May 29, 2003

Random (older) conversations:

(I look over and notice a cemetary built at the top of a long, sloping hill. )
Me: Now, that's a good cemetary for zombies to come from because it's on a hill. It's much easier for Zombies to go downhill than uphill.
J: But Zombies are strong..
Me: Yeah, but they're not very coordinated.They're lumbering. They'll at least get the momentum to speed up down the hill when they're chasing you.
J: But they might not be able to stop then, and they'd run right past you.
Me: Yeah, I guess.... Zombies excell in flat land.

(changing subjects)
Me: I want a goat.
J: Yeah.
Me: But I want one of those crazy, kicking goats. The kind that kick with their back legs all crazy, like those wild horses.
J: Yeah, but then he'd be kicking me all the time because you'd be scared of it.
Me: But that'd be funny!!
(long pause)
Me: I'd put pants on it. Maybe boots too. That'd be really funny!

posted at 12:02 AM

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May 27, 2003

Today is the first day I've been allowed to watch COPS or any show about prisons, bail bondsmen, bounty hunters, forensic scientists, morgues etc since my horrible dream.
I watched it all, baby. And I'm terrified and retarded.
I watched a really interesting show about Rikers Island and then started to get concerned that I was going to have to choose which gang I wanted to be affiliated with so that I would be able to use the phone to call my mom. I started thinking about what I would have to explain to my mom about putting money in my commisary so that I could pay off the man who was trying to beat me up that day. I wondered what I would have to do to avoid getting my face cut off by a rival gang. Would I become a 'rat killer' so that I could avoid affiliation with a gang completely? Would I attempt to dig a hole through my wall and hide it behind a poster of Marlene Deitrich? Would I use my skills as a college educated person to help out fellow inmates with their legal problems?
Then I realized...I will never go to Rikers Island. I am not a criminal, nor am I a man.
I spent 30 minutes thinking of this stuff today. I should start a log of all the time I waste worrying about things that, no matter how hard I try, will never come to fruition.

Every time the buzzer rings to my apartment, my heart races, though.

I spent the day enjoying nothing. I spent some time with Amy which always refreshes my soul, that's for sure. The rest of the day I spent seperating glass seed beads.
The kind that are a millimeter big, you know, seed beads . They came in a multipack of 357298524350985429 million.
I seperated them into red, pink, dark pink, orange, blue, turquoise, orange, yellow and white.
I am an idiot.

I hate seed beads and I curse the man who made them.
My idea was to create a really great effect onto boxes using the beads on top of a painted design to create a 3 dimensional art effect.
It's a pain in the ass, let me tell you. I 'm just really angry having spent, oh, 4 hours trying to seperate these beads. I'm not done with one bag yet. Well, strike that. I'm done seperating. I will not be spending any more time seperating colors. I tried to make some interesting multicolored designs on a wooden heart ornament -- but it's looking pretty hokey so far.

This was my weekend from H-E-Double Hockeysticks that's for sure. It was nice to have a day to recoup.
Spent all weekend between shuttling Nate and Kellie around and working at my parents house for two days. Spread out 5 yards of mulch and two yards of topsoil, planted three hundred thousand flowers and weeded and raked and hurt myself. As I was going through my archives, I've found that one year ago Sunday I spent Memorial Day weekend doing the exact same thing -- planting shit at my parents house. I'm going to have to do something about this next year.

As for this coming up weekend, I'm going to Canada camping. At the Pinery Provinical Park. I am so looking forward to this . I'm gonna rent a bike and ride my ass off...then eat s'mores and light sticks on fire and get bit by mosquitos and take pictures and eat s'mores some more.
Though I'm not a *huge* fan of marshmellows. I think I will try to cook mini marshemellows this year to see if that works better for me. Last time I was camping in Canada was at Point Pelee which was incredible. The highlight of that trip was the walk that you can make through the marshland. They have it set up so that it's miles of boardwalk going all around in the marsh and wetlands. You can see tons of birds, turtles, fish...it's just amazing. I would love to go back there. It was so relaxing and so comfortable. It was there, in Point Pelee, where I saw the coolest dead fish I have ever laid eyes on.
A dead fish, cool? you ask? Yes. It was HUGE. A fish the size of a football washed up on the beach. The kicker was, he had a fish in his mouth that was also dead, but considerably smaller. So he died, washed up on shore, eating a fish.
It was incredible.
(and how could I tell it wasn't staged? The smaller fish was partially eaten.)
Another interesting thing on that trip was the crazy french-canadian family that was spending the day sunning themselves on the beach -- right next to a very dead, rotten and stinky fish pile. Did they not notice? Dirty french-canadians.
posted at 11:14 PM

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May 23, 2003

Been hanging out with my friend Nate and his girlfriend Kellie who is just adorable. They're the best.
I feel so old...I can't keep up.

