28 February 2006

It was an itsy bitsy teeny weeny, yellow polka dot blog post that she's sorry about not updating earlier

We have been a busy eM this past week. Small and I outdid ourselves Saturday night when we threw this monster party at our house. Thanks to one of the rooms being free now (tra-la) we have turned that into a Lounge-Bahr, with a camp cot, a pretty yellow curtain bedspread, a floor cushion and a chest of drawers that serves as a bar. And, dude, everyone turned up. Everyone and their uncle, which is probably not a phrase I should use, because when I said that to Small, she goes, "Who is bringing their uncle?" She's a literal sort of girl. At one point we both surveyed the mass of people in our living room and she said, "Do you know these people?" and I said, "No", but they just kept coming. Some didn't even know it was our house. Others got very drunk and teetered around. I, of course, showed off tattoo to best advantage. Good party. Our best one yet, I would say.


You see, I'm a people collector. Other people collect stamps or figurines or belly button lint, but I collect interesting people, which in my line of work I meet quite often. I like to arrange them in my head, see who would go best next to who, add some people here, subtract someone I'm not so sure about there, and voila, we have a party. Over the years, I've met other people collectors, who collect me as easily as I collect them. We're easy to spot in a crowd, we're the ones who travel with two or three different people, make introductions and then sit back with a satisfied look as everyone talks to everyone else. Nothing beats the feeling of warm pride you get when two pieces of your crowd hit it off with each other independently. But not too independantly. They must always like you more than they like anyone else. And you must at all times be established as the "connector".



Oh, and this mini-post has a purpose as well. The Blank Noise Project is having a special blogathon for Women's Day, which I shall be participating in. Here's my thought. A lot of people don't have blogs and have been victims to sexual harrassment. If you'd like your story to be told, email it to me, and I will post them here in a running up to Women's Day. And if you'd rather not tell your story, well, then, I have plenty for all of us.



Tiny post, I know, I'm sorry. Promise bigger, better updates in the future.

10 comments:

  1. Not sure why most people assume only little girls get harassed, but I'm sure something as horrible as child abuse needs to be dealt with in the most severe manner possible.

    More power to the blogathon.

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  2. Hi,
    umm..dont know anyone who has been abused sexually, but thanks for introducing me to a blog called kissnblog.blogspot.com, i now know someone (virtually, albeit)who has been. She is Midwest (one half of kissnblog) and she posted just recently about this.

    http://kissnblog.blogspot.com/2006/02/wham-bam-thank-me-maam.html

    dont know if it helps. Thought I will let you know though.

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  3. was it one of those campus style anyone-with-own-alcohol-can-walk-in type of party?

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  4. sorry this is meant for the previous post - congrats on the new tat!
    i've been looking around for designs too and i finally got fed up and designed my own..now all i need is the courage to go get it done (injections...needles...*SHUDDDDER*) wish me luck!

    what stinks is when your two pieces like each other more than u...i liken it to shooting yourself in the foot. OUCH.

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  5. ...and SUCH a happy pardy it was!
    but what was with that guy with the camera? totally BIG BROTHER WATCHING YOU. a bit creepy, no?

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  6. I do have sth to say on harassment...

    But your "...if you'd rather not tell your story, well, then, I have plenty for all of us" sounded real funny :-)

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  7. I would have come to that party, had an invite been sent to my ashram. I am, it is said, a collector's delight.

    Blessings

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  8. Hmm..I am a people collector too. However, I like to collect crazy people who turn out to be rather interesting.

    Peace out,
    The beatnik baba

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