design for life
Can't talk, orientating. Or, more specifically, completely exhausted and, for some reason, so utterly loathing the orientation experience this year that I can't even talk about it. Dragging myself from day to day. Bleah.
Instead, let me offer you an epiphany, courtesy of my Tumblr feed, which is really educational in all sorts of ways you possibly don't want to contemplate. Someone posted a series of Lifehacker gifs about Cunning Things To Do With Bras. I was scrolling down through it while simultaneously hoiking my bra straps up my shoulders in that way I have to do umpteen times a day because apparently I have substandard shoulders coated in teflon and built with mini ski slopes at the tops of my arms, and there it was. A series of images which suggests you stop slipping straps by connecting them together in the middle of your back with one of those giant metal paperclips, making a makeshift racerback bra. There was, coincidentally, a giant metal paperclip on my desk right in front of me. A couple of minutes of undignified groping later, and voila! No chance of slippage, and for some bizarre reason actually comfortable in a way I never find bras to be at all under any circumstances. (Invariable ritual arriving at home: open door, fall over cat, dump bag on chair, go into bedroom, kick off shoes, do the 14-year-old girl thing of unhooking bra and pulling straps out of shirt sleeveholes to get the fuck rid of the wretched thing because I loathe wearing them and only do so because attempted professional). Honestly, it quite made my month, which has otherwise been more or less uniformly horrible.
In other news, I have discovered Inquisition fanfic, which is surprisingly entertaining and rather overly endowed with BDSM and hot elf-sex. Fanfic, literature of spaces, etc. Also, subliminal Freudian metaphor, apparently.
My subject line because I have just played through the entirety of the Magnetic Fields in the car and have embarked, with inexorable alphabetical logic, into Manic Street Preachers.
Instead, let me offer you an epiphany, courtesy of my Tumblr feed, which is really educational in all sorts of ways you possibly don't want to contemplate. Someone posted a series of Lifehacker gifs about Cunning Things To Do With Bras. I was scrolling down through it while simultaneously hoiking my bra straps up my shoulders in that way I have to do umpteen times a day because apparently