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oiranpic spam 2: If you happened to be one of the people who requested photos yesterday, they're back up again in my last post (here). Our server migration is far enough along that I have images again, which is nice. I'd ask for more photo requests (okay, I am asking for more) but I think I've exhausted everyone's interest. It is obvious to me that I am Clutter!Girl, as well as lazy and unfit generally but, in the spirit of truth, I've posted images of my slattern abode anyway.
I've got a couple more requests, which I will fill tomorrow. I may also just post some random stuff, since I'm feeling all share-ful.
halloween in New Orleans: So, we're going to a wedding in New Orleans on Halloween itself. I don't think anyone on my f-list actually lives in N.O., but since it's possible that some of you are spending the spooky holiday there, I'd love to meet anyone who'll be in town. We're booked for the day itself, but I don't think there are any other specific plans or events we're scheduled to participate in on the days following (and if you're one of the people getting married and I'm wrong, tell me, since the Mr. hasn't got a clue). It would help if I knew when we were supposed to leave again, I know, but I can't seem to get Mr. Glove to actually give me dates for some reason.
I chit-chatted with these incredibly hot punk-rock strippers when we were there last, and I have already announced to Mr. G that I intend to find those girls or their ilk somewhere and get a lap dance. He says, "You can't touch them, you know," and "You're going to get us kicked out of a strip club." He knows me well. But I bet we won't get kicked out.
professional jealousy: And, speaking of New Orleans, it's been far too long since we've last been - about two and a half years. On our last trip, we invited along another couple, people we thought were our good friends. We were wrong.
Stork and January: they were our favorite people to hang out with for months and months. We spent most weekends doing things with them, or at least talking to them. They are both writers, both published. Stork does journalism and nonfiction. January writes fiction and teaches. I was working at the time we met them, and I think that I made more than the two of them put together, but that wasn't really an issue for us. I think it might have been for them, but that's just me guessing as to what went wrong with the friendship.
My parents have a timeshare in some Mexican city (Cabo? I don't remember) which can be traded for accommodations in various places around the world, and one of the few nice things they've done for me in recent years was cough up a week of time for a stay in New Orleans. We wanted to share the bounty and so invited Stork and January to come along. They got their tickets during a Southwest sale ($30 each way), and that was the last thing they paid for.
We gave them the bedroom and took the absolutely brutal fold-out couch, thinking that they were staying only a couple of nights. They actually stayed four out of the seven we were there, so they had the non-broken bed for more time than we did. Mr. Glove has a perhaps bad habit of insisting on always paying for every.fucking.thing. I do think that sometimes other people like to be the generous ones, but it wasn't as though they were even offering. We took them to all of our favorite restaurants, our favorite jazz club, our favorite everything. And, as mentioned, Mr. G was ridiculously generous.
The guy, Stork, started complaining early on about how the "real people" weren't in the Quarter, which is blatantly false. Yes, it's full of tourists and stores full of pretty, fancy nonsense, but it's also full of apartments and grocery stores and very regular life. Stork wanted to go wandering off into the projects, which are near the Quarter. That was fine with me, but I wasn't going to go on his little sociology tour. I think the bizarre, college-educated-white-person-B.S. about "real" people living in poverty is both disgusting and embarrassing, but I kept my mouth shut about it. He, however, didn't have any problem at all dissing everything I love about N.O., including all the food we'd paid for that he'd eaten. The woman, January, was almost as bad. She found a vintage clothing store in the Garden District that I hadn't been to and, to hear her tell it, it was the only place in all of New Orleans worth shopping at, completely unlike any of the offensively pretentious stores I knew and liked. She did get a very cute hat there, and I didn't think we were having a competition, but apparently I was wrong and also an idiot.
