Entry tags:
”If 'no' weren't an OK option I wouldn't have asked you."
There are certain self-preservation skills you can pick up with a nasty depression. ( nearly two decades old suicidal pain. )
I have a bunch of half-written entries in the queue. This is actually today's.
3/31 Tuesday
Got to work about 5 minutes before Purple, by the login times. He parked, as it would turn out, one over from me.
Lunch was good, peaceful.
I feel like I'm playing catch-up a lot.
I didn't have plans for tomorrow, but then I developed some. Heh.
StPatience is having a bad week :(
( An insect incident )
That led to other discussions of texting-while-doing; I once fell down some (short) stairs due to reading while walking.
I wound up explaining the one-year gap in wearing my star. "A dude was involved" is a way I have come to sometimes explain some of my more random-seeming decisions to Purple. (I much less often do dumb-ass shit which involves ladies or honorable other-gendered sentients.) It has been quite some time since I actually laid out the reasons why I reacted differently to That Valentine's Day (wherein I was the third wheel in the next room from where the dude I liked banged someone else) and That Rather Bad Evening With Shawn (where the dude I liked banged someone else on the bed that I was trying to sleep on).
I called Kat on the way home. It was good to talk with her. Our brains work better when they are connected.
Now I am trying to get to bed early so I can go in to work and set up the thing.
Got to work about 5 minutes before Purple, by the login times. He parked, as it would turn out, one over from me.
Lunch was good, peaceful.
I feel like I'm playing catch-up a lot.
I didn't have plans for tomorrow, but then I developed some. Heh.
StPatience is having a bad week :(
( An insect incident )
That led to other discussions of texting-while-doing; I once fell down some (short) stairs due to reading while walking.
I wound up explaining the one-year gap in wearing my star. "A dude was involved" is a way I have come to sometimes explain some of my more random-seeming decisions to Purple. (I much less often do dumb-ass shit which involves ladies or honorable other-gendered sentients.) It has been quite some time since I actually laid out the reasons why I reacted differently to That Valentine's Day (wherein I was the third wheel in the next room from where the dude I liked banged someone else) and That Rather Bad Evening With Shawn (where the dude I liked banged someone else on the bed that I was trying to sleep on).
I called Kat on the way home. It was good to talk with her. Our brains work better when they are connected.
Now I am trying to get to bed early so I can go in to work and set up the thing.
Red, Pink, and White Sour Balls have been deployed
Sunday was not a great day in the department of menstruation. Specifically, it all decided to come out at a great rate. After I got to sleep from the whole electrical fire, I had to get up and ditch blood regularly. Sunday was a quiet day. Then I went to bed early and was more or less asleep for thirteen hours.
At lunch, I came to the gentle realization that one of the reasons that I had been so nervous about telling Darkside that [birthname] is not really one that I answer to anymore, is because I was not allowed to have preferences of my own around Shawn. Purple saw the dawning horror on my face and said many sweetly vicious things that prompted me to smile mistily and press paired fingers against his sleeve.![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
norabombay mentioned, later, that a name change is a significant thing that comes with a nonzero chance of friends and family rejecting it, even people who ought to be close and ought to know better. But yeah, Shawn's shadow looms longer than previously thought.
lb saw a familiar face on campus, in the company of a recruiter.
My phone's battery has been not great. Alas.
The Stage Manager left me a donation toward my candy dish.
Today was one of those days where it seemed like all I did was talk with helpdesk. I also tried to do beta on some helpdesk stuff, but not all of the pieces were in order. Then I tried to put some stuff in the wiki, only to find that the wiki was broken. So I had to call helpdesk again.
The white sour balls may be possibly pear-flavored, Purple said.
He'd come in late enough to have a parking spot of opportunity. Mine was further down the same row, at the other end. We chatted for a while. My eyeshadow included some glitter, which had been catching the light and reflecting off my glasses, causing slight distraction. This was not a light source Purple would have guessed. He hugged me gently but thoroughly and we split. Tomorrow night is the deadline for some papers that have to be graded. He has a couple left.
I did get a good chat in with Nora, through the commute and into the grocery store. Then I came home and started laundry and cooked dinner and read some internet.
At lunch, I came to the gentle realization that one of the reasons that I had been so nervous about telling Darkside that [birthname] is not really one that I answer to anymore, is because I was not allowed to have preferences of my own around Shawn. Purple saw the dawning horror on my face and said many sweetly vicious things that prompted me to smile mistily and press paired fingers against his sleeve.
norabombay mentioned, later, that a name change is a significant thing that comes with a nonzero chance of friends and family rejecting it, even people who ought to be close and ought to know better. But yeah, Shawn's shadow looms longer than previously thought. lb saw a familiar face on campus, in the company of a recruiter.
My phone's battery has been not great. Alas.
The Stage Manager left me a donation toward my candy dish.
Today was one of those days where it seemed like all I did was talk with helpdesk. I also tried to do beta on some helpdesk stuff, but not all of the pieces were in order. Then I tried to put some stuff in the wiki, only to find that the wiki was broken. So I had to call helpdesk again.
The white sour balls may be possibly pear-flavored, Purple said.
He'd come in late enough to have a parking spot of opportunity. Mine was further down the same row, at the other end. We chatted for a while. My eyeshadow included some glitter, which had been catching the light and reflecting off my glasses, causing slight distraction. This was not a light source Purple would have guessed. He hugged me gently but thoroughly and we split. Tomorrow night is the deadline for some papers that have to be graded. He has a couple left.
I did get a good chat in with Nora, through the commute and into the grocery store. Then I came home and started laundry and cooked dinner and read some internet.
Our new game, in the courtyard.
It was, yet again, beer bash day. I don't much care for beer. I have a large box of hard hard lemonade left over from OS Bridge, which I'm slowly making my way through. Having done the same once previous, to excellent success, I decided that I was not going to count on the sangria being drinkable, and unceremoniously grabbed carefully brought two random flavors out of the box, to spend some time in my work fridge before bash.
