Me.

I went through a drive through all by myself! I got to wait impatiently in a drive through and was too busy congratulating myself on the fact that I was doing it to actually be annoyed.

I was like "dang she is taking so long I've been sitting here like an authentic drive through patron for like ever."



And nooooo I haven't done this before. For one thing, I don't drive much if I can help it. It just makes me nervous because I don't like relying on my depth perception even though it's probably fine. What's more, when I go out in search of food by myself, I tend to go sit down at a table with a book for a while rather than carry my nutritional plunder home to pick through there, so it just... somehow hasn't come up.

Some fartknocker ran a red light in front of me when I was trying to leave, though, and we were both lucky the roads were actually pretty clean and dry. Nonetheless I honked my horn with mighty honking and told my car I appreciate what good care she takes of me and now I have mini-churros.

That's the story. I know, it's a thrill a minute over here.

Back in the long long ago, in the beforetime, kingofdoma asked me meme-questions here. The whole answering and fulfilment bit of this kept not occurring, but now it will!

1. What is your favourite novel?

Right now? I'm going to say Ender's Game, even though its author is a gay-hating fundie prick that you should never ever ever give money to, no matter what.

2. Pick a treasured person in your life, and tell me what you'd say for their eulogy.

Come on. Who'd you think I'd pick? Assuming I'd be there for it, anyway.

archmage_brian. He was everything that matters.

3. If you could go back in time and take a tire iron to any major philosopher, who would you bludgeon senseless, and why?

Kierkegaard. Because FUCK YOU Kierkegaard, that's why. Abraham's God made me do it.

4. What is your biggest problem with me? What about me would you have me change or at least look at more critically?

My biggest problem with you? Oh, dude. We hashed that over and discussed it and settled it years ago. I mean actual, literal, 360-something-day-long years. It will probably take you long thought to even remember wtf I'm talking about, which should be a clue as to how much bad blood there's ever really been between us.

If I wanted you to change who you were now? I wouldn't be friends with you.

5. Let's say you can only drink one brand of beer for all eternity. What brand is that, and what about it earns your eternal devotion?

Oh, hm. Off the top of my head? Kingfisher. It's a very lagery lager, and goes well with food or on a hot day without it.

The Gratitude Project was begun several years ago by a LiveJournal user called estaratshirai . The rules are simple. Every day between Lammas (August 1st) and Mabon (the Autumnal Equinox) one must find something to be grateful for in life. No repeats - one can be grateful to people more than once, but it has to be for different reasons.

Saturday:

I am grateful for this BellaVitano cheese that tastes like parmesan and feels like cheddar.

Sunday:

I'm grateful that the weather's supposed to be better this week, thus allowing me to resume paying my bills.

The Gratitude Project was begun several years ago by a LiveJournal user called estaratshirai . The rules are simple. Every day between Lammas (August 1st) and Mabon (the Autumnal Equinox) one must find something to be grateful for in life. No repeats - one can be grateful to people more than once, but it has to be for different reasons.

Saturday:

I am grateful for this BellaVitano cheese that tastes like parmesan and feels like cheddar.

Sunday:

I'm grateful that the weather's supposed to be better this week, thus allowing me to resume paying my bills.

This is from daisymaeevans, and I appreciated the fact that she posted it. I know there are a couple of people on my LJ who deserve to read it, too, so I'm passing it on. If you know someone who deserves this nice surprise, give it to them.

I don’t care if people think you’re fat.

If you are kind, generous and quick to forgive I don’t care what your scale says.

If you can create a dress, a song, a quilt, a scarf, a cake or a story I don’t care what size you wear.

If you can discuss current events, science, history, art and literature with knowledge and passion I don’t care how much ice cream you ate.

If you are a loyal friend who is always there for me when I need you and is not afraid to lean on me when you need me then I will put my arms around however much of you there is and never let go.

I don’t care what you look like. The important things always outweigh anything else.



So you go have a good day, and remember this.

[Error: unknown template qotd]

Sitting on my parent's couch, wrapped in a Mickey Mouse towel, waiting for my parents to finish shouting at each other. I don't know if I was waiting to take a bath or waiting to get dressed after one. I just remember waiting. I think I was two, because in other memories from that apartment I didn't know how to read and was aware of it. I learned to read around three, so yeah. Two.

Whenever I answer this question (and shrinks have asked me before) I always feel unforgivably melodramatic giving the real answer. I've considered making up something else, using some other memory from a slightly later time period, so that people won't give me the, "oh, you poor thing," look when they realize what I just said.

Ah, well. It's not actually a big deal, y'know? I bet lots of you remember your parents fighting later on when you were little. I just remember it first.

As for why it stands out, I don't know the answer. The other memories I have from that apartment include looking at the package for a plastic horse I kept for years (he was silvery grey and purple with a white mane and tail and I named him Cliff) and realizing that there was meaning in the markings on the package that I couldn't discern, but that if I took it to a grownup they'd be able to tell me what it said. Me finding my mother crying and remarking casually to her that I wasn't good at crying so quietly; I always made a lot more noise. I think she told me that grownups cry more quietly, and I accepted this as making perfectly good sense even though the implications of it didn't hit me until just now.

