brandywine28: (Default)
Honestly, this is terrible and I'm not proud of it in any way and I really do believe we should gouge out the eyes of all the Columbus statues we can find and hurl the torsos into the sea, but...

I don't actually hate Columbus Day?

I know. I KNOW. I blame my love of aggressive nonsense, not my love of genocidal scumpiles, which, I assure you, does not exist. 'Cos I don't know what today's like across the rest of the country, but here, the man barely gets a mention and instead, it's just wall-to-wall batshit Italian pride for a solid 24 hours. Joe Piscopo standing in the middle of the street, screaming Sinatra lyrics into a megaphone! People flinging fistfuls of grated parmesan from their car windows like it's confetti*! All of it loudly sponsored by off-brand pasta sauce and someone's angry nonna.

I'm only admitting this because I feel so loved and cherished here. Hell, I'm not Italian. None of this is even for me.

But -- parmesan!

My proposal: don't eradicate the whole day. Just rename it "Yearly Batshit Italian Pride Festival!!11!" or something and then, yeah, do the statue thing. Seriously. Let's do it. I love to gouge.

*Okay, this one is maybe a tiny exaggeration.**
brandywine28: (Default)
I was heading home the other day -- I think it was the day before Yom Kippur, actually -- when I passed a group of teenage Orthodox boys camped out on the curb. They were handing out flowers to every woman who walked by and when it was my "turn" the lead boy looked me up and down and asked "Are you Jewish?" I said I wasn't and he DIDN'T GIVE ME ONE. The lady just a few paces ahead of me got a flower! I felt oddly rejected, but at the same time confused, because:

Is this a Thing? Like, a thing that has any kind of religious significance, or precedent, or...anything?

Or were they just fucking with people? (Do I even have any followers who might know the answer to this?)

I may not be a Jew, but I know tons of them, and. I mean, I hate to play the lifelong New Yorker card, but...*exasperated jazz hands* Whatever. My point is, I don't consider myself UN-knowledgeable about Judaism.

And yet.

And yet.

I have no earthly idea what that was.

Google's giving me nothing. And I don't have the heart to ask anyone else face-to-face, after the first two people I tried seemed to think I was making it up, which -- ?? (That's one thing I love about the internet, by the way -- not having to look at the glazed over expressions people make when I talk to them.)

And now I'm remembering the time a guy who looked like Jesus, if Jesus did whip-its, offered me a yellow daisy outside a Nine Inch Nails concert for some reason and my eleventh grade BFF jumped in front of me and snarled like a guard dog. That was some weirdness too, but at least it was totally explicable. Drugs. Protective instincts. Hilarity. I understand all those things.

ETA: Oh! I'm just realizing that I should've paid closer attention to the type of flower they were giving out! Drat! Uh...I'm pretty sure they were...white. Probably? Does that mean anything to anyone? (Gah, this is gonna destroy my brain, isn't it?)
brandywine28: (Default)
Okay but

Simpsons-based rantings aside, I don't want anyone thinking I'm not grateful for all the birthday greetings. I've always had an uneasy relationship with this day, but I'm not so far gone that I can't appreciate well wishes. I can and I do. I'm a mess, not a monster. :)

I might've even cried a little, but y'all can't prove anything.

*hugs the entire internet (except for the icky, Nazi-tinged corners that don't deserve my hugs)*
brandywine28: (Default)
So the little calendar thingie tells me I haven't posted in something like 87 years, and the worst part is I don't even have any entertaining stories to share 'cos I've been nowhere. Literally. Nowhere. Just endlessly paddling around in the shallow end of Dissociation Lake, being kept alive by nothing but pool floaties and cereal.

Yeah, I've been out of it. Big time. I think I have three solid memories of this summer: 1. buying some plums, 2. finding out that my chosen shade of foundation does not hold up in direct sunlight (side note: the beige-head-hovering-uncertainly-over-a-white-neck look did not help with the dissociation) and...

Nope. That's all I got. Two. Two memories.

And now it's my birthday and I don't know what to do about it, 'cos it's one of those Bad Number Birthdays. Bad, bad number. Go suck a lemon, Bad Number.

Any ideas on how to make the bad number go away? And don't say wine and sleep, 'cos I already tried those.

...five dollars??!!!? Get outta here...
brandywine28: (Default)
I haven't posted since...March?? How is that possible?

Oh, right. I spent all of April and May trapped in an allergy vortex. A place of phlegm and misery, where time does not exist.

I mean, okay. I know springtime hayfever is not uncommon. But mine is -- special. Yeah, let's go with that. Special. Special like someone strapping a bucket filled with bees to my head, and then rolling me up in a rug also filled with bees and yes, I know this is a terrible, half-assed metaphor, but -- BEES.

That kind of special.

It's always been that way. I end up losing an entire season. It's just...gone. And then the whole experience leaves me angry and disoriented, shuffling around, muttering about, well. Bees. The prettiest zombie at the zombie prom! And I stay that way 'til the weather starts slowly getting hotter and I wake up one random morning yelling, "the beach, the beach! Let's go to the beach!"

