Is it just me, or could the light in my apartment suck any harder?


One thing this face lacks is an expression.


Whereas this one falls somewhere between "bitch, please" and Wednesday's Child.


Pushing duckmouth. Gotta reign that in.


Seeing God...or in my case, Wedge Antilles. ;)


I do too know how to smile! Lookit! (Smirking counts, right?)


Inspired by the man who calls me his 80s bitch.


Threw this in just for the hell of it.

( Used in the making... )

Michael, it is critical that you know: I am not cheating on you, nor have I ever. There's only one person I want to be with--my heart is in no way divided in two.

Where do I begin? Seriously...where? Time and space can't contain how I feel about you; every love song ever recorded falls short--and besides, we both agree that most of them are anemic, halfassed reflections of the real thing, anyway. So I'll just state yet again for the record that I love you so much it drives me crazy, despite what we put each other through, and my heart will forever rotate on an axis of you.

Hope there's more to come, machinemolle. <3

My Warpo Ray, of course! If it can take out an entire society of idiots, then zombies ain't gonna be no challenge.

Honestly...probably...seven. Because that would've been the year my brother was born, which in turn would've had me wondering why my Christmas budget was slashed in half all of a sudden. I do remember my mom and dad offering some mealy-mouthed story about how parents have to pay Santa Claus for services rendered, but even then, an alleged saint behaving like a prostitute must not have made much sense to me.

Bedding down, throwing on Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, and plotting complicated revenge scenarios against whichever son of a bitch infected me.

"Merely saying the word vagina doesn't automatically make you witty."

Damn right it doesn't. A weak, robotic word like that doesn't even have any shock value, and why the fuck do people treat it like it addresses the whole complex apparatus? Because it doesn't--it's just talking about that sheath where the blood comes out and the tampon goes in. Bor-ing! Why not just get over it and say pussy, cunt--umbrella terms for everything going on down there. Or if you insist on going with the medical-textbook lingo, at least try not to say vagina when you mean labia, or even clit. Fucking hell, that's a prude for you.

(Though they refer only to the external portal, I also like gash or slit. Those are a riot to say.)

http://youtu.be/_oqgTlLU6qQ

Don't you mess with a little girl's dream
'Cause she's liable to grow up mean

Surprised you to find that I'm laughing?
You thought that you'd find me in tears
You thought I'd be crawling the walls like a tiny mosquito and trembling in fear

Well, you may be king for the moment
But I am a queen, understand?
And I've got your pawns and your bishops and castles all inside the palm of my hand

While you were looking the other way
While you had your eyes closed
While you were licking your lips 'cause I was miserable
While you were selling your soul
While you were tearing a hole in me

I was taking control

Now I have taken control
Now I have taken control

This is beginning to feel good
Watching you squirm in your shoes
A small bead of sweat on your brow and a growl in your belly you're scared to let through

You thought you could keep me from loving
You thought you could feed on my soul
But while you were busy destroying my life what was half in me has become whole

While you were looking the other way
While you had your eyes closed
While you were licking your lips 'cause I was miserable
While you were selling your soul
While you were tearing a hole in me

I was taking control

Now I have taken control
Now I have taken control

So this is how it feels to breathe in the summer air
The feel the sand between my toes and love inside my ear
All those things that you taught me to fear
I've got them in my garden now and you're not welcome here

Come a little bit closer
Let me look at you
I gave you the benefit of the doubt it's true
But keep in mind my darling
Not every saint is a fool

While you were looking the other way
While you had your eyes closed
While you were licking your lips 'cause I was miserable
While you were selling your soul
While you were tearing a hole in me

I was taking control

Now I have taken control
Now I have taken control

Don't you mess with me....

HIM: there has to be more to life than this, because in our
confrontation with a cold cold universe, there is something comical
to the idea that we can really impose our will on humanity-- power corrupts!

HER: This is scaring me...

[later]

HER: I live at the end of a 5 and 1/2 minute hallway

HIM: And at the end of it all lies of course the final phenomenon of deterioration entropy, which is a predictable disintegrations which the creative life ceases: everything has to fall apart.

HER: Why are you always so serious?!

I can do the whole Clark-Goes-Berserk monologue from when he finds out his boss dicked him out of a bonus. Too bad we only have it on VHS; since our VCR just bit the dust, I'm going to have to find an alternative method if I want to watch it this year.