After being advised by Gaff himself that not having yet watched Blade Runner was a Fault, I asked around a bit about who else might be interested in a movie night. And it turned out that the Dean was interested in making it happen. Plus he knows which meeting room has the best sound system.
In search of some better information than those punks at the helpdesk were capable of giving me, I tried googling some of the information I wanted to know about the helpdesk software. This turned up the manufacturer's wiki. ( Read more... )
Sadly, the first date that the Dean proposed for Blade Runner Night is up against something else. He's thinking again about it.
The beer bashes are often themed. Today's beer bash was themed for that SaaS upgrade initiative. The name, of course, has nothing apparent in common with the actual effects. We wandered out to find that there were piles and piles of branded bottle openers on all the tables. Sort of nicely themed for a beer bash, but we actually don't have beer bottles at the beer bash (having long since reached the keg stage) so it all seemed a little futile. I grabbed some nachos and sat primly down at an "I don't know you personally but I'm sort of with your group at lunch and we nod and say hi in the halls" distance from some of Purple's teammates. There was a band, but they weren't amplified past hear-myself-think stage.
Purple and lb emerged and spotted me. They went after refreshments. As I sat there waiting, I saw the Dean. I had been mulling over a few more thoughts, and felt I should share. So I headed over to where he was, and pitched: "You Haven't Seen This Yet?!?!!" -- the movie night series. Just then Purple showed up over one shoulder and lb showed up over the other, for all the world like an angel and a devil. (Purple gives me the bad ideas, so he was appropriately on my left.) ( Read more... )
Purple's rule for me has become an in-joke: No more blowing bees in the courtyard! (It was not that I was previously actually allowed to blow bees in any location, courtyard included, but that now there has to be a specific rule about it.)
lb likes to program language games. And "no more" "blowing bees" "in the courtyard" has somewhat the same ring of "Brad" "with BML" "in his dorm room" -- the savour of a really satisfying Clue answer. He's going to toss the idea around in his brain for a bit and see if it's possible to come up with a three-card mix-and-match form of shenanigans which involves a modifier of some sort, an action, and a location, or things that swap in and out well enough.
A navy-blue shape snapped my brain's attention, and I pointed my chin across the party. There was That Security Guard. The guys looked. I moved nearer Purple. lb: "How about that local sports team?" I unwound a little in the presence of trusted friends.
The party cleared out some. The band ceased performing and began to clean up. Things got more quiet.
Everybody had been playing with the piles of bottle openers from the start. Purple stared at the stack on our table, and aired a thought which had clearly been nagging at him all evening: WTF does a person in today's world need with that many bottle openers anyway; are there really THAT MANY BOTTLES TO OPEN IN THIS MODERN WORLD??!!?
-- And because sometimes life is just really that great and presents opportunities that great, I reach my hand in my tote bag and slam a hard hard lemonade down on the table in front of him. Everybody cracks up.
lb: "I don't drink things I can't screw off with my hand."
Azz: "In the courtyard." (again with the laughter)
Purple reads the bottle: "HARD Blood Orange", and that reminds lb of a certain Japanese celebrity. Pro wrestling characters are wacky and arguably embarrassment-squick when doing Reality TV Stunts in every culture! ~Hoooooo!!!!
Eventually it was time to go. Purple stopped by my cube and we headed for the parking lot. This time the chatter was mostly about our respective levels of general functionality in the morning, ( with bonus Shawn trauma )
I now know what I want to be for Halloween. This is a change from the previous several years, where it was a last-minute effort. This one is going to involve a shawl, a necklace, a hat, and a whole bunch of white buttons.
After being advised by Gaff himself that not having yet watched Blade Runner was a Fault, I asked around a bit about who else might be interested in a movie night. And it turned out that the Dean was interested in making it happen. Plus he knows which meeting room has the best sound system.
In search of some better information than those punks at the helpdesk were capable of giving me, I tried googling some of the information I wanted to know about the helpdesk software. This turned up the manufacturer's wiki. ( Read more... )
Sadly, the first date that the Dean proposed for Blade Runner Night is up against something else. He's thinking again about it.
The beer bashes are often themed. Today's beer bash was themed for that SaaS upgrade initiative. The name, of course, has nothing apparent in common with the actual effects. We wandered out to find that there were piles and piles of branded bottle openers on all the tables. Sort of nicely themed for a beer bash, but we actually don't have beer bottles at the beer bash (having long since reached the keg stage) so it all seemed a little futile. I grabbed some nachos and sat primly down at an "I don't know you personally but I'm sort of with your group at lunch and we nod and say hi in the halls" distance from some of Purple's teammates. There was a band, but they weren't amplified past hear-myself-think stage.
Purple and lb emerged and spotted me. They went after refreshments. As I sat there waiting, I saw the Dean. I had been mulling over a few more thoughts, and felt I should share. So I headed over to where he was, and pitched: "You Haven't Seen This Yet?!?!!" -- the movie night series. Just then Purple showed up over one shoulder and lb showed up over the other, for all the world like an angel and a devil. (Purple gives me the bad ideas, so he was appropriately on my left.) ( Read more... )
Purple's rule for me has become an in-joke: No more blowing bees in the courtyard! (It was not that I was previously actually allowed to blow bees in any location, courtyard included, but that now there has to be a specific rule about it.)
lb likes to program language games. And "no more" "blowing bees" "in the courtyard" has somewhat the same ring of "Brad" "with BML" "in his dorm room" -- the savour of a really satisfying Clue answer. He's going to toss the idea around in his brain for a bit and see if it's possible to come up with a three-card mix-and-match form of shenanigans which involves a modifier of some sort, an action, and a location, or things that swap in and out well enough.
