Flesh Made Words

Write the opening of a feature profile on yourself in a men's magazine. Now a business magazine. Now write the first sentence of your obituary.

1.  When I first lay eyes on Jenny O in the sun-warmed flesh, all I can think is, Has she always been this short?

2.  Jenny O's  handshake is as firm as her smile is bright.  "They say bitches get shit done," she says, gesturing for me to sit in one of the sleek leather chairs.  "I say efficient bitches get shit done faster.  So let's get started, shall we?"

3.  Jenny O never let the truth get in the way of a good story.*




*yes, the person who writing my obituary will totally riff off the eulogy I wrote for my grandmother.

Fret

i've heard tell
of heartstrings
tugged by circumstance

(tugging sounds so polite)

mine were not tugged
but rather plucked
by that so-unexpected hand of fate

violently stirred
into twanging dissonance
that keeps all sleep at bay

it was not strings
but wires
meant to keep you safe
meant to keep you sound

those wires
twisted
those wires
turned
your heart against itself

i wait
and wonder
where fate's gentle palm
will come to rest

which will be muted

strings
or wires

Slytherclaw

It's been a day fraught with emotional upset, but none so great as what happened to me this afternoon.

Once upon a time, when I worked at Borders, Harry Potter books were still being released.  I worked several of the midnight release parties (always super fun!) and during the first one I was the Cafe Manager, and thus dressed up as "Sortia O'Simmer, Syltherin Potions Mistress".  That was my first inkling of my future greatness.

A few years later, Pottermore was released to potential beta users.  I was super lucky, and managed to get in- and was promptly sorted into Slytherin.  I wasn't surprised, exactly- I knew I'd come out either Ravenclaw or Slytherin- but I was a little saddened by the lack of Positive Slytherin Representation in the world.  I vowed to show the world that Slytherins were basically the best of Ravenclaw and Griffindor- we're incredibly clever (some might say "sly") when it comes to getting our way, but we also have deep, powerful bonds loyalty (to those who deserve it).

I've been bleeding green and silver ever since (we even did Neeps's birth announcements with me in Slytherin robes and Nathan in Ravenclaw robes), although I've never been super active on Pottermore.  I'll pop over every once in a while, when JK Rowling updates with something cool.

As she did today.

So of course I wanted to know which of the American houses I'd be sorted in to!  But... I couldn't remember my password.  And they couldn't email it to me, apparently, because I'd originally signed up under the old Pottermore: I'd have to sign up again.

So I did.

And lo!  They told me that if I entered my old username, I could recover all my old stuff- house, wand, etc etc.  Well that was cool- except I couldn't remember my randomly generated username.  I knew I could dig it up if I looked hard enough, but I figured what the heck- I'd just re-sort myself into Slytherin and would be fiiiiiiine.

Except that's not what happened.

The test- a test which was noticeably different from the one I took seven years ago- sorted me into freaking Ravenclaw.  I was aghast.  I may have literally howled, "Nooooo!"

Almost immediately thereafter, I found my old username.  "Okay," I told myself, trying to calm my breathing.  "We can fix this.  I'll just... delete this new account, sign up for a new new one, and use my recently recovered username to grab my old info!"

Except that's not what happened.

I went to go delete my account- and was informed that if I did so, I 'd lose access to all the Harry Potter books I'd purchased several years back.

There was definitely some very vulgar swearing at this point.

And so I've sent Pottermore a letter, laying out my situation and begging for mercy.  We'll see what they say.  I'm sure they can help me out, with the power of friendship and magic...

(But don't think the Slytherin in me isn't shrieking, "I will burn shit to the ground!")

EDITED TO ADD:

After a second, pleading-intensified missive, they finally took pity on me!  I'm back in the snake's den where I belong.  Thanks, Pottermore!

Right Honorable Order of the Pinto Bear

There tends to be a lot of in-joking during games*, and yesterday's was no exception.  Many references were made to the dreaded "pinto bear", although naturally we never actually encountered one.  At least, not during our little adventure.  Who's to say my character (a scholar by trade) didn't circle back around later to do some in-depth study?

***

The Pinto Bear
(as thoroughly observed by Ionee)

The mature pinto-bear stands a good seven feet at the shoulder, and weights upwards of 1500 lbs.  As if their massive size were not advantage enough, this curiously speckled species is also equipped with retractable claws, a proto-thumb, and a rather fascinating ability to belch forth noxious gas.  The gas is not typically fatal, but will render an enemy (or prey) unconscious long enough for the pinto-bear to devour it.  If, however, the subject manages to survive being gassed, it appears as though the result is a temporary increase of intelligence.  Further study of potential medical-applications recommended.

Pinto-bears require a great deal of territory to keep themselves fed, and tend to be solitary- except during the spring and summer months, when it's not uncommon to find them living in small family groups, generally consisting of a mated pair and their cubs (2-3 is a typical whelping).  Mothers stay with their cubs for at least two years, and appear to go into season once every decade or so.  No one knows for certain the true lifespan of a pinto-bear, but given how rarely they mate, it seems safe to surmise that they live upwards of three centuries.

Their pelts are highly valued, being of a surprisingly soft texture which repels water and insulates efficiently.  The base color is a warm, almost pink-ish buff, with the spots ranging in color from burnt sienna to a brownish-black.

