This Is My Design
I like to think that there are few people who are truly malicious. In a general sense, I think it's probably better for everyone if bad things are just a mixture of woefully careless behaviour and passion. The intent is seldom there to do harm. At least, perhaps, consistently? I did a little reading for a law school event that was about intent- and the brush of legal intent is a large one. It is reasonable that we would want a wider stroke to work with, because criminality can be so nuanced. Pain is so personal. If intent were terribly difficult to trace then the legal system would probably be even more uneven in its distribution of justice.
As individuals, outside and around this we can read further into the intent. That's probably how things should work through- a path that narrows toward empathy and rehabilitation.
So, it is my belief that there are not as many people in the world who truly do things with the sole purpose of amusing themselves as all the dating profiles would like us to believe. Not every guy in board shorts that writes "I hate to be bored" is secretly killing indiscriminately in their free time. I can't argue that this means they are good people, they emphatically aren't. They should be stopped. Anyone who says they hate to be bored or are looking for their "partner in crime" does not deserve love or the chance at making more people who will use hackneyed expressions to entice. There should be a separate dating site where guys who want to write that in their profiles can match women who wear "nama-stay in bed" or "it's wine o'clock" somewhere shirts exclusively.
This is straying from the route of empathy. Sorry...
The point of all of this- is that I seldom think you're evil. You're confused. You fucked up. I'm not going to give you Hannibal powers.
I'm covered now in a lot of small unintentional injuries.
I stabbed myself with a dagger, although the exact way is unclear. Alcohol was definitely involved. The curious part is that I cut the stabbing hand. I guess something caught? Something slipped? Of course, these things happen when you are killing a meowing balloon. The night demanded a sacrifice.
It was a murder party, after all.
Sometimes you interact with a piece of writing which after absorption makes you realize that you have nothing to say. My archetype is quite well represented. In ways both more poetic and succinct than I am capable of.
I have come across such a book, this rebuke handed to me under the guise of a present: Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory. It's by the guy who writes for BoJack Horseman and it is every bit as caustically poignant as the show that I assume has brought him notoriety. It's unflinchingly candid, as the kids might say. Of course, in short narratives that play a quick game of chicken with your deepest sentiments: the ones that make up all your secret hopes and dreams of love and partnership.
My left pinky nail is preparing itself to eject from my body. It's the last souvenir of my trip down the stairs. There is still some dried blood trapped under 3/4ths of the nail. But that portion of the nail is starting to lift from my finger, and I am very scared that the final remnant will pull off in the most painful way possible.
I know that we have not landed on the moon because no one can shave their legs without missing a spot. If you bring me a woman who claims to be able to do so, I will show you a harpy who spins tales with no thought to the consequences. A siren who dispenses such bold-faced lies from her forked tongue to lure you to your demise.
Okay, enough of the asides. Back to the story of my birthday murder party.
Issa, Ryan, Elle and Maeve came to Houston! Issa and Ryan came the day before the party and we had wine and chips and salsa to excess. There were also soft sugar cookies. Issa bought me chocolate for my birthday, as she always does. The standard gifts are chocolate, socks and something from my Amazon wish list. This time I didn't get socks, but that's okay. She got me vodka with my name on it, tied with a translucent pink ribbon. I had found it at Total Wine a few weeks before and freaked out in our group chat about it. It was a most pleasant surprise. She also got me a Peaky Blinder's birthday card. She's sort of the best.
Things definitely buy my love.
I finished a painting for Maeve of a Rosy the Riveter style octopus. Ryan fell asleep in my bed, as she tends to, with Issa retiring in to the guest bed. When I woke up The Kitten was sleeping between us, and I was surprised she had made herself so comfortable next to Ryan, since she typically hates everyone that is not me. I had to take about a dozen pictures, of course. Many were a bit tighter on The Kitten's face, because I am slightly more obsessed with her than Ryan. The kitchen light gives her coat a lovely shine. It was slightly surprising to have woken before Ryan, as she typically bounces up like a perky little sprite much earlier than is reasonable. It's terribly frustrating sometimes how put together she is the morning after a good drink. After all three of us made our way into the land of the living we started in on planning the day and errands before the party. Elle and Maeve messaged that they were on their way prior to our waking and we decided on brunch before we shopped. We went to Hungry's and were put at a large table in a reserved area in the top floor. Beautifully the second floor was a child-free zone, which is something I have never experienced before and was absolutely marvelous. There was a lot of blue, but a month and a half on I don't really remember much more. The menu was full of fish dishes, but we settled on it primarily because they had vegan brunch options, which Elle seemed to enjoy. I ordered a coffee with a shot of some kind of hazelnut liquor that had a smooth bitterness. It's always lovely, preferable even, to start a weekend morning with a shot of liquor in a cup of coffee. I got crab cake eggs benedict, which was sort of a mistake, the crab cake was too much. At first it was interesting, but it got overwhelming pretty quickly, and I ate more of the eggs on their own. I don't know what else I would have wanted though, so it was not the worst choice. Closest to the best choice, I suppose. Just a regular eggs benedict would have felt like a waste of a special occasion. We did see a great looking plate of chicken and waffles go to another table before we ordered, and I was nearly persuaded, but again it seemed like a waste to have something sort of widely available.