When did I get so crotchety?

HEY YOU KIDS...GET OFF MY LAWN!
posted at 1:19 PM

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May 22, 2003

Yesterday was my twilight zone day. You know those days where everything is just too messed up to be happening...

At about 5:00 in the morning I woke up from a terrible nightmare. I thought I had heard the buzzer to the apartment buzzing. I have always maintained that if someone is knocking on your door, ringing your door or phone or otherwise trying to get a hold of you while it is still dark in the morning -- it is NOT a good sign. Something bad is happening. Because I had just been abruptly awakend from a terrible dream, I was certian that there was a team of bounty hunters outside of my building waiting to get me. (The federal bounty hunter type, with a badge, not the boba or jango type.) I freaked the fuck out. I lay there in bed, covers up to my ears, adrenaline screaming through my body. I was burning up hot with fear. I could hear someone walking around outside. What was I going to do? I devised a plan to hide inside my dresser if I needed to -- or under my bed, even though that was quickly dismissed because I know that's the first place bounty hunters look.
I lay there, unmoving, for an hour.
Finally, I decided that it had been an hour without any buzzer noise and they had decided to leave so I fell back asleep.

Round about noon, I found out that it was the addict neighbor upstairs ringing buzzers to any apartment because she had lost her key to get into the building.
Every single apartment (there's 8). At 5:00 in the morning.

So, about the same time, I was talking to another neighbor who had mentioned that the addict neighbor's door had been open all day, tv blaring, but no one is home.
Three of us decided to go check it out, you know, to make sure everything is okay -- and if it's all fucked up or not (she is addicted to a plethora of prescription drugs as well as a recovering heroin addict now methadone addict. She also has a 15 year old daughter. Fun times.) We find her lying on the floor halfway between the kitchen and the dining room. She's sort of gurgling. Well, fuck. She could either be sleeping off her high or fucked up and gonna OD. I've never had to deal with a drug that bad before so the unanimous decision was to get the manager involved and call 911.
It turned out, she took her methadone in the morning and shot up later in the day. She was, according to the cop, "obliterated."
So in the middle of all this, her poor daughter comes home to about a dozen cops and about half a dozen paramedics all wanting to talk to her. That's a lot for a kid to deal with. I felt so bad for her, but as we decided, she's probably used to it with her mom. That's what sucks. She's 15 she shouldn't have to be taking care of her mom. I'm suprized she's not being taken away by social services or something. How does that work?

Anyway, oh I forgot the best story that happened before that. (backstory, Our blinds were broken -- they were total ghetto vertical blinds that closed by pulling REALLY HARD on this chain. The chain snapped which meant OPEN windows for all of Rochester Road to drive by and stare at my computer. Great. Anyway -- our windows were open and you could see everything.)
We were sitting here eating dinner when suddenly, this girl and guy run from our driveway onto the front lawn of the building and subsequently right in front of our windows. He was screaming at the girl about hitting him and he's tired of it. She was pulling on his shirt, screaming at him to get back in the car. They were fighting. It was like watching tv through my windows. He got back in the car, she wouldn't get in. He got out, she got in. They screamed at eachother the entire time. Eventually, they both got in the car because he had to go see his "gran'maw" and drove away.
Exciting.

Yesterday was too surreal. Now I might be going to see Ritchie Hawtin tonight in Ann Arbor and I'm really angry about this. I don't want to go but I'm entertaining an old friend who is spending the night here then spending the rest of the weekend at the DEMF. B-O-R-I-N-G. and he really wants to go.
We'll see what happens. I say we go to the movies then go home to be in bed by 1 so I can watch DS9. End of story.
posted at 10:49 AM

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May 20, 2003

Conversation:

J: Steve Martin is a really good writer.
A: Yeah. He's been on the best seller list for months and months.
J: Well, yeah but so is VC Andrews and she's dead.

