22:00 - Blech
Current mood: nauseated
Category: Life
I was supposed to grade papers today. Instead I spent the day trying to distract myself from the icky butt flu symptoms I've been experiencing. For two days now, gut-churning cramps have been bouncing off of period cramps making for a good ole time down below.
I've been using lots and lots of toilet paper.
I considered getting myself drunk, except a headache started and I figured that alcohol would just make it worse. That and I feel a little nauseous too. (You probably do as well by now. Sorry about that.)
So I will show up tomorrow without the graded papers and tell my students that I was ill the past couple of days, and will have their papers for them next week. And they can fuck off.
Good thing I had today and yesterday off.
Bleh.
Not much else to report, I'm afraid, beyond the fact that I desperately need a shower. I'm a grody bitch.
Waking up Sunday morning, hungover, he climbs across the bed to kiss my forehead. He tells me that it's a good thing we're taking a hiatus from sex, because otherwise I'd be in danger of him making love to me that morning and the two of us not getting any cleaning done before our friends arrive in the afternoon to play D&D*.
An hour or two later...
Somehow, we are kissing. Somehow, his hand is in my shirt. And now I am in his lap. Astraddle. "If our clothes stay on, it doesn't count, does it?" Our torsos strain, I slide up, down, grind. "God, I'm going to come if I keep doing this." I hop off, breathing fast, heavy, tingling.
25
We have become extra snuggly. Kissing is divine.
In bed, we kiss goodnight for far longer than any kiss goodnight ought to be. And stop. And start again. Soft petal butterfly kisses becoming insistent until a disgruntled sound of frustration from him as he gives me a quick emphatic smooch and rolls over, giving me his back. I roll onto my side, contouring my body along his. He arches, catlike, and makes the same unhappy growl followed by a sigh.
I giggle and roll back onto my back, dreaming of lacy things.
24
At 4:00am I wake from a dream of our wedding day. I am at a supposed wedding site, waiting for him to arrive. He does, walking into the wrong room sans tux. I hide behind a door so that he won't see me before the wedding--and he stumbles past me with a bleached blonde girl in tow. They collapse onto a couch, canoodling, heads together, sharing some laugh, fingers entwined.
I walk into the room, shove the girl to the floor, wrapping her silky locks around my right fist three times, and shove my high heel shoe between my hand and her head.
"I will rip your hair out and eat it if I see you touch him again," I hiss, gutteral, teeth clenched, ready to carry out my threat without hesitation.
In this dream, I consider that it would have been a more effective threat to say I'd make her eat it, then toy with the idea of saying that I'll vomit her hair back up on her, but it's not worth it, and I dismiss these notions to concentrate on Ian.
He reeks of Scotch. Clearly plastered, he's slurring his words. We exchange hurtful comments ending with my retort that we clearly shouldn't get married.
I wake in tears.
He comforts me.
Assurances about not drinking before our ceremony. About being mine. When I tell him what I did to the girl in the dream, he smiles, pulls me close, and tells me he loves me. "Because I'm psycho?"
"Yeah, because you're psycho."
* * *
I think I need a preferred reader list for some wedding-associated elements that I am dying to share but don't want Ian to be able to read/see.
If you're interested, shoot me an email with your email address and I'll add you to it.
_________________________ *For those of you who care, we're actually using the World of Darkness game mechanics, in a post-apocalyptic world created by the ever-creative, demented and demonic dungeonmaster/storyteller Mordicai. But "D&D" is shorthand for roleplaying games for those of you don't care about what we're playing.
This should not present a problem, as being all bloody and whatnot is not particularly attractive and makes me feel less than sexy.
Then again, hormones are running rampant.
I had my hair dyed today. It's slightly less vibrant than the last time, a more coppery red, that I like more.
I always feel sexy after I've had my hair done. My stylist blew it out and put in a few curls.
I bought a new shirt (two of them actually--$7 for two shirts--bargain!). It's a long-sleeve henley shirt--the kind with buttons down the front. The one I'm wearing is a greenish-blue that brings out the color of my eyes. (The other is a vibrant blood red.) I wear it out to dinner, with the first three buttons down.