A navy-blue shape snapped my brain's attention, and I pointed my chin across the party. There was That Security Guard. The guys looked. I moved nearer Purple. lb: "How about that local sports team?" I unwound a little in the presence of trusted friends.
The party cleared out some. The band ceased performing and began to clean up. Things got more quiet.
Everybody had been playing with the piles of bottle openers from the start. Purple stared at the stack on our table, and aired a thought which had clearly been nagging at him all evening: WTF does a person in today's world need with that many bottle openers anyway; are there really THAT MANY BOTTLES TO OPEN IN THIS MODERN WORLD??!!?
-- And because sometimes life is just really that great and presents opportunities that great, I reach my hand in my tote bag and slam a hard hard lemonade down on the table in front of him. Everybody cracks up.
lb: "I don't drink things I can't screw off with my hand."
Azz: "In the courtyard." (again with the laughter)
Purple reads the bottle: "HARD Blood Orange", and that reminds lb of a certain Japanese celebrity. Pro wrestling characters are wacky and arguably embarrassment-squick when doing Reality TV Stunts in every culture! ~Hoooooo!!!!
Eventually it was time to go. Purple stopped by my cube and we headed for the parking lot. This time the chatter was mostly about our respective levels of general functionality in the morning, ( with bonus Shawn trauma )
I now know what I want to be for Halloween. This is a change from the previous several years, where it was a last-minute effort. This one is going to involve a shawl, a necklace, a hat, and a whole bunch of white buttons.
Heteronormativity in the time of dish load balancing
The call to lunch is not quite like the call to adventure, as it usually doesn't bring with it risks of gangrene and decapitation. I have also not yet refused the call to lunch.
At some point I will work out a better custody arrangement for my lunchtimes, as it were. Perhaps even something with a schedule. While I am not by any means required to eat lunch with my team, it is good for bonding and morale to do so on occasion.
The move is forcing some organization, so while I keep feeling like I did nothing, in fact there was a lot, and paper getting recycled, and there's my spare set of highlighters and that notebook, and I'm building procedures and things are making sense again. My Overlady has plots for improving things, and I am happy to get behind that, or in front of it, or in whatever direction I would be most useful.
It was an off week for the company togetherness, so there was unofficial togetherness. ( Read more... )
At some point I will work out a better custody arrangement for my lunchtimes, as it were. Perhaps even something with a schedule. While I am not by any means required to eat lunch with my team, it is good for bonding and morale to do so on occasion.
The move is forcing some organization, so while I keep feeling like I did nothing, in fact there was a lot, and paper getting recycled, and there's my spare set of highlighters and that notebook, and I'm building procedures and things are making sense again. My Overlady has plots for improving things, and I am happy to get behind that, or in front of it, or in whatever direction I would be most useful.
It was an off week for the company togetherness, so there was unofficial togetherness. ( Read more... )
Entry tags:
chocolate covered
Dear past self,
It's okay that you didn't take the chocolate-covered cherries out of your pocket before using your jacket as a pillow.
The jacket washed better than your heart.
You will survive that relationship, though.
Love,
future self
It's okay that you didn't take the chocolate-covered cherries out of your pocket before using your jacket as a pillow.
The jacket washed better than your heart.
You will survive that relationship, though.
Love,
future self
Entry tags:
Entry tags:
Oxygen is good.
3:31 AM 8/11/2010
I seem to have either allergies that are kicking my ass, or a cold. I ventured forth for foodstuffs earlier in the evening, and have been sitting around drinking lots of mint tea and feeling as stupid and slow and cut off from everything as if I were one of those Vonnegut characters who have nasal telepathy and a head cold.
I also have a random cut, and no idea how it got there. ( TMI )
1:07 AM 8/13/2010
Cold-type-thing confirmed. I had a really horrible couple nights, and went with my aunt in the morning to get fruits (I bought more than I was actually actively hungry for, because I knew I'd be hungry once I got my nose back), then we headed to Target. I got decongestant. My aunt looked at rice cookers for my cousin. I headed home, decongested.
I'd thought that I'd surely miss the announcement of whether Walker would lift the stay while we were out shopping, but evidently not. We were waiting on pins and needles; Ursie jested with JD that he could "pull an Azz", and influence the news to be released by taking a shower, like I did last time.
The news went up slightly after noon: the stay on his judgment will be lifted the evening of the 18th, which means that the happy couples of San Francisco have just under a week to plan their weddings if they're going to hit day 1. I surprised myself by actually busting out sobbing. Never mind that I don't have any current plans for a wedding; never mind that I don't have anyone I'm seeing right now; never mind that as queers go, I'm bisexual, and as bisexuals go, based on past data I'm statistically more likely to form a long-term bond with a man. It still affects me personally, and it's my people. No matter whether I never date another woman in my life, this is still my people.
Bawling over with, I started in on putting together the sangria, and wound up in a long and far-ranging conversation on Facebook chat with good ol' Shawn, who has also been suffering from a cold. I also pinged![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
wibbble to see if he was the person who had suggested that fascinating-looking remote tech support firm while Madman was still behaving badly and driving me to tears. Because he's behaving now. We determined it was probably not him. I did my eyes in the bi rainbow again, for celebration's sake. I do like having a diversity of eye shadow. It makes me want to play with it, play with all the lucious colors. My inner painter needs to be sated.
Feeling much better than I had in three days, because I could finally breathe, I sallied forth theatre-wards, for I was to meet with the boys for some entertainments. I was a n00b on the Muni, but as a reward for my taking the wrong train, I did get to see a bit of hilarious and inexplicable byplay on the N. Heading inbound, just about around Safeway, this kid marched up to the front of the car, yelling about something. He got off the train from the front door, and, as he passed the open middle door near where I was sitting, he hurled something hard through the door and into the train, which sailed past the face and over the mobile phone of the random hipster guy lounging on one of the benches (it was a very empty train), clattering against the wall and falling to the floor. The guy got off his mobile in shock. It turned out to be a barrette. Surreal event for the evening, CHECK.
