A Synthesis of Hyacinths and Biscuits

Don't Trust Fate, But I Hate Suprises

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So, this has been a week.

First, I finally listened to [profile] gollumgollum and watched Weekend. It was the second most heartbreaking thing I'd ever watched, and I loved it, and texted k8 throughout the whole thing because otherwise I'd have exploded from all the feels.

Then, because I apparently wasn't done emotionally wrecking myself, I went to go see The Hunger Games. Hunger Games blabberCollapse )

In between tearing my heart to shreds, I've been keeping busy. I got a full-time job at another bookstore. Upside: indie bookstore! full health insurance! not in a train station! Downside: 45 minute commute to the suburbs. Ah, well.

I also went on a date. There was queer folk music and gross cheap beer and cuddling and a couple quick kisses on the train. (Awkward, but I couldn't stay the night.) Today, there was a not-really-a-date, wherein she brought me ice cream and laid on the couch with me.

Why the ice cream, you may ask? That was the other thing I did this week: went to the dentist, found out I had a partially impacted wisdom tooth, and got it pulled today. Goodbye wisdom tooth, hello bloody hole and soft food for the next few days. If anybody needs me, I'll be here with my congee and popsicles and misery. Send fic. Or movie/TV recs.

(no subject)
Things I have learned about Chicago since I moved here:
1.) Worst drivers ever.
2.) People really love to talk about the weather.

Granted, the weather here is usually doing something weird. Like yesterday, it was 80 degrees (26 Celsius). I have a sunburn on my shoulders. My roommate's boyfriend had a barbecue.

Whereas last year at this time, there was still a foot of snow on the ground. Chicago: inspiring continuous commentary on weird weather.

So! Things have happened! I went to Vermont, and I didn't run into my ex. Granted, I didn't go to any of the places where we used to hang out. No, I stayed at home, ate good food, and went on walks with my mother. I watched a bunch of Merlin with my sister, because I really like watching Colin Morgan cry. I also didn't write a thing, which was a nice break. Now I'm back to writing articles, thinking about making a website for myself (ugh, DNW), and rewriting the first 10k words of gay superhero story, because of reasons.

Also, a meme from [profile] gollumgollum! Comment to this post with RENNER'S GUNS COLIN MORGAN'S TEAR-FILLED FACE, and I will list seven things I want you to talk about. They might make sense or they might be totally random. Then post that list, with your commentary, to your journal. Other people can get lists from you, and the meme merrily perpetuates itself.

1.) Phil Ochs
My sister got me into Phil Ochs when I was, I think, seventeen. The first song I ever heard was Pretty Smart on My Part, which is simultaneously hilarious and terrifying. Then I listened to some of his less terrifying music, and fell in love. Ochs just wanted to be Woody Guthrie, but his idealism killed him in the end. Well, that and being bipolar and depressed.

2.) redwoods
So, I like trees. I am, in fact, a tree-hugger. (Literally, I like hugging trees. I feel no shame over this.) REDWOODS ARE AMAZING. And their bark smells really good. Though not as good as Ponderosa pine bark, which actually smells like butterscotch. TREES = <3

3.) flights of fancy
I was hanging out with a three year old last night, and we went around rescuing invisible baby opossums that were all named P-Dove. Then we talked about dinosaurs and the time her dad dug a hole to China.

4.) pop
What people call soda if they're from the midwest.

5.) helicopters
I don't like seeing helicopters, but if given the chance, I would probably love to ride around in them.

6.) dancing
My roommate and I were discussing nostalgic dance tunes. His were Aaliyah and Usher, mine were early 90's Madonna and Whitney Houston. My music taste is so gay sometimes.

7.) magnet
So, I have this slight thing about refrigerator magnets. And by "thing", I mean "unironic love for". The refrigerator at my mother's house is still littered with ones I bought or ones that were bought for me. I recently bought one for my sister that had a picture of Spock on it and the words "Ladies love a sharp-eared man." One of the only things that I don't like about my apartment is that the front of the refrigerator is made of non-magnetic metal. We tape things up there, but it's not the same.

This swagger, you mean? Oh, I've always had that.
Sleep is amazing. Seriously. That is the lesson I've learned this week.

Apologies for the last post. I'm still upset that my ex doesn't want to see me, but nothing like the epic-scale mope of Friday. I'm getting better at dragging myself out of dark moods; seeing friends, writing, watching good things (currently on an Avatar: The Last Airbender kick), baking, and cleaning seem to be fail safe methods of getting myself out of self-hating headspace. Also helping: making plans to go to Montreal and eat terrifying Sichuan food with my sister and mother.

