Present and Unaccounted for

I went to check my paypal balance this morning, for shits and giggles (mathew is saving up for a new game system) and lucky me I have been "randomly selected" for upgrading my account security! First step - change my password.

Now my old password looked something like (these are NOT the actual passwords, I am not that stupid) r749931G and that was good enough for paypal so I tried 47856Drm ... not "secure" enough. Okay, the "guidelines" on the side of the screen say try a mix of numbers, letters, capitalization and symbols.  .... tf#67893Hgo ... nope. G3hm!*6741g? Nope. Fast forward 10 damn minutes (Yes, a solid TEN minutes of attempting to come up with something they would damn well accept) when, with what I am told is an epic rage face and far more abuse than any keyboard should ever be subjected to, I finally type in "fuckyouPayPal9".

That is totally, according to paypal, a secure enough password.

Of course I then had to spend a further 5 minutes coming up with something else they would accept, because there was no way in hell I was not sharing this. Many, MANY random combinations of letters, numbers, capitals and symbols are not secure enough, but "FuckyouPayPal" is.

Oh, and after I updated my security questions from their "List" anyone who knows me even a little bit (or has spent any time reading this journal) can answer them. Plus, for added bonus, they thanked me for going through the phone verification process, entering their stupid phone PIN and conifrming I own "my" credit card .... the card in question? My mother's.

I feel oh, so much more secure about my paypal experience now.

I like kittens, I swear I do, really. To the point that when I pick one up it immediately gets kisses and hugs and usually sung to ... but honestly, they are driving me crazy!!!!!!!

Background:

We acquired, by way of they kind of just walked in one day, two cats who had been abandoned. This is not at all new for us abandoned cats have a way of just showing up, usually accompanied by one of the cats that lives here. If we can find their people great, usually though if they have a tattoo or some other form of identification the "owners" are contacted and vehemently deny they ever had a cat or claim their cat died. I really, REALLY dislike people sometimes.

Anyway, so these two very pretty girls (no ID, mostly skin and bones from hunger) moved in, got fed and cuddled and cleaned up and all was good. Except, they were both pregnant.

Fast forward to now. The kittens, all 7 of them, are 6 weeks old. I have been trying, all day, to write. I have managed a whole (Count em!) 6 sentences. The rest of the day has been spent chasing kittens around trying to get them to use a litter box (which, in their defense they are getting better at), cleaning up spilled litter boxes because with this many kittens one is not enough and my dog is a klutz, refereeing the food dishes (none of our other cats need kitten food, they are pudgy enough as it is), extracting claws from my leg, retrieving my mouse from the little paws that keep reaching up behind my keyboard and grabbing it (One of them did this randomly a few days ago, now they ALL do it), rescuing the dog from being pounced, rescuing the kittens from being licked to the point of soggy by the dog, extracting kittens from dangling off the sides of the bird cage,  removing kittens from my keyboard, removing kittens from my desk and cleaning up the coffee they were splashing in, making new coffee - sans kitten splashing, untangling kittens from my hair because it is fun to pounce attack my hair from the top of my monitor,  and saving my cell phone from claws on the screen because "ZOMG! There is a kitten in there that looks just like me! ATTACK!" .. this is bad for the touch screen by the way.

All of this is made even more interesting as I end up doing it with one hand. The other hand is occupied holding onto the one kitten who came down with sniffles the other day (His mother is stupid and took him outside in the rain, which is when we learned she knows how to open the window). His sniffles are better now, he is for all intents and purposes completely healthy, but he lost a bit of weight by not eating much for a day and hasn't fully regained his strength. In the meantime his favourite spot is in the crook of my left arm alternately sleeping and playing with my hair. I try to put him down, give him to his mother, someone else, etc. Nope. as soon as I get back to my desk a tiny little paw taps my shoulder and then I have an orange fluffy ball of purring kitten walking across my shoulders to get to "his spot". If I don't hold onto him, he does the holding on instead and then I have to remove the claws from my skin.

They really, really are driving me crazy.

And, yes, I know I am going to miss the little shits when they go to their new homes, I just needed to vent .. and apparently the practice backspacing, because I have had "help" typing out this entry. :/

l am not sure if my mother and Mathew were getting visions of the future when they decided I needed a tablet, but I am so very glad they did.  I wouldn't be making this post without it and l am a little surprised it can recognize my chicken scratch but it can! and l am posting!


( Excuse me? You wanna do what now? )


I need to get lost for a while longer. I'll be back though, as soon as I can think without my brain screaming "AMPUTATION!". Right now, there is a kinky Antivan Crow who is putting the moves on a cute little Dalish Rouge.  That is a way better topic to be thinking about.

I hate them.

That is all.

I made a post a few days ago about something that really irked me. I will not go into details of the post again. It was not a public post. This one is. Essentially that post asked the question: "Why is it okay to ask an authority figure if they are gay when most people would agree asking the same question of a straight person is rude and disrespectful?"

( Graphic Rant. Yes, I am a Bitch. Thank you for noticing. )