tonight's contra dancing

the stomach distress actually started in the dance hall, which has never happened to me before. i staved it off for one dance, then it came and went for three more that i sat out. fell asleep in there sitting up twice, then again in the van on the way home, only to discover the stairwell smells of smoke and the idiots have filled the living room with cups of beer again (and it's not like they're in there DRINKING them. they're just THERE). carolyn wanted to stay after the 10:00 break, which i had not anticipated, because her secret!boyfriend's birthday was yesterday. or something. had lots of confused half-dreams with the music intruding. apparently, hollsk, you have the internet back. i dreamed you were im'ing me in the dance hall. and i dreamed wax_jism's cousin left but this was probably just wishful thinking. also that aeslis was sending me some more tori amos songs. my dreams amuse me. now if only my stomach will calm the fuck down and i can sleep please? yes. thank you.

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can't remember if i already took medicine tonight.

before the fallout! george w bush/ dick cheney slash, pg. theirloveissodisgusting.

4:20 pm.

my wife laura came into my office in her pink nightie and one of those little quilted masks that women like to put over their eyes. i don't know why they do that. says it helps her sleep. of course she wasn't wearing it actually on her eyes, so she could walk. she said to me, 'georgie,' she said, 'i think i'm going to bed now. i have a headache.' laura has headaches a lot. she has a high-stress job now as the first lady. i let her give me two little kisses on the cheek even though she knows how i hate lipstick. sometimes, you just have to let a woman have her way. 'maybe i'll see you tomorrow,' she said, and went away to her room. she has a whole suite in the residence.

5:01 pm.

i was still at work. even though it was after five. pretty wild, huh? dickie says the leader of the free world has to work hard. i guess he's right. doesn't seem like i do a lot more work than he does though. i'm surrounded by good hardworking people. lot of hardworking people out there. i'm just more important than a lot of them, but what can you do.

5:06 pm.

don rumsfeld came into the office. said he had some papers for me to read, so i took a look at them. right away, first thing, i mean just right off the bat, what do i see on that damned piece of paper but disingenuous, disavowing, defenestrate or some kinda word like that. i looked back up at don real quick. "you said i have to read this, donny?" that's what dickie and i like to call don sometimes. donny. he doesn't mind.

"yes sir," donny said, "this is a security report on the--" i don't listen to stuff like that too much, something about bahrain or india or something like that. if it's important they'll tell me later. "and we'll need the president's signature."

"now donny," i said, "you're going to defenestrate tazjikistan. or you're not. now, you need my signature, sure, i've got my pen right here." i pointed to my pen. it's a real nice pen, came with the office. lot of nice things in here. big old liquor cabinet. "but do i have to read this?"

"ah," said donny, not too bad, not bad. he got it. fiddled with his collar a bit. sometimes i make him nervous--dickie too. dickie says not to worry about it, though, donny has his job to do and he'll do it. "no, sir. i don't believe all the details are necessary."

( enter dickie, stage left with ANGST in tow! muahahha )

(no subject)

a single strand of hair fell into my computer keyboard. it was twined around the 'd' key. and it was bright, bright red.

hee.

(no subject)

i have JUST enough change for one load of laundry! feel my pain.

the spanish department mothafuckas, in other news, sent me a SECOND REQUEST for a printed out, honest to god on paper in the mail letter evaluating one of my teachers. no guidelines on what they want to know about, no, like, forms--they want me to install my fucking printer and use up my fucking ink for them. suckers. and walk to the post office, on top of that. bite me.

speaking of which, i'm at 6000 words in the past of sirius/remus, edging up in a wily manner on the kiss (mmmmmmmh x.x ::goes dreamy-eyed::) and i need to make a pomegranate icon.

y estos dos ojos que me dicen
que han de llorar cuando te vayas

it's quite possible...

...that i suck. meh.

apparently i can't do any work as long as there's something more interesting to do.

well, okay, i don't suck. but it is a sad lack in motivation. oh well. if i fail, 'twill be my own fault! ::merry look::

a ghetto love!

a ghetto princess is a real princess, a ghetto love is a real love, and desfortunadamente, a ghetto headache is a real headache.

cim thing: have you ever heard it? wyclef and mary j blige, '911'?
wax_jism: "sooomeone please call naaahn one one, cause I just been shot down!"
cim thing: wyclef is a wacky one.
wax: and he gets down on his KNEES! and WAILS!
cim thing: but mary j blige's voice is just. mmh.
wax: wyclef is way wacky.
cim thing: and i have a cool remix of it.
cim thing: wyclef is in the background muttering, 'cause a ghetto love is a real love.'
cim thing: and it's called the 'ghetto love' remix
cim thing: that's my new motto!
cim thing: a ghetto [insert noun] is a real [insert noun]!
cim thing: cause a ghetto princess is a real princess.
wax: a ghetto broom is a real broom.
cim thing: exACTLY.
cim thing: a ghetto kissing scene is a real kissing scene.
cim thing: a ghetto bad guy is a real bad guy.
cim thing: and you know what they say about a ghetto wax.
cim thing: i may possibly be getting silly.
wax: you are.
wax: get to your ghetto quidditch[-writing] now.

aaaughgh augh augh oo oo someone please call 911 yeah yeah
tell them i just got shooooot down, TEEEEEELLLLL them i just got shooot down!

remus/sirius teaser. comb wax_jism's journal for bits of her parts ;)

When Sirius stepped back, chuckling to himself, a fold of the turban slipped down over Remus's eyebrow rakishly. The new scarf smelled much more strongly of Sirius. If the other one was incentive to insanity this new smell, the fresh and muddy and musky smell of it drifting down the few inches to wreath his nose and his face, to stay in his hair, he was sure, for full days, if he wasn't lucky (or was) he would still smell it at the full moon--

--this was purest unadulterated madness.

Remus laughed.

"Damn," said Sirius suddenly, laughing with him, "the only Maharajah werewolf in Hogwarts and me without a camera."