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We has it.

Lala got laid off yesterday. Bleah. Her company blamed it on the economy. I blame it on them not realizing what they had right in front of them. Of course, I’m the wife, and I’m ready to scrap and fight for her, but there’s not much to do now. At least she’ll get a good reference — her immediate boss knows how versatile and talented she is. The Corporate Weasels, well, they don’t and it’s a good thing they’re not in the same room with ME, that’s all I’m saying.

We will make do, of course, and I am lucky enough to work in an industry that usually has overtime to spare. I’ll be picking up OT and oncall pay, which will be good. Beans, rice, and cheap wine. We have all the yarn/books/instruments/video games anyone could ever want, and now that Lala can rip vinyl to her computer, we’re set for YEARS of music at a quarter an album.

But hey, if anyone in the Bay Area has a paying gig they’d like to talk to Lala about, she can be reached at lala at smartyboots dot net. Wait! You need her resume! Here it is:

• Lala is good at doing everything on the computer. Specifically, she is what they call a Web Developer. She is also very good at web design and is not a crazy person, as I believe lots of web designers are.
• She does other very computery-sounding computery things. I kid you not.
• She makes any website look good.
• She makes any CHAIR look good. If you have an ugly chair you need to cheer up, put Lala in it. That’s what I do.
• She wears clothes exceedingly well, especially western gear, although now that she is into jazz (don’t tell her I told you!), she is going to have to start wearing more polyester.
• She is a good knitter. Although she doesn’t do it anymore.
• She would be probably be good at papier mache, although I have no real evidence to back this up.
• She can make the BART train leave. It is her superpower and awesome to behold. Harness that whatever way you can.*
• She can play any instrument set in front of her. Really.
• She can drink the HELL out of a cup of a coffee.
• She is the best.

Hey! She doesn’t need a job! She needs to stay home and be my house-boy! Hooray! I’ve always wanted one!(Or perhaps she would prefer that you read her real resume. It hasn’t been updated yet, so I suspect it’s out of date, but there you go. Not as much fun as mine.)

* My superpower, on the other hand, is to make BART arrive. So when we take BART together, we split the difference and usually end up waiting only a few minutes. (Have I told you this a million times already? I have? Sorry.)

EXTREMELY RELEVANT LINK. Lala just sent me THIS. She thought it was a joke. HA!

    Harriet and her blanket (knitted by Lala for her — how CUTE is that?)

Lately my favorite part of the day is early in the morning. (Super early. We won't even say how early, but it might start with a three. We can't really think about it.)

I go out in the living room, start the coffee, feed the cats, and then go to the couch and pick up 18-year old Harriet. She can't hear that much anymore, but I think she feels the vibration of my feet puttering around, and she's usually poking her nose up, waiting for me, by the time I get to her.

I carry her like a baby (something she used to hate), and take her outside, across the back porch, down the steps, and set her down on the concrete. She wobbles a bit, and I hold her back end up, scritching at the same time. She thinks about it for a while, and then pees. If I'm not right there, she wanders off and gets lost under the porch, so I stand and wait while she gets it done.

Then she follows me slowly up the stairs and into the kitchen. She walks with me through the house, but usually ends up on her cushion or back on the couch for another nap while I write and shower.

    Lala and Harriet (sweater made by me)

At least a couple of times a week, we think she's dead. Does this sound callous? Like I don't care? I do. We do. We care SO much, but while we're not ready for her to go, we're very conscious of the time we have. And when you find her on the couch, completely still, no rising or falling of the chest, you wonder.

The other morning I actually thought it had happened. I touched her. She was stiff. No motion. She felt cold. I started to well up.  Then she puffed and snuffled up her head and I sat back on my ass in happy surprise.

It's the sweetest time right now. While time is running out (what time isn't?), it's nice to know that she's healthy, and happy (when she's not grumpy), and in no pain. And everything she does is the cutest thing we've ever seen. Today when I got home, she ran around like the house like a maniac and grinned from ear to ear when I got out her food. IT WAS THE CUTEST THING. I was so sad I hadn't videoed it, and it was just running around.

Harriet is the dog of Lala's heart, but having lived with her for more than three years now, I can honestly say my step-dog Harriet is the best dog ever (don't tell Clara or Miss Idaho, who are obviously close runners-up). It's good to have this time (WHICH COULD GO ON A LOT LONGER, YOU HEAR THAT, UNIVERSE?) to appreciate her.

Now, go give an animal a pet. I have to take Ol' Groany outside again.

    I can see you, you know.

Photos, for I am too tired from a very long week for anything more (click for biggety-ness):

A ferry, hiding in the flowers. You know how they are.

A gorgeous day, seen from the cable car (two rides in two weeks!).

Windy.

Alcatraz.

The central cable car hub, which is also the cable car museum. Free, AWESOME. It also figures into the screenplay that I just finished (no more than that to say, but crossed fingers!), so it was awesome to visit it. The noise of that place, the smell of the machinery…. Highly recommended.

Okay. I'm off to the couch to sit and stare blankly. I worked a lot this week, weird hours, and I rock-climbed twice and did yoga once, as well as finishing the screenplay and the final edits on Book 1. Wait a minute. Hey! No wonder I feel completely exhausted.

Knitting will be my balm. (I'm working on White Lies Colette, which I picked up at Stitches and am loving. Just enough easy lace for my brain to flirt with, but miles of stockinette, also. Can't you just picture it with jeans and a tank top? Or a dress?)

As a 911 dispatcher of more than ten years (what? Wow!) and as a soon-to-be published Real Live Writer who had a nightmare the other night about cover art (what if it has a bright metallic glow-in-the-dark pink albino Robin Hood on it?), THIS was the funniest thing I've read in forever.

The Wrestler made me sick. I twittered it, but I must say it again (what? You don't twitter? You should! If you're in an RSS reader, jump over to my site, grab my twitter feed, and follow along!).

It made me actually, physically ill. I've NEVER had that happen to me before in a movie, and I think perhaps in my head I thought people who said they got motion-sick in movies were just A Little Sensitive. But my god. It was like I was on a ship — no, wait, I don't get seasick. It was like I was riding in a car on a winding road up to Yosemite, trying to read a dictionary (oh, the very thought…. I DO get carsick).

Of course, I didn't know that's what was going on, and I just thought, oh, no! I'm getting the stomach flu! And hoo-EEE, it's comin' on fast. Ninety minutes into the hundred and five minute movie, I left. I have NEVER left a movie before, no matter how bad (which is odd, given the ease with which I jettison books I'm not enjoying).

But the movie was unpleasant and violent (duh) and sad, and even though the characters were wonderful and believable and sympathetic, it was wounding my soul to watch it. Plus, I had the stomach flu.

Then I left, and the flu went away. The vertigo disappeared. My brain stopped spinning, and my stomach stopped heaving.

I find it completely fascinating that film footage (shaky, handheld)  can do that to a person. I'm rather glad I went, just for the experience.  Did you see it? Reactions?