Warhead On Legs

( Gaeilge )

AHAHAHAHAHAAHA *sob* why is work so insane. It's not even Christmas rush insane, it's just everyone has taken leave of their senses insane. But I think, I think I managed to get everything into the box to ship today, card and all. Christmas card to follow. And if I'm very lucky I may be able to get my words done for Nerd Girls at work today, leaving me with just White Lightning to do when I'm home. Which makes this evening White Lightning and tidying night. Also, probably, feeding the stray cats. Not feeding them to ATMs though.

Of course, between writing that and finishing this entry Nelson Mandela died. I'm not sure what I feel moved to say. I remember my mother telling me about him when I was six because I'd confused his name for someone else's. I remember feeling elated and cheering when he was released without an in-depth appreciation for what had just happened, the precedent and the history behind it. Or at least not as much as I have now. I grew up in a very (for rich America) racially mixed area, in a couple very polite and aware schools, and that's what you did when righteous and good people who argued for freedom and liberty and democracy were released from prison. You cheered, you celebrated. And I do now, re-reading his quotes and his autobiography and so on, but I guess with more life behind me and more awareness of what it means. More context.

I guess what all this amounts to saying is that he was and is inspirational. He fought so hard, against the world and other people and himself, I suspect, in some ways. And he endured, and he made mistakes, and he said a number of very true things. And I hope his life continues to inspire.

Rest well, Nelson Mandela. You've more than earned it.

( Russian )

And then I need to do corrections on the other. Oh god, why am I doing two serials at once. In a way. Okay, we'll call it several serials, because the hell with the fairies for now I have no idea what's happening next. We'll start something else! I'll figure out where the fairies are going later. Too sleepy can barely brain in English.

I don't even with my old fucking town today. The most chaotic news I've heard out of there is that there were three shooters, one incapacitated in some way and two on the loose, and six dead, ten shot. I have no idea how accurate this is as of this writing, that's just the last I heard. I'm tired. I'm tired of these fucking morons insisting that everyone has a right to the kind of guns our founding fathers couldn't have dreamed of at the time, I'm tired of people putting their mental and physical comforts above the safety and well-being of others. I'm tired of this allegedly great nation being a paragon of such fucked-up-ness that we stand as a warning to every other goddamn civilized country of what not to do. I'm also tired of Breaking Bad, but that's a whole other thing.

At least my writing seems to be going well. Even half asleep I'm managing to pull together some words for a draft. I'm managing to get packing done. I did my Russian. I'm getting a surprising lot accomplished for having gotten absolute shit for sleep last night. Let's hope this continues till I can go to bed tonight. Otherwise I may have to punch something.

( Russian still has triggery things. )

Not included in today's Russian: "Who's head do I have to smash? Whose bits do I have to stomp? Whose nose do I have to break?" Because in a crisis that is less than helpful. I think the next chunk of Russian I translate, though, will be a list of offenses so that I can recognize them when other people say them. Or say them myself, should I need to make a police report in Russian for some unknown reason, since I don't plan on traveling to Russia anytime soon.

And if someone wants me to translate this into Spanish/French/German immediately rather than when I have some time, let me know?

I finally finished my freaking white stripe down the black unitard for Huntress! That only took forever and a data figure because I had to figure out that I should probably baste it first, then re-position it after I sewed it at a funny angle. Yay. Still, that's done, which I think means tonight I finish the hem on the Huntress cloak so that's done. Finish the leotard, then all I need is to wait for the shipment of leather to come in to see what we have in purples. If I'm very lucky I can make pouches from that (I tried to make pouches from fabric but they ended up not working as well as I wanted, and I'm feeling too lazy to rebuild) and if not, well, I'll make gloves and pouches and everything from the fabric I have. No biggie. And that's that costume done but for the mask. Which I'm paying someone else to do, so. Yay!

At this rate. I'm much less worried about getting my other costumes built in time for Dragon*Con. That's three costumes I've built this year that will be ready in time, one costume that hasn't changed much in the three or four years, and only two costumes to build over maybe the next couple months. Depending on how I decide to do it. I might cut fabric sometime next week and drag Anna on periodic maybe hour long tours of "and this is how I costume!" :P (Translation: I might baste shit together and make sure it all fits properly while we watch TV.) Anyway. I can live with this!

I feel I should have something pithy or angry to say about what's going on in the world, and in my state, but I can't muster up the energy. I think at this point I have to save it for passing on information and doing other daily life things, and I feel terrible about that, but... there's only so much energy I have. I feel like it's enabling those fucking jackholes to get away with it. But I'm not sure what I can do right now, that I have the energy to do. Maybe I'll write some nasty letters this weekend. It won't stop them from voting our rights to unhindered health care away, but at least the truth will be where it needs to be.

