The Blogtastic Blogfest That Is Getmeoutofthis.net!

River Song is a waste of a good idea.

I dunno, I just have to say this, because it frustrates me. So much of Dr. Who is so much better now that Russel T. Davies is gone, but at the same time, they’ve done so much shit. The show is so great, but they just tend to forget where the line is for creating entertaining cheesyness and real, terrible cheesyness. They do great work, and then cross the line and ruin the work they’ve done.

River Song is just such a great example of this. Current season spoilers coming, of course, so, you know, if you’re not caught up, don’t read.

When River first appeared, she was a great idea for a character. Being from the Doctor’s future, she was the first character who truly had something up on him, and could put the Doctor off=guard. You could see the Doctor react to that. It bothered the shit out of him, which was perfect. He was threatened in a whole different way. It was the sort of thing that you could get some character development out of the Doctor from, which is hard to do with a character like the Doctor. I was down.

Then she came back for another episode, which was fine. Sure! Why not? More Angels and shit. She’s still mysterious and a problem for the Doctor. I can dig it.
Then she came back again.
And again.

At this point, the mystery of her was wore out. She was just this person that the Doctor was supposed to be in love with. But there were no sparks between them. That was kind of a problem. Still, I was okay with it. Then there was this pirate episode that disgusted me so much I kind of gave up on the season.

Coming back, I got caught up with what had happened. And what had happened was bullshit. Apparently River Song is Rory and Amy’s daughter for no reason, and she’s also part Time Lord for no reason, and she’s also an assassin for no reason. I watched the episode “Let’s Kill Hitler” and I shook my head. They were flushing her character, and all the good she brought to the show, down the toilet for some really, really stupid plot twists out of nowhere.

I see it again and again from the show, and it frustrates me. It’s like they don’t know what they’re doing. I think the problem is a George Lucas kind of problem, where they worry that they need to make a show that kids will like, instead of just worrying about making something good that kids can watch. Whatever it is, I wish they’d stop it. They’re obviously capable of making some super-fun, super-interesting television. I wish they’d just do it.

There are times when I am like, “I am a pretty damn good conversationalist. I can get my ideas across, I can be witty and funny, I can listen and give good advice, and so on. I got what it takes to conversate.” I go out. I turn on charm. I may not be the best, but I can charm some people. I can orate. I can give orders to my crew. I can make assignments. I get stuff done. I do stuff.

Being semi-competent in conversation has just been doing great things for me recently. I feel like I’ve been getting really close to Cara and Aesa with all this talking we’ve been doing. Deep conversations. Good conversations. The kind of conversations where you leave knowing there’s a connection there, a strong one, that’s only going to get stronger.

Then there are conversations with my parents, where my wordskills completely fail me. When I can’t get across what I need to say because they won’t listen, no matter how I put it. Where every time I talk to them, it becomes more and more clear that wanting to be close to my parents is not a mutual feeling. I leave each encounter feeling the gap between us widen.

Words, like Space, have a terrible power. Good and evil, all in how you use it. All that shit. I spend hours at work thinking of petty and spiteful ways to use words to get revenge. I think of scenarios where I can annoy the shit out of those in my way, or make them feel how they make me feel. Or maybe I just roleplay, in my head, screaming at them, loudly and insistently, telling them off and telling them exactly what I wish I could without insulting them. Just yell “Fuck you, you selfish assholes!” Just scream until things somehow get better. Like screaming ever helped anything.

I talk to people about things. I talk to them when I am tired, like now, and I tell them things that I wouldn’t say otherwise. I tell a certain someone about how I love them and wish I could move our relationship forward into something beyond online sexytimes. I tell friends how much they mean to me and everything I feel about them. I tell people about how I used to sing songs about how much I deserved to die and how I’d kill myself soon, surely. I sing those songs to myself. I argue with myself, then tell my puppy dog about it and cry. I make plans. I execute on plans. I laugh. I enjoy myself. I talk to people about things.

I’m talking to people about things.

Goodnight.

Today was shit. You know what’s not shit?

Links, motherfucker. Links.

Did I link you Fashion It So yet? Because if I didn’t, shame on me. Fantastic tumblr that anyone who likes TNG would enjoy.
Related image.

Oh fuck, I want you so bad, Persona 4 Fighting Game. Be released now so I can purchase you.

This is an Onion Article I found humorous recently.

