(no subject)

Why must finding a job be so difficult? I know. It's because I'm so picky (ahem...problems with authority, general arrogance in assuming there might possibly be a better way of doing things than the way the Corporate gods on high have ordained). Anyway...while I'm not especially interested in becoming a publisher, or one of those bitter editors who took the job for a while so they could afford to write their own stuff and then become burnt out. But the world of publishing, of literature and outcast internet rebels, has a certain appeal. And I love that LJ calls itself personal publishing. The power of those little words. It seems like a mighty weapon even if you are typing away in obscurity. Because the words themselves are still out there. It makes me almost feel like the bad writer character in Amelie, who gets excited when he sees words from his failed novel written as graffiti on a wall. Yee haw! Somebody read it and got it.

Which doesn't mean that I don't also enjoy the image of myself as diamond-laden, chain smoking, big hat wearing Coco Chanel looking lady editor. Powerhouse of independent works and holder of the truly magnificent salon-esque parties in The City. Because yes, I completely enjoy that image in case you couldn't tell. I don't think that will happen however.

But I would like to be a part of something like that. Some lit revolution that becomes mainstream as all revolutions do eventually. Be in some group that somehow comes together, like the Vicious Circle or the Impressionists in Montmarte. Just converging at just the right time, bearing a message and causing trouble. If I were more skilled, I would try to start such an online community, but I am hardly someone you would see on a panel of famous slash writers, talking articulately on the subject of rewriting gender in popular fiction. Alas no. I am a porn writer with a thing for pirates...and diamonds.

misplaced string

I need to create a new Sesshomaru icon, I hate the old one. Maybe I should do that tonight. I wrote up to a certain point in nineteen and then got sad. Had to stop. Decided with Kittie that Mirena is just *neat*.
Which reminds me of a fantastic story about a friend of mine on a date in which her response to the boy's act of whipping out his dick to *show* her (yes, amazing) was to quietly say "neato". heh heh. Anyway, my thoughts are bopping around...lack of energy mixed with caffeine and sugar for a false high will do that. My cable company is apparently the only one in the world to read time schedules wrong, and is playing everything hours early. *Just* during the week. So once again I will miss BSG repeats. No hotness for me. Bastards!

Received fancy and expensive packet of skin care product as a prezzie from my brother. He works at a salon. Yay! My feet hurt from work. And btw, I don't know if I've shared my particular hatred of mens, but I will now, briefly. You see, I will except whining and fooling around or even a bad temper as long as the damn work gets done. That's all I ask. Saturday night...two men (one of them older than me, slightly) together....it was like babysitting. I do not get paid to babysit. Part of it was, I think, that they were both formerly in the army and so naturally tend to treat something like a video store job as something less than meaningful. Again, I don't care either, but I am not going to cover their work and mine. If you don't want to do it then quit. So then there was that, and my constant nagging. For the most part, they worked. But then one keeps complaining about some wound he has and wanting to sit down. And while I sympathize...he signed up for this job. No one made him. That implies he can do that work. I am too tired to work for the both of us. (Another male coworker was out sick for months and now is back. he also whines about how tired he is, as though waiting for me to step in, as though I wasn't doing his jobs all the months he was gone. Another male manager leaves early, whining about the classes he is currently taking. Then of course there's the one who quit mid shift and left me by myself, all the while saying how we were 'friends'). Worthless. Men are fucking worthless to work with. Sorry but it's true. Somehow, I'm supposed to stick it out and work through the pain and weariness, and they get to go take a break. Well I'm not their damn mother.

So meanwhile, Saturday night, the two guys are playing around, shooting rubber bands at each other etc...All boys at work have done this. It's some male ritual I ignore as long as the work is done. One of them decides it would be funny to hit *me* with the rubber band. What the fuck? Even my teenage boy coworkers aren't that stupid. I asked, calmly, what in the hell was that? And mentioned, calmly, that I could write him up (I wouldn't have, not for that anyway) and he gets all army bullshit with me. "We're used to having real bullets blah blah blah". I answered, that's nice. Now. Don't. Do. That. Again.

Little fuck. But he nodded and shut up. That was nice.

Anyway, this rant is going nowhere so I go. Sleepy or drinkie?