Bad for my Chi...

No cookies for this journal keeper

2008-04-25T22:33:27Z

My goodness. It's been a long time since I poked my head in here and even longer since I've written anything IRL. I'm sad about it, really.

I goof off far too much, and yet I have nothing to show for it. One endless round of school and home after another, taking care of Schmoo (26 months old!), seeing my brother get married and settled in...it's all so boring. I'm so, so, so grateful for the life I'm living--I know I have opportunities other people would kill for--but I feel unsatisfied. I need to be creative. I need to do something new.

Maybe I'm too isolated. Maybe that's part of my problem.

first_to_blink @ 2007-10-03T21:39:00

2007-10-04T02:39:49Z

Is it masochism or just insanity? I'll know by November 30.

Awww....that's no fun

2007-04-13T01:54:30Z

What Wildly Out-of-Character Fanfic Snape Are You?

Hey, you're not OOC at all! You are... Canon Snape! You have the dubious honor of being the ugly, sarcastic, greasy git so many of us know and love. Regardless of whether you're in a het, slash, or gen fic, you are the detention-giving bastard who would never even dream of cuddling a fluffy bunny rabbit or wearing purple leather. Even if you do something that seems OOC, your writer is good enough to explain it so that it seems believable. Unfortunately, it's fairly rare to find you in fanfiction, but for those authors who write you... Ten points to Slytherin!
Take this quiz!

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Makes sense, I guess. I like my Snape ugly, greasy, and bad tempered. He's dead sexy already...well, I'd shag him, anyway.

Nano 2006

2006-11-28T23:06:46Z

I almost forgot...

2006-11-08T16:17:57Z

I'm so disappointed in myself. I got sick--3 days of misery followed by 1 day of exhaustion--and stopped writing my novel completely. Writing seemed impossible; all I wanted to do was sleep. I feel better today, but now I'm overwhelmed by how far behind I am. I should be around 14000 words. Instead, I'm under 6000.

I don't want to quit. I'm not a quitter, and I've been looking forward to this for a long time. I love my idea and my character. Val has developed so much life! I love her voice and the way she tries to be strong but so often feels vulnerable. The story is plotted. Scene after scene is waiting to be written. It would be a waste to abandon it.

Okay, I won't give up. My chances of reaching 50k in November aren't as good as they were a week ago, but I still have hope. Sheesh, I need to remember that my ultimate goal was 100,000 to 125,000 words anyway. When I hit December 1, I plan to just keep writing.

Nano fever

2006-11-03T15:25:22Z

I love nanowrimo.

So far, I've written close to 4000 words, so I'm doing all right. I'd really like to be at 6000 before the end of the day (as per my 2000 words/day goal), but I don't think I'm going to make it. I'm getting sick. In hopes that I'll get better rather than worse, I'm taking it easy today.

It's going well though. Chapter one is done, and chapter two is chock full of action and ready to burst free. It's such a relief to be writing. It's been roughly two years since my original fic muse has come to visit me. Even my fanfic muse has been mostly silent. So I'm happy.

I feel like my soul is waking up. Suddenly I have so many ideas, where before I had only emptiness. It's wonderful, really. After Nano, I have multiple projects waiting, mostly original fiction. I want to write my Harry/Draco epic, though. I've had the idea for over two years, and it's starting to twitch, demanding attention.

I'm in a good place. I just wish I felt better. I'd set "sick" as my mood icon, but I can't stand that barfy head--yuck!

Crawling by/Flying by...

2006-10-21T22:45:10Z

Schmoo is crawling. Yay! It started out as a kinda bunny-hop, both legs lifted up and pulled forward together. Cute as hell, but he kept falling on his face. Today he finally figured out how to move his legs independently. He's very happy about it, too.

Only 11 days until Nano. I still have so much to do. Plus, I just found out I need to make a trip to Dallas, and my brother is coming down here for a long weekend. I'm starting to get worried about finding the time to write. To make matters worse, for some reason Schmoo won't sleep in his crib. Every night, between 10:30 and 1:00, he wakes up, stands up, and starts screaming. I've been putting him in bed with me, just to get him to fall back to sleep. I'm so zonked, I can't wake up early (as I've been training myself to do). Suddenly 50k words in November is looking like a real challenge.

We don't need no stinkin' outline.

2006-10-16T16:56:18Z

October is half over. I'm not quite where I want to be on my nano planning. I sorta thought I'd have an outline done by now. On the other hand, I'm afraid of burning out. That is, finishing my outline and then spending the last week of October twiddling my thumbs and losing all my enthusiasm. However, I now have 2 weeks (give or take). I need to get crackin'.

