Reality Check

Oh. My. God.

Thu, 16 Apr 2009 16:08:02 GMT

That's really all I can say. Those of you who know what I'm doing will probably know what I'm talking about. XD

HELLO!!

Sun, 15 Mar 2009 02:08:56 GMT

Look! I skipped the entire year of 2008! WOAH.

Now, why don't she write?

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 05:49:13 GMT

Work is EATING MY SOUL. What's it been, well over a month since I've updated anything at all? And I'm sure by now everyone has forgotten who I am and why I'm here and what I stand for so I shall start by reintroducing myself all over again. My name is Sianne and I am 28 years old and I HAVE NO SOUL. I have empathy though. Oh my god, I have a fuckload of empathy. It is oozing out my ears. *incoherent cursing, shakes the jam jar that contains the last bits of her morality and sense of human dignity*

Right, so here's the story. At the end of September I got a job at Convergys. They're one of those multimillion dollar businesses that never tell you what exactly they DO when you watch their commercials, they just show a group of smiling, happy, ethnically diverse people standing around in business attire and then a voice over comes on and says "Our company. A GREAT place to work."

Well, okay, but I'd still like to know what I'm DOING. Which turns out they contract with a bunch of OTHER companies, who are subcontracted through a lot of other companies. So I'm not exactly clear on who is paying me. But as long as they keep doing it, I don't suppose I will complain. Also, I took eight weeks of insurance agent classes to get my insurance license. I am now a licensed insurance agent for this company, and I can sell policies. Worse still, it is Life and Health insurance, which are actually two different things. I have found that people really like life insurance (it pays them) and really hate health insurance (they pay us). They paid for my training, they paid for my testing, and now they're paying me extra because I have a slip of paper that says I am licensed.

But what do I DO? I sit at a desk all day and answer people's questions about their Medicare.

.........yes.

I have become one of Them. And they told me in insurance class that we would have to just sort of tough it up when it came to sob stories, because there's only so much that we can do for people and we're not allowed to bend the rules. Which I already knew, believe it or not modding y!gallery has put me in the mentality of "you break the rules for one person they're all going to want it" deal. Which had already given me a pretty tough skin. Natural empathetic tendencies towards sob stories had eroded to the point of "your mother just died? ya right okay you're still banned. Bai."

But omg you get real live people on the phone wondering how they're going to afford medication and your heart just sort of rips itself into tiny pieces. Over and over and over. So, the part of me I was trying to squish is now fully functioning again, I have noticed. I find myself saying "Awwww, you poor thing!" more times than I care to count. I have tried not to let it affect my moderating. On the other hand, there is only so much that I personally can do. Hence the soul eating part. Also they've got me on some kind of ungodly endurance test which is NOT cool. But at least I'm getting paid for the days I'm out on Jury Duty this week.....*grumblemumble*

And that's where Sianne has been. I LOVE YOU ALL. I am sorry I have not been here but maybe I will get a chance to catch it up (ha ha) or at least start replying to stuff again.

Ha ha ha all corsets on hold

Fri, 21 Sep 2007 18:03:10 GMT

So we had that flood, right? A lot of stuff got shifted around while stuff got moved around. In the mess of having things get moved, we had carpet people come in and clean the carpets, and then we had separate people come in and clean. I am missing all my boning supplies (over 70 flat steel bones) 4 busks, a hammer, and my good awl. (The shitty one is still here...hmm) Now I know they are not misplaced, because two bones I had that were misshappen are still here, and all my plastic mock up boning is still here, the shitty awl is still here, the rubber mallet is still here, the grommets are still here, and my scissors, which were hidden REALLY well (re: they were lost) are still here. Thank god, they were silver plated.

I was cutting out corset parts on the pingpong table and decided to finally finish putting the room back together again because I felt up to it today or god only knows how long it would have been before I noticed. Probably when I went to put bones in someone's corset. Argh argh argh, that shit is going to be expensive to replace. agsdlagisdlalhgahgjga;lkhasf ranty ranty ranty.

To Define a Generation

Wed, 12 Sep 2007 01:15:46 GMT

I've read many articles over the past twelve hours, and even some yesterday. I've seen many different views on 9/11. It was our fault, it wasn't our fault, it was Bush's fault, it was the FBI's fault, it was the terrorist's fault. It was a tragedy, people should get over it, we should never forget it. The war is useless and we should all go home, we can't go home because we haven't caught the terrorists yet, we must support the troops regardless of what we personally believe...all of these are views I have read, and probably I have forgotten some.

I am not sure of my feelings on the whole situation. Certainly it was a horrible thing to happen, the first large scale attack on American soil in the continental United States since the War of 1812. Certainly many people lost their lives, and many people became heros.

I think we've sort of lost that, in all the political hoopla that came in the next five years. For almost a month, we grieved, we mourned, and we supported ourselves as a nation, and the world was, for the most part, supportive. Bush had his finest moments as a president, I believe, in holding the nation together in the wake of what only comes along once a century. New York became our symbol, the Pearl Harbor of the 21st century.

Where did we go wrong?

I am not going to start talking about my political beliefs in this journal, because I don't believe it is my place to say how anyone else should believe or think or act. If I wanted to talk about what I think the country did wrong in the aftermath, this journal would become far too long and far too ranty for me to post it here. Certainly though, I do believe mistakes were made on many levels. And continue to be made. But it's not my place to preach this time, about policy. Regardless of what I think, and regardless of what others think, today is a day that for many people will be burned into memory, and it doesn't matter how many years go by, THEY will never forget. We should not use or make light of their pain. It defines our generation, just as the Kennedy assassination defined the generation of our parents, and the bombing of Pearl Harbor defined the generation of our grandparents. We could, and should, take lessons from them, they and the quiet survivors of New York.

Years from now, regardless of what happens on the other side of the world, our children and our children's children will read about 9/11 in their history books and ask us "Where were you when it happened? What do you remember?" and we must ask ourselves what we want to give to them. We have time, now, as people, to stop making ourselves victims when we have not the right. We have time as a nation to stop the international lashing out. We can also keep at it. I think this year will be one of the last years we can do that. Where we were then and where we are now will shape our future for years to come, and it is our responsibility as human beings, to step back and reflect. The great tragedies that shape our nations history should not be defined by bullying (on ANY level) under the mis-guided label of patriotism. Let those who are grieving, grieve. Let those who have moved on, continue. That is what we should be contributing to history, because we are the ones who make it.

And ask yourself what you want to say when you get asked where you were twenty, thirty, fifty years from now. We can't move on from something unless we remember it, in whatever way we choose to remember.

Where we you? What were you doing?

God bless.

Farfarello? Rp? Anyone?

Fri, 24 Aug 2007 03:54:26 GMT

Looking for random person who doesn't mind chat RP to be our fourth? We has a Nagi and a Schuldig (me) and a Crawford but we need a lovable psychopath to terrorize the other folks with. Will explain in detail if anyone's interested. Must be willing to deal with newbie who is willing to learn, random scheduling, and ADD. SatiricalWhimsey on AIM if you're interested or know someone who is. Someone? Anyone?

*listens to the crickets*

Crossposted to IJ and JournalFen because I is that interested.

Insane Journal

Sat, 18 Aug 2007 21:09:08 GMT

I has one.

Anyone else have one that I need to friend?

Random Fanfiction (3)

Wed, 08 Aug 2007 03:48:58 GMT

This started out as a character profile, and then somehow morphed into a three part minific. I hesitate to call it a true "fanfic" because there are no canon characters in it. It's set in the WK universe. Part One. Part Two

A Family Account, by Ernest Bachmann
As told to Brad Crawford

Part Three
Delphi

As you know, Mr. Crawford, your school began to hear rumblings from the pro-occultist organization Esset by the end of the 1930's, espeically when they thought they had found their saviors in the Nazi party leaders Hitler and Himmler. Rose, being the woman she was, wanted to be right in the thick of things. She had a thirst for power, and she had always craved the limelight. She began to make ever more dire predictions, increasingly of death and blood. Her mob followers did not know what to make of this. Her warnings of a "Holocaust" scared them, to be sure, and they then gave her the name she used from that point on. Delphi, the mighty oracle of Ancient Greece.

Word reached Esset, and they sent for her in August of 1938, the year before Hitler invaded Poland. Esset was, for all I have been told, quite pleased with her. Rosenkreuz has been careful with the training of its precognitives, as I am sure you know, and the Council at the time was very leery of the blind Seer. She was by this time quite insane, I am positive. At least, I am fairly certain of it. I have heard from my contacts that insanity is harder on your Talent than it is on telepaths, no offense to your teammate. In any case, her mind had deteriorated to the point that she needed constant supervision. She had never properly learned to shield her mind from her visions, as she was not trained by your school to be an operative. Esset, of course, wanted to keep her around and in working condition for as long as possible, so they bought the services of two virtually untrained Rosenkreuz telepaths. They were to build her shields, to anchor her mind, and to hold her up.

However, something happened when they were shoring up her mind, and the three of them became tangled together. Somehow, their consciousness' twisted....and twisted badly. Content with her blindness before, she began to resent it now. The telepaths stopped speaking altogether, and went about with blank faces, tailing after her. One rarely saw Delphi without the two. Their Talents bled into each other. Some say it was as if they became a single entity. I refuse to believe that, because it would be too horrible for me to allow myself to consider such a thing. Regardless, her predictions took a bloody and violent turn, and there were.....physical consequences.

What's that? Oh. Well, I mean there were...bodies. Mostly children. It was like a jubilation offering. For example, she predicted Himmler would find evidence of Aryan civilization in Tibet and when he did, Esset reported that there were 14 children found slaughtered in the Council keep's courtyard, laid out with their hearts and eyes removed. Delphi did have an obsession with eyes... That and visions. Oh yes, she began to be absolutely obsessed with other prescients and their power. Esset was inclined to indulge her, as their orders came from none other than Hitler himself at the time. They bought a few contracts from Rosenkreuz, but the school was disinclined to send more after she drained the minds and memories of no less than twelve of their most powerful clairvoyants. She knew that visions often came to the untalented mind, and would send out her telepaths to scan the minds of the uninitiated, to break them in her quest to find the source of her power. Since Esset was on the quest for immortality even then, who were they to stop her?

