rm | (no subject)

Dogs: 1
Taxi cabs: 1
Incliment weather: 1
Mercury: 3
Rach: 0

Today did not go as planned. It still have lovely moments which I am largely keeping to myself for now I think as some of them are very novel realted (oh, I saw my "dead" children!) and because some I want to write about poetically in a missive when I'm more refreshed.

Instead, let me share with you the commedy of errors.

I reach the Marble Cemetary. Lay out my blanket. lay out my fabulous picnic and commence waiting for my friends.

I am dressed in all white. My cream velvet jeans, my white Regency/Poets/Swordsman/ChooseYourGeekness linen shirt, my creame broacde waistcoast and my white linen neck cloth. And black knee length boots. This is about to become very important.

It's a beautiful day. There is eerie music and bright blue sky. One should be decadent in decaden clothes and so I lay down on my blanket, throw my arm across my eyes and just zone.

Suddenly, I am pelted with something.

A few feet from my blanket a black labrador has decided to dig a hole -- whether to interr something new or disinterr the dead I am unsure. Net result? My blanket, my clothes and myself are covered in dirt. A lot of dirt. The dog made a huge fucking hole!

I howl in incoherent "arghness" and prioritize removing dirt from, my mouth, my hair my clothes, my blanket, my food in that order.

At least three minutes later the dog's owner comes by and asks what had happened.

"He kicked dirt all over my lunch and my clothes!"

"Well, what do you want me to do about it?" he snapped and wandered off.

Let's be clear. I don't blame the dogs. Dog was being a dog. I blame the owner for not paying attention and then not giving a damn.

The correct response was either to offer to pay for lunch (which I would have thanked him for and declined), asked after my obviously effected wardrobe or at least apologized. Any of those would have been fine.

That was not what I got.

Arrrrrrgh!

Anyway, people show up, things were charming, fun was had. Yay.

Then we go to Yaffa. Which you know is always Yaffa. Whatever.

Then I go to a Kinkos to print something for a Patty letter. Finally, rain breaks out. How this effected all teh electrified bands in teh street, the crowds, i don't know. I took my picnic blanket tossed it over my head, wrapped it around my shoulders, and fashioned a cloak. I'd unbuttoned my waiscoast and undone my neckcloth by then, and my silhouette, well, Patty would have appreciated it. I thought it was hillarious.

So then I got soaked. Went to the post office (easier than it's ever been) and then headed home, but, of course, before I got here? Taxi cab, through puddle, ALL OVER ME.

Luckily, improvised cloak saved the expensive parts of my outfit.

I'm exhausted and I must do novel in 90. But I think I need to rest first.