Thursday, December 21, 2000

I'm feeling lazy tonight. Well, that and I want to work on my website, which is sloooowly coming together!

If there's ANYone in the world that needs a Captain Obvious Fanclub hat, it's the author of this page. To quote one of their more astute gems: " Only a woman can decide if her facial hair is unwanted:[...]" No. Sorry. Wrong fucking answer, dude. EVERYone _ELSE_ gets to decide that for her. At least in the Northa American/Anglo-Saxon-derived cultures they do. Maybe there's some culture out there that lets their women have that kind of comfort with their own bodies, but somehow I doubt it.

Do you know that I'd probably be the sexiest woman alive if I wore a djell... Djbell... One of those extraneously long Muslim veils and contacts? Yeah. As long as the rest of me was hidden in a shapeless potato sack. You could trace my progress through the Dimond Center on Tuesday by following the silence followed by snickers.

Ev said that his thoughts were twofold: first off, why the hell don't _I_ do something about it if it bothers me, and second, it's fun to stare at people right back because they 'bout break their necks looking the other way.

I told him that because I don't _HAVE_ to look at me, -I- am actually relatively fine with it. It's _everyone else_ _REACTING_ to it that gets on my nerves. -They- are the ones that have the problem with the way _I_ look. _I_ should NOT have to change MY appearance because OTHER PEOPLE have a fucking problem with it. That's NOT MY FAULT. -THEY- can't handle it, that's THEIR problem.

And I have a problem with THEM having a problem. I don't give a fuck about me, I give a fuck about the fact that everyone else gives a fuck about how I look. Do I stand around and remark loudly about the nasty-ass flares and bell-bottoms and cargo pants (and skirts and shirts and socks and gloves and anything else that you could concievably put cargo pockets on), all the damned _fugly_ animal print overkill? No. I restrain myself. I didn't point and laugh at the corpulent ÜberGothy guy that was roaming the mall, looking unkempt and as if he'd never heard of the 'less is more' approach to applying makeup.

I also was the model of tact and diplomacy and did NOT throw myself at the kawaii Asian guy sitting on the other end of the bench from my brother and tell him how sexy I thought he looked. I also managed not to stare, drool, or say anything like 'Hoshi! Kawaii! Bishounen!' to/at him. (He looked really tired, for one thing...)

*Snerk* I -did- startle my brother and a few other people as we were on our way back to the car, because I remembered the word 'hoshi(i?)'. When I remembered, I exclaimed it aloud, quite probably a little -too- loudly... Er, and when you say it in rather staccato manner, it kinda sounds like 'horseshit' or 'ohshit!'. Ooooopsie.

Grr. So anyhow. I wasn't too excited by the idea of using Vaniqa anyway, as it requires hair removal to begin with, plus it takes two weeks to start working which means that you have to keep up a -rigorous- program of removal, and I am just so not into that right now. Plus it costs like 50 bucks for two months worth. This website, expounding and expanding on the already-fucked mindset of the American populace, just makes me want to boycott the stuff. I don't know what my rallying cry would be... 'Hell no, I'll let it grow!'?

I don't usually swear this much. *Blinkblink* I guess I'm just really tired of playing the outcast...

I guess I could always try saying hello to that guy at Fred Meyers... *Grin* I was there the other night and we walked past him -- His name (according to the tag) is Jason. I managed to look at his nametag, but then I was distracted by bright shiny things and a woman telling someone "So get lost!", so I didn't look at -him-. Mom said that it happened the way it always does -- we walk by, and mom and the rest of the store fades out as he looks at _me_. *Rolls eyes* Most of me wants to just take that whole thing and run with it. Then there's the ugly little part that says he's staring because I'm much like a train wreck, don't wanna stare but you can't look away, to steal a phrase from Weird Al.

Then there's the sick/twisted part of me that wonders if he's looking 'cause he likes guys... *Shrug* As an option, I kind of like it. At least I'd know what to _do_ with that kind of attention. Heh.

I have no idea what I'd say to him, if he wanted to talk to me. I have no idea what I'd do if he gave me his phone number. His e-mail address, that I could do. Or I could give him mine. I wonder if wanting to interact at a remove is so that _I_ don't have to feel like someone is judging me by my appearance, or if it's because it removes the onus of attempting to act like I'm sophisticated and elegant and actually -graceful-, or if it's just that I'm better with written words than I am with spoken ones. I don't know.

In other news, I bought Burn-Up W for myself and Ev for Christmas, and my copy of Mononoke Hime came in! *Grin* I -totally- spaced ordering it, and when I got home from the mall on Tuesday, my mother said, "Suncoast called, they said your DVD is in.." I'm thinking "The -hell-? What did I order?" So I called them up and asked. *Bounce* I love that movie... It's so beautiful, and so well-done... *Snerk* The weird bit is that I -looked- at Mononoke Hime on the shelf at Suncoast, drooling and wishing I could buy it! I highly, highly recommend going to Suncoast and putting five bucks down on movies before they're released, 'cause -my- copy of MH was only twenty-three bucks total instead of the thirty they wanted for it off the rack.

Burn-Up W is kinda... Well, you don't have to be a guy to enjoy it, but it might help. It has lots of bouncing breasts, plenty of panty shots, and lots of sex in the dialogue. But it also has funny writing, good artwork/animation, Yuji-kun (who looks suspiciously like Gateau Mocha from Sorcerer Hunters/SH: Spell Wars), and bad guys that want to take over the world.

*Blinkblink* Speaking of Gateau... I was going to write Gateau/Marron fic! I should meditate upon that and find out how much (not to mention if they're even available) the DVDs are going for...

My hair is clean and that means it's slippery. It's not staying put! Bad hair. Bad, bad hair.

Got my Christmas/Winter Hols prezzies wrapped and boxed... All I have to do now is letters and cards... Aigh... *Grin* But they're wrapped and boxed! I can't buy any more! I'll be broke and won't be able to afford the shipping, which is alread going to be more than usual! Gah! *Giggle*

I'm obviously in a weird mood. *Blink* My father gave my money to go Christmas shopping with, which makes me feel weird. Not that I'm not grateful -- it may be going toward (a) new head gasket(s) -- but it's odd. I don't think he knows how to tell/show me he loves me, or Ev, or mom (which he still does, poor, poor man) so he spends/gives us money.

I'd _TELL_ him how he can show that he loves me, but he wouldn't listen. I don't _think_ he'd listen, anyhow. He hasn't been the most attentive listener in the past, anyhow...

Dad. Dear, darling faaaather... Otousan. Otets. Pater. Vater. Papa. Daddy. Da. Pop. Pa. Old man. Male-type Parental Unit. Guy what donated 23 chromosomes to me.

Treat me like the (almost) capable, (nearly) competent adult that I am. -Listen- to me when I tell you things, or am answering questions for you. Tell me you love me. Don't tell me that I'm fun to play with. _DON'T_ touch my face, my neck, or my ears. Don't tell total strangers that you had a bag, but then you got a divorce, because it's totally at odds with the way you lavish gifts on Maman and it fucks with my head. Find a nice woman and settle down with her. Find a nice woman and start living it up with her, I don't care.

Don't treat computers or other technology like it's the Devil incarnate. Don't belittle my job, even unintentionally. QUIT telling total strangers that teachers are stupid, because the ones I know are not.

Dad, open your mind. Stop being a throwback and join the at-the-very-least-_silently_-negative.

Tease me about women with comfortable shoes, dad, and I'll be telling you that _I_ like comfortable shoes. (Well, I -do-... But in _both_ senses of the phrase. *Ahem* Heh.)

Dad, I love you, honest, I do. You just drive me right up the nearest wall and then some. Mom doesn't -hate- you, in fact I think she even _likes_ you. You just drive -her- utterly bugfuck batty, that's all.

Sigh. I think that's enough for now... Time to go write or link or something. Ja ne!

Posted by: Shannon M.: 11:54 PM |