One last item of note, which this researcher was not able to verify: there are tales of particularly enraged pinto-bears exploding- literally, exploding into flame.  This researcher is not certain what, exactly, the benefit of such an ability would be (except perhaps as a last-ditch effort to protect offspring) nor how anyone would have survived such an event so as to tell about it.  Perhaps it is merely a part of their life cycle?  Again- further study is highly recommended.

WHAT COULD GO WRONG?!

*(don't even get me started on the crotch goblins)

A Merry Band

Today was a momentous day in the O household.

Today was the day that I finally, at long last, fully embraced my Destiny as a Second Generation Geek, and played D&D...

...with my mom!

Yes siree, this morning my old friends Adam and SCurry came over, and the four of us (with Adam acting as our long-suffering DM) got our role-play on.

****

Frennyr Scaleson could hardly be blamed for gawking like an idiot when he first caught sight of the travelers.  Sure, he knew as well as the next villager that the mayor of Glasslake had sent out a call for adventurers to deal with their... little problem... but Frennyr was expecting nothing more exciting than a battle-scarred ex-merc, or perhaps even a mysterious, taciturn ranger if they really lucky.  But nothing so exotic as this trio.

The most pedestrian of the group was the elf: small and slight and dark of skin, with hair that hung about her head like an enraged storm-cloud.  At least, Frennyr thought she was an elf, until he got a better look at the second one- she was tall for a female, with skin so white as to be blue, and so unmistakably an elf that Frennyr suddenly realized that first one must be a half-elf.  But achingly beautiful as she was, with glossy black hair braided intricately back from her face, even the full-blooded elf was rendered unremarkable in comparison to their final companion.  Frennyr could not at first imagine what the creature was: well over six feet tall, broad as a young bull, and covered in shimmering gold scales instead of flesh, it did not match the description of any of the races Frennyr knew.  But then someone else on the dock hissed, "Dragonborn!" and he felt like an idiot.  Of course the creature was dragonborn!  He- she?  It was hard to tell, but something about the delicacy of the fins spoke of the feminine to him.  She was wearing chain-mail and carrying a great battleaxe that looked well-cared-for.  The elf had the lean and deadly air of an individual best avoided after dark- or perhaps just in general.  Frennyr glanced again at the delicately-proportioned half-elf.  No warrior, that one- but, the stained fingertips indicated a scholar of some sort.  And scholars usually knew all sorts of useful magic.  He grunted in satisfaction; surely this lot would have no trouble with whatever it was that had been helping itself to the villager's goods.

Paint the Town Green

Recently Nathan and I have found it a little difficult to remember that we're more than just roommates-raising-a-human together.

When our child is awake (and not at daycare), he's taking up the vast majority our time and attention.  After he's in bed, we're doing what needs to be ready for him to go back to daycare in the morning.  And once those chores are done?  Then we sort of do our own things, and since our primary 'own things' are solitary pursuits- Nathan playing video games, and me writing- we don't spend much time, you know, together.  Sure we might watch some tv, but that's not really quality togetherness (unless you're actually discussing the show, in which case it totally counts).

Tonight, however,  we had a capital-D Date, thanks to my mother informing us we were doing so, and furthermore forbidding us from discussing our offspring whilst on said date.

("It will be hard.  It will be extremely difficult.  But I know you can do it.")

So I got all fancified in my lemon cupcake dress and my true love shoes and even one of my vintage furs*, and I insisted Nathan put product in his hair, and then we hit the town!

Specifically we hit up The Thirsty Sasquatch, a "new" whiskey bar that I'd been meaning to get to since it was actually new, like a year ago.  The intention was to drink whiskey (or more likely bourbon, in my case) and chat like grown-ups, but when we got there we saw they had absinthe on the menu, and since we had just watched a thing about absinthe (causing Nathan to comment that he'd never actually had it) we decided to get fancy and order some.

Fancy, although not as fancy as some places.

So we slowly poured our water over our sugar (the carafes did not lend themselves to slowly dripping), and then enjoyed.  Not quite as much, however, as we enjoyed quietly mocking the other couple down the way from us, who were obviously on the First Date From Hell.  We're talking closed body language, no talking, staring at respective phones... until beer was chugged and they'd manage to talk for about five minutes, maybe even with a smile- but then they'd quickly sink back into staring boredly around them.  It was excruciating and fascinating all at once.

"Maybe they're just trying to get drunk enough to have sex?" I posited.  We agreed heartily that we're glad we never have to date again.  Because for real, if something happens to Nathan?  I'm probably just going to become a hermit.  With a baby.  A Bermit?  Anyway.

The bar started to fill up with loud and drunk people (who had gotten themselves that way on the Couve Cycle, which I really want to do one day) which made it hard to hear the live music we'd been enjoying, and impossible to hear one another, so we paid our tab and slipped out into the (still quite light) night for a stroll down Main Street.  We ended up stopping in to get ice cream as we walked and talked (chocolate for him, strawberry for me), and eventually made our way back to the car.

All in all it was a very good night, and we did manage to avoid discussing Neeps.  I'm feeling quite refreshed about our marriage at the moment, and all those little annoyances that were brewing towards my "roommate" (generally to do with cleaning things) have dissipated for the moment, subsumed by my love and affection for my husband, who is a fiercely intelligent and humorous man that I genuinely enjoy spending time with.

So.  Obviously we need to find an in-town babysitter, because I have plenty more pretty dresses that need wearing.





*("You look very Vancouver," said my mother, approvingly.  "Your outfit is fabulous!" said the older gay gentleman at the ice cream shop.  I'm counting it as a win.)

Brassicaceae

Pretty