dclarion: (Default)
My dinner today consisted of a bowl of potato chip crumbs in salsa, and apricot kolachky with vanilla ice cream.  Think of it.  Milk!  Eggs!  Wheat!  Potato flour!




dclarion: (Default)
I lead with my right hand.  In fact, I'm about as right-handed as the Pope is Catholic.  Simply put, my brain is broken, and I have absolutely no fine motor co-ordination on my left side.  This makes life interesting in many ways.  For example, I shoot left-handed.  "But wait," you may object, "if you have no fine motor co-ordination on your left side, why are you operating a firearm left-handed?"  The reason is simpler than you might think.  Because of the co-ordination deficit, I am unable to close my left eye alone, in order to sight down the barrel of a longarm with my right eye.  My solution is to shoot left-handed, because I can close my right eye alone, and I do have sufficient strength and co-ordination to squeeze the trigger of a rifle and operate the bolt with my left hand.

But I'm not about to be going deer hunting any time soon.  I have a name to pay for, precluding the acquisition of a .30-06 any time soon.  So, what else is there?

"What else" includes the activity in which I have just been engaging: Applying nail polish.  I like to wear nail polish; I find the dark reds quite pretty, and the hues close to my skin tone give my fingers a cleaner look.  Applying polish to the fingernails of my left hand is easy; I hold the brush in my right hand and brush away.  Applying polish to the fingernails of my right hand is another matter.  So, how do I do it?  My dear Watson, it is elementary: I use my right hand.  And I can hear it now: "But... but... but wait..." and grinning from ear to ear like the smart-ass I am, I will tell you that I said absolutely nothing about brushing with my right hand.  I hold the brush motionless in my left hand while moving the fingernails of my right hand beneath it.

Some people do not have the intelligence of a garden pea.  Somebody had to get the leftovers.

dclarion: (Default)
I just checked my e-mail.  As usual, in the "junk" box, were several messages from concerns shilling "penis enhancement pills".  I really need to ask something here.  I am Diana Athena Clarion.  I am a masculine-to-feminine transsexual.  The entire world knows this.  I make no attempt to hide it; in fact as my father would put it, I "advertise" it.  So why, for the love of St. Gulik, would anyone try to sell me PENIS ENHANCEMENT PILLS?

Let's think about this for a moment, shall we?  I am a woman.  Hear me roar.  Get the point?  Only the most unfortunate of women have penises, and those of us who do would really like to have them modified into neo-clitorises, which involves removing a good deal of penile tissue, i.e. making them smaller.  So what possible use would I have for penis enhancement pills?

Is every e-mail marketer on this god-forsaken rock FUCKING STUPID?  And why am I even asking this, because I know that IT'S A RHETORICAL QUESTION!!!11!!

Thank you very much for listening, I'm all better now.

Love,
Diana

dclarion: (Default)
Ladies and Gentlemen: The story you are about to read is true.  I didn't bother to change the names because I don't remember any of them.

I had the most adorable time at Lowe's Home Improvement, today.

This afternoon, I went to the downstairs lockers in the front building to collect my genuine polypropylene artificial Xmas tree for setting up in the Library.  I managed to not kill myself in the process of lugging the Bag-o-Tree from basement to courtyard, across courtyard, then up three flights of stairs to my humble abode.  Yay me.

At this time, I will state, for the benefit of those who might not have already guessed, that I am me, I can be nothing else, and part and parcel of my me-ness is losing track of things.  So, it did not surprise me in the least when, upon relieving the bag of its contents, I did not find the "screws" (There is a reason that I place the word "screws" in quotes; I'll get to that in a minute) that secure the tree in its stand.  Not problematic, thought I, whereupon I bet myself a shiny new nickel that I could find suitable replacements at Lowe's.

The walk to Lowe's was quite nice, even for Homestead PA at 21:00 hours, with only a minor delay due to the passage of a westbound train.  Once there, I proceeded to Seasonal, where the nice young man told me that they did not carry specialty "screws" for Xmas tree stands, and that I would do best in Aisle 18 (Hardware).  Again, not problematic; I was more or less expecting to hear that, but thought that I'd try anyway.  Besides, it gave me the chance to take a close look at one of the "screws" in a stand exactly like mine; I knew that it was there, it was a floor model I had seen last Wednesday.

While we imagine me walking across the store from Seasonal to Hardware, let me get back to the quotes around "screws".  The "screws" I sought are not screws at all; they are bolts.  People, even tech-types, use the words "screw" and "bolt" interchangeably, but there are precise definitions involved, definitions that usually don't matter until one is looking through bins of fasteners in a hardware sales area.  But that was precisely where I was headed.

Once at Hardware, I began scanning the racks.  I can never remember where they keep everything; you should see me trying to find wall anchors and expansion bolts.  The nice gentleman (I'll be gracious) working the department asks me if he can help me find anything.  I tell him that I have misplaced the screws (this is for his benefit, because I can assure you that he is not looking at my eyes) from my Xmas tree stand and was looking about to see if I could find suitable replacements.  Now, the fun starts.

He tells me that I really should have brought one of the screws with me, to get the right thread type.  See my introductory statement to him, above.  Then he asks if I was wanting wings on the screws.  "The originals had pennyheads," I answered, "but I could just run hex heads in with pliers, if I had to."  This is where his eyes start to glaze over.  "Do they have points," he asks.  "No, they're actually bolts," I reply.  His mouth is open, but no sound issues forth.  As it happens, I had been scanning racks from the corner of my eye, and this is where, as fortune would have it, I happen to see the familiar blue bins at about knee-height.  "Oh!" I exclaim, "Hex-head bolts!  This just might do it!"

"Okay..."  Pause.  "Are we finished, then?  Another pause.  "There's another customer..."  There indeed was another customer, who had just shown up not fifteen seconds earlier.  I was truly happy that the nice gentleman did not have to leave all of his pride at my feet.

I do wish that I had better command of bolt nomenclature.  I knew exactly what I was looking for, but had forgotten what it was called.  All I had was the ¼" measurement of the threaded holes and a mental picture of the threads.   I did some looking, just before writing this essay, and found that I was seeking three 1/4-13UNC-2 hex-head bolts.  Asking for those might have simplified matters.  Then again, asking for those might have left the front of the nice gentleman's pants warm and very wet.

Epilogue
My holiday tree is nicely plumb, awaiting lights, I didn't lose a nickel, and I had a little humor to brighten my day.

EDIT: You should see the guys in Electrical, when I show up there :o)

May 2013

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