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Abandon All Hope of a Normal Blog
Ye Fools who Enter Herein
In such a HP rich environment I could hardly neglect LJ and not mention how I have tickets to the final film now stuck to my fridge, waiting for the fated hour. It brings back memories of the Spoil Me DH community I was in in which the famous 'carpet book' inspired me to draw fanart before I even got my own hands on a copy of the actual novel. My 'Molly Goes Apeshit' has to be seen to be believed and I think I've got a MS Paint drawing of Snape/Vampire Bat flying away--oh and one of Harry saving Hagrid with the chuckilicious line 'Accio Hagrid'!

Beth wants me to wear my old Lucius t-shirt of course. I drew it in time for HP 5, where we saw it right after getting the book at the Borders right next to the theater. I'm surprised Beth is going to see HP7 with me actually. After my behavior during 5, I'm surprised she still will speak to me or be seen with me in a public setting anywhere in the Federal Way area. As luck would have it, I ran into a woman my age who fangasmed over Lucius too and I know I wrote about it and how we screamed out his name and swooned whenever he narrowed his eyes THAT way at the screen.

Do they have chiropractors in the wizarding world by the way? Reason I ask is I'm thinking of all the times we saw Luce getting pitched backwards into walls and corners during fights all of HP7 Part 1. The man just can't win. And the expression on his face when Voldy snapped Snakey off the cane end? Oh dear LORD I nearly died. I want that shot blown up and stuck on my wall in here.

Am I coming back to LJ? I dunno. I just felt like posting since it was HP related and it's been well over a year, but if I get going here again and stop being Facebook's bitch, I'll try to post artz too.

I feel: ecstatic ecstatic

3 Dares or Dare you to say something!
The other day I filled a man's hat with goldfish as an April Fools joke. I couldn't help myself. The day before I got an estimate on my teeth and if there's anything that sounds off a knell of doom in my head it's dental work being treated like I'm about to finance a Bentley. You ever have to make a choice between your dentist and a new car? Yeah, it's kind of like that. So there was the hat and there were the goldfish and there was me needing a light moment. This was in the files room at the Church of Scientology where a bunch of people were getting files updated. I turned to them after I grabbed the victim's hat and casually said, "Yeah, I'm gonna put Goldfish Crackers in Mike's hat."

"DO IT!" said everyone. So I did. Serves him right for leaving it right out in the open where I could just grab it. Now the cool thing about this happening in a room full of Scientologists is nothing beats a Scientologist for being able to put on a straight face when the situation calls for it. No one snickered and gave me away too early.

I'm just glad I didn't see my dentist on 1 April. Who knows what could have happened. She could have turned to me, cold sober, and said, 'I'm sorry, but only Bill Gates could possibly afford what we have to do to save all your teeth from crumbling like the Sphinx's nose. We're going to have to extract everything.' Or she could have merely faked a sharp cracking sound and told me 'My God, whatever you do, don't swallow'

Ninja sleeping under a baby quilt! Can you believe my Nana knitted that AFTER her stroke? It belongs to Beth--and now Ninja too.


No matter what, the cute goes on and on. This kitten treats my feet like a lion treats a crippled gazelle, but with a face like that, you ignore punctures and savor the face. To do otherwise is to see these critters for the evil they really are and drop kick them across the Serengeti without a moment's hesitation, so the big dewy eyes are a major survival mechanism for cats. Why else would we put up with them? Do you really want an animal around that carves your couch into strips? Or snarfs down your microwave burrito to the future peril of air quality over a ten mile radius? Let's not neglect the thrill of finding out your 'alone time' has an avid, and slightly disgusted, audience. Bemused in the case of Cathulhu, who has failed my own personal cat IQ test, which I call the cabinet test. It's easy to administer. You take one cat. Then you shut the cat's food behind a floor-level cabinet without magnetic catches and see if the cat tries to paw it open. I figure a clever cat will attempt it and a dumb one resorts to the 'out of sight, out of mind' mode of softer-minded critters. Cathulhu looks up at me like I'm the world's biggest asshole when I do it to him.

I feel: mischievous mischievous

4 Dares or Dare you to say something!
If I kick the bucket before I'm officially elderly, if I'm hovering around bodiless and celebrating the fact I no longer have a butt the size of Elliott Bay, I will haunt anyone who strings together one of those funerals where a cadaverous looking pastor/priest casts his dour gaze over the church and says to all that God thought I was so wonderful he wanted me back early. You ever hear that spiel at funerals? 'And God so loved *** He called *** back to Heaven' or words to that effect. Who makes up this shit? How is this supposed to comfort the bereaved? It sure doesn't make God look good. What benevolent God shuffles people off their mortal coil just to complete His collection? If this 'logic' were true, we are all nothing more than Delft figurines at auction. Or maybe God has more pedestrian tastes and collects Smurfs. Whatever. Point is, if you're made of awesome and win, you're dead. Isn't that fantastic incentive to be a devout Christian or Mormon or what have you?

