shroud ourselves in the cosmos; let the music play

Flatmate is going home for the weekend, but before she left, we had to have this conversation (paraphrased, of course):

Flatmate: I'm sorry I didn't run the garbage disposal the other day, but please don't write me an angry note. I have to read angry notes and e-mails all day at work, and having to sit down to that at breakfast while I'm trying to get ready made me have a terrible day. I would really rather just talk it out.

Sigma: Sorry, it was a knee-jerk reaction, because I communicate better in writing than in speech. And we've talked about this several times before, but it clearly didn't sink in then, so I thought maybe seeing it in writing would do the trick.
(also i was angry and in general don't want to talk to you.) (no, that part did not happen out loud.)

Flatmate: [Dither dither] I know I am not consistent about the garbage disposal, but I do some things that you haven't done, like mopping the kitchen floor, or cleaning up the cats' vomit on the carpet. I want to know that it's alright for me to ask you to do things, as well. I would really feel better if we could just talk about these things, I think we're better friends than that.
blah blah blah [I can't remember what else I might have said here, I think I just made neutrally polite noises]
I know you're really busy and stressed out about grad school and stuff, but if you want to hang out, just tell me. I'm never sure if you're working on something or just surfing the web, so I've been going to Boyfriend's a lot, but I'd really like to do more stuff with you.
blah blah blah
Anyway.... [in a small voice] can i have a hug?

We hug

Flatmate: [begins to leave] [turns back to tell me gossip about her co-workers/former supervisor that i don't actually give a damn about since I'm trying to go back to my homework] [finally leaves]

Ugh. See, I want to live alone so I don't have to have these kinds of conversation. I have to screw up a lot of nerve to talk about stuff that bothers me, and usually addressing it just makes me more uncomfortable and bothered (not to mention really spooked and shaky afterward) (especially if confrontation is sprung on me like this), but if I'm the only person living there, stuff that bothers me will presumably be my own damn fault and I can either suck it up or fix it. This business of diplomacy and compromise? Not so much. At least, not in my own home. I don't want to have to be diplomatic in my own home, I am diplomatic and polite out in the world all fucking day.

Also, Helpful Hint: If I am taking refuge in my room and being uncommunicative, it's because I don't want to chit-chat about your day, or watch The Simpsons, or whatever. I want to be by myself in my room and unwind, or space out, or (god forbid) do homework. The door is open so the cats can roam freely about the house -- not because I want company.

And finally, thank you for skipping town while the cutting board, which is covered in parmesan cheese from your dinner two nights ago, is still sitting on the counter monopolizing the largest and most useful cooking surface.

No, you guys, I know I'm a bitch. I know.

1. FUCK CHRYSLERS. No, seriously. People who drive Chryslers CAN'T DRIVE. I can't decide if they're dicks, like Escalade drivers, or if they're just FUCKING IDIOTS. Tonight, getting onto the 405, I got stuck behind a Town & Country that was going, like, 20mph on the onramp. THE ONRAMP WHICH HAD NO ONE ELSE IN FRONT OF HIM BECAUSE HE WAS GOING SO DAMN SLOW. And, as icing on the cake, he signalled during the curve. WHERE THE FUCK ELSE ARE YOU GOING TO GO? THERE ARE NO INTERSECTIONS AND NO OTHER LANES YET. (As a side note, I'm getting into a habit of revving my engine to express my displeasure, and it's really bad for my gas mileage.) And then. AND THEN!! I was getting OFF the 405 and I was behind a Chrysler 300. AND IT ALSO SIGNALLED ON THE CURVE. And the worst part? The 300 DID NOT SIGNAL at the ACTUAL FUCKING INTERSECTION, where it turned right, and it DIDN'T EVEN TURN INTO THE CORRECT GODDAMN LANE. FUCK CHRYSLERS. Also, PT Cruisers are BUTTFUCK UGLY, even when they're not that HIDEOUS burnt orange colour, and IMPOSSIBLE TO SEE PAST.

