Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2014-03-25 01:37 am
azurelunatic) wrote2014-03-25 01:37 am
In the closet. With a flute.
Today I learned that you can only fit about 4 relatively large latex helium balloons in one of those zip-up blue tarp duffel bags from IKEA. The cluster of balloons associated with a certain glad-you're-back cheerful bunch of flowers destined for the desk of a certain Overlady contained 5 balloons.
Now picture the Reverend Lunatic, wearing black from top to toe with the exception of a blue-tipped braid and a navy-blue cane, a classic sufferer of Bitchy Resting Face, carrying a very large blue IKEA zipper bag as if it weighed approximately nothing, with a single cheerful balloon rising from a ribbon coming out the middle where the two ends of the zipper meet.
I'd like you to picture that very hard, because it's likely that no such thing will ever happen again.
(Well, until the next time I need to transport balloons and the trunk is full.)
[00:48]azurelunatic: Today Outlook began giving me shitfits
[00:49]azurelunatic: it decided that email from my junior researcher and manager was spam, and that I didn't need to view headers
[00:49] [unnamed work friend]: yow
[00:49] [unnamed work friend]: I thought our spam filter was separate from [the previous thing]/exchange
[00:49]azurelunatic: it is!
[00:50]azurelunatic: But that didn't stop plucky little outlook from deciding to apply its own
[00:50]azurelunatic: which was set on default of "no, really, this shouldn't catch any actual mail"
[00:50]azurelunatic: WELP
[00:51]azurelunatic: I complained to poor [Purple] about this.
[00:51]azurelunatic: His commentary was along the lines of "You missed a 'fucking' there, before 'default'."
[00:52]azurelunatic: (the paragraph already contained "fucking" about six times, so I could be forgiven for not typing it again)
Later, Purple made a cognitive leap [editor's note: apparently the concept of "cognitive leap" tied to Jack-in-the-Crack ranch sauce is a deja-vu anchor point for me] from the mention of a fairly arbitrary number in the 70s to trombones. "But there were 76 trombones," I said. "Where did the [difference] end up?"
"In the closet?" he guessed. "With a flute?"
I began facepalming steadily. Scotty, late of Much Ado About Star Trek, plays the trombone. If he were to be caught in the closet with anybody...
I indicated that it was possible that more than one character from my 1994 novel, the one that started when my friend "Bugs" (the one who had drummed on my head) tried to set up the cute little nerd girl with the cute little nerd boy because they both liked Star Trek, might be invading my ~2004 novel, and that in the original, Scotty had had a certain problem with gayness, particularly the idea that his BFF Jeff might be gay for him. His BFF Jeff who might well have played the flute. "HOW MANY CHARACTERS FROM THIS THING ARE GOING TO START INVADING?!?!" I asked.
"So you'd say they're getting the band back together?" Purple said. "Just think of the repercussions," he threw in as an afterthought.
My mouth opened. My mouth closed. My mouth went sideways. No words came out.
Apparently that was the most bizarre expression he'd seen on me to date. "What did I say? 'Getting the band back together'? What? You've poked me so many times that if this were on Facebook I'd have been hit with a sheep by now."
"Repercussions," I finally managed.
He hadn't even realized it.
Honorable sentients: my friend Purple.
Now picture the Reverend Lunatic, wearing black from top to toe with the exception of a blue-tipped braid and a navy-blue cane, a classic sufferer of Bitchy Resting Face, carrying a very large blue IKEA zipper bag as if it weighed approximately nothing, with a single cheerful balloon rising from a ribbon coming out the middle where the two ends of the zipper meet.
I'd like you to picture that very hard, because it's likely that no such thing will ever happen again.
(Well, until the next time I need to transport balloons and the trunk is full.)
[00:48]
azurelunatic: Today Outlook began giving me shitfits[00:49]
azurelunatic: it decided that email from my junior researcher and manager was spam, and that I didn't need to view headers[00:49] [unnamed work friend]: yow
[00:49] [unnamed work friend]: I thought our spam filter was separate from [the previous thing]/exchange
[00:49]
azurelunatic: it is! [00:50]
azurelunatic: But that didn't stop plucky little outlook from deciding to apply its own[00:50]
azurelunatic: which was set on default of "no, really, this shouldn't catch any actual mail" [00:50]
azurelunatic: WELP[00:51]
azurelunatic: I complained to poor [Purple] about this. [00:51]
azurelunatic: His commentary was along the lines of "You missed a 'fucking' there, before 'default'." [00:52]
azurelunatic: (the paragraph already contained "fucking" about six times, so I could be forgiven for not typing it again) Later, Purple made a cognitive leap [editor's note: apparently the concept of "cognitive leap" tied to Jack-in-the-Crack ranch sauce is a deja-vu anchor point for me] from the mention of a fairly arbitrary number in the 70s to trombones. "But there were 76 trombones," I said. "Where did the [difference] end up?"
"In the closet?" he guessed. "With a flute?"
I began facepalming steadily. Scotty, late of Much Ado About Star Trek, plays the trombone. If he were to be caught in the closet with anybody...
I indicated that it was possible that more than one character from my 1994 novel, the one that started when my friend "Bugs" (the one who had drummed on my head) tried to set up the cute little nerd girl with the cute little nerd boy because they both liked Star Trek, might be invading my ~2004 novel, and that in the original, Scotty had had a certain problem with gayness, particularly the idea that his BFF Jeff might be gay for him. His BFF Jeff who might well have played the flute. "HOW MANY CHARACTERS FROM THIS THING ARE GOING TO START INVADING?!?!" I asked.
"So you'd say they're getting the band back together?" Purple said. "Just think of the repercussions," he threw in as an afterthought.
My mouth opened. My mouth closed. My mouth went sideways. No words came out.
Apparently that was the most bizarre expression he'd seen on me to date. "What did I say? 'Getting the band back together'? What? You've poked me so many times that if this were on Facebook I'd have been hit with a sheep by now."
"Repercussions," I finally managed.
He hadn't even realized it.
Honorable sentients: my friend Purple.
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As I said on I think Twitter, if I were a seahorse, I'd ask him if he'd like to carry my children.
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I couldn't even top it.
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It also reminds me of that adorable picture of the man walking round with a briefcase with a little balloon emerging from it.
Oh I found it in case you haven't seen it: http://i.imgur.com/UB4FRi8.jpg