Azure Jane Lunatic (azurelunatic) wrote,
Azure Jane Lunatic
azurelunatic

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...and then the chickens started talking...

Despite starting out not so well, writing group rocked tonight. samurai_ko and trystan_laryssa couldn't make it, and neither could kilarneyblarney, which was too bad, because they missed out on the utter insanity.

Tonight featured one of the random conference-type things that the center sometimes has. The downstairs meeting rooms are those folding-panel affairs that can be shoved around and re-arranged at will. An entire half of the meeting rooms were taken up by this big conference.

All was well until sometime around when M started to read. That's when the conference started getting noisy, and according to M, it sounded like a whole bunch of chickens.

Now. When you make reference to chickens around me when I'm in a very very silly mood, you will get chickens. There was bukking. There was bawking. There was talking like Calico. There was an attempt to start a rooster-fight with meacu1pa. (Since she doesn't speak chicken body language, she didn't recognize it.) There was general hilarity. (When a certain breed of chicken talks, the patterns of their speech do sound exactly like humans talking at a distance. Same frequency, same voice quality, a lot of vowels and no consonants. It's hard to articulate when you have no lips.)

Poor M was a bit overwhelmed, being as she's on the upswing from a nasty little cold.

We had two brand-new people, and one returning newbie. The thought that our little writers group could be intimidating amazes me. We just write. And granted, we're quite good, but that's what we do! We practice! We write! We attempt to polish each other up!

It was great to see the one woman going from wincing in anticipation of having her stuff shredded before she started reading to going "Wow, it may be a first draft, but it has total room for improvement!" And meacu1pa really needs to do an obsessive rosary piece for next week.

Somewhere in there, I started sketching. Mike and Michael from Circle of Fire have faces now. Mike looks somewhat like what you might expect. Michael looks like an utter dorkboy with a dangerous and clueless edge. Brr. Don't want any of that now.

There is a cunning plan of desensitization therapy plotted. It is cruel to a profoundly dyslexic child to base outside recess time on spelling test results. When the letters keep moving around and won't stay put, and the teacher doesn't believe that something like dyslexia exists, bad things happen. If the result is a profound phobia/distaste for seeing any sort of corrections in red ink, does this surprise anyone? "What about the 'what you did well' in red ink?" I merrily proposed. And that sounds like a nice plan for deprogramming.

There was dinner hilarity too. Last week, I had given M a small lock of my hair for a medicine (mojo, not MD) thing. This week, we heard what had happened with it. M had tucked the lock into her bra for safekeeping on the way home. Once home, she looked inside her bra. Rather predictably, that lock of my hair had gone WHNERWHAAA! all over the place. So there she was, looking at all the tidy little locks of hair, and then my hair all snarled and unruly and on this upside-down pink Post-It...

"Wait," someone said. "Where did the Post-It come into all this?"

Evidently I was not the only one who had gotten a mental picture of the Post-It getting into the bra-tangling action. But no, M had just used the adhesive to try and get things at least in the same general place, if not tidy.

There is a cunning plan for dressing up on the group night following Halloween. There is a cunning plan for what to dress M as. (It's a surprise for those who weren't in on the planning.) I'm not sure what to wear myself. I was thinking about my The Cheat costume. There was also a digression about how I should not wear white -- in addition to the obvious problems regarding paint and the like, M is convinced that the color has the way wrong energy for me.

We wound up attempting to depart, but we paused for azwriter to enjoy a death stick. hcolleen and I started up singing at each other, from the point where Meg comes in and kept on until just before Christine begins the sky-high screeching. M wanted to know what we were singing, because she recognized it, but we were too busy singing to stop singing and tell her what we were singing. And it's not like I know the international sign language gesture for Phantom of the Opera. That was fun.

We attempted to drop by and see trystan_laryssa, but that came to naught, as while there were lights on, there was no actual sign of life.
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