2. So I almost had a panic attack at the beginning of orchestra today. It was awesome. I got spontaneously overwhelmed by the amount of shit that I don't have together: long-overdue midterm stuff, project due by the end of today (mostly done now), group project for busywork class FOR WHICH SHE DID NOT EVEN TELL US WHAT TO DO THEN DECLARED THAT SINCE SHE WAS ABSENT YESTERDAY WE HAVE TO E-MAIL THE ASSIGNMENT TO HER BY 5PM THURS AND SHE STILL HASN'T ACTUALLY TOLD US WHAT WE ARE SUPPOSED TO DO, short orchestra lesson probably Thurs am, two "first lessons" duedate unknown, reading for tonight and for Thurs am that I am not done with, scheduling group project meeting, scheduling chamber rehearsals, scheduling a coaching with a (grown-up!) composer whose bassoon-bass duo we are giving a west coast premiere!!, trying to find time to practise because i have OMG SO MUCH MUSIC TO LEARN, continuously back-burnering things that I Need To Do for the credential program, and OH YEAH GRAD SCHOOL. I was seriously fidgety and twitchy and hyperventilating and I almost cried or screamed or ran away, for about the first 20 minutes of orchestra and the 20 minutes beforehand... Except then I had to breathe deeply so that I could play contrabassoon, and eventually I got a grip. FUN TIMES, THOUGH.

3. Funny story actually, but I am a bitch: There's this asian chick in the socio-politi-cultural education class who Fails At Eyeshadow. No, I'm serious. She uses a really pale silvery-blue on her lids, then she puts this super-heavy black line in the crease of her eyelids that connects to both corners, and she doesn't make any effort to blend it whatsoever. She does this EVERY WEEK, presumably EVERY DAY, and it looks HIDEOUS. We've (the music contingent) muttered about wanting to fix her eye makeup on numerous occasions. Anyway, one of the other guys made a comment about sororities and how the greek system is really homogeneous and really white, and she piped up something like, "I just want to correct you on that generalization, because I was the face of [her college sorority]. We're not all white and blonde and identical." And all I could think was, "Really? You were in a sorority -- the 'face of your sorority,' (whatever that means) no less, and NOBODY taught you how to do eye shadow for grows-ups?" See, I told you I'm a bitch.

4. OMG BUT THEN as I was leaving the education class, just outside the building I saw this green thing on the ground and I stopped and looked and it was a PRAYING MANTIS and I took PHOTOS of it and it was in the middle of EATING A CRICKET!!!! So I'll put those up probably tomorrow because it was WAY COOL.

Okay, off I go for dinner and homework.

Why would one ever buy the small, bear-shaped bottle of honey? It's creepy-looking, and the plastic is thick and virtually impossible to squeeze. Buy a bigger bottle and you get a better price per ounce, the bottle is squeezable, and you don't have to buy more honey for another year -- and it's not as if it's going to go bad in that time. It's honey. I have never seen honey go bad. Also, if you buy the bigger bottle, you can get it in a shape that's not a fucking creepy little bear. Jesus. Idiot.

And, okay, so I didn't wash the things I used to bake last night, but they're all at least in the sink and I wiped up the cheese that strayed onto the counter and the floor. That doesn't mean that it's cool to leave empty string cheese wrappers and grape stems on the counter. The trash can is two feet away.

oh godddddddddddd

the kittens are BOTH!! under the comforter but on top of the topsheet, and attacking my toes through it. Which is adorable! Especially the warm, soft, kitten-sized comforter lumps. BUT OH GOD IT TICKLES

oh thank god they stopped

-----

Dear Flatmate,

I know I tend to take curves on the freeway, especially the ramps, quite fast. I know my car handles well enough for me to do so. You going "aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah" in the backseat is not entertaining, cute, or endearing, and it does not make me want to slow down, either. It just pisses me right the fuck off and makes me want to go fucking faster to teach you a lesson so shut the fuck up.

