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Isn't it nice to have an outlet at work...
So our little group of five is supposed to give a CPD to the rest of our office about what it is we five do. This is all well and good, and I think each one of us believes a good thing to do, but who ever said that our little group of five worked well together?
In this scenario I am number 3. 1 and 2 don't work well together, and in fact rarely work together much at all. I work with 1 frequently and 2 sometimes. 2 is a control freak. He likes to use 4 and 5 as extra monkey hands to do work. No brains, just hands. The problem is 2 often tries to make me his monkey hands and I'm just having none of it.
So case in point, we have to put together this lunchtime presentation. Myself and 5 have been doing most of the work. This involved combining a chunk of presentation of mine from Wales with a chunk of presentation of 2's. 2 had lots of suggestions about how mine could be 'fixed'. When I suggested his needed adjustment, I was told that it comes in a set and can't be changed.
Fuck that shit. 2, 4, 5 and myself all sat down and agreed that he would make changes, but he's being belligerent and power hungry. The presentation is tomorrow and everyone's stuff is adjusted except 2's. "2, you need to make those changes we talked about" I said.
"I thought about it last night and I'm not changing it because it comes as a set" he said.
"Well we all sat down and agreed that it would be done, so you need to do it."
"I'm not doing it. And it's not your presentation." he said petulantly.
"Well it's not your fucking presentation either." I said, mumbling on the ''fucking".
In fact, 'fucking' has been every fourth word out of my mouth the past half hour. I'm going to bite someone's fucking head off. I ain't your fucking monkey hands mother fucker.
On the plus side, since 2 is doing no work on the powerpoint, I just made all the changes exactly how I want and he can go fuck himself. Oh, and in doing so, I also got 5 on my side. Bring it on.
Today we had office softball. I knew things weren't going to go well when people started canceling at the last minute. We showed up with eight players, half women half men. The other team showed up with seven men and one woman, three of which were all from the States. Needless to say, we had our butts kicked.
Still, it was good fun, except for that one ball, the one that came straight at me with the full force of a beefy over six foot tall guy behind it.... I missed it with my glove, but managed to stop it pretty well with my inside leg.
The goddamn bastard hurt like a mother-fucker.
I cursed and hopped around for a bit. The fucker hurts now, four hours later. Every time I stand up I feel like my leg is going to give way at the knee. I checked it in the mirror earlier, maybe it was just the angle but I swear the red circle on my leg with the quickly blackening edge was a perfect circle, exactly the size of a softball.
Of course, in my twisted mind, all I could think was it's no fun to get bruises this way....
Damn. Ain't that pretty. Only took two days. Building the model I mean...
*laugh*
(You can click on the image to see it in more glorious detail. *smirk*)
This is the best thing I've seen all week. You must ask for a new sheet. You must do manic mode. You must have sound.
It was called to my attention that sometimes my stories are appreciated. I haven't shared one for a while, here's one from the memory archives.
I had my first boyfriend when I was 19. It was a long-distance affair which was not the most conducive to dating. We talked every day however, and our talk was often naughty.
It made sense that as things progressed and we managed to save money to see each other (which involved either 24 hours of driving or a plane trip) that we progressed to having sex. My first.
So when the moment happened, I was not actually at my University as I should have been, but rather far away in another state, having a blast with my boyfriend. I remember calling my mother from his house (days before caller ID and mobile phones) and coming up with fake excuses for why I couldn't do things she wanted me to do because I wasn't actually at home.
A month later I was on the phone with her, and I just decided I didn't really like the lying so I said, "remember when you wanted me to do x, y, and z? Well, the reason I couldn't is because I was in Florida, not here."
A moment of silence.
And then...
"Oh. Did you have sex?"
Rapid fire thoughts of how to answer this question.
"Um... yes."
A moment of silence.
And then...
"Well, that's fine I didn't expect you to be a virgin when you got married, I wasn't a virgin when I got married and I was younger than you when I lost my virginity and I didn't think you would still be a virgin when you got married and I wasn't a virgin when I got married...."
"Um... mom? It's not a competition. You asked, I answered."
So that was strange.
A couple months later, I was at my dad's house for the summer. And I flew down to see my boyfriend. My dad didn't know I'd really seen him much before (or that he'd come up and stayed at my house while my dad was away with his girlfriend). This was the days when people could still meet you at the gate. I got off the plane, still sad to leave my boy and spy my dad and walk towards him.