The two chief "offenders"? Boyz N the Hood and Pan's Labyrinth.

seraph_lost sent me this pile of hilarity comparing fandoms to diffrent drugs, which, me being me, made me want to offer my two bits.

* * * * *

Star Wars IV-VI = Cocaine It may cause you some embarrassment to admit at first, because it's been a long time since this movie trilogy was the hippest, freshest thing in town. In some circles, its gold-plated reputation could even peg you as an elitist. But once its old-school appeal, along with the nearly atomic burst of energy and anything-goes confidence you get from indulging, hits you where you live--and upon realizing that the original Star Wars just speaks to your go-get-'em, 80s mindset--you decide, Aw, screw it. Nothing becomes a classic without damn good reason.

LOTR RP = Acid (the bad kind) To quote the movie Airplane: "You got hold of that bad acid, and didn't come down for two weeks. You kept telling everyone that you were Jesus Christ, and then you...jumped off a roof because you thought you could fly." Excepting the friends I made, and a few logistical details, that's my whole trip within this fandom. Almost two years after defecting, I'm still having flashbacks. Yeesh.

It seems that for over two months I've had 145 vacant icon spaces (still have over 100 to fill at press time) and not a clue about it. Thanks for the heads up, LJ. You Ruskies are just so considerate like that, ain't ya?

Never mind, let's just skip to the moral of the story: chelseascum > God

What was the old 90s Volkswagen commerical? Farfegnugen. That.

LOOK ONE: VIPER STARSHIP (THE ARTSY VIXEN)
I boosted the name of this look from the band Cobra Starship, because I was drawn to the idea of a vibe that's both lethal and otherwordly, cold yet unapologetically seductive.

MAKEUP: Reboot the tried-and-true smoky eye, using Revlon's shadow singles in Peacock Lustre (lid) and Black Galaxy (crease and liner), blending the latter out toward the temples to emphasize the ferocity. Apply Milani's Color Perfect lipstick in Berry Rich--even though the color name is one of my pet peeves because I've never been a fan of "berry", or worse, "bear-y" as cutesy substitutes for "very"--blot it down to a see-through stain, then reapply a lighter coat just in the center of the lips and smack.

HAIR: Too much, too big would be a very bad idea, so I'd reccommend a ponytail, maybe with a hint of a pompadour in front. Feel free to play with the texture, just keep whatever's going on in the back, away from your face.

FASHION: Go with a little gray or navy (not black) dress (a longer style with a provocative feature like a leg slit or side cutout would also be a huge win, as would a formal jumpsuit, or a tuxedo with the skimpiest of bustiers or camisoles underneath). Accessorize boldly--breastplate choker, black leather or lace gloves, full-on black stripper sandals. Slut.


* * * * *


LOOK TWO: CARRIBEAN ICE QUEEN (THE EXOTIC ECCENTRIC)
My inspiration here? God help me--Jaws the Revenge (hey, at least that piece of shit turned out to be good for something). The way the setting abruptly changed over from frigid Long Island to the sultry Bahamas made me want to experiment with a fun, quirky mix of warm and cool colors.

MAKEUP: Take Maybelline's Seashore Frosts eyeshadow palette and apply it according to package directions--pale blue highlights the browbones, light and dark lilac-mauves accent the lid, lashlines defined in grayish-green. Shade the mouth with the same company's ColorSensational lipstick in Coral Crush, then varnish it real good with a coat of NYC's Kiss Gloss in Murray Hill Melon.

HAIR: Leave it down, unless you want to look like a midcentury fashion illustration. I'm all for a little theater in your personal style, but there's a point where things start to look too much like you tried to get in character. Either manufacture some rumpled waves, somewhere between mermaid and bedhead, or...well, I guess here's as good a chance as any to break out the supersleek Marcia-Brady center part all the stylists are pimping of late.

FASHION: Here's where I'm picturing the cool-warm dichotomy translated as a black and gold brocade dress with a stack of bangles and major earrings in silver (or black and silver brocade with gold jewelry, whatever you've got). Lavender or ice-blue pumps, maybe a white tuxedo jacket, and definitely carry an animal-print clutch, cheetah or python--keep it upbeat and playful.


* * * * *


LOOK THREE: SUGARPLUM CARRIE (THE GIRLY REBEL)
"Carrie" because there's an element of naughty prom queen to this look, like a good girl slowly coming into her dark side. It's almost like a classy, sophisticated version of the "kinderwhore" style popularized by the riot grrls of the early 90s.

