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Saturday, July 11th, 2009
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2:19 pm
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My girlfriend Zee teaches Sunday School, which means her church authorizes her to impart wisdom to a bunch of youngsters on a weekly basis. I'm not exactly a youngster, but I am somewhat lacking in the wisdom department, so I should listen to her more often.
I've known this ever since the incident with the pie. See, Zee made a delicious raspberry peach pie one time, and for some reason (it can only be brainworms) none of her roommates wanted to eat it. So I came over and Zee was all "eat this pie!" and I ate some of the pie.
Do you see what went wrong there?
I ate some of the pie. Like, two pieces. I kind of wanted to eat the whole pie, but I thought "No, eating excessive pie is silly. I will show a modicum of restraint."
And then the next time I visited Zee, nobody else had eaten any pie and it had gone moldy. It was TRAGIC. I looked at the fuzzy, mottled blotches marring the otherwise perfect raspberry goo and contemplated the injustice of the universe. And that's when Zee walked up behind me.
"See Lex," she said, "restraint only leads to moldy pie."
This has become a mantra that I recite in my head every time responsible, moderate behavior starts to look tempting.
Like, last night I was REALLY tired. I fell asleep under the living room table at one point and scared one of my roommates when he accidentally put his foot on top of me. I told him it was okay -- I didn't mind being used as an ottoman, especially if I wasn't conscious for it, but he still looked dubious. So I got out from under the table and made a pot of tea to try and wake myself up.
"I should go to bed," I thought, "I've got plans tomorrow and I have to get up early and blah blah blah."
But then it started raining.
And sometimes, inside is just the wrong place to be when it's raining. I stood in the doorway, contemplating my options. Frolic outside... go to bed... frolic outside... go to bed... And that's when Zee's voice came through loud and clear: "Restraint only leads to moldy pie."
I ran out the door and didn't look back. Mmm, darkness and sky water.
And I learned stuff too! Like, one-handed cartwheels are a whole lot harder to land properly on a slippery surface. And, on a related note, smudges of brown mud combined with a green shirt can make for a fairly effective form of camouflage. Whee, education!
And then when I got back inside I was too tired for a shower and too muddy for bed, so I watched a million episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer instead of going to sleep. It was delicious like an entire pie.
Of course, when my alarm went off this morning, the very thought of getting up made me long for the sweet embrace of death. I stumbled to my roommate's computer for a quick e-mail check before facing the demon sunlight. And I smiled a smile of manic, vindicated glee.
According to the e-mail, half my plans for the day were canceled. Man, that woulda sucked if I'd gotten proper sleep! Good thing I ate the whole metaphorical pie!
Dear kids at Zee's church,
Listen to your atheist polyamorous Sunday School teacher. She knows what she's talkin' about. Also, eat more pie.
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| Wednesday, July 8th, 2009
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2:03 am
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I was sitting next to BK on Zee's bed earlier today when Zee walked into the room. She rummaged through the covers, and when her hand finally emerged, it was holding a bulb of garlic.
ZEE: Can I put this back in the kitchen yet, or do I need to keep sleeping with it under my pillow?
BK: Hmm. Doesn't look like you're quite ready yet.
LEX: Wait -- you're making her... what? What's going on?
ZEE: *sigh* So I got these two pimples...
BK: LOOK AT HER NECK! She's going to turn into a vampire if I don't protect her! It's for her own good.
ZEE: Another night then?
BK: Another night.
Zee rolled her eyes and put the garlic back in the bed.
I like my people.
current mood: smitten
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| Tuesday, July 7th, 2009
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12:22 pm
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Oh no. Not again. I've almost finished This Alien Shore, which means it's time to start another book. And a little voice in my head keeps telling me that I should EXPAND MY HORIZONS. Bleh.
Time for a confession: I am afraid of romance novels.
I've never read one, and this makes me feel like a failure. See, reading a romance novel is sort of like a rite of passage, and for many years I thought I'd passed that passage. Because... well... Kushiel's Dart.
Sure it's shelved in the fantasy section, but really? Kushiel's Dart tells the story of a BDSM super-spy in magic bisexual angel France.
No, I am totally not making this up.
The book takes place in an alternate universe Europe where everyone in France is descended from angels. Being descended from an angel apparently doesn't do much except for making you 1)superhumanly beautiful, 2)bisexual, and 3)intermittently horny. Oh, except for Our Hero, whose angel blood means that she is FOREVER DOOMED TO EXPERIENCE PAIN AND PLEASURE AS ONE. Read: doomed to accrue vast quantities of money as an S&M courtesan while dabbling in espionage and angsting what hard because the cutest boys keep refusing to beat her up the way she likes.
Surely, I thought, this MUST count as a romance novel. It's full of ridiculous fluff and people saying "mayhap"!
And then Zee started reading romance novels. Real ones, from the romance section of the bookstore. She's particularly fond of Sandra Hill, who writes books with names like The Very Virile Viking and Truly, Madly Viking.
I tried to read the first chapter of Viking Unchained. I really, really tried. But the way sex and gender were presented made my skin crawl and I just couldn't handle it. I need my skin. It keeps my organs from slurming out all over the place.
But now my failure is gnawing away at me and I'm supposed to be strong and -- oh, hi Lydia. Where did you come from?
LYDIA: So wait - you feel like you should read a romance novel because romance novels scare you?