Surely, she must have seen the inevitable end to it all. But you know, don't you, the problem with dealing with powerful men? They never like to be told that they are not really all that powerful after all, do they, Mr. Crawford. And I believe she was tired of running. Tired of starting over so many times. She'd started over in New York, started over in St. Louis, started over in Switzerland....why run and start over again somewhere else? It must have been easier to lie....to keep up the facade that everything was fine. After all, Hitler's advisers were doing the same thing, even though they knew the situation was hopeless. And she had her faithful telepaths to protect her. And the entire backing of Esset behind her. She was their most powerful weapon, for she was always a step ahead of the Nazis, and she was not loyal to Rosenkreuz.

And then, when the glorious Third Reich all came crashing down around their ears, she hid amongst the rubble and waited for Esset to crawl out of the ruins and rise again. She had staked her claim.

By the time my mother remarried into the Bachmann empire and I was old enough to know that my stepfather and fiancee were deep into Esset's ideals and religion, Delphi was an established and feared part of the organization, quite apart from the Elders. They feared and respected her. I do not know what Rosenkreuz thought, for I did not know of the school at that time. I was young, I was idealistic, and I was engaged to be married to a beautiful young woman. We were expecting a child, you know. This was....oh goodness, what year was Chloe born? 1974, so it was early 1973 when we came to Switzerland. I wanted my child to be a British citizen like Pamela and myself, Pamela's father insisted the child be dedicated to the cause. I met Delphi that fall, when Pamela and I were married and inducted into Esset. She was to give us a blessing. She wore a cowl...I remember she always wore a cowl, to cover her face and those terrible eye sockets of hers, to spare people from looking at them. Still, you got the impression that she was staring at you, when she turned her head in your direction. She was flanked, as always, by those silent telepaths. Their eyes were white by then, I think they were just as blind as she. Did she know I was her grandson? I don't know. I doubt it. Her mind was so twisted by madness by then that all she likely saw were two more vessels to feed her obsession.

She told the followers that my wife had lovely eyes....forgive my shudder, I can still remember it. Her hands were cold. Her smile was even colder. Esset's witch had a talent for leaving a person with a feeling of unescapable dread. And then....after Chloe was born, I managed to forget about her. We had our business, we supported the organization, we were successful. But you know as well as I that one cannot simply forget about Esset. I came home when Chloe was three, and my wife was on the floor in the living room. The police called it a cult death...they never found her eyes. But you see, I know why they were taken.

The eyes are the windows to the soul, are they not? Esset never found the key to immortality. Delphi believed she had found it in the eyes and visions of others. By stealing their visions and stealing their eyes, she robbed them of their souls. God only knows she had no soul of her own. What did she do with those eyes? I believe she ingested them. She was certainly twisted enough to. Her telepaths ripped visions from the minds of her victims, and she herself ripped out their eyes. She collected both, in the belief that it would make her immortal. Power was the only thing she craved. Certainly it made Esset more powerful.

I raised Chloe by myself after that. I made the tribute, I attended every Esset function, I made dual payment to Rosenkreuz in the hope it would keep her away from what was left of my family. And I am quite glad that she is dead. Even now that she seems to be reaching out from beyond the grave to meddle with us, I cannot allow her to menace my family any longer. Esset is destroyed, you and your teammates made sure of that. It is for the best, and I can only be thankful. For eighty years and more, Delphi has been a black stain on this earth. It will, I am sure, take time to heal. Her followers are scattered still, and that alone worries me.

The eyes....the eyes are the window to the soul. You will find my daughter, will you not?

Of The Misadventures of June bugs

Thu, 02 Aug 2007 19:29:26 GMT

So. I have a new June bug. For those of you who know me, I had a June bug buddy last year by the name of Buford who would come to my window every night and buzz, trying to get in. Buford and I became quite good friends, or at least as much as is possible when one is taking part in interspecies relationships such as these. Buford was, in June bug standards, the size of a Mack truck. He was the size of my half my thumb, so his buzzing was quite loud. To tell the truth, I was a little afraid of Buford. His eyes were a little too bright, if you know what I mean. But I smeared maple syrup on my window screen and he ate it off happily and then he died when winter came around. Alas, poor Buford.

My cat was interested in Buford as well, but I imagine his level of interest only extended to how crunchy Buford might be, and if his legs would get in the way of his delicate digestive system, which doesn't handle legs (insect or arachnid) well.

I missed Buford this summer, which seemed to be light on June bugs, until last night when a new one showed up. This one was lighter in color and much smaller, about average as far as June bugs go. I have called him Wadsworth, because he looks like a Wadsworth. How do I know that this June bug is male? I don't, really. But if it was female, she would be wearing lipstick and short skirts and trying to attract the attention of all the male june bugs out there, not buzzing my window. And he does buzz quite a bit. Nights are somewhat loud, as it's cicada season. The fuckers are LOUD. I've never had one on my windowscreen though. I left Wadsworth honey and then went to bed.

This morning Wadsworth was in the windowscreen, upside down. Stupid bug. I poked the screen and tried to get him to move, but he wouldn't. Perhaps he liked hanging upside down, I wouldn't know. I shook the screen and eventually he fell off. I came back a few hours later and he was crawling up the screen again, this time in circles. Maybe he is drunk. This is just what I need, a drunk June bug.

I am thinking of renaming him Percy. Drunken June bugs should definately be called Percy.

AND NOW A PLOT BUNNY.

I'm a bit tired of writing Weiss slash. *le gasp* I dunno, I've been leaning this direction for a while. I enjoy playing it (if I could find the players) and I certainly enjoy reading quality fanfiction, but what I wouldn't give for a good het story now and again. For crying out loud, 51% of the population is female, and they are not all bishie grabbing, squealing, Aya/Schu-stealing monsters and/or Mary Sues. Just most of them. So I'm jumping off the deep end and starting a new story. Of course, that brings up two problems. One, it leaves Puzzle hanging, and two, WK as a whole has very few canon females to work with. Which leaves bringing in an OC which usually means having to deal with people screaming "SUEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!" at you. I don't care. I have enough experience with Sues to recognize one, arrogant as I may sound.

So, going back to Clarity of Sight. More on this bunny in next entry, as it has nothing to do with June bugs.

I'M ALIVE!!!!

Thu, 14 Jun 2007 03:51:11 GMT

I.....made it all the way through today. Fortunately, I live out in the middle of nowhere and most of the undead have been congregating in the cities. I have a small cache of pointy weapons, so I took them off the wall, sharpened them, and set them near the window. In retrospect, this might not have been a good idea after all, as giving zombies any sort of weapon is generally undesirable. BUT NO ZOMBIES CAME FOR ME HA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.....

Hang on, there's somebody at the door.

New computer woes

Wed, 16 May 2007 23:28:57 GMT

X-posted from y-gallery

I got a student loan refund waaaaaaaaay back in the beginning of April and instead of putting it in the bank or using it to do something responsible like pay off my debt or a down payment on a car, I decided I needed a new computer. The one I have now is....well, let's just say a Piece of Junk wouldn't be far off the mark. And I paid way too much for it too, but I was in a bind and beholden to the people who "fixed" my first computer. (Long story short, it got hit by lightning and they said they could fix it. When they couldn't, they gave me store credit and told me to apply it to the purchase of a new GROSSLY OVERPRICED computer) I have a budget of roughly 1000 bucks, and since I don't really NEED a new fancy monitor or keyboard, I can shove it all into the tower.

Happy Sianne.

So I started window shopping on several websites, but figured I'd go with Best Buy since 1) they were closer and 2) I don't really like Circuit City since their store is dirty and their sales staff consists mostly of apathetic zombies.

I found a couple of models that I liked (Gateway 935, HP Athlon 64 4200 or something, and the same model in 3600) Okay that's three, but still. Now, in order to GET my shiny new computer, I had to do a couple of things. I don't (or didn't) have a bank account at this time. I'd closed out my last checking account at the end of 2005, and I really didn't want to go through the hassle of opening another one. (Credit checks, ugh) so I decided I'd open a savings account. No problem, right? Open a savings account with check, get 900 cash back, leave 100 in bank to hold account.

Ha ha.

The bank apparently had never seen such a large opening check before, and said they would hold it until Wednesday, which is today. Fine with me, except that I was annoyed I could not get the shiny new computer that day. Also, they would not give me cash back. Wtf.

So, undaunted, I head to Best Buy to check out teh shinies. I figure I can make a shopping list while I'm there and ask a question of the customer service people, who have always been helpful in the past. Here's the deal: I have a wireless router on my computer. I could probably uninstall from old machine and reinstall the flippin' thing on new machine myself. I have the instructions right here, and I've installed a video card before. Granted, I blew my computer up when I did it, but that was not my fault. I INSTALLED THE CARD CORRECTLY, DAMMIT. I know where the doohickies go inside the dealiebop and which thingie to connect to the USB gizmo. I am not techno incompetent. Nevertheless, I am extremely lazy and would rather have the nice men in Geek Squad do it for me so that all I have to do is take the new machine home and plug it into the wall and be online. I meander around the store for a while, taking notes, and am approached by Blue Shirt asking if he can help.
"Yes." I says. "How much would it be to uninstall a wireless adapter from one computer and reinstall it onto a machine of my choice?"

Blue Shirt gives me a blank look. At this point Higher Ranting Blue Shirt wanders over.
"Oooh. I can help!" he says cheerfully. "If you're buying a new computer, I suggest blah blah blah blah de blah firewall blah blah blah home installation blah blah blah blah de blah diddy blah install clean your entire house blah blah blah two hundred and twenty bucks."
I gave HRBS a blank look.
"Wow. That much?" I says. He beams at me.
"You need that package to protect your computer from harmful viruses and make it run faster."
I swear to god he said that.

I wandered out of the store after saying something vague about being back on Wednesday and "we'll see." But my god, I do not need people in my house installing shit on my computer that I don't need, and plus, this is not a play date. I want my router reinstalled. I don't need anything else, I can do it myself!!!11bbq.

