Amanda Fucking Palmer concert

So, as some of you may or may not know, I have this thing. Namely, over the summer, I aquired a small blue stuffed octopus. Her name is Elizabeth Monkeybutter, she's very cute, and she has this secret goal of being photographed on the heads of as many people as humanly possible.

Like, say...

...Amanda Fucking Palmer.

( a story of the evening done in pictures instead of words, for once )

Unfortunately, I apparently took no pictures whatsoever of the rest of the weekend. I may have some decent video of Amanda and more importantly, The Chromatics which I'll put up, butyeah. Haven't checked yet.

Speaking of whom, The Chromatics are recockulously awesome.

Further con report to follow later.

~Sor
MOOP!

1: Like pretty much all electronics I own, my camera has a gender and a name --his name is Antony Cermak of Chicago -named for the mayor Zangara shot and the little sailor boy Sweeney Todd likes yelling at.

(no subject)

Dear Jannyblue:

Next time you bring a daemon of lost keys to my city, please leave him somewhere else. I don't particularly care where you leave that sort of shitbag, just so long as it's not the People's Republic of Camberville.

Thanks,
Sor.

P.S: If you see him, could you get my student ID back? I kinda need it, oh, to get into my house. And to, you know, fucking *eat*.

---

I know it's not just the lost card.

It's the post-con funk and the fact that I'm at the start of this two week span of year ago memories, many of which suck, and the fact that I didn't get anything done today, at all, and the fact that I completely couldn't work up the motivation to go to Diesel even though I actually have to, since I owe people money from Philcon, and the fact that I'm all but broke, and the fact that it's finals time just about now, and I have a lot of studying to do, and the fact that my hair is a mess and my room is a mess and my brain is a mess.

But the lost card is the catalyst. Lost things are often the catalyst for me, I can pull myself out of being broke and being stressed and being tired and being unmotivated, but when I prove to myself that I'm irresponsible, that I can't keep track of my stuff, that this is why I can't have nice things...well.

It's a lot harder to pull myself out of that. The last six (or seven, or eight, or...) years have been a constant striving for freedom, and a lot of the other half of that is being responsible enough to manage it. If I can't even take care of myself in a stupid little pseudolife where I don't have to worry about rent, or food, or utilities, how the hell am I going to take care of myself in the real world?

And I need to stop cryingtyping now and go turn my room upside down until I find this stupid card and go eat dinner with the friends I ignore.

~Sor
MOOP!

(I feel I should add since you lot are the helpful type, that I had my card when I came home around noon today --I used it to let myself in the front door. I did a walk down to there, and didn't see it, and I haven't left the room all day, meaning that the fucking thing has to be in here somewhere. I wish I just was unscattered enough to be able to actually find it.)

ETA: Ah, thank christ, found it. Of course, this doesn't change the fact that I have a stupid amount of things to do, and not really enough sanity or focus to do them in, but still. Nice to know that the notebook I moved half a dozen times was being kind and protecting my id for me.