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aruanToday was an exemplary No Good, Very Bad Day. And yet, here we are commemorating all that glittered brighter than it's potentially maddening gloom:
The Fantabulous Sheila (because apparently, that's her proper title) has coordinated a New York dinner with Te! Eeee!
Daniel Bedingfield's dance remixed version of Gotta Get Through This downloaded lickety-split while I toweled off this morning. WinMX will redeem itself yet.
I've jumped on the sickness bandwagon! Well, the left side of my body has. Most bizarre thing ever - only my left nasal passage is blocked, only the left sinuses are clogged and making my face asymmetrically puffy, and only the left lung feels like it's been trekking through the 'Glades without mudboots. Although, no scratchy throat, which is usually the first symptom, so small mercies at least.
Interview with expert source started shakily, but resulted in a very pleasant, informative, and genial half hour of discussion re: the effects of stress on sleep quality and just how much those can snowball in ugly, scary ways. Get your sleep, kids.
Caught the Number 12 bus right as I walked up to the Union. Unheard of.
Kangaroo gas stations carry SoBe Green Tea and strawberry Pop Tarts. My afternoon was considerably brightened.
The portable mp3 player technology hasn't yet become feasible or afforable. Eh. They'll catch up to those chips they're now implanting in the brainstem of Japanese businessmen. ::shudder::
While waiting at the DMV office:
-realized reinstating my license and getting a new one would total exactly three dollars more than I had in my wallet, and they don't take plastic - I'd already surrendered all hope of being anything resembling on time to Literature by this point, so when some guy in the back offered to buy someone's number off of them, I broke even.
-met entertaining, upstanding, and comparably flaky young man sitting next to me. Fun, intelligent conversation and an invitation to a celebratory barbeque next Friday later, it turns out he'd driven there (the rebel!) and was heading to Library West to meet a study group and could therefore give me a lift back. Major, major big favor there, as we're about nine miles out of proper civilization and on bus routes I wouldn't try navigating in the day, and I was officially out of cabfare money.
-spiffy new license. I am officially an organ donor. Also, my signature will no longer be checked twice, and the squinting about whether that is actually me in the picture will be lessened considerably. I daresay I look cute.
My literature professor, only one of the kookiest, most intelligent, dedicated, and passionate people ever, thinks my writing has "panache" (and his having lived in France for an eternity and a half and being fluent in the language, knows the *precise* connotations of that word) and that apparently, he brings out the focus in me because self-editing (ha!) was the only issue he brought up in my otherwise "interesting, insightful, evocative, enjoyable" midterm essays. He has every confidence that I'll not only succeed in this class, but gave me an advance syllabus for an *honors* seminar class on electronic literature (!!! - he doesn't know I do anything but watch Smallville at this point) he's teaching next semester that he'd love to see me in and is willing to pull any strings to make that happen. We spoke about some of the things he'll be discussing in there and he mentioned interpreting female sexuality through the male perspective, which I'm fairly certain made me blush to my ears. When he'd made his pitch, I told him it's interesting that he'd thought to mention any of this to me, as a considerable amount of my free time is spent exploring male sexuality from the female perspective online, and hopefully this won't come out sounding trivial or marginalized, but through Smallville fanfiction.
"Smallville slash fiction," he inquires tentatively, accompanied by the raise of an intrigued eyebrow. "With Lex Luthor and...," he trailed off as I could only manage to shake my head, mouth covered with my hand lest some more unbecoming sounds emanate from it. He's admittedly a het fan, but we all have our flaws. ;)
Oh.My.God. I about died right there. Collapsed right there from shock and excitement that would culminate and prove too much for my compromised immune system, and no one would ever find my body because Turlington is such an impossible maze I wouldn't be surprised to run into a Minotaur one day.
So yes. And wow. And how. He said to please think about the class, and that we'll talk more later, and perhaps even about Smallville slash. I. I just. I kinda stood there in the middle of the hallway, flattered and dumbstruck and impossibly floored, cold sweat all over from every symptom that causes that sort of thing and none of my usual loquacity.
I'm munching a snack-sized Reese's Fast Break (nougat is even the worse crack) kudos to my generous hallmates. Pop just came up twice in a row on WinAmp, once on my queueing and again as the playlist switched back to Shuffle mode and went straight for the un-Radio Edited version. Jon called me back. He's delightful, and loves me despite my unmedicated loopiness. I've been informed that she of the all-that-is-beautifully-twisted Smallville fic has updated *yet again,* and tis not light reading this time. Yow.
And dinner with Miranda is yet to come!
So Fuck You, forces who conspired against me today. The people in my life have triumphed and your efforts at soiling an otherwise atmospheric, halfway-to-the-weekend-day have failed. Suck.My.Toe. Suck it long, suck it hard, and remember it for the next time you decide that screwing me over is the way to go.
