Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2014-05-31 03:52 am
azurelunatic) wrote2014-05-31 03:52 am
Tiramisu vs. chocolate ice cream in espresso
Today was a day!
Some podcasts that involve TV series writers sometimes involve those writers expressing various shades of contempt for the fans. After a certain threshold of that, I scrub the rest of the episode. After a certain number of scrubbed episodes, I ditch the subscription. Nerdist network, you're on notice.
The Polka-Dot Researcher wandered by my cube and wanted to know if post-its and highlighters were a thing that I could help set her up with. She left my cube with some jellybeans, a rainbow stack of post-its, a package of rainbow bookmark flags, and a set of rainbow highlighters. After which I placed an order to replenish my stock of flags and highlighters. One of the sneaky benefits of this is that when I take the set of highlighters on my desk and present someone with instant gratification, the person gets highlighters instantly, the highlighters are nearly new, I'm likely to be able to do things that either don't involve highlighters or use some personal ones, and I get an entirely new pack of work highlighters slightly later.
The babyfish graduates high school in less than a week. I am immensely proud of her, for academic achievement under adverse circumstances, for staying alive, and for not stabbing her mother in the kidneys in the dead of night. All of these are worth celebrating.
My comfy chair is seductively cozy, and results in conferences and confidences. First my Overlady popped in, and we discussed all sorts of things. Later, R came by in the plotting of a DIY BYOB bash. I'd just got a call from Purple asking whether he could stow a box of stuff which he didn't care to have the movers tangle with in my cube, so we waited a while (he had been held up; we eventually waited outside). Of course, no sooner did we settle in outside than Purple showed up with the box. So I escorted him back to my cube, where I'd cleared a space specifically for the box. "You didn't have to come with me." "You didn't have to open the door. I have more hands than you." "Well, technically..." "Let me show you my third hand. And my third eye." "... ... ..." "And my third leg?" Wisely not responding to that statement, he parked his box and laptop bag in my cube, and we went back out to rejoin the fun.
There had been some earlier discussion about heading to check out a food truck thing, but there was no immediate decision made.
I got some jellybeans and the Who Would Win game. Purple prefers these to the Jelly Belly, which is nice as the CEO of this company, again, hasn't been caught saying terrible things about trans* kids. I've been honing my explanation of the game, which is now down to something like: "Who would win: Captain Kirk vs. Darth Vader...?" and wait for them to make a statement which assumes a physical fight, and then add: "... at golf?" They make an argument, I make a counter-argument, and say: "And now you know how it's played." At which point I then go into the differences between the official rules and my house rules. The official rules involve the hourglass and a sharply curtailed time for arguments. The house rules include the ability to call for witness testimony, and do not include rules on keeping the noise down or not interrupting. The friend of Purple and R who has since gone into management could see, given those stipulations, and booze, why the game might have resulted in a visit from the cops.
In the middle of all that, lb called. He had decided that dinner now trumped his errand, and were we interested in meeting at the food truck thing? We were (one speakerphone conversation with hilarious shenanigans involving Purple's flip phone later) and decided to decamp in that direction. (I got a picture of the speakerphone conversation, complete with upside-down phone so he would be audible, and Purple looking intently at his handful of jellybeans.)
I had arrived at the place and was being carefully directed to a parking spot by some really seriously well-organized guys with radios when my phone rang. This was the first ring which had come through, although I saw by my voicemail later that lb had called also, but it had not rung. It was Purple, advising that the group had decamped elsewhere, and he could give me directions as I drove.
It was a great idea, but somewhere in downtown Los Gatos, the directions and what I was seeing stopped corresponding with each other, and I wound up taking a detour. There was a thoroughly awkward interlude where I was on the phone with lb, parked in some restaurant's lot, attempting to get an address to plug into my phone which was on 3G and not thrilled with these shenanigans, and someone came up and tapped on the window and asked if I was going to be headed into the establishment or leaving. That was just one stimulus too many, especially when she then offered that she was from around here and could give me directions. I (fairly calmly) said that I would prefer to look them up myself, that there were just too many things going on for me to brain, and I was closing the window now. And I got off the phone with lb so my phone could find some internet, and got to the appointed intersection okay with the phone's directions. Whereupon I parked and got out. My first words to the assembled started with "Purple, darling..." and concerned the difference between a stop*light* and a stop*sign*. Which he swore that he'd got right. Whereupon R noticed that a statement beginning with "Purple, darling," rather than my usual fond variations on "you asshole" was dangerous ground indeed. Heh. (In strict point of fact, I do tend to remind myself and everybody else of my affection for someone when they've contributed to some aaaaigh. Because while I do hold them in deep affection, there's still aiiiigh. But they should not forget the affection even while they notice my hackles puffing.)
