Loud-mouthed liberal feminist. Anarchist knitter. Tequila-drinking artsy-smartsy fat chick. Bluesy folk-rock singer-songwriter. Rebel with too many causes. Quirky eclectic pagan poet. Paradoxical intuitive smartass. Sarcastic brainiac insomniac. You know, for starters.


Water, water everywhere...

This weekend has been an exercise in paradox - awesome and fabulous things have come my way...while I've also been thrust into the Land of Suck. Good times.

Friday, I treated myself to my favorite Lush treat (a jasmine body wash that I use, Euro-style, for shampoo), stopped to grab a new book I've been waiting for, met up with my roomie to hit a music shop and grab guitar supplies, had tasty vegetarian dinner at Lake Side Cafe (oh my gods, brown rice, chili, cornbread, cheese, and tomatoes....mmmmm), then walked in the rain to buy a doumbek, which I instantly tuned up and played before going to bed.

So, yeah, Friday night was awesome.

Saturday started well, too. I went to a going away brunch (sadly, at Heartland Cafe, whose food never ceases to amaze in its just plain bad-ness), and then decided I would try to brave the rain in order to ogle men in kilts and drink Guinness and get weepy over Uilleann pipe music (in which endeavor I was joined by a friend). When we got downtown, the rains were a-coming down, and well...I love kilts, but spending an afternoon soaking wet, waiting in lines, standing around in humidity and with my arm getting tired holding up an umbrella....yeah, just not worth it. So we went and got tattoos instead.

This tattoo is one I've been sitting on for years, just waiting for a moment when I had the money, the time, and the intestinal fortitude to stop being such a chicken shit and just get it done. It has spiritual connotations that are complicated and totally woo woo, but besides that, it just totally looks bad ass. Even if it means people will think I'm a hairdresser.

Which, to be fair, I kinda am. I mean, I do *my* hair. That counts, right?

Anyway, so, we got tattoos and had lunch, and then I came home to the reality of record-breaking rainfall: I'm living in a garden level bedroom, and it has some, er, seepage. Not enough to really call it flooded, but there's definitely going to be some repercussions in terms of property damage. Le sigh.

So, today, I've been alternating trying to get the regular housecleaning I do on Sundays done, and sorting through my stuff and doing laundry and recovering stuff and tossing stuff and yada yada yada. I'm tired, and I'm sore, and I'm taking tomorrow off work to continue with the recovery effort.

As much as it sucks, I am keeping it in perspective. I still have a home, and yeah, I might need a new dresser and nightstand and maybe box spring, but I got off lucky, what with all the hurricanes and typhoons and earthquakes and civil unrest and starvation and all the other horrors of the world. I'm damn lucky.

But I do long for the moment when my bedroom stops smelling like mildew. Ugh.

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