The Fantabulous Sheila (because apparently, that's her proper title) has coordinated a New York dinner with Te! Eeee!
Daniel Bedingfield's dance remixed version of Gotta Get Through This downloaded lickety-split while I toweled off this morning. WinMX will redeem itself yet.
I've jumped on the sickness bandwagon! Well, the left side of my body has. Most bizarre thing ever - only my left nasal passage is blocked, only the left sinuses are clogged and making my face asymmetrically puffy, and only the left lung feels like it's been trekking through the 'Glades without mudboots. Although, no scratchy throat, which is usually the first symptom, so small mercies at least.
Interview with expert source started shakily, but resulted in a very pleasant, informative, and genial half hour of discussion re: the effects of stress on sleep quality and just how much those can snowball in ugly, scary ways. Get your sleep, kids.
Caught the Number 12 bus right as I walked up to the Union. Unheard of.
Kangaroo gas stations carry SoBe Green Tea and strawberry Pop Tarts. My afternoon was considerably brightened.
The portable mp3 player technology hasn't yet become feasible or afforable. Eh. They'll catch up to those chips they're now implanting in the brainstem of Japanese businessmen. ::shudder::
While waiting at the DMV office:
-realized reinstating my license and getting a new one would total exactly three dollars more than I had in my wallet, and they don't take plastic - I'd already surrendered all hope of being anything resembling on time to Literature by this point, so when some guy in the back offered to buy someone's number off of them, I broke even.
-met entertaining, upstanding, and comparably flaky young man sitting next to me. Fun, intelligent conversation and an invitation to a celebratory barbeque next Friday later, it turns out he'd driven there (the rebel!) and was heading to Library West to meet a study group and could therefore give me a lift back. Major, major big favor there, as we're about nine miles out of proper civilization and on bus routes I wouldn't try navigating in the day, and I was officially out of cabfare money.
-spiffy new license. I am officially an organ donor. Also, my signature will no longer be checked twice, and the squinting about whether that is actually me in the picture will be lessened considerably. I daresay I look cute.
My literature professor, only one of the kookiest, most intelligent, dedicated, and passionate people ever, thinks my writing has "panache" (and his having lived in France for an eternity and a half and being fluent in the language, knows the *precise* connotations of that word) and that apparently, he brings out the focus in me because self-editing (ha!) was the only issue he brought up in my otherwise "interesting, insightful, evocative, enjoyable" midterm essays. He has every confidence that I'll not only succeed in this class, but gave me an advance syllabus for an *honors* seminar class on electronic literature (!!! - he doesn't know I do anything but watch Smallville at this point) he's teaching next semester that he'd love to see me in and is willing to pull any strings to make that happen. We spoke about some of the things he'll be discussing in there and he mentioned interpreting female sexuality through the male perspective, which I'm fairly certain made me blush to my ears. When he'd made his pitch, I told him it's interesting that he'd thought to mention any of this to me, as a considerable amount of my free time is spent exploring male sexuality from the female perspective online, and hopefully this won't come out sounding trivial or marginalized, but through Smallville fanfiction.
"Smallville slash fiction," he inquires tentatively, accompanied by the raise of an intrigued eyebrow. "With Lex Luthor and...," he trailed off as I could only manage to shake my head, mouth covered with my hand lest some more unbecoming sounds emanate from it. He's admittedly a het fan, but we all have our flaws. ;)
Oh.My.God. I about died right there. Collapsed right there from shock and excitement that would culminate and prove too much for my compromised immune system, and no one would ever find my body because Turlington is such an impossible maze I wouldn't be surprised to run into a Minotaur one day.
So yes. And wow. And how. He said to please think about the class, and that we'll talk more later, and perhaps even about Smallville slash. I. I just. I kinda stood there in the middle of the hallway, flattered and dumbstruck and impossibly floored, cold sweat all over from every symptom that causes that sort of thing and none of my usual loquacity.
I'm munching a snack-sized Reese's Fast Break (nougat is even the worse crack) kudos to my generous hallmates. Pop just came up twice in a row on WinAmp, once on my queueing and again as the playlist switched back to Shuffle mode and went straight for the un-Radio Edited version. Jon called me back. He's delightful, and loves me despite my unmedicated loopiness. I've been informed that she of the all-that-is-beautifully-twisted Smallville fic has updated *yet again,* and tis not light reading this time. Yow.
And dinner with Miranda is yet to come!
So Fuck You, forces who conspired against me today. The people in my life have triumphed and your efforts at soiling an otherwise atmospheric, halfway-to-the-weekend-day have failed. Suck.My.Toe. Suck it long, suck it hard, and remember it for the next time you decide that screwing me over is the way to go.