The place we parked was at the bottom of a relatively short but not shallow hill. This had occasioned questions (on the phone earlier), like, whether I had a handicapped hang tag, as that would simplify parking rather a lot. I did not, and I was all right with the hill. I illustrated this by going up a bike ramp from the wrong direction. My knees haven't been hating me so much.
Dinner was fun, with a lot of various chatter. I didn't off the top of my head recall what Purple meant by "the banana story" until he clarified that his friend Brad was involved, at which point I remembered: that banana story.
It also turns out that I may have been the last person in the relevant social group to find out that the person who came out to me is not straight. Which meant that my elaborate obfuscation of identity when mentioning the incident to Purple, involved a fact which Purple knew already. It was still necessary for me to have done, since I didn't know that Purple knew, and I did enough of a misdirect that it wasn't immediately obvious to Purple that I was speaking of a person he already knew about, but the resulting comedy of manners amused.
Unfortunately dinner on the ladies' side of the table disappointed: lb's girlfriend and R both ordered the pasta with the shrimp and crab, and it was a few prawns short of a galaxy (the alleged crab was invisible; Purple was the one to crack that joke). More crab ensued, after some conversations that trickled up to include managers. The ladies' side of the table was calm, but very definite in the disappointment with the dish as compared between the menu description and the reality. At first the server offered to comp a dessert, which was agreeable to the table, and then the manager decided to comp both pasta dishes, which was more agreeable. (We tipped based on the non-comped total.)
lb and I were both reasonably happy with the chicken. Purple was on lb's other side, and I didn't notice what he had, but neither did I hear complaints. Dessert was very good. lb made a tiramisu larger than my fist disappear in the blink of an eye. I spent some time on mine as it was good enough to make me occasionally close my eyes and/or squeak. Purple was not feeling the dessert, but since lb was curious about the chocolate raspberry tart and I was also interested, a fifth dessert joined the table and once it was there, Purple also gained some interest. We did not actually see lb bounce off the walls from sugar, despite his warnings to that effect.
lb was curious about how I managed to function during my periodic caffeine fasts. I find that I don't always need caffeine to achieve productivity and clarity, as long as I've had enough sleep.
That led to some discussion of morning times and bedtimes. lb's girlfriend gets up in nice early morning hours because she works early, et cetera. R goes to bed around 9 or 9:30. When I said that I tried to go to bed around 2, R compared that to Purple's schedule, which is admittedly similar. Purple allowed as how he and I tend to park fairly near each other, which is generally a function of arrival time.
By this point, lb's girlfriend was very tired and needed to get moving lest she fall asleep at the table. I ran afoul of the same branch on the sidewalk that I'd encountered while walking in.
We all agreed that it was very nice to socialize like grown-ups.
Purple is rather huggier when it's just us chickens than when there are other people around. (Which is perhaps as it should be. Despite the fact that I chatter fairly freely about it on the internet, it isn't a thing that I feel would benefit from the sorts of nosy inquiry that happens when people whose society imagines could be linked romantically engage in minor acts of physical intimacy. We're hugging friends, not kissing friends. I have a good deal of hugging friends.) Purple has mentioned that he's not a particularly touchy dude, which sort of surprises me based on how often it's him who offers the hug. (It helps my brain immensely that I trust him at least as far as I can throw him. Over lunch on Wednesday, I'd mentioned the way that manymany women feel the need to every now and then file flight plans shaped like "so I'm going to this place with a guy, this is his contact info, this is when I expect to be back, if I don't check back in, that's who I was with" with trusted friends. And I could tell that I was in the "but Azz is a sensible lunatic and also would never be in danger" pigeonhole. At which point I mentioned a relatively recent time when I did, which caused a disconcerted expression to appear on his poor face. Also how I'd never felt the need with Purple himself, so never had, but this one guy ... I didn't go into the weird sequel then and there, but yeah, subsequent events did establish that there was enough free-floating Bad Weird in the dynamic with Weird Vibe Dude to warrant caution.)