He said to me as I approached, "Did you have sex?"
Not 'hello' or 'how was the flight' or 'welcome home'.
So I said, "Um... yes."
And then...
"Well, I don't want you to judge all men based on this experience. Men at this age can be real 'minute men' you know and I don't want you thinking that all men are like this and don't judge all men on your one experience because boys this age don't really know what they're doing and they can be real 'minute men'..."
My parents had been divorced for over ten years. And they asked me the exact same question. Which it turns out, other moms and dads didn't ask their kids (aka my friends) upon learning they'd gone to see their boyfriends.
My family is strange.
Now that would be so easy... Instead of having to use Hello, to post through blogger directly. If this works, below should be an image that I am really, really fond of.....
Shit, that's pretty easy. Here's one I shamelessly stole from CJC this morning and have now made into my laptops wallpaper (it's pretty awesome tiled). I removed the signature because otherwise it was tiled on my screen when I turned the image into wallpaper. Normally I don't bother crediting my stolen images here (which I know is wrong), this time I just spent ten minutes stealing a clean copy so the original signature is still on it. That's respect. I am completely entranced by this image today.
For over a year I have enjoyed the Honda ads on television here with the voice work by Garrison Keiler (who I am sneakily suspicious that most British people do not know or recognize from the voice). I have just found the link to an online game that goes with the ads. I love it. I have yet to get all the carrots, but I did make it to the barbecue.
(Update: I won!! Only took five tries...)
I'm in a less than stellar mood.
Currently I think everything is bleak. So obviously, it's a mood thing, not reality. I should be working on my next lecture that is only a couple weeks away, but instead I've been doing anything but today.
And I'm feeling a bit down on my man front. Convincing myself Mr.Aloof doesn't really want a relationship and that I'm wasting my time. Of course I could try to set up a booty call with Mr.Noshow but we all know how that would end up. I'm thinking of reposting my ad on the site I use, but I can't be bothered at the moment to start all over again either.
Damnit.
I managed to go to Broadway Market this morning, but I went on my own. S and C were going to look at some vaulting horse that S wants for the house and C doesn't. T was up all night with a traumatic flatmate situation not to mention hideous tooth pain. S is out of town this weekend. And C was so knackered after her first night of a week of nights that she's still sleeping now. So I'm rather alone today and wallowing.
I suppose I'm also discomforted because I texted Mr.Aloof to see if he wanted to come round for dinner and have had no answer.
At least my neighbor is doing a barbecue. Going to go eat me some spicy Nigerian cooking. Perhaps the burning in my mouth will distract me from all these silly depressive thoughts.
I don't think I wrote about it, but I've been a bit paranoid recently because we have our annual reviews now and mine is on Monday. When I get worried about something, I tend to get paranoid. In the case of my job, this means I get paranoid that I am about to be fired. It's not that I can think of any particularly good reason that I should be fired, I just become convinced that it's about to happen.
So I've been feeling this since Monday this week. I haven't really talked to anyone about it, because it's not been so severe that I've needed to. But it's been bothering me.
So today, my boss filled out his part of my review form and went over it with me this afternoon. I think he goes through it with me because he doesn't sit on my review. He's not a director, I think he's an associate director, and your review is with two directors. So I thought for sure there would be something negative. Something bad. But it turns out, he gave me a really nice review and wants me to grow in responsibility by managing my own project from start to finish. And he acknowledges that this needs to be done by the office- as the work distribution at the moment is a bit skewed. Said I should work on presentation to get rid of the 'ums' and so forth- but really, it was overall pretty good.
So I'm not going to be fired. But I might need to be taking on some more responsibility at work.
I suppose it had to happen sometime.
So, to get the initial comments over with, there was no need for a nice matched set of underwear yesterday. Damnit. Had a nice evening. Went to Putney again. Did I say Peckham before? I meant Putney. Anyway, we went to the good burger place or whatever that chain is called and I had a good burger. There was one by me when I lived in West Hampstead. It's so good to get a good burger in London- when you find a place, it's worth remembering.
Then we walked to the river again. Looked different in the daylight and there were lots of people about. We got drinks from a pub and chatted while watching rowers go up and down the river. Then we went to see 'Sin City', which was reasonably good. Violent, but the cinematography was pretty cool. And the outfits/costumes weren't too shabby.