LEX: Yes. I should do more things that scare me.
LYDIA: Why?
LEX: Because NOT doing things that scare me means I'm a wimp.
LYDIA: But Lex... uh... you kind of are a wimp.
LEX: I know, I know, but I don't like having it shoved in my face like that. It makes me feel all small and weak and girly.
LYDIA: So you're saying you want to read a romance novel in order to defend your masculinity?
LEX: Yes.
LYDIA: You know there are better ways of doing that - ways that scare you - that don't involve reading romance novels, right? It's like that t-shirt the anti-gravity elf always wears: "you have to want it more than you fear it." There are plenty of things you want and don't have because fear gets in your way. Work on one of those things instead.
LEX: But all those things are SCARY-scary. Romance novels are scary-yet-safe.
LYDIA: ...and that's the only reason you want to read one. It'll feel like overcoming fear, but it won't actually get you any closer to your goals. It's an anti-stagnation placebo.
LEX: Yeah, I guess you're right. I'll go read something good instead.
LYDIA: Or instead of sitting around reading, you could work on a worthwhile scary thing.
LEX: LALALA I CAN'T HEAR YOU QUICK SOMEBODY RECOMMEND A BOOK BEFORE I HAVE TO GET UP AND DO SOMETHING WORTHWHILE
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| Tuesday, June 30th, 2009
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11:46 am
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A lot of you reading this are at least passingly familiar with Norse mythology. Do you know the story of Skadi and Njord?
Skadi was a giantess who got all pissed off 'cause the Aesir killed her dad. So she stormed the home of the gods and was all "RAR RAAR CARNAGE! Or. Um. Laughter and marriage. Take your pick."
And the gods were all "Wait -- this is one of those 'cake or death' situations, isn't it? Cake, man! Cake!" So Loki tied his testicles to a goat and made Skadi laugh, and then she got to pick her husband. In the end she chose Njord because he had the prettiest feet.
The real problem arose after the wedding, when they tried to move in together. Njord was this happy, elfy sea-guy who liked wiggling his toes in warm sand and watching sunlight flicker across the waves. Skadi was a frost giant. She liked snow. And wolves.
At first they tried the whole "a few nights at my place and then a few nights at yours" deal, but it never quite worked out. One of them was always miserable, and eventually they gave up and decided to separate.
I looked at apartments with Zim and Arabian Flatbread yesterday. Sam says that when our lease runs out, he'd like to move in with his friend Misha.
Misha lives in a black hole pit o' nothing, but even I have to admit that his house at the center of the pit is pretty sweet. It has tons of space and a huge yard and an exercise room and a library and air conditioning and the rent is free. Oh, and it's also got a lack of crime. Nobody has ever stolen my laptop out of Misha's house.
But I can't live there. See, I saw a guy biking down the street not too long ago. The guy was dressed like a skeleton and his red cape billowed in the wind. I don't love that guy more than I love Sam, but my sanity requires that I live somewhere with occasional skeletons wearing capes.
So I'm (probably) staying downtown and Sam is (probably) moving away. I hope we don't end up like Skadi and Njord.
I don't think we will. After all, I'm not shallow enough to choose a life partner based on his feet, and Sam's feet are nothing special anyway.
I totally chose Sam for his hands. They're all spindly and elegant, like giant spiders. If I leave Sam, it'll take me a long time to find another boy with proper spider hands.
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| Sunday, June 28th, 2009
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4:14 am
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I felt the pair of eyes boring into the back of my skull before I saw it. I couldn't turn around because I was steaming cappuccino milk at the time and the pitcher kept threatening to overflow.
Ahh, finally! 165 degrees exactly. I poured my drink and whirled around.
My assistant manager, flanked by Dracula and another co-worker, was standing approximately six inches behind me. In her hands, she held a beady-eyed plush monkey.
LEX: Gah, what are you doing?
ASSISTANT MANAGER: I wanted to show you my monkey. Isn't he great? I just got him and he's SO soft. Here, touch him.
LEX: My hands are kinda sticky...
ASSISTANT MANAGER: Touch the monkey.
LEX: Okay, okay. *pets* Very nice.
The assistant manager put her monkey on top of the register and left me to finish the line of drinks. I always try to stay busy when I'm at Coffee of Annihilation. When business is slow, I clean and stock and take out the trash and mix vats of mocha. Sometimes I like to pretend I am a bee - stoic and industrious and fully devoted to the creation of sweet liquids FOR THE GLORY OF THE QUEEN. Bzzzz.
Usually, this is a good attitude for a worker drone, but my boss mentioned at my last performance review that she'd like it if I became a little more aware of my surroundings. I need to notice right away when customers approach the counter even if they're all sneaky and ninja-like about it and I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the floor drain. I'm not very adept at things like using my peripheral vision, so improving in this area takes active effort. I'm working it at it, though.
So I was replacing the coffee filters and I thought I saw an old lady peeking out from behind the register. I immediately dropped what I was doing and plastered on my brightest smile.
LEX: Hello!
CO-WORKER: Lex, did you just say hello to the monkey?
LEX: ...yes. Yes I did.
CO-WORKER: You know, we all keep seeing the monkey out the corners of our eyes and thinking it's a customer, but you're the first person to actually say hello to it.
LEX: *blush*
After that, humiliation prompted me to adapt. I got used to the presence of a gray fuzzy thing hovering over the left side of the register. I incorporated the monkey into my expected environment and stopped trying to sell it drinks.