p.s. You telling the kittens loudly that their nails are sharp and need cutting does not endear you to me, either. I will cut the kittens' nails when I think they need it and when the are relaxed enough and I have the time. Being coy about it does not make the confluence of these events any more likely. shut the fuck up. maybe if you didn't insist on holding them when they don't to be held, you wouldn't encounter their claws. I haven't had problems yet.

p.p.s. I won't thank you for finally cleaning the stove and the countertop. I am quite relieved that you did because the mess you have left unattended for several days was on the verge of becoming a biohazard (seriously, that bowl that you used for defrosting the raw chicken sat out three days, and that fork with the raw egg was from yesterday morning), but I refuse to thank you and congratulate you for doing something that should be automatic and prompt -- not a special feat deserving a reward. And while I'm glad you finally picked up most of your shit that was scattered around the living room, I see no reason for your flip-flops to still be under the coffee table. You don't even wear them why the fuck should they ever be out of your room.

-----

so I FINALLY completed week 2 of my running program, after attempting it for three consecutive weeks. Wednesday was 1000x easier than Monday, and Friday's 4:1 was not the most torturous ever, and yesterday was almost pleasant -- I ran in the evening, from my parents' house to the fire station and back, while they were on their walk. I was sort of with them but not really, in the way that I ran ahead of them for four minutes, then for the walking i doubled back towards them and we had time to meet up and say hi before I had to run off again. It worked. Also, it was dark and cool, which may also have been good. I've noticed that Mondays are super hard, so I did "30 min easy walk" today instead of "rest" in the hopes that it makes it less daunting to start again tomorrow. We'll see. (yes, I do know that athletes should take a day off every 7-10 days, but I think it might make it easier to start again tomorrow if I didn't do nothing today.)

Mum and I went shopping yesterday afternoon -- for once in my life, I went to DSW without buying anything, but fear not! I made a list of shoes to find pictures of and then maybe we can have a poll or something about whether I should buy new shoes and if so which ones. I didn't get a red dress either, or a new concert blouse (my old concert blouse I still love, but it is getting a bit faded. sadness!), but I did get new jeans (much needed) and a belt and a shawl, and two button-downs (one white, short-sleeved, and okay I guess, and one off-white, long-sleeved, slightly more casual, and GORGEOUS), and two waistcoats (i am filled with joy) (one is solid black with a full back and pointy lapels, the other is grey-brown stripey and it goes in a band around the back, then has adjustable elastic to connect that band to the "collar". It's less spiffy than the black one, but I still like it). And they were on sale and mum had a gift card and everything.

Tomorrow I have an orientation for the school of education, and supposedly all will be explained and we will no longer be confused and worried. It starts at 8.30a though, which SUCKS.

Tuesday will be full of the busy also. Plus, I'm going to bring the kittens to visit the library. O.o

Thursday night is orchestra auditions. Bassoon at 8, contra at 8.30 (appointments are 15 minutes each.) I'm feeling pretty good about contra -- the excerpts must be easier than last year's, because I've been able to practise them intermittently and it's still gone smoothly. Bassoon not so much. I kind of inadvertently took the last few days off because I am a bad music major, and so I'm a little apprehensive. Plus, my tempi are too slow for the fiddly excerpts still, my Mozart is Not Tidy Enough, I'm pretty sure unintended rubato is happening in the slow excerpts, my reeds are fighting me, and ... I'm worried. I feel like as much as I wanted to prove myself last year, because I was a senior dammit, the expectations are even higher this year because I'm a fifth-year and I gave a good recital and my main competition are the new master's student, who has the same number of years of experience as me but will have better parts anyway unless I really kick ass in auditions, and the same two-years-younger moderately flaky technique whiz who has been kicking my ass in auditions since he arrived. And I just don't really know how I was so motivated last summer, but not this summer, even though this summer feels like higher stakes.

