I accidentally tripped over a memory while talking to river today, it was just one of those little blips that got triggered by some random tangent, and it got me thinking about other little blips of memory, those things that are wordless and still and just moments and, while not dramatic, are the worth of time.
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What I remembered was the first time a man looked at me and I understood that he loved me.
Then later I remembered the third time that same man looked at me in that way, and I loved him so much I ached with it, first love, and I realized I could never love him back the way he needed and deserved to be loved.
And since then I've been pondering moments, and since I'm all soaked with sentimental nostalgia I am going to put some of them out there.
The night at a rodeo, cooling evening after southern summer day, when I put a frisky horse to a controlled canter and wandered among the trailers, and only realized when I rode up and looked down on my arriving mother that I had done it as naturally as breathing, and neither of us had missed a step. First beautiful thing ever truly earned.
Bareback hand-gallop on a racehorse, and one moment when he stilled and shivered and held to wait for me to be with him for it before we ran again.
Alone on a dirt track in the woods after my horses were gone, thinking if I wanted to feel that love of the woods again i'd have to earn it a new way, on my own two feet.
Testing for 5th kyu, when I stepped off first thing with a front-leg, head-height round kick, landed before the man had even moved, and the black belts judging the test laughed and cheered and stopped us, and made the new black belt testing me put on full sparring gear. I was winded at the end as much by not being able to stop laughing as from the fighting.
The first moment, when one friend kept staring down and saying, "I don't think I understand what's happening," that another "friend" had sold me out to save herself (dojo teenager drama stuff) and had no problem looking me in the eyes and lying to me about it. Education in a breath.
The moment when riding a street bike just clicked, and I pulled from Alafaya onto the Beeline Expressway and spent the night just breathing the joy of it.
The moment when backing up a fifty-three foot trailer just clicked, and this huge impossible *thing* suddenly became something I understood and could control.
I have tangented! This started off about people, and now I have babbled about private moments instead. So, some people things:
A blind-drunk old man about to throw a fit, who looked at me and stopped, and there was a person behind his eyes again. Two and a half years and twenty months of sobriety later, his eyes look human all the time.
A preacher saying, "I just didn't have time to be depressed" for the fifth time, and finally looking at me, sitting in the doorway of my house, and stopping in almost shock as he realized that he wasn't helping, that he wasn't right in his assumptions. That moment when a warm person realizes they *do not understand* and that their experience of a burden is not yours.
Seeing the shiny-eyed look of a once-friend and realizing she'd swum into her own fantasy and rhetoric-as-reality and was lost to me, and to the herself she had always wanted to be.
A little old man institutionalized in a long-term facility in nowhere Alabama, looking at me at exactly the right moment, putting his hand on my arm and only looking at me for a moment, and saying, "Cowgirl up." There are no words for what that meant to me, means to me, was a precious thing, that moment of effort and kindness and pure understanding of everything in that moment, all in a second's touch and two words.
....yeah. I think that was the important one, through all this thinking today. I have a thousand other moments, just like everyone else, but I don't think I mind that these and others like them have taken over my brain for today.
I'm a PTSD case, after all. Beats the hell out of the flashes I get on a bad day. Makes them matter less, too, hopefully less and less every day. THe good and the bad of normal life with normal people is amazing enough -- yeah, I started to say something badly poetic about depth and breadth and the unfathomability of the universe, so I had really better stop now to keep *this* from being one of those memories that wakes you up in the night out of sheer echoing mortification. :p
Soo, hi! lj-world. This is a random life-update brought to you by the fact that I just found out someone I always adored in the ficcy world has thought I was mad at her for four and a half years, when in fact I am only an insane hermit who babbles irrelevantly and minimizes everything and hides from absolutely everyone except the un-lose-able River when things suck. (Figuring I reached my "losing it publicly on the internet" quota back in 2001 or so.)
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I love everybody I loved back then. I miss everybody I missed back then. I still think about the insane brilliant wonderful people I used to get to talk to all the time, or at least whose fic I would get to read, or at least whose ljs I stalked in a thoroughly non-creepy manner.
The thing is, that auto accident I mentioned back in the end of 2005? Right before I disappeared off the face of the planet? Was kind of more ass-kicking than I may have quite said.