The restaurant had a one-and-a-half-hour wait. That was okay. I needed to go to Victoria's Secret to pick up the lace/satin garter-skirt they had on hold for me.
[Yeah... I ordered a slew of lingerie for our weekend honeymoon, but the VS online catalog was out of it. Mentioning that to Ian, he said, "Why don't you call to see if the local store still has it?"
They did, so I put it on hold, and we picked it up while waiting for our table.]
Got back to the neighborhood with half an hour to spare, so stopped at a bar to kill time. Raspberry mojito for me, pomegranate margarita for him. While the bartender is mixing our drinks, the restaurant calls (yeah--the hostess took our number); our table is ready 25 minutes early.
We all-but-chug, and walk a block to our dinner.
One bottle of chianti, a marscapone & corn pasta appetizer, a pork ragout and some kind of large manicotti-like hollow pasta for him, liver venezian for me, plum bread pudding with vanilla ice cream and plum sauce, him staring at the undone third button on my shirt with the promise of black lacy underthings in a pink-striped bag created a dinner with a bit of a spark.
Caught a cab home after buying a bouquet of roses and lilies at a local bodega, and off and out again to a friend's birthday at some bar somewhere.
I hope we make it home too drunk to do more than fall asleep.
23:22 - Veep Dweebate (and yeah, with updates)
Current mood: dorky
Category: News and Politics
9:20pm
Blah blah blah blah blah.
Wow their teeth are really white.
Is Sarah Palin farsighted? She's not nearsighted, because her glasses don't make her eyes look smaller. In fact, her glasses don't look like they have any kind of magnification at all.
Is she wearing fake glasses to make herself look smarter?
9:36pm
Oh god. This is ridiculous. I'd rather be watching Sunday's new episode of True Blood. At least those vampires are honest about their leachitude.
9:41pm
Who packed those bags under Biden's eyes?
9:46pm
Hey! Biden has a puppet hand too!
9:47pm
10:04pm
She watched the debate... that's how she knows. She remembers THAT.
10:06pm
Dude... did SHE just drop McCain's prison card face down?
10:09pm
She keeps saying "Team of Mavericks." I don't know how I feel about that.
10:17pm
Why isn't it over yet?
10:18pm
"Governor Palin and Senator Biden, what are your true Achilles' Heel(s)?"
Palin: "I have executive experience... working class... McCain... Reagan... team... ticket..."
From Biden, an actual reply to the question..., and aww... he got all choked up talking about his son...
Um... does she not know who Achilles is?
10:28pm
They're in the closing remarks... and I my eyes have tried to dry up and shrivel in their sockets to keep me from watching the rest...
03:55 - stuff
Current mood: curious
Category: Life
So... been a few days. I been obsessively playing the wizard chick falls in love with vampire roleplaying game with Ian the past few nights, and we actually involved a time travel into the past trip, which was awesome. I love time travel, especially when it's paired with romance. Nothing better as far as I'm concerned. During the day the past few I've been either wedding planning or lesson planning or grading.
Today I responded to 16 student papers via email, which is a different method for me. I have another 17 to grade tomorrow morning.
Tonight I played D&D and coaxed a clearly lost cat to sit on a chair outside my buddy's apartment. See--he lives in a basement apartment which is attached to a courtyard, and the hallway to his apartment door is partially covered and partially open to the courtyard. So this fluffy black and white cat came through the courtyard from who knows where and then was scared and hiding under the stairs, but I coaxed it out and fed it some kibbles and it was chilling out in front of his apartment when I left. He already has a dog and three cats, so he can't take the poor kitty in, but he said he'd ask around and see if anyone is missing a kitty in his neighborhood (Soho, on Prince between Thompson & Sullivan).
I drank several beers during game because the mushroom meatball pizza we ordered was way too spicy for me--the meatballs were practically pure pepper and I had to drown my poor spice-shocked tongue.
