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It is all I can do any more to walk out the door, because all I see is evidence that I am a failure.
But on the bright side, I have corset fabric to chop up. I might be a failure, but at least I will be a corseted failure. I am having to take this costume one step at a time, which means being careful to make sure I have the corset (and therefore my artificial waist) done before I go measure my waist-to-ground for a bustle.
I want my new shoes to arrive. I hate ordering crap off the internet.
And if whoever is responsible for the bass I am experiencing doesn't stop, I'm going to have to go skin a bitch.
So that's my weekend - write, read American Theocracy (which I am in LOVE with), read Dragons Worlds Afire, sew a chemise, a pair of drawers, and a corset (as far as I can, anyway). And I have to make a dentist appointment, and brace myself to spend a bajillion dollars on boning of various sizes for the corset. But all things being non-disastrous (BWAHAHAHAHAHA) I might have four parts of my halloween costume done by the end of the weekend, assuming the shoes arrive. I would have shoes, chemise, drawers, and (most of a) corset. That would rock. And the bustle will take like no time, since I have everything for that and it's all ready to go.
Also, Pat Robertson has admitted that global warming is a major problem. And here I thought we were experiencing record heat waves and other weather alterations because we weren't burning enough fags. But global warming might sort of alter creationism, given that, you know, the bags and bags of fossil fuels we consume are not supported by creationism. Or maybe they're on that thing about how oil is a trick to make us think that evolution is wrong.
I want Occam's Razor to be a real thing. That way I could slit the throats of all the donkey-fuckers I disagree with when they say something insanely stupid, like that creationism must totally be true and god is planting false evidence so that only those pure of faith can find the answers.
It is probably not good that I have gay porn, an atlas of Ireland, and a book on heroin in my bathroom, is it? When Homeland Security arrives, I'll just have to keep them from using the bathroom. "No! Pee in the kitchen sink! My bathroom is full of...lacy unmentionables!"
As if I would know what to do with a lacy unmentionable if it bit me on the ass.
But on the bright side, I have corset fabric to chop up. I might be a failure, but at least I will be a corseted failure. I am having to take this costume one step at a time, which means being careful to make sure I have the corset (and therefore my artificial waist) done before I go measure my waist-to-ground for a bustle.
I want my new shoes to arrive. I hate ordering crap off the internet.
And if whoever is responsible for the bass I am experiencing doesn't stop, I'm going to have to go skin a bitch.
So that's my weekend - write, read American Theocracy (which I am in LOVE with), read Dragons Worlds Afire, sew a chemise, a pair of drawers, and a corset (as far as I can, anyway). And I have to make a dentist appointment, and brace myself to spend a bajillion dollars on boning of various sizes for the corset. But all things being non-disastrous (BWAHAHAHAHAHA) I might have four parts of my halloween costume done by the end of the weekend, assuming the shoes arrive. I would have shoes, chemise, drawers, and (most of a) corset. That would rock. And the bustle will take like no time, since I have everything for that and it's all ready to go.
Also, Pat Robertson has admitted that global warming is a major problem. And here I thought we were experiencing record heat waves and other weather alterations because we weren't burning enough fags. But global warming might sort of alter creationism, given that, you know, the bags and bags of fossil fuels we consume are not supported by creationism. Or maybe they're on that thing about how oil is a trick to make us think that evolution is wrong.
I want Occam's Razor to be a real thing. That way I could slit the throats of all the donkey-fuckers I disagree with when they say something insanely stupid, like that creationism must totally be true and god is planting false evidence so that only those pure of faith can find the answers.
It is probably not good that I have gay porn, an atlas of Ireland, and a book on heroin in my bathroom, is it? When Homeland Security arrives, I'll just have to keep them from using the bathroom. "No! Pee in the kitchen sink! My bathroom is full of...lacy unmentionables!"
As if I would know what to do with a lacy unmentionable if it bit me on the ass.
