10.31.02
Go team me -- I went out to Ontario last night as planned. Got out of work at five-thirty, sat in traffic for an hour and a half, worried that I was going to run out of gas in traffic, hung out, drove home. Walked in the door at eleven-thirty.
Today I am completely thrashed. Beyond tired. I feel like I've been out all night partying; like I've danced for too long; like I've just concluded yet another torrid tryst with my sexy, ambiguously-intentioned vampire lover. I sat at my work PC today, just staring blankly at the monitor. It took me twice as long as usual to update the network's virus definitions because I'd stop in the middle and not remember what the hell I was doing.
There was a time when I could do this -- when I came out here for school, I discovered that clubbing starts on Thursday night. I'd come home at three or four and be in class by eight. It wasn't that long ago. What happened?
Anyway, I've closeted myself in the guest room, where I can be very very quiet and sit very very still. My boyfriend has the candy and will be greeting the trick-or-treaters. Which is a shame in a way, because right now I'm probably the scariest thing they could hope to encounter.
10.28.02
So today I rushed home from work so I could get my car's oil changed. It would be a stretch to do it during lunch time, and that whole 'getting my alloted hour' issue is still a little clouded. I'm all proud of myself for not wussing out and going home, because that's what I usually do. Because I'm lazy. But I have to drive a fair distance Wednesday and wanted to get the oil taken care of before then.
The EZ Lube closed at six! Six at night! What's up with that? Who has that kind of schedule? Momentarily stymied, I then took this as evidence that the little mechanic boys (just as cute as Valerie promised) agreed with me that it is an affront to humanity I'm expected to work all day long.
I came home and ordered pizza and discovered I was too stressed to eat it (not due to the oil change thing, just your everyday, run-of-the-mill free-floating anxiety). I'm going to watch Season 2 Spike now to restore my self-confidence. Also, if you're a great big ball of tension and don't have BadAss!Spike at your disposal, allow me to suggest mr. monkeybottoms' blog, in particular the entry on "Why the devil is really scary!" mr. monkeybottoms makes me laugh and laugh. I'm gonna make her my bitch.
Oh! And if you see me sitting online Wednesday night after 6 p.m. PST -- yell at me that I'm supposed to be in Ontario for dinner. Thank you.
10.26.02
I'm sitting on the couch, reading fanfic and playing with Photoshop. My boy and our friend Mike are on the other couch, playing 'Max Payne' on the X-Box. We're passing around a couple of bags of chips while the steaks marinate. Mike's 6'6" and a bouncer on the Strip but we both agree that I could so totally kick his ass. I'm hoping he and my boyfriend will get really plastered and I can take compromising pictures of them but so far they're too busy having intense discussions about imaginary weaponry to even touch the beer.
Just a quiet afternoon. I have good people in my life.
Miss Murchison's Chiaroscuro has been nominated for an award by One Good Lay. It's a clever, compassionate depiction of Spike, Buffy and the rest of the Scoobies -- balm to the soul after some of the recent events on the show. Also, her Buffy is funny and intelligent in a very believable way.
10.23.02
I added Chapter 2 of The Down Below. Like Chapter 1, this installment is also freaky-ass and disturbing.
So the other night the boy and I got a dozen Krispy Kreme donuts. (It's cheaper that way. Shut up.) And of course we made short work of them, except -- there's one left. It's an original glazed, my favorite kind and not one that he'd turn down either. But it's sitting on the kitchen counter, in the box it came in, and neither of us are touching it. I keep thinking that something happened to it, like it fell on the floor or a spider laid eggs inside, and that's why my boyfriend hasn't eaten it. And now I'm wondering if he thinks the same thing.
It's haunting me, this donut; it's become like a third person sharing our apartment. I don't even look directly at it anymore; I'm too afraid. Each day that passes its power grows.
10.22.02
I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who said nice things about 'The Down Below', even though it's creepy and a little disturbing. Bad Dawn! She's making Spike cry! We can't have that.
Anyway, thanks again. Also, leaving a blanket response to everyone seems weird. What's the LiveJournal etiquette on replying to individual posts? Someone please tell me. I'm hopelessly out of the loop.
More 'Down Below' coming soon. Must get Spike out of the basement, damn it! And also make him not crazy.
10.20.02
Last night, for the first time since I moved into this apartment fourteen months ago, I used the stove. I made macaroni and cheese. It was good, although an awful lot of trouble for not much food. The lack of adequate sustenance forced me to finish off the cookies. Thanks again, Dad.
I also uploaded the first chapter of my Season 7 Spike/Dawn fic, The Down Below. It's a bit odd; I'm not sure how I feel about it.
Finally, I've decided that I'm going to hassle my best friend to get a LiveJournal. She's one of the most amazing people to ever exist, and I'm speaking totally objectively.
10.18.02
This morning I put on my pink piggy socks, and told myself today I wasn't going to stress about anything. I didn't, and I'm convinced that the socks made the difference. Unfortunately there's not a lot they go with, and you know how I feel about the matching.