It was incredibly hot and muggy because, well, we were in New Orleans. It was only May, but well into the 90s, and the weather was remarkable even to the locals for its absolute disgustingness. We took Stork and January to our favorite restaurant for lunch. The restaurant is one of those casual/fancy places, where you are entirely appropriate in jeans, but you'll be lucky to get out of the place for less than $50 per person (not including booze). Even air-conditioned, the place was a swamp. We got served big glasses of ice water and January promptly overturned hers in my lap. The chill was...invigorating!!!!! Such that I shrieked, startling pretty much everyone in the place. I started laughing, everyone started laughing, and January glared at me as though I had done something to her personally, cruelly and without precedent. Yet, I was the one with the freezing-wet crotch (which, btw, didn't actually dry due to the humidity).
We didn't know them at all, I guess. There must have been a thousand silent messages zinging back and forth between them, but neither I nor Mr. Glove could catch or interpret any of the subtleties. By the time lunch was over (for which Mr. Glove paid, causing me to seethe), it became apparent that we were on the far, sad side of some rift, and that Stork and January found us too bourgeois for toleration or even consideration. I can only guess that my public reaction to having freezing cold water dumped on my crotch was too uncouth for words. My preference for coffee other than that found at Cafe du Monde (which, really, is horrible) was also bourgeois and perhaps selfish. That we took them to Snug Harbor for jazz instead of Preservation Hall was apparently a big negative, too. I don't know. See, I'm still trying to figure it all out - what we did wrong.
When they left, they did so without saying a goodbye. January had promised before the trip to pick us up at the airport, and she did - alone, and practically kicking us out of her car when we arrived at our house. We never heard from Stork at all, and we didn't talk to the two of them ever again.
Well, today I discovered that January's second book, a novel, has been published. Per the jacket flap, she and Stork got married. January's first book, a collection of short stories, was really quite good, and so I'm sure her novel is good, too. It's not the sort of thing that will likely be a bestseller, but it's "literary."
It's idiotic, but I connect these things in my head, so that January's rejection of me means that I not only suck as a human and potential friend (even though she's the sucky friend, dammit!!!!) but I'll never get published because, well, she's published, and there are smarmy quotes from people whose books I've purchased on the dust jacket. I know perfectly well this makes no sense, but what strong emotion ever does?
She's doing a signing tomorrow and I'm tempted to show up and dump a glass of freezing-cold water on her crotch.
YnM porn is moving along steadily and I'm happy with it, which means I'll probably have a meltdown and hate it on the 7th. Just keeping y'all in the loop...
I've got a couple more requests, which I will fill tomorrow. I may also just post some random stuff, since I'm feeling all share-ful.
halloween in New Orleans: So, we're going to a wedding in New Orleans on Halloween itself. I don't think anyone on my f-list actually lives in N.O., but since it's possible that some of you are spending the spooky holiday there, I'd love to meet anyone who'll be in town. We're booked for the day itself, but I don't think there are any other specific plans or events we're scheduled to participate in on the days following (and if you're one of the people getting married and I'm wrong, tell me, since the Mr. hasn't got a clue). It would help if I knew when we were supposed to leave again, I know, but I can't seem to get Mr. Glove to actually give me dates for some reason.
I chit-chatted with these incredibly hot punk-rock strippers when we were there last, and I have already announced to Mr. G that I intend to find those girls or their ilk somewhere and get a lap dance. He says, "You can't touch them, you know," and "You're going to get us kicked out of a strip club." He knows me well. But I bet we won't get kicked out.
professional jealousy: And, speaking of New Orleans, it's been far too long since we've last been - about two and a half years. On our last trip, we invited along another couple, people we thought were our good friends. We were wrong.
Stork and January: they were our favorite people to hang out with for months and months. We spent most weekends doing things with them, or at least talking to them. They are both writers, both published. Stork does journalism and nonfiction. January writes fiction and teaches. I was working at the time we met them, and I think that I made more than the two of them put together, but that wasn't really an issue for us. I think it might have been for them, but that's just me guessing as to what went wrong with the friendship.
My parents have a timeshare in some Mexican city (Cabo? I don't remember) which can be traded for accommodations in various places around the world, and one of the few nice things they've done for me in recent years was cough up a week of time for a stay in New Orleans. We wanted to share the bounty and so invited Stork and January to come along. They got their tickets during a Southwest sale ($30 each way), and that was the last thing they paid for.