The years since have had a certain amount of doctors and physical therapy and a great amount of me feeling incompetent and useless and unfit for the company of the decent. Between the smushed leg and the crack on the head and the fact that I was in complete denial about how someone with PTSD w/ major depressive disorder *already* was dealing with that kind of trauma and life-smooshing, I was pretty much unfit to do almost everything I used to do, even the stuff I was always bad at. :p
There were times when things were worse. Not having any family and living in a city where I knew no one when it happened and being all Must Do For Myself, Cannot Ask for Help, Am Unworthy landed me living in my car for awhile.
There have been times when things got better. There was a job I loved again that I didn't completely suck at. There is a little house in the woods now that I like.
Then last spring I got a staph infection in the scar tissue in my leg where the circulation sucks. Oh, and a doctor put me on a med last January without putting me on the required supplements to replace what it was taking out of me, which I didn't find out until about November, but which definitely took its toll, and my normal "yeah, I have a headache, it sucks" thing turned into actual migraines every couple of weeks, complete with the laying on the bathroom floor in the dark for a couple of days, and by the beginning of August that was pretty much It.
I went down in flames. After a certain amount of "maybe you're just crazy" they looked at the original CAT scans and went "wait, all they did to treat you for this was X?!" And then there was a whole thing about staph causing meninges swelling, and aggravating pre-existing head trauma (this is all way about my half-a-biology-degree-a-decade-plus-ago ability to track, at least so far) and then suddenly it's less that they think maybe I'm crazy than that maybe I'm brain-damaged. I am not certain I in any way approve of this shift in possibilities. Being crazy has often been the fun and joy of my existence. The whole head injury thing, somewhat less so.
So, while I am in fact crazy, which should not be news to anyone, I am also now booked for continuing neuropsych evaluations and treatments and forbidden to work and apparently am going to have to deal with wearing a neon sign in my brain flashing "legally disabled" for at least a few years.
Self-pity is fortunately not a problem, since the one family member I can call that has held my hand and randomly hugged me and told me this was not my fault and I shouldn't be ashamed from pretty much day one, even though she had to do it by phone and email from the other side of the world. No one could possibly ask for more care and constancy, and I never feel less than grateful, which helps keep some perspective on all this.
Yeah, so. Hi, internet world that I do and have always adored. I did not disappear because I didn't love you. I disappeared because I wasn't worthy to wash your sandals, and such.
Yes, I know that is an Irrational Thought Expressing Contempt For Self, why do you ask? ;p
Things are not, on a daily basis, anything like how hard they were before, since I feel pretty much the same as I did last year at this time, but am not working sixty-hour work weeks on top of it. I am mostly deeply confused and bemused and wondering what the hell happens now.
It's the first time I've really had the chance to stop and think about it in a really long time, when I had the energy to do it.
Apparently one of the things I'm doing is putting out here, where anyone can find it if they look but it is not being pushed on anyone, the Tale of the Smooshing.
I miss you guys more than I can say. And if you can deal with someone who forgets things and swaps words up and sometimes vanishes randomly, and who sometimes randomly types in phonetics and isn't even aware of it, I might actually be able to answer your emails now, if you promise not to pat me on the head for the going-down-flaming bits.
So, when I was a kid there was a mom dog dropped at the stables where I kept my horses. She was a labrador who loved to fetch, and when she got tired of fetching, which took forever, she would take her ball and jump in the horses' water trough. (Apparently she was too good for the creek, and the pond was too far.)
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She was pregnant when she was dumped, and had puppies that were clearly German Shepard crossed. We took one home, and named him Rascal. He grew up to be unbelievably huge and strong, one swish of his tail could take out garbage cans, and when he put his paws on my dad's shoulders they could look one another in the eye.
We lived in the suburbs, and usually if your parents said your dog had "gone to live on a farm" it was a euphimism, but in Rascal's case, I actually knew which farm. It was a few miles from our lake place, and so I got to see him on weekends. He loved it - he ran and played and drove the collies crazy and in general had a blast.
One day when we went down there, we didn't see any cows all the way in. The whole pasture was empty. It was the worst part of summer, and mid-day, a hundred degrees in the shade, and we started to get worried. We called the farmer, and asked him if he'd sold his cows. He said no, but we should probably drive down and around to his pond if we wanted to find Rascal. He seemed to be laughing.
When we got there, we found the huge black dog laying in a shady bit of lake, partway in the water. He jumped up delightedly when he saw the car, and came and greeted us with muddy tackles. The pond was a small one, maybe a hundred yards around, and as suddenly as he had jumped on us, he leapt away and ran around to the far side, barking ferociously. There was a calf trying to get out of the pond.
