So I only recently got a copy of Jefferson Airplane Starship Whatsit's "White Rabbit".

I've seen Fear & Loathing in Las Vegas (and read it) enough times that I'm familiar with the song. But they talk over it.
I never realized that I'd never listened to it, until I listened to it. (Of course, the first time I listened to it I was... festively altered, so I didn't really hear it, so I'm just now getting around to really listening to it. Might I mention I am jealous of the woman's voice.)


The whole song is cliches. Phrases I've heard elsewhere.

But the song predates the cliches. The song is where the cliches came from.

I live my life like this. I always parse the meanings of catchphrases and memes and new cliches from their context, and am usually right, but it often takes me years-- in this case, more years than I've been alive-- to figure out the origin of the phrases. I remember watching Wayne's World with my family in, like, 2000 (OK it was earlier than that, but not by much) and we all looked at one another when it was over, with this moment of realization. That's what everyone had been talking about!
Another, similar moment of Wayne's World-related realization came when I was at school in Scotland. One of the girls loved doing impersonations of Americans from movies: her accent was quite funny, almost convincing but a little too John Wayney.
"Parrdon me," she said gruffly, "but do you have any Gray Poopon?" Then she paused, and a crease appeared between her pretty eyebrows. "Er, just what is Gray Poopon anyway?"
I laughed and laughed, and finally explained that it was from a commercial, which of course has never aired in the United Kingdom, as Grey Poupon mustard isn't sold there, and the added amusement value in all this is that in the commercial, of course the guy who rolls down the window has a fake British accent.

Ahh. I decided to write this here instead of my lj so they wouldn't think I was a stoner, but the tragic part is that I have not partaken of any illegal substances at all this night. No, I am drinking a rather scanty whiskey and coke, and what's funny is that the coke is sort of hurting my stomach.

I fear I am about to embark upon a heinous and thoroughgoing health-food kick. (e:Zobar) won't know what hit him. I'll have to buy him lots of BBQ Fritos and Honey-Mustard-Garlic Prezel Bites, as those are two substances that he loves that repulse me.



Unrelated: I am suddenly obsessed with the Paleolithic.
I was obsessed with it as a child and the obsession's returned ferociously.
This is a problem, as I am attempting to write a novel set partially in the Chalcolithic / Early Bronze Age. The Paleolithic does not help me in this endeavor, not one bit.
Bastarding bastards, with your compelling paintings!

Wow I accidentally hit "publish" before I even wrote anything in here. Quickest... blog entry... ever!!!

I should share the photo i posted on my lj for 4/20 though. Should've posted it here-- you guys would've been much more amused.

Refers to a strip by the excellent Jeffrey Rowland.



Anyway.

THIS SATURDAY NIGHT IS THE ROLLER DERBY BOUT. IF Y'ALL DON'T COME I WILL BE REALLY SAD.
Seriously, none of my blood relations can make it this time-- not my mom or dad, not one of my sisters, none of my cousins, nobody. I've had small family cheering sections at both so far, and I don't know what I'll do this time.

I skate for the Knockouts-- our cheer is "Knock 'em out, Knockouts!" and we want people to make signs that say that. Our team color is blue. Please please come out and cheer for me, or at least drown it out when the other team's supporters boo-- last time, the Saucies had a whole booing section and it really bummed some of us out. We didn't think it was very sporting.

We have been working so hard-- three league practices a week, then three team practices a week-- and we've lost friends, suffered at our jobs, lost sleep, gained bruises and contusions and concussions and sprains-- all because we want to be good at this sport, and we want to put on a good show, and we want to thrill the everloving fuck out of our audience.
If our audience doesn't come, then it's a lot less rewarding for us.

And all that sounds really whiny, but I don't mean it to be-- there's not much whiny about derby! It should be an awesome show-- we haven't skated the Dollies as a team before, really, and there are some really awesome players on that team. (e:girlon8wheels) is one of their power blockers.