It's wonderful to have my muse back. I've missed her so. Apparently, her 2 year vacation has been good for her. She's so tan! And I love her new haircut.

such 'n' such

2006-10-15T16:41:44Z

Rainy weekend here, and I'm a happy girl. Something about rain is so exciting. I've never been able to describe it, but it's simultaneously soothing and stimulating to me. Those people who get depressed when it rains just confuse me. I am staying in, though, rather than taking Schmoo out in it. He just got over being sick, so I feel like I can't expose him to the damp.

My big plans this weekend were to buy Schmoo a halloween costume and take him for photos at a pumpkin patch, which it's too wet to do anyway. I have admitted defeat: I won't be sewing the teddy bear costume I had intended to make. I'm just too ignorant and have too much going on. I bought so much fabric, however, it will keep for next year.

Schmoo is 8 months old now. I just can't believe it. He's so tiny, but at the same time, so big. He cut 2 more teeth this week, bringing the total up to 6 (2 in, 2 half in, and 2 just poking through). He's pulling himself to his feet, cruising along furniture, rocking on all fours, and learning to clap, bang a drum, feed himself, and make faces. Yesterday, he drank juice from a cup all by himself. This morning, he gummed a biscuit down to mush. I'm continuously amazed by him. However, he still won't try to sit up on his own. It's like the boy's half-turtle. Once he's on his back, it's all over.

Forum Fever

2006-10-12T15:03:44Z

I have it bad. I can tell the NaNoWriMo forums will be the death of my Nano novel if I dare to go there during November. I need to spend less time socializing and more time outlining my novel. If I do to much now, however, and then try not to work on it until November, I think my enthusiasm will burn out. I don't want to get burnt out, no matter what. I'm saving the lion's share of my plotting and outlining for the last 2 weeks of October. Must...be...disciplined...

I feel so bleah, lately. Maybe I'm not getting out of the house enough. I don't know. I do need to go to the local college with my transcript and get enrolled. Registration is in mid-November, and I want to handle it all quickly and easily on the net, so I need to hammer out my schedule and get any advising I need out of the way now. Plus, there's financial aid to think about. It's all exciting, but at the same time not. Going to the campus for all this with Schmoo in tow is going to be a hassle, too.

Yawn. How dull am I? I need to do something to shake myself up. I have an idea for a Charlie/Pansy drabble. Maybe I should write that today.

Pansies of the World

2006-10-07T18:54:40Z

This really interests me. As I wrote previously, I'm surprised at the lack of canon Pansy Parkinson information. This rant on J.K. Rowling's website was mentioned during an online discussion about underweight supermodels. I agree with everything Queen Jo says, but what I find most interesting is the mention of the merits of being Hermione vs being Pansy at the end. I now have a very clear image of Miss Parkinson.

J.K. Rowling's official site

Supermodels infuriate me, btw. If I have to hear one more aphid-shaped woman say she's 'just tall' and that she just has a 'fast metabolism,' I'll be sick. If they were black and wearing rags in Africa instead of white and wearing designer fashions in Milan, the UN would be airlifting them famine relief. Plus, I personally feel it's incorrect to call them women, anyway. Real women have breasts, hips, and enough body fat to allow for menstruation. They're as feminine as blow-up dolls. Holes in the right places, but not much else.

We Have Lift-Off

2006-10-07T18:29:09Z

Schmoo stood up in his crib last night. He even 'cruised' along the crib rail from one end to another. He's done it over and over, but so far only in his crib. Not bad for a seven-month-old, I think. Yes, I am a proud mama.

He remains one demanding kid. A big part of it, in my opinion, is how badly he wants to be mobile. He hates being left behind in a room. Well, I think we're well on our way to mobility. Then the fun will really start.

We've also had our first head injury. Two days ago, I was sitting with him on the floor near the bookshelves in the office. My legs were up, and he was standing between them, holding onto my knees. Now, the way I figure it, there was one tiny space between my feet where he could fall, and only if he turned just right. Obviously, he did just that. His head hit a bookshelf with the sound of a coconut hitting concrete, and my heart almost stopped. The look on his little face was just devastating. He had a tiny goose egg, but no symptoms of a concussion, and he's back to his usual fearless self. So, once again, we're lucky.

I'm really enjoying this kind of lazy time at home. Planning for NaNo (I bought new note cards and a stand for my laptop to spare my wrists--yay!), taking care of the house, and trying out new menus pretty much occupies my whole day. It's so wonderful to be home with Schmoo. I feel too old to be pinching myself every morning just to make sure I'm not dreaming, but I am.