At least until I got back from my break. And found out that somebody had moved the monkey. Now it was on top of the other register and I had to start the monkey-acceptance process all over again. And then someone moved the monkey AGAIN. And man, I kept thinking that monkey was a person. At least once every fifteen minutes, I'd get absorbed in a task and see something unusual at the register and have to actively stop myself from greeting it.
IT'S A PLUSH MONKEY LEX DON'T TALK TO THE MONKEY.
And then finally I was filling the thing of caramel sauce when the monkey cleared its throat.
Or... wait! Oh crap. There was a tiny impatient-looking gray-haired lady standing behind the register, partially obscured by plush fur.
LEX: Goodness I'm sorry! have you been waiting long? I thought you were the --
ABORT ABORT DON'T SAY IT LEX DON'T SAY YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS THE MONKEY
LADY: Yes?
LEX: Nothing. I just didn't see you.
Whew. That was close.
I sometimes leave notes to myself on the inside door of my locker. They used to say general things like "It's okay to lie about your feelings re: sunshine and babies. People prefer pleasantness to truth."
Then they got more specific as I gained more experience. "Always check for religious people kneeling in the hallway. Do not step on them."
The current note says "Better to greet the monkey than to tell the customer she looks like one."
Man, I really wish they'd told me all this stuff in training.
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| Monday, June 22nd, 2009
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4:01 pm
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I was manning the bar at work when a greasy, scruffy looking old guy walked up to the register and asked how to use the Internet. I like making drinks better than handling money, so I let Dracula deal with the guy.
I don't actually have a co-worker named Dracula, but his real name does remind me of vampires. Also he's way charismatic, so all the teenage girls who walk into the store act like they want to become his undead bride-slaves. I swear, it'll be a normal day full of normal caffeine addicts, and then Dracula walks into the room and our customer base transforms into this monstrosity of heaving bosom and fluttering eyelash.
Also he appears to subsist entirely on liquids.
So Dracula it is, at least for the purposes of Internet gossip.
So anyway, Dracula explained to the guy how he could connect his computer to the Internet. And then...
MR. GREASE N'SCRUFF: Will anyone be able to tell when I'm using your wireless?
DRACULA: Well, you have a password, so I guess if the Coffee of Annihilation tech guys REALLY wanted to know...
MR. GREASE N'SCRUFF: Yeah, but will they be able to see what I'm looking at?
DRACULA: I... don't think so.
MR. GREASE N'SCRUFF: Good, good.
Mr. Grease n'Scruff shuffled away for a few seconds, and then he turned back.
MR. GREASE N'SCRUFF: Hey, how far does your Internet extend?
DRACULA: Anywhere in the cafe should --
MR. GREASE N'SCRUFF: No no no. Can I use it in the parking lot?
DRACULA: I think so.
MR. GREASE N'SCRUFF: Goooood.
DRACULA: *blink* *blink* *shudder*
Just then, our supervisor got back from her break. She asked if one of us could please take the trash out to the dumpster in the parking lot.
I looked at Dracula.
Dracula looked at me.
We both knew there was only one solution to this dilemma. Silently, we extended our fists.
My rock beat the hell out of his scissors. Ha! Have fun with Mr. Grease n'Scruff in the parking lot, Dracula!
Honestly, though, I'm a little disappointed. I was kinda curious about what the guy was getting up to in the parking lot. What if he was building a death ray or something? Or planning a heist?
I tell myself he was probably just looking at porn. Porn is totally banal and uninteresting and if it was porn I didn't miss anything by staying inside. But I don't know if that's just sour grapes. WHAT IF IT WAS SOMETHING COOL AND I COULD'VE BUILT OR DIFFUSED A BOMB OR JOINED A MUTANT SUPER-TEAM OR SOMETHING?
I hate not knowing secrets.
In other news, the hole in my floor is now a pit of unceasing darkness. I hope I didn't frighten the glow away with my letter.
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| Thursday, June 18th, 2009
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2:47 pm
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At lunch the other day, I wrote a letter to shove through the hole in my floor. I also stole a pen.
Here's the letter. I can't show you the pen because I don't have photobooth anymore.
Hello, Glow beneath the ground.
Sam and Gelf say you're probably an electric light that somebody left on down there. I hope they're wrong.
You're underground and mysterious and glowing and if I believed in souls I might suspect that you were a group of canary souls, fled from the dankness of coal mines yet still unable to face the sun. Too bad I don't believe in souls. My explanation might sound less like flowery bullshit if I believed in it.
I still kinda like it, though, because it increases my sense of VINDICATION. See, I mentioned the canaries in coal mines thing to Arabian Flatbread the other day, and he told me miners actually used pigeons more than canaries as their oh-my-god-inadequate-ventilation-evacuate-now-run-run warning system.
You understand, don't you, Glow, why I found this so upsetting? If you're not a boring ol' electric light, I'm sure you do.
I want the bright happy sunshine birds to die in caverns beneath the ground. Not pigeons. Nobody likes pigeons. People call them "rats with wings" and it's an insult to the rats. Killing pigeons isn't poetic -- it's just gratuitous.
Like beating a dead horse. Only the horse is so dead that it's half rotted already and crawling with maggots and every time you hit the horse the force of your blow sends maggots bouncing up toward your face.