Incidentally this may be the last bout I skate in this year, as the May one is between the Saucies and the Dollies, and I don't know yet what's happening at the June one. So this may be your last chance to see B-17 fly, until the next season starts in October.

OH MY GOD. The world is full of crazy people. Crazy people. CRAZY PEOPLE. VIOLENT CRAZIES.

Just ten minutes ago Z and I were driving down Kenmore Ave, driving safe, a bit like geezers, for lo! We now have the Dorkmobile back, and it only cost a zillion dollars! But we love our little green Dorkmobile (an adorable 03 Prius we still think of as 'new', for any late comers to the story). So we are driving along, it being a quarter to midnight on a Tuesday night.

And then some assmonkey suddenly passes us. On the left. Over a double yellow line. Some giant black pickup. Now, we'd been stopped at a light, so there was the slight excuse of the concept of haziness-of-intersections, but I was taught never to change lanes at an intersection so it's pretty definitely Not The Right Thing To Do.
But, hey, people are crazy. So we continue on, though it might be said that dude who was so crazy to get by us really isn't driving any faster than we were.

For non-Buffalo peeps, Kenmore Ave is the city limit of Buffalo to the north, in this neighborhood. It's a major street, but is emphatically two lanes, and the speed limit is a stretchy 30. I do 40 on it sometimes, in a hurry, but usually there's too much traffic. Both directions.
Later on it's a lane-and-a-half, but at this point, in Kenmore, it's definitely only one lane each way. Lots of little side streets.

Anyway. Suddenly the NEXT car wants to do the same thing! He gets out in the oncoming lane and starts roaring away. Z's Jersey survival instincts kick in, so he jumps on the gas, accellerates (to, like, 40, wow) and comes up behind the crazy pickup truck, because God knows what this second car is going to do. (Oh just let him in, you might say. What if he cuts us off? He is DEMONSTRABLY CRAZY. This is KENMORE AVE. That is a DOUBLE YELLOW LINE. Oh my GOD he is crazy.) The second car, a white sedan, tries to play chicken to get us to give him room. We do not do so, Z being a veteran Jerseyite. So in a moment the white sedan slams its brakes on, as there is a stop light, and pulls in behind us.
THEN THE GUY GETS OUT OF HIS CAR. [Buffalonians, the intersection in question was Kenmore and Delaware.]
The light turns green and we take off. Unfortunately dude behind us gets back in his car rather promptly, and is behind us again. We get to Colvin. The light is red. We come up behind the black pickup. The white sedan comes up behind us. Dude opens his door again.
Z locks the doors. We sit there thinking the million-dollar question: <i>just how crazy is he?</i>

Dude is a heavyset clean-shaven white man in his forties. He is wearing a black leather jacket. On that black leather jacket is a brass badge. It closely resembles a Buffalo Police badge. He comes up and bangs on the window. Z does his best stone-face-forward look. After another bang we think the window might break, so Z rolls it down a tiny crack.
"What the fuck you doing?" the guy yells. "You like to play games? Are you high on drugs?"
"Sir," I say, "You cannot pass on a double-yellow line."
"You like to play games?" he yells.
"Sir," I persist, "you <i>cannot</i> pass on a double yellow line."
Z rolls the window back up. The guy, amazingly, goes away. The light turns green. We drive away.
After the intersection, the guy again pulls into the oncoming lane, over the double yellow line, to roar past us. Z slams the brakes on. The guy rockets past us doing at least 55, and then rockets past the black pickup that started all this (blowing my theory that he was somehow in league with the dude and this was some exaggerated macho game--- nooo, it was not).

We continue the half a block to our house, pull in the driveway. I get out my cellphone and call 911. I report that a crazy white man wearing a police badge accosted us eastbound on Kenmore Ave, driving a white four-door sedan erratically and challenging us at stoplights, and I let my voice quaver a bit and said I was scared he'd kill somebody.

