rave unto the pop fantastic
Aug. 2nd, 2002 10:28 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanBack on the homefront, which ought to be all yay for rent-free living and mom's food but isn't, because I miss the girls already.
I went out on a limb four years ago and asked if anyone on the XFR list residing in the Los Angeles area wanted to grab lunch during my week-long California excursion. That's how I met pierydys, and the rest, well... the rest was fortuitous coincidence, mutual good taste, and constructively-channeled obsessive tendency. One time for eminently fuckable boys uniting a cause, interestingly enough.
Spending almost a week with people who use the words 'badfic' and 'slash' in ordinary conversation was utterly surreal and completely freeing. I mean, this isn't exactly stuff that comes up in normal conversation with people you meet in realtime. Being for gay rights is one thing - being for gay sex to the point of writing it yourself isn't something that (I'd venture) most people embrace. For the hundred millionth time, I can't express appreciation enough for Miranda, but generally, my meta-life is pretty exclusive of my "real" one. With her, popfantastic and mimesere, and later alestar and pop_tarts, I got to be the all-inclusive version of me. The exhibitionist within is still positively flushed in afterglow.
Leaving on Friday, I knew only that I'd be getting to see one sorely missed West Coast chica and meet a couple of cool kids by association. There was vague mention of a "celebrity basketball game" at some point during the weekend, but nothing terribly specific. Now, I knew she was into PopSlash, and far be it for me to decry pretty, sparkly boys and wading in the shallow end of the self-amusement pool, but I didn't think much of it. I was going to see her, meet new people, maybe discuss writing and do the kind of loud, across-the-table gushing Miranda and I generally have to keep in hushed tones or behind closed doors.
The girls worked fast. Clever manipulation disguised as best intentions, and believe me, under their kind of assault, you'd more than willingly expose your belly too. It was a rudimentary immersion, but some 2400 pictures, fic recs numbering into the thirties, and all the music released to date with promises of videos and choice interview clips to come, by nine o'clock the same day they had me picking out baby pictures, vocal parts, and spouting trivia with the best of loyal TRL fans. A truly fabulous bunch all around. That and firsthand stories of Te, Livia, DebChan et al. kept me amused to no end. This world is so damn small it makes me giggle in unadulterated glee.
Here now, the good parts version of events:
-A steady diet of caramel-filled chocolate cups and Pixie Stix not only keeps you wired, but the sweetness actually helps dull the toothache one is liable to suffer looking at Justin for too long. Between the ghetto fabulous wardrobe and garish tattoo, I decided my preferences lie elsewhere. Carson agrees with me, which should be heard to be believed. He *gushes.*
-One should learn something new every day, and while I did my fair share of rapid absorption all around, I was away from my Word-A-Day mailings. The girls didn't let my brain rot though. I've at my fingertips a plethora of new gems such as TimberTrick and my new favorite mind candy, just because it's so twisted and surreal - SlimSlash. Exactly what you think it is.
-Meeting up with Al and Lise for dinner at Chili's, natch. We had outrageous fun. Plug for the great Cajun Chicken Sandwich here. There were two guys sitting across from the bench side of our table who looked downright baffled and positively bothered by this dinner (austensibly before sex) notion they'd apparently had and why aren't we in the bathroom, the car, anywhere but public where the most we can do is stare at each others' mouths, keeping our fingers tightly laced and our feet firmly planted on the floor by our respective seats because any sort of actual contact would only have inevitably un-PG rated consequences.
-I attended an *NSync event. And had way more fun than I could fake, which meant I enjoyed myself immensely. I owe Danielle Vance the biggest, most elaborate apology known to mankind. Referees cowering in fear from a couple of miffed boyband members. I about died laughing. Then again, having soft drinks dumped over my head, being held down and mock-beaten, then having bean bags lobbed at my person would probably humble me a little, too. Maybe not enough to keep from groping Joey back, but a little humbling, yes. Manpiles are grand fun, too. Especially in huge inflatable obstacle courses with everyone grabbing for each other's shorts all ending with an enthusiastic chant of "JoeC" for the two boys who were to decide the fate of the challenge.