Ugh. To do when I get home, because now I'm dripping wet from going out in the rain to deposit the damn mortgage money, and therefore annoyed and prone to forget things:

1. Pay 2 bills
2. At least pin hem of Huntress cloak
3. Edits on G&M
4. Edits on BitG
5. Check in
6. Tickets to brothers of darkland county

I think that's it. If there's anything else, I can write it down when I think of it.

( I think at this point the Russian comes with general trigger warnings )

Yes, today's Russian is relevant to life. No, I don't want to talk about it. There's not much to tell anyway, but. Nngh.

On the plus side, the Gods and Monsters is chugging right along. Not that, given this section, I had much doubt that it would once I sat down and wrote it, but it's nice to have that confirmation? On the minus side work also turns out to be busy today so who knows when I'll have time to sit and let it chug. Blargh. Maybe dinner will happen/get made quickly tonight and then I can sit down and chunk some out for a bit. I did finish my next Haven episode last night, which is three weeks ahead. At the rate we're working, things might happen that I can't talk about because wrath, high atop, etc.

The more this Snowden shit goes on, the more I want to see proof of life presence in whatever country claims to have him at the moment. Why no, I don't believe that Russia has him or in any way can control whether or not he's extradited on account of they probably don't know where the fuck he is either. I was severely skeptical when it was announced, apparently from him, that he would be on a plane to Moscow. But it turns out he was never on that plane, and now he's in the wind. And the more power to him. I can't say I'm surprised at the extent of the government surveillance, and in some cases I'm not even sure I can argue that it's illegal, depending. But some fucking transparency, please. And/or organization. A lot of the people I know already expect they're being spied upon anyway, but... sigh. Fucksake, everyone. Also, casting that wide of a surveillance net? Means fucking nothing unless you have the personnel with the skills to process it all. Which I bet they don't.

ANYway. On other lines that won't get me black bagged or something. Um. I seem to be having one of those days where I like how I look in the mirror (apart from my apparent inability to do eye makeup. Again. Oops.), I'm discovering I can eat a dinner of pasta and two sizable scoops of grasshopper oreo ice cream and not freak out on the daily weighing the next morning. Obviously, things would be different if I were eating two large scoops of ice cream every night, but somewhere along the line there's been a happy confluence of I'm exercising enough that I've built up enough muscle to handle a greater food intake than I would be able to otherwise (say, if I really were trying to get down to 130 pounds or 110 pounds or whatever I'm supposed to be at at five-foot-nothing), I've gotten into the kind of food habits where the slips I make (big bowl of ice cream, brownie a la mode, pot of fondue all to myself) are minor and have minor effects and are few and far between, and perhaps most importantly, the number on the scale is a source of information, not overwhelming fear and dread and self-hatred. I've been hovering around 12 pounds lighter than I was at the start of the secular year, by now, and I've gotten to the point where if I take three weeks off I can still do 25 push-ups when I get back to real exercising. This is awesome.

And, you know, on the minus side I spent the better part of last week aching from some part of my body. Usually my upper arms, thighs, or core. I couldn't cough or sneeze or hiccup without it hurting in my abs somewhere. Then I took a weekend, that went away, and after increasing my plank time this morning I wonder if I'm in for more of that. Sigh. The things I do to look good in my costumes. (NB: This is not, of course, the only reason. It may be the catalysing reason, but it is far from the only one.) (Being like the superheroes I dress up as, now, that's a bigger reason.)

( にほんご )

TWO. TWO DAYS OF ROUTINE JAPANESE. MUA HA HA HA HA.

Now I just have to do that 62,153,743 more times.

Oogh. Don' wanna do much of anything right now. Definitely don't want to cook dinner. I need house elves or something. I don't have too much to do, I think. Writing in White Lightning. I might do an hour or two of blogging, writing in White Lightning, I already did a blog entry for Friday. So, yeah, I guess I don't have that much to do, but I still don't want to do it.

We're not even going to discuss the fucking mess made of the US Senate today. All I can say is, if your constituents (because apparently 90% of the US wanted this bill to pass) want the bill, and you don't pass the bill, I dearly hope they remember this when your dumb ass runs for re-election. Fuckers. I could hope for much meaner things, but I wouldn't actually mean it, so I won't say it. I do hope this comes back to bite them in the ass, though. Hard.

No. Today is not the day to talk about gun control.

Ten fucking years ago was the day to talk about gun control.

Today is the day to talk about how we can make up for an egregious lack of common fucking sense with regards to our medical care system, our mental health care system, our attention to our fellow man, common fucking decency, putting our love of things that go bang and rat-a-tat-tat above our love for our fellow human fucking beings, pushing people we think might be violently unstable off on the grounds that "someone else will help them," ignoring the problem because we don't want to make waves, a despicable lack of empathic long-term planning or looking at the consequences our wants are having on others, blaming the victims for not being armed themselves and failing to act in their defense against their own fucking murder, and not doing a goddamn thing to prevent this happening again. And again. And again.

