Weekly Check-In

Well, it's been quite an interesting week. I continue to spend a lot of time in the Career Center at work, though not all my time (thank the gods); and with a little bit of an attitude of acceptance, I have gotten to the point where it doesn't bother me quite so much. I mean, it's still draining and unpleasant, but I managed to let go of my resentment at being down there, and that makes it less draining and unpleasant... and therefore pretty much doable.

Friday was Caroline's birthday, and we had a great outing to San Francisco, shopping and people-watching on Pier 39 and then dinner at Forbes Island... I spent way too much money, but a fantastic time was had by us both. Wanna see some pix?

Here's Caroline having her caricature made... and being Caroline, she was posing like it was a Vogue cover shot. I thought the caricature came out really cute, he captured her expression really well:


This is the lighthouse on Forbes Island, which is a sort of houseboat/barge built into a floating island that is moored near the breakwater in the Sea Lion Harbor marina between Pier 39 and Fisherman's Wharf:


This is the spiral staircase inside the lighthouse, which was hand-built by the island's owner and creator, Forbes Kiddoo:


Here's Caroline at the entrance to the restaurant, which is underneath the island, or inside the island, whichever way you want to look at it:


And here am I looking very scruffy and sweaty in the (very warm but quite beautiful) dining room of the Island, with my appetizer seafood chowder and a nice glass of ginger ale with fresh mint (a taste sensation that Caroline discovered in a Brazilian restaurant some years back):


And here's Caroline again with her entree of triple-wine-glazed lamb and potatoes au gratin:


While I was on Pier 39, I bought some "art" at two of the shops we visited... and I use quotes here because they are mass-produced resin figurines (hand painted, though) for which I spent too much money ($35 and $70, respectively) but am completely in love with.


(Pearl Diver by December Diamonds)

(Dusk by Sheila Wolk)

Then on Saturday (as if that weren't enough for one weekend), I got together with Angelique and Damon for the San Francisco Grand Ducal Coronation 2010. The two of them got a motel room because they were staying over for Folsom Fair, and generously allowed me to use the space to get ready.

Everything went wrong... it was roasting hot, and though the room was air-condtioned, I was still sweating like a whore in church. My new makeup (from Kryolan) just wouldn't stay put... it went on fine, and then I got the setting powder onto it, and then I'd sweat some more, and the base would separate into little wet clumps. So I had to reapply several times, and it still flaked off.

Then I went to get dressed, and discovered that I had neglected to pack my bra... which wouldn't have been a disaster except that the dress I was wearing was too big for me and strapless, which is why I wanted to wear a bra with straps so I could attach the dress to it. I tried on some of the dresses I'd brought for Angelique, but they either didn't fit or didn't go with the black shoes I had on.

Eventually, though, I rigged the thing up with the hanging-straps from inside the dress, which I cut off and attached with safety pins. Then I pinned the dress to my jacket for extra security... and even without a bra or a corset, it looked really good! And it was comfortable!

So the evening, once we arrived at the Coronation, was a lot of fun... there were many friends to say "Hi" to, and many cute boys to ogle; and then to cap the whole thing off, my friend Cookie Dough won the title of Royal Grand Duchess of San Francisco! It was a wonderful night.

So come Sunday, I was pretty well wiped. I still managed to go to church with Grandmother, and to lunch, and then a little bit of shopping before heading home for nap-time. And a lovely nap it was! Then I watched Time Bandits and played with my new obsession-game, Kingdoms of Camelot on FaceBook (where I just today reached level 22 and the rank of Earl).

Unfortunately, we got word that my aunt Terry had a health crisis Sunday afternoon and had been taken to the Emergency Room. She's been battling cancer for the last two years, so her crises tend to be pretty dramatic... vomiting blood and like that. I helped Grandmother pack an overnight bag, and she and Junior went down to be with her and with my cousin Jamie. She was awfully worried, and I'm awfully worried... but I'm praying and hoping for the best... or rather, I'm praying and hoping that For The Best happens to align with our desires (Terry's recovery).

So that's been my life in a nutshell.

MOOD

My mood continues good, I am definitely loving this particular cocktail. My sleep has been a little off, but I attribute that to the new bed... after all, a brand new bed is very much like a strange bed, and I never sleep well in strange beds. After fifteen years of my old bed, this new one is going to take a little getting used to. Anyway, it's getting better, so I am not going to blame the sleeplessness on the new meds.

FITNESS

I had this great idea that I would capitalize on the inordinate amount of exercise I got last weekend working on my room by hitting the gym as soon as my limbs stopped being sore. But as with all my really great ideas, I forgot all about it by the time my limbs stopped being sore (which was Wednesday). I'm still holding steady at 225-228 and perfectly fine with that.

