So I found the original post, I guess, about Blogtoberfest.


Oh really?
Yeah really?

If you're not there, we will talk trash about you.

Oh?
And what if we are there?

Eh well, whatever, I guess I'm done feeling ill-at-ease about that.

I think we should invite all these people to the Halloween party, though.

I tried to leave this as a comment on allthingsjennifer but I guess she doesn't want to hear it, as when I clicked "post" it just disappeared. (e:zobar) said his got moderated, but I didn't even get that notification. So I guess she doesn't think we're funny, or whatever.
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I would've thought the old stereotype about bloggers/computer geeks being pathologically averse to real-life human contact was outdated, but either no other Buffalo Bloggers besides (e:strip) and Punaro could actually be pried away from their computers long enough to leave the house, or the prospect of speaking to strangers overwhelmed all the other Buffalo Bloggers.

I know the (e:strip)pers can be kind of a close-knit cliquey group, but we don't bite and we'd've been happy to talk to other people... But I was so uncomfortable there, the way all the middle-aged surburbanite ladies were staring disapprovingly at me, that I really couldn't tell whether any of them were trying to socially network or not, and it did a real number on my propensity to happily meet new people. I mean, I'm not shy, but who'd've thought a Ye Olde Busty Beer Wench costume would get so many disapproving glares? At OKTOBERFEST! My skirt was longer than that old dude's lederhosen! Come on. I've never been so disapproved of in my <i>life</i>.

I really won't be terribly eager to show up to any more Buffalo Blogging events in the future-- there's nothing quite so uncomfortable as being told there's a party and then having the person who told you about it not show up. It's an unpleasant timewarp back to junior high. At least when (e:paul) hosts a party at his house, you know he'll be there.
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I mean, whatever-- we had some fun, I enjoyed the pierogis and beer, it wasn't so bad. But Jesus. I didn't go as a stripper-- i decided, somewhat last-minute, that I should go in the spirit of the thing, as a beer wench.
I don't know how many of you have seen me in costume before. Roller derby has cured me of the last tiny vestiges of body shame I had; now I really don't mind if the whole city sees most of my ass, because it's all in the spirit of things. Now, I didn't dress skimpily-- I decided I would opt for 'tasteful', as you never know who'll be at these things. But my 'tasteful' simply involves showing less than three inches of cleavage* and no ass-cheek whatsoever.

So I wore a sprung-steel-boned corset, a three-quarter-sleeved white (opaque!) chemise, and a miniskirt with a frilly corset. I also wore opaque tights with black lace thigh-highs over them. Out of habit, I wore short bike shorts under the skirt, ensuring that no ass cheek would show even if the skirt flipped up. All in all, it was slightly racy, but obviously a costume as opposed to clubbin' gear, and no underwear was exposed.

I got stared at. Other women were wearing dirndls of varying degrees of authenticity. Other women even had short skirts. There were people in all kinds of clothing, including a girl in a black mini-dress and fuck-me boots. Yes, my breasts are unsubtle, particularly when elevated in a corset, but it wasn't a lingerie corset-- it was a reproduction 16th-century noblewoman's pair of bodies, which is generally tubular in shape and elevates but squashes the breasts. I really wasn't showing that much tit.

Anyway. It was a deeply uncomfortable experience, and maybe there were other bloggers who were too busy disapproving of my un-cool garb to speak to us? I don't know. The only other person who self-identified as a blogger there was the dude from Punaro.org, who wouldn't even sit with us, but sat with his family at a neighboring table. I assume they were his family, anyway.
Maybe there were other bloggers there, I don't know. Maybe I should've made more of an effort to find out. I don't know. But I was far too intimidated by the disapproving and faintly-hostile glares of the rest of the Oktoberfest attendees (men too! Since when has a man in his late 30s been so horrified by a woman's cotton-covered breasts that he can't even look at her? People were falling over to avoid looking at me, unless they were glaring at me.) to be able to nerve myself up to go talk to them. So I sat next to the Blogtoberfest sign from 6pm until 9pm, and was carefully Not Spoken To by anybody except the (e:strip)pers.

