trinityofone

1. Everyone should go check out the first part of the fic honey_babes is writing based on Ferris Bueller's Day Off: John Sheppard's Day Off. *love*

2. Last night, I stayed up ridiculously late writing First Monday porn. It is...not like my usual porn at all. It's dirty. Really, really dirty. I'm not sure if I like it. Would someone be willing to look at it for me--tell me if it's at all hot, or if I'm a sick bitch who needs therapy? Or both? (It's about 1,600 words.) ETA: Okay, I think I've got enough masochists lined up. Thanks, guys. *whimper*

3. After I finally stopped writing porn and went to bed, I had a totally bizarre dream in which my mom was in trouble with the Mafia because of gambling debts. We were all in danger, and I had to protect my little brother and hide out at a Chinese restaurant in a strip mall until my parents got back. There was a lot of ducking behind plants and lobster tanks until my dad finally arrived. We ended up standing by the restaurant's big front window while he explained things to me (up until then I hadn't known why we were hiding). None of this was particularly remarkable on my scale of dream-weirdness, but then he started philosophizing about strip malls.

My Dad: It's strange...they're so ugly, such eyesores, but no two are the same. They're all different.
*Ed Harris walks by the window, carrying a pizza. We nod at him.*
My Dad: They're almost...beautiful.

I love this. Because it's totally bizarre and dreamlike, but it's also so L.A. I miss my crazy city.

Anyway, then my mom showed up wearing a top that exposed way too much cleavage and set her coat down in a pool of ketchup. I do not know why there was ketchup in a Chinese restaurant.

Last night I had possibly the most disturbing dream ever. In it, I was lying in bed, drifting between being awake and asleep, my eyes half-closed, a pale bit of moonlight drifting in through the hideously ugly curtains. (Sadly, those are real and not part of the nightmare.) I had my hands tucked under the covers and was just drifting off to sleep when suddenly a HALF-DOZEN RATS scampered up over my body, right over my hands, under my chin, and down behind the other side of the bed. I yelped and started out of bed--only I was really awake now, yelping and starting out of bed. The line between dream and reality was so thin that I had to go hide in the bathroom for fifteen minutes before I was calm enough to spend any concerted time in the bedroom. Even now, I think I’d be half-convinced that I’d momentarily enacted out a choice scene from 1984 were it not for the fact that there is no space between my bed and the wall--nowhere for them to have gone. This was small comfort, especially at three o’clock in the morning.

So I got up and wrote more pony!fic, and also a few other comment ficlets that I’m going to clean up and post later. But first, I have to tell you about the three other dreams I had before the rats one--busy night last night, eh, subconscious?

First I dreamt that I was on LiveJournal, and all of you were convinced that I was dead. (Um, I’m not, by the way. Just clarifying: this post? Does not come from beyond the grave. It comes from Ireland.) Rather than do something sensible like log on and post a helpful HI! STILL ALIVE! or even a NOT DEAD--PINING FOR THE FJORDS! I just sat there, helplessly wringing my hands. So, yeah: dream me? Not too bright.

Then I dreamt that I was having a discussion with my father in which he was telling me something important about my brother, Daniel. Only about halfway through he stopped talking about Daniel my bother and started talking about Daniel Jackson and how his love for Jack O’Neill was so pure OMG! And I was like, jeeze, that isn’t even my fandom, get a clue, pops!

( And then I had this really disturbing and sexually explicit dream about Ford )

So, yeah. My brain is weird.

Now, I was going to post a couple of dream-themed songs, but then I remembered that I made a Sandman mix a while ago--for monanotlisa, I think? And I never sent it to you? (I’m sorry!) Well, anyway: in that case, I figure there’s no reason why anybody who wants it shouldn’t get to enjoy it, especially after sitting through all this blather. So here it is:

A Handful of Dust - A Sandman Mix

( Tracklist )

.zip file OMG, this took sooooooo long to upload. *hates yousendit*
backup .zip
2nd backup .zip because I have to go to bed soon. *gulp*

Please let me know what you think! Or, y’know, when the file needs to be refreshed.

Oh yeah, and feel free to Freud me. *g*

ETA: Also, look at the AWESOME ICON siriaeve made me! Because JOHN IS THE CHOSEN ONE!!!

Last night I dreamt that John Sheppard was being attacked by an evil penguin. He fought it off with a fireplace poker, but its flesh was too rubbery and the tip kept bouncing off. Also, it talked. Its voice and mannerisms were similar to those of Joe Pesci or maybe Danny DeVito--all it needed was a cigar to chomp between its beak.

Thus, fandom has offically driven me insane.

*thinks* I'm just going to go with it. Is that cool with everybody?

Further evidence of insanity: monanotlisa made me this truly awesome icon. *points* See? It's John and Rodney and the Trinity College Campanile! Coolness, no? Except I had to comment and say:

Now I want to write AU John-and-Rodney-at-Trinity fic. Which is just so, so wrong.

At which point tzeentch (who's never even watched the show!) had to step in and utter the fateful words: I would read that.

So no, I am absolutely not trying to think of plausible reasons for them to be in Dublin, thank you for asking.

Speaking of wackiness in general, here's my favorite snippet of overheard conversation today:

A group of very emo Irish boys is standing outside the Arts Building, talking and smoking and huddling against the rain.

Very Emo Irish Boy: Right, but at least I have a lesbian backup band.

I have no idea what this means, but it is AWESOME. This is totally going to become one of the phrases I try to slip into casual conversation, hoping that they'll catch on, which of course they never, ever do. My previous neglected favorite is:

"Jim Morrison, that's another Thanksgiving you've ruined!"