(overheard) You get lemons, you just make lemonaid...
J: If I ever say that, I want you to punch me right in the teeth.

Now I'm watching "Who wants to me an American SuperModel Millionare the bachelor." or something. All about a bunch of tall, skinny egocentrical women all trying to compete for Ubermodel Tyra Banks' attention.
These women aren't nice, they're not pretty (for the most part because they have really bad attitudes)...yet I continually watch this bullshit just to make myself angry.
I get so angry and the fact that I get angry over something like this makes me crazy. Why? Attitude. They have attitude.
HA! J just said (over his shoulder while he's involved in his video game) "I bet this show makes you angry, huh?" I didn't even say anything outloud.
posted at 9:20 PM

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May 19, 2003

Well, I met her. It went as poorly as I expected -- but better than I expected. I think I said "Hi Traci, I love you, you're the best, I'm so happy to have meeting you." (sadly, I think it's a direct quote.) It was really pathetic. But, I'm glad I met her. She is quite possibly the single most beautiful person on Earth. She's also incredibly nice. She gave one guy, the moderator on her message board , a big hug and a kiss on the cheek. You know he was going to run to the bathroom and do naughty things right after that. It was embarassing. She was more than wonderful, that's for sure. She was very happy to talk to everyone and was just wonderful wonderful wonderful.

I also met John de Lancie, better known as "Q" or my favorite "Eugene" from Days of Our Lives. I mentioned to him I've been a fan since back in the day when he played Eugene and he said "Yes, Eugene was really fun to play." and then sort of brushed me off. I mean, I will give him the fact that it was like 10am and he's probably jet lagged and has heard it all before. His face was puffy and I'm sure that he had spent all night sitting around playing euchre with LeVar Burton, cleaning out the mini bar of its wee tiny bottles of booze.
Damn it though, i wanted him to be nicer.

I got a big, huge hug from Virgil, the superstar of the WWF or whatever it's called now. That was awesome. He called me "momma" and ran over to get our picture taken. That was nice. He was hilarious and really friendly. What a total showman, though. I think he could sell ice to an eskimo (or some other witty analogy).

I wanted to go meet LeVar Burton but his line was insanely long. I tried to get a picture of him, but he had nazi bodyguards hanging around that were very excited about enforcing the "no pictures please" rule. I got one but it's kind of blurry. That bummed me out, but I wasn't too upset. I saw him and that was good enough for me.
I also got a picture of Julie Newmar who looks not a day over 55. Her line was incredibly long as well.

The ones I felt the worst for were the oldies that were at the con to remember their glory days. Soupy Sales. He looked like a corpse. No one was talking to him. I watned to say hi but I didn't know what else to talk about. The guy from Car 54 Where Are You. He was really happy to just be sitting around watching everyone, but I still felt really bad. I wanted to sit and talk to him for hours but I felt odd about it.

A lot of the pictures I took didn't really turn out because everyone was too quick. I didn't use my flash because I wanted to be a little more subversive so I had to compromise on camera movement and shutter speed. Some of them turned out cool, like like this one . I got a good one of a guy bending over, looking through some comic boxes with a good 50% of his ass showing. That was pretty funny.
I wanted to get a shot of this guy who was by far the largest man I have ever seen wearing a shirt that said "You say HUGE like it's a bad thing."
I thought that was pretty jolly of him to wear...

As for the con, I didn't make out as well as I had hoped to. I could only find ONE copy of the TPB of Strangers in Paradise that I needed. I found a couple more at a booth but the guy didn't take credit card, so i couldn't get them. I couldn't find any alan moore stuff that I didn't already have.
By the mid afternoon, my cold medicine was wearing off and the temperature in the building was rising to a balmy 85 which meant it was humid, hot and smelled like a moldy wet basement. It was terrible. I wish more comic geeks would wear deoderant. It's not that hard to apply, really.