After brunch we went to a nearby HEB. This was relatively uneventful. We purchased snacks and much more alcohol than we needed considering I had already bought a fuck ton of alcohol. The girls were kind enough to pay for the snacks, but I forgot to get raspberries for the Villanelle. When we got back to the house Ryan went to dinner with her fiance's parents and Issa and I got into costume.
I did a messy job of making a bunch of bruises on my face out of eye shadow and liner. My costume was Villanelle season 1 episode 8, after she's been hit by Konstantin with a log. My sister found me a perfect fuzzy tan coat to complete the look, which I wore despite it being summer, obviously, in Texas. There were two batch cocktails: The Hannibal was a red wine sangria with triple sec, grapefruit jalapeno vodka, blood orange italian soda, and sliced oranges; The Villanelle was champagne and pink lemonade vodka. I forgot the raspberries, as I mentioned, but was able to convince Ava and Luna to pick up some on their way over.
The rest of the night is a blur. A stabby blur. Jack and Monica came over at some point before Ava and Luna. The drinks were continuously refilled. I put on my favorite episodes of Hannibal and Killing Eve. Everyone chatted, Elle and her boyfriend went off to get more food at some point. Proper, not snack food. They brought me springrolls, which I dropped on the floor, but ate anyway. I fed them to Ryan as well. Hopefully not the floor ones, but no one can be sure at this point. Ryan and I cuddled over the weird pop-up book she got me and traced the lines of our favorite pages. At some point there was cookie cake as well, that I cut with the same dagger I stabbed myself with later. I licked the frosting off and danced around with it like a madman. Specifically, like Villanelle when she throws Konstantin a birthday party. It's a minor miracle no one was stabbed, though the evening ended with a reenactment of someone being stabbed. I did the full scene of Will Graham being gutted by Hannibal at the end of season 2. Collapsing and writhing. Ryan said it was just the right amount of writhing. I couldn't remember at all the next morning, but I've never been more satisfied with myself. At some point afterward Ryan put us to bed, and she told me she had occasion to ask if something was my design, and I cackled. And in her regaling me with these memories I'd lost, I never loved her more.
As individuals, outside and around this we can read further into the intent. That's probably how things should work through- a path that narrows toward empathy and rehabilitation.
So, it is my belief that there are not as many people in the world who truly do things with the sole purpose of amusing themselves as all the dating profiles would like us to believe. Not every guy in board shorts that writes "I hate to be bored" is secretly killing indiscriminately in their free time. I can't argue that this means they are good people, they emphatically aren't. They should be stopped. Anyone who says they hate to be bored or are looking for their "partner in crime" does not deserve love or the chance at making more people who will use hackneyed expressions to entice. There should be a separate dating site where guys who want to write that in their profiles can match women who wear "nama-stay in bed" or "it's wine o'clock" somewhere shirts exclusively.
This is straying from the route of empathy. Sorry...
The point of all of this- is that I seldom think you're evil. You're confused. You fucked up. I'm not going to give you Hannibal powers.
I'm covered now in a lot of small unintentional injuries.
I stabbed myself with a dagger, although the exact way is unclear. Alcohol was definitely involved. The curious part is that I cut the stabbing hand. I guess something caught? Something slipped? Of course, these things happen when you are killing a meowing balloon. The night demanded a sacrifice.
It was a murder party, after all.
Sometimes you interact with a piece of writing which after absorption makes you realize that you have nothing to say. My archetype is quite well represented. In ways both more poetic and succinct than I am capable of.
I have come across such a book, this rebuke handed to me under the guise of a present: Someone Who Will Love You in All Your Damaged Glory. It's by the guy who writes for BoJack Horseman and it is every bit as caustically poignant as the show that I assume has brought him notoriety. It's unflinchingly candid, as the kids might say. Of course, in short narratives that play a quick game of chicken with your deepest sentiments: the ones that make up all your secret hopes and dreams of love and partnership.
My left pinky nail is preparing itself to eject from my body. It's the last souvenir of my trip down the stairs. There is still some dried blood trapped under 3/4ths of the nail. But that portion of the nail is starting to lift from my finger, and I am very scared that the final remnant will pull off in the most painful way possible.
