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EuroGlam

Some makeup looks I did recently. What freaks me out is that I'm smiling in half these pictures; what hath Wedge wrought around here?

paris
ALL OCCASION LOOK I: Parisienne Passerby

london
ALL OCCASION LOOK II: Deconstructed London Mod

amsterdamned
ALL OCCASION LOOK III: Queen of the Amsterdamned

capitol
"Happy Hunger Games blahblahblah ever in your favour and all that shit."

Cricket Calls

TODAY'S EPIPHANY: My specific style of humour is pretty much useless. Otherwise, I wouldn't be the only one laughing.

And yeah, this has damaged my ego a little bit. There, I said it.

Word Cha-Ching

"101": my new slang term, used as an unofficial written or verbal trademark symbol for any statement that ought to be obvious.

Here We Go Again...

Is anyone else's LJ being spambotted up one side and down the other? Like, are they leaving comments on shit you wrote up to five years ago?

Open Letter to the Christian Right

To Whomever it May Concern:

Maybe the USA will become a theocracy. It wouldn’t surprise me, and that’s not just my usual pessimism or disgust talking. If there’s one thing I understand, it’s the comfort of being around like-minded people (it happens with me so rarely), of being able to relate to someone. I'd be a liar to claim that I don't feel like bouncing around the room in elation every time I read something by Carl Sagan or Richard Dawkins that mirrors my view of the world. I can see how people would jump at the chance to be led by a candidate who promises they’ll govern by a faith consistent with their own, because then they know that they’ll be safe, they don’t have to abandon the mindset they understand as the spiritually correct one. Try as I might, I can’t fault that line of thinking. What I can fault is the effect that feeling of moral security would have on other people.

Let’s say it happens; let’s say that the separation of church and state falls, that “religious freedom” is redefined as a gag order against criticising anyone’s beliefs so long as they’re Christian-derived, let’s say that the whole nation is governed by Biblical principles, and all legislature is held up for clerical scrutiny before it can pass. All abortion is outlawed. Gay marriage receives a constitutional ban. Every school is required by law to lead the students in a morning prayer. We’re back on the path of righteousness, and all’s right with the nation.

Or is it?

Maybe for you, and that’s great, but…here’s where you need to step outside your comfort zone, and know that your happiness has made a lot of people miserable.

You need to know that somewhere, maybe in your very hometown, a teenage boy is about to take his own life because his guidance counselor is more aghast over his sexual orientation than his bullies’ behavior. Somewhere, maybe in your very hometown, a woman is bleeding out because she couldn’t face the thought of giving birth to her rapist’s baby…couldn’t even bring herself, in her fear and shame, to report the rape. Somewhere, maybe in your very hometown, a child who’s just lost one loving parent to cancer or a car accident stands to lose both…because she has two mommies or two daddies rather than one of each. Somewhere, maybe in your very hometown, a person of no religious affiliation is facing a fine, or imprisonment, or perhaps worse, because they had the nerve to object to letting the God of fear and hate have the floor, while the God of love is left to warm the bench. Just think about that for a moment. The gay son of the generous, neighbourly, funloving couple next door…the pregnant rape victim who was class clown your senior year and always brought the best goodies to the marching band’s bake sales…your widowed co-worker whose desktop background was their partner lifting their child to crown their Christmas tree with a star…and me.

Miserable. Ostracised. Terrified. All because it wasn’t enough to practice your faith in your church and home…you had to have it legislated as well. And life’s great for you; no one’s forcing you to stop praying, or going to church, or have an abortion, or marry someone of your own sex--not that you would’ve had to either way, but hey, nothing beats a guarantee, right?

Except now I want you to turn your thoughts to the people who are suffering because the law requires them to abide by your faith. Don’t write them off as sinners, degenerates, fetus carriers, heretics; don’t reduce them to their sexuality, their reproductive organs, or their (lack of) doctrine. Don’t bring the Bible into it, either. Just this one time, leave scripture out of it--you can beg [H]im for forgiveness later if you have to, but on this most isolated occasion, don‘t let God's Word inform your answer. Consider these people as a human being with a heart, not as a devout Christian with a divine mandate.

