In which Giddy indulges, randomly, in her love of certain fandoms.

This is a long one, and I should cut away, but I don't feel like it. ;-)

I've decided that I'm evil in my not-responding-to-feedbackliness, as I have a handful from back before I went on vacation that are just siiiiiitting here staaaaaring at me, saying "You can't work on a new story until you've finished us, here!" But I'm like, so lazy. It'd take twenty minutes, half an hour to do and then it'd be done! But I keep not doing it. My excuse right now is, my back hurts so bad I can't focus. And really, it does hurt. Don't know what I did but I can't turn at the waist or bend over and my left leg hurts when I walk. Owwie. :-( /whine

I slept pretty much until 1pm today, which is not normal--I'm always up by 8am. Then I fell asleep again right after Andromeda (I love the Harper. I was all excited because they said 'all new' and I was like, eeek! New Harper! But then it was the episode with the Vedrans and the blahblah, and I was disappointed like with the VMAs when they announced Lance and cut to Jimmy. Sigh. Still--Harper!) and slept until 10:30. So, roughly 15hrs sleep in the past 22. I can't decide if I needed the sleep enough to justify it or if I just screwed myself up for the rest of the week.

Back to the Harper for a moment, because really. MGW comes up to Kevin Sorbo's shoulders and not much more than that. I find it hot. I'm like, mmmm. Harper's littttler. I don't think my kink for bigger/littler has anything to do with feminization of one character, which is a thought I worried about after reading many, many Sentinel fics where Blair, as a smaller, longhaired guy, became a total woman. I think it's mainly the contrast thing. So why do I not like Harper/Tyr? I should, all things considered--Tyr is tall and broad and all that good stuff. Very obviously buff, which is, you know. Yeah. He's very contrasty to Harper, who is smaller and leaner and...and...spike-haired and flexible and hot. But. I just don't.

However, I do like the idea of Tyr/Beka, although I haven't read any fic for it yet. I'm almost scared of hetfic these days, it's been so long since I read it.

Does anyone know of any good Dylan/Harper besides the stuff at Viridian's site? Because there's only so many times a girl can read 'Slouching Towards Bethlehem' and 'Shame'. *G* Like, after a hundred rereads in a year or so, they might lose something, and they're such fabulous stories that that'd be a shame, so I limit myself but. Want Dylan/Harper!

Speaking of other fandoms...is it sad that I really live for the days when there's new Speranza? I just checked her page and saw an 8/24/2002 and was like, ! Not even words, there was just a mental exclamation point. But it's just a Hungarian version of 'Chicago's Most Wanted'. Sigh. The things that are true of Slouching and Shame are true of Most Wanted and 'With Six You Get Eggroll' and 'Beyond Embarassment' (even though that's the one that made me bawl the first time I read it and Fraser saying that he's come to live in Ray's spare closet still makes me tear up like a million rereads later.)

Oh! About a year ago, on Bindlestitch, someone sent me the RPS stories with PG and CKR. I love love love those stories--Right Beside You, the prequel? I think it's a prequel, and a couple others. I think she sent me pretty much every one that exists. I know they're not supposed to be circulated anymore but meep. If anyone has them, please pass them along, I lost my copies when my hard drive crashed.

Can't stop staring at the pic of Chris with his arms wrapped around Lance from behind and his eyes closed, and Lance with his hands over Chris', turning to look at him. Most of you prolly knew what pic I meant from the first half of that description but I had to finish it because the pic kills me, I am dead after I look at it, and brought to life again by the desire to write Trickyfish. *G* Which I shall go do now, I think, before I get too lost on the 'net looking for Dylan/Harper. ;-)

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I'm at my mother's house. We're having a barbecue, even though it's only like 50 degrees outside and chilly/wet, and everyone is hanging out in Jim's garage. It's a cool building, actually, packed with tons of interesting old stuff he finds everywhere, including about 200 ancient toy trucks, and it's the size of a very large barn and very neatly kept. Jim is a car and motorcycle fanatic and always has stuff he's working on rebuilding stored out there--he's also totally anal so you would seriously not know that the garage is an actual working garage and not just for show.

But his family, OMG, they're driving me crazy. They were asking about my vacation to NC and his father is all like, "Did you meet a lot of coloreds?" and I'm like, "What?" Because I had no idea what he was talking about, you say colored to me and I think crayons. And then his brother was talking about "The negroes were awful down there," blahblahblah, and my Mom and Jim are sitting there rolling their eyes and my jaw is on the floor, but the rest of the family is nodding wisely like, of course. So true! Tell it, John! I had to escape. I always feel like I should say something when they start in like that, but nothing I ever say sinks in with them--and honestly, if Jim can't make them stop, no one can. He's the most mild-mannered person on the face of the earth, such a good, good guy, but when he gets mad at you or tells you to stop something...you do. You just do. Unless you're seriously cracked in the head, which apparently, these people are!

Ugh.

Save me save me save me save me savemesavemesaveme!

Is it five yet? Because I can leave at five. They're probably out there talking about me because I'm in here being 'unsociable' but please. I can't take it anymore. They were so good about meeting my sister's husband that I somehow managed to forget that they're a bunch of racist freaks, and I wasn't prepared to deal with it.

And Jim's niece is getting a fantasy series published some time in the next year, apparently. I hate her so much, she's so smug about it, but I don't know how the hell she could possibly be good enough to get anything published. Talking to her for ten minutes is like talking to a spiteful twelve-year old who's never learned anything about people. (Says the person whining like a spiteful twelve-year old, but at least I'm generally entertaining and I like people. I think I'm entertaining, anyway. I hope. At least, I hope I'm better than her, because if I'm not I think it's time to jump off a cliff.)

Seriously. I don't want to go back out there. Someone come over, find me, and abduct me! I'll be the fat girl in the blue sweater, huddled in a ball behind the motorcycle, cuddling the kitten and praying for salvation.

Ohhhhh boy, someone's calling my name. I can't hide anymore. Waaaaaah. In lieu of saving me, kill me?

Oh, JOY! Amy brought her snake to dinner!

Yes, folks. We have now achieved a level of. Of. I don't know what of, I don't want to think about it. *sobbing* Snake! Snake the snake, sitting at the dinner table, and don't think I'm kidding!

*drags self out to the table, sobbing all the way*