January 2012
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Ok, I didn’t get everything that I wanted to do today done- But-
I washed 6 loads of laundry, which included my mattress pad. All clean clothes and towels were put directly into new plastic bins in the laundry room, no potential moth-contamination allowed! I took out trash and recycling. Vacuumed my mattress, pillows, and all hallway, bedroom, and closet areas. Changed my bedding (obvs.)....
December 2011
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It’s funny- normally my MO is praise organic (as opposed to synthetic) materials and if you love it, wash it in cold.
TOTAL 180 RIGHT NOW, LEMME TELL YA.
2011.
yestimgunn:
No.
I’ll second that.
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2011: The Year In Which I learned To Live Without A Bathroom Ceiling
(or)
2011: The Year In Which I Developed A Taste For Killing Bugs After All
(or)
2011: The Year In Which My Desire To Crawl Out Of My Skin Returned (Albeit For Entirely New Reasons)
(or)
2011: The Year I Learned To Live With Shit (Haha Literally Get It, Counting Bug Shit In There Also)
How bad do you think living in a sterile plastic box would be, really?
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Biggest fear of a weird way you might die??
ultraprism:
thunderdome-:
I think mine would be something involving a ceiling fan. Or roaches.
Sneezing while driving.
Falling off a curb and somehow freakishly breaking myself beyond repair.
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Today, in stomach-churning, “oh god nothing is safe” feelings:
the moths have developed a taste for cotton.
Nothing is safe.
I just spent such a butt-ton of money on moth-proof containers today for clothes.
I didn’t even think about my studio.
Stomach-churning, “oh god nothing is safe.”
I need a barrage of people to come help me wash and rehouse everything. An...
fiftyfootqueenie asked: Amelie, because I am lazy, but like a less ridiculous version.
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If anyone has thoughts about what fictional characters I resemble, feel free to place them here. I suspect I’d be pleasantly amused.
But no pressure or anything.
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2nd driving lesson: OFFICIALLY UNDER MY BELT.
Woo hoo! It was even fun this time! I did a bunch of curves, and lefts, and some rights, I braked, I accelerated, I did gentle donuts around trees and poles (wide ones, I assure you. the donuts part is sort of a joke. Sort of.) and I parked like three times and went in reverse and sang out autopia music because I really felt like it ought to be...
My head may be swirling a little with oncoming headache, but I don’t care. I WANT ANOTHER DRIVING LESSON.
/actually, weird: as much as I want to be driving, the whole learning to drive part seems so uninteresting. Like, ok, I’ve driven for a few minutes, can’t I just be good at it already? What do you mean I have to practice? Aw, jeez, man. SIGH.
Someone keeps trying to burn West Hollywood down. →
What a dick[s]!
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High school, then?
High school is where I discovered I had a voice, even though I was afraid to use it anywhere but on stage for a long time to come. Where I first felt like I had friends who actually liked me, for a while. Where my dreams and personality, already formed tightly around dance, added musical theater to their midst, while surrounded by a squeaky-clean group of mormom-lite friends.
...
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So, I’m pretty sure I made someone cry today.
That should, typically, make me feel badly.
But, I ask you: why should I feel shitty that someone else feels shitty for doing something shitty to me?
So I am rejecting feeling badly, because it is really not my fault if someone else feels guilty all on their own.
So there, self. SO THERE.
Lately there seems to be a dramatic upsurge of people [inadvertently] making me feel insufficient.
Not liking this much, really.
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I am trying to leave the house. It’s not going well.
I smell of cake.
delicatetbone:
candleofthought:
When in doubt, err on the side of queso.
hallelujah!
SPEAKING OF CHEESE
(no really)
I keep dreaming about cheese. And not like, “oh, hm,” dream about “maybe I’d like some cheese for lunch.” No, I’m talking feels-like-all-night dreams about, say, putting on a musical revue all about and dedicated to cheese. Or living in a...
I’ve been invited to a nye party that involves bringing a damn tent to camp out by the stage. Implications being that there’s no way you’re getting home before the end of the 1st, and will need protection from the elements until then.
No. Give me a ceiling and a ride home.
i hate when I get invited to something I really want to do and then realize it’ll take me half a dozen different buses to get there.
A journey of half a dozen different buses kinda rules stuff out.
Today, in both GOOD NEWS! and Life in SoCal:
I DROVE. I DROVE TONIGHT. I DROVE ALL AROUND THE LABYRINTHINE ZOO PARKING LOT. I DROVE!
Shortly after parking, a coyote the size of a german shepherd came leading his pack across the lot. They took a long back and forth meander, and I didn’t want to try driving around with a pack of coyotes wandering the same lanes, so that was the end of the...
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Is it bad that the glee of the flask is one of “YES, I’ll never wish for a way to chug back a bit of relaxing booze before a stressful academic presentation again!” ?
“I hadn’t realized how much I’d been needing to meet someone I might be able to...”
– Talk Before Sleep, Elizabeth Berg (via selfinspiration)
My entire apartment looks like a craft studio exploded. Everywhere there’s fabric, folded and thrown, long yards and tiny scraps (so many tiny scraps) and big boxes full, and bits of thread, plain and colorful and metallic, and cardboard, bits and strips, and tubes of paint, and so many pairs of scissors, and pins, god, pins everywhere, and measuring tapes, pencils, masking tape and...
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By the way, my tree just got ridiculous, with the addition of a fence around it. It’s like I’ve planted a zoo exhibit in my living room.
/better than a sheet pulled around the bottom half to deter cat attention.
(Well, now I’m cranky about the holidays, sure. Wtf.)
Someone just suggested that my holiday sounded dreary, after I described a quiet weekend bookended by meals with friends and maybe having some people over next week.
I am feeling somewhat offended, as that sounds like a perfectly fine holiday weekend to me.
What, am I supposed to have a weekend of ecstasy, filled with innumerable presents, 24-hour caroling, super loud parties and a constant nog...
Fence making is tedious.
Airing of the Grievances:
yestimgunn:
2011.
f’real.
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But how do I do any of that when there’s this purring creature who just wants to cuddle like he’s attached to my hip?
/frequent conundrum