I was wrong to wait around so long to be the one you sang love's sweet old-fashioned song to

Due to criticism of my last post, I will not post another quiz result on this site. However, I still love the line "The Fool is God" from that description of the Fool.

And, well, I'm a fool, backed by some proof.

So, can one deduce that I am God? Hrmmmm...

...or just a simple low to mid-level goddess?

In other minorly amusing news, I decided to try hunting down some photos taken by some folks from Australia at Pennsic. I think I may be onto a lead. One of the folks who was in the encampment where the photos were taken (but whom I don't recall meeting) wrote about the person who took the photos showing them at a gathering just a week and a half ago. I wrote to the person who posted, asking him to put me in contact with the photographer.

So, hopefully, the blackmail material will be gained soon :) The only behavior I am minorly embarrassed by at Pennsic was the behavior at that party because of the apparent assumptions made about my group of people. Margarita and I played with the assumptions, but were unable to really benefit from them since everyone we were interested in pursuing in the camp was unavailable for anything more than hugs and a tiny smidge of flirting. The fact we were pursuing someone in the camp for so long was what was embarrassing, especially because he was so unavailable. We didn't know that he was unavailable until after we had left the party.

For people who know me, to illustrate how much I was pursuing that lad in the Australian camp, I was actually drinking BEER. See, if one is in the camp of the Australians, one really should drink beer to be polite. Well, in order to have excuse to return to the lad, who was tending bar, as often as possible, I actually drank beer...having him repeatedly refill my petite drinking-horn. I HATE beer. Other alcohol, I am fine with (except for fermented milk). I managed to just sit behind the bartender to make the repeated refilling easier.

The lad looked like Karl Urban; what else was I supposed to do? I managed to be bold enough to scritch his beard and then the back of his head and he turned rather nice and putty-like in my hands as he leaned into the scritchies. And later at War, when I hugged him at a different party, he invited me to his camp to hug him as much as I wished and scritch his head as much as I wished; even to wash his rather long hair. However, I learned that he is very attached and that was all I would be getting; the position of serving him. So, I never took him up on his offer...had too many others to juggle and keep me busy that actually panned-out anyway.

But damn, that boy looked too much like Karl Urban, and sorta sounded like him. But his accent was Australian, not the elegant pure Kiwi accent of Mr. Urban.

Time to sleep.

Oh, by the way, yes, I know the name of the camp and of the lads...even their shire and geographic location. However, to keep this blog from popping up as a search result, I kept the terms rather vague..."Australians", "lads", etc.