I spent the last fifteen minutes dancing naked in my kitchen to the San Diego Symphony.

Just because I can.

The three screws in my hip are named Athos, Aramis, and Porthos.

Ummmmmm... ok, I think you posted your LJ on his comments and I friended you because us Splutfans are so elite and I'd been hearing about you since forever in his actual entries so I don't really know all that much about you, or it could be my mind is like a sieve and it's all drained out.

So. Where to start.

How long have you been online and what "fandoms", if any do you follow?

Anything else (aside from fandoms) that you're fanatical about? Hand washing? Sorting whites from darks? Only wearing pink on Thursdays?

I assume "his" means "Bill's." The reference to "Splutfans" amuses me, because the term "Splut" originated in my junior year of high school and was an acronym for "Some People Live Under Tyranny" (I think; that was a long time ago). We started referring to ourselves as the Splutglut at some point thereafter; I was alternately "Splutmomma" and "Hive Queen." I eventually assimilated Bill back in the day when I had a whole slew of friends online ("groupies" would be a better term for some of them. I was never sure whether to be flatted or disturbed by my tendency to collect fourteen-year-old boys)(I was seventeen, so that's not as bad as it sounds). He seems to have taken over the term for his own use, but its origins lie in Punkin's and my cranky late-adolescence (The British girl group Republica would sum us up pretty well), are fairly hostile and violent, and have ABSOLUTELY NOTHING to do with white kittens or cats in any form. "Splutopia" would not have cats; it would have leopards and white tigers wearing jeweled collars, eating medium-rare Republican steaks from Lalique dishes, and trained to attack at the flick of our bangled wrists.

honestly, at one point I was slightly irritated at the corruption, as the ultimate power to bestow the honor of Splut rests solely with the Splutmother, but I have become too old and tired to be irritated by anything other than overly-harsh cleaning agents.

I first discovered the Wonderful Brain-Draining Online World in 1997, when I was sixteen, a senior in high school, and an even bigger twit than I am now. Dad had a modem installed in our 486 33 mhz junker (whose processor I carried in my purse for years after it met its ultimate demise), and I turned into a net junkie. That was just after the Star Wars Special Editions had been released, and the original Star Wars fed my bubble-gum sci-fi fetish nicely. I found a now-defunct Star Wars chat room, not realizing it was geared more to roleplaying than to idle chat. I had never even HEARD of roleplaying, thought it the single most idiotic pastime possible (an opinion which I retain to this day), and took delight in cleverly breaking it up and forcing its decension into some sort of fucked-up Sailormoon while actually pissing off the fewest people possible (lyekka thought I was really trying to play, which cracked my shit UP when I found out years later and only goes to show that some degrees of snark are too subtle for detection by the untrained eye).

All of the dorking around online probably led me to accept my first forced major (computer science) with more grace than I might have otherwise, which is fine. The degree will make a nice wall hanging if I ever bother to have it framed. if I can find it.

Fandoms. I was obsessed with the Beatles in high school and Sailormoon during the first college experience and apparently have burned myself out as far as capacity for obsession with pop culture goes. I don't watch television, and my musical taste has become schizophrenic enough that I haven't focused on any one group in years.

I am fanatical about most personal habits and am probably anal-retentive to the point of obsessive-compulsive, particulary in the arenas of diet (mostly plant-based and NO SUGAR; it does BAD THINGS to me, which is ironic thinking back on the Golden Age of Splut), exercise (daily), and hygiene (thorough cleansing of apartment weekly, involving much Ajax with Bleach). I think it makes me an incredibly selfish person, but I have found that this may be the human condition.

When I was at Walmart today, I saw a giant pile of the new Harry Potter book on a big table, totally ignored by all shoppers.

I thought of you all and smirked.

I've read them alll merely because Dad has bought them all. Brat has the new one, and I'll probably read it when she's done. I personally don't have any real feeling about the series one way or the other.

In a pathetic attempt to motivate myself to start chucking in this thing again, I am emulating the esteemed brakspants and opening the floor for random questions.

I am forced to attend a barbecue this evening. There will be meat and beer, both in large quantities, neither of which hold the slightest interest for me. I was instructed to bring "a salad."

A Salad:
Napa cabbage
organic whole-wheat couscous made with organic miso broth
aduki beans
scallions
dried nori
tofu
shiitake mushrooms

There are subtle degrees of snark.

October approaches and saturates my senses, neither scent nor taste, yet both and still more. It envelops me like smoke, vapors rising from phoenix ashes. All things die in winter to be born again, and autumn is the blaze of glory, the trail of the comet. The transient beauty in all things becomes more apparent as it peaks and fades; the bittersweet tang quickens my blood, the current pulling relentlessly. The squirrel outside the window digs with tiny paws, eyes shining blackly with blind thought of ACORN, and my hands curl with the feel of fur. Everything is so perfect within itself. A kernel of popcorn is a raindrop until it becomes a snowflake, and where is a greater miracle than that? I am spellbound by the pumpkins in their bins; smooth, orange rinds slide under my fingers. The ridges and dimples and cracks are a secret message to those who care to read. I want to take it all in, but I am not large enough to hold the world and can only stand in the wind transfixed as it runs through me. It is an agony of impossibility, that the universe even is, that a pumpkin exists, and therefore all things are possible. It leaves me moon-mad to a degree, and I dance in unlikely public places.

"Please sit back and relax while Windows 98 installs on your computer" MY ASS.

(it's bratpookie, not Ada. but still.)

The day of reckoning has arrived.

