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Today, I turn 30. To celebrate, I called in sick, drank a bunch of coffee, ate an entire baguette and nearly an entire log of goat cheese, and watched homoerotic football movies all morning.

Forty-seven viewings later, and Denzel Washington topping a bunch of sweaty, high school boys in the locker room still hasn't gotten old for me. "Remember the Titans" is nothing if not a series of off-screen, team-building blow jobs. Also, Baby Gym Queen Ryan Gosling trying to tackle boys double his size is nothing if not adorable and hilarious.
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Apartment hunting is turning me into a raging alcoholic.

Just...you know what? Fuck it. I'm officially free to a good home. Who the fuck wants me? I'll clean your floors in cute outfits and fetch you slippers and sandwiches.
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Dear Bata Shoe Museum:

If you're going to organize a lecture series on fashion during the Roaring Twenties, maybe don't hire someone who's knowledge of the history of fashion during this era comes from reading the backs of Boardwalk Empire and Downton Abbey DVD sleeves. And maybe don't admit to the packed lecture hall of people who payed $16.00 for one hour of your time that you only just read the description of the lecture you're giving the night before and, thus, didn't know until last night that examples of 1920's millinery (which is WHY I WAS THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE) were to be included.

I mean, Jesus *Christ*, the elimination of the corset alone? IS A BIG FUCKING DEAL. AND SHOULD NOT BE TREATED AS A FOOTNOTE.

Luckily, the day was saved by the adorably excited tour guide who used the word "whimsical" no less than fifty times during the tour. Anyone who gets that enthusiastic about Bolshevik red heels from 1924 needs to be kept in my pocket *forever* because that's just way too happy-making to be believed.

But, yeah. For future reference, that lecturer should be tarred and feathered.

No, I will not need that information regarding a full membership, but thanks for asking,

Me.
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It's probably only fitting that my first post in nearly three months is about the season two finale of BBC's Sherlock, which I watched with [personal profile] bigboobedcanuck tonight. Which I watched while murdering an entire bottle of wine because of all the feeelings. Which made me actually tear up when, usually, I'm kind of a non-crying robot when it comes to this kind of thing.

I mean, [personal profile] bigboobedcanuck and I actually had to hold hands several times throughout the episode before watching the last twenty minutes (and the handcuff running away scene of gayness) all over again for a second time because, OMG, SHERLOCK AND JOHN ARE SOULMATES. SOOOOULMAAAATES. JOHN, YOU'RE WIDDLE FACE, GET AWAY FROM ME, YOU BREAKER OF ALL THE HEARTS.

Holy fucking Christ.

I need some hiatus healing porn right the fuck now. C'mon, fandom. Where you at? Send me some recs. I need "Sherlock Holmes and the Mysterious Case of John Watson's Psychosomatic Gag Reflex" right the fuck now. RIGHT NOW. DO IT. OH MY GOD.
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I've watched this about 30 times since [profile] sravenk showed it to me last night.

Holy. Christ. I'm not going to lie, I'm not the biggest fan of Gaga's "Judas" and I find her to be, at this point, a little exhausting and I needed a bit of a break from her. Like, I saw her live, went *batshit* insane over her for about a year, and now I'm going through a little bit of detox because my body can't handle so much Meat Dress Crazy and it just needs a few years of listening to, like, acoustic folk music to bring down the heart rate a little because I'm not as young as I used to be, y'know?

However. This is, in my opinion, a perfect combination. Who knew all I needed to make "Judas" palatable was to slather it with all of Halford's brilliant homogay.

It's just a really awesome marriage, people.

Kel...

Sep. 25th, 2011 09:37 pm
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Kel would have been 29 today.

I miss her so much.

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Dear Universe:
 
Complaining about Facebook’s ever-revolving door of layout changes like you’re somehow surprised that it’s happening or like it suddenly popped out of nowhere to murder your dog is the whitest of white whines.
 
