We'll number life with boxes

10

10 boxes for the paperback fiction. Twelve feet of wall space from waist to ceiling, and now it's this gaping hole.

I didn't really get much done this weekend - we got the boxes, but I slacked on actually filling them. Imperialism and David Weber sort of drew my attention away. I really have to watch that I don't start reading what I'm packing (why the fiction goes first, so I'm not plagued by distractions when the deadlines start looming.)

The books are the easy part, the obvious thing to pack, and when they're done, and I'm left with acres of random other crap, I'm usually left rather bewildered with a 'where'd all this come from' wrinkle across my forehead.

I've still got boxes from a couple moves ago that I need to go through. Spend a week rooting through old crap, filing or scanning or tossing things. Pity it's not on the upcoming agenda - just the opposite, there's a lovely basement into which I'll be tossing much of this.

Heh. And here I thought I might be selling my comics.

Stunning lack of shame

slashingvelma was swooning in her journal over Vin Diesel (quite rightly, I might add), and I remembered something from Saturday.

Lori and I were walking down the street, heading for the theater, chattering about Vin and his voice and other aestheticly pleasing qualities, when we noticed this guy. I saw the shoulders, Lori was checking out his calves, and the whole in between was quite easy on the eyes. You could tell he lifted. He may have been walking with a friend. We didn't notice the friend.

We may have started commenting, in not exactly hushed tones, about the man's ass (damn baggy cargo pants didn't exactly give us the best view, but we could conjecture. Oh, did we conjecture). Gestures may have been made. We think he might have noticed, or at least had it brought to his attention by his friend.

But really, all's fair in love and perving, and lord, that boy had a nice set of shoulders. Lickable. Not quite Vin-quality, but decent.

We lost him at the escalator, but saw him again in the ticket line, then lost him again in the lobby, but spotted him in the theater for XXX. I was amused. It's not everyday that your objet-de-perv cooperates and comes back for repeat viewings.

I feel, like, empowered or something. Slash has almost completely eradicated my sense of shame.