Stupid maggot-faced coalminers, killing pigeons instead of canaries like that.
So I went to the Internet for a second opinion, because that's what I do when I hear facts I don't like in the real world. Like, when I was little my mom told me not to use the Internet because she was afraid of computer viruses. And I obeyed her until one day a girl at school told me that Mark Hamill had started doing porn. I thought that was THE WORST THING I HAD EVER HEARD because, uh, playing Luke Skywalker gives you a responsibility to uphold jedi ideals or not use your penis in public or something. I dunno. It was kinda screwed up. I was really an unreasonable prude back in the day.
So my first big rebellion as a child was to sneak onto the Internet and look up Mark Hamill's filmography. And he hadn't done porn! The triumph of that discovery carried me cheerfully through the part where my mom caught me on the Internet and yelled a bunch.
Ever since then, fact-checking on the Internet has been my constant ally. And guess what? The Internet said that Arabian Flatbread was wrong too! Coal miners really DID use canaries more than pigeons. Haha! Poetry of the world survives intact.
Uh, I hope you don't take this as an insult if you ARE a bunch of canary souls. I think you're pretty and I'd like to be your friend. Or at least a pen pal. Do you know what a pen is? The long cylindrical thing at the center of this wad of paper is a pen. You rub the pointy end on the paper to make a mark.
Can you move a pen without limbs? Or maybe you have limbs. I don't know - I can see very little through the hole in my floor. But I'd like to find out.
Okay, lunch break over. Gotta go!
<3 Lex
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| Wednesday, June 17th, 2009
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12:11 am - If I didn't objectify him ALL THE TIME, I might have a legitimate grievance
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This morning, I did something nice for Sam. I don't remember quite what the nice thing was, but I do remember that he smiled at me afterward.
SAM: You know what I like about you?
LEX: Hmm?
SAM: Your size.
LEX: Grrrr...
SAM: Aw, look! It's all little!
LEX: I will destroy you.
Later in the evening:
LEX: *reading X-Men* I wish Nightcrawler was always as awesome as he is in these early comics.
SAM: Woah. I never thought I'd hear you complaining about a lack of awesome in Nightcrawler.
LEX: Oh, Nightcrawler's always awesome -- it's just that he used to be a little better than he is now.
SAM: Why?
LEX: More swashbuckling, less religion.
SAM: Swashbuckling is better than God.
LEX: Agreed.
SAM: I knew there was a reason I liked you.
*pause pause*
SAM: ...you know what that reason is?
LEX: I'm short?
SAM: Yup!
LEX: *facepalm*
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| Monday, June 15th, 2009
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10:45 am - AAAAAAGGGGGGHHHH!
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Laptop stolen again last night.
Anger is an unusual emotion for me. Not sure how to handle it. Could use a bit of catharsis.
Somebody please send another wildebeest.
current mood: AAAAAAGGGGHHHH!
current music: AAAAAAAGGGGHHHHH! (In my head)
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1:51 am
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I found a hole in the floor. It's about three inches in diameter, mostly hidden under scruffy carpet. It leads to the basement. I didn't know we had a basement, but apparently we do.
I wasn't sure at first. I don't have much in the way of depth perception, so I dropped a twelve-sided die* down the hole to try and find the bottom. It fell a pretty long way before it hit a beam of some sort and plunked out of view. And then I realized – hey wait – it's after midnight and I just watched that die fall. I shouldn't be able to do that.
Something's glowing down there.
My roommates and I have lived here for almost a year now. I love this place and I'm pretty sure I know where all the interior doors are and none of them leads to a basement.
There has to be a rational explaination for the glow beneath my feet, through the layers of carpet and wood and spiders and whatever-else-floors-are-made-of, but I'm not sure I want to know what it is. I think I'd rather write letters to the glow and stuff them down the hole.
But maybe that's just because building a periscope would take effort and I'm lazy. I'll be sure to apologize for my woefully slothful nature in the first letter.
* I know, I know, cruelty to dice. Bad Lex rar rarr. But really? I doubt I'll need that d12. I may no longer be a D&D virgin**, but White Wolf games still hold the key my heart. And that key uses ten-sided dice.
** My metaphorical hymen is bloodied with kobolds.
Kobolds can get boring after a few hours, but fighting the dragon felt pretty much the same even though we had to hit it harder. Fighting the giant insects was different, though! That's where we all died.
I'm in a Changeling game now and it's fun and interesting but I kind of miss fighting things.
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| Wednesday, June 10th, 2009
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12:02 am - Stuff and answers
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* Zee asked me to refill her cup of water today. I poured water into the cup and then I grabbed a completely unnecessary lid even though she already had a lid because the water was a refill. “Sorry,” I said, “reflex.”
Zee looked at me. “Reef Lex: a small aquatic Lex, fond of abandoned ships.” Then she walked away.
* I found a daddy long legs crawling in my hair a few minutes ago.
* “I could move him out of my hair and take him outside,” I thought. “Or I could... not.” So I didn't.
* This was stupid. Now I want to shower but I'm afraid of drowning the daddy long legs. I can't see him anymore and I assume he wandered away but I have a lot of hair and I'm not sure.
* I bet Reef Lex never has to worry about accidentally drowning arachnids in her hair. But she also can't read comic books without getting 'em all soggy, so I don't envy her too much.
* Hey look, it's a wildebeest.