I saw a couple of hotties, including one very sexy boy who was wearing a black pleather coat in the style of Neo's from Matrix: Reloaded. He had tall spikey hair and all cutey gothic boy. Unfortunately, he knew how cute he was. Plus he had to be hot in all that pvc, ah well. I even managed to see an old friend I knew from college. Yeah. Fun times. Overall I give it 7 out of 10 stars.

Also, I have just signed up for my GRE test to be taken one month from now. It's hard as a mo-fo, I tell you what. I've been taking practice tests online and I don't like it one bit. I hate the GRE.

Quote of the day: "Spiders as big as footballs, my ass!!! I hate the future!!"

posted at 6:54 PM

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May 17, 2003

Tomorrow is the comic con.

More importantly, tomorrow is Traci Lords.
TRACI LORDS.

I can't say it without swearing out loud...FUCKING TRACI LORDS MOTHERFUCKER.

How eloquent...

To fully enjoy the geekfest that is the comic con, I have created a shirt adorned with my favorite Trek alien, the Gorn.

I am so excited. Pictures and commentary to follow.
Traci lords. Traci lords. Traci lords.
posted at 1:00 AM

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May 15, 2003

Someone has posted on his webpage about me stating that it's impossible for me to like the Misfits and Star Trek -- and that I probably only own Collection 1 and only listen to "Where Eagles Dare." I laughed out loud. He's cute, but I'm sorry to disappoint him.
-big breath in- I own all 7 seasons on DVD of TNG, I own mostly all TOS on vhs, I own the first two seasons of DS:9 (because that's all that's out) and I own every misfit cd -- including the "new" misfits with Michale Graves (swoon).

Now, granted, owning all of this stuff doesn't make for a fan. It could just mean that I spend my money unwisely -- in order to look like a fan. BUT...I can honestly say, I am a fan.
I have autographed photos hanging on the wall of my kitchen. I go to conventions.

I'm not as cool as J's ex though, becuase he told me stories about how they used to go hang out in the Meijer up in Flint and play a game where you had to name all of TOS episodes...I am not that good. She's that good.
I'll be that good one day.
I'm sort of good.

I may not have a lot of life experiences, I may not have a job at the current moment, I may be geeky and moody but I swear to god, Mike , I am cool.
posted at 9:27 AM

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May 13, 2003

I'm thinking of entering this Non-Fiction writing contest. "Tell us the story of your life" is the theme. Not a play-by-play story but a story about a particularly poignant part of your life, something that youv'e been through, a day that changed your life or the story of how you came to be.

Now, I think I have a shot at this, honestly. I write for shit mostly in this journal but I do have an iota or two of skills. I swear. The problem isn't my ability. The problem lies within the fact that I don't have a story. I have several little interesting chapters maybe but nothing that could fill a 3000 word quota.
I don't have a poignant life changing story.
(Well, I do, but I am not going to go blab it to a national publication. It's a private, serious matter that is my history.)
What is my story?
I can only come up with these ideas:

* I spent 8 days in Toronto with Amy and a stranger* from the internet -- and we only left the hotel room 4 times (exaggerating, surely...but we really didn't do anything at all until new years eve)
* I spent 11 days in Cancun and can only remember 2 of them. The rest I was completely obliterated on tequila shooters. (or delerious from bronchitis) (might make for a good story if I can make up the details)
* I dated a guy** from Norway
* I met Clive Barker twice
* I lied to my parents my freshman year of college. I told them I was going to the library and drove the hour or so to Ann Arbor to spend the day with my then-boyfriend. On my way home (in a rush), I ran a red light and hit a house. Yes, a stationary house. duh.
* I worked retail and had a grudge against Bananana Republic and the girls from Claires.
* My entire freshman and sophmore years of college spent with Amy.

These are all good ideas, for sure, but I know there's going to be some women out there sending in stories about how they survived the hurricanes blowing their homes down so they rebuilt everything in the entire town with their own two hands while they were in a body cast and had only one leg, how their mothers survived cancer and divorce and a conjoined twin dying, how their husbands died in the world trade center and are forced to raise their 3.5 kids on their own, how they were forced to drop out of school to take care of their little brother while dealing with their parents divorce and subsequent alcohol and prescription medicine abuse and then went on to get raped and have a kid and somehow overcame the odds and went to school to be validictorian of Harvard and is now a surgeon making 350975443534 million dollars a year, how they work at a soup kitchen in their spare time, how they do everything and anything and climbed Mt. Fuji while giving birth.