After that we headed to his office so he could lock up and let the people who had been working overtime leave. That wasn't so long, and then he drove me home. Now, in the movies there was some comfortable arm stroking, hands on thighs sorts of things. But no kissing. We get to outside my house and kiss and cuddle a bit in the car. So frustrating! And of course I am as much to blame. I have no idea what's going on with this one. And it's not helping that Mr.Noshow keeps pestering me for a playdate. I want I want I want.. but to be honest, at the moment, not with him. *sigh*
In the meantime it's still fucking hot. C is meeting me for lunch today which is cool. I wish others were joining. D might. But everyone else is going to the last minute advertised CPD. As usual.
This weekend I really must get a good chunk of the way through preparing my next lecture or I will be royally fucked in a couple weeks time.
My annual review is on Monday. That always stresses me out as well.
I'm looking forward to the weekend though. I didn't have a weekend last weekend and it would be nice to just have down time. I wonder if I can get Mr.Aloof to come over....
It's too hot today. Already I can tell. This morning it was too warm in my bed with the sun shining directly on it. My fan offered moderate relief, but not enough.
And later today, I have a date, with Mr.Aloof. Or at least, I assume I have a date, having not heard from him since briefly yesterday afternoon. Could be changed by now.
I also have a meeting where I should try to look moderately respectable, which works well the getting dressed for a date. Of course, since I dress up so rarely, putting effort into my clothes is always a hassle.
I opted for comfortable linen-like pants and a stripey synthetic sheer layered top. Found some shoes in one of my as yet unpacked boxes that are alright, but since I've not worn them much, I'm sure they will destroy my feet by the time the day is done.
Bra matches g-string which is currently in my bag. A more comfortable pair of cotton panties is on my person and I will change later in the day.
Watch. None of this preparation will probably matter. *sigh*
In the meantime, a synthetic top is hot. My shoes are to the side of my desk. I worry by the afternoon I'll be so uncomfortable and unhappy that it will mess up the flow of the evening. I doubt that will happen, but I worry about it just the same.
At least I don't bother with make-up. Then I'd really be a basket case.
Shit. Should I have messed with make-up?
No, I don't mean the police. No, I don't mean swine.
I mean British people are fucking pigs. Now granted, the majority of my exposure to British behavior is from where I live and where I work which are not, and I will fully admit this, exactly centers of culture and civility.
However.
I just walked home from a mediocre meal at Hackney Central and on the way up Mare Street, I was just completely disgusted with the amount of trash on the road and sidewalk. Plastic bags and chicken bones, empty bottles and crisp packets, bits of paper and food containers. Everywhere was crap, being lightly tossed by the wind- if it wasn't stuck to the ground by something gross.
It bothers me that there is no instilled culture of putting trash in a garbage can, and for that matter, that there aren't so many garbage cans. But even when there are garbage cans, often you can watch some jackass throw something on the ground when standing right next to it.
I have friends who come to visit and they show up after a day of sightseeing with trash in their bag because they couldn't find someplace to put it. I know about the IRA stuff and the trash cans- but hey, they figured out a way to make it work on the Silverlink!
It is completely ingrained into the American cultural mindset that 'thou shalt not litter' (bomb other countries and pillage the planet, but no littering at home kids!). But seriously, it mostly works.
What amazes me here however, is that by morning the streets will be pristine- only to be completely full of shit by evening. I would have to slit my wrists if that was my job. Though the trash guys do tend to do an excellent job. It all gets worse as the weather gets warmer. Probably because more people are milling about instead of going home. Tonight it was particularly bad, and I'm sure it will last through the rest of summer.
Pigs.
Give me cold weather over hot any day.
I always feel like I am in the minority of comfort opinion. I'm a morning person, not a night owl, I like cold weather, not hot. I prefer moonlight to sunlight (though that doesn't work well with the morning person thing)....
In Wales it rained a lot. Not heavy rain that you have to sludge around with an umbrella but rather lots of misty splatter type rain that just gets you wet by being somewhere in the vicinity of it. Everything was damp. All the papers, tables, chairs, etc. That was most of the time. Saturday it was really beautiful weather and Sunday it was hot.
I caught on the news that it was 'really hot' in London and when I arrived back Sunday night, it did have all the makings of a place that was hot. Yesterday at work it was hot. Not unbearable, but still warm. Our office doesn't have air conditioning- we have fans. My little desk fan did a sum total of diddly-squat, but luckily, my boss has brought in a large standing fan from home. Unfortunately, he says he may take it back home. It was the only saving grace to the afternoon.