* You want to fight, Mr. Wildebeest? Huh? HUH?
  
And now you know.
* I think I might've gotten some sharpie on my monitor from using screen glow to trace a wildebeest.
* THAT DOESN'T MEAN THE WILDEBEEST WON.
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| Thursday, June 4th, 2009
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12:17 pm - *facepalm*
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I walked into the house looking all sweaty and disheveled and gross. My roommates noticed right away, but that's not the part that shocked them.
“Lex!” Charlie exclaimed as soon as I opened the door, “You're wearing white. What the...?”
“Don't ask.”
But of course he asked anyway. And so I told him. And then he laughed at me.
See, my boyfriend Sam is a professional Magic player. A few weeks ago, some guys came to Madison and followed Sam around with a camera for a few days. Apparently they're filming a documentary on Magic: The Gathering and they wanted an in-depth look at the life of a pro player.* And then they interviewed me as, like, a Magic groupie or something.
The interview guy wanted to know how Sam had changed in the time I'd known him. I told him that Sam had mellowed a bit over the years and the guy was all “Ahh, so you tamed him?”
Ha! No.
But it is true that I've changed Sam in other ways. Like, when we first started dating he was mostly a tighty whities kind of guy. But then he noticed that I strongly preferred black and dark colors to white, and he changed to suit my taste. It was very sweet of him, but occasionally can lead to problems.
Like. Um. Here we have Exhibit A and Exhibit B. Exhibit A is a tank top I enjoy wearing in the warmer months. Exhibit B is a pair of Sam's underpants.
I meant to grab Exhibit A off the floor so I'd have something to wear after getting all sweaty and gross in class. Instead, I grabbed Exhibit B.
This wouldn't have been so bad except that I am the LEAST OBSERVANT PERSON IN THE WORLD and I totally got an entire arm through one of the leg holes of the underpants before I noticed what was going on.
And I get changed in a room full of people.
So, like, everyone saw me taking off my sweaty ol' shirt and my sweaty ol' bra, grabbing a pair of underpants from my bag, sticking an arm through the underpants, getting confused, inspecting the underpants, and putting my sweaty ol' clothes back on.
This is why I miss school. There, I could wave around my report card and pretend I was smart. Here in the real world? I have no excuse for my inability to dress myself.
* They're doing this with a lot of pro players – not just Sam. Much as I'd like a full-on Samumentary, this won't be one.
current mood: SO CLEVER
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| Sunday, May 31st, 2009
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11:34 pm - "Jesus loves you! Enjoy the grapefruit."
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Zee showed up at my place of employment today looking pretty much like this:
( and from behind... )
except that she was also holding a basket full of ovaries.* “I come bearing fruits of the Lord!” she declared, “Would you like some?” I ate a few grapes of the Lord and lo! they were delicious.
Perhaps I should explain. I don't know if I've mentioned it here before, but Zee teaches Sunday school to a group of kids at her church. The church officials let her do this despite her openly atheist belief system. That's how you can tell the church is cool. It's not as cool as it could be, though – they didn't let her go through with the zombie apocalypse live action roleplaying game she wanted to run for her class.
See, Zee noticed that the adults at her church never got bored during sermons, but the kids almost always did. And she figured this was because adults know that the world is a big scary stressful place and church is a respite from that. But it isn't for the kids. Church is just a different kind of scary-stressful-boring thing for them. “What they don't understand,” she said, “is that religion is actually good for something – it's just nobody gets it except horror movie directors.”
So Zee wanted to run a zombie game where the kids could ward off undead shamblers with the power of their religion. She said it would also be a great way to bribe students to learn the Lord's Prayer and the order of baptism and the order of communion and psalm 23.
Zee's church-boss agreed conceptually, but vetoed the idea on the grounds that people dressed up as zombies might scare little kids. Bah! I'm not sure Zee's church-boss was ever a little kid. Doesn't she know that monsters are scariest when you try to ignore them? It's when you get to beat your demons and/or make friends with them that they lose their power.
Oh well. Anyway – Zee made a special deal with her students today: if they would stay quiet while she talked about the Bible, she would stay still. The kids liked this deal. You probably can't tell from the picture, but most of the signs on her front say “Zee” and most of the ones on her back say “kick me.” Some of them got a bit more creative, though – my favorite is the pink one on her lower abdomen, which says “Zee enjoys ice cream and walruses.” Elegant and accurate!
I was also a fan the portrait/wanted poster stuck behind her knee.
In case you can't read it, it says “Needed: ZEE. Very long hair. 1,000,000 dollar reward.”
Luckily, nobody tried to capture Zee for the bounty before she could pick me up from work. Probably because she was hiding her hair in a bun at the time. Very clever.
* Plant ovaries, of course
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| Saturday, May 30th, 2009
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10:15 pm - I love living in downtown Madison post # eleventy billion and three
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I was walking down State Street today when I heard a voice yell my name. “Lex!”
My attempts to locate the source of said voice led me to a table outside Espresso Royale. She was a round yet comely source, with good jewelry. “Lex! Oh wow, it is you! It's been forever – how are you doing?”
Then, because I am so socially adept, I looked her up and down and blinked a few times. “Uhhh. I have no idea who you are.”
The Source gained my respect then because instead of reacting to my horrid social blunder, she continued on with grace and aplomb. “I worked at the bead shop in Bristol. You always used to climb our sign and frighten people from above.”
