That's Why the Pixlet Is A Vamp

the silver linings pixlet: “all rack and no back”;

Friday: took Neil-bear for our traditional birthday dinner, this time at The Anchor Line. Above average steaks, classy cocktails and an ice cream sundae. A wee browse in Gap on Buchanan St – I couldn’t afford to use my 40% “friend of the store” discount, but it was a quieter and less stressful place to kill time than anywhere else would have been. To Stereo for a TYCI DJ set, during which I mixed up my BPM and volume sliders during an EMA song so weird nobody noticed, and where the cool kids only danced when you played Taylor Swift or Destiny’s Child or Miley Cyrus or Honeyblood.

So tired. And so, so sore.

Dinner at The Anchor Line

To me, this is the weirdest thing about it. Like, I have been fronting for so long, and so well, but this was the day on which I asked for help and got signed off work for a fortnight and it’s like my body took it as permission to collapse in on itself. I’m really going to work hard at getting better this time: as well as increasing my daily dose, I’m looking forward to reading a lot and maybe finding the time to exercise. No pressure, though. I’m allowed to be a non-functioning member of society. My doctor said so.

Wolf in White Van by John Darnielle
Pyjamas and Wolf in White Van

And so there I was on St Vincent Place, trying to explain this theory of mine to Neil with profligate use of hands waving in the general direction of my breasts squashed into a cat-print skater dress grown too tight. Always fronting. SO MUCH FRONT. “Like that saying,” Neil said, with the special crudeness that two people of opposite genders who haven’t seen each other as anything sexual since a particularly confusing two weeks in 1999. “Lots in the front, nothing in the back…”

I’m going to be okay.