Today it already seems hot. I'm going to walk to work today- mainly because I've been shit about going to the gym and if I'm not going to the gym, I need to do some sort of exercise, so walking to work is on my list of 'easy things' to fit in.
The worst thing about the sudden change from reasonable temperatures to hot is that my skin breaks out. Red itchy spots are appearing and I need to not be scratching them. Except I am- even in my sleep I find. I hate that I get it on my face. It just makes me feel ugly and doesn't help with the state of my mood.
Anyway, time for a walk...
Too much to say about Wales, I will save for another time or not at all. Too much to do before I'm back again.
On the bus back from Bethnal Green, I decided to stand instead of removing my rucksack. I watched a middle aged woman harass a man in the front seats because he wouldn't move over to free up what was a free inside seat for her. My friend S was putting her things in the rack by the door, so after everyone got on, I walked back to meet her. The man in the seat tried to tell me that I could sit next to him if I wanted. He was clearly drunk.
I told him that I was going to stand because it was too difficult to remove my bag. So S and I chatted until her stop. She got off. I stayed standing. Drunk man got up and I thought he was getting off. But no, he pressed past me and my large bag to talk to the driver.
"Is this bus going to Putney? I need to go to Putney." which came out something like "isssbusss ney? Immmmaaa goinna P'ney" Needless to say the bus driver didn't really understand him. It probably didn't help matters that she was obviously not native and her English wasn't so clear either.
"This bus is going to Stamford Hill and Holloway" she tried to tell him. After about five rounds of this he sort of understood.
"But I need to go to Putney. Will you take me there? Can I stay on?" Here was actually the crux of the matter. He was just a sad drunk who wanted to spin around London on a bus for lack of anything better to do or a place to go. He then proceeded to stand in the front holding onto the rail next to the driver trying to make small talk.
I could tell she wasn't impressed. She tried to get him to stand back but he wouldn't. He asked her how late she was working and if he could take her out dancing afterwards.
Sad, isn't it?
It's possible this post is pre-emptive as I may find myself ridiculously bored at work tomorrow and making another post. But on the off chance that this is it until next Sunday or Monday... rest assured, I'll be back with tales of hairy tree-huggers, the results of eating vegetarian slop for five days straight, and the disaster that was my lecture. I also anticipate upon the week of my return another date with Mr.Aloof, softball on Wednesday, and yet another consultation on Monday.
But first, to the land of leeks and sheep.
Speaking of sheep. I found this today. (Yes I know, goats not sheep.) I was ridiculously amused by Donna talking about how they 'go stiff'. You know what I mean. Keep the humor low.
Recently I wrote about my perception of justice. While occasionally I may seem preoccupied with people who have done wrong that I know of, I probably don't spend enough time talking about my friends. Probably because they've done nothing to piss me off and are only worth noting when they have.
Earlier this week I was web sleuthing, as I occasionally do. Now I don't always search out those who make me burn with righteous anger. I also tend to look up lost friends. On this particular day, I was astounded to find the name of a friend come up who I have not heard peep from (or seen web traces of) for well on four years now.
Her name came up on a schedule for a group she was part of. No email or other links. I emailed both monitors of the group and asked if they would simply forward my inquiry to the person in question. On Friday I got an email back. It is my friend A, and we have been reunited.
Yesterday I chatted with her on the phone for too long (if you consider I forgot to pick up a phone card.. that's going to hurt) only to find out that in the past month her picture perfect life has been shattered. The guy she's been with for nine years, whom she married in our friend-lapse suddenly and without warning declared he wanted a divorce. The day after buying her a $35k truck and four months after an upgraded $18k engagement ring.
She said that my getting back in touch was the sort of bright light that she needed in these dark days.
And me... I was sad to hear that someone I liked was going through such pain. If only it could have happened to one of the bad ones.... Still, I'm glad that I've found her again. And I hope things improve.
The word is 'underpants', as in things that go UNDER, PANTS. 'Pants' being what is worn over, ie, on top, ie on the outside. I may live here... but I will not give in.. oh no.
Of course, I don't have quite as good an argument for aluminum foil. But that's my story, and I'm sticking to it.
you have no idea how much porn I had to sift through to find this image....
One of the things that's always around somewhere in my millions of thoughts is working out the relative costs of things. Because I am frequently talking to friends and family in the States, who always want to know what I'm up to, it is often a topic of conversation.
