| Happy Bastille Day! |
[Jul. 14th, 2009|09:33 pm] |
way better holiday than 4th of July. long live European vigilanteism!
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| IF YOU HAD A ROMAN VILLA |
[Jul. 13th, 2009|09:56 pm] |
AND FIVE SLAVES. WHO WOULD THEY BE AND WHAT WOULD THEY DO: (a notion of Emma's, btw)
I.
REAL NAME: Elijah
SLAVE NAME: BabyCakes Moon
DUTIES: remaining eternally ten years old. cuddling. posing for my dark cold virile camera lens in rooms full of feathers, bubbles, puppies, brie, and knives.
II.
REAL NAME: Gale Harold
SLAVE NAME: Harder
DUTIES: pretending like he's actually truly Brian Kinney. obvi, a minimum sex quota of four hours per day.
III.
REAL NAME: Keats
SLAVE NAME: The Sweetest Flow'r that Blows
DUTIES: Only oral sex. pacing up and down the halls and screaming sonnets. also screaming abuse because he hates to waste the last few precious moments of mortality in bondage. he performs daily ANGST! performances, while i eat sushi.
IV.
REAL NAME: George Peppard
SLAVE NAME: Ken-Ken Sunshine
DUTIES: to be adorable, but not what i desire. to exercise and wander around in a leather loincloth looking very buff. yardwork. driving my carriage. feeding animals.
V.
REAL NAME: Brian Joubert
SLAVE NAME: Creme de Yes
DUTIES: carrying me when i want to be carried. helping Ken with livestock. kidnapping and fucking Johnny Weir for my viewing pleasure whenever i so choose.
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| overheard |
[Jun. 30th, 2009|04:27 pm] |
.... from the pool by my apt.....
"SHOW HIM WHAT A FIVEYEAR OLD CAN DO!!!! HIIIIIIYAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!"
"YAAAAAAAAH. SHOW A FIVE YEAR OLD WHAT AN EIGHT YEAR OLD CAN DO!!!!!"
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| baaaaahhhhhhhhhh.... i has the dumb. |
[Jun. 26th, 2009|05:44 pm] |
went running this morning, cleverly combining exercise with an errand, had just gotten to that wonderful point where you're glad you haven't stopped running and are no longer like "god damn i really wanna stop running", weather was perfect, jauntily smacked ankle into hole from a missing cobble, intense pain.
i can't tolerate losing a counted-on opportunity for burning calories (slash i wouldn't have eaten dessert had i known that i would be felled by the shoddy california's-broke-ass-is-not-a-joke road)... and i am very Spartan, at random times, about stupid things. so i also ran all the way back.
achy, now. owie, now.
ow.
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| i must air a grievance |
[Jun. 18th, 2009|03:18 pm] |
| [ | sounds |
| | 'i won't teach your boyfriend how to dance' - black kids | ] |
it is a grievance which the incomparable ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) inconnivus has aired in the past, far more elegantly than i can.
but i am going to air it again anyway.
PEOPLE NEED TO WEAR PANTS WHEN THEY NEED TO WEAR PANTS.
LONGISH "LAYERED" TEES ARE NOT DRESSES. THEY ARE NOT MINISKIRTS EITHER.
MY CONFUSION OVER WHAT AN ARTICLE OF CLOTHING "IS" MAKES IT A BAD ARTICLE OF CLOTHING.
TIGHTS ARE NOT PANTS.
STIRRUP-TIGHTS ARE ESPECIALLY NOT PANTS.
AND FURTHERMORE,
IF YOU HAVE A SAGGING, SQUISHY, OTHERWISE-REPULSIVE ASS, I REALLY REALLY WANT YOU TO WEAR PANTS. edit: YOU WILL FEEL MY WRATH FROM BEHIND. IN THE FORM OF MY SKINNY-BITCH GLARE. NOBODY WANTS THAT.
IF YOU HAVE AN AMAZING ASS, I WILL FORGIVE YOU IN MY HEART. BUT I'LL STILL WISH YOU WERE WEARING PANTS.
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| do the panic |
[May. 17th, 2009|09:51 pm] |
so, i've had a good weekend, i think.....max has been in germany since thursday visiting his studying-abroad little sister, so i've been enjoying my temporary singleness.....
i did the getting drunk and dancing to techno in the city thing....
the lock myself in my apartment and turn my phone off and savor the sweetness of solitude thing.....
the creepy poetry reading in an alley in oakland where i watched a guy color his face with sharpie and then spitwash himself, to great indie-kid applause.....
and now the fun is over and i'm training for my new job (as a law firm receptionist, woo-hoo, there's gonna be sexual harassment of some kind, i'm sure of it) way early in the manana, and i'm nervous, and i'm exhausted because it's been 900 degrees here and i don't have AC upstairs (aka, in my bedroom).........i'm considering camping out in the living room until i can buy a big, ugly, expensive, noisy fan.....
and i'm suddenly very ready for max to come back. i'm waiting for him to come home, really, though i always shy away from saying it that way, the technicality of our not living together is so important to me, i revel in knowing that i can kick him out if i want to or storm off if i please, even though i haven't yet done either of those things..... and at the same time, not to get all 'garden state' on anyone, but 'home' is such a fluid concept when you're in your twenties....it can really only exist in other people.
anyway, i'm sort of so tired. and overheated. and my steering wheel jammed while in oakland tonight and i very nearly had a heart attack thinking i would be stuck, uh, in oakland. and then some dumbass who'd "stopped" in the middle of an intersection for no discernible reason attempted to fix things by nearly reversing into my car, at the precise moment when i was drinking from a water bottle, and in the exercising of my newly-acquired-california-drivers-are-fucking-tards-honking-reflex, i sprayed the entire interior of my car with SmartWater. white whine, i know. still vexing. |
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