And that's all I've got to say today. Tune in tomorrow for a Picture Post! But in the meantime:

Picture Post: There Must Be an Angel

Weekly Check-In

Something funny: I have a new boss at work, or rather a new boss's boss, a department manager over seven people who hadn't been grouped into a department before... I'll call her Laura Allen, which is not her real name (but is close). She started last week, and I really like her. But this morning, I was reading my email and there was a message entitled "Laura Allen - Getting Rid of Robert."

The message was from one of my picture-sharing groups, Laura Allen was the name of the artist and "Getting Rid of Robert" was the title of the painting; but I just about shit myself reading those words in conjunction. And then I had a great story to tell at work today.

Here's the picture; I didn't much like it when I first looked at it, but that may just be because it startled me; it's sort of grown on me since:


This last work-week, though, was completely awful. On Wednesday, we found out that one of our coworkers passed away on Tuesday. It was so shocking, and so incredibly sad... he was a really good man, with a big heart; and he was only 47, and had two young daughters. For three days, we were all just walking around stunned and saddened, murmuring in little groups and bursting into tears during meetings. We're still kind of shocked, but are adjusting to the shock; it helps that there is a memorial Tuesday and a funeral Wednesday that people can go to, hopefully get some closure.

Anyway, on Thursday, my sister called me at work and told me Grandmother thought she'd had another stroke... she (Grandmother) had been on the phone to her dentist's office, making an appointment, and she suddenly couldn't remember basic information, not her birthday nor her address nor her phone number. It scared the hell out of her, and she called my uncle but he wasn't answering, so she called my sister who came out immediately. I don't know why she didn't call me, I mean my sister lives in Santa Rosa and it took her an hour and a half to get here; but I think it's because Suzie's number is programmed in the phone (she's had that cell-phone number for years, through numerous moves) and my work number isn't.

Fortunately, it turned out to be nothing; or rather, it was just a passing cerebral episode with no lasting symptoms or apparent damage, she didn't even have to go to the emergency room. But in the three hours between hearing from Suzie leaving her house and hearing back that the Advice Nurse had told Grandmother she was fine, I was at work freaking out big time. I talked to a couple of people and shared what was going on and how scared I was, and while that helped a lot, it didn't help enough. I was a wreck by the end of the day.

So then on Friday, of course all this emotional upheaval triggered a depression. Friday was also the last day our two interns were going to be with us, and though I was glad that we get to keep one of them as a temp, I am sad to see the other one go; much more pressure came from the fact that I was in on the interviews to decide which one we were going to hire on.

And of course, since they're going, and the one we get to keep isn't starting until later this week, after the inevitable paperwork gets processed, that means Little Me gets to work in the Career Center for a few days, which weighed heavily on my mind that day. So all in all a sucky week.

But then on Saturday, I got my IKEA credit card in the mail, activated it, and hot-footed it down to the local IKEA and bought myself a new bed, as you may remember I have been planning for some weeks now. I ended up getting a different bed than originally planned, though... after visiting IKEA with Caroline shortly after deciding to get a new bed, I "test drove" the bed I'd planned on and a few other pieces as well, and decided I liked the Beddinge Lövås bed better, it has a higher back and is rather more comfortable than the Hemnes Daybed... and three hundred dollars cheaper.

On the downside, I had to wrestle the great heavy boxes and bundles off the shelves and onto my little trolley, then wrestle the trolley with the great heavy boxes and bundles on it to the front of the store, and then wrestle the great heavy boxes and bundles into my car, and then into the house. Plus I had to move my old queen-sized bed out, along with seven boxes full of books and magazines and whatnots from the bed and from under the bed and from the rest of the room, which all had to be schlepped down the stairs into the garage and basement.

Then I got to put the bed together, which was its own challenge, both physically and mentally. Caroline helped a lot, assisted with moving the old mattress and picked up a lot of junk off my floor and helped fill up the boxes, but it was a lot of very demanding labor in a few hours and just about killed me.

But now, though I am still sore and worn, I have a new bed, the beginnings of a brand-new and tidy room! I'm very excited about it. I'll show you pictures when I'm done, I still have some work to do with shelves and removing my closet door and rearranging furniture, so it's not yet fit to be seen. But when it's done, it's going to be lovely!

So a lot of ups and downs this week... new boss, new bed; losses both mortal and professional; worries and excitement. Rather more of a roller-coaster than I like, but I guess a roller-coaster is better than sitting at the bottom of a pit.

MOOD

My mood, considering the circumstances, has been quite good. I resumed taking the Zoloft, and it hasn't been disturbing my sleep, so I guess it was La Malaise after all. And though I did get depressed on Friday, I didn't get nearly as depressed as I have been in the past following comparable emotional upheavals. So I'm feeling pretty good about the efficacy of my new set of meds (Seroquel, Wellbutrin, and Zoloft, for those just joining us).

