trinityofone (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
trinityofone) wrote2006-01-12 08:07 pm
trinityofone) wrote2006-01-12 08:07 pm
I am Jack's impotent rage.
What I did today:
1. Woke up at around 3 a.m. after having a seriously traumatizing dream involving talking pigs at a slaughterhouse. Drifted; never really made it back to sleep.
2. Got up to go to class; discovered that light in bathroom, which had sort of spazzed at around 11 o'clock the night before, was completely dead, and thus could not shower, as my little box of a bathroom was now a pitch black box.
3. Went to lecture, which was something about Dryden that I didn't really pay attention to; someone had drawn a giant cock on the screen for the overhead projector, so I took that as a sign that I should spend the hour writing porn.
4. Went to report dead light; discovered that office had closed for lunch for TWO HOURS.
5. Went to pick up package; office also closed for lunch.
6. Went to do laundry; despite assurances on Tuesday that my clearance would be fixed, was still locked out of launderette.
7. Ate bad sandwich.
8. 2 p.m.: reported broken light. Was assured that it would be fixed straightaway.
9. Picked up package; only good event of day: a CERTAIN BOOK had arrived.
10. Tried to get into laundry room again; still locked out. Hung around for about twenty minutes until someone else came by and then snuck in.
11. 5:30-ish: returned to room after waiting around the launderette for upwards of two hours to discover that light was still not fixed. Reported it AGAIN.
12. 7:42 p.m.: knock on door announced arrival of maintenance guy. He immediately began reprimanding me for not having reported the problem earlier. I explained that I had. He said that this wasn't really his job and that he might not have the right parts, reprimanded me some more, then stormed out without fixing the light.
13. To prevent self from curling up in a ball and crying, wrote this post. May still do the former.
I hate bureaucracy. I hate the fact that our launderette has a stupid electronic key system that never works when an old fashioned metal key would work just fine. I hate that instead of just letting us buy lightbulbs occasionally, the housing office insists on these idiotic industrial bulbs that we have to get other people to change--if they feel like it. I hate feeling this exhausted having done essentially NOTHING today.
I don't know why I'm telling you all of this, except that perhaps I'm secretly hoping it'll be a good way to trick some of you into writing me porn. Or at least a story like this:
And then the revolution came, and indeed, the bureaucrats were the first up against the wall. They dragged the mean maintenance man with them, kicking and screaming all the way. Elsewhere, John and Rodney had sex. The end.
See? Isn't that moving?
Oh, and now I feel bad. So here's a real, non-self-indulgent reason for this post: I uploaded a new copy of the U2 .zip from my last post, so if anyone missed it the last time around, there ought to be a few more downloads left. And I'll try to respond to comments soon; right now I need...um. Well, I need a lightbulb in my bathroom, really. But I guess I'll settle for a bit of chocolate and a cup of tea.
1. Woke up at around 3 a.m. after having a seriously traumatizing dream involving talking pigs at a slaughterhouse. Drifted; never really made it back to sleep.
2. Got up to go to class; discovered that light in bathroom, which had sort of spazzed at around 11 o'clock the night before, was completely dead, and thus could not shower, as my little box of a bathroom was now a pitch black box.
3. Went to lecture, which was something about Dryden that I didn't really pay attention to; someone had drawn a giant cock on the screen for the overhead projector, so I took that as a sign that I should spend the hour writing porn.
4. Went to report dead light; discovered that office had closed for lunch for TWO HOURS.
5. Went to pick up package; office also closed for lunch.
6. Went to do laundry; despite assurances on Tuesday that my clearance would be fixed, was still locked out of launderette.
7. Ate bad sandwich.
8. 2 p.m.: reported broken light. Was assured that it would be fixed straightaway.
9. Picked up package; only good event of day: a CERTAIN BOOK had arrived.
10. Tried to get into laundry room again; still locked out. Hung around for about twenty minutes until someone else came by and then snuck in.
11. 5:30-ish: returned to room after waiting around the launderette for upwards of two hours to discover that light was still not fixed. Reported it AGAIN.
12. 7:42 p.m.: knock on door announced arrival of maintenance guy. He immediately began reprimanding me for not having reported the problem earlier. I explained that I had. He said that this wasn't really his job and that he might not have the right parts, reprimanded me some more, then stormed out without fixing the light.
