(no subject)
Today was Father's Day. My family and I went to see Car Talk: The Musical at the Central Square Theater.
People were sunbathing on the Cambridge Town Hall's front lawn. One man had some kind of guitarish mandoliny instrument.
Here's the outside of the theater.
The musical was okay. The main character was a middle-aged man whose car broke. All the cars in the show were people, and he wanted to buy a Miata whose name was Miata C. LaChassis. In one part of it he dies and there's this bizarre dream sequence with references to Cats and women with wheels on their boots and headlights on their breasts. I found the woman who played Miata attractive, but I think it was more because she played a sexualized character than because of how she looked. If that makes any sense.
There were a great deal of pop-culture references, not all of which I got. Several of the songs were parodies of music from The Sound of Music and West Side Story. I laughed a lot, even though the jokes tended toward puns and things that weren't actually that funny.
Someone sitting in front or behind me had really abominable breath. I'm not exaggerating.
I once took a tour of a waste managment facility in Stoughton. They started by briefing us in the meeting room, and the meeting room had this faint stench that got into your nose and wouldn't leave. The rest of the place was so bad your brain kind of just shut off smell, but the meeting room stank in a horrible rotten way like everything everyone's ever thrown away was mouldering and heating up just a wall over, which I guess was really what it was.
The person's breath smelled like that, but with breath mints on top. Gross.
After the show, we went to the Danish Pastry House and had cake.
Here's mine:
And a very pretty one:
And dad after I told him "Make a face like you've just opened the fridge and discovered a severed head."
My brother:
Here's a picture where dad doesn't look horrified.
At dinner he gave a miniature speech about being a dad and what that means to him. He also called his dad and got a call from my uncle. My uncle doesn't have any children, but he is married and he's going on sabbatical with his husband to somewhere that starts with M to visit with his in-laws.
I edited a bunch of 50 Shades of Grey to make up for missing yesterday. There are four hundred something people following the blog. I've been getting ludicrous compliments on it from grey-faced anonymous people. I don't know how to feel, but I actually considered taking the compliments seriously, which is something I don't normally do. That plus Alyssa being nice to me plus re-watching X-Men: First Class when it came on today made me cry.
I cry at really weird things, mostly things that move me or make me happy and not things that make me sad. Or at least things that make move me make me cry more easily than things that make me sad.
I want to write a long rant about X-Men: First Class and childhood trauma and empathy and body image and being in the closet and betrayal and it's just a really good movie that addresses a lot of issues and I like it a lot okay
J returned my jacket. She left it in a plastic Stop and Shop grocery bag on the handle of the front door.
I found it when we got home from the musical. Seeing it made me feel vaguely nauseous. You know how people talk about having feelings in the 'pit of your stomach', even though stomachs don't really have pits? Well, that's where I felt it. It was a kind of sinking in the bottom half of my abdomen, focused into a thin disc, a membrane kind of, in the middle of my digestive system.
It didn't feel very good.
I haven't felt very good about our relationship in general. She contacted me recently and I was very curt with her and then I felt terrible for far too long because I was worried about her feeling awful and self-destructive, which I know is a way she feels when she thinks someone's mad at her.
I think I'm underestimating her resilience. She's probably more fine than I think she is. The last I heard of her, she was reblogging thinspo and eating disorder recovery memes. The last email I got from her (besides the one agreeing to not talk to me) said "I don't like thinking that you hate me so much you can't even talk to me," which felt either like a lashing-out or very very manipulative.
I hope it was the former, because the latter is just. . .it's not okay. I'd rather she made me feel like shit for three days by mistake than on purpose, you know?
But that's depressing to talk about, so I should talk about something else. I guess?
People were sunbathing on the Cambridge Town Hall's front lawn. One man had some kind of guitarish mandoliny instrument.
Here's the outside of the theater.
The musical was okay. The main character was a middle-aged man whose car broke. All the cars in the show were people, and he wanted to buy a Miata whose name was Miata C. LaChassis. In one part of it he dies and there's this bizarre dream sequence with references to Cats and women with wheels on their boots and headlights on their breasts. I found the woman who played Miata attractive, but I think it was more because she played a sexualized character than because of how she looked. If that makes any sense.
There were a great deal of pop-culture references, not all of which I got. Several of the songs were parodies of music from The Sound of Music and West Side Story. I laughed a lot, even though the jokes tended toward puns and things that weren't actually that funny.
Someone sitting in front or behind me had really abominable breath. I'm not exaggerating.
I once took a tour of a waste managment facility in Stoughton. They started by briefing us in the meeting room, and the meeting room had this faint stench that got into your nose and wouldn't leave. The rest of the place was so bad your brain kind of just shut off smell, but the meeting room stank in a horrible rotten way like everything everyone's ever thrown away was mouldering and heating up just a wall over, which I guess was really what it was.
The person's breath smelled like that, but with breath mints on top. Gross.
After the show, we went to the Danish Pastry House and had cake.
Here's mine:
And a very pretty one:
And dad after I told him "Make a face like you've just opened the fridge and discovered a severed head."
My brother:
Here's a picture where dad doesn't look horrified.
At dinner he gave a miniature speech about being a dad and what that means to him. He also called his dad and got a call from my uncle. My uncle doesn't have any children, but he is married and he's going on sabbatical with his husband to somewhere that starts with M to visit with his in-laws.
I edited a bunch of 50 Shades of Grey to make up for missing yesterday. There are four hundred something people following the blog. I've been getting ludicrous compliments on it from grey-faced anonymous people. I don't know how to feel, but I actually considered taking the compliments seriously, which is something I don't normally do. That plus Alyssa being nice to me plus re-watching X-Men: First Class when it came on today made me cry.
I cry at really weird things, mostly things that move me or make me happy and not things that make me sad. Or at least things that make move me make me cry more easily than things that make me sad.
I want to write a long rant about X-Men: First Class and childhood trauma and empathy and body image and being in the closet and betrayal and it's just a really good movie that addresses a lot of issues and I like it a lot okay
J returned my jacket. She left it in a plastic Stop and Shop grocery bag on the handle of the front door.
I found it when we got home from the musical. Seeing it made me feel vaguely nauseous. You know how people talk about having feelings in the 'pit of your stomach', even though stomachs don't really have pits? Well, that's where I felt it. It was a kind of sinking in the bottom half of my abdomen, focused into a thin disc, a membrane kind of, in the middle of my digestive system.
It didn't feel very good.
I haven't felt very good about our relationship in general. She contacted me recently and I was very curt with her and then I felt terrible for far too long because I was worried about her feeling awful and self-destructive, which I know is a way she feels when she thinks someone's mad at her.
I think I'm underestimating her resilience. She's probably more fine than I think she is. The last I heard of her, she was reblogging thinspo and eating disorder recovery memes. The last email I got from her (besides the one agreeing to not talk to me) said "I don't like thinking that you hate me so much you can't even talk to me," which felt either like a lashing-out or very very manipulative.
I hope it was the former, because the latter is just. . .it's not okay. I'd rather she made me feel like shit for three days by mistake than on purpose, you know?
But that's depressing to talk about, so I should talk about something else. I guess?