Azure Jane Lunatic (Azz) 🌺 (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
azurelunatic) wrote2014-01-09 03:30 am
azurelunatic) wrote2014-01-09 03:30 am
Consider the pineapple. Consider the pineapple, sideways.
I have a half-written entry about the latest Kipper/Llama-related stunts. Hilariously, it involves basically zero problems from the actual Kipper/Llama team, and an ever-escalating metric fuckton of DNS woes. That thing that Mr. Bronze said, once upon a time: "When two black magicians fight in a room? The stuff that falls to the floor? That's DNS." All of which means I am now going up against the black magicians. The Renaissance Man has made a helpful suggestion; said helpful suggestion has been passed along through the Kipper/Llama lines, and might actually happen, depending on the number of affected users.
Sadly I missed the new year lunch, which doubled as a going-away lunch for Researcher Lannister, whose last day is Friday. Alas, sleep schedule.
In case anybody else has not independently come up with this one: say you have a chunk of time at work which you would like to reserve for maybe some quiet uninterrupted work, or maybe you would prefer that HR not fucking schedule fucking new-hire interviews for fuck o'clock Monday morning, especially when they have to an event all been canceled 5 minutes after they were supposed to start. Here's what you do. You make an appointment, and make sure that it's something like private (maybe you share it with your assistant, maybe you don't). You schedule that appointment in the time you need to be undisturbed. With the correct settings, the people who are trying to schedule you will not see the contents, but will see that you have a meeting already there, and may not even try. (I know at least two people who use that tactic, one of whom was much more gleeful than the other in showing me the calendar with the "don't even fucking schedule anything here" meeting than the other.)
I'm feeling halfway++ confident again about the workplace events planning. I suspect I am due for sending more candy in the direction of the Events team, via inter-office mail.
I found Mr. Zune staring at a wall in my wing. He was staring at some papers my teammates had put up: he's working on a thing that involves some design elements, and he doesn't want my department to fucking kill him. He explained a little of what his problem was while I refilled my coffee (decaf). I facilitated an introduction to one of the people on said papers on the wall, and they'll be having a meeting tomorrow to help him figure out what the entire fuck he's doing, visually speaking.
It turns out that the Renaissance Man and I have both read a rather lot of Bujold. This occasioned a high-five, and I'm going to have to send him the patch-package for the back of CryoBurn. He is not a current or former Listee, which would have been just too hilarious. He did, however, have The Warrior's Apprentice recommended to him by Lois Herself, with instructions to omg ignore the cover, omg. :D
It turns out that I can in fact explain "knotting" usefully. I am now going to have to search to see if there is a fic that is simultaneously involving knotting, a tied hockey score, and Shibari. (I just explained it via werewolves; I didn't actually get into A/B/O.) Also, the game "lube/not-lube" is fundamentally different when you think the game is about whether you would require lube in order to stick that item up somewhere, rather than if that item would work as lube. Consider the pineapple. Consider the pineapple, sideways. Fortunately we got that one straightened out.
Apropos of hilarity earlier, I find myself watching Ally McBeal tonight. "Whipped cream moment" has been added to my personal lexicon. The Renaissance Man explained the three simple questions. It is a defining moment of realization involving the licking of whipped cream out of anatomy, and whether and how viscerally that gets you going.
I still remember one of those moments for me. The thing about getting to know someone new is that we don't already know each other's deep backstories. So in order for that whipped cream moment to make sense when related, I had to start at Beltane of 1995, with another sexuality-defining three simple questions. And the thing about Beltane 1995 is, the story starts in September of 1994 when Bugs posed in the doorway of the hands-on tech-based bio class on the first day of our freshman year and announced that he was IN THE HOUSE.
My lesbian friend Savil's good friend Bugs decided that it would be a great idea to set up the two trekkie nerds with each other. Unfortunately, I thought Scott was really damn cute. Unfortunately, Scott possibly would have been friends with me if Bugs hadn't been throwing me at him. That went poorly. (And I started taking notes because it showed every sign of becoming a hilarious story, and I wanted to be able to do it justice.) Later, Bugs realized that he himself sort of had a thing for me; polyamorously, I realized that Bugs was an all right guy (even though I had a serious thing for Scott.)
