Nov. 15th, 2006

"Father"

Nov. 15th, 2006 07:59 am
tenshikurai9: (Default)
Message left previously by me:
"Father,"
So what happened to getting rid of the papers on the floor? And did you ever see my point that a floor with papers on it is still a filthy floor?

His response this morning:
::my first name edited::
IT IS SO DIFFICULT TO READ NOTES FROM YOU, BECAUSE THEY CAST BLAME. I HAD MORE THAN ENOUGH BLAME FOR A LIFETIME IN A JOB THAT ENDED IN 1980. I DON'T KNOW A WAY TO KEEP NEWSPAPERS THAT WOULD SATISFY YOU. EVEN NEATLY STORED OUT OF SIGHT ON A SHELF IN THE CELLAR, YOU HAVE A PROBLEM WITH THEM.
I WOULD LIKE TO THINK THAT DISCUSSION BETWEEN US IS POSSIBLE. 

Leaving a note saying: I'm not your job.  What does it have to do with us?
tenshikurai9: (Default)
Arose and found-out through e-mail that the woman I invited to the Boston Goth Meet-Up wasn't able to get the cash together to come-out to Boston.

Went to Harvard Square and used the Church Street exit. As I walked-down Church Street, I stopped at On Church Street to see if they had any free publications that I need. They didn't and I was stopped by the music. Got into a conversation with the guy behind the counter about Malice Mizer (band whose DVD he was playing), how the Japanese book store in Porter is the other place I constantly see Japanese music at, and the fact that for now, he has to rely-on fan translations to understand their lyrics.

I went to the A.R.T. to see the Dresden Dolls give a lecture about their upcoming play, The Onion Cellar. Unfortunately my attention wanders during lectures, so I'm not sure how much I retained.

As the audience seated themselves, I joked around about the rest of the people taking chairs, but I want my red cube. Corrected myself to, I want your black cube. The guy I was talking to said that it's not a cube, it's a tuffet. Doesn't want to be called Miss Muffet though, but another guy said I could call him Miss Muffet. I did eventually get both their names, but I only remember "Miss Muffet's" real name. Turns-out they're both students working for the theater.

During the Q&A session, I waited until others went first before stepping-up to the mic. Pointed-out all those times the newsletter promotes Amanda's solo shows and her MySpace profile, I wonder what Brian's doing and doesn't he have a MySpace? Attending her shows and working on a profile were the responses back.

Afterwards, I introduced myself by my family name to Amanda and asked her if I could scritch her head so I could stop being jealous of a guy I know who got to scritch her head before. She let me.

Went to Youth on Fire!, took a shower, and washed my clothes. Had the pasta with tomato and bean sauce with vinegared vegetables with cider(?) for lunch. (I don't like my meat loose in my sauce, so I'd rather the vegetarian option in those cases.) Had some Parmalot milk, attempted to sample some chai, cheddar crackers, and plain crackers. Introduced myself to some people. On my way-out, I got into a conversation with a guy waiting for two members to come-out.

Went to the Diesel Cafe to start reading The Dresden Dolls Companion with a small, hot Vietnamese coffee a little after 6. The guy I was going to lend it to didn't show for the Meet-Up.

When getting nachos and a small, grenadine-flavoured Italian soda, Blue Rose was right behind me. We started to stake-out a couch and I offered her some nachos. Unfortunately she can't have cheese, but there were a few cheese-free nachos.

A guy from NH was the third to arrive. The fourth was the woman who thought she couldn't make it, but got the money last minute afterall. She brought our fifth, technically not a Goth, but still a nice contribution to our group. Even though I've met him and his button/patch laden jacket before, I still found things I haven't seen on it before. He's also the only other person to accept my nachos.

Since I had changed-out of my camouflage to my Serenity Rose costume pants and had started to tear at the hole in the right knee, I had to change to camouflage again. Gave our fifth the pants so he could salvage the crotch for a pocket. After tearing a leg to 2 separate pieces, I remarked on what it looked like to me. He filled me in on the term squatter's rags for that piece of cloth that possibly have a band logo on it that some wear over their rear.

Eventually we all parted. The New Hampshire man and our leader went-off one way and I followed our fourth and fifth until we had to diverge paths at Harvard.

Came home.

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