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

Changed status to Offline (11:19 AM)

Changed status to Online (13:02 PM)

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

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

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

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

[livejournal.com profile] iclysdale: http://iclysdale.livejournal.com/116416.html
[livejournal.com profile] commodorifed: BAD MONKEY I HAD THE POST ALL READY TO GO!
[livejournal.com profile] iclysdale: HA.
[livejournal.com profile] commodorifed: And of course you locked it :-)
[livejournal.com profile] commodorifed: HAH I CAN POST IT ANYWAY
[livejournal.com profile] iclysdale: You can post it too, sure. :)
[livejournal.com profile] commodorifed: NOT ANYWAYS. ANYWAY.
marnanightingale: (hands make a family)
[livejournal.com profile] iclysdale is in Madison.

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

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

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

[livejournal.com profile] commodorified: FALSE CONSCIOUSNESS
WE ARE ALL THE PATRIARCHY
[livejournal.com profile] commodorified: :-)
[livejournal.com profile] fairestcat: THAT'S WHAT I TOLD HIM
[livejournal.com profile] commodorified: HAH!

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

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

[livejournal.com profile] commodorified: this is so ending up on lj :-)
[livejournal.com profile] fairestcat: *thwaps*
[livejournal.com profile] commodorified: NOW YOU SEE THE VIOLENCE INHERENT IN THE SYSTEM!
marnanightingale: (hands make a family)
Back in February, [livejournal.com profile] fairestcat and [livejournal.com 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)
[livejournal.com 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, [livejournal.com 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.


Also:

.

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 [livejournal.com 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!

*weeps*

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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