Comics: Nedroid is always funny. As is Three Word Phrase. Also, there are pony comics. I mean, hell, I have all kinds of pony pictures. I have pony pictures that reference Regular Show. I got pony ask blogs that make me giggle. I got videos of the MLP fighting game as it currently stands. So many fucking ponies.

Anyway, fuck this day. I’m going to bed. That is all.

I cooked tonight. To various levels of what one can call “cooking.”

Well okay, so. I was driving home from St. Louis. I knew I had the house to myself so I’m like all “fuuuuuuck what I am going to get for dinner on the way home?” I couldn’t come up with anything that sounded good to me.

It was then that I realized a flaw in my logic. “What am I going to get?” is the wrong question. I am the sort of person who will soon own a house and live in that house and needs to not be eating out constantly and be more wise with money. The question should be “What can I make when I get home?” I nodded with this sound realization and brainstormed what I could make. When I got home, I executed on the plan.

Basically, I had a few chicken sammich patties left over, but no bread. So I decided to make some Rice-a-roni type stuff and chop up this chicken and then use a fork and eat that. I was a bit worried, as the chicken was breaded and that seemed odd to go over that sort of thing, but I shouldn’t have been, as it was fucking delicious and filling, though the fact that I love some Rice that has been Ronied probably helped with that. It was an ugly dish, though, as most things I cook turn out to be. (They also tend to turn out at least mostly edible and tasty, so I guess I can’t complain.) I would not have scored many points for plating on Iron Chef.

After I enjoyed that, I had enough left for another plate, so I made that up and stored it for tomorrow, as I believe you are supposed to do. (We’ve never been a family that’s big on leftovers, and when we did have them, usually Mom would take care of the eating of them, not me.) I cleaned up the kitchen and went to work. Adventure over.

The one thing that occurred to me was that the whole process really didn’t take very long. One of the reasons I never did much cooking for myself is that I always felt like cooking took forever, but as I think about it now, it probably would have taken just as long (maybe a little bit shorter, but not a lot) to run out and get something from a drive-through. Granted, I’m not about to pretend what I cooked is anything even remotely complicated in the least. Real cooking probably does take longer. But just cooking for me, this was great. I did the kitchen stuff and caught up on podcasts and it was really no big deal. I feel like this bodes well for me surviving out on my own.

But maybe I’m just making a bunch of stuff out of nothing because I am tired and I needed something to write about and that felt like the one thing of note I did today. You decide! Just remember I have a delicious lunch waiting for me in the fridge that I am totally going to eat tomorrow.

Saturday, I worked late on Ad Set. Sunday, I got up super early to be at work at 6 AM, worked a shift, then came back and worked another shift at 5 PM. Today, I will be driving to St. Louis, driving back, then working another shift.

I’ve been working a lot.

I’m not complaining, perse? I’m glad I’m finding some sort of hours, and while Kohl’s has it’s problems as an employer, I really don’t mind working there. (I wouldn’t be working there 6 or so years later if I had problems.) I like most of the people there, everyone knows and trusts me, and everyone has been fantastic with all the changes going on in my life to boot. The experience of working is not a bad one. I don’t really mind it. At least I’m being useful, you know?

It’s really the lack of a schedule that bothers me. When I work is all over the place. It was before, when I was just doing ad set, but I still had structure in my life because my classes were structured and regimented at normal times throughout the day. Now, I don’t have that. I teach those two days a week at a set time, but otherwise I have no idea when I’m going to be working, or when I will be able to pick up a shift.

I’ve always been the kind of person who likes normalcy, and dislikes change, but it didn’t occur to me until I started picking up all these extra shifts and doing all this extra work how much not having a set weekly schedule bothered me. I feel lost, like I don’t know when it is. It’s harder to put things into a time perspective, something I am already terrible at, without being able to point at cycles in my life to determine how long it’s been. (Sort of a “Well, I’ve done that twice since we talked last, so two weeks ago?”) In a post-school world, I never figured that filling that time with work however I could would bring me down, but here we are.

Basically, I hope I can find a full time position for the scheduling benefits. I mean, other benefits, like not completely ass health insurance, will really help me too, don’t get me wrong. As well as, you know, money. But I’d like to get into a routine again. A routine would be nice. A routine would be relaxing.

Are you going to say to me “This can never be,” are you going to say to me, Withered Hope?
Sad sack!
Sad sack!

A post of complaining. I recommend skipping. Here, watch this instead. You’ll have more fun.

