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I am seriously tempted to never ever leave my apartment ever again.
dreamwaffles: (Default)
Life is totally boring without the occasional (metaphorical) coronary, right?

dreamwaffles: (Default)

I did not expect, of all things, fucking *Casanova* to trigger the ever-loving fuck out of me.

We watched the David Tennant version tonight at my housewarming party.  It was an awesome party.  And a pretty enjoyable movie.

Right up until the final scene where the character hearing the story from Old!Peter O'Toole!Casanova is watching him die, and lies through her teeth over and over and over about his one true love being on her way to see him after decades of separation.

Except for the name, word for word, it was almost exactly what my sister said to my dying grandmother the last time I saw her.  Which is likely to be the last time I ever will see her.

And it was like a punch to the fucking gut.

dreamwaffles: (Default)

So.  I have this idea for a fanvideo.  Actually it's not so much an 'idea' as a PLAN.  Except.  I can't do fanvideos at all, so I'm just going to PUT IT ON THE INTERNET and make the pointed comment that it's my birthday in October. :D  (early October.  NO SLACKING.)


it's an X-men PLAN )
(it's possible I'm exhausted and, uh, slightly drunk.  Although I came up with the idea this morning walking to the bus long before I had any beer, so.)



Jul. 25th, 2011 10:12 pm
dreamwaffles: (Default)





dreamwaffles: (Default)
I'm not sure why I'm writing this, too late at night on far too little sleep.  I've been avoiding posting for some time now, for...various reasons.  Hell, not even rl ones.

Part of it is this: I haven't written a single original word in months.

Oh, I have some stories in my head, and I can write them down on a page even, in ways that I never have before, but they're all stories I've known for a long while now, and for one reason or another, haven't written down.  Yet as soon as I reach the boundary of that story, the end of what I know about it, I can't go on anymore.  I'm not tired of it, I even want to know what happens next.

But I've forgotten how to find out.

Perhaps ironically, since I've lost that I've been able to phrase my own thoughts, my own feelings in words that make me blink in surprise to look back on; turns of phrase that I look at in shock later, wondering how I pinned a concept in so few words, simultaneously understandable, and yet more poetic than I've ever quite reached before. 

"...where you miss them so much your jigsaw-puzzle heart skips a beat or two...",

I've known, more or less, that I can turn a phrase, even pretty well.  Perhaps the most telling indication is that some of the obligatory confused-kid middle-school poetry I wrote rather a lot of isn't only salvageable, but somehow, sometimes, even worth saving.

But those streets in my head where I used to walk, where I used to be bombarded with original character after original character, all shouting over one another to tell their stories, have fallen silent.  Even my dreams-usually reliable, if cracky, sources of inspiration-have gradually phased into either a: Doctor Who fanfiction, or b: outright disturbing semi-realistic dreams I can only half-remember, but are much more unsettling for that half-memory.

The first is fun, but unhelpful in writing stories.  The second is terrifying.

I remember sitting bolt upright and scrambling for a pen, babbling in half-coherent sentences to whatever unfortunate soul happened to be around, on fire with a new story waiting to be told.  There's still very little that can compare to that rush, where my semi-illegible babblings coalesce into a coherent story and I see my audience's eyes light up in response to that story, and all I want to do is write until the fire burns itself out.

It's not comfortable, exactly, but it's something I live for.

But I haven't felt it for months.

I had a tiny spark about two months ago, a mere ghost of what usually happens, and it was only grabbing two tropes I'm familiar with and linking them.  I don't believe it's been done before, and it's a lot of fun in its own way, and has its own twists and turns, but...I can't shake the feeling that it's not what's supposed to happen to me.  And besides, I have a cowriter, and while I've chatted plot and themes and characters with him, I have yet to contribute a single damned word.

It's like I can't make art anymore.  And it scares me.

Objectively this probably isn't true.  I have played the piano, after all, and that's music, but...it's been performance only, technical playing, nothing special; so I can read sheet music like I read English.  Big whoop.  I've been playing since I was six.  It's all practice.

I haven't dared touch my harp.  I've never been that good with it but when I'm playing my own, she's sweet enough to compensate for me, even when I'm slowly picking my way through a piece I've only heard.

I'm terrified that if I sit down at her, and try to play something, it won't work, and it'll only be strings vibrating at a certain frequency.  Or-and I know this is horribly superstitious but I can't help it-that her strings will snap beneath my fingers if I even try.

That the silence of what used to be the stories in my head will turn into silence on my harp, and slowly infect everything else until I no longer have anything to say.

Right now, I can still describe what's in my own head, at least.  My words haven't deserted me in that respect.

But I'm starting to feel like Echo.  That the only stories I know how to tell anymore are ones that I've already told, or aren't even mine.


