The Desert Mermaid

Ah, someone else reminiscing about the glory days of LiveJournal.

I do miss the community, and the golden age of Metaquotes. But I still post here. Good way to make sure nobody ever reads what I write, I guess.* I know everyone migrated, first to Dreamwidth (is that still a thing?) and then to Tumblr, but I'm really bad at changing venues. Hell, I still have a HOTMAIL account as my main email.** I'd say I'm already bitching about the Kids These Days, but to be fair I've been bitching about them since I was six years old. (And anyway, Tumblr's layout is bullshit. I never realized how well-set-up LJ's comment system was until I tried to figure out Tumblr's.)

Ah, well. Even if the site itself is never restored to its former glory, its legacy lasts. I've met a lot of good friends on here who I keep up with through other networks. And I even went to Chicago last year to attend the wedding of someone I met on here! So even if all we have are memories, my goodness, we have memories.

And I'll still keep posting here. It's hard to get me to change, You may have noticed.


*Just kidding! Those of you who are still around are great.

**I keep trying to get rid of it, but it's so much easier just to keep the damn thing.

I am having The Anxiety. Can any of you up-late types distract me?

Darnit! I was GOING to do a photo tutorial on how I make Deeper'n'Ever Pie, but after I got the whole thing done I thought up a far more fun way to do it.

Fortunately, I'll be making it again next weekend, so I can do the photos then. Keep an eye out!

I really wish metaquotes hadn't descended into wanky lunacy a while ago. There needs to be an outlet for the hilarious things I find on LJ, and Metaquotes has been taken over and then gutted by whiners. Anybody know another community that's just funny?

I seem to actually be stapling this hobbit story together into a cohesive whole! And now my brain is wanting to show it to y'all. If I post it on here, would you dudes want to read it?

Did one of you internet people send me a book? I just got something called There and Back Again in the mail and have no recollection of purchasing it. And I don't have a Polaroid of it with a note to myself or a tattoo on my arm reminding me that I bought it.

Looks like it's my kinda thing, but ... either a friend sent it to me, or aliens did and once I read it they will test my knowledge and know that I have the right kind of brain to Save Mankind And The Universe. So far it's a mystery.

ETA: Mystery solved! Thanks, acrossthelake!

And sorry, y'all, but this is not a hobbit book; it seems to be a cool space opera. Which, y'know, I am all for as well.

Okay, no more silly posts, now that I can type on a real keyboard. I like my Nook, but I have a certain distaste for touch screens. I like to have a bit of resistance. I can see my oldness from here: in the future when we all have BrainPal implants, I’ll still get a keyboard instead of just typing WITH MY MIND like a normal person.

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Anyway. It’s also surprisingly nice not to wind up getting up-to-the-minute news. Hope all y’all East Coasters are picking up the pieces of your shattered lives, or at least the pencil cups that fell off your desks. Other than that, I hope I don’t need to catch up on anything. It’s nice not to have the weight of the world on my shoulders.

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Good grief, American Girl, who is picking your illustrators? Cécile and Marie-Grace are adorable and will definitely fill the fancy richness void left by Samantha, but what is with the illustrations that look like cut-and-paste? It’s not even like it’s the same illustrators who did the bad cutout drawings for Rebecca or Chrissa* either. Find someone who can do texture right, dangit.

On the other hand, those outfits just make me want to play Doll Dressup Time. Especially Cécile’s Meet Outfit. IT’S SHIIIINY.

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I managed to get away to Grand Teton National Park for a few days. I know it’s got a stupid name, but don’t knock a place that looks like this:



We go here a lot to get away, but this time it was a weird dynamic: me, Mom, Dad, and Dad’s younger sister and her husband. It was … weird. I’ve been coming here since I was three years old, and I’m pretty sure when I get into that context everyone assumes I’m three again. The good news is that, since I’m technically not three anymore, I could wander off if I started feeling that way. At night I could look at the stars, and in the day I could hike around and look around, see if I could spot wildlife.



And yes, I used an opera glass to observe stars and moose, because I am a classy motherfucker.

Oh, and there was a show about raptors on the deck one day. My favorite was a completely adorable great horned owl.



The owl’s handler was standing there to give the owl some shade. She’d try to move when someone wanted a picture, but every time she did the owl would get completely confounded and watch her wildly, like “WHERE YOU GOIN? WHAT HAPPEN?”, so the sunlight pictures are all of her blurry head.

I did pretty much nothing else while I was there. Wrote and read, in the view of some awesome majesty. Except for one day when I was all comfy in the cabin and reading, and I had the door open because it was a nice day, and a little marmoty thing** just strolled in and started inspecting my luggage. I tried to get a picture, but before I could he completed his inspection and strolled back out. Probably for the best, as otherwise I’d’ve had to punt him out the door, and I am pretty sure that is against park rules.

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Got back home and immediately got lost in the Tomato Jungle that is my garden. The pumpkins may be having issues, and somebody may have eaten my strawberries (I’m looking at you, birds), but WE WILL NOT LACK FOR TOMATOES.