They did this with my sister-in-law when she died of pancreatic cancer several years ago and I wanted to lob those little golf pencils they have in the backs of the pews at him. No one there seemed to mind. Talk about brainwashing. No one has ever really thought of what that sounds like? Really? He only gave us 80 or so years to live--He can wait. It's not like we're Moses with a 600 year life span and He has to sit up there twiddling his thumbs hoping for an accident (yeah right) before He gets Papa Smurf at last.

As for me, I'm one of those weird knockoffs no one wants. I'm gonna be around until you all drop dead and your grandkids drop dead.

I feel: amused amused

Dare you to say something!
My motherfucking computer just got raped.

I'm suing for aggravated sexual assault here because it wasn't just raped but reamed with a oak billy club studded with tent spikes--poisoned tent spikes--and after that there was nothing to do but give it a Lysol dip bath and hang it out to dry. This computer is now the cleanest, emptiest son-of-a-bitch you ever saw. All the shit I wrote, drew or downloaded is gone, gone, gone. That includes my GODDAMN LUCIUS FOLDER which had, like, 50,000 glorious images of H.R.H. Jason Isaacs in that fabulous blond wig. My artz are all gone. Some of it exists on Photobucket, but not all of it. There's some on here too. And DA. And CA . . . ok maybe I'm not doing all that bad there, except for some commission shit that only existed on my sexually assaulted hard drive. Said hard drive is now in counseling. And where do you think my writing is? That's fucking right, faithful readers. GONE. I think there's a single sex scene floating around in one of my writing community forums, but that's it.

Did I back all this shit up, you ask?

Fuck yeah, but the rapist snuck into the Seagate through the back door(motherfucker's bisexual) and partied down with that too, cause I had it on automatic backup and when the worm hit, it hit that too.

So here I sit with a computer so virginal it won't even glance at anything remotely resembling a dick, let alone a worm. Clutter? What clutter?


I was going to make this the only post I ever posted where I lock down the comments, mostly because I hate the stupid *hugs* shit when something goes wrong. The internet has robbed us all of the richness of the English language, which possesses a multitude of ways to express understanding and sympathy without fucking *hugs*. Don't fucking do it. I'm watching you, goddamnit.

As an aside, one problem with a clean cut computer is I can't find that one picture of Jason Isaacs where he's lying nekkid face down on a bed with his tight ass in full view. Anyone know what movie it's from?

I feel: enraged enraged

12 Dares or Dare you to say something!
You guys seen Sherlock Holmes yet?

When the movie came out my first move wasn't to run out and see it, but to pull down the big compilation of Holmes' stories from my bookshelf and devour them alive, which led to a sudden craving for Jeremy Brett and a marathon session of Granada's Sherlock Holmes episodes. Then I saw the movie. And craved more Jeremy Brett and even Basil Rathbone. Badly. Not that the sight of Holmes naked and tied up didn't thrill me to no end, but Ironman as Sherlock wasn't clicking for me even if Jude Law rocked as Watson. 'Grab your piece cause we're gonna kick some ass' has always been Holmes watchword for his friend and the movie portrayed that faithfully. And yeah, Holmes boxed. In college. Not in an Eastside brawling pit. But he was naked so the critical part of me was hushed for several minutes. Naked mens do that to me. And if they'd chosen an actor who fit Doyle's VERY exact description of what the detective looks like, I would have dropped eggs in my Hanes for Her panties at the least sign of his shirt coming off.

I didn't buy that bit when Irene Adler doped the wine, either. Okay, so she sealed off the hole she made in the cork with wax, but remember who we're dealing with here. This is a guy who foiled an attempt to mail him a deadly tropical disease by pretending to have the illness in order to lure the culprit to Baker Street. He saw the whole thing coming a mile away. So why would he trust Irene to serve him untainted wine? Oh yeah. So we could see Robert Downing Jr. nekkid. Cause even more out-of-character than missing a clue would be him saying to her, 'My darling Irene, do please relieve me of my stifling clothing and strap me to the bedposts, for I haven't laid with a woman since I learned to shave. I am desperate for your nubile flesh.'

Maybe in the next movie.

You know, when I think of the 'Dying Detective' story and the 'Final Problem' story, I really have to hand it to Watson for putting up with his shenadigans. First he fakes his own death and makes Watson grieve for 3 years, then fakes this exotic sickness so Watson about dies of anxiety and on top of that makes his landlady cry buckets. It's a wonder she didn't cancel the lease and kick his lying ass to the curb.