-Gatorland, otherwise known as the single redeeming factor of all that time we spent in the wormhole vortex that is the city of Orlando. The town twists in on itself to the point that it befuddles even compasses. Anyhow, yes, incredibly tacky tourist trap with overpriced merchandise and mouth of the alligator entrance photo ops. I sat between the teeth and gave Miranda a call while I wasn't inside paying homage to air conditioning (which celebrated its centennial a few days ago) and scouting out a pair of boxer shorts with a fish and 'Nice Bass' written across the back. Which consequently ended up on Monday's edition of Access Hollywood being waved by Pierydys me screaming like a teenybopper. No one who knows me in real life and saw that will ever associate with me again. I had too much fun to care.
-Singing to "Stop! In the Name of Love" with the Hard Rock Cafe hostesses. Dancing to "I'm A Slave For You" en route to our table. The Stones in sailor suits giving me criminally delicious thoughts. Word to Al for the *NSYNC card calendar now occupying my wallet's license slot. Slash as an outlet for bisexual women. The surprising goodness of Austin Powers: Goldmember. Driving back to the hotel, not lost for the first time in two days, blasting "Tearin' Up My Heart," officially the new Song In My Head. The girls really were *very* indulgent with me about that.
-The basketball game itself managed to be more amusing than the "skills challenge" of Saturday. Poor J.C. - even with Chris on the microphone (or maybe directly because) drawling his name. Joey thankfully relieved Pat O'Brien of his mic as well, so the commentary became a lot more colorful after that. Whole lotta fondling and ass-slapping went down.
"Dude, I know you're on my team, but you picked the wrong guy to go after."
-Chris Kirkpatrick to one of the Harlem Globetrotters who (fouled?) Justin Timberlake. Really though, you just *don't* do that in a crowded auditoriumful of screaming girls ready to do anything security will let slide prove their devotion.
-Nelly performed "Hot In Here" during the halftime show. You just haven't lived until you've heard a stadiumful of teenage girls chanting "I am getting too hot, I wanna take my clothes off." And as Nia already quoted: "Unless the Daze could score a twenty-five poin -- oh, well. Thanks, Justin." The Daze deserved to win. Those last 14.7 seconds should've been forgone with dignity and sportsmanlike grace by the Knights. He really pulled it out during that last quarter; hell, those last 20 seconds. 156 to 155 when he made that third half-court basket. I don't think anyone sat down for the rest of the game, and there may have even been booing of the decision to continue playing. It really should've been Justin's game though.
-Beastmaster!Sync, as narrated by Sheila and Nia. I nearly fell out of my chair at least twice.
-Head-on synchronized rollercoasters will never get boring. Neither will Spider-Man. The Hulk even *sounds* mean, all low growls of metal and harsh whips of wind and I live for those few seconds of weightless bliss.
-Sweet Potato Cheesecake at the House of Blues. Had to try it for the sheer absurdity. It came drizzled with praline cream, and ended up being just that.
-Driving at 85 miles per hour with the top down and screaming Here We Go -over- the highest volume setting is fucking exhilarating. The fact that my shoulders burned in the span of that hour and did not even tan a little during an entire day spent at Islands of Adventure is just wrong.
*
To be completely honest, I still don't know how I feel about PopSlash. Real-person fic has that morbid fascination factor to it, yes; however, it's mostly written by junior high schoolers, and not terribly well on the whole, so I've never taken it seriously. PopSlash, however, is written by people I take to heart in another fandom. Apologies for even thinking up the parallel, but I suppose you could liken it to a devout romance novel reader finding out that Danielle Steele has a hand in Saturday Night Live skits. People are entitled and in fact encouraged to be multifaceted, but I think everyone is at least a little shocked to spot their math teacher at Sam Goody or walk in on their parents - it's not how you know them. But this is good, because these are established people writing clearly legit, not bad, fic. I'm just trying to figure it out. Does the real person facet not matter? The way I've been looking at it is that it's the members of *NSYNC in the stories, not Joshua Chasez or Lance Bass, etc., the real people who play them in the recording studio and on the concert stage. Snafu there is the proliferation of Alternate Universe stories in the fandom, Greek Gods and Chicago mafia casts played by the boys without a single drum machine or pot of glitter eyeshadow to be found.
