Plot, chuckle, repeat
So, my best-beloveds, I am going to be back in the Hali later than expected: arriving 1ish on the 24th. Does the house still not have a phone? Cause I want to call you, ADiz, for the plots re: moving and getting all the stuff we no longer have, like couches. And to hear your lovely voice, of course. And we need a night of drinking and ridiculous dances of joy. I'll make a playlist to this effect. You too, please?
And I'm back up to NY, NY [insert dancing sailors] with the Boy, who is being headhunted by a really objectionable publication that might move him there. Boo hiss. So he gets to work and interview and I get to roam an unfamiliar city. But it has a subway system, even though it has confusing numerical stop names (not neighborhood or landmark names like DC) and smells like hobojuice. I want to get eaten by penguins in Central Park! So I get a mini-vacation from being an unemployed roustabout and will actually have to (horrors!) put on pants. Or a skirt or whatever. Just to keep people from seeing my bum.
But, um, plotting: I'm trying to engineer visits from Chaz, my awesome little brobot, the Boy (who, ADiz will be happy to hear, also enjoys rocking out to AC/DC in kitchens. Hot'n'nasty 3-way danceparty?), and maybe, with luck, S., the gorgeousest of my highschool chums. And I am attempting to find a record player online to then ship up to Halifax. Nothing good enough yet, but I'll ask the guy at the Crooked Beat if he has any suggestions.
And I'm reading Tom Jones, after finishing To the Lighthouse and , um other stuff this week. I know I've been reading, but I still feel like bad lit majors.
Ben Jonson! I read like 3 of his plays last week, too. I stopped when one had a character named Haterius. We need a fish or something to name Haterius.
"Man, I know this is boring, but don't be such a Haterius about it."
And I'm back up to NY, NY [insert dancing sailors] with the Boy, who is being headhunted by a really objectionable publication that might move him there. Boo hiss. So he gets to work and interview and I get to roam an unfamiliar city. But it has a subway system, even though it has confusing numerical stop names (not neighborhood or landmark names like DC) and smells like hobojuice. I want to get eaten by penguins in Central Park! So I get a mini-vacation from being an unemployed roustabout and will actually have to (horrors!) put on pants. Or a skirt or whatever. Just to keep people from seeing my bum.
But, um, plotting: I'm trying to engineer visits from Chaz, my awesome little brobot, the Boy (who, ADiz will be happy to hear, also enjoys rocking out to AC/DC in kitchens. Hot'n'nasty 3-way danceparty?), and maybe, with luck, S., the gorgeousest of my highschool chums. And I am attempting to find a record player online to then ship up to Halifax. Nothing good enough yet, but I'll ask the guy at the Crooked Beat if he has any suggestions.
And I'm reading Tom Jones, after finishing To the Lighthouse and , um other stuff this week. I know I've been reading, but I still feel like bad lit majors.
Ben Jonson! I read like 3 of his plays last week, too. I stopped when one had a character named Haterius. We need a fish or something to name Haterius.
"Man, I know this is boring, but don't be such a Haterius about it."
posted by J at 2:44 PM
3 Comments:
Haterius!
You sent Rob your co-sign thingum, right? (And why don't you reply to e-mails anymore? :( )
Also, when are you home and what's your phone number? I want to talk to you.
Still no phone. Have resisted all attempts by parents to make me get a real line of communication. (That is, am a lazy, lazy sod who can't be bothered to get one). But yes! Celebration.
Don't know if you got my other comment, but I'm mother-daughtering in Montreal until 8 on the 25th, when I will slump into the Haliport. After that, the wall is ours.
Because I've been in a quiet panic for the last week and there's no-one here to admit that to and everything is miserable. Except fronts of good cheer.
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