Purse Teeth, a Castle and Writing
Because really, who doesn't want a change purse with teeth?
(Nancy Fouts)
Ditto that for a castle about ready to fall into the Black Sea...
Friday night I did something I haven't done in AGES...I had a bar shift at Bottom Lounge in Chicago. 8 to 2 am, I filled in as a coat check girl extraordinaire. I made BANK. (I weep thinking that I made more money speedily hanging and relaying jackets than I do as a librarian.) Imagine me near a row of pinball machines (pining the hours away after the Addams Family one). Flashy lights illuminate the dance floor. The bar is crowded. I was not expecting to bust my ass and yet, and yet it was a Salsa night and bodies were packed into the place and seating was limited and there was a nautical party going on (What? Yeah. A sailing party. Huh?) in addition to the regularly scheduled Friday night Salsa and I was the only jacket recourse. I will forever after tip my coat check person, if ever I am rich enough to check my coat. I actually made myself sore with the dancing of jackets back and forth for near six hours straight.
The money went straight into my WisCon savings envelope. I have another shift on Thursday. I am ever grateful to my good friend Ms. N. for this.
I have no idea what happened on Saturday. Ah! Wait. I do. I slept the hell in. Then I finished reading The Devil's Cub by Georgette Heyer. Why yes, the sequel to These Old Shades. And yes, I am in LOVE with Heyer. I knw I mentioned this previously, but really? Really? HOW HAVE I NOT READ HER BEFORE NOW? GAH! XOXOXOXOXOXO + Forever + Jealous of Heyer's mad slang
skillz. :: melts into puddle of envy and pleasure :: I talked to Cooney about this. We wondered if I would have liked these as much if I had read them when I was younger. I would like to say that I would have, but who knows? In my teens I was into outlaw literature and nonfiction. Emma Goldman. The Beats. Slam Poetry. Chuck Palahniuk. Hunter S. Thompson. Neal Stephenson. William Gibson. My early twenties were all about exploring the deeper lit that I didn't give a chance when I was in high school because I was too busy rebelling. I further studied world mythologies. I started to getting more involved in fantasy where previously I had been more attached to sci-fi. Hell, it wasn't until I was about 24 that I realized I was an asshole for never having read Stephen King because I had been convinced by the classroom that he was "popular fiction" and "popular fiction" can't possibly be all that it's cracked up to be, eh? (Idiots! Idiots who think this! My past self included. Big fucking idiots.) So now, at 29, I'm ripe for Heyer's picking. J'adore her wicked counts, her cross dressing heroes, her con artists, pistols, patches and duels. I am half way through another one even. The Masqueraders. It's like reading a costume drama. If I could learn to be half as witty as her I would die happy. Let alone have that many female sword fighters feature in my fiction.
Sunday I had a writing date with Miss J9. We ate horseradish hummus and got a good deal done. She is working on a dystopian novel that is blowing my mind. She is a mega detailed world builder. I am in awe of her ogranization. Too much of my own is done after I'm already in a muddle.
Today I wrote monthly reports at work. Feh. Feh on monthly reports. Remember Office Space and all those TPS Reports? Blegh. But then Janelle the Gazelle came over to my place and we feasted. I made tempeh sloppy joes and cornbread from scratch. Hella good vitals and the Gazelle brought some caramel chocolate. We coffeed, movie talked and finally got down to some writing, wherein I broke through the fight scene that I've been writing an rewriting (because it was a pile of lifeless shit) for WEEKS. It's a three way fight scene and I finally kicked its ass more than it kicked mine. I think it'll be done by tomorrow.
What else?
Have some Cabin Porn.
And holy sighing wow, wouldn't it be aces to even live in the attic of one of these:
Night, yo.
(Nancy Fouts)
Ditto that for a castle about ready to fall into the Black Sea...
Friday night I did something I haven't done in AGES...I had a bar shift at Bottom Lounge in Chicago. 8 to 2 am, I filled in as a coat check girl extraordinaire. I made BANK. (I weep thinking that I made more money speedily hanging and relaying jackets than I do as a librarian.) Imagine me near a row of pinball machines (pining the hours away after the Addams Family one). Flashy lights illuminate the dance floor. The bar is crowded. I was not expecting to bust my ass and yet, and yet it was a Salsa night and bodies were packed into the place and seating was limited and there was a nautical party going on (What? Yeah. A sailing party. Huh?) in addition to the regularly scheduled Friday night Salsa and I was the only jacket recourse. I will forever after tip my coat check person, if ever I am rich enough to check my coat. I actually made myself sore with the dancing of jackets back and forth for near six hours straight.
The money went straight into my WisCon savings envelope. I have another shift on Thursday. I am ever grateful to my good friend Ms. N. for this.
I have no idea what happened on Saturday. Ah! Wait. I do. I slept the hell in. Then I finished reading The Devil's Cub by Georgette Heyer. Why yes, the sequel to These Old Shades. And yes, I am in LOVE with Heyer. I knw I mentioned this previously, but really? Really? HOW HAVE I NOT READ HER BEFORE NOW? GAH! XOXOXOXOXOXO + Forever + Jealous of Heyer's mad slang
skillz. :: melts into puddle of envy and pleasure :: I talked to Cooney about this. We wondered if I would have liked these as much if I had read them when I was younger. I would like to say that I would have, but who knows? In my teens I was into outlaw literature and nonfiction. Emma Goldman. The Beats. Slam Poetry. Chuck Palahniuk. Hunter S. Thompson. Neal Stephenson. William Gibson. My early twenties were all about exploring the deeper lit that I didn't give a chance when I was in high school because I was too busy rebelling. I further studied world mythologies. I started to getting more involved in fantasy where previously I had been more attached to sci-fi. Hell, it wasn't until I was about 24 that I realized I was an asshole for never having read Stephen King because I had been convinced by the classroom that he was "popular fiction" and "popular fiction" can't possibly be all that it's cracked up to be, eh? (Idiots! Idiots who think this! My past self included. Big fucking idiots.) So now, at 29, I'm ripe for Heyer's picking. J'adore her wicked counts, her cross dressing heroes, her con artists, pistols, patches and duels. I am half way through another one even. The Masqueraders. It's like reading a costume drama. If I could learn to be half as witty as her I would die happy. Let alone have that many female sword fighters feature in my fiction.
Sunday I had a writing date with Miss J9. We ate horseradish hummus and got a good deal done. She is working on a dystopian novel that is blowing my mind. She is a mega detailed world builder. I am in awe of her ogranization. Too much of my own is done after I'm already in a muddle.
Today I wrote monthly reports at work. Feh. Feh on monthly reports. Remember Office Space and all those TPS Reports? Blegh. But then Janelle the Gazelle came over to my place and we feasted. I made tempeh sloppy joes and cornbread from scratch. Hella good vitals and the Gazelle brought some caramel chocolate. We coffeed, movie talked and finally got down to some writing, wherein I broke through the fight scene that I've been writing an rewriting (because it was a pile of lifeless shit) for WEEKS. It's a three way fight scene and I finally kicked its ass more than it kicked mine. I think it'll be done by tomorrow.
What else?
Have some Cabin Porn.
And holy sighing wow, wouldn't it be aces to even live in the attic of one of these:
Night, yo.