ishyface: (deny me and be doomed)
Every now and again I get the strongest urge to update my LJ. This usually happens when I am at work and have a line of twenty-seven customers, and so all I can do is sigh and hope that I remember it later. Usually by the time I get home I'll have forgotten whatever brilliant thing I was going to say about school or puppies or string cheese or whatever I was thinking about.

You are not really missing much, to be totally honest.

Today I got that urge and realized hey, I am sitting at my laptop! With a Notepad window open, even! And so I started to type a beautiful entry about what I am doing, where I feel my life is going, and what I am looking forward to in the months to come. It was pretty great.

Then I dropped my computer on the floor and had to restart it without getting the chance to save what I'd written. So it goes.*

Here is the shortened version. )
ishyface: (reading is neat)
I am about to leave for the last exam I will ever take as an undergrad.

Wish me luck.
ishyface: (Default)
Today, right before I went to my technical English course, I realized I was feeling kind of weird. Not bad-weird- I was just feeling a strange feeling, and it wasn't like envy, or even hungry. It was something totally new. Did I leave the gas on or something?, I asked myself. Because this is fuckin' bizarre.

And then, while I was walking to class, I found out what it was.

Holy shit, I thought. I feel kind of cool.

Of course, as soon as I realized what it was I tripped over my own feet, accidentally wrapped my headphones around a doorknob as I went down, and shouted "FUCK MOTHERFUCKER" in sheer astonishment. But it was nice while it lasted.
ishyface: (hmmm...)
A brief (considering) list of things that make me happy:

- Strawberry oil.
- My newly-discovered love for Cobra Starship.*
- The Importance of Being Earnest.**
- Striped shirts.
- The Juno version of "Anyone Else But You."
- Secretly listening to the Spice Girls.
- Talking about Victorian feminism with Dr. Grant (with bonus digressions about how much he loved 101 Dalmatians).
- My genderqueer skellington hoodie, as sort of seen here.***
- Three-in-the-morning conversations in our living room.
- Hot apple cider (with extra sugar and cinnamon).
- Frank Iero.

* I have decided that every time I am on a plane in the future, I am going to play "Snakes On A Plane" upon take-off. I have already done this once; it was fantabulous.

** In the quite unlikely event that I ever act again,**** it would be to play Algernon.

*** Okay, so it's mostly a picture of one of my cats, but he's a fuckin' adorable cat.

**** I was in The Wizard of Oz in grade four. After that I retired from the stage, aside from my dual role in twelfth grade's Who's Hamlet Again? My illustrious acting career, ladies, gents, and others.
ishyface: (musical meditation)
I love belly buttons.

They're like convenient little Smartie pockets.
ishyface: (pen and ink)
You know, since I am absent-minded, clumsy, and prone to carrying on vague, one-sided conversations, I sometimes wonder what it must be like to hear me puttering around upstairs in the kitchen.

"Aha! Grape juice!"


"Well, I should have seen that one coming. Now, where did I put the-"


"Shut up, won't you? ... What did I come in here for?"

*sound of water overflowing onto floor*

"Oh, yeah, that's it. I should get a turtle. Do cats eat turtles?"


"Bury you under the cushions, THAT'S what I'll do. A Lit survey! That's the course I needed! Man, that is totally gonna clash with Philo- oh, the floor's wet."


"Fell. On m'bum. And I've lost one of my slippers, how distress-"

*faint beep*

"HOW MANY CUSHIONS DO I NEED TO PUT ON YOU YOU DREADFUL... awful... ooh, Ritz crackers."

*faint beep*

*rhythmic thumps*

*muffled weeping*

In an entirely unrelated note, I've a question for any Manic Street Preachers fans on the flist:

Given that I listen to "Yes" on repeat for hours on end, and given that I tend to like bands with ridiculously devoted fan bases and tragically androgynous musicians, and given a third thing what I can't remember, should I buy The Holy Bible? And, if I do, how likely is it that I will start weeping every time I put it on, writing vaguely socialist rhyming couplets on bathroom stalls, and throwing myself off of any available cliffs?
ishyface: (Default)
My essay's working title is "You Kant Always Get What You Want: Morality and the Categorical Imperative."

... :D?
ishyface: (feeling excited)
Marine biology majors: Tend to gravitate towards dolphin-shaped pendants. Most of them own at least two copies of Free Willy (DVD and VHS).

Chemistry majors: Somehow manage to both be intensely dedicated to their studies and flighty as nervous squirrels. Also, pretty much the cutest people in the whole world, in their little lab coats.

Environmental studies majors: Usually smell like pine. Rarely wear socks. Probably eat healthy cereal, the bastards.

Visual arts majors: Almost as overworked as the theatre kids, but generally more cheerful. Upon walking into a room full of them, prepare to be overwhelmed by the smell of patchouli oil and marijuana. All VA kids have at least one article of clothing that is a) tie-dyed, b) cloud-patterned, or c) made of hemp. If you complete your BFA and go on to make real, actual money, you will be shunned forever.

Nursing students: Have proven to be as elusive as the glorious manatee. However, research states that they spend most of their days hooking up with bald surgeons and verbally sparring with angry alcoholic doctors.*

French majors: The chess club of university. Possibly paste-eaters as children.

History majors: You know those kids who used to research their family trees for fun? This is what they become. They will all grow up to write books that no one reads but everyone cites in bibliographies. Because of this they tend to regard one another with suspicion and distrust, always afraid that other history majors are out to steal their sexy, sexy thesis.

English majors: They love the sweater vests. Love them. Almost as much as they love Michael Ondaatje. Tend to correct people's grammar, especially along "You mean my mother and I..." lines. Also, total assholes.

Social/Cultural studies majors: People who couldn't pick a major and stick with it. Most have crippling inferiority complexes because of this. Those who don't tend to babble on for hours about the Freudian undertones of "Little Red Riding Hood." If you are me, you will love this.

Theatre majors: High-strung, caffeine-addicted, propensity to sudden sobbing fits and the shakes. Precious, overworked little darlings.

Psychology majors: Collectively, devil-people. Do not eat lunch with them. They will know what you're thinking the whole time.

* Okay, fine, so "research" is Scrubs.
ishyface: (Default)
I'm not sure why I'm writing this. It's possibly because I watched Velvet Goldmine and found myself longing for an era, however brief, when sexual ambiguity and gender bending were actually cool. Or it could be because I watched Velvet Goldmine and rediscovered my little boy crush on Ewan McGregor. Either way, I feel the need to get this off my spindly little shoulders.

This is long. Very long, in fact. )

And a complimentary comic about David Bowie. For giggles. )

* Unless you are a member of [ profile] boy_touching or go to the same parties I do.

** Or the people who say that the existence of the aforementioned knuckle-draggers means that queer women are accepted by the mainstream. That is not acceptance, people, that is objectifying ickiness. Kind of like how a bird is not a cat.

*** Seriously, what high school did these people go to? More importantly, why couldn't I have gone too?

**** Or Tim Curry in fishnets, because the man's got a killer pair of legs.

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