I know that we have not landed on the moon because no one can shave their legs without missing a spot. If you bring me a woman who claims to be able to do so, I will show you a harpy who spins tales with no thought to the consequences. A siren who dispenses such bold-faced lies from her forked tongue to lure you to your demise.
Okay, enough of the asides. Back to the story of my birthday murder party.
Issa, Ryan, Elle and Maeve came to Houston! Issa and Ryan came the day before the party and we had wine and chips and salsa to excess. There were also soft sugar cookies. Issa bought me chocolate for my birthday, as she always does. The standard gifts are chocolate, socks and something from my Amazon wish list. This time I didn't get socks, but that's okay. She got me vodka with my name on it, tied with a translucent pink ribbon. I had found it at Total Wine a few weeks before and freaked out in our group chat about it. It was a most pleasant surprise. She also got me a Peaky Blinder's birthday card. She's sort of the best.
Things definitely buy my love.
I finished a painting for Maeve of a Rosy the Riveter style octopus. Ryan fell asleep in my bed, as she tends to, with Issa retiring in to the guest bed. When I woke up The Kitten was sleeping between us, and I was surprised she had made herself so comfortable next to Ryan, since she typically hates everyone that is not me. I had to take about a dozen pictures, of course. Many were a bit tighter on The Kitten's face, because I am slightly more obsessed with her than Ryan. The kitchen light gives her coat a lovely shine. It was slightly surprising to have woken before Ryan, as she typically bounces up like a perky little sprite much earlier than is reasonable. It's terribly frustrating sometimes how put together she is the morning after a good drink. After all three of us made our way into the land of the living we started in on planning the day and errands before the party. Elle and Maeve messaged that they were on their way prior to our waking and we decided on brunch before we shopped. We went to Hungry's and were put at a large table in a reserved area in the top floor. Beautifully the second floor was a child-free zone, which is something I have never experienced before and was absolutely marvelous. There was a lot of blue, but a month and a half on I don't really remember much more. The menu was full of fish dishes, but we settled on it primarily because they had vegan brunch options, which Elle seemed to enjoy. I ordered a coffee with a shot of some kind of hazelnut liquor that had a smooth bitterness. It's always lovely, preferable even, to start a weekend morning with a shot of liquor in a cup of coffee. I got crab cake eggs benedict, which was sort of a mistake, the crab cake was too much. At first it was interesting, but it got overwhelming pretty quickly, and I ate more of the eggs on their own. I don't know what else I would have wanted though, so it was not the worst choice. Closest to the best choice, I suppose. Just a regular eggs benedict would have felt like a waste of a special occasion. We did see a great looking plate of chicken and waffles go to another table before we ordered, and I was nearly persuaded, but again it seemed like a waste to have something sort of widely available.
After brunch we went to a nearby HEB. This was relatively uneventful. We purchased snacks and much more alcohol than we needed considering I had already bought a fuck ton of alcohol. The girls were kind enough to pay for the snacks, but I forgot to get raspberries for the Villanelle. When we got back to the house Ryan went to dinner with her fiance's parents and Issa and I got into costume.
I did a messy job of making a bunch of bruises on my face out of eye shadow and liner. My costume was Villanelle season 1 episode 8, after she's been hit by Konstantin with a log. My sister found me a perfect fuzzy tan coat to complete the look, which I wore despite it being summer, obviously, in Texas. There were two batch cocktails: The Hannibal was a red wine sangria with triple sec, grapefruit jalapeno vodka, blood orange italian soda, and sliced oranges; The Villanelle was champagne and pink lemonade vodka. I forgot the raspberries, as I mentioned, but was able to convince Ava and Luna to pick up some on their way over.
The rest of the night is a blur. A stabby blur. Jack and Monica came over at some point before Ava and Luna. The drinks were continuously refilled. I put on my favorite episodes of Hannibal and Killing Eve. Everyone chatted, Elle and her boyfriend went off to get more food at some point. Proper, not snack food. They brought me springrolls, which I dropped on the floor, but ate anyway. I fed them to Ryan as well. Hopefully not the floor ones, but no one can be sure at this point. Ryan and I cuddled over the weird pop-up book she got me and traced the lines of our favorite pages. At some point there was cookie cake as well, that I cut with the same dagger I stabbed myself with later. I licked the frosting off and danced around with it like a madman. Specifically, like Villanelle when she throws Konstantin a birthday party. It's a minor miracle no one was stabbed, though the evening ended with a reenactment of someone being stabbed. I did the full scene of Will Graham being gutted by Hannibal at the end of season 2. Collapsing and writhing. Ryan said it was just the right amount of writhing. I couldn't remember at all the next morning, but I've never been more satisfied with myself. At some point afterward Ryan put us to bed, and she told me she had occasion to ask if something was my design, and I cackled. And in her regaling me with these memories I'd lost, I never loved her more.
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