Then we all went home. I moved some of the stuff that I'd been batting around in my head for my talk onto the google doc.
Some podcasts that involve TV series writers sometimes involve those writers expressing various shades of contempt for the fans. After a certain threshold of that, I scrub the rest of the episode. After a certain number of scrubbed episodes, I ditch the subscription. Nerdist network, you're on notice.
The Polka-Dot Researcher wandered by my cube and wanted to know if post-its and highlighters were a thing that I could help set her up with. She left my cube with some jellybeans, a rainbow stack of post-its, a package of rainbow bookmark flags, and a set of rainbow highlighters. After which I placed an order to replenish my stock of flags and highlighters. One of the sneaky benefits of this is that when I take the set of highlighters on my desk and present someone with instant gratification, the person gets highlighters instantly, the highlighters are nearly new, I'm likely to be able to do things that either don't involve highlighters or use some personal ones, and I get an entirely new pack of work highlighters slightly later.
The babyfish graduates high school in less than a week. I am immensely proud of her, for academic achievement under adverse circumstances, for staying alive, and for not stabbing her mother in the kidneys in the dead of night. All of these are worth celebrating.
My comfy chair is seductively cozy, and results in conferences and confidences. First my Overlady popped in, and we discussed all sorts of things. Later, R came by in the plotting of a DIY BYOB bash. I'd just got a call from Purple asking whether he could stow a box of stuff which he didn't care to have the movers tangle with in my cube, so we waited a while (he had been held up; we eventually waited outside). Of course, no sooner did we settle in outside than Purple showed up with the box. So I escorted him back to my cube, where I'd cleared a space specifically for the box. "You didn't have to come with me." "You didn't have to open the door. I have more hands than you." "Well, technically..." "Let me show you my third hand. And my third eye." "... ... ..." "And my third leg?" Wisely not responding to that statement, he parked his box and laptop bag in my cube, and we went back out to rejoin the fun.
There had been some earlier discussion about heading to check out a food truck thing, but there was no immediate decision made.
I got some jellybeans and the Who Would Win game. Purple prefers these to the Jelly Belly, which is nice as the CEO of this company, again, hasn't been caught saying terrible things about trans* kids. I've been honing my explanation of the game, which is now down to something like: "Who would win: Captain Kirk vs. Darth Vader...?" and wait for them to make a statement which assumes a physical fight, and then add: "... at golf?" They make an argument, I make a counter-argument, and say: "And now you know how it's played." At which point I then go into the differences between the official rules and my house rules. The official rules involve the hourglass and a sharply curtailed time for arguments. The house rules include the ability to call for witness testimony, and do not include rules on keeping the noise down or not interrupting. The friend of Purple and R who has since gone into management could see, given those stipulations, and booze, why the game might have resulted in a visit from the cops.
In the middle of all that, lb called. He had decided that dinner now trumped his errand, and were we interested in meeting at the food truck thing? We were (one speakerphone conversation with hilarious shenanigans involving Purple's flip phone later) and decided to decamp in that direction. (I got a picture of the speakerphone conversation, complete with upside-down phone so he would be audible, and Purple looking intently at his handful of jellybeans.)
I had arrived at the place and was being carefully directed to a parking spot by some really seriously well-organized guys with radios when my phone rang. This was the first ring which had come through, although I saw by my voicemail later that lb had called also, but it had not rung. It was Purple, advising that the group had decamped elsewhere, and he could give me directions as I drove.
It was a great idea, but somewhere in downtown Los Gatos, the directions and what I was seeing stopped corresponding with each other, and I wound up taking a detour. There was a thoroughly awkward interlude where I was on the phone with lb, parked in some restaurant's lot, attempting to get an address to plug into my phone which was on 3G and not thrilled with these shenanigans, and someone came up and tapped on the window and asked if I was going to be headed into the establishment or leaving. That was just one stimulus too many, especially when she then offered that she was from around here and could give me directions. I (fairly calmly) said that I would prefer to look them up myself, that there were just too many things going on for me to brain, and I was closing the window now. And I got off the phone with lb so my phone could find some internet, and got to the appointed intersection okay with the phone's directions. Whereupon I parked and got out. My first words to the assembled started with "Purple, darling..." and concerned the difference between a stop*light* and a stop*sign*. Which he swore that he'd got right. Whereupon R noticed that a statement beginning with "Purple, darling," rather than my usual fond variations on "you asshole" was dangerous ground indeed. Heh. (In strict point of fact, I do tend to remind myself and everybody else of my affection for someone when they've contributed to some aaaaigh. Because while I do hold them in deep affection, there's still aiiiigh. But they should not forget the affection even while they notice my hackles puffing.)
