11 things

...that are relatively insignificant but really bother me anyway.

1) Being interrupted repeatedly when I am reading, writing, or watching Queer Eye or Alias. It annoys me to no end and the people around me don't seem to realize that I want to pull out their hair everytime they do it. Over and over, "look at this" "how do I..." "watch me!" what does this mean?" "what was the name of that..." AAAHHHHHH PEOPLE SHUT UP AND LEAVE ME ALONE FOR FIVE MINUTES!!!

2)Messy, gooey toothpaste tubes. It's gross, and completely avoidable. It's not like there's an art to sqeezing out toothpaste neatly. And if you insist on slopping it around everywhere, at least have the courtesy to wipe it off for the next person.

3)Noisy rude people in the movies. You know those people who can't seem to stop talking, laughing, chewing, slurping, burping, wiggling, and talking on their cell phones throughout the entire movie? Yeah, you know who you are. Why do you bother to come to the movies anyway? Certainly not to *gasp* watch a movie? That's unheard of.

4)Finger smudges on book covers.

5)Being told I am obsessed with something when I'm not.

6)Being told when to go to bed, when to take a shower, when to eat, when to get off the computer, etc. For Heaven's sake. I'm not four.

7)Those stupid quiz things that people put in their blogs. "How sexy are you?" "What celebrity are you most like?" "How many straws can you fit up your nose?" Blah blah blah. Who cares? No one, trust me; they're just a waste of cyberspace for bored unimaginative people.

8)Finding out that someone you trusted is not who they say they are. And worse, finding out the hard way.

9)People who think they are superior to you for whatever reason. Age or education or money or even doing one thing better than you. The problem with these people is that, since they believe themselves to hold all the cards, they don't bother to look out for the one who holds the joker.

10)Being confined, both literally and figuratively. Know what I mean? Congrats, you're one of us. Have no idea? Good for you, you're a lucky one, either for not being confined or not caring that you are.

11)PEOPLE STEPPING ON THE BACK OF MY SHOES!!!

And that's the way it is.

Excerpt

March 18, 2004

You wanna know something…I have this little ritual that I do when I get your letters…I make myself wait as long as possible…just to torture myself…I think the longest I’ve ever been able to wait was three hours…then I’ll open it, privately, already in my own little world that the letters create…and I’ll read some, laughing and smiling and sometimes getting a little upset, but not minding because that’s all part of it…then I’ll leave it alone for awhile, absorbing the first part, and having mental conversations with your sometimes quirky but always unique prose…as a reward for being such a good girl I’ll allow myself to finish the rest, and by this time it’s night, and whether I’m in the car or in my room I spends hours just thinking about what you said and what I want to say…and these times are the most peaceful I ever am. The next few days are spent organizing my random thoughts into cohesive sentences and paragraphs with perfect grammar and perfect spelling and everything else perfectly perfect because it has to be dammit but…those few hours in the darkness, alone with myself…when’s no one watching or demanding anything or telling me how to live my own fucking damn life…that’s when I’m the most me.
And now I’m starting to cry because I didn’t know I was so angry about this until I started writing about it…and I’m telling myself to stop because I can’t, because I can’t let them see me crying and draw their own wrong conclusions because they won’t listen to mine, and then they’ll want to see and I should not have to show them…and so I’ll stop and tuck in the edges and present a flawless cover that no one bothers to see past…but someday…the proverbial bed is going to be stripped and the crumbs hidden underneath are gonna fly and then what happens after that I don’t know…someday, though, I’ll find out. Dear God.
Here I am falling apart when all I meant to do was tell you something. Writing is dangerous…it makes your demons come alive.


Well…that wasn’t what I meant to say. Where do I go from here? Somewhere safe…because bringing all that up hurts.