Sigh. It feels like empty calories. Empty calories and NutraSweet and the airy fluff that gives popcorn and whipped cream its integrity, which is but sweet nothingness after all. Redeeming factors? If you're a believer, we're writing what's going on behind the scenes anyway; if you've got faith, we're letting them lead the lives international popstardom, trashy tabloids who pay money for celebrity sex stories, and a mostly young teenage girl fan base won't allow them. Which could also go toward explaining the proliferation of AU stories... But if that same theory is put toward proving that it's about objectification of the boys, we're back to the root of my quandary.
Something else entirely - why is it that PopSlash seems to be so heavily relationship-oriented, to the point where the sex is glossed over or omitted altogether? Coming from Mulder/Scully, then Buffy/Spike, and now Lex/Clark, all of which have been predominantly (no pun intended) sexualized in their own ways, it's new to find a fandom so heavily into just the companionship aspect, then getting them together and keeping them that way rather than the come-what-may desperation exhibited in the aforementioned. Personal tastes aside, sex is a very significant part of any romantic relationship. To gloss over it, omit it, have it become a non-issue is like not dealing with an important facet of not only the Gestalt between the two people, but the individuals themselves. Stuff comes out in sex, for the better and worse. It's pretty much the most honest that people get. Is it because the boys are more stable people on more equal ground and therefore better lend themselves to togetherness? Is it their relative youngness that precludes that kind of objectification? I'd tend to side with Joey on the issue of it being "all about the music," but what then? I feel like I'm missing something vital and utterly simple.
Then again, I could well be taking this whole thing way too seriously, and if that's the case, then any one of you may feel free to thwap me upside the head and tell me to just enjoy the view.
It really is a shame that Lance was in Russia. From everything they've told me, I get the impression I'd like him the most, pathological insincerity and Devil spawn demeanor included. Joey is a close second though. I think Sheila predicted that I'd be a JoLa person on the first night. Which is interesting. Do I seem either masochistic or in need of a protective big brother type? Wait, don't anyone answer that. I'm sticking with the fact that I found Lance the most attractive of all of them right from the start combined with my first fic being Fragile by Julad and the angsty, tortured, wanting to do right but fucking up at every step Lance characterization I can't even pretend to be able to resist.
Jon really seems to be getting the censor-free version of me usually reserved for less lucid (read: alcohol-induced) actions, LiveJournal, and AIM conversation tangents. But it's like my reticular formation just hangs up the 'Back In Five' sign and lets Id and Superego loose every time we meet up lately. About anything. Everything. Nothing important. World-shifting dychotomies. I just open my mouth, and one thing seems to flow right into another until my breathing becomes a little hard and I'm sipping between words simply so my vocal chords won't be raw the next morning. I'm almost never like that. The occasional snide comment or errant observation, but not monopolizing like that. I hope he doesn't mind. He keeps saying he has a great time, so I'm just gonna go with it. He'd tell me to shut up if it was in order. Also, I never "settle" for you or think of you as a surrogate someone else while we're talking - when I'm with you, it's because there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Just wanted to clarify that.
Now if you'll excuse me, there's a week's worth of jenn, new Kitty Fisher (I am an aptly-titled Blood Sports devotee, though I wonder if she had Creance in mind when she named the series at its outset), The Spike, Thamiris, Pearl-o, Shrift, and ingrid and I am just not that strong. Also, my body clock might actually have readjusted to something resembling reasonable, so let's try and stick with that theme, eh?
And that's so me eating my own holier than not even earthworm words in the music line. I think I need an impartial jury to tell me it's okay to actually like the music. Deconditioning is a process.
*
Fuck. It's 4:25. On a more orgasmic prospect, Sleep While I Drive is in beta as we speak. I try not to wring my hands or bounce on my heels too obviously, but damn if I can restrain the anticipatory whimpers. Me? Whore for jenn? Surely you've been reading my journal.
*
A vendetta I tell you. Five-thirty. I've got it out for myself in a bad way. Thoughts of Lex musing about the fuckability of morning weathergirls and Brownie Bites might be making up for it though.
*
They really do sound lovely acapella. I could listen to More Than A Feeling all day.
*
How old is too old to ogle fifteen year-olds? I almost felt pervy drooling at this Lance.
*
*NSYNC Slash Primer. Upon reading that Lance is also known as "The Flaming Gay Lizard," I made a sound outrageous enough that my puppy (currently, and I should add rather tolerantly, perched on my lap) actually picked up her head to regard me with a look that said either "Should I go get your mother?" or "Bitch, trying to sleep here. You've got them playing on WinAmp, you're typing about them next to my ears, give me a break already." We rubbed noses and all was well.