“OH! Yes. You. Bead lady. Thank you for putting up with my reign of terror.”
“No problem – it sold beads.”
I stood talking to Bead Lady for a while (I still don't remember her name and was too embarrassed to ask) when I noticed a paw jutting unexpectedly from her handbag.
“There's a foot in your bag. Do... do you have a bag of dead animals?”
“Oh, they're not dead. Just lazy.” She stuck her face in the bag. “C'mon, Beowulf! Time to wake up!”
Two pairs of sleepy, bleary eyes peered out of the bag. Bead Lady yanked on some ropes I hadn't previously noticed tied around her wrist, and then the ferrets crawled forth.
She had a bag full of ferrets on leashes. And then she let me play with her ferrets. They were both remarkably well behaved and non-stinky, although Enkidu was a bit more polite than Beowulf – Beowulf kept trying to crawl up my skirt. Cheeky fellow. I guess when you're a ferret you can get away with ignoring human taboos.
Wish I had that excuse.
Anyway, then I walked down the street a bit further until I passed a guy selling drawings by the side of the road. “I like your tree,” I said, pointing at the gnarled branch-person in the middle of his display.
“Thank you. Want it?”
“Alas, I have no currently disposable income.”
The guy rooted through his portfolio and pulled out a small print of my tree man. “Here, you can have this one for free. Put it on your wall and I'd be honored.”
Aww. :-)
And then there was a guy with the BIGGEST MUTTONCHPS EVER and I saw Leaf and Gordon and Zee and good lord do I ever love living in downtown Madison it is the greatest forever the end.
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| Tuesday, May 26th, 2009
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4:15 pm - In a universe like this, I sometimes wonder why anyone DOESN'T worship Loki
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Over the last few months, I've gotten used to doing capoeira every other day. It's a bright shiny thing that I can always look forward to and is never too far away. I've compared the crazy endorphin high I get after class to a drug. Thing is, I thought it was a really good kind of magical drug without any side-effects or downsides.
This week, the universe has decided to teach me a thing or two about the downsides of magical pseudo-drugs. HAR HAR ADDICTION.
There wasn't any class on Friday – a bunch of students and two assistant instructors showed up, but nobody had a key to the dance studio. We sat on the sidewalk and pouted for about 45 minutes before changing back into our normal person clothes and wandering dejectedly away. (Or, well, most of us pouted. Coruja did some flips by the side of the road because he actually has skills and can do that sort of thing.)
Then I skipped class on Saturday so I could go to Chicago and hang out with Kyle and Sarah. It was fun, but by the time Monday rolled around I thought that if I didn't kick someone in the face soon I'd gnaw my own arm off. I took a taxi home from work so I could make it to class on time. I am poor and taxis are expensive, but not as expensive as replacement arms! ...or so I reasoned at the time.
But then I checked my e-mail and saw the following the last-minute notice: [OMULUWI] NO CLASS TODAY MONDAY
Aaaaagh! I can feel my muscles atrophying! Must... do... something... I usually avoid working on capoeira-type stuff outside of class because I know that if anyone sees me I will turn into a pillar of salt and die. But... my limbs! Urge to gnaw increasing! This required drastic measures.
I decided to find a quiet spot outside and fail to do a few macacos. It'd been about a month since I last tried a macaco and I've got to fail at a whole lot more before I complete one for real. (At my current rate of trying once every month or so, I should be ready stop failing in a few decades. Hopefully before my knees give out entirely.)
So I went outside and failed at a few macacos, but then I heard some people approaching and I had to stop. So I wandered around for a while until I found a more secluded spot. Did a few back bridges to warm up... then heard some people approaching and had to stop. So I wandered for a while, found some grass, crouched down... and heard more people.
Okay! That's it! Limb-gnawin' time!
BUT THEN.
A BIRD.
DECIDED TO SHIT ON ME.
The shit landed on my shoulder and splattered a bit over my upper arm. And suddenly my arms looked a lot less appetizing. Haha! Oh man. Nothing like that has ever happened to me before. I flopped down in the grass and laughed for a good five minutes.
Thank You, Universe, for sending this bird as Your divine instrument to save my limbs. Truly, You work in marvelous ways.
P.S. I've been totally sedentary for like a week now. If you could make 7:00 Wednesday come faster I'd really appreciate it.
current mood: blob
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| Saturday, May 23rd, 2009
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6:03 pm - Totally Epic
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The thing about adventures is that sometimes they go wrong. They don't count as adventures otherwise.
Fighting a dragon? Usually an adventure. Fighting a decrepit toothless old dragon pre-rigged to have a heart attack and die even if you fail to stab it just right? Not particularly adventurous. Unless... ya know, unless you're allergic to decrepit toothless old dragons.
This is why it's a lot easier for incompetent people to have adventures than it is for competent people. Incompetence is like toothless dragon allergy. And man, I'm sneezing right now. I think at some point near the dawn of time I traded away part of my brain for the chance at a life of adventure.
But hey, at least the Universe is holding up its end of the deal. So I survived the ever-daunting Looking Up Busses on the Internet adventure and the Making a Travel Plan adventure, but then I failed to pack properly. Or, um, I accidentally left my passport (my only valid form of ID) on my front lawn when my bag fell open in my hurry to catch the bus. So now I'm in Chicago (yay!), but I can't complete my planned mission without an ID (boo!).
