Faye (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
said_scarlett) wrote2008-12-12 11:07 am
said_scarlett) wrote2008-12-12 11:07 am
The Midnight Christmas Tree Attack
I was actually planning a rather long and most likely rambling entry on a great deal of philosophical puzzles I've been wrestling with lately, but then I found out that Betty Paige passed away.
I've always looked up to that woman as an ideal of beauty, as many others have. There has always been a part of me that wanted to be her. The glamorous, media-presented version, of course. She was an amazing woman, and she changed the face of female sexuality in a great many ways. It's a sad day.
***
But as I'd hate to just post that and nothing else, I shall regale you all with the tale of the Midnight Christmas Tree attack.
Last night, after Andrea and Cody had headed home, I took care of my pre-bedtime routines and headed into my room after bidding![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
nijawial sweet dreams of David Bowie's crotch. I shucked off my pants and bra, grabbed my book for a little pre-bedtime reading, and slid between the covers.
Perhaps five minutes later, as I'm absorbed once more in the plight of the passengers of American Pride Flight 29, I hear a noise from the living room. I think little of it, as noises are rather common. And then I hear 'Fey! Um. Help?'.
I get out of bed and begin looking for pants, as at this point I'm in nothing but a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and panties. There is another, more urgent 'HELP!' from the living room, so screwing decorum - besides, after midnight is No Pants Time - I bolt out.
The tree has fallen over, Nija appears half-buried beneath it. It didn't fall while we were mucking with it to straighten it, not while we were decorating, not because a pet had tried to play with it. Apparently it simply fell.
Nothing was broken and no one was hurt, and now it's tied to the wall and continues to loom like a great gold and pink guardian spirit of some sort. I trust we shall no more problems with it now.
It's simply not Christmas until the tree falls over.
I've always looked up to that woman as an ideal of beauty, as many others have. There has always been a part of me that wanted to be her. The glamorous, media-presented version, of course. She was an amazing woman, and she changed the face of female sexuality in a great many ways. It's a sad day.
But as I'd hate to just post that and nothing else, I shall regale you all with the tale of the Midnight Christmas Tree attack.
Last night, after Andrea and Cody had headed home, I took care of my pre-bedtime routines and headed into my room after bidding
nijawial sweet dreams of David Bowie's crotch. I shucked off my pants and bra, grabbed my book for a little pre-bedtime reading, and slid between the covers.Perhaps five minutes later, as I'm absorbed once more in the plight of the passengers of American Pride Flight 29, I hear a noise from the living room. I think little of it, as noises are rather common. And then I hear 'Fey! Um. Help?'.
I get out of bed and begin looking for pants, as at this point I'm in nothing but a Led Zeppelin T-shirt and panties. There is another, more urgent 'HELP!' from the living room, so screwing decorum - besides, after midnight is No Pants Time - I bolt out.
The tree has fallen over, Nija appears half-buried beneath it. It didn't fall while we were mucking with it to straighten it, not while we were decorating, not because a pet had tried to play with it. Apparently it simply fell.
Nothing was broken and no one was hurt, and now it's tied to the wall and continues to loom like a great gold and pink guardian spirit of some sort. I trust we shall no more problems with it now.
It's simply not Christmas until the tree falls over.
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