February 7th, 2007


(no subject)

Foregoing a fetish cocktail party to stay home and play with writing excercises, I end up writing vocab smut. Vocab smut. I fantasize about sand and polysyllables. Clearly, I will die alone with cats. And as I hate cats, that is saying something.

In other news, I am being made to impersonate a ninja in this Saturday's ninja/pirate party. A pirate disguised as a ninja, but still. I explained that I mix with ninjas like my star char mixes with earth signs to no avail. Possibly I will strangle Zorikh.

And I am drinking Australian amontillado. Which considering my ignorance of amontillado may be either simply terrible or exactly as it's meant to be. But GAVIN and Poe are impacting my Wednesday night indulgence.

If I tell my life to get a grip, will it do it for me?