I love my friends

You can tell I love them, even though I am terrible at remembering birthdays and stuff like that (which some people might use as a metric of determining affection) because I try to do stuff for them (not the birthday remember, other stuff~ like giving them gifts that make me think of them or being generally supportive, or offering to disembowel people who make them sad, and other things like that).

A friend of mine has a child getting married and in solidarity for this joyous/traumatic event I am being helpful and whatnot and also went and bought a dress for the occasion. Due to recent shrinkage (shrinkage of me, to be clear, not my entire wardrobe), I only had one dress that fit, and it was black. Black is not, I am told, traditionally acceptable at weddings, particularly not at spring afternoon weddings. So I needed to go get something spring-y, and afternoon wedding-y. I got the dress pictured below because Lime told me to, after I texted her a pic from the dressing room.

So this is my spring wedding dress,

with coordinating cutesy handbag.

Morally Ambiguous Honey Badger Love

Mr. Logo thinks the image above features a remarkable excellent example of emotional support ... which is why I have taken to calling him my honey badger. 

My Things made me a thing.

I am so fond of them; I mean, really, I think of them as my own children.

My plans for Monday evening

involving wearing this and going downhill somewhat faster that judiciousness would indicate is wise.
If I end up dead or broken, at least I will have done so in new and expensive clothing while looking ever-so-slightly like a badass in my new facemask and goggles.

In a recurrent fantasy from an alternate universe...

 I live in moderately warm (NOT HOT) and sunny place in a small beach house with my boytoy, let's call him Joe. I do some sort of meaningful work that doesn't suck the life force from me— perhaps teach English or write novels. Joe does something or other, who cares, he really only exists in this fantasy to fulfill my sexual and sensual fantasies, passionate lovemaking, never-ending foot massages, and lots of really delicious cooking.

The important factor in this fantasy existence is that there is no stress at all.

No money stress, no kid stress, no family stress, no work stress, none, none at all.  No leaking dishwasher or frozen pipes. No automotive maintenance required and certainly no interpersonal stress. It is all adventuring, cuddling, and reading with plenty of great food, fun, sex, and surf.

It's a great way to kill 5-10 minutes before I have to get back to reality.

Sportsing

There is a sportsing thing happening and it's evidently a pretty bfd to the locals here in WA.

It's all just so exciting.

What I hear, and it's not just me.

Freaks on the bus

I am, as I have mentioned before, a freak magnet.
This apparently means that on public transit I often seem to be the person who desperately needs the homeless, crazed, or generally unbalanced to come share a seat.

This week on the mid-day bus I settled in with my best anti-social face, set my bag on the seat behind me, got out some earbuds (even though I can't find my MP3 player, so I wasn't listening to anything), and put my nose in a book. These seemed to work pretty well.
However, halfway through the route an unpleasant-smelling gentleman boarded the bus and sat right behind me. He was muttering to himself as he got on the bus and never stopped. It was mostly nonsensical but occasionally paranoid-sounding and then I heard him say, "blah blah blah... red heads."
That part was pretty clear.
"Can't trust 'em, blah blah blah, pear [or pair or pare, I certainly wasn't going to inquire about his use of confusing homonyms in his psychotic ranting] blah blah. Fellow [follow??] blah blah blah redhead. "
At this point I was texting with a friends and made a point of mentioning all this and requesting a call to the police tip line in case I got shivved on my way to my car.

There was more rambling and muttering but when I got off at my stop he stayed on the bus so that was a relief. Only a year and a half more of the U district commute. Here's hoping I survive and don't get THAT crazy.