Oh yeah, and gun control. I lied.

Never has my icon been so appropriate.

( Gaeilge )

Sometimes I really want to throttle some people. I mean, how can you constantly keep either fucking up or pinning your hopes on something that fucks up that often? And then whine and cry and need bailing out or hand-holding and oh my god, if things keep fucking up like that, move the hell on. Or try and figure out what you're doing wrong and bloody fix it. Doesn't it strike you as pathetic to keep singing that same old song? Throttling. Comma, all of the. Because I'm really, really getting tired of hearing it and really wondering how long this can go on before someone gets sick of all that shit.

There. I feel better now.

Heh, I was talking to one of the employees I know at the Chocolate Store of Awesome across the street, yesterday. This employee happens to be very blatantly/camp-ly gay, or at least I assume he's gay, he wears a tasteful, small pink pride button and we chat some about recent events in marriage equality, etc. Well, apparently last week when Mitt Romney shut down most of downtown so he could rant ramble offend people speak, after the speech was over the chocolate shop was slammed with people. And yet every time he went up and asked if he could help someone, they all ignored him. Didn't want to be served by a [insert slur here]. SIGH, PEOPLE. SIGH.

I have no idea what happened in the debate last night to cause Romney to cough up a 'binders full of women' comment. No, I didn't watch it, I'm still trying to avoid national politics till the election's over. And yet, the statement out of context is so blatantly ludicrous and strange that I can see why it became an internet Thing. I wonder if it's that ludicrous and strange IN context.

So, yesterday I somehow managed to get my ass organized enough not only to send out a care package with all its crap in it, but also to get the last of the plants repotted and get some writing done in addition to all the work crap. I even somehow managed to burn a half a dozen CDs or so of music, on the right kind of CD this time, to bring to work. Because I'm getting sick of the same 20 or so CDs that are out there. At some point I really should invest in a second spindle of CD-Rs, and/or a decent CD burning program, but today is not that day. Tomorrow probably won't be that day, either. I even managed to get half a blog post and a good chunk of two other stories finished, too! Wonders will never cease. Today's task: keep up that productivity, plus line edits, and email the damn contractor. Actually, since you're sitting at the computer, Jag, why don't you do that now? Good Jag. See, you can remember things.

I think my New Year's Resolution for this coming year (pagan year, not the secular year, 'cause of sooner start) is to reply to every comment that I get on an AO3 fic, not just the ones I get on Yuletide. For some reason I managed to get it into my head that if I replied to them my comment count would go up artificially and therefore it would be bad. Except I don't even look at my comment count (or my AO3 stats, for that matter), anymore, so why should that matter? And I keep getting hammered with the fact that it's rude not to reply, so, come on, self. Reply to your comments. Starting new year ish, though, because otherwise I'll have a 200 some odd comment backlog and people will probably be very confused to get a reply to a comment they left years ago. There is one comment I want to reply to, because they pointed out some things in a story that I should fix, but ugh I have no idea when I'll get to that.

I have to ask, when the hell did it get to be Wednesday already? Where is my time going? Why is it not still the beginning of October? What the fuck is going on? Raarr. Okay, though, enough rambling, I have work I need to get done and a fuckton of stories I should be finishing. Come on, writers, let's get writing. Hey, that should be an icon. Where's a picture of a guy in a suit and sunglasses at a typewriter.

( Русский язык )

I don't even. So, yesterday I get a couple of emails that basically amount to we might not be able to complete the appraisal because of the problems that need to be fixed. And the selling bank isn't going to fix it, and apparently there is an exception paper that could be written out but everyone has to talk to someone else and check and can't this just be fucking over with already? I'm not even sure what I can do about it, everyone has to talk to everyone else today and then get back to me. I put all my mortgage ladies in contact with my realty lady, so hopefully that can get untangled today. Right now ...

Fuck Everything, Half-Naked Sasha Roiz forever.

No, okay. Right now things are happening at an incredibly fast clip, but at the moment it looks like I can get an estimate of the repair in writing from the plumber I contacted and brought out to have a look, and there's a new contact person at the bank who isn't a fucking moron. He says he might be able to get them done. I'm hoping he can because this is about to drive me homicidal or something.

Right. Nothing more I can do unless I really want to make a pest of myself calling people every half hour or so. I hate it when there's essentially nothing I can do except beg, plead, and throw myself on the mercy of other people whose job it is to keep an eye on the bottom line. I really hate that bottom line shit. I mean, I understand it? I just don't like it. But I have other shit I could get done right now, so. Come on, Jag, let's do the other shit.

