two mutton pills and a stein of mead

This Orlando thing is kicking my ass. I don't know what's going on, all I know is all my precious, carefully honed distancing techniques are failing me -- like, all of them, all at once, which may just be a first for me -- and I've been a snarling, bitchy mess since last Sunday. My face hurts from scowling at everything. I'm not even kidding, my jaw is actually killing me.

And then I went and watched this the other day, which, my God. Tenors. If they're not making you whip off your bra in public and twirl it around in the air like it's a lasso and you're an extra-slutty cowgirl, they're making you sob into a pillow, I swear.

So I thought I'd do a quick rundown of small-but-good things 'cos 1. I haven't done one in awhile, and 2. lists are the best. They just are. Lists let you sweep clean the streets of your mind, yo. I like lists.

And lists of nice things are, well, y'know... *inarticulate hand puppetry* Nice things are nice, is basically what I'm getting at. Wow. Profound. (I dunno. The idea made sense for one single, shining second, and so I clung to it.)

Onward? Onward!

Books: Still riding that Captive Prince high. There's some pretty rad fan art out there if anyone's into that. (Warning: BUTTS.)

I was gonna start The Raven Cycle next -- 'cos I keep hearing it's amazing and full of slash appeal and I'm a lemming with no will of my own -- but then I woke up yesterday with the weirdest urge to re-read Helter Skelter, a book I was obsessed with for a hot minute back as a mopey high school gothling and have barely thought about since. I mean, I guess I could just go with it, but...I wonder if this isn't something I can satisfy by listening to the cast album of Hair while Google searching photos of expensive knives?

TV: 'Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt' (late to the party, I know, I know!). It's not a perfect show, but Lillian the landlord is a perfect character. She is my past, present and future. The Voldemort to my Tom Riddle. I am this woman.

Beauty: It's not something I ever really talk about in polite company, but I have a problem. A lip balm problem. I'm currently using a shampoo that gives me hives 'cos I'm too cheap to throw out a half-full bottle of anything, all my underwear is falling apart at the seams, but what I do have is a bedside drawer literally overflowing with booze-themed lip balms made by this woman. Because yes.

Music: I'm taking my mom to see Dylan at the Tennis Stadium next month! And after, we'll go grab a drink and she will repay me by once again telling the story about how they almost slept together in the eighties. Joy.

Culture: Bobby Brown had sex with a ghost, and Matt Bomer ate a cupcake. Both of these are excellent things.

Bird News: Now that I'm living farther from the Blvd and a little closer to the park, I'm seeing fewer dead-eyed pigeons in my day-to-day and more actual wildlife. I'm kinda loving it. The same bird pops around my fire escape every morning at seven-ish; I couldn't tell you what kind he is, but he's very distinctive. He's got a fat little body and a shrill little scream, and I have decided to call him Gerald.

Done! But the question is, do I feel any better? Um. Hard to say just yet, but I do feel slightly less tired! That's just as good, right? Right?

...

Dammit.