We gave them the bedroom and took the absolutely brutal fold-out couch, thinking that they were staying only a couple of nights. They actually stayed four out of the seven we were there, so they had the non-broken bed for more time than we did. Mr. Glove has a perhaps bad habit of insisting on always paying for every.fucking.thing. I do think that sometimes other people like to be the generous ones, but it wasn't as though they were even offering. We took them to all of our favorite restaurants, our favorite jazz club, our favorite everything. And, as mentioned, Mr. G was ridiculously generous.
The guy, Stork, started complaining early on about how the "real people" weren't in the Quarter, which is blatantly false. Yes, it's full of tourists and stores full of pretty, fancy nonsense, but it's also full of apartments and grocery stores and very regular life. Stork wanted to go wandering off into the projects, which are near the Quarter. That was fine with me, but I wasn't going to go on his little sociology tour. I think the bizarre, college-educated-white-person-B.S. about "real" people living in poverty is both disgusting and embarrassing, but I kept my mouth shut about it. He, however, didn't have any problem at all dissing everything I love about N.O., including all the food we'd paid for that he'd eaten. The woman, January, was almost as bad. She found a vintage clothing store in the Garden District that I hadn't been to and, to hear her tell it, it was the only place in all of New Orleans worth shopping at, completely unlike any of the offensively pretentious stores I knew and liked. She did get a very cute hat there, and I didn't think we were having a competition, but apparently I was wrong and also an idiot.
It was incredibly hot and muggy because, well, we were in New Orleans. It was only May, but well into the 90s, and the weather was remarkable even to the locals for its absolute disgustingness. We took Stork and January to our favorite restaurant for lunch. The restaurant is one of those casual/fancy places, where you are entirely appropriate in jeans, but you'll be lucky to get out of the place for less than $50 per person (not including booze). Even air-conditioned, the place was a swamp. We got served big glasses of ice water and January promptly overturned hers in my lap. The chill was...invigorating!!!!! Such that I shrieked, startling pretty much everyone in the place. I started laughing, everyone started laughing, and January glared at me as though I had done something to her personally, cruelly and without precedent. Yet, I was the one with the freezing-wet crotch (which, btw, didn't actually dry due to the humidity).
We didn't know them at all, I guess. There must have been a thousand silent messages zinging back and forth between them, but neither I nor Mr. Glove could catch or interpret any of the subtleties. By the time lunch was over (for which Mr. Glove paid, causing me to seethe), it became apparent that we were on the far, sad side of some rift, and that Stork and January found us too bourgeois for toleration or even consideration. I can only guess that my public reaction to having freezing cold water dumped on my crotch was too uncouth for words. My preference for coffee other than that found at Cafe du Monde (which, really, is horrible) was also bourgeois and perhaps selfish. That we took them to Snug Harbor for jazz instead of Preservation Hall was apparently a big negative, too. I don't know. See, I'm still trying to figure it all out - what we did wrong.
When they left, they did so without saying a goodbye. January had promised before the trip to pick us up at the airport, and she did - alone, and practically kicking us out of her car when we arrived at our house. We never heard from Stork at all, and we didn't talk to the two of them ever again.
Well, today I discovered that January's second book, a novel, has been published. Per the jacket flap, she and Stork got married. January's first book, a collection of short stories, was really quite good, and so I'm sure her novel is good, too. It's not the sort of thing that will likely be a bestseller, but it's "literary."
It's idiotic, but I connect these things in my head, so that January's rejection of me means that I not only suck as a human and potential friend (even though she's the sucky friend, dammit!!!!) but I'll never get published because, well, she's published, and there are smarmy quotes from people whose books I've purchased on the dust jacket. I know perfectly well this makes no sense, but what strong emotion ever does?
She's doing a signing tomorrow and I'm tempted to show up and dump a glass of freezing-cold water on her crotch.
YnM porn is moving along steadily and I'm happy with it, which means I'll probably have a meltdown and hate it on the 7th. Just keeping y'all in the loop...
