Seperis (seperis) wrote,

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just a little here and there and everywhere

The real problem is, and I've said this before, I have problems connecting with people in ordinary conversation. I can talk about work. I can talk about Child. And I can talk about Fannish Things. You may have noticed this before. Those are kinda the extent of my conversational skills, and yeah, totally aware of how boring this makes me as a human being, but that's fine, because I learned young the Art of Invisibility--ie, a book. Yes, I know people can see *me*, but I can pretend I don't see them, and therefore, spare them the horror of watching me flail about for common ground.

This hit a bit of a skid day, which I'd like to call When Fandom Collides With Work, but acutally, ti's sort of a A Near Miss Collision Between Fandom and Work, And Thank God I Shut My Mouth in Time.

This, however, I totally blame on the fact that this person got me *way* too relaxed.

See, the guy is a web designer. That's what lured me in.

He uses Dreamweaver, which I experimented with briefly long long ago at school, and we were talking about such mundanities as server space and good places to host and scripts to download, and I was mulling new book purchases and then he tells me that he's been given permission to take over the design of the intranet homepage.

Oh still my beating heart. It is so freaking *ugly*.

Nearly bouncing, I was telling him about the style sheet problems and frames and how simple and minimalist is better if he wants to use animation and it sort of went downhill from there, until I made some noise about someone's archiving script and he asked me a terrible, terrible, terrible question.

"Archiving script? Where?"

There are so many ways I couldn't answer that it wasn't even funny, but I opened my mouth anyway, and actual words almost emerged. I mean, technically, I could send him to look at PostNuke or something, and if I'd thought of that, like, say, a socially adept human being would have, then I would have probably just googled it for him real fast. But no. I completely froze, because I'd been describing the site of a slash writer, and for the life of me, I could not figure out what on earth I'd been thinking to go that far.

Right now, I could list thirty ways I could have gracefully led it away without looking like a complete idiot, but--you know. It's something in the air there. Affects my allergies, my skin, and my entire thought processes.

And in hindsight, it's not a big deal. It's not. For all I really care, he can wander off, find my fic, print it off, and send copies to everyone.

Still, though. He is a superior in the hierarchy and might be my supervisor one day. I'm not entirely sure that the first impression should be "she understands policy, she's quick with the keyboard, and she writes really explicit porn". I mean, for all I know, he's a Republican and voted for Bush.

Even my drama is boring. I need an adventure. At this point, getting lost again would be sufficient.



bigboobedcanuck kind of makes it worth the fact that I am completely spoiled through episode 4.9 by writing some beautiful fic. Sequel to Their End May Know, a Justin bit is Heard No More. She is pretty much singlehandedly reconciling me to the existence of the first-person pov again. Seriously. I can look at it and not flashback to those horrible, horrible first days of reading in the fandom, when I used to cry every time I saw one. Well, not cry, so much as sputter silently and hopelessly. My badfic scars run very deep.

It's beautiful, short, sweet, and not saccharine at all. She needs love and tending and petting. Lots of it.

And now for something different. Smallvile trilogy, CLex.

Predictably, Different and Red by Jojo, at the Level Three Records Room.

Triple pov, Lex, Clark, Lois, and I can't put my finger on why I liked it so much, except the rhythm was addictive, almost sharp. Futurefic, and--hmm. I would have sincerely loved more backstory, but this is intensively here-and-now, and I liked that too. Very, very interesting reading.

And Dilbert is addictive.


Stole this from someone on my friendlist--if it was you, tell me? 'Caue you had like, ten cool links and I only saw three or four before falling asleep last night.

A Four Letter Word

"Slut" is for when you don't act like a lady. "Slut" is for when you sit with your legs apart. "Slut" is for when you wear it short, tight, without a bra, cut up high and down low and around the side, because, see, "slut" is also for when you have the nerve to enjoy your body in front of women who hate their own bodies. Don't strut. Don't dance with soul, or lick your lips. Don't look too good; don't think you look too good. Digging your own self is slutty. Making your own good time is slutty. Who do you think you are, anyway? Knees together, slut.

I seriously love this.

I have cookies!
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