speaking of lotr rps, explosions, and idiocy,

mcee wanted to know if people really get off on smutty fanfic, and that reminded me, disastrously...

there was a very funny argument about that in the infancy of LOTR RPS. i wonder how many others remember it? the essence was, someone was getting all high-and-mighty, possibly (or actually, i think they weren't but some people thought they were), and someone else said something somewhat offensive beginning with, 'let's not kid ourselves, people, we write this stuff to get off.'

to which one person at least immediately responded (again paraphrasing), 'YOU might write this to get off, but SOME PEOPLE don't. some people are in it for the Art, and the Deep and True Love for the Men of the Cast of the Fellowship, and how Moving the Love of those Men for each other is.'

and, as i recall, that discussion dragged on for a while in a desultory fashion until it was so firmly established that basically no one wanted to talk about it anymore (or at least... i didn't want to read about it if they did--::snerk::) that:

(a) in general, lots of the people on the list had very high opinions of themselves and
(b) whatever your value judgements for RPS, no one should question that LOTR RPS was different from the rest of it because it was real. well, not real, but it was likely to be real. not that we can't separate fantasy from reality, or anything, but, um... there's evidence. well, not like it's really EVIDENCE evidence, but look at this picture. so it's not like we have a problem or anything, and, like. it's just different. it just IS.

freaky dream.

i go--somewhere. (i think it's college at the time but it's not). i'm in another city, somewhere, living and working inside what seems to be mostly a post office, only i'm like a... slave? or something. there's this woman in charge of everything who's very scary because she's locked in this back room on drugs all the time, and then my more immediate supervisor is a tired thin man who reminds me of remus lupin. i'm hiding, and drinking glasses of water crouched on the floor at night and trying to read by candlelight (candles melted onto the bottoms of overturned wooden crates). the lupin-boss is going back and forth between the two places. i am naturally beginning to fall in love with him. then purely by coincidence guinevere33 enters the post office. she sees me and is astonished. she rescues me. i leave. the lupin-boss drives us away on her authority (...i don't really know why she was able to rescue me) and when i'm getting out of the car, i tell him that i don't think i am going to work at the post office any more when i return to school, because christmas is a bad time to be in a post office, right.

( the rest. mayumi, drugs, my house and miniature chairs and strangling with very small elastic stretchy plastic thingies )

grammar-and-punctuation cop!

when a story starts off its first sentence with a punctuation error is when i stop reading.

for god's sake, people.

(no subject)

i made a livejournal and a layout for my little sister. everyone go look at it. even though it has no entries yet. look at my layout. i named her cuddlepint, which is a sort of family joke based on the laura ingalls wilder books ("half pint of milk half-drunk up").

lingerie once again

this is getting to be the saga of lingerie. i've always bought expensive bras, because i've never had a remotely easy time finding ones that fit. up until the last time i went shopping for them, we were talking hours in the mall and trying on everything in two or three different department stores (parisian is my personal favorite, a southern chain owned by saks fifth avenue which is the saks equivalent of a flea market, perhaps, but still a bit more expensive than the other local ones). so last night i decided to check at target since we were there anyway, and the third bra i tried on, which was by one of target's in-house brands (gilligan & o'malley, as it happens) actually fit, so i bought four of it.

so then today we braved the mall in search of underwear. at parisian, jockey didn't even carry their smallest size, and they were the absolute cheapest around. the next-best would've been, oh, 3 for $21. so i said, 'victoria's secret might not be this bad,' so we went there and they were having a sale, so i ended up getting 5 for $20, but that's not even the point.

no, the point is about the bras. they had my bras, literally identical to the ones purchased yesterday in target, including the one that i'm wearing. i mean, i am positive they were manufactured in the same factory. they've got the same ribbon bows, the same stitching, the same finishong on the little hooks and eyes on teh backs, they have some of the same colors that i bought. they are really totally the same. at target they were $11; at victoria's secret they were $30.

these look sort of like cotton, but they're microfiber, with a little ribbon rosette and zigzag stitching on self-fabric straps (as opposed to lingerie straps), soft-cupped, underwire. at victoria's secret they're 'body by victoria demi something or other.' i don't remember what they were called at target exactly, but the point is...

they're identical. i mean, victoria's secret has a reputation. they're a lingerie company, and when they come out with a new line, i have sort of vague visions of lingerie experts sitting around tables, writing with chalk and charcoal on tissue paper. computer models. pins and tape measures. i'd expect it to be cutting edge. i certainly would not expect them to just buy it off of some indonesian factory owner, and certainly not when they're calling it 'by victoria.' even though 'victoria' herself is obviously fictional, there's a certain implication here that... oh, hell.

anyway. victoria's secret is a great source for cotton panties, but i'd advise everyone to by your bras at target.

(no subject)

alterations to my own lj. i wanted a picture. am not sure i like it, but i'm not going to re-do it until i find a picture that takes my fancy. also, my back hurts. bitches.

i've got a story to finish and i need to finish it. okay, okay. oops.

(no subject)

when my mom starts talking, don't hold your breath waiting for the point.

chuva, chuvinhao, ven, ven ca*

my fingernails are chipping pretty horribly. i've always been told you should take gelatin pills for this, only of course, until recently (being, hm, last october or something?) i couldn't swallow pills, or at least, i thought i couldn't. maybe i should consider it again. today i felt the urge to make icons, but i didn't come up with any that i wanted to upload, excepting two for cuddlepint, who has not, of course, seen her layout yet. it turns out she's only going to be back for half a day, too, saturday night, before leaving for dallas. a whole week without my mom. my dad will bug me mercilessly to photocopy. given i just spent $100 on undergarments, though, perhaps this is not such a bad idea.

*can i spell portuguese? not to my knowledge, no. that's probably wrong. but it's still cool.

cuál alto el árbol será?

playful!puppy has a very short attention span and can be tricked up to five times in a row into almost biting me, if i put my hand close to his mouth while he's chewing my mom's sheets. (::cough:: i mean, um, while he's... not... chewing the sheets.) not sure how much this says, though, as cats, who are clearly more intelligent but also somewhat more excitable, can be all the way tricked into it. my own cats feel immeasurably guilty afterwards, which they demonstrate by nuzzling or blinking and purring or licking, but they're incorrect if they think that would make up for it. well. okay. i mean, it's not like it's possible to be mad at them anyway, but. if it were, and if they'd really bitten, licking wouldn't really do anything.

okay, i sound like this because i'm within the last few paragraphs of mamahooch's story. i'm going to finish it now.

OH! story.

story is finished. whoa. i'm high. i mean. story-high, not actually high. ::wavers in a circle and falls over:: that was intense. whew.

(no subject)

all the stories at this site are exactly the same.

but it's a tolerable story, and i'm still high so i can't sleep. so mush. mush is good.

::breathe, breathe::

story finished! eeeeeeeee. eeeeeeeeee.

and i would fight a thousand men:

i'm an airhead, sometimes. hopefully i'll outgrow it. and now i go to bed.