So, after talking with talongodchild I came to a few conclusions.

Higher Ranking Blue Shirt was full of it.

Sales matter to Best Buy.

Reinstallation of router only costs about 40 dollars. Yup.

Because I have boobies, I must not know anything about computers.

I mean, that MUST be it. Remember way back ten paragraphs ago when I said I got a "new" computer for way too much money on store credit? Yeah, I had to fight with them there, because the model they wanted to sell me wasn't what I wanted, and I swear they more than doubled the price on me just because I insisted on installing extra RAM. It's still a piece of crap. I have no proof of that though, other than the comment "Are you sure you want that one? This one would suit your needs much better." Wtf, man? What do you know about my computer needs?

Anyway! Experiment time! I went back to Best Buy today, INTENDING to buy my computer, only I didn't, because the flippin' frackin' bank is still holding my check. Hur. (So now I'm getting it on Friday. algwikhlq!) Armed with knowledge of what a router installation really costs, I go into best buy to do some more window shopping and pick up a movie I wanted anyway. Along comes Blue Shirt, alas it wasn't the same one from Sunday.
"Hi!" damn, he's cheerful. "Can I help you?"
"Hi!" I says. "I am buying a new computer on Friday, one of these three models." and I rattle them off. "Can you please to be telling me the difference between them and if they will play any of the following without installing a separate video card?"
"Oh sure!" says he and proceeds to speechify, not that I am paying attention, because I will ask the same question again on Friday and actually pay attention this time. Hell, if I have to hold onto information for longer than 24 hours, it ceases to become relevant in decision making.

However, I am now reasonably confident that I have made myself look moderately silly, because I know that all three games I named will play without installation of card.
"Good." I says. "I has another question. How much does it cost to uninstall a wireless router from my old machine and reinstall it onto one of those three?" I explained about the lazy bit but left out the blowing up part. Blue Shirt launched into helpful speech ending in the two hundred and twenty dollar rigmarole.
"But I don't need all that." says I. "I just need the router moved from point A to point B."
"It would really be better to do it the other way to protect your computer." says Blue Shirt, or words to that effect. "What kind of router do you have?"
"D-Link." I said. "My dad installed it." which was true.

"Well, let's ask the Geek Squad." said Blue Shirt. Fine with me. We headed over to customer service, and no Geek Squad was present. Higher Level Blue Shirt was behind the counter, not same one as before, this was older guy and had somewhat managerial air. Oh goooooodie.
"Blah blah blah blah blah blah reinstall blah blah blah firewall blah blah blah demonstration blah blah hundred and forty dollars in store." said Higher Level Blue Shirt helpfully.
"I don't need that." I said patiently. "Point A. Point B."
"Biddity biddity warrenty."
I decided that maybe there was some sort of code going on here that I wasn't aware of, so tried it myself.
"Blah blah de blah do not want?"
"Blah blah blah faster speed blippy blah blah."
"Blah blah." I was becoming annoyed. "Blah blah DWL-G510 wireless adaptor blah blah blah this machine to that machine for forty bucks."
"Oh. Sure. We can do that."

Which is what I wanted in the first place. I got Blue Shirt's name and promised to be back Friday with the old machine. Barring some emergency with the bank ("Omg there are ducks on the front lawn!! We're holding your check until Tuesday while we take photographs!!") I'm getting a nice new, shiny machine and won't have to connect the thingiebop to the whatchiedeal by myself because I'm lazy like that. Yay me.

P.S. I have boobies.

Weiss fanfiction (yet again)

Fri, 04 May 2007 18:15:43 GMT

Yay, using LJ as fic holder again.

Aya woke warm and contented. The air conditioner had been going full blast all during the night, and he'd burrowed down under the blankets, surprisingly chilled. He was still buzzed from whatever high the vortex had given him, and Nagi had walked beside him on the way back. The two of them had been silent, simply enjoying each other's company, and when they turned in for the night, the silence was still a comfortable one. What surprised him, however, was the feel of a warm body pressed against his back. He had gone to his bed alone. The feeling of being decidedly...not...was disconcerting and disorienting. He thought for a moment that it might be Aya-chan with him, but the idea was ludicrous. The soft breaths against the back of his neck were not hers. She was away, in college, and safe from his influence. He paused, and collected his thoughts. It could only be Nagi. But why...why would Nagi be here? With him? Carefully, so as not to wake him, Aya turned over and looked at him. Nagi was curled on his side with his hands beneath his chin, his hair fallen in his face. Aya felt an unnamed emotion sweeping through him...a mix of protectiveness and something else. He reached out carefully and brushed Nagi's hair away from his forehead, tucking it back behind his ear.

Nagi sighed and moved closer. Aya's lips twitched, and he didn't dare move his arm back, instead resting it lightly over Nagi's waist and letting his eyes fall half closed again. Only the sound of shouting drifting up from the kitchen some ten minutes later made him consider moving. Nagi stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He seemed surprised to find himself in Aya's bed, and even more surprised to find himself being cradled against Aya's chest.
"Good morning." Aya whispered. Nagi blinked.
"I apologize." he said quietly. "I got cold."
"None needed." Aya muttered, suddenly embarrassed. What if Nagi didn't want to be touched? He was about to move his arm away when Nagi smiled at him, and something like an electric fissure passed over Aya.
"You were holding me." he realized. "No one's ever done that before."
"Should I not have been?" Aya asked, brows furrowed. Nagi shook his head and smiled.

Bored and taking a break. Two paragraphs is about as far as I can go before my ADD kicks in.

"I like it." Nagi said, and stretched. The shouting in the kitchen was growing louder. Aya sighed. It sounded like Schuldig and Omi. He supposed they ought to go and check and make sure they weren't about to kill each other. From Nagi's expression, he could tell he was thinking the same thing. They lay there for a while, staring at each other until Nagi snorted and rolled to his feet. Aya was reluctant to let him go.
"Well, at least he did come home last night." Nagi said somewhat awkwardly.
"Hai." Aya said, running a hand through his hair. He was still unused to having it so short. He got out of bed himself and headed for the bathroom, leaving the bed unmade.
The shouting had faded by the time the two of them had come down, and Yohji was carrying two plates of omelette into the dining room.
"What was the shouting all abou--what happened to your face?" Nagi asked curiously, staring at Omi. Aya, who had been looking at Yohji curiously, turned his attention to Omi. His chin was scraped, and he had what looked to be a spectacular bruise forming above his left eyebrow.
"Oh. Long story." Omi said with a sigh.
"Short version, he attacked a cactus." Schuldig called from the dining room. "The cactus won."
Nagi and Aya both looked at Omi for confirmation.

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, but basically, yes." Omi said with a slight sigh. He was eating cereal. Nagi snorted under his breath. Aya pulled down the makings for oatmeal out of the cabinets.
"I thought you were smarter than that, Omi." he said.
"Generally, I would have thought so too." Omi muttered. "It was dark, Aya." he added.
"Hn." Aya muttered. Nagi nudged him in the back without touching him. Aya shot him a look. Nagi said nothing reaching for fruit. Aya remembered what he had said about Omi looking up to him and sighed.
"Well, I suppose anyone could have missed a cactus in the dark." he conceded. Omi carried his cereal over to the table, looking a tad more cheerful.
"Better." said Nagi.
"I'm still annoyed with him." Aya muttered.
"I never said you didn't have to be annoyed with him." Nagi said with a slight smile. "Programming is a hard thing to overcome."
"Says the computer genius."
"Congratulations, you made a joke."
Aya was about to retaliate, possibly physically, when Ken wandered into the kitchen, scratching his belly and yawning.

"Something smells good. Did someone make eggs?"
"Yes, but not for you." Yohji called from the dining room. "You're on your own."
Ken let out a wordless whine and nearly knocked into Aya as he turned to burrow in the refrigerator looking for food. Aya was smirking to himself when he was struck suddenly how.......normal this all was. He paled and nearly dropped the pot he'd just gotten out.
"What?" Nagi asked.
"This is nearly exactly how it was." Aya whispered. "Well....without all of you here." he added. Something hard had risen in his throat, and he gripped the handle of the stove so hard his knuckles turned white. Nagi laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Aya....it will go on." he murmured. "It will get better."
"It damn well better." Aya growled, glaring at him. "I can't go back."

Moving on. Break number two. Five paragraphs is okay, I guess.

Nagi smiled at him.
"I wouldn't expect you to. Eat that though, I want to go into Sedona, and you're coming with me."
"I am?" Aya asked, curious. He poured milk into the oatmeal and stirred it, nearly forgetting to turn on the stove in his curiosity. Nagi smiled.
"Hai, there are many things about Sedona that will help aid us, not just the vortexes. I want to you to come and see some of them. You haven't been to the desert before."
Aya snorted. He'd never been across the ocean before. None of Weiss had. Schwarz was well traveled, he assumed.
"Of course we are!" Schuldig called from the other room. "We had a much better benefits package!"
"Stay out of my head." Aya growled, stopping stirring for a moment and nearly letting his breakfast scald. Nagi took over stirring while Aya glared at the cut-out in the wall, through which he could see the back of Schuldig's orange head.  The pot floated off the stove and turned itself upside down over a bowl, neatly emptying itself of oatmeal. Ken watched, fascinated.
"That is so freaky." he said under his breath.
"I could have done it over your head." Nagi pointed out somewhat petulantly.

"If you've got it, flaunt it." Schuldig called.
"You're not a part of this conversation." Aya snapped at him, wishing there was something he could throw.
"Problem with being a telepath, Fujimiya, I'm a part of everyone's conversation whether I like it or not." said Schuldig.
"Perhaps, but you can still choose whether or not to actively participate by keeping your mouth closed." Aya snarled, picking up his oatmeal bowl. Nagi burst out laughing and then clapped a hand over his mouth. Omi snorted.  Schuldig looked genuinely surprised. Satisfied, Aya carried his bowl to the bar and sat down. Nagi followed him with his banana and orange, looking smug.
"You should eat more than that." Aya chided. Nagi said nothing, merely looked pointedly at Aya's bowl of oatmeal.
"I'm serious."
"So am I." Nagi said. "It wouldn't hurt you to eat more."
"He's watching his figure." said Yohji and Schuldig at the exact same moment. Crawford folded his newspaper and stood up with a put-upon sigh.
"I think I've had enough breakfast." he said, pushing away from the table.  Schuldig was snickering, and Omi had turned a delicate shade of gray.
"Honestly." he muttered.
"When are we going into Sedona again?" Aya asked Nagi, gritting his teeth.

