(no subject)

[katallison]

<reading through comments on previous entry, with Scully-brow raised high>

You crazy kids. I leave you alone with LJ for one night, and look at what you get up to!

<attempt to maintain Scully-brow fails miserably, as Kat falls about on the floor hooting> Love you all, you nuts. Including that shameless instigator Suze.

Will try to get replies out at some point this weekend, but -- OK, so can I just whine for a minute?

See, I tend to live in this delusion that I am a wonderfully tolerant, relaxed, patient, non-judgmental person. So it's probably good for me to confront myself with the times in which I am a snotty bitch. And today brought, not one, but two such occasions.

(a) If people go to the gym, I like to believe that they are there to work out. And to work out according to my correct and excellent (of course) standards, which means push yourself until you collapse, quivering from muscle failure. So if you go to the gym and sit your frail wispy little self on the chest press machine and put the pin to the lowest possible weight and then camp out there for fifteen fuckin' minutes doing occasional little flurries of no-weight reps punctuated by long intervals of reading your fuckin' copy of Self magazine, and giving the petulant stink-eye to anyone who asks if they can work in with you ... then I'm sorry, but you must die. What, are you afraid you might bulk up if you actually used some weight? Princess, you couldn't bulk up with a boxcar of steroids, the way you're going. Now get your mascara'd lip-glossed salon-tanned little ass offa there, and let a real woman show you how to pump iron. (And turn all red in the face, and sweat, and fall over wheezing.)

(2) My stepmother. OK, I know, she's a wonderful human being, and I'm awfully glad she's willing to put up with my dad, and really she's very very nice. But my god, I have never met anyone in my life who loves the telephone as much as she does. And when I call in to get the update on my dad's impending surgery, I really don't want to sit for an hour and a half hearing all about her granddaughter by her first marriage's dating problems, and how I really should do something entirely different with my hair, and little digs at my sister-in-law (whom I love to pieces) for being a slovenly housekeeper, and the minutae of the condo association's last meeting, and all kinds of passive-aggressive guilt-tripping about how I really should call more often. You know why I don't call more often, stepmother o' mine? It's because I usually don't have an hour and a half to sit on the phone, playing Bookworm and going, "Ah ... uh-huh ... I see ... isn't that interesting." Especially not when I am trying to use my valuable weekend hours to write pointless smut about television characters! I mean, god.

Whew. Wow, that was purgative. OK, I feel better now, except for the part where I realize what a bad, bad person I really am.

Comments

[luminosity]

Especially not when I am trying to use my valuable weekend hours to write pointless smut about television characters! I mean, god.

Honey, nobody else'll keep your priorities straight. You just gotta.

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Carrying the slashy banner, undaunted and undistracted -- it's a dirty thankless job, but somebody's gotta do it.

(Actually, I wish the thing I'm doing *did* have some pointless smut in it, instead of lots of pointless angsty maundering. Smut would at least be *fun.*)

[bethbethbeth.livejournal.com]

Okay...

(1) You *are* a "...wonderfully tolerant, relaxed, patient, non-judgmental person" and I'm exactly like you!

(b) Except for the minor facts that I wouldn't be:

(A)working out at the gym, like, at *all*
(II)calling my family instead of waiting for them to call me.

-Beth, identical-to-Kat in that "far inferior" way. *g*

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Heh. The only reason I was calling them was my dad left one of his patented cryptic-and-yet-drama-queeny messages on my answering machine last night, so I had to phone in to try to find out what the hell's going on.

And hey, isn't is my turn to be *your* minion this week? Which means *I'm* the far inferior one. (Plus, also, really really sweaty and kinda distasteful.)

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

I *love* your icon.

[katallison.livejournal.com]

Thanks! I made it for a crabby post I put up during the height of the Firefly-vid kerfuffle last month, but I think it'll be useful to hang onto and bust out from time to time.

I adore Frank. Must try to scrape some nickels together for the H:LotS DVDs.

[reginagiraffe]

If you get it from here:
http://www.deepdiscountdvd.com/dvd.cfm?itemID=ANE070848
then you'll only need 745 nickles. Easy peasy.

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

I adore Frank. Must try to scrape some nickels together for the H:LotS DVDs.

So totally worth it, and much cheaper at Deep Discount DVD than at Amazon.

[ex-mommybir.livejournal.com]

Am so tempted to steal your Pembleton icon and run away, but will not. *sigh*

[musesfool.livejournal.com]

Heh. You show great fortitude and strength of character.

[killabeez.livejournal.com]

Heya! Just stopped by to say I adore that icon. I've never seen Homicide, but ever since I first saw Katharine's vid, that quote has been my favorite mantra. It's so frequently apropos, isn't it?

[imkalena.livejournal.com]

Sorry, those comments are so reasonable you don't even get to call them 'whining'. Bitching, maybe.*g*

[tracy-rowan.livejournal.com]

Besides, it proves you're just human like the rest of us.

[ardent-muses.livejournal.com]

Personally, I think the mere fact that you didn't beat Miss Weight-Slacker to death with a fifteen pound barbell shows incredible restraint and compassion. *G*

And phones? The instrument of the Devil. Phone people and non-phone people are two different species.

(See? I'm way grouchier than you are today!)

[laurashapiro.livejournal.com]

So if you go to the gym and sit your frail wispy little self on the chest press machine and put the pin to the lowest possible weight and then camp out there for fifteen fuckin' minutes doing occasional little flurries of no-weight reps...

Confession: I live in fear that I am this person. Or at least, that I appear to be this person.

I mean, minus the magazine, salon tan, and lip gloss. Even I have standards.

I don't give the stink-eye to anybody, but it's mainly because I don't have to, since I work out at an oh so very gay gym, where none of the men would consider speaking to frumpy female me.

I do sometimes push myself, and even break a sweat, but ya know, it's not like I can bench press more than 25 lbs.

[suzecarol.livejournal.com]

Love you all, you nuts. Including that shameless instigator Suze.

As I said last night to one of the Pastiche Posse: "Fortunately, Kat loves us. We may be about to find out how much."