Psyched

2006-10-04T19:34:11Z

I think I love NaNoWriMo and want to bear its children.

The forums at NaNoWriMo are spiffy. Some of these people are clearly obsessed, but it's still fun. I've learned so much already about things I didn't know even existed, such as alternative programs for Word. I'm definitely investigating RoughDraft, Writely, and yWriter. I'd love it if I could copy it to disc and then upload it into my laptop, since I work without internet access on the laptop to cut down on distractions.

Two things disappoint me: (1)I was hoping to just cut loose and write, not really caring about perfect grammar. I figured I'd edit after NaNo, assuming I survive November. Finding the "Writing 101" board bothers me, since I have a hard time free writing if I know other people are being super careful with their punctuation. Even if it's people I don't know and will never meet, writing perfectly punctuated words I'll never read. I don't know if I'm being competitive, anal, or just a perfectionist. (2) According to the Houston, Texas lounge guy, my town has a very poor turn out for NaNo. Well, pooh. I was hoping I'd spy locals hard at work on their novels, identifiable by their cramped fingers, glassy eyes, and caffeine jitters.

Oh, after weighing the options, I decided to write original fic. Not as easy as fanfiction, but I feel better about neglecting Schmoo for it. I've got a rough story idea, so research ho!

Time

2006-10-02T21:16:57Z

I've been trying to figure out how I will simultaneously take care of Schmoo and write for NaNo. Simply put, I won't. Realistically, I can only write when Schmoo is asleep. He's in bed from 8 pm to about 7 am (and I'm trying to make it 7:30pm to 7:00am), plus he naps for 1.5 to 2 hours in the morning. If I get up at 5am, stay up until 11pm, and write during naps, I figure I can write for 3-6 hours per day. Assuming I don't write at all on Thanksgiving--and since it's my favorite holiday, I probably won't--that gives me 87 to 174 hours of writing time over 29 days. I was disappointed that I won't have more time, until I started looking at it in other ways. That's a max of 7.25 days or roughly 24% of November spent writing. Since I need to write "1667 words per day," if I write the minimum of 3 hours per day I need to write 556 words per hour. If I can write for 6 hours per day (consistently) I need to write 278 words per hour. I think it can be done.

Dealing with Schmoo is the hardest part. He'll be 8.5 months old on November 1. If he were younger, he'd sleep more. If he were older, I could occupy him with a movie. Right now, all he wants is me and he has to come first. I'll write before he wakes up, after he goes to bed, and all through naps. The rest of the day is for baby, chores, and meal prep. If I keep pens and paper constantly on hand, I can jot my ideas down during the day and turn them into story at night. Mom might watch him on a Saturday so I can take my computer and go to the college library if I need extra time.

I think my fear of getting stuck and running out of time is what's making it so hard to decide on an idea. I need to make a pros and cons list of fanfiction vs original fiction. After that I can start organizing, outlining, and researching. There's just never enough time.

All signed up!

2006-10-02T19:33:56Z

Yay! I signed up for NaNoWriMo. :) I'm still undecided what to write, but I have one glorious month to decide. I should check out the forum and see if I can find some local writers for support. Let the madness begin!

Bored invalid already

2006-09-29T16:43:19Z

And Schmoo is getting really angry that I'm not carrying him around!

You are 93% Gemini

How Gemini Are You?

Only 93%? I'm surprised.

Drabble: The House-Elf's Paradox

2006-09-29T16:10:53Z

My knee hurts. It's still grinding like glass in a blender when I walk, and I'm worried about one spot that's hot to the touch. The only thing I can think to do is ice it, wrap it, and pamper it.

With nothing better to do last night, I was laying around thinking about Schrodinger's Cat (as I often do) and Russell's paradox (just because "quantum fetish mechanics" is so much fun to say). That's where this came from, I think. I started thinking about how impossible it would be to be an elf with an unreasonable master. Poor Dobby.

Title: The House-Elf's Paradox
Author: aif
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Draco, Dobby
Summary: Draco Malfoy is not a good master to a house-elf.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Not mine at all.
Word Count: 100

Dobby can never please Master Draco.

Now that the young Master is home from school, Dobby irons his hands most days. His head aches from beating it with the family silver, and his ears throb from shutting them in the oven door.

Dobby knows he cannot please. He brings the young Master breakfast in bed, seeing how he smiles as Dobby hobbles on boiled feet. When Master Draco gives his first command of the day, Dobby whimpers, wringing his ironed fingers. Always the same seven impossible words: "Dobby? I want you to disobey me."