MAKEUP: Prep the eyelids with a dot of foundation or primer, dust Milani's Runway shadow single in Girls Luv Pink up to the brow bones, then rim upper and lower lashlines with Maybelline's Master Drama pencil in Coal Commander, winging it up in a kitten shape at the outer corners. Use a slanted Q-tip to perfect the shape, if it comes to that, then use Cover Girl LipPerfection Lipstick in Divine directly from the tube (if the lip line needs finessing, take a dry brush and take advantage what's already there to fill in the border).

HAIR: The beauty of this look is you can wear your hair pretty much any way you want. Up, down, sleek, tousled, curly, straight, crimped...my only advice would be to avoid all big, flashy ornaments and just let the style speak for itself.

FASHION: I see a pastel party dress--maybe there's even a crinoline underneath--paired with a matching or contrasting motocross-style jacket and black lace-up stiletto ankle boots. And just one piece of bold, badass statement jewelry. Lollipop or bubble gum optional.

You mean real-time, to my face? Two days ago, out of nowhere, a guy on the street in Northampton asked Mike's permission (?) to give me a compliment, then told me I looked gorgeous. It could have been worse, because lately I've been confronting my epic body-image struggle instead of pretending it's not real. I guess I was due to be noticed for a superficial reason.

Fucking trees, snarling their roots up above the ground like they own the joint...

CURRENTLY READING: Little Children, Thirteen Reasons Why
CURRENTLY RE-READING: Bluebeard's Egg

Right now I'm on kind of a dad-rock kick, and I'd like to think there's no need to justify it to anyone, least of all myself. The Eagles/ Boston/ Creedence Clearwater Revival/ The Doobie Brothers > Meditation. Those bands just remind me of being safe, of being either in the car, going somewhere, looking forward to something for a change...or at home with a good time taking place, like a barbecue. Anytime I heard them as a kid, I knew I was well beyond the reach of all life's bullshit, and, as long as they kept playing, everything would be all right.

So I guess sometimes I make attempts to recapture that feeling.

Four days after posting that confessional entry, and I'm still for the most part doubleplus uncrazy about my body. Oh, well. Out of curiosity, I decided to go back and list everything I've eaten today, today being one of my typical days...and I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my eating habits could be a lot worse.

Like I said, this is not an extraordinary menu for me, where I'm trying to either scale back for whatever reason or just say, "Aw, screw it"...this is very much an accurate picture of how I eat on the average day.

* * * * *

BREAKFAST
Two oatmeal pancakes with about a half-pat of butter, a drizzle of maple syrup and a scattering of fresh blueberries; and a cup of unsweetened orange-jasmine-passionfruit green tea.

MIDMORNING SNACK
One handful of cherry-infused dried cranberries and a cup of unsweetened purple antiox green tea. Later, a small Dunkin Donuts iced coffee with cinnamon, coconut, sugar, and a splash of whole milk.

LUNCH
A half shaved smoked ham/ molten cheddar sandwich on multigrain with spicy brown mustard and a cup of Italian-style vegetable soup (no pasta); a glass of mango-infused iced white tea.

AFTERNOON SNACK
Three broccoli florets and about five cucumber slices dipped in a tablespoon of ranch-flavored sour cream dip. Later, a cup of red antiox green tea.

DINNER
Baby spinach salad with strawberries, red onion, and raspberry-walnut vinaigrette; an herb-rubbed oven-roasted chicken breast (skinless/ boneless). Two squares of Ghirardelli dark chocolate for dessert. More iced white tea.

* * * * *

Evidently, while my back was turned, I started giving a shit what went in my mouth. What are the odds, I ask you?

Just thought I'd share. Because I'm all generous and stuff.

(I also remember liking "Another One Bites the Dust" at a very young age.)

Mocha ice cream swirled with chewy cookie dough and crunchy chocolate cookie swirl. Basically heaven in a bowl, so of course it's limited edition, leaving me alone with my withdrawl symptoms approximately eleven months of the year. Bastards.

A map of the Star Wars galaxy that my friend twopiearr gave to me.

...don't even act surprised.

Had to do it. Had. To. Do it. Because I'm just fucked in the head like that. Although an equal portion of the blame goes to the sexy Mister Eli Roth.

The dinner plates this year looked like a Man vs. Food challenge--I can easily see us spreading them out over three meals, and that doesn't even include the leftovers. (Maybe there's a shelter around here that'll accept a last-minute donation...?) I desperately hope the Boom Boom Pow family down below doesn't get any cute ideas about cranking their detestable stereo for the second time today; most of us would like to go into our turkey comas in peace.

