Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2016-03-19 02:03 am
azurelunatic) wrote2016-03-19 02:03 am
No passive-aggressive watermelon stabbing this week.
Last weekend: pleasant dinner with Purple and Ms. Antisocial Butterfly, followed by FOGcon and Seanan's book launch party and more FOGcon.
There followed a week of mostly face-down in Freelance Conference Stuff, interspersed with the odd doctor here and there.
I entered into a dialogue with one of the doctors about gender, and how I don't want any. The upshot has included a formal entry of a note to this effect in my demographics section, my proper honorific (Reverend), and swapping my gender marker to Unknown. We'll see what havoc this plays on my medical records.
This came up in discussion with Purple, and some extensive clowning followed. The upshot of all that was that I may actually have a short-form description of my actual gender, which is: Langford Death Parrot.
Thursday evening, my general feeling of malaise resulted in a short walk down to the hot tub, where I soaked my ergonomically annoyed muscles and listened to some neighbors chat about this and that. One of the horror stories involved some really disturbing behavior from a random small child involving a watermelon. I went back and googled; I didn't find anything about a kid (not surprisingly), but I did find a story about an increasingly acrimonious divorce case which had included the following escalating bad behavior:
He removed some prescription painkillers belonging to her
He stowed them, along with another pill of unknown provenance, in his toolbox
She was poking around in his toolbox for some unknown reason
She found her pills, plus the bonus pill
She took pictures (and possibly called the cops)
She re-took custody of her pills
She put them somewhere
He put them somewhere else
She called the cops (again?)
He passive-aggressively stabbed a watermelon in her presence
She (quite reasonably) called the cops (again)
He was removed from the situation into police custody
Nobody wanted to talk to the newspaper
A rapid proliferation of news organizations carried the story, making it super hard for anyone to find any unrelated watermelon-stabbing incidents
Today was beer bash at Virtual Hammer, followed by dinner.
Purple had a baby shower before beer bash, which was why he was late. (The baby is a co-workers; he's not pregnant.) I warned him about the bread pudding fruit pies (not recommended) and he emerged about 15 minutes later, having been waylaid by a random conversation with a random friend. He is a sociable guy! He was slightly chagrined at having taken so long when he'd said he'd be right back, but I can't complain, since I benefit from this habit of his fairly significantly. (He's very sociable, and observes that I can be very sociable when I know someone, but rather less with new people.)
phone arrived, and Purple had just wondered if Mr. Tux were going to show up at all. I looked at my watch and said that it had just gone five; Mr. Tux didn't usually arrive until at least then. Sure enough, Mr. Tux emerged a few minutes later. R wandered through and chatted with the crowd. My hair and my earrings and my headphones all match. It's great!
Surrealist Band Guy dropped through and visited for a bit.
The fire pit did not light. Someone, not me, will need to file a ticket.
I'd been working steadily on the current dreamsheep, and Purple asked was it the nose I was working on. I sort of distinguish between "nose" and "chin", although in sheeps it's pretty much the same area. Purple took that distinction, and ran with it to some pretty terrible places. He later contemplated the topology of my original plan, and asked some fairly salient questions about the double-eversion phase and terminology related thereto, and also the stealth phase. "Why does this sheep have a green asshole?" The nose vs. chin question led down a chain of logic which ended on etsy with the phrases "docking muff" and "machine washable" (very important, that last).
We'd thought that Ms. Antisocial Butterfly wouldn't be joining us for dinner, but she called. She doesn't leave town until tomorrow. So we decided on a dinner location (Mountain View) and topic (pizza).
The rubber chicken for help system ticket 1,000,000 has seen better days. I had handed it off to Purple upon leaving, but it was in bad enough shape that he really did not want it around. We ceremonially consigned it to the trash, after a last commemorative picture.
Circumstances under which gender-policing can be actually hilarious: when your partner in crime thinks that anything that you've nicknamed your vagina is rendered ineligible to also call your gender identity, so then you have to explain to your partner in crime that no, he was the one who'd nicknamed my vagina Death Parrot, not me, and therefore I could still use that as a gender identity if I wanted to. Purple is great and I want to keep him. We headed off for dinner.
Purple and I circled the first parking garage and failed to find a spot. (I got there first, I believe.) We went up the second, and finally found spots on the fourth floor (out of five possible). I found mine, then he arrived and parked just as I was getting out of my car, so I waited for him while he juggled bluetooth and phone and he joined me at the elevator. Ms. Antisocial Butterfly had arrived on time, and we were a little delayed for once.
Ms. Antisocial Butterfly disapproves of any cracker-eating jerks who give her initials a bad reputation.
We had salad and wings and pizza and scurrilous discussion. Purple commented on weaponized earrings, after observing how my earrings do a delightful little shimmy when I shake my head. We iterated on that a bit. I draw the line at explosions near my ears.
Walking back, he helped me liberate my long loose hair from my briefcase strap, pulling it a bit in the process and apologizing. His weekend plans include heading off with Cousin Antisocial to see the aunt and uncle and helping them haul stuff around, then coming back on Sunday and presumably collapsing a bit. I may inquire after sociability on Sunday, but am not expecting necessarily anything. :>
I have no idea what I'm doing for April Fool's Day.
There followed a week of mostly face-down in Freelance Conference Stuff, interspersed with the odd doctor here and there.