When I first arrived here, with no job, and a limited amount of funds- when the dollar was 1.55 to the pound, everything seemed amazingly expensive. Currently the dollar is improving at 1.81 to the pound. This however, makes everything here even more 'expensive'.
Trying to understand the relative value of things is the key to not going mad about figures. This has been illustrated in the now famous 'Big Mac Index'. The theory is that the cost of similar items in different places modifies the relative value of the currency. In other words, when I got to London, I quickly understood that the only way for me to ascertain if something was 'expensive', 'cheap', or 'reasonable' was to drop the pound sign from before the number and just make it a dollar sign. In other words, if I can get lunch for three pounds, that is the equivalent spending power in the states of getting lunch for three dollars, even though with the conversion I have actually just spent closer to five dollars. Following?
The flaw in this scenario of course is that I am not earning in pounds what I would be earning in dollars with the dollar sign removed and a pound sign inserted. In fact, I earn less in London in converted currency than I would be earning most places in the states. And that's with my extra teaching money factored in. So in my relative cost model what this means is that things cost what I think they should cost, but I earn about half as much as I think I should be earning. Which means my money doesn't go nearly as far here as it would in the States.
This particularly annoys me when I need to buy clothes. Since not only does the purchase of clothes tend to eat into my monthly spending budget, but even with the relative currency exchange as opposed to the actual currency exchange applied, clothes in the UK are fucking expensive. Meaning, stores here are more expensive in pounds for the same item than they would be in dollars. Prime example- GAP jeans which may cost forty to fifty dollars are priced here at sixty to seventy pounds. Ridiculous.
What this means is that every time I travel, I try to buy clothes. Because pretty much anywhere is cheaper than London. However, sometimes I can't avoid buying something- as I need a particular article of clothing. This is when I'm really happy that I live in a 'developing area' aka Hackney. Right around the corner from me is an MKOne and Primark as well as a Peacocks further down the road. Primark is the KMart of the UK. And while I may be ashamed to buy clothes from KMart, I was not brought up with such prejudices here. All I see is damn cheap clothes that if you dig through enough, you can find things to work with. I have three pairs of jeans from Primark that I am constantly complimented on. Two cost twelve pounds and one cost ten pounds. When I say I got them at Primark, people are astounded. Hey, it works for me.
I mean, don't get me wrong... I'd rather have an Old Navy nearby or a Target. And this is really me trying to make due with the situation. Luckily I'm not a clothes hog and I can pretty much wear whatever I want to work (jeans, jeans, and more jeans) so I don't need a work wardrobe. And I know this helps alleviate the burden.
I mean, just this morning I spent twenty-five pounds on one pair of linen pants (no UK comments about pants v trousers, that will be another post), two short sleeve tops, one long sleeve hooded top, and one long sleeve button down shirt. It would be hard to beat that with a stick I tell ya...
Still, it's an interesting thing, this relative cost. How easily one can slip into it. I know that if I sat down daily to figure out how many dollars it cost me to live here, I'd probably cry. The minds ability to adapt is an incredible thing.
I cut my lip on my tooth this morning by the unfortunate connection of my face with a table edge. It was rather unexpected.
It's not too bad, not noticeable from the outside. But I can feel it, and it's annoying. How long does a thing like that take to heal anyway?
I am terribly bored today. But at least I made it to Broadway Market. I have super tasty things in my fridge.
I should be preparing stuff for Wales- I'm off Tuesday after work.
What, me procrastinate?
*smirk*
I got a haircut, I got a haircut.....
Well actually, I got all of them cut. Ba-dum-bump.
Now, don't I feel better.
Last nights date with Mr.Aloof went well. Four hours in each others company and no awkward pauses. Still, there isn't too much to report on the naughty action side, which I am slightly disappointed about, but also okay with.
I mean, on the one hand, I would have liked if things had gone further. But on the other hand, it WAS the first time we'd seen each other in two months, and it made sense to not rush things. And also, while there were many excellent moments of my thinking "now this would be a good moment for someone to make a move", I assure you, that I made no move whatsoever. Which of course gives no signal, or worse yet, the wrong signal. It's just that I'm a wimp one on one like that, and want the other person to take control. (And then I want them to *really* take control but in a way, it's all the same.) So, a tour of his building, wandering in the dark, no kiss. Standing on the fire escape looking at the city lights, no kiss. Standing along the river by trees and lamplight, no kiss. Driving me back to my place and sitting in the car outside..... a kiss! Or two, or three or.... A hand on a thigh, the stroke of an arm, a cheek, a hand. A head resting on a shoulder.
