ok! if i wait until have the will to find/post pictures, i'll never get this up. so here it is unillustrated. pix tk if i ever truly emerge from the haze of cold medication i pumped myself up with last week.
it's not just that it's been so long since being in nh that i don't remember what happened, but that, since that time, i have taken such a rainbow of 'quils, boy day- and ny-, that all my immediate memories that occured before my illness are lost in an orange/aqua haze. so i was sick, and LA was wet, and NH is a fog.
i do recall new years at rebecca's house, which has been going on for i don't know how many years. me and my oldest ladyfriends and their manfriends (formerly manfriends du jour, but now, as we age, manfriends por vida) plus other friends get together, i show up at the last minute as not to offend my family and our friends back at our house an hour away, everybody else cooks for hours before i get there, we eat ourselves sick, most everyone gets drunk.
we play celebrity (like taboo, but with the names of famous people from pop culture, fiction, etc, plus a 2nd round where you have to guess the celeb after one word as a clue, and a 3rd round that's just charades). i submit an inappropriate name (see: the big pussy incident of '04-- sorry, rebecca's mom who doesn't watch television and probably still thinks i'm a perv! this year's inappropriate entry was dick sweat, former nh politician and most famous political sign maker ever, but at least she knew who he was and he made for a convenient one word clue with "crotch!").
then we all have to find places to sleep, and rebecca gets mad at me for lobbying for a soft surface since i am physically unable to sleep on floors (let's not mince words-- 15 years of lugging boobs around has turned my spine to a mangled strip of driftwood inhabited by rabid gremlins that are only subdued when fed massive doses of aleve). meanwhile, all the couples are given master suites (not really) while us single peasants unroll our bamboo mats and sleep in the hay and dirt (not at all).
this year i smartly circumvented rebecca and found a mat of my very own, although i'd already weaseled a spare shitty sleeping pad from a nice young lad i won't name because, being that he was the only single dude there who wasn't into dudes himself, and being that i live clan of the cave bear-style minus the clan or even the bear, i feel shame for myself and pity for him at my level of flirtation.
i can't tell whether i'm being reasonable, ie, chastizing myself for being a putz and being a flirtron with some guy who i won't see any sooner than the eve of 2009 (and he smokes! ick!), or if my months of solitude have made me a combination of dudephobic and completely lacking in self-esteem, ie, that i'm less ashamed at the ludicrousness of the situation but of the fact that i'm some sort of camryn manhiem/mel gibson in the man without a face combo beast who should never leave my clock tower because the peasants will chase me with torches and the sight of me will cause not repulsive people to become sterile. and that this poor, cute dude will remember new years 2008 as the night he spent many confusing moments forced to joke around with somebody who looked just like daniel day lewis in there will be blood right down to the mustache and a-1 authentic ye olde facial shine, but then, also, had tits.
i guess the self-esteem thing is the real issue. anywho.
and then i had to wake up elanor (who wasn't actually sleeping, faker) so she could help me arrange the mats so that there was enough room between my mat and dude's mat (he was still downstairs, probably trying to drink the image of my shiny mustachioed face out of his corneas) so that it didn't seem like i was going to stick my straw into his milkshake while he slept, even though there wasn't a lot of space left in the room and we needed to leave space for julia and her man to get by (so they could get to the futon in the back where their precious pair of backs could find cushed comfort). and it worked out, but i guess the point is, happy new year, there was a snow storm, i'm going to die so alone that my reflection will be long gone. but without all the vampiric perks, trust me.
oh, and i voted in the nh primary, woo, and went back to MA for another snow storm, and then to NYC for a day of non-pariah status, and then back to LA.
so aside from rain and illness, two things of notes have come to pass here since i've returned.
1, emma's cat perry has always had a problem with his narrow urethra, getting blocked up with crystals and causing him pain and constipeetion and what not, so last week the vet decided to widen said urethra by removing the constricting cat penis that housed it. so now he has...well, it's not exactly a vagina, because it's not like he's taking hormones or is an arquette or anything. i said it was like an innie penis, or maybe a ur-gina, or a va-rethra, but these suggestions struck emma as mean. my father said the cat should be renamed varethra franklin, and thus deserving of a little r-e-s-p-e-c-t.
and if i were doing images here, there'd be one of a lol cat saying "CAN I HAZ VAGINA?"
and the thing is, i hate cats, so hate cats, but if buzz needed to have his ween removed, i wouldn't just pay for a new vagina, i'd probably give him my own i love him that much (and hey, it's not doing me that much good). and those who know buzz know just how much he loves not just his own penis and the act of keeping it sparkling clean, but the joy he takes in other dogs' penises and keeping their hygiene up to snuff. my heart breaks just thinking about it.
anyway, perry's recovering in cat hospital. or at least most of him is.
2, i went to the magic castle! if you've ever seen arrested development and know of gob bluth's feud with the magician's union, then know that the union is kind of a joke (i hope, at least) but their hq is not-- the magic castle is an actual LA-style castle with stained glass windows of owls and shit on franklin that is open to members only. and tada, my friend lizzy's brother-in-law's bff is a real life magician and a card carrying magic castle member. cue: the final countdown. we were in!
and even if i were doing pictures, i'd have no pictures because there is no photography in the magic castle. there's only expensive food (magic castle (tm) garlic bread!), posters of sigfried and roy, and THE ANCIENT ART OF ILLUSION. after finishing my enchanted chicken breast i went with my party to see a total of 4 magicians who magicified with rope, cards, random audience jewelery, random giant silver balls, doves, novelty trays, more quarters than a laundromat, and scarves, scarves, scarves. it was everything i love-- chicken breast, genuine/non-ironic camp, and jazz hands. please bury me there under the haunted piano so that i can co-haunt it and make it play "the final countdown" all day and night.
oh! also, i saw in bruges, which was inbrilliant, even tho colin farrell showed up afterwards for a q&a wearing a vest over a t-shirt, jeans with the most ornate asspockets ever, long hair, and a black and white yassar arafat scarf around his stubbly neck. gay terrorist chic doesn't suit him, i assure you.
otherwise it's going to rain tomorrow and i will try to make myself care about the patriots. or look for pixtures. or for my lost self-esteem.