January 22nd, 2008


Drowning in the Koolaid

Man, I'm not sure if you BPAL people are generous or dangerous!

Probably a little--or a lot!--of both.

My thanks to everyone who's offered to send me imps, and there's a revised list below, with the ones italicized that people have already offered to send me, just so I don't wind up buried in identical samples.

...and if I do, I'm going to have to send the ones that don't work on me off to people. I see how this works! *flail* My god! It's genius! It's depraved! It's...kinda cool, actually...

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(no subject)

Well, damn.

Adam and Steve both died last night.

Cause is completely unknown--they were healthy and flitting around yesterday, no odd behavior, no apparent ill health, no foreign substances got into the tank to my knowledge, and the usual things that might take out a fish, like overfeeding or old age, I wouldn't expect to snuff them both simultaneously. Water is clear and clean, nitrogen cycle was fixed in advance...huh. I turned on the light this morning, saw they were both tucked in at the bottom in what I assumed was the usual sleep mode, but this afternoon went to feed them and they hadn't moved. A tap at the tank set one loose and belly up, and the other, fished out, proved to be the same.


Most likely possibility that presents itself is a heater malfunction--it got cold last night, they're near the sliding glass door, and if the heater wasn't up to snuff, it's just possible that the temperature dropped enough locally to send them into shock.

Second possibility is that there's a reason Petsmart was selling their platys for a buck fifty apiece.

I'll check the heater, wait a week and let the tank cycle enough to hopefully clear out any other possible toxins, then try again, I suppose. Poor little guys. I mean, I don't get attached to fish, particularly, they're more ornamental and interesting than lovable, but you still feel a twinge of guilt when they snuff it on your watch.

(no subject)

Damnit. Okay, I take it back--the worst thing about being single is NOT the lack of sex, it's not eating my own cooking, it's not killing my own centipedes.

It's getting a goddamn zit at that point between your shoulderblades where you can only reach it by contorting like a graduate of the St. Vitus's School of Topless Dance.

There is a level of intimacy required to get a partner to deal with your rogue zits for you. This is not a casual relationship thing. This is not a friend thing. You have to committed. It is the level beyond being willing to fart in one another's presence. (It is slightly below the "Great, you've broken both arms and now need help on the toilet" level, mind you.)