Dobby can never please Master Draco.

Free People Read Freely

2006-09-29T02:59:02Z

I just realized it's Read a Banned Book week. Proudly, I can say I've read many of the most frequently challenged books. Yay for me! I should read more, although I'll pass on the kiddie books like Captain Underpants and the Goosebumps series. It's sort of surprising how little acknowledgment of the week I've detected on the internet. Of course, I don't go that many places online. Banned books may be the hottest thing to hit myspace since the webcam, and I wouldn't know about it.

I must remember to thank my mother for always letting me read any damn thing I wanted. So many of the books that closed minded assholes try to have removed from libraries are books that captivated me and made me think as a young person. I'm glad I'm still a reader--and a free thinker--today.

I'm especially proud that I read all the Harry Potter books to Schmoo (#1 most frequently challenged series! Woo hoo!) while I was pregnant. I'd say he's off to a good start.

Naked tumbles

2006-09-28T19:59:57Z

Apparently, it's genetic.

I fell down the stairs this morning. While naked, as it were. Before I got in the shower, I left some bulgar soaking on the counter top (for tabbouleh) and set the timer. Naturally, I forgot all about it. When I got out of the shower I heard the timer going off, so I wrapped at towel around myself and ran down the stairs. Well, I ran down 2/3 of the stairs and fell the rest of the way. I lost the towel, so I was naked and hurting at the foot of the stairs...in full view, I might add, of the glass panels in the front door and the living room windows. I hurt my right knee--again! I'm swollen and the joint feels "gritty" when I flex it.

It's so silly, but the worse part about this was being naked. I know it's all part of my fear of dying naked. Other people fear violent death. I fear naked death. I put on clothes after sex, because I'm afraid of dying naked in my bed. I won't skinny dip, because I'm afraid of drowning naked. Every time I take a shower, part of me is afraid of dying (naked) in some terrible showering accident. I never realized it, but I do things every day to ensure that paramedics and police officers won't be finding my naked body.

To add insult to injury, my tabbouleh isn't very good. It's too lemony.

Like the vain bitch I am

2006-09-27T13:37:28Z

Schmoo rolled off my bed this morning and fell 2+ feet to the carpet on his head. He was sitting in the center of my bed looking out the window. I had opened all the upstairs windows to let in some fresh air, and I think he wanted to get closer to the breeze or view. So, he flopped over and rolled right off the edge, I guess. Where was I? Standing in front of my closet on the other side of the bed, trying on shoes and choosing an outfit like the vain bitch I am.

He's not hurt, thankfully. He cried and clung to me, but no limbs are hanging wrong, he's not bleeding, and I can't find any bumps or even a red mark. It's only by chance, though. Thank God for carpeting. What the hell is wrong with me? I know it's not safe to put him on the bed. For the past week he's been rolling toward the edge every chance he gets. I've caught him at the last second at least a half-dozen times.

My house increasingly has the look and feel of a TB ward, and I think ds is getting a dual ear infection.

Sometimes I feel like a textbook example of how not to be a parent.

Heroes & Pansies

2006-09-26T17:35:26Z

I watched "Heroes" last night on NBC, the first primetime show I've watched in months that wasn't on PBS, HGTV, or Food Network. The premise is interesting, I guess, although the comic book angle is trite. It might be worth watching just to see Sendhil Ramamurthy, an Indian actor I'm unfamiliar with, but who is the hottest thing I've seen lately. Unfortunately, the show also casts Ali Larter. She bugs me. Don't know why. I'm on the fence as to whether or not I'll watch the second episode. There's just no time for TV in my life these days. :(

I'm thinking every day about NaNoWriMo. It's almost time to sign up--I'm excited! I still can't make up my mind whether to write fanfic or original fic, so I'm researching and planning both. I've made a surprising (for me, anyway) discovery: there is no canon description for Pansy Parkinson. She's described as "hard-faced," "pug-nosed," and wore frilly pink to the Yule Ball. That's it. In the movies, she's portrayed with a black bob, but that was surprising to me, and doesn't feel right. I've searched the books, though, and I can't find anything else about her. The Lexicon is no help, either. I even braved Fiction Alley to see if they knew something I don't. That site makes my brain hurt, and was as unhelpful as ever. No canon descriptions of Pansy's hair, eyes, skin tone, build or anything other than her nose and her expression exist. This isn't a bad thing. I get to decide on my own.

Fic: Sex, Lies, and Video Games

2006-09-25T19:43:37Z

I feel all nostalgic. This was my first femslash piece, and I heart it muchly for just that reason.

