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dragonlady7Considered going to bed, but it's 71 outdoors-- and 81 indoors. Dave cleverly closed the front door while it was hotter outside than in, but didn't then open it when the temperature outside fell. That's the real bummer of hot summer days-- the way the house retains the heat. Urgh.
So I just made a ton of noise (poor Dave's been in bed two hours already, whoops) by setting up the box fan at the front door blowing straight through the house to my room's west window at the back, and have set up the little double window-fan in my window blowing out, to try and suck some cool air into the house. Or, at least, my bedroom. I took a nap in there earlier and it was atrocious and stifling. Urgh.
I actually deal quite well with temperature extremes, and have been known to be comfortable in 60 degree to 85 degree temperatures whilst wearing the same outfit. I also am not a problematic sleeper, and only suffer from insomnia when it's a symptom of everything else in my life being totally bad. But still, having a stuffy over-80-degree room strikes me as ridiculous when it's 70 and gorgeous out.
So, am sort of occupying myself with miscellaneous tasks at the moment.
Random life updates:
Went out to dinner Monday night with Dave. We went down to the Niagara River where it meets the Erie Canal and ate excellent burgers out on the windy patio of a little joint called the Shore (I think). I took photos of the view. It was pretty. I dressed up kinda nice. And (this part's exciting) we went Dutch on the date-- Dave paid for half of dinner. So, notable just for that.
I have just gotten round to cleaning off my camera again, and have photos of various things I've mentioned in the past here. I'm going to give flckr another shot one of these days, but at the moment am probably just going to stick the photos I'm bothering with for now up on livejournal. The following are all self-portraits, because I am a vainglorious bastard. The shadow one is particularly depressing, as is the one where I was wading in the river because you can see that despite all my working out and obsessing, I do remain precisely the same shape I ever was, which is rather bulgier than is fashionable. The mirror ones are surprisingly un-bad: I remain convinced that the bad hair was the cute sort of awful. It amused me, anyway. Although if you look, you can see the weird forehead-lines appearing between my eyebrows that Fiona was kind enough to make me self-conscious about the last time we met. (It's what sisters are for.) For some reason it seems important to me to point out that I wasn't making a kissy-face here, I was attempting to blow the strand of hair in my face out of the way. The picture where the hair was in motion just came out blurry, as I am not coordinated enough to take a photo and blow hair at the same time. So much for my ever being a simultaneous model and photographer of note. Also I'd like to point out that in the caption of the first one I made up a word "ludicrious" on purpose, because I am too lazy to edit it. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.
Tuesday I managed somehow to skin my toe. Not the bottom of it, or the knuckle or anything. No. I missed my footing coming down the side steps from the kitchen door barefoot, and managed to skin the front of my second-smallest right toe. I tore off a large and thick chunk of skin starting at just in front of the (short and recently-trimmed) toenail and extending down the front of the toe.
This is inconvenient, ugly, and also painful. Fortunately my sneakers didn't irritate it too much at work today. I am regularly dousing it in rubbing alcohol, which sucks, because I don't want it to get infected because the office lady has been on vacation at work and I haven't managed to complete my health insurance paperwork. And it would suck to have to treat something like that myself. I am not, under any circumstances, doing a home amputation.
I think those are all the random bits of minutiae that have slipped through the cracks of late. Although I remain wildly amused by the bad hair self-portraits. I don't know why. Mugging in mirrors is neither funny nor clever and yet I can't stop enjoying it.
The bus ride today was productive. Well, both bus rides, actually. On the way in, I got some more Ecthelion Torture done. He is attempting to decide whether Glorfindel is dead, or he is crazy, and while logically he knows which should appeal to him more, he is wavering.
On the ride home I made an On-The-Go playlist which will hopefully be sculpted into The Most On-Crack Playlist Ever, for another CD for Katy who probably doesn't have enough crack in her life. As a quick overview, it contains:
* not only Frank, but also Ahmet and Dweezil Zappa
* a great deal of lounge music including, of course, Esquivel! (the exclamation point is part of his name, by the way)
* more than one song containing more than one line of gibberish
* more than one utterly inappropriate and just plain wrong cover of otherwise-unexceptional pop songs
* multiple songs involving domestic violence (just noticed that one. interesting)
* and yes, Wesley Willis Fiasco. God rest your soul, Willis.
