april 4, 2000.Well, 4 days of madness have finally caught up with me: I have a cold. It could come at a worse time: I could still be writing those lame history essays. But really, no time is a good time for a cold. Even pretending that I paid lots of money for substances to make me feel like this doesn't help. I'm finding it very difficult to concentrate on my work. I mean, I'm a great big slacker, but this is more acute than usual. Luckily, no one has figured out that I have access to the world wide web from my cubicle. It's my little slacker secret. By this point, I've checked both of my e-mail accounts, caught up with Pamie and Amy, checked up on the Contact Network main page to see if Q has done anything to amuse me, updated my URL in Freefind and checked on search activity. Apparently, there have been 14 searches for the name "Cranly", one for "Sick Boy" and 2 for "Comrade Jen." I have a fairly good idea that they were initiated by Cranly himself, which is kind of cute. I myself revisit Stacy's archives every once in awhile to read about how cool & pretty & funny I appeared 2 years ago. Okay, I'm likely still all of those things. But it's still nice to see it in print. Interestingly enough, there was also a cluster of searches relating to everyone's favorite online-journalist-lawyer-gardener. My guess is that the person was looking for the start of the ugly flame war that made me feel like crap but drove up my hit counter for a brief while. Ah, fame is fleeting.
I may be sick now, but at least I come by it honestly. This weekend - that is, Dirk's 30th birthday weekend - was intense...less glorious than other birthdays, but very satisfying after months of attempted self-discipline. My participation in Dirktoberfest began with the "After work drinking in pubs" event held on Friday. There's not much to tell about this episode: I nursed a Coke and played with Josie while Dirk made increasingly off-colour remarks about women. When I made a face, he played the forced celibacy card, saying that I shouldn't restrict young men who are not having sex from making ribald comments. I replied that I could do so if I pleased, as I was doing my part and having sex with young men. And that ended that reoccurring discussion for the night. Saturday dawned bright & sunny but quickly turned grey & yucky. I was supposed to meet Morgan for some bridesmaiding, but she went AWOL. Instead, I took my boys to the kilt shop. It was fun to have someone else make the wedding decisions for a change, and more than amusing to see Exodus out of jeans & into a skirt. Then we scattered to the four winds, promising to meet up for the "Savage Garden" event. Still wondering about Morgan's whereabouts, we washed up on the shores of a York sports pub, where the Boy & Exodus watched hockey & I shooed Americans away from Josie. In an effort to keep me harmlessly occupied, the Boy agreed to play a friendly game of pool. Oddly enough, I managed to sink the first ball and claim solids. "All right," the Boy mock-growled. "'Cause I eat solids for breakfast." He's soooo cute sometimes. After a little while I gave up on Morgan and trotted off to get my hair dyed some shade approximating my natural colour. Compared to last time, this was heaven. I was in & out in an hour, I had a full stomach, I was fed cookies and finally I was only charged 40 bucks. Heaven. They were really anxious to give me a hair cut, but I stood firm. I may very well chop it all off for the wedding, but right now I want to see how far I can get. The hairstylist sprayed & coiled my hair into a freaky bouffant mess, making much of the faux dreads she twisted into the top. It was totally neat, but it added to my sense of unreality: I just couldn't get used to my new hair colour when it looked so much like a funky bargain-basement wig. But by the time I headed off to the Garden, everything about me heterodyned perfectly. Start with strange, ratty hair, like Elizabeth Taylor on a 2 day bender. Add smudgy black eyeliner & lipstick so purple that it's almost black. Fishnets & boots, of course. And a very old black party dress that was handed down to me 8 years ago by my cousin. It's strapless, with a velvet heart-shaped bodice and layers of rustling lace skirts. It's a nice dress, and I always feel very glam with it on...not to mention the fact that it's too tight and wears like a corset, which feels either glam or horrid depending on how long I've been dancing. In short, I looked weirdly amazing & oddly regal. Stacy said I looked like the goth princess all the young highschool goths dream of. Fast Eddie, in the midst of a 2-day malt liquor binge, confirmed that I looked like a princess. Morgan's friend Nathan, later remarked that if he hadn't been in the apartment while we got all dolled up, he wouldn't have believed that I was the same person. It's certainly something to remember on the dark winter mornings when I feel about as attractive as the Love Canal. We danced until we were hot & breathless, then we danced some more. Stacy showed up at midnight, covered in glitter and happy from the wedding reception of Paul & Rossa. Kandyraver Kat & Fast Eddie were on a weekend malt liquor bender, and behaved accordingly. Exodus claimed that the Garden wasn't his scene, but stayed all night. I saw a bunch of people from Atlantic City and Leo & Opera Sarah's Christmas party, but none of them remembered me. I didn't miss beer much at all. And thus concluded the goth bar portion of the event. A fun time was had by all.
Sunday sucked. I don't want to talk about Sunday.
last night: "Come over here and give me
a hug." Life in the engaged lane. Isn't it grand.
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