Just for the Record: The Shit-Chewing Remix

December 4th, 2006

Well, as it turns out, I’m glad I wrote about that happy day a few weeks ago, because today sucks like hell.  My heart aches, and the elastic of my knickers fell apart five minutes after I arrived at work this morning.

On the bright side, my day hasn’t sucked nearly as much as Kim Beazley’s, I would wager.  Poor old Kim.

My Boyfriend Went to Thailand and All I Got Was This Damn Prostitute

November 22nd, 2006

And the lesson to be learned is “be careful what you wish for”.

Just for the Record

November 9th, 2006

Today has been a wonderful day.

Not for any particular reason, just one of those days made up of small, eclectic shards that come together so warmly and perfectly.

After dropping my car off for a service, I had breakfast with Stuart at his house, as he’s leaving for an overseas business trip tomorrow morning (the only blight to the day). I sat and read my current book – Rosalie Ham’s The Dressmaker – in the sun over coffee, before doing some Christmas shopping before going to work at the bookshop, where I wafted around compiling purchase orders and generally playing with books. I tell people I’m happy as long as I’m near books and they think I am being cute and whimsical and a wee bit twee, but it’s true. My career trajectory thus far has been about books and sex toys, and while I have moments where I despair about the lack of a “real job”, I can’t deny that it does all make me happy.

I had a moment of perfect bliss around four in the afternoon, after a wonderful conversation with a customer about feminist sci-fi, where I stood behind the counter listening to the new Regina Spektor CD and gazing around the shop. It was…peaceful. That deep-seated sense of peace where nothing is a concern; it’s a feeling I get less and less often recently.

After work I caught up with Stuart for dinner and goodbye kisses in Little Bourke St, before heading on to the Visible Ink launch, which was full of wonderful people and has yielded a wonderful book I’m excited about reading. It was wonderful to catch up with people, especially in light of my increasingly sporadic attendence at uni, and wonderful to meet some delightful new people.

Apart from a long, terrible moment where I thought the mechanic had lost my car keys, everything has gone well. Simple joys.  When the world and more locally my life often feel so full of ugliness, it’s good to remember they exist.  It’s my arse-end-of-the-year resolution to find more of them.

Worlds Collide; Gooey Awkwardness Results

October 16th, 2006

So!

One of the things I have been doing besides updating this here blog has been toiling away at my new job. I am back in library-land, and enjoying every minute of it so far (except for the ones where people are nasty or smell funny, but such are the joys of interacting with the public). I have cool co-workers, the job itself is fun, my attempts at being toddler-friendly make the poor little bastards cry, and I get to talk about books all day to people who love books. What’s not to like?
Another thing I have been doing is plugging away at writing, and because things just seem to happen this way, my smutty rude stories are doing ever so much better in terms of seeing the light of print than my non-smutty stories. I don’t know if this is because I’m better at identifying suitable publishers for my erotic fiction (having had more years of practice at it than you can poke a euphemism at), whether it’s because I angst less about my erotic fiction than my other literary pursuits and am hence more likely to just bite the bullet and submit my work rather than sooking about it for months, or just because I’m better at writing about sex than I am at more ‘serious’ subjects (though how sex is not a serious subject I have never been able to quite ascertain, besides the fact that it’s fun and often hilarious). At any rate, the erotica side of things is going in leaps and bounds, or at least a respectable swagger.

Of course, one of the downsides of being a porn librarian (in many senses of the word – does anybody want some secondhand videos? They are only slightly used.) is that when people ask you what you write, you tend to mumble “errr…stuff”. I’m not ashamed of what I write and I never have been, but I’m aware that it makes some people uncomfortable, including my family and that one guy who once called me a whore because I wouldn’t sleep with him (someone needs a visit from the Logic Fairy). Also, I have noticed that people sometimes have trouble reconciling my beaming, innocent face and Pollyanna-with-a-hangover persona with that of a pornographer. It helps if you wear leather corsetry and impressive boots, but I find these articles impractical for day-to-day wear. On top of that, I generally avoid talking about my interests anyway, because generally people don’t give two shits, and rightly so (blogging, of course, is slightly different: I am as essentially egotistically driven as any other blogger, and if you don’t give two shits, you are of course welcome to take your browsing elsewhere, and I shan’t be offended. I simply wish to point out that I am not generally someone who bangs on about my unriveting personal life to co-workers. Speaking of which, I think I may have accidentally convinced a conservative Christian girl I work with that I am of her ilk, the hilarity and wrongness of which I am still puzzling and amused over.)

The world collision of the title happened last week. I was serving a woman at the counter, and not really paying attention to what she was borrowing beyond ensuring that the process went smoothly, as is my wont. I happened to glance down as I passed her books back to her, and noticed that on top of the stack (which I’d re-ordered as I scanned the books, meaning that she’d had it on the bottom of the pile, sneaky old possum) was one of Maxim Jakubowski’s Mammoth Book of Erotica anthologies – the very same series I’ve mentioned here previously as having been accepted for.

“Oh!” I exclaimed before I could stop myself. “I…” fortunately my brain cut in before the rest of the words on my tongue could launch themselves.

“…hear he’s very good. A very respected erotica editor,” I finished lamely. Oooh, smooth one, Aimee, you come here often?

“Well, it looks great!” the woman enthused. “I’m really excited about reading it!”

Then she blushed. And giggled. And looked slightly horrified at what she’d just said.

I smiled and said, “I might have to borrow it after you.”

And she gave me a smile that said “thank you for pretending you didn’t just hear me out myself as a dirty perve.” And I gave her a smile that said “Dirty perve? Honey, you have no idea.”

Back in Black*

September 11th, 2006

Okay, so, my site and Stuart’s were down for a while, and some of my entries got eaten, and I was slack about reposting them.  I also lost a long, ranty entry about Google-stalking that I’m not sure I can be bothered rewriting, even despite the wonderful (?) gossip contained therein.  Stand by, normal programming will resume shortly, i.e. not very frequently.

* The Ministy for Colour Names, a division of the Ministry of Love, wishes to advise that the colour you may believe is called pink is actually called black.  It has always been called black.