Here’s what’s going on, I guess.
So Sunday, Jonathan and Shauna decided it would be a good idea to get Molly groomed, as it was obvious my mom never was going to and they were going to the dog groomers anyway. So they took Molly and did it. This really upset my mother, as she thought Molly looked cute all shaggy and stuff. Of course, she was ignoring all the matted, dirty fur and things like that, which is why Molly needed to be groomed in the first place. She was also freaking out about the idea of Molly being in a cage for any length of time at all, and was sure Molly would be angry at her. It… yeah. Anyway.
Molly gets back, and Mom is all moody that Molly looks different now. She’s clearly upset. We all try to cheer her up, but to no avail. She’s unhappy about this turn of events. This is when Cole arrives, and we go upstairs to play games and wait for Cara because we were going to get snowcones.
A bit later, Jonathan and Shauna come up, and they tell me the situation. Apparently there was a fight. Anger flared up over the fact that my mom worries so much about this dog, but won’t attempt to support me by even doing something like trying to call me by my name. She got told off, and started crying. Shauna and Jonathan just wanted to let me know. I hugged them and told them how much I appreciate their support. I mean, I don’t want us all fighting. I want us all to be the awesome family we are, you know? But still, the fact that there’s so much love for me there, and that they want everything to work out for me so much that they’d do that… it means a lot to me.

Anyway, this made my mother’s mood worse, of course. I tried to talk to her, and she asks me if I’ve been telling Shauna we’ve been fighting. I said no, because we haven’t been. But that’s just because I go way, way out of my way to not do anything in front of her that would cause a fight. I can sense fights brewing. I can sense how everything will explode if I do things the way I want or should. I feel like our relationship is so strained, so fragile, and I’m trying so hard to make it work. If I’m myself, it’ll break. Even the little things I do, like using my true gender when talking about myself, bother her. We haven’t been fighting, but I’ve been holding myself and my life back a lot to keep it from happening.
She said she’s been doing good in supporting me. I couldn’t bring myself to say yes. She and Dad are being fantastic in helping me out in many areas, such as house-buying, but in this one? This whole being myself thing? They’re not with me. As far as I’m aware their position is still “I can’t look at you doing this to yourself.” Which is basically getting me out of their life. Which they don’t seem to understand still. Even though I’m teaching and working and doing literally everything but being around them as myself, and that someday that shit has to end.

I’m complaining instead of explaining. Anyway.

Now it’s today. Today was going pretty decent for me. I mean, I had to get up early and work the truck, but that’s not so bad. Hours and all. I also taught, and that went pretty alright, too. Things were going fine.
Then we were having a conversation with my dad, and for the first time today, Mom refers to me by my old name.
My stomach dropped out from under me. I felt terrible. It took me awhile to figure out why, but I think it’s because she had been yelled and screamed at, but took nothing away from that experience.
Either way, bringing it back to the song, it just feels like my hopes of ever getting my parents to understand are stupid at this point. It feels like it will never happen. It feels like I am going to lose my parents. They don’t want a daughter, and they don’t want me. I feel like I’ve tried so hard to keep that hope alive, that they would, and this is just another thing trying to blow out that candle. Maybe it would be for the best if I went. I don’t know.

I love my parents. They love me. I want them in my life.
I’m tired of this shit. I’m tired of them being the only two people in my life who don’t understand. I’m tired of them being the only two people who make me feel like a freak, or that I have something to hide, or that I’m less than a person. I’m tired of his hope that they’ll understand someday that keeps me from doing something about it. I’m tired of worrying, every moment I’m around them, that we’re going to start fighting.

I talked with Ecks after I ran to my room, turned down Jonathan’s invitation to go play board games with people (I just wasn’t in an emotional state to meet new people. I’m sorry, Jonathan. I hope it didn’t ruin anything.) and just curled up in depression and lost hope. We talked, and he’s awesome, and he’s right. I mean, I’m not going to let this stop me. Nothing is going to stop me anymore. Not when I’m finally myself for the first time in my life. I will wake up tomorrow, and I will continue on. No thoughts of suicide, no inability to get out of bed, no overwhelming feeling of failure. My parents have done a lot, but I got rid of those things without them. I was responsible for becoming myself and succeeding, and still am. I don’t need their approval. If they want to be a roadblock, they can be, but they should get out of the way. I’m going anyway.

And that’s what’s happening in my emotional life. Did you see that funny video? You should have just watched that up there. Goodnight.

