As usual after an interval I have many things to say. I am going to make a list to try to remember everything: CC, Happy for Bot, Cher's Rant, Fat Slags, Booty for MG, Snarkism, Friend with Bizarre Heart Problem, Still Too Busy, All The Boys, and Marsupial Love.

Just tell me that doesn't read like a set list.

Oh, yeah, and one more thing. My last entry I expected to raise a ruckus did no such thing, which is lovely. See, I count myself as a RAGING feminist. I am proud of that. I am sickened by women who seem to feel that being a feminist is a bad thing, a naughty word. I think chicks kick ass. I do not mean by this that I feel we should be or are more than equal (okay, maybe in some circumstances. But in theory, anyway.) I do feel very, very strongly, however, that sexism is rampant and stupid, that I own my body and have the right to make whatever choices I feel like making about it, etc. etc. Yes, I shave my legs and armpits, and, quite frankly, I prefer sleeping with women who do so also. I don't wear a bra, but that has more to do with the fact that the damn things ITCH and are also seriously uncomfortable and me not being overly stacked can usually get away with it. If I'm coming up on my period and heading to a client's I'll throw one on mostly so I personally don't look down and note with horror that I'm bobbing around like a Fat Slag on a horse.

Shit, if I keep writing at this length I'm gonna have to split this up into like 15 entries.

Anyway, my point. There is one. The sentiments I was expressing have had a tendency in the past to have feminists (of which I count myself one, don't forget) all up in my ass about perpetuating the stereotypes etc. Though if one met me and knew me for any period of time I believe they would be disabused of this notion.

Also, sine, aka 50% of my male readership, you're right about the games, but that's not all of it (see guestbook for origin of this remark). Besides, there's a reason they call them games: they're fucking FUN. More on that later. They suck if you can't sort of pull back and gain perspective, but if you can play, it's a fucking ball.

Moving on. Fat Slags first. If you don't read Viz, well, you're a big dummy. British comic. Beyond funny. Beyond offensive. Bloody hilarious. The Fat Slags are one of the running features, along with Sid the Sexist, Tranny Magnet, etc. From the site: "VIZ MAKES ONE PROMISE TO IT'S [sic] READERS IN 2002 - THIS MAGAZINE WILL NEVER STOOP SO LOW AS TO WANK OFF TRAMPS IN A BUS SHELTER FOR 10p."

So in my dream this morning for some reason myself and a host of others had to dress up, like in costumes. I and the others were scoffing at everyone else's silly costumes. I had chosen to don a black leather cap and jacket, white tights, and very large but short worn denim shorts, with the only unusual thing being that my fly was (purposefully) left undone, and one could easily see my tights through the fly which was very wide open. Coming up (we were walking down a sidewalk) on a group of persons, one recognized my costume immediately: I was dressed up as one of the Fat Slags.

This is perplexing on several levels. First, because I was not wearing ANYTHING remotely like what the Fat Slags wear, but he was right -- that was, apparently, my costume decision. Second, I haven't actually read Viz (or thought about Viz) in many many months. Third because the shorts closely resembled an old pair of my father's shorts that I used to wear when I was 16 and which, in hindsight, were about the most obscene thing in the world. They were a size-40 (men's). I was at the time about a size 2 - 4 (women's). I held them up with suspenders or a piece of rope. They did approximately nothing to cover up the region between my knees and my hips, given that there was definitely room for entire other people in there.

Next up: Combining happy for Bot and wishes for booty for MG. Oh and much crossing of all fingers and toes and legs and arms and eyes for both on obtaining the jobs they're up for. Bot: so very proud and happy for you. I'm totally impressed with your cojones and your strength, and I just know everything is going to turn out great. MG: Here's hoping you get laid, and wishing I was down there now with both of you.

Before I forget: This person reminded me of one of my favorite phrases in the entire universe: Hoist them on their own petards. Largely because "petard" is a riotously hilarious word.

