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i don't even know what that dream was--there was a mall parking lot, three sets of grandparents, and shopping for a wedding dress and a bra. there was also an evil girl who wanted to marry a boy--i was a narrator, kind of--and he was going around the mall asking random girls to marry him (so he wouldn't have to marry her). hm. ::considers going back to bed::

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singin' in the rain is a fantastic movie which admittedly doesn't leave very many issues unresolved besides the tension i like to read in with cosimo, but it does leave some. which is to say, there's plenty of thematic material to work with for a sequel, even if i weren't going to work in all the sexual tension and stuff. so really i should just get off my ass and write it.

but now i need to go feed the cat.

farewell, ethel barrymore! i must tear myself from your side--

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due south is a wicked, wicked fandom. open notice/aviso: if wax_jism tells you something, believe it. / si a ud le dice algo wax_jism, cre'elo.

hm. i have a new icon to upload right after i finish this story.

[edit: "Fraser loved him. He didn't know how or why or when it had happened, but Fraser had loved him for . . . days, at least. " ahahaha.

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MORE complicated?

it's another psa, and so soon! please contain your applause.

when heating toaster strudels via toaster, it is often prudent to actually depress the lever which causes the toaster to turn on. this greatly decreases the preparation time of the strudels (one might say 'infinitely,' as technically any time at all is infinitely sooner than never) as well as decreasing the likelihood that all the creamcheese icing will be melted or consumed by the diabetic cat when you get around to icing the strudels with it.

::slate scratches his cheekbones on a cardboard box::

don't you like the term 'heating element'? i thought so.

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kmazzy, i found my pants! ...on the minus side, i forgot to eat lunch, and now it's almost dinnertime.

what is it about a nap that feels so good?

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last night i got to bev and dave's and there was a puddle around the downstairs toilet. okay, this toilet has not been used in a week (at that point) and the door's been shut for days. great. i was in a hurry as lisa the not-big sister and bob her pagan husband were over for dinner--i just rushed back home.

so then tonight mom (my mom is the ultimate handyman, guys. we're talking builds walls and cabinets, paints murals, makes sculptures, installs lighting, fixes everything including cars) went with me. she took a flashlight with her, mopped up the puddle, bailed the toilet out with a plastic cup and turned it off. we left a towel on the floor in the hopes that it wouldn't ruin the hardwood floor in the hall, which was showing signs of harboring the edges of the puddle under it. all this while i gave slate his shot and fed penny and bear and did the kitty litter and swept part of the kitchen.

we had a nice heart-to-heart in the car on the subject of jobs. she is worried about me because i don't seem to worry about money, but she did when she was my age, so it seems alien to her. to a mom--who operates, you understand, as a giant ball of protective instinct--this is disturbing, even after i pointed out that she had every reason to worry (her parents would never pay for anything) whereas i've been taken care of my entire life. it's not for nothing that la femme wax_jism calls me "princess." this was, of course, after the part where she talked about ordering art supplies for school next year from dick blick in the middle of vanessa carlton's "1000 miles" immediately following my friendly declaration that it was my current favorite song. in similar circumstances she's been known to turn the radio volume all the way up, but i am above that. and also i have sensitive ears.

i got a postcard from rm#1, who i've lately started missing pretty badly. i was all excited--just by her handwriting, yo. having a roommate, if you do it right, is a little like having a heterosexual lifepartner. you get have a good day, good luck on your test, you should go to the cafeteria, they have your favorite icecream, did you see the booksale downtown, how was work today, are you alright?, all the hugs you want, people to paint your nails with and watch movies with. and yet you get all the solitude that you can't find for anything in your own house. this isn't to say i don't want a single--i'll be glad. but i'm still missing rm#1 and even rm#2, though she was hardly around and i didn't see her that much. no return address. i shall give this problem some thought.