At length I arrived at the Castro Theatre; fortunately they do let in latecomers, and I was only a bit late. We were watching Fruit Fly, which has joined my list of adored movies. I must watch it again. I must in fact purchase it at some point. I came in just about as the "Fag Hag" number (language) was starting. I had not heard some of those. It was late enough that I did not want to barge through the seats and step on toes, so I was not actually sitting with the boys, but this is a movie that one can miss the first ten minutes of, and watch by oneself, and still enjoy the hell out of it, and I am sure that the enjoyment would have been fairly multiplied had all stars been in the right spheres, &c.
There was applause and laughter throughout the film. I did notice that no-one seems to charge their phone at all. :D Though the curled-up-in-bed-with-phone is particularly genuine. And the damned air conditioner building! It was as much a love story for the city as it was the story of these people. The ending was a bit inexplicable, but hey. It's a thing of beauty.
So then I went home, and curled up on the internet with my fishies.
I seem to have either allergies that are kicking my ass, or a cold. I ventured forth for foodstuffs earlier in the evening, and have been sitting around drinking lots of mint tea and feeling as stupid and slow and cut off from everything as if I were one of those Vonnegut characters who have nasal telepathy and a head cold.
I also have a random cut, and no idea how it got there. ( TMI )
1:07 AM 8/13/2010
Cold-type-thing confirmed. I had a really horrible couple nights, and went with my aunt in the morning to get fruits (I bought more than I was actually actively hungry for, because I knew I'd be hungry once I got my nose back), then we headed to Target. I got decongestant. My aunt looked at rice cookers for my cousin. I headed home, decongested.
I'd thought that I'd surely miss the announcement of whether Walker would lift the stay while we were out shopping, but evidently not. We were waiting on pins and needles; Ursie jested with JD that he could "pull an Azz", and influence the news to be released by taking a shower, like I did last time.
The news went up slightly after noon: the stay on his judgment will be lifted the evening of the 18th, which means that the happy couples of San Francisco have just under a week to plan their weddings if they're going to hit day 1. I surprised myself by actually busting out sobbing. Never mind that I don't have any current plans for a wedding; never mind that I don't have anyone I'm seeing right now; never mind that as queers go, I'm bisexual, and as bisexuals go, based on past data I'm statistically more likely to form a long-term bond with a man. It still affects me personally, and it's my people. No matter whether I never date another woman in my life, this is still my people.
Bawling over with, I started in on putting together the sangria, and wound up in a long and far-ranging conversation on Facebook chat with good ol' Shawn, who has also been suffering from a cold. I also pinged
wibbble to see if he was the person who had suggested that fascinating-looking remote tech support firm while Madman was still behaving badly and driving me to tears. Because he's behaving now. We determined it was probably not him. I did my eyes in the bi rainbow again, for celebration's sake. I do like having a diversity of eye shadow. It makes me want to play with it, play with all the lucious colors. My inner painter needs to be sated. Feeling much better than I had in three days, because I could finally breathe, I sallied forth theatre-wards, for I was to meet with the boys for some entertainments. I was a n00b on the Muni, but as a reward for my taking the wrong train, I did get to see a bit of hilarious and inexplicable byplay on the N. Heading inbound, just about around Safeway, this kid marched up to the front of the car, yelling about something. He got off the train from the front door, and, as he passed the open middle door near where I was sitting, he hurled something hard through the door and into the train, which sailed past the face and over the mobile phone of the random hipster guy lounging on one of the benches (it was a very empty train), clattering against the wall and falling to the floor. The guy got off his mobile in shock. It turned out to be a barrette. Surreal event for the evening, CHECK.
At length I arrived at the Castro Theatre; fortunately they do let in latecomers, and I was only a bit late. We were watching Fruit Fly, which has joined my list of adored movies. I must watch it again. I must in fact purchase it at some point. I came in just about as the "Fag Hag" number (language) was starting. I had not heard some of those. It was late enough that I did not want to barge through the seats and step on toes, so I was not actually sitting with the boys, but this is a movie that one can miss the first ten minutes of, and watch by oneself, and still enjoy the hell out of it, and I am sure that the enjoyment would have been fairly multiplied had all stars been in the right spheres, &c.
There was applause and laughter throughout the film. I did notice that no-one seems to charge their phone at all. :D Though the curled-up-in-bed-with-phone is particularly genuine. And the damned air conditioner building! It was as much a love story for the city as it was the story of these people. The ending was a bit inexplicable, but hey. It's a thing of beauty.
So then I went home, and curled up on the internet with my fishies.
Entry tags:
Evolution
thefourthvine is thinking about Major Fannish Events she wishes she'd seen. This is my story. My high school best friend and I had already seen the re-releases of the original Star Wars trilogy in the theatres, and we'd had a blast, and we'd watched tiny children have lightsabre fights in the aisles before the show, and we'd had our own, and we'd waved hello to the TA from our fencing class.
So we were primed for the new movie. I didn't have a TV then either, so I was pretty well insulated from spoilers. We decided to go all out. Shawn (my then best friend) had just had a hair disaster. I helped him shave off the frizzled remains, then he took spray paint to his dome and I helped with the detailing, and soon he became R2D2. We stopped by my parents' house, and I soon became Leia (white gown, black yarn rats to fill up the crazy enormous buns), and Rocki borrowed my Yoda shirt. (For all I know, he still has it.)
There was a news crew there. First they interviewed the guy in a full Darth Maul costume. (I didn't know who Darth Maul was, from not having been spoiled at all.) They had a few words with Shawn, who was notable for being over six feet and having the top of his head painted like R2D2. I was in the background; I hoped they'd ask who did the painting, but no such luck.
We watched the movie. Unless a movie is absolute shit, I am not much for criticism after I've watched it. I came out utterly high and determined that someday I would have enough hair to replicate some of the effects that Queen Amidala had going on.
