September 04, 2003 @ 11:38 p.m.
How do you make a hormone?

The last few days have consisted of moodiness, depression, the throwing of whopping great tantrums, wondering why it seems to be my lot to be surrounded by morons, and tearfulness. Tearfulness over the State of the World, the State of My Thighs, and also the ever-popular tearfulness over Absolutely Fucking Nothing At All.

Jeez I love being a chick sometimes.

Although there have been moments of great contentness; that seems to be the way my hormones operate. Despite a shitty, shitty day I've had a rather good night, filled with a relaxed contentedness. I'm not going to kid myself that this has nothing to do with the imminent promise of sexual escapades tomorrow night, however.

Today I had two hours of meetings for the anthology, one hour of which was the launch committee. During this meeting, the girl who is chair of our committee (who shall henceforth be referred to as Bimbohead) made the grand statement that she and another girl on the launch committee should MC the launch because they're, like, really attractive and stuff, and people would like that, you know?

Sometimes I have to force myself to wonder how an vested interest in misogyny would fit in with my feminist principles.

One of the editors rang me this afternoon and I told him what had transpired at the meeting, which lead me to the conclusion that the offense I'd taken hadn't been as a result of my imposed status as resident doggy chick: Bimbohead really is full of herself. I couldn't tell, talking to the poor guy, if he wanted more to laugh, cry, or punch something (perhaps Bimbohead). It's always nice to find solidarity in your seething hatred of humanity.

Moving right along, I'm going to get more experience at being an auntie any day now! My sister is about to drop the bundle, so to speak. I can't help but hope it's a girl. I already have a nephew, and I want a little girl to play with and give non-gender-coded presents to and educate about the evils of society (which in my worldview are mostly comprised of organised religion, right-wing media and Ray Martin's hair).

Also, I have my ticket to the Eels gig at the Palace in a couple of weeks, and I am exxxcited. That's like being excited, only moreso. It has nothing to do with any lewd behaviour that might eventuate on my part when confronted with the sexually compelling mystique that is MC Honky. I am, however, slightly nervous, because it will have been the first time I will have gone to a gig by myself. I know, I know, I'm sad. But I just don't really like doing social stuff without people to socialise with. People I know, I mean. But I'm sure Mr E will make it worth my while. And if he doesn't, I'll just have to hunt him to the ends of the earth or something.

I'm currently chatting to my dad on MSN Messenger. We got talking about Red Meat. Then, as a direct result of this strip, we started discussing the merits of a dead-guy raft. Dad pointed out that it would only be good for a few days, then it would start to smell. I added that it would also have gotten all slippery and kind of bloaty by that time, which would make it hard to keep your balance.

I am so my father's daughter.

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