My biological father using a melonballer on some cantaloupe, or making me tuna fish. Very few memories of living with him; it wasn't a living arrangement that lasted very long.

I remember lining up my dolls on the floor at the end of my bed after I'd decapitated them brushing their hair. I matched the bodies to the heads in neat little rows so that my mother could put them back on for me.

A babysitter whose name I can't remember telling me that I wasn't going to be able to toast my Pop-Tart long enough to melt the frosting, that the crust part would melt long before the frosting did. I remember gravely accepting this as an indispensable piece of wisdom, a profound insight into the unexpected nature of things in this world. I've since passed it on more times than I can count, but I doubt anybody has been quite so impressed by the revelation as I was the first time I heard it, and some part of me is disappointed every time.

Random things. Maybe kids aren't great at deciding which memories are important. It's all shouting and plastic horses and Pop-Tarts with me.

[Error: unknown template qotd]

Sitting on my parent's couch, wrapped in a Mickey Mouse towel, waiting for my parents to finish shouting at each other. I don't know if I was waiting to take a bath or waiting to get dressed after one. I just remember waiting. I think I was two, because in other memories from that apartment I didn't know how to read and was aware of it. I learned to read around three, so yeah. Two.

Whenever I answer this question (and shrinks have asked me before) I always feel unforgivably melodramatic giving the real answer. I've considered making up something else, using some other memory from a slightly later time period, so that people won't give me the, "oh, you poor thing," look when they realize what I just said.

Ah, well. It's not actually a big deal, y'know? I bet lots of you remember your parents fighting later on when you were little. I just remember it first.

As for why it stands out, I don't know the answer. The other memories I have from that apartment include looking at the package for a plastic horse I kept for years (he was silvery grey and purple with a white mane and tail and I named him Cliff) and realizing that there was meaning in the markings on the package that I couldn't discern, but that if I took it to a grownup they'd be able to tell me what it said. Me finding my mother crying and remarking casually to her that I wasn't good at crying so quietly; I always made a lot more noise. I think she told me that grownups cry more quietly, and I accepted this as making perfectly good sense even though the implications of it didn't hit me until just now.

My biological father using a melonballer on some cantaloupe, or making me tuna fish. Very few memories of living with him; it wasn't a living arrangement that lasted very long.

I remember lining up my dolls on the floor at the end of my bed after I'd decapitated them brushing their hair. I matched the bodies to the heads in neat little rows so that my mother could put them back on for me.

A babysitter whose name I can't remember telling me that I wasn't going to be able to toast my Pop-Tart long enough to melt the frosting, that the crust part would melt long before the frosting did. I remember gravely accepting this as an indispensable piece of wisdom, a profound insight into the unexpected nature of things in this world. I've since passed it on more times than I can count, but I doubt anybody has been quite so impressed by the revelation as I was the first time I heard it, and some part of me is disappointed every time.

Random things. Maybe kids aren't great at deciding which memories are important. It's all shouting and plastic horses and Pop-Tarts with me.

So I was spazzing in this entry about what I'm gonna feed people for my handfasting. Thanks to the people who have suggested things, because I think I had my head locked into this track where we had to feed everybody a meal, and it was making me crazy. Thank you for giving me other options and helping me get my head on straight.

archmage_brian to the rescue!

"Let's just serve edamame, brie and boursin cheeses with crackers, and peanut butter gelato. That way we can make sure everyone has at least one food they're afraid to eat."



I love Brian. I'm so glad I'm with him. Obviously we can't actually do the peanut butter gelato because we have someone who can't even be in a room with peanuts without having an allergic reaction, but y'know. The principle is perfectly fucking sound. Wouldn't be our handfasting without weird munchies.

One of my lymph-nodes (left one under my chin) is all huge and sore. I don't know if it's sore because it's sore, or because it's the size of an almond and getting squished by the tiny normal-sized space it's still forced into.

Guess I'm probably either getting sick, narrowly avoiding getting sick thanks to an epically-self-sacrificing lymphatic system, or just getting over getting sick. In short, I have learned nothing. I am quite confused about this and would like it to stop.

On the up-side, gnocchi in a sauce made from reduced chicken stock, heavy cream, and balsamic vinegar = good!

One of my lymph-nodes (left one under my chin) is all huge and sore. I don't know if it's sore because it's sore, or because it's the size of an almond and getting squished by the tiny normal-sized space it's still forced into.

Guess I'm probably either getting sick, narrowly avoiding getting sick thanks to an epically-self-sacrificing lymphatic system, or just getting over getting sick. In short, I have learned nothing. I am quite confused about this and would like it to stop.

On the up-side, gnocchi in a sauce made from reduced chicken stock, heavy cream, and balsamic vinegar = good!