***********************************************************************************************

Sedona was still cool at ten o clock, yet the brick sidewalks were sparkling with bits of mica and hot against the soles of Aya's shoes. Everywhere he looked there were little side streets covered with spanish adobe arches and paved with the same red brick. They led to small courtyards lined with hidden shops and restaurants that he could have spent days exploring. Nagi pulled him into a store selling instruments made of dried gourds, and they stood for twenty minutes listening to the young woman telling the story of how she had come from New York and been inspired to make these from bits of cactus she'd found in the desert after having an experience at Rachel's Knoll vortex.
"The vortexes change everyone." she was saying. "For better or for worse and always for creative purposes. You cannot come here and not be changed."
Aya picked up one of the gourds and strummed it. It made a surprisingly haunting sound, the notes low pitched and sweet.
"Prickly pear." the young woman said, smiling at him. "You can eat them too, but I'd take the spines off first."
Aya watched her, and looked at the thing in his hand with a small smile, strumming it with his thumb again. Nagi had picked up another one, a twisted circle of dried wood with bits of metal attached to it. He ran a finger over the dangling chimes, and the sound produced sounded like drops of water off coins. Nagi smiled.
"Both of these, I think." Aya said.

Eight paragraph cut weee

Nagi put the instruments in a leather bag and slung it over his shoulder, smiling slightly.
"I don't know what we'll do with these." he said, after they'd left the shop.
"She had a nice smile." Aya said a little gruffly.
"Very nice." Nagi said, smiling to himself. "She seemed to do quite a bit of business with men, I see."
"Yohji would buy something from her." Aya said automatically. "If she didn't give him her entire shop first."
Nagi snorted. Aya was content to walk along for a while and gaze at the red hills in the distance. They made such a stark contrast to everything along the ground. The sun was angling along the sharp peaks and valleys in them, creating deep shafts of light and shadows. It was beautiful in a harsh way. Without really knowing why, he slipped his hand into Nagi's, and was vaguely surprised when the younger man did not pull away. In Tokyo, he might not have done so. Certainly not in Britain. But here, in Sedona, people didn't look twice at him. Perhaps it was almost expected of foreigners. Or perhaps it was the magic of the place. Whatever it was, Aya decided he liked it. He smiled a little to himself.
"You're smiling." Nagi pointed out.
"Can't I?" he asked.
"You don't usually. It's a change." Nagi said. Aya pondered it. Was he changing as well? He wouldn't have dared to hold another's hand in such a way five years ago. Or even a year ago. Not even a week ago. 'The vortexes change everyone. You cannot come here and not be changed.' she had said, had she not? Aya''s lips stretched wider. Well, he could live with that.
"You're doing it again." Nagi said, squeezing his hand.

"Hai. So I am." Aya said softly. "I like it."
"Hn." Nagi muttered. Aya snorted at him and tugged on his hand, leading him into a shop that sold windchimes. Nagi allowed himself to be dragged, and Aya bought a long string of chimes that Nagi said was guaranteed to drive Crawford crazy. By the time they returned to the retreat, Nagi was insisting that Crawford was going to kill them both, and Aya was insisting that it was for a good cause. He hung the windchimes right outside the front door....after all, there was a hook for them there, and followed Nagi inside. Nagi was sighing and muttering under his breath, although secretly he seemed a bit please. Schuldig met them in the hall, looking suspicious.
"Who are you, and what have you done with Fujimiya?" he asked, poking Aya in the chest.
"What? I can't go out?" Aya demanded, some of his good mood ebbing away. He narrowed his eyes a little. Nagi set his leather satchel down and moved closer to the pair of them, rolling his eyes.
"You were humming as you came in. Humming!"
"Put your lips together and sing. It comes out a monotone." Aya deadpanned. Schuldig peered at him.
"Nagi, whatever you're giving him, I want some of it."
"I'm not giving him anything and if I was, I wouldn't share it." Nagi said. Aya pushed past Schuldig and went back to their room, leaving Nagi and Schuldig to argue. Irritating man. As if he couldn't be happy. He huffed to himself and flopped down on Nagi's bed.

"Ow." he muttered, rolling over on his side. He had lain on something hard. Reaching underneath himself, he withdrew the hard thing. It was a book. And, surprisingly, a book in English. Aya's English was good, as far as spoken went, but he was not so good at reading it. It took him a few moments before he could pick out the words of the title. A Greenhouse Effect. Hn, didn't seem like the type of book Nagi would be interested in. He opened it and started to flip through it, not taking in any of the words, simply looking at the way they were organized on the page. They corners were very dogeared. Obviously Nagi had read it many times. He turned to the cover, to see if there was a picture of the author, and found handwritten words scrawled inside. Unfortunately they were written in cursive, and he had no hope of reading them. He did make out Nagi's name. Was it a letter addressed to him? Aya frowned slightly. Someone had given him a book. Crawford, perhaps? Or Schuldig? But the handwriting did not look.......well. Aya had seen English handwriting before, in England. It looked as it if was a woman's. There was a tiny, crude sketch of a bird just at the bottom, and Aya traced it with a finger. Hearing footsteps outside the door, he closed the book quickly and put it back on the bed, standing up and smoothing the covers, feeling oddly as if he had just been caught reading someone's diary. Nagi came in, scowling, and Aya tried to look as if he'd been combing his hair in front of the mirror.

"I don't know why he has to be in everyone's business." Nagi said, and for a moment Aya misheard him.
"What? Oh. Schuldig." he repeated. "Hai."
Nagi didn't seem to notice Aya's momentary break in concentration. "But I think they're going to have me set up a computer system to track Omi's emails. So I'll be busy this afternoon. I'm sorry."
Aya almost smiled at the look of humble apology on Nagi's face. They were both loathe to let go of the old ways.
"It's fine. I can explore." he said. "I can do katas."
"It shouldn't take us very long, working together." Nagi added. "After all, I helped design the system."
"Then they should fear having it taken apart." Aya said, and Nagi's eyes glinted.
"Oh yes." he said, starting for the door. "They have no idea what they're up against."

Take that, Wacom!

Thu, 03 May 2007 18:08:13 GMT

Ha.

The Corset Diaries Part 22

Sat, 28 Apr 2007 00:37:42 GMT

Annnnnnd pictures!

Wearer insists that corset is not too loose around the hips, that jeans are actually too tight. I shall believe her for now. Of course now I can see the small flaw I have made in the velvet ribbon on the side. *cringe*

This was a size 10 at the top, a size 8 in the middle, and a size 10 and a half at the bottom.

It looks a little strange, probably not pulled all the way in. But over all, Sianne is very very pleeeeeeeeased. *squee* Sianne hopes wearer is just as pleeeeeeeeased.

The Bottom Line

Fri, 27 Apr 2007 19:18:18 GMT

So, let's take another look at the meme and see if I can reword it into something less inflammatory that this time means what I think the author might have been trying to say, but didn't. (or did a horrible bang up job of doing so) This also comes more along the lines of what what I think. I think I can do it in twenty words or less. Obviously, before I put the disclaimer on there, some of you may have jumped to conclusions about me. Some of you may STILL. Hey, cool. I won't think outside your box for you. But this will be my last foray into social experimentation. The internets are serious bizness!!!

Ready? Here goes.

I don't call you names because I don't like to be called names.

or

I don't discriminate against you because I don't like to be discriminated against.

Someone far wiser than me put it this way: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

In a perfect world, we wouldn't need marches or clubs or special TV channels to announce our pride in ourselves and our cultural heritage. But this world isn't perfect. As long as one group feels stepped on by another and as long as we have minorities, yeah, there's going to be people squabbling against others. It's part of what makes us human, for better or for worse.

Me, I'm going to return you to your regularly scheduled programming of corset-progress and occasional random kvetching. Catch y'all on the flip side.

Stop feeding the wank machine

Thu, 26 Apr 2007 23:40:18 GMT

Okay, mah leetle y!gallery minions. Eet ees time for another sermon from Sianne. Just because someone extremely popular and talented posts a Waaaaaaangsty journal on the gallery woe-ing about how nobody and their dog doesn't love them, doesn't mean you have to leave them luvvin's. This is a tactic that we like to call "emo" and don't we all mock it when the lesser fodder uses it? So why is it all that different and speshul when someone higher up in our so called esteem tries it? Especially when they've gone and done it multiple times before?

Guys. Don't pander. Seriously.

In other news, I'm getting a new computer!!!!111omg. Either a Gateway 935 or a HP Pavillion 64 4200.

My Jareth action figure finally came in the mail. He has a teeny weeny little crystal ball with him. I glued it to his hand because I didn't want it to get lost. He's standing on the shelf, terrorizing the rest of my action figures. Elizabeth Swann isn't sure what to think of him. When I get my Crow action figure, they might have words. Jack Sparrow looks a little unsure of him too. Legolas is staring him down. Eowyn is trying to threaten him with a sword. Silly girl. I should add that Jareth is taller than all of them. Ha.

Ha ha.

Hey look! A corset!

Mon, 23 Apr 2007 21:26:38 GMT

Yes! A finished piece! Dimensions are 33, 23, 33, so obviously, it is not for ME. And it is not the one I am not sending to kidavi, either. Oh hmm. Wowow, a mystery corset.

Judicious blurring out of the back that showed.

Slightly different lacing method.

Materials: Satin brocade, taffeta, black cotton, and velvet ribbon. Little bit of everything.

