Ooh, forgot: date night at the Euphrosyne household!

The offspring is being spoiled by the grandparents for the night… time to break out the face spackle and the good underwear. We’re probably going to The Landing, where we will NOT be sitting outside this evening. It’s cold and drizzly.

Got to go hoist the girls into battle position. Night all!

Programming note

The next episode of a terribly, terribly disappointing season of Project Runway is on tonight. I will be watching. I shouldn’t – it’s agony. But like the generations of hard drinkers and chain-smokers from whence I spring, I will go right on doing this painful, unsatisfying, soul-destroying thing until it kills me. Or the season ends.

Mark is the man

The WordPress man, that is. He e-mailed me this morning to explain that due to the traffic load, WP has had to limit the number of tags per user to 45… so if, like me, you’re overdosing on tags, it’s your own damn fault they won’t show up. No, that’s not what he said. He actually apologized for not explaining it to me before.

What? Yes, you read that right – he apologized. To me. For not explaining it well enough. True, the info on the new limits isn’t in the WP FAQ yet… but he could easily have ignored me until it was, or just ignored me in general and let me figure it out. He didn’t.

Thank you, Mark. Off to cut down on the tags.

I got the tag cloud bluuuuuuuues….

Even after a very polite young man named Mark tried his best to fix it, my tag cloud is still not showing all of my tags. Since tagging posts is the only effort at organization I will ever make on this blog, it saddens me that the world is not instantly reshaping itself to fit my needs…

Fabric shopping!

More later, but I’m looking at two things:

1. High-end dominatrix gear, and
2. pleather, baby. Wet-look vinyl – trying to decide between four-way and two-way stretch.*

I’m thinking of a combination of this:

and this:

Not for me, silly. For a doll. La petite poupeé. FUN.

*edited to add: after feeling swatches, the answer is obviously four-way. It’s much thinner and drapier, better for small-scale work, and besides, it’s called “four-way.”

My first correspondence from a gentleman: 1974

8 April, 1974

Miss Ann A_____

206 Blaze, Dr.

San Antonio, Texas, 78218

Dear Ann:

I was very glad indeed to receive the kind letter that you wrote me when you were in N_____ & Company’s offices last Tuesday. I had a little trouble to understand one of the sentences you wrote: for example: 8tq7h40ikjh 000. But after studying hard, I came up with some nice things you said about me. I do hope I was not mistaken in the complimentary result at which I arrived. You see most people like to hear nice things about themselves; especially when they come from so charming a person as your self. I am no exception to the general rule. I could have preferred that you had come to my little room and talked with me. However beggars must not try to be choosers and if you will visit us again I shall rest entirely content.

How about something else. I have two little dogs; one is named Bullwinkle and we call him Bull for short. The other is named Mancha; that means “spot” in Spanish and we call him so because he has a beautiful black spot on his back, just ahead of his tail. Like people, each is different from the other. For example; Bull is very particular about what he eats, while Mancha will eat anything you give him. I believe some people are that way. Of the two, Bull is the smarter. He comes into my room every morning and finds me very comfortable in bed and hoping that I will not have to get up. But Bull will not have it so. He sticks his wet little black nose in my face and keeps doing that until I simply have to get up. When I do, he says: “now go on and get dressed and come to breakfast and give me a piece of your bacon.” That is just what I do.

I am not going to tell you to be a good girl; I am sure that you need no such admonition. If I use a few words that you do not understand very well, ask your nice mother. She knows much more about words than I do and makes me feel quite ashamed of myself.

Good bye, now; and come to see me soon.

Affectionately,

R N_______

• I was four years old; he was at least 80. He was my mother’s employer and her devoted friend until he died.

This is how I feel today: I don’t know why

These boots were made for walking.

And thanks to the patience and persistence of the Quiet Man (aka Grandpa Bob), that’s just what they’ll do.

done