My breakfast time web surfing is occupied today with sussing out the difference between my beloved Century Gothic and Futura. I had always meant to examine them more carefully. Futura has a lower x height (the height of lowercase letters that don’t ascend or descend) which makes it a touch less playful and youthful than Century G. Futura is the yummiest for a little bit more of a professional feel. Here is a story of Futura.
Previous to my typophile reading, I was wandering around Hill House Publishers (via that splendiferous Neil blog) and leaving puddles of drool on their website floor. If anyone’s feeling like a little giftie, I’ll take the 900 freaking dollars, signed, numbered limited edition of American Gods, plz. Thx.
Hopefully knocking out a zine or two will help sublimate these bookmaking urges. Someday when the Birdy’s a big girl and we are not flat broke, I’m going to run away to Penland School of Crafts in the mountains in NC and learn bookbinding. *sigh*
Neil Gaiman* posted on his blog an email that included a reference to a T-shirt that reads as follows:
I’m only wearing black until they invent a darker colour**.
Fanfuckingtabulous:) I wonder if slogans are copyrighted. The only version I found is here, and the font is blegh. That tee needs a font like this. In very dark grey***.
*I cannot get over the coolness of the fact that I can read my favorite author’s journal. Go blogosphere.
**And yes, I’m British today. If Robert DeNiro can have an American accent in Stardust, I can be a Brit in my blog.
***See? Still British. Can’t help myself; they spell more prettily. Plus there’s Neil.
We delivered the babe to the grandies so I could sleep. Usually one great night recharges me and I’m OK. (This is, in fact, the case this a.m.) We started to attempt to dig our home out from the chaos, and I was just spinning. Anxiety attack over nothing/everything. Bu was coaching me through it and keeping me focused enough to help him clean the kitchen, all the while clowning and goosing me and trying to keep my head above water. In response, I was annoyed and terse.
Our stove is a hateful 80’s electric glass topped thing, and it had crud caked on it. Bu turns to me and asks, “Do we have razor blades?” I deadpanned “God, I hope so,” and looked sorrowfully at my wrist. Perfect beat before bursting into hiccuppy crazy laughter. We made Daisy-on-suicide-watch jokes all night long, and it was the perfect tension breaker. Oh, twisted lurve.
Bu also observed that I am really an extremes person. I’ve had that insight but was kind of impressed the way he was analyzing me. I don’t know whether to try to emrace it or “fix” it but it’s nice that he discovered my utter inability to understand moderation. I.e. there is no “house is in decent shape” for me. There is beautiful shining order or evil soul killing chaos and so why fucking bother? I can’t stand to clean a bit at a time. If I start I take all day and the whole house is perfect.
I’m trying to destroy the idea of PERFECT because I know it’s an illusion but it hangs over me everywhere and keeps me in a constant pressurized not-good-enough mindset. I’m journaling a lot on actual paper, trying to symbolically kill Perfect. I wanna make a zine so bad. Maybe I can get started this weekend.
Laura, I got your beautiful card and the zines! Thanks so much. I’m taking them to bed, belly fulla cookies, to crash blissfully. The grandies are giving me a late present of a night of unbroken sleep after several insane nights of constant nursing bordering on mommy torture.
…is the leading cause of undereye circles. The culprit isn’t, as I believed until 30 seconds ago, nursing a toddler. I’m not super vain, but I like to be on my prettier scale when there’s a lot of visiting and photo snapping happening. This means that I have been plastering makeup under my eyes the past few days. I seriously look like hell under there. My eyes look like the gothgirl eyeliner morning-after party night eyes I used to have after coming home at 6 a.m. and waking up still drunk to go to class. I look rough. Feel ’bout the same today. I’m having a day of chugging coffee, googling night-weaning and herbal anxiety treatments (sonzabitchez keep telling me to nix the coffee) and bursting into sudden inexplicable tears.
I need decongestants and a Birdy-at-the-grandies night. We have movie passes, so maybe we can have a date too. So: cinema, sex, decongestants, sleep. We have a plan. I wanna be
cute well-rested again. Continue reading
Some highlights from Christmas:
- I nearly die from the restraint when my cousin shows me his stash of Buffy comics but I don’t want to start reading because of the clingy chocolate covered toddler.
- Bu delights me with his givingness when he puts our Amazon gift certificates together so I can go a little over my share for shipping on my own Buffy* fangirl stuff. The first season’s on its way on DVD (yay! completion!), as well as the eighth season in graphic novel form**. And Bu anticipates a new photo book.
- Molly gets my old
death trap rocking horse from my Dad and I practice the restraint thing yet again by not gaping and asking him when the hell he got possession of it because I don’t remember it leaving our house during Le Divorce.
- My stepmom got me a bunch of pagan parenting books from my Amazon wishlist. Oh how I lurve Amazon.
- Have a weird little twinge of envy and retro-Daisy Xmas hating when I read Lexie’s “just a Tuesday” post. I can haz Hanukkah? lol… Then realize I can choose to be immune to the pressures I allow to creep in and create my own experience. So yay.
- I lie in bed trying to wake up Tuesday morning worrying how to integrate Santa into a UU/pagan upbringing. Worry into a tizzy of religious confusion then decide to be here now and enjoy the moment of my baby girl discovering the wealth of fun things under our little silver laden fake tree and latch on desperately to the fact that most of it is from FreeCycle and it’s a tiny step away from consumerist frenzied hell.
*I should troll some BTVS forums and try to get them to read my blog so I can know that someone besides me & Betsy gives a flying stake about my references to Her Chosen Blondness.
**You know how random junk just gets lodged in your consciousness sometimes? Melissa’s weird things meme included her aversion to digits in sentences, and ever since reading that I feel a vague twinge of need to write out “eighth” and “first” instead of 8th & 1st like I probably would have done previously.