In other news, today is October 1st. I'm getting married in 30 days. During that time, Ian and I have decided that we're not going to have sex... to make the wedding night more... interesting.
My intent is to chronicle how all of that goes with daily updates--here, I hope.
Suffice it to say that after the third beer I was feeling all cuddly, and was staring at an underwear mannequin on Prince Street before we even got to the subway.
It's going to be a long 30 days. I'm wondering how long we'll last. Stay tuned...
01:13 - Poking the Debate with a Stick (With Live Updates!)
Current mood: enthralled
Category: News and Politics
9:13pm
I am in no way political or inclined towards intelligent debate over any issues. I am, however, inclined towards juvenile ad hominem commentary.
What's up with McCain's face/jaw/neck? Does he have gills?
Is he grinding his teeth while Obama talks? He blinks a lot more when Obama is talking. Why?
Is Obama wearing eyeliner?
Should he have his eyebrows waxed?
Do you think they shave just before going on the air? How do they get such close shaves?
9:24pm
McCain's tie is stupid.
9:28pm
Obama said we need to make college affordable for every young person in the U.S.
Um... yikes. I mean, I like that idea and all... but I don't want to teach them.
9:30pm
Is it just me, or does Obama have a slight tendency towards stammering?
9:32pm
Argh! Gills!
9:33pm
Obama made a nice analogy about using a hatchet when we ought to be using a scalpel (re: a spending freeze). And McCain narrowed his eyes and looked like a grumpy old polar bear. With gills.
9:36pm
McCain blinks a LOT. Someone get him some Visine.
9:38pm
I think McCain is bitter about having lost the Miss Congeniality pageant. He's mentioned it twice now.
9:48pm
Every time Obama makes a good point, McCain looks like he's letting out a silent fart. It's that goofy uncomfortable grin, you know? "Oops... that wasn't me..."
9:57pm
McCain: "Let me tell ya..."
9:58pm
McCain: "And I'll tell ya..."
Just tell us already. Jeez.
10:00pm
Obama: "Let me make a point..."
Are we not going to let him?
Okay. They both have bracelets. Are they matching bracelets? Can I see them?
Are they WEARING these bracelets? Put up or shut up, boys.
22:40 - Another Word from Our Sponsor: NyQuil
Current mood: drained
Category: Jobs, Work, Careers
The green dream steals your sleep cycle tricycle try to wake but the news on the clock radio scripts into dialogue dream newscasts. Wake late, call late to work, call Secretary A, leave message on her voicemail. Call Secretary B and tell her that you left a message on Secretary B's voicemail, to which she replies, you know that you're talking to Secretary B?
Mirror face washed and dried, rumpled hair flattened and sprayed down, clothing donned. Walk to subway, ride train drain game time slides the electric slide Penn Station. Coffee. Must get coffee. No cash. Use credit card. Five dollar minimum. Fruit salad. Latte. Time ticks, tocks, espresso purrs, milk steams, tick-tocks, past the clock, miss the train to Jersey, oopsy daisy donkey dear. Should have stayed home in bed.
Call Secretary B and confess your sins, receive absolution, cancel class. Blow your nose--leaf green snot, off to the doctor, trotty-trot-tot. Wind around from 7th Ave to 6th to get to the B, remember the wait-an-hour-or-two-doctor-please-won't-you-see-me, corner full square back to 7th and Borders. Latte too sweet, chuck it tout-suite. Buy books, repeat 7-to-6 walk, wait for train. Read. Read. Read. Doors open. Enter. Doors close. Read. Doors open. Doors close. Read. Doors open and close and open and you get out, head above a sea of dark haired humanity in Chinatown. Down down down you go through the fishsmelling streets of Chinatown.
In and out from Doctor Snout two hours later, back through the streets of fish and shout, subway subwary no canary today, just get home drink the green dream, and sleep.
Girls, I need you. Fellas, you might want to skip this one. It's girly.
I don't have a dress for the wedding.