Jun. 1st, 2011 12:20 pm
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So, I was just reading something on Autostraddle, like I do, and suddenly for the first time I seriously thought about bringing a significant other home with me to Thanksgiving or Christmas.

Me being me, this (currently hypothetical) significant other would also be female.

My family being my family...

1: where can I rent a helicopter team for immediate extraction if necessary?  I like to have these things planned well in advance.
2: omma go hide under the piano RIGHT NOW until I stop freaking out.
dreamwaffles: (Default)
Sometimes you have a friend who you get along with pretty well and hang out with a lot, and always have fun talking to.  Sometimes you start anticipating each other, and playing off each other in conversation, deliberately leaving openings for one-liners that no one else is going to notice.  Sometimes you stay up to absurd hours talking, or find each other to bitch about something small that nevertheless irritates the shit out of you, and commiserate, and have tea.

Sometimes you'll see how much more than usual the needling from others is bothering that friend, and when they stand up to leave you'll be right behind them with an excuse that you'll freely admit to them was a complete lie, even though you try not to lie as a matter of course. 

Sometimes you'll somehow wind up feeling weird if you don't see them every day even for a few minutes.  Sometimes you'll deliberately wind each other up, and the other will let you, even though they totally know about it, and will go along anyway for the amusement factor.  Sometimes one will say something really stupid and upsetting but then notice and apologize before the other one can even tell them what and why it bothered them.

Sometimes something terrible will happen, and they'll listen to you for hours while you're cracking apart and ignore sleeping even though they're dog-tired because you're upset, and you'll wonder how on earth you got to this point from that terrible mutual first impression, but be too grateful for their presence to worry about it.  Sometimes that hug, all the more precious for being rarely given, is the only thing that keeps the pieces of you from flying in all directions while you're trying desperately to slow your breathing and quiet the sobbing and stop making those horrible noises like an animal in pain.

Sometimes you'll suddenly realize that out of nowhere, all the more shocking for being so unanticipated, that you're each others' best friend.

Sometimes, this happens.
dreamwaffles: (Default)
I've been doing some reading.

...my dad really, really fucked up when I told him I was gay, didn't he.
dreamwaffles: (Default)
Oh, my life.  It's very amusing sometimes.

So, my roommate from last year, who I'm living with again this fall, and I have a running joke that her room is like officer's quarters.  Seriously, you should have seen it last year-there was a world map, and a vintage Army helmet, and boots, and peacoat, and a stuffed pheasant (no, really; we call him Conrad); the works.  Anyway, I teased her about it all last year, and for her birthday got her a vintage pinup girl poster.  This one.


Classy, no?

Anyway, I'm doing it again this year, and she wants a brunette.  I haven't come to a final decision, but I'm leaning towards this one.


The other possibility is this one.


Something about the second one bothers me though.  aliaras has been nicely analyzing the arty bits for me, and why they don't really work, and I agree with her...it's just that my roommate would *really* like the dress she's wearing...

Ironically enough, she's the *straight* one.

However, I plan to be mailing her pinup girls on her birthday for the rest of her natural life...which will be fun for her to explain to people... XD

Oh, my life.
dreamwaffles: (bitches)

For reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture, I was extremely irritated tonight when I was making dinner.  I wasn't in the mood to follow a recipe, and I wound up throwing dinner together with a little more force than necessary.  As it turned out rather good, though, I thought I'd write down what I made.

You will need:
-about a quarter of a yellow onion
-1 15-oz can black beans
-1 15-oz can white beans (could use kidney beans instead)
-1 stick celery
-half a carrot
-about 4 Tbsp lemon juice
-olive oil
-1/2 tsp crushed garlic
-about ten peanuts
-various spices (I used cumin, coriander, Hungarian hot paprika, and coarse black pepper)
-loud music in the background, if possible (I started with Lady Gaga, but switched to Queen pretty quickly as I can't listen to more than one Lady Gaga song at a time for some reason)


Chop the onion into small bits.  Very small.  About the size of your pinky fingernail.  Also chop the carrot into pieces about that size and also the celery.  Feel free to chop loudly in time with the music, depending on how irritated you are.  "Bad Romance" is very satisfying to chop things to for some reason.

Saute the onions and garlic in olive oil in a pan on the stove, until either you get tired of sauteeing or the onions go mostly transluscent.  Throw in the celery and carrots about a minute after you start sauteeing.  While sauteeing, add about half of the lemon juice.  Switch music from Lady Gaga to Queen.  "Don't Stop Me Now" is a good one to start with.

When sauteeing is complete, add the black and white beans.  It is nice if they're drained but not necessary if you're lazy.  Stir them around and add the rest of the lemon juice.  Sing along loudly to "Another One Bites the Dust".

Add some spices, to taste.  I added about half a teaspoon coarse black pepper, a quarter teaspoon Hungarian Paprika, a quarter cumin, and a third-ish of coriander.  Revel in the ridiculousness of "Flash".