Anathema

There was a man,
a lonely man
Who lost his love,
thru his indifference
A heart that cared
that went unshared
Until it died
within his silence

And solitaire is the only game in town
And every road that takes him,
takes him down
While life goes on around him everywhere
He's playing solitaire

And keeping to himself, begins to deal
And still the king of hearts is well concealed
Another losing games comes to an end
And deals them out again

A little hope goes up in smoke
Just how it goes, goes without saying
There was a man, a lonely man
Who would command the hand he's playing

Beyond the line

We are who we pretend to be. --Kurt Vonnegut

Here comes the bride,
All dressed and wide,
Her name is Clyde
And she reads TV Guide!

Junie B. Jones!


"Milkman!"
"There are no milkman anymore!"
"...cow!"

Shawn, Corey, and TOPANGA!

"My bra itches. I'm gonna take it off."
"Here?!"
"Yeah, why not?"
"You're in IHOP!"


After that incident, I ceased wearing a bra. No one noticed.

"Embalmer, oh great."
"What's an embalmer?"
"Someone who preserves dead people."
"Yeah, it helps keep them alive for a few more days."

Result: I now keep my mouth shut when unusual license plates go by.

Hyperspace--space that has not taken it's Ritalin recently.

You know you're an D'Angeline WHEN...

--even the engineers in your country value form over function.
--when you're pretty, you know it, and you simply must tell everyone you see about it.
--sexual education is taught by demonstration.
--being a prostitute is a form of Godly worship.
--one of your "gods" was a prostitute.
--when it's vulgar to show an unfinished tattoo (marque) that covers your entire back.
--when it's not vulgar to show everything else.
--when in your country, ED is something that just doesn't happen.
--when the top prostitute in the nation has a seat on the government board.
--when a bad hair day really can ruin your image.
--when going to a noble's party in a transparent gown doesn't get you thrown in jail.
--when you can use yourself as proof that yes, there is a God!
--When you're thinking of the proper reply to this, but your attention is captured by the magnificent sunset outside your window, and you decide that enjoying such transient and amazing beauty is more important than writing some silly board post.
--When you have to rush down to the corner Apothecary store to get a package of noBeGets before your Assignation.
--When you can give someone the reason "I'm D'Angeline," without cracking up immediately afterwards.
--When painting a frantic Cassiel running after Elua, who had too much wine and is streaking in the capital telling everyone to "Love as thou wilt!" isn't considered blasphomous.
Or not TOO blasphemous.

Kids these days.

--when being an "angel" might just imply you are a kinky fiend.
--when being 'religious' is sooooooooooo worthwhile.
--when taking a lover while you're still married and your spouse knowing about it doesn't destroy your marriage.
--And sometimes that lover is of the same sex, which isn't a bad thing either.
--when "I am D'Angeline" is used to explain everything from "I'm beautiful and you aren't" to "I just went to a masque wearing a transparent gown sewn with diamonds".
when even your most modestly concealing gown might offend the local Rebbe.
--when you have to remind the seamstress that even though she pricked you with a pin, she doesn't get any sexual favors.

You know you're an anguisette WHEN...

--you like it when you can't sit down for a week.
--the best part of your day involves a razor.
--the phrase "No pain, no gain" takes on a whole new meaning.
--your Cassiline lover has to learn to make gentleness torturous.
--your favorite rosebush is also your favorite bed.
--your job requires you to sleep around and change history, and both are vitally important.
--having saltwater rubbed into your wounds is paying homage to your god.
--when getting a whipping for cleaning your mistress' room is enjoyable.
--you start getting a fondness for fireplace pokers.
--the only cruel and unusual punishment for you is no punishment at all.
--the bite of the tatooist's (marquist's) needles sends shivers of pleasure through your body.
--you can go straight to the Man Upstairs. Or Downstairs, as it may be.
--the sight of your own blood means foreplay has begun.
--your pain tolerance is comparable to most NFL players.
--you say "Bite me!" because you hope someone will.
--having cold steel w/ protrusions shoved up your ass makes you cry - with joy.
--you can go to bed for politics and it's not tabloid news.
--you like the comingled taste of blood and semen.
--your sheets are red, and they didn't start that way.
--your dreams are of iron and blood.
--you miss the agony of a torturing lover.
--sound of sharpening knives makes your breath short and your pulse race.
--the crack of a whip causes a red haze to color your vision and the sensation of bronze angels' wings to run along your skin.
--being paraded about half-naked on a leash is excellent foreplay.
--you say "whip me, spank me, make me write bad cheques" and mean it.
--the Yeshuites have started giving you frequent-customer discounts. "Oi, it's the Comtesse again..."
--you know the name and use of every sex toy...large or small...probably in the whole world.
--you have become incapable of simple chat about the weather without reading five different meanings into it.
--you can say you're 'special' and really, really mean it.
--you can wake up and have no clue where you are without having to get completely wasted first.
--your favorite people are those who "Make love like they hunt boar".