300 Things I Learned Roleplaying

Tue, 17 Apr 2007 16:42:50 GMT

1. Cannot base characters off the Who's drummer Keith Moon.
2. A one man band is not an appropriate bard instrument.
3. There is no Gnomish god of heavy artillery.
4. My 7th Sea character Boudreaux is not 'Southern' Montaigne.
5. Not allowed to blow all my skill points on 1pt professional skills.
6. Synchronized panicking is not a proper battle plan.
7. Not allowed to use psychic powers to do the dishes.
8. How to serve Dragons is not a cookbook.
9. My monk's lips must be in sync.

10. Just because my character and I can speak German, doesn't mean the GM can.
11. Not allowed to berserk for the hell of it, especially during royal masquerades.
12. Must learn at least one offensive or defensive spell if I'm the sorcerer.
13. Must not murder canon NPCs in their sleep, no matter how cliche they are.
14. Ogres are not kosher.
15. Plan B is not automatically twice as much gunpowder as Plan A.
16. I will not beat Tomb of Horrors in less than 10 minutes from memory.
17. Collateral Damage Man is not an appropriate name for a super hero.
18. When surrendering I am to hand the sword over HILT first.
19. Drow are not good eating.
20. Polka is not appropriate marching music.
21. No longer allowed to recreate the Death Star Trench Run out of genre.
22. There is no such thing as a Gnomish Pygmy War Rhino.
23. Any character who has a sensitivity training center named after him will be taken away.
24. Even if the rules allow it, I am not allowed to summon 50,000 Blue Whales.
25. The green elf does not need food badly.
26. Valley speak has no place in a fantasy setting. Especially if you're the paladin.
27. I am not to shoot every corpse in the head to make sure they aren't a zombie in Twilight 2000.
28. The Goddess' of Marriage chosen weapon is not the whip.
29. I cannot have any gun that requires me to continue the damage code on back.
30. I am not to kill off all the vampires in the LARP, even if they are terminally stupid.
31. The backup trap handler is not whoever has the most HP at the time.
32. I cannot buy any animal in groups of 100 or over.
33. There is no such skill as 'improvised cooking'
34. I am not allowed to base any Droid off any character played by Joe Pesci.
35. I am not allowed to convince the entire party to play R2 units.
36. I am not allowed to convince the entire party to sit on the same side of the table.
37. They do not make black market illegal cyberweapons for rodents.
38. When investigating evil cultists not allowed to just torch the decrepid mansion from the outside.
39. Gnomes do not have the racial ability 'can lick their eyebrows'
40. Gnomes do not have the racial ability to hold their breath for 10 minutes.
41. Gnomes do not have the racial ability 'impromptu kickstand'
42. Having a big nose adds nothing to my seduction check.
43. No longer allowed to set nazi propaganda music to a snappy disco beat.
44. Not allowed to spend all 100 character points on 100 1pt skills.
45. My character names are not allowed to be double entendres.
46. Sliver rhymes with silver because the computer frelling says so.
47. They do not make Nair in wookie sizes.
48. The elf is restricted to decaf for the rest of the adventure.
49. Not allowed to blow up the Death Star before that snotty farm kid gets his shot.
50. Not allowed to use thermodynamic science to asphyxiate the orcs' cave instead of exploring it first.
51. No longer allowed to use the time machine for booty calls.
52. My bard does not know how to play Inna Godda Davida on marachas.
53. Not allowed to start a drow character weighing more than a quarter ton.
54. Cannot pimp out other party members.
55. Before facing the dragon, not allowed to glaze the elf.
56. No matter how well I roll, a squirrel cannot carry a horse and rider at full sprint.
57. In the middle of a black op I cannot ask a guard to validate parking.
58. Expended ammunition is not a business expense.
59. Not allowed to pose the Netrunner in embarrassing positions when he's on a run.
60. Not allowed to short sheet the bedroll of impotent dieties.
61. Can only taunt the ranger about his lack of swimming after my USCG E8 saves him.
62. I am not allowed to do anything I saw Han Solo do once.
63. No, I cannot buy 10,000 marbles even if I say please.
64. My paladin's battle cry is not "Good for the Good God"
65. There is no Summon Bimbo spell.
66. Not allowed to start a character that speaks every language except ones the party speaks.
67. There is no Kung Fu manuever "McGuire Swings For Bleachers"
68. Bring him back intact includes redundant organs.
69. There is more to wizardry than magic missile. Even if I can do 200 damage automatic with no save.
70. Not allowed to cook up nerve gas in the sink even if the target number is 5.
71. There is no 'annoy' setting on a phasor
72. Not allowed to start a character who is over 100 years old unless he's an elf or dwarf. Humans are right out.
73. Not allowed to name my cudgel Ceremonial Whoopass Stick.
74. My thief's battle cry is not "Run And Live"
75. Nor is it "You take care of the orcs, I take care of the traps"
76. I am not allowed any artistic license while translating.
77. I did not get my super powers from James T. Kirk.
78. Not allowed to commission a pistol that costs more than a sedan.
79. I am not liquid metal.
80. When accepting a challenge for a duel, I must allow the other guy time to find a pistol.
81. A picture of my ex-wife is not an acceptable backup weapon.
82. Victory laps after killing the dragon with my 1d2 bow is considered in poor taste.
83. My gnome does not like big butts and he cannot lie.
84. Not allowed to talk my fellow inquisitors into buying a 220lb pull crossbow.
85. Not allowed to talk my fellow inquisitors into buying an industrial strength flamethrower.
86. Not allowed to make a superhero with a 99% chance of dodging even after the -10 penalty for a successful called shot.
87. There is no such thing as a dwarven katana.
88. My bard does not get a bonus to perform if she is obviously not wearing anything under her tabard.
89. The elf's name is not Legolam.
90. My swashbuckling fop cannot take the flaw Dark Secret: Not Gay 91. A wet towel does not constitute an improvised weapon.
92. The name of the weapon shop is not "Bloodbath and Beyond"
93. I am to remind my DM that he must never, ever give my paladin a dire boar for a mount again.
94. I cannot base my ancient kung fu master on neither Gene Simmons or Bluto Blutarski.
95. I must not put the Thunder God on the spot again.
96. No making up polearms.
97. My one wish cannot be 'I wish everything on this piece of paper was true'
98. There is no such thing as Speed Polka.
99. Not allowed to see if Jedi can parry a shotgun blast with their lightsaber.
100. When any character from a d20 sourcebook is allowed, that doesn't include System Lords.
101. I am not allowed to pave ANYTHING.
102. I am not authorized to start any civil engineering project on the taxpayer's dime.
103. There is no such thing as a Club +3 of Cup Checks
104. Nor is there a +1 Longsword, +5 against party members.
105. I am not allowed to polymorph anyone into Abe Vigoda.
106. I do not have weapon profiency in cat.
107. There is no such game as Wereshark the Buffet.
108. No, I do not get XP for every single crewman on that Star Destroyer.
109. Not allowed to kill a vampire with any part from a DC-10 larger than my car.
110. Not allowed to serenade the party even if my character has an internal tape deck.
111. I did not pick the garrote skill last week from my grandmother.
112. If the gun can't fit through the x-ray machine, it doesn't go on the plane.
113. My Droid is not allowed to paraphrase any Jack Nicholson soliloquy.
114. The Demilich only falls for getting stuffed in the bag of holding once.
115. My musical instrument does not double as a personal flotation device.
116. Not allowed to take a coffee break during the final super villain showdown.
117. I am restricted to memorizing Floating Disc only once per day.
118. I will pick a more traditional paladin weapon instead of a sledgehammer.
119. My character's names cannot be anagrams of playboy playmates.
120. Not allowed to kill another party member with a boomerang again.
121. I am not a contractor for Dragon Cave Cleaning Services Inc.
122. The paladin's alignment is not Lawful Anal.
123. Not allowed to forget to mention traps when the powergamer has point.
124. I cannot insert the words "Kill Phil, Sorry Phil" into any list of instructions.
125. Lingerie can only snap coincidentally so many times per day.
126. Dwarves do not count as burrowing animals.
127. Not allowed to download AOL 6.0 on the Arasaka mainframe.
128. Polka Gnomes exist only in my mind.
129. Not allowed to name my ship The Antidisestablishmentarianism.
130. I am not authorized to form the head.
131. Not allowed to bet how many times the lich bounces.
132. There is no such feat called "Death Blossom"
133. My acrobat cannot balance on the warlord's head for more than one round.
134. The King's Guards official name is not "The Royal Order of the Red Shirt"
135. I cannot demand payment in electrum, backrubs or bubblewrap.
136. I cannot start the 7th Sea campaign with 3 confirmed Drachen kills.
137. I do not have a scorching case of lycanthropy.
138. If the mere thought of it costs the others sanity, I'm forbidden from doing it.
139. My bard is required to take levels in the perform skill and cannot 'just play by ear'
140. The Dutch language does not exist in the Forgotten Realms.
141. My maid does not know kung fu.
142. Not allowed to give a 4 year old a sugar rush just to jack up the CR later.
143. Not allowed to by a holy symbol for every god just in case one of them is right.
144. There is no such thing as pleather armor.
145. I cannot go back in time to cut in line at the Declaration of Independence so everybody now is asked for their Terrence E. Woczinski when signing documents.
146. Not allowed to play an Australian in any game set before 1600.
147. Hobbits are not allowed to have Norse ancestry.
148. There is no Gnomish Deathgrip, and even if there was, it wouldn't involve tongs.
149. Looting the unguarded baggage train is not considered a glorious victory.
150. Not allowed to create recreational drugs in suppository format.
151. Halflings do not have a racial proficiency with the flamethrower.
152. When the guy is at -9 HP is not the best time for my cleric to convert him.
153. I will not propose to every noblewoman at the royal ball until I crit my charisma check.
154. I am not allowed to rub the monk's head for luck.
155. I am not allowed to rub any part of the elf chick for any reason.
156. When one person forgets to buy rations eating the half-elf is not our first option.
157. Any capital scale weapon is not 'my little friend'.
