In no particular order:

  • A gorilla.
  • A 6-foot-tall hot dog inna bun. Wearing a sombrero. Who drove off on a moped.
  • A bent old man with a pipe who on closer inspection turned out to be a 20-something guy who'd painted his hair gray and stuffed a pillow up under his cardigan.
  • Clouds of smoke billowing from one of the garden patches. Poked it with a stick and discovered the entire patch was ON FIRE and had been smoldering just under the beauty bark. Can't decide whether I'm happy or sad that we caught it in time to keep the mall from burning to the ground...

Some days I really wonder whether I'm actually seeing what's in front of me or whether the things that wander through my brain have come to life.

Also, I cannot believe I am sunburned. More specifically, I cannot believe I'm actually happy about it - when the vampire goth kid wants sunshine so much she burns herself, you KNOW it's bad!
Amazon Rank epic fail. That is so fucked up I don't even have words.

Work was pointless today; we spent more time explaining to Very Stupid People that the mall was closed than we spent making drinks. My favorites were the people who informed us derisively that we'd forgotten (or in one case, "hadn't bothered,") to open the mall doors. I mean, can we assume for TEN EFFING SECONDS that I am actually remotely intelligent and would've done that already if it were allowed?

On the plus side, had a really lovely lunch & shop-stop with [ profile] gothchickgamer and [ profile] halderis before they headed home. (Thank you again for the messenger bag, guys - it's PERFECT for my sketchbooks and supplies.) Had hoped to spend the evening with [ profile] forgodestiny but since she was feeling poorly and I was exhausted & sopping wet, we decided to postpone.

Tomorrow is day off. Have no plans. If anyone would like my company, drop me a line.
This town WINS at life.

And now it's off to get an emissions test for my car so I can renew my tabs, then home again to attempt to get this disaster area clean. I've only got today to do it, so I've got my work cut out for me! Wish me luck guys.
In other news, had dinner with [ profile] tinman_landofoz this evening at the waterfront Ivars; I'd never been there and didn't realize it was a proper restaurant rather than a fast-food joint like the rest of them. It was a fun new experience. I always like learning new things about this city of mine. The view was lovely if somewhat soggy. (Also our waitress was adorable and stopped to tell me I had a really pretty smile, which was very sweet. :)

Then it was off up to [ profile] housecerulia for a few hours of good company, wacky conversation, and a game of Killer Bunnies - which I didn't actually participate in since I was not feeling up to that whole concentration thing. I curled up on the couch and played with my drop spindle and listened to my friends goof off. An excellent evening all 'round.

I'm skipping out on Grind tomorrow night, but I AM going to be at the [ profile] s00j Palimpsest concert at the Wet Spot on Sunday evening. It ought to be a hell of a show and I'm looking forward to it.
Something is really hitting a nerve today. So frequently lately I find myself coming up against the implicit (or even explicit!) assumption that people only ever get into BDSM because they've had some kind of traumatic experience. It's such utter tripe. Even over on where people embrace it as a positive thing, using D/s to cope with and overcome old abuses - and make no mistake, I do enormously respect and support their ability to do so - it still frequently seems to come with the assumption that something screwed you up before you were drawn into the scene: abuse, or repression, or neglect, or whatever.

What about those of us with none of the above?

You guys, I had probably the most boringly idyllic childhood it is possible to have growing up in the good old US of A these days. My family didn't have money, but we had a lot of love. There were bedtime stories and summer camping trips and imaginary adventures with my best friend. There were birthday parties and barbecues and books instead of television. Even when my parents got divorced they kept their differences between themselves and made certain my brother and I knew they both still loved us very much. We never saw them fight, not once. When Mum found God and we started going to church on Sundays she refused to have us baptized because she wanted us to be able to find our own paths in our own time. There was no abuse in my family, no alcoholism, no neglect. The absolute worst thing I can remember happening was being soundly scolded for bad grades.

I had my issues growing up. Hell, I had whole damn subscriptions, and there are scars on my arms and legs to prove it. But they were my issues and I owned them. They weren't forced on me by anyone or anything. And they definitely have nothing to do with my affinity for BDSM. Bondage was just something I ran smack up against out of the blue, and my entire world sort of shifted three feet left and went "click." It was like some part of me had found a home.

I'd always been kinky; I'd simply never had word for it 'til then.

I guess I'm just tired of feeling like innocence is something I should have to apologize for.


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