there was a young woman from boobville ...

I think I'm going to hold off on writing any more poetry until after this weekend, just so that I can get my homework done and work on editing Monsters. But I've got enough done right now where I don't have to write anymore before next class if I don't want to. So for now I've got:

- Face(it)book
- Spoiled
- First Visit to the Gay Bar
- Invisible

The culmination of my Creative Writing class is supposed to be a portfolio featuring five poems and one fiction story that's at least five pages long. I am trying very, very, VERY hard not to think, "Uh, I could make one of those portfolios every week."

Basically, I need the Overachieving Student Fairy to come to my place and whack me over the head with her wand.

This is another poem I wrote today. I may or may not use it for next weekend's class, but we'll see. I have a feeling I'll write more poems between now and then.

(I totally blame my teacher for this sudden OMG MUST WRITE ALL THE POETRY jones. He's kind of awesome.)

*

First Visit to the Gay Bar

In the parking lot she asks,
“Can I tell them I'm with you?”
And I shrug because – well, why not?
Tell them we met online on some quirky blog
For biker chicks or knitters.
Tell them we saw each other at that Thai place,
That I picked out all my peanuts
And you scattered them on your salad.
If anyone asks,
Say we first kissed in your bedroom,
Sweet and silent and dear,
With your mom downstairs watching “Jeopardy”.
Make up some story about our first time,
How you'd never been with another girl
And you giggled as you fumbled
With my broken bra clasp.
They won't ask, but go ahead –
Tell them we march in parades,
Make lame jokes about U-hauls,
And show them pictures of our “kids,” the cats.
No one's going to check your credentials,
But you can kiss me if you want:
A light buss on the cheek,
Something more if you're brave.
Pretend we're engaged, or – hell,
Invite the bartender to our New York wedding.
We're getting married in a month –
We're in love,
Haven't you heard?
And if all else fails,
Hold onto my hand and just
Smile, smile, smile
If you're so damn afraid
Of another girl calling you beautiful.

In other words, I had my first creative writing class today! And this is what I wrote.

( Two haikus, one poem )

Dear rest of the country,

We need to have a serious discussion about your bigoted relative. You know the one. He's nice most of the time, and he's family, so regardless of what he might say in mixed company you still find a way to love him. That said, there's only so many times you can smack your forehead when your daughter brings her black boyfriend over and Racist Grandpa is in the middle of hiding the TV "just in case", or when your niece comes to Thanksgiving eight months pregnant and all alone and Misogynist Great-Uncle drops the word "slut" into casual conversation with a pointed look at her, or when your cousin's boy brings his nice new boyfriend over for the Fourth of July barbecue and Homophobic Sister starts avoiding his touch while mentioning AIDS.

Yeah, that douchebag. You know the one.

Rick Santorum is that douchebag.

Now, it's highly unlikely that he'll make it to the nomination, because you will hopefully learn the lesson that Pennsylvania learned quite nicely. Yes, he's a Christian, and yes, he's happily married and has the requisite four billion children. He's for traditional families. Alas, you will find that he's only for HIS traditional family. Fuck your traditional family if you're more of a Christmas-and-Easter Christian, fuck your traditional family if the fetus your wife is carrying is killing her and the only way to save her is a late-term abortion, fuck your traditional family if your idea of a traditional family includes being able to decide when you have your kids and how many you have.

Oh, and also, fuck gay people, women, anyone who's not white, and non-Christians. Well, certain Christians.

Oh, he looks innocuous. He's wearing a sweater vest! He has gay friends! (Marcus Bachmann counts, right?) And black friends! And he's married to a woman, and fathered some, so he doesn't actually HATE them ALL, right?

For one thing, he doesn't have black friends. He doesn't have gay friends. If you have black friends and gay friends, they are not your black and gay friends. They are your friends, and you know enough to know they're not a badge of honor to use to defend yourself against acting like a wanker.

Here is a list of things that Rick Santorum has compared to or associated with gay sex or gay marriage -- fucking a dog, loving your mother-in-law, marrying a napkin, proposing to forty-seven people, hooking up with a small child, the difference between a paper towel and a napkin, the difference between water and beer, the difference between a cup of tea and a basketball, asking to be poor, and 9-11.

How is he not clinically fucking insane?

The answer is simple, other 49 states. HE IS. (Don't even ask why we didn't commit him ourselves. I'm still trying to figure it out.)

Aside from the fact that his views on gay marriage and homosexuality tell us nothing about gay sex and about a million disturbing things about his own sex life, he is a total tosser. He's an idiot spank monkey, and his behavior only gets worse when you vote for him, because he sees it like it rightly is -- as approval to go out in public and be an even BIGGER tosser. Voting for him is like agreeing to have the biggest cursing drunken racist in your family to give the wedding toast at your reception. What, you were surprised when Grandpa announced to the room that your first boyfriend was black and then proceeded to tell ten minutes worth of jokes about the size of black men's dicks? You were shocked when Aunt Edith got up at your wedding and announced that at least this was a real wedding unlike your brother's marriage to Steve, which was a sick abomination unto the Lord? What the fuck did you expect them to say?

Republicans, I know your selection this year is ridiculously pathetic. I know that you don't like Obama -- there's nothing wrong with that; the man isn't perfect after all -- and I know that you'd like a good Republican in the White House. Rick Santorum isn't that good Republican. He's not even a good man. Most of the time, he fails at being a passable human. Whether he likes it or not, most of the time he's the walking pile of lube and fecal matter he wishes Google wouldn't say he first and foremost was.

Sincerely,

Pennsylvania

P.S. No, seriously, he sucks balls.

