Thank you to the readers who sent me birthday greetings! They meant a lot to me.
Hectic week. The semester is almost over and the slackers in my class have suddenly realized that they need to pull a miracle out of their asses in order to pass.
Lo, what is that strange apparition yonder, at the end of the hallway…?
Is that a student coming to my office hours for “help?”
Teaching has kept me busy, but it will be over with soon, and then I’ll have a little break.
I’ve also been writing. A lot. Not on this blog, obviously, even though I’ve had a plenty of things worth blogging about (I’ll try to get to them this morning).
I have been researching and composing a minor work of what I hope will qualify as true-crime journalism. Nothing operatic–the essential facts of the case, sadly, are already sensational. It is the story of a family whose beloved canine was stolen, sold, and eventually killed under hideous circumstances. The perpetrator of this strange and senseless crime is a deeply unlikable young woman with a puzzling constellation of psychological disorders and several dead dogs to her credit. The grief-stricken family’s effort to bring her to justice produces shocking courtroom drama, as well. Yes, yes, quite a story! My piece will be released on a different blog to which I am an occasional contributor. If I am proud of it, I’ll publish in here on my little blog, as well.
I am trying to utilize my talent for this one. To make my prose artful and my findings…ahhh…persuasive. Cause it’s a hit piece.
Not a drive-by, either. I am going to get Mossad on this awful person. Mossad post-Munich, if you catch my drift.
I need to go back to working on it.
First, though…to inject a little titillation into this boring-ass blog entry…
….C bought me my piece of awesome domme gear for going on the date with Alec! lol lol
I wear it with black snakeskin boots with gold buckles. I really like it. Yeah, it’s impractical, but sometimes you have to treat yourself, amirite? Or have someone treat you, as the case may be.
Now, in a case like this, a thoughtful try-to-be feminist like myself confronts a dilemma: I want to show you my cool metal bra (and, because it fits within the greater narrative of this blog, I don’t think it counts as totally tasteless exhibitionism), but is it more or less objectifying to myself to just show my chest….? Thoughtful, conflicted pseudo-intellectuals want to know!
|Not responsible for grimy mirror. That is some other chick’s locker.|
|I almost have cleavage here. Huh. Must be the lighting.|
It’s Spring in New York and the weather is excellent–too bad I’m chained to the desk toiling away. My carpal tunnel is killing me.
I hired a personal trainer. A gift to myself, for my birthday. To hell with yoga. I’ve decided that I hate it. It makes me feel fat and clumsy (which I am).
I bought a ton of books from a street vendor around NYC. My intended recreational summer reading:
|All this for less than $30!|
|books for sale|
The Mathematician came over and I kicked him out of my apartment. “Get lost!” I slammed the door on him, ha!
Coward. God I hate cowards. You reading this, coward? Hope you like it. Did you tell your wife and marriage counselor that you came by my apartment, coward?