Petard petard petard. Hee.

Cher's rant. Now I actually don't really feel like responding to it but it did remind me of all the fun and games at Large Unnamed Client's (LUC) this week. Sine, you wanna talk games? This is games. It's brilliant. I'm having a goddamn blast in that regard. Rarely do I get to work with a company in which I have to play every manageable angle in every manageable way. At this point I've finally gotten it to the point where the developers, including the lead tech, are reporting to me, and asking me questions. In meetings with 20 people I have more to say than anyone who works there, and everyone defers to me. Various high-level folks call me up after meetings and conference calls to have secret conversations. I am telling people what to do and they are DOING IT. Ha ha ha ha. I send long update emails to the boss-persons and they are happy with them.

Too bad I have to actually do some real work on top of all of that. But still. It's a grand time, really. It's especially gratifying if you take into consideration the fact that the entire reason that I was called in on this project is because they were milling about like lost sheep for TWO YEARS on the goddamn thing and in just a few short weeks, I have managed to herd the cats into a reasonable semblance of a team. Rah me!

Good thing I wrote that list. I keep referring back to it.

Friend with Bizarre Heart Problem. This is the bad news. One of my old friends, S., called last night and he's been diagnosed with some truly strange condition for which I forget the actual word wherein at somewhat random junctures his autonomic nervous system sort of forgets to keep his heart going, which leads, not surprisingly, to his body shutting down in a fit of self-preservation. Only for 6 - 8 seconds, but still. He might have to get a pacemaker. He is all of 29. Think happy thoughts at my friend, would you?

And speaking of S. If all plans coordinate tomorrow evening, I may well be in a roomful of Men tomorrow night. My Ex, a musician, I'm trying to get to come to crushing client's (CC) jam session. And also S. And hopefully too my current Boy. Now if you add all that up, you've got four men in one room who have at one point or another had at the very least a crush on me. S. declared his undying love for me, which he had apparently harbored for 5 years, after I broke up with Ex and before I started seeing Boy. He did so, in fact, in a long and highly embarrassing (for me, anyway) email. I love S. to pieces but if I have a type he ain't it. Not to mention higher-maintenance than a 1957 MG. Happily he seems to have moved on and is now engaged to his very lovely girlfriend. Ex, of course, is the Ex. At one point he said he'd marry me if I wanted to. Of course that was years ago and he's on GF #3 since me. Then there's CC and Boy. MG, you should come up here, it's raining men.

The segues are working well today. CC is getting himself to a somewhat dire point. Now as things stand I have to make sure that I keep myself well physically separated and also assert no-touching body language to prevent all kinds of smushing up against me.

And, the mark of death: I have received The Mix Tape. Complete with printed label. Yipe.

I am trying not to be overly encouraging. The honest truth is that I have definitely been hanging out with him way too much, but the secondary truth there is that I really haven't had much of a life in the past couple of years, and he's a fun guy and we go see music which I haven't done hardly any of since Ex-Boy. And mostly good music, too.

Dreading the inevitable Moment, however. Maybe I can avoid it in some fashion. Hey, I just remembered I have an EXCELLENT reason for not dating-dating him: he's my CLIENT! That's brilliant! A-ha.

See this is where it gets really tricky to be dating my business partner. I *really* don't like that getting around inside of our clients, and he hates it more than I do. If I said to CC I've got a boyfriend (and I know this because I've done it in the past) suddenly all kinds of questions are there and if I don't answer at least the normal ones (what does he do, where does he live, what's his name) it starts to sound like I've got the proverbial Canadian Girlfriend.

I think I will stave off blathering about how insanely busy I continue to be and also about the Tiny Marsupials in Happy Love Heaven Honeymoon and Snarkism because I have written more than enough for the moment.

Love goes out to all my peeps, especially wings who I don't want to feel left out of the linkfest, and to siopup who wrote me an adorable valentine personal ad.

Wading through work,
onehanded