I entered into a dialogue with one of the doctors about gender, and how I don't want any. The upshot has included a formal entry of a note to this effect in my demographics section, my proper honorific (Reverend), and swapping my gender marker to Unknown. We'll see what havoc this plays on my medical records.
This came up in discussion with Purple, and some extensive clowning followed. The upshot of all that was that I may actually have a short-form description of my actual gender, which is: Langford Death Parrot.
Thursday evening, my general feeling of malaise resulted in a short walk down to the hot tub, where I soaked my ergonomically annoyed muscles and listened to some neighbors chat about this and that. One of the horror stories involved some really disturbing behavior from a random small child involving a watermelon. I went back and googled; I didn't find anything about a kid (not surprisingly), but I did find a story about an increasingly acrimonious divorce case which had included the following escalating bad behavior:
He removed some prescription painkillers belonging to her
He stowed them, along with another pill of unknown provenance, in his toolbox
She was poking around in his toolbox for some unknown reason
She found her pills, plus the bonus pill
She took pictures (and possibly called the cops)
She re-took custody of her pills
She put them somewhere
He put them somewhere else
She called the cops (again?)
He passive-aggressively stabbed a watermelon in her presence
She (quite reasonably) called the cops (again)
He was removed from the situation into police custody
Nobody wanted to talk to the newspaper
A rapid proliferation of news organizations carried the story, making it super hard for anyone to find any unrelated watermelon-stabbing incidents
Today was beer bash at Virtual Hammer, followed by dinner.
Purple had a baby shower before beer bash, which was why he was late. (The baby is a co-workers; he's not pregnant.) I warned him about the bread pudding fruit pies (not recommended) and he emerged about 15 minutes later, having been waylaid by a random conversation with a random friend. He is a sociable guy! He was slightly chagrined at having taken so long when he'd said he'd be right back, but I can't complain, since I benefit from this habit of his fairly significantly. (He's very sociable, and observes that I can be very sociable when I know someone, but rather less with new people.)
phone arrived, and Purple had just wondered if Mr. Tux were going to show up at all. I looked at my watch and said that it had just gone five; Mr. Tux didn't usually arrive until at least then. Sure enough, Mr. Tux emerged a few minutes later. R wandered through and chatted with the crowd. My hair and my earrings and my headphones all match. It's great!
Surrealist Band Guy dropped through and visited for a bit.
The fire pit did not light. Someone, not me, will need to file a ticket.
I'd been working steadily on the current dreamsheep, and Purple asked was it the nose I was working on. I sort of distinguish between "nose" and "chin", although in sheeps it's pretty much the same area. Purple took that distinction, and ran with it to some pretty terrible places. He later contemplated the topology of my original plan, and asked some fairly salient questions about the double-eversion phase and terminology related thereto, and also the stealth phase. "Why does this sheep have a green asshole?" The nose vs. chin question led down a chain of logic which ended on etsy with the phrases "docking muff" and "machine washable" (very important, that last).
We'd thought that Ms. Antisocial Butterfly wouldn't be joining us for dinner, but she called. She doesn't leave town until tomorrow. So we decided on a dinner location (Mountain View) and topic (pizza).
The rubber chicken for help system ticket 1,000,000 has seen better days. I had handed it off to Purple upon leaving, but it was in bad enough shape that he really did not want it around. We ceremonially consigned it to the trash, after a last commemorative picture.
Circumstances under which gender-policing can be actually hilarious: when your partner in crime thinks that anything that you've nicknamed your vagina is rendered ineligible to also call your gender identity, so then you have to explain to your partner in crime that no, he was the one who'd nicknamed my vagina Death Parrot, not me, and therefore I could still use that as a gender identity if I wanted to. Purple is great and I want to keep him. We headed off for dinner.
Purple and I circled the first parking garage and failed to find a spot. (I got there first, I believe.) We went up the second, and finally found spots on the fourth floor (out of five possible). I found mine, then he arrived and parked just as I was getting out of my car, so I waited for him while he juggled bluetooth and phone and he joined me at the elevator. Ms. Antisocial Butterfly had arrived on time, and we were a little delayed for once.
Ms. Antisocial Butterfly disapproves of any cracker-eating jerks who give her initials a bad reputation.
We had salad and wings and pizza and scurrilous discussion. Purple commented on weaponized earrings, after observing how my earrings do a delightful little shimmy when I shake my head. We iterated on that a bit. I draw the line at explosions near my ears.
Walking back, he helped me liberate my long loose hair from my briefcase strap, pulling it a bit in the process and apologizing. His weekend plans include heading off with Cousin Antisocial to see the aunt and uncle and helping them haul stuff around, then coming back on Sunday and presumably collapsing a bit. I may inquire after sociability on Sunday, but am not expecting necessarily anything. :>
I have no idea what I'm doing for April Fool's Day.
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I certainly think so! If he ever comes to agree, I would be delighted.
It's a comfortable place. No restrictions on travel in and out (for those permitted in). Lots of bookshelves.
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Brooch or pasty, maybe. Earring or epaulet, no. :-P
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Oh, that is beautiful. And comes with the optional expansion pack pronoun set of BLIT/BLITs/BLITself/etc.
(makes me even sadder that
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Apparently not. You would think, but they say not.
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... I love him, but *dang* sometimes. DANG.
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That's an important distinction.
Not least because "Does not know what a clit looks like" and "does not know what a BLIT looks like" say very different things about a person's life experiences and abilities.
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But can he even find the BLIT?
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