I bought a physical CD from a physical store.

It felt kind of weird.

I mean, it’s not like I hadn’t bought physical media before for songs. But the last few actual albums I bought with a physical CD I kind of ordered on Amazon and then pirated, and the copies were never opened. Zero Day and Tonight would be those. Not even opened. I don’t know why I got the physical disc at all, really, except it kind of feels nice to have an actual object, and it was from the Borders clearance thing, so it was basically like 40 cents more than it would cost to download it, and TMBG can gladly have an extra 40 cents from me or whatever.

But while I was buying this physical CD (it was Join Us by They Might Be Giants) I just felt really awkward and out of place. It felt surreal to be buying music from a store. The world is already at that point for me. I decided to listen to it once on CD on the way home, to make the physical nature of the purchase worthwhile, but of course I broke the shit out of the case trying to get it unwrapped, so that’s fantastic. I buy the physical media, and it doesn’t even last! Lovely. And now that I’m home, it’s ripped to my computer, put on my iPod, and I will never, ever use the physical CD again.

The album? Well, I’ll talk about that another day. Let me be honest: I’m completely exhausted right now, moody, and just want to go to bed, preferably with a wuff. But I am too stubborn to not write something on this blog. So this is what you get! Tomorrow will be better. Later.

I feel exhausted. I worked all day, then I was all friendly with people and learned the amazingness of Regular Show, and now you expect me to write a blog? Pft. Links. That’s all you get! I’m going to bed!

Sorry, but I am kind of tired and, hey, I got cool links.

Do you like very heavy-handed metaphors? How about when there’s some humor in there and it’s kind of clever? Then you should probably try The Stanley Parable. If you’re going to do it, just do it: it’s one of those things that, once spoiled, means nothing.

Morbid Coffee linked this on twitter. I don’t really know what it is, but it’s, um, interesting. Yeah.

Best Cosplay Winner.

The best news ever is that they’re making a Black Dynamite animated TV show. The pilot exists and is on-par with the film! A must watch.

I think this picture from the set of Star Trek is kind of cool.

These are soon to be part of my brother’s lawn army.

I found this funny. I am easily amused.

Finally, just to prove how ridiculous My Little Pony has gotten, here’s a little My Little Pony game I played today.

I’ll try to sleep and feel better. Later!

Today I decided I would stop feeling useless and sorry for myself and fucking ACCOMPLISH SOMETHING. Because, you know, that’s the best way to not feel that way. I hadn’t really written any fiction in awhile, so I decided that’s what I’d do. I’d sit down, and I’d write some fucking fiction, like a writer! Yeah, that’s the ticket, I would write something. Fuck yeah.

I sat down and opened Microsoft Word, and tried to think of a story idea I’d developed enough to actually write down. Sadly, all I could come up with was an idea I had for some furry porn, but dammit, I was going to write something, so I started writing on it anyway. It’s porn time! Yeah, that’s what I’m doing.

I occurred to me about a page or so in that I had really made no reference to these characters being furries yet. I went back and started changing some things, but it felt wrong, so I changed them back. I guess they’re humans then, that’s cool. I mean, I hear some people like pornography involving humans, as strange as that sounds. I continued on. A thousand words or so later, I realized how little this story had to do with fucking. I mean, fucking was a big part of it, sure. But that wasn’t the point. It was about these characters finding love and falling into this odd situation with technology. You know, a cyberpunk kind of story. Only with fucking. I had been percolating the concept so long in my head, I made the characters, to me anyway, too people-y, and thus I wanted to tell their whole story, not just their bedroom antics. I didn’t let this revelation stop me though. I mean, I finished the story. It went where it was going, and when it got there, it was done.

I then looked back over the whole thing. What I had was neither pornography nor a serious, literary short story. If it was supposed to be pornography, well goodness, I’d have to add a lot more description of all the fucking that occurs in the story. The framing device would probably have to be thrown out, because it’s a downer, and pornography is supposed to be an upper. If it’s a serious short story, it’s lacking conflict. What conflict is there is brushed over quickly. I would need to spend some time really fleshing out the characters more, make them not pornographic stereotypes, and show the conflict more between them, instead of just saying it happened. The framing device could stay, but would need to be more seriously involved in the story. The more I thought about it, basically either path would basically double the size of the story, at least. Not that that’s a bad thing. But basically, the story has a ways to go after this first draft, no matter how I slice it. I’ll probably try to make it legit.

