Today, I'm a Hopeful Genius

Spring is springing!

Well, it's not exactly springing, but it was finally above 0°C (32°F) yesterday, which meant that I could take my gloves off to take photos without risking my digits.



The dirtier snow is melting into mucky and oily clumps and puddles, showcasing the grit and pollution of urban melt.

As much as this time of year is swampy and unattractive in Regina, though, and as much as it brings on my snow mould allergies like nobody's business, it still makes the small fist of my heart shake off some of its melancholy.



For those of us who suffer from seasonal depression, mud is hope's correlate in early spring.

Mud also means dragging out my belove red rubber boots!



These boots may be beloved, but I've always had a painful problem when I wear them. My socks tend to work themselves down my leg, and then the top of the boot rubs the back of my calf raw, because these boots are shaped to fit close to the leg. I had a major stroke of brilliance, though, and the problem has been solved.

To keep your close-fitting rubber boot from rubbing your calf raw, wear a pair of knee-high socks and fold the sock over the top of the boot. The boot holds up your sock, and your sock prevents your leg from being rubbed raw.



Today, I'm a hopeful genius.

Me at Aiming Low: I’ve Got Sunshine On A Cloudy Day

Read my latest piece at Aiming Low — "I've Got Sunshine On A Cloudy Day":

I'm a cynical depressive who generally thinks that this creating-your-own-happiness stuff is a huge pile of bullshit because faking it is still faking it, but I found out today that I am also generally wrong about this topic.

The Fiery One Returns, A Reality Blog, An Illusion, Gordon, Wellingtons In Particular, and Rubber Boots Generally

The Fiery One returned! It happened two days ago. During my whole day at work on Thursday, I tried to stay away from the coffee, because my excitement and tension levels were already peaking at a level just below manic. I kept updating my coworkers on the hours left until his plane touched down on home turf, which I am sure they were needing to know. When I arrived home, he was already waiting for me in the apartment. He looked radiant. It’s funny how twenty-two days apart can make your mate so incredibly, intoxicatingly good-looking to you. (I know, I know. This is drivelly mush, to say the least, because the whole world is not nearly so in love with the Fiery One as I am. It’s just that his return has been the most exciting thing to happen to me for nearly a month, and so I must share it). So now I am no longer living single with all the hours of my free time available for the obsessive learning of html. The semblance of a more balanced and coupled life can return with all the book-reading, beer-swilling, and sex-having that it has to offer.

An interesting reason for a blog, but not surprising in this day of reality television. It’s a little gross, at least to me, because I hate the fact of other people’s bodies and their horrible growths and whatnot.

You have got to check this out. Remember to wait until the animation is done, because it is a little slow, but the proof is in the pudding.

Gordon, the rabbit, was introduced to the greater portion of our apartment last night, the living room. When I first lifted the top of his cage away, he stood in the bottom portion of his cage looking over the brim as though there was no sense to be made of this turn of events. It took him about ten minutes to figure out that, yes, he could step over the edge, and then it took another good hour before he screwed up his courage to venture more than five feet away along the living room’s perimeter. Everything touching the ground was suspect as a possible predator, and so was approached with extreme caution. His huge feet would be stretched out behind him, and he would strain his super-twitchy nose forward, trying vainly to maintain distance while still being close enough to taste each object. When I put him back in his cage for the night, he thumped his foot rather soundly and became nasty for a few minutes, which of course threw me into feelings of terrible guilt. I know that’s stupid, but I am used to cats as pets, and they do not show a whole hell of a lot of emotions, aside from feed-me, pet-me, and I-think-I’ll-kill-you.

Here is another sexual fetish thing that I was completely unaware of until I recently stumbled across it quite accidentally during a googling adventure – rubber Wellingtons. There are Wellington slaves, Pat has a love/hate relationship with her rubber Wellingtons, and you can start a beautiful thing with your own pair here.

Rubber Boot Facts and Links:
* Wellington rubber boots are called such presumably because they look like the high boots worn by the famed Duke of Wellington (1769 - 1852), although his boots were not made of rubber.
* Rubber is a highly elastic substance polymerized by the drying and coagulation of the milky juices or latex of various plants, especially the tropical rubber plant.
* The first rubber boots were made by South American Indians, who used to pour latex, from the Hevea brasiliensis (rubber tree), over their legs and feet to form water-resistant footwear.
* Take a look at some good vintage fire boots from American fire departments.
* These Japanese rubber boots claim to be different from their American cousins, but there is only a slight difference in style that I can see.
* The decomposition rate of rubber boot soles is fifty to eighty years.
* “Leather vs. Rubber Boots: The Scientific Difference”
* This is just a small example of the horrible clothing we inflict upon children.