I went to bed with no actual printing accomplished; I woke up to find that the living room floor was decorated with far too much blank paper. Evidently the printer had interpreted my simple request to print one copy of a single one-page .pdf file as a command to spit out a few dozen (mercifully) blank sheets of paper. Argh.
I eventually sent the files over to the other computer to print from there. They printed beautifully. Somewhere, though, the original WordPerfect files got screwed up in some funky manner, causing them to display as funky lines and dots. Argh.
Time was running out, so I zipped off with the intention of printing at the Kinko's between the plasma place and the writing group. Plasma went smoothly, with a reasonably not-that-obnoxious movie playing. I read the first five chapters of Darkside's current D&D campaign, enjoyed them, and will be asking him if I can please read the rest after he gets it written. I care what happens to these people, despite the unenlightened formatting (my dear best friend, please learn to use and love the paragraph break) and the rampant CIS Disease. I have cunning plans to recruit Darkside to join nanowrimo next year.
The bus was late. I hit the copy place and prepared to print out the opus. The charges displayed for printing out 80-odd pages? $37-something. Outrageous! I huffed out, and off to the writing group. The next bus was late too; I skidded in right on time rather than early as I'd hoped.
Someone from the womens' center wound up being there to interview us for their upcoming newsletter; the lady dragged me back to her office to print out. Happiness! There were photos, and interviewing with the tape recorder on, and reading selections of each others' work out loud (azwriter got to read a page featuring drunkenness and nudity aloud; evidently I have succeeded in my aim of making that scene comical. I didn't really count that as one of the better moments, either...) and general happiness and silliness.
We convened at the Willow House thereafter, and there was clowning around featuring one of the regulars. A scale of public kissing tastefulness was proposed, apropos of some discussion as to whether French-kissing in the middle of a retail store was really tasteful/appropriate. The joking idea was that each of us five women could pose in a kiss with the guy, for demonstration purposes, and I found that even joking about the idea was appalling to me. It wasn't that the idea itself was inherently bad, just that any thought of placing myself within that scenario, kissing the guy, even in good fun, was sufficiently wrong and bad as to nearly need me to remove myself from the general area. This development itself isn't necessarily either good or bad -- just my days of kissing random strangers with whom I've no connection on dares and the like is over, if ever it had been there.
iroshi IMed sometime while I was there, and we had a very enlightening discussion. She has more levels of subtlety in phrasing than I do, levels of precision that make my care with words seem very random and ambiguous. I wound up having new things to do, some of which may warrant random filtering for those who don't really want the details of my magicgeeking.