Awesome-- I feel so much a part of Buffalo's Blogging Community, I'm totally going to more events. I can't wait to be ignored or glared at by yet more people. It's so worth my time and effort. I love social networking.


_________________

• As Edith Wharton comments in The Age of Innocence, and I'm paraphrasing because I haven't read the book in a decade or so,

"Three inches of cleavage is fashionable, but four is just vulgar."

So this blogger thing on Saturday--
OBVIOUSLY we have to go to it dressed as strippers!!!
Duh!!!
E-strippers!!!

If I knew where to get pasties, I would put them on, though I admit I am a bit of a chicken and these G-cups don't go out without a bra, so I'd paste them over my bra.
I have a nice satin bra... maybe I'll wear a corset too... I have a lace miniskirt petticoat... and back-seam nylons... or patterned fishnets...

Except...
Except except. :( I have so many blogging accounts... and i think I may be obligated, much as I hate this, to go as a rollergirl from Myspace, because the rollergirls are starting up their new season and we need the publicity.

Augh! What a dilemma.
(I won't be going as Livejournal, i promise you that.)

And I don't want to associate my Myspace blog (which gets a lot of trolls, particularly as I alienated half the Canadian roller derby association when I pointed out that the Hamilton league was a bunch of asshats) with this blog, because, well, this blog is pretty much the only thing I have that doesn't get Roller Derby Drama on it. (Though if I really cared about that, I should be smart and get the damn brass knuckles out of my user picture. Duh.)

Ay. Part of what makes this community work is that it's just at a crucial size tipping-point, in that it's large enough for stuff to always be going on, but small enough that it's still kinda arguably private.

Not that I ever update here, but that's more down to me not updating anywhere lately. (Myspace was updated in July and then I think I wrote one thing last month. Maybe.)

Chita is fuzzy and cute, by the way, and Z's iPhone is non-fuzzy and cute. How funny. I'll upload pictures, I promise.

But what should I do?
If anyone will come with me as an (e:strip)per I'll totally do it. (I was thinking I'd attach one of the (e:strip) bumper stickers to my ass somehow. Or maybe my chest. More people look at my chest. Magnets in my bra! Magnetic pasties! That would be sheer brilliance. I need someone good with physics to do this for me.)

Agh, but I think I need to go as a rollergirl.
What to do....
what to do...

I have been remiss about blogging here, and i apologize. It seems (e:zobar) has been amusing enough for both of us, however.

Mostly, it's just struck me that i ought to link to the zillion photos of the kitten I've taken lately.
I'd upload some "exclusives" here but I don't have the photos on this computer.

I didn't even explain the kitty's name in detail!

She is Dolores Conchita Figueroa del Rivero, more commonly known as Chita Rivera. Named, of course, for the famous Broadway dancer, who despite being apparently straight herself, is an icon in the gay community. Chita-the-cat has a tentative appointment to get her photo taken with Artvoice's theater/celebrity duo, who are Like Way So Into the real Chita.


Anyway.

Chita Rivera is the world's best kitten. She has been medically diagnosed as The Cutest Kitten Ever on two separate occasions by the vet. She grew from 2.5 pounds to 3.75 pounds in 3 weeks. She also, incidentally, tested negative for feline lukemia.

She has a Fabulous purple sparkly collar now as well. She has learned not to scratch skin with her claws, and now only draws blood when frightened or distracted.
She is no longer quite totally Fearless, but more because it amuses her to be scared than anything else.
She knows her name, or at least the Chita part of it if it's said loudly. She also knows "treat" and "kitty!"
She knows to look guilty if I catch her climbing the screen.

I want to teach her more tricks, and things-- she's more receptive to that sort of thing than the average cat, probably because she's a solo animal and therefore is more keyed-in to human behavior than most. She also is just plain smart, though. She does many sophisticated things, and is an absolute angel at the vet's office.
(When he was listening to her heartbeat, she was playing with the tube of the stethoscope. When he was bunching up the scruff of her neck to give her a shot, she was purring. She didn't even really notice the needle.)

