cry me a river

I know I've been neglecting you. I'm sorry. Get over it. February was hellishly busy. Hellishly, I tell you. Now there's a word. The husband started a new job. I got the new website going and helped produce a magazine issue. The last four days I spend doing everything I'm supposed to be doing to call this damn thing a job: catching up on writing, submitting stories, starting a new contract. I'm going to try to get back to my regular programming now, ruminating on about the useless crap we all enjoy so much, as well as dropping 'round for drinks and debates at y'all's places, too.

So, for today's treat. One of my good friends, Greg, who isn't in touch as much anymore but is the kind of friend that we'd pick right back up mid-convo ten years from now, claims I'm about 67% guy. He might be right. I'd certainly rather hang with the guys. I leer at the opposite sex (and sometimes my own). I talk like a fucking sailor. I fucking drink like one, too. (Another round here, Ely. Stevie's looking sleepy.) I don't make "friends" with salespeople. I don't stop for directions or pick up my dirty socks. I prefer "fucking" to "making love." I disdain most "emotional displays" on the part of my characters, and sometimes real people, too, preferring instead gratuitous sex and violence. I flirt indiscriminately, and yeah, I'd get in your pants if not for the old ball-and-chain. I have piercings, but most of them are captives because changing earrings all the time is a pain in the ass. I like shoes--but they have to be comfortable, god damn it. My favorite outfit is my snowboard pants, a big t-shirt and a sweatshirt, none of it remotely matching or showing off my "feminine wiles" to any advantage.

But.

I lurve me purses. All shapes and sizes, glittery to nagahyde, the $10 Walmart bargain table variety to this purty thing... (Come to Mama, you little devil spawn, you.) Purssessss. Mmmmmy preciousssss, precious purssesssss.

So I guess I am a girl after all.

The husband has learned to tolerate my indescretions on the purse front. He just shook his head when I said I was spending my part of the "stimulus" on an expensive purse. (He's buying ANOTHER motorcycle helmet, so whatever, dude.)

Hey! Speaking of, I might get to have a date night tonight with the ole hubbin' for the first time in like, I dunno, ten years or something. Any good movies playing?