I got sucked into the Sith Academy after that. Movie was cheesy? Midichlorians? No problem. Let's write crackfic. Let's introduce Miss Lunatic to slash for the first time (and make her like it). Let's make her wish she didn't live in Alaska. Let's contribute to compulsory "SITH LORDS KICK ASS!!" here and there. Let's give a fangirl her wings and teach her to fly.
(The Bujold List was my nest. Sith Academy was my launchpad.)
Entry tags:
A Shawn moment: the cordless phone and the microwave
Once upon a time when I was in high school, Shawn demonstrated why he shouldn't be left alone with a cordless phone or a microwave.
I wrote this one up for helpful context in![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
metaquotes a while ago.
We were chatting on the phone. I heard the telltale signs of him getting bored. Him bored is dangerous. Him bored while stoned is even more so. He'd already slammed his nose in the door several times -- the first time by accident, the subsequent times to see if it would hurt any less. (It didn't.)
Him: "I wonder what would happen if I put this phone in the microwave."
Me: "Don't."
Microwave door: *slams shut*
Microwave: *beep beep beep HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*
Me: "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT?"
Phone: *sizzle crackle*
Me: "STOP IT, YOU IDIOT!!!"
Microwave: *HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*
Phone: *SZZCCHHHTTT POP SCCHCHCHTTHZZT POP POP HSSSST SZZZCTH*
Me: "YOU ARE NOT ACTUALLY DOING THIS!!!!!!!!!"
Phone: *SZT ZZZT HCCCT SZZT SZZT!* *OMINOUS SILENCE*
My phone: "If you'd like to make a call..."
Weird Al: "In Allllllbuquerque!"
Me: "He didn't. He didn't. Oh, god, he did." *facepalm*
My phone: *rings*
Him: *subdued* "That's my third phone today."
Me: ...
I wrote this one up for helpful context in
metaquotes a while ago. We were chatting on the phone. I heard the telltale signs of him getting bored. Him bored is dangerous. Him bored while stoned is even more so. He'd already slammed his nose in the door several times -- the first time by accident, the subsequent times to see if it would hurt any less. (It didn't.)
Him: "I wonder what would happen if I put this phone in the microwave."
Me: "Don't."
Microwave door: *slams shut*
Microwave: *beep beep beep HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*
Me: "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING, YOU IDIOT?"
Phone: *sizzle crackle*
Me: "STOP IT, YOU IDIOT!!!"
Microwave: *HUMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM*
Phone: *SZZCCHHHTTT POP SCCHCHCHTTHZZT POP POP HSSSST SZZZCTH*
Me: "YOU ARE NOT ACTUALLY DOING THIS!!!!!!!!!"
Phone: *SZT ZZZT HCCCT SZZT SZZT!* *OMINOUS SILENCE*
My phone: "If you'd like to make a call..."
Weird Al: "In Allllllbuquerque!"
Me: "He didn't. He didn't. Oh, god, he did." *facepalm*
My phone: *rings*
Him: *subdued* "That's my third phone today."
Me: ...
Entry tags:
That Idiot Shawn and the Green Plastic Bucket
brimtoast requested a bedtime story tonight in chat. The Green Plastic Bucket story sounded so innocent, and she wanted to discover the hidden mischief! So! Once upon a time (in 1996), my then-best-friend That Idiot Shawn went from staying with his mother in Alaska to staying with his father (and stepmother, and three half-brothers) in Colorado.
Shawn was the oldest, at 16. All of his half-brothers were younger, ranging from middle school to elementary school to preschool.
One day, Shawn's father, stepmother, oldest half-brother, and youngest half-brother all went somewhere, leaving Shawn home to keep an eye on his middle half-brother, who had a summer reading assignment of some sort. Shawn's middle half-brother was not all about the reading, but Shawn banished him to the living room until such time as the reading was done.
This left Shawn on the phone with me (I believe in the kitchen). I was having a lovely lazy summer afternoon and was enjoying my talk with him.
"I have a green plastic bucket!" Shawn said. I did not doubt this. He had a good number of things around, and sometimes chose to amuse himself with them. "Listen to this sound it makes!" he said.
I heard a tik tik tik noise. Shawn's voice sounded hollow all of a sudden, also. Echoing!
I was not a dumb girl. I concluded that the bucket was now on his head! I told him of my conclusions! He was surprised that I could hear this! The bucket was, in fact, on his head.
( Oh, Shawn. )
Entry tags:
lights on the moon (a dream)
So I dreamed.
Underwater photography -- there was a great big cruise ship docked near the shore, and people were swimming around and I had a camera or something, and there was a flag on the ship with all sorts of flags on it, going from an international one to a national and state one, and below that things like the skirt of Draco Malfoy, and other essential fandom properties.
Said essential fandom properties were the property of D, who began taking them down from the line and stuffing them in a laundry sack (a nice heavy-duty naval laundry sack of canvas with grommets and rope and about human-sized) in preparation to go ashore.
Going ashore evidently meant flinging the laundry sack off the side of the boat with a rope tether, and then going down a rope ladder into the sea (which was nice and warm). In the sea, I could look at the moon. From under water, I could see lights on the moon.
I flagged down someone (I knew them in the dream, and I am sure I knew them in real life somewhere in my past; it may have been my elementary schoolmate Galadriel?) and tried to point out this thing. It was not really pointable, but each time I went underwater it was getting more and more brilliantly lit up, with patterns sort of like a biohazard symbol. However, this may have been just a side effect from the water and my binocular vision. I had a digital camera that I had been using on the foliage at the water's edge (from in the water) but I could not take it underwater. I begged my companion's camera, which was film, and tried to snap the moon from under the water, but it was not showing up so well, and the angle was wrong due to the changing time of day. I was frustrated, but OMG, it was gorgeous, and I wondered what/who was on the moon -- not so much OMG ALIENS or OMG COLONISTS but I DID NOT THINK THAT WE WERE UP THERE YET IN SUCH LARGE NUMBERS?!