I think now I know how Frodo would feel if he made it all the way to Mordor and he was standing by the fires of Mount Doom and then he checked his pockets and realized that he'd absent-mindedly left the One Ring somewhere back in Rivendell. Except that Chicago-Mordor is a lot comfier and more interesting than actual Mordor-Mordor.
Or maybe it just feels that way because Mordor is my narural environment. See, I'm pretty sure I'm an orc. I thought I was a hobbit for a long time because I'm short and barefoot and I eat a lot, but it's time to face facts. Orcs can be pretty short too, and Evil Overlords can't always afford shoes for all their minions. And incompetent adventurers make good minions.
I even solidified my minion status by heading straight to the local Coffee of Annihilation, where I'm typing this right now. I checked in with the minion behind the counter and spoke to him in our shared orcish language. “Iced venti unsweetened green iced tea,” I said. (Repeating the “iced” is important – non-orcs always fail to do this.) Then I gave him my orcish army identification number to prove I was entitled to discount rations. Sluuurp.
I can't connect to the Internet here, so by the time you read this, I'll be doing something else. I wonder what? I've got all evening. I passed a park and a comic shop on the way here. Hmm, decisions, decisions... adventure!
UPDATE: Aha! Found Internet. Comic shop was closed, but park had trees. Comics are made of trees and ink, whereas trees are made of trees and bugs. I made friends with an ant. He crawled across my knuckles and I gave him a crumb. Then I moved to a different tree, 'cause I didn't want to be That Crumb Person for all the other ants. Two's company; swarms are a crowd.
UPDATE #2: Aww, a cute guy holding hands with a somewhat hefty guy wearing a leather harness just complimented my outfit. That's the second compliment I've gotten on this dress today. :-) I'm not sure I should take it to heart though – the cute guy's boyfriend's harness looked kinda gaudy. It's possible he has bad taste.
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12:30 am
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Justin called me today and I answered the phone even though I was visiting Arabian Flatbread at the time. (Possibly rude, but hey! Justin's jumping out of an airplane tomorrow. If he gets a heart attack on the way down and forgets to deploy his parachute, this might be the last chance I'll ever get to insult speak to him. I had to answer.)
So I was sitting on Arabian Flatbread's bed and telling Justin not to die when I heard a strange noise over the phone.
LEX: What?
JUSTIN: Uh, I just spent the last 45 seconds in a headstand.
LEX: Just now? On the phone with me? You can hold a phone and... okay, now I want to try that. But I'm wearing a skirt. Damn.
Arabian Flatbread (wicked eavesdropping wretch that he is) arched an eyebrow, picked up his phone, dialed his friend Chuck, and flipped upside-down.
ARABIAN FLATBREAD: Hi Chuck! No, nothing's wrong – just calling to tell you that I'm doing a headstand right now.
JUSTIN: Well, I've got to go talk to my dad before I jump out of a plane. I should hang up and...
ARABIAN FLATBREAD: Hey Lex! Now Chuck says he's doing a headstand too!
And that was just too much for me.
LEX: Wait Justin wait you can't hang up!
JUSTIN: What?
LEX: I NEED TO PUT ON PANTS.
JUSTIN: But I really have to...
LEX: NO. PANTS FIRST.
I tore through my backpack, frantically searching. Shoes... book... headscarf... marbles... Darth Vader action figure... tupperware container full of tea... Aha! Pants! At last!
Clutching my phone in one hand, I carefully assumed the position.
LEX: Okay Justin, I'm doing a headstand too. You can go now if you want. Remember not not to die.
Four people. Four telephones. Four headstands. This makes phones seem a lot less scary. It needs to become a trend.
Dear everyone who has ever called me,
There's a much greater chance I'll answer my phone if I have to wonder whether you're upside-down or not when I talk to you.
The End.
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| Wednesday, May 20th, 2009
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1:21 pm - Flesh hooks = <3
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Last night, a nice man named Karcus invited me to the Inferno so he could shove hooks through the skin on my back. Someday I'd like to hang from hooks like that, but last night I just pulled on 'em to get a sense for what it'd feel like. And. Um. HOLY ENDORPHINS, BATMAN. It was awesome. Next time I'll get to suspend for real.
The scariest part was forcing myself to actually enter a nightclub where I didn't know anyone. I stood in the corner and tried to disappear until a lady with pink hair and more metal in her face than actual, ya know, face approached me.
PINK CYBORG: You okay? You look terrified.
LEX: Yeah. I'm just, um, in the throes of extreme social awkwardness. Can the floor here open up and swallow people? Because if it can I'm confused why it hasn't swallowed me yet. *scuffs floor experimentally with toe*
PINK CYBORG: Oh, it's okay. Don't worry. We're all nice around here.
And she was right. Took me a while to believe her, though, because then I had to spend an hour sitting at the bar and eating ice cubes.
Awkwardly.
See, when I'm Captain Awkward I can't eat ice cubes like a normal person. Sitting around and eating ice cubes and not talking to anyone might seem sufficiently awkward for most people, but not for Captain Awkward! The Captain has standards to maintain. So I used a couple straws as chopsticks and sometimes the ice would slither out from between the straws and land in my lap or on the floor and then I'd have to crawl on the floor to retrieve the ice. It was not elegant.
Finally, a girl named Kendra peered into my glass.
