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Entry tags:
contact / social calendar
Okay, then.
Since I have not received the majority of the e-mails sent to me for the last year or so*, and definitely have not received those that were, in many ways, the most important, and because my server refuses to communicate with the servers of several of my favorite people, thus depriving them of my infrequent but vehement/heartfelt diatribes, I have stuffed my paranoia in a box and have signed up for a gmail account that I will actually use.
If you are not spam, you are welcome to email me at: scissorsandpills (at) gmail.com
If you have me in your address book as anything else, including at any of my own domains, please change it to the gmail address. Additionally, my livejournal address redirects to the gmail account. I am so beleagured with junk at my own domain addresses that I am currently planning to phase them out entirely, if not necessarily permanently. I figure that there has to be a point after which even spambots will stop sending messages to nonexistent addresses.
~~~
In other news, we will be hosting our first party ever this weekend. Yes, that's right: ever. I have not been the nominal hostess of a party since I ate cake and listened to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack with my two friends on my twelfth birthday. The Mr. is in a similiar state of entertaining retardation. While I think everyone benefits from a person waiting to experience certain things - parenthood, for instance - I don't think that having a few people over for drinks falls into this category. We've had people at our house for dinner in singles and pairs in the past, and we've had numerous people stay at our house as guests, but we've never invited people to come at a more-or-less specific time to participate in semi-defined social activities and ceremonial alcohol poisoning. I am, of course, anxious. Absolutely not mitigating my distress is the fact that we don't have any of the equipment that allows a party to happen. Things such as stemware. Enough plates. Rudimentary bar tools. Places to sit down.
Why, one might ask, are we doing this? Well, our friend, Brilliant, is visiting. She has been here for some time, but the Mr. was working too much and I wasn't aware that she was actually in town, and basically we missed most of her stay. She's leaving next week, and we love her and don't want her to go, so we're going to get her insensibly drunk and then imprison her in the basement. It's a nice, dry basement. Anyway, throwing a party will allow us to kidnap her without it being obvious what we're planning.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately (for her stress level),![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
stoneprincess will not be in Nashvegas yet. We'll have to throw another party for her later, provided this one doesn't make me cry and/or alienate everyone we know.
The one thing that does alleviate a little of the anxious buzzing is the thought that I can finally wear some of the fancy shoes I've been stockpiling. Maybe I can even change shoes mid-shindig. Perhaps the glamour of my footwear will distract people from the relatively squalid atmosphere of our furniture-sparse abode.
So, if any of you are going to be in Nashville on Saturday, come to our party, okay?
*Significantly, I haven't received LJ comments THIS YEAR, despite receiving other types of mail at the address assigned to LJ. Not only have I not seen personal comments unless I happened to be looking at the page directly, but I didn't see the comments made about my remix story until fairly recently, which meant that I spent months salting a festering sore of injured diva pride when the ratio of response to self-regard probably only warranted a week or so of pouting.
Since I have not received the majority of the e-mails sent to me for the last year or so*, and definitely have not received those that were, in many ways, the most important, and because my server refuses to communicate with the servers of several of my favorite people, thus depriving them of my infrequent but vehement/heartfelt diatribes, I have stuffed my paranoia in a box and have signed up for a gmail account that I will actually use.
If you are not spam, you are welcome to email me at: scissorsandpills (at) gmail.com
If you have me in your address book as anything else, including at any of my own domains, please change it to the gmail address. Additionally, my livejournal address redirects to the gmail account. I am so beleagured with junk at my own domain addresses that I am currently planning to phase them out entirely, if not necessarily permanently. I figure that there has to be a point after which even spambots will stop sending messages to nonexistent addresses.
~~~
In other news, we will be hosting our first party ever this weekend. Yes, that's right: ever. I have not been the nominal hostess of a party since I ate cake and listened to the Saturday Night Fever soundtrack with my two friends on my twelfth birthday. The Mr. is in a similiar state of entertaining retardation. While I think everyone benefits from a person waiting to experience certain things - parenthood, for instance - I don't think that having a few people over for drinks falls into this category. We've had people at our house for dinner in singles and pairs in the past, and we've had numerous people stay at our house as guests, but we've never invited people to come at a more-or-less specific time to participate in semi-defined social activities and ceremonial alcohol poisoning. I am, of course, anxious. Absolutely not mitigating my distress is the fact that we don't have any of the equipment that allows a party to happen. Things such as stemware. Enough plates. Rudimentary bar tools. Places to sit down.
Why, one might ask, are we doing this? Well, our friend, Brilliant, is visiting. She has been here for some time, but the Mr. was working too much and I wasn't aware that she was actually in town, and basically we missed most of her stay. She's leaving next week, and we love her and don't want her to go, so we're going to get her insensibly drunk and then imprison her in the basement. It's a nice, dry basement. Anyway, throwing a party will allow us to kidnap her without it being obvious what we're planning.
Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately (for her stress level),
stoneprincess will not be in Nashvegas yet. We'll have to throw another party for her later, provided this one doesn't make me cry and/or alienate everyone we know. The one thing that does alleviate a little of the anxious buzzing is the thought that I can finally wear some of the fancy shoes I've been stockpiling. Maybe I can even change shoes mid-shindig. Perhaps the glamour of my footwear will distract people from the relatively squalid atmosphere of our furniture-sparse abode.
So, if any of you are going to be in Nashville on Saturday, come to our party, okay?
*Significantly, I haven't received LJ comments THIS YEAR, despite receiving other types of mail at the address assigned to LJ. Not only have I not seen personal comments unless I happened to be looking at the page directly, but I didn't see the comments made about my remix story until fairly recently, which meant that I spent months salting a festering sore of injured diva pride when the ratio of response to self-regard probably only warranted a week or so of pouting.
no subject
stalkcontact you... *cackles madly and rubs hands with thoughts of e-mail fun* :)I am very jealous that you will be having a party and I will not be able to attend. However, given my typical dorkiness at gatherings, this is probably a good thing for you and your guests. Don't, however, think that my sense of propriety will keep me from descending upon you when I am in town in October! (I am attending
In other news; you will knock em dead in your sexy, fabulous shoes. *mwah*
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And you know you are welcome here any time, for any reason, including running from the law.
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Yes, Winchestercon (would help if I could spell, no?). I think you should come, even if just to marvel at insanity of its rabid fangirls gathered together in N'ville -- plus, here's plenty o' time to catch up with SpN this summer in re-runs... Pretty, broken boys, familial angst, and urban legends -- what more could you ask for?
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no subject