What's she worried about?

Omaha and I managed to score a babysitter last night, so we headed out to Dilettantes for chocolate and cheesecake, then down to the Grind for, well, grinding. The DJ was the lall, lanky guy with the beard, who I like personally but don't share musical tastes: too gothy, too dark, too slow for that kind of party.

Omaha and I took advantage of the slowness to go into the back room and do, uh, back room things. That was nice-- to be free to be as loud and rambunctious as we like and not worry about a little knock on the door saying, "Mommy, Daddy, I'm thirsty!"

While we were at Dilettante, Omaha made some comment about how the velvet tank top I wore fit me nicely with all the push-ups and such and made some comment about how I don't look 39 and she looks older than I am.

When we came out from the backroom, we ran into tygereclipse, who look ravishing in some lacy hotpant and accompanying top, and after Omaha and I did a round on the dancefloor she and Omaha went out for one more. And as I'm watching the two of them, I saw that Omaha had nothing to worry about. Watching her dance alongside this very attractive woman only half her age it was obvious to all observers, not just me, that they were both hotness on the floor, and Omaha has all the attributes she needs. Omaha is simply gorgeous and she needs more people telling her so.

We arrived home with five minutes to spare, which is better than last time when we were late. The babysitter was cool with it, and apparently Kouryou-chan went to bed just fine. We just collapsed and passed out.

The struggle and the glide...

Yesterday, on the way into work, having been deprived of my bicycle by an errant nail or shard of glass or something, I had an opportunity to write. And I struggled with it. I couldn't get it to go. This was in my 19th Century European Fantasy series. The setting was simple: Kasserine and Gerard are being set up to... what? In the 40 minute I had, I got maybe 500 words, not any of them terribly useful.

On the way home that afternoon, however, it was completely a different matter. I sat down to write a Journal Entry. I had one line as a seed, and no ideas at all. I picked it at random from my list of silly ideas that i keep in my Wiki. The line read:

"Do you like my shoggoth?" she asked.

In forty minutes I had two characters, a setting, a complication, a plot, some wonderful description, some pretty nifty dialogue, and a thousands words of advancing characterization. Both characters were new, the setting is a whole new world with an interesting past. One of the characters had a whole slew of alien characteristics that made her interesting. It all came so naturally and easily to me, like speaking my native tongue.

I need to get out of this comfort zone. The Journal Entries universe is now officially too easy to write in. I virtually live there.

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( And a Friday Five!?!? )