Title: Sex, Lies, and Video Games
Fandom: Buffy
Author: aif
Rating: R
Summary: Kennedy introduces Faith to a new game.
Written for the uc ficathon for kben who requested Faith/Kennedy and video games as foreplay.
Disclaimer: Do I look like a Fox executive? Sadly, no.
Word count: 2735

I always knew that Kennedy was trouble.

The girl’s mouthy, and aggressive, and could probably learn a thing or two from those anger management classes I had to take. Face it: take away her rich family and fancy schools, give the girl some quality jail time, and you got me. Way I figure it, the two of us started out as the same stuff. We were just molded into different shapes.

So, yeah, of course she’s trouble. I just didn’t realize she’d be this much trouble.

You wanna know what happened to me? Kennedy happened! Kennedy and that freakin’ video game…

I. Loading

“Play with me?”

Husky girl-voice, full of invitation. It’s something I hadn’t heard directed at me since I got my get out of jail free card, and that alone was enough to give me a bit of a tickle down low. Not all the way down low, mind you. But low enough.

I pulled the towel off my head where I was drying my hair and saw Kennedy in my doorway. Kennedy wearing a tight cropped tank, criminally short shorts, and a wicked expression. She was all subtle muscles and gold skin. I should have jumped out the window and made tracks for the next state right then.

Instead, I decided to play it cool. “Play with you? Play what? Barbie Dream House? Okay, you can be Ken, and I’ll be Barbie. Ooh, you complain about your vacation home only having one wing, and I’ll complain about not getting accepted into the Ivy League college of my choice.” I may be a tiny bit bitter that her molded shape is so much luckier than mine.

Kennedy just laughed. She leaned against the doorjamb and began twirling a lock of her hair around her fingers. When you spend 24 hours a day locked up with a bunch of women, you’ve got to develop a finely tuned gaydar. It’s important to know when another girl is flirting with you. And Kennedy was definitely flirty. It was interesting. Interesting, weird, and obvious…but still kinda flattering. No one had been flirting with me since Robin and I called it quits. The man never would admit I’m prettier than him, and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

“I was thinking we could play a video game,” she said, wetting her lips and making large with the eye contact. Oh, yeah. She was flirting all right. She was also delusional if she thought I was going to waste my time playing a video game. When the mayor bought me a Playstation, the thrill lasted all of a half an hour. After spending my nights battling the forces of darkness—or previously working for them—battling pixels on a TV screen is not my thing. I was surprised it was Action Girl 2003’s thing, either.

“Umm, wouldn’t Andrew be a better choice?” I wrinkled my nose at her and tried to look both cute and logical. This was me, subtly flirting back. I suck at subtlety.

“Andrew has no hand/eye coordination. And he’s off with the new recruits somewhere, probably telling them how he and the Justice League defeated Aquaman’s evil twin.” She held up one hand and began counting off on her fingers. “Dawn’s gone to the movies, and even if she was here, she sucks so bad she might as well not even have opposable thumbs. Xander has that whole issue with his perception, and anyway, he’s in Europe with Buffy and Mr. Giles trying to recover the Watcher’s Council’s assets.”

Okay, then. “Well, what about Willow? Isn’t it part of her job to keep you entertained?”

Her face went as blank as a sheet of paper. “Willow’s out.”

“Out where?”

“She didn’t say, and I didn’t ask.”

So there it was: big storms brewing in the lesbian paradise. And here was Kennedy, stirring up more trouble. This would have been another fine moment to jump out the window and run.

But I didn’t, and Kennedy regrouped and turned on the charm again. Such as it is.

“Willow is very good with her hands,” She smiled and gave me a visual once-over. Now, I’ve had more lovers—male or female—than that brat will ever have in her life. And she still managed to make me feel naked and hot with just a look.

She purred on. “I bet you’ll be good, too.” She moved to the door and smiled at me over her shoulder. “C’mon, Faith. There are lots of good games. We’ll have some fun.”

So I went with her. And that is a good example of why I ride the short bus to Slayer School.

II. Play the Game

Giles spared no expense on the home entertainment system in our temporary home. Out of his personal savings, he purchased a big screen, surround sound speakers, DVDs, a few different video game systems, and about half of Best Buy’s total supply of games. All this in an attempt to keep Andrew quiet and occupied. Believe me; it’s worth any amount of money to accomplish that.

My knowledge about video games begins and ends with Pac-Man and Motocross, so I didn’t know where to start. Andrew keeps all his games organized by genre, rating, and alphabetically by title. Kennedy and I nixed war games and flighty fantasy games. Kennedy kept up a running commentary on the games I held up, like Conker’s Bad Fur Day (“Hilarious. There’s a big pile of crap that sings opera.”), and Fatal Frame 2: Crimson Butterfly (“Japanese weirdness. Andrew can’t even play that one, it’s so scary. There are these creepy twins…”).