P.S. I still haven't finished gathering info for grad schools. But if I want to audition anywhere I'd better find out what excerpts/pieces/etudes I need to learn, and soon. Bugger.

I spent all afternoon at home today. Mum and I got our eyebrows threaded (she was so unprepared for the pain. it was a little hilarious), I watched Wall-E, my clothes are clean without me having to spend tons of quarters, I didn't have to cook my own food, I have my new running shoes, and I spent all day with people who love me.

I still feel shitty.

Also, I just got home and first I had to pretend to give a damn about Flatmate's day, and now she is watching shitty trashy tv and I wish I could somehow just not hear it because it is such utter trash. Also:

Dear Style Channel,
"Tranny" is not a word that is okay for you or the people in your shows to use. If a transperson is using it to reclaim it, that is his or her prerogative, but it is considered perjorative in any other context, especially that of completely imbecilic straight women talking about being unfashionable and having "camel-toe."
Get the fuck out of my living room,
Sigma

-----

In other news, the kittens were very good boys at the vet's this morning. They were getting boosters of a vaccine. And, OMG. I was expecting to have to gentle them through big scary needles, BUT NO. INSTEAD THEY SQUIRTED THE MEDICINE INTO THEIR NOSES WITH TINY KITTY NOSE SYRINGES.

They were pretty okay with it, and I was impressed. I much prefer shots to squirting shit up my nose. Seriously, I hate nasal sprays. Hate.

Whoa wtf Baxter is literally trying to climb the walls. WTF KITTEN. WTF.

-----

It kind of disturbs me that I'm saying this before the school year has even begun, but I want to live alone so badly. OMG GTFO OF MY FLAT. God. GODDAMN I NEED TO GET OUT OF HERE.

-----

ALSO the news made me angry. There was a segment about medical marijuana dispensaries and how the city of Los Angeles has FAILED ALL OVER ITSELF with a TOTAL LACK OF FEES AND REGULATIONS and it pissed me right the fuck off. Because apparently the borough of Eagle Rock has fucking ELEVEN dispensaries or something, most of them unregistered. I know firsthand that Westwood Village has two or three. There's a loophole in the law that the owners of these places are exploiting to apply to have them, but also the board that is supposed to review said applications or whatever is NOT REVIEWING THEM and they're opening illegally, without licenses or whatever, and no one is stopping them, and OH BY THE WAY the illegal shops? PAY NO TAXES OR FEES BECAUSE THE CITY ISN'T PAYING THEM ANY ATTENTION OR ANYTHING so EVERYTHING they make is profit. And it's a culture and one that is put on a pedestal, fucking idealized and aspired to and worshipped, and somehow the bulk of people pay no attention to how much it actually can (and in many cases does) fuck them up.

But I think what really makes me the most angry is the TOTAL lack of restrictions on who can get a weed card. I am not denying the value of marijuana as a real, medical treatment for some people -- I know a musician who has a serious and painful gastrointestinal (i think?) condition with an equally serious and painful treatment, and being high while she's recovering from it is pretty much all that gets her through it. Similarly, other people with legitimate need of marijuana -- cancer patients, pain patients -- should be able to get it. THIS DOES NOT APPLY to bullshit excuses like, oh, say, exaggerated tendinitis, and then the "patient" immediately goes out and treats it as a justification for buying virtually unlimited amounts of the drug, and a justification for being fucking blazed all the fucking time -- both to others (with limited success) and to himself (BECAUSE ADDICTS ARE LYING LIARS WHO LIE, ESPECIALLY TO THEMSELVES).