Apparently Rascal was just like his mum, and had decided to spread the bright idea. Not only had HE gone to lay in the water in the heat of the day - he'd also decided all 20+ cows and calves were going in with him, whether they liked it or not.
The single old bull was standing at the edge looking deeply confused, with a hint of "I meant to do this" when Rascal passed him, barking cheerfully. We sat on the ground by the car, covered in mud and dog hair, and laughed until we cried.
/end random memory
I don't know how I ended up in an SG-1 marathon, but these things happen, or something. The five hours of sleep in three days and complete lack of sleepiness may have helped.
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I will forever love this series. Sci-fi toys and primitive cultures, what's not to love?
Things making me happy
1) river has written me somthing like 25,000 words of utter not-remotely-crack bodyswap crack set in one of my fictional universes that TOTALLY cannot support the idea of a bodyswap, and yet this is AWESOME. Seriously, breathtakingly awesome, and people, and life and minds and cool physiology thingies and the wonderful crack makes me happy.
2) crantz is just generally awesome, which I knew, of course, but I am particularly grateful for his current awesomeness.
3) Puppies! (It's always puppies at some point.)
4) I managed to do a small thing that had been making me literally ill just to think about.
5) I let a college kidlet interview me for her Women's Studies class, as the middle of three women a decade apart working in male-dominated professions. I find it quite awesome that things that were a complete matter-of-course in 2000 are completely alien notions to the 22 year-old. Who knew feminism actually got something significant done in the last 10-ish years? Living in the south so much has tainted my outlook. ;]
Things that make me sad
1) Recently-met dear sweet kind lovely Uber-Christian people, who occasionally say things that make it clear if they had ANY idea about anything I am or believe in, would kill me and eat me. Not sad for me. Sad that they - exist? That sounds bad. That they exist in a tribal way, maybe. "I'll do anything, as long as you're one of my kind." That.
2) I was looking at the glass-scars from my auto accident today, the ones on my face, and for some reason they seemed really promininent, though this may be the sleep-deprivation talking.
3) I can't sleep. Again. Booo.
4) I don't know if it's the weather, or something I did out in the yard, but my wreck-smushed leg is all swollen scar tissue and puffiness and bone-ache and nerve pain tonight. Even up into my hip and lower back, which hardly ever happens unless I've been doing some kind of manual labor. I'm so sick of this after this many years I could scream.
5) I miss friends lost to time and distance tonight. So many things have happened, and my world is so small these days. I miss the people who got lost around the edges.
Enough of that.
SG-1. I love Amanda Tapping talking about all the points in the final episode where she and Christopher Judge played a low-key relationship *that lasted fifty years*. <3 Just that whole idea, of Teal'c left knowing so much of them, seeing the team young again... I haven't written SG-1 fic in yeeears.
Courtesy of Crantz. But man, I went and did some revisit time on the old X-Men Slash Central Archive. I found stuff I hadn't even remembered, and it was just like - I don't know. Going back to your grade-school playground for an afternoon. The toys! The wonderful toys! And who cares if it's not quite what makes me gleeful now, IT'S A TILT'A'WHIRL!!
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I did notice that, after all these years, six of my stories are still credited to someone else. I noticed, too, that the "The premise of this story and many of the scenes were lifted in total from a story by Kael about her original characters" somehow disappeared off an epic, too. (This is not decade's later bitterness, this is more "extremely amused." Mostly at myself - I can't believe I still care even a little bit and would like to disavow most of what I did write back then! Maybe it's contagious dorky emotion from the origin time. :p)
Getting caught up in things was so stupid, but from this kind of distance I just have the remembered happy of creating and reading and worshipping at the feet of - my first two were Killashandra for Trek and Alicia McKenzie for X-Men. SO much love, still. MONKEY BARS.
I also recently wrote a 21,000 word CHAPTER and had to create a topographical map of a multi-thousand acre eco-warrior compound and am just in a heeheehee place about writing, and the inspiration of fic, and pretty much the entire ficitonal-universes universe.
I'm also supposed to be vanishing into the hospital any day now, and would appreciate any healthy vibes anyone could send my way. I'll be gone 2-3 weeks once I go, so if you can't get me and want updates, bug river.
<3 to ficcers and fantasy makers past and present. There's a whole part of my brain that might've stayed hidden without you.
Roly puppies make all things better.
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Happy Birthday, acetal! I hope it was a good one.