P.P.S. Whoever's balls he's been sucking, please come forward. We will thank you forever.

Alas, I have not gotten a chance to read almost anything than my own gift fic this year, but seeing as it was an amazing fic, I'm okay with that.

First off, calliopes_pen wrote me The Nosferatu Effect (My Best Friend Is A Vampire), which -- okay, if you have seen the movie, you NEED to read it. I've asked for the same prompt every other year or so, which is basically Jeremy years down the line, and whether he ever got to read through that book, and what happens if he runs into the Professor down the line. This story is everything I ever wanted from that prompt. Everybody from the movie gets a mention, and there's a sweetly realistic and in-character approach to what's happened to everybody since the movie ended. I highly recommend it. :)

As for my stories:

He Does Landscapes (Titanic), for Milady -- Milady asked for Rose fic, which I was thrilled about because Rose is my favorite character from the movie by far. This is in spite of the fact that James Cameron writes women as if he's never actually met or interacted with one and perhaps thinks they're mythical creatures, but you can get away with a lot when you cast Gloria Stuart and Kate Winslet. That said, I rewatched the movie again and again and again, and inevitably I was drawn by old Rose's line about how it's been 84 years and she can still smell the fresh paint. For all that I loathe James Cameron as a writer, it's a great line, because of course the paint smell would stick with someone who sculpts and paints and has exquisite taste in art. After that, I just went off on the paint-as-a-metaphor tangent.

Patience (The Lost Boys), for fourfreedoms -- I kept an eye out on the pinch-hit list just in case there was anything that begged for me to write it, and fourfreedoms's Lost Boys prompt called to me. It was basically Michael/Sam, which I was totally up for (seriously, they are super-slashy movie), but then I got piled on by plotbunnies when she mentioned that Sam and Michael's relationship was probably hat attracted her to Sam and Dean. Then I couldn't get the picture of the two of them piling into Grandpa's car and going off to fight vampires out of my mind.

Aaaaaaaaand now it's time for me to go edit. Again. My work is never, ever, EVER done, it seems. *sigh*

Dear Yuletide Santa,

Hi! As per usual, I am very happy that you're writing for me and I can guarantee that I will be grateful for whatever you write.

That said, I'd prefer a good story over something that desperately sticks to my desires even though it makes you uncomfortable. If you feel like you've got an even better idea in the same fandom, go nuts. There's only one fandom where I'd really prefer you stick to the pairing I requested, but since it's the whole point of the movie I figure you probably have no problem writing them anyway. ;)

Latter Days -- I just want Christian/Aaron fic, that's all. I'd prefer post-film, as angst-free as the poor boys can get, and hopelessly in love. I want them to be happy. They didn't get to do happy very much during the movie, the poor things.

My Best Friend Is A Vampire -- I'd just like it to focus on Jeremy and be set now, twenty-five years or so after the events of the movie. I'd also love an appearance by the Professor, because HA, David Warner, and it amused me at the end that they turned him and he was suddenly all, "Yay, vampires!"

The Stand -- Okay, to be honest, when it comes to The Stand, I'm open to anything. It's my favorite book ever and I end up reading all of the Stand stories that come out every Yuletide anyway. However, what I'd really like to see is Stu and Fran and the kids getting along up in Maine, before they go back to Colorado, assuming they ever DO go back to Boulder. What's it like growing up in this world where everybody's gone and there's all these empty houses where people used to live?

I'm not really turned off by much, really. If I had to pick, I'd probably just request avoiding rape, non-con, and underage stuff.

Thanks again! :)

Sincerely,

Me

*

Also, Heroine Addiction made the list of Yuletide fandoms.

... :D

So, about last night ...

( Work of Art )

*

( Top Chef Texas )

This is the cover I pre-ordered for my Kindle Fire.

It looks like an old book! Like a pretty, pretty old book! I'm just going to try and pretend like I won't be a little disappointed because I already know it won't smell like old books.

Alas, while I will be getting paid right before that ships out and therefore I'll have the money when the cover ships out, I don't have any money until I get paid this week. Apparently the $125 I thought was Sheetz dicking around with my checking account to make sure I had the money for the gas I paid for on Friday was actually the telephone company dinging my account for the $125 charge I paid towards it three freaking days earlier. Which is hella-annoying considering the telephone company won't allow me to pay a bill over the internet until precisely when my check goes into my account, yet for some reason seems to dilly-dally about taking the damn money out of the account. It's a good thing that's not incredibly fucking frustrating.

However, the good news? My brother won his unemployment appeal! Which means I'm getting an extra $250! God only knows when I'll actually be getting that money from him, since he only got his decision letter yesterday, but STILL. \o/

Meanwhile, school! I'm getting straight A's all over the damn place. I'm doing better now than I did in high school, and I was a brown-nosing geek in high school. :)

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Pumpkin ice cream.
Pumpkin spice sauce.
Kool Whip.
Crumbled ginger snaps.

OM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM NOM.

I need to buy sooooo many containers of that pumpkin ice cream before it goes away for the winter. I wish they'd keep it around all year long. It's happy-making. Except when there's no more. :(

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I need to get a sewing pattern of this dress or something as close to it as possible so I can make, like, twenty different copies in different colors.



It's the most comfortable thing I own, I could wear it every damn day, and it works in the summer with flip flops or in the winter with a long sweater and nice toasty knee-high socks.

I guess I'm going to research the HELL out of the pattern websites tonight to see if I can find a pattern. I'm not even joking. I'm wearing the dress like now and I feel both pretty AND like I'm in my PJs.

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