I've been laid off 4 times from great jobs. I graduated college with a silly*** degree. I own 4 cats. I haven't been published anywhere good and I haven't sold any of my work.
What have I done?
Oh, and the Cancun story is out of the deal because they say "it must be true." How can I prove it wasn't true? I don't know but I'd feel bad, I think.

I've got to think about it. It's due July 1st.

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* - His name was Victor. He wasn't really a stranger. I had known him for a couple of years, but we hadn't met in person. One of those internet friends.
** - His name was Oyvind. He was a giant. 6'6". I'm 5'6". He was a lot of things.
*** - Film.
posted at 11:44 PM

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May 11, 2003

J: They're like Allie and Troy with all of their problems...

I hear "they're like Alien Troi"...then I begin to think, Which episode did Deanna Troi turn into an alien? Did she cause problems? Was she clumsy? I can't remember when she turned into an alien.
I turn to J. and ask "What did you say?" He repeats.

I realize how much of a Star Trek dork I am.
I have a problem.


posted at 11:09 PM

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May 07, 2003

zoo pictures
posted at 7:37 PM

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The Detroit Zoo is a fabulous place. Its so comforting. I can remember being only a mere 10 years old and posing for pictures in front of the big bear fountain. I remember when there was a giant oak tree in front of the old polar bear exhibit. I remember chasing my brother around the tree and posing, snottily, for pictures there as well. I can tell you exactly the best route to make it around the zoo and still see every animal.
But, even though the zoo is an old comfortable place, it's still changing. There's new exhibits, there's new animals, there's new people. It's still fun to me.
I'm like a little kid (that swears) when I go to the zoo. (I'm always swearing at the worst possible moments -- like in front of groups of kids "Look, they gave the rhino a bigger fucking place than the fucking elephants!")

Yesterday, I went to the zoo for the first time this year. It was the most active I've seen the place since I can remember. I'm not talking about the crazy people and the 3294098 school trips that were there. The animals were going crazy movin all over the place. The bears were walkin around, grizzlies playin and scratching their bellies, the polars were playing all in the water and dancing around. The elephants were dusting themselves and walking around (and I was so pleased to see they updated their enclosure to include a lot of toys and more room to roam), the birds were flying everywhere, the butterflies were all flying, the hippo was playing with a ball, giraffes running arond. It was so awesome.
I couldn't believe it. I clapped in front of every animal I saw.
I even saw a sloth up close and personal for the very first time in my life. I could have reached up and poked him, and wanted to but the lady told me I better not. A sloth!
And I was lucky enough to see the bald eagle that they are rehabilitating. It was found hurt and now they're fixing him up. What a great zoo.

It was the best trip to the zoo ever.
I took a lot of photos, as well.
I love the zoo so much, I'd love to work there in their marketing department but alas....


posted at 3:58 PM

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May 03, 2003

Traci Lords.
Traci Lords.

If you know anything about me at all you know how much I love Traci Lords.
LOVE

I will be meeting her May 17.
I have to start thinking of things to say right now. And something that doesn't go "ILoveYouSoMuchYouAreTheBestAndYou'reSoPrettyAndI'dPrettyMuchGoGayForYou
IfYouWantedMeToAndILikedYouInTheMovieUmhehehNoNotTheOneYouThinkNotAnyOfYourPornosIMeanNo
IMeanI'veNeverSeenYourPornosEspeciallyNotYourUnderageStuffLikeMr.LuigiOrTraciLordsPrivateDickHowDo
IKnowThoseNamesIDon'tKnowIMeanOkSoI'veSeenOneOrTwoButPleaseDon'tHateMeBecauseILoveYouSoMuch
AndIWatchYourTVShowAllTheTimeAndILoveYou."

Yeah.
Damn. I suck.

posted at 7:46 PM

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It's always the strangest thing when I find out that someone I went to high school with (and was also friends with) married someone else that went to high school with us and was also friends with us.
I'm sorry if I'm not making myself clear. I've got hella headache and I'm super dizzy. You would think I'm hung over for how bad I'm feeling but I didn't drink last night.
Son of a bitch, I'm old.