P.S. Check out her icon. Nuff said.
*
Y'all need to go check out alestar's latest entry (06.13.02). Best single-paragraph anything I've ever read.
*
jenn has posted her finished Lex/Lana piece. No, we will not discuss the disturbing trend my pairing ideas have taken on these past few days. I've got half a Lex/Lance plot that will *not* ever be anything more.
I *swear* it.
Miraaaaandaaaaaaaaa. Come home, darling. My good sense needs reinforcements. Even if Lance is closer to Lex in age and they've both got that potential evil vibe and a way with wearing suits and those lying eyes and god help me but this just might happen. Someone post a rec and tell me I wouldn't be the first to inflict this pairing on the world.
*
Spend the rest of your life with in perfect bliss:
-Lestat de Lioncourt. The reasons are varied and myriad.
Have an emotionally void but wicked hot one-night stand with:
-Lex Luthor, in all his half-unbuttoned pale lavender dress shirt over leather pants self. There'd be prowling, designer drugs, and every room of his penthouse involved. TMI is what I do, kids.
Set up with your best friend:
-Brian Kinney. No, I don't hate my best friend.
Get wasted with:
-Niles Crane. Just so he'd either finally confess that he's "gayer than Christmas" or tell me about his undoubtedly raunchy past.
Employ as a live-in masseuse:
-Dana Scully. All that doctorate degree knowledge could finally be put to practical use.
Use as a human pillow:
-Clark Kent. Luxury at its ample, broad-shouldered best.
Bring home to meet the 'rents:
-Joey Fatone. My stepfather would instantly approve, though I don't know if that's on the merit of his being Italian or the blatant masculinity. He'd be the role model my little brother never had, and my mum's an adorable sucker for charming boys.
Tie up in your basement and kick when you're feeling frustrated:
-Jonathan Kent. I've ranted enough about that man in all media this past week that I feel this choice needs no explanation.
The madness ends now.
I went out on a limb four years ago and asked if anyone on the XFR list residing in the Los Angeles area wanted to grab lunch during my week-long California excursion. That's how I met pierydys, and the rest, well... the rest was fortuitous coincidence, mutual good taste, and constructively-channeled obsessive tendency. One time for eminently fuckable boys uniting a cause, interestingly enough.
Spending almost a week with people who use the words 'badfic' and 'slash' in ordinary conversation was utterly surreal and completely freeing. I mean, this isn't exactly stuff that comes up in normal conversation with people you meet in realtime. Being for gay rights is one thing - being for gay sex to the point of writing it yourself isn't something that (I'd venture) most people embrace. For the hundred millionth time, I can't express appreciation enough for Miranda, but generally, my meta-life is pretty exclusive of my "real" one. With her, popfantastic and mimesere, and later alestar and pop_tarts, I got to be the all-inclusive version of me. The exhibitionist within is still positively flushed in afterglow.
Leaving on Friday, I knew only that I'd be getting to see one sorely missed West Coast chica and meet a couple of cool kids by association. There was vague mention of a "celebrity basketball game" at some point during the weekend, but nothing terribly specific. Now, I knew she was into PopSlash, and far be it for me to decry pretty, sparkly boys and wading in the shallow end of the self-amusement pool, but I didn't think much of it. I was going to see her, meet new people, maybe discuss writing and do the kind of loud, across-the-table gushing Miranda and I generally have to keep in hushed tones or behind closed doors.
The girls worked fast. Clever manipulation disguised as best intentions, and believe me, under their kind of assault, you'd more than willingly expose your belly too. It was a rudimentary immersion, but some 2400 pictures, fic recs numbering into the thirties, and all the music released to date with promises of videos and choice interview clips to come, by nine o'clock the same day they had me picking out baby pictures, vocal parts, and spouting trivia with the best of loyal TRL fans. A truly fabulous bunch all around. That and firsthand stories of Te, Livia, DebChan et al. kept me amused to no end. This world is so damn small it makes me giggle in unadulterated glee.