So I just made a ton of noise (poor Dave's been in bed two hours already, whoops) by setting up the box fan at the front door blowing straight through the house to my room's west window at the back, and have set up the little double window-fan in my window blowing out, to try and suck some cool air into the house. Or, at least, my bedroom. I took a nap in there earlier and it was atrocious and stifling. Urgh.
I actually deal quite well with temperature extremes, and have been known to be comfortable in 60 degree to 85 degree temperatures whilst wearing the same outfit. I also am not a problematic sleeper, and only suffer from insomnia when it's a symptom of everything else in my life being totally bad. But still, having a stuffy over-80-degree room strikes me as ridiculous when it's 70 and gorgeous out.
So, am sort of occupying myself with miscellaneous tasks at the moment.
Random life updates:
Went out to dinner Monday night with Dave. We went down to the Niagara River where it meets the Erie Canal and ate excellent burgers out on the windy patio of a little joint called the Shore (I think). I took photos of the view. It was pretty. I dressed up kinda nice. And (this part's exciting) we went Dutch on the date-- Dave paid for half of dinner. So, notable just for that.
I have just gotten round to cleaning off my camera again, and have photos of various things I've mentioned in the past here. I'm going to give flckr another shot one of these days, but at the moment am probably just going to stick the photos I'm bothering with for now up on livejournal. The following are all self-portraits, because I am a vainglorious bastard. The shadow one is particularly depressing, as is the one where I was wading in the river because you can see that despite all my working out and obsessing, I do remain precisely the same shape I ever was, which is rather bulgier than is fashionable. The mirror ones are surprisingly un-bad: I remain convinced that the bad hair was the cute sort of awful. It amused me, anyway. Although if you look, you can see the weird forehead-lines appearing between my eyebrows that Fiona was kind enough to make me self-conscious about the last time we met. (It's what sisters are for.) For some reason it seems important to me to point out that I wasn't making a kissy-face here, I was attempting to blow the strand of hair in my face out of the way. The picture where the hair was in motion just came out blurry, as I am not coordinated enough to take a photo and blow hair at the same time. So much for my ever being a simultaneous model and photographer of note. Also I'd like to point out that in the caption of the first one I made up a word "ludicrious" on purpose, because I am too lazy to edit it. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.Tuesday I managed somehow to skin my toe. Not the bottom of it, or the knuckle or anything. No. I missed my footing coming down the side steps from the kitchen door barefoot, and managed to skin the front of my second-smallest right toe. I tore off a large and thick chunk of skin starting at just in front of the (short and recently-trimmed) toenail and extending down the front of the toe.
This is inconvenient, ugly, and also painful. Fortunately my sneakers didn't irritate it too much at work today. I am regularly dousing it in rubbing alcohol, which sucks, because I don't want it to get infected because the office lady has been on vacation at work and I haven't managed to complete my health insurance paperwork. And it would suck to have to treat something like that myself. I am not, under any circumstances, doing a home amputation.
I think those are all the random bits of minutiae that have slipped through the cracks of late. Although I remain wildly amused by the bad hair self-portraits. I don't know why. Mugging in mirrors is neither funny nor clever and yet I can't stop enjoying it.
The bus ride today was productive. Well, both bus rides, actually. On the way in, I got some more Ecthelion Torture done. He is attempting to decide whether Glorfindel is dead, or he is crazy, and while logically he knows which should appeal to him more, he is wavering.
On the ride home I made an On-The-Go playlist which will hopefully be sculpted into The Most On-Crack Playlist Ever, for another CD for Katy who probably doesn't have enough crack in her life. As a quick overview, it contains:
* not only Frank, but also Ahmet and Dweezil Zappa
* a great deal of lounge music including, of course, Esquivel! (the exclamation point is part of his name, by the way)
* more than one song containing more than one line of gibberish
* more than one utterly inappropriate and just plain wrong cover of otherwise-unexceptional pop songs
* multiple songs involving domestic violence (just noticed that one. interesting)
* and yes, Wesley Willis Fiasco. God rest your soul, Willis.