I can understand people who worry about the privacy issues, or who want to discuss the various layouts of the past from an aesthetic, or historical view point because this kind of thing is of interest to them and they have the technological, web-savvy background to actually know and understand what’s going on with that ridiculous circus-freak of a place, but complaining about hating it like it’s actually making it more difficult for you to get out of bed in the morning?  Makes you sound like a giant weirdo, and not the good kind of weirdo either.
 
So, before you whine that next whine or post that next status update about how Facebook is Seriously Effing Your L, just stop for a moment.  Think about what it is you’re actually saying, about what you’re actually planning on putting out into the world.  And then don’t do it.  Because it’s so, SO gross.
 
Love,
Me
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I did not know this beforehand, but apparently scotch turns me into a really, really happy turbo slut.

So, now you know that. You're *welcome*.
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Yesterday morning, on the way to work, I was going sort of downhill on my bike, at a pretty decent clip, when my tires got stuck in the streetcar tracks and I basically got flung over my handle bars and landed, face-first, on the pavement.

This happened right beside the health center near my home, so luckily there was a nearby paramedic who saw what happened and ran over to help. It took him, and a passing motorist who pulled over, to keep me from trying to get up, which I was apparently attempting to do because I was so completely out of it. The paramedic actually cut me out of my backpack and got me lying flat on my back until another ambulance came. Then someone gave me one of those stylin' neck braces and I got strapped to one of those super uncomfortable flat boards so I couldn't move (just in case of a spine or neck injury) and then I got whisked away to St. Mikes Hospital, sirens and all.

Once I got to the hospital, I had to stay strapped to the board for about thirty minutes until someone could come and check me for spinal injuries. Apparently, I had a very mild but definite panic attack AND managed to give a pretty lucid statement to a police officer because I'm really good at multitasking in an emergency. Fuck if I can remember what I actually said though.

They checked me over, got me off the board and out of the neck brace, and got me on a bed, where I continued to wait for someone to take me for a CT scan of my head and face. They thought I may have broken my cheek, chin and jaw in the fall and they also needed to officially rule out a concussion, although they doubted I had one because of how I was answering their questions and how I wasn't losing consciousness or anything. A female nurse also came over and did the routine screening for domestic abuse that they do with all women who are brought in to the ER, regardless of injury.

I finally got taken to the third floor, where they did the CT scan. My face and head, at that point, were on fire as shock started to wear off and pain started to take its place. They couldn't give me anything for it until they ruled out a few things with my blood test, so I had the scan and then waited for someone to take me back to the emergency room, where my roommates were waiting for me. Also, FINALLY waiting for me was the nurse with a kickin' dose of morphine, which I finally got, and which made me very, very high and, according to my roommates, absolutely hilarious.

It was at this point that my roommate took pictures of my face so I could finally see what was going on. My right eye was completely swollen shut and was rapidly starting to turn into an epic black eye. The swelling continued down the right side of my face to my jaw and chin, which had a pretty fantastic bruise starting all on its own. I had quite a bit of bleeding in my eye, which was to be expected considering how hard I hit the pavement. I also had some superficial scrapes on my hands and elbow. Basically, I looked like a human punching bag and my face looked like rapidly purpling Playdoh.

About an hour and half after the CT scan, the doctor came in with the results, which were good. To my astonishment considering how I felt, there were no fractures, no breaks, no disslocated jaw, no concussion, and only some pretty dramatic swelling and deep tissue bruising that will take a few days to go away, and a reputation-building shiner that will take about a week or two to go away. My bite is a little off because of the swelling, but apparently I'll be able to close my mouth properly once the right side of my face looks less like someone took a bat to it.

In conclusion, all of the above is what happens when you DO wear a bike helmet. So, y'know, wear a fucking bike helmet, guys. Trust me, you look spectacularly stupid when you don't. Everyone thinks so and they are all talking about you behind your back.