Sigh. I really do miss the beach.

Anyway. I've had a few new fic ideas over the last couple of weeks and, amazingly, I was even letting myself get excited about one or two of them, but then --


Ugh. I don't know. This morning I had an awful, sinking moment where it occurred to me just how sitcom-y they all are. Just trite and cutesy-pie and -- all of them! And, no. The kinds of plots that can only ever really be resolved by an Olsen twin popping up from behind a piece of furniture and saying, "You got it, dude!" And then -- hearty chuckling and a freeze frame, I guess?

Seriously, there isn't a single one I can't picture ending that way. And it sickens me.

I am thoroughly demoralized.
brandywine28: (Default)
Hugo keeps bringing me mice. So. Many. Mice. Some of which have been a little less than dead. Yay.

Seriously -- six. In the last four days. Six. (And before that? Zero. In the whole time I've lived here. Why is this happening???)

He's as happy as a really smug pig in slop, of course. Creepy lil' predator-muffin. Meanwhile, I'm running out of shoeboxes and my throat is raw from all the screaming.

I'm way too delicate for this shit.
brandywine28: (Default)
Oh my God, a big, heaping pile of thanks to [personal profile] pensnest for the beautiful shawl! For real, I plotzed! What I don't know about knitting could probably fill an encyclopedia -- the thick, old-timey, hardcover kind no one buys anymore -- but even I can tell it's seriously well made, and I wore it out to dinner last night and everyone who saw me made a huge fuss and told me it matches my eyes n' stuff, so. Yes. (The green parts, not the pink parts. I do not have pink eyes. I'm not an animated rodent.)

And best of all, it came on a day I was stuck in a righteous funk, y'know, the kind I like to pretend I never get? Where you're all low and fogged over and you really just NEED something good to happen? One of those.

And then even this morning I guess the ickiness wasn't done with me, 'cos I had the loudest, most obnoxious cab driver try to tell me that Caitlyn Jenner isn't a "real transgender" because she isn't bothering to have "The Surgery", which, vom. And then he went off on the weirdest, most sexual tangent about Melania Trump, and honestly? I think the thing I was maddest about was being put in a position where I had to defend those two lowlifes. I didn't enjoy doing it. But it had to be done. *flips hair badassily*


In conclusion:

Transphobic cab drivers with opinions? Bad. Pen? Good. Very good. (And sweet!)
brandywine28: (Default)
In lighter news, my mother just asked me what a glory hole is. And I told her. Oh, God.

*crawls under a rock*
brandywine28: (Default)
Grief cookies will only take you so far -- no matter how deep into the bag you crawl -- but that's fine, 'cos this weekend ended up having kind of a...shockingly positive slant to it?

I mean --

Half a million fed up people marching on Fifth Avenue! Nazis getting clocked in the face! Songs about Nazis getting clocked in the face! Madonna!

I met a fierce, kickass woman whose entire family was carted off to a Japanese internment camp in the '40s, and a guy dressed up like a literal golden shower. (SO MUCH GOLD GLITTER.)

Humanity is...really something else. I am rejuvenated.

And in that vein, I feel like sharing only uplifting things with the world. Such as this footage of Alan Cumming performing a jazzy cover of Avril Lavigne's 'Complicated' that I just found.

Maybe, just maybe, things have a shot at being okay.
brandywine28: (Default)
True and useful and true. I can attest.

But there was laughter today, too. My mom called at the exact stroke of noon to sing 'Highway to Hell' at me. All of it. The whole song.

She's the best.

And now, Mallomars.


Jan. 11th, 2017 06:14 pm
brandywine28: (Default)
...since not saying something might actually feel weirder than saying something...

I backed up my journal over on DW and I guess I'll be doing the crossposting thing from now on?

But! I'm not leaving LJ -- I'm all spread out here and I hate change. (Hate it so much I'm keeping my same old username, of which I have never been all that fond, so. Yeah. LOTR-ish vagueries 4 LYFE, yo.)

And I'm not running around preaching doomsday, either. This is

But since the deed is done -- what should I do to get started over there? What am I forgetting? I will take literally any and all suggestions, 'cos I don't have a clue what I'm doing.
brandywine28: (squid)
Good news! I didn't spend the entire Christmas weekend crying!

I mean, I did cry this morning -- who didn't? least it wasn't the result of deep-seated Christmas malaise?

It actually ended up being a fun, low key couple of days: pajamas, champagne, and cookies I purchased with MONEY at a BAKERY because I am a LAZY REBEL.

Didn't manage to send out holiday cards -- AGAIN -- and of course I always feel bad accepting any from others when I doubt I'll ever get my act together enough to reciprocate, so I just end up kinda...left out of the whole process. Which sucks.

I guess I fell out of the habit when my grampa died, and I finally cut contact with my mom's awful sisters. And then I was never close with my dad's stepdad and half-brother, not even when he was still alive. I think I've met them...twice? My point being: my Big List O' Blood Relations is -- not that big. Tiny, actually. Miniscule.

But that's a stupid reason! Love has nothing to do with blood! (Unless that's your kink. No judgement.)