EDIT: Assholes! Quit blocking all my favorites! :elbows YouTube in the crotch and goes off to sulk:

It's Thanksgiving. My advice? If you're somebody's dinner guest and anything on the table is described as low-fat, low-cal, low-carb...don't touch it. Grab an extra scoop of stuffing or potatoes instead. And don't skip dessert, for crying out loud...in fact, have a chai latte or some spiked hot chocolate with your pie. The trick to keeping a handle on your diet through the holidays is not eating like it's a holiday every other fucking day of the year.

I'm roasting a brined turkey breast French Provencal style this year, with root veggies and rosemary, and trying my hand at pomegranate vinaigrette. Wish me luck.

Weird Thanksgiving, though. For once, if someone were to ask me what I'm thankful for, I could give them a straight answer. More or less.

OBJECTIVE: Run a Google image search to your answer to each of the following questions, and post the result. The image must be chosen from the first page of results.*

1. Year you were born
2. A place you'd like to travel
3. Your favorite place
4. Your favorite object
5. Your favorite food
6. Your favorite animal
7. Your favorite colour
8. Town where you were born
9. Town where you now live
10. Name of a past/current pet
11. Name of a past love
12. Best friend's nickname
13. Your nickname
14. Your first name
15. Your middle name
16. Your last name
17. A bad habit of yours
18. Your first job
19. Your Grandmother's first name
20. Current/Future/Past college major

*First page, third page...frankly I wasn't paying that much attention. Sue me.

___________________

1. YEAR I WAS BORN

Yeah, you just had to know I'd find something with Star Wars on it. Moving right along...

( Snip. Graphics-heavy... )

1) Your own name with a variation
2) Name of a god/goddess or constellation with the same start as your real middle name
3) A blend of your favourite animal and colour
4) Your mother's middle name with an extra 'Y' 'I' or 'E' for good luck. If you don't know, or she doesn't have one, just make something up.
5) Any random plant
6) A romantic-sounding name
7) Your dad's middle name with extra Y's for good luck. If you don't know or he doesn't have one, make one up.
8) An anime/manga character
9) Anything from your fandom
10) A last name of someone from your fandom who you DON'T want to have anything romantic to do with.

* * * * *

So that would make me...

Daniellah Orion Electricbluekangaroo Nancye VenusFlytrap Celeste Yshby Sephiroth* DeathStar Solo

Ouchorama...

* * * * *

*The only anime/manga character with which I am anything approaching familliar.

Minx With a Capital J

So...I got to thinking this morning (and this was before my caffeine kicked in, so I can't assume full responsibility for my thought patterns)...

Liverpool natives are known as Liverpudlians...
By the same, Glasgow natives are Glaswegians...
Manchester = Mancunians...
And if you were born or reside in Massachusetts, you're a Bay Stater.

Since Asheville is, in theory, the Land of the Sky...

...can we be Skywalkers?

:affects geeky-slacker voice: Because that would be so cool.

(I know, I know, but I'm only about 25% serious, so please don't alert Bellvue and break out the straightjacket just yet.)

In my lifetime, the Clintons (one cannot, should not, deny Hilary's role in the administration). Their track record isn't spotless--NAFTA sure as hell came round to bite us in the ass--but they left a legacy that commands more respect than derision, with or without that stupid blowjob staring us all in the face.

What hurts more than anything, though, is the future that died with John F. Kennedy. I didn't get born until fourteen years after his assassination, yet I swear I miss him as much as anyone who was there to witness it.

And where can I find a biography of Teddy Roosevelt? That guy was bad to the ass.

Either the person who asked, or you go dutch. Nothing against old-school chivalry, but I'd just as soon not even get on that tip, because I feel like it perpetuates the idea that women are helpless until proven resourceful. If I get to a door before a man does, then by hell, I'm holding it open it for him.

One exception: I briefly, halfheartedly dated a guy when I was twenty-one, and we came to an arrangement where we each paid for whatever the other wanted. Exept he consumed, like, three times more food than I did, so the one time we went to the movies together, he spent something like $20 on me, whereas his ticket/ concession raid topped out at almost twice that. Practicality had to overrule gender-equality on that one.