You‘ve got the nation you always wanted. And they’re paying the price with their security, their dreams, their dignity, their lives.

Now ask yourself: IS IT WORTH IT?

Sincerely,
A Concerned Atheist in the Bible Belt (But You Can Call Me Danielle)

Out of Order (An Original Short Story)

NORTHAMPTON, MASSACHUSETTS

Eddie Polk has two wives, Dusk and Dawn; he named them himself. In the past they had regular names, the kind you’d expect from high school yearbook photos, but half the time he can’t remember them, and for all he knows, they can’t, either. They’re cousins, Dusk and Dawn, and the one thing they agree on is that neither of them can do better than him. So if he wants a piece on the side, they'll cooperate or go it alone. He's got his hands full trying to stay in his right mind and out from behind bars, he says, so as far as he's concerned, he has every right to assign somebody else the compromising detail.

For Eddie, pride boils down to three things: he has a street reputation controversial enough that he can pretend not to give a fuck about it, a series of macabre nicknames (“Blade“ sees the heaviest rotation), and two unofficial wives who‘ll let him try his luck with any female wretched enough to flip a hip his way.

Let's go...Collapse )

Shit I Don't Like, Vol. I



Driving down Hendersonville Road and getting caught in every effing red light between Biltmore Village and Arden? That’s the shit I don’t like.

Security guards who won’t take thirty seconds from following a lone black teenager all over the store to urge some spaced-out mother to round up, leash and muzzle her obnoxious hellspawn? That’s the shit I don’t like.

A week’s supply of fresh fruit/ veg being three to five times more expensive than a box of Little Debbies/ Doritos? That’s the shit I don’t like.

Women who hit on men they KNOW are taken--especially ones who play this like it’s a professional sport and they’re trying for the Wheaties box? That’s the shit I don’t like.

Going to pass some idiot on the highway and the moment you swing into the left-hand lane, they FLOOR IT until you give up and drop back into formation, then immediately resume their former pace? That’s the shit I don’t like.

The absence of other parties in our political system. By now it’s clear that modern Republicans value fetuses over women (and consider a woman’s reproductive system and sexual conduct everyone’s business but her own), one passage in Leviticus over an entire group of people’s safety and well being, and materialism over philanthropy; Democrats are too busy arguing the points to focus on what's really going on. The fact that both parties haven’t been KO’d by a group of renegades focused on the big picture and unwilling to get caught up in a diversionary rat maze of social equality issues? That’s the shit I don’t like.

Having to go all the way to Biltmore Village (at the closest) for my Dunkin' Donuts coffee fix? That’s the shit I don’t like.

My dad complaining about my cooking. Love him, hate that. I’m sorry your palate hasn’t advanced beyond fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, but I cook family dinners out of the goodness of my heart, to give you and Mom a break, not to torture you every time I pick up a kitchen utensil. No, my spaghetti sauce/ chili are NOT too thick, and no, I DON’T reach for my nonexistent garlic stash unless the recipe calls for some. If you don’t like the menu, that’s why sandwiches were invented. You’ll actually hurt my feelings way less if you build a sandwich and back off, because eating what I’ve made but bitching about it every bite? That’s the shit I don’t like.

This support-the-troops, America-owes-you-a-debt-of-gratitude mentality that up and dies as soon as the soldier becomes a veteran? That’s the shit I don’t like.

The radio. The hell happened? You were awesome from the mid-70s to around 1992, allowing all genres to infiltrate the pop charts, then all of a sudden, you decide that only three or four types of music exist? That’s the shit I don’t like.

The de-evolution of hip-hop. Listen to “The Message” (Grandmaster Flash), then listen to “Racks” (YC). And the fact that the more infantile the rhymes are and more generic the beat/ flow is, the more guest vocals need to come round and reinforce it? Yeah…that’s the shit I don’t like.