I saw this a bunch of places with a few alterations. Sometimes it's nice to skip the loop-the-loop discussion and just lay it out.
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ETA: You know, I thought most people who have ever seen one of those "How Not To Get Yourself Raped" pamphlets that put the onus entirely on the victim would understand what this was. But a couple of other places this was posted - the sheer blinding stupidity of the responses was mind-blowing. Sometimes I think I live in a very protected little world, which, considering I have friends who do RPS slash, should be frightening in itself. ;]
DON'T BE RAPIST PSA
If a woman is drunk, don’t rape her.
If a woman is walking alone at night, don’t rape her.
If a women is drugged and unconscious, don’t rape her.
If a woman is wearing a short skirt, don’t rape her.
If a woman is jogging in a park at 5 am, don’t rape her.
If a woman looks like your ex-girlfriend you’re still hung up on, don’t rape her.
If a woman is asleep in her bed, don’t rape her.
If a woman is asleep in your bed, don’t rape her.
If a woman is doing her laundry, don’t rape her.
If a woman is in a coma, don’t rape her.
If a woman changes her mind in the middle of or about a particular activity, don’t rape her.
If a woman has repeatedly refused a certain activity, don’t rape her.
If a woman is not yet a woman, but a child, don’t rape her.
If your girlfriend or wife is not in the mood, don’t rape her.
If your step-daughter is watching TV, don’t rape her.
If you break into a house and find a woman there, don’t rape her.
If your friend thinks it’s okay to rape someone, tell him it’s not, and that he’s not your friend.
If your “friend” tells you he raped someone, report him to the police.
If your frat-brother or another guy at the party tells you there’s an unconscious woman upstairs and it’s your turn, don’t rape her, call the police and tell the guy he’s a rapist.
Tell your sons, god-sons, nephews, grandsons, sons of friends it’s not okay to rape someone.
Don’t tell your women friends how to inhibit their lives to "be safe and avoid rape," or else when they get raped, be damned to them.
Don’t imply that she could have avoided it if she’d only done/not done x.
Don’t imply that it’s in any way her fault.
Don’t let silence imply agreement when someone tells you he “got some” with the drunk girl.
This goes for any-gendered rape, male on female or female on male or female on female or FTM on MTF or non-gendered to dual-gendered and so on and so forth…. Human-animal on human rape of any flavor.
I barely touch fandom anymore, and metafandom even less. But my brains were eaten by the sheer screaming intelligence of the first couple of women I read responding to SurveyFail. And then many, many posts later I read this, and realized, yeah. I do. Every single one of you I ever met or read or slept on or waved at, for being who you are so very hard.
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I know everything imaginable has been said by people much more articulate than I am, but since my entire contribution so far has been "Bwahaha" I have to just say here:
A) Oh Ogi no
B) Nothing I've ever written, fanish or otherwise, exists. Woe. (Equality in sexual relationships apparently belonging only to unicorns.)
37. If you read slash, do you identify with the characters while you're reading?
I don't read slash.
I don't identify with either character.
I tend to identify with the dominant character.
I tend to identify with the submissive character.
I tend to identify with the character whose point-of-view the story is written in.
I tend to identify with both characters.
I don't know.
I tend to identify with a specific character I like, in any position.
O.o How did they even get started to begin with? It reminds me of a couple of redneck Cullmanites thinking they were making a polite joke in asking (talking about a child custody decision recommendation, now) "Is he the buck, at least?" "No, honey, he's the doe. You'll know when you see him."
Binary gender dominance submission assumptions FAIL LIKE WOAH.
Edit to explain : My area was hit very hard by major layoffs at the only local employer, and many people had to abandoned their pets in moving to find work.
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Every formal and informal rescue agency in the area is completely overwhelmed, as well as anyone willing to take foster animals. I have a ton of space, but only so many hours in the day. The healthy kill rate at the local shelter is almost 75% now, though, which makes it difficult to say "just no more."
Okay, so. I have two dogs I'm really starting to worry about finding good homes for. Why is at the bottom.
One of them is a little over ten pounds, with short,slick, soft hair in big black and white patches. He's kind of bossy and takes a little while to warm up to new people. He loves getting his chest rubbed, and playing - he's a fetcher. He's pretty normal in terms of other dogs - likes some, doesn't like some, sometimes wants to be left alone, sometimes wants to play.
