AdventureWorld

Planes, Trains, Automobiles and Authors

Sweet Jesus, Shepherd of Judea! Why have I turned into the Worst Blogger Ever? The other day I was going to write about why I think I haven't been blogging but of course I didn't because I AM the worst blogger ever. Godammit.
Anyhoo, I'm running away to Alaska in a week. Even for me this trip is absurd--I'll spend about as much time getting to my favorite wee wilderness cabin as I will being there. I have to fly to Anchorage late Wednesday night after a bigass bidness meeting. Then catch an early train for a 7 hour trip to Denali, spend the night at the Park entrance, then the next morining meet the Camp Denali boys for the 7 hour trip into camp.
All this for a three night stay. Yes, it is absurd but I already said that. I practice absurdity as if it's a religion. If it was a religion I'd be one devout mofo. Hell, I'd be the Pope. Pope of the Presposterous.
The wild thing about all this is that I tried to book a cabin there months ago for this particular date because I writer I like will be there and he's going to do readings at night around the big cozy fire. He's a great writer and wildlife photographer who just happens, by happy coincidence, to be hot in that not-trying-at-all way.
It's like winning a trifecta, baby. Which is particularly odd since my coincidences are most often NOT of the happy variety.
But months ago when I tried to book it they were all filled up so this could have been the end of this story. But I asked if they would call me if they happened to have a cancellation because I just knew it would happen. I knew I was going to be there--I didn't feel like I might get lucky or think maybe. I knew. Sometimes I just know stuff with an unwavering certainty and it happens, even if the odds really suck.
I'm only going to be in camp for three nights so that's a whole lotta hassle for such a short trip but cavorting with caribou by day and having a sensitive manly man read a beautiful book to me at night sounds too good to pass up. And the timing is perfect because I've been in the middle of a real shitstorm at work. I wasn't in the center of said shitstorm until I had to jump in to save one of my peeps from it. This basically involved throwing myself in front of her like a human shield to keep her from taking a direct hit. She'd already gotten splattered. Plenty.
By the way, does anyone know how to get a shit stain out of a shield?
So, here's who I'm hanging with next week. Seth Kantner Feel free to splatter me with envy.

Dream #1: Vampire on a Train

We have to give our psych professor our dreams. Some will be read in class, but they'll be anonymous.
Until last night I hadn't had any, or not any that I could recall or that woke me up. We have to keep a paper and pen bedside so that, even if in the middle of the night, we can jot down details that might be forgotten. Mine were so vivid and memorable I could recall most of the details even without my notes.
I'm posting things from my class on my blog for my friends who are really interested in this psych course I'm taking. So...

Last night I had a dream that was mostly very pleasant and definitely arousing, and I don’t mean arousing in the clinical psychology sense of the word I mean arousing in the manner of a libidinal Yowza!

I was on this thing that was like a train, that I would describe as a train except that at one point when it had stopped, then it oddly had wheels like a bus instead. So this train had a bunch of cars that I can only describe as like that of hospitality suites, if you’ve ever been at a convention or seminar where there is an exhibition hall and people invite you to their hospitality suite to ply you with liquor and try to schmooze you into buying their product, it was a lot like that but not exactly because it seemed more like people were casually hanging out than being “sold” but I had the slight impression that there was some kinda “market influencing” going on at minimum.

Except the car I was in wasn’t really like that at all. We didn’t seem to be selling anything and I have no idea why I was in that particular car/suite. It was a vampire’s car, a specific vampire, Eric, from an HBO series called True Blood which is based on a series of books and I’ve read them all. I’ve always been drawn to vampire mythology and recently wrote about wondering why that is. I have a theory.

It was obvious that Eric and I had some kinda thing going on, which provided the Yowza! factor because he is hotter than a microwave. Alexander Skarsgaard. Enough said.

So Eric was very much like the Eric on the show, a 1000 yr old vamp who was pretty much bored with his eternal life because after 1000 years who wouldn’t be. He’s seen it all, done it all, so he actually has a certain acquired wisdom that he most often expresses in a blunt sardonic way. I find that refreshing and quite charming.

But I also knew he’s dangerous so I wasn’t charmed out of my good sense. He has a disdain for most humans and I knew this and I ask him why he seems to actually be rather fond of me.  He says  “You surprise me ..and amuse me. You’re not like other Breathers”.

I tell him that I am also pretty smart and not at all naive like the idiots who believe vampires are just “people with fangs”.

And in my dream he can’t glamour me which is like hypnotizing. That is remarkable and very intriguing to him. That’s exactly like a human character on the show, though, so I’m not sure that has any particular meaning.

