I’m having a superspecialsparklywarklyWednesday for some ungodly reason. My soul should be sullied. I should be pulchritudinously pouty and charmingly dour and glamourously glum. And yet instead I am bitterly boyant and accursedly chipper and venemously vivacious. On cherche les bons mots! On ne les trouve rien!
It’s really fucking with my groove to feel lighthearted and (yes, okay, yes, yes) fancy-free today. I had planned on presenting another chapter of “Spelunking in the Chasms of my Ennui” in this silly diary, but sparklewarkleWednesday prohibits such morbid self-indulgence.
Why should I be cursed with such unbidden glee? What tragic series of events could have led me down such a primrose path to such a sunny glade? I can’t say for certain. I have a few clues.
- Meeting last night with the director of the play on which I am sound designer went extraordinarily well. I’ve never done sound tech for a live show before. Cast and crew are allegedly very pleased with the results and want me back for future productions. I rock, as the plebes say.
- Six months of salads and huge amounts of green tea and water have finally slimmed me down to my gorgeous 22-year-old frame. I can now get into those superspecial party action slacks that have been gathering dust in the back of my closet for eight years. Woo! Actionslacks! Step back y’all!
- It is finally a gorgeous warm spring sunshiney day after a several week drizzle-bout of cold rain. The sprawling lawns of the campus on which I work were cut today and the smell of Onanism is in the air.
- Went to bed early. Specifically canceled attending K-TEL, a monthly drag show at a local pub which I love. I should be beautifully bitter and alluringly angry about this, especially since I was just told it was one of the best shows they have done. Somehow, I’m not. I don’t wish to examine the implications of those skewed priorities. Let’s move on…
- Kallistí just ICQ’d me saying Sepulchritude and Suffering Is Hip just got huge, rave reviews in a number of San Francisco publications. In case you missed the link to Suffering Is Hip here it is again.
By the by, if anyone is feeling extra chatty I can often be found on ICQ at 5436967. Now ya know.
Later… Ah, she just faxed me an article. It’s a two page love letter. Quelle bouquet de triomphe.
- Salad bar divination report: Today was a Goode Salade Daye. So good, in fact, that they had meatball sammiches. Now, okay, listen up, meatball sammiches rock my world. I love everything about them. I love the way they make the roll kinda soggy after a while. I like the crunchy toenail bits in the odd meatball. I love biting into one end and having a deluge of sauce and an avalanche of meatballs come shooting out of the other end down my shirt and land scalding on my groinal region and…
- Because the Marquis is dangerously close to laundry day (due in part to the meatball sammiches) and his nubile Moroccan houseboy has inexplicably up and left, the Marquis is dipping into 80’s concert T’s and sparklywarkly party clothes to wear to work because they’re the only clean things left. Yesterday was The Cure/Head on the Door shirt, par example, and today is the silver tinsel button down superdiscoball shirt which doesn’t belong outside in the light of day for the glare and reflections from the tinsel can cause problems for low-flying aircraft and birds and such.
Nevertheless, being swathed in tinsel always makes me happy, and thus I end this list.
So anyway, let’s not over-analyze random happiness; rather, let us ride the wave of contentedness with equal parts gratitude and reverence and a side of ranch.
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