, and even those hard provincials were wary of the brutal, filthy, frighteningly quick jaws. I’d read in my history of their use as mounts by the soldiers of the warlords during the War of the Territories, but this was clearly a fiction, as the creatures were only just tamer than the mountain wolves, and not a small part larger besides. The orphanage had a small herd of surly udana cows, for their thick fur could be dyed and woven into cunning tapestries and cloaks that we could sell in the market district for the coins needed to purchase those staples we could not produce for ourselves. Of course, the huge animals could only be sheared after a healthy dose of tranquilizer. Given their great size, this meant there were often any number of them wandering about half shorn, the half that had landed on the ground still sporting a full growth of dirty gray fur. I had a healthy fear of the creatures, and gave their pen a wide berth.
The hours I spent helping Domina Ardinis tinker with that disreputable old slide were the happiest of my young life. The Domina was a stout, profane woman with a quick wit and a quicker temper, but she taught me everything she knew about machinery. And as I would discover, that was a great deal.

I had many friends amongst the other orphans, but Iliki was the closest to a real sister that I would ever know. She was as calm and serious as I was wild and giddy. She was a tiny thing, fine-boned and refined even as a child. She had hair the color of honey and copper eyes set in a perfect porcelain complexion. I think she knew that we were all a little in love with her, and she endeavored in all things never to wound anyone. For all her austerity, she had a merry laugh, and I was ever trying to coax it from her with some bit of foolishness.
Iliki’s regular assignment was in the barnyard, caring for the stock and fowl, for she had a true gift for soothing the beasts. I had even seen her (from a prudent distance) cooing to a pregnant udana from the top of the wooden fence, while she fed a tuft of yellowtop grass to the massive animal. I called out to warn her away, but she merely laughed and patted the beast’s broad side before dropping to the ground and running to join me.
I often laughed to watch her as she fed the chickens in their pen, for they would follow her about as if they were bewitched. She could gather their eggs without arousing even a cluck of protest, and to see her cupping a downy chick in her hand was to witness something akin to magic.
More rarely, she would come to the machine shed with me and watch me work with Domina Ardinis , who could scarce abide my mischief as I sought to entertain my friend. Likely the Domina was as fond of Iliki as everyone else was, and she never had to send the girl away. Iliki could tell when my antics had tested Ardinis far enough, and she would laugh and wave as she headed back to her beloved animals.
I worked alone with Domina Ardinis, but Iliki usually had other girls assigned to work with her, and no particular Domina was charged with the animals. Rather, they all seemed to take a turn at the hard chores of our tiny farm, although Domina Mies presided over the gardening.
Most often, Iliki worked with a hard girl named Nessa. Nessa was the fastest runner, the best climber, the best fighter, the best at all things physical, of all us girls. She was boastful and insolent, and we all feared and secretly despised her. Except, of course, for Iliki, who saw the good in everyone, even the udana. Nessa affected to be unmoved by Iliki, but I noticed she never bullied my friend, and was even a bit less combative in her presence.
I asked Iliki how she was able to get along with such an unpleasant girl, but she just frowned and said, “Sira, don’t be mean. She just misses her family, that’s why she’s angry.”
I was chastised. I knew that the girls who came to the orphanage older than I had usually wept inconsolably when they first arrived, and I had heard them speak of their grief openly, in the way that children do, but I would never have ascribed such feelings to Nessa. I didn’t think Nessa had ever cried, even in the beginning. To my knowledge, Nessa only caused pain, not felt it herself. I knew immediately that Iliki was right, but I would never have seen it on my own, and it did little to impair my instinctive dislike of the girl. Curious, I asked Iliki, “Don’t you miss your family? You’re never mean to anyone”, but she just gave me a sad little smile and turned away. It broke my heart, and I labored ever after not to antagonize Nessa, as disagreeable as she was.
Posted by Krystal Pistol at 1:54 PM No comments: Links to this post Get Pissed! Krystal Pistol
 Sites that don't piss me off