scythe_of_time: (fail)
1. Setting/plot: steampunk Vatican uses "ancient technology" (read: cyborgs with all manners of implants, CDs, advanced tracking systems, cruise missles) to kill vampires.

"Ancient technology!!!!" is usually called out (with multiple gasps!), but it's still difficult to discern what is AT and what isn't, and why so much of it survived the rarely-referenced Armaggedon. Computer-controlled airships and holograms are standard, but no one understands how a heat-seeking missle works? Really?

2. I can have a steady conversation with my partner and still know what's going on in the show. There's about 250% more exposition than needs to be given, and characters are constantly explaining not only their actions, but their costars'. It's like they think they have an audience with an average age of five when it comes to plot details, but then they ramp up the gore and violence to--an admittedly beautifully-drawn--eleven.

3. The main character is a vampire-version of Vash from Trigun. Other characters range from fairly interesting to annoying, but their allegiances and motives are always obvious (see pt. 2).

4. And finally, my favorite, the dialogue!
a. The resident Arnold-sounding android says, "I will terminate you" twice in about a minute.
b. "Sir! The Thrust Bomb! It's ... it prematurely exploded!"
scythe_of_time: (LIN)
For those of you who think that this impassioned speech by Austrialian Prime Minister Julia Gillard was defending Peter Slipper's actions: You are missing the point.
scythe_of_time: (azula 1)
Pharm Tech: So this new medication of yours shouldn't have many side effects.
Me: But I take valporic acid and lithium for bipolar disorder, both of which this medication contradicts.
Pharm Tech: Oh. Er. Well, then. Um...
Me: Just.. please tell me what the side effects are. Are they any different in my situation?
Pharm Tech: Yes, actually. Are you taking this for depression?
Me: Yes.
Pharm Tech: Oh. Well, since you have BP, watch out - this might actually make your depression worse. If you suddenly have suicidal thoughts, get to the hospital. Physical side effects include dizzyness, nausea, headaches--
Me: Sounds pretty standard.
Pharm Tech: --but if you see any rashes on your face and chest, get to the hospital. One type indicates a common allergic reaction. The other will get into your lungs and kill you within a few hours.
Me: How will I know what the regular rash looks like as opposed to the fatal one?
Pharm Tech: Oh, trust me, honey, you'll know! *wink wink*
Me: No. No, I won't. What does it look like?
Pharm Tech: Don't worry! You can't miss it! It will be spreading too fast for you to not notice!
scythe_of_time: (Default)
Why it boggles my mind that people still stare at me blankly when I say that the health care system in the U.S. is deplorable:
Several nations including Canada, Great Britain, Australia and Italy recognize post partum mental illness as a mitigating factor in cases where mothers kill their children.[26] In the United States, such a legal distinction is not currently made.[26] Britain has had the Infanticide Act since 1922.

From Wiki, here.
scythe_of_time: (Default)
Disclaimer: This is a stream-of-consciousness rant. I'm not really trying to unpack anything yet, but writing it out helps.

Do not attempt to pacify the raging hellbeast formerly known as your friend... )

Oh, Mitt.

Apr. 15th, 2012 02:32 pm
scythe_of_time: (Default)
Apparently the newest star in The Mom Wars is Mitt Romney. First, he and his wife, Ann, extol her $3 million "choice" to stay home and raise their kids (with a nanny, the internet has noticed and judged) as the most dignified work she could have ever pursued, to counter Ms. Rosen's comments stating that Ann "has never worked a day in her life."

But, unfortunately for Mitt, he said this in January:
“While I was governor,” Romney said, “85 percent of the people on a form of welfare assistance in my state had no work requirement. I wanted to increase the work requirement. I said, for instance, that even if you have a child two years of age, you need to go to work. And people said, ‘Well that’s heartless,’ and I said ‘No, no, I’m willing to spend more giving daycare to allow those parents to go back to work. It’ll cost the state more providing that daycare, but I want the individuals to have the dignity of work.’”

