sundries

- I think I've caught up on sleep.

- Today is a house cleaning day!

- Talked to Patty. Next time I talk to Patty she will be here!

- Going to the Bastille Day thing on Smith Street tomorrow. Trying to figure out how I feel about the high likelihood of running into my Ex who never grokked my propensity for costuming and play (even without the genderfuck) while I am in drag and if said feelings are any more complex than "I hate being short." (Ex is 6'2").

Because seriously, eventhough we're nominally friends now, the thought of him being snide to me (as he very well might be) while he's with the woman I gave him advice about getting back together with (there's a long complicated story that, as these things inevitably do, boils down to her being younger than me and apparently intimidated by my existence despite the fact that we've never ever met because OMG that was like a decade ago and she can so have it!), makes me want to throw a punch and there's no universe where his saying "if you ever hit me and I find out about it...." is at all cute anymore. Wow, now there's a sentence that can only be formed by seven of the wrong type of years with someone. Jeez.

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The uniforms at Hewitt, when I attended were navy and white, with a light blue thrown in for summer. The middle and upper schoolers had kilts which introduced more colors, but navy and white is what we were. It was in our school song, which I think they tried to call a fight song for a couple of years in there in the name of solidarity and progressiveness.

I hated navy blue. Hated with with a burning seathing passion. After all, I had to wear it every day and it wasn't black and it wasn't even really blue in any interesting way and I always said when I grew up, no more blue, because really the light blue was kinda fucking annoying too. Which really was a shame as blue is good for me. My face is very red naturally (and really the monthly $90 algae treatment that fixes it seems excessive) and it cools out my tones.

I've just put my dry-cleaning away in the office closet which I've decided to finally comandeer for my own. Light blue shirt, medium blue shirt, grey slacks, other grey slacks (and neither of them is the damn shade of grey I keep looking for), navy slacks, grey vest, darker grey vest. What?!? Oh life comes around in funny ways. And then there's the Snape clothes (black) on the end, my Regency suit, my fuschia frockcoat, some nice dresses.

I am about to embark on cleaning our bathroom. When I was a kid this was one of the few household tasks I liked -- there was something satisfying about the grating sound of Comet on the porcelain tub. My mother was grateful; she hated getting down on her knees and having to reach to scrub. I just bought some ridiculous cleaning object so I can avoid that very same fate.

I might, just possibly, be getting old.

I need to get picture frames for our amazing polaroids later. This is how I reward myself while doing these tasks, moments of home decorating.

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The one benefit of the current TV/ cable problem? I took down my portable DVD player and its reading the Doctor Who DVDs our main one wouldn't. So I'm watching The Impossible Planet/The Satan Pit.

These were the first episodes of new Who I saw -- before Torchwood or I got into this fandom at all -- I was bored one night and they were on Sci-Fi. I know a lot of people hate these episodes because oh look, crappy Christian mythology, but I love them. Love love love. They are scary as hell and Tennant acts the fuck out of them. Also, nice soundtrack work. Part of my fixation with the episode may be that the writing is so cadence based (filled with weird speeches this is), and it's great to just hear so much rhythm and attention to syllables.

But, since I haven't seen these since pre-Torchwood -- OMG, the mining project is for the Torchwood Archives! Ah, Torchwood, fucking shit up FOREVER.