Attempting to Cover Epic Backwards Charmedness
Despite having to return to Camp Happyland to determine if I indeed still did have a bionic womb (I couldn't find the damn thing when I checked, and they said you MUST CHECK -- I guess it's true what they say about the size of a girl's hands...), the IUD is wunderbar. Loving ever minute. Got through two periods completely unscathed, if a little off-schedule I do tend to take a certain amount of cramp-busting Aleve on a regular basis for the bursitis that still seems to plague my knee. (Lack of meniscus notwithstanding.) Still, feeling *nothing* leads me to believe that the sucker's just having a ball in there and I'm in fine shape.
I was also assigned to Jury Duty starting October 1, at way too early in the morning. The good news is, I had twisted my ankle at the previous Sunday's roller derby practice leading to what I thought was a minor strain. I could walk on Monday. But by Tuesday night, I couldn't do anything more than a toe tap on the left foot. So Wednesday morning found me in pretty serious distress, hobbling into the Thomas Street Jury HAZMAT Roundup, through the metal detectors, and into a large room with a lot of very uncomfortable looking seats. I chose to stand against the wall. Then I chose to stand on one foot. Then I chose to sit on the floor. Then I got some weird looks from people, including the very funny and charming Vin Scelsa sound-a-like who was giving the orientation speech for probably the 8000th time, yet still making it sound totally fresh.
That was the thing about this place... it was astoundingly pleasant. Despite the aesthetics that were something akin to Neo-Spartan Soviet, the general vibe was so cushy I kinda wanted to hang out and organize a spades tournament. My theory is that they purposely hire the most miserable people on the planet to work at the DMV for the same reason contortionists lick their privates. Because they can -- and you're just going to have to deal. Jury duty, on the other foot, is a hotbed of mob rule waiting to happen. So they hire people who couldn't quite cut it in stand up.
The man is nearing the end of his monologue and asks us, "Is there any one here who may have a medical condition that may make it impossible for him or her to do jury duty?" Let me remind you that I'm still sitting on the floor. I sheepishly raise my hand. He looks, nods, and says, "Talk to me after I collect the forms." So, long story short, I walked -- wait... no I didn't really walk... I galumphed -- around a line of sob stories of financial hardship, substance problems, self-employment and got a pass until 2009 because I had a pronouned limp. (And this limp was cured a mere six hours later by some tiny needles in my flesh connected to an electrical current. And they say quackery is dead...)
Now a short list of the most recent accomplishments...
Noticing that I had no whites among my clean clothes, I returned to the laundry room to discover that my washer had been violated by the clothes of another. Mind you, this was not a simple case of my paltry collection of whites or near whites being removed from the machine and left damp and pathetic in a heap somewhere. No no no. My whites were jumped in by the sheets and granny panties of a complete stranger. And they smelled... fruity. They are currently in my closet awaiting a rewash.
Edited an absurd amount of vintage pornography, burlesque, erotic art, and various other sources of titillation into an hour and a half of eye candy for a Meatpacking District club. I almost never watch porn. Nothing against it, just I don't really ever feel the need. Well, now I'm saturated. And I'm also convinced that men in the twenties were hung like rhinos and evolution is actually favoring men of less monolithic stature. Results are seen here.
I took them over a few glasses of Veuve Cliquot. Results of *that* are seen here.
I was paid to watch ice melt. Specifically I was paid to watch the word ECONOMY carved in ice melt in front of the NYC Supreme Court building.
I took pictures of what I fantasized would be the last letters standing.
I finally started writing my long ancitipated Yahoo Group for severely injured rollergirls and rollerboys who wish to return to the sport. I'm calling it Roller Derby: SVU. Link to follow once I finish writing a brief history of my leg.
The Championship. I skated. Nine jams. Queens of Pain won.
Oh, and I went to a Halloween party as a Sacrificial Virgin. Seen here, and I don't know who's licking me.
Nothing like wearing all white to inspire lust in strangers.
In the true spirit of Carnivalism, black is white, high is low, and next year I'm going as a Sacrificial Vegan to completely buck trend.