not getting it: Pride Day edition

Overheard at the drag stage:
"No, but she's really a woman! ...I think."

Pride this year consisted of a lot of wandering around with spook, eating street food (poutine! brisket sandwiches! shwarma! soft-serve ice cream!), looking at the shiny people and all the tiny dogs and occasionally griping about the inaccessibility of any of the burlesque we wanted to watch. Alas, we both had the poor fortune to be working through the Skin Tight Outta Sight show.

In what might reasonably be described as a miracle, we found a hat at a street vendor that fit me, so I now have some way to shield my eyes from the sun. Hooray! My weirdly teeny skull is an ongoing challenge, so this pleases me more than it maybe should.

I have not managed to write about my Ottawa visit, partly because it's hard to summarize. A weekend spent shrieking and laughing is hard to explain if you weren't there. Suffice it to say that a fabulous time was had, and I have so much music now I'm not sure what to do with myself--an embarrassment of riches.

we'll go on road trips that are always fun/ and it will never rain, there will be only sun

I was sitting on the edge of the bathtub, nominally shaving my legs, when I realized I'd been staring at the shower curtain for several minutes now. I'm so glad tomorrow's Saturday.

My spaciness may, however, have been caused by my cat. I'm pretty sure she shook my brains loose the other night by curling her paws over my arm, sticking her chin down on my head, and beginning a bone-rattling purr. Cute. Not sleep-inducing. Did I move her? No, because I am a suck for my cats. Please talk amongst yourselves.

Be back soon.

I worry that I worry that I worry too much.

So, as I've told you all, I'm starting on this new medication. Aside from the thing about taking it on an empty stomach, which I'm already tired of, I'm pretty excited. And nothing dampens that excitement like reading the pharmacy printout about all the horrible things that can happen to you on this drug.

I know, I know--they're all pretty unlikely. My doctor did emphasize this, and she's not always so reassuring. When I started on the last thing, which occasionally causes seizures, she said "Do me a favour and don't stand around on the stairs a lot for the next couple of weeks." I laughed. She said "I'm serious." So if she says there's nothing to worry about, then there probably isn't. It's just that even the best efforts of my rational mind can't entirely erase my alarm when I'm reading that I should tell my doctor immediately if I start coughing up blood. I think I can say that that one was obvious, guys. Oddly, that bothers me more than the even-less-likely possibility of fatal liver disease. Uh, mom? Maybe you shouldn't be reading this. Everything's fine.

Anyway, the whole thing is better than lying around feeling like the sidekick in a gothic novel, just waiting to die tragically of my consumption in order to further the plot.

every time I breathe

So, in asthma-related news, my doc thinks my allergies are a big part of the problem, and has prescribed me something for it. Cool. We'll see how it goes. The only real downer is that the pills are supposed to be taken on an empty stomach, and I'm on a retail eating schedule, which is "something fast, every two hours." Somehow I'll have to do the math on that. I was wholly gratified to hear her say that she wasn't sending me to the allergist "because they're going to prescribe the same thing. The shots are expensive and only about 30% effective, so they're really a last-ditch attempt." Take that, evil allergist of my youth, with your needles and your threats!

I'm starting to get really excited about my trip to Ottawa this weekend. I've been trying to keep a lid on it because if I get too focused on it, the whole week will just be hurry-up-and-wait. But seriously: Jen, music, Angel Dog, and laughing so hard something comes out my nose. Okay, maybe that last part isn't exactly something to look forward to, but I'm almost guaranteeing it will happen, because Jen has that effect on me. Plus I've been promised drag queens and karaoke, and it doesn't get better than that.

On an unrelated front, chili-chocolate ice cream, done well, is one of the best things ever.

you help me out I listen in/ you taught me all of this and then/ all I want to hear is that you're not mine

A strange side-effect of self-awareness: sometimes it makes discussing things harder, because when you're not lying to yourself, then you have to figure out how to say the things you'd rather be lying to yourself about. This insight brought to you by my current meditations on adulthood, which are alternately thrilling and full of suck. Ugh, enough of that.

spook helped someone fix their bike today using a hair elastic, scotch tape and a twig. I swoon.

Tomorrow: Book Expo. It's my first trade show and I'm weirdly nervous about it. I can explain none of that, since there's nothing less intimidating than a bunch of people who really, really, really need your goodwill. The Globe and Mail described publishing as a "preposterous" industry on the weekend, and I can't help but agree, although I wonder if it's something we want to be saying to the world at large. Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.

"Do I listen to pop music because I'm miserable? Or am I miserable because I listen to pop music?" Oh, Nick Hornby, such a good question.

remember when I was so strange and likeable?

It amuses me that when I changed the random question in my profile ("You've broken up with your band, and are about to release your new solo album. Write the liner notes:") I didn't have to change my answer.
It also amuses me that I am so embarrassed by liking the new Tegan and Sara album. Steve keeps saying "but--you're a lesbian! You're supposed to like Tegan and Sara!" Sidestepping the minor issue that Steve, in his exclusive attraction to women, is probably a better lesbian than I am (just can't get my head around this darn gender thing--boys, girls, how do you even tell the difference? and why would I bother trying?), I am trying to explain that I am of the generation of queer that is required by law to scorn Tegan and Sara. But I can't help it--they've evolved and no longer sound like a discount Ani Difranco. They sound good, and their lyrics are stuck in my head, and I'm playing them on my ipod at a volume that is probably deleterious to my hearing. Sigh. Apparently, despite my wish to be a free thinker, it is still sometimes hard for me to confess to what I really enjoy. Welcome to the world, baby girl.

calm down, I'm calling you to say/ I'm capsized staring on the edge of safe

A few months ago, spook accidentally bought a button for the store that read "stop saying emo!" If only it had read "stop feeling emo!" I would be wearing it all the time right now.

On the other hand, I got an invite to a baby shower for which I need to dig up an eyepatch and practice saying "Arrr!" because I am definitely playing for team Pirate. Team Ninja can do without me.

I'm hoping that now that I'm getting the medication situation straightened out I will stop having such trouble with my asthma, and that will make me a happier girl--then all I have to worry about are the contents of my very own brain, and I've been wrangling that a little longer, so I oughta be okay.