I was incredibly attracted to him, and not just his looks. I thought he was hilarious and very smart. And I think I was also attracted to his differentness, I found it exotic I guess.

So, for some reason that I either can’t remember or did not even know in the dream I had to go to another car so I was going through car after car and I remember thinking I might not be able to make it back to Eric’s car before we arrived so how would I ever find him in such a large crowd. I became somewhat anxious about that.

I also had taken off my shoes for some reason so I saw my bare feet and thought crap! My shoes are in that car! so I knew I’d have to go back to that car before I disembarked so that would mean everyone else would be long gone by the time I got my shoes.

The train stopped at my destination. So I went back through all those cars, first against the flow of people getting off the train but then the cars were empty. And my shoes weren’t there. And the train was about to leave for somewhere else.

I rushed around looking for someone who could direct me to a Lost & Found and someone in an official looking uniform told me where it was but I could only find one shoe. And I had to have both so I kept looking. And people were bugging me, asking me to look for their stuff, I guess since I was already going through the box they thought I should find their stuff for them instead of looking themselves. They’d say things like “hey, can you see if there’s a DVD in there? I can’t find mine.” And I couldn’t even find my own other shoe and I was running out of time. I didn’t have time to stop looking for my shoe so I could find their fucking DVD for them.

And then the train started moving and I realized I was still on it and needed to get off fast. But the conductor said “too bad, this is a long distance express train and we don’t stop anywhere for hours so you can’t get off. You’re going to the destination” (and I think he said whether you want to or not)

 [Note: There’s a lot in this dream that has some obvious meaning to me but some of it I haven’t had time to think about but I think if I had time to really analyze it I might have some pretty good ideas about the meaning.]

Holy, Holy, Holey

I've been such a busy bee with the redecorating. I'm working on the final flourishes, including turning an altar cloth from a French church circa early 1800s into a pelmet that will go across that massive bow window in the living room.
And I've hung an antique tabernacle curtain from The Netherlands as a work of art over my new antique desk. Oh, and I converted two 18c altar candlesticks into lamps.
Chez Suki is all chapelesque.
I also bought two pieces of massive tapestry-drapes from an ancient chateau that I'm re-sizing to hang as two tapestries flanking the fireplace, covering the stupid windows that I want to make disappear. I already have five other windows in that room for fuck's sake, I need some wall.
My tapestries tell the story of the Battle of Troy and they are old, old, old. Hector has a hole in his head but it only makes me love him more.
P.S. Here is a pillow I whipped up today because I felt like playing instead of doing the zillion and one chores I was suppose to be doing. All three trims are from 19c vestments and the cross is off a chalice veil from France.
I shall perhaps be struck by lightning any day now.

In Other News

Best. Valentine's Day. Ever.
I know it's actually tomorrow but that's so beside the point.

After the Before, But Before the After

So, the other thing that I've been doing besides writhing in pain is redecorating my wee cottage (I just typed "cootage" which sounds like a house full of cooties, which mine is not of course). So, when I had friends over for a little Christmas soiree they were oohing and aaaaaahhing over my newly redecorated digs without even realizing that I was not nearly finished with the redecorating. Not even close.
The antique bergere chairs were just dressed in upholstery muslin, which is like chairs sitting around in their underwear and I had none of my new pillows even designed much less made, and no rug, no drapes or a zillion other things that I'm still working on.
I decided I should chronicle my redecorating adventures so here is a photo of the After, after I'd gotten all the new furniture in (some sans upholstery)  but before the official After which will be when I'm all done ..or dead from decorating exhaustion. [I have some old photos from a previous Christmas I'll post when I'm finished that are the before Before].
Redecorating is like a second job, for fuck's sake, an enjoyable second job but a really all-consuming one. Made even more time consuming when one decides to make pillows from 17th century textiles that have to first be meticulously restored before one can even think about actually doing anything with them.
Big fun.

You Make Me Feel Like Dancing Or Maybe A Death March

Today my upholstery guy, Mario, was at my house to quote some work he's doing for me. And, yes, I do have an an upholstery guy, doesn't every girl? 

No? Well that's just makes me sad.

So, back to Mario and me in the living room eyeing the antique chaise that is a pain in the ass, literally. I like to have lovely furniture but I prefer it to be actually functional. 

When you sit on this chaise there isn't enough padding and if you're not careful you'll get a spring up your ass which is not nearly as much fun as it sounds. Or your ass bones hit right where there's a very hard support board so you have to kinda twist your body to the side so you can shift your weight off the ass bone and onto the ass cheek--resulting in a numb ass and a case of scoliosis to boot.

