Wednesday, October 30, 2002
To make a joke that I'm certain a thousand bloggers have made before me:
These days, every time I hear the song 'Jesse's Girl' by Rick Springfield, I can't help but think of Preacher by Garth Ennis and Steve Dillon.
Jesse is a friend
Yeh I know, he's been a good friend o' mine, wha'?
Bu' lately somethin's changed and it en't hard teh define
Jesse's got himself a girl, an' I wannae make her mine!
An' she's watchin' him with those eyes
An' she's lovin' him with that body, aye jus' know it
And he's holdin' her in his arms late late at night (th' lucky shite)
Yeh know, I wish that I had Jesse's girl!
I wish that I had Jesse's girl!
Where cannae fin' a woman like that?
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 03:19 AM EST
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Tuesday, October 29, 2002
... what?
Look, Eccentric Opera CDs finally became available in the States, I have all three Bob The Angry Flower collections, and I have Suikoden III burning a hole in my PS2. Not to mention Wild ARMs 3 sitting on top of the entertainment center glaring and demanding to be played next.
I promise I'll blog again once I drag myself out of this morass of copious entertainment.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 03:31 AM EST
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Monday, October 21, 2002
Bad:
Being in the shower (which is backing up, so that water is pooled about your ankles) and suddenly thinking about the Stephen King short story 'The Raft', therefore leading you to think about being slowly and crunchily pulled down the drain by whatever hideous tentacular thing is causing the drain to run slow.
Worse:
In an attempt to stop thinking about 'The Raft', beginning to think about 'The Moving Finger' instead, therefore leading you to think about weird elongated fingers coming out of the toilet (which is less than a foot away from the shower in which you are currently immersed) and tapping along the walls and floor and shower curtain.
Worst:
Having the bathtub pipes settle under the weight of the water with an audible 'tap!' noise and shrieking like a little girl.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 04:05 PM EST
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Saturday, October 19, 2002
The sky was darkening, and a cold breeze was blowing skirls of early autumn leaves around me as I made my way to my mailbox. I huddled into my trenchcoat, cursing the oncoming winter. I threw open my mailbox, expecting only the usual handful of bills and circulars --
-- a small, anonymous packet rested within. Written in the return address section was an address I'd been half-watching for for months.
My heart leaped into my throat.
As quickly as I could I retrieved my mail, telling myself that my fingers were shaking only because of the cold. The anonymous packet was quickly hidden behind the rest of the mail, and I made my way home at a quick pace, attempting not to jump at the encroaching shadows.
A few breathless moments later in the tiny shabby rathole I called home my worst suspicions were confirmed as I poured raw uncut emeralds into the palm of my hand. No note accompanied them, no directives, nothing but emeralds pouring in a stream from packet to hand. He hadn't even had time to scribble a line to accompany them. I tried not to think about what that meant.
Quickly I put them aside, trying not to look at their green lustre. The Arab, I thought, lighting a cigarette with shaking hands. I'll take them to the Arab tomorrow. He'll know what to do. He'll get the cursed things off my hands.
But a single stealthy footstep outside my door hinted that I might not have until tomorrow. My hand crept to the tiny two-shot derringer concealed in the hem of my thigh-high stocking. Two shots. Would it be enough? Would I get out of this alive? Would I...
... ever stop being so damned dramatic?
In other words, in yesterday's mail I did indeed receive approximately half a pound of raw uncut emeralds. I bought them off eBay for approximately $12 plus shipping, so there's no need to make plans to rob my house or anything; currently they're happily churning in a bath of water and grit. The rock tumbler sounds like the washing machine. It's kind of soothing.
The events described above are largely (but not entirely) true. But receiving a packet of emeralds in the mail just seemed so film noir that I couldn't resist.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 01:14 AM EST
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Tuesday, October 15, 2002
You remember a few weeks ago, when I mentioned that I'd spotted a seven-inch-long slug in front of my apartment and thought it was the coolest thing ever?
Well, it had gotten to the point where I saw him once a week or so, oozing slowly across the sidewalk when I would set out to walk around the lake. He was almost my friend: "Hello, Mr. Slug!" I would think cheerfully, stepping over the huge brown-and-black booger and heading for the lake.
And when I returned, he would have oozed a foot or so further along, and I would step cheerfully over him and go back inside. "Hello, Mr. Slug!" I would think again, as the door closed behind me.
Tonight I accidentally stepped on him and squished his little head.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 02:26 AM EST
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Saturday, October 12, 2002
Kingdom Hearts: been there, won that, bought the soundtrack. Next!
