marnanightingale: (reader I married him)
[ profile] iclysdale: So, how're you doing? :)
[ profile] commodorifed: So far so good, but I just woke up.
[ profile] iclysdale: Lots of time for things to go downhill then, you're saying? :)
[ profile] iclysdale: Love ther Puddleglum.

Changed status to Offline (11:19 AM)

Changed status to Online (13:02 PM)

[ profile] commodorifed: THE FRIDGE I CLEANS IT
[ profile] iclysdale: YAY.
[ profile] commodorifed: THAT IS LOVE Y'ALL
[ profile] iclysdale: YAY LOVE. :)

[ profile] iclysdale: So, has the day taken its dramatic turn for the worse yet? :)
[ profile] iclysdale: DID IT EAT YOU?
[ profile] iclysdale: AM I TALKING TO ZOMBIE MONKEY?
[ profile] commodorifed: NO I BEAT IT TO DEATH
[ profile] iclysdale: a likely story.
[ profile] commodorifed: braaaaaaaai.... I don't know what you're talking about. Silly Monkey!
[ profile] iclysdale: you should not make me laugh in the library.
[ profile] iclysdale: silly Monkey.
[ profile] commodorifed: You should come home soon I miss your brai... I MISS YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH

[ profile] iclysdale: I am holding my nose to stop laughing in the library now, silly zombie Monkey!

[ profile] iclysdale: That's in another tab.
[ profile] commodorifed: Of COURSE it is.
[ profile] iclysdale: Although that's really sort of more theatre of cruelty than funny.
[ profile] commodorifed: depends on the clowns. there could be sweet wistful clownsex!
[ profile] iclysdale: no. it's all hurt/comfort.
[ profile] commodorifed: *sadface*
[ profile] iclysdale: i will comfort you now, zombie Monkey.
[ profile] commodorifed: *EYES YOU*
[ profile] iclysdale: oh god, this is going to end up on LJ too, isn't it?
[ profile] commodorifed: *clicks away from textedit hastily* Who, me?

[ profile] iclysdale:
[ profile] commodorifed: BAD MONKEY I HAD THE POST ALL READY TO GO!
[ profile] iclysdale: HA.
[ profile] commodorifed: And of course you locked it :-)
[ profile] commodorifed: HAH I CAN POST IT ANYWAY
[ profile] iclysdale: You can post it too, sure. :)
[ profile] commodorifed: NOT ANYWAYS. ANYWAY.
marnanightingale: (hands make a family)
[ profile] iclysdale is in Madison.

[ profile] iclysdale: But I'm not necessarily the best advice on this.
[ profile] iclysdale: Not really being any equity-seeking groups myself.
[ profile] commodorified: straight boy ;-)
[ profile] iclysdale: ;-)
[ profile] iclysdale: I AM SO OPPRESSED TOO MARNA OMG.
[ profile] commodorified: Are you?
[ profile] commodorified: who by?

[ profile] commodorified: I need a favour.
[ profile] fairestcat: yes?
[ profile] commodorified: Can you a) go thwap ian, b) yell THE PATRIARCHY HURTS MEN TOOOOOO! and c) run away? ;-)
[ profile] commodorified: he says he is oppressed
[ profile] fairestcat: possibly not with the running, so I don't fall on the slick floors
[ profile] commodorified: point!

[ profile] iclysdale: Second-hand abuse? That's not love, y'awl.
[ profile] commodorified: NO IT IS THER PATRIARCHY
[ profile] commodorified: see? it hurts men TOOOOOOO!
[ profile] iclysdale: ouch.
[ profile] commodorified: poor patriarchal [ profile] iclysdale
[ profile] iclysdale: [ profile] fairestcat says she is not the patriarchy.

[ profile] commodorified: FALSE CONSCIOUSNESS
[ profile] commodorified: :-)
[ profile] fairestcat: THAT'S WHAT I TOLD HIM
[ profile] commodorified: HAH!

[ profile] fairestcat: I suppose I might be a tool OF the patriarchy
[ profile] fairestcat: as are we all
[ profile] fairestcat: in our own ways
[ profile] commodorified: come here, my little adjustable wench...

[ profile] iclysdale: damn your perpetuating systems of oppression anyways.
[ profile] iclysdale: hrmph.
[ profile] commodorified: It's not MY system.
[ profile] commodorified: I AM OPPRESSED. [ profile] fairestcat IS OPPRESSED. YOU ARE COMPLICIT.
[ profile] iclysdale: riiiiiight.

[ profile] commodorified: this is so ending up on lj :-)
[ profile] fairestcat: *thwaps*
marnanightingale: (hands make a family)
Back in February, [ profile] fairestcat and [ profile] pecunium were both up here at the same time, which meant that the whole family was under the same roof.

