March 6th, 2007

children of dune - leto 1

dark days of

I think I'm in some kind of bizarre post-porn slump. I mean--sure. It's all good and orgasmic, but then you think, what will I do now?

Apparently, that would be rebundling my tags.


It's--I open them at home, and stare at them, thinking, how can I be *more descriptive*, and merryish asked the other day, do you do your own stories? And suddenly, this entire new vista of opportunity presented itself.

Tagging my own stories.

I know them! Finally, finally, I would have a use for the tag Clark-apocalypse and for One Word in Voyager, I could totally have ten separate pairing tags. Ten! And that's before you get to the amnesia and adultery and attempted murder and Q and self-injury and I was like, twenty-three when I wrote that, so judge not, man. That was my Trekkie soap opera. Good times.

Anyway, right., the cure for post-porn depression.

See, I had a theme here.


In other news:

Okay, no, we don't have a hotel, but svmadelyn has her ticket and Child and I have our tickets, so we are definitely going to Chicago and I can honestly state the best thing I can imagine right now is Child's face when he sees dinosaurs and lizards, cause man. So awesome. It's--well. Okay. It's hotwire's fault. We had a hotel picked out. It had breakfast and music during breakfast. It was close to Navy Pier.

Then hotwire wiggles its tentacles at us all "oooh, look, you can get four star for so much less if you just waaaatch and waiiiiittt." Which we did. And are still doing. It's kind of addictive, isn't it? That and priceline, which both me and Madelyn are fascinated by yet terrified to use.

Now, paying deposit for cruise and I am *free*. Well. No. But I could be. Eventually.



Remember when I mentioned the at home parent-teacher conference adn was confronted by Incredibly Attractive Math Teacher? My son came home the other day, giving me a knowing look, which always come across as a fairly disturbing smirk, and sidled up to tell me he isn't married.

You know, I do not want to know how the hell that came up during class. I just don't. Don't, don't, don't.