Melina Bueller's day off

Even though it's tempting to fret about the lack of income, I'm secretly kind of glad that I'm not needed back at the ad agency until Wednesday afternoon. This is due to slacker clients (federal employees) not returning their copy comments to the agency on the specified date. Current ETA is Wednesday am.

Tomorrow/Tuesday I can sleep until 10 am, ride my motorcycle, do a few home repairs, eBay a couple of things, wax my legs, and enjoy the weather in true Ferdinand the Heifer fashion.

My return to the Snoopy Borg is scheduled for next week. Although I had hopes of a counter-offer from the ad agency, I don't see it coming through. The client in question needs a writer for business to business stuff, and although I've done tech writing, the senior creatives (the flip-flop wearers) don't seem to really know what sort of writer they need.

Earlier today, I sent them a link to the BI (business intelligence) and data analytics white papers I've edited during the past few years as they're now available for download. I haven't received any response. I fear they may not understand the content of the papers, so this could possibly backfire.

But things can change overnight. They do all the time. Perhaps my ad agency re-entry is destined for a few months down the road. In the meantime, the Snoopy Borg will pay the rent and I may even get an opportunity to torment PD*. Payback's a bitch, innit?

* See Key to Characters at right.

my favorite bad movie

If truth be told, I don't think Faster, Pussycat! Kill! Kill! was a bad movie. I don't hold it in as high esteem as most cult movie fans do - the acting's pretty bad a lot of the time and the action drags. But considering that it was made in 1965, when The Sound of Music was the biggest money-maker of the year, the theme's downright risky.

Instead of waiting for some surly Baron von Trapp to rescue them from an unfilling existence, the women in Faster, Pussycat! drive too fast, get into fights, work as part-time exotic dancers, kidnap whiny rich girls, steal other people's vehicles, and manage to kill a few people in the meantime.

You must admire Russ Meyer's choice of camera angles. This wasn't always on purpose; it's more because Meyer couldn't afford to always build tracks for his cameras, and Steadicam wasn't perfected yet.

Here's a YouTube clip with the female lead, Tura Satana, at her best. (Unfortunately, it's at her last, too.)

Do they make training wheels for motorcycles?

Although I managed not to fall off or fall down, I still felt like an awful wuss on the new motorcycle today.  Thankfully the streets were deserted during the Texas/OU game so I was able to do my initial, nervous, slow-poke riding through some of my neighborhood's quieter side streets without worrying about cars or joggers.

The side streets feature stop signs at almost every cross-street so I had plenty of places to practice letting out the clutch without killing the engine. I also practiced coming to a full stop each block. Being able to stop when you want to is kind of important in my opinion.

During the last half hour, I actually managed to quit worrying about road rash and began to enjoy the ride.

The only embarrassing moment was when it was time to put the bike away, which involved getting it up my driveway. It's not terribly steep, but for a novice biker, it was a bit of a problem. Plus, my car was parked at the top of the driveway. I could see myself going full-throttle up the driveway, only to run into the back of my own car, and maybe even putting myself through the back window. (Since the car's a convertible, the back window isn't glass. So perhaps I'd just bounce off.)

But I finally managed it.

Melina shifts gears

While sitting at my desk Wednesday, wondering how I should handle my evening dinner date (more about that later), I found myself doing the usual lunchtime thing. Which was to surf around Craig's list and shop for motorcycles.

The only difference is that this time, I decided to buy one.

It was a good deal; a Suzuki SV650 with new tires and clear title. (You wouldn't believe how many motorcycle owners have no idea where their bike's title is.) The only modifications have been sliders and a wonderfully noisy exhaust. The seller had a legit reason for selling. Best of all, he lived near my office. So it wasn't difficult to drop by his place and hand over a deposit.

I take possession tonight after the folks at High Five Cycle convert the shift pattern back to normal, as the former owner had converted it to GP shifting.  This means that you go up for first gear, then down for 2nd through 6th gear.  I don't want to get confused and downshift at 60 mph - I can see myself flying over the handlebars after an unplanned downshift - so I'm sticking to the conventional 1 down, five up shift pattern.

I hope the weather isn't too hot this weekend.

only the best of intentions...I think

Faithful readers may remember my August 11th post which included details of an amusing correspondence from a former married boyfriend of 2001 vintage.

Our six-month affair included a week in London, which I enjoyed very much. I still remember our departure in Heathrow Airport - we were headed to different destinations - and his telling me how much he adored me.  Nobody had ever said that to me before. We parted on good terms, as the affair fizzled mainly due to lack of opportunity and after I'd met a more available man.

But I digress. Back to August. He had replied to my request for a Linked In recommendation with the following message:

If you'll spend the night with me 9/29. I have a layover.

Although he forwarded me his itinerary over the weekend, I haven't actually spoken to him on the phone about it. And his itinerary had no correspondence, salacious wit, or "just kiddings". Nothing.

So I'm not sure what he's really after. Does he just want to have dinner with me, or was he serious about my spending the night with him? If he's serious, does he just want a cuddle, a long talk, or a full-blown night of immoral behavior? The long talk option wouldn't surprise me; I've been his occasional confessor for almost a decade.

I'm resisting asking him point-blank to provide details of his intentions. It might be fun to toy with him over dinner.

Must go now, as I'm still trying to decide what lingerie to wear.