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This waking up around ten on Stephan's mattress and feeling like a blob for being the last one up by several hours is getting to be a habit. 'Sokay, though; I walked home, so I don't feel quite so useless.
Tony took me to his house for his going-away party last night, and we swam a lot and geeked out over coloratura sopranos and spent some time avoiding his little brother. His family scares me; they're all so saccharinely friendly, even though I know most of them hate me. It's disturbing, and I always feel like an ostentatiously ill-bred commoner in the company of disguised aristocracy. There are lots of extraneous and arbitrary rules whose existence don't even occur to me. Who requires guests to wear shoes in the house? I didn't even bring any. But it was mostly fun, anyway, since I don't particularly care what his family thinks of me. And then Tony dropped me at Stephan's, where I walked quietly barefoot through the unlocked door and joined the crew in the living room without comment. So easy, so comfortable.
There was a bit of silliness when Stephan realized he didn't have the key to his car to take me back to my house to get House S2 (it came yesterday, to my immense excitement, along with Atlantis S1). Bryan, who had just lit a cigarette, offered to let him take his car, but when we tried Stephan couldn't figure out how to drive it. The gearshift labels don't light up when the dash lights and headlights are on. Bryan graciously took me home himself, apologizing because he knows I hate the smoke.
Stephan only had the energy for one episode, and I was about to crash, myself. Swimming, or rather supporting your own weight once you're out of the pool, takes it out of you. So, mattress. With the talking into the wee hours of the morning again. I mentioned my misstep with mixed idioms and metaphors earlier in the evening; I'd told Tony, in the context of a discussion of S&M, "That's not my bag of coke." That was good for at least a half-hour of giggling. I honestly have no idea where it came from, especially because the two substitute phrases for "cup of tea" that came to mind were "can of coke" and "bag of beans," neither of which I've ever heard anywhere else. Ah, well. We know my brain is strange, especially in the middle of the night. Maybe the water in my ear went further than usual.
I'm still rather tired, but it's off to Roger's for an afternoon of singing after a long hiatus. We'll probably start a bunch of new stuff we each got from the Smith workshop. It will be cool.
Hey, it's thundering! Excellent.
Tony took me to his house for his going-away party last night, and we swam a lot and geeked out over coloratura sopranos and spent some time avoiding his little brother. His family scares me; they're all so saccharinely friendly, even though I know most of them hate me. It's disturbing, and I always feel like an ostentatiously ill-bred commoner in the company of disguised aristocracy. There are lots of extraneous and arbitrary rules whose existence don't even occur to me. Who requires guests to wear shoes in the house? I didn't even bring any. But it was mostly fun, anyway, since I don't particularly care what his family thinks of me. And then Tony dropped me at Stephan's, where I walked quietly barefoot through the unlocked door and joined the crew in the living room without comment. So easy, so comfortable.
There was a bit of silliness when Stephan realized he didn't have the key to his car to take me back to my house to get House S2 (it came yesterday, to my immense excitement, along with Atlantis S1). Bryan, who had just lit a cigarette, offered to let him take his car, but when we tried Stephan couldn't figure out how to drive it. The gearshift labels don't light up when the dash lights and headlights are on. Bryan graciously took me home himself, apologizing because he knows I hate the smoke.
Stephan only had the energy for one episode, and I was about to crash, myself. Swimming, or rather supporting your own weight once you're out of the pool, takes it out of you. So, mattress. With the talking into the wee hours of the morning again. I mentioned my misstep with mixed idioms and metaphors earlier in the evening; I'd told Tony, in the context of a discussion of S&M, "That's not my bag of coke." That was good for at least a half-hour of giggling. I honestly have no idea where it came from, especially because the two substitute phrases for "cup of tea" that came to mind were "can of coke" and "bag of beans," neither of which I've ever heard anywhere else. Ah, well. We know my brain is strange, especially in the middle of the night. Maybe the water in my ear went further than usual.
I'm still rather tired, but it's off to Roger's for an afternoon of singing after a long hiatus. We'll probably start a bunch of new stuff we each got from the Smith workshop. It will be cool.
Hey, it's thundering! Excellent.