Picture of the carnage, 24 hours later... )

::flails::

Aug. 23rd, 2011 01:10 pm
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You know what's amazing?  The fact that we FINALLY live in a world where we can wake up in the morning and have an actual, tru fax conversation about how Kate Winslet saves old ladies from burning buildings now.
 
Seriously. The universe must have realized what a shit storm it tossed our way yesterday and is desperately trying to make amends.

To which I say: It's a start, Universe.  It's a start. I'm still going to continue glaring with intense suspicion in your direction, though.

::glares suspiciously::
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"My friends, love is better than anger. Hope is better than fear. Optimism is better than despair. So let us be loving, hopeful and optimistic. And we'll change the world." ~Jack Layton

We love you, Jack. Thanks for loving us so much in return.
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Bridal showers are the hoovers of the soul. I am pointedly not setting myself on fire, but I won't lie. My fingers are unconsciously twitching towards my lighter every few seconds.
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I know there are more important things to be concerned about in the news today and the death of a celebrity shouldn't really take priority when all things are considered, but the news about Amy Winehouse just fucking kicked me in the stomach.

I remember bonding over Winehouse with Kel. She fucking *loved* Amy to the point where her family included "Valerie" in the soundtrack playing over the speakers at her viewings at the funeral home and this just sucks on so many levels for me.

I can't even really articulate how sad I am over this.

It's like my heart is breaking all over again.

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My elevators at work have those mini-televisions on the wall that broadcast things like the latest news, stuff happening in the building, etc. This also includes a seemingly cute Word of the Day thing that is actually evil if you know what’s really going on, which is that someone in this building is getting paid to pick words, define them and then use them in a sentence and, Christ, I want to know who they are so I can take their job. They’re either being hilarious and awesome and this is a big joke behind everyone’s back that I deserve to be in on. Or they genuinely think they’re helping people sound more intelligent.

If it’s the latter, that’s awful. I get so mad sometimes because Word of the Day is encouraging a life skill that should be avoided at all costs should one ever want to get laid by an actual human with a pulse who does not need batteries or an air-pump to function properly. It’s teaching them that, as long as the sentence is *technically* grammatically correct, they’re golden. It doesn’t teach them anything about incorrect word use or HORRIBLY awkward sentence structure or how to properly impress the ladies by not sounding like a giant weirdo. I bet some people actually read these things and then use these words in every day life because the elevator told them to and it’s not right to do that to someone who doesn’t know any better. Yeah, the outcome can sometimes be HILARIOUS. But my life is the perfect example of how “right” and “hilarious” are very rarely in the same room together.

All joking aside, it’s like this person actually wants to raise an army of awkward virgins or something. Not that this isn’t a completely valid life goal to have, but I think these people should at least consent to being a part of your awkward virgin army and not be tricked into it by using your Word of the Day in casual conversations around the office water cooler. I mean, there are people who work in this building who don’t know the first thing about English, and I am not talking about those who speak it as a second language. No, there are people who don’t know the rules of grammar or proper sentence structure and they think that typing a seemingly not-so-impressive word into an online thesaurus just to find a seemingly more impressive, multisyllabic word to use instead is an acceptable way of getting around that giant, pink elephant in the room that is their life where they skipped English in high school and got stoned in the parking lot instead and it’s just not. It’s not acceptable. Ever. The number of emails I have to go through every day just trying to figure out what some guy with six figures a year is saying is how unacceptable this practice is.

Also, if I’m being honest, it makes me feel like a large number of people are metaphorically circle-jerking all over my university degree. Not everyone can “do English good”. Not everyone is built that way and, god, that’s *fine*. I accept that math makes me look so stupid I could cry. Is it so wrong to expect that level of acceptance in others? Is it so wrong for me to want nothing more than for you to admit that everything you’ve learned about the English language can be summarized by a cute cat macro? I don’t come into your house and try to speak math or law or engineering. What makes you think you can come into mine and do the same just because, yeah, technically I guess you’re speaking English. However, you go into any respectable English classroom and what you’re really speaking is a weird English/Klingon hybrid language and, I mean, yes, there is an appropriate time and place for English/Klingon, I’m not saying there isn’t, but that place is called Every Sci-Fi Nerd Convention Ever and that place is not here in this moment, so fuck off. I mean, let’s just lay it all out there on the table so that we can move on and drink already because I’m *starving*.

