scramblings
Owie, owie, ouch. I burned my left pinkie while baking tonight. That makes two weeks in a row with cooking-related injuries. (Last week it was jalapeno burns.) Let's see if I can make it through tomorrow's dinner prep...
On the bright side, I now have warm-from-the-oven chocolatey oatmeal cookies, just because I felt like it. Which I am having with my third glass of red wine. I do love being a grownup. Even though, at the moment, I would much rather be working on the monster WiPs or angry/sexy/GTFO-my-head-NOW poems instead wading through twenty-year-old tax paperwork.
Speaking of poetry, "I Hear You With Half of My Heart went up at My Poem Rocks last month, and three very short poems up at 7x20 over the summer.
To my considerable startlement, I also picked up this...
for this:
"You forget?"
"Never. Miss me?"
"Love the blue trunks."
"Tight, on the plane."
"Fuck. Bend over."
"You... your hand..." The grin. The gasp. Roger telling Rafa, rough and deep, "Open. Mine." Rafa, heated: "Rogelio, I no forget."
...which, you know, not bad for something pulled together three hours before the deadline. Now if I can stop living the rest of my life like that... *grimace*
[The word pool (consisting of community member nominations): blue we evening turgid euphoria he impatient wear forget glass let me trunks swear sweat savage tight like heart know stars hand forget over gentle to on the silence deafening lost enthralled in beautiful bed go shirtless night at from he miss ask light sun mild pretty smile say when his hard empty sight lust ours with media yellow knees chocolate them brush and spurting throat mouth hair ass brush leather skim lick sea both your would if will is love drunk but just love future Toni light cock the I deep grin stare fuck restless home boat car plane room court heated chilled wet dry wanton lullaby crash come sunlight nipples Jane Austen play our when some from are mine cute No! tongue remember bend fluid you rough love motorcycle hair lips never no nasty cheer bacon butter mist you know into his try taste teeth mark make understand how my the he said hand racquet hold rafa they were fucking telling words roger rogelio open restless clay victory please suck gasp defeat frustrating Words could only be used as often as they appeared in the pool. And yes, I did try to incorporate "Jane Austen" into another entry, but the soppy closing line tanked it. Which, again, is only to be expected when one starts playing with the words the day of the deadline.]
Also? BBC livetexts and usopen.org radio are lovesome things. I'm on self-imposed exile from the TennisWorld forums until the Open is over, partly due to overworkwhelm and partly because I can't trust myself not to snap at a number of regulars there who don't know when to STFU. It was not good when I found myself hoping for a Soderling-Murray final out of sheer vindictiveness -- Roger and Rafa both have fans who don't do them any favors, and so do Caroline Wozniacki and the Williams sisters, and I'm not above sometimes wishing they'd all lose just to spite the fans who are going to be obnoxious and obtuse no matter what (i.e., the ones who can't tolerate any dissent about the greatness of their player, who incessantly harp upon inferiority of said player's rivals and/or fans of other players, and/or who constantly moan about how said player is treated unfairly by tournament directors or the undiscerning public or WHATEVER). [/rant]
On the other hand, there are some highly entertaining folks over there as well - stats geeks and skilled matchcallers and some very dry wits. I did peek in during the DelPo match earlier today to find these responses to yet another complaint about preferential treatment for Federer:
*glee*
Not that I have any room to talk. I had lunch with a colleague yesterday, and we got to talking about my upcoming month in Israel:
weirdOn the bright side, I now have warm-from-the-oven chocolatey oatmeal cookies, just because I felt like it. Which I am having with my third glass of red wine. I do love being a grownup. Even though, at the moment, I would much rather be working on the monster WiPs or angry/sexy/GTFO-my-head-NOW poems instead wading through twenty-year-old tax paperwork.
Speaking of poetry, "I Hear You With Half of My Heart went up at My Poem Rocks last month, and three very short poems up at 7x20 over the summer.
To my considerable startlement, I also picked up this...
 |
| From tennis |
for this:
"You forget?"
"Never. Miss me?"
"Love the blue trunks."
"Tight, on the plane."
"Fuck. Bend over."
"You... your hand..." The grin. The gasp. Roger telling Rafa, rough and deep, "Open. Mine." Rafa, heated: "Rogelio, I no forget."