I was explaining all this to Mario (except for the ass positioning part) and he poked around on the chaise and gave me a couple of options for remedying the situation (<---accidental pun) We discussed the merits of each as I asked him very precise analytical questions because that's the way I am, I just can't help myself. I need to know things, dammit.

Then I showed Mario a couple of bergere chairs that I wanted to reupholster and asked him for his opinion on a few things about them. He seemed to be having a good time and not just because he was about to make a small fortune off me.

He told me to come by his shop which, coincidentally, is on the same street as my house-- but out of the residential area down at the other end, in the commercial neighborhood. I was trying to figure out if it was too far to walk and asked him what was the cross street. 

He said "25th--you know, by the motorcycle place".

Although I was quite pleased he thought I was a motorcycle kind of girl I couldn't place the motorcycle place. But I did know that the big ass county expo center is right there on 25th so needless to say I was perplexed by his choice of landmarks.

I said "oh, by the Expo Center" and he said "huh???" as if he had no idea whatsofuckingever I was talking about.
It's HUGE. It's where they have the COUNTY FAIR. It's a block from his shop. 

It was my turn to say "huh".

English is his second language so maybe "expo" is just not in his vocabulary. Speaking of his vocabulary, as he was leaving Mario said "I really like this, what you're doing. You made me somber"

Somber? 

I'd like to think he meant "samba" as in I made him feel like dancing, although it's highly unlikely that was he was saying. But it was fun to think about him sambaing down the sidewalk to his car.

I suspect he meant he enjoyed our problem solving session, that it made him do some serious thinking which is always big fun. 

I don't think he really meant dark and dull, as in maybe my questions sucked the life-light right out of him because that just doesn't sound like something he would like very much. 

The Sweater Post **With Bonus Track**

I have on a sweater that would be my favorite sweater ever if I didn’t hate it so much. It’s such a beautiful color, a boxy cut with a chunky cable weave. I love everything about it, except for the fact that it makes me look like I have a big ol’ muffin top.
I don’t have abs of steel (more like abs of mercury) but I don’t have a muffin top, dammit, and I wouldn’t want to look like I had one even if I did.
If I had one I’d get some bigger jeans and/or a good suck-it-all-in foundation garment like Sassybax.
You may wonder how I’m such an expert on foundation garments if I have no muffin top to control; even the fact that I’d use the term “foundation garment” makes me sound suspiciously well informed on the subject.
My expertise comes not from muffin top management but from needing to get rid of bra lines under a skintight top (you will notice I did not say “bra fat” which strikes me as an unnecessarily crude, albeit apt, expression that one should never say when one has the option to say “bra lines” instead).
Anyhoo, back to this fucking sweater. Every time I wear it this odd bunching-up-at-the-waist gets worse and worse as the day goes on. One day I caught FabulousGayFriend eyeing my waist like he was wondering how I had gained twenty pounds since lunch or when I’d gotten knocked up and why he didn’t know about it. But of course if I’d gotten knocked up he’d be the first one to know because Immaculate Conception is something a girl always shares with her best friend first.
After a day of wearing this sweater I always come home and look in the mirror and yell at myself “throw that fucking sweater away RIGHT NOW”
But I don’t.
I despise the muffin top making motherfucker but I cannot make myself throw it away. I look at the soft blue color and think about how it makes my green eyes look so dreamy and somehow convince myself that maybe the sweater won’t do it the next time as if the sweater is going to suddenly decide to behave itself.
And now here I sit wearing it.
Sometimes I am mystified by my own fuckery.
And now for the bonus track, one of my favorite Weezer lyrics of which I have many.

If you want to destroy my sweater
Hold this thread as I walk away
Watch me unravel I'll soon be naked
Lying on the floor, I've come undone

Hijinks and High Hopes

Bush Street is one of the main thoroughfares in my city by the bay and, no, it most certainly was NOT named for George W or George W's daddy. Or for George W's Daddy's daddy.
Commuters were surprised to find that while many of us were busy last night preparing for our Omanicpation parties, some of us were busy changing all the Bush street signs to Obama street signs--all the way from Presidio to Battery, both sides of the street.
And we're talking  about seriously good fake street signs that looked like the real thing.

Citizens were amused; the Municipal Transportation Agency not so much.
Lefties are so funny.
And now we're even "real" Americans.

[yawn]

Wow, that was a really long nap.

I Do Not Want What I Have Not Got

..and that’s what I’m very thankful for this Thanksgiving