I think I’d be fine if this Word of the Day person was just picking a word and defining it. I mean, who doesn’t like knowing what stuff means? Show me one person who *doesn’t* want to know what “anserine” means and I’ll show you a lying liar who lies (you’re looking it up right now, aren’t you). But to then use that word in a super weird sounding sentence means that this person wants other people to use it in a similarly super weird sounding sentence and we have innocent engineers working here! Innocent engineers who only know how to speak in physics and who look at these Words of the Day and figure that this is the way normal people talk AND IT’S ALL LIES, MY DARLINGS!!! ALL LIES!!!

If someone used some of these words in a sentence around me, I’d think they were creepy. I mean, why teach someone to say something like “Can I have a glass of sparkling dihydrogen monoxide with lemon, please?” when it would make so much more sense to just ask for a fucking Perrier and be done with it? That way, you wouldn’t sound like a total weirdo and I wouldn’t have a stomachache from all that secondhand embarrassment and we’d have Perrier! Everybody is a winner! Similarly, it’s all fun and games telling someone that they have a really bad case of trichoptilosis. But then you realize that this makes it sound like they’re dying and they get all traumatized and shit and all of a sudden you’re paying for their therapy bills when you could have just said “dude, you have split ends, buy some decent conditioner” and avoid that kind of unnecessary drama altogether.

This is not to say that I’ve ever been out with someone who has asked for a glass of sparkling dihydrogen monoxide with lemon or told me that I’m dying from trichoptilosis, but it could happen and probably will if Word of the Day has its way or if I don’t get a goddamn haircut, like, yesterday. And when that happens, I will shake my fist angrily in Word of the Day’s general direction while trying to find a delicate way of subtly ditching my date because, dude. Seriously. It’s gross. That is a gross way to talk. Stop doing it. No one is going to want to sleep with you when they know you sound like that and then you’ll probably die from blue balls. Or become a serial killer. A serial killer who has blue balls. In his mother’s basement.

And, okay, yes. Let’s talk about my borderline perverted fondness for abusing commas and run-on sentences and there is probably, somewhere in this rant, something that someone will be able to point at and say “ooooh, look, a typo, who’s the English snob, now?” all annoying whiney-hypocrisy-cakes, what the fuck ever, they can shut up because, you know what? I have a giant pile of student debt left over from an English degree that says that I’ve earned the right to break the rules because I know what those rules are. I’ve spent time studying them, writing essays about them, and learning the proper way to break them. I know their function, I know that they are there for a reason and I know how to dance around those rules in amusing ways, whereas they only think they do and that makes them look like an idiot.

In conclusion, ladies and gentlemen, this rant is why I list “grammar” as a turn on when completing all of my online dating profiles.
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Dear Mariah Carey: 

What the actual fuck? A Foreigner cover?  Really?  Of all the embarrassing, barely socialized, 80’s rock ballad vent-children to release on an unsuspecting population, I feel like “I Know What Love Is” was one that deserved to come with a warning. 

I was not expecting that.  Jesus Christ, it's so awkward.

I mean, holy *fuck*.
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I just stopped three kids from stealing our bikes outside our apartment.

All in a days work, I'd say. Excuse me while I go rescue kittens from trees and old ladies from burning buildings.