That isn't to say that I haven't paid to have a corset and a skirt made. I have. But the swatch of fabric that I picked out for my corset online showed up and it was such a vibrant red, I wondered if I ought to put on sunglasses to tone it down a bit.
Then I requested more swatches, so I could pick another color.
They were... not the right color. More plummy, or pink. And I wanted a cherry red. An apple red. Not burn my eyes neon red with a hint of orange, which is the color that showed up.
So then I went fabric shopping. And I bought a beautiful burgundy silk brocade with a raised black velvet design:
Which will not look good with an ivory skirt at all.
Part of me says that I'm having a weirdo vampire wedding, so I might as well go all the way and wear a black skirt with my burgundy corset.
I'll also be wearing burgundy boots:
And a black mask:
So shouldn't I just go ahead and wear a black skirt?
That won't be very "bridey" though. So I'm torn between my weirdo proclivities and my desire to appear--for the entire evening, which I might remind you will be at a public venue where everyone will be wearing costumes--like a bride. Part of me says that a veil will do it. Of course it would have to be a black one... And it doesn't matter whether the people at the bar know that I'm "really" a bride as opposed to a costumed one, because those people don't matter.
Then there's the part that says that the ceremony and event will be in a dark club--and that an ivory skirt will look fine. (The part that wants a black skirt reminds me that I'm a klutz and will likely spill something on the ivory skirt before the night is out.)
There's also a section of my brain telling me that I ought to get an ivory w/red accents dress IN ADDITION to my burgundy/black ensemble, and wear both that night. This section is clearly insane.
So... what do you think? Do I go to Boston in mid-October for the Running of the Brides to pick up a bargain dress with the hopes of getting lucky (especially since most brides don't want red in their dresses), have the skirt made in ivory (with burgundy accents), have the skirt made in black, or do I stick with what I've got?
I hate being insane. It keeps things interesting, but decision-making is stressful.
Last night I went to visit the ever-lovely Angry Desk Job Girl at her new digs in Jersey City, NJ.
The first mistake I made was thinking that her apartment looked closer to the Hoboken train station than the one in Journal Square (in Jersey City). I seriously don't know what I was thinking. Probably something along the lines of "Crap, I need to print this before I leave for school and I'm going to miss my train... crap, crap, crap..."
Later that evening, I got out at Hoboken, and walked in the pouring rain (glad I had an umbrella!) for half an hour, up hill (at least for part of it) until I arrived. My skirt was half soaked up the back from the rain and my shirt was all sweaty from walking. ADJG promptly supplied me with a pair of sweat pants and a tank top so I could dry off and cool down, and we hung up my clothes to dry.
Red wine, bow-tie pasta with vodka sauce, chicken, and peas, with garlic bread. YUM. And she said she couldn't cook. Ha! I went back for seconds. And thirds.
Good company and good wine goes to the head. I took a cab back to Hoboken to take a PATH train into NYC. A NJ transit cop was loitering in the station, so I asked him if he happened to know which track I should wait near to get to the WTC (World Trade Center) stop. He told me, and I went down to wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, a train pulled in on the appropriate track. The red letters above the doors read "HOB" for Hoboken. The conductor announced "Last stop. No passengers, no passengers!" The doors opened, disgorged a flood of Jerseyians, and closed again. Some indeterminate number of minutes passed, and the red letters above the doors changed to WTC. Oh! I thought, standing up. And the doors remained closed. And remained closed. About a minute passed. And then the train pulled out of the station. WTF was more like it.
I went upstairs and asked the cop what had just happened. He told me that only the first car of the train had had its doors open to admit passengers, because it was after 11pm. I stared at him a-goggle. "Gee," I said, "it would have been nice of you to tell me that when I asked you about the train earlier." Fucker, I added silently.
"What should I do now?"
"Take the next train to Grove Street, and take the World Trade bound train from there."
Cockmunch. "Great. Thank you."
And I go back down to the tracks to wait. And wait.
Finally a Grove Street bounnd train pulls in. I get on. It leaves. We sit in a tunnel for five minutes. We move again. We get to Grove Street. Across the platform is a WTC train, hooray! I get off the train, and the WTC train pulls away.