Still, all things considered it wasn't a rushed sort of thing. It was a soft, slow, comfortable sort of thing.
Next time he says....
One of my coworkers has told me I'm transferring my anxiety onto my hair and it looks fine. The 'it looks fine' made me feel better. For the other part, I hit her.
Our softball game yesterday was good. The park was completely packed and it was very difficult to find a place to play. We ended up sharing a field that really should have held one game with two other games. We ended up with our outfield containing a couple of massive trees and a hill. At least this kept the game somewhat contained. The other team was good fun and we had a lively, entertaining, casual game. Usually games go for three innings. At the end of three innings, we had won, 26-19. However, since everyone was enjoying themselves, we decided to go for an extra inning and so we lost, 28-31. But since we were only supposed to play three innings, I think we won.
During the game I was getting called on my mobile. It turned out to be my friend R who is the way back when ex boyfriend of new flatmate C. When I met them, it was R+C, but that was 12 years ago. They had a rather bitter breakup, but I managed to stay in touch with both. R lives in Crewe with his girlfriend and their three year old daughter. I don't see them often, so when he asked if I wanted to meet up since he had be redirected through London for the night I agreed. We met up at Oxford Circus and went to dinner around there. I noticed that the restaurant was clearing but was still stunned when R said it was quarter to midnight. We left and I got the night bus back home, not arriving at my house until after one. It was good to catch up with him.
I am however, currently exhausted. Which isn't going well with my nerves, or the fact that Mr.Aloof suggested we meet up south of the river at eight (meaning there is no way I will be home before midnight, if I even go home at all) or the fact that I think my hair is a big poofy mess. I just want to go to sleep. It is currently the overriding thing on my mind.
How pathetic is that?
I am in desperate need of a haircut.
And this time I'm not talking about pubes.
I only go to get a haircut about three times a year. Maybe even like twice a year. In fact there may have been a year in there where I got a haircut once in the year, but after getting chewed out by my haircolorist and hairstylist, we won't talk about that time.
The reason I can get away with this is because my hair is naturally curly. It doesn't grow down in a straight line, instead it sort of meanders down in spirals. What an interesting analogy for my thought process.. but I digress. I think I had a haircut in January, and my hair is really starting to bother me. It has no good shape, and it's too heavy so it's laying flat on top. It also desperately needs to be colored as I can see all my grey hair roots in with my regular roots.
Because I don't go often, I feel justified in spending a chunk of change on a haircut. I have since last year been going to Toni & Guy in Islington to the same two stylists. They do a pretty good job, so I'm happy to go back. But it's not the *best* stylist I've ever had.
Good stylists are worth their weight in gold. The best one I had was now... what... six years ago when I lived in Baltimore. I've not found anyone as good with my hair, which is, admittedly, not the easiest hair for a stylist to do much of anything with. I really miss that stylist, still, all this time later.
I really need a haircut. I'm feeling frizzed out and seriously shaggy. Which is completely NOT how one wants to feel when seeing Mr.Aloof for the first time in two months. *GR*
When my boss is away I just go into total and complete slack mode. The past two days I've done so very little work. I can't believe I get paid for sitting at my desk and writing my blog. Well actually, I'm also at the same time working on a CPD for our little 'urban design' department to give to the rest of the 'architecture/landscape architecture' office. How is it I get nominated for this stuff?
I'm biding my time here for an hour before a group of us head to Regent's Park to play softball against another architecture office. I'm not sure how that became popular here. In the states, summer league softball is really popular. But it's not like this is a softball/baseball sort of country. There aren't diamonds in the parks. It's really meet up, find some open grass, and get a game on. It also usually involves lots of beer and bags of snack foods. I'll probably be the only one there who even knows how to play properly. I even brought in my own glove. *smirk* Somehow, I got nominated for organizing it this year. We have a game every Wednesday from now through August. My job is accomplished.
Tomorrow I meet up with Mr.Aloof after two months of not seeing each other. I'm nervous, and I hate that I'm nervous. Has it been too long? Lately I find we have little to say on email or IM. It's like... I don't want to talk to him, I want to BE with him. And I find that urge a bit confusing. I'm looking forward to seeing him but fear that when I do, I will still find I have nothing to say. This awkward future image makes me nervous, now. I mean, there is nothing I can do about it. I want some sort of reassurance. Some comfort. But it's not going to happen. I'm just going to have to suffer through these nerves and worries. I just want to see him and get it over with. Know if there is still anything there or not. Know if this is going anywhere or not.