Picture this: I’m hitting Asheville, looking good, feeling fierce, wearing my best jacket, best jeans, best shoes, plus my Urban Decay eyeliner, my Hard Candy blush, my MAC lipstick, better believe…I approach the door to some consumer establishment like a boss, strutting to “U Got the Look” in my head, and out comes some ratty girl, face full of zits, hair not even a hot mess, stained sweats she must've found in a dumpster. She gives me an incredulous once-over, then shares a look with her equally busted-ass boyfriend like, “Halloween, much?” Now, whut? Uh-uh. My mirror knows better. What are you thinking, anyway, that I do this because I’m enslaved by the fashion police, the beauty nazis, or the patriarchy? No, I do it because it makes me feel good, because I thrive on creative calisthenics, and because I’m from the Oscar Wilde school of thought that considers beauty a form of genius. Trust me, I’m barefaced and sloppy often enough when I’m bumming around the house. Hating on me because you don’t have the balls to be your own art exhibit? That’s the shit I don’t like.

People who’d rather accessorize with their pets and/ or children than experience any meaningful interaction with them? That’s the shit I don’t like.

Wedge, Give me Strength

"America is a failed experiment, and I don't even consider it my country anymore. There, I said it. Enjoy your delusions, your apathy, your superstitions, your willful blindness, your comforting lies, your backassward priorities, your washed-up dream, your wishful thinking: This. Girl. Is. Fucking. DONE. I'd tell you to go to hell, but it looks like you're way ahead of me. England is a marginal improvement in a lot of ways, I'm not kidding myself, but at least they see the benefit of an intellectual standpoint that's evolved beyond the Dark Ages. What's the point of going to bat for people who're quite happy building their lives around a terminal case of Stockholm syndrome? Hail Brittania, motherfuckers." ~Dani O, October 3



Exactly what brought this on? Let me break it down for you.

A friend in Michigan said it best when she wrote that she doesn’t want to be demoted to a second-class citizen, as she would be under a Tea Party regime. Look at the vitals: she’s working-class, female, and bisexual--in a long-term monogamous relationship with another woman. Another friend from Massachusetts is low income, pagan, and sexually ambiguous; he’s in a stable but open relationship with, by all accounts I’ve heard, a great girl. My writing partner/ confidante in LA is a working-class militant agnostic and a passionate advocate for sexual freedom. One of my oldest friends from right over there in Andrews is a working-class female in a commonlaw interracial relationship. Then there’s me: low income (no income at press time because I’ve been looking after my sick mother), female, and a level six atheist. By revised standards, almost everyone I’m close to, myself included, has about two degrees of separation between them and the scummiest of the scum. And yet, most of our days are filled with plain old harmless status quo life, American-style: we drink coffee; we have lively conversations full of private jokes; we spoil our pets; we run errands and do chores; we listen to music/ read books/ watch movies; we embarrass ourselves and impress ourselves and confuse ourselves to no end; we want everything to turn out for the best; we live by strong moral codes and ethics; those of us who have access to cars pump our own gas…we all put on our jeans one leg at a time. And yet we’re depicted as threats, as the enemy, because we’re better at being ourselves than at upholding some overrated, mid-century Joseph McCarthy ideal. That’s NOT okay. What’s less okay is that people are mean-spirited enough to reduce us to our economic status, sexual identity, and personal beliefs in an effort to shift the blame from where it really belongs…even worse that some of you are so intellectually bankrupt you let this become an ethos, then jumped right in. Why? Long story short: we don’t want to live off your fair share of the money, take away your guns, burn down your churches, monitor your bedroom activity, gut out your lifestyle, redefine your “normal”, or patrol your thoughts…we don’t want to dismantle your version of the American Dream. We’d just like one of our own, and a fair shot at living it.
Originally posted by lijahlover at Copied via quite a few other places.....not sure of the original source...
Originally posted by ladyhadhafang at Copied via quite a few other places.....not sure of the original source...
Originally posted by lk737 at Copied via quite a few other places.....not sure of the original source...
Originally posted by dolnmoon at Copied via quite a few other places.....not sure of the original source...
Originally posted by jamiefraser0 at Copied via quite a few other places.....not sure of the original source...
Originally posted by dr_is_inat Copied via quite a few other places.....not sure of the original source...
*I am the girl kicked out of her home because I confided in my mother that I am a lesbian.

