eor: (Duckman)
[personal profile] derien went out with a girl tonight!

"I said, we got a lot in common,
She said more than you know."

Ok, so hers wasn't a date any more than mine was, but it's fun to tease her.

"Just a pair of fallen angels,
tryin' to get through the night,
any way we can."

I'm trying to figure out how to get through the next 8 days before vacation.

Am I the only one who is irritated by Frank Warren parlaying other people's secrets and insecurities into a living? I mean exhibits of submitted secrets in art museums seemed fairly on point, but the secrets should be up front.

"Money, it's a hit.
Don't give me that do, do good bullshit."
eor: (Harold)
OkCupid just sent me an email saying that their extensive tracking and analysis have figured out that I am more attractive than 50% of their users. I am now in the "attractive" class, will be viewed by more people, and get more attractive matches sent to me.

My thoughts on this, more or less in order are as follows:

1. Wow, they need better programmers to write their analysis stuff. Maybe I can get a job.
2. Wow, they must have an incredible collection of butt ugly people. If I cared all that much about looks, I might have to leave for a place with prettier people. I bet every member of the Pogues is on OKcupid.
3. Does this mean I'm going to end up getting more matches from females who are so totally out of my league they groan from the pitcher's mound when I sit down in the bleacher seats?
4. How many of my click throughs happened after bar close? (the analysis was partially based on picture click throughs)
5. WOO, I made the 51st percentile. Not.

Maybe I can stop hanging out in front of the school for the blind now.

After a very hard week, this was a good laugh.
eor: (Duckman)
It's time to dust off the big speakers. You can either play name that tune or not, I'm just playing the music loud because I feel like it. This stuff has layers and layers of dust on it. You'll be showing your age if you speak up.

"Anyone can have an opinion,
Anyone can join in and jump,
Anyone can pay or just stay away,
Anyone can crash and thump"

cut for length )
eor: (ooooohhhhh)
As I was sitting in the chair at the dentist's office the other day getting my teeth cleaned, I thought, "This could be really good if I was a true masochist." Do real dyed in the wool masochists get wood when they see the dental hygenist? Do they intentionally skip brushing to make it worse (err, better)?

Just think of the erotic potential this one twisted kink would provide. Do they volunteer to do other people's taxes? What would they do for work, with so many ideal fields. For people who like being humiliated almost any retail or customer service job is perfect, but masochists would have to have something more physical. In warm climes, perhaps roofer would the thing. In coastal areas, lobsterman would probably be perfect.

Oh, and just think, as you get older, more stuff hurts. Just getting out of bed on a damp morning could become an erotic adventure. For those lucky masochists with arthritis, every movement could become a grinding bit of delight. Just imagine the possibilities!

Meanwhile, dental care is, for me, a necessary evil during which I try to think of anything that will distract me from the requisite 40 minutes of torture.

random

May. 17th, 2009 09:29 am
eor: (lilac)
On the PostSecret post this week was one entry from a woman who wrote, "Some kinds of sit-ups make me orgasm!" My immediate thought was, "she must have incredible abs." That's one way to stay motivated about exercise.

I heard a story on NPR yesterday about a money manager who got caught up in the whole too big of a house, too much credit card debt thing. He was bringing in over 100k a year and still falling behind. Now he's 7 months behind on his mortgage payment and will be losing his house. Unlike most stories, he freely admitted he screwed up and he had to pay the price for screwing up. It was refreshing to hear someone with the attitude, "Man this sucks, but it's still my problem." It does suck. My brother lost his house a couple of months ago, but when it comes right down to it, it was self-inflicted. He and his wife had a mortgage, racked up other debt, refinanced the house to get cash out and pay off the other debt and got sucked into a mortgage they couldn't afford.

Speaking of debts and loans, with any luck at all, next week we will have debt for the first time since we paid off the car three years ago. The mortgage has gone to the underwriter for "final approval" and I expect we'll have a closing scheduled sometime next week. I'd really like to get closed before the Memorial Day weekend! This has been a heck of a process.
eor: (Anais eyes)
It's not that I don't like Mondays. It's just that I inevitably have a whole bunch of things to deal with and not enough time to deal with them all. With this endless list, how can I justify just blowing off a few hours and relaxing.

"And he can see no reason,
'cause there are no reasons.
What reason do you need to be shown?"

Guilt, she suck mon.

"What's gonna happen if I give the man a dime,
I don't want to pay for another brother's wine."

I've got a great life. It's hard to express and my general quiet and morose nature makes it even more so. Still, it's phat as a prize pig. (Plus it has primo alliteration, so phear its awesomeness.) I'm willing to share it, but honestly, I can't be bothered to try really hard to share it.

"Oh, oh.
I'm an alien.
I'm a Jamaican in New York."

Sometimes I feel like an alien in this society. I can see how it's broken. I just can't picture a way to fix it.

"On a crash course for a planet,
made with mountains of my favorite food."

We went out tonight for [livejournal.com profile] derien's birthday dinner.

"On the seventh day she rested,
woke up early, and made ice cream."

Now I really should go to sleep.

"Lids down, I count sheep, I count heart beats,
the only thing that counts is I won't sleep."
eor: (Take wing)
A plot bunny: Amy Johnston, Amelia Earhart, neither body found, recruited as trans-galactic pilots, skimming the gas giants to refill hydrogen tanks, swooping around moons for momentum, racing solar sails for fun.

"What was the question?
Yeah, I was lookin' at the big sky." Kate Bush "The Big Sky"
eor: (Default)
This afternoon I fell asleep. Well, it would probably be more accurate to say, passed out from exhaustion. I just fell off the end of my rope.

I woke up a couple hours later, completely out of it, lying in the rays of the setting sun. I wasn't conscious enough to get up, but I wasn't quite asleep. The situation reminded me another time, then music that I don't really listen to anymore popped into my head. Bam! I was a horny fourteen year old reading the semi-autobiographic science fiction of a gay man from New York*1. I was dreaming of how to design brass orchids and sleeping too hot to sleep.

There was a time when I meditated on that time, trying to conjure it like a jaunte*2, bend it back like a tesseract*3. It was a mental exercise in memory and a quest for something more than boredom and normal.

Now it's amazing how strong the flavor still is. The flavor of a book. The flavor of a moment. Back when we were all babies.

"How can you live this way?
Why do you think it so strange?"


*1: Samuel R. Delaney and his "Dahlgren"
*2: From Alfred Bester's "The Stars My Destination"
*3: From Madeleine L'Engle's "A Wrinkle in Time"
eor: (for all the good)
"I am preoccupied,
can't get you out of my mind." - Sinead

cut because I'm spamming tonight )
eor: (Malcolm)
I do believe I could make tacks tonight. All I'd need to do is feed [livejournal.com profile] derien some nails.

*knows better than to poke dragons with sticks*
eor: (bum)
My fridge contains Lithium Ion batteries, my freezer has vodka, I spell user /usr, a black screen with green letters makes me feel at home and comfortable, I have more books on one bookshelf than channels on my TV, I have no patience for posers and carpetbaggers.

"beep-beep"

randomness

Jan. 15th, 2006 08:27 pm
eor: (Default)
"There was music in the cafes at night,
and revolution in the air." -- Bob Dylan

So the NASA probe that has flown all over the place collecting bits of comet and other random particles has successful returned to earth. My question: Why didn't they name it Ziggy?

OMG: I forgot Daktari in the list of happy songs! *flogs self*

"I shall be an old bum,
loved but unrespected!" -- Utah Phillips

Profile

eor: (Default)
eor

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