Another thing: Holmes looks like House. Stop it. Yes he does. I kept expecting the Downey Holmes to turn to Watson and go, 'It's NEVER elementary!' and thump his cane irritably on Watson's/Wilson's instep after he stuns Lestrade with his brilliant deductions. Now they go and find an actor who completes all the parallels. All we need now is a time travel story switching Holmes and House into each other's little world. Cue drama! Can you imagine how House would treat poor 19th century Watson, M.D.? I don't know about you, but I think there'd be a nice, fresh homicide for Holmes to figure out when he got back, if 21st century forensics didn't do him in first. At least if I write it, you can count on me for one thing if anyone's clothes start coming off. All sausages will come with buns. Holmes will never peer at Watson's drawers and wonder what mysteries lay beneath. I respect them too much for that.

I feel: recumbent recumbent

2 Dares or Dare you to say something!
It takes guts to let the world know your opinion, especially when it's not exactly a politically correct or particularly sensitive opinion. Witness Exhibit A. This charming denizen of Federal Way was not satisfied with just one controversial viewpoint, but THREE, and all within close proximity to one another so you wouldn't miss them.

Big pic back here! Redneck in Seattle sighted!Collapse )

Witness also the apparent personal conflict expressed so well in three little bumper stickers, which at first glace seem to contradict each other but serve to add a sardonic touch instead. National Athiests Day paired with Trust Jesus. Can you possibly get more sarcastic? More biting? Yes! You can slap on the 'no homo' sticker and balance the whole thing on the end of the sharpest of sharp pins. Another sticker and the whole thing topples into the abyss of overkill. This fine gentleman has obviously chosen his messages with the kind of care usually devoted to plotting a ten book historical series and whether you agree with them or not, you have to admit it takes balls to drive down the road flaunting the kinds of viewpoints that sends most people's dials into the red zone. No matter who you are, something on that tailgate will offend you. It's brilliant. And in only 3 stickers.

I like that Athiest's Day is on April 1st, too.

It was while driving up toward the freeway that I saw this guy and in the rain because this is Seattle and it does that. I had to do a one handed grab at my camera and then I worried that a guy with the cajones to tell the world he resented the whole 'gay rights' movement wouldn't hesitate to blow me a new hole in my head with the shotgun he kept handy under the seat.

Well the whole short episode made me think of all the blogs that I skim half the time because they don't really say anything, ever. And don't I do the same thing? I take the coward's way out and duck telling it like it is, according to barlidoc. Or I do it halfway for fear of a raging flamewar in comments or a massive friends dump here in LJ land. Not that I'd want to read nothing but boiling vitriol, but I bet you all have opinions on everyday events you don't dare share to the world. I didn't vote for Obama, for example. I don't trust the bloke. It has nothing to do with race and more to do with my belief people were schmoozed and soothed by his oh-so-charming facade. Compared to Bush's ineptitude behind the mike, Obama is a virtual God. And it bothers me that some voters DID vote because he's black--they were the ones weeping and carrying on on Nov4. Now isn't that a form of racism? I think it is. It's no way to choose the leader of the country.

There. Now I expressed one unpopular POV. Your turn! No--not here in comments where your flist won't see. Get out there and put it in YOUR journal, chickenshit. And no cheating with the lj cut.

Off topic--holy shit is that a whiskey jug hanging offen the truck's canopy frame????? Dip me in pitch and call me Sticky!

I feel: cynical secretly admiring Muggles

1 Dare or Dare you to say something!

Anything this cute should be registered as a controlled substance. I've been snorgling this face all day and left said face in the care of Beth for a little while. She is now addicted. There is no known cure. Even Cathulhu can't resist. He's guilty of romping around the house with the new kitty and the only sign he's a little concerned is he's been rubbing everything Ninja rubs so his stink rules above her stink. Or however cats think about stuff like that. We're getting rubbed so much we risk tripping over cats if we so much as grab a bowl of popcorn. And then they rub the popcorn. And 'help' us eat it.

More pix back here!Collapse )

On Friday, when we went to see Ninja and her sisters, mom and dad at the neighbor's, we knew she was a special kitty. Her undercover alias at that time was Daffodil. The neighbors showed us all the kittens, but no one but no one could find Ninja a.k.a. Daffodil. And here they were telling us how cuddly and friendly and sweet she was. When she did finally phase into being, it was in a spot everyone had gone over at least a dozen times, in a baby seat. Then we bring her home and POOF gone. For five hours. She has now claimed the recliner for her own kitty kondo and so, really, it saves us a wad. We have too many chairs anyway.