...which, you know, not bad for something pulled together three hours before the deadline. Now if I can stop living the rest of my life like that... *grimace*
[The word pool (consisting of community member nominations): blue we evening turgid euphoria he impatient wear forget glass let me trunks swear sweat savage tight like heart know stars hand forget over gentle to on the silence deafening lost enthralled in beautiful bed go shirtless night at from he miss ask light sun mild pretty smile say when his hard empty sight lust ours with media yellow knees chocolate them brush and spurting throat mouth hair ass brush leather skim lick sea both your would if will is love drunk but just love future Toni light cock the I deep grin stare fuck restless home boat car plane room court heated chilled wet dry wanton lullaby crash come sunlight nipples Jane Austen play our when some from are mine cute No! tongue remember bend fluid you rough love motorcycle hair lips never no nasty cheer bacon butter mist you know into his try taste teeth mark make understand how my the he said hand racquet hold rafa they were fucking telling words roger rogelio open restless clay victory please suck gasp defeat frustrating Words could only be used as often as they appeared in the pool. And yes, I did try to incorporate "Jane Austen" into another entry, but the soppy closing line tanked it. Which, again, is only to be expected when one starts playing with the words the day of the deadline.]
Also? BBC livetexts and usopen.org radio are lovesome things. I'm on self-imposed exile from the TennisWorld forums until the Open is over, partly due to overworkwhelm and partly because I can't trust myself not to snap at a number of regulars there who don't know when to STFU. It was not good when I found myself hoping for a Soderling-Murray final out of sheer vindictiveness -- Roger and Rafa both have fans who don't do them any favors, and so do Caroline Wozniacki and the Williams sisters, and I'm not above sometimes wishing they'd all lose just to spite the fans who are going to be obnoxious and obtuse no matter what (i.e., the ones who can't tolerate any dissent about the greatness of their player, who incessantly harp upon inferiority of said player's rivals and/or fans of other players, and/or who constantly moan about how said player is treated unfairly by tournament directors or the undiscerning public or WHATEVER). [/rant]
On the other hand, there are some highly entertaining folks over there as well - stats geeks and skilled matchcallers and some very dry wits. I did peek in during the DelPo match earlier today to find these responses to yet another complaint about preferential treatment for Federer:
Grant: Look, we tried to get Rafa into the Illuminati but he keeps messing up the handshake.
Hart: In his defense, it's really hard to concentrate on that handshake when the candles aren't lined up correctly, no?
Grant: I know! I was all like "Dude, we need you to figure out if you're left- or right-handed so we can get on with rigging tennis majors and installing puppet governments around the world," but he was too busy lining up the candles based on height and alphabetizing the incense to pay attention.
*glee*
Not that I have any room to talk. I had lunch with a colleague yesterday, and we got to talking about my upcoming month in Israel:
J: Are you going to visit any other countries while you're there?
R: I seriously considered Egypt and Jordan, but probably not. The problem is that I don't have time to learn enough Arabic before I leave. [beat] Um. Yeah. I know I don't have to, but...
J: Yeah, but I know you well enough for that to actually make sense.
"Which I am having with my third glass of red wine."
Which in turn might explain why you burned your finger. *hugs*
Bloody burns hurt far more than such small injuries should. Ouch.
Oh, it is. The burn's already gone, the paperwork is not.
Which in turn might explain why you burned your finger.
Oh, I would love that excuse. Inherent lack of coordination is one of the biggest banes of my existence.
*flops into the snapelike lap*
*smothers giggles at appalled reaction*
Also, now I am craving fresh-baked cookies! Mmmm...maybe I will make some this weekend, or more likely, be lazy and go to the bakery and buy some; I know one that makes great chocolate-chip cookies.
Roger and Rafa really are a slash-writer's dream. I think there's at least one post every day on the comm where someone goes, "Oh, boy, canon's at it again." ;-)
The best bakery in town is about five blocks from my house, but they aren't open at night, and you know, five blocks of walking vs. five feet to my pantry. Welcome to indolence chez Ribbons. ;-)
(If I'm hosting a dinner party, I start to get really antsy if I haven't somehow hurt myself. It usually means the food will be passable, but not WOW. My DH is the same way when he's building a new computer - if there's no blood, the machine will give him trouble)
Congrats on 3rd place!
And have a fantastic time on your trip!