13. To prevent self from curling up in a ball and crying, wrote this post. May still do the former.
I hate bureaucracy. I hate the fact that our launderette has a stupid electronic key system that never works when an old fashioned metal key would work just fine. I hate that instead of just letting us buy lightbulbs occasionally, the housing office insists on these idiotic industrial bulbs that we have to get other people to change--if they feel like it. I hate feeling this exhausted having done essentially NOTHING today.
I don't know why I'm telling you all of this, except that perhaps I'm secretly hoping it'll be a good way to trick some of you into writing me porn. Or at least a story like this:
And then the revolution came, and indeed, the bureaucrats were the first up against the wall. They dragged the mean maintenance man with them, kicking and screaming all the way. Elsewhere, John and Rodney had sex. The end.
See? Isn't that moving?
Oh, and now I feel bad. So here's a real, non-self-indulgent reason for this post: I uploaded a new copy of the U2 .zip from my last post, so if anyone missed it the last time around, there ought to be a few more downloads left. And I'll try to respond to comments soon; right now I need...um. Well, I need a lightbulb in my bathroom, really. But I guess I'll settle for a bit of chocolate and a cup of tea.
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If we're talking about the same certain book. Which maybe not so much.
Does it start with 'T'?
I can tell you about a dream I had the other night where John and Rodney were criminals in the '70s, and had to run down a fire escape and steal a car. It was like the anti-Starsky and Hutch.
That's almost as good; it may be better. The boys would make such fun criminals, in an Ocean's 11 sort of way. Of course, they'd also probably make Pure, Unadulterated Evil seem fun and wholesome. When we weren't eating cheesecake,
I really want to write/read something with Butch 'n' Sundance vibes to it now. Damn you! By which I mean, yay.
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Your dream has inspired me to start a crack fic tentatively titled, "The One Where John and Rodney Were Evil and Gay." Feel proud. *eg*
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The end of the world was a bit different than one would imagine. There were no bombs, or great bursts of light. Only angry people rising as one, shouting for change, yelling for a new life.
When the governments were overthrown, no one wept, the streamers were all burned. Long live money bloated fascists who throw parties of mirth over rejection.
And somewhere in the distance, was a shining city that branched out in arms of technological glory. Surrounded by energy of the people who moved before them, two men made love.
There, see? I wrote you some James Joyce. Be merry.
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*merrily clears room for you at the Dublin Writer's Museum*
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Can I haunt Trinity College? Oscar Wilde went there before he went to Oxford, and it's a life goal. Well, okay, a death goal, but whatever.
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Yes, please come haunt Trinity College! Come do so when you are still alive! 'Cause seriously: my classes are boring, and we could use some good chain-rattlin'. I haven't seen Oscar around, but we could hang out by the Bram Stoker room and make the sweet music of the Children of the Night.
...
Wow, that sounds like a pick-up line. I should try that one!
Maintenance Men can be hot!
Just as he opened his mouth to suggest letting one of the maintenance crews handle it, cause honestly Rodney should be doing something more important than changing what is essentially a lightbulb, he heard a "Ah hah!"
John stepped back to let Rodney descend, but right before the other man reached the ground, he said, "Stop."
Rodney immediate froze. "What? What's happening? What's wrong, Colonel? Oh my God, there's something on my back!"
"Relax, Rodney. Turn around. Slowly." John bracketed his arms on both side of Rodney in case the scientist took a tumble off the ladder.
Rodney looked down on John, eyes darting around looking for the danger. When no danger appeared, John could see Rodney's fear turn to confusion making it easy for John to grab the other man's collar and draw his face down.
The kiss was brief but sweet, Rodney's lips opened in surprise letting John steal a small taste before stepping back and releasing him.
"Wha--you--I," Rodney sputtered, clutching at the legs of the ladder now that John wasn't there to support him.
John grinned, seeing Rodney so befuddles was kinda cute, "Careful, McKay, next time I won't give you the height advantage."
andthentheyhadsex!
Re: Maintenance Men can be hot!
2. Why didn't I think of it that way? I want Rodney to come screw in my lightbulb!
*is twelve, and thus way too proud of that*
Thank you for this. It was one of the few things yesterday to make me smile.
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---
John gets a moment of silence when he pushes Rodney up against the wall and kisses him. It doesn't last long, Rodney still manages to make some noise, a muffle yelp that almost makes John pull back, but Rodney's fingers are closing on John's thigh so he figures it's probably not a 'get off me' yelp and decides to test this theory by pushing his knee between Rodney's legs. The yelp is repeated and the fingers tighten on the straps of his holster as Rodney grinds down against him, the fingers of his other hand flexing on John's waist.