"GODDAMN IT!" I yell, loud enough for everyone to turn around and look at me.
"That sucks, right?" a swarthy gentleman in his forties turns to me. I remember seeing him on the train. He's wearing a pseudo-Hawaiian shirt. "You're trying to get to World Trade?"
"I'm just trying to get home. I was waiting at Hoboken forever, and I can't believe that train just left."
He comes closer, as if to chat with me, and says something or other I can't remember, because he takes this opportunity to stroke my forearm suggestively.
I pull my arm away, not quite like I've been burned, but close. Luckily, a train pulls in on the opposite track. It has red letters that read 33rd St. I pull away from the gravitational force that is the arm groping guy and lunge into the train as the doors open.
The doors close behind me and I lean towards the high-school-age black kid sitting across from me, asking, "Does this train go to Christopher Street?" For a moment I panic, because he doesn't seem to know what or where Christopher Street is, but when I say Manhattan he nods. I chat with him and another young guy sitting four seats away from the other one, and when I explain I live in Brooklyn, they both light up and look at me like I'm much more interesting than I was the minute before.
The train pulls into a station. It's not Christopher Street. It's HOBOKEN. I groan. The train goes from Grove Street to Hoboken and THEN to Manhattan. The doors open. A flood of Jerseyites got up in ghetto-fine club-ready clothing pour in. Five girls, in various thigh-brushing skirts and v-neck cleavage exposing tops pile in, excitedly babbling in German. Four sit across from me, between the two boys, and one sits next to me.
The train doors close. Dudes pile in through the connecting train doors. I don't know what to call them other than "dudes." They were dressed in variations on an H&M mannequin complete with popped-collar, mixed with Jersey sensibilities... whatever that means. They looked liked they were dressed to impress... someone other than me.
As they push and shove one another against the motion of the train through the doors, Dude 1 says, "OH YEAH, now this is the car to be in," looking in wonder from one German girl to another. His comrades, five or six of them, all mutter in agreement. The girls, seemingly oblivious, chat on.
"I wonder what they're saying," Dude 2 muses.
"They're talking smack about us, dude," returns Dude 3.
Dude 4 volunteers, "I think they're talking in German."
I smile to myself. Last weekend I had lunch with a friend from Germany. We discussed language usage in Europe a fair bit, and he said that most Germans speak English, and will try to talk to you in English if you're having trouble with German.
The girls are aware of almost everything these assholes are saying, and ignoring them.
In the meantime, I've pulled out my class text--a collection of short stories, plays, and poems. I've decided to read Marsha Norman's 'night Mother because I've assigned it later this semester, and though I saw the movie version with Sissy Spacek, I've never read it.
I'm reading. I hear, over my right shoulder, where Dude 5 is standing, "Is that Sociology?"
I ignore him.
He mumbles something else. I ignore longer.
"I read... yeah, I like books," he says.
I continue reading.
"What do you think of Shakespeare?" he asks.
"He's a dick," I respond, hoping it will drive 5 away.
Instead, he agrees with me, and goes on to explain something that Shakespeare supposedly does which then really blows your mind, and that is why he's a dick.
Perhaps we conversed some. I rather doubt it. At any rate, I look back down at my book and tell the dude that I was minding my own business and would just like to get back to my book.
"What are you reading? Huh? What's the title? What's that say, RIGHT Mother?"
"No, it says, ''night Mother' as in short for "Goodnight, Mother, I'm going to go shoot myself in the head now and commit suicide."
"Whoa," he says, "that's sick. Who's the author?"
"Norman. Marsha Norman." I look up. Dude 5 is shorter than the other dudes, in a plaid button-down shirt with a green sweater vest over it that looks suspiciously like a green sweater vest I bought from Target. He's wearing cop sunglasses with the reflective lenses, and they're too big for his face.
He begins typing into his iPhone, when Dude Z comes over to shake him down for some breath mints. "Yo, wait, I'm looking up this sick book she's reading," 5 says.