The scene shifted, and I was trying to take photographs of plants and such, seemingly-casual shots that were part of a larger session, with a couple and perhaps berries? or were they flowers? In any case, their hands and the plants and their faces and all such lovely artlessly artful moments.
And that shifted into a street corner (near the shore) and this gang headed up by Shawn (the high school best friend, not to be confused with my current best friend) was leading a crew, and I dropped back into the Shawn's-Secretary position I'd held so many years, and we went to a Halloween shop for proper makeup, decorations, and costuming, and somehow the shopkeeper and Shawn decided that they wanted to see me in a blonde wig, blonde like Joni Mitchell, but there were no wigs of that sort, just white and yellow. So I wound up wearing a blue wig (it was a string wig, of fine navy blue string) and it looked awesome on me, almost indistinguishable from my own hair (in the dream) except blue, like my hair was streaked, not like I was wearing a wig.
I'm sure there were other bits after this, but that's all I can remember at this point.
Underwater photography -- there was a great big cruise ship docked near the shore, and people were swimming around and I had a camera or something, and there was a flag on the ship with all sorts of flags on it, going from an international one to a national and state one, and below that things like the skirt of Draco Malfoy, and other essential fandom properties.
Said essential fandom properties were the property of D, who began taking them down from the line and stuffing them in a laundry sack (a nice heavy-duty naval laundry sack of canvas with grommets and rope and about human-sized) in preparation to go ashore.
Going ashore evidently meant flinging the laundry sack off the side of the boat with a rope tether, and then going down a rope ladder into the sea (which was nice and warm). In the sea, I could look at the moon. From under water, I could see lights on the moon.
I flagged down someone (I knew them in the dream, and I am sure I knew them in real life somewhere in my past; it may have been my elementary schoolmate Galadriel?) and tried to point out this thing. It was not really pointable, but each time I went underwater it was getting more and more brilliantly lit up, with patterns sort of like a biohazard symbol. However, this may have been just a side effect from the water and my binocular vision. I had a digital camera that I had been using on the foliage at the water's edge (from in the water) but I could not take it underwater. I begged my companion's camera, which was film, and tried to snap the moon from under the water, but it was not showing up so well, and the angle was wrong due to the changing time of day. I was frustrated, but OMG, it was gorgeous, and I wondered what/who was on the moon -- not so much OMG ALIENS or OMG COLONISTS but I DID NOT THINK THAT WE WERE UP THERE YET IN SUCH LARGE NUMBERS?!
The scene shifted, and I was trying to take photographs of plants and such, seemingly-casual shots that were part of a larger session, with a couple and perhaps berries? or were they flowers? In any case, their hands and the plants and their faces and all such lovely artlessly artful moments.
And that shifted into a street corner (near the shore) and this gang headed up by Shawn (the high school best friend, not to be confused with my current best friend) was leading a crew, and I dropped back into the Shawn's-Secretary position I'd held so many years, and we went to a Halloween shop for proper makeup, decorations, and costuming, and somehow the shopkeeper and Shawn decided that they wanted to see me in a blonde wig, blonde like Joni Mitchell, but there were no wigs of that sort, just white and yellow. So I wound up wearing a blue wig (it was a string wig, of fine navy blue string) and it looked awesome on me, almost indistinguishable from my own hair (in the dream) except blue, like my hair was streaked, not like I was wearing a wig.
I'm sure there were other bits after this, but that's all I can remember at this point.
Entry tags:
Interesting Interests Theatre:
ursamajor picked the following interests of mine to ask about: poodle! stop humping!, yeeth, Cordelia Vorkosigan, duct tape sword guys, ectogenesis, egyptian fayoumi, Liquid Satan, Malkavian
She mentioned that most* of them sounded as if they were fantasy-related. In actual practice, the links are often tenuous at best.
( Read more... )
Curious about some of my other interests? Ask away! Want to have something to write about? Say the word, and I'll pick a handful of yours for you to post about.
Entry tags:
Writer's Block: Sweet Tooth (or, the Chocolate-Covered Cherry Saga)
What is your favorite holiday-specific candy or treat?
http://www.livejournal.com/misc/latestqotd.bml?qid=856
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My favorite is chocolate-covered cherries, which are not strictly holiday-specific, but they tend to pop up around Christmas and St. Valentine's Day, and be unavailable the rest of the year.
The particular kind I'm most fond of are the Cella's brand, which are not the rock-bottom cheapest ones, but still pretty cheap all things being equal, and have a little cherry floating in syrup inside a molded chocolate shell.
Once upon a time, sometime in the 1998/1999 winter, I was hanging out with Good Ol' Shawn. We had occasion to wind up at the convenience store on the corner of College and University. They had foil-wrapped chocolate-covered cherries for a quarter apiece! I got two of them, and absent-mindedly tucked them in one of the zippered hand-pockets of my winter jacket. (The teal one, rather than the forest green one, for those familiar with my jackets at the time.)
Later on, perhaps that very same night, we wound up at Shawn's girlfriend's apartment. Everyone was exhausted, and it was really too late, so Shawn and his girlfriend and I all attempted to sleep on the bed. It was a full-size bed, not a king or queen (and thankfully, not a twin). This resulted in me being sort of diagonal near the foot, possibly with someone's legs draped over me. I rolled up my coat and used it as a pillow.
The following morning, I realized the error of my ways: I had managed to squish the remaining chocolate-covered cherry inside the pocket of the coat. The pocket was stuck together, with bits of foil, chocolate, syrup, and cherry forming a gluey mess. For weeks after that, I would tug little bits of foil out of the inside of the jacket pocket.
