In the airport everything seems slow motion quiet. All the planes outside like weird behemoth cows milling about, all the little humans scurrying around stuffing them full of sub-50 pound bags and weird chihuahuas in diamond encrusted kennels. I spent five days running about eating pounds of expensive meat, gallons of alcohol mixers, hitting deadline after deadline, rental car racing to cold metal buildings full of greasy people and dirty carpets. And now I get to sit in a chair with my iced skinny soy mocha and watch these 500 ton metal coffins mill about without a care in the world.
So peaceful.
And now I'm in the sky, typing on a keyboard who's down arrow key recently got snapped off by my archaic 10 pound work laptop. Luckily I'm a clocksmith with nimble hands and in a matter of seconds that thing is working like it never saw trauma.
So down.
down
downdowndown.
Last week we built up to our first Queer Gentleman's party of the year. All the usual suspects came in ties, vest, suits, buttons, knits, you-name-it-they-wore-it. I had some purple and grey nonsense on with a 25 cent hair flower pinned to the lapel; a vision in discount clothing. Every hour we took a photo of everyone, documenting the slide from upstanding role models to semiconscious layered alcohol monsters. Choice moment of the night: Taking top-down pictures on a knock-off faux burberry throw next to a nearly inverted version of myself in devin. While JP and Josh tried to boot me out because it was 3am and I was quote "being a drunk."
Also Donnie Merneigh, who is pretty awesome sauce. Even with a last name that reeks of seahorses.
down
down
down
Things are okay to great. Warcraft with the Kittens is every bit as glamourous as I remember; Paul and Matt are the best internet boyfriends a guy could ask for. Halo is spectacular, Josh and I recreated American Gladiators via Forge - our pride and joy being a glass walkway that has 12 odd vehicles attempting to knock you off. JP and I are going to try to stomach a Magic Prerelease tomorrow with Erik/Luke; I expect the 500 pound basement monsters will give JP a new appreciation of just how stunning a magic player I am. Also my big toe is falling off due to a roller skating accident; so looking forward to a good 8 months of growing my toenail back in. Humans: gross.
So yeah. Colorado in 2 hours. Work in 62. Figuring out all the messed up pieces of my life; eh.. 400 ish. Give or take 400.
Comments (9)
sounds like you are doing well, Mr!!!! I think that a picture blog of the toenail experience would be fantastic!!!!
@apaintingbychagall - it's actually looking like *maybe* it won't actually fall off. Fingers crossed.
Reeks of seahorses. Best description ever. I hate seahorses, by the way. Those little half horse, half amoeba creepers make my skin itch.
Do you mind if I title my memoir "This Place Reeks of Seahorses"? I will credit you in the foreword, of course.
@pretendprincess - I would be *so* honored. If you could include a chapter on how that wasn't actually about rotting vaginas, but instead about a dude's last name, that would be great! Also I want an erotic section with me as the lead character.
@GatoRoboto - well, it's a memoir, so the erotic section would have to be based on real experience. I will start lubing up now.
@pretendprincess - I thought it smelled heavily of watermelon all the sudden...
"Every hour we took a photo of everyone, documenting the slide from
upstanding role models to semiconscious layered alcohol monsters."
That would be hilarious in flip-book format.
@shelly100 - haha, totally, every 5 minutes a new picture.