That winter, Bugs finally nerved himself up to ask the Hot Senior Drummer Chick to the big dance. She already had a date. Crushed but unbowed, Bugs asked Savil if she would go to the big dance with him, as friends. Savil already had a date. And wouldn't you know, the Hot Senior Drummer Chick was going with Savil. Bugs had himself a bit of a complex after that, regarding lesbians and his chances with same.
Bugs and I were trying to be discreet. We struck up a habit of walking back from the building where we had our morning classes together. After a fashion. Through the woods. He'd walk out and onto the path, I'd walk out a little bit later, he'd be waiting, and we'd make our way ... somewhat slowly ... back for lunch.
Skip forward. Beltane.
This day, I walked out a few minutes later, and saw him already partway across the football field with the Hot Senior Drummer Chick. I laughed to myself and hurried to catch up. When Bugs saw me, he looked terrified, and fled as soon as we hit the other building, and avoided me all afternoon: he had stood me up, he was aware of having done so, and feared for his life. (Meanwhile, I was aware of my relative position in his affections, and was deeply unsurprised and also amused as hell that he'd been able to snag a moment with the Hot Senior Drummer Chick.)
I was eventually able to calm him down on the matter, whereupon he began to extol the Hot Senior Drummer Chick's glories, and how she'd sort of just come along and swept him up and if it was me, wouldn't I have done the same thing (yes), and wasn't she hot (yes) and YOU THINK SHE'S HOT OH MY GOD ARE YOU BISEXUAL YOU'RE BISEXUAL AREN'T YOU OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.
Whereupon I'm not sure who hung up on whom, but shortly thereafter I was on the phone with Savil, who was in receipt of some very confusing yelling from Bugs about all his girlfriends being bisexual and how it was maybe Savil's fault. And Savil administered a quick, three-question sexuality test (this was 1995, this was how you got to be a bisexual then, someone already in the queer club had to induct you): would you date someone of the same sex? how about sloppy makeouts? and assuming Lurve And All That Stuff, would you have sex?
Yes, yes, and ... I supposed, yes. I hadn't had a Whipped Cream Moment with another girl yet, but I remembered the way I felt about boys before having a Whipped Cream Moment, and ... sure.
Skip forward.
Academic camp. I'd met Joshling. I'd fallen for Joshling. I'd regretfully learned that Joshling was Taken. I'd immediately started to form a crush on Joshling's girlfriend, sight unseen. I'd hotly denied bisexuality to Joshling because there were some conversations I just didn't feel like having.
Second term of academic camp.
There was A, the new girl. I didn't much like A at first. There was A's regrettable (new, camp) boyfriend, that jackass. There was A's regrettable ex-boyfriend, that jackass. There was A snuggling up to Joshling in a way that made my chest burn. There was A's regrettable ex-boyfriend telling me I should hate A because she was putting the moves on Joshling and Joshling was So Totally Mine, wasn't he? There I was, befriending A to spite that little shit, because Joshling was Kimmiebeth's and that little shit had no right to assert that I had first claim on Joshling.
There was A, (melo?)dramatically draped over a couch, weeping and in a right state over something, possibly the fucking ex (that jackass). I offered a hand for what comfort I could possibly bestow. A clutched my hand to her bosom. She wept. I comforted. She clutched. She wept. I tried to not move my hand in any direction that included anything that might be a caress to her general amazing bosom region. She clutched.
BOOM. Whipped Cream Moment.
By a series of coded whispers and gestures, I got Joshling's attention, and conveyed to him that I was currently experiencing severe plak tow, the fever of the blood, and felt that I might die should it not be assuaged. I did so as quietly as possible, as not to disturb A from her weeping (and besides, that would be making it all about me when she was in some large amount of distress). (The Renaissance Man: "It disturbs me that you had codes set up for this." Yeah, well. Camp. "Green.")
BOOM.
Joshling toppled over backwards, first with and then out of his chair, loudly, while screaming "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE BISEXUAL?!?!?! THAT'S TWISTED!!! OH MY GOD!!!!"
Amazingly, A remained oblivious in her silent state of woe. How, I'm not actually certain. But that was my first Actual Whipped Cream Moment of non-heterosexuality. Hi, hormones, nice to have you all on board.
Sadly I missed the new year lunch, which doubled as a going-away lunch for Researcher Lannister, whose last day is Friday. Alas, sleep schedule.