It was finally washed in the spring, so no physical evidence of my folly remains, but Cella's chocolate-covered cherries will always remind me of that sleepless, awkward night.
http://www.livejournal.com/misc/latestqotd.bml?qid=856
[Error: unknown template qotd]
My favorite is chocolate-covered cherries, which are not strictly holiday-specific, but they tend to pop up around Christmas and St. Valentine's Day, and be unavailable the rest of the year.
The particular kind I'm most fond of are the Cella's brand, which are not the rock-bottom cheapest ones, but still pretty cheap all things being equal, and have a little cherry floating in syrup inside a molded chocolate shell.
Once upon a time, sometime in the 1998/1999 winter, I was hanging out with Good Ol' Shawn. We had occasion to wind up at the convenience store on the corner of College and University. They had foil-wrapped chocolate-covered cherries for a quarter apiece! I got two of them, and absent-mindedly tucked them in one of the zippered hand-pockets of my winter jacket. (The teal one, rather than the forest green one, for those familiar with my jackets at the time.)
Later on, perhaps that very same night, we wound up at Shawn's girlfriend's apartment. Everyone was exhausted, and it was really too late, so Shawn and his girlfriend and I all attempted to sleep on the bed. It was a full-size bed, not a king or queen (and thankfully, not a twin). This resulted in me being sort of diagonal near the foot, possibly with someone's legs draped over me. I rolled up my coat and used it as a pillow.
The following morning, I realized the error of my ways: I had managed to squish the remaining chocolate-covered cherry inside the pocket of the coat. The pocket was stuck together, with bits of foil, chocolate, syrup, and cherry forming a gluey mess. For weeks after that, I would tug little bits of foil out of the inside of the jacket pocket.
It was finally washed in the spring, so no physical evidence of my folly remains, but Cella's chocolate-covered cherries will always remind me of that sleepless, awkward night.
Entry tags:
Entry tags:
Compare and Contrast: two poems
1999:
( Heavy angst, and anger. )
2007: (also by me)
( Heavy angst, and anger. )
2007: (also by me)
I stand strong; I stand alone.
There's this knot inside my soul, behind the wall,
and I know my inner child is screaming and crying,
but I,
I am an adult,
and I stand,
and I stand strong,
and I stand alone.
It would be too easy to double over crying,
but I'm driving, and I can't look away from the road,
and I'll have to drive an hour before I get home. So I stand. I look.
I don't look behind, not really,
just glances back into the rearview,
watching for hazards about to overtake me.
The end of the world doesn't come
in claustrophobic screaming hysterics half in the dark
like the end of the last world did.
This world ended with the sky as witness,
kind and close and clouded
and so impersonal and unfair.
I kneel;
I gather myself to my feet;
I stand tall with my chin up high and refuse to beg.
I stand. I stand.
I stand alone.
Entry tags:
90s Music Monday: 1996: "Until it Sleeps", Metallica; musings.
For me, 90s music is going to be about 1996 and the far-reaching implications of that year until all the horror has been smoothed away by the passage of time and the re-visiting of those memories so many times that it fails to shock, and then fails to sadden, and then merely just is.
My then-best-friend, my high school best friend That Idiot Shawn, the guy I was in love with at the time, was getting the annoying end of the custody shuffle. He was also in possession of too much imagination, too much sensational TV, and self-medicated ADHD, using under-the-counter substances. Top that off with him being an irredeemable drama queen, and you may have an idea of how much chaos he was capable of causing, unaided. Enter me, the sheltered, naive girl who grew up without television and under the impression that everything a close friend or family member told you was the truth to the best of their knowledge. I believed in weird coincidences and the supernatural, because of weird stuff that went on in my own life. He believed that weird coincidence and the supernatural made for really good drama. He told me his rich fantasy life, complete with all the things he'd ever wanted to be and the way things would have played out if he'd been in a movie. He didn't bother to tell me where reality began and his dreams ended, partly because he thought I'd just know, and partly because -- well, he enjoyed the power he held over me.
This was on the radio then. I remember it being a year of bitter and symbolic songs with that thread of despairing hope and deep-rooted anger, because listening to the radio was like looking in a mirror. His world was crumbling around him, and he was taking mine with it.
Not asleep yet, because things are in my head. [Experimental.]
This one is for everyone at Gossamer who didn't get feedback from me in 1997 through 2000.
It's been years.
There's a mermaid on the wall of the shower, and she's got her back to me, hunched over, studying the ripples in the water like she can see something there that I can't see, not even if I squint hard enough to see stars. I remember the black screens and amber letters, logged in too late to my shell account. Thin client, they'd call it now. Dumb terminal. Dumb angel, and saving grace in a world full of madness when the 24 hour study area in the library was the only sanctuary I could think to find.
All the geographic-distance between the screaming fangirls meant e-mail. E-mail meant culture and archives. I dreamed in gossamer, gold and green and all the lovely colors I couldn't see on my screen. I never responded, always lurking. Bad fangirl, no feedback. I was never a part of the culture, but there I was lurking on the outside, watching the words patch the hell I was living in. The characters always got worse, but they came together in the end, didn't they; they were meant to be together, and all the aching and poison words couldn't keep them apart. You could tell by the chemistry it was meant to be so. And in the end, it was.
Autumn leaves and crystal blue skies and that little treasured hope of independence and higher education turned in to twisted winter and bitter bare birch. The words were solace. I wouldn't let myself cry over myself, so I watched them burn in their silent orbits around each other, mute hateful torture. Sometimes they laughed, and I laughed with them. It was safer than crying. If I started, I would never stop...
I memorized the names of the ones who wrote them best. I had to believe that it was inevitable when they wrote them that way. I wasn't sure whether I liked the ones where they got together at the end or the ones where they weren't yet there but they'd make it there someday. I tried to write down what had happened with us, make it happen to them, but the words wouldn't come. It wasn't time. It wasn't right. I had more waiting to do, and someone with better words than I did had to write them as they were.