Here now, the good parts version of events:
-A steady diet of caramel-filled chocolate cups and Pixie Stix not only keeps you wired, but the sweetness actually helps dull the toothache one is liable to suffer looking at Justin for too long. Between the ghetto fabulous wardrobe and garish tattoo, I decided my preferences lie elsewhere. Carson agrees with me, which should be heard to be believed. He *gushes.*
-One should learn something new every day, and while I did my fair share of rapid absorption all around, I was away from my Word-A-Day mailings. The girls didn't let my brain rot though. I've at my fingertips a plethora of new gems such as TimberTrick and my new favorite mind candy, just because it's so twisted and surreal - SlimSlash. Exactly what you think it is.
-Meeting up with Al and Lise for dinner at Chili's, natch. We had outrageous fun. Plug for the great Cajun Chicken Sandwich here. There were two guys sitting across from the bench side of our table who looked downright baffled and positively bothered by this dinner (austensibly before sex) notion they'd apparently had and why aren't we in the bathroom, the car, anywhere but public where the most we can do is stare at each others' mouths, keeping our fingers tightly laced and our feet firmly planted on the floor by our respective seats because any sort of actual contact would only have inevitably un-PG rated consequences.
-I attended an *NSync event. And had way more fun than I could fake, which meant I enjoyed myself immensely. I owe Danielle Vance the biggest, most elaborate apology known to mankind. Referees cowering in fear from a couple of miffed boyband members. I about died laughing. Then again, having soft drinks dumped over my head, being held down and mock-beaten, then having bean bags lobbed at my person would probably humble me a little, too. Maybe not enough to keep from groping Joey back, but a little humbling, yes. Manpiles are grand fun, too. Especially in huge inflatable obstacle courses with everyone grabbing for each other's shorts all ending with an enthusiastic chant of "JoeC" for the two boys who were to decide the fate of the challenge.
-Gatorland, otherwise known as the single redeeming factor of all that time we spent in the wormhole vortex that is the city of Orlando. The town twists in on itself to the point that it befuddles even compasses. Anyhow, yes, incredibly tacky tourist trap with overpriced merchandise and mouth of the alligator entrance photo ops. I sat between the teeth and gave Miranda a call while I wasn't inside paying homage to air conditioning (which celebrated its centennial a few days ago) and scouting out a pair of boxer shorts with a fish and 'Nice Bass' written across the back. Which consequently ended up on Monday's edition of Access Hollywood being waved by Pierydys me screaming like a teenybopper. No one who knows me in real life and saw that will ever associate with me again. I had too much fun to care.
-Singing to "Stop! In the Name of Love" with the Hard Rock Cafe hostesses. Dancing to "I'm A Slave For You" en route to our table. The Stones in sailor suits giving me criminally delicious thoughts. Word to Al for the *NSYNC card calendar now occupying my wallet's license slot. Slash as an outlet for bisexual women. The surprising goodness of Austin Powers: Goldmember. Driving back to the hotel, not lost for the first time in two days, blasting "Tearin' Up My Heart," officially the new Song In My Head. The girls really were *very* indulgent with me about that.
-The basketball game itself managed to be more amusing than the "skills challenge" of Saturday. Poor J.C. - even with Chris on the microphone (or maybe directly because) drawling his name. Joey thankfully relieved Pat O'Brien of his mic as well, so the commentary became a lot more colorful after that. Whole lotta fondling and ass-slapping went down.
"Dude, I know you're on my team, but you picked the wrong guy to go after."
-Chris Kirkpatrick to one of the Harlem Globetrotters who (fouled?) Justin Timberlake. Really though, you just *don't* do that in a crowded auditoriumful of screaming girls ready to do anything security will let slide prove their devotion.
-Nelly performed "Hot In Here" during the halftime show. You just haven't lived until you've heard a stadiumful of teenage girls chanting "I am getting too hot, I wanna take my clothes off." And as Nia already quoted: "Unless the Daze could score a twenty-five poin -- oh, well. Thanks, Justin." The Daze deserved to win. Those last 14.7 seconds should've been forgone with dignity and sportsmanlike grace by the Knights. He really pulled it out during that last quarter; hell, those last 20 seconds. 156 to 155 when he made that third half-court basket. I don't think anyone sat down for the rest of the game, and there may have even been booing of the decision to continue playing. It really should've been Justin's game though.
-Beastmaster!Sync, as narrated by Sheila and Nia. I nearly fell out of my chair at least twice.