I stopped at a game featuring kids on bicycles. “BMX XXX.”

“Crappy. It was supposed to be this shocking porno thing, but it’s just cycling past a pimp that looks like Huggie Bear and vendors selling ‘hot nut sacks’.” Her face is expressionless again, like it was upstairs. “There’s a German hot dog vendor who keeps yelling ‘Who wants my hot wiener?’” She pauses without smiling. “And it has advanced graphics so the female bikers have extra-jiggly boobs,” she swallows. “Something for everyone.”

I put the game back in its spot, so Andrew wouldn’t yell at me. “You know a lot about games.”

She nodded and relaxed a bit. “I’ve been playing forever. I remember playing on my mom’s PC when I was maybe three. My favorite was Leisure Suit Larry in the Land of the Lounge Lizards.”

My mouth was open. I couldn’t help it. “You’re kidding.”

She laughed. “Nope. The object was to run around and try to get this guy laid. Not really a kid’s game, but my mom gave me a lot of freedom, even then.”

Uh-huh. Sometimes “a lot of freedom” translates into not giving a damn. I figured Kennedy’s mom might be just like mine. Minus the Wild Turkey and the boyfriend who beat her up and stole our grocery money, of course. Again, I might have been experiencing a moment of slight bitterness.

“Oh, this is a great one! We’ll play this.” Not waiting for my response, she fed the disc into the machine and settled on the floor in front of the box. And I was supposed to believe that our little obsessive-compulsive Andrew stored this game three feet away from all the others and half behind the flower arrangement where Kennedy had found it. It was Kennedy’s game, and she sucked at subtlety, too.

I sat down next to her and asked, “What are we playing?”

“BloodRayne.” She fiddled with the controls. “It’s one-player action, so you can watch me for a while and then take a turn.”

There must have been 80 games in that room that could be played by two people, and she chose one that would make me sit and watch her play. I figured it must have been a real important game. Or she was just rude.

As the credits appeared on screen, she caught me looking at her. “Rayne is this half-vampire, half-human girl who works as a secret agent for the Brimstone Society. She has all the vampire powers, but none of their weaknesses. So she fights Nazis, and mutants, and these big parasite monsters.” She looked at the TV again, and her cheeks reddened. “She drains their blood. For strength points.”

“You’re a vampire slayer, and you play video games that let you be a vampire,” I responded flatly, just trying to figure it out.

A little embarrassed, maybe, she shifted and shook her head. “Rayne’s not really a vampire. And she kills bad guys.”

I shrugged and turned my attention back to the TV. I just about swallowed my tongue in surprise. A computerized Willow was jumping around the screen. Seriously. Red hair, fangs, tight black and red leather outfit…she was exactly what Willow would look like if she were a Nazi-fighting vampire. It was freakin’ disturbing.

Almost as disturbing was Kennedy’s reaction. Once the Willow-y Rayne showed up, I might as well have been wallpaper. Perched on her knees, controller in hand, she stared at the TV with a focused expression as she put the redhead through her paces. Shiny eyes, wet lips, tits starting to heave up and down with her breathing—this was obviously Kennedy’s idea of video game porn.

The game was cool, I gotta admit that. Rayne was wicked sexy and wore these awesome blades on her arms to hack and slash. I wanted blades like that. She also had this harpoon knife that she’d stab her prey with and then drag them to her so she could rip some throats. Kennedy was way into it. I had never seen anyone get so turned on by a video game—not even Andrew. I could see her nipples through the white fabric of her tank shirt, and the game was really sending her. When she shifted on her heels, I swear I could smell how hot she had become.

It was time to bring her back down a little. “Willow must really like playing this game with you.”

She looked a little startled—she had half-forgotten me, see. “Yeah. She likes Sims and Age of Mythology, but she likes to play this with me. Or she did, anyway.” Turning back to the screen, she said shortly, “I think Willow’s looking to play a different game, now. I think she got bored.”

So I figured, obviously, that Willow had her eye (or maybe more) on another girl, and Kennedy got her feelings hurt. So she comes to me for either rebound sex or revenge sex. Rebound sex I really have no problem with. If the relationship’s over, why the hell not go for it if it makes you feel good? I’m not into revenge sex, however, ‘cause it could put me on the wrong end of Willow’s wand, which is a scary place to be.

