Normally, I’d be all panicky by now, thinking of all the work I’m supposed to be doing. But thankfully I now have a rather substantial external hard drive. Initially, I just backed up my files so I can access them on The Husband’s computer. But then I had a brainwave – what if I cloned my Mac’s hard drive and used it to boot The Husband’s MBP?

I honestly wasn’t sure if it would work because his MBP is so much newer than mine, but it did and IT’S GREAT. It’s like Octavian never left at all; my entire setup is JUST THERE. Everything is exactly where it should be – my Windows virtual machine, the best free website builder, my spreadsheets, my tools, and even my iTunes library. The best part is I didn’t have to tinker with any of The Husband’s stuff at all; I love it!

I know this is probably nothing new to those of you who are far techier than I am. But to me, this here’s a real treat. Oh, I love technology!

- Posted using BlogPress on The Sword of the Morning, my iPad 2.

Now, I spent a good part of 2011 reading all 5 books of the A Song of Ice and Fire series, so I can pretty much tell when the show’s writers are taking liberties. It has always pissed me off when a show or movie strays too far from the original books, but in this case, I’m really not minding the little changes too much. Considering the sheer magnitude of A Clash of Kings (well, of all the books, really), I suppose a little tweaking every now and again can be expected. If anything, I’m actually quite impressed with how little has been changed so far. I hope they keep it that way.

(But are they ever going to introduce the Reeds? Because the time and opportunity to do so has pretty much passed. I don’t see how they can effectively bring them in later in the series, if they ever will. I do, however, love what they’ve done with Margaery. She deserves so much more than the occasional mention in the books.)

And so we’re now on the second half of season 2, and I’m getting so excited about the things to come (hello, Blackwater!). I am, however, also starting to get a little sad because it’s going to be over in a month, and it’s going to be a looooong wait till season 3. I do have a good number of other really cool shows to keep me occupied till then, but let’s face it. Knowing what’s in store for season 3, everything else will look about as interesting as resin Adirondack chairs. Or something.

But I guess I can always read all the books. Again.

- Posted using BlogPress on The Sword of the Morning, my iPad 2.

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. This, after not even being sure that I actually slept! (Do you ever get that feeling?)

I’ve got a pimple right smack in the middle of my forehead the size of Disney World (step right up, Disney World Vacation Packages available!), and it’s pulsating like a light-beacon of sorts. And as if that’s not bad enough, it’s also giving me the most frightful headache.

To make matters worse, The Husband forced me out of the house at high noon for some really idiotic reason, and I had to walk in the heat. Oh, that did wonders for my headache, alright. Who knew it could get any worse?

Then, I decided to cook beef and broccoli for dinner. I followed every word of the recipe, but it still didn’t turn out as expected. It tasted exactly like the bistek that I love, which isn’t really a good thing because 1) it’s not supposed to taste like that, and 2) I’m pretty sure The Husband hated it, even if he keeps saying otherwise.

To top it all off, the Internet has been a bitch all day. I’ve been trying to download the latest Game of Thrones, and it’s been S-L-O-W, slow. It’s just started picking up somewhat, so here’s hoping it’ll be done soon so we can watch it tonight. If not, I’ll skin a Lannister.

What a stupid-assed day. I want cake.

- Posted using BlogPress on The Sword of the Morning, my iPad 2.

I should stop obsessing, I know. It’s not like I can singlehandedly push our rankings back to page one in one night. I can’t help it, though. If I lose this job, I’m pretty much royally fucked. Not that my boss has given any indication that he wants to fire me or anything because he hasn’t. (And he won’t because he’s totally awesome that way.) Still, I can’t help but get scared, though, and more than a little paranoid because in this industry, there just aren’t any guarantees.

Okay, I’m going to stop torturing myself now because I really need to sleep. I wish there was some sort of electric mattress pad that could zap negative thoughts such as this into oblivion. I suspect that would help a lot of people save on therapy bills. (And me, my tears.)

- Posted using BlogPress on The Sword of the Morning, my iPad 2.

Google rolls out an algorithm update on a fairly regular basis, so this really is nothing new to me. This is, however, the first time I’ve actually seen a huge decline on my rankings. How huge? Well, let’s just say that one of my clients’ major keywords have gone from the upper half of page one to page eight. Page EIGHT! That hurts. A lot.

And you know what hurts more? I’m a very good girl who only ever uses white hat all the way. Yet now I am seeing some obviously spammy sites with higher rankings. I feel cheated.

So I am now on very uncertain territory. I’m still not entirely sure how to fix this, short of holding a gun to Matt Cutts‘ head. But I better figure things out soon, or else we’re going to have some very unhappy clients. I hate letting my boss down because he really is rather awesome. Not to mention I don’t want to lose my job, like, EVER.

This is going to give me more sleepless nights than the side effects of phenteripped that I used to suffer when I took diet pills. Way to have my back, Google. Because this sort of stress is exactly what I’ve been needing. Why don’t you call in the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse while you’re at it so we can call it a day?

- Posted using BlogPress on The Sword of the Morning, my iPad 2.

Dany (short for Daenerys, naturally) is a rather small female. What she lacks in size, however, she more than makes up for in volume because man, can she meow! She’s also the most affectionate little thing. She’s actually more interested in cuddles than food, most of the time. She’s delightful. Even Lord Cornelius, snooty cat that he is, tolerates her sometimes.