After being glued to them on TV for years, I finally get to experience life from the perspective of a family in a haunted house documentary--how it feels to sink every dime and hope and effort you have into what you think is going to be your dream residence, except once you move in, you can never get a moment's peace. You're basically trapped, and a situation unfolds wherein you spend every waking moment waiting for, dreading, the next outburst.

The only difference: I'm dealing with sonic terrorists, not visitors from beyond. If it's not the neighbors downstairs cranking their stereo until the same three goddamn songs hemmorhage through the floor, it's the maniacs next door with their TV blasting the paint off the walls. We literally never get a break from it, and it's really compromising the quality of our lives--all we seem talk about anymore (for the past week, anyway) is our noisy fucking inconsiderate douchebag neighbors, and it's causing a lot of tension between us, too. I have logged all of five hours in the name of sleep over the past three nights because the TV next door has become a round-the-clock intruder, I'm constantly being woken up to commiserate/ conspire with Mike when I'm least equipped to do anything, and I'm literally starting to hallucinate because of it. I am not being dramatic. I'll be reading a book, or netsurfing, or drafting brews at work, and suddenly I'll either hear voices in my head make completely outrageous and incoherent claims, or the colors in everything will go all freaky for a few seconds.

We've asked nicely. We've retaliated with our own TV/ music. We've called management. We've called the cops. We have researched ourselves into his-and-hers cases of carpal tunnel, but so far it looks as if it's another one of those instances where the bastards causing trouble have more rights than the ones being troubled. No one gives a fuck; no one is on our side. You'll say at least we still have each other, but that's not saying much when we're both being driven neon batshit--it's been well established that two people drowning can't save each other.

(Maybe this is the hospitable southern belle in me talking, but shouldn't having literally no fucking insulation in the walls--I asked--make you want to scale it back a little, rather than give yourself carte blanche to act like you own your own house on a good twenty acres of wilderness?)

Did you know that noise problems are cited as the number-one cause of rentor's dissatisfaction? Not high costs, not structural quality--NOISE PROBLEMS. Fuck this place, and for the most part, fuck the rest of world, too. I mean it with all my heart. How do you exorcise demons like these? Where's the research/ support group for people being antagonized by electronic media? I'm fed up with feeling like I live either above a Latin supper club or next door to a fucking surround-sound movie theater.

If you have any advice, now's the time to give it, because I honestly don't know how much longer we can go on like this. I'm a zombie, Mike's a train wreck, it's only getting worse, and moving is not an option.

Somebody help me...please...

Okay, so, the object here is to highlight the things you've done versus the things you haven't done. Provided LJ stops being a dildo long enough to let me post...ya'll either get your shit together or go sleep with Cartman's mom, because I've about had it.

* * * * *

1. Had beer. (While I'm at it, who agrees with me that the best wine is beer?)

2. Smoked an entire cigarette. (I smoked like a Parisienne my first year of college, then one day...I just didn't anymore. I don't know if I switched to lollipops or bubblegum or what, but to this day I can bum a cigarette off someone, smoke it, and forget there are such things as cigarettes for a good six months or more.)

3. Smoked a cigar.

4. Done drugs.

5. Written on a bathroom wall.

6. Read a George Orwell book. (1984 FTW.)

7. Had a physical fight. (And although I like to claim I belong to the school of never-hit-first/ always-hit-worse, that has not been the case across the board.)

8. Used Twitter (I don't consider my daily doings relevant or interesting enough to document on a moment to moment basis; it's more fun being a semi-woman of mystery, full of privileged information.)

9. Listened to Lady Gaga. (Keeping "You and I" in heavy rotation lately.)

10. Been in a car accident (Some of which had more comic value than others.)

11. Gotten suspended.

12. Gotten expelled.

13. Been allergic to something.

14. Got a computer virus.

15. Touched a real gun. (Yes, and I am TERRIFIED of the motherfuckers. I don't even care to be anywhere near a bb gun. Yet I'm totally cool around other forms of weaponry, because it's just not in my nature to make a lick of sense.)

16. Had a dog.

17. Had a cat.

18. Been pregnant. (:knocks wood:)

19.Camped out.

20. Swam in the ocean.

( Snip... )

Q: Why can't the punk/ goth/ alt/ new wave/ non-cookie cutter girl ever be the last chick standing? It's always the most boring bitch in the movie.

A: Because only the generic survive. That's the underlying message of approximately every slasher flick since the mid-70s.

