little_tristan: (Losers Aisha)
I love how negatively phrased this is. They couldn't come right out and say, well, you're a bitch, but it's definitely in there.:D


Certificate: Test results

Which Harry Potter Adult Are You?


You are Sirius Black. You have a short temper, and while very intelligent, you seldom think things through. You are extremely mischievous, and brave to the point of recklessness. You're also extremely protective of the ones you love. You dwell on the past, and often hold grudges for years.
 

Take this quiz: Which Harry Potter Adult Are You?


little_tristan: (Bedlam)
I don't know about the rest, but it really nailed the "how other people see you" part. :D



You Are An INFJ



The Protector



You live your life with integrity, originality, vision, and creativity.

Independent and stubborn, you rarely stray from your vision - no matter what it is.

You are an excellent listener with almost infinite patience.

You have complex feelings, and you take great care to express them.



In love, you see relationships as an opportunity to connect and grow.

You enjoy relationships when they are improving and changing. You can't stand stagnation.



At work, you stay motivated and happy... as long as you are working toward a dream you support.

You would make a great photographer, alternative medicine guru, or teacher.



How you see yourself: Hardworking, ethical, and helpful



When other people don't get you, they see you as: Manipulative, weak, and unstable


little_tristan: (Kitten Star Me Kitten)
I was at a friend's house (a real friend, but her home and family were all constructed from bits of my own life), hanging out with her husband (George Takei) and her friends, whom I didn't know. Everyone was sitting around the kitchen table, but I was on the floor nearby, playing with the dog (my sister's) and baby (Cousin Ivan, ca. 1986). When I looked up, Mom was standing over me, smiling and saying hello. No one seemed to notice anything until I said hello back. As we were talking, my friend edged closer to me and her friends edged farther away.

It took me a few seconds to notice this, and then I guessed that the reason was that we were being rude. So I started introducing her to everyone. But their eyes got wider and wider and my friend started trying to distract me with books and small pets and, eventually, loaves of bread. I wouldn't be distracted, though. Mom was there and I wanted to talk to her. Even when I realized that she was a bit fuzzy around the edges and I could sort of see one person who was just behind her. Even when I realized that no one had actually been introduced, nor did they want to be. They all thought I was crazy, and maybe I was. It was perfectly fine with me if they couldn't see her because she wasn't there for them. She was there for me and I wasn't about to waste our time together worrying about trivial things like my own sanity.

I think if something like that really happened, that's how I would react. We have too much to talk about to get hung up on silly things like her not being here.

Suddenly Lovecraft makes a lot more sense.
little_tristan: (BtVS Spike Sod Off)
I'm catching up my flist and just finished reading a couple of LJ posts by an author whose books I like. But I ended up unfriending her because, frankly, I don't need anymore things in my life pissing me off. I already have the arch-nemesis, and I live in a neighborhood without curbcuts. Why invite more irritants in via LJ?

What set me off was this: She's anti-Kindle. Not just prefers not to use one, but actually hates that they exist. Although she takes the money fast enough when I buy her books for Kindle. And isn't reaching the audience the point? Anyway, everyone's entitled to their opinion, but no one's forcing her to use one, and I can't see them replacing paper books, which seems to be her big fear. (I refuse to say "real" books because I believe the book is the content, not the package.)

But what really gets up my nose is her calling them toys and fads and ridiculing the people who use them for being trendy or lazy, or just not appreciating the beauty of "real" books or the written word. As a person who uses it to get around a very real physical disability that was threatening to stop me from reading altogether, this puts her right up there with those idiots on the street who say they're jealous of my wheelchair and tell me I'm lucky that I "don't have to" walk.

Now, I couldn't say this on the author's journal because that's her space and anyway she deletes comments that she doesn't like, but this is my space so I'll say it here. STOP JUDGING AND RIDICULING ME, YOU BLIND, STUPID, ARROGANT FUCKING BITCH. You want paper? Great. Buy paper. But don't put your petty shit off on me, or anyone else who doesn't have the privilege of indulging their preferences. Not everyone is a trendy, techy show-off. Some of us just want to read a book without inflicting serious pain and injury on ourselves.

In summary, I'm sorry if this messes with your personal view of what a book is and how it should be read. fuck you.

