May the Fourth (be with you)

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12:45am, May 4th.

Me: I am totally up for watching a Star Wars marathon with you.

Mr. Katje: Maybe not all of them.

Me: It’s not a marathon if we don’t watch all of them.

Mr. Katje: I don’t even think I have 1 2 or 3.

Me: …I said STAR WARS.

Mr. Katje (deciding to fuck with me): I think I’ve got Insurrection around…

Me: …Star. Wars.

Mr. Katje: Or how about Nemesis?

Me: …who the fuck are you?

Sometimes I don’t even know my husband anymore, man. Sometimes, I tell ya. Today I realized he didn’t even know who Ursula K. LeGuin is! Can you imagine?

Joking aside, we are one movie into our marathon now. About to put on Empire. (I’m livetweeting it — view my puerile humour!) The dogs upstairs are going fucking nuts. We find this quite amusing.

May the 4th be with you!

-Katje

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The Saga of the Move: Part 4, or “The Pre/sequels We All Drank Enough to Forget”

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(Parts One, Two, and Three.)

The worst of this move is over, thankfully. Moving out of a place is a lot harder than moving into. (Also I think there could be a sexual innuendo in that sentence, but I’m too tired to make it work. Feel free to give it a try in the comments.)

As soon as I got off the ferry I drove to Pirates and Fairies on Lake Sasamat. I arrived just as the sun was setting, which was around 8 p.m. I’d missed three meals out of eight of the weekend, as well as my big chance to actually make an announcement about selling my books. I ended up selling exactly zero copies of Bellica or glasstown, which did not help my already pretty sour mood. Missing half of an event I look forward to all year sucks lizard eggs.

I was very tired. So tired I spent most of my time sleeping, eating, and frakking (and not as much of that part as usual; that’s how tired I was). I didn’t even feel like dressing up, and that’s one of the parts I look forward to the most — running around in costume screaming “ARRRR I BE GLITTERTITS MCGEE! PREPARE TA BE BOARDED UNF UNF UNF.”

But, you know, it was good. It was a time away from the stress, as much as I can get away from something that follows me like a Time Beetle on my back. It was also lovely because my boyfriend is lovely, and madly in love with me. He saved bacon from Saturday morning for me in the cooler in his cabin. ALL DAY. And he saved me dinner, because he knows how much I love pulled pork. So when I arrived, I got to stuff my face with meaty goodness that symbolized his deep and abiding love for my crazy ass. That’s a pretty awesome thing to arrive to, especially when you’re an emotional eater. Eating food to symbolize love when that food actually does symbolize real love? Way cheaper than therapy.

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