In which I recall a story that didn’t happen to me.

Someone once told me — my aunt, I believe — that while she was in Australia for a Toastmasters conference, she’d asked a waiter for a napkin. He’d gotten all flustered and awkward, and finally called the hostess over to the table to assist her.

Apparently they say serviette, not napkin, in Australia. The napkin, of course, being an article belonging to the stunning array of feminine hygiene products available these days, tends not to be available from one’s waiter… even in the finer restaurants.

In which I take a quiz I found at Jake’s blog.

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Klein Sexual Orientation Grid

I scored an average of 2.38

Meaning

This result can also be related to the Kinsey Scale:

0 = exclusively heterosexual
1 = predominantly heterosexual, incidentally homosexual
2 = predominantly heterosexual, but more
than incidentally homosexual
3 = equally heterosexual and homosexual
4 = predominantly homosexual, but more than incidentally
heterosexual
5 = predominantly homosexual, incidentally heterosexual
6 = exclusively homosexual

Summary

The idea of this excercise is to understand exactly how dynamic a person’s sexual orientation can be, as well as how fluid it can be over a person’s lifespan. While a person’s number of actual homo/heterosexual encounters may be easy to categorize, their actual orientation may be completely different. Simple labels like “homosexual”, “heterosexual”, and “bisexual” need not be the only three options available to us.

Take the quiz
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Now that we all know I’m more than incidentally homosexual (I love that verbiage!), I’m going to Taco Bell for a bean burrito. Then I’m going to bathe. Later, I’m going to get Snow from the airport. Oh, the fascinating life I lead!

Update: Not only does Taco Bell no longer offer onions, they also don’t offer napkins. What’s up with that? Plus, I miss the old-style hot sauce packets. Remember those little tubs they used to have? They were so much better than today’s dorky little impossible-to-open jobbies.

In which I gamble a little.

Friday night I rode with Apple up to Riverside for Gorgeous’ going away party. (She’s moving to Hawaii. I hate her. Let’s not discuss it.) Riverside, it turns out, is a whole entire casino with a decent hotel attached, and it’s less than an hour away.

Gorgeous got a room, gave her guests $25 chips as gifts, and provided munchies and far too much booze. Not as many people showed up as could have, so I tried valiantly to drink as much of the vodka as I could. Ouch.

I gambled a little — played some slots. Didn’t win. A couple of people in our party won a few hundred bucks each, but I don’t win at gambling.

We ended up on Saturday morning with six drunken people in a double, so we kept ourselves up chatting and laughing and making more cocktails. By eleven o’clock in the morning I was wretched with hunger and had a mediocre tomato-cheddar omelet in one of the hotel restaurants while Gorgeous and Mother were taking Aveda spa treatments, and Rockstar was blissfully snoring away up in the room.

When I finally made it home the next afternoon — the Holy Couple drove me back, bless them — I was so tired I was literally seeing spots. I was the kind of tired where, when you finally lie down and close your eyes, you can see all kinds of interesting kaleidoscope-y moire patterns on the insides of your eyelids, like oil on water, and you can feel some of the fine muscles around your eyes twitching spasmodically and you’re so glad you’ve finally got your contacts out that you can hardly stand yourself…

…and the next thing you know it’s nine hours later and you’re waking up. I basically slept for a whole day, save the times I got up to eat and let my dog out, and I’m now much recovered.

I have to pick Snow up from the airport tomorrow night at 11:21 PM. Right now it’s 10:30 and I’m ready to do something. Maybe I’ll do some laundry. Gah.

In other news, my referrer traffic is disturbing to me. I need to figure out how to totally disable registration on Rants; that board is getting way too much spambot traffic.

In which I see seven AM for the first time in awhile.

Snow asked me to take him to the airport this morning. He had a flight departing at 6:10 AM, and we were supposed to leave his house — which is a block away — at 3:45 this morning. I set my phone alarm, got up at 3:15, dressed and put in my contact lenses, let Bindu out, and was where I was supposed to be on time.

His whole house was dark and all the doors were locked. I lurked around for ten minutes and called his cell five times — later I learned it was in Denver — before I gave up and went home.

I stayed awake for another hour or more expecting him to call, but he didn’t and I finally crashed. Just about the time I finally entered REM sleep, my cell rang and jarred me awake. Oof. Instant headache.

So now it’s ten AM and I just got home from a round trip to Cedar Rapids. Ten AM may be “morning” to some people, but I’m on India time and I’ve been up all night. DISCO NAP!

In which something wonderful happens for no apparent reason!

AmmZon ordered herself two pairs of high heels off the Internet. They arrived yesterday in a strangely large box… along with a pair of Uggs that did not appear on the packing list nor on the invoice.

The Uggs were too small for AmmZon, so she gave them to me for Christmas! I now have warm, fuzzy, fleecy boots with good soles that probably retailed at about $150 bucks and which cost me nothing! How hot is that?

I love them. I really do. Snuggly warm feets are the bestest!

And just in time, too, because it started snowing within the hour.

In which Dykewife tagged me. The wench.

“People who get tagged need to write a blog of their own 6 weird things as well as state this rule clearly. In the end, you need to choose 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don’t forget to leave a comment that says ‘you are tagged’ in their comments and tell them to read your blog!”

The structure of that rule section drives me nuts; the first sentence doesn’t actually appear to mean anything because it’s so badly written! Gah! But here are 6 weird things about me anyway:

1) I eat burnt match heads.

2) I rock myself to sleep at night and wake up each morning with really messy hair.

3) I read in bars.

4) I put cardamom in my coffee.

5) I continue to curse even in situations where I shouldn’t, like in front of children and in business meetings.

6) I know I’m weird, but I’m struggling to think of weird things about myself to post. That in itself is weird, because it proves I’m so weird that I can’t identify my own weirdness.