In my left ear, I hear a German-accented feminine voice say, "I'm sorry he's bothering you."
I turn to look at the German girl to my left. Her dark hair is almost black, straight and chin-length, somewhat tousled, framing a pretty, and fair complexioned face. Her eyeliner would make a football player or Marilyn Manson proud. Her kimono is breathtaking. Crimson silk with blue and gold dragons, it comes to about her upper-mid-thigh.
I tell her I wish I could speak German, like her, so I could pretend not to understand him.
"How did you know I was speaking German?" she asks.
"It sounded like German," I say. "Bitte."
She laughs. "Bitte-Danke."
I ask her about her kimono and she nods, almost shyly, saying that her friend's sister shortened it for her. I tell her about the kimono store on Thompson Street in Soho. She says she'll have to check it out.
"Is it always like this?" I ask, or she says, "It is always like this," with a vague gesture towards the Dudes.
She tells me that the trains and the clubs, they're all the same, lifting her pointy chin to indicate the Dudes once again. I ask if they're going clubbing now, and she nods.
I nod, too. "I once had to ask a man to 'stop rubbing his crotch against me, please,'" I tell her, and she bursts into a pretty peal of laughter.
The train pulls into Christopher Street, finally, and I stand up and tell her to have a good night, getting off the train. And two hours later than I ought to have been, I finally flag down a cab, and get home.
05:33 - No blog for you... oh, alright, just a little one
Current mood: impatient
Category: Blogging
Sorry. Busy.
Want to kill friend's ex-boyfriend, who--breaking up with her after four years, three co-habitating--told her: "I was never in love with you." ASSHOLE.
He decided to break up with her while he was on vacation. VACATION. If I ever see him again, I am going to break bones in his feet by jumping up and down on top of them.
Friday night: Rode a mechanical bull for about three seconds. In two rides. Was poisoned. With vodka.
Saturday: Vodka poisoning feels bad. Met with photographers "Blooddumpster Wedding Photography." Got rained on. Watched Stardust. <3
Sunday: Had a fight with Ian. Made up while making fun of registry items. Watched my first two Dr. Who episodes: "Silence in the Library" and "Forest of the Dead." My geekdom is nearly complete.
Go read Ian's blog. He posted pictures of the masks we intend to buy for our VAMPIRE MASQUERADE WEDDING. He also wrote a lot about shaving.
Yep.
So anyway, a vampire masquerade wedding, on Halloween in New York City...
We don't have enough cash to invite everyone we'd like, but tickets can be purchased to the Witches Masquerade Ball that will open to the public that evening, about an hour after our wedding is over.
If you're interested, you're welcome to "crash." Just be over 21 and introduce yourself and tell me you love my blogs.
05:31 - Bored? This was kinda fun
Current mood: amused
Category: Web, HTML, Tech
Because I play Dungeons & Dragons, and because it is late, and because I started thinking about what my newest character for the newest game I'll be playing in might look like, I Googled "face generator" thinking I might find a utility online that would allow me to create a face. There very well may be one.
Basically, you upload a photo, and tell it where the eyes and mouth are, and then can transform the age, ethnicity, sex, or style of the image. Face-front without too much head-tilt seem to work best.
For example, I uploaded this image of myself:
applied the Botticelli filter, and got
and the Mucha filter and got
which is kind of cool.
Now if I could only make the ears of the second one pointy, I'd really be on to something for my Elven Paladin.
I'm a little too vain to post the "older adult" or "half-ape" filters just yet. Too weird for me. I did think the "masculine" version of me was kind of hot, though. Which only goes to prove that only children just don't get sibling incest taboo. Or that I read Flowers in the Attic at an impressionable age.
I'm going to mess around with a few more... Ian passed out drunk and went to bed early, and I had too much Coca-Cola with my vanilla vodka earlier to sleep just yet.
Your turn! Post a pic below.
**You can, of course, use a picture of some celebrity if you like... or your dog...**
nauseated
amorous
aroused
dorky
curious
enthralled
amused
drained
confused
triumphant
impatient