He's talking about a bill he signed into law in Massachusetts (which was later made national by Bill Clinton) which forces mothers in the Temporary Assistance for Needy Families program to fulfill a "work requirement," which is clearly not parenting.

These are totally compatable, right? Right?
scythe_of_time: (adult)
I am becoming increasingly annoyed with people who state, "I hate a Particular Group! Insert right that everyone should have that pretty much defines Particular Group's struggle, which I am clearly taking for granted!" In the circles I run in, this happens with a startling frequency.

Case in point: "All these feminist and Lesbians groups destroyed women in our society. I don’t give a darn how a woman/girl dresses or behave no MAN HAS THE RIGHT TO VIOLATE HER BODY."


(Source unlinked to because dear God, the mind-bending stupid. It burns, it burns us, precious, and I don't want to click on it in my journal years later only to see red again.)
scythe_of_time: (ground)
"i instead saved my venom and deep-seated hatred for when i was at home in the safety of my room with my dolls, pitting malibu barbie against hula barbie in a hair-pulling screaming match for ken's neutered male plastic affection."

Can you believe that's from a parenting advice piece? I love it.
scythe_of_time: (vorpal)
So I saw this image on Postsecret the other day, and the thought, "that's me" hit me like a brick to the stomach. The resemblance is freakish: I part my hair that way (yes, even today), I owned/loved that sweater at age 15-16, and that's pretty much the shape of my mouth.

If this is me, someone who knew me at that age well enough to take a picture of me still holds me up as a paragon of their faith despite mine own (secretly) being on shaky ground.

...And I don't know why, but that freaks me out.

EDIT: Mom says it's not me on account of the different foreheads. Hm!
scythe_of_time: (fail)
Someone added me on Google+ today, and I don't know why or even how they found me! Hooray, I'm moving up in the world!

... Oh, crap, I've turned into a mom/cat blogger. WTF
scythe_of_time: (zuko pout)
Nolan: Mama, I love your arms.
Me: Oh, thank you, honey.
Nolan: Can I love your legs, now?
Me: Why, yes, of course.
Nolan: ...Mama, I love your belly, too.
Me: Oh. I'm glad.
Nolan: I love your burned arm. *kiss*
Me: Why, thank you.
Nolan: Mama?
Me: Yes, baby?
Nolan: I love your boobs.
Me: ... Of course you do.
scythe_of_time: (whine)
Lesson learned: putting out grease fires with my hands leads to second-degree burns and temporary inability to use my right thumb.
scythe_of_time: (whine)
File a great part of this day under "humiliating moments I (likely) never, ever, would have had were I not a mother."

So I'm sitting at lunch with Aaron and Robert, having dragged my depressed ass out of bed and actually showered so as to not put them off, and I keep smelling fecal matter. I check the most logical source of offending materials--Nolan's skinny white ass--and find nothing. But strangely, my hands reek of it. There's nothing brown under my nails, so where's it coming from? The last crappy diaper I changed was last night, and I know I washed my hands afterwards.

So I wash my hands. The smell leaves my fingers, but doesn't go away entirely. And sure enough, five minutes later, a nasty aura clings to my hands again. What the hell? Eventually, after trying to play bloodhound as steathily as possible, I discover the source.

It turns out that the stains on yesterday's jeans that I tossed on right before we left? Those brown blotches spreading across my thighs that I thought were just massive amounts of taco sauce?

The horror. The horror!

I can only hope my lunch companions didn't realize the smell filling my (already filthy) car was me. Shower #2, coming right up.
scythe_of_time: (ground)
The Killers: Are we human? Or are we dancer?
Nolan: *shake it, shake it, shake that thing*
Me: *snort-giggle* Well, I know which one you are.
scythe_of_time: (monocle)
As everyone who doesn't live under a rock knows, yesterday was Talk Like a Pirate Day. Today, however, is the lesser known Talk Like a Pirate Hooker Day, popularized by Ron Burgundy, who is kind of a big deal.

Talking like a pirate hooker is pretty straight-forward. You just take everything you said yesterday and make it dirty:

"Yaar, me matey, how about a booty call?"