She's still got a few more months until we've got to take her to get eviscerated. On the one hand, I don't want to put her through going into heat. But on the other hand, I don't want to get her guts ripped out. I'm terribly conflicted. But she's such an awesome kitty, I'm sure she'll deal with whatever happens.

I keep meaning to write more about her but life, as ever, is crazy. Still and all, craziness is easier to cope with when there's someone warm, fuzzy, and purring on your head.

So, all that said, photos, as promised:



That's the beginning of the Flickr photostream. If you just click to the next-and-next ones, there are like 30 of them. There are some previous ones, too, if I didn't link to those here-- I am sorry, I just always forget to link to them from here.

I have all these awesome photos of Chita Rivera the Obscenely Cute Kitten on my camera and the cord for it is... somewhere in the house... and so I haven't posted anything here in ages because I keep being like no no, I'll get the photos off the camera and then I'll post.
No, I'll post now, and then I'll post again later when I get the photos, and you'll see by the length of time between how long it's been since I last posted, and understand how friggin' slow I am at this crap.

I will update that my BFF Ursula flew in from London on Tues. night and left yesterday morning, and so while she was here to be of assistance, I took Chita to the vet for her first appointment. We went in on Friday morning, and while Chita had been utterly fearless in the car three weeks ago when we got her, she yowled most of the way there this time. (We went to the new vet on Kenmore Ave, so it only took two minutes to get there...)
Inside, there were two waiting rooms, and one had a large agitated giant poodle in it making a racket, and the other had a quiet sweet-looking small yellow lab, so we went in with the yellow lab. Chita insisted on getting down to explore, including going right over to the poor dog, whose owner had her under pretty good control. Greta was her name, and she sniffed Chita eagerly but was well-behaved and did not try to get closer-- we had to pick Chita up because she was trying to jump over to be nose-to-nose with the dog, and it just didn't seem fair to the poor dog.
Once Greta went in for her check-up, we let Chita loose and she roamed around the whole place. She asked to be let out into the hallway. She ate a kitty treat. She played with the mousie we brought her from home. Then she discovered the high counter with the receptionist on the far side, and wanted badly to be allowed to go into the receptionist's space, but we didn't let her because we are awful people. (The receptionist cooed over how cute she was, of course.)

When we went into the exam room, that dang giant poodle was in the hallway flipping out. So Chita arrived for her examination with her tail puffed out. The vet tech was impressed-- she looked like a squirrel. But she soon settled down and insisted on exploring the exam room, and stuck her head straight into the container they had of dog biscuits.

She weighed 2 and a half pounds, and the vet tech in consultation with the vet decided she was precisely twelve weeks old. Which means my sister Fiona wins-- from the photos <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dragonlady7/733998650/">I posted on Flickr two weeks ago</a>, she estimated that Chita was 10 weeks old.

The vet tech said she was probably the cutest kitten ever, and left, to be replaced by the vet, a big soft-spoken bear of a man who picked Chita up and cradled her like an infant to listen to her heart and lungs for a good two or three minutes. At first Chita was content to lie there, paws in the air, but after a while she got bored and started playing with the tube of the stethoscope.

The vet pronounced her absolutely perfectly healthy except for a minor case of roundworms.

What gets me is that unlike many stray kittens, she was so obviously raised well. When we got her, she had obviously been well-socialized, and had never been malnourished or abused. She already was good with people and other cats, and even the worms and fleas were only mild-- I've seen so much worse, actually in every kitten we've ever had. So someone raised her lovingly to the perfect age for a kitten to be weaned and adopted, and then dumped her by the side of a road! It seems so backwards. Of course it's better than the usual, when they're left to die far too young to survive on their own, but still.

So she's perfect-- she even tests negative for feline Lukemia, which was an expensive test (it was like $30) but I just thought that it was best to be absolutely sure. You can give a cat a pretty good life for a while with various of those terminal cat diseases, if it's an indoor solo cat, but you have to know about it.

