May 26th, 2005


serial killers and their dogs. pubic hair. herring.

serial killers.
I was on my way to work and I passed this guy with an adorable puppy dog. You know the kind of dog that makes your heart turn to a buttery goo behind your ribs and your ovaries explode with squee? That kind. But I'm wise to these dog owners. You can't let yourself be lulled by THE PUPPY because the guy with the leash is always a serial killer. Always. They just use the dogs as bait. Your first automatic reaction is: hey, he's got a cute doggie! He's a caretaking soul! A woobie! But in fact once you're in his apartment after the first date, he'll hack you to pieces and feed you to the dog, and the dog will gobble you up and wag its tail. Because it's a dog. They don't know better. "Here, Buster! Here's some liver!" I gave this guy a warning stare as I passed to let him know I was on to him. Then emitted tiny baby-coo-whimpers to the dog.

pubic hair.
I wrapped a gift for someone in a hurry the other morning--you know who you are--and as soon as I was done with the ribbon, I panicked and thought: Oh god. What if I wrapped a pubic hair up in the gift? I mean. Don't get me wrong. My apartment isn't *strewn* with pubic hair or anything, but once this type of thought lodges in your head, it's there to stay. What if I'd picked one up on the edge of my shoe and then scratched my ankle and gotten it on my sleeve cuff, and transferred it to the gift, destined to horrify its recipient? Pubic hairs migrate. It's in their nature. What if one gets on your money and you hand it to a cashier? What if one gets paper-clipped into the report that you hand your manager? It took EVERY EFFORT OF WILL I OWN not to rip the package back open to check it. My friend hasn't mentioned pubic hair to me though, so I've tried to move on.

You know how in a movie they insinuate that some guy is the killer, and then he's cleared of all suspicion, and then at the end, OMG HE'S THE KILLER AFTER ALL! So if he wasn't a red herring, is he just a herring? I wonder about this.

Right now I'm listening to Evanescence's "My Immortal."

some recs and blather.

runpunkrun posts a short X-Files story, with dialogue entirely courtesy of subtitles of movies made in Hong Kong. Freaking hilarious.

And belatedly I rec shrift's amazing Ocean's Eleven story (Danny/Rusty). I'm not even that fond of either Brad Pitt *or* George Clooney, but I liked the movies very much and I love this fab little story.

Meanwhile. I have apparently been PMSing for a solid week, what with the sleeping and the unbelievable amounts of sugary foods I've been eating--torte, pie, gelato, candy bars candy bars candy bars, fudge. I think to myself: maybe my body knows what it needs, because even though I also missed a week of working out (sinus infection), my weight didn't go up. Of course I'll probably get to the gym tonight and by one of those freakish physiological shifts, I'll have gained 37 pounds in the last two days.

I am hyper too. I think it's finally the doubled Prozac dose kicking in. I AM SO HYPER THAT I ABUSE THE CAPSLOCK! And talk 55 MPH to my coworkers. (Cow-orkers, as sherrold says.) Plus as you'll have noticed, there was that multiply-orgasmic spurt of writing I just finished. And I've been getting work done at work! Not as much as I need to, but thankfully enough to make my manager's face a little brighter. Or maybe that was because I was giddy and gesticulating throughout my last one-on-one.

In lieu of an entire insane quiz, I offer you this question:

Why do fools fall in love?

A. pheromones
B. beer
C. boredom
D. fairy-tale stereotypes of romance in mass-media popular culture perpetuating false images and scripts of love
E. toast


so, hmm.

So I've more or less decided I'm going to rewatch all of the first three seasons of Alias, this time taking notes that will be useful for writing. That's the plan, anyway. You can probably see where I want to go here, which is to write stories much richer with canon context. Whereas the thing I just wrote was fast and loose, and I made up all kinds of shit as I went along. But I don't mind writing in a fast and loose style. When it's on, it's on, and it's fun. When it's on, you should use the juice and not hold back, and besides, nitpicking over canon trivia and facts and doing shitloads of research to get *just* the right line is also fun, but sometimes not. Sometimes it's a grind and you wonder why you tried to segue from porny happy scribbles to porny angsty epics.

But anyway. I want to write some more. What do you guys--you guys who are interested in more J/V--want to read? I'll probably just ignore you all, ha ha ha! but maybe I'll see an idea and clutch it to my hyperactive bosom and run to my keyboard and type like mad. Like I'm doing right this minute.

Dear god must go to the gym and burn off some of this manic energy before I drive you all insane.