I guess what I'm saying is there needs to be a system of controls on (a) who can prescribe it (I'M LOOKING AT YOU, DOCTORS OF DUBIOUS INTEGRITY), (b) for what reasons it can be prescribed, and (c) how much a patient can acquire. YOU WANT TO CALL IT MEDICINE? TREAT IT LIKE OTHER PRESCRIPTION DRUGS. YOU KNOW, WITH REAL PRESCRIPTIONS AND PHARMACIES. NONE OF THIS "CANNABIS COLLECTIVE" HIPPIE BULLSHIT. I AM CALLING YOU OUT, LOS ANGELES, MEDICAL PROFESSION, UNITED STATES, WHO-THE-FUCK-EVER. GET IT THE FUCK TOGETHER. GET IT UNDER SOME FUCKING CONTROL.

Um. It, ah, touches a FUCKING nerve, okay? FUCK.

because i'll always wish i had protested more.

FUCK.



FUCK.

With... well, just me, really. No Jimmy Fallon, no Tina Fey, no Amy Poehler, sorry. (Can you tell from that list when I have watched SNL?)

FIRST!! I have seen NO FLEAS for the past few days. VICTORY IS MINE, Y/Y???

I cooked a lot this weekend! and by 'a lot' I actually mean that I made Rice-A-Roni (but hey, at least it's on the stove and not in the microwave, yes?), I steamed broccoli (this time in the microwave, but it was fresh broccoli), I baked cheese bread (this link goes to copperbadge's recipe, because he is brilliant. I used havarti, smoked provolone, and asiago as my cheeses. I had too much salt in the herb mix, and next time I'm definitely switching the oregano for rosemary because I don't particularly like oregano, and I left it in the oven slightly too long, but the bread came out a lot fluffier than the first time I tried it (with p'tit basque and asiago) which was lovely, and anyway, my brother liked it), and I made crepes (filled with Nutella, pear slices, and peach slices. whipped my own cream, too! whipping cream + sweet vermouth (which was admittedly a little strange) + a splash of almond extract + a heaping spoonful of sugar when that wasn't sweet enough + LOTS OF ELBOW GREASE EH because I don't have an electric hand mixer and couldn't be fucked to get down the stand mixer and dirty yet another bowl okay?) for breakfast today. Plus I made myself a martini last night, and mixing is almost like cooking, yes? (I needed to finish the old gin because I bought new gin and had to justify it. don't judge me okay??)

btw, for those of you who don't know, a martini is this:
in a shaker: ice, gin (I like Bombay Sapphire but I'm too posh for my own good), "fond memories of vermouth" (I actually use a liberal splash, but I love that quote. Who said that?). And everyone says "stir, don't shake, you'll bruise the gin!" but I can't be arsed really so I stick the top on and I turn it over once or twice and then I strain into a glass (a cocktail glass, properly, but we have no cocktail glasses (they were Roomie's -- man I should get my ass some cocktail glasses, and some wine glasses) so thus far at the new apartment I have strained martinis into margarita glasses and, last night, into a coffee mug because I desperately didn't want to make even more washing up for myself after doing the washing up, then cooking, then washing up again). Garnish with olives impaled on a cocktail sword or something, I generally stick two onto a toothpick and call it a fucking night. Or if you're posh and you don't fancy olives you could garnish with a twist (of lemon peel), but honestly, who wants to make a goddamn twist? Plus I like olives.

I didn't used to like olives. Funny. I wonder when it changed?

Anyway. I had myself a bit of a Torchwood marathon this weekend, in between cooking and washing up and going to the market and attending a family function. I had stopped in the middle of the first series before Children of Earth aired in July, and now I've finished that and gotten about half-way through the second series, which is considerably less mockable than the first series. (Not mock-proof, note. Just less mockable.) And I kept getting ideas for shit, and jotting them down in my "fragments" file. So I might start writing again, god save me. Fanfiction.

No, I'm not sure I mean that the way it came out. Many good fanfiction authors are very much Good Authors In General, or at least have the potential to be should they every quit their day jobs. And it's not shameful, to have ideas and create things inspired by something you're into. It's not inferior to original fiction, but it has that social stigma, like pretty much every aspect of fandom. And I'm done denying who I am, right? I'm embracing the things that make me who I am, especially the geekery, so you know what? I am an avid reader of fanfiction. And I have been a writer of fanfiction, and I may become one again.

