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thought the old stereotype about bloggers/computer geeks being pathologically averse to real-life human contact was outdated, but either no other Buffalo Bloggers besides (e:strip) and Punaro could actually be pried away from their computers long enough to leave the house, or the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.