(no subject)
Yesterday, I got a milk carton from a yard sale. Alas, milk cartons aren't quite the right size for record-storing, but it's much better than leaving them in a pile on the floor of the closet.
I do hope to winnow down the record collection such that it could fit in the shelves it was meant for. But it's really two record collections, and they both are so awesome! When we have our Retro Games Party, we'll have such great stuff to groove to: the living room will be 60's and 70's, since that's the bulk of the collections. From my parents, a lot of folk, classical, and world music: from my brother's ex-girlfriend, some great rock. Including each and every single Monkees album, I do believe.
Yes, I love the Monkees more than the Beatles. Bite me.
So anyway, I'm wandering around with a milk carton, just kinda letting it dangle from a hand and bump against my outer thigh. Gradually I become aware that this is really uncomfortable, and I check out my outer-lower thigh. Duh, it hurts because there's no flesh to absorb the impact. None at all: solid muscle.
Of course there's plenty of flesh in other places: I've been focusing on eating better and exercising more for four months now, and I'm hardly a svelte model. The busy-ness of my life makes it difficult to eat correctly. I think I'd rather shoot myself in the eye than buy a salad at a fast-food joint. I don't like lettuce, and they aren't filling at all. I do like that all the fast food places are starting to give you options: so I usually have a baked potato or mandarin oranges instead of french fries.
But the combination of crappy eating and hard exercise made it such that I was, for a while, in the strange position of being a very fleshy, very fit womyn. So they do exist, believe it or not. But now things are slowing down, I'm not forced to eat so much fast-food crap, and my body is changing shape. Right now it isn't drastic, and this is the time I love best: when the flesh-loss is a secret that only I and my lover(s) know. I get uncomfortable when everybody I meet congratulates me for losing weight. a) Losing weight isn't my goal: gaining muscle, losing flesh is . . . otherwise I'd buy myself a scale, wouldn't I? b) Damn it, I'd much rather be complimented on how fun the game I'm running is, or how great my art/writing/singing is . . . changing one's body (or returning it to baseline, as I keep thinking of it) isn't a grand accomplishment in my world.
My mom said she'd take me shopping when I lost 25 lbs. I have to figure out how many inches that translates to. 5?
Anyway, me and my milk carton got to hang out with some Crossroads people: by pure coincidence, they happened to be supping at the same place I wanted to eat, the Popeye's just down the street from me. I came back to say hi to more people, but ended up spending most of the time trying to console missamay. Ezra was smiling a little, but she wasn't. And there wasn't much I could say to alleviate things: it's just a sucky situation. The oldest drama in the entire world, a tragedy that's been played out probably in every friend-circle for all time, but knowing it's such a common occurence doesn't make it easier for any of them to get through. Flunkey in the Middle! I get to dance and caper and try to make both of you smile, but there's nothing I can actually do to ease the pain! Yay. *sigh*
Crossroads is in a nice place: a house you can rent for $60. I'll keep it in mind for a grand event, or if Roundabout outgrows an apartment-sized game. I think the Fall Game will be pretty small: I may be able to have it be at our house, if we get a new futon (or other couch-thing) and the whole house is clean enough to be open.
Oh, I keep forgetting to tell people the date of the Roundabout Games! Our Fall Game will be Saturday, November 19. The Saturday before Thanksgiving. I will most definitely have NPCs on hand, so you can come on over and just play . . . however, every NPC will be a Pooka. For reasons that should already be evident to my players. The boards are here, feel free to read them. Anything marked with an (X) is X-rated, so, duh, not work safe.
I do hope to winnow down the record collection such that it could fit in the shelves it was meant for. But it's really two record collections, and they both are so awesome! When we have our Retro Games Party, we'll have such great stuff to groove to: the living room will be 60's and 70's, since that's the bulk of the collections. From my parents, a lot of folk, classical, and world music: from my brother's ex-girlfriend, some great rock. Including each and every single Monkees album, I do believe.
Yes, I love the Monkees more than the Beatles. Bite me.
So anyway, I'm wandering around with a milk carton, just kinda letting it dangle from a hand and bump against my outer thigh. Gradually I become aware that this is really uncomfortable, and I check out my outer-lower thigh. Duh, it hurts because there's no flesh to absorb the impact. None at all: solid muscle.
Of course there's plenty of flesh in other places: I've been focusing on eating better and exercising more for four months now, and I'm hardly a svelte model. The busy-ness of my life makes it difficult to eat correctly. I think I'd rather shoot myself in the eye than buy a salad at a fast-food joint. I don't like lettuce, and they aren't filling at all. I do like that all the fast food places are starting to give you options: so I usually have a baked potato or mandarin oranges instead of french fries.
But the combination of crappy eating and hard exercise made it such that I was, for a while, in the strange position of being a very fleshy, very fit womyn. So they do exist, believe it or not. But now things are slowing down, I'm not forced to eat so much fast-food crap, and my body is changing shape. Right now it isn't drastic, and this is the time I love best: when the flesh-loss is a secret that only I and my lover(s) know. I get uncomfortable when everybody I meet congratulates me for losing weight. a) Losing weight isn't my goal: gaining muscle, losing flesh is . . . otherwise I'd buy myself a scale, wouldn't I? b) Damn it, I'd much rather be complimented on how fun the game I'm running is, or how great my art/writing/singing is . . . changing one's body (or returning it to baseline, as I keep thinking of it) isn't a grand accomplishment in my world.
My mom said she'd take me shopping when I lost 25 lbs. I have to figure out how many inches that translates to. 5?
Anyway, me and my milk carton got to hang out with some Crossroads people: by pure coincidence, they happened to be supping at the same place I wanted to eat, the Popeye's just down the street from me. I came back to say hi to more people, but ended up spending most of the time trying to console missamay. Ezra was smiling a little, but she wasn't. And there wasn't much I could say to alleviate things: it's just a sucky situation. The oldest drama in the entire world, a tragedy that's been played out probably in every friend-circle for all time, but knowing it's such a common occurence doesn't make it easier for any of them to get through. Flunkey in the Middle! I get to dance and caper and try to make both of you smile, but there's nothing I can actually do to ease the pain! Yay. *sigh*
Crossroads is in a nice place: a house you can rent for $60. I'll keep it in mind for a grand event, or if Roundabout outgrows an apartment-sized game. I think the Fall Game will be pretty small: I may be able to have it be at our house, if we get a new futon (or other couch-thing) and the whole house is clean enough to be open.
Oh, I keep forgetting to tell people the date of the Roundabout Games! Our Fall Game will be Saturday, November 19. The Saturday before Thanksgiving. I will most definitely have NPCs on hand, so you can come on over and just play . . . however, every NPC will be a Pooka. For reasons that should already be evident to my players. The boards are here, feel free to read them. Anything marked with an (X) is X-rated, so, duh, not work safe.