Law: 93
Audit: 93
ARE: 94
FARE: 97

Most people who pass get upper 70s or low 80s. I gloat and feel guilt for gloating and now intend to burn every Becker notecard ONE AT A TIME.

Daddy is buying me this as a "Happy I Didn't Waste A Shitload of Money On Your Education" present, since I have been borrowing one at work on the rare occasion I need such.

You all could at least have pretended to think my CAT is cute.

So. Last night was graduation, which was not as vile as it had potential to be. I did not lose the cap while walking, trip over it, and fall into the Dean, knocking him over and confirming that he is in fact not wearing his own hair, so my mother is still employed. I sat with the Katie-who-is-not-the-inexcusable-bitch-Katie and saw Leper-Michelle, who managed to blow me off twice, but it's okay because I will never have to see her again. Really, I wish her the absolute best and hope she has the most perfect life imaginable...because I'm pretty sure the karmic fall that girl has racked up for herself will lead to her rebirth as something which begins as a maggot, so she'd better live it up while she still has opposable thumbs.

Dad has already mentioned that I should keep in mind the option of getting an assistantship here and going to grad school. I believe he meant this spring, conveniently ignoring that I haven't taken the GMAT, all the assistantships are surely full by now, and the application deadline was December first. After my initial mind-numbing depression at the concept, I am keeping that in mind for a Last Resort if no one wants to hire me by fall.

The boy was here. I am old enough now that I washed the sheets and towels right away without another thought, but the glass of water is where he left it, half-full. God or the cat will drink it if I leave it long enough. Dad is sending me there for New Year's. I have sixteen days to kill until then, and the rest of my life to kill after. I need to find stupid retail work or similar, but that is going to be 98% impossible in this town. Mom's friend Sue who did the audit plan with me does tax work in the busy season for someone who she thinks may be going to need another set of typing hands due to a competitor's impending retirement and the resulting influx of new idiots who can't fill out a 1040, so she made me give my miscellany to the lady to keep on file just in case. That would give me something to do through April, at least.

WHY AM I A LEPER. WHY. Why do the horrid, foul-tempered, ethically-questionable girls with badly-bleached hair and subpar GPAs find jobs while I have to be my father's kept-daughter. There are rumors that Brat has changed her major to accounting. She comes home Wednesday morning for break. I'm kicking her ass to Possum Walk and back Wednesday afternoon.

It made snow. I shoveled the driveway while Dad was gone today so that he would not attempt it himself and damage his back. I think we should train Miyu to pull a little plow. He is upset with me because I won't let him into my closet and will likely take revenge by shedding in my bathtub.

All of the Bitchmobile's doors were frozen shut on Wednesday when I wanted to go to the post office. I fussed at it for a while and then gave up and took the other car, but I managed to get one door open enough for the overhead light to come on, which means we got to play the fun jump-start game on Thursday. He wanted to do that Thing possible with a stick shift that involves one person pushing the car down a hill while another does some magical thing called "popping the clutch." This is beyond my limited car comprehension; I have jumper cables in my trunk for a reason and finally managed to talk him into that.

bleah. I am depressed because I serve no useful purpose in the world and because I read Atlas Shrugged in three days. This needs to end here, or I will start whining about ice skates and knee boots and THEN THE FUN NEVER STOPS.

Time to break out the body butter. w00t.

"Bethany the ditzy wildlife-and-fisheries major was sitting next to me
checking her mail and emits a sigh followed by, "Ooooooh, my boyfriend
sent me an e-mail card! That's soooo sweet!!!!!" I was poring over
Marika's source code looking for where the arrays were fucked (Note my
use of the technical term) and absent-mindedly answered, 'Yeah, isn't
it? Mine sent me his pants,' and didn't even realize I'd opened my
mouth until they both just stared at me." (1998)

Demon cat....
...angel when sleeping.
In which I restrain the cat.
The least offensive hair all year.

Secretly, secretly...I am the world's saddest little fangirl.

pleasekillmenowkthx.

I may post something of substance later if I can pull enough brain cells together.

My head is an Easter egg full of confetti, or sometimes glittering ground glass, or perhaps sea monkeys, but most probably Pandora's box, filled with everything that ever is or was or will be. Infinity is difficult to contain within an eggshell, and sometimes it is almost impossible to do anything but sit in rapt contemplation of the thought of my Name, moon gorgeous meditation when I am only such a little box of blood and bones.

Days to CPA exam: 14
Days to commencement: 50
Days since I breathed: 37

TOMORROW IS OCTOBER 23. HAPPY ME DAY.

Spam of the day: "Re: destroy the temple."

I am almost tempted to open that one.

There is an inch of water on the floor in the laundry room and in the garage, Dad is in Arizona, and I have an interview at 12:45.

I TOLD HIM ABOUT THE DRAINS WEEKS AGO. YELLOW FUCKING WALLPAPER.

This is the scariest thing I have ever seen in my life. I was terrified of Playmobil as a small child (EVIL LITTLE FACES), and now I am going to have nightmares.

The SUN. WHY GOD WHY WHY WHY.

I must ask, God, why is Monday?
Let us chant NO DAY HERE
and return to our beds
as amoeba to primordial soup
served with cheese and crackers
at the Restaurant at the End of the Universe.

kitsplut Magic Number 23 Job Singer Personality Multiple Temperament Unflappable Sexual If I Have To Likely To Win A Swimming Badge Me - In A Word Compassionate Colour Brought to you by MemeJack

I wouldn't post that if it weren't perfect.

I screamed loud enough that Dad came running down the stairs.

.