And of course if all goes well there should be some naughty business going on tomorrow, and that too, is nerve inducing.
Ah well. Batter up!
A couple years back, I missed my ten year high school reunion. I had wanted to go, but I was living in Texas that summer. While I wanted to see what happened to the people I once knew, I realized that what I really wanted to know was all the dirt. For the people I'd liked, I wanted to hear that they'd done well. But what I really wanted, was to find out all of the bad things that had happened to the people I didn't like.
I had the idea that reunions should really be like this- before attending you would get a form to fill out that asked, "Please list the top ten best and worst things that have happened in the past x years. Please be specific. It's important."
I think sometimes I have a very child-like sense of justice. I think bad things should ultimately happen to bad people. In part, I use my own life experience at often getting caught out at doing bad things as a shining example of 'If it happens to me, it should happen to everyone else' and yet I know that this is not the case.
I don't believe in hell, so it's not like I think people suffer eternal damnation at the hands of some higher power... I just perhaps stupidly hold on to the belief that 'what goes around comes around'. Occasionally some of my friends who know me very well have criticized my sense of justice or lack of compassion for those who do wrong. They see grey areas where I only see black and white. They say I am not entitled to be the judge jury and executioner for those I see around me.
I say, why the hell not? My world, my reality. And I can be a right judgmental bitch sometimes.
couldn't make up my mind today....
I am not a computer fixer.
It's hard to be a child of the modern age. So used to using computers. Even perhaps, more used to using them than some of my fellow children. However, my use of technology really corresponds more to use than how the use got to be that way. What I mean is, I don't care HOW my computer works, I just know what to do with it when it's working.
By default, I do know a little about how and why things work. But I can't build a computer from scratch, nor would I want to. So it was perhaps a bit of folly that I tried to 'fix' my flatmate C's computer.
She was having huge Windows related issues. First I ran some recovery on it. And while it seemed to be running slightly better, and the ZoneAlarm finally loaded, it still wasn't working so well. So I foolishly decided to do a Windows recovery installation. All was going to plan and C went off to bed when the computer suddenly looks like it's doing something majorly serious and says it's going to be 40 minutes. It was the longest 40 minutes of my recent life. I convinced myself that I was reformatting the hard drive and deleting all of her important documents. Because in my impulsiveness, of course I didn't take the time to create backups of everything.
Well, 40 nail-biting minutes later the system comes up and her files all seem to be in place, but it's back to how it was before I ran recovery and not much loads and basically it is royally fucked. Though to be fair, it was royally fucked before. She needs an entire system reinstall. And I'm not going to touch that with a ten foot pole.
Though I will make all the phone calls and arrangements with HP. Even though nothing is particularly my fault I somehow feel responsible. I should have just left it alone. Involvement somehow dictates responsibility.
No more computer surgery for me.
Last weekend I was so productive, even though I had a cold and slept most of Saturday.
This weekend I am being pathetically unproductive. No Broadway Market, no yoga, no plans....
In my defense, I did have to work yesterday. Consultation with Brixton residents. A bus ride to four different parks to look at for ideas and impressions. It was okay really, though by the end of it, everyone was struggling. And I hate working weekends. It's not like I get paid to work over my regular work hours.
Today I've not even got dressed. Trying to fix C's computer. Who doesn't protect their computer in today's day and age? I stuck Ad-Aware on her machine and it found over 500 worrisome items. Eight megs worth. Her computer is seriously fucked. I think I'll need to reinstall Windows on it.
I'm going to get some work done this evening, but I can't believe it's back to the office tomorrow. And a week from Tuesday I'm off to Wales. Thursday is Mr. Aloof.... hm.. :) And Mr.Noshow seems to be making progress on arranging a time for him to get his ass beat so I can watch. Can't I just fast forward to the fun days?
Name that quote. Prove to me your web sleuthing abilities.
I don't know why it is, but ever since college I have tried to convince a number of my girl friends that a job in the sex industry is really what they were after in life. This has taken the form of suggesting friends of mine become call girls, escorts, or dominatrixes. I suppose this isn't the usual sort of thing one girl suggests to her other girl friends, but it's perfectly in keeping not only with my character, but with my group of friends.