Z, meanwhile, likewise calls 911 and is a bit less coherent and a bit less successful at convincing them. Apparently his 911 operator wanted him to go stand out by the side of the street to give a report to someone. My 911 operator simply said, We'll send someone out to the area to have a look. I said, "He was going eastbound at a very high rate of speed."

Now, the question is: Was he really a cop?
Obviously he was off-duty, if he was. He was not in uniform except for the badge. The car was not a police cruiser. And if he was that pissed, and had any right to be doing anything at all, he'd totally have arrested us.
But would someone who was not a cop have the fucking gall to impersonate one, and to treat other people with such consummate selfrighteous arrogance?
<i>Who bawls someone else out when they don't succeed in illegally passing them</i> on a crowded suburban street on a double yellow line?

Z thinks maybe he was an aging stripper, sorta embittered that his cop thing wasn't sexy anymore. Who knows.

I just WISH I'd had the presence of mind to get my cellphone out and call 911 while the dude was banging on the window. That would have been so much smarter of me. As it is I didn't' even get his license number.

x-posted to LJ.

I forgot to blog the St. Patrick's Day presents I got last week.

Maybe he didn't buy me conventional bling for Valentine's Day, but he did buy me an implausibly expensive irreverent stuffed animal.




I don't mind the lateness of the gift-- the stuffed Joanna doll didn't go up for sale until two days after the St Pat's ship-by deadline, and he figured it'd be best to wait and get both items, but then the shirt went backordered, so i got them just in time for Easter instead.
But you know, I'll wear it to all the seisuns i sing at.

(Have I pimped on here that I often sing at the traditional Irish sessions on Saturday afternoons [5ish-8ish pm] at Nietszche's? Free admission, Guinness on special, I sing you song, Kurt plays harp, Bill plays accordion sometimes, Ann plays fiddle, maybe a piper or two shows up, maybe someone with a mandolin, Patricia might bring her guitar and sing irreverent folksongs or really sappy Irish ballads in a perhaps-sarcastic-you'll-never-know manner. You never know who'll show up. It's a good time. I generally get tanked.)

Also I and many rollergirls will be attending the Dyngus Day celebrations in Polonia tomorrow-- hopefully, on wheels at the Central Terminal. That's the plan anyway. Also someone who doesn't sign a name has been texting me about pussy willows-- I know it's a rollergirl because they have my cellphone number which is only posted on the private Rollergirls Yahoo group. So I have 35 pussy willows and eight wheels. I am nearly unstoppable.

And oh!!!
Highlight reel of the March 31st roller derby bout. You have to watch the whole thing to see (e:zobar)'s costume-- he's in the closing credits. If you want to watch for me, I'm wearing the white-capped Pro-Designed kneepads and a pair of black and white striped tights, and matching armbands, so you can often spot me by the stripes glowing in the blacklight. The lighting's awful, sorry.

Dammit, I can't steal the video. I guess I have to just link to it. It's here. On Myspace. Sorry. :(




My team's in blue. Individuals and incidents to look out for include:

• #007, Supernova, has an awesome booty (in real life she's a model, a plus-size model, though there's really only one part of her that's plus-sized at all, as you'll see) and often makes entertaining gestures involving it.
  
• # 459, Janeiac, often skated as jammer, and throughout the course of the evening, fell enough times that she accumulated a 2nd-degree friction burn through her fishnets, so that the next day it looked like a truck had run her over.
  
• # RU486, Lizzie McFighter, gets checked into the chairs, on film (actually nearly right into the camera) by the Saucies captain Dr. Dementer. In that fall she injured her knee so badly she's possibly out for the season. But what the camera doesn't show is that she got up and skated through the pack one more time, getting 4 more points, before giving up and getting carried out on a stretcher (also on film).
  