158. I will not declare myself a god just so I can grant myself spells.
159. Airlocks do not double as trash disposals.
160. I will not load any gatling weapon with nothing but paint rounds.
161. I will not nail every single female party member except for the elf chick played by that creepy guy.
162. What ever monster we just killed is not to be tonight's dinner.
163. Not allowed to try and make a dire version of any dog of the toy breeds.
164. I am not to tattle to the halfling assassin's mom about his career choice.
165. I am forbidden from replacing anything with folger's crystals to see if they notice.
166. Not allowed to bribe the enemy commander into withdrawing with a stolen Elvis LP collection.
167. I was not recruited by Star League for any reason.
168. I was also not recruited by 12 dwarves and a wizard to rob a dragon.
169. I am neither the pagan god nor goddess of fertility.
170. I cannot name my character Xagyg or any anagram thereof.
171. My character's dying words are not allowed to be "Hastur, Hastur, Hastur"
172. At no point can I justify spending force points on a seduction check.
173. I am not allowed to recreate Veers' March of the AT-ATs on Zhentil Keep.
174. There is no use of Shatner's spoken word album that doesn't require a humanity check.
175. I am not directly descended from either Huey Lewis or any member of the News.
176. I cannot make called shots to the plectrum, anvil, stirrup, hammer or Isle of Langerhans.
177. Stinking cloud is a privilege, not a right.
178. There are no profanities in Celestial.
179. Chummer means he is my friend, not that sharks find him tasty.
180. I have neither the touch nor the power.
181. I cannot quote Shakespeare in Crinos.
182. No figuring out the plot and killing the actual villain five minutes into the adventure.
183. There are no rules for cooking corn dogs in any d20 supplement.
184. A starting character has no need for 100gp worth of hemp rope.
185. My bard does not need roadies for a dungeon crawl.
186. No cutting line to be a god.
187. I cannot gain more than three drama die per session for making the GM pee.
188. I cannot play a elf with a scottish accent, nor a cajun dwarf.
189. Tourretes is not a flaw, it is a reason to kill the character at creation.
190. Duel wielding small animals is strictly forbidden.
191. My character is not related in anyway to Boba Fett. This goes double for Star Wars characters.
192. If the gun is best fired using the artillery skill, my character is not allowed to have it.
193. Not allowed to kill vampires with seismic charges.
194. When the other guy picks swords for the choice of weapons, that does not leave me pistols.
195. I cannot use a silent feat enambled power word stun and blame it on the dog.
196. I cannot name a character anything that I can't say politely in another country.
197. My epic level character cannot take on the minor goblin menace to his country just to stay sharp.
198. Not allowed to steal my own soul.
199. My third wish cannot be 'I wish you wouldn't grant this wish'
200. I cannot name my character cliche canon characters from other systems.
201. My thief is prohibited from speaking solely in Cant.
202. Character descriptions cannot contain two of the following words: Slavic, Tonedeaf, Karaoke, Musician.
203. My superhero's strength is not classified as snazzy, neato or bodacious.
204. I am not too sexy for the elf, too sexy for the elf, so sexy myself.
205. My 3rd ed. Red Wizard is not allowed to start a business named Thay Co.
206. I cannot forge a +1 sword of Brad's Min/Maxed Paladin/Monk Slaying.
207. The following weapons are not legal choices in a duel: Steamroller, Nerve Gas, Landmine, Midget.
208. I cannot whine about the crappy selection of magical bec de corbins.
209. My Paladin's heraldry is not a smiley face.
210. My Antipaladin's heraldry is not Mr. Yuk.
211. If at any point if my dwarf takes on the mannerisms of Macho Man Randy Savage, he dies.
212. If the party always starts the adventure in a tavern, I cannot opt to start in a brothel.
213. I am not the patron saint of common sense.
214. There is no prestige class Drizzt Slayer.
215. They do not make heavy weapons in pump action.
216. There is an upper limit to the number of Bozo boostergangers I can get in a Volkswagon.
217. If the weapon is capable of staking vampires hiding behind engine blocks, I can't have it.
218. No matter my alignment, organizing halfling pit fights is a violation.
219. In formal introductions to royalty, I must not introduce my companions as just "The Other Guys".
220. I am not the master of the low blow or the gang up.
221. If I get that Yugo up to 120mph again, that's gonna get some paradox.
222. Druids are not against my religion.
223. I cannot convince the Solo he has a cortex bomb when he really doesn't.
224. I cannot insinuate elf chicks are all easy, even though you never hear about a half gnome do you?
225. I am forbidden from monologuing.
226. Troll bubblegum...bad idea.
227. My last wish cannot be "I wish we were playing another game."
228. I cannot use my time machine to hire Hitler a hooker in 1920, thus avoiding WW2.
229. Not allowed to spontaniously check if the elf can take a punch.
230. There is no such thing as monofilament tooth floss.
231. I am not allowed to do anything that would make a Sith Lord cry.
232. It is not possible to recreate any scene from Dr. Who in Crinos.
233. If I am the medtech it is generally assumed I am going to have skill in medicine.
234. My character does not get d34 HP a level.
235. My Samedi is required to have dots in obfuscate. Plural, as in more than one, two more than none.
236. My character has no need for 24,000 cartons of cigarettes, especially in his neighbor's garage.
237. Not allowed to use more than 3 words per game that the GM has to look up the definition.
238. My bard cannot play or has ever heard of the theremin, didgeridoo or glass armonica.
239. My rockerboy cannot play or has ever heard of the theremin, didgeridoo or glass armonica.
240. Any character with more than three skills specializing in chainsaw is vetoed.
241. Cannot use the jedi mind trick to get out of a speeding ticket.
242. Not allowed to give quicklings Mountain Dew.
243. Cannot cast haste on the king during a long winded speech to get him to hurry the hell up.
244. Not allowed to taunt the rest of the party in 8 different languages because they forgot to take any.
245. Not allowed to attend any opera whose name the GM confuses with a strip joint.
246. I cannot keep selling that creepy guy's always naked elf chick to nomads every chance I get.
247. If the king rewards me with a forest, I am to assume he intends for me to keep it a forest.
248. There is no Halfling god of groin shots.
249. If a black op requires me to impersonate an employee, I cannot bill the target for overtime.
250. Superfluous Man is not a viable superhero concept.
251. I am not the Boogie-Woogie Bugle Boy of Gundam Wing Z.
252. I can not order the Druid to transform and roll out.
253. If the other party members forget to take any food prep skills, not allowed to let them starve to death.
254. I cannot blow 5 paradox in: A police line up, the candy aisle of Krogers, the Miss America Pageant.
255. I cannot create a superhero that can palm the moon.
256. The following cleric domains do not exist: Wet T-Shirts, Atheism, Keggers
257. I cannot wish nobody else gets wishes.
258. There is no such thing as Skyclad Armor +5
259. My Highlander's name cannot be McHammer.
260. Gnomes do not have a racial bonus in bobsled.
261. The Barbarian's name does not translate into "Screams like little sissy girl" in my language.
262. When the GM forces the plot, I cannot make choo-choo noises.
263. Not allowed to attempt to kill the Hutt by pouring salt on him.
264. I cannot use the time machine to go to Ancient Greece where all the women were leather clad, oiled down with big busoms.
265. It assumed my mechwarrior knows at least what one of the buttons in his cockpit does.
266. At the end of a black-ops, I cannot crank call C-SWAT on the target's phone.
267. I cannot yell "FREEBIRD" everytime the bard makes a perform roll.
268. Mr. Welch is not allowed to speak in 3rd person.
269. My character cannot hear the soundtrack.
270. I cannot derail the adventure for a two hour in character discussion on the qualities of rope.
271. Tracheotomies are best left to characters with skills in medicine.
272. No skill allows specializing in defenestration.
273. No matter how smart I make my animal companion, he still can't take the tax accountant skill.
274. I cannot commune with the Gods during peak hours.
275. I must remember at dinner time Rock is not a dwarven delicacy.
276. I must remember at dinner time Log is not an elven delicacy.
277. My half-ogre cannot surprise the halflings with spontanious games of dodgeball.
278. Anything the DM has to ponder the full impact of for more than a minute is forbidden.
279. I cannot base any elf off of any British Prime Minister.
280. Thermonuclear hand grenades do not exist in any genre except Paranoia.
281. I cannot get emotionally attached to any generic nondescript unnamed NPC.
282. Even if laughter is the best medicine, it still doesn't restore any of my HP.
283. I have been assured with total certainty Ralph is not a Japanese name.
284. When the CO asks for volunteers, I can't help others make a decision.
285. I am not from Margaritaville, and even if I was, that doesn't excuse the hawaiian shirt and lawn chair during the dress inspection.
286. No character of mine can start with 400 previous convictions for any misdemeanor.
287. When asked for advice before a fight "Don't wet yourself in public" is not what they were looking for.
288. I cannot name my character after another PC already in this game.
289. My character does not have the flaw Addiction: Helium.
290. I cannot figure that the dungeon we're in is the Pac-Man maze and point it out to the rest of the party.
291. I cannot form a huddle to discuss strategy before facing the final monster in the dungeon.
292. I cannot take all the monsters I've killed to the taxidermist after the adventure.
293. Clown shoes have no place in a dungeon crawl.
294. My dwarf is not claustrophobic, likewise, my elf is not agoraphobic.
295. When my enemy blinks does not give me an attack of opportunity.
296. I cannot make called shots with a crew served weapon.
297. I cannot hand out artillery flares to the bad guys on New Years and tell them they are roman candles.
298. Sprechen Sie Bang-Bang? is not real German.
299. I do not get any XP for anyone I kill by stampeding sheep.
300. I cannot give the rebel operatives the codenames Luke, Han, Chewie or Yoda.

(Ganked from tannerwolf)

Also, check these thingies out. I'm working on two new corsets. Here's the front panel of one. Second half to follow later.