Smokey, we think, is one of Dany’s babies. He’s teeny (just about the size of The Husband’s hand), but rather precocious. Lord Cornelius, ever the wimp, is terrified of him. Never mind that he’s only about a quarter of Cornelius’s size.

We want to adopt these two so badly, except that we have plans for a big move all the way across the world sometime soon, and there’s no way we’re leaving any member of our little family behind. The process of taking the little lordling alone is already daunting enough; how much more for three cats in pet crates? That’s one gigantic logistical problem, if I ever saw any.

So here we are, trying not to get too attached. It is, of course, a losing battle.

When I was younger, I was always about the beach. I couldn’t be parted from the water too long. I was all snorkeling and tan lines and a perpetually sandy bottom.

These days, however, I don’t hanker for the beach so much anymore. In fact, I hardly ever miss it. These days, I’m all about cities. I now find walking around strange streets a lot more pleasurable than swimming with fishes. And of course, there’s history. These days, nothing makes me happier than stumbling upon a place with a history I know by heart. Like Rome. Rome, to me, was sheer ecstasy. Not even the euphoria of swimming with whale sharks for the first time came close to that.

In my, umm, youth (uh huh), I fancied myself a budget traveler. I was no stranger to dingy hostels and miserable little hovels whose owners tried to pass off as ‘guesthouses’.

Now that I’m older and more solvent, however, I find myself more willing to spend on a bit of comfort. Although I still balk at the thought of expensive hotels, I don’t go straight to the cheapest ones anymore, either. I’m at a place in my life where a nice bed and a decent bathroom are non-negotiable, and I like it.

There are still more differences to my travel style that I wrote about, like how I now prefer wheelie bags to north face backpacks and how I’m now more inclined to spend on good food, etc., etc.. You can read about those HERE because I’m trying to keep posts on this ‘ere blog short and sweet. Just because.

On my second day in Amsterdam, it snowed. And it wasn’t just the little sprinkling as was originally predicted, too. It came down in flurries and torrents while Kitty and I were walking around the central part of the city. I walked around, trying to catch snowflakes in my tongue and giggling madly at every turn. People within earshot cheered for me when they heard it was my first time to see the white stuff. To me, the world was at its most beautiful at that very moment. I found myself believing in magic again, and in beauty, and in grace. I have never felt so blessed.

Of course, the snow eventually stopped falling and all that was left was the cold. But long after the snow turned to ugly grey slush, I still found myself in love with it all. Sure, there were times when my fingers and toes hurt so much that I was pretty sure I’ve killed them, and I was often so sure that my nose would run off without me. But funnily enough, I never blamed the cold. Never could I bring myself to hate it, nor could I stop myself from loving it. It was then that I knew that I was made for this. I was made for the cold.

As I write this, I am sprawled under the air-conditioning with its coolant pump working overtime. I am hot and sweaty and very much pissed off at the world and this infernal summer. It dawned on me that I’ve been feeling pretty much the same way almost my entire life. I hate the heat, I’ve always hated the heat, and I suspect I always will. And now that I have felt what it was like to be deliciously cold on the other side of the world, I now know with all my heart that I don’t belong here anymore. And it just makes me so goddamned angry that I am still here, boiling and simmering in my own sweat and a myriad of lost dreams.

I don’t want to be here anymore. I shouldn’t even have to be here anymore. As I write this, it’s a lovely 10°C in rainy Paris. And I know exactly where I’d rather be.

If you want to know how bad it is, hear this: the most exciting thing that has happened to me in the past week or so is The Avengers. Because I was able to ogle my next husband Tom Hiddleston (Loki) in all his glory not once, but twice in 4 days. In fact, it’s so exciting that I’m going to go see it again tomorrow. Whoop-dee-doo.

If this guy tells me to ‘kneel’, I’m down there in, like, 2 seconds. I don’t see what the rest of the human race is complaining about.

Other events that are of equal import include my almost-daily run-in with the screaming neighborhood kids (in which I yell my head of, threatening circumcision whenever they get too close to my bedroom window) and poking fun at another neighbor’s talentless son as he and the guitar-from-hell butcher everything from The Eagles to Nicki Fuckin’ Minaj.

Christ, I miss being a nomad. I’m starting to think that I’m never going to be truly happy unless I’m living out of a suitcase. Or maybe I just need to move. Or volunteer as Loki’s all-around bitch. Where do I sign up?

I blame social media. In fact, I’m taking inventory of my arsenal of social media accounts right now, and I’m ashamed to say that I have reached alarming hipster levels. You name it, I probably have it.

They’re just making it so easy. On average, I can tweet in about 30 seconds flat. On Instagram, I can take pseudo-artsy photos of everything from my cat to, I don’t know, medical carts; add a quippy line or two; et voila! People know what I’m thinking. Now, compare that to blogging. I’m a ridiculously slow writer (these days), and it’ll probably take me an hour or so to craft a semi-decent blogpost. And with me constantly drowning in work, I hardly ever have the luxury of time to hunker down and blog.

I don’t want to stop blogging, though. Or more accurately, I don’t want to stop writing. So I’ll keep trying to, whenever I do have enough moments to spare, such as now.

And in between those moments, there’s always Instagram. So follow me (username: irisgodd3ss) for a shitload of cat photos (and a few cakes, if you’re lucky).