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brandywine28-- OH, MY GOD. IT'S FEBRUARY AND I AM THE GROUNDHOG. I mean, okay, yes, I did already know what month it was, thanks, things aren't that dire -- yet -- but I feel like only today did I truly get hit with the weight of it. It's February. I poked my little head out of my winter apathy cocoon, truly grasped how much time has passed since New Year's Day, and -- you know what? Forget it. Bad metaphor. Bad, bad metaphor. Sounded better in my head.
-- Alright, this one's for my popslash friendos. (It isn't much, but I'm running low on anecdotes these days, so you get what you get.)
Some of you may know that I care about organized sports not one single, solitary iota. When people talk about them, basically all I hear is that tin can teacher voice from Charlie Brown. Wah, wah, wah. I absorb nothing, I comprehend nothing, and I'm so very okay with that.
So my friend J was teasing me about this the other day, saying I probably couldn't name one of the two 2022 Superbowl teams if I had a gun held to my head, and I was like, yeah, no, of course I couldn't. This is not news. But still, I closed my eyes, grimaced, made a real, honest attempt, and what came out of me was:
"The Cincinnati...uh...Lambs?"
Which was wrong, of course. So wrong. But -- not a bad fic idea, am I right? Lance and Mister Himself prancing around on a football field -- or is it diamond? A football diamond?? No plot, 'cos I am absolutely not willing to do the research, but
these'd be their uniforms, so who honestly cares?
Literary genius. A true winner of a fic. I am accepting accolades as of...NOW.
-- Everyone, gather 'round and look at the cookie place that just opened in my neighborhood. This is either gonna be a really good thing, or a really bad thing. I haven't decided yet.
-- I'm not getting over Hugo. If anything, the opposite. This isn't my first grief rodeo, but it sure feels that way. Every, every morning, I'm surprised when he doesn't jump up on the bed and sneeze on me. I'm never less surprised than I was the day before. Like, we've gone back to the basics here. We're talking rudimentary childhood development -- stage four. I feel like I'm Big Bird and I'm stuck in that episode of Sesame Street where Mr. Hooper dies, except the lesson's not clicking. And the lesson is sucky and hateful to begin with, so who even needs it?
Back around October-ish, I guess, Hugo and I had a minor tussle that left me with a small scratch near my left wrist. It healed, but the scar's been lingering -- fine by me, because I'm a sentimental whackadoo. Well, the other day I noticed it's starting to fade a little, and. Meltdown. A big, wet one, the kind you'd never catch Big Bird having. I shamed Gordon. Maria would've been appalled.
-- My mom has become obsessed with The Gilded Age on HBO, but, for whatever reason, she can't seem to grasp that the show takes place thirty entire years before the sinking of the Titanic. Every time a new character pops up, it's all, "Oooh, does he die on the Titanic?" "Does she?" "Do they?" "Oh, that guy totally does, I can just tell." At this point, I almost feel like she's getting impatient for it. It's all very Milhouse of her.
-- Alright, this one's for my popslash friendos. (It isn't much, but I'm running low on anecdotes these days, so you get what you get.)
Some of you may know that I care about organized sports not one single, solitary iota. When people talk about them, basically all I hear is that tin can teacher voice from Charlie Brown. Wah, wah, wah. I absorb nothing, I comprehend nothing, and I'm so very okay with that.
So my friend J was teasing me about this the other day, saying I probably couldn't name one of the two 2022 Superbowl teams if I had a gun held to my head, and I was like, yeah, no, of course I couldn't. This is not news. But still, I closed my eyes, grimaced, made a real, honest attempt, and what came out of me was:
"The Cincinnati...uh...Lambs?"
Which was wrong, of course. So wrong. But -- not a bad fic idea, am I right? Lance and Mister Himself prancing around on a football field -- or is it diamond? A football diamond?? No plot, 'cos I am absolutely not willing to do the research, but
these'd be their uniforms, so who honestly cares?
Literary genius. A true winner of a fic. I am accepting accolades as of...NOW.
-- Everyone, gather 'round and look at the cookie place that just opened in my neighborhood. This is either gonna be a really good thing, or a really bad thing. I haven't decided yet.
-- I'm not getting over Hugo. If anything, the opposite. This isn't my first grief rodeo, but it sure feels that way. Every, every morning, I'm surprised when he doesn't jump up on the bed and sneeze on me. I'm never less surprised than I was the day before. Like, we've gone back to the basics here. We're talking rudimentary childhood development -- stage four. I feel like I'm Big Bird and I'm stuck in that episode of Sesame Street where Mr. Hooper dies, except the lesson's not clicking. And the lesson is sucky and hateful to begin with, so who even needs it?
Back around October-ish, I guess, Hugo and I had a minor tussle that left me with a small scratch near my left wrist. It healed, but the scar's been lingering -- fine by me, because I'm a sentimental whackadoo. Well, the other day I noticed it's starting to fade a little, and. Meltdown. A big, wet one, the kind you'd never catch Big Bird having. I shamed Gordon. Maria would've been appalled.
-- My mom has become obsessed with The Gilded Age on HBO, but, for whatever reason, she can't seem to grasp that the show takes place thirty entire years before the sinking of the Titanic. Every time a new character pops up, it's all, "Oooh, does he die on the Titanic?" "Does she?" "Do they?" "Oh, that guy totally does, I can just tell." At this point, I almost feel like she's getting impatient for it. It's all very Milhouse of her.
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Date: 2022-02-21 01:18 am (UTC)I reblogged something on Tumblr today about NYC and thought of you.
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Date: 2022-02-24 12:19 am (UTC)<3
Oh, God, I try so hard not to be one of those people whose entire personality is that they live in NYC, but...it's a losing battle, isn't it? (What was the Tumblr thing??)
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Date: 2022-02-24 12:35 am (UTC)It was basically a love post about the city and its inhabitants. Please take all the delight in being from NYC! I sure would.
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Date: 2022-02-24 09:45 am (UTC)But, okay -- that twitter thread! "I've got a gun" took me OUT. I don't often regret not being on Twitter, but I would've had contributions! Probably middling ones, but --
Alright, the first thing that springs to mind: I was waiting at a crosswalk once, when some guy wrapped his arms around me from behind, gave me a big, friendly hug and whispered "I'm a giraffe" in my ear. He was gone before I could get a good look at him, but I know we'll meet again someday. And when we do, I have questions.
My mom's stories are actually way better than mine; I think it's because she was a much bigger partier than I've ever been. She's seen things. She used to have this girlfriend who woke up one morning to find a passed out Geraldo Rivera on her fire escape. He'd spotted her at a party the night before and decided she was so beautiful he NEEDED to follow her home. I have to assume this was back before he got sober, but even so -- Why, Geraldo, why??
no subject
Date: 2022-02-24 01:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-25 12:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2022-02-21 04:56 pm (UTC)Ooey gooey cookies. Oh my goodness, they look good!
Hugo was special, it's no wonder the grief is hitting hard. He's your boy and always will be ♥
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Date: 2022-02-24 12:26 am (UTC)Thank you for saying that, especially since I know you Get It. I feel the weirdest, most insidious embarrassment over still being stuck in the crying and bargaining stages -- though I guess I'm not too embarrassed to keep from spilling my guts all over the place. <3
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Date: 2022-02-23 12:00 pm (UTC)It's really hard to forget a small, furry companion, especially after seventeen years. Of course you still expect him to jump on you. The better the friend, the harder to reconcile to loss. **hugs**
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Date: 2022-02-24 12:40 am (UTC)Thank you. <333333