![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Strange day, so far
Oct. 23rd, 2003 10:11 amCharlotte picked me up last night. I'm there till Saturday. Creature comforts, stuff like that. I get to sleep in the guest room with Buddy, the loving but terrified tomcat comissioned to impregnate Shadow, who keeps beating him up. Poor sweetie.
On the crowded Metro this morning, I elected to sit crouched on the narrow metal heater. A seat finally let up two stops before mine and I scrambled for it. The woman next to me commented on how painful it must have been to sit there. I mentioned something about me learning to drive eventually, so she filled in with a tale about her daughter's first lesson, which was flawless--but when she parallel parked, the guy failed her for not being close enough to the curb, and because time was up. This was in Gaithersburg. Apparently, the road test instructors delight in failing you even if you've done everything right. I just stared at her in disbelief and muttered, "Okay, now I'm even more scared to take the test."
Metro is asking for a couple billion to make the system better over the next six years, or it'll unravel. It's only working at 58 percent capacity. You'd think the capital of the so-called free world can spend a lil more money to make sure its employees get to work safely.
Speaking of the "free world", Charlotte and I are officially pissed at what this country is doing to people's rights. There are parts of America that are wonderful beautiful, and there are parts that make me curl up like a motherless monkey and bang my head and wish I had never been born--or that I lived in Amsterdam.
Another puzzled moment for high heeled pumps. I think it's been culturally conditioned into our brains that all women look better in high heels. Really? Men don't wear them, and men still look hot. I watched women standing on the train, in stilettos, balancing dangerously enough to break ankles, and I winced. I like heels, true. I'll wear two-inch heels. But only if they're thick enough for balance. This skinny-heel thing must be a throwback from the days of secretaries in the '60s or something, when men wanted them to wear really short skirts and really high heels, and the women decided to sacrifice function for fashion. Good old fashion.
Poor Adam is on his own for the rest of the duration. His new padawan went to a family thing in Michigan this morning. He called me last night around eight, half-dead. He hadn't eaten in hours. He'd been up since three in the morning, with only five hours of sleep. I called him back a few hours later. He sounded a little better. He greatly appreciated hearing my voice again. He told me that he'd put a Bic pen halfway into a tree trunk, because there was nothing soft and bleedable to stick it into. Besides, that's Bane's department. I don't blame him for wanting to kill. But I'd rather he come home in one piece, without blood on his hands. The trees can handle it better than squishy human parts. But knowing he was doing okay and not yet homicidal or suicidal made me sleep better.
On the crowded Metro this morning, I elected to sit crouched on the narrow metal heater. A seat finally let up two stops before mine and I scrambled for it. The woman next to me commented on how painful it must have been to sit there. I mentioned something about me learning to drive eventually, so she filled in with a tale about her daughter's first lesson, which was flawless--but when she parallel parked, the guy failed her for not being close enough to the curb, and because time was up. This was in Gaithersburg. Apparently, the road test instructors delight in failing you even if you've done everything right. I just stared at her in disbelief and muttered, "Okay, now I'm even more scared to take the test."
Metro is asking for a couple billion to make the system better over the next six years, or it'll unravel. It's only working at 58 percent capacity. You'd think the capital of the so-called free world can spend a lil more money to make sure its employees get to work safely.
Speaking of the "free world", Charlotte and I are officially pissed at what this country is doing to people's rights. There are parts of America that are wonderful beautiful, and there are parts that make me curl up like a motherless monkey and bang my head and wish I had never been born--or that I lived in Amsterdam.
Another puzzled moment for high heeled pumps. I think it's been culturally conditioned into our brains that all women look better in high heels. Really? Men don't wear them, and men still look hot. I watched women standing on the train, in stilettos, balancing dangerously enough to break ankles, and I winced. I like heels, true. I'll wear two-inch heels. But only if they're thick enough for balance. This skinny-heel thing must be a throwback from the days of secretaries in the '60s or something, when men wanted them to wear really short skirts and really high heels, and the women decided to sacrifice function for fashion. Good old fashion.
Poor Adam is on his own for the rest of the duration. His new padawan went to a family thing in Michigan this morning. He called me last night around eight, half-dead. He hadn't eaten in hours. He'd been up since three in the morning, with only five hours of sleep. I called him back a few hours later. He sounded a little better. He greatly appreciated hearing my voice again. He told me that he'd put a Bic pen halfway into a tree trunk, because there was nothing soft and bleedable to stick it into. Besides, that's Bane's department. I don't blame him for wanting to kill. But I'd rather he come home in one piece, without blood on his hands. The trees can handle it better than squishy human parts. But knowing he was doing okay and not yet homicidal or suicidal made me sleep better.
