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music to eat ass to
Jun. 15th, 2019 07:46 amOK I definitely missed a bunch of stuff on my friendslist and am not going to be able to get through and find it all. I have definitely also missed answering some comments, going back weeks now; I kept thinking "i'll get back to that" and now all that's left is a vague certainty that there was something I was going to get back to, but no real idea of what.
So, sorry, anyone I've missed answering. And sorry if you've posted some Important Life Event and I've missed it.
It wasn't even that this past week was so busy, but somehow it was.
I got home yesterday afternoon-- it was a long and sleepy drive, I did a lot of desperate things to stay awake, as pulling over to nap would not particularly help. THere's a specific kind of torture, needing to drive and being sleepy. I had to slap myself a couple of times, and it was hard to find music that could keep me awake. Lots of singing, and some eating. Ugh.
I noticed, incidentally, that my car seemed to be getting better mileage in intermittent traffic when I had to have it off cruise control and just use my foot to keep distance from the cars ahead than when it was in cruise control and I was keeping a consistent speed. That flies in the face of literally everything I know about driving and fuel efficiency, and can probably be explained by the grade of the road or somesuch, but it was astonishing at the time.
I got home and took a brief nap, and then Dude got home from work earlyish, and it took me several astonished moments of blinking at him to figure out that yes, in fact, he'd cut his hair off. He's had a ponytail since about 1999, and when we were first together he told me that I was on Hairline Watch and had to tell him when his hairline reached the point where he was in danger of becoming The Bald Guy With The Ponytail.
Well now it's gone. He decided it was getting too long for summer, so it was time for his annual haircut. I had said a few months back that probably when he was 40 it'd be time; his forehead's been increasing in size and scope, and the ponytail dwindling, and I hadn't said it was time but I'd told him to prepare himself that soon enough it might be. So I guess he decided this was it.
I haven't decided whether I like it, but it doesn't matter. (Complicating matters: the barber not only did his hair, but also trimmed his moustache and trimmed his eyebrows including the three-inch-long eyebrow hair I've been noticing for years and the intense thicket of monobrow nobody notices because it's white. But I do, and his face looks different without it.) My one hesitation is that it's a little bit uhhh well it's the classic buzzed-short-on-sides-and-back, slightly-longer-on-top haircut men have worn since like, the dawn of time, and actually it's the same haircut as seems to be currently in fashion for women, but it's also sort of similar to the guys in khakis and polo shirts with tiki torches at Charlottesville aesthetic. I told him he has to be sure never to wear a polo shirt. He doesn't own any, so that's all well and good.
We went to a surprise 40th birthday party for a friend of his, which was lovely, and said friend's mother has always hated Dude having long hair and has kept trying to get him to cut it, and I suspect that's a large part of the reason why he went and did it specifically today, so he could say "look it's for you Mrs. P." She pinched his cheek and said "Oh you look so handsome young man!"
(Inevitably, Mrs. P. will talk to his mother before he does, and will say "have you seen Dude's new haircut", and Dude's mom will be like "his what now?" and it will be hilarious and the world will spin on as normal, as it's a running joke that Dude's mother is always the last to hear things about him and it takes divine intervention to get him to communicate directly with her.)
His friends agreed with me that his haircut did have an unfortunate resemblance to the alt-right fashions of the day, possibly because he's blond and fine-haired so it's sort of floppy. We agreed, he should steer clear of polo shirts, but then we were like, maybe he needs to be more obviously Not With Them. I suggested he take up wearing Black Lives Matter shirts. Well, it's unambiguous, right? Hence the beauty of the slogan. Maybe I will go look for some good social justice t-shirts, his Sarcastic Internet ones circa 2009 are starting to get a bit worn.
So now that the friend group is starting to turn 40-- one of them admitted he already had, and had avoided all fanfare-- we decided it's time to start lying about our ages. The one friend claimed 35, and then 30. I decided I was going to go the other direction, and fish for compliments about looking good for 50. Then I decided 60 was more the ticket, I'd rather be labeled "spry". (I had considered five years ago or so just starting to tell people I was 40 but then I thought, what if people don't think I look young for 40, so that held me back, but the last of my fucks has died, so I'm 50 now, whatever. Let the invisibility of being an old woman commence!)