I did see some interesting survey about racial self-identification of hispanic peoples on US census things. It made me wonder a little, am I a second generation immigrant if only one of my parents immigrated? (And, for that matter, did my biodad immigrate or was he a second-generation immigrant himself? It's one or the other, I'm sure.) Does it count if he is only my biodad and my actual Dad who raised me was born and raised in the States, himself? It's funny because these aren't questions I ever think about, myself. I am an American. Whether I'm being patronized and treated as, for lack of a more accurate term, a fellow white person who can reach out to those "hard-working Mexicans" (and 6-7 years later I still remember that fuckhead) or whether I'm being looked down on as someone who belongs with the hired help, I am still an American. It's never occurred to me to define myself otherwise. If I have to self-identify as one race or another, I'd probably pick white maybe 40% of the time and hispanic the other 60%. Depending on whether or not I think it'll lead to me getting treated badly by police, shafted for a job or a place in a school, depending whether or not I can tell the person means I feel like a part of this group or that group... depending on a lot of things. Racial identification isn't something I think about a lot, either. Not until someone asks me. Which is more of a class and geographic luxury than anything, really, due to where I grew up and live now.

Anyway. I swear, my next entry will be kittens and bunnies and something fluffy to break from all these heavy thoughts. Pictures of hot men. Something. I am so tired and suddenly all the plans I had for the rest of ever are back in a state of tremendous flux. Okay, not all the plans, but a big chunk of them. At this point it's not even maybe losing the house of awesome that irritates me, it's the lack of certainty. I want to go home and curl up and sleep, and I can't.

Right. Shut up and soldier, soldier. I have filing I can do, writing, editing, I have German I can do if I get desperate for stuff to do, I have word gardens I can plant. There are other things I can do while I wait for word to come back, so let's get on and do them. (Also at some point I really should start writing my own Russian things. At some point.)

( Gaeilge )

And we're back to Black Ice: Blood in the Gutters. Which, as per usual for Black Ice these days, is coming along faster than anything else I could be writing. Tighter, too. I like it. I did manage to get sort of past the false start in the mecha frothing vengeance story that still needs a working title, unless I co-opt the mixer's. Actually I might just stick with Sidewinder. There's something kind of charismatic about that name. Sssssidewinder.

I had to explain to my Gulf War veteran boyfriend today about the eleventh hour of the eleventh day. Oh boy. I actually suspect he forgot at that point more than anything, by this time of the morning he's had a full work day and in this case he's had a full gaming day and a full work day, and is probably ready to go to bed, but it still amused me. Have you hugged your veteran today? We're not going to go into what I saw in the news last night/this morning about a certain Vermont veteran. If you've seen the news you know what I'm talking about, and if you haven't, don't go looking. Suffice to say I have hit my bitter sad at the world news overload very early today.

Hmm. I don't have a suitable for Remembrance Day icon, so have a mecha icon instead, since I'm working on a mecha story. Today, hiding in fiction and filing, a moment of silence, and coming home and cleaning at least half of all the things with the boy.

( Deutsch )

( 日本語 )

Tired. Tired tired tired tired. Tired. I'm not entirely sure why I'm so tired, but I'm definitely going to bed on time tonight. Maybe just anxieties about work and supplies and laying in stuff for the shows. But, I am getting back on track with exercise, language, and music routines. All those good things. And slowly getting back on track with writing, tags, everything else. I feel like this is the first time I've gotten back to normal since I got back from Dragon*Con. But I am not going bad and looking over old entries to see what exactly has been keeping me from being normal because I'll probably be even more tired and then my head will explode.

I'm working on a series of Nanowrimo icons that should go up soon. I should actually be working on the outline for my novel, but no. Icons! This is sort of like being an adult for two weeks and then saying no, fuck it, stupid internet games forever. Only with the me going back to outline later, probably. Right now, though, just icons.

Still not watching the GOP debate. The comments from my friends on Twitter are actually far more entertaining. And there's just something far too disheartening about the fact that half our country's duly (if not always properly) elected representatives don't actually give a damn about the people they're supposed to be representing, in what is supposed to be the world's bastion of democracy. I read something today that said our economic and infrastructure and standard of living imbalance was more akin to people in Russia and Iran. And if I go too far along that line of thinking I really will get too depressed, so I'm going to stop now.

Hmm. While I'm at it, maybe I'll retool that politics icon, it doesn't look quite right.

Oh, there was one more thing. I've fallen in love with Dwight from Haven. Who is played by Edge. A wrestler. There are no words for how confused and entertained this makes me, you guys, normally even the wrestlers who have turned to acting aren't my thing. I mean, yes, wrestling is kind of like chewing the scenery while you perform outrageous stunts, but they're not usually my type. But dear god, Dwight, he's such a mastiff puppy, I want to take him home and cuddle and pet him forever. Also, he totally should have played Sabretooth.