• One of the Dollies, who skated as a ref for this bout (as the Dollies did not compete; we'll face them Apr. 28th), one Redfox, wore a crop-top halterneck shirt, a pair of striped spankies, and some Muppet-fur chaps that she made herself. Look for the cowboy hat and red hair, as if the striped spankies weren't enough to find her by... We all decided, in the Knockouts locker room, that we were gay for her. Just for her, in some of our cases, although others not so much. She found this hilariously entertaining. She really is that hot though.
  
• The girl in the gold sequined leotard and bunny ears, was briefly fired from her job for being involved in such a sexual and violent sport. She was fired, not for the video, but for the mention, of her pseudonym, in Artvoice. But the firing didn't stick so she's back at work now. (That's not an incident in the video, but it does add something, to know that.)

And yes, she did tell them all off on her way out, which made it that much better when they were forced to take her back.

There's one shot of me falling, dramatically from behind. There's another shot that apparently shows me going into the chairs, although I have no memory of such occuring. Actually I only remember falling once, in a pileup that didn't appear on the video-- a Saucy landed right on top of me and kind of squashed me but it didn't hurt much, so I shook her off and got up. But the video shows me falling all over the place. Which is probably a pretty good endorsement of my new equipment-- pads from Pro-Designed--

Anyway that's all for now.

Heh, what's funniest is that I can't view the video I posted. It doesn't load in my browser. I've already forgotten what I posted. I am sure it's dumb.

I have been involved in a horrid and stupid and messy flamewar for the last two days, over on Myspace, about roller derby. I am exhausted, but somewhat proud of myself that I have actually managed to largely get the thing to remain on-topic, and actually managed (this should go down in Internet history) to wrestle my way through and, within the comment thread, convince not one but two of my flamers that the thing they were freaking out about had not in fact been what I meant by what I posted.

The only person still flaming away is someone only peripherally involved, which is kind of funny. He seems to think he's still going to beat me somehow, even though I finally got him to paraphrase what he thinks I said (it was a two-paragraph post, and the first paragraph was a sentence and a half), and his paraphrase is not what I said, and thus renders his entire argument unusable.
I still haven't won, because he's apparently too stupid to give up even in the face of that logic, but I'm not really overly concerned, because he's not even involved in this, he's just some idiot who seems to think he is. So...

• dances a bit*

My Internet flaming kung-fu is massive!!

That said, I'm not ever ever linking to *this* blog from there. Good Christ. Well, not for a while anyway. It's bad enough that some of them know where my Livejournal is. It's not my fault-- I knew some of them before I joined roller derby. It's too late to swear them to secrecy, I guess.
It's just... agh, I have been blogging publicly on the Internet for six years now, I will not be deterred by something so small. But when it's people you know in real life, it's a lot higher-stakes. I had planned on just walking away from that blog post, but then I realized, I'm going to see these people at the meeting on Tuesday, and if I don't go to that meeting, they'll think I'm running from them. And...
Bah.

Anyhow. I posted the photos of the bout on Flickr, so that I could link to them from any of my blogs without putting in a direct link to another blog. There might still be like one or two people on Myspace who don't know my Livejournal name and if they're that oblivious I'd prefer they stay that way. Also I'm not giving Myspace more page views than I have to-- those ads are fucking annoying.

So: bout photos, and detailed captions are here:


If anyone's curious, I also posted a recap of the bout as I experienced it here:

(e:zobar)'s dancing rabbit is traumatizing me.

He traumatized a lot of little kids too. That was pretty priceless. I am now filled with a perverse desire to breed. I can't explain it.

I've been trying to post stupid videos and cellphone-camera pictures because I now have a phone that does photos and video, but I can't seem to make the moblogging feature thing work, so you all are denied my cellphone-video directorial genius for now. We'll see if I can manage to figure it out. If so, I now will have tons of content for my (e:strip) blog, because I am trying to use my stupid expensive cellphone enough to justify the expense, and this will make me feel better about it.

Also my life is so fascinating it needs to be chronicled, hopefully in multimedia.