The whole experience, and this is the reason I wanted to write about it, really made me wonder about the difference between writing porn and writing a short story. I mean, in my head, there’s a clear difference. One is a legit craft that I work on honing, and one is something fun I do to distract myself when I’m horny. But a lot of work I’m most proud of, including the story that I’ve managed to get published, have near-pornographic themes and depictions of sex. I set out to write those to write a short story, one that works as I believe a story does, and has conflict, characters, and so on. But when I set to write something pornographic, I mean, I’m still thinking about a lot of the same things. The only difference is the solution to whatever conflict there is has to be fucking. But that’s a possible solution in a real story, too. No reason it can’t be. There’s also no reason a “legit” story can’t be sexy. Granted, a short story might not be the best place for a superfluous sex scene, as you’re trying to keep your used space to a minimum, but some sexy times are always nice, if they’re appropriate for the characters.

I think what shocked me is that I didn’t set out to write something I wanted to make really good. I set out to write that pornographic distraction. Yet that wasn’t what came out. It’s that intent, I think, that I’ve always used to determine whether or not a story is pornographic whatever, or something I should make really good and think about publishing. Again, this story needs a lot of revision before it is any good, but the pieces are there. When I write porn, I normally take a “fuck it, just write, it doesn’t matter” kind of approach, and do things like not name the characters or basically anything else I have difficulty with when writing a story. It was kind of refreshing to do that and have something come out that I see potential in, because it was so low-stress. Normally when I have a BIG IDEA and want to write it out, I find it very stressful and often throw bits away in frustration instead of continuing to roll. This… wasn’t too bad. I could keep doing that.

I don’t know, it was an interesting and successful experiment, not only because I wrote a short story draft, but because, well, it did help me not to feel like a useless asshole. So good for me! Victory all around!

What do I want to write about?
I want to write about loneliness, I guess.
Just skip this post if you want, no worries.

I feel like things are pretty decided on the “I have to move out” front. I feel my parents pushing me away, not wanting me in their lives and trying to get me to go back on everything I’ve ever wanted, and I doubt they’re going to take me seriously unless I call their bluff, get out from under them, and start living my life. So away I should go. I’ve run the numbers. I should be able to do it, I think, without too much issue. I’ve got to find a place, of course, but I’ll get started on that soon. Things will work.

When I think about reasons I don’t want to leave, though, I find it surprising that Molly is kind of the top of my list. I mean, she’s very much my mother’s dog. But she likes me a lot. She’s always happy to see me. If I’m sitting here, feeling depressed and lonely, I can go downstairs and sit with her on the couch and at least cheer up a little bit. She’s just always so happy, so pleased that I’m there. I loved Frisky, our previous dog, of course, and he was friendly too, but I was much more one of the people he was watching over and protecting, if that makes sense. Molly wants to be around me, comes to me when she’s scared to hide. She’s just… yeah. I feel stupid that writing that kind of shit brings me near to tears, but here we are. That kind of devotion, so in my face, just melts me.

I’ve got fucking awesome friends and a boyfriend I love. I shouldn’t feel lonely, perse. Frankly, I enjoy alone time anyway, quite often. But even though life is going great, I still do break down from time to time. It’s hard not to sometimes. That’s just life. Molly is my escape plan. If I am feeling really unbearable, she’ll be there to make me feel loved. Silly, maybe, but effective. Losing that kind of scares me. I’m so used to doing it now, I don’t know how else I’d cope. Cara is like, “Oh, get somewhere that allows pets and get your own dog!” and I mean, I suppose that’s an option. I never really thought about it. I guess it might also be an excuse to make my mom accept me more. She’d put up with me for her “grandkid,” I bet. However, it’s also a lot of extra expense that I don’t know if I can handle. So much of that “extra expense” money is still going to be tied up in transitioning for a long while. And I don’t know if Brer wants a dog around when he gets here… I don’t know.

Anyway, that’s why I’m worried about moving out! Stupid, huh? But that’s what’s been on my mind since I decided dragging my heels would make things worse here. Might as well get out there and get the being murdered my mother assumes will happen over with, you know? No time like the present. Onwards to my apparently obviously imminent death!
(Times like this, I’m glad she doesn’t read this. I love her. I don’t want to be this snarky to her face, but fuck, I have to let it out somewhere. I’m allowed to be frustrated. Just not an asshole.)