Incoherent ramblings

[freyakitten]

OK, so it was a thread about clothing and what we want out of it, and this guy mentioned that he has to wear special underwear because he's so 'big'. Now, as a small person, the whole concept of men wanting bigger bits is completely foreign, because it can be, quite literally, painful to contemplate. Is there anyone who can tell me wtf the whole thing is about? Or give me good comments to throw at this guy who annoys me with his attitude, random punctuation, and lack of paragraphing. This is the same guy who wanted to know why I was happy about the Statutes Amendment (Domestic Partners) Bill being passed in SA, and asked why in such a way as my immediate thoughts were:

1. He's trying to see if he can get some
2. If he can't get some because I'm gay, he's going to ask if he can watch

And that may not have been his intention, but he just comes off as a skeazy, arrogant prick who doesn't like being called on his shit. And almost every time he posts, someone calls him on it. The last thread he posted on devolved into a flame match wherein he accused friends of mine of sticking together and ganging up on him.

Next point of interest:
A huntsman moved into our toilet a week or two ago. The daddy-long-legs either moved out or were eaten. I discovered this by sittig down in my normal dazed state and looking for the daddy-long-legs (one used to be next to the bowl, near the floor, and the other next to the cupboard), failing to find them, looking around for something to look at and finding a huntsman on the wall thirty centimetres away from my shoulder. "Cool!" says I.

We think it was female. Two days ago, Bastard asked me if I had been out to the toilet recently, and when I said yes, asked if I had looked up when I was out there. Since I answered in the negative, he walked me out to the rear vestibule and said "Look up". I did, and lo, there were itty bitty spiderlings everywhere on the ceiling. Ditto laundry and toilet. They are, atm, each smaller than a five cent piece, and there are something like fifty of them. No sign of the mummy. No photos because I can't remember where I left my camera datacable.

There's a reason why my house has no bugs except spiders and ants. And unlike the daddy-long-legs (there's still one behind the kitchen door, one in the loungeroom, and probably several in the computer room) huntsmen don't make webs which makes them really good houseguests.

I won the Wednesday night quiz again. Bastard appreciated the chocolates I brought home as a result. He's working his usual Christmas mayhem shifts, so not terribly enthusiastic about anything, even for him. One of his cousins is getting married this afternoon. I'm contemplating taking a notebook so that I can write down the names of those who ask impertinent questions which would be easily answered (without actually asking and pissing me off) if the questioner contemplated the nature of Bastard. It may, however, be too much like hard work.

The dress I eBayed for the event in question really looks like a bridesmaid's dress, so I have to gather the skirt up a little so that it is kilted up to show my Boots Of Doom. Must get around to that this afternoon.

End-of-year concert tomorrow. Anyone who wants to spend $18 and come see a whole bunch of modern music students can come to the Gov from 6:30pm. I've finally decided on Boots Of Doom and little tartan skirt, to be worn with something on the top of me. Quite indecisive on this one.