The other's a few pounds bigger, with long silky hair (I keep him trimmed, but someone who wanted to futz with his coat could have him being a little prince.) He's a Big Tough Dog for about a millisecond before he wants love and cuddles. He loves baby anything - I call him the babysitter dog. He's gentle and sweet and loves love, but takes poorly to being bossed around by other dogs. If they want to get along, give him five minutes to figure that out and he's happy with them and the world. If they want him to roll over and let them gnaw on him as introduction, that will be a problem.
Both these dogs had a really awful start in life, including a poisoning that killed some of their siblings. They've never known a safe home except with me. They were taken by a mother and daughter, lasted a few days, and were brought back. They were in the "I will be nice and he will realize it and magically get over his past instantaneously" class, unfortunately, despite everything I told them they said they understood.
These dogs will take extra patience to adapt to a new household - nowhere near as much as many rescues, but some. A little extra patience, a little extra time, and they will make someone wonderful pets. They're both bright and very loving once they feel safe, and happy little guys for all of it. They do not have any ongoing health problems that will require vet care (beyond the norm) and are up-to-date on shots and worming and prevention and all that. They've always lived inside, with a puppy door to a fenced yard.
Actual Problem : The first one was left with what are really petit mal siezures, but can barely be called that. He doesn't twitch or go into anything that seems like a seizure. He just shakes sometimes. He doesn't even seem to notice, and it isn't enough to cause any drama. He just - shakes, for no reason at all sometimes. It'll happen for a few days, several times a day, and then maybe go a month without happening again. It has never resulted in a real seizure, never gotten worse than that, and is not progressive - not caused by disease or bad genes. It's an afteraffect of the poison exposure when he was a baby.
The second one - same deal. Not an ongoing problem, not anything that's going to get worse. Just a consequence of the poison. He is kind of stiff, almost like an older dog, and he gets out of breath easily. He doesn't even seem to notice, either. He moves a little like he's got arthritis, but he isn't in any pain, and it doesn't hurt him to have his joints rubbed - he actually likes that, just like he likes being rubbed, period. He's active and curious, but just kind of at his own pace. Not going to run after a ball very far (well, maybe once) but has no trouble playing in the yard, tussling with the other pups. When he gets breathless he gets out of the way and chills, and then goes back to it.
These dogs are between a year and a year and a half old, and I'm really afraid if I don't find homes for them soon they're going to be so attached to me and mine - well, it just gets harder all the time. Not to mention, I'm kind of over-dogged at the moment, and when that happens, none of them get the individual attention they need. Puppies can come and go - everyone wants puppies, but even young dogs can be harder to place (I have some six months' old pups, too, needing homes, and they're easier than these guys because they're healthy, but they're already out of the "But I want a BABY puppy" zone.
Anyone think they could give good homes to one or both of these guys? They get along fine, but are not particularly attached to one another. Anyone even think maybe, and have questions? I'll screen the responses if you want to leave contact info, or feel free to email me. I have pictures and more info than you'd ever need on these guys. :]
Also, if you want to commiserate with me on how scum suckers who poison dogs should all be shot, as well as people who abandon them, I will gratefully take that, too.
Overheard on the radio when I went to the store last night, in deep and unwaveringly weighted, solemn tones:
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"Dick Cheney criticized President Obama, saying the current re-evalution of the operations at Guantanemo Bay sent a clear message the United States was no longer fighting a strong war on terror."
"He then confessed to being Obama's father, and cut off his hand with a lightsaber."
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I bought a new DVD release of the Star Trek Animated Series a few months ago, out of nostalgia for the wonderful bad.
I just thought about it now and popped it in for the first time.
Guys, I'm not kidding here. The Menu theme song is The Love Boat.
I - am either on much better drugs than I ever imagined or -
Dude. It's THE LOVE BOAT.
(And one of the hero shots has McCoy between Spock's legs, but mostly they're Kirk and Spock making eyes at each other. And one of Kirk and McCoy making eyes.)
The meta, it broke me.
Adorapi. THEY EAT YOUR BRAINS. And leave smushy smarmflakes with a hankering for glitter and fame behind in their place.
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No, I don't care that only one six-billionth of the world has the faintest idea what i'm on about. Some things are so spontaneously perfect they must be immortalized on every canvas available.
That whole "falling for the twenty-one year old" thing? (Who will henceforce be known as <3, because I'm crazy anyway, and why the hell not?)
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Yeah. I'm doomed. I'm still at lalalala friends, but what I'm getting back is "I'm smitten, too, and by the way, I'm not buying that you aren't, but there are so many better things to talk about, let's do that, because this is inevitable."