...which was one of Meg Ryan's lines from The Doors, and no, I have never seen The Doors (although I have seen Morrison's disappointingly un-vandalized grave), but I read that line in a magazine and yes, it was LOVE. Love, I tell you!

Now it's only a few more hours until I can eat...

ilgattopardo's M&S Meal of the Day

"Thai Laksa Noodle Soup with Chicken."

Hm. M&S's noodle soups are usually quite good, but I've never had this kind before. I am positively quivering with excitement. I bet you can feel the seismic disruption in distant places across the globe. If Los Angeles experiences an earthquake today, yep, that was me.

So last night I dreamt:

*Long, extended nightmare about spiders*

*Blissful couple of seconds in which I am following one Lt. Col. John Sheppard around a supermarket. Slowly, he turns and smiles at me...*

Person I used to know and have absolutely no desire to see ever again: Hey, look who it is! It's trinityofone!

Another person I used to know and have absolutely no desire to see ever again: You look really weird. Are you sick?

Yet another person I...you get the picture: Why are you wearing pajamas?

Person I used to know, had a humongous crush on, and was spurned by: Hey, that guy you were with just shrugged his shoulders and left.

CUT TO:

*Me, in the kitchen of our old house in Vermont, hitting a raw egg with a tennis racket*

WHAT? What does that even mean? Where does something like that come from? Is it a metaphor? I'm confused.

In other, positive, news, I quit my job. Wheeeee!

Music choice a joke no one will get, except maybe psychopepsquad, but only if she's really paying attention. And on crack.

Had an exceedingly odd but for the most part wonderful day yesterday. Was phoned by my Godmother around noon and asked if I could be ready for lunch in fifteen minutes, so I abandoned whatever work I was supposedly doing on my paper and went to San Francisco with her. She insisted we stop at Forever 21 where she insisted on buying me a cute floral skirt (I wasn't complaining). Then we had to stop at Citizen Cupcake 'cause my Godmother hadn't been--sadly, darling_effect, the mondo lesbian pop art was gone. We got key lime cupcakes which were kind of like getting punched in the face by a pie of the same name, but in a good way. Mostly.

Finally we reached the Ferry Building, our supposed original destination, where we had some of the most delicious Japanese food I've ever had: cold rice noodle salad and shrimp croquettes and really yummy almond pudding for dessert. I'd casually mentioned wanting to read Nick Hornby's essay collection The Polysyllabic Spree, so my Godmother bought it for me. I went back to Berkeley feeling like a princess.

I changed into my new skirt so that I looked like a princess (well, in my head) and went to the Daily Cal's end-of-semester party at the Bear's Lair. There was a rap/hip-hop/MC contest going on at the same time--like something out of 8 Mile, only in broad daylight and without the talent. A guy whose moniker was The Hindu Harry Potter won, which, I think, says a lot about the quality of the event. It was hilarious, though.

As the rap contest was ending, Asya showed up, already a bit smashed, and asked me to come have a drink with her and this guy she'd met at a conference. I said okay and only when we were halfway there did she inform me that the guy was in his 60s (pooh) and Irish (yaaay!). So we went to Blake's and had a drink with this Irish Red Cross guy. Asya's actually only 19, but I let her share my margarita because I am evil and corrupt our nation's youth. I came down with a case of my usual social ineptitude and said a lot of dumb things, like a five-minute presentation on how I speak French poorly, but the Irish Red Cross guy recommended that I read Roddy Doyle and paid for the drinks, so it wasn't a total wash.

Then I went and had ice cream with Brad, which was weird in ways I don't want to talk about--BUT, let me tell you: Ben & Jerry's Triple Caramel Crunch is a gift from God.

When I finally got home I had to clean like mad because our landlord's coming over this morning (in an hour!) to show our apartment and I was suddenly embarrassed by the grime on the stove and all the papers lying about. Then I went to bed and had another weird dream starring taosterman.

He and I and two other girls were living in this sprawling white house that was trying to kill us. (Hmm...could this perhaps have been influenced by House of Leaves? You bet your ass.) A lot of bad things happened in the house, which I've since blocked out/forgotten, but taosterman and I managed to escape. taosterman was very upset because the "Serenity glasses" that lokionfire had given him--basically big glasses with thick, unpainted wooden frames--had broke in the skirmish; he kept holding the busted pieces together and whimpering. We ran up the road, worried that the house would somehow chase after us (?), and trying to flag down a car. Finally one stopped: a van driven by some of the Best Week Ever/I Love the... people. "Our house is trying to kill us!" I said.

"What kind of house?" one of them asked.

"A big white sprawling house."

"A big white sprawling house? Well of course it's trying to kill you!"

They gave us a ride as far as a ROSS Dress for Less where we were kicked out for not being Philippina.

1. Walking from my house to campus, wearing a long skirt and a shoulder bag, managed to have bag rub against skirt in such away that it rotated entirely about my person and back to where it started--twice.

2. Slight shower enabled me to for the first time utilize my white umbrella with a map of the London Underground on it. Just call me Richardrichardmayhewdick!

3. On the way home, stopped at Walgreen's to purchase blank CDs for my clinically insane Make a Mix CD for Everyone in My Creative Writing Class project. Also sunk to new low by purchasing Marie Callender's chicken pot pie: delight of my childhood, bane of my arteries. Don't tell anyone.

4. Last night had dream that something horrible is going to happen at this year's Bay to Breakers (annual San Francisco race/cross-dressing event). Would be worried, except suspect my dreams to be anti-prophetic, or else would spent whole life discussing produce with The Edge, almost-but-not-quite having sex with Spike, and running away from things. A lot.

And that, aside from the three and a half hours of television ahead of me, has been my day. Sigh.