|
|
Monday, April 7th, 2003
| |
8:51 am - Yes, I do in fact suck.
|
Hey, I've been busy. So sue me. Still, I ought to be writing in here more than I have been. Why? I dunno. I'm having one of those guilty if-I-have-a-journal-I-damned-well-ought-to-write-in-it moments. And meanwhile, all of you are going, "Wait. You were gone? I didn't even notice."
See? I do all the insulting for you, so you don't have to bother.
But there's big news at Chez Sinister, and I thought I might as well post it here, since some of my friends read this journal and choose not to frequent my usual hangout for reasons unknown. In no particular order, let me give you the old 411.
My play will be produced next week. On stage, even. People will pay to see it. That is, if anyone shows up.
I got engaged last weekend. Slayer did a mighty fine job of asking. And no, I did not cry like a little weenie. I possibly teared up like an overly-hormonal female, but I did not cry.
I apprenticed as a healer. It's long and difficult to explain, but it's a program based on Native American teachings, and it's mighty cool. Not to mention mighty difficult, but still mighty cool. It makes me feel a little like an RP character. I'm gonna save the world, bay-bee.
I'm getting married next month. Yes, it's a short timeline. No, it won't be a big wedding. Yes, there's a reason for it.
We're also going to have a baby. Eeek! We thought that it wasn't possible, but it is, and I'm mostly excited, although it's a little earlier than we would have liked. My new goal is to make sure that I don't turn into super-mommy. You know, one of those women who can only talk about what their little angel did this weekend and have no life or personality of their own? That possibility scares me more than labor does.
Yes, I'm strange. But that's what's going on in my life, and possibly it begins to explain why I haven't been writing, as if you all care. Or something. :)
|
|
(11 comments | comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, September 10th, 2002
| |
1:23 pm - Big Surprise Here...
|
Yes, I am a gamer geek.
Artistic and maybe even a bit shallow, you belong to the clan of the Toredor. You have a keen eye for pretty things. The embrace is looked on as perserving all beautiful things for eternity. You are the sensual vampires that you hear people talk about that seduce to get what they want. This clan is the one thought of as being the spoiled sort who want to get what they want. However, you usually work right under the ventrue clan as they try to carry out their plans. What Vampire Clan Do You Belong To?
Test Created By ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) oronoda</font>
|
|
(2 comments | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, September 5th, 2002
| |
3:57 pm - Entertainments Galore
|
I've come up with a new way to be entertaining. I'm only going to update when I have a fever and am hallucinating. Those are the days that are fun. I've been sitting here for the last half hour or so staring at the six hawks flying outside my window. You'd think that hawks wouldn't congregate in this neck of the woods or lack of neck of woods... you know what I mean: there are barely any trees here! It's a lake for goodness sake.
Anyway, I watched the birds. And tried to juggle, only my hands were moving in super slo-mo. And stared a lot at nothing.
Okay, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all.
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Thursday, August 29th, 2002
| |
9:29 am - The Long and the Short of It
|
Well. There's a short description of the ceremony on my website if you're remotely interested. The link is to the left, because I'm too lazy to put one in here.
In other news, I've just spilled homemade granola all over my boss' laptop. This will probably upset her, but if I tell her it's homemade, maybe she'll at least be impressed.
Tonight is part deux of Slayer's birthday celebration. (Slayer is my live-in boyfriend, who will forever more be known as Slayer of Bees as the result of sprinting up a sheer rock face to save me from a freak bee attack.) Anyway, tonight is the go-out-to-the-bar part of the celebration. Tomorrow is part tres, which is the I-plot-something-and-he-shows-up, hopefully without a clue as to where we're going and what we're doing.
And the first part? I became a woman on his birthday. You figure it out. (And I got him some computer games and organized his photos into an album for him. I figured I'd distract you in case your mental picture was going haywire.)
|
|
(4 comments | comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, August 28th, 2002
| |
1:27 pm - Stringing Two Words Together
|
Yes, I am in fact back to the land of the living, and I'm tired enough that I need a vacation from my vacation. I'll write about it all in detail some time soon, but right now I haven't gotten motivated enough to do more than talk about talking about it.
But it was good. And everything is different now. Amazing how everything is different now.
More later.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, August 19th, 2002
| |
11:17 am - So...
|
A needle pulling thread!
Yes, I overuse that joke. And no, it's not even funny. But that's too freaking bad, because I can't help it.
Anyway, I'm getting ready for a last minute vacation... one entire week off of work. Ahhhhh....
So, until next week... as if you'll even notice that I'm gone.
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, August 14th, 2002
| |
12:05 pm - Help?
|
|
| |
9:11 am - Yeah, it's me.
|
Wooty woot. I'm famous.
"Fame! I'm gonna live forever...