Turn the heat down so it's simmering.  Chop the peanuts very, very small and stir them into the beans.  Cover them and let simmer for about twenty minutes, stirring occasionally.    If necessary, add a little water so there will be something for them to simmer in.  Clean up to "Bohemian Rhapsody" and feel much less irritated than when you began.

Serve over rice, or not if you don't feel like it.  Parmesan cheese goes well on this.

Possible variations: curry powder, bacon salt, cayenne pepper, add meat somehow (personally I'd do chicken, though beef would work), maybe peppers or tomatoes if you're feeling really wild.  Also I may possibly eventually experiment with putting beer in it, because I have a huge weakness for chili made with beer.

My notes: DON'T FORGET THE PEANUTS.  Unless you're allergic, in which case DO FORGET THE PEANUTS.

How were YOUR evenings?

-still fuming a little bit-

dreamwaffles: (Default)

You should never make a gentle person angry, because they are much more likely to fuck your shit seriously up than a combative person.

I can't find this frickin' fanfic and I really, really want to reread it.  ARGH.

Help?  It's a Smallville fic (shut up), Clark/Lex, it's set when Clark is in college, he's being roommates with Lex and Lex spends most of the fic incredibly confused.  And gives up and jumps Clark when he brings cookies to the apartment from Smallville.  Or something.

Found it!

dreamwaffles: (I'm on a boat)

...fuck, I miss my ship.

dreamwaffles: (Default)

So, I just found out that another of the girls from my high school graduating class is engaged to get married.



I realize I'm projecting, but there is no fucking way I'm anywhere near ready to get married yet.  And the idea that people I was in English class with my freshman year are going to get married is just...weird.

It's like how in my head, I am still not old enough to have a baby, even though it's been technically possible for me for at least seven years now.  In my head, I'm also not old enough to get married.  Part of it, no doubt, because of how epically my family would flip their collective shit even if I did wind up marrying a dude.

I'm supposed to go to grad school.  I have plans for grad school!  And while the two aren't mutually exclusive-hell, college and being married aren't mutually exclusive by any means-it's still really weird to me.


(although I guess I could probably be considered 'married' to biology...but biology is kind of a whore...anything to propagate the species, y'know? *g*  No, I am not above making really stupid jokes about my major.)


Nov. 30th, 2010 06:52 pm
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I fucking finished it.


I still don't have a title for it.  Other than Cthulhu.  Which has nothing to do with the plot and everything to do with the working title being "Clever Title Here" and those being the first 3 letters of 'Cthulhu'.

I have no brain left.  But I have some icons, some certificates, and the sweet sweet taste of my sixth year winning NaNo in a row.


-falls over-
dreamwaffles: (Default)

So, as many of you know, I quite enjoy Doctor Who.  I was on the train earlier this week, and fell asleep, and...well...this conversation came of it on a friend's Facebook wall.  As usual, all names have been changed.

tl;dr: My friends are nerdily awesome, I have really creepy but really cool dreams, boats are cool.

dreamwaffles: (Default)
I bid you farewell in song lyrics.  So.  Here goes.

I've got my duds in order, for I must go down to the sea again.  I've set a course for winds of fortune on a brave and gallant ship, so come sail away with me on my life, my love, and my lady!  There's my horizon to chase...farewell, and joy be with you all.

If anyone can guess all eight songs I referenced without recourse to Google, they get major awesome points.

I love you all, and I will miss you.
dreamwaffles: (my fandom thanks you kindly)

I'm having a Facebook conversation with a friend of mine from school right now, and we're trying to assign blame to a situation.  Her most recent quote was, "Canadian Mountie!  Not my fault now."

The explanation for this one is really pretty goofy, so I thought I'd share. 

Actually, before I do that, here's the exchange, because it just gets...progressively sillier, and is making me kind of giggle my head off.

Me: (to a different friend) My fault or hers?
Her: Canadian Mountie!  Not my fault now.
Me: Vulcan pledge of allegiance.  Totally your fault.
Her: Doing the next step of Canadian Mountie does not override original Canadian Mountie!
That would just be chaos!

So, I'm sure that many of you are familiar with the phenomenon of "No Nose Goes", in which the last person in a group to touch their nose is the one whose fault it is, who has to do some sort of task the rest of us are too lazy to do, etc.  I have found that this is rampant at camps and wherever there are large numbers of lazy young people congregated.  However, there is something of a problem with No Nose Goes: if everyone is aware of it and becomes acclimated, it can become extremely difficult to determine who, in fact, had no nose last and now has to perform a task.

My dorm overcame this inherent difficulty by adopting a more advanced two-step system of No Nose Goes.  We call it Canadian Mountie.  (hence the icon, if you're on dreamwidth.)  Canadian Mountie requires both hands, and consists of one hand held flat and palm-down just below the nose, and one cupped hand hovering about three inches over the head in order to imitate a Stetson.