... I kid. Click here to read my extended, incoherent, and minorly spoilerful comments about the game.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 11:00 PM EST
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Friday, October 11, 2002
I cannot think about smut and walk at the same time.
Oh, not smut in general, no. I can think about sex in general terms, or ogle a guy's butt, or even chatter about my favorite slash pairings, and continue to walk just fine... but when I start to think about smut in specific (say, the events of an actual story I'm writing or an idea for a story I might write or someone else's story that plays with my personal hot buttons) I lose the ability to walk.
You can see it, if you watch me. I'll be walking along normally, and suddenly my brain will pipe up and say blowjob! or light bondage! or angrysex! and I'll slow way the hell down while I'll contemplate the idea. I'll take a few staggering steps in random directions. I'll stop abruptly and grab on to something. I might kick at the ground once or twice. If I happen to be going up stairs, and they happen to be carpeted, I've been known to just sort of stop and collapse and lay down for a moment. And then I'll shake it off and stand back up and go on my way.
I think it's a self-preservation technique. Because when I start thinking very specific things about the mechanics of sex, my eyes go all wide and stary and unfocused, and if I tried to keep going I might trip over things.
Ow.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 01:33 AM EST
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Thursday, October 10, 2002
HER: Man, this guy always turns up where I least expect him. Like a fungus.
ME: Yeah. I know. He's everywhere.
HER: Life, idiot. Idiot, life.
ME: Life says he's never heard of him.
HER: Heh. You know, dammit, we have no lives, but at least we... uh... um... where was I going with this?
ME: ... we can spell?
HER: Right! And we don't require powerful mind-altering drugs!
ME: Damn straight! We get high on no life, baby.
HER: ... I love you.
ME: Damn straight you do.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 03:58 AM EST
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Tuesday, October 8, 2002
Apologies for the outage, folks; I think everything's more or less fixed, blog-wise. I'll try to put the main site back up later tonight.
If anything gives you trouble, please either email me or leave a note about it in the comments of this entry, and I'll see if I can't fix it.
[UPDATE, 9:30pm] I have reclaimed and dealt with all the mail that was stacked up at my rydia.net email address. If you mailed me something in the last three or four days and have not received an answer, please re-send it, as it was eaten by the vengeful 'net gods.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 04:29 PM EST
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Wednesday, October 2, 2002
Okay, so I usually don't do this kind of thing, but when I tripped over this fandom quiz in Mullenkamp's LiveJournal, well, I laughed my ass off, decided to see what my own answers would be, and ended up riffing on the quiz so bad that I wanted to post it.
So, here, my answers to the 'Fandoms I Have Known Quiz', or the 'My Fandom Sex Life Quiz':
The one who seduced you and fucked you over and broke your heart in a million pieces and laughed about it: Oh, Vagrant Story, the one who said 'aw, baby, relive the very worst of high school for 140-odd pages for me and get a reputation as the craziest fangirl in existence, I'll make it worth your while'. Bitch. Call that making it worth my while? She ain't as big of a mover and shaker as she thinks. When she calls me in ten years because she's about to have a baby with her lawyer husband, see if I don't hang up on her skanky ass. Obscurity in suburbia is all she deserves... oh, I don't mean that.
The old flame you don't see very often any more but whom you still really enjoy getting together with for a few drinks and maybe a pleasant nostalgic romp in the sheets: Dear old Wild ARMs. I always thought we were going to go somewhere, really make something of ourselves, but we never could quite see eye to eye, and eventually she just drifted away... I believe in third chances, though, and we're on the verge of getting ours. Maybe this time she and I will find our common ground.
The mysterious dark gothy one with whom you used to sit up talking until 3 a.m. at weird coffeehouses and with whom you were quite smitten until you realized she really was fucking crazy: That would be the twins, SaGa Frontier One and SaGa Frontier Two. Fraternal twins, of course, they never looked a damn thing alike. But One was so dark and twisted, with so much crazed energy, and jealous of Two who was always slow, but so much prettier (and blonde!) and meanwhile there I'd sit between them watching them spin off each other into a deep pit of strangeness. I always wondered what would have happened had I actually gone back and spent another week with them. I fear the answer.
The one you spent a whole weekend in bed with and who drank up all your liquor, and whom you'd still really like to fuck again although you're relieved she doesn't actually live in town: I would have to say poor underappreciated Guardian's Crusade. Poor girl, I think I was her only American fling ever, since every time I bring her up in conversation no one ever knows who I'm talking about. So plain, so chunky, so monotonous but eager to please... and if you looked, if you really looked, she had a certain innocent beauty that made it all worthwhile. Always a bridesmaid, never a bride, that's Guardian's Crusade. Sometimes I pass a phone on the street and think about giving her a call, but she has emotional problems; she latches onto even the slightest amount of kindness and turns it into a huge thing, and I haven't got the strength to take her desperate needy love any longer.