The Corset Diaries Part Twenty One (B)

Fri, 13 Apr 2007 15:02:38 GMT

Review of Laughing Moon Pattern: (Ladies Victorian Underthings)

There are a few naysayers out there who say this pattern is hard to follow because nothing is marked. I didn't find it hard to follow, in fact, I was overwhelmingly gleeful at the sheer amount of instruction that came with the pattern. It was incredibly detailed and for someone as absent minded as me, the constant reminders (do this first, THEN do this....) along with the explanations as to why (or otherwise THIS will happen) were a relief. It if most obviously a professional corset/clothing pattern and not a "costume" piece. On a side note, I now have 27 different corset patterns, and can do just about anything except ribbons.

This one......god, I wish I had a camera. The thing that makes it so special was that coming off of my own Victorian Disaster, having this one work absolutely perfectly the way it was supposed to (and the FIRST TIME, no less) was a boost to my confidence. I did have to cut the pieces down, and redo a couple of seams, but meh. Par for the course. Most of the injuries were to self, as I smashed my thumb with the hammer, and put the awl through the tip of my finger. So, situation normal, me-wise.

Pics!

Bottom of corset, showing busk and boning channels.

Back of corset top, showing grommets and lacing and a bit of the lining. Hey look, there's a cat hair on it. Nikki LOVVVVVES to help.

Anyway. That's all there is to this one. I is teh happy.

The Corset Diaries Part Twenty one (A)

Thu, 12 Apr 2007 18:24:08 GMT

Really Nice Taffeta for Victorian Corset: $56
Heavy Twill for boning channels: $12
Grommets for Victorian Corset: $8
Approximate cost of die and grommet setting kit for this corset only: $1
Spending four hours prying out the one grommet that decided to go into the Really Nice Taffeta sideways after all the others had been set and you can't cut another piece because you've already sewn on the Heavy Twill boning channels and can't order any more: priceless.

..........bleeding Christ.

(I'll have pictures next time along with a better update, but my hands are cramping like mothers)

Edit: Look how stupid I've gotten while working on this:

in case you can't read the words, it says "Mpr-egg. (with cock)"

The Corset Diaries part......uhhhh twenty?

Sat, 07 Apr 2007 18:56:23 GMT

9:00 a.m. I got measurements from jojo_kun yay! And I get to try out a new corset pattern from Laughing Moon, but haven't had a chance to work with yet. This is the Dore, or Victorian overbust, from their "Ladies Victorian Underthings" pattern. I'd heard quite a few scary things about this pattern online (i.e. the pieces weren't marked, that it was difficult to read, blah blah blah) so I was nervous about opening it.

Well, the pieces WEREN'T labeled, but they were marked 1, 2, 3 etc. So I simply labeled them as I cut them out. Problem solved, ne?

9:20 I seem to have forgotten that this is ME I'm working with. Quite a bit of panic when I only cut out five pieces, and spend ten minutes looking for piece number six until I read in instructions that there are only five pieces to begin with. I've not seen a Victorian corset with only five pieces before, usually there are six. I've done a Cival war corset before that's had only two pieces before (gored corset with stitching, that was fun) and Elizabethan stays are only four pieces, but five is a new number to me. Fun fun.

9:45 Drew first blood. Scissors are still sharp as ever.

On a side note, taffeta is a lovely fabric to work with, it cuts like a dreeeeeeam. I'm backing this in plain heavy cotton instead of chinese silk because it's to be worn next to the skin and I don't want it to get too hot.

11:30 Got all pieces cut out, taffeta, cotton, and interfacing. I always do three layer corsets because I like the stiffness. I've not at this point done external boning channels, so this should be....ah....interesting, to say the least. But the pattern has the boning channels marked, so that's nice. Also, they are not on the seam line. V. interesting. This pattern has 24 bones, as opposed to the usual 12. jojo_kun, you did not say how tight you wanted this thing to lace.... Fortunately, I can get to that part later.

Noon. Started laying out the pieces in my sewing room. I still have pieces for three Ren Faire dresses haphazardly draped all over the bed in there, plus another corset, and my disaster laden historical corset (that I've decided to scrap and redo) on the floor. So the corset pieces went on the table.

12:45 omfg why are these pieces not laying out correctly???!? HATRED. Already ruined one from recutting it a leeetle too close and apparently taffeta cuts too damn well because the scissors just zipped right across it like nobody's business. Fortunately, I bought twice as much taffeta as I needed, so cutting another piece wasn't that big of a deal. *twitch twitch twitch*

1:21 Started staystitching the taffeta pieces to the interfacing. This is an extra step I have never done before but pattern insists is necessary to prevent pulling. *shrug* Pattern knows best. Taking a breeeeeak.

Random Fiction (2)

Thu, 22 Mar 2007 18:14:54 GMT

This started out as a character profile, and then somehow morphed into a three part minific. I hesitate to call it a true "fanfic" because there are no canon characters in it. It's set in the WK universe.

A Family Account, by Ernest Bachmann
As told to Brad Crawford

Part Two
Rose Rancher

The young woman who arrived in St. Louis with a hat pulled so low over her face that no one could see anything of her features bore little to no resemblance to Sarah Emily Rose Nanchez. She was carrying nothing but a suitcase, and seemed to move with difficulty. I've found a few clippings that state she tried to find work as a domestic but was turned away because of her disability and her race. Eventually, she took up residence in a woman's boarding house under the name Rose Rancher. St. Louis in those days was not a frontier town, by any means, not in 1918, but there were certainly saloons, and Rose's talent was ever-expanding. This was the year of the flu-pandemic, if you recall.

Occultism, you remember, was popular at the turn of the century, and it was in vogue to study many aspects of clairvoyancey. Of course, Rose must have felt derision for those who were only playing at mystisism, for she had the real gift, and could use it. And use it she did, for she soon bought her own "gaming hall" where she could continue her games...mostly the game of power. I have a photograph, here you are.

She was no great beauty, but delicate looking, very feminine, like my Chloe. I suppose her blindness and apparent weakness made her seem more desirable, for she never had a shortage of customers willing to lose money to her. And they did lose, a lot. The business was built up to the finest in St Louis by 1921, but there were rumors going around about the blind mistress of the business. That she was a family wrecker, a scarlet woman, and worse.

So by the spring, Rose Rancher had taken herself a husband, a one Mr. Charles Gimmel. Gimmel was an older man, who obviously adored Rose, and knew nothing of her Talent. He could hardly believe his good fortune at landing a young bride, especially one who was independently wealthy with her own business, which he graciously allowed her to keep, much to the tongue wagging of the St Louis busybodies. Gimmel did not mind the stigma of an Indian bride, for he himself was half Jewish, and used to being looked askance at. He pampered his new wife with every modern convenience, and even bought her a car, though I'm not sure where she would have driven it, she couldn't certainly have driven it on her own. I suppose she had a driver.

It was a high society wedding in St Louis' biggest cathedral, and covered by two papers. The bride wore flowers in her hair and a ten foot train. The groom wore a gold watch chain at his waist. From the newspapers' accounts, the carriage was pulled by eight white horses, an elaborate extravagance. To all appearances, it was a happy marriage, at least for a while. Rose bore him a son in 1922, who died in infancy, not all that uncommon, and a daughter in 1924 whom they named Mary Elizabeth, my mother.

My mother told me many times before she died that my grandfather was a good man. i do not know, I can't remember him. She hardly remembers her mother, for married life didn't sit well with the new Mrs. Gimmel. Apparently, once a child was in the picture, Mr. Gimmel was not as keen on the 'gaming hall' and its chances on his political career. Rose grew resentful. She had never forgotten the adoring crowds or the feeling of power she'd gotten from the fear on people's faces when she'd handed them their fates. Rose stayed just until my mother was five, then left in the dead of night, taking half the fortune with her. Ironically, that coincided with the Stock Market Crash. I would like to think that she was merciful enough to tell Gimmel about it, but all I know is that my mother never suffered for anything growing up. Maybe that was my grandmother's advise to her husband for her daughter's sake. She can't have loved her...she never loved anyone.

She found her way to Chicago, and ended any taunts to her skin and gender in the most brutal manner possible, with her pearl handled pistol. This, naturally, caught the attention of the city's gangsters, which was of course what she wanted. She pitched herself to a chosen few in a daring way. She would be their eyes, their Nostradamus, and they would be her protection. It was bold, it was brassy. They loved her.

This was the kind of audience Rose had longed for. The kind with real power, and without fear, but a healthy respect for her power, and what it could mean for their business. The police were stumped, for the criminals they so desperately wanted were suddenly remaining one step ahead of them. Rival gangs desperately wanted Rose's favor, and competed to see if they could steal her away with fancier jewels that she couldn't see, money, and promises of power. Sex did not interest her. Ever her interest had turned towards politics. Among her chosen, she began to gather an almost cult-like following. They studied old texts of prophecies and encouraged Rose to write her own. She did, and many of those were recorded, before she finally began to lose her grip on sanity.

It was a good system, I suppose. Rose maintained a rigid grip of control over the gang that eventually became the most powerful in Chicago, and later in four states. While they may have thought at first that they controlled this frail, bird-like woman, she called the shots, and was not averse to leading them into a near-disaster or sacrificing a weak member to prove a point. They needed her to survive, and they knew it. Eventually, they grew to over two hundred strong, and that, I am told, is where things began to get sticky. Not with the police, no. The police had long ago lost control of the situation. This was from the Mafia, who had moved to Chicago from New York and wanted to carve out a place for themselves. They first had to take on Rose Rancher.

How many Talents are in America, Mr. Crawford? The exact number is unknown, but it is likely less than ten at any given time. You know as well as I that our mixed bloodlines, while great for our melting pot philosophy, dilutes most of our psychic power. When the Mafia came for Rose, they had two Talents of their own, a telekinetic of minor power, and an empath. Perhaps it was then that Rose got her first taste of another Talents mind. It was certainly then that she learned just how truly powerful she had become, for she manifested her powers in the physical and attacked across time and space, stealing the sight and memories of the other Talents, who were utterly destroyed.

The Mafia thugs fled in terror. Rose Rancher was revered as a demigoddess. New gang members were inducted into what was now a cult, and a minor religion was born. The year was 1936.

Random fiction

Wed, 21 Mar 2007 21:05:14 GMT

This started out as a character profile, and then somehow morphed into a three part minific. I hesitate to call it a true "fanfic" because there are no canon characters in it. It's set in the WK universe.