(PS: This is in no way meant to suggest that one needs to be crippled to enjoy electronic media. It's also neat in its own right, so read how you please and fear not any judgment from me.:)
little_tristan: (Denis Leary)
Actually, I've been awake for a long time. I've officially run out of positions to sleep in that don't inspire unbearable pain, so I read in bed for a while and then got up at one. It's brutally unfair. The Thing That Hurts isn't supposed to hurt when I'm already lying on it, so when it does, there's nowhere left to go. Sitting up doesn't really help, I just feel more in control and better able to cope when I'm wearing my exoskeleton.

Of course I expect to be ridiculously tired in twelve hours, but for now at least I'm getting some writing done. It might even help me finish Les Miserables on time. (No, the irony is not lost on me. It never is.) And later today, I'm calling about the new improved exoskeleton. March is almost half over and I haven't heard from them since December. But I think I might be able to sleep in that chair.
little_tristan: (Firefly River I Can Kill)
Day 30 - What personality trait do you most value in yourself?

Is the ability to be semi-rational no matter what, even in the midst of a nervous breakdown, a personality trait? Because that's the part that gets me through.:)
little_tristan: (Firefly Bright Kaylee)
Day 29 - What was your favorite childhood outfit? What memories are associated with it?

I didn't really have outfits, I had two pairs of blue jeans and a half-dozen shirts. My favorite was this one, which I wore for my school picture. All day long, everyone kept coming up and saying, "Why are you wearing that? Don't you know it's picture day?" And I kept saying, "Yes, that's why I'm wearing it." I think I still have it, too.:)
Clicky here for da shirt... )
little_tristan: (knowing)
Day 13 - How would you like your life to look five years from now?

It'd be great if it was the same as right now, only with the boys 5 years further along at work. By then, there should be enough machines to do the work, under the supervision of some well-trained wage monkeys, so they can stay home and collect royalties while taking care of me.

I will have published four more books, and actually sold a few of them, and Murphy Sloane will still be alive and healthy at the age of 21, thus getting us that much closer to proving my theory that he is, in fact, immortal. The arch-nemesis, on the other hand, will have been dead for a while.
little_tristan: (Christina's World)
Day 12 - Which things do you miss from your past?

I miss my sister and the people we used to be when we had freedom. I miss swimming and driving and walking upstairs. I miss the creek that bordered our property when I was growing up, and mowing the lawn with Dad's John Deer riding mower, and the 1984 F-150 that I traded away on a whim for what proved to be the world's most useless mini-van.

I probably miss the truck the most, because it's only thing I gave up of my own free will.
little_tristan: (2 Horses)
Ripped from [livejournal.com profile] hardboiledbaby
25 Random things about me:

1. I only wear black, because it's easier.

2. I buy books that I haven't read because it makes me feel safe. Borrowed books inspire anxiety.

3. I haven't been able to walk in over ten years.

4. I like the way my fingers look when I type (although I wish they were thinner).

5. One of my hobbies is picking an actor and trying to track down everything they've ever done in movies or TV. (Hence all the recent Anton Yelchin posts.)

6. Everyone thinks we put up with the arch-nemesis for his money, but I'd give it all up if he'd just go away.

7. All of my real friends are online. The only people I actually hang out with offline are relatives.

8. I've sabotaged all of my attempts at therapy by denying the things I most needed to talk about.

9. I collect Hello Kitty purses.

10. And magnets.
Cut for more stuff... )
little_tristan: (cutter john)
From [livejournal.com profile] romankate:

If I were a month...
I'd be August.

If I were a day...
I'd be Friday. Get up early, stay up late.

If I were a time of day...
I'd be six a.m., when it's still early, but I've gotten something done.

If I were a season...
I'd be summer, hot and dry and prickly.

If I were a direction...
I'd be a concentric circle.

If I were a drink...
I'd be water, plain and cold.

If I were a musical instrument...
I'd be a drum set, loudly beaten.

If I were a fruit...
I'd be a lemon, naturally sour but capable of sweetness with a little help.

If I were a food...
I'd be mixed nuts.

If I were a celebrity...
I'd want to be me, but famous.

If I were a color ...
I'd be black, hiding in the shadows.