In case anybody else has not independently come up with this one: say you have a chunk of time at work which you would like to reserve for maybe some quiet uninterrupted work, or maybe you would prefer that HR not fucking schedule fucking new-hire interviews for fuck o'clock Monday morning, especially when they have to an event all been canceled 5 minutes after they were supposed to start. Here's what you do. You make an appointment, and make sure that it's something like private (maybe you share it with your assistant, maybe you don't). You schedule that appointment in the time you need to be undisturbed. With the correct settings, the people who are trying to schedule you will not see the contents, but will see that you have a meeting already there, and may not even try. (I know at least two people who use that tactic, one of whom was much more gleeful than the other in showing me the calendar with the "don't even fucking schedule anything here" meeting than the other.)
I'm feeling halfway++ confident again about the workplace events planning. I suspect I am due for sending more candy in the direction of the Events team, via inter-office mail.
I found Mr. Zune staring at a wall in my wing. He was staring at some papers my teammates had put up: he's working on a thing that involves some design elements, and he doesn't want my department to fucking kill him. He explained a little of what his problem was while I refilled my coffee (decaf). I facilitated an introduction to one of the people on said papers on the wall, and they'll be having a meeting tomorrow to help him figure out what the entire fuck he's doing, visually speaking.
It turns out that the Renaissance Man and I have both read a rather lot of Bujold. This occasioned a high-five, and I'm going to have to send him the patch-package for the back of CryoBurn. He is not a current or former Listee, which would have been just too hilarious. He did, however, have The Warrior's Apprentice recommended to him by Lois Herself, with instructions to omg ignore the cover, omg. :D
It turns out that I can in fact explain "knotting" usefully. I am now going to have to search to see if there is a fic that is simultaneously involving knotting, a tied hockey score, and Shibari. (I just explained it via werewolves; I didn't actually get into A/B/O.) Also, the game "lube/not-lube" is fundamentally different when you think the game is about whether you would require lube in order to stick that item up somewhere, rather than if that item would work as lube. Consider the pineapple. Consider the pineapple, sideways. Fortunately we got that one straightened out.
Apropos of hilarity earlier, I find myself watching Ally McBeal tonight. "Whipped cream moment" has been added to my personal lexicon. The Renaissance Man explained the three simple questions. It is a defining moment of realization involving the licking of whipped cream out of anatomy, and whether and how viscerally that gets you going.
I still remember one of those moments for me. The thing about getting to know someone new is that we don't already know each other's deep backstories. So in order for that whipped cream moment to make sense when related, I had to start at Beltane of 1995, with another sexuality-defining three simple questions. And the thing about Beltane 1995 is, the story starts in September of 1994 when Bugs posed in the doorway of the hands-on tech-based bio class on the first day of our freshman year and announced that he was IN THE HOUSE.
My lesbian friend Savil's good friend Bugs decided that it would be a great idea to set up the two trekkie nerds with each other. Unfortunately, I thought Scott was really damn cute. Unfortunately, Scott possibly would have been friends with me if Bugs hadn't been throwing me at him. That went poorly. (And I started taking notes because it showed every sign of becoming a hilarious story, and I wanted to be able to do it justice.) Later, Bugs realized that he himself sort of had a thing for me; polyamorously, I realized that Bugs was an all right guy (even though I had a serious thing for Scott.)
That winter, Bugs finally nerved himself up to ask the Hot Senior Drummer Chick to the big dance. She already had a date. Crushed but unbowed, Bugs asked Savil if she would go to the big dance with him, as friends. Savil already had a date. And wouldn't you know, the Hot Senior Drummer Chick was going with Savil. Bugs had himself a bit of a complex after that, regarding lesbians and his chances with same.
Bugs and I were trying to be discreet. We struck up a habit of walking back from the building where we had our morning classes together. After a fashion. Through the woods. He'd walk out and onto the path, I'd walk out a little bit later, he'd be waiting, and we'd make our way ... somewhat slowly ... back for lunch.
Skip forward. Beltane.
This day, I walked out a few minutes later, and saw him already partway across the football field with the Hot Senior Drummer Chick. I laughed to myself and hurried to catch up. When Bugs saw me, he looked terrified, and fled as soon as we hit the other building, and avoided me all afternoon: he had stood me up, he was aware of having done so, and feared for his life. (Meanwhile, I was aware of my relative position in his affections, and was deeply unsurprised and also amused as hell that he'd been able to snag a moment with the Hot Senior Drummer Chick.)