So, stay tuned, folks, for stupid grainy videos of pointless mundanity. Yay! I'm psyched.

(I'm uploading this video from my computer, but that's not really moblogging. I am determined to become a moblogger. it would help if I could actually type on a cellphone. Perhaps I'll learn.)

::DOWNLOAD MEDIA::

See poster, previous draft. I suppose it would be gauche to post it again. Nickel City Knockouts vs. Suicidal Saucies, 7 pm Saturday, Rainbow Rink (just off the Twin City Hwy).

The Knockouts got our team uniforms tonight!!! They are HOT. I am not just saying that. Dave from Jackdaw did the design and the screens, and some of you may be familiar with the caliber of his work from the Jackdaw merch: Our uniforms are beautifully screenprinted, impeccably designed, and absolutely gorgeous.

Much of the team will be out tomorrow night in uniform at the Jackdaw show at Mohawk Place, so if you're curious, you know where to find us. I hear that Jackdaw inspires spontaneous dancing and also spontaneous makeouts. I hope not to be disappointed. I will be wearing a very, very, very short skirt with a set of brass knuckles screenprinted on the ass, so I should be easy to find for the aforementioned spontaneous dancing.
I am kind of getting over a cold so maybe you might want to hold off on the spontaneous makeouts. But we'll see. Alcohol kills germs, after all.

I've been meaning to get to a Jackdaw show for over a year, so, I guess that's a minor indicator of just how extremely lame I am. Nevertheless, I am excited. And also will be wearing an exceedingly hot uniform. So consider the excitement exponentially increased. I can't sleep because I can't wait to skate. I can't wait. It is going to be AWESOME.

But I made a vow to avoid capslock, so I had better stop squeeing now.

I don't know if that's legible but it's the poster for the upcoming bout. Which will be awesome. I am not kidding. I'm not even talking about (e:zobar) in a bunny suit or any of that-- I'm talking about the sport. I'm saying, if you saw the last bout or if you didn't, we are so much more confident, competent, and fast now, we are a vicious unstoppable force of awesomeness, and anyone who takes sports in Buffalo seriously shouldn't miss this.

Tickets are available online for a fifty-cent surcharge. You order them there, they get your name, you can pick up the tickets at the will-call line. Get there at 6:15 to get in line! We're getting everyone in the door this time. Halftime show by Blue Rocket Trio.


But there's another event that some of you might be interested in as well, which is somewhat roller-derby related:

On the 30th, the day before the bout, Jackdaw is playing Mohawk Place. Their piper (Dave Moore, roommate of one Holly Lulu, outside blocker for the Knockouts) did the graphic design for the logo for the Nickel City Knockouts, and we owe him a few drinks, so the entire NCKO team is coming, in our brand new uniforms (which we're not getting until the day before......), to rock the fuck out with Jackdaw.
So anyone's up for that, it should be a good time.

I've still never seen Jackdaw live, so I'm really looking forward to that.

Our bout afterparty is at Mohawk Place too, so there's a reduced admission with one of our ticket stubs.
Never been to Mohawk Place before, so twice in two days will be pretty interesting.

I'm about to get a new cellphone with video capabilities.
So I hope I'll use it and blog here with it. I'll find out how. Somehow.

I only ever post bitchy rants on here, but hopefully once I can video things, I'll have more amusing things to post.

I mostly just wanted to post that (e:zobar) has, in fact, actually gone out and rented himself a pink bunny suit. He is entirely not kidding.
Anyone who wants to see (e:zobar) in a pink bunny suit should hie themselves to Rainbow Rink on the 31st because he will be wearing it there, then.

Also this bout is going to be awesome.


Otherwise I have little to say, except that I finally went to the doctor after like five years of not having any medical care, and I remember why I never go to the doctor.
I went because my knees have been really bothering me this past week. They've just been super sore, to the point that i was limping, and after limping for a 6-hour shift, my back and my sciatic nerve have been giving me all kinds of grief. So I figured, I'd better get a medical opinion.

