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sabinetzinThis is why I must be stopped: because now I am dreaming about Magneto.
First I dreamt very vividly that Ian McKellen died, and oh my god I was overcome with grief. He's never allowed to actually die now, at least not before me. I have seen how I will react. It isn't pretty.
Then last night, I dreamt that Erik Lehnsherr gave me a back massage to Bohemian Rhapsody while I was candy flipping.
It sounds so much like I created that sentence with a random word generator.
But then we had to leave, for some reason, and we went to the store. We were talking about gender socialization and separation of "male" and "female" domains in store displays while we were looking at the Halloween clearance aisle, and then my dad was there, and he was like, WTF is this shit, and I'm like, Dad, you don't understand my work.
And we were in Denver, and we had just gotten back from the club to the hotel room and gone to bed (in a completely platonic way, because I never get laid in my dreams). All the hallways were really small, and I was having this long inner monologue about state nomenclature. And my dad was there again, and I was like, Dad, me and Erik are trying to get some sleep, you need to go home.
And we got up, and for some reason we were famous- I mean, we had been famous this whole time, we didn't wake up famous. And I'm watching us on the morning shows and talking to my producer, and I'm like, this bitch on Fox News is getting every single thing we told her wrong, and ze was like, I know, right?
And then Charles was there, and they were having some kind of competition involving random number generators. And this led to trying to open competing cafes in the same town? And then my alarm started going off, which is when I became convinced that this was all evidence about how we should take down JSTOR.
If I knew, I would tell you. I think the reason that it bothers me the most is that I'm a Charles girl.
Also yesterday, because Wikipedia is down and it is knowledge Lent, I calculated whether I was taller than Charles Xavier. By my calculations, yes, because Patrick Stewart is an inch taller than me, but James McAvoy is two inches shorter, so Charles Xavier must be half an inch shorter than me. QED
I was not the one on twitter to ask if that was sitting or standing. But you know we were all thinking about it, because we are horrible, HORRIBLE people, every last one of us.
But Erik is much taller than me. That is comforting.
Oh, flist. I assure you that, one day, this too shall pass, and I will go back to SGA or Doctor Who or something. But I've gotten to the point where I don't want to make new friends, right, just because we share a fandom. There are cool people I want to meet, but IDGAF if they want to prattle on about Sherlock or Supernatural or something, just as long as we like each other. And I think, like, if you don't have that philosophy, it's totally legit if you defriend me. But I probably won't defriend you, because if I've got you friended at this point, it's because I think we're friends, not just people who like the same thing.
That got serious for a moment. Let's go back to baby sloths taking a bath.
First I dreamt very vividly that Ian McKellen died, and oh my god I was overcome with grief. He's never allowed to actually die now, at least not before me. I have seen how I will react. It isn't pretty.
Then last night, I dreamt that Erik Lehnsherr gave me a back massage to Bohemian Rhapsody while I was candy flipping.
It sounds so much like I created that sentence with a random word generator.
But then we had to leave, for some reason, and we went to the store. We were talking about gender socialization and separation of "male" and "female" domains in store displays while we were looking at the Halloween clearance aisle, and then my dad was there, and he was like, WTF is this shit, and I'm like, Dad, you don't understand my work.
And we were in Denver, and we had just gotten back from the club to the hotel room and gone to bed (in a completely platonic way, because I never get laid in my dreams). All the hallways were really small, and I was having this long inner monologue about state nomenclature. And my dad was there again, and I was like, Dad, me and Erik are trying to get some sleep, you need to go home.
And we got up, and for some reason we were famous- I mean, we had been famous this whole time, we didn't wake up famous. And I'm watching us on the morning shows and talking to my producer, and I'm like, this bitch on Fox News is getting every single thing we told her wrong, and ze was like, I know, right?
And then Charles was there, and they were having some kind of competition involving random number generators. And this led to trying to open competing cafes in the same town? And then my alarm started going off, which is when I became convinced that this was all evidence about how we should take down JSTOR.
If I knew, I would tell you. I think the reason that it bothers me the most is that I'm a Charles girl.
Also yesterday, because Wikipedia is down and it is knowledge Lent, I calculated whether I was taller than Charles Xavier. By my calculations, yes, because Patrick Stewart is an inch taller than me, but James McAvoy is two inches shorter, so Charles Xavier must be half an inch shorter than me. QED
I was not the one on twitter to ask if that was sitting or standing. But you know we were all thinking about it, because we are horrible, HORRIBLE people, every last one of us.
But Erik is much taller than me. That is comforting.
Oh, flist. I assure you that, one day, this too shall pass, and I will go back to SGA or Doctor Who or something. But I've gotten to the point where I don't want to make new friends, right, just because we share a fandom. There are cool people I want to meet, but IDGAF if they want to prattle on about Sherlock or Supernatural or something, just as long as we like each other. And I think, like, if you don't have that philosophy, it's totally legit if you defriend me. But I probably won't defriend you, because if I've got you friended at this point, it's because I think we're friends, not just people who like the same thing.
That got serious for a moment. Let's go back to baby sloths taking a bath.