(Going on my fashion sense alone, I'd probably be the first to die in a Friday the 13th-type movie. Oh, well. At least I'd make a fierce-looking corpse.)

Ch-ch-ch, ah-ah-ah...

glitter-graphics.com

A shoutout to my hero of a writing partner, twopiearr, who underwent surgery yesterday to set a broken arm. Our universe is holding your place, and so am I.

Goddamn, goddamn, god DAMN it. Twelve inches of snow in October; and this is supposed to prove WHAT about WHAT? Color me not amused the infinite power.

Fuck it. Guess I'll go curl up with an Empire Strikes Back/ The Thing double feature until the power inevitably fails. Might as well remind myself that it could always be worse, even under these conditions: no AT-ATs, no extraterrestrial copycat microbes...

Lightning, too? Jesus Christ. Now you're just trying to piss me off.

...and it's working.

Don't mind me; I've been too busy phoning in my life for the past few days to generate anything worth reading. I used to love this time of year, but...a snowstorm? REALLY? New England weather is just plain retarded, and our much-lauded fall foliage hasn't been for shit this year. Somebody get me the hell out of here.

Halloween should bring some spice to this bullshit meteorological drama. At least my costume is inspired, because I was thinking, the convention among my gender is to take one of the classics and stripper-fy it: Slutty Pirate Babe, Slutty Chain Gangette, Slutty Red Riding Hood. Well, my take was, instead of that played-out approach, why not do "Homicidal" [fill in the blank]? Homicidal Nurse, Homicidal Waitress...I was initially leaning toward Homicidal Alice in Wonderland (with a meat cleaver and a mannequin head made up as the Mad Hatter for props--any worthwhile Halloween costume has at least one prop--and OFF WITH YOUR HEAD scrawled in blood on the little white pinafore-thing), but that's just boosting the whole American McGee concept. So I went with Homicidal Geisha instead, inspired by Deadly Little Miho from Sin City, select bits from Big Trouble in Little China (yeah, I know, but...details), and, at a friend's suggestion, the Kill Bill saga. Probably it's the easiest costume I've put together in several years, because eighty-five percent of the stuff I needed was already in my possession: the shortie kimono, the black leather leggings, the silver maryjane flats...even a pair of sai. Aw, yeah, tell me those things aren't the sexiest weapon of all time...you're dead wrong if you do, and don't even try to argue with me, because I know exactly what you're going to say, and I pre-emptively call bullshit. Chicks with whips are such a cliche: let's try harder than alluding to the dominatrix thing.

So the plan is to don all this gear, a long ponytail fall, a pair of fancy chopstick hair ornaments and my Big Trouble...-inspired makeup, then Jackson-Pollack fake blood all over the whole shebang. I think it'll work...more importantly, I think it'll even go so far as to creep someone or other out, and is that not truly honoring the holiday as it deserves?

Curiosity is going to be the death of me...what the fuck else would possess me to YouTube Rebecca Black's "Friday"? Because I never learn, underline, full stop. I tried to take the high road in my comment, because I'm not impressed with people who just hate for its own sake, because it's the fashionable thing to do. It went a little something like this...

First of all, it's a goddamn song, not a doomsday device. Nothing this amateurish could actually destroy the world.

But here's a radical idea: instead of taking out our frustration with pop music's diminished integrity on easy targets like these, why not look up some lesser-known acts and see if they're worth their buzz? Help put a kickass artist on the charts instead of bitching about a lame one.

It can't be that much harder to build something up instead of tear it down.

Next thing I know, fuck if I didn't make one of my pet-peeve grammar goofs in writing. "I think Rebecca Black damaged my smart. Okay, forget what I said--she's a dead man."

"...woman?"

"Yeah, but the traditional phrase is more fun to say. Besides, we've never looked under her skirt; for all we know..."

On the subject of music, I kind of got a little worried when another friend cited a list of songs as lacking spherical genitalia--I said, "Since when do songs need genitals of ANY kind? There's enough copycatting going on in the music industry; I can barely tell one song from another anymore. Do we really want them reproducing amongst themselves?"

Day Nine: Two images that describe your life right now and why...

1.
Because my brain always feels like it's trying to hatch out of my skull and fuck off to more exciting locales. Not that I blame it.