The doctor said it was probably overuse and I should cut back on my exercise.
Then she glanced at my chart, saw how much I weighed, and asked how tall I was. When I answered, she said, 'You know you're overweight so you should diet and exercise more.'

I ask you this in complete sincerity: HOW am I supposed to both cut back on my exercise, and exercise more?

And how come she had to find out how tall I was before she could decide if I was fat or not? She'd just been examining me, right? Am I fat, or not? It seems like you should be able to tell on sight whether someone's really obese or not.

I'm sorry to rant about it, but I'm really upset now, because it's taken me a long time to become comfortable with myself. The Internet informs me that since I'm five feet seven and female, I should weigh 150 pounds, or somewhere between 120 and 166, depending on the chart.
By those calculations, the fact that I'm 190 pounds means I'm grossly obese. (As an aside, I can assure you, with complete horror, that I would be DEAD before I was 120 pounds. I have not been 120 pounds since grade school.)
But then other handy dandy online obesity calculators, upon hearing that my waist size is 33, tell me I'm only borderline overweight.
(They only want my waist measurement, though. They don't care how tall I am. Which makes me suspicious of how they could even tell anything at all from that number.)


And another thing that irks me is that I know my boobs weigh at least 20 pounds (don't ask how I measured that). The smaller my waist gets (and it has gotten a bit smaller these last six months as I've upped my exercise although my weight hasn't changed), the larger, by proportion, my boobs get-- that overbust measurement just won't budge no matter what I do. So I'm sliding from a 38DDD to a 36F to a 34FF/G, with no increase in actual breast size, because as the band size decreases, you have to raise the cup size in order to contain the same actual volume of breast tissue.
(If I exercise more I'll become a complete and total freak and won't be able to buy bras anywhere AUGGGHHH. I am a G now! Do you know what that means! It means only bad things! BAD THINGS!)


But nobody, not calculators, not doctors, not nobody, wants to take into account 20 pounds of boobs or a pair of heavily-muscled legs, in determining whether I'm overweight or not. So I'm stuck with the label now of Clinically Fat, and am still trying to work out how I can simultaneously exercise more <i>and</i> less.

I admit it, I let (e:strip) fall by the wayside. As it is I have the Livejournal I've had for almost six years, and the community of people I only interact with online through it, and now I have a Myspace (oh Christ) because my team captain for roller derby made me get one. I don't' use my real name on it and don't mention any of my other online identities; it's just for roller derby. And it takes me so long to write these long entries because I don't know when to shut up...

But that doesn't leave much time for (e:strip). I tried to set it up so I could read (e:strip) via an RSS feed on Livejournal, but that silently broke, so I just thought everyone had been being unusually quiet. I was just thinking I should come back here and see what's up and bug Terry for IRS advice.

I don't really have time for much nowadays-- either I'm at work, I'm at roller derby or in meetings for roller derby, or I'm online, mostly emailing about goddamn roller derby. Or I'm asleep; I've been sick all winter and have been constantly trying to sleep my way free of some illness. (Remember the last house party? How I was getting sick, all snuggly in
my bathrobe and whining about not feeling good? Yeah I'm still not better all the way.)

I was exceedingly pleased to find out that (e:zobar)'s been blogging about me. I was glad to hear he had pimped the roller derby match-- it was very nice of him. (Redfox's husband, by the way, has declared that "derby widow" is politically incorrect, and he prefers the term "derby groupie". I dunno man, whatever empowers him.)

I also was totally psyched by this entry
and how it was decided that I am hella needy and whiny and need to back up off him. Yes. I am a terrible person, in fact, and none of my complaints are in any way valid.
He can compose all the essays he wants but if he doesn't post them then I don't get to read them. Also if you want to celebrate a holiday in an alternative way that takes the emphasis off the traditional way and makes more sense to you, that's fine, but you have to do it, and if it's something that involves two people, it really helps if you tell the other person about it.
I was very pleased to come home and find that he had made me dinner on Valentine's Day-- it was quite nice. Unfortunately i was ill and had been unable to taste food for about three days, and I'm still recovering from that, so I couldn't appreciate it as much as I wanted. At least it was a strongly-flavored dish with a pleasing texture.