Even more helping: an email from saying that they'd like to publish a short story I submitted to them.


I've already called my family and screamed at them, and texted my roommate/wife and [profile] gollumgollum and capslocked at them, and so now it's your turn, LJ/DW.



I think I'm gonna go treat myself out to breakfast.

I've noticed that I post more when I'm miserable. Go figure.
High points of this week:

-getting paid to write a 6000 word ebook about, of all silly things, Anthony Bourdain's The Nasty Bits.
-going out with my (former?) coworkers last night.

Low points:

-aforementioned facebook dramaz
-today's (epic) hangover
-getting a text from my ex saying she'd rather not see me when I'm in Vermont

Most of today was spent on the couch in pretty abject misery. I mean, aside from the shakes and the stomach blah and the dizziness, I'm super bummed about my ex. I respect her decision -- she cited the last time I visited, which was absolutely great until I, you know, left again, and then we were both kind of miserable. (Her more than me, I think, because I am kind of an asshole like that.) She doesn't want to go through that again.

Cue enormous moping on my part. It sucks that I can't be what someone needs in a relationship.

Also, I just KNOW we're going to run into each other, because Vermont isn't actually a state, it's just one small town that's spread out over three hundred or so miles.

(no subject)
Damn you, Facebook.

So my ex, whom I'm still friendly with, posted up an article calling out Dan Savage's It Gets Better campaign for being myopic and more than a little handwavey when it comes to race politics.

First: I don't hate on the It Gets Better project. It started a conversation, it got people to pay attention, and it brought in a lot of attention to projects that actually support queer folks, like The Trevor Project.

Second: I agree with the article my friend posted. Dan Savage has done some very real things for the queer community, not limited to IGB. He is, however, a privileged white gay man who says some seriously ignorant shit. Like his whole stance on bisexuals (don't get me started), his free use of fucked-up language, the way he basically blamed black people for the passing of Prop 8. I could go on, but I've already devoted most of my morning to this.

I don't like Dan Savage. I think he's an ass, and I wish he hadn't somehow become America's pundit in regards to LGBTQ matters. I think it's right that people, especially other queers, critique him. And I said as much in comments on Facebook, which was dumb, because opinions are like assholes, everyone has one, and FB is basically one big farting match.

Now I am in such a farting match, and it's unfortunately with a friend who is sort of a queer ally? But also suffers from the same kind of liberal myopia that Dan Savage does. And now I'm all triggered because I just had to pull some kind of ARGUMENTATIVE SMACKDOWN maneuver regarding bisexuality and oh my god, I need more fucking tea. I'm pretty sure half the message that I just sent this friend was permutations of the word "fuck".

(no subject)
So, I was looking through my search history on wikipedia, and found that someone had looked up something called "pearly penile papules". (Link is NSFW, surprise.)

Which, besides being a hilarious name for a bluegrass band, is kind of awesome looking, in a weird penis-frond kind of way.


(no subject)
Hi, Internet! Long time, no whatever!

Here are some things that happened. [profile] gollumgollum and I went on Big Gay Roadtrip Redux: Glitter The South, because I am one of those terrified New England people that's never ventured south of the Mason-Dixon line. There was the City Museum in St. Louis (BALL PITS AND SLIDES AND A CIRCUS) and Memphis (ALL THE ELVIS YOU NEVER WANTED) and a small trip to Mississippi for breakfast (SOUTHERN ACCENTS OMG) (ALSO GRITS).

What's that? Pics or it didn't happen?Collapse )

Basically, we came, we saw, we drank sweet tea. It was amazing, both the trip and the sweet tea.

Then I got back to Chicago, and promptly melted. February sucks, it always sucks, if I could write a memoir about my emotions it would be titled February Is Shit And Other Stories. Not having a job is throwing me for a loop, just because I have nothing to schedule my life around. I'm overwhelmed by thoughts of the future. I'm not depressed, it doesn't feel like my brain is stuck on a hamster wheel made of barbed wire. I just feel... bruised. All over, all the time. Everything I'd normally shrug off is knocking the wind out of me.

I am forcing myself to do things: I baked some soda bread last night, took a shower today and put on fancy clothes; the look was somewhere between a newsboy and an equestrian, which was fun. I may not be able to stop myself from feeling weird and abnormal and lonely, but by golly, I will look fancy as fuck while drowning in ~feelings. I may spring for a tattoo, because of reasons.

