ass-lazy tropicana of the mind
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2002-04-17
I'm a fan. I admit it.
Spent yesterday lying on bed, my head thick and miserable.
It's the new medication I'm on. The side effects are all very mild when you're reading about them but not paying attention, but, then, y'know, you take them and -- bam -- you're lying in bed with a massive headache and dizziness, falling asleep every five minutes.
I ended up taking yesterday off of work because I was so zonked. Sat at home and watched Stargate on DVD, which always amused me. It's mellow, it's trashy, it's fun, and what more do you need?
Trying a trick now where I take the meds late at night, because then I can sleep through most of the side effects, I hope.
But if it still messes me up, I'll be calling the doctor and getting my dosages switched. I can not spend all my time being zombified.
Especially since it's like, not the cool zombification. It's not freaky-ass voodoo Haiti, it's scary zoned-out druggie zombie.
And the headaches, damn. Slow throbs behind my eyes, thickness in the sinuses and aaaaugh...
I hate having headaches. They make my head hurt. Yep, I'm irony girl.
Really randomly I was really wondering when it became wrong to be a fan of something. When people stopped really loving what they loved and, instead, felt that they either had to defend it or trash it. When what everyone else thought of you and your particular love mattered more than your love of it.
When did that happen?
I mean, if you like something, then, obviously like it. Don't be ashamed of liking it, because, hell, if you're ashamed, then you're not really enjoying it, are you?
So if you don't love something, then don't do it. And if you love something, then fuck the rest and love it.
Love love love it. Fall over on the bed with your eyes closed and the biggest grin on your face because you're in love with it.
And, yeah, I'm in love with a lot of things recently. I've just been going mad with my fan love.
And because I'm a big dork, here's a list. Because, y'know, lists are good and these are the things that make me happy right now.
The husband. My bed. My DVD collection. Fantastic Plastic Machine. Oingo Boingo. David Bowie. Angel. Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Spaced. Simon Pegg and that wacky little half smile of his. Seth Green. Oz. Jessica Stevenson. Charisma Carpenter's legs. Eliza Dushku's pout. Smallville. 24 and biting our nails while we watch. The double-billing of crack that is CSI and Law & Order on Saturday nights.
The person who writes "Mrs. Peel we're needed" on various places in Netherfield. Guerilla spraypaint art. Bizarre socialist flyposters. Panda bear alarm clocks. BBC. BBC news. Channel 4. Brass Eye. Chris Morris. Bill Hicks. Aliens. Britney Spears. *Nsync. Japanese pop. Cheap Mexican food.
Fried chicken. Cornbread. Fried green tomatoes with bacon. HTML. CSS. Sitting there screaming at a website and then grinning madly when it all comes together. Blogger. Diaryland. Livejournal. AIM. IRC. Eudora. Macintosh computers. The little happy computer face that shows up when you start up. Photoshop. The internet. Webpages. Dymphna.Net. UCSL.
CordySlash. OzSlash. FaithSlash. F/F slash in general. Clean water. Worcester sauce crisps. Dairy toffee. Brown sauce. Riding on the bus and seeing the castle lit up on the rock. Going down into the caves at Broadmarsh. People dropping washing up liquid into the fountains at the market square. Star Wars. Indiana Jones. X-Men comics. The Invisibles. Kill Your Boyfriend. Grant Morrison's mad genius. Joss Whedon's clever genius.
Ghost World. Robert Heinlein. Elizabeth Hand. Octavia Butler. Zora Neale Hurston and her voodoo hoodoo mojo goin'. Armistead Maupin's little world. Bad Janette Oke novels. Better strange nonfiction. Preacher. Danny Elfman's manic filmscores. Evil Dead. Bruce Campbell. Dr. Who. Spooky, the thing what squeaks. Oshun, the golden gorgeous bitch.
Uni-Qlo leisure pants and t-shirts. Old Navy hoodies. H&M men's shirts. Lush helping hands cream. Mac lip glass. Urban Decay lip gunk. 17 nail polish. My best friends. All my friends. Comic book stores. Action figures. Homoeroticism. Pretty girls. Gorgeous women. Attractive boys. Hobbits. Lord Of The Rings. Mary's hobbit stories. Sheila's Wesley/Gunn stories. Dol's Oz jokes. Ft's Cordyslash. Roz's Lilah. Jen's mindfucks.
Oz fridge magnets. Buffy collectible card game. Star Wars trivial pursuit. Warhammer and the Lizardmen. Warhammer 40,000 and the Necrons. Getting paid to make HTML pages. Learning Flash. Working with CSS. The Spaced soundtrack. The Mark Thomas Product. Michael Moore. Slash fanfiction. Het fanfiction. Fanfiction in general.
My deep blue bedroom back in L.A. Dad's avacado-green house with faded red tiles on the roof. Cactus. Jasmine. Calla lilies. Foxglove. Irises. Walking through New Orleans in late April, when everything's green and the humidity is high but not too high. Having a glitter fight while waiting for the streetcar. Japanese schoolgirls. Battle Royale. Dancing. Pixy Stix. Clubbing. Eating greasy breakfasts at 5 am after clubbing all night.
Silver vinyl pants and silver glitter platforms. The 15 Freret down to the Quarter. Walgreens. Chicken and andouille gumbo. Hush puppies. Bread pudding with bourbon. Chips with gravy. Kylie Minogue. Electric 80s pop. The Robot. Pikachu. Monkeys. Stuffed monkeys. Toy monkeys. Monkeys with fezzes. Starman. Kinder Surprise toys. Cordelia Chase. 70s' funk. Tarantino movie soundtracks. Pam Grier. George Clooney movies.
Sample hair care products. Free samples. Original comic art. Teen magazines. Josie & The Pussycats. Sleep. Long baths. Bizarre mix tapes. Stupid crazy cats named Spot. Makeup. Glittery eyeshadow. Chai. The MyMy Green Tea and Ginseng body lotion. Amaretto sours. Malibu and pineapple juice. Voodoo. Dead religions. Ancient sacrifice. Old gods.
Strange news programs. Stranger little political programs. Never Mind The Buzzcocks. Have I Got News For You. Eddie Izzard. Bill Bailey. Victorian porn. Lesbian fiction. Queerness. Pridefests. Snarky t-shirts. Purple sketchers sneakers. Sandals. Hawaiian shirts. Cowboy boots. Cat ear headbands. Thrift stores. Return of the Jedi bedding. Crystallized ginger. Clove cigarettes. Books. Sex. Love.
Lying in my bed curled up next to my husband with my arm wrapped around him as I drift off to sleep.
Life.
Life is just fucking great.
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