may 23, 2000.

"eeeeeeeeeee!"
- the sound of my brain this morning.

Blech. Another sleepy day, but I count my blessings. For one, I'm not in an angry place like the Tuesday after Labour Day. For another, I was kept awake first by a family birthday party with illegal American fireworks and second by a phone call with Dirk. It's not like I was sharpening pencils or something. Although why that has occurred to me as the worst possible waste of time currently eludes me: I'll have to leave it up to later scholars to decode my hidden meaning.

Bit of an adventure at lunch today. I ran out of things to do around noon, so I grabbed the Pink Bag of Justice and trotted through the drizzle to the nearby mini-mall, in search of cash first and a sub second. As I was rooting through my junk in front of the cash machine, I realized something very important. This was the fact that I had forgotten my wallet at home. Drat darn & dang. No quarter in my pocket, so I couldn't even call home for Mommy-rescue. I was forced to turn around and trudge back to work, where it was at least dry.

On the way back to my desk, I ran into Julie Gloom. I explained the situation and she offered to drive me home for wallet retrieval. But I had a better idea: why didn't we just have grilled cheese at my house? We departed in high spirits - the idea of grilled cheese in the middle of the day always makes me happy. But it was not to be. I had no idea the house was so cluttered - I mean, it was in the exact same state this morning, but I just hadn't noticed. It was so bad, though, that my mom gave us $20 to find lunch elsewhere. We went back to the mini-mall and bought subs.

Plus ça change, plus ça même chose. Or something along those lines.

I went to my first fetish masquerade last night. My goals were simple: I wanted to gawk without drawing unfavourable attention, I wanted to add to my life experience and I wanted to wear Stacy's clothes. Goal #1 was relatively easy to accomplish, as most everyone was there to be gawked at. This led to a disappointment of Goal #3, for although I reluctantly chose some kickass clothes, nobody cared. Everybody was too busy preening to see me for the bondage cutie pie I was. And this despite the fact that my outfit would've earned me a one-way ticket to a fiery stake death 300 years ago. What did I borrow? A black PVC corset over a black chemise (the kind of corset that covers most of your breasts) and a pink PVC skirt with a white puffy bunny tail sewn on the back. I provided my own seamed fishnets, black docs, Pink Bag of Justice and sparkly pink hair thingy. This was my first time in a real corset, and I was entranced at the way it felt - the way it pushed my organs into new & exciting configurations, the way it enforced good posture and of course the way it facilitated cleavage. But I must reiterate: I was a fetishy kindergoth in an uncaring world. Sigh.

(I would be remiss if I didn't list Stacy's own supremely neat outfit, which also seemed to garner little to no attention. She wore a blue wig, a knee-length PVC skirt, a filmy black blouse over a shiny bra and a black & white striped zebra corset (the kind that stops under the breasts). Like all of Stacy's outfits, it was both strange and adorable, similar but almost entirely unlike the movie The Nightmare Before Christmas.)

I guess my major beef was this: I went in ready to be empathetic, to respect the unique quirks of strangers, to watch the show with glee. I thought it would be a comfortable open vibe, born of a gathering in which marginalized lifestyles can be openly enjoyed. Instead I got bitchy looks and multiple bruises - and not from fun master n' servant stuff, I was marked up by rude people pushing by me with their idiotic goth boxes & stepping on my feet with ridiculously ornate boots. When dancing, I had to perform elaborate gymnastics to avoid flailing limbs and lit cigarettes. There were men in the bathroom - not transvestites, just men killing time. And way too many bare asses. But the upstairs "scene" room was kind of neat, what with the pillory and elaborate cross...this despite the definite "look at me I'm so naughty" vibe emanating from more than a few "hardcore" dominatrix.

I dunno. I guess I'm a bit bitter. I'm sure it'll be better next time, as the theme is B-movies. Just hand me that fur bikini & let's rock.