Scents

Amy: Craig’s girlfriend is in the kitchen. She has been for a while. I can hear her coughing, making noise, laughing her irritating laugh, calling out to Craig “oh Craig darling” it is driving me nuts. I want to throw her out of my apartment. I don’t want her here. I don’t like it that she is here *always here. More than I am here really. Here when I leave in the morning here when I get back. She walks in with her own key and looks at me disdainfully as I sit in read on the couch in my periodic table t-shirt and bunny speckled pants. She gives me this look that says she is thinking about what a gross little person I am.
Some other girl is here now. One of Craig’s girl’s friends no doubt. She is talking in a loud fast voice Ohmygod!ImetthiskidtheotherdayatthisthingandhefoundoutthatIwasntasianandhe. It is 11, why are their friends over at 11. I keep forgetting that she is an undergrad and that 11 is early. Hell 1 was early. But I am *not an undergrad and I think *she* keeps forgetting that this is not her apartment. Don’t they understand that *I have things to do? That *I have to get up at 8 and teach for 4 hours? Why are they cooking food now? Just so they can wash the dishes at 1 am?

From the Universal Guide to Getting Laid in Japan

For girls:
Okay, basically, the method for a girl to get laid in Japan is the same as to get laid anywhere else. Why am I even writing this? Just go to a bar, and come on to a guy who doesn’t happen to be with any other girls at that particular moment, play up to his ego, act really interested, and imply that you are interested in a purely physical no-strings night of passion. How simple is that? If you’re a girl and you don’t know how to go about getting laid, then you are either a moron or you’re laboring under some bizarre illusion that guys are a hell of a lot more complicated than the apes to which our DNA is startlingly similar. Just get the hell off of the internet and wake up to the fact that as a woman you hold all of the power in the world of sexual tension and if you are not having sex on any particular night it is because you chose not to.

This is a dreamlog, archived from Everything2.

Extended hypnopompic state this morning; nearly an hour of drifting through waking dreams. Of course, they’re all fading now that my mind has pretty much completed booting.

I guess this state is sort of like having your rational mind handed a whole bunch of uninitialized variables and told to make something of them.

I was reading a short story aloud to some kids, and then entered the story myself. It started out with a description of a japanese couple who always did everything sychronously, including driving and shifting and eating. The wife goes into a biology lab and becomes (I think) Irene. There are a bunch of very pretty birds being experimented on, who suddenly start to talk, and tell Irene that they love her. She is rather flabbergasted. They jump onto her head and start pecking at her a bit and then nuzzling her ears. Vlad steps out of a closet and brings over some birdseed, and the birds flutter over to him and eat out of his hand. He pulls one feather out of each bird, and places them carefully on his head.

Then (of course) my alarm goes off.

This ended up in node heaven, so I preserve it here.

Kanon42:

Let’s see…
She’s this girl who’s sitting next to me, pointedly not reading over my shoulder what I’m writing about

her. She’s this crazy gelfling wallstarer who won’t stop talking about Japanese.

She’s got quite a self-esteem problem, which is rather ridiculous considering how I worship the ground she walks on. She reads. And reads. And reads more. Sometimes she sleeps.

She keeps me warm at night. I adore her.

---

In response to getzburg’s writeup:

She seems to make a hobby of unexplained severances. What she did to getzburg last September (when she met me), she in March 2001 did to me (when she met her current beau).

Consider the effect a few scant days of her company nearly a year past has had on getzburg; imagine the effect on me, who lived with her for four months, breathing her air twenty hours a day.

I am not jealous of her current companion; I pity him, because I know he’ll be the next to bleed.

(update, four years later - she’s still with him)

Ben Karel: Has Irene introduced you to Tom Lehrer?
Placain: You arrogant child.
Placain: :)
Placain: My mother introduced me to Tom Lehrer while I was practically still in the womb.
Ben Karel: lol

And this, too:

dmd
Let’s see…

He’s this boy who sitting behind me, trying to read over my shoulder what I’m writing about

him.

He’s this silly bug, gelfling, bliss-child who won’t stop talking about sex with monkeys.

He thinks women are better than men (mostly because he spent his childhood playing with the girls; the boys wouldn’t stop throwing dinosaurs at him).

He’s this intense whirlwind of intelligence and knowledge, kept at bay by a startling lack of common sense (he came to pick me up from class wearing sandals — its about 40 degrees outside)

What else can i say? I adore him.

Ben Karel: I would get you the pneumatic skinner, but I’m not really sure I can trust you with it
Placain: You can trust me, yes, yes, you can trust me, yes, my precious, yes.

Zombie Karl Marx: i feast on the brains of the bourgeous

MrGetzburg: I think you should become a monk
MrGetzburg: Yeah, I like that idea.
Placain: That wasn’t a choice.
MrGetzburg: Definitely a cloistered order. And a silent one too.
MrGetzburg: Ooh, I’m liking that too.

phriquancy: Ah…what about an elaborate optical scheme where you are knocked unconcious by a drunken noder, dressed up in women’s clothes on a dare (complete with makeup, while you’re still out cold) and then placed in a room with mirrors positioned in such a way that you will see infinite rows and columns of your own dressed-up (sorry for the pun) self
Placain: What part of “your mom” didn’t you understand?