Haha! Busy. I'm usually on 3 projects or so at work and now I've somehow on SEVEN. So, I'm currently officially insane, instead of the usual unofficial status. Buggers.

H. is beating my international standard into shape and it's HARD or was. It appears I'm improving, which will be news to my dance groupies or gropies or whatever. I've yet to tell H. about the 'this-would-all-be-easier-if-we-just-had-sex' line used on me recently (see post below).

I get too many compliments from various people on dance. Just recently, the hottest girl in the world (my God! if you could see her) told me 'your lead is so light, yet I always seem to be where I'm supposed to be'.

(No, I cannot date this woman due to the age/2 + 7 formula of non-creepiness. And if I seduced her, I'd constantly hear Billy Kristol in City Slickers: "..have you noticed the older you get the younger your girlfriends get? Soon you'll be dating sperm.")

Then I get beaten up by H. for non-exact footwork and rise-and-fall in quickstep, for instance. I go from the grot of despair to the grove of delight periodically and with depressing regularity. Either burned in effigy or lauded with roses. :p

However, this last time, H. said she wants to make me her preferred dance partner, whatever that is. So much shit flinging about, it's time to head for the bunker.

Yarha, The Shit Flies High in the Summer Sky

Walter Cronkite died yesterday and I has a sad.

Yarha, And That's the Way It Was

Behold, I present a wickedly hum'rous poem by Marriott Edgar after the cut. It's not ...exactly...for the squeamish, but it *is* funny, so whatever.

( It's all about diet, as 'twere )

Yarha, How Do the Zoo Do Do-Do?

So, social dance last Friday. I was doing my thing, asking various people to dance. I asked this tall, good looking woman. Must've been age 34 or so. She was well-built and wearing some sort of party dress.

"This is a hustle. Have you ever hustled before?" I asked, which is my usual line for people I don't know. She shook her head.

I started to explain how to do it. She was just...not..getting it. Then I realized she, somehow, some way, was drunk. This is a feat in itself, because the studio issues two whole drink tickets with admission. They're good for a love-in-a-canoe beer ('fucking close to water') or a not very full glass of wine.

"Let's just do freestyle," I said to her. She was rather good at freestyle. At the end, she grabbed me in a tight embrace.

"If you're gay, can you be my new best friend?" she asked. Many of the male instructors are.

"Uh..what are you talking about, I'm heterosexual," I said.

"It would be so much easier if we just had sex," she said.

There I was, frozen on the dance floor by a woman clutching tightly at me. Thankfully, her girlfriend came over.

"Can I..talk to you for a minute," she said to the woman.

"Yes!" I said, "Go talk to your friend." I pushed her gently towards her friend, all smiles with relief. Rule number yadda-yadda in my life is 'thou shalt not mess with drunk women'.

But it was hard, hard...

Yarha, Who'll Forever Remember These Words Concerning Dance: It Would Be So Much Easier If We Just Have Sex

PS: I danced with her girlfriend, a rather zaftig woman, later. "But I'll screw you up," she said. "You look so lovely on the dance floor." I reassured her. She didn't mention the earlier event at all.

There I was, minding my own business, which was to get out of Washington D.C. (though not 'under a virtual cloud' this time). And voila! Real clouds show up. The heavens let loose with the original deluge as I sat at the gate, delaying my flight. Then, the real fun started as I boarded the aircraft.

It sat at the gate for around three hours.

It pulled away from the gate and sat at the bottom of the ramp for another two hours.

The captain realized that the flight rerouting system had melted down due to all the flights trying to get around the bad weather and scrubbed the flight.

It came back to the gate.

Luckily, I managed to get on an ad-hoc flight (no seating assignments in coach). We arrived at Atlanta at 3 A.M. in the morning.

Then I left at 11 A.M. that day for another business meeting in Colorado Springs. It was my wish that they had time to grease the reamer between trips.

Gotta fly out Wednesday evening, again. Buggers.

Yarha, Fear and Loathing in Any Old Damned Place

I was sick with the head cold from hell all Memorial Day weekend from Thursday on. The helpful hint mentioned in the post title is: "don't read a book on Stalin's reign of terror over the USSR while you're at Death's Door." Not a picker-upper, as 'twere. :p

NB: one can summarize the book by "everybody dies in the end". Mostly dead, anyway, and sent either to the Hell of the Left Wing Deviationists or the Hell of the Right Wing Deviationists or the Heart of Darkness, as per the Samurai Cat. Also as per the Samurai Cat, World War II was basically a contest between Hitler and Stalin to see who could kill the most Russians. Rather unfair, as Stalin had such a good head start.

Stalin's crimes are less and less acknowledged, these days, unlike Hitler's. Russia never had to come clean about them.


Random fact: it's so-toe-my-YORE.

Upgraded to IE 8 at work, which promptly made me switch to Firefox. Where, oh where did Microsoft go wrong? Subsequent versions of software are supposed to be better.

Yarha, Stale, Flat and Unmentionable

Oh, look, the Mormons have apparently baptised Obama's mother posthumously. See here. Also see Wikipedia here for Baptism of the Dead doctrine.

Baptism of the dead irks me. A lot.

Yarha, Imminently Irkable

Yarha, Next: Rock-Paper-Scissors the MMORPG

Yarha, Pinata Medical Plans Take a Beating