I'm sticking with lalala as far as it'll take me, and reminding myself that when I broke my first horse, <3 was in fact still pre-verbal, but dear sweet everything, I am so much toast.
I could make myself not start anything. Make myself not respond?
Toast. adjkfdsl. Mostly that.
O.O Help me! Quick! Someone say something impossibly cynical and even insulting! Please?
I am terrified I am falling helplessly, hopelessly in love with a twenty-one year old. O.O
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I didn't like tweny-one year olds when I was one. I've never dated anyone less than five years older than me, even when I was a teenager. Twelve years younger than me? Am I INSANE?
A baby. Baby, baby twenty-one year old. Right? Right. Sweet everything, but - everything in the world I value, the innocence of intention and the active, curious intelligence and the forge-hot belief that decency and devotion and knowing are the most meltingly hot things imaginable, that life is there to be lived and embraced and that love carries a high price utterly worth paying and if you take the world as you find it you're a waste of space. And not rah-rah cheap college fire, but sweet, deep, carried-for-a-lifetime fire. But the lifetime has three years as an adult. INSANE. I am INSANE.
A baby. Twenty-one. I swear, I haven't flirted a word, but I'm - good grief. Smitten. I understand the word "smitten." Simple words in text the most achingly affecting things I've ever seen, articulate and brilliant and tough-minded and a believer that the best is possible.
I'm terrified. I am helplessly falling in love with a baby, I take it all back, river, the finding out the age only killed it for a little while, and now it's all back and jeeeeeeez.
I never ever do this ever at all. I've been in love for the space of a traffic light and vaguely love-ish when I was crazy anyway for a few months - in my LIFE. I cannot be falling in love with a twenty-one year old English major from Kansas. Not Possible.
I have had a very emotional night that had nothing to do with this, and I solemnly hope it just blindsided me and I'll be sane again tomorrow. Sane. Friendly, yes? Yes. Just friendly. Friends.
I'm falling in love with a twenty-one year old. Shouldn't the world be EXPLODING OR SOMETHING?
a. Name your 15 absolutely favourite fandom ships (try to pick different fandoms)
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b. Ask people to see what trends and similarities they notice about your ships.
I saw this in ten different places with different headers, but this day SUCKS and the sun's barely up, so I am going to entertain myself and not worry about it.
(In random order.)
1. Watson/Holmes (Sherlock Holmes)
2. Kirk/Spock (old school TOS, I haven't even seen the new movie.)
3. Xena/Gabrielle (Xena Warrior Princess)
4. Hercules/Iolaus (Hercules, and Young Hercules, and actually some weird amalgam of them that bred in fandom.)
5. Jack/Daniel (SG-1) (When they're not written as daddy/son creepiness)
6. John/Rodney (SGA)
7. Garth/Dick Grayson (DC)
8. Sirius/Remus (Harry Potter) (Only in AUs where they don't die as throwaways)
9. Draco/Neville (Harry Potter)
10. Ziva/Jenny (NCIS) (This one should really be first.)
11. Tim/Abby (NCIS) (They're just so cute!)
12. Faith/Robin (BTVS)
13. Sam Vimes/Sybil Ramkin (Discworld)
14. Fraser/Ray K (Due South) (All fandom - I've never even seen the show.)
15. Crowley/Aziraphale (Good Omens)
16. Ronon/me (What? It's a fandom.) (Of one.)
17. Faith/me (Ditto)
Now if the question was BFFs...
1. Batman/Commisioner Gordan (DC)
2. Batman/Martian Manhunter (DC)
3. Sam Carter/Teal'c (SG-1)
4. John/Ronon (SGA)
5. Spock/Uhura (Old school TOS)(The playing, the singing, the keeping Kirk off-balance, <3)
6. Gibbs/Ducky (NCIS)
8. Abby/Kate (NCIS)
9. Xander/Willow/Buffy (BTVS)
10. Charles/Wesley (Angel)
The problem now is that most of my OTP I also love as BFF. Hmph.
11. Tim/Abby (NCIS)
12. Xena/Gabrielle (XWP)
13. Kirk/Spock (TOS)
14. Jack/Daniel (SG-1)
today that had "And people are crazy!" at the end of the chorus, and I laughed so hard I completely lost track of anything else in the rest of the song.