Anyway, this girl I went to school with, Holly, and have known since elementary school is married to Luke, a guy I went to school with. We were all friends but I didn't realize that Luke and Holly were that good of friends. It's really sort of getting under my skin. I guess on one hand, to marry someone that has known you since you were like 15 would be kind of cool -- you know, you can both reminisce about the good old days, share a chuckle about Mr. Burdick the Physics teacher. But on the other hand, isn't that a bit stifiling? I mean, that person has known you since you were 15. You don't have any new stories to tell. You don't have a former history, a sordid past that you can only bring up when you are drunk...That reminds me of Phillipe, the guy I dated when I was 21, he was a frenchman and could do things with his ...oh, nevermind, honey."
You don't have room to grow. That person expects you to be the person you were at 18, 19. You can't become someone new. You can't start over. You can't change. You either change together or you don't. You put strange expectations on your partner to become the person you think they should become, not the person they want to become.
I'm glad I never married Bruce. I would hate to be that person I would have become with him.
I'm glad I had the chance to experience all of my (mostly crazy) boyfriends. M., the boy I could have married but I was too young. Scott, the guy who looked like Atreyu from The Neverending Story and fulfilled a childhood wish to date him. Scott S., the bad boy from Noir Leather who treated me pretty bad (but Noir Leather Boy!!). Oyvind. Viking from Norway, that's all I'll say about that. Simon, fetish from England. On and On and On.

I suppose it could be different if you married someone you have known since 15 but never dated until later. Like...23 or whatever. I think everyone needs a bit of alone time to get to know themselves before they can become part of a partnership. I do'nt know. Am I being old fashioned?
posted at 4:41 PM

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So it's no secret I've been feeling like utter shit lately. I mean everyone knows. It's only written all over my face. So, after a night of moping around and poor me's we decided to head across the street to the Luna club. On Friday nights it's the best of "alternative classics". I was wary at first because that always means some shit club music from 1992.
But no. Luna on Friday nights is my new haven. My safe place. My home away from home. It's fucking brilliant, man. Ministry, Front 242, Depeche Mode, Creatures, Sisters of Mercy, Smiths, Happy Mondays, Wolfsheim, David Bowie, New Order...come on!!! FUCKING BRILLIANT!!!
I swear to god DJ Bradd has given me meaning in my poor pathetic life.

I have never danced to "So What" like I have tonight. I think I busted a hip.

In other news, I did not smoke. Yay me. Though I did chew through 4 straws. It is very, very hard for me (still) not to smoke. I really love smoking. I am the perfect epitome of the perfect smoker. I have achieved enlightment through Camel Light cigarettes. I have since lost that enlightment and now suck.
But, I chew straws when I want a cigarette. Chew straws. It hurts my jaw like a son of a bitch and now my ear is sort of deaf but it keeps me from smoking.
My asthmatic lungs thank me.

Either way, I am going to Luna every single friday night from now on.
I will be that old lady dancing like a lunatic in the bar -- the kind I used to make fun of.
I don't give a shit. The music is good and as long as I've got legs, I'm dancing, baby...DANCIN!!!
DANCE DANCE DANCE DANCIN MACHINE WATCH HER GET DOWN AS SHE DO DO DO HER THING ON THE SCENE!!!!

(Note, though, I will no longer be spending upwards of 2 hours getting ready to go to the clubs like I did when I was a wee lass. Nor will I be getting dressed in elaborate corsetry or black dangling velvety frocks. No. I wear jeans and a fucking t-shirt and converse and my hair in a god damned pony tail. Fuck fashion.)

PS: Best idea of the evening:
I will wear a shirt that says "Groove is in the..." and J. will wear a shirt that has a big, red heart on it.
We will do an interpretive dance to the song by Dee-Lite. When Lady Miss Kier sings "Groove is in the ..." I will point at my shirt. When she says 'Hearrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrt' I will point at J.'s shirt.
He will put his hands on his cheeks and make a face like Macauley Culkin.
Some time during the dance we will also do the Kid and Play kick step.
This makes me laugh.
posted at 2:21 AM

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