I was eventually able to calm him down on the matter, whereupon he began to extol the Hot Senior Drummer Chick's glories, and how she'd sort of just come along and swept him up and if it was me, wouldn't I have done the same thing (yes), and wasn't she hot (yes) and YOU THINK SHE'S HOT OH MY GOD ARE YOU BISEXUAL YOU'RE BISEXUAL AREN'T YOU OH MY GOD OH MY GOD.
Whereupon I'm not sure who hung up on whom, but shortly thereafter I was on the phone with Savil, who was in receipt of some very confusing yelling from Bugs about all his girlfriends being bisexual and how it was maybe Savil's fault. And Savil administered a quick, three-question sexuality test (this was 1995, this was how you got to be a bisexual then, someone already in the queer club had to induct you): would you date someone of the same sex? how about sloppy makeouts? and assuming Lurve And All That Stuff, would you have sex?
Yes, yes, and ... I supposed, yes. I hadn't had a Whipped Cream Moment with another girl yet, but I remembered the way I felt about boys before having a Whipped Cream Moment, and ... sure.
Skip forward.
Academic camp. I'd met Joshling. I'd fallen for Joshling. I'd regretfully learned that Joshling was Taken. I'd immediately started to form a crush on Joshling's girlfriend, sight unseen. I'd hotly denied bisexuality to Joshling because there were some conversations I just didn't feel like having.
Second term of academic camp.
There was A, the new girl. I didn't much like A at first. There was A's regrettable (new, camp) boyfriend, that jackass. There was A's regrettable ex-boyfriend, that jackass. There was A snuggling up to Joshling in a way that made my chest burn. There was A's regrettable ex-boyfriend telling me I should hate A because she was putting the moves on Joshling and Joshling was So Totally Mine, wasn't he? There I was, befriending A to spite that little shit, because Joshling was Kimmiebeth's and that little shit had no right to assert that I had first claim on Joshling.
There was A, (melo?)dramatically draped over a couch, weeping and in a right state over something, possibly the fucking ex (that jackass). I offered a hand for what comfort I could possibly bestow. A clutched my hand to her bosom. She wept. I comforted. She clutched. She wept. I tried to not move my hand in any direction that included anything that might be a caress to her general amazing bosom region. She clutched.
BOOM. Whipped Cream Moment.
By a series of coded whispers and gestures, I got Joshling's attention, and conveyed to him that I was currently experiencing severe plak tow, the fever of the blood, and felt that I might die should it not be assuaged. I did so as quietly as possible, as not to disturb A from her weeping (and besides, that would be making it all about me when she was in some large amount of distress). (The Renaissance Man: "It disturbs me that you had codes set up for this." Yeah, well. Camp. "Green.")
BOOM.
Joshling toppled over backwards, first with and then out of his chair, loudly, while screaming "OH MY GOD, YOU'RE BISEXUAL?!?!?! THAT'S TWISTED!!! OH MY GOD!!!!"
Amazingly, A remained oblivious in her silent state of woe. How, I'm not actually certain. But that was my first Actual Whipped Cream Moment of non-heterosexuality. Hi, hormones, nice to have you all on board.
Ally: Should I love John Cage? He just represents so many of the things I want in a man and he would be the greatest of fathers.
Milter: Well, Alison, you're begging the assumption that love can be voluntary. True love can often be reduced to three anecdotal questions: How would you feel about raising children with him? How would you feel about sitting in front of a fire and talking about life and a movie, perhaps a book you just read? And how would you feel about him suckling a little whipped cream out of the cup-pith of your navel. Ah yes! Romance would have begotten a different expression on that one.
Ally: But does true love have to be romantic? I mean, really?
Milter: For most people… no. For you? Well... I have a test for that one, too. And answer me honestly. A lot of my patients lie! (Ally nods.) When you're home and the phone rings, what's the very first thought that goes through your head? Rrrring!
Ally: Larry.
Milter: So much for John Cage.
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The more I listen to stories from people, the more I realize we could make television gold just by having people tell stories from their lives.
Your workplace by itself would be an entire season.
"Look at the pineapple. Now look at me..."
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My workplace is amazing. This workplace is actually less interesting, day to day, than Survey Hell was. Oh man, those stories ... !!!
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I still want a picture of Ethan and a newt facing off a la Mirror Dance.
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