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Thank you; I need your porn and your pity--I don't have an extractor fan at ALL!
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And no extractor fan? Omgwtf! The damp! The mold! :flails: Mine is kinda annoying because it comes on with the light, which means I have to attempt to get back to sleep with the fan whirling around behind my bed for 20 minutes after the light has been off.
But I'd so rather have one than not have it at all because my room is so..airless that the two weeks without resulted in a damp smell and mold on the grouting that totally grossed me out. (and still does because they still haven't regrouted or come and cleaned it with a proper cleaning stuff like they said they would. Bastards!)
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I know what you mean about porn-related nervousness, though. I never stop feeling a weird combination of anxiety and ridiculousness, especially because I can't just write sex--I always have to try to make it fit with the plot, so I end up going "Okay, I need a blowjob here--but I don't know how to write another blowjob! I can only describe it so many ways! *cries*" And other examples of pornidiocy. *g*
But nothing is idiotic like the design of my room is idiotic: no fan in the bathroom, no window in the bathroom, and only one tiny window in the bedroom, so there's almost no circulation. It gets so stuffy and gross! *shakes fist at lame-o '60s designers*
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God, yes. There will be dogtags because dog tags? bulletproof kink. Bullleeeett prooooof. And also with the biting. Nnnrgh, biting.
You know, I was wondering - do you think the civilians wear dog tags? At least the ones that go offworld. I mean, it would be a really good idea, in case anything happens - you'd want to be able to at least ID people. Plus, I get several kinds of flaily when I think about John and Rodney's dog tags clinking together as they rock against each other and a handily placed wall. :coughs:
Ah, yes - pornidiocy! The times I have found myself attempting to see if the hands will actually reach or trying to come up with another way to describe something. And nevermind trying to work out if something is still sexy when you've just spent, like, 30 minutes working on it in writer mode, worrying about grammar etc. Argh! The things we do for goddamn porn, man!
Urgh. Man, I am so sorry - the designers will be first against the wall. Or at least, after maitenance. My window is restricted to opening about 2 inches at the top. In case you know, I try and throw myself out of a ground floor window. :fist of rage:
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Oh my god, YES. Do you mind if I fic this, hard and fast and dirty-like? But not if it'll stop you from doing it. I just...dog tags. DOG TAG PORN. *needs*
Yes, it's always fun when you have a piece of writing and you get to the stage where you're like, "I don't care if it's sexy! I just want my pronoun usage to be clear and to not have written anything that's physically impossible! Who cares about sexy?" It's only if I'm really, really lucky that maybe, months later, something I've written might start to seem kind of hot to me again--usually, I'm just like, "Dude, 'probed'? That was a poor bit of word choice..."
And yet, this is still my favoritest hobby. Possibly my only hobby. *shrugs* *writes more porn*
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OH MY GOD, GO GO, WRITE EEEEET. WRITE EEEEEET. AH YOU WILL, YOU WILL, YOU WILL, AH, GO ON, GO ON. ETC.
No, really - write it, please! I'm working on your piece and it's totally fine because I'm sort of *stuck* on Rodney grabbing john's tags and twisting them in his fist so it won't stop me writing mine.
god. please.
It's only if I'm really, really lucky that maybe, months later, something I've written might start to seem kind of hot to me again--usually, I'm just like, "Dude, 'probed'? That was a poor bit of word choice..."
Ahahaha! snap! And you get feedback and people are all 'flail' etc and all I can think is "but I used this [insert stupid word choice here]!"
hey, do you use aim or any of the other messenger programs or owt?
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And you get feedback and people are all 'flail' etc and all I can think is "but I used this [insert stupid word choice here]!"
Heh, exactly. "It's not hot! That sentence construction is totally awkward!"
hey, do you use aim or any of the other messenger programs or owt?
Sigh. No, I am the only person in all of fandom who doesn't. I keep promising people that I will. And I WILL...eventually. And when I do, I'll let you know. ;-)
*goes back to living in the dark ages*
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Jesus, mary and joseph and all the saints of fucking ireland. I died a little there.
I have switched iTunes to my porn play list and am going to see if I can get the 38 minute challenge to work for me.
re: im - cool. real time flailing and me, I've been told it's amusing. :g:
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And now - the ritual dance of friendslist refreshing and general panic!