The steady: Star Ocean, dear beloved Star Ocean. I share her with a friend, you see, and between us we keep her well-fed and rosy-cheeked. She seems happy, and she should, because we both love her so very, very much; you know, people say that threesomes never work out in the long run because of jealousy issues. I hope they're wrong. I think so. I know that jealousy only enters the picture when someone attempts to horn in on our peaceful little trio...
... but god forbid she should ever find out about those late nights and long weekends I spend with Suikoden. Damn me, damn me for being able to love so much and so widely that I can never be faithful to a single fandom...
The ex: FF8. The bitch. I never liked her in the first place, but she was such a damned easy lay, and she'd just cringe and let me walk all over her whenever I pleased. In public. There's a strain of asshole in my makeup that really enjoyed having such a pretty fucking doormat. But then I took a long look at myself in the mirror one morning and realized that I was becoming a fandom-beater, and I was getting to the point where even beating her bored me. So I told her we were through. Bitch didn't even care.
The alluring stranger whom you've flirted with at parties but have never gotten really serious with: FFX. Oh, god. We met at a party and ended up talking all night, and she'd stop and flirt with everyone else as they went by, and then I saw her give her hotel room key to some other girl, and I... I just lost it. I ended up saying and doing things I've never done before, and we ended up...
We...
We ended up crammed in the bathroom together having desperate angry sex, and I... I called her by someone else's name and she promptly told me I was out of character and out of line and since then, there's been nothing. Oh, I've had dreams, ideas of the things we could do together, but she hasn't been waiting for me. She has so many suitors that I'll probably never get my chance with her again.
The one you hang out with and have vague fantasies about maybe having a thing with but ultimately you're just good buddies 'cause the friendship is there but the chemistry ain't: The Harry-Potter-and-Marauders-and-Everything-Hogwart's Fandom. I'm sorry, she seems like a nice girl, but her family is fucking insane. I don't need that kind of grief in my life.
The one your friends keep introducing you to and who seems like a hell of a cool gal except it's never really gone anywhere: Oh, FF7... I lost my virginity to her, you realize. I was so young, so naive, so new to everything... I never realized what a favor she'd done for me. Even now when I look at her I realize that she's done it all and seen it all and there's nothing I could possibly offer her. I tried once. She thanked me profusely but I could see the boredom in her eyes.
The one who's slept with all your friends, and you keep looking at her and thinking, Her? How the hell did she land all these cool babes?: My damn bitch ex FF8 again, here. God, what a shallow whiner. Turns out she was doing all my friends behind my back. Fucking passive/aggressive shit. Bitch couldn't speak up and say 'don't beat me, baby', she just goes out and does all my friends instead. Even after I left her sorry ass I keep hearing about her and one of my friends, and it just rips me up inside. Like she knew it would. Bitch.
The one your friend has fallen for like a ton of bricks and whom she keeps babbling to you about on the phone for hours, and you'd be happy for her except you just know it's going to end badly: Oh, poor Yami no Matsuei, all she wants is to be loved, and she tries so hard, she gives everyone everything they want; and right now they all love her, sure, she's a dream come true for them, and they fuss over her and pay her compliments and the sex, oh the sex is wonderful. But let her age just the tiniest bit, let her get even the slightest bit older, and they'll get tired of her. Suddenly her desire to please will look desperate instead of wonderful, and she'll have already used all the little teases and tricks in her repertoire, and suddenly everyone who was spending ten, twelve hours a day with her will look up and say '... where has the time gone?' and then she'll be alone again, and she'll be so sad... I admit it, even I've taken a piece of her, and I love her with all my heart, but I can already foresee a day when it'll all be over. She smothers you, you see. When you love someone this much, you burn out on them fast.
Poor Yami no Matsuei. Ten years from now I'll pass her on the street and she'll look so old, so old and hard, but I'll still be able to see the remnants of the beautiful funny woman she was, and it'll break my heart... and that'll be what I deserve, for breaking hers all those years ago.
... I'm sorry. I need to be alone for a little while.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 04:47 AM EST
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Tuesday, October 1, 2002
You know, perhaps it's a personal failing, but whenever I look at Seymour from FFX, I wonder if you couldn't break off one of those fleshy blue things and use the clear liquid inside to heal burns.
That's right, he's an aloe vera Guado.
Posted by Mie Tsukikoushi @ 11:28 PM EST
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