It has been a long time since I checked in. An unreasonably long time. I've tried to stick new pictures in various folders as I wander, thinking that would be a quicker method of updating my SG persona, but if I don't start taking the time to write in this here journal then I fear I may disappear entirely.
As, apparently, some of my SG friends have already started doing. Melting into the gray.
Part of the problem is I no longer have internet access at home and getting online at work (or, at least getting online to Suicide Girls) has become increasingly dicey.
But I am still a meandering, picture-taking fool and, stitch2, if we haven't missed our chance at photographing all of the hearts gracing our fair City, then I say, at the very least, we compile what we got, print them out and wallpaper a room with sheer joy, civic pride, and digital obsession. It'll be like a serial killer movie. Except the serial killers in this movie shower more often. And have great hair. And we would never, ever, cut off Gwyneth's head and put it in a box. Fuck that.
The Giants broke my heart. Again.
At least I'm still in love.
Klaire, Phoenix is a GO. Tell me when you'll be there. I haven't had a fucking waffle in ages. All of this happened in the last two weeks: my garbage disposal stopped disposing; my sprinkler timer stopped timing; my espresso machine stopped steaming... and, just two days ago, my waffle iron -- which I hadn't used in almost a month mind you -- refused to get hot. I cried.
Last night I had a dream. In the dream, a woman in a parka and surrounded by icy coldness was sitting, cross-legged, in front of a Belgian waffle iron warming her hands. She saw me (I was running in a Buddhist monk-only relay where you had to knock over as many garbage cans as you could... I was wearing a disguise, obviously) and smiled at me, then gave me the finger.
Swear to God.
In a couple hours I'm getting on a plane for Seattle. I'll be on a boat for Victoria later tomorrow. Lots of pics and lots of random thoughts when I return.
And Klaire, if I promise to start being nice to animals and check my ass for lint, will you have your astral self undo the hoodoo mojo afflicting my favorite kitchen appliance? Please?
Incidentally, I won the Buddhist relay by hopping on the 5 Fulton, taking off my bald wig and orange robe, bussing to the finish line, and slipping back into disguise at just the right moment.
The subconscious me is one tricky bastard.
As, apparently, some of my SG friends have already started doing. Melting into the gray.
Part of the problem is I no longer have internet access at home and getting online at work (or, at least getting online to Suicide Girls) has become increasingly dicey.
But I am still a meandering, picture-taking fool and, stitch2, if we haven't missed our chance at photographing all of the hearts gracing our fair City, then I say, at the very least, we compile what we got, print them out and wallpaper a room with sheer joy, civic pride, and digital obsession. It'll be like a serial killer movie. Except the serial killers in this movie shower more often. And have great hair. And we would never, ever, cut off Gwyneth's head and put it in a box. Fuck that.
The Giants broke my heart. Again.
At least I'm still in love.
Klaire, Phoenix is a GO. Tell me when you'll be there. I haven't had a fucking waffle in ages. All of this happened in the last two weeks: my garbage disposal stopped disposing; my sprinkler timer stopped timing; my espresso machine stopped steaming... and, just two days ago, my waffle iron -- which I hadn't used in almost a month mind you -- refused to get hot. I cried.
Last night I had a dream. In the dream, a woman in a parka and surrounded by icy coldness was sitting, cross-legged, in front of a Belgian waffle iron warming her hands. She saw me (I was running in a Buddhist monk-only relay where you had to knock over as many garbage cans as you could... I was wearing a disguise, obviously) and smiled at me, then gave me the finger.
Swear to God.
In a couple hours I'm getting on a plane for Seattle. I'll be on a boat for Victoria later tomorrow. Lots of pics and lots of random thoughts when I return.
And Klaire, if I promise to start being nice to animals and check my ass for lint, will you have your astral self undo the hoodoo mojo afflicting my favorite kitchen appliance? Please?
Incidentally, I won the Buddhist relay by hopping on the 5 Fulton, taking off my bald wig and orange robe, bussing to the finish line, and slipping back into disguise at just the right moment.
The subconscious me is one tricky bastard.
VIEW 18 of 18 COMMENTS
stitchy:
I am missing you BadLY! 
Hope you are well.
Hope you are well.
alicat:
Hello there mister. Just checking in. Hoping all things in your world are blissful and you are walking around without your feet even touching the ground. Yay, that'd be cool.