I think I'm going to have cookies for dinner again tonight. Did you know that you can't send postage stamps to prisoners? They're considered currency (the stamps, not the prisoners, unless you're watching 'OZ').
10.17.02
I think I've figured out part of my blogging conflict. On days like this, when I'm just so over everything and all I can seem to think about is why Person X is talking shit about me and how the heck did I not get home until eight p.m. and I have to call Southern California Edison and politely inquire as to how two people who are never home manage to incur a $175 electric bill -- I want to vent but it all sounds so whiny and petulant. And I tell myself, "I can't complain in today's blog. I complained yesterday about the email." Then I think, like with the Person X thing: none of the people reading this know the whole situation, so what if they just decide that I'm a paranoid malcontent?
(Just for the record, I'm not. Person X is a venomous bitch who considers gossiping to be a competitive sport. And I know that my friend thought she was helping, but I would just as soon not have known what was being said about me. Because knowing that Person X is bitter and unhappy and vindictive and poisonous does not make me feel better. It just makes me angry, that the rest of the world is going to have to always compensate for the fact that her behavior is rooted in the worst of human impulses while other people at least try to operate from a somewhat better place. Even if it's difficult. Sorry. Rambling now.)
I hope nobody ever feels like if I post nonsense like this, I expect a response. I love getting comments and leaving comments, but I also know that sometimes I take a brief departure from the land of the sane. Usually I attempt to make with the humor (I've got some hysterical bulimia and cutting anecdotes) but sometimes it's just ranting.
My dad sent me cookies. The box was at my door when I came home tonight. I cannot tell you how much this meant to me. Dad, I love you. I'm having the cookies for dinner, along with some salami.
I'm trying to work on this very odd Spike/Dawn fic that has popped into my head. I think Dawn gets short shrift on the show. My Dawn kicks some ass.
10.16.02 -Evening
Well, lucking f*cking me -- I certainly have something to blog about today. I just deleted every single message in my Yahoo! mailbox. Every one. "How did you do that, Piglet?" you ask incredulously. Well, I wanted to delete one message (from the A&E Online Store, if you must know). Except I accidentally hit the box where you select every message. But I had already hit 'delete' when I did that. Panicking, I went immediately to my Trash folder -- well, I meant to, anyway. Instead I clicked on the 'Empty' button located right next to the Trash link. Stupid, stupid, stupid. A cavalcade of errors resulting in me losing a shitload of really, really good email conversations.
(Sniffle) It's not fair.
10.16.02
You know, I think this LiveJournal thing verges on dangerous. When I was just blogging on the web page I didn't care what I wrote, because I figured like, three people were reading it. Now this whole interaction/review thing makes me all self-conscious. Is it possible to be insecure about one's online persona? Can one be annoying even over the Internet?
I downloaded this week's 'Angel'. Lilah, I love you. "Evil errands." Hee! Those are the same kind I do during my lunch break. Which I have, again -- I talked to my boss yesterday, because I'd been feeling pressured to work through lunch. I did for about a month, but the atmosphere there can get a bit tense and I really needed the break. I initially asked him if I could go onto an hourly pay rate -- that way nobody could give me the stink-eye if I took an hour. He was very cool and emphasized that I am entitled to an hour lunch, whether I'm on hourly or salary, and that anyone who doesn't take that is making an individual choice. I knew all that, but it was very nice not to have to tell him.
10.13.02
I just got back from a wedding. This one didn't depress me like the last one, but I still got all paranoid when they did that bouquet-throwing thing and almost hid under the table. Luckily my boyfriend's a pretty big guy, so he blocked any view of me not participating in this timeless ritual. When and if I get the pictures developed maybe I'll put them up. We looked quite nice if I do say so myself. I couldn't wear my pretty strapless number, because of the current lack of cleavage. So I wore my little black coatdress, which also hung off me unattractively. But then, feeling frisky and defiant (tm Caille) I wore a phenomenally padded bra underneath and it kind of gave me a figure.
A conversation my boy and I had during the reception:
*******
Serpentine: Uh...yeah. I think so.
*******: That's got to be him. (Nodding across the room.)
Serpentine: It's not. That guy's not gay.
*******: Please.
Serpentine: He's not. He hit on me at Shark Club a few months ago. During the engagement party.
This is the part where my boyfriend should realize how wrong he is. Because to insinuate that some guy was hitting on me while secretly liking men is insulting in a way that I haven't figured out yet, but which exists nonetheless.
*******: Maybe he doesn't know he's gay.
Serpentine: Hello? He's not gay. He wanted to hook up with me.
*******: Uh-huh.
Later on in the evening, my boy admitted that he might have been mistaken. His reasoning? He saw the gentleman in question on the dance floor, and "he has no rhythm."
| Oh! And in other news, 'Roundabout' was nominated for a Halo Award. I don't know anything about any of the 'Buffy' fanfic awards, except seeing banners on other writer's sites. Will investigate further. Thank you, Halo people! |  |
10.11.02
Hello. My name is Serpentine (sometimes) and I am addicted to computer equipment.