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Life right now is not at all bad, compared to how it's been since, ohh, all those crazy Murphy's Law things I've survived. Health is better, crushed leg is mostly functional most of the time, I got mostly-unlaid-off after a fairly brief time, which puts me in better shape than most people where I live. I have an owl and a hawk living in monster hickory trees behind my house who get into bitch fights at dawn every morning from either side of the corner of the house where my bedroom lives. There are cuddly doggies, and acres of woods and a creek. I know wonderful people, and have one Thousandth Friend. And, at the moment, spinach-mushroom sauteed in honey-sesame-teriyaki sauce folded into mozzerella-melted-on-panini.
Things could be so much worse. Things have actually been so much worse. I am a fortunate soul.
People are crazy, though.
Delicious exciting fascinating intriguing creative insane.
Batshit lunatic manipulative delusional-memory corrosive insane.
I got all that second kind out of my life, though, a lot of years ago, and never looked back.
Even without the rest of it, that alone makes life good.
This has been a Life Update brought to you by an NCIS marathon and the hysterical hyper happiness that comes from getting that one piece of feedback that Just Gets It about something you were way too invested in. :p
Peace, love, and blessed distance where necessary.
|Your Animal is the Stag|
|You are a proud, independent person. You take care of yourself and are very attractive.|
You keep a bit of a distance from the world, but you still understand it well.
You are both spiritual and intuitive. You are sensitive to all of the creatures around you.
You enjoy travel, especially when it involves a long journey. You especially love traveling outdoors.
I am deeply amused.
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So I got into this long, ridiculous, impossible conversation with someone (no one within a million miles of lj or fanfic) recently about "being open-minded and non-judgmental and loving" versus "having convictions and speaking and acting for them."
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Huh, right? Setting that up as a "versus" kind of dooms the conversation from the start.
I had said something about how much I value fidelity, and that while I believe only the people in a relationship have any right to define what that means to them (from completely open to outside partners, to don't you even LOOK) I reserved the right not to get into a relationship or stay in a relationship with someone who had different ideas about what fidelity meant. That I completely respected the other's ability to have their own opinions, but that they could have them down the road with someone else if they were too different from mine.
I also said that people who *didn't* have a mutual standard and understanding with their partners sneaking around and serving their lower standards behind their partners' backs made me ill. Betrayal is my big sin. (I didn't say that there.) Gaining someone's trust and then indulging yourself in a way that breaks that trust or harms them is just - no. And I can't respect anyone who does that. (And I made it clear that I was very aware that life was complicated, and that I wasn't in any way talking about any situation of abuse, etc.)
She gave me her life story in three acts in excrutiating detail, apparently all in defense of the fact that while she was nobly martyring herself in an unsatisfying marriage for the sake of her children, she had every right to the profound emotional affair she was having and how dare I say she didn't.
And the thing is? I don't know anything about her life. I don't know how true or not true her statements or her conclusions were. Maybe she really is a heroic martyr clinging to the only shred of happiness available to her. (although she spends ten hours a day screwing around on the internet and doesn't work, so she's got a lot more ease than most people.)
But it doesn't matter. She's made a choice. She doesn't want to change it. She's doing something I find repugnant. She doesn't need my help. There are billions of people in the world. The ones among them who make the compromises she does are not ones I want anything to do with. I'm not hurting her by saying that (not that I said that to her either.) But I do not suddenly become the Evil Judginator because I honestly feel that certain people's moral choices are beyond my comprehension. I'm not stomping around saying that on flagpoles, or putting my opinions out there like that either. It was a discussion about "what do you believe counts as cheating." I didn't single her out. But seriously - pages and pages of this weird, edged, "Well, but PEOPLE who suggest that they are BETTER THAN my POSITION are just JUDGING and I have NO RESPECT for them *flounceflounceflounce*"
And I finally got to whatever about it, but it just reminded me how crazy-making the "if you refuse to validate me, or even obscurely say something I can interpret not to validate me, I will attack you" people are. Everyone needs a certain amount of that from their friends or whatever, but going out looking for a fight with the whole world? This is not a fragile snowflake woman, she's one of those domineering creeps who, if you persist in not bowing before her, will suddenly wilt and cry "bully" - because not letting her command you breaks her fragile soul, dontcha know.
Well, sure. Whatever. I'm 33 years-old and it took me a long time to get to where I could tell even the people closest to me that I thought they were not being fair, to be able to have a reasonable conversation about mutual expectation and consideration. It took me a long time to feel I had the right. I do believe in self-determination, personal responsibility, sexual responsibility, and the sanctity of marriage. I do believe in taking the hard, sharp paths, not the long, corrosive ones. I believe it for ME, and for the people I choose to care about. I have reasons for all of that with no self-righteousness behind them. I refuse to feel guilty for that.
