ouran hugging

friendship is our country's sweetest wine

A very happy birthday to zebraljb, who is sweet and generous and the kind of person who hates awkward situations so much that she won't tell you you're pronouncing her name wrong 'til, like, THE THIRD TIME YOU'VE HUNG OUT FACE-TO-FACE.

Without you the world wouldn't have Little Mermaid!sync, our fandom's one and only Kevin/Joey crossdressing fic (I checked), or the best fandom portmanteau that has ever portmanteau'd (Andersance Booper 4 lyfe!). We aren't worthy.

(And yeah, you're also clever and fun and a great mom, but honestly -- meh. I chose to highlight your truly important accomplishments. THE FIC. THE FIC ALWAYS WINS.)

*hurls fistfuls of confetti at you*

if that's corny, then corn me up

There's nothing quite like skimming over past LJ entries, especially ones where you thought you were being cute and charming, and instead realizing that you are, in fact, a deeply embarrassing person. Self discovery -- yay!

Honestly, I'm tempted to go on a mass deletion spree. I really am. But -- what's the point? That level of corn isn't something I'd ever be able to hide long term. Let the people know, I say! Let them know about the corn! Don't hide your corn under a bushel!
  • Current Mood: giddy defeat

the whole world is watching

Okay, I'm through with dramatics. I've gotten them all out of my system and condensed everything down into a spiky, ever-simmering rage ball. It's painful, but I can totally function this way. For years, if I have to.

In the meantime, I'ma let Ms. Yoko Ono do my primal screaming for me. She's goddamn great at it, after all.

I daresay protesting agrees with me. I may just be one of the few people around who looks ten to fifteen pounds slimmer by police car headlight-light.
  • Current Mood: a deceptive calm

oceans rise

On the bright side...??

Watching Rachel Maddow go off on live TV last night was kind of exhilarating, even if I could only just hear her over my own hellish wailing.

AJ Mclean (and wife) sent out a couple of highly devastated tweets and, as stupid as this sounds, they kinda took a load off my mind. The Littrells are all confirmed Trumpists, and as such, are clearly dead to me, but I didn't wanna have to write off BSB as a whole.

My dearest Mickeym, being far more thoughtful and clear-headed than I, just shared numbers for both Crisis Chat and the USA National Suicide Prevention Hotline, so I thought I'd just direct everyone on over there. I know people are feeling pretty bleak right now.

I love you all. I really do mean that; my flist isn't the longest, but I promise, there's not a single one of you I wouldn't let feel me up behind the gymnasium on prom night. Or any night. *hugs*
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But I'll tell you what I'm already well and truly done with: all this 'moving to Canada' talk. Nope. As if I'm gonna let some carrot-faced horror clown chase me out of MY country.

Also, if every single American with a soul fucking flees, how're we ever gonna fix this damn place? (Oh. Maybe I am entering my 'getting shit done' stage. That's...something.)

Okay. Rant over.

For now.


I'm not laughing. Which would probably be the most obvious statement in the world, if you didn't already know that that's a thing I do when shit gets tense. Funerals, disasters. I laugh. Sometimes hysterically. It's inappropriate, but it's how I deal.

I laughed plenty yesterday, though. My mother wept the whole time she was filling out her ballot and I made fun of her afterwards and then kissed her forehead, and then a couple of older ladies we didn't know locked eyes with us on our way out of the polling place and we all grabbed each other's hands and giggled for a minute and it was such a Moment and -- how was that only eleven hours ago?? HOW?

I don't know what else to say, really. I overestimated my country. I thought we were better than this, and we're not. And it hurts.



Almost everyone I've talked to so far has been really lovely -- fierce and positive and, like, admirably placid, listing all the ways we're gonna get through this and me? Well, my first reaction to that kind of talk has been kind of a sour, ticked-off, eye-rolly-ness, because TRITE. But maybe I'm just jealous that they're already at the 'getting shit done' stage while I'm still at the 'vomiting directly into my bare, cupped hands' stage. They've got their acts together. I do not.

where there is ruin

I am all about The Get Down right now. True, I wasn't around for the seventies, and it's (slowly) edging into autumn, but it's giving me all of the gritty, outer borough, summertime-in-the-city feels. Love.

What's the best way to make it seem like you have news when you really, really don't? Bullet points!!

- I woke up clammy and disgruntled. I know it's still technically summer for another week, but part of me cannot believe it didn't immediately turn all nice and crisp at 12:01 am on September 1st.
- Every year that fails to happen and every year it surprises me.
- I had some errands downtown yesterday, which took me past the WTC site. Walking down that street always puts me in a foul mood. I didn't like it when it was a smoking crater in the ground and I don't like it any better as a tourist trap.
- They're turning my neighborhood Barnes & Noble into a Target and I want to die.
- I got a letter from the V.A. telling me there's another vet out there somewhere -- still living -- with the exact same name as my dad and it's complicating my mother's widows' benefits. So that's...great. Just great. They even sent me copies of the guy's application forms, which -- ????
- I mean, that's gotta be a major fuck-up on their part, no? I now have this man's social security number! I could totally steal his identity...if I were the identity-stealing type.
- My not-father is apparently eight years older than my actual father, has brown eyes instead of blue, and was born in Rhode Island, but other than that I'm gonna go ahead and assume he's a direct carbon copy.
-I shall also assume that if I were to randomly show up on his doorstep with a case of Budweiser and a cassette tape of Clapton's greatest hits, he'd be down to chill for twelve to sixteen hours. Possibly in lounge chairs next to a beautiful lake. And there'd be head pats and validation and stuff. *fantasizes*
- The word 'squee' is being added to Oxford's, and I approve.
- A couple of nights ago I dreamt I was playing Anita in a low budget production of West Side Story and I guess my acting was so bad that there were angry picketers outside the theater screaming that I ought to be shot? I woke up feeling pretty insulted.
- Three days later, I'm still kind of insulted.


I heard a rumor this morning that Channing Tatum used to date guys before he was married and that he's been very outspoken about this in interviews 'n stuff, and, feeling unusually reasonable today, I wanted to fact check before I busted out the exclamation points -- but! I can't figure out a way to word my Google that doesn't automatically send me to the 8th layer of generic porn hell. "CHANNING TATUM + BISEXUAL + BOYFRIEND" is not cutting it.

Lesson learned: the internet isn't always your friend, kids.