We took advantage of this extremely rare situation to take some family portraits, presented here in sort of the order that this family came to be (if you ever want to shut me up, ask me when my anniversary is, or how long I've been married. I get all sort of silent and abstracted and make a thinky face which is apparently quite amusing):

I'm not saying that five is a big family, but our family pictures require an lj cut )
marnanightingale: (lewd hat)
[ profile] iclysdale has FOUND MY TRICORNE!

I DIDN'T leave it out somewhere after all; it had gotten itself stored up on top of the wardrobe in the living room.
marnanightingale: (reader I married him)
Until this evening, [ profile] iclysdale was apparently unaware that the marriage ceremony which we chose to forego would, had we undergone it, have obliged, (and therefore is considered to oblige[1]) him not only to sickness and health but to supporting my occasional need to read him chunks of Patrick O'Brian. He is not entirely persuaded, but did listen with reasonable attention.



And that's the kind of day it's been this Thursday, December 4. Local news is next.

[1] As with Sexual Orientation and the Canadian Charter of Rights, it is generally considered around here that the Usual Spousal Obligations are to be Read In, unless the Notwithstanding Clause is invoked.
marnanightingale: (punctuation counts)
As invented by and used in my family.

Lapso-Ovo Vegetarian: eats vegetables, dairy, bacon, and that really incredible salami from the farmer's market.

NOMnivore: eats everything, as long as it's good.

Non Compos Mantis: The state of (temporarily) having the attention span of a grasshopper.

Agenda Dysphoria: The inability to distinguish between what is good for oneself and what is good for other people.

What are your family's, or your own personal "found words"?
marnanightingale: (men are strange)
(Confidential to [ profile] iclysdale):

"... You force me to tell you
The disastrous truth. I love you. A misadventure
So intolerable, hell could not do more.
Nothing in the world could touch me
And you have to come and be the damnable
Exception. I was nicely tucked up for the night
Of eternity, and like a restless dream
Of a fool's paradise, you, with a rainbow where
Your face is and an ignis fatuus
Worn like a rose in your girdle, come pursued
By fire, and presto! the bedclothes are on the floor..."

The Lady's Not For Burning, Christopher Fry, Act III.
marnanightingale: (women's history)
1) Pizza.

My microwave died. My microwave, which is ALMOST AS OLD AS MY GIRLFRIEND, died!


My mother bought that thing when we moved to Ontario. I took it with me when I left home, as she was moving in with my grandparents, and I've been dragging it around Ontario with me ever since.

It was 600 Watts. You set it with a DIAL. It had hideous fake mac-tac woodgrain on it. Almost everyone I've ever lived with has made me keep it in the basement at first; they always had newer, prettier, more sophisticated microwaves. They refused to use mine, and in some cases predicted that it would blow up and KILL US ALL.

I would smile, and put it in the basement, and wait. When their cheap little white plastic microwave died, I would bring it up, clean it off, and plug it in, and life would once more be as it ought. It wasn't funky, but it WORKED.

It always worked. Until yesterday. Ian put a cup of coffee in it to heat it up and pushed the start button and it just turned its little dial-face to the wall and died.

So Ian went out to get us new microwave yesterday, and we sort of figured that since I haven't ever actually spent money on a microwave in all my adult life there was justification for getting a really good one, and we did some research and discovered the miracles of convection and multi use microwave/convection ovens, and suddenly here I am in the space age.

Hopefully it'll last us another 23 years.

Meanwhile the old one is sort of lying in state in the kitchen. Eventually it'll go to the recycle, I guess, but I'm NOT READY YET.

The new one makes AMAZING pizza on the oven setting. Except Ian forgot that it's NOT a microwave, and things inside it get HOT, and burnt himself on the rack. If it hadn't been him it would have been me, I suspect. One of those adjustment things.

So that was the pizza.

2) Beer.

Meanwhile, there were 50 beer bottles in the tub, floating in bleach solution. Yes, Ian's homebrewing again. They'd been there... a while. Long enough that I wanted a bath.

And him with a burnt hand.

So I chiseled labels off of bottles, cursing and swearing and muttering, and he scrubbed glue left handed, and it was, once again, Nothing Like A Romantic Evening at Home.

But now the bottles are done. For this batch. He's got another it ready to go, and I'm sorely tempted not to tell him that his cider's in, to be honest. Except that would be Mean.

Meanwhile, at Ian's suggestion, I've been reading William Mares' Making Beer, which is about half funny and interesting autobiography and half obscure mutterings about barley, and at some point last night as the chisel was menacing my knuckles again and I was excoriating Alexander Keith for using such obnoxious adhesive and Ian was scrubbing away at bottles and, as usual, snickering at my emergency vocabulary, I told him I was going to have to post the illustration on page 44:

Which he had shown me the day before.

"That facial expression," I said, "Is like the Platonic Ideal of 'Reader, I married him.' It's perfect."

And he agreed.


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