"She's a mighty fine vessel, make no mistake."

"Ooh, I just love your mast."

"Want to head to Tortuga for a flagon of gord?"

"Damn, just look at those cannonballs."

"Ye like playing with rigging? Me too!"

"My ship is loaded to th' gunwhales."

"Point your rudder towards me starboard."

"You can plunder me all night long."

"I promise I don't have scurvy."

"Something something something poop deck."
scythe_of_time: (whine)
Nolan: Oh! Sorry about that!
Me: Sorry... about what?
Nolan: That! Sorry about that!
Me: About what?
Nolan: Sorry about that!
Me: Sorry about what!?
Nolan: *stares* Well, there goes the neighborhood!
Me: ... D:
scythe_of_time: (vorpal)
So here I am, getting stuff done all week LIKE A BOSS, and on Saturday I find myself in my therapist's office, telling her about how awesomely productive I've been despite the whole Pregnancy Crisis 2011.*

Dr. L: So... you've been awesomely productive. (crack) Despite Aaron working ridiculous hours, you've gone to the park, kept the house semi-clean, and managed the kid.
Me: Yup. Do you think I'm manic?
Dr. L: Nope, you're normal. You're stable, even--congratulations! But... (crack crack crack)
Me: What's up?
Dr. L: Well, (crack) I think you're running around so hard because you have to.

(CRASH! And the facade comes tumbling down.)

Me: Oh. Oh, my stars. I'm exhausted. I didn't know how tired I was until you said that.

And I am. Having worked roughly 10am-1am for the past two weeks, Aaron has to continue that grueling schedule for the next three. Nolan's going through a growth spurt/phase wherein he melts down and tantrums on the floor, kicking and screaming.** I used to stay awake until Aaron came home to greet him, but I don't know how long I can handle that. Daycare has never looked so tantalizing.

*Stupid brain playing tricks on me. Probably. I'll let you know ASAP.

**Yes, this is totally normal. AUGH.
scythe_of_time: (bloodbend)
Short Story
            Her face fell. 
            “Oh,” she finally said, feeling like her heart was a champagne bottle christening someone else’s ship.  “I see.  Congratulations.”
            “It’s not like I don’t like hanging out with you, Claudia,” Joel said, rubbing the back of his neck which she adored so much.  “It’s just that—”  
            “You have Jean,” Claudia sighed.
            “And, um,” he said, looking away.  “She wants me to stop talking to you.”  His back was pressed up against the wall near the lockers, and Claudia thought the position was oddly appropriate.  “You understand, right?”
           Girlfriends are always doing things like that, she thought.  Aren’t they?
           “I see,” she said, and her face fell.
           What she did not expect was that her countenance would continue to fall.
           In fact, her visage had peeled off her head like a thick citrus rind and fluttered to the floor near her feet.
Long story is long. )
scythe_of_time: (vorpal)
As my sore legs can attest, I went clubbing with friends this past Friday and had an absolute blast shaking what my mother gave me.


By the middle of the night, I fervently wished I could throw my hard-earned stability out the window in favor of a night of hypomania. A stupid idea, certainly, but hear me out. When I'm in a hypomanic state, my senses are on fire. Colors are brighter and smells are stronger. I'm a a bit more sexual, more confident, more out-going. Everything--everything!--is alive with passion and potential and emotion. I feel sharp and witty--whether I truly am or not.

As a contrast, stablity is bland. As if someone turned down the saturation in my life; all that's left is shades of gray. It's easier to discern truth from fiction (and stupid ideas from smart ones) when I keep having water thrown in my face, but the process washes away quite a bit of the life I knew and enjoyed previously.

Normalcy is bittersweet.
scythe_of_time: (Default)
I love Third Eye Blind, but now that I have listened to three of their albums on repeat for 12 hours straight (context: mp3 player-fueled cleaning spree for the in-laws' arrival tomorrow), I have something to say.

85% of their songs consist of, "Eeeyy, girl, you know what I miss? Having lots of sex with you."

That is all.
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