Boomboomboom--"
Please. Someone get that song out of my head.
|
|
(5 comments | comment on this)
|
| Monday, August 12th, 2002
| |
3:22 pm - What's in a name?
|
Findubulous was a bar, although it couldn’t quite decide what kind of bar it wanted to be. Feather boas covered in glitter garlanded the door, flanked by artistically mangled circuitry arranged by Math, the tech artist of the moment. Ancient stuffed chairs pulled up to the shiny plastic carapaces that served as tables; vases of carnivorous flowers bookended the mahogany bar; assorted bric-a-brac festooned the brightly lit walls.
As you might expect, the clientele was just as colorful as the bar itself. They were all of them shiny, vivid, and so unique as to be completely interchangeable. All of them but Ekaterine.
She was dressed in Approved Adventurers Garb, a head-to-toe black ensemble complete with long hooded cloak (hood pulled low to shadow her face, of course) and thigh-high boots. A monogrammed symbol was ostentatiously stitched in red on each article of clothing, proof to whoever cared that Ekaterine bought only the best. No discount clothing for her.
She stomped to the bar, her boot heels ringing in a more-than-satisfactory manner, but still the gaudy patrons paid her no notice. If anyone had been looking, and if their vision was able to pierce the artfully arranged shadows under her hood, they would have seen her pout. But no one particularly cared.
Rumphy gestured from his place at the bar (directly to the left of one of the aforementioned plants, if it must be noted) and downed a drink that was less than notable only because it did not bubble, fizz, or explode upon contact with oxygen.
“Kitty cat!” he exclaimed boisterously, squared-jawed face flushed with a few days’ consumption of strong drink.
“Call me that again and I’ll kill you,” replied she, in a voice that literally dripped honeyed venom. It pooled on the floor beneath her feet, and it would take her days to get the stickiness off the bottom of her shoes.
“Hallock!” he swore, with a good-natured tone combined with an uncharitable glower. “Forgive me, your eminence. What’s up?”
She sidled up to him, carefully checked over both shoulders to make sure they were unwatched, but the only one who seemed at all interested in listening was the carnivorous plant, which was philosophically chewing on her hair as it listened. Ekaterine drew back a hand to smack the offending flora, but Rumphy simply pulled the pot out of her reach and grumbled at her.
“Don’t hit my friends, kid.”
She tossed her (somewhat mangled) hair. “Do you want to hear what I have to say or not?”
“Spill it.”
She leaned close, bringing with her an artfully concocted scent of clove, cinnamon, and trickberry. “He’s on the move.”
Rumphy blinked. “Who? Who’s on the move?”
“You know. Him.”
“Whom?”
She threw up her hands. “I can’t very well say his name!”
“Why not?”
She responded with as much patience as she could muster, which was none. “He’s my adversary. He has spies, or magic powers, or a captive wizard, and they’re monitoring the airwaves as we speak. If we say his name, we’ll get their attention.”
Rumphy began to laugh, his face turning shades of red previously thought impossible for mortal man to attain.
“What a bag of donkey shit,” he chortled, gesturing for another drink.
“Oh, yeah?” she asked, folding her arms. “Says who?”
“I’ll prove it to you. In fact, I’ll make you a bet. If you win, I’ll go on that blasted trip with you like you’ve been asking. If I win, you go away and leave me alone.”
“Deal.”
They pressed thumb-to-thumb to seal the pact. Then…
“I’ll prove it to you all right, my little chick-a-dee. I’ll say it, nothing will happen, and you’ll leave me in blessed peace to drink with my plant. ” Rumphy proclaimed with a smug grin.
“No! Wait!”
“Agapanthus.”
©2002, CAL. Even if you’re crazy enough to steal this, don’t. I’ll come after you with a chair, handcuffs, and a year’s supply of Barney videos.
|
|
(1 comment | comment on this)
|
| |
10:06 am - So It Begins...
|
In my excitement over this LJ, code courtesy of digitalscreams, I shattered a glass on the floor and promptly stepped in it. Methinks I live a life too sheltered, if I get this excited over a silly account.
Digitalscreamers (my new name for people who read his stuff) know me as RinaMac, which is his nickname for me. However, I personally think that "RinaMac" makes me sound like I'm a Kraft (tm) product, and that's just not my style. So out with RinaMac and in with Mistress S. That's my new war cry. Do you like it?
Now, I already have myself a journal, which can be found right here. So what exactly do I plan to do with this here puppy other than use it to access friends only messages? I'm so glad that you asked, Friendly Reader. Have a cookie.
I'm going to continue to update regularly at my d-land journal as usual, so if you have some wild desire to know what's going on in my life, check there. Here, I think I'm going to lean towards making everything up, posting fiction, letting my imagination run wild, that sort of thing. I thought I'd better warn you in case my first story ends up being about a lisping midget crackhead. Not that I have anything against lisping midget crackheads, but I'm not one of them.
|
|
(8 comments | comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|