And although I’m supposed to tag six people, instead I tag:

Anyone who cares!

In which you get a glimpse into my home life.

I just had the following conversation with my roommate and longtime friend, Truck:

Me: Did you hear that? Is someone here?
Truck: I think it’s the neighbors. Or maybe it’s Floyd [AmmZon’s pop] and he wants us to let him watch porn.
Me: I just can’t seem to convince him that it’s wrong to watch porn with one’s offspring.
Truck: Well, he didn’t get to know her until she was all growed up, so maybe that’s it.
Me: Still, you just can’t watch porn with your children.
Truck: So true.
Me: I wouldn’t watch porn with either of my parents! You’re not supposed to watch porn with relatives. Well, maybe with an aunt I might, but not an uncle. Maybe a cousin, but not my brother. It’s just not right.
Truck: I’m gonna have kids specifically to watch porn with them.
Me: Good idea.
Truck: I never wanted kids until right now.
Me: It happens suddenly like that sometimes.
Truck: “Come in here and watch porn with daddy.”
Me: You’re supposed to have kids so they’ll do stuff for you. Like get you a beer, or find the remote, or work the family farm. So you should have kids so they can make porn for you.
Truck: Good idea. “Go make daddy some porn!”

Turns out that someone was here and it was indeed Floyd, but he didn’t want to watch porn after all. He just wanted to borrow five bucks.

In which I take myself out on a date.

Tonight I took myself out for Mexican food, then I went to see Casino Royale, and then I bought myself two drinks at the Dead Cock. Then I came home. I was such a wonderfully kick-ass date that I’ll probably put out for myself later. I probably won’t buy me any flowers, though, or call me within three days.

I loved the movie! The new Bond is hot! And I really want to try the drink he recites:

three measures of gin
one of vodka
half of Lillet Blanc

I had to look up Lillet Blanc; it’s a French vermouth. I’m not much of a martini gal, but I want to try one anyway!

In which there’s another weekend of workin’ all night and sleepin’ all day. (Working. Hah.)

I had another one of ‘those’ weekends, meaning I hit after-hours parties both Friday and Saturday nights and slept all day both days. You’d think I was 22, the way I’m acting on weekends! I hung out with Raybo, Gorgeous & Rockstar, Baby Girl & Core, EJ and more. I expected to see more expats since it was a holiday weekend, but in reality I only saw two people who were in town for Thanksgiving.

I didn’t spend a single moment working on the BME site, but intend to finish it ASAP.

In the world of knitting, I’ve learned the following: (1.) I fucking hate ribbing. Sheesh. (2.) No matter what stitch you’ve finished on, knit or purl, the yarn always comes from the right side of the work. This is important if you’re knitting in the round and put the work down and it gets turned inside out. (Yes, I put a hat in my bag and took it out and ended up working in the wrong direction and had to rip out a row. Duh.) I knit myself a black hat on Thanksgiving afternoon, and am knitting another one as a gift right now. The sweater remains unchanged since the last time I posted a picture of it.

I broke down and added Google Ads to goblinbox, but right now it appears to be stuck mainly displaying ads for sexual function due to this post. Snort! I don’t really have high hopes that the ads will generate any income — they don’t on ICK — but what the hell.

Speaking of ICK, hosting is about to expire. The guy who hosts goblinbox will let me move it to his server, but I don’t know if I care enough to move the site. I guess there’s still a month or more left; I may change my mind.

I’m certain that lots of fun and amusing things happened that I could be writing about, but I’m busy multitasking — read: “sending resumes in another tab” — and I can’t think of any of them. Why don’t you amuse me and tell me a joke or something?

In which there’s a rambling, unstructured update.

AmmZon and Truck dragged me to Iowa City last Friday. We ate, saw JB, shopped, and came home. I brought my knitting along and got a couple of inches done on my sweater while sitting in George’s. (And the fabric store. And the car. And the other store. And then again later at George’s.) Portable projects are cool. I had a great time; it’s always refreshing to get the hell outta Dodge.

Saturday night we went to see Hotlips in the Iowa Theatre Company’s production of The Foreigner. Hotlips was freakin’ brilliant. I even dressed up and wore my velvet coat and makeup and everything. I saw RF (the director) backstage after final curtain and he immediately asked me for my number because he said he wants to cast me! I haven’t done a show in ages, but it might be time to hate theatre again. (My last show was Into The Woods — I played the witch — and it was probably seven years ago. I’m ready to start tackling those crone roles, since I’m clearly past the age of playing the ingenue.)

Saturday I went out and partied. Sunday I slept. Monday I worked on the BME site and suffered the onslaught of That Time Of The Month. (My cycle is moving to match AmmZon’s since she’s on the pill.)

Tuesday I drove to the airport to pick Snow up, and then we went to band practice. I hadn’t been to band practice in a really long time. My band never gigs. People don’t even know I’m in a bad, that’s how bad it is. But goddamn we sound good.

Tonight I hung out with Bread because we needed to discuss the property; the fucking hippies we bought it from are trying to foreclose due to ‘breach of contract’ (we did some remodeling) because they want to force us to refinance. They will not respond to any communications from us. They appear to have instructed their lawyer not to respond to us. They are being total insane freaks. It sucks and I hate them. They’ve completely lost their fucking hippie minds! We’ve never missed a payment. We’ve been making two balloon payments a year for six years. The insurance is current. The property tax is current. We’re ideal buyers!

Seeing Bread made my heart ache. I love that man, I really do, I’m just not his life partner and he’s not mine and it fucking hurts. I miss him so much.

Now I’m home reading blogs. I may go to bed early. I may sit right here and finish the BME gig. I may go out and have a few drinks. I just don’t know.