I play Sims (part3 - update)

It's a boy!  Welcome Stanley Rosenzweig!  He's still an infant, and therefore incredibly boring.

Not much going on for now, since Rachel's still on maternity leave.  Although motherhood has caused some strangeness in the household.  For example, explosions:

Sudden animosity toward butterfly collection:

Relationship changes:

Actually, this last one concerns me.  I'm hoping it's not a precursor to my game asploding.

More later.

I Play Sims (part4) 

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I play Sims (part3)

Rachel Zoe isn't feeling too well.  Could it be the ugly work uniform?

Demon possesion?

Scientific experimentation?

Oh.  Well, hopefully that explains the dreadful clothing choices.

I wonder if the baby will inherit this guy's footwear ... issues.

Getting bigger.

Ugh. I feel for ya, sister.  But even I know that's no excuse for blue camoflage. 

In true Zoe tradition, Rachel heads to the hospital - in heels.

Good luck, Miss Rachel.  Hope it's a girl.

I Play Sims (part3 - update)

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~insert groan, followed by a sigh~

My husband is supposed to lose his job in 6 months.  Did you guess outsourcing?  You're so smart. 

On top of that, my dental insurance has decided that it won't pay for anything else this year.  (If anyone wanted to ram something straight up the ass of the person who made that decision, I'd think that was just terrific.)  I've needed a lot of work done recently, and still have at least three cavities to fill on my top teeth before they even get started on the bottom teeth.  For the past few weeks, one of the teeth I've already had filled has been giving me trouble ... and when I say "trouble", I mean that a very tiny demon is sitting next to the nerve and poking it with some sort of sharp jabbing device. 

Apparently, I'll need a root canal, and since my dental insurance is allowed to just tell me to go fuck my own face, we get to pay out-of-pocket for it.  Unless, I suppose, I want to wait until January 1st to see what fresh piece of shit dental insurance we get - that will be chosen by a company I'm certain is actively working out a way to screw us over entirely, by not giving a severance package of any kind.

Plus, because of our ridiculous night shift schedule, I get to have my root canal appointment smack dab in the middle of when I should be sleeping ... and we have to pray that our bank agrees, the day of the appointment, to do a payment plan through them, or the dentist will expect about $700 before I leave the building, which we do not have to give them.

Also, fleas are getting into our apartment, despite the fact that we have no pets.  I suspect it's a neighboring apartment which has a large, hairy dog - and stupidly thought that the people with the animal would be responsible for dealing with getting rid of the fleas.  Wrong, old camel breath - I have to do an enormous amount of vacuuming and linen washing and furniture moving and toy stowing right before some people come to spray some chemical around the apartment.  The kicker is that they expect me to take two small kids out of the apartment for over four hours to let this chemical dry - with no friends or family in the area and no car to take them anywhere, even if I had a place to go. 

It's been suggested that I could take the kids to the model apartment, but there is no television or radio or wireless.  I'm supposed to do all of this cleaning the day I get no sleep because I have to get a root canal, hope that some clowns show up at the time they said they would, and then drag two kids, by myself, to an empty apartment (knowing my luck, this apartment will be upstairs) with a suitcase full of diapers, toys and food, knowing that this will completely fuck up the kid's schedule and naps while they're both teething, and then sit around with our thumbs up our asses, because someone else's fucking mangy dog has fleas, and they can't be bothered to do anything about it.

I can tell you for sure that I'm fucked and will just have to put up with flea bites, because the miracles they're expecting me to work just aren't going to happen.

But, Nico - can't your husband take a day off to help you?

No.  Not unless he wants to give them the perfect excuse to lay him off now.  Thanks for playing.

Facebook ...

Just shut up, will you?



I play Sims (part2)

Sim Rachel has a long first day of coffee slinging, and emerges looking pouty.  What's wrong, Rachey?

 Oh.  That must be embarrassing.

 She arrives home starving (yes, that's a space rock behind her) ...

and prepares herself a nice, hearty ... carton of juice?

Stuffed, nearly to explosion, she's off to the park again, to look for a baby-daddy.  That womb isn't going to impregnate itself ... well, not with Awesomemod preventing parthenogenesis.  Check out the sweet tat on the girl she rudely interrupts to introduce herself to what's-his-face.

Unfortunately, he's married, so Rachel will have to move on ... right after this guy suggests she hitch a ride on a tank.  Thanks.  That's different.

After her second day of work, Miss Rachel decides to head home, gussy up, and invite her boss, Lenny Smith-Jones over.

It's difficult to know if he appreciated the effort.  No matter - Rachel invites him inside, and after telling a work-related joke about graphs, he promotes her on the spot!  How can she ever thank him?

Oh, right.  The usual way.

He's a little resistant to the idea of shtupping an underling, so our girl has to step up her efforts a notch.  She tries everything - including plunging her hand directly into his chest. 

I think part of the problem is that this is the kind of dude who pairs flip flops with slacks.  You know what I mean.

Finally.

But Rachel starts to wonder if she's made a mistake.  His choice in underwear is not helping.

That's right, Rachey-face - keep your eyes on the prize.

Okay, now we're back to doubting ... that was the weirdest. flirt. ever.

I Play Sims (part 3)

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I play Sims

Out of the five or six people who read this blog, this entry will be of interest to maybe 2.5 of them.  That means one person is either only half interested, or very, very short.

Rachel Zoe, plucked from her real life as celebrity stylist, reduced to mere pixels, and not looking much like herself anymore, moved into a new home, sight-unseen.  Her first order of business?  Move right the hell back out.  That's right, sweetie - this place isn't even big enough for your shoes.

Her first reaction upon seeing her new abode.  I don't know what she feels about that plant, but she feels something.  After having a few more feelings about random items in her house, each as inexplicable as the last, she gets herself an entry level position in the "business" profession, bringing coffee to the higher-up.  Can she even touch coffee that wasn't born through the hands of a Starbucks barista?  Only time will tell. 

In the meantime, Rachel heads into the park at the center of town for the neighborhood Grill-A-Thon to see if she can't find someone to impregnate her.  What else is there to do on a Sunday? 

Apparently, there's some sort of raw hamburger emergency going on here.  Rachel scuttles over to check the situation out.

Food?  No thanks.

I Play Sims (part2) 

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Splendor in the Grass (a summary)

It's a time when people who lived in multi-story houses and slept on gorgeous wooden sleigh beds were "poor" and oil tycoons were one-dimensionally (and all at once) limpy, loud and boisterous ... when young women lost their minds because their boyfriend wanted to sleep with them - and as a result of needing to say "we mustn't!" one too many times, threw themselves in a river ... when a quick dip in the water could leave you on death's door ... when people had long-term stays in sanitariums because their home lives were unsatisfying ... when a boy from Kansas had never heard of something called "pizza", and a girl in Connecticut didn't know where Kansas was.  Also, Phyllis Diller.

I should have hooked up my VCR and watched Dune again.  That would have made more sense.