So we took our absolutely perfect kitten home, and didn't let Ursula put her into her suitcase and take her home. But I've promised to regularly post photos of her.
Starting now with the webcam ones already on the computer. ;)



Kisses!

a while ago


Taken just now over my shoulder.

Photos I took of her the day before yesterday, when it was 90 degrees and the only decent thing to do was pass the hell out.

This morning:


She likes the boob shelf. Usually the boob shelf is a little... er, higher, but I was wearing one of those built-in-shelf-bra camisoles and the shelf bra wasn't really doing much for the boob shelf. But that's really where she climbs up to sit.
She was also helping me use my computer.




I took some pictures of her sitting on the keyboard with my big camera, but I haven't downloaded them yet.

She is a marvelous cat, content to amuse herself when we are elsewhere or busy, but endearingly eager for attention when we're willing to provide it. She wanders around the house talking to herself, and purrs almost constantly. She's a shameless food-stealer, and at first people-mealtimes were an ordeal, but then I realized that her Dingle Mouse cat toy was distracting enough that she'd happily play with it through an entire supper and not bother us once, as long as someone jiggled the mouse once in a while.

She also has learned to sleep when we do, which is really important in this household. She no longer insists on arising with the sun, but happily lies on your face/neck/arm/chest until you feel like getting out of bed. She doesn't even claw you.

I haven't gotten an appointment with a vet yet because I'm lazy. But I will-- I'm going to try the one on Kenmore Ave because they're close. Z's mom takes her geriatric cat to the Small Animal Hospital on S. Elmwood, but says the Kenmore Ave one is affiliated with them and so is probably worth a shot. Can't beat the commute, at least.

Not that the little girl won't ride in the car-- she doesn't mind cars at all. She doesn't mind much. I don't think anything fazes her.

She's had one trauma so far. She was playing around the kitchen chairs while (e:zobar) was chopping veggies for dinner. Our kitchen chairs are folding chairs, I admit-- we're sort of still not very sophisticated in our furniture. She had been jumping up and down off one of the chairs in her mad scramble to thoroughly persecute Dingle Mouse. Suddenly there was a mad scrabbling. I assumed she had missed her footing while trying to jump up onto one of the chairs. So I turned, and saw her trying to scramble up. She squeaked in distress, so I put my hand under her backside to give her a boost. She squeaked louder, turning it into a shriek, and I realized that one of her front paws was under the chair seat.
I quickly realized it was stuck, so I stopped lifting her and she stopped shrieking. She struggled to get away but I clamped my hand around her and held her while I felt with my other hand to see where she was stuck. One of her toes, claw extended, was wedged between two parts of the folding chair.
I worked it free and she immediately began to purr.
I looked her toe all over and it seemed OK, so I put her down and she ran nimbly away. I guess it didn't hurt that much.

I just thought it was so funny how fast she started purring. She was like, "Ok! All better! Let me go get that mouse!"

Ahh well. In closure, I have to link to this:


It's so true. I'm a babbling idiot.

She doesn't have a name yet, but I just abducted one of (e:leetee)'s neighbor's kittens. I stole the gray one from her post.
We carried her out to the car in a shoebox, which upset her deeply. I gave her my finger to gnaw on through one of the holes in the box, but it wasn't much comfort. So once we were in the car I let her out.

While (e:zobar) went into Wegmans to get a litterbox and some kitten chow, I let her roam around the car. She climbed up on my headrest, leapt around the back seat, climbed up into the rear windshield ledge and stalked the guy collecting shopping carts, and then abruptly remembered I was there and came flying back to chew on my nose.

We got her home and let her explore the house. After she ravenously devoured like, five kibbles of kitten chow, she ignored the food and wandered around.
Then I played with her with a cat toy for about half an hour. I finally wedged it between my mattress and box spring so the string part would hang down. It took her fifteen minutes to bust it apart and carry the feathery fur-mouse away to gnaw on it.

Now Z has gone to bed, and I am in my bed, and she is wandering around the house meowing. I called her and she came racing into the bedroom, took a flying leap, and made it up onto the bed, where she briefly gave me lovies, but then leapt off to explore the house again.

