Doors locked

The doors at work are locked. The building is virtually deserted, which seems pretty much the norm all over the base today. I can’t get in, I can’t work. I’ve emailed my boss, if he isn’t at work then he won’t get it most likely…and I’m still screwed. I mean, how’ll they handle this? Meh.
I’m a Buffalo Wild Wings, using their wireless internet to post this. Waiting, waiting, to see if I’ll get a response from El Bosso.

Mrph. 9,9 What a ridiculous day.

*Squeak* “The Watchmen” movie?!

[Ctrl-c’d from Slashdot]

Here’s one of those mixed blessing stories: Paul Greengrass, the director of the Bourne Supremacy has been tapped to direct a film based on The Watchmen, one of the greatest comics ever made. No word on if Paul plans to add Tom Sawyer to the cast.


Okay. If this schmuck pulls the same CRAP with the camerawork he did on Supremacy, I WILL be getting my revenge in some way shape or form. I do not pay to see a movie shot by cameramen who work for ‘COPS’ the rest of the year.

But, I am excited. I just recently read The Watchmen, and it was truly nifty. A whole different kind of comicbook experience. I hesistate to call it a comicbook in fact… It was more like a literal ‘graphic novel’.

10 Christmas wishes (and three evil wishes.)

1. Lose some weight! No pecan pie. And only two cartons of eggnog, this year.

2. DDR Ultramix 2 (To help lose weight!)

3. Xbox Dance Pad (To…you get it by now, right?)

4. Star Ocean 3 (Won’t help me lose weight, unless I can figure out a way to play it with a
dance pad. Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.)

5. [I wish] for my writing drive to return. Would any of you like to see a Christmas story done with my favorite themes? O,o

6. Dune (the original movie) DVD. Everyone needs more Patrick Stewart in their life! (Did you know he’d actually like to play Spider Jerusalem if Transmetropolitan ever gets made into a movie? He’s told Warren Ellis that, personally. Apparently he likes to rant like Spider does from time to time.)

7. Addresses from those who’d like Christmas cards from me. I have some right here, envelopes and everything!

8. Gold Digger Gold Brick #3 (TPB from Antarctic Press.) If you haven’t read Gold Digger, and find the idea of busty were-cheetahs intriguing, you need to start reading.

9. Patience.

10. A BA degree in English. (Maybe another year or so. Almost there.)


1. A real customizable fully-featured voodoo doll. Stick on a nametag (an I.P. address works too) and you’re all set to do-do that voo-doo that I’d do so well!

2. Completely unauthorized (yet completely untraceable) administrator rights to any satellite owned by the US government. (I’d have to experiment to find out which are lasers and which are just cameras. Picture of Maury’s studio, picture of Maury’s studio, smoking crater….oops.)

3. A very large paintball cannon that looks exactly like an automotive fog-lamp when installed.

Genre: Romance

I could almost hear a velcro roar as I tore my eyes from his car. I turned and trudged back up
the driveway toward the house, but my mind’s eye was following him up the first hill…the
second…then around the turn and out of sight again.

Green was scratching inside the door as I mounted the porch, so I released him to the wild and sought my La Brea armchair. Sinking down into its musty embrace, (literally several inches) I eyed the television, cord still unplugged. Through a doorway the edge of the dining room table was visible, strewn with the remains of our breakfast. I felt like sinking my head down between my shoulders to shut out the Benji-less world.

Oh, he’d be back in a month, and I’d surely see him online before that. Textual affections were no substitute for hugs, earnibbles, flannel-wrapped muscle or shared morning breath.

Green chased falling leaves outside, yapping and rarking. I weighed the benefits of joining him against my lethargy, and finally struggled from the chair’s embrace to creak open the screendoor again. The terrier frisked against my ankles, leaves rattling with his perpetual motion.

“When can we stay together?” The question floated out. How much longer did we have to save up and prepare, still apart? “We don’t have to be comfortable, or even safe to be together…”

Green cocked his head at me, standing still for a second, before his ears started to twitch. Ben’s car was gliding around the turn. I tried my best to spread on a smile, and leaned against one of the porch’s supports as he unfolded himself from the car and bounced up the driveway.

“Alia, I forgot–”

I handed him the hideous reindeer-bedecked sweater she’d found on the back of The Chair. He stared at it, then dropped it to the porch and yanked me to his chest.

“No…no, that’s not it. Alia, I forgot what it was like, being apart again. Each time it’s hurt worse when I leave, and when I was thinking I couldn’t stand it any longer I realized I didn’t have to. Either I’m taking you home today, or you’re taking me in.” He said it fast, half of it mumbled into my hair as his urgent arms squeezed me.

“Avfhlre.” He blinked, and loosened his grip enough for me to turn my head up to his again.
“Brave soul. I’m glad one of us said it this time.” I nestled back in, wearing a real smile this time, despite the tears. We rocked together a bit, listening to the windchime. Finally I reached up and hooked a couple fingers into the neck of his sweater. “Let’s go back to bed. There’s too much morning out here.”

He ended up carrying me, Green at his heels, the wool of his second-most-hideous sweater tickling my nose. To hell with safety.


This is getting really, really old. I’ve mentioned this before, and Bloodhound did point out what attitudes could produce the response…but it’s still royally ticking me off!

Being utterly, utterly ignored in an IC-setting is ridiculous. If you’re going to ignore someone and be that rude, then ignore me as a pose. Don’t just pretend I’m NOT EVEN THERE. This happens so bloody often these days, I’m starting to think people are passing out bulletins about me!

I considered making a button that read: Please don’t ignore me. If you aren’t interested, just whisper so, and I’ll immediately back off.

Then I realized how utterly futile that would be, since the vast majority of these furs who ignore me don’t ever even bother to @look at you… They just note your gender and species from ws, and make a snap judgement to utterly deny your existence as far as they’re concerned. Perhaps I should be making them more of an allowance, considering what they may have had to put up with in the past…but I’m just too angry right now.

Writing exercise. Am I still rusty?

He caught a glimpse of it, a quavering billow of white reflected off the rain-spattered dirty plastic of the bus-stop shelter. With an effort he kept his head from whipping about, and instead slowly turned on his heel, grit grinding sandily beneath it. Yes… It was there, watching him with one cerulean eye, the pupil haloed in violet flame. It just looked so very…wrong: that flawless glossy white hue smack in the middle of the dirty gray city. Wet autumn wind stirred the cornsilk mane, slowly gluing it against a powerful shoulder. Her tail, like the tassle on a brand new bookmark, flicked at the raindrops pestering her rump. People walked right past her as they always did, giving the last wisp of magic in their world a wide berth.
Her head dipped, those world-engulfing eyes leaving mine, and sunlight that couldn’t possibly be there dribbled along the spirals of her horn. One perfect hoof rose and fell, making a percussive sound any drummer would give his entrails to reproduce at will. A step closer, and another, before she gestured with her head towards the snowy curve of her back. Gods… This close to her it was more obvious than ever how unworldly she was… Drive for a year with a filthy windshield, never leaving your car, then wash it utterly clean at night…and watch the sunrise through it the next day.
My hand slid into my pocket, and she danced back a half step, velvet nostrils flaring. I drew out the earwax-orange bottle of pills with its medical rune-encrusted label, and dropped it into the gutter.
As she raced down the streets with my hands buried in her mane and my nose between her ears, I bid an unfond farewell to my colorless world.