The place we parked was at the bottom of a relatively short but not shallow hill. This had occasioned questions (on the phone earlier), like, whether I had a handicapped hang tag, as that would simplify parking rather a lot. I did not, and I was all right with the hill. I illustrated this by going up a bike ramp from the wrong direction. My knees haven't been hating me so much.
Dinner was fun, with a lot of various chatter. I didn't off the top of my head recall what Purple meant by "the banana story" until he clarified that his friend Brad was involved, at which point I remembered: that banana story.
It also turns out that I may have been the last person in the relevant social group to find out that the person who came out to me is not straight. Which meant that my elaborate obfuscation of identity when mentioning the incident to Purple, involved a fact which Purple knew already. It was still necessary for me to have done, since I didn't know that Purple knew, and I did enough of a misdirect that it wasn't immediately obvious to Purple that I was speaking of a person he already knew about, but the resulting comedy of manners amused.
Unfortunately dinner on the ladies' side of the table disappointed: lb's girlfriend and R both ordered the pasta with the shrimp and crab, and it was a few prawns short of a galaxy (the alleged crab was invisible; Purple was the one to crack that joke). More crab ensued, after some conversations that trickled up to include managers. The ladies' side of the table was calm, but very definite in the disappointment with the dish as compared between the menu description and the reality. At first the server offered to comp a dessert, which was agreeable to the table, and then the manager decided to comp both pasta dishes, which was more agreeable. (We tipped based on the non-comped total.)
lb and I were both reasonably happy with the chicken. Purple was on lb's other side, and I didn't notice what he had, but neither did I hear complaints. Dessert was very good. lb made a tiramisu larger than my fist disappear in the blink of an eye. I spent some time on mine as it was good enough to make me occasionally close my eyes and/or squeak. Purple was not feeling the dessert, but since lb was curious about the chocolate raspberry tart and I was also interested, a fifth dessert joined the table and once it was there, Purple also gained some interest. We did not actually see lb bounce off the walls from sugar, despite his warnings to that effect.
lb was curious about how I managed to function during my periodic caffeine fasts. I find that I don't always need caffeine to achieve productivity and clarity, as long as I've had enough sleep.
That led to some discussion of morning times and bedtimes. lb's girlfriend gets up in nice early morning hours because she works early, et cetera. R goes to bed around 9 or 9:30. When I said that I tried to go to bed around 2, R compared that to Purple's schedule, which is admittedly similar. Purple allowed as how he and I tend to park fairly near each other, which is generally a function of arrival time.
By this point, lb's girlfriend was very tired and needed to get moving lest she fall asleep at the table. I ran afoul of the same branch on the sidewalk that I'd encountered while walking in.
We all agreed that it was very nice to socialize like grown-ups.
Purple is rather huggier when it's just us chickens than when there are other people around. (Which is perhaps as it should be. Despite the fact that I chatter fairly freely about it on the internet, it isn't a thing that I feel would benefit from the sorts of nosy inquiry that happens when people whose society imagines could be linked romantically engage in minor acts of physical intimacy. We're hugging friends, not kissing friends. I have a good deal of hugging friends.) Purple has mentioned that he's not a particularly touchy dude, which sort of surprises me based on how often it's him who offers the hug. (It helps my brain immensely that I trust him at least as far as I can throw him. Over lunch on Wednesday, I'd mentioned the way that manymany women feel the need to every now and then file flight plans shaped like "so I'm going to this place with a guy, this is his contact info, this is when I expect to be back, if I don't check back in, that's who I was with" with trusted friends. And I could tell that I was in the "but Azz is a sensible lunatic and also would never be in danger" pigeonhole. At which point I mentioned a relatively recent time when I did, which caused a disconcerted expression to appear on his poor face. Also how I'd never felt the need with Purple himself, so never had, but this one guy ... I didn't go into the weird sequel then and there, but yeah, subsequent events did establish that there was enough free-floating Bad Weird in the dynamic with Weird Vibe Dude to warrant caution.)
Then we all went home. I moved some of the stuff that I'd been batting around in my head for my talk onto the google doc.
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More the writers panel, but it's been both.