-Head-on synchronized rollercoasters will never get boring. Neither will Spider-Man. The Hulk even *sounds* mean, all low growls of metal and harsh whips of wind and I live for those few seconds of weightless bliss.
-Sweet Potato Cheesecake at the House of Blues. Had to try it for the sheer absurdity. It came drizzled with praline cream, and ended up being just that.
-Driving at 85 miles per hour with the top down and screaming Here We Go -over- the highest volume setting is fucking exhilarating. The fact that my shoulders burned in the span of that hour and did not even tan a little during an entire day spent at Islands of Adventure is just wrong.
To be completely honest, I still don't know how I feel about PopSlash. Real-person fic has that morbid fascination factor to it, yes; however, it's mostly written by junior high schoolers, and not terribly well on the whole, so I've never taken it seriously. PopSlash, however, is written by people I take to heart in another fandom. Apologies for even thinking up the parallel, but I suppose you could liken it to a devout romance novel reader finding out that Danielle Steele has a hand in Saturday Night Live skits. People are entitled and in fact encouraged to be multifaceted, but I think everyone is at least a little shocked to spot their math teacher at Sam Goody or walk in on their parents - it's not how you know them. But this is good, because these are established people writing clearly legit, not bad, fic. I'm just trying to figure it out. Does the real person facet not matter? The way I've been looking at it is that it's the members of *NSYNC in the stories, not Joshua Chasez or Lance Bass, etc., the real people who play them in the recording studio and on the concert stage. Snafu there is the proliferation of Alternate Universe stories in the fandom, Greek Gods and Chicago mafia casts played by the boys without a single drum machine or pot of glitter eyeshadow to be found.
Sigh. It feels like empty calories. Empty calories and NutraSweet and the airy fluff that gives popcorn and whipped cream its integrity, which is but sweet nothingness after all. Redeeming factors? If you're a believer, we're writing what's going on behind the scenes anyway; if you've got faith, we're letting them lead the lives international popstardom, trashy tabloids who pay money for celebrity sex stories, and a mostly young teenage girl fan base won't allow them. Which could also go toward explaining the proliferation of AU stories... But if that same theory is put toward proving that it's about objectification of the boys, we're back to the root of my quandary.
Something else entirely - why is it that PopSlash seems to be so heavily relationship-oriented, to the point where the sex is glossed over or omitted altogether? Coming from Mulder/Scully, then Buffy/Spike, and now Lex/Clark, all of which have been predominantly (no pun intended) sexualized in their own ways, it's new to find a fandom so heavily into just the companionship aspect, then getting them together and keeping them that way rather than the come-what-may desperation exhibited in the aforementioned. Personal tastes aside, sex is a very significant part of any romantic relationship. To gloss over it, omit it, have it become a non-issue is like not dealing with an important facet of not only the Gestalt between the two people, but the individuals themselves. Stuff comes out in sex, for the better and worse. It's pretty much the most honest that people get. Is it because the boys are more stable people on more equal ground and therefore better lend themselves to togetherness? Is it their relative youngness that precludes that kind of objectification? I'd tend to side with Joey on the issue of it being "all about the music," but what then? I feel like I'm missing something vital and utterly simple.
Then again, I could well be taking this whole thing way too seriously, and if that's the case, then any one of you may feel free to thwap me upside the head and tell me to just enjoy the view.
It really is a shame that Lance was in Russia. From everything they've told me, I get the impression I'd like him the most, pathological insincerity and Devil spawn demeanor included. Joey is a close second though. I think Sheila predicted that I'd be a JoLa person on the first night. Which is interesting. Do I seem either masochistic or in need of a protective big brother type? Wait, don't anyone answer that. I'm sticking with the fact that I found Lance the most attractive of all of them right from the start combined with my first fic being Fragile by Julad and the angsty, tortured, wanting to do right but fucking up at every step Lance characterization I can't even pretend to be able to resist.
Jon really seems to be getting the censor-free version of me usually reserved for less lucid (read: alcohol-induced) actions, LiveJournal, and AIM conversation tangents. But it's like my reticular formation just hangs up the 'Back In Five' sign and lets Id and Superego loose every time we meet up lately. About anything. Everything. Nothing important. World-shifting dychotomies. I just open my mouth, and one thing seems to flow right into another until my breathing becomes a little hard and I'm sipping between words simply so my vocal chords won't be raw the next morning. I'm almost never like that. The occasional snide comment or errant observation, but not monopolizing like that. I hope he doesn't mind. He keeps saying he has a great time, so I'm just gonna go with it. He'd tell me to shut up if it was in order. Also, I never "settle" for you or think of you as a surrogate someone else while we're talking - when I'm with you, it's because there's nowhere else I'd rather be. Just wanted to clarify that.