No one has ever actually taken me up on this suggestion. Though it's often bandied about. S and I have always joked about opening up an upscale porn/erotica/coffee store (seems like Coffee, Cake, and Kink beat us to it!). On IM with her right now, I am at this very moment suggesting to S that she look into becoming a pro-domme. Of course because I was explaining about my current strange situation with Mr.Noshow. Still, you have to admit. It's not a bad way to make a living. If you can pull it off. And S would be a good dominatrix. As she would make an excellent high priced escort.
Turn.... turn to the dark side my friends.... muahahahahahahahahaha
In keeping with the two people who know I keep a blog pestering me, I searched myself as I do periodically. Well, suddenly I'm extremely easy to find via google if you know 'Kopaylopa' which most of my friends (and some not friends) do seeing as how it's my rather unique online name. Hmmmmm. Right. Disclaimer. If anything I say here pisses anyone off, get over it. No one knows who you are. And no one really reads this anyway. It's my own little thing. But do tell me if you've found it, then I'll at least keep your readership in mind. Anyway, there's nothing here I wouldn't tell you if you asked. Unless I don't like you. Then you can say whatever you want about me in your own damn blog. Damnit. I knew I should have kept writing in my paper journal.
Ohhh things are changing. Keep your eye on the balls...
So Mr.Aloof is back from Vienna. Grouchy as fuck today. Pissed me off. But not all the time. Intermittently. Which is probably even more annoying. During the non annoying moments though, he informed me we have a date for next Thursday which will involve a trek south of the river, some alcohol, some food, a tour of his place, and a lift back to mine. Which assumes there is a potential for a time lag in there... hmmm..... *grin*
Mr.Ball knows I have a blog and is vowing to track it down. I don't think he can do it. Not much else to report about Mr.Ball. We still have no plans to meet up.
Mr.Noshow..... now there's a curve I didn't see coming. He has suggested he would like to try subbing. I am in no position to top him. So I suggested he find himself a pro-domme. And somehow, through our conversation, it came up that he would sort of like me to watch his session. I suppose I'm okay with that, from an interest level perspective. I mean, I would be curious to see a pro-domme in action. And it would be interesting to see Mr.Noshow whom I have only known as a top to behave as a sub. Still, WTF???
Of course Mr.Noshow is also offering to get together and play, but he would top. I'm putting him off until I see how things go with Mr.Aloof. I'm not opposed to seeing multiple partners, but I need to see how things go with Mr.Aloof. I will NOT see multiple partners without full understanding and consent of current partners. Since I've not discussed any of this with Mr.Aloof yet, then I really can't handle seeing Mr.Noshow while I'm trying to see how things develop with Mr.Aloof.
Lord help me if Mr.Ball wants to suddenly meet up.
Yesterday was a long day. Had a consultation in Brixton. It was alright, though it got a bit sidetracked. I am always really happy when people come to a consultation, but it can be a bit disconcerting when they may not know why they are there or don't have much to contribute. In a way, it's partially our fault- because we weren't prepared for who came. On the other hand.... if something doesn't affect you, should you come to the consultation for it?
Anyway, that's not really the point of this post. I got home around 9:30. I was tired. Got into my pajamas flipped on the television and the computer and figured I had a little time to wind down before bed. Thought it was a bit chilly so went to shut the window in the lounge and noticed there was something on the floor.
C came home around 10, as she had a surprise 'on call' sprung on her. So nice on your first day back at work. I said, "C, do you know what that is over by the window?" I was particularly annoyed because we just cleaned the whole damn flat yesterday. And I was sure there wasn't gunk all along the floor by the window.
C looked at the mess on the floor. "That's birdshit."
....
The little bastards. I assume the damn bird got out the same way it came in, fervently dumping it's bowels in a bid to get out the glass until it found the open bit. Black blobs, white blobs. Fucking bird.
C made no move to do anything about the birdshit. I suppose that's also fair, as C has a tendency to close all the windows when she leaves. Except that makes the flat bloody hot when you get home. Still, since I left the window open, I suppose it was actually my responsibility. I went to get gloves and scrub things and cleaning products. Birdshit dries on hard. Fucking bird.
When it was all cleaned up, C said "good job" and I sat on the sofa to relax and forget about the gunk. I looked down at the floor by the sofa. Another blob of birdshit.
Fucking bird.