Oop, she's back. She's climbing on my head and shoulders and down my back, purring like a small electric motor, the function of which is to produce cute.

There are four more kittens. They are all this cute. See (e:leetee)'s post for more details.



Update: Aw jeez, she keeps running across the room and smacking into the mirror. I think she's looking for the other kittens. :( I don't have room for that many cats in this house!

The setting: The car, windows down, on a beautiful soft night after the rain has swept the day's muggy heat away. On the way home from a punishing roller derby practice of brutal scrimmaging and exhausting endurance drills, THE ROLLERGIRL is driving, one arm out the window, while THE BOYFRIEND sits in the passenger's seat cueing up music on the iPod.

RG: What a beautiful night.
BF: Mm.
RG: (coyly) Hey, you know, we don't have to go straight home.
BF: Hm?
RG: We could, you know, pull over on that dark street we used to visit... you know... enjoy the evening.
BF: Why?
RG: You know. Make out a little.
BF: No thanks. You smell kinda bad.



Honest-to-God true story from tonight.

(I just read "Rollergirl: Totally True Tales From the Track" because my mom heard about it on NPR and bought it for me. It's good, but my life is just so much more glamorous than that girl's. I need to be the one writing a tell-all memoir.)

Missing Image ;(

That's a real bruise on Sissy's ass. That's also her real hair.
OK, I uploaded that one twice and it won't show up, so if y'all want to see Sissy's bruised ass (which is bruised again) you'll have to come to the bout THIS SATURDAY NIGHT.



Just a couple teaser pictures for you. Lower photo by Ron Douglas

Apparently we've never blogged the catfish/green bean wrestling before. Too bad. It's amusing. But Pleco(saurus) hates it when we watch now.

I had an awesome time at roller derby practice tonight. This bout is going to be crazy awesome great. I can't even tell you how much.
I might wind up jamming one or two jams. I really feel like I'm skating well lately. So we'll see.

I have to pimp the upcoming bout. It's next Saturday, the 23rd. It's the LAST ONE OF THE SEASON. It will be ALL THREE teams in a round-robin-- so, a full hour of roller derby, not counting timeouts and halftime and the like. I swear to you, it will be awesome.
ALSO:

The night before, Friday June 22nd, at the Albright-Knox Art Gallery, FREE: their Gusto At The Gallery Event is roller-derby themed. Yes! There will be an exhibition/demonstration of how modern flat-track roller derby is played, performed by members of the Queen City Rollergirls; there will be booze, there will be a 70s dance party and also! There will be a free showing of the movie Kansas City Bomber.
FREE.
FREE.
June 22nd.
This is CULTURE, people!! It is also free. And it is roller derby. Also we're going to try to give out coupons for discounted admissions to our bout the next day. SO.
June 22nd, Gusto at the Gallery, Roller Derby Nite. I think it's 3 pm until like, late, I dunno.
June 23rd, 7 pm, Rainbow Rink in NT, it is the Battle Royale, the Season Finale, and I promise we will be way less lame and probably more violent than some notable season finales of late.

Also I am making a personal promise to all of you that I will kick ass.

So.
(e:zobar) is at the Association of Alternative Newsweeklies' Annual Convention, in Oregon of all places.
I am horridly jealous, as I have never been to OR or indeed any of the Pacific Northwest or for that matter the West at all except 1 brief visit to SoCal and a trip to AZ as a 12-year-old. (OMG. FUCKING GORGEOUS DESERT. It's a damn shame I can't deal with too much sun.)

Anyway.
More importantly:

I am home alone. It's just me, here. Me, and the plecostomus catfish (creatively named "Pleco", or "Plecosaurus" when I'm drunk). Me and the catfish in his tank, and the liquor cabinet, and wireless Internet.

This oughta be good.

The catfish, I might mention, is shy, and so if you look at him, he flips out. Somehow, despite being about as inert as it's possible for a living thing to get, he notices when you look at him from across the room, and tries to dive under the gravel in the tank.

I'm about evenly torn between totally trashing the house and cleaning it top to bottom. We'll see how the weekend progresses. It's still only Wednesday.