That 'real' post I promised
Twenty pages of LiveJournal posts. It reminds me of trying to catch up on Gaia, when I had a connection that didn't take all year to load the pages. My eyes are about to fall out of my head, and my poor little tushie's gone numb from sitting in the same spot. Fortunately, I still had leftovers of Cherry Coke from the trip home to keep me upright and focused. So I'm sorta updated.
I'm... very worn. Any visit up to Megan's family is draining for me... visits that include -any- of the extended family leave me desperate to escape. These are people who deemed me 'unacceptable' and 'beneath' them years before they had any inkling that I wasn't 'heterosexual male'. They consider me less than human... and I consider them to be prime examples of 'boorish nature' and so shallow that not a fleck remains of compassion or love. I figure that makes us about even, but it's NOT the kind of thing that's going to contribute to a joyous Thanksgiving dinner. Megan's Mom works hard to minimize the friction; it's an action I laud her for. She's a good woman that's pinned in place by an OCD controlled husband and his 'money is everything' relatives.
This year, there was very little opportunity for a clash... twenty minutes before dinner was to hit the table, everything I'd had for breakfast/lunch came roaring back up. I spent the better part of the meal in the bathroom (fortunately for EVERYone at the other end of the house), and then crawled (yes, literally) across the hall into the room Megan and I were using as a bedroom. An hour later, I bolted back across the hall into the bathroom. When I emerged twenty minutes later, one of Megan's sisters commented that that was the 'fastest Goddamned freight train' she'd ever seen; apparently my dash back to the porcelain throne featured vaulting over said sister (as she hit the floor with a panicked squeak) and landing -in- the bathroom, concluding with a pirouette that both closed the door and aimed me at the commode. *blinks* And I blinked at her, too, when she told me. I remember bolting up out of bed with that 'sick in transition' feeling, and then there's a blank space that ends with me huddled over the flusher. o.0
Whatever decided to lay me up at least ebbed as quickly as it reared its' head; by the next morn I was fine... and ravenously hungry. A plate of scrambled eggs and two english muffins later, when I found myself considering the viability of a turkey sandwich, I started wondering if someone'd left a xenomorph egg by my bed...
At any rate, I survived it. In the course of my catching up, I discovered this lovely little bit...
( More Quizzie Goodness... )
And because I found it entertaining: Name That Porno .Com
Okay, I'm done. Time to post this and turn on Adium X...
I'm... very worn. Any visit up to Megan's family is draining for me... visits that include -any- of the extended family leave me desperate to escape. These are people who deemed me 'unacceptable' and 'beneath' them years before they had any inkling that I wasn't 'heterosexual male'. They consider me less than human... and I consider them to be prime examples of 'boorish nature' and so shallow that not a fleck remains of compassion or love. I figure that makes us about even, but it's NOT the kind of thing that's going to contribute to a joyous Thanksgiving dinner. Megan's Mom works hard to minimize the friction; it's an action I laud her for. She's a good woman that's pinned in place by an OCD controlled husband and his 'money is everything' relatives.
This year, there was very little opportunity for a clash... twenty minutes before dinner was to hit the table, everything I'd had for breakfast/lunch came roaring back up. I spent the better part of the meal in the bathroom (fortunately for EVERYone at the other end of the house), and then crawled (yes, literally) across the hall into the room Megan and I were using as a bedroom. An hour later, I bolted back across the hall into the bathroom. When I emerged twenty minutes later, one of Megan's sisters commented that that was the 'fastest Goddamned freight train' she'd ever seen; apparently my dash back to the porcelain throne featured vaulting over said sister (as she hit the floor with a panicked squeak) and landing -in- the bathroom, concluding with a pirouette that both closed the door and aimed me at the commode. *blinks* And I blinked at her, too, when she told me. I remember bolting up out of bed with that 'sick in transition' feeling, and then there's a blank space that ends with me huddled over the flusher. o.0
Whatever decided to lay me up at least ebbed as quickly as it reared its' head; by the next morn I was fine... and ravenously hungry. A plate of scrambled eggs and two english muffins later, when I found myself considering the viability of a turkey sandwich, I started wondering if someone'd left a xenomorph egg by my bed...
At any rate, I survived it. In the course of my catching up, I discovered this lovely little bit...
| mind control is love | |||||
| brought to you by the isLove Generator | |||||
( More Quizzie Goodness... )
And because I found it entertaining: Name That Porno .Com
Okay, I'm done. Time to post this and turn on Adium X...