50 would let me claim Gen X, at least. And 30 would let me be a millennial. We're all born in 1979 or 1980, which officially is not included in either Gen X or Millennial, and makes us the lost interstitial years that don't count. (the Oregon Trail microgeneration is an apt descriptor but I coincidentally never played Oregon Trail, so.)
For some reason this led off into a discussion of millennial fashions, somehow the most prominent of which was eating ass (I've no idea whence this notion came), and so every single thing for the rest of the night had eating ass as a punchline. Someone was putting together a Spotify playlist of Music To Eat Ass To, (and then Dude was like but what if one of those songs comes on when you're on the bus and it's like, Pavlovian, and you're like oh no, and now you're looking at the bus driver in a whole new light...) and it was the way we were all going to disguise ourselves as Millennials in order to lie about our ages, this newfound expertise in analingus. I really don't know; much alcohol was consumed but more to the point we were all out past our bedtimes.
(The birthday boy was wonderfully bamboozled by being told they were going out to dinner for a celebration of the birthday of a new acquaintance, the new boyfriend of a longtime friend whose actual birthday turns out to be in December sometime, and so he turned up with his wife and daughters and the older daughter was in on the surprise and nearly exploded with it but did not tell, largely by dint of her mother drilling into her that she was not to speak to her father for any reason for the rest of the afternoon because she knew there was no way a kid of about 10 was going to be able to keep any kind of secret. The wife also admitted she'd managed to keep the secret largely by dint of picking a completely inconsequential fight with him so that he'd be slightly annoyed and avoid talking to her for a day or so. She was so proud of herself. It was actually fairly cute. So the daughters had dinner and then were whisked away by her parents, and then the party could really start. It was cute.)
Anyway, I do like these people and I wish Dude was more social because I feel like it's on him to maintain those connections, but maybe I just have to suck it up and invite people and such, because he's not going to. And actually the wife had to invite me to the party, because Dude doesn't have any social media profiles, so. Argh heteronormativity and such. This is why I don't delete my Facebook profile, though!
So, sorry, anyone I've missed answering. And sorry if you've posted some Important Life Event and I've missed it.
It wasn't even that this past week was so busy, but somehow it was.
I got home yesterday afternoon-- it was a long and sleepy drive, I did a lot of desperate things to stay awake, as pulling over to nap would not particularly help. THere's a specific kind of torture, needing to drive and being sleepy. I had to slap myself a couple of times, and it was hard to find music that could keep me awake. Lots of singing, and some eating. Ugh.
I noticed, incidentally, that my car seemed to be getting better mileage in intermittent traffic when I had to have it off cruise control and just use my foot to keep distance from the cars ahead than when it was in cruise control and I was keeping a consistent speed. That flies in the face of literally everything I know about driving and fuel efficiency, and can probably be explained by the grade of the road or somesuch, but it was astonishing at the time.
I got home and took a brief nap, and then Dude got home from work earlyish, and it took me several astonished moments of blinking at him to figure out that yes, in fact, he'd cut his hair off. He's had a ponytail since about 1999, and when we were first together he told me that I was on Hairline Watch and had to tell him when his hairline reached the point where he was in danger of becoming The Bald Guy With The Ponytail.
Well now it's gone. He decided it was getting too long for summer, so it was time for his annual haircut. I had said a few months back that probably when he was 40 it'd be time; his forehead's been increasing in size and scope, and the ponytail dwindling, and I hadn't said it was time but I'd told him to prepare himself that soon enough it might be. So I guess he decided this was it.
I haven't decided whether I like it, but it doesn't matter. (Complicating matters: the barber not only did his hair, but also trimmed his moustache and trimmed his eyebrows including the three-inch-long eyebrow hair I've been noticing for years and the intense thicket of monobrow nobody notices because it's white. But I do, and his face looks different without it.) My one hesitation is that it's a little bit uhhh well it's the classic buzzed-short-on-sides-and-back, slightly-longer-on-top haircut men have worn since like, the dawn of time, and actually it's the same haircut as seems to be currently in fashion for women, but it's also sort of similar to the guys in khakis and polo shirts with tiki torches at Charlottesville aesthetic. I told him he has to be sure never to wear a polo shirt. He doesn't own any, so that's all well and good.