“So you and Willow…” I started, seeking clarification, because I’m not stupid, you know.

“We’re done,” Kennedy answered without emotion. “She wants some guy.”

Willow wanted a guy? Since when? I was so absorbed running through a short mental list of guys Willow could be involved with—and it is short: Giles, Xander, Andrew…see? I’m done.—that I didn’t even notice Kennedy passing me the controller until it was in my hand.

“I’ve been hogging it,” she purred, back in seduction mode. “It’s your turn.”

I suck at video games. I could barely make Rayne run from one place to another, much less make her stab and kick with any finesse. Kennedy knelt behind me and put her soft girly hands over mine on the controller so that she could guide me through the game. And also, so she could rub her tits against my back and whisper instructions in my ear.

I should have been more concerned about Willow. I know this.

But once we started playing the game, Kennedy got turned on again. And I got it this time, I really did. Feeling Kennedy’s soft little fingers guiding mine made me wonder what they would feel like somewhere else. Her breath was hot against my ear, and I wanted to feel it against my thighs.

It was the sword fight that drove me over the edge. Rayne began to glow with a weird light, and her strength points tripled. Kennedy moved her hands to the waistband of my shorts and whispered, “She’s in a berserker rage. It makes her strong.” I could feel her lips moving against the back of my neck. Soft, soft, little things, like tiny satin pillows.

The controller fell out of my hands and hit the carpet. Kennedy grabbed my hair and pulled my head back onto her shoulder, so she could reach my mouth. We kissed, and it was all tongues and wet heat, and I didn’t think-- couldn’t think-- about anything else for a long time. I could only feel.

III. Rated M for Mature

Put your tongue back in your head, you big perv. I’m not giving you the details. If you want hot girl-on-girl action, go rent a movie. I’ve told you too much as it is.

I will say that it was good. I appreciate Willow’s appreciation for the pierced tongue. Kennedy really knows what to do with it. She’s athletic, and bendy, and really strong—gotta love that slayer strength. Her breasts are cherry-tipped, her skin tastes like apple body wash, and I was feeling no pain, busy congratulating myself on being in the right place and time for rebound sex.

Kennedy was looking sorta upset.

I sighed and decided I should be nice to her, since she did just treat me to a good, grunty time on the living room carpet. “So, Willow’s hot for some guy, huh? I’m sorry.”

Kennedy closed her eyes and looked miserable, in a JBF sort of way. “Yeah. Me too.”

I kissed her eyelids. I gave her mouth a longer, better kiss which she responded to in a half-assed way. Okay, then. “Is she with him now?”

“I don’t know!” she all but wailed. “All I know is that she’s having sex dreams about him!”

Wait a minute. “You broke up because Willow’s having sex dreams?”

“About a guy.”

I was starting to get a bad feeling. “You’re not mad she was having a sex dream, just that it was about a guy?”

“She doesn’t want me! She misses being with a guy. She wants some guy named Fred!”

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

So I learned too late that Kennedy is still very young, and knows crap-all about people. I learned I have the worst luck in the world, because Willow chose that moment to come home, carrying flowers and wine and probably making plans for sweet make up sex with her idiot girlfriend. Most important, I learned that when the most powerful witch in the world walks into the room, the last place you want to be is naked on top of said girlfriend with your fingers still pruney from being inside her.

Willow just stood there with her mouth open. She looked at the TV, where BloodRayne was still playing, down to Kennedy, who was wearing nothing but a defiant expression, and over to me. I think I was wearing my I’m-gonna-puke expression. Her eyes went black. I scrambled to get out of the way as she shouted something like, “kirbious transformaticus.”

The spell hit me like a one-ton safe, and it was game over.

__________

So that’s how I ended up like this.

I was out for about 24 hours, and by the time I woke up, the lovebirds had already made up and flown the coop. Andrew and Dawn yelled at her, but Willow would not remove the spell. She said it would teach me a lesson about taking advantage of people and keeping my hands to myself.

I say this would be a more valuable lesson if I freaking had hands! Or knees! But I don’t—just these stumpy arms and giant red shoes. Look at me! I’m completely round! And pink! I had to bounce and roll my way to Los Angeles, because I won’t fit on a bus!

The bitch turned me into Kirby.

It’s gonna wear off eventually, but that’s not good enough. I want it gone now. Can you help me, Wes? Can you break the spell?

Damnit, Wesley! Stop laughing!