It is very, very silly to see in a large group of my dormies, some of whom like to present themselves as serious-minded people for some strange reason.  When Canadian Mountie goes, if you're not a Mountie, you're going to suffer the consequences of what normally would be the fate of one who had No Nose.

We actually have a slightly expanded sequence of motions, which performed in the correct order consists of:

No Nose Goes (index finger to tip of nose)
Canadian Mountie (moustache and hat)
Vulcan Pledge of Allegiance (hand in the Vulcan V placed over heart)
Pirate Hitler (left index finger under nose to imitate Hitler moustache, right arm extended in a Heil with index finger crooked like a pirate's hook)

These actions are actually fairly difficult to perform in rapid sequence and not mix up the fingers and such.  However, for practical purposes, our dorm uses only No Nose Goes transitioning to Canadian Mountie (in which case, the people who habitually carry beverages *cough* are usually shit out of luck.)

Anyway, the protocols for Canadian Mountie on Facebook are a little fuzzy.  Mostly I posted this because I find it hilarious.  If there are conclusive results I will edit to add them.

dreamwaffles: (Canon)


Every once in a while, I am reminded of just how amazing the gay community is.  For example: this.


This...made my life.  I love that song anyway, because Lily Allen rocks, but...this video makes me really, really happy.

Also Dan Savage is amazing.  See: this.  http://www.youtube.com/itgetsbetterproject

I'm debating submitting something.  On the one hand, there's not a lot I wouldn't give to be able to have a conversation with my 17-year-old self during my whole denial/self-hate/panic phase of figuring out that I am as gay as a gay thing that gays.  On the other...I hate, hate, hate public speaking.  Hate it.  The more personal things get, the more I do my level best to hide under a bush, as many of you know.  I can do dance concerts, sure, and music concerts are fine, but I don't have to talk during those.

My medium of choice for many things, if not most, is the written word.  Maybe I'll write something out and...do something with it.  I don't know.  Like I said, I'm wavering.  And sure, I could write a speech; whether or not I could actually read it aloud is another though...I might be able to do something with it if I collaborate.  I don't have time to do it anytime soon in any case though.

Whether or not I do, I'm stalking this youtube channel...


I made them last night for my housemates.  They were nom-licious, even though it was my first time ever making the recipe and I had to substitute broth for the consomme because the store was out.  I was terrified because the meat looked a little dodgy, but NOM NOM NOM and no one got food poisoning, so huzzah!


A very close friend of mine, the guy who was the first real friend I made at college (about four other people became friends at about the same time, but he squeaks in just before they did because we met playing Zombies vs Humans before we went to game night and joined up with the rest of the Jewfalcons), posted this quote on my Facebook wall at the beginning of the summer, when we were missing one another a hell of a lot and the sting hadn't faded yet.

"True friendship isn't being inseparable.  It's being separated, and nothing changes."

I'd like to add to that a quote from Due South.

"A friend is someone who won't stop until he finds you and brings you home."

I'm on my way, guys.  I'll get there. <3

4. LOVE!

Apparently I'm sparkly and glowy and shit, or something.  I keep finding myself with a stupid grin on my face that I can't seem to stifle.  I'm giving myself diabetes.  I would be horrified, but I'm too happy to care!

Sorry if I'm talking any of your ears off, btw; I can't seem to stop myself.  Luckily you guys don't seem to give the impression of minding, and even when I am asking silly questions about how to talk to girls you are noble enough to not laugh in my face.  XD


It is my favorite season right now, guys!  I LOVE FALL.  The leaves are pretty!  There are fresh apples and squash and corn!  OM NOM NOM!


The man's voice looks like clear forest green shot through with black glitter.  I can't stop listening to him.  HELP.  EITHER BY STOPPING ME OR SENDING ME MORE LAMBERT.  -facepalm-


Seven, four, and eleven have always been my favorite numbers.  Also forty-two.  But mostly four, seven, and eleven.

Okay, I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel, so...what is making you guys happy lately?  Feel free to ask me questions about any of the above!

dreamwaffles: (Default)

...and now, after far too long a hiatus, comes more of Circuitry Sorcerers!  For those of you who are new, or don't remember, I refer you here.  dreamwaffles.livejournal.com/13933.html#cutid1  The post below will make absolutely no sense without it.

Scene three, episode 1 )
I have more written longhand that I haven't typed up yet.  Whether or not I'll get it posted before I go to sea is uncertain.  This idea kind of...ate my brain after I did the meme, but then March happened, and it languished half-completed in my writing binder for entirely too long.  However!  I'm back on board!  Get ready for ROBOT WIZARDS!


dreamwaffles: (Default)

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