And maybe this should seem like it should go without saying, but it doesn't. The label of "judgmental" has become the ultimate insult to throw. But I do believe the saw about "don't be so open minded your brain falls out or so open-hearted you bleed to death." There are people in this world I want to understand, because understanding other minds is an occupation I value, but who I don't want to associate with. And I sometimes need to say that really plainly, because god, I've spent so much of my life being so easily drawn in, I get very blind in affection.
So here endeth the blahblah with something by someone much smarter and with conviction strong enough to turn the world over. At the end of the day, all takes aren't equally valid.
Nothing in the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity.
I think the world is full of frogs.
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No, really! Bear with me here.
I had something get carried off by a dog to the other side of a shallow-water-but-deep-ditch creek. My clumsy limpy butt did a skip-clomp thing to get to the other side. It is, in fact, February. A frog THE SIZE OF A TRUCK HUBCAP sounded off like a bull gator and leapt just as my foot passed him and was able to throw water in a big splash AS TALL AS MY HEAD.
That was a few days ago. Now? It's still February, for those playing the home game. It has been really cold here. Nevertheless about an hour ago I was awakened from my happy slumber by a sound like ARUOMMMM, ARUOMMMM, ARUOMMMMMM. It was almost a fan whumwhum, but - not. I thought something was wrong with the heating unit, maybe a branch had fallen just amazingly wrong to be poking through the mesh or something, so out I stagger with a flashlight to a chorus of exited doglets, and around back.
Nada. Nothing to see. Can't even hear the noise. Back inside with me, hopping and saying dire things about cold damp grass and house sandals and how it is a star-crossed love affair betwixt them.
ARUOMMMMM ARUOMMMMMM ARUOMMMMMM
I try to peek through the office blinds, wondering if there's some mutated cow sneaking up through the pasture to the back of the house when I'm not looking. I lose my balance leaning around the chair and PULL THE BLINDS DOWN, fortunately not on my head. Naked windows! No noise.
I slot the blinds back up, and sit in my office chair, feeling very, very, deeply offended by all things in the universe EVER, including poor little mes who are never allowed enough sleep EVER and who feel very sorry for ourselves about it.
I hit the window, pointlessly.
I go back outside with the flashlight and point it at the window ABOVE the heating unit (with now-crooked blinds.)
It was the size of my thumb. If my thumb was on a diet. It didn't like the light, but apparently knew it was busted, because it just got LOUDER.
So hey, nature girl, I'll just catch the frog and set him off in the bushes and all will be happy with the world. So I step out of my sandals and up on the heating unit, which is SUCH a good idea for me to be doing for, oh, half a dozen reasons.
And I step on a frog.
A DIFFERENT frog.
And not step-on-frog-go-squoosh-I-need-to-wash-my-foot. Step-on, feel squishiness, yank foot off, manage not to kill frog, turn ankle, loose balance, try to twist and jump, realize wrong leg, kind of roll but mostly go THWUMP full length in the grass.
WHERE THERE IS ANOTHER FROG.
I don't know if it was frog number two or frog number three or a brand new frog number four, but at this point? Oh, yeah, how little is it even POSSIBLE to care?
I got the waterhose.
They are now a number of very clean frogs who are not attempting to rocket-pee at me (yeah, I spared you that part,) or get under my feet, or go ARRUOOMMMM in my window like a deranged Buddhist, because they have played slip'n'slide across my yard into the ditch with Bull Gator Voice, where hopefully they are being instructed in the errors of their ways by their wise elder, and not made into snacks.
There is quiet in the land. I am thumped, soaked, pee'd at and WAY hyper.
Yeah, I'm getting back to sleep now. PSHHHH.
In should-be-more-serious-but-I'm-too-cracked, but I do mean this -
I hope everyone is all right. There's a lot of scary shit going on right now, and a lot of less-dramatic but equally bad things happening, and I don't keep anything close to in touch even with people I like very well, because I firmly believe you are all out to eat me, and this makes me tired.
I hope you're all well, and happy. And if you're not, I hope you're at least safe and fed and warm. And if you're not, drop me a line.
I have lots of spare bedrooms in this house, and frequent flyer miles I'll NEVER use. ;]
Take care of yourselves. Be well.