Actually, it's amyl nitrite, those silly poppers, as I was so pleased to learn about in a Wikipedia entry earlier today.
I seriously could not stop laughing as everyone was up at the microphone last night. I was crying. Especially as someone would lean into the microphone to make a point, or to say something particularly touching, bordering on poetic, and all I can see is that girl Chloe in the cancer support group from Fight Club. All loud into the microphone with the amyl nitrate. I called Kristin today to talk about it and I was laughing so hard I couldn't even talk. And it struck me, when I got sober I couldn't talk without crying, and now most of the time I can't talk without laughing.
Much in the way of forts - the structure is up, albeit naked, but up. And there is much in the way of the evolution of forts, adult forts, the poetic and magazine-esque mosquito netted harem bedrooms that cost tens of thousands of dollars and are really just extremely expensive forts. Seriously. I can not wait to mack this thing out.
And I want to post the video of Chloe and the lubricants so freaking bad, and I can't find it. Dammit.
I would like to thank the Academy for yet another day of unrelenting, amazing, staggering amounts of help, today from Kevin, who helped move AND assemble the fort, and who deserves presents reminiscent of my scratch carrot cake, but who may have to settle for chocolate ganache banana bread instead. When I asked what his favorite thing was, he responded that it was whatever my favorite thing was to make... and lately it's been all bananas and Big Amazing Salads for lunch at work. For some reason I don't think a pile of spinach, hearts of palm, avocado, and homemade ranch will convey the right sentiment... so that leaves baking. Everyone loves a girl who knows how to bake. I saw that on a t-shirt at Forever 21 once, and it had a little picture of Strawberry Shortcake on it. It was adorable. But it made me think about weed.
BUMBERSHOOT is upon us, weather reports and fort photoessays not far behind. I am tired, as usual, most days with giant bags under my eyes, but I'm beside myself with happiness for having a whole complete life. Today I was going down the hill, and Troy (in the morning) was having like, the Best Set Ever, and the Needle loomed into view, and I laughed out loud at how good I felt. Like when I'm on the back of the scooter going down a steep hill, holding on with just my legs, arms all outstretched, eyes closed but moving and there's no car and no windows to put up - just all kinds of everything all at once. It was great.
Sleep tight, kids. xx
VVB
the full fight club on http://last-fight-club.blogspot.com/
As long as you're at fight club, you're not
how much money you've got in the bank.
You're not your job.
You're not your family, and you're not who you tell yourself.
You're not your name.
You're not your problems.
You're not your age.
You're not your hopes.
You will not be saved.
We are all going to die, someday.
What will you wish you'd done before you died?