*I am the person who is afraid of telling his loving Christian parents he loves another male.

*I am the prostitute working the streets because nobody will hire a transsexual woman.

*I am the sister who holds her gay brother tight through the painful, tear-filled nights.

*We are the parents who buried our daughter long before her time.

*I am the man who died alone in the hospital because they would not let my partner of twenty-seven years into the room.

*I am the foster child who wakes up with nightmares of being taken away from the two fathers who are the only loving family I have ever had. I wish they could adopt me.

*I am one of the lucky ones, I guess. I survived the attack that left me in a coma for three weeks, and in another year I will probably be able to walk again.

*I am not one of the lucky ones. I killed myself just weeks before graduating high school. It was simply too much to bear.

*We are the couple who had the realtor hang up on us when she found out we wanted to rent a one-bedroom for two men.

*I am the person who never knows which bathroom I should use if I want to avoid getting the management called on me.

*I am the mother who is not allowed to even visit the children I bore, nursed, and raised. The court says I am an unfit mother because I now live with another woman.

*I am the domestic-violence survivor who found the support system grow suddenly cold and distant when they found out my abusive partner is also a woman.

*I am the domestic-violence survivor who has no support system to turn to because I am male.

*I am the father who has never hugged his son because I grew up afraid to show affection to other men.

*I am the home-economics teacher who always wanted to teach gym until someone told me that only lesbians do that.

*I am the man who died when the paramedics stopped treating me as soon as they realized I was transsexual.

*I am the person who feels guilty because I think I could be a much better person if I did not have to always deal with society hating me.

*I am the man who stopped attending church, not because I don't believe, but because they closed their doors to my kind.

*I am the person who has to hide what this world needs most, love.

Re-post this if you believe homophobia/transphobia is wrong. Please do your part to end it.


34 Going on 17

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...Collapse )

Writer's Block: The Walking Dead

In case of an impending zombie apocalypse, what would be your weapon of choice, and why?

My Warpo Ray, of course! If it can take out an entire society of idiots, then zombies ain't gonna be no challenge.
At what age did you stop believing in Santa?

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.

Writer's Block: Chicken soup

What is your cure for the common cold?

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.)

Song OTD

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?!

Writer's Block: B.Y.O.B. Holidays

What is your must-see holiday movie? One random answer will win a $50 Amazon gift card. [Details here]



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.

Writer's Block: Tearjerkers

Which movie always makes you cry?


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

Writer's Block: Out of this world

What would you name a new planet?


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.
What is the last compliment you received?

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.

Capsule Melange

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.

Props Granted

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?

My Very First Favorite Song



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.)

Writer's Block: Frozen delights

What is your favorite ice cream flavor?

Double Dunker
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.

Writer's Block: Background players

What is your computer wallpaper right now?

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

...don't even act surprised.

Gobble This


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:

...Turkeys

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.

Google Image Meme

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
1977
Yeah, you just had to know I'd find something with Star Wars on it. Moving right along...

Snip. Graphics-heavy...Collapse )

Calculating My MARY SUE Name!!

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.

Writer's Block: An intimate portrait

If someone wrote a book about your life, what would it be called?

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.)

Writer's Block: A few good men

Which U.S. President has made the most positive impact?

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.

Writer's Block: Check, please!

Who pays on a first date?

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...

Hey Dani-Baby, What Have You Done?

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...Collapse )

Duh

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...

It Would be the Smart Arm


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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.

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