2. http://youtu.be/dMO5GNT47fk
(Unfortunately, I can't find an embeddable version--don't you just hate that?) Reason being, things have gotten so tense around here, I feel like this is what I have to do just to leave my goddamn apartment. I admit it also inspired the scene in Seventh Wave where Simone Phoenix gears up to exterminate her sister--she's spent the past five years making herself over into a model citizen; now she's going back to her vigilante-justice roots, accessorizing with items that belonged to people Shani helped destroy: their father's jacket, Kyle Harrow's headscarf, armed only with one of Ilysa Sting's inventions...

Day Ten: One Confession

1.1. Oh, sweet Jesus. Um...I let the dogs out. Every day at least three cats threaten to kick my ass. No, that's just cheating. Let's see...

1.2. I saw Return of the Jedi in the theater, when I was about five or so, but I didn't see The Empire Strikes Back until I was eight. So I spent roughly three years with a lot of unanswered questions that needed to be cleared up. That's actually true, but it's not good enough. Take three...

1.3. Although I do a lot of sneering and meaning it at the idea of middle-class, white-collar, picket-fence security and me, with a desk job and and a husband and maybe even a kid (!)--that's ONE, tops--there is a part of me wouldn't turn down such a lifestyle if it were thrown my way. Just to see if I have in fact been missing out. There, I said it. Happy now?

When I was a kid I had a thing for Cinderella, much as it kills me to admit that now--that instantly-graftifying transformation from the girl who's been used and bullied all her life to the girl everyone either desires or envies. But then, an amazing thing happened: I grew up, saw it for the unadulterated bullshit it was, and realized that Prince Charming is a total douche in the bargain. Come on, he picked his mate based on how she looked in a dress that had passed through a membrane from an alternate reality and the most dangerous, impractical pair of dancing shoes ever. What's gonna happen with that dizzy bitch starts breeding and her figure doesn't immediately snap back into Barbie-doll proportions? Oh, that's right, I forgot, her fairy godmother will take care of it. How retarded of me.

In my current mindset, I'm going to have to go with the classic Bavarian don't-underestimate-your-children treatise: Hansel & Gretel. Simply because in the end, the boy is held captive while the girl saves the day. Now, that's a story the way I'd write it.

Day Seven: Four turn-ons.

1. Nerdiness! Give me that over disaffected "bad-boy" posturing any day. Nothing's sexier than a public display of enthusiasm, especially when it's backed up by near-encyclopedic knowledge of the topic in question. And while we're at it, let's not underrate the simultaneous nerdgasm.

2. Witty banter. The catch is, both parties should be contributing both action and reaction--it shouldn't be just one person supplying the wisecracks, and the other person laughing at them.

3. Gifts that stray outside the standard flowers/ candy/ jewelry box. If, for instance, you give me a book or CD you think I'll like, or bring me a small selection of exotic coffees and teas after going to the trouble to learn that I'm addicted to both, you're showing me that ours is chemistry with substance. Back in college, on my birthday, a friend of mine brought me a slice of pizza with a candle on it, remembering a conversation we'd had on the wonders of pizza, and I remember thinking, "Damn, his girlfriend is one lucky bitch." Now that I'm jackpotting in this department myself, I feel sorry for anyone who isn't; it's a basic human right! (HINT: if you're angling toward giving me one of the big three, then flowers are the way to go. Orchids/ roses over bling? Hell, yeah--any day.)

4. Celebrating your alleged "flaws". That's a very European point of view, I believe, but it's also why I defiantly keep it real by hanging on to my Appalachian drawl. As an accent, it doesn't have the best rap, but it's part of me, and since I'm not a stereotypical Southern Belle in most other ways, it's the perfect weapon against those kind of preconceived notions.

* * * * *

Day Eight: Three people who are significant in your life

Too easy...

1. My love.

2. My best friend.

3. Currently my favorite uncle, Billy Joe, because his team (St. Louis) is in the World Series again and I'm so excited for him. I hope they win; I want him to just puff up with pride. The truth is, I was rooting exclusively for the Phillies even before the playoffs started, the Red Sox pissed me off that much, but hey--at least this way I can have a horse in the race by proxy.