It's kind of crazy that Torchwood has gotten so much under my skin. I love it on a campy sci-fi level, and a Gays On TV! level, and an Actors Are Attractive People level, and a caring-about-characters level, and a fandom-makes-awesome-things level (fic, art, vids, icons) -- but then there's also the meta things: I like to read what other fans think about episodes, characterisation, themes and messages, and other fans' ideas. And I have had a lot to think about because of fandom, and because of the way I personally react to this show. It's led me to define and articulate what I think about love, what I think about relationships, and it (and even more so Doctor Who) has reminded me to appreciate the wonder of the world and the people around me. I don't think I was this consumed by Animorphs, or X-Men, or Harry Potter, or even Lord of the Rings. None of those have been so... thinky for me. Well. LotR got pretty scholarly-thinky, but not as personal-thinky. V for Vendetta and its message about integrity (Valerie, anyone?) was a step on this path, but it was nowhere near the level of personal growth Torchwood has triggered. And yet, it's a plot-holey, bad-sciencey, , campy, darker-edgier-sexier spinoff of a show that I didn't even properly watch before Torchwood sank its teeth into me. How can it have become such a phenomenon in my life?

It's very smoky in my area tonight.

The kitties were roughhousing on my bed earlier, but now they're just chilling. Baxter definitely jumped face-first into the wall a couple times, though. Uh.

Ducky (formerly Dizzy, formerly Maybe-Vasco-Maybe-Quantum) likes to sleep in the crevice that my bed makes against the wall. I guess it's probably because my apartment is hot and the wall is cold? But it worries me when I accidentally bump him or put a limp partially on top of him and he makes no complaint. What if I roll onto him in the night or something?

This morning I woke up and the kitties were curled up on either side of me, dozing and purring. It was brilliant.

I really need to practise tomorrow. I haven't since the last time I said I needed to practise. Oops.

OMG SO while driving with my family to day I heard both "Uprising" AND "Knights of Cydonia." SO. PUMPED. I was practically headbanging, with my mum and brother in the car. Honestly? Muse might be all I really need from pop music.

God I've been so tired today, and yet I've been typing this entry for nearly an hour. Priorities much? Gah.

The other day...

Flatmate: Hey, do you have white wine?

Me: (cautiously) Yeah...

Flatmate: Can I take it to Boyfriend's?

Me: (internally) FUCK NO. It was $10 and I am saving it for the next time I feel fancy.
(out loud) Is this for drinking, or cooking?

Flatmate: Cooking. But it's all the same, right?

Me: It's a dessert wine, it would be too sweet for cooking.
(internally) And you are NOT cooking with my $10 Moscato. Get your own damn wine. You drink Two-Buck Chuck, right?

Flatmate: ... Oh.

-- I mean. Seriously? Who does she think she is? Plus we are SURROUNDED by markets -- Rite-Aid and Ralph's across the street, Albertson's and TJ's right by her bf's place -- all four of which carry white wine, particularly for someone whose tastes are not so... discriminating.

Feh.

In other news, yesterday morning I cut my foot on a shard of glass in the kitchen from when she dropped that other bottle of wine a few weeks ago (Charles Shaw Chardonnay, which ironically would have been perfect for her culinary needs), and this morning I found another shard. How have these escaped notice for so long, and why are they turning up now? Additionally, how did she miss them in the initial clean-up? Because somehow they came to be in the middle of the floor and things that are in the middle of the floor tend to be kind of obvious. I'm no Domestic Goddess -- far from it -- but how can Flatmate fail so hard?

Yesterday she unsubtly hinted that I should mop the kitchen floor (which I do not spill things on btw, whereas she does not even pick up obvious things she has dropped, like that almond this morning, I mean, what?).

The next time she mentions something about how the dishwasher smells, I'm telling her exactly why.