I feel: sleepy sleepy

1 Dare or Dare you to say something!
I've been seeing plugs for a fan community to celebrate Severus Snape's 50th birthday over the last week, an event that can only herald one thing; a shitstorm (sorry) of slash. Already his greasy package is being lauded as if it were the Sacred Rod of God. And just when Harry could finally bed down with his canon girlfriend with a sigh of relief, Snape crosses the threshold with a limp rose in his unbrushed teeth and wearing ancient gray Speedos he once wore to impress Lily in case James should flip him arse over tip again. There is some comfort in all this, however. The Jason Isaacs community I belong to had announced an upcoming calendar! And just as I had despaired and was planning to try making my own! Well I might anyhow so I'll have two and if the proposed calendar is somehow missing the nude pic, well hell, I got that covered, right in my hard drive! Can you say halleluia?



I'll give you a moment.

Give up?

Look. I'm not messing with you. Get your nose off the screen. There is actually a kitten in that picture. We just got her yesterday, you see. Then about half an hour after we sprung open the cat carrier in the family room, we could NOT find her at all. A six month old gray calico, gone. We looked under the furniture, on top of the cupboards, under the bed, in the bed, behind curtains, in Beth's baritone case, we lifted up couch cushions, beat the rug and performed some kind of Swahili appeal to the gods. It rained. We looked outside, in the rain. We peered behind every door and rooted through boxes in the garage, checked the washer and dryer, and even the oven. No kitty. None. Five hours went by. And then I heard a baby mew. We followed the sound to the chair you see above.

No kitty.

But she WAS mewing! It came from the extreme depths of the chair and this was because she was literally INSIDE it. She crawled up from a gap underneath and stayed there all that time, which has bewildered Cathulhu into thinking the stars have aligned and he will soon see R'yleh and his evil cat ancestors. And so, this picture is a picture of a cat. Technically. It's a picture of a ninja cat and so her name is Ninja Kitty. When she comes out of stealth mode, I'll post more pix.

I feel: worried Ninja gonna get me

2 Dares or Dare you to say something!
I had a lovely little Christmas this year and no, I didn't get any more Snuggies. If I had, I would have sewn the two together to make the biggest nightgown in history--as well as the most hazardous to life and limb. What I got was a el neato digital picture frame that is right now displaying some pix and art on my entertainment center. I haven't uploaded Lucius yet, but I will. If I do, I'll have to also upload some sexytime music to go along with the slideshow. I also got a marble cheese slicer which is nifty. I've been cutting cheese all week. It's disgusting. And fragrant. You don't want to know. Oh and I also got a new Stephen King novel. Under the Dome. It's about the size of War and Peace and what's a laugh is King says in the back 'Afterward' page that he's so thankful for his editor for shrinking this dinosaur down.' It's about 1000 pages now. What was it before? A goddamn unabridged Websters? Good Christ. I guess he wanted his Constant Reader to be able to lift it while sitting on the pot. But I read it and


I feel: aggravated King--the hell?

2 Dares or Dare you to say something!
What fun I've had this weekend! Saturday night was the big Kris Kringle party combining both the day and evening staff at my church and held at one of their homes. The Kris Kringle thing was where we drew a name and picked one small gift a day for a week, then on Saturday, exchanged a 'big' one 20 bucks or less. Also we tried to guess our Kringle and since I kept getting office supplies and socks I knew it had to be one of the guys. And when I opened the main gift, I knew for sure. But the tragic thing about this gift is I actually know of people who really want one of this things and would really and actually be seen in public in one. These people are in some other universe I'm not a member of and it's likely I couldn't even breathe their atmosphere anyhow, let alone mate with their denizens and produce others of the same mindset. But when I first saw the infomercials, they set off a multiround series of spirited arguments between my daughter and I.

Picture the scene maybe a year ago. The first Snuggie ads begin to run. Like all of America, I watch and digest. So does Beth. I immediately propose that you'd have a cold ass if you stood up in one because it wouldn't wrap around properly. Beth disagreed. She believed the clever camera angles' deceptive version of the truth, which was to make the Snuggie look second in coverage only to an entire mammoth hide (with sleeves!). Also it showed grown men and women walking around in them. I told this much to the gang when I opened my Snuggie Saturday night and everyone demanded that I model it then and now. So I did. And there hung my ass just as I said it would. I felt vindicated. So vindicated I did a little Snuggie ass-dance right there in Richard's boss's front room (his wife works day hours) before all and sundry. I also demonstrated that to attempt to stride across a floor would result in Snuggiecide. Only an individual 9 feet tall can possibly walk around without killing himself on the excess fabric that naturally wants to fold under the feet from the first step. The sleeves are about 5 yards long. I think they used Bumble the Abominable as their dressing dummy. It also slides forward as if it wants to get off and fuck with other Snuggies to create the much anticipated Snuggies for Dogs. I have better results when I put on my bathrobe backwards--better because I can tie it to keep it in place.

So do you still want this thing, folks?

Actually it's not all that bad. I'm looking at it in a new light.

And thinking it'd make one hell of a giant Sham WOW.

I feel: amused amused

1 Dare or Dare you to say something!