Now if you'll excuse me, there's a week's worth of jenn, new Kitty Fisher (I am an aptly-titled Blood Sports devotee, though I wonder if she had Creance in mind when she named the series at its outset), The Spike, Thamiris, Pearl-o, Shrift, and ingrid and I am just not that strong. Also, my body clock might actually have readjusted to something resembling reasonable, so let's try and stick with that theme, eh?
And that's so me eating my own holier than not even earthworm words in the music line. I think I need an impartial jury to tell me it's okay to actually like the music. Deconditioning is a process.
Fuck. It's 4:25. On a more orgasmic prospect, Sleep While I Drive is in beta as we speak. I try not to wring my hands or bounce on my heels too obviously, but damn if I can restrain the anticipatory whimpers. Me? Whore for jenn? Surely you've been reading my journal.
A vendetta I tell you. Five-thirty. I've got it out for myself in a bad way. Thoughts of Lex musing about the fuckability of morning weathergirls and Brownie Bites might be making up for it though.
They really do sound lovely acapella. I could listen to More Than A Feeling all day.
How old is too old to ogle fifteen year-olds? I almost felt pervy drooling at this Lance.
*NSYNC Slash Primer. Upon reading that Lance is also known as "The Flaming Gay Lizard," I made a sound outrageous enough that my puppy (currently, and I should add rather tolerantly, perched on my lap) actually picked up her head to regard me with a look that said either "Should I go get your mother?" or "Bitch, trying to sleep here. You've got them playing on WinAmp, you're typing about them next to my ears, give me a break already." We rubbed noses and all was well.
P.S. Check out her icon. Nuff said.
Y'all need to go check out alestar's latest entry (06.13.02). Best single-paragraph anything I've ever read.
jenn has posted her finished Lex/Lana piece. No, we will not discuss the disturbing trend my pairing ideas have taken on these past few days. I've got half a Lex/Lance plot that will *not* ever be anything more.
I *swear* it.
Miraaaaandaaaaaaaaa. Come home, darling. My good sense needs reinforcements. Even if Lance is closer to Lex in age and they've both got that potential evil vibe and a way with wearing suits and those lying eyes and god help me but this just might happen. Someone post a rec and tell me I wouldn't be the first to inflict this pairing on the world.
Fandom Character You're Most Likely to:
Spend the rest of your life with in perfect bliss:
-Lestat de Lioncourt. The reasons are varied and myriad.
Have an emotionally void but wicked hot one-night stand with:
-Lex Luthor, in all his half-unbuttoned pale lavender dress shirt over leather pants self. There'd be prowling, designer drugs, and every room of his penthouse involved. TMI is what I do, kids.
Set up with your best friend:
-Brian Kinney. No, I don't hate my best friend.
Get wasted with:
-Niles Crane. Just so he'd either finally confess that he's "gayer than Christmas" or tell me about his undoubtedly raunchy past.
Employ as a live-in masseuse:
-Dana Scully. All that doctorate degree knowledge could finally be put to practical use.
Use as a human pillow:
-Clark Kent. Luxury at its ample, broad-shouldered best.
Bring home to meet the 'rents:
-Joey Fatone. My stepfather would instantly approve, though I don't know if that's on the merit of his being Italian or the blatant masculinity. He'd be the role model my little brother never had, and my mum's an adorable sucker for charming boys.
Tie up in your basement and kick when you're feeling frustrated:
-Jonathan Kent. I've ranted enough about that man in all media this past week that I feel this choice needs no explanation.
The madness ends now.
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Date: August 4th, 2002 06:08 am (UTC)maybe it's all the happy pop music
Date: August 4th, 2002 08:22 am (UTC)Ask me about the Musical. Go ahead. I dare ya.
In any event, yes, the WPD should burn in hell for what he'll do to our beloved dynamic duo, but I can't be bitter when there's people randomly bursting into song and dance to be written. I can make it all end happily, too. Hee.
Not bitter at all. ;)