I'll do better next year.

Further good news: my Sesa present is adorable and funny, and was clearly written by someone who knows all about my weirdly formative crush on Disney's Aladdin. (The character, but also every character. The whole movie.) Ahem.

It's the only one I've read so far, but I think it bodes well for the rest!
brandywine28: (squid)
I have my weepy Christmases and I have my jolly Christmases. They don't alternate or anything, it's not that exact. In fact, the weepy ones have been known to take me by surprise, and.

Welp. It's eleven pm on December 23rd and I'm sitting here, bawling my eyes out at the most emotionally manipulative thing Disney has ever produced. Surprise?

(Sorry about the vaguely anti-Semitic ickiness in the middle section. I usually fast forward through that shiz. The nuns who used to play this for us during "religion class", however? Did not.)
brandywine28: (ouran hugging)
A very happy birthday to [ profile] zebraljb, who is sweet and generous and the kind of person who hates awkward situations so much that she won't tell you you're pronouncing her name wrong 'til, like, THE THIRD TIME YOU'VE HUNG OUT FACE-TO-FACE.

Without you the world wouldn't have Little Mermaid!sync, our fandom's one and only Kevin/Joey crossdressing fic (I checked), or the best fandom portmanteau that has ever portmanteau'd (Andersance Booper 4 lyfe!). We aren't worthy.

(And yeah, you're also clever and fun and a great mom, but honestly -- meh. I chose to highlight your truly important accomplishments. THE FIC. THE FIC ALWAYS WINS.)

*hurls fistfuls of confetti at you*
brandywine28: (squid)
There's nothing quite like skimming over past LJ entries, especially ones where you thought you were being cute and charming, and instead realizing that you are, in fact, a deeply embarrassing person. Self discovery -- yay!

Honestly, I'm tempted to go on a mass deletion spree. I really am. But -- what's the point? That level of corn isn't something I'd ever be able to hide long term. Let the people know, I say! Let them know about the corn! Don't hide your corn under a bushel!
brandywine28: (squid)
Okay, I'm through with dramatics. I've gotten them all out of my system and condensed everything down into a spiky, ever-simmering rage ball. It's painful, but I can totally function this way. For years, if I have to.

In the meantime, I'ma let Ms. Yoko Ono do my primal screaming for me. She's goddamn great at it, after all.

I daresay protesting agrees with me. I may just be one of the few people around who looks ten to fifteen pounds slimmer by police car headlight-light.
brandywine28: (squid)
If none of you have ever ridden in a stone silent subway car at rush hour, I don't recommend it. Eerie as hell.

oceans rise

Nov. 9th, 2016 06:21 am
brandywine28: (squid)
On the bright side...??

Watching Rachel Maddow go off on live TV last night was kind of exhilarating, even if I could only just hear her over my own hellish wailing.

AJ Mclean (and wife) sent out a couple of highly devastated tweets and, as stupid as this sounds, they kinda took a load off my mind. The Littrells are all confirmed Trumpists, and as such, are clearly dead to me, but I didn't wanna have to write off BSB as a whole.

My dearest Mickeym, being far more thoughtful and clear-headed than I, just shared numbers for both Crisis Chat and the USA National Suicide Prevention Hotline, so I thought I'd just direct everyone on over there. I know people are feeling pretty bleak right now.

I love you all. I really do mean that; my flist isn't the longest, but I promise, there's not a single one of you I wouldn't let feel me up behind the gymnasium on prom night. Or any night. *hugs*


Nov. 9th, 2016 05:31 am
brandywine28: (squid)
But I'll tell you what I'm already well and truly done with: all this 'moving to Canada' talk. Nope. As if I'm gonna let some carrot-faced horror clown chase me out of MY country.

Also, if every single American with a soul fucking flees, how're we ever gonna fix this damn place? (Oh. Maybe I am entering my 'getting shit done' stage. That's...something.)

Okay. Rant over.

For now.


Nov. 9th, 2016 05:23 am
brandywine28: (squid)
I'm not laughing. Which would probably be the most obvious statement in the world, if you didn't already know that that's a thing I do when shit gets tense. Funerals, disasters. I laugh. Sometimes hysterically. It's inappropriate, but it's how I deal.

I laughed plenty yesterday, though. My mother wept the whole time she was filling out her ballot and I made fun of her afterwards and then kissed her forehead, and then a couple of older ladies we didn't know locked eyes with us on our way out of the polling place and we all grabbed each other's hands and giggled for a minute and it was such a Moment and -- how was that only eleven hours ago?? HOW?

I don't know what else to say, really. I overestimated my country. I thought we were better than this, and we're not. And it hurts.



Almost everyone I've talked to so far has been really lovely -- fierce and positive and, like, admirably placid, listing all the ways we're gonna get through this and me? Well, my first reaction to that kind of talk has been kind of a sour, ticked-off, eye-rolly-ness, because TRITE. But maybe I'm just jealous that they're already at the 'getting shit done' stage while I'm still at the 'vomiting directly into my bare, cupped hands' stage. They've got their acts together. I do not.


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