I have a fetish for the stuff, I really do. I constantly want to buy memory and extra hard drives and casing and docking ports and blah blah blah. Every computer I see, I want. I thumb through those wholesale-electronics catalogs like they're this month's Playgirl. I convince myself that I need a third computer. I even lust after CAT-5 cables.
The reason I bring this up is because I'm debating whether or not wirelessly network my house. On the one hand no more tripping over the aforementioned cables. On the other hand, I suspect I'll sacrifice some speed. Anyway, I had the best of intentions when I went looking for the router, but now my head is being turned by all sorts of goodies. Honestly, I could use another laptop....
10.09.02
I was very hungry when I got home today because all I had to eat was an Extra Value Meal (quarter pounder with cheese and extra mayo, Super-Size fries) and some Twix and red licorice. And I'm all salivating, because I'm going to make myself a ham sandwich, right? Imagine my horror upon discovering that I'm out of my special ingredient (ham). But it gets worse: I opened up the cabinet to pull out some Top Ramen instead, and --
What-ever. Work's been really stressful lately, and I'm soliciting advice. When you're in a situation that is somewhat anxiety-producing on its own, how do you stop yourself from freaking out the rest of the way? I'm not explaining this properly, so bear with me. It's kind of like a snowball rolling downhill, at least for me -- once the tension exists, I immediately start seeing it everywhere, thereby making things worse for myself. The crap that's already there I can't do anything about, but obviously I can prevent myself from imagining more. So I appeal to you. Any suggestions? And "Eat your way into a stupor" is totally valid.
Now, I would like to finish this entry on a lighter note:
Question: Piglet/Serpentine, how British is your boyfriend?
Answer: My boyfriend is so British that last night, he put a gimongous spoonful of mayonnaise onto his turkey pot pie. What is that? What?
So, all weekend I was all trembly-lipped over the emails I keep getting regarding the wild, esoteric, mysterious ending of 'Roundabout'. I couldn't even bring myself to answer any of them, and I'm usually good about responding to feedback. Because, you know, I've kind of got no life. And I just dreaded the idea of writing back -- did I attempt to justify the ending? Did I very subtly and tactfully (well, for me) suggest that sending verging-on-bitchy messages that contain criticism based on "I didn't like what you did" rather than concrete technical, plot or characterization issues is perhaps just a tad inappropriate and reveals a rather over-developed sense of entitlement? Okay, I never considered that last part. 'Cause, hello, waaaay too wordy.
But I surprised myself when I sat down to address the most pointed of them. As if by crack-magic, graciousness flowed from my fingers. I was polite! Not bitter! Who knew I had it in me?
In other, less self-aggrandizing news, Sisabet has boarded the Spuffy 'ship. I am aglow at the prospect of Spuffy videos from her. She's already promised to do them, but I may offer her sexual favors anyway. Just to be on the safe side.
10.06.02
So, the bad news is that the ending of 'Roundabout' was not universally enjoyed. I've gotten a lot of emails (and reviews) along the lines of, "What the f*ck? How could you end it that way?" I was moderately surprised, because although there is an unresolved plot point in the story, it's regarding a character in whom the audience had nothing invested -- her first appearance was in the last scene of the last chapter. I've been kind of thrown by the response. (Needless to say, the sweet people at Valerie's forum wrote nice things about the story, which made me feel better.)
10.01.02
The Solicitation
Please make me feel better about tonight's episode. Apparently I'm the only person on the planet who didn't enjoy 'Beneath You', and I want some of this goodwill spread my way. Email me, post at Valerie's forum, I don't care. But talk me out of this.
The Harshing
For the first half hour I was rolling my eyes and sighing loudly at UseMe!Spike. Yay, I thought. Another season of Buffy's bitch. Then, for a brief, shining moment -- he went evil again! I thought the sock to Anya's jaw was a bit unwarranted -- I wish it had been Xander -- but hey, that's Evil!Spike for you. He's a pistol!
Oh, but Piglet speaks too soon. Spike accidentally punctures some dolt who's been slapping around his girlfriend, aaaaand we're back. Back to Crazy!Spike. Not to be confused with MerelyTormented!Spike we saw in the previous episode, 'Lessons'. Crazy!Spike is another animal altogether (and still not the animal I want warming my bed at night). Crazy!Spike shouts, embarrasses himself in front of This Week's Guest Star, and speaks in a child-like voice about his and Buffy's sexual exploits during Season 6, thereby rendering them abruptly and utterly un-erotic.
In the end, Buffy discovers Spike's recent spiritual acquisition. I guess she could have reacted worse, but her whole "Why?" attitude made me want to bang my head against the wall until I was as barmy as our hero. 'Cause you know that now she's going to regard him with a mixture of pity and horror, and that's just not conducive to the shagging. Spike's speech at the end -- I'm downloading the scene now to watch it again, and try to extract some feeling of yummy tragedy that I didn't get the first time. Wish me luck.