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My sister started school this week. Ye gods, she’s a senior. No word on whether she has any excellent classes, but one can always hope.


*MOM: This one doesn't look so bad!
ME: Yes, it does.
MOM: Okay, yes, it does. I was just trying to put a positive spin on things.

**I am not sure what kind; the closest I could come was what the guidebook told me was a “Uinta ground ssquirrel,” but I have no idea if that is accurate. Also, I had no idea you spelled “ssquirrel” with two s’s.

OKAY, I think we got LJ all working nicely again. What’d we all miss?

Me, I had quite a week. Rich and full experiences, that’s my life: futzed around in the garden, got bossed around by my micromanager, lost another coworker to the deep discontent around the library and the lure of Living Free And Easy, lost a favorite patron to That End Which Awaits Us All, finished a necklace and made an earring, gave up on the X-Files, started Fringe, and wrote a bunch of OGYAFE stuff.

Oh, and also there’s the whole, y’know, SURGERY business. That’s going on.

Seems that while I was away I picked up some kind of gallbladder inflammation. It announced its presence in the middle of a cart of books I was shelving on Saturday. It felt like this:


An apt metaphor for so many of life’s little golden moments, this.

So I mentioned this to my supervisor, who ordered me to get rid of the stupid thing. Sounded like sage advice, but I figured I’d get a second opinion from someone who was not a librarian. So after a few days spent curled in a fetal position cursing the cold unfeeling universe, I went to see Dr. Hyper, a woman I’ve always liked but whose actual name I could never spell.

DR. HYPER: So it hurts more whenever you eat anything?

ME: I’m down to dry Cheerios. Nothing makes you feel more like a three-year-old.

DR. HYPER: That is the right thing to do. Now let’s see if we can get this solved.

ME: Good, because I’m really hungry.


Then she poked at my abdomen.


ME: *squeak!*

DR. HYPER: I haven’t even poked you yet. My hand is still a foot away.

ME: I can’t help it. It was a dark day when my friends found out that even poking in my general direction makes me the Pillsbury Doughboy.

DR. HYPER: Okay, now I’m going to poke your back.

ME: But the pain isn’t in my baaAAAAAAaack—well, what do you know.

DR. HYPER: The pain does refer sometimes.


After that I went to get an ultrasound, which didn’t show anything,* and so I got to have another test: the Making You Lie Perfectly Still In A Tube For Two Goddamn Hours While They Blast Radioactive Dye Into Your Veins Test. Your job is to lie down and try not to think about just how much your nose itches. It itches a lot.


RADIOLOGIST: Okay, you’re all done! How are you feeling?

ME: … I just got out of the TUBE, man!

RADIOLOGIST: You’ll get the report from your doctor in a bit.

ME: Just as long as it’s not a queen.


And yes, I did get the report, just a few minutes ago, and after analyzing it carefully to see the cause of my distress, Dr. Hyper concluded—let me tell you, modern medicine is great—“Fuck if I know.”

So my gallbladder looks fine, but let me tell you internet, it does not feel fine. Doctor Hyper’s got some other options, such as Taking An Antacid For A Couple Weeks or, if that doesn’t work, Carving Out The Damn Thing Anyway, Because Often That Does Seem To Fix Things Even If Nothing Else Shows Up On The Test. So depending on how things go in the next couple of weeks, I either get better, or I get surgery. Either way, I plan to whine about it quite a bit.

Aren’t you glad LJ’s back?


*But it was more pleasant than the last ultrasound I got checking for ovarian cysts, since this time I didn’t have to drink a quart of water half an hour before the scan just to make my bladder visible. Especially obnoxious when you’re in eighth grade and “half an hour before the scan” is “math class.” I damn near exploded before I even got all gelled up.

Speaking of books, Book Club is coming up this Friday, and after hearing the lists people have given of their favorite books, I’m thinking I want to suggest something that is not by a white dude, just so we don’t start a trend of ’em. I have been evangelizing Alanna and may suggest Song of the Lioness by Tamora Pierce, though I’m also leaning toward her Terrier. Either one may upset some of the more status-conscious* folks in the group who don’t want to read—gasp—YA, though.

So! If I don’t manage to convert them to Pierceism, what non-whitedude fantasy author would you guys recommend I try instead? And which book of theirs?


*It is altogether possible that there are only one or two of these, since I haven’t gotten to know the folks in the group very well. But given my past experience with geek groups, Signs Point To Yes on having at least one.

Hey, dudes! Feel like filling out a survey? Well, I've got one for you: childthursday is doing a sociology survey asking what race/ethnicity you'd associate with individual American Girl dolls here. A couple are surprisingly hard and got weirdly specific answers out of me, but mostly it's fairly straightforward, and you don't really have to know anything about American Girl to take the survey.* And it'll be interesting to see what conclusions she comes up with.


*Although if you are afraid of the soulless gaze of the evil idol, you may want to skip.