KENDRA: Water, huh? Me too. This'll be my first time pulling and I don't want to make a decision like that while drunk.
LEX: Heh. Yeah, it's my first time too. You nervous?
KENDRA: Terrified. I don't actually like pain - I just know that if I don't try this it'll keep bugging me until I do. What about you? You afraid?
LEX: Yeah. But more about this part than about the hooks.
KENDRA: ...this part?”
LEX: People. Bars.
KENDRA: You're more afraid of people than of pain?
LEX: Heck yeah. You don't like pain and you want to suspend?
KENDRA: Yup.
KENDRA AND LEX: You're crazy.
So that was a nice bonding moment, but still pretty awkward.
And then the pullings started and everything became right with the world. Karcus tied me to a pole and I immediately leaned forward and started swinging around in circles. Wheeeeee! And I got some other guy to grab my hands and pull on 'em so it was like a tug-o-war between him and the pole with me in the middle. And I kept trying to fall but I couldn't really because my skin held me up.
The pink cyborg lady (whose name turned out to be Lilly) sent me a few pictures. I'm guessing they're the sort of thing I'm supposed to hide behind a cut?
( So here's the cut )
Afterward, everyone became magically friendlier. People kept coming up and introducing themselves and one guy said that I “stole the show,” which... I didn't know it was a show? But okay. And I appreciate the sentiment. And another lady asked if I'd like to suspend hanging from her sometime. Sounds like it could be fun.
I'm still afraid of people, though. Everyone at the Inferno was really nice, but they're not that one specific variety of gamer dork I can feel truly comfortable around. It's like when I hang out with capoeira people who aren't Arabian Flatbread – it feels like I'm faking being a real person or something.
I'm real? Maybe.
Or I will be someday.
Either way, I can't wait to feel my toes leave the ground.
EDIT: P.S. I feel like re-posting these pictures Justin took over the weekend. We both kind of want to be L from Death Note, but we didn't have any props (cake) or costumes (jeans), so we settled for ( perching by the water )
current music: This Love Will Carry - Dougie MacLean
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| Sunday, May 17th, 2009
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1:19 am - BATTLE OF THE CENTURY!
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The contenders:
2 habitual vegetarians (Ingredients: Lex of Green, Justin Lopina)
VS.
1 blueberry flavored scorpion lollipop (Ingredients: malitol syrup, scorpion, artificial flavoring and coloring (yellow 5, blue 1))
( AAAAARE YOOOUUU REEEAAAAADY? (click here) )
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| Monday, May 11th, 2009
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1:58 am
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I totally suck when it comes to filial duty.
...and I'm looking at that sentence and it seems insufficient. I say I suck at a lot of things, so maybe you won't understand the depth of what I mean when I say “I suck re: filial duty.” Have I diluted the power of “suck” through overuse? Hm. Maybe I need more vowels or an anecdotal illustration or something. Or both! Here.
Vowels: Fillial duty – I suuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Baaaaaaaaalls.
I suuuuuuuuuck baaaaaaaaaalls.
Anecdotal illustration: My mom knows I hate paperwork, so she recently offered to help me complete some normal grownup-type paper crunching. It was a very sweet and considerate offer and could possibly keep me from going to jail. I don't want to go to jail. Jail has communal showers. And it's almost summer and they probably don't let you run around and have water balloon fights if you're in jail.
I repaid this act of kindness by avoiding Val's* number on the telephone for a month and a half and ignoring her e-mails. I did this because I knew that if I talked to her, she'd try to help me and I'd have to acknowledge the existence things like paperwork and the real world. So I stuck my fingers in my ears and went lalalalalalala.
Oh, and Val's birthday was in the middle of that month and a half. I didn't get her anything.
So, today was Mother's Day and I decided to try and fail less. I called my mom.
LEX: Hi Val! This is your obligatory Mother's Day phone call.
VAL: Aw, thank you. You're my favorite thing that's ever come out of my body.
THANKS, MOM. WAY TO BE HORRID. I LOVE YOU TOO.
Then Val told me that she'd gone vegan and lost two pounds in the last week. “That was the last of the weight I gained when I was pregnant with you! I don't have to blame you for my fat anymore! You can stop feeling guilty now.”
Pssssh, I never felt guilty. It was her own fault for trusting in the rythem method and getting squeamish about abortions.
But I guess if she'd aborted me, I wouldn't even call her on Mother's Day.
Oh hey, people I know – who's going to GenCon? I need to decide whether to go this year or to climb a mountain in Maine with my family instead. Currently weighing pros and cons. If I like you and you're going to the convention, you are a pro Con. If you aren't going, you're a con Con. If you're a mountain and I haven't climbed you yet, I can feel you mocking me.
* Some people may find it a mark of disrespect that I call my mother Val insread of, ya know, mom. Screw those people. I respect Val. I also know that if my name was Wilma,** I'd want as many people to validate my non-Wilma nickname as possible. Val is a good name. Val. <3
** Yeah, her legal name's Wilma. As far as I can tell, nobody likes that name – not even her parents. Val wound up named Wilma because her mom was a crazy religious person who didn't believe in birth control. “I'm sick of having babies!” her mother said, “But I know William will keep getting me pregnant until he gets a child named after him. Next baby, boy or girl, I'm naming it William!”
It was a girl. She chickened out at the last second and went for a compromise.
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