If I were a book...
I'd be The Bedlam Boys, because I already am.

If I were a song...
I'd be obscure and get very little radio play.

If I were a movie...
it would be in black and white.

If I were a flower...
I'd be a black and purple pansy.

If I were a facial expression...
I'd be all wide and fearful eyes, the rest covered up with hands.
little_tristan: (Christina's World)
I feel like I'm living in Oklahoma, ca. 1928. The dust is everywhere. It's inescapable. And I don't really know where it's coming from. Is it because the house is so poorly sealed? Are the dogs carrying it in as mud? Maybe because Doodle has such an obscene amount of hair? I keep sweeping and Swiffering (Toby was done in by hair a month ago and won't run again without an overhaul), but it's getting in faster than I can chase it away. Everything is gritty and fuzzy, to a degree that is actually depressing. I was trying to clean the bathroom just now, and it's EVERYWHERE. I can't even reach most of it. I can't reach anything, really, which is depressing in itself, but not the issue.

A year ago, I would have asked Herr to help and he would've sympathized, promised to clean and then gotten busy and not done it. Now he just sighs in his best Peter Murphy descending-bleak-and-put-upon manner and gives me a repeat of his unvarying lecture about how much work he has to do and how little time he has to do it in. He's so obsessed, it's like living with Howard Hughes. Except for the dirt part. That seems to be unique to us.

Normally I ignore it, saying a small prayer of gratitude that no one ever comes in here (except for a few relatives who also live, or were raised, in filth), but I'm trying really hard to up our standards before [livejournal.com profile] catyah gets here. T minus 16 days and counting. Maybe the boys will rally at the last minute.
little_tristan: (No Icon)
This morning I ventured to the library (mine, not public) in the hopes of getting some dusting done before the arch-nemesis emerged from his foul cave of old-stink. But it turns out I don't need his presence to be dismayed by his behavior. I have to lay some of this on Herr, who promised me a room down there for my library before we even moved in. That end of the house is a family room with two bedrooms, one of which is the cave of stink. The other was my library, and the big room was Herr's office/workroom. But after the arch-nemesis had been here a while, Herr couldn't tolerate the close contact and moved his computer into the library. There was no room, so he put the desk up against the bookcases and after he added a couple tables, I could no longer go inside. For nearly two years, I had no access to books at all. I had to peer in through the door, get a bead on the one I wanted, and send someone in after it. (No, the next shelf. Up. Up! To the left. Your other left. The blue one. No, that's green. It is so green. Fine, whatever, the next one over. Now, where's the sequel?)

This led to him eventually building shelves all around the big room and moving the books out there. This is the set-up you've seen here, and it's nice. Except when it isn't. The general nonfiction section is closest to the sliding door, which is open a lot of the time, so the books there are insanely dusty. And often wet, because the dogs come in during the winter and shake first thing. Yes, they're supposed to be restricted to the back patio until they've shaken and air dried a bit, but guess who doesn't give a shit and lets them in anyway? (Which is ironic, since they shouldn't be out in the rain most of the time, anyway.) That's right. The same guy who thinks The Shipping News goes in biographies, and Women in the Old West is fiction. The same guy who's decided the recessed fiction/literature closet is actually a broom closet. The fact that he's six feet tall and upright means there's no reason not to pile all the mops and brooms and buckets in the house in there. Along with the fan he uses for 2 months out of the year, and anything else there isn't room for in his loathsome cave. Because getting close to things while sitting down isn't different from standing. Knees? What are those?

The other night I dreamed that Herr dismantled the shelves and put them up in the dining room, and they all miraculously fit, in spite of the walls all being different lengths and angles. Because that's what we should have done in the first place. Then I could maybe reach a shelf once in a while, and not have to listen to his fucking musak of the 1940s while I was at it. I am literally sick with hate today, and it is not fun. Twenty years of therapy totally wasted because I can't handle one selfish old man. Oh, and while I was dusting? I had to stop and screw around with his computer. Why? Because when the dialog box said IE had encountered a problem and needed to close, he couldn't figure out what to do. I'm not sure what he did do, but I ended up having to ctrl+alt+delete my way out of it. And somehow it's all my fault.

Sick. With. Hate. And probably going to hell for it, too. Oh, wait. I'm already there!

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