I know I haven't been as appreciative to him as I should be. He made dinner last night and I was so upset that he didn't use half the ingredients I'd asked him to incorporate into it because they're about to go bad and we'd have to throw them out, and it made him super angry because he'd bothered to go ahead and cook dinner even though he was tired. But I'd told him that if he was too tired, we had perfectly adequate leftovers.
And I'm still trying to figure out how to apologize when I am still annoyed. I told him where the things were that I wanted him to use up! Does he not listen to me? Now I have to think of something to do immediately with all the ingredients I got for that dish, because they'll go bad, but I'm not going to be home for dinner for the next two days. [I was planning on taking Z out on Friday; does that ruin the surprise?]
But, of course, I'm in the wrong. He went ahead and made dinner. Which was nice of him. And lovely. And wonderful. And all that. And I'm ungrateful, but I can't help being pissed that he didn't listen to me.

And I am glad he made dinner on Valentine's Day, but then he left every dish in the sink and i had a nervous breakdown the next day [really, I was crying for 20 minutes while I was trying to do something else] because I had tried so hard to catch up on the dishes the previous day, because he sort of doesn't do any very often, and while I accept that I can't bully him into doing dishes every day, I have so little time and the skin on my hands is so badly affected by washing dishes that I can't keep up with them either, especially since I already damage my hands doing laundry and have never asked him to do a load of laundry in 3 years, blah blah blah whine whine piss piss moan moan.
So there you have it: I'm a needy bitch. I threaten and bludgeon him and demand unreasonable things of him, and mope and whine and cry and leave messages for him to find in a passive-aggressive manner. Because Valentine's Day should be, as he says, all about celebrating the special people in your life, by treating them the way you usually do, and it is unreasonable for them to expect you to tell them that they are important to you to their face when you can simply tell your journal about how little they appreciate how you feel, especially if you've never told them how you feel.
[Which goes both ways of course. I do the same. Turnabout is fair play. It also solves nothing. And I have been trying to make an effort to say out loud to his face that I appreciate him and the things he does.]

Amusingly enough a girl on my livejournal friendslist posted about how much she admires the relationship (e:zobar) and I have, how well I cope with having such an emotionally distant lover. [Her words.] Gosh, she said, I could never spend five years with a guy who had never even said "I love you" or anything remotely similar to it, and who didn't buy me things for Christmas or Valentine's. [Her 'emotionally distant' boyfriend bought her a rose, cheap candy, and a bust of her favorite DC comics character, and told her that while it wasn't easy for him to do mushy things, she was important to him. I cried when I read that entry, I'll admit it, but I didn't tell her that.]

I laughed and breezily told her that it's not always easy. And no, it isn't always easy.

I don't need the conventional mushy bullshit, I know I don't. I shouldn't need anything. I don't' want to be a needy, whiny person. It's not what I want to be. It's only so hard right now because I have so little time. What we have is that we enjoy one another's company so much. I never get to see him. We never get to talk. When we do we're so tired and have all these little irritations in the way that we can't really talk seriously.

I miss you, (e:zobar). I miss (e:strip) too. I wish I didn't have to spend so much of my life doing things I don't want to do, because now that there are things I do want to do, it leaves no time for the things I ought to do and squishes out the things I need to do.

I know! I'll become a webcam whore. Here are my boobs: Happy Mardi Gras/ Valentine's Day!





It would be a lot easier with a camera remote, though. Which I suppose I'll have to buy myself, but I don't have time to shop. I don't really have time to do anything, and I was just going to come here to make a quick post about roller derby and taxes, but then I got distracted.