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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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waiting
seperis
It just hit me, while singing along of course, that my limits of vaguely subconscious obsession aren't reached yet.

My entire playlist is made up of songs I downloaded *directly* after watching the QaF vid that first used it. I mean. Every damn one of them. And that wasn't even conscious. I just picked songs to put on it, started singing along, then thought, hmm, why does this remind of me of blowjobs?

I'd probably find this a lot less disturbing if I couldn't just *almost* visualize the entire vid just by listening to the song.

Work is being as worklike as usual, though some vague, not-good weirdness is setting my teeth on edge. Also, a client, after being denied, shared that he wanted to break my neck or something along those lines in the lobby. He spent the entire interview staring at my chest. I'm really not too worried he's going to remember what my *face* looks like. Kind of annoying, though. Saw Very Damn Pretty Trainee come by my office and hang while a whole bunch of us were talking. That was nice. The view, I mean. Unfortunately, he's not coming here, which is very sad, but slated to the hospital. M says he's too uptight for me. C says I could loosen him up. Both encouraged immediate hitting-on.

Okay, here's the thing--I have no idea how to do that.

Okay, granted, there's like, the obvious approach. Slinking up, leaning into a wall to make sure I don't trip over my feet, and trying to be smooth. This is actually a moment that really should get me a place on the comic circuit, because I only have two modes--pathetically obvious or terrifyingly repressed. Both require me to talk. I honestly think I'd do much better at this sort of thing if I just kept my mouth shut, but that's like asking me not to breathe.

But still, chasing him down, tackling him to the floor, and saying "I LIKE YOU! YOU PRETTY!" is still not going to be my first choice, tempting though it may be, and also, fun as hell, not to mention probably leading to my first official restraining order. I've decided to repress and channel my flirting into such uplifting activities as say, cleaning my fingernails. I have very, very clean fingernails right now.

Okay, now skipping the shallowness of me, just caught this on my friendslist.

Read This Right The Hell Now

rageprufrock just blew me away. To Those Who Know.

America compells people to leave everything, to give up everything, to be terrified and impoverished and exhausted and belittled, humiliated and bereaved, because it promises that one day, your daughter who is only two years old will be able to be a student in an American university and work on Capitol Hill during the summers. It makes you not care that your fingers are stuck in the closed door of the El train when you take her to the clinic for her annual dental checkup. It makes you walk to work in the snow after the car is stolen so that she can go to the babysitter with the dog named Barney, after you realize that the old ones kept her locked in a room upstairs. It makes you furious and crazy and wild, dangerous, desperate, and amazing. It makes you amazing. America makes you do things.

She says everything, doesn't she?


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Most of my recent songs are from Farscape vids.

When I was in fourth grade, I did indeed chase a boy across the playground, knock him down and kiss him. He was proably traumatized for life.

Thank you for linking to her entry. I am over here all teary-eyed now.

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