I am feeling CRABBY again TODAY so I am NOT RESPONSIBLE for GLARING at you or berating you ROUNDLY for your EGREGIOUS INCOMPETENCE.
Thank you.
Now we move on to the Errata from the last few issues of Riatsala's Journey to the Id-den Depths. Point the first: Cole Porter wrote "Too Darn Hot." Point the second: Taverner wrote the mass on Gloria tibi trinitas, not Tallis. Now that I have got that off my chest, I feel better.
The last time, by the bye, I literally got something off my chest was a terrible experience. I got shitfaced with this guy I'd been obsessed with for months and he pulled out a home waxing kit and insisted on depiliating my already rather smooth torso. He also took hair off my wrist.
And since it's Boys Week on Captainess Riatsalina's Wombat Zone Play Time, let me just tell you that I ran into the first guy I ever had a date with on my commute into work this morning.
Well, my commute into work this early afternoon. Since, as I believe I've told you all, I have a slight technical difficulty with morning.
He was sitting at the bottom of the stairs when I walked into the business end of the train station. I pretended not to notice, but when it turned out to be a short train and I had to share a car with him anyway, I decided to bite the bullet and have a chat with him.
Let it not be said that I started this: months ago I met him and his boyfriend at M*nr*y and gave him my number in a friendly, "Jeez, let's go have coffee and reminisce about that time we went out for coffee in B*rk*l*y" way. No pressure, although there was, as always, a gentlemen's understanding that he was welcome to come over and shag my brains out any night he was free. Anyway, he never called. No big deal, of course. Except when I ran into him on the street a few days after that he completely ignored me (all right, it was a Tuesday afternoon and I was already into my cups, but it was a proper day off and besides, SB had taken me to the B*rr*n to squeeze her romance troubles all over my shoes). He utterly and dastardly looked at me, and then looked away in what smelled suspiciously like disgust. So I waved at him and his group of cool-queers standing outside of D**s*l [they were all wearing LIME GREEN. It was a LIME GREEN TARTARUS of trou-de-cool-fag superciliosity and the minatory end of it was was aimed at me]. He was forced to wave back. We spoke for a few seconds. Since then he's ignored me more often and more successfully than anybody else I know; perhaps we should give him an award for it.
So anyway, to cut to the chase, we had a nice chat on the T today -- he even turned off his headphones. I said some horribly inane things about the vague misconceptions I have with regard to his major, looked briefly like a driveling village fool, and then he asked me about my harpsichord, and then I got off the train. He was just as cute as ever. Good conversation. No nastiness anywhere, surprisingly. So I wonder where all the tension had come from before.
Then I got to work. JH was there visiting us all, smiling as usual. We traded words. I went upstairs. It was just before noon. I worked until six-thirty, which is an honest enough day's work, really, don't you think and then came home. All week, I've been coming home directly after work. It's terrifying.
Save me now.
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Oh, and if anybody has any sweet, young gay [male] friends who might want a very pleasant blind date with me, email me.