The years turned the anguish into dust, and from the dust grew flowers. They're still broken and beautiful, and the mermaid in my shower sits watching them. Why does she dream of unhappier times, when today is so full of life and promise?
Oh, my dystopia. We were perfect, you and I.
It's been years.
There's a mermaid on the wall of the shower, and she's got her back to me, hunched over, studying the ripples in the water like she can see something there that I can't see, not even if I squint hard enough to see stars. I remember the black screens and amber letters, logged in too late to my shell account. Thin client, they'd call it now. Dumb terminal. Dumb angel, and saving grace in a world full of madness when the 24 hour study area in the library was the only sanctuary I could think to find.
All the geographic-distance between the screaming fangirls meant e-mail. E-mail meant culture and archives. I dreamed in gossamer, gold and green and all the lovely colors I couldn't see on my screen. I never responded, always lurking. Bad fangirl, no feedback. I was never a part of the culture, but there I was lurking on the outside, watching the words patch the hell I was living in. The characters always got worse, but they came together in the end, didn't they; they were meant to be together, and all the aching and poison words couldn't keep them apart. You could tell by the chemistry it was meant to be so. And in the end, it was.
Autumn leaves and crystal blue skies and that little treasured hope of independence and higher education turned in to twisted winter and bitter bare birch. The words were solace. I wouldn't let myself cry over myself, so I watched them burn in their silent orbits around each other, mute hateful torture. Sometimes they laughed, and I laughed with them. It was safer than crying. If I started, I would never stop...
I memorized the names of the ones who wrote them best. I had to believe that it was inevitable when they wrote them that way. I wasn't sure whether I liked the ones where they got together at the end or the ones where they weren't yet there but they'd make it there someday. I tried to write down what had happened with us, make it happen to them, but the words wouldn't come. It wasn't time. It wasn't right. I had more waiting to do, and someone with better words than I did had to write them as they were.
The years turned the anguish into dust, and from the dust grew flowers. They're still broken and beautiful, and the mermaid in my shower sits watching them. Why does she dream of unhappier times, when today is so full of life and promise?
Oh, my dystopia. We were perfect, you and I.
Entry tags:
Me vs. the Movies
I went to go watch M*A*S*H tonight and encountered a resistance. I'm bad about watching movies and things. I'll go out and see movies in the theatres. I'll buy DVDs. I'll watch movies with friends. I just don't sit down and watch a movie by myself.
Tonight I realized what this was.
Back in 1998, during my first (failed) attempt at college, I had a nasty little depressive episode. It was the sort where I was up all night because I couldn't sleep, and then asleep all day because I was up all night, sleeping for nearly twelve hours a day, feeling generally disoriented, and completely unable to recover myself from the nasty little emotional shock that had set it off.
I don't like to dwell on it. The past is always the past, but some of my past is an open book, and some is a closed book. That part of the past is not only closed, but locked as tightly as I can bear to keep it. There are some parts that were good, but the rest -- I describe it as "a black cloud" when I look back on the depressions. It's like walking through ice-fog in the dark, with no streetlamps to make it glow and provide illumination, just a darkness with occasional flashes of illumination. (I could probably have used this book then; I was certainly flailing about ever more wildly in my knowledge that I hurt enough to want to die but I didn't actually want to die die, just wanted the hurting to stop.)
I did have some emergency measures. When I knew I was on the edge of seriously falling apart, I had a temporary measure that would fix me up good as new and get me through the night unless something worse happened. I would take .75 liters of Jolt (I got it in the liter bottles from the little dorm store, and one time I wanted to know exactly how much it did take to get me out of the dangerous frame of mind) to artificially elevate my mood to the point where I could be made to laugh, and apply a comedy. Any comedy. It didn't matter which one, so long as it would make me laugh. Laughing would get me the rest of the way out of danger for the night, and I'd be decently all right. So I'd sit by myself in my room and watch a movie. Company would have been better, but bad company was more dangerous than no company at all.
150 mg of caffeine + 1 comedy = the ability to live until morning.
Needless to say, I don't ever want to go there again. And something small inside me still doesn't feel quite safe watching a movie by myself unless absolutely necessary to save what's left of sanity in order to save our life.
Tonight I realized what this was.
Back in 1998, during my first (failed) attempt at college, I had a nasty little depressive episode. It was the sort where I was up all night because I couldn't sleep, and then asleep all day because I was up all night, sleeping for nearly twelve hours a day, feeling generally disoriented, and completely unable to recover myself from the nasty little emotional shock that had set it off.
I don't like to dwell on it. The past is always the past, but some of my past is an open book, and some is a closed book. That part of the past is not only closed, but locked as tightly as I can bear to keep it. There are some parts that were good, but the rest -- I describe it as "a black cloud" when I look back on the depressions. It's like walking through ice-fog in the dark, with no streetlamps to make it glow and provide illumination, just a darkness with occasional flashes of illumination. (I could probably have used this book then; I was certainly flailing about ever more wildly in my knowledge that I hurt enough to want to die but I didn't actually want to die die, just wanted the hurting to stop.)
I did have some emergency measures. When I knew I was on the edge of seriously falling apart, I had a temporary measure that would fix me up good as new and get me through the night unless something worse happened. I would take .75 liters of Jolt (I got it in the liter bottles from the little dorm store, and one time I wanted to know exactly how much it did take to get me out of the dangerous frame of mind) to artificially elevate my mood to the point where I could be made to laugh, and apply a comedy. Any comedy. It didn't matter which one, so long as it would make me laugh. Laughing would get me the rest of the way out of danger for the night, and I'd be decently all right. So I'd sit by myself in my room and watch a movie. Company would have been better, but bad company was more dangerous than no company at all.
150 mg of caffeine + 1 comedy = the ability to live until morning.
Needless to say, I don't ever want to go there again. And something small inside me still doesn't feel quite safe watching a movie by myself unless absolutely necessary to save what's left of sanity in order to save our life.