In the meantime, I am also writing. I've gotten past the 10k mark with the Gay Superheroes novel. The novelty is wearing off. Writers on my flist: how the hell do you maintain interest in a longer piece? I have never actively tried to continuously work on something every day, or near to it. Association may or may not be breeding contempt. What do you do when the honeymoon is over, and you just want your characters to move out of your brain and start writing their damn story?

(no subject)
I don't even know how this happened, but I wrote a fic. In fact, I wrote a 9.3k Merlin fic, which, what? Really?

I blame it all on [personal profile] laria_gwyn, for linking to the Happy Endings Fest, where I came across this prompt: it didn’t work out because there was an alien invasion and they wanted to work for two different factions of the resistance.

Every so often, a voice in my brain likes to shout DAMN THE TORPEDOES or something, and then I wind up with a new tattoo, or passing out drunk in a bathroom, or spending three days feverishly writing post-apocalyptic Merlin fic all over a Happy Endings Fest.

Anyway. The link takes you to AO3.

Title:When Morning Comes
Wordcount: 9247
Summary: If life were fair, anyone who managed to survive the apocalypse would be given a fuzzy blanket, some tea, and a nice bed to hide under and weep. Life is not fair, obviously, and there's no actual end to the end of the world. Instead, there's grief and pain and mud and death, there are minor miracles, and there's the love that gets you out of bed in the morning, despite everything. Life goes on.

There's something else I need to write about. That something is the sheer whatthefuckery that is Joel Schumacher's Batman Forever.


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visited 29 states (58%)
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Not bad. I'm about to embark on a trip that will hopefully get some of the southern states in, when [profile] gollumgollum and I run away to Memphis together.

The last few days have been better. My job officially ended yesterday, with another 9.5 hour shift of boxing up books, followed by drinks with my coworkers. We went to the diviest dive bar I've been to in Chicago, right downtown. It reeked of cigarettes, proving that there's still a few places in Chicago where the no-smoking law is ignored. There was an impromptu Soul Train line, one of many, from what I've heard. (For those who hadn't heard, Soul Train's host, Don Cornelius, killed himself earlier this week.)

Today I'm home, with nothing in particular to do. I baked some bread with bits of prosciutto in it, am catching up on Once Upon A Time, which I just love to hate on, don't ask me why. Tomorrow I have... a job interview. At a bookstore. I feel a little ambiguous about it, since I was looking forward to some time off working, but I figure it's kind of asshole-ish to complain.

(no subject)

I think it's a combination of work stress and winter blues setting in. The situation with my job is beyond ridiculous, to the point where it's not even worth describing here, beyond this: on Thursday, my manager informed us that we had five days to close the store. This means boxing up, at a guess, roughly 12,000 books and sending them back to our distributors. My coworkers are getting shipped off to a distant airport starting next week (with no compensation for five days of lost work), and I am going to sleep forever. (ETA: By the way, we're keeping the store open at this time. Imagine us, nearly blank shelves, one hell of a deadline, towers of heavy boxes, and people asking us stupid questions.)

Also, we had a big party on Friday night. I drank too much, but I looked damn good while doing it. There was a speakeasy theme, so I wore a suit and rocked my 'stache. It was nice to assert my GQ motherfucker genderqueer identity amongst a lot of people I didn't know. It would have been nicer if I weren't absolutely reeling by the end of it. Blech.

Oh, and I verbally outed myself at work today. My manager was telling a story about a friend of his that had come out at a poker game (classy!), and I told my silly coming out story. ("Mom, I'm dating a girl." "What? You're painting a girl?" "NO MOM I SAID DATING I'M DATING A GIRL." "Oh, that makes so much more sense. What's she like?")

It was weirdly nerve-wracking. I'm comfortable with some of my co-workers, but not all of them, and telling that story felt like giving permission to let everyone to start gossiping about my supposed orientation. Paranoia, I know. Also, I'm leaving, it doesn't even matter. I'm trying to think of that as a positive thing, but then I go on craigslist to try and find a job, and just want to hide under the bed.

This week needs to be over already. It's not even Monday, and I already want it to be over. I feel like I'm circling a drain. I want teacakes and cuddles and vitamin d. I'm settling for fresh-baked challah and a heating pad. I'm also contemplating getting a tattoo, but that seems like a bad idea with a suddenly curtailed income.


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