Not entirely Wicked...

Though Oz had given her a twisted life, hadn't it also made her capable?

Can anyone guess the theme of the day? No? Good, because there really isn't one, at least not one that I've consciously decided on. That's the beauty of it; I can say whatever I need to here...

--A friend of mine does beautiful artwork, and she has a website where you can see some of it here. She does a lot of faeries, but is talented at pretty much any medium you can think of; and she's even had her illustrations published in books. I've known her for, let's see, about 6 or 7 years; and I remember much of her early work, which she probably would not like me to mention (i.e., the cartoons, my dear :) But for all that she is artist in every way, shape, and form, and a good person besides. So go take a look at her site, all right? :)

--The book I am reading right now is Kushiel's Dart , by Jacqueline Carey , and it is absolutely fabulous. The page count is 701, and so much happens within those 701 pages...I still have about 200 to go, but I already know that this book is going on my short list of favourites. The characters, the language, the writing style, the pure passion that is in it...it's the kind of book that won't let you abandon it for long...for the last week I have done nothing but live in the world of Terre D'Ange and it's people; and thankfully I won't have to leave it anytime soon, because there are two more equally long books of betrayal yet to live through...

The life cycle of an Idea

"Then, he got an idea. An awful idea. The Grinch got a wonderful, awful idea."

I have one too:) But I'm not ready to say just what it is yet; the early stages of an idea are so fragile. And so much of the time the thing you are so excited about never works out, or at least not like you wanted it to. It's funny how, you can be anywhere, doing anything, and all of a sudden your brain makes that one crucial micro-nueral connection without any concious help from you, and BAM! You are so impressed and plased with your clever self for thinking of something so spectacularly original that you let your mind run through all the delicious possibilities...savour them, savour the feeling, because the idea high only lasts for so long before the realities of it kick in. Is it really that great? Is it even feasible? Doubt starts to kick in, and boy, does it kick hard. Now you're thinking of everything that is wrong, could go wrong, will go wrong. If you make it past this part, you're halfway there. You start thinking again; maybe this is possible or, if you're a determined sort of person, I will make this possible. And God help anyone who gets in your way! Now you are thinking and planning and doing, putting your idea into action, gathering skills and information and materials; then it's time to let your precious baby go and see what happens, one of two things. It will either work, or it won't. If it does, congratulations! You did what you set out to do and you should be proud.

But what about when it doesn't?

That is when you have a choice: call the thing and yourself a failure, and leave it at that, remembering, the next time you have another brilliant idea, that the last one work didn't work out, even though you put all that time and effort into it, so why should this one? You push it aside and go back to your crantini, thinking about the unfairness of it all, and you sit there; and nothing happens. Or: you say allright, so it didn't work out. I did what I could, except...and then you see what went wrong, the flaw that you overlooked, the one piece that tripped you up...and you fix it. Congratulations; you've discovered the secret to getting everything you ever wanted.

(Now, don't tell me I have to spell it out for you. If you are reading this thinking "What? What is it? She didn't say!", then perhaps you should read it again, keeping one thing in mind: This is not about me; it's about you.)

--Lyra