A Family Account, by Ernest Bachmann
As told to Brad Crawford

Part One
Sarah Rose

My grandmother was born Sarah Emily Rose Nanchez of the Hopi tribe in 1901, outside of what is now Tuba City, Arizona. i only know scattered accounts of her birth, as there is no record of it anywhere. The red man was still very much a second class citizan, and one more squalling papoose didn't interest the local white authorities at that time, so there is no birth certificate for her. I am told by my aunt that my great grandmother was startled by a raven at the moment of conception...or birth, whichever version of the story youwish to believe, and that was the source of the child's unusual gift.

Whichever it was, the child did not cry out at birth, and the priests at the mission who were attending the birth thought she was stillborn. It was only when they noticed her watching them that they sighed in relief, and attributed her miraculous survival at such a young age to God's mercy. The shamans of the tribe knew better, for this child was surely blessed. TheGreat Spirit smiles on this one, they told my great grandmother. The Great Spirit smiles on this one, they told her. She believed them, and called the girl Little Bird, after the raven who was so wise. Her father insisted on a Christian baptism, and gave her three names, I guess to make up for the "scare" of being stillborn.

There wasn't anything else said about her for six years. I don't know about the schools on the reservation, or the quality of life up until then, only that most of the residents were dirt poor, and the Nanchez family was no exception. What I do know is that at age six, Sarah Rose, as she was called, had earned a reputation as a quiet, thoughtful child. Not thoughtful in the traditional sense, my heavens no, for I am sure that she was not. Pensive. It was then that she recieved her first vision. Yes, I know you and your esteemed colleagues at that fancy school say that it is impossible for an SIS precognitive....clairvoyant...whatever it is you call them at Rosenkreuz to start having full visions before age twelve, but Sarah Nanchez was never what you would call ordinary. And I was made aware, Mr. Crawford, that you yourself had flashes of precognition well before age ten.

In any case, she predicted the loss of a herd of sheep due to flooding. The storms were bad that year, and the farmers had been grazing their herds in the arroyos under the mesas, it was the only place things would grow after the drought the previous year. She was proven right amid public outcry. Witchcraft, cried the missionaries. Work of the devil. Remember, this was 1907, in a very rural area. The tribal leaders thought otherwise. They remembered the raven, and convinced my great grandfather to send Sarah Rose to the shamans to begin training as an apprentice, for many of them claimed to be able to predict the future. Now I don't know how many of them were real and how many of them were frauds, but occultic magic was stronger in Native American culture than ever it was in ours. It is religion.

The next time Sarah Rose surfaces is in 1909, two years later. Only eight years old, the shamans told her parents there was nothing more they could teach her. The child saw with wise eyes, they said, and would continue to do so all her life. But she would never be a medicine woman, for she possessed no powers of healing, and no desire. This disturbed the shamans, and upset Mrs. Nanchez. But the shamans had one more, and far more practical bit of advice.
"Take her away from the reservation." they told her parents. "A skill like hers will bring you glory."

Mr. Nanchez took the words to heart. He took his small family to California, where Sarah Rose was promptly put on the San Fransisco Carnival Tour. This was after the Earthquake, and people needed to forget the horror. She alternately amused and horrified the crowds by predicting love, disaster, and death. People wanted a palmist, and they got a real clairvoyant. Her fame spread, and by 1911, the Nanchez family travelled first class to New York, where Sarah Rose had her own headlining vaudeville circuit. The Psychic Indian Girl, she was billed as. She brought in thousands a month, all at the tender age of eleven. She should have made more, really, but Native Americans were savage. And so Mr. Nanchez ruthlessly began to squash the Hopi from Sarah Rose. They changed their name from Nanchez to Rancher, the first of many name changes for the girl.

In 1914, she was invited to Europe, as her fame spread. She toured the Eastern countries, predicting war amd ruin, and while impressed, the great leaders were nervous of her power. No one likes to be told their country will soon be embroiled in a Great War. Heeding her own predictions, the family returned home, bearing the commendations of Europe. Praise, money, adoration for Sarah, jewels for Mrs. Rancher, and a taste for whiskey for Mr. Rancher.

Oh, Mr. Crawford, whiskey has never been kind to the Indians. You see us now, how diluted my native blood is? I am considered by my peers to be Caucasian, and yet neither I nor my daughter dare drink, for we know how easily the beast of alcoholism can rise. How quickly it rose for Mr. Rancher! By the end of the war, it was Sarah Rose who was managing the theater. At sixteen, she had grown into a woman with a shrewd mind for business, and a hawklike intelligence. She had taken over the theater she preformed in, ran it with an iron hand, and managed to turn a profit while her father sank deeper and deeper into rage and despair.

And then, somehow, the wings fell off. Who knows what it was that she Saw that caused her to cut out her eyes? How can she physically have done this and borne the pain of it?   I cannot even imagine. I only know of what I read in the small newspaper clipping from the Times - see, here it is. "Child Psychic Carves Own Eyes From Skull!" God, what scandal. She used a butcher knife. They tried to have her committed, especially when she started laughing and spitting at them. It was no secret, and least to those who worked with her, that she was fanatical even then and probably insane.

But she simply walked out of the hospital that night, empty eye sockets staring straight ahead, and somehow made her way back to the theater. She packed a suitcase full of her earnings, her mother's jewels, and a pearl handled pistol. She then calmly shot both of her parents. I don't know how she managed to accomplish this while totally blind, but then as I have already told you, Sarah Nanchez has never been ordinary. She then walked out the back door and boarded a train and dropped off New York radar. The year was 1918.

Rant rant rant ranty rant rant.

Sun, 18 Mar 2007 22:13:35 GMT

School - Why oh why did I sign up to go back to school?? WTF do I need a degree for? Oh yeah, because I need a life. So I'm sitting here, typing up a research paper on the day that it is due, when I realize in all seriousness that the subject I picked SUCKS and I should have picked a better one that I could have, y'know, done stronger research on. I put off doing the paper earlier because I KNEW THE SUBJECT WAS WEAK. Of course this is my fault. So I am not blaming anyone but me. The only reason I'm turning it in at all is because I need the points and blah blah blah. I have a 3.8 so far. I am not going to screw that over one research paper. Of course, I'll screw it anyway because this paper is going to be utter crap, but there's nothing I can do at this point to make it less crap.

Sewing - I hate bias tape. I hate it with all my heart. I need to just bite the bullet and ask how to miter corners properly because whatever I've been innovating on my own sure isn't doing it. This latest corset project has really annoyed the piss out of me. I've fixed the error in the back but it's the redoing all the LACE that's bugging the crap out of me now. Bizarre, yeah? So, if I can do the bias tape on it correctly, I will at least make myself happy in that.

Y!gallery - oh grow up. Seriously. You know which ones you are.

Art/Writing - I am on a slump in the middle of a field. I thought a tablet would make nice clean lines and it doesn't. I need to play with it apparently, but I don't have the time or the desire to. Plus I don't have the inspiration to finish anything I start, so it's just going to sit there forever and ever and ever. Meh. And writing, I have tons of good ideas, but it's killing me that I DON'T have time to write them down. I would, too, but then I get scared that I won't finish them, which as good as kills them from the beginning. I've got a good idea for one right now, but it's a half finished outline and if I start it, I want to KNOW that I'll finish it. Again, with the time constraints. I'm supposed to be looking for a job.

Roleplay - I want to roleplay. I really do. But I'm getting tired of slash only. My one and only het pairing has gone to hell, and it's put me in a bleak mood. I used to pride myself on my versatility, and yes, my writing skills. I am not versatile anymore in playing only slash pairings. I don't know what to do about this. I am picky (EXTREMELY) about my roleplaying partners because ~~I am an elitist snob who thinks she's better than everybody else~~ I've been stung in the past and have little patience. I love intricate storylines, plot, substance, romance, a little bit of drama, and action. YES, ACTION!!! I don't want to become the sort of roleplayer I always held in contempt, and that was the Sighing Maiden Sue....sits around, goes on dates, cooks dinner for the kids and goes to bed. Okay, she/he gets banged/bangs the spouse once in a while, but that's it. There is more to RP than that. I'm just afraid that I'm stagnating.

The Corset Diaries (part nineteen)

Mon, 12 Mar 2007 03:05:59 GMT

So, as I stated in a previous journal, I am trying to make a historical corset for use at Cowtown while I'm waiting on measurements. It's made of plain unbleached muslin, and decorated with offwhite lace and ribbon. I spent a lot of time HANDSTITCHING this thing, and so far have put about 100 hours into it. Boy, that's a far cry from the turning them out in a day. Anyway, I'm halfway thorough. I would have been further along, except I realized that I've sewn all of the lace and ribbon decor on the other half.....wrong side out.

Yes, the two halves fit perfectly together, only the decorations are on the wrong side. I am livid. Also, since I decided to add an inch to the bottom, the pieces don't fit together properly, so the thing came out wrinkled looking, and I am going to have to piecemeal it in places. I am livid about that too, but I am good enough with handwork that it won't be visible from the front, and this is an under-dress corset anyway. Plus, I plan on embroidering the front in any case, so it's not like it's going to be noticeable. *sigh*

So I've just wasted approximately 35 hours of work and will have to put in at least TWICE that if I want to pull all the lace off and sew it to the back of the one half. Also, I've got to add a two inch back panel to the end because I'm not as good at measuring myself as I thought I was and I want it to be comfortable, not torture. The grommets will be made of antique brass and they're gorgeous. Haven't put them in yet.

This is part of the half that does NOT need to be redone, decoration wise. You can see part of antique lace on the stud side of the busk, and boning detail.

And this is the back of that half, where you can see the biiiiiig OOPSIE WOOPSIE. I tried to adjust the pattern, and as you can see it didn't work out so hot. I'll have to do some piecing to make it work, and then stitch it closed, but fortunately that's on the back. Those are the bones, but the way, those rounded white thingies are the rubber tips.

On the other hand, hot DAMN, maho_kiwi, yours looks SPECTACULAR.