We went to a surprise 40th birthday party for a friend of his, which was lovely, and said friend's mother has always hated Dude having long hair and has kept trying to get him to cut it, and I suspect that's a large part of the reason why he went and did it specifically today, so he could say "look it's for you Mrs. P." She pinched his cheek and said "Oh you look so handsome young man!"
(Inevitably, Mrs. P. will talk to his mother before he does, and will say "have you seen Dude's new haircut", and Dude's mom will be like "his what now?" and it will be hilarious and the world will spin on as normal, as it's a running joke that Dude's mother is always the last to hear things about him and it takes divine intervention to get him to communicate directly with her.)
His friends agreed with me that his haircut did have an unfortunate resemblance to the alt-right fashions of the day, possibly because he's blond and fine-haired so it's sort of floppy. We agreed, he should steer clear of polo shirts, but then we were like, maybe he needs to be more obviously Not With Them. I suggested he take up wearing Black Lives Matter shirts. Well, it's unambiguous, right? Hence the beauty of the slogan. Maybe I will go look for some good social justice t-shirts, his Sarcastic Internet ones circa 2009 are starting to get a bit worn.
So now that the friend group is starting to turn 40-- one of them admitted he already had, and had avoided all fanfare-- we decided it's time to start lying about our ages. The one friend claimed 35, and then 30. I decided I was going to go the other direction, and fish for compliments about looking good for 50. Then I decided 60 was more the ticket, I'd rather be labeled "spry". (I had considered five years ago or so just starting to tell people I was 40 but then I thought, what if people don't think I look young for 40, so that held me back, but the last of my fucks has died, so I'm 50 now, whatever. Let the invisibility of being an old woman commence!)
50 would let me claim Gen X, at least. And 30 would let me be a millennial. We're all born in 1979 or 1980, which officially is not included in either Gen X or Millennial, and makes us the lost interstitial years that don't count. (the Oregon Trail microgeneration is an apt descriptor but I coincidentally never played Oregon Trail, so.)
For some reason this led off into a discussion of millennial fashions, somehow the most prominent of which was eating ass (I've no idea whence this notion came), and so every single thing for the rest of the night had eating ass as a punchline. Someone was putting together a Spotify playlist of Music To Eat Ass To, (and then Dude was like but what if one of those songs comes on when you're on the bus and it's like, Pavlovian, and you're like oh no, and now you're looking at the bus driver in a whole new light...) and it was the way we were all going to disguise ourselves as Millennials in order to lie about our ages, this newfound expertise in analingus. I really don't know; much alcohol was consumed but more to the point we were all out past our bedtimes.
(The birthday boy was wonderfully bamboozled by being told they were going out to dinner for a celebration of the birthday of a new acquaintance, the new boyfriend of a longtime friend whose actual birthday turns out to be in December sometime, and so he turned up with his wife and daughters and the older daughter was in on the surprise and nearly exploded with it but did not tell, largely by dint of her mother drilling into her that she was not to speak to her father for any reason for the rest of the afternoon because she knew there was no way a kid of about 10 was going to be able to keep any kind of secret. The wife also admitted she'd managed to keep the secret largely by dint of picking a completely inconsequential fight with him so that he'd be slightly annoyed and avoid talking to her for a day or so. She was so proud of herself. It was actually fairly cute. So the daughters had dinner and then were whisked away by her parents, and then the party could really start. It was cute.)
Anyway, I do like these people and I wish Dude was more social because I feel like it's on him to maintain those connections, but maybe I just have to suck it up and invite people and such, because he's not going to. And actually the wife had to invite me to the party, because Dude doesn't have any social media profiles, so. Argh heteronormativity and such. This is why I don't delete my Facebook profile, though!
