Or, another extended brainfart that was too convoluted and intense to fit in 140 characters.
It is 2300h on a Sunday, and tomorrow is Monday, and I should sleep before the stroke of midnight if I want to get to the bus on time tomorrow. I was left last Friday, a cruel, crushing blow, and I was forced to endure the acrimony that is SLEX on a humid July morning inside a rickety jeep. Also, tomorrow I hike back to the zombie-fied world of work drones, and lack of sleep decreases productivity.
In fact, my writing and cognitive processes are observably on the decline for every minute that rolls tediously past at a snail’s pace. Friday night spent blogging. Entire Saturday spent lazing around and catching up on sleep, but only managing to complete an hour’s worth of constantly interrupted nap time. My daughter kept requesting for tech support and sustenance; even my manic growling didn’t faze her. Off to get the Koko Krunch I go. Heigh ho!
Sunday morning was a lot better, spent as a normal human being, alive, alert, awake, watching Sunday morning cartoons. Off to the mall in the afternoon to give S some fresh air and sightings of humans at different locations other than abode and school. ATC was overcrowded, but not as suffocating as, say, SM Southmall or Festival Mall would be. Plus it is full of people who mistake me for S’s older sister. MILF moment.
Still, is it too whiny to wish for a quiet, crowd-free yet logistically convenient (near, cheap, reachable by public transport, has child-friendly facilities) place to take a family to? I’m thinking breezy park or promenade. Unfortunately one might have to spend for these outings. It ought to be an unalienable human right: the opportunity to gambol off to idyllic tropical beach or garden in 15 minutes.
Oh, back on topic, wayward sleepy hooch. After I sang my kid to sleep, I planned to continue this blog draft I started long ago, primarily dealing with my views on BDSM, porn, ethical porn, and such. I’ve been following courageous, outspoken, intelligent females who are sexy in every sense of the word, and I was inspired by their writings. However, I got sidetracked.
dracula’s brides: the 21st century emasculated version
Follow the semantic web of deceit: looking for fifties-inspired yet provocative wedding suit complete with pillbox hat, corset, high-waisted pencil skirt, garter belts and fishnet stockings –> finding nothing but matronly wedding suits and moving on to brocaded goth dresses –> getting stuck mostly with grotesque Morticia Addams-Renaissance Faire-Burlesque-Gothic Lolita –Scarlett O’Hara chicks and horrendously designed websites –> finding well-curated and tasteful yet quirky Off Beat Bride –> getting sucked into the interesting rainbow quagmire of sponsors that litter the site.
Black wedding rings. Steampunk wedding invitations. Pinup-style wedding dresses. Off-the-wall wedding photography. Intricate lockets from Etsy. And NSFW photos of yourself in corsets.
[In all this duplicity the Evil Clustered Horde of Mountain View is complicit.]
Realized that I forgot cake. What about the cake? I love wedding cake. Not the fondant-y, artsy, horrid-tasting ones that are in vogue nowadays; the good ol’ sugary sweet towering ones with humongous sprays of candy flowers. Eh, only one site comes to mind: cake pr0n.
I honestly find even thinking about my own wedding excruciatingly ironic, for a variety of reasons: separated parents, married boyfriends, the mistress mentality, single motherhood, angsty melancholia, bitchiness and hormones, insatiable sex drive, general incompatibility with the opposite sex, commitment-phobia, aversion to religious ceremony, and extreme poverty are but a few that come to mind. But I’ll probably be one of those girls who have groom-optional wedding ceremonies, just for the heck of it. In any case, when the right man happens to stumble and blunder unawares into my snare, my inspiration board has been tacked up and filled with all the goodness the web can dredge up.
Now pony up the goods, buddy.
Mental Detritus 