FITNESS

I've been eating a lot of comfort foods lately, cheeseburgers and scones and the like, requiring the comfort; but I also have neglected to eat for long portions of some days, so I guess it's evened out. My weight is the same, oscillating between 225 and 228, depending on the varying moods of the scale. And though I haven't been to the gym, I have to think that the labor I put in on Saturday was worth two or three gym visits as far as cardio work goes... I must have sweated two gallons during the project, I know I smelled as though I had.

So that's that for now. I'll be seeing you in all the old familiar places.

Picture Post: Blonds Have More Fun - Part 2

Picture Post: Blonds Have More Fun - Part 1

And if I may interject a pet peeve, here: the word "blond/blonde" is French in origin, and though it has been in English long enough to not require italics, it is still gender-specific. A male person or object is spelled "blond" and a female person or object is spelled "blonde." And the noun "hair" is masculine in French, so a blonde lady will have blond hair. Just so's you know.

Weekly Check-In

Not much to report this week... some drama stuff at work (which I shan't discuss here), and getting back to work on Worst Luck, highlighted the last seven or so days; otherwise it was all pretty ho-hum.

I did have a lovely evening Saturday at the ISE (Alameda Imperial) Coronation in Hayward. It was not densely attended, but there were some well-known faces in attendance, and some serious hotties on tap (the Emperor of Reno in particular...wowza!) and some people I haven't seen in a long time — notably David, the partner of the late Empress XIII Honey Hush (in whose court I served as Royal Entertainer — many years ago, considering we just launched the XXXIInd Reign), and her lovely daughter.

Plus, I looked fabulous, which always makes the evening nicer:

Caroline was looking pretty fierce, too... the theme of the Coronation was "Return to the Animal Kingdom: from the Barnyard to the Jungle," and we of course opted for the Jungle part of the theme.

So that was my Saturday. I have another event coming up weekend after next, San Francisco Ducal Coronation... my friend Pollo del Mar is stepping down, and another old friend, Cookie Dough, is a candidate for Grand Duchess and might be stepping up; so it will be an evening of friends. The theme is Russian Roulette, which I take to mean a Casino theme with a Russian twist... I'm going to be reviving my old Baroness von Beitte-Meihasse look for the evening (sort of 20s-era glam-goth) but with mega rhinestones instead of black jet jewelry... it is a Court event after all, and one must sparkle madly. And of course I'll post some pix when I do it, assuming I don't forget my camera like I did at Alameda Ducal Coronation.

MOOD

I started back on the Zoloft as soon as I got over the symptoms of La Malaise, shortly after my last post, as the crotchetiness was coming back in force and I was feeling overtly hostile toward the world and everyone in it. I figured I'd have to work around any sleeplessness issues, and the urethral resistance thing isn't so bad (though not so great, either), as the hostility thing was just not tenable. And since, I have been in a very good mood, very mellow and generally cheerful, no anxiety noticeable. Let's hope this holds, especially as the aforementioned issue at work is going to be throwing me back into the snakepit of the Career Center in the next few weeks.

FITNESS

Nothing to report, no changes. My waist feels a little tighter, and I notice on Saturday that the fat under my arms is less than it was last time I was in drag... but then, my corset was lower, too, so it might just be that there was more room for the fat to wander around in. I'm not worried. I have been feeling better in the afternoons lately, though, so I think I might make it to the gym sometime this week.

So until we meet again, don't take any wooden igloos.

Finally, a Beginning!

As I reported some weeks back, I have restarted Worst Luck in the second draft. I came to feel that the old beginning started off too intimate and too visceral in Danny Vandervere's reality; I came up with a conceit regarding luck and good fortune that gave it a more chatty and intellectual introduction to the various important elements of Danny's life and character, but as I developed it, it became fulsome and hyperbolic... I was starting to dislike Danny, the way he was unfolding. So I scrapped that and started afresh with an opening sentence that I was, for some idiotic reason, saving for another Danny story that I'm developing in the back of my head.

Anyway, I got started on this new beginning on Sunday, it came to me full-blown in the middle of church (where I usually pass the time journaling my fiction, either making notes or writing out scenes and vignettes) that there was no reason to save that first sentence for later, it would work just lovely here. And that gave me the kick in the rear I needed to get moving, first jotting a draft during the sermon and then typing in Blogger over the last three days.

But, in my usual manner, after getting what I wanted to say written down, I found myself unable to move forward. And whenever I get stuck in my forward momentum, I start tweaking the material I have until it becomes overworked and unweildy. So to prevent that, I hit the "Post" button and made myself walk away from it.

So while I am forcing myself to ponder the next sentence, be a lamb and read the following paragraphs; then let me know if these paragraphs would induce you to read further, or if they'd inspire you to throw a book across the room.