::cracks knuckles::
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It seems that whenever I have real life stress going on, I develop new fandom obsessions.  When Kel passed away, I latched onto AIRPS (and Glee, to a certain extent, although I never really got into the fandom stuff there).  When I thought the best friend's husband was sick, I got even deeper into Sherlock (BBC).  Right now, my uncle is back in the hospital with leukemia, which has returned with sharpened claws after a year of him being in remission.  Plus he's got a host of other problems and he's in pretty horrible shape.  I'll probably post about it at some point when I can figure out how it's actually making me feel, but until then?  New fandom.
 
Hawaii Five-O is the funnest *ever*, people.  THE FUNNEST EVER.  Banter!  Car chases!  Guns!  Explosions!  Tackle diving!  Man pain!  Daddy issues!  FEELINGS THAT NEED TO BE FELT!  Bromance!  An aesthetically pleasing cast!  Two male leads who are never more than five seconds away from having very comedic sex with each other!  Crazy Steve sticking criminals in shark tanks until they talk!  Danny looking adorably put-upon all the time and hating Steve's crazy but not really because he's secretly crazy as well!  Chin being smarter than everyone and quietly amused by everything!  And Kona being badass and tackle diving criminals, always looking somewhat annoyed that they are taking her away from her surfing!  Oh, Grace Park.  Hearts!  In my eyes!  KEEP WEARING PLAID BUTTON UPS OVER YOUR TANK TOPS!  IT IS APPRECIATED!
 
I mean, yeah, sometimes the crime-of-the-week plot is terrible and the pacing is kind of weird and the writing is very tell-not-show, but if you can just forget about that and accept this as being pure, unadulterated cotton candy for your brain, it's actually incredible amounts of fun.  It's like the Anti-L&O which, having emerged from that franchise fandom completely exhausted by it and ridiculously annoyed with how badly that show turned out after Mariska Hargitay started getting nominated for Emmys, I am really able to appreciate a procedural that hasn't totally bought into it's own hype.  I mean, it's still early days and I'm not saying it won't eventually do this, but I will say that I'm going to happily eat this up with a spoon while it's still good.
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Typed "rimmed" instead of "reamed" into an office email today. Recall didnt work. Hoping boss doesn't do any Urban Dictionary homework on this.

Gonna go die now.
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The following is why my Platonic Life Partner is my Platonic Life Partner.
 
AT LULU LEMON IN THE EATON CENTRE
 
PLP:  ::picks up random item::  Oh!  It's on sale!  It wasn't on sale last week! ::cue rapturous delight::
 
Me:  What is it?
 
PLP:  A bag!  See?
 
Me:  It...is that a fanny pack?  Because it looks like a fanny pack to me.
 
PLP:  ::horrified::  Lulu Lemon does NOT make fanny packs.  It's a purse, see?!?!  ::draps it over shoulder::
 
Me:  Nope.  Looks like you're trying to turn a fanny pack into a purse and failing horribly.
 
PLP:  It's....No!
 
Me:  Yes.  See?  ::puts fanny pack on around waist::
 
PLP:  But...but, see?  They use a seat belt buckle for the strap!  That's cool, right?
 
Me:  ::nonplussed::  I don't care if they used unicorn hair and the happiness of children for a strap.  I'm not letting you buy a...::checks price tag::...$34.00 fanny pack.  And that's on *sale*.  God, I mean, really?!?!
 
PLP::  ::pouts::
 
Me:  And don't think I don't know that face.  If you're thinking of a sneak purchase while my back is turned, don't.  I'd tackle you before you got to the register.
 
PLP:  ::sigh:: Fiiiine.
 
FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER, AT SPRING
 
Me:  ::picks up pair of shoes::  Oooh!  I like you!  ::covets::
 
PLP:  It...is that velcro?
 
Me:  ::notices and pouts at the not one, but three velcro straps::  You're enjoying this aren't you.
 
PLP:  ::glees::  Immensely.  ::stares me down until I put the shoe back on the shelf::
 
Me:  Fine.  But only because velcro is the fanny pack of footware.
 
PLP:  This is why my husband will always have to share me with you.
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