squeeeeeeeeee...

...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...

...eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!

*rushes out to buy milk and comestibles so she won't starve whilst glued to her computer for several days straight*

I fought the pole...and the pole won

So my friend Vivienne (co-creatrix of the TTC Knitalong), has just been certified as a pole dance instructor. Who knew?

Jacquie and I checked out one of her introductory classes last night, and it was pretty fantastic. Where else do you get to pose like a pinup girl in the midst of yoga-poses??

Today my arms feel like rubber, thanks to my spectacular level of sluglike unfitness. Typing and putting on shirts has become a fascinating experience.

Whilst reflecting this morning on my attempts at the classic fireman spin, I realised that I've spent so much of my life in my head - in a state of hyper-vigilance - that there's a powerful disconnect between my mind and my body. I operate on a purely primitive, instinctual level when it comes to physical movement. Any calculated movement involving non-finger-related artifice is difficult for me to control.

When I was flinging myself around the pole, the act of doing so almost obliterated my awareness of the different parts of my body so that it was pretty much impossible for me to consider adjustments in the position of my feet, grip, etc.. I think this struck me after watching Jacquie spiral gracefully around the pole after a few tries, then hearing Vivienne suggest an adjustment in the position of her knees...which she did without a second thought.

Makes me think. Guess I need to work on reconnecting.

P.S. The Boots

I CAN HAS GIANT-ARSE MONITR!!

lolz - oh hai!

i m riting wile luking @ a wide 20" flatscrn mi b/f got 4 mi brthdai - rily erli

My brain's gonna explode. So...much...surface - it burns my eyes!

Kinda like my new DMs, which are...how you say in my language?...white.

Yup.

But don't get all freaked out, now: they've got a really cool branchy pattern on them and a lovely, delicate, death's-head moth. Just in time for tomorrow's Mad Hatter tea at AlterKnit. Not so out-of-the-ordinary after all.

It isn't them!!

Thank heckins! Someone finally got back to me, and Nu and Po are safe at home, being "charming and ornery" (you can guess who's being what). I can't help but wonder, though, if Princess is related to Niamh...

doppelganger shock

These are my babies: Niamh (white) and Freya (tabby). Freya showed up on the porch one day, and Niamh was found at the Humane Society, sporting the stereotypical name Princess. We soon fixed that. They're now seven years old, and I haven't seen them for two and a half years, as they live with my former husband, M. I miss them terribly.

I will eventually be in the market for new furchildren, and I occasionally visit the Toronto Humane Society website to see who needs a home. Today a nasty, killing-voltage-level, electric shock ran through me:

The society estimates they're about eight years old. The one on the left is named Princess. The one on the right is listed as Gabby. I have been frantically trying to find out more about them, to absolutely ensure they're not Niamh and Freya, but the society won't give out background info on animals over the phone.

They can't be Nuni and Po. They just can't. And yet my guts are twisting. I'm so frightened. Mel offered the sage, calm opinion that it isn't them, but it's such a freaky coincidence. Niamh's electronic pet chip still lists her as Princess. They're seven. Too close to be calm. Too close. The only things keeping me even remotely okay are that Princess' beauty spot is on the opposite side of her nose -- but what if the photo's reversed?? -- and that I can't imagine M surrendering the cats and not coming to me first. That just isn't like him. At all.

But I can't get ahold of anyone who can 100% confirm for me that Niamh and Freya are indeed still in residence at my old home. M is on vacation, and our housemate, who was in a meeting at work when I called, hasn't called back, despite my urgent message.

So I'm vacillating between calm, terror, and grief.

The only way I'll know for sure is if I go down and see them. But I can't do that. I just can't. Going there would kill me. Mum and dad could take them if it really was them, so that's sorted. But I cannot have a new pet right now, and going down there, being amongst so many friends in need of homes...I can't.

The things we put ourselves through, eh?

the fates are kind...

The phone rang before 8:00 this morning. It was someone from the coffee shop: they'd found my mp3 player sitting in plain sight, in the middle of the counter. Hmmm. And hooray!

In other, random news:

I finished a knitted, open-front cardigan-thing. Yup -- I finished something!

I have a Tamagotchi, which has just headed off into the electronic ether after breeding with a small ninja, leaving me to raise her offspring. Wow - second generation!

I'm returning to work on August 13th, starting slowly and ramping up to full time over the course of six weeks.

When I went out for a walk tonight, the quality of the light through the trees was exactly as depicted in one of my favourite paintings, not-coincidentally titled Empire of Light. I was lucky enough to see Magritte's original when I visited the Guggenheim in Venice; electronic representations just don't do it justice.

I'm totally digging Amy Winehouse's latest album, Back to Black.

It's stinky-hot here.

And lalala.

crap, buggery, arse, and other strong words of displeasure

Some fuckwit stole my mp3 player out of my bag whilst I was at the coffee shop.

The only grim satisfaction I have is that since it isn't an iPod, it'll be bloody hard, if not impossible, for them to get any use out of it without the special charger and computer hookup.

Blast, damn and hellfire.