Thanks!

Worst Luck - Chapter 1, Draft 2, Excerpt:

The first thing, perhaps the only thing one needs to know about Danny Vandervere is that he is beautiful. Not even merely gorgeous, not just cute or pretty or handsome or sexy or attractive, though he is certainly all of those things — but amazingly and deeply beautiful.

It starts with his looks: his face is exquisite, a pretty oval just squared enough to be handsome as well, with high delicate cheekbones and a strong sculpted jaw, framed by a cherubic halo of loose black curls with glints of blue and gold; his nose, where even the best faces go a little wrong, is quintessential — perfectly straight, perfectly centered, exactly the right length and width for his face, with an aristocratic bridge, a slightly upturned tip, and delicate nostrils; his eyes are large and almond-shaped with the suggestion of a faunish slant, his irises the soft warm gray of woodsmoke with wisps of lavender and sparks of gold, fringed in black lashes as thick and long as sable fur, and topped by dense and sharply arched black brows; his mouth is large and luscious, the rich red of ripe cherries, an architecturally scrolled upper lip and plump pillowy lower lip, the corners quirked with little dimples, covering toothpaste-commercial teeth; his complexion is milk-white, as clear and smooth as a baby's, with spanked strawberry cheeks, never touched by acne or sunburn, and still virtually beardless at the age of twenty-two.

This stunning face stands atop a tall body of classical proportions, slender but opulently muscled, broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped; his pectorals and deltoids are plumply rounded, almost spherical, as are his thighs and buttocks, his back is deep and smooth, his laterals acutely tapered; but his belly and loins are lean and tight, a tiny waist etched with a wonderfully delineated pelvic girdle and traceries of colorless veins; his skin is thick and velvety smooth, completely without mark or blemish, and graced by only the merest feathering of silky black hair at the armpits and pubis; his hands and feet are large and elegantly attenuated, with clear glossy nails and pampered cuticles; his only proportional imperfection is found in his genitals, which are much too big, though not ungainly and quite beautiful in their own right as far as shape and color.

His muscles are agile and endowed with their own sense-memory, able to repeat any action perfectly, trained to dance a waltz or throw a punch with equal ease, as well as to ride a horse, hit a tennis-ball, parry a sword, run a marathon, and toss a football. His every movement, from the most instinctive to the most rehearsed, is as graceful as ballet, a true poetry of motion.

Danny's beauty is not just skin-deep, either: he has a beautiful mind, a remarkably retentive memory and a genius IQ disciplined and developed with the best liberal-arts education money can buy, conversant in music, art, languages, literature, science, history, and all the social graces; and he has a beautiful spirit, sweet-natured, gentle, generous, honorable, and unfailingly gracious. Even his voice is beautiful, a sonorous baritone with a supple feline growl under the surface, able to sing light opera and showtunes, to declaim Shakespeare and murmur the sweetest of nothings.

And since Fortune heaps her blessings on Danny Vandervere with a ladle rather than a teaspoon, all that beauty was born into wealth and privilege, where it could be properly nourished and cultivated, rather than taking its chances in a Midwestern trailer park or an Eastern bloc backwater. Danny's family is very rich with very old money; the third-largest landowners in California, the Vanderveres received a grant of just over one million acres of tree-covered mountains in the northern Coastal range when the state entered the Union in 1850; they are the largest paper producers in the state, and Vandervere Mills supplies the tissues, towels, and seat-covers to over eighty percent of the public restrooms in the western United States.

The paper-mill profits are added annually to a family trust of venerable age and staggering size, which pays Danny and his numerous relatives very comfortable allowances; he also inherited several millions from his Great Aunt Mathilda shortly after graduating from Stanford, which allowed him to buy property in the form of two apartment buildings on a quiet side-street in San Francisco's Castro district, one of which houses his own spacious flat.

Of course, in an ideal placement, Fortune would have given Danny into a family that was warm and loving; instead, she gave him a family that was not only cold and distant but which actively disliked the too-beautiful and too-gentle child in their midst, so different from the rest of the handsome, arrogant clan — but at least they could afford to hire servants to love him, so though he felt the lack of familial affection, he also knew he was indeed loved and could have had it a lot worse, and so never complained.

And this underlines the beauty of Danny's nature: he knows exactly how blessed he is, and is profoundly grateful for his blessings. He enjoys his own beauty the way one can usually only enjoy another's, and he enjoys his money and privileges as if he hadn't always had them; but he never once thought his beauty or wealth made him better than others, never felt entitled to anything because of them — they were just the blind facts of his existence, a parcel of extraordinary luck that had nothing to do with his worth as a human being.
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Thoughts? Where to go next, what to change first, suggestions, complaints? Use the comment feature below, s'il vous plait!