Up in the attic

So I'm breaking in my new desk setup, my computer, my spot aloft in the top of a three-bedroom apartment setup, with this blog post. Consider this the pissing-to-mark-my-writerly-territory blog. Today was the day to hang up pictures, to move around more furniture, to make the ever-cascading mound of cds seem less likely to avalanche on my toes.

As some of you may know, I've moved to brooklyn. I've also dumped the facebook (still not sure how temporarily), started reading saul bellow, bought a platform bed base (with no mattress -- at least I got a twin-size bed with the deal), and picked up a desk from my boss, the Karen-Ball of this post (who is in fact Karen Ball). In other words, in the week I've been in this unit, I've started to adjust. There will be pictures, but not yet.

Some of you -- in this survey-style blogpost of my life since the last one -- some of you may appreciate that I've also gone on a cleaning jag. At least, with my portion of the unit. And that, the rumors, are well substantiated by the first few steps into my place. The rest of it will have to be determined.

Anyway, enough of this simmering shithole of a rambling, stupid blog. I think I've pissed in the corner enough.

and yet i feel so european.

photo taken at the kitchen table this afternoon. i'll work on the shot -- the subject is not going anywhere.

And that bright light you will see will be the light reflected off the skin of my legs

Yesterday I had a conversation with my mother. I know, big news. Yesterday, I had a conversation with my mother about how long it takes to get rid of the San Francisco suntan. For this (and for anyone who has never graced the vaunted streets on the tip of the peninsula), this will need some context: apart from the rest of california -- what with it's sun-drenched vistas, playas, etc., san francisco is a city that was kidnapped by fog at some point. The sun is non-existent for save maybe three hours a day, and even when it is visible, it's typically wrapped around such a chilly day that carrying around a jacket is probably a very good idea. Shorts are not an option, and layers upon layers are what typically provide the SPF one would need throughout the day.

Well, I'm no longer in that. I'm back east, walking around, and lo and behold my legs are doubling as traffic reflectors. I've gotten by with wearing jeans as much as I can so as not to be a public or traffic menace, but frankly they're hot and feel ungainly inappropriate for the weather. Cue the conversation with my mother, a 33-year SF veteran before moving who also has twice the Latin blood I do:

Female Parent: So have you started getting any sun yet?
Me: No way, Ma. I'm still trying to get that skin tone that I lost in Frisco.
F: [laughs] It took me about three years, you know. Three years of looking sickly and no skintone before I started getting some color.

Well, at least the feeling's mutual, but now I have to wonder if it's something to even attempt to remedy, or should I just go back to the pale? This is a false problem, really, but kind of funny that the two of us went through it.

The Coffee-fueled blog: now solar-powered.

another goody from the spam folder

The subject from a message in my spam folder:

Cunnilingus - Powermful Technique, Exercise and Position to Maake Her Orgasm

You have to like the double-a.

I will have you know this is probably the reason why I got strep the last three times. It's an incredibly power(m)ful technique.

from a little bird on the interwireds

Great quote from the Rescue Me hulu page:

"Arguing on the internet is like running in the Special Olympics. Even if you win your [sic] still retarted."

And yeah, I'm hooked on the show. Deal with it.

Cue the Alanis quote

At least I can sleep soundly knowing that no Vegetarians were hurt in the creation of my pasta sauce.

raindrops are falling on my head

So I used to think that there was a time of night when, typically, the bar next door or one of the many vietnamese restaurants would drain whatever cold ice chest they were using to keep things frigid. It was almost a nightly sound, peering out my window, and with such Old-Faithful predictability it couldn't be just random street chaos.

Nope. 

It was somebody pissing. Probably every time.