What a weekend, holy shit. Penguin and I met up in Colorado and skied/boarded Vail and Copper. Being on those mountains was amazing, and I wanted to keep riding for another week. Waking up in the middle of the night and trying to swallow my own throat was, admittedly, the downside. I suppose one eventually gets used to the altitude and lack of moisture, but holy hell... there was more than one ungodly-hour a.m. that literally inspired the thought, "I think I'd prefer to die right now."

I'm now sick like a snot-filled second grader (as opposed to sick like really sweet board shorts) and can't hear out of one ear. Plane rides beat the ever-loving health out of me.

Anyway. There are pictures. I would like to be back there now, please. That is all.




( ...and I can't forget Penguin's race run. )

Okay, okay, okay. It's time to stop procrastinating on the Thanksgiving feast and weekend reportation. Little Penguin flew out here last Wednesday night and stayed until Monday night. It was nice, if a bit surreal at times, to have a familiar, comfortable face in this new place. And win a race with a can of mace and so much grace in the Lord Jesus' face.

Anyway. I loved it. We took a surf lesson, visited the Getty Museum, drove all around The Big Streets in my neck of the woods, went home-idea shopping, and ate like we were both pregnant, PMSing, and trying to bulk up for The World's Strongest Man all at the same time. Gross and lovely, that's what it was.

There's a bit more story in the Flickr set. Tuesday was a hard day, finding myself solitary and making only one cup of tea after five days of morning chit-chat and day-long cavorting.

Here are some selected pickies of our feast, completely homemade and bomb-ass wonderful. We slept in on Thanksgiving morning, went grocery shopping for a couple of hours (First to the 99 cent store to knock out the cheapies, then to Whole Foods to knock out the gourmets, then to Jon's to see if they might be cheaper than Ralphs, then to Ralph's because Jon's was possibly the worst grocery store we'd ever experienced. They didn't have cocoa. How do you not have cocoa?), then came back and divvied up the recipes and went to work. Two hours later, whah-la!





I don't know how it escaped my mind, but I took pictures of NONE of the vegan food we tore through around town all weekend. Bah. Opportunity missed.

Once Penguin left, I started cooking again, though, and I already have more food pics waiting to be eljayed.

*sigh*

PORN STOPS FOR NO MAN.


ETA: I was typing up my next entry, talking about my planets re-aligning and such... realize I forgot to mention that someone violated Jeebus while Penguin was here over the weekend! I think they were searching for an iPod, as my hookup was visible. Nothing was missing, I don't think, except little Jeebus-weebus' dignity... sitting outside with his back window all unzipped and hanging open in the morning, poor thing.

Penguin and Dorkle and the Girl Underneath

On a dark and quiet winter night, many moons ago, the Little Penguin, Dorklepork, and some of their friends were sitting at the kitchen table and playing cards. Poddy was playing music. Everyone was having fun.

( Read more... )

Holy hell, this month. I've been busy, and when I haven't been "busy" in the traditional sense, I've been "busy" in the catching-up-to-the-bus-that-sped-ahead-while-I-was-busy-in-the-traditional-sense sense.

Ob-la-dee-blah-da.

I'll update with bits and pieces, but I dare not commit to traversing the whole month in prose. That would most certainly make me cower with inadequacy and never visit my eljay again.


( Not traversing the whole month in prose... )

So I've started fake-baking for the first time in my life. The little penguin is, for all practical purposes, taking me to Cancun as a birthday present in mid-April. We're trying to pre-bake a little and prevent getting crisped to oozing pink perfection in the oven that is the Mexican sun.

(That, and I had been considering going tanning as a kind of light-therapy for myself, as these last days of winter are pressing down on my brain like wut. Yay for two birds with one stone! Hey, leave those birds alone, motherfucker!)

I know tanning is bad, and I'm the first to harp on people that do it. I figure this is better than getting second degree burns on the beach, though. In the moment, anyway, I don't feel like I'm lying beneath cancer lamps and growing tumors. It's actually -- as many have told me while I listened skeptically -- quite relaxing, canned music pumped through the speaker at the side of my head and all. My favorite part is peeking down at my feet, waaaaay down on the other end of this glowing white tube, and seeing them just floating there like the pale, incapacitated appendages of an alien abductee, surrounded by a brightness that just begs to be lighting some otherwordly surgery. Ooo eeeee oooo.

I think I've already managed to lightly burn the (heretofore very pale) space beneath and between my boobs*, though. It's a little itchy. Hehe.

*scritch scritch*

*boinga boinga*

Look at me, pretending like I have boobs.

Good day.


____________________________

*OKAY OKAY OKAY YES I ADMIT IT. They asked me if I tanned nude and I said, "no," but then I got in the little room with the little bed and was all like, "Speaking of little, I just bought the littlest bikini I have ever owned," and decided I would get nekkid at least for the first few times so I didn't have unexpected white patches peeking out and shooting people in the eye like tiny burning mirrors when they caught the sun and then not only that but also catching on fire themselves because they weren't ready for the exposure. I caved, I caved!

And now my boobs are burnt. Well, under my boobs. I think my knocker-tops got enough sun in a few short flashes at Michfest to not freak out all pink and panicky when in contact with The Light anymore.

But you can still call me Flaming Creamer Girl.