Bonjour, Motherfuckers

In the past two days, I have gotten almost two hundred hits from France.

I don’t know what’s caused the sudden interest in my blog from our continental friends, but welcome. Feel free to stay a while. Send more wine.

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Enormously Flattered

A blogger whose work I follow closely has nominated me for a blog award: The One Lovely Blog award.

Problem: I cannot accept this award. The rules of the award state that I have to nominate 15 other blogs as part of the accceptance. I do not follow 15 other blogs.

So, anonymous ginger gal with beautiful prose from the UK, while I deeply and humbly thank you for your high opinion of me–and seriously, even though I don’t follow many blogs, yours is easily one of my favorites– I cannot accept the cute little badge that comes with it.

But hey, if you have any other flattering awards for me to turn down, please don’t hesitate.

FemShep Forever

I’m a huge Mass Effect fan. I recently found the Mass Effect subreddit. It is, sadly, filled with people who play BroShep, the male incarnation of the series hero, and posesser of the most bland and uninsipiring character design and voice ever committed to silicon.

Every time I am reminded that meatheads play Mass Effect, I am sad.

So let’s get this straight once and for all:

Mass Effect is about an emotionally scarred lesbian who saves the galaxy and finds love along the way. It is not about a bald space marine with a dick and cardboard personality.

Shhh, don’t jinx it!

My writing is back.

For the past six days I have been writing like a maniac. I’m up to 9,000 words on a new manuscript. It is pouring out of me. I don’t know what happened. The change has been so abrupt my head is still spinning.

Words cannot describe how gratifying this is. How good this feels. The closest approximation I can think of is it is like getting a superpower back.

I am so intensely happy.

Oh that’s not even fair!

Last night I had a nightmare. I was in grad school again, trying to work and take classes at the same time. I was stressing on how I was going to study, and the classes cost more than I make in a month. Then I woke up and I felt really stressed. About grad school.

I AM HAVING NIGHTMARES ABOUT PROBLEMS I DON’T EVEN HAVE.

What bullshittery is this?! Who was the asshole who decided this fuckery was okay? I want his balls on a plate!

Fall in Portland

Oh my sweet summer child, what do you know of rain? Rain is for the winter, the long grey, when the puddles fall a hundred feet deep and the clouds come flowing out of the north. Rain is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for months at a time, and hipsters move here, get discouraged, and leave, all in darkness.

Is that the rain you be liking, child?

My Bitchcraft is Strong

So the other day I go into this Quiznos that I used to work at, and I lock eyes with the manager. I squint knowingly, with a little quirk of my mouth. She gets flustered and immediately takes her 15 minute break. I do this to her about once a month, because she fired me last summer, didn’t even tell me why. So now I like to come into her shop and stare her down for a moment before I go to order. Just so she knows that I know that she knows that I know that she knows.

A couple weeks ago, a friend of mine who happens to be a reasonably successful author (name withheld because I don’t want to seem like I’m trying to use my friend’s fame to make myself look cooler) came to Portland to do a reading at a local bookshop. In the audience is Ryan (name not withheld because fuck that guy), a guy I used to game with who got suddenly weird and distanced himself from me after I told him I was trans. Ryan, of course, sits down right in front of me and blocks my view for the whole reading. I recalled that Ryan is a huge fan of [author], and sure enough after the reading is done and everyone lines up to get their copy sign, Ryan is there at the end of the line with a huge stack of books he can barely carry in both arms. I go to the cafe with the author’s wife, who is also a friend of mine and who I’ll call Beartrap, and we have a drink while we wait for the signing to be done. When we get back to the reading room, the line is almost done, except for Ryan. Beartrap mentions she’d quite like to go get drunk. I go over to [author] and relay the message, and I can’t quite resist being obvious about it enough to make sure that Ryan sees me speaking casually and familiarly with [author]. And then I look at him just long enough to make sure that he knows that I know that he knows that I know.

My bitchcraft is strong.