Before I get on with it, I need to explain why I deleted my answers to day five of this exercise. I should've known better than to touch that segment with a ten-foot pole, because if experience in these matters has taught me anything, it's that the biggest-regrets question is a trap--my answers never fail to hurt someone or piss them off, once they apply the butterfly effect to it, and I'm not doing it anymore. Regrets are not just a waste of time, they allow the past to overshadow your present and future. And I have a such hard time just relaxing and allowing myself to make a few mistakes; the idea of upsetting anyone I care about turns me into your basic basket case, more so when it actually happens. Also, unfortunately, LJ is where my inner bad girl tends to monopolize the floor; she's actually a lot more subdued in my day-to-day existence, taking over only when provoked, provoked, provoked. So from here on I'm going to instigate a ban on any questions about my regrets, and anybody reading this would do well to take that to heart, because I'm not fucking around. First offense is a monosyllable--"Pass"--second offense is an expletive-laden warning, third is a frosty silence, and on the fourth, I kick-smash your head open and spit on your exposed brain. Are you with me? Good. Please drive through.

Day Six: Five turn-offs (None of which the man in my life needs to worry about, just for the record).

1. Stupid, booby trap questions, such as "What are your biggest regrets?"/ "What's something you wish you'd never done?" Either come up with something relevant or fuck off. Kthnx.

2. Hypocrisy. Now, I realize we're all hypocrites to some degree; what I'm talking about is actively making someone's life miserable over something of which you're equally guilty. Or being guilty of a similar offense to the same degree. Or even being guilty of the opposite offense to the same degree. Just watch your ass, is all I'm saying.

3. Mind games. If you think bullshit is the way to this veteran manipulator's heart, you've got another think coming.

4. People who build their entire personalities around shock value, music-based subcultures, or gender pronouns. If you need a cheat sheet to tell you what all your motivations, likes, and dislikes are, don't even bother.

5. Blatant conversion efforts. If you're in on something you honestly think I'll enjoy, then by all means, but the harder you try to force me into something that doesn't interest me, the more resistance I'm going to create, so let's just save ourselves the trouble, shall we?

* * * * *

DANI O. BREAKS DOWN ROLLING STONE'S TEN WORST SONGS OF THE 90s

"What's Up?"/ 4 Non Blondes
It's mainly guilty of oversaturation. Not a terrible song, per se, just kind of...weak. Bland. Didn't support its own hype.

"I'm too Sexy"/ Right Said Fred
Wait, what? Oh, get stuffed. That's, like, one of the best novelty songs ever. If you can't at least appreciate it for its satirical qualities, your sense of humor is broken.

"Who Let the Dogs Out?"/ Baha Men
Oh, come on now--it's the perfect sporting event song. At a ball game or whatever, you want something loud and obnoxious and butt-stupid to get the crowd all pumped up, and in this case, look no further. There's been fainter praise, I assure you.

"My Heart Will Go On"/ Celine Dion
I always said they should've gotten Sarah McLachlan to do this one, because Celine oversings everything--she's like a lynx in a meat grinder--but at least the arrangement is pretty.

"Mmmbop"/ Hanson
Whatever. Y'all are just jealous because these guys were rich, famous, and laid by the time the most noteworthy accomplishment most of us could hope for was passing driver's ed. "Mmmbop" is a classic, and anyone who says they don't like it is a goddamn liar.

"Tubthumper"/ Chumbawamba
I don't get it--for being too catchy?

"Ice, Ice Baby"/ Vanilla Ice
This is kind of our anthem/ mantra at work, so I can't say anything bad about it. Or I could, but I decline on the grounds of looking like a hypocrite. (See turnoffs, above.)

"Achy Breaky Heart"/ Billy Ray Cyrus
Finally, one I can put my money on. The Weird Al parody, however, is genius incarnate. Forget a Grammy; he should've won the Nobel Prize for that one. "Achy Breaky Song"--YouTube it. Now. That's not a suggestion, it's an order.

"Macarena"/ Los Del Rio
Oh, holy shit. The less said about this one, the better. And somehow I don't think I'm alone, here.

"Barbie Girl"/ Aqua
It's Danish dance-pop; what the hell do you expect? My drag queen friend was stereotypically obsessed with it, so there were moments when I wanted to toss his copy of the CD out my car window, but I tortured him right back with Bone Thugs-N-Harmony, so...

(I'm surprised the Spice Girls didn't make it on here some way, somehow, but I LOVED their first three singles--"Wannabe"/ "Say You'll be There"/ "2 Become 1"--so it would just add up to another eat me if you can't take a joke.)

[from a comment] It's hard for a man to wear a beard or mustache without looking like some sort of caricature--hillbilly, sea captain, 70s porn star, hobo--so as a rule I'm not into them, even when there's a sense of irony behind it. Goatees, I can take or leave. I do like a little two-day scruff on a guy, provided I don't get road rash during any spontaneous gestures of affection.