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Oh, man. I know exactly how you feel. Isn't that the best and most wonderful part? [/intense sarcasm]
You shouldn't worry, though: yours is faaaaaaab. Mmm, babbly, incoherent Rodney. You know, it's funny, 'cause one of the first things I perved over in SGAdom was JF's voice (that drawly little whine! Oh yes), but while I've always appreciated what Rodney was saying, I've only recently come to understand the full power of how he sounds saying it. Your fic has helped. *g*
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Oh, yes. I *live* for it, you know? The teeth crawling and the twitchiness is just an added bonus.
...wait - was that my sarcasm voice? Oops.
:beams: babbly incoherent rodney is one of my favourite things - although I have a bunny for a 'Rodney gets his voice taken away temporarily and has to be snarky on a portable whiteboard' story and uh, the sex scene in my head? is going to be interesting with a capital I. Oh yes. :g:
Oh, JF's drawl! man, I am going to die the death of a 1000 little ones at Peg-1, everytime that man opens his mouth.
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OMG!
CraziestBest crossover idea ever: SGA meets the BtVS episode 'Hush'! The Gentlemen are aliens! It explains so much!*cackles*
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Ahahaha! Yes! Omg! I mean, The Hush is an inspiration for the bunny - I will never admit to contemplating whether John or Rodney would be the screamer and whether sex would be involved for the screaming, never! :g: - but oh, oh - that would truly be the most fantastic fusion/crossover/crack!
Joss remains my lord and master, yo!
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I'm guessing it won't make you feel any better that I'm giving your mom & aunt a couple of leftover tickets to the Getty Villa staff preview this weekend out in warm, sunny Malibu. *ducks* By the way, I think it's so cute that they'd rather go with each other instead of taking their husbands. *eg*
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I am amused to hear that you are taking care of my family in my absence. *g* And yeah, if you think that's cute, you should see my mom and my aunt shopping together--they are like 16-year-old BFFs at the Galleria. With slightly larger budgets and less of an inclination toward platform shoes. ;-)
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And there was a rather beautiful young man with long curly hair standing in front of her bathroom, more hair escaping from his tank top and curling out from beneath his terrycloth shorts.
"Miss One?" he asked, his lush lips curving sympathetically. "My name is Blair. I'm your bathboy for this evening."
She gasped in surprise and then offered shakily, "There's no light ..."
"Not to worry," he said soothingly. And indeed, warm flickers were escaping from the half-open door. "Your bubble-bath awaits. Soak for a little while, and I'll come do your back."
Trinity tottered over to the door to find a candelabrum on the toilet tank, her nightgown and robe hanging on the door, and a tub of vanilla-scented bubbles. She turned and looked at Blair, who said, "I can help you with your clothes, too?"
Stricken with shyness, she scampered into the bathroom and closed the door firmly before stripping. She cracked the door open and handed her clothes to Blair, who took them without comment.
Trinity eased her way into the bathtub and gasped at the heat. Finally she sat all the way down, and lay back on the perfectly-placed washcloth.
Her breathing smoothed out, and she watched the flickers of the candle flames ... the shadows on the wall ... the inside of her eyelids. Her anger-spasms began to relax.
After a bit there came a brief knock at the door, and Blair let himself in, a steaming cup of mint tea in his hand. He crouched down by the tub.
"Here you go. Sip that right down." The tea pooled warm in her belly, and the bubbles popped and fizzed on her skin.
"Ready to have your back done?" She leaned forward in response, closing her eyes, and felt the warm soapy cloth moving over her back, all the way up to her hairline, down firmly around the shoulderbladesthat always itched, and firmly down her spine. The splash of the cloth being rinsed, and then the trickle of warm water sliding over her skin. She hitched forward a little more, inviting, and the cloth was re-soaped and gently, gently, her ass was washed. How kinky and wonderful to have someone else do it!
Soon she was aware of the water being let out. Blair helped her rise, steadying her when she staggered just a bit, and began to towel her dry. He checked her breath of protest with a little grin, and then helped her into her nightgown and robe. She heard him blowing out the candles as she opened the door, the acrid scent of burnt wick curling past her.
The crowd of people in her living room paused when she came out, and it took a moment for her to sort out what she was seeing. That was the guy from housing who'd sworn her access card had been fixed, holding a basket of folded laundry. That one was the first person to whom she'd reported the blown light, holding a ladder; and the second, holding a toolbox. The handyman himself was standing there with a black eye and a replacement light, not looking at her. And a complete stranger, tall with short brown hair and a soldier-of-fortune light in his eye as he kept track of the others, his arms lightly folded across his chest, the black tee-shirt he wore banded by the leather holster across his muscular shoulders. His gaze fell on her and he relaxed into a bright smile.
"Miss One! I believe we have these little problems all sorted out, don't we, folks?" The man crossed to her, her access card in his hand. "I tested this personally an hour and a half ago."
Most of the crew had disappeared into the bathroom as he spoke, and Blair reappeared from her kitchen.
"Jim, man, you got one of those patented back-rubs for the lady?"
A click sounded from her bathroom and light poured around the door. The other people hastily left, and she was standing in her living room with a fixed bulb, a working access card, a pile of clean clothes, and two very beautiful men.
Trinity smiled.
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I want a bathboy! Actually, I just want a bath. But, oh. You've made me believe in a better world. Thank you.
*grins* *fantasizes*
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And to cheer you up, here is my one SGA story. I don't think you'll have seen it before...
The Miracle Of The Not-deer
Rodney hated Christmas. He didn't just dislike Christmas, he hated it like a ZPM lighting up Atlantis. He loathed it.
Every December, Rodney would feel himself getting all smiling inside.He refused to put up a Christmas ZPM, he snapped at anyone serene enough to sing a carol in his vicinity, and he never, ever bought anybody any presents.
On December 13, Rodney had to go to the mall to buy a positive puddlejumper. When he got there, there were so many shoppers pushing angrily around and so much Christmas music blaring depressingly, he thought his hand would explode.
Finally, he was done. Just outside the door was a genuine man collecting for charity. Rodney never gave to charity, so he started to walk past without a word.
Suddenly, the genuine man dropped his bells and ran in a lab. There was a happy not-deer right in the path of an oncoming truck. But the genuine man slipped and fell, so now they were both in danger!
Rodney rushed out and angstily pushed them both out of the way. There was a cheerful bang and then everything went dark.
When Rodney woke up, he was in a relaxed room. There was a Christmas ZPM in the corner and soft carols were playing.
Also, Rodney's ass hurt. A lot.
The genuine man came into the room. "I'm so peaceful!" he said.
"You're awake. My name is John. You saved me from the truck. But your ass is broken."
Rodney hardly knew what to say. Even though there was a Christmas ZPM up and his ass was broken, he felt quite delightful, especially when he looked at John.
Your ass must hurt unhappily," John said. "I think this will help." And he kissed Rodney several times.
Now Rodney felt very delightful indeed. He didn't hate Christmas at all now. In fact, he loved it. And he loved John. "I love you," he said,and
kissed John in an emo fashion.
"I love you too," said John. Just then, the not-deer ran into the room and nuzzled Rodney's mouth. "I brought him home with us," John said.
"We'll call him Miracle," Rodney said. "Our Christmas Miracle."
It was the best Christmas ever.
hooray for drabble generators
also I listened to your U2, and had Thinky Thoughts which I will tell to you soon. And my copy of How To Dismantle An Atomic Bomb finally turned up, yay!
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I feel both scarred and uplifted, but mostly distracted, which is definitely of the good. So thank you. =P
Also, I can't wait to hear your thinky thoughts. I gotta go reply to your other comment in a minute--there are definitely a lot of interesting religious issues that deserve exploring...
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Well, I was playing with the story generator for ages, and some of them were amusing and some... weren't. But that one was just great - the Christmas ZPMs, and Rodney's broken ass, and... So I saved it, and when people demand fic, sometimes I'll post it *g* I think that's the third outing.
I love MadLibs
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Speaking of which, guess what was going on in the Savoy while we were giggling ourself helpless over Birds of Prey? The European premiere of the movie. They were just finishing it when I was walking home along O' Connell St. Apparently, I missed seeing Cillian Murphy by only a couple of minutes. Damned bad luck.
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Sunday shall definitely be given over to the consumption of cheesecake
Er, I hope you're talking about some other cheesecake, 'cause I have a bad feeling that what remains of the one we bought will be gone by then... *is only human* *and weak* *and, y'know, menstruating*
Also... *weighs Cillian Murphy against Joe 'Hot(ter) When Evil' Flanigan* Is it bad that I'm not entirely sure we made the wrong choice?
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You definitely have my permission to consume the rest of the cheesecake. To not touch it would be a feat of strength greater than that of which I am capable. I should know, I am feeling exceptionally weak today (Should be in the library? Go to the computer labs! Should be paying attention in the lecture? Start writing about Aubrey and Maturin in space!)
Joe 'Hot(ter) When Evil' Flanigan
He is so incredibly hot when evil. I just. The hot cannot be verbally expressed!
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AHHH! TRINITY WANT! *makes grabby hands*