SAHM

2006-09-25T17:55:51Z

It's official. I'm a stay-at-home mom, now. I'll be returning to school in January on a full-time basis until I complete my degree and get my 4-8 science teaching certificate. Part of me (a BIG part) can't believe this is happening. I'm afraid of being too happy, like I'll jinx it or something. I want this so badly, more than I ordinarily let myself want things. This is the master plan:

1. Off work now so my income for 2006 is in the basement thus opening financial aid windows that would otherwise be closed.
2. Starting in January, I'll take a full course load of distance learning classes from NHMCCD while taking care of Schmoo during the day.
3. Next, I transfer to the University Center campus and complete my degree from Sam Houston State University (Go Bearcats!) while Schmoo parties in college daycare at Montgomery College to the tune of $3 an hour. That's a maximum of $120 per week compared to the $215/week at Kids R Kids.
4. Graduate, work, personal fulfillment and summers off with Schmoo, etc.

Do I expect it to go this smoothly? No. Do I expect it to be easy to juggle my child and my course load under any circumstances? No. Am I thrilled beyond measure that I will be home with my baby until August 2007 at the earliest? YES! Just thinking about the future makes me smile so hard my cheeks hurt.

Otherwise, I've had a sucky weak. Schmoo and I (and my mother, too) are all wrestling with the virus that will not die, one final parting gift from daycare. Coughing that won't quit and terrible runny noses are the worse symptoms. Schmoo's secretions are a sight to behold, perfect for the Halloween season. He can smile up at me with green crusties around his nostrils and snot running down to his chin, and I still want to kiss him--still more evidence that motherhood warps your brain. Also, I put him down in the grass on Friday for some pictures and he was attacked by ants. 35-45 seconds on the grass resulted in 16 ant bites on his left arm and hand. He barely seems to notice, but I wanted to roll around in an ant bed to punish myself. How can a kid who cries if his crib sheet has a wrinkle not even notice that ants are biting him?

Maybe I'll make more frequent entries now that I have a little more time. This is more of a journal than I thought it would be. I'm also definitely doing NaNoWriMo. I just have to decide whether I want to write my sci-fi original fic, my werewolf original fic, or my Harry Potter (Draco/Ron/Pansy) fanfiction. Part of me hates to devote a month of frantic writing to fanfic, but the other part of me is leary of tackling original fic when I don't know what demands Schmoo will be putting on me. Fanfic is definitely easier.

I feel vindicated

2006-09-14T20:04:13Z

Forgot to mention that I will be writing my Asher fics for the Ultimate Fanfic Challenge based solely on the pre-Danse Macabre Anita Blake universe. Since I swore to myself that I would not give LKH any more of my money, I checked out her latest steaming crap pile from the library for one last chance. I stand by my original assessment--it's excrement. It's sad how I can go from really loving a series to firmly stating that I am not a fan, but here I am. And I feel strangely liberated, too.

As a challenge to myself, I'm going to write 100 fics for Asher that are rated R or under. Just to prove it can be done...since LKH apparently has forgotten how to do so.

Really starting to wish I had followed my original impulse and asked for Nancy Drew.

I'm scared of Halloween

2006-09-14T18:49:29Z

Why would a competent, intelligent, grown woman be afraid of Halloween? Because I committed myself to sewing a teddy bear costume for Schmoo, that's why. Not only that, I also plan to make an apron (to practice on) and a shopping cart seat cover (because I'm sick of all the other moms looking at me like I'm a negligent monster because I let the backs of Schmoo's thighs actually touch plastic). The only rational explanation for tackling these projects is that I'm an even bigger masochist than I thought.

I'm so clueless that the how-to guides all seem to start beyond my level. For example, I have no idea how to read a pattern and cut the pattern pieces off the big sheet. I suspect I'll finish his costume shortly before Schmoo's ready for prom. Eighth grade home economics has failed me. Truthfully though, I was such an poor seamstress back then that I sewed my entire class project without backstitching a single seam. Hideous piece of work, sort of like a cross between overalls and a pinafore. Flimsy as hell, too. After our triumphant class fashion show, I gripped it by the armholes and just ripped it off my body like a cheesy stripper. Um, I was wearing a leotard underneath...

My sprog is seven months old as of yesterday. I'm quite overwhelmed with mother-love. Personal, professional, and financial events are unfolding with such speed, I feel woozy and motion sick. I'll know for sure by Monday, but it looks like I may have the opportunity to become a full-time student again, taking care of Schmoo by day and going to classes every evening and weekend. It would be a dream come true of the first magnitude, so it doesn't feel real. I'm in a dreamstate.

Since I'll have nothing to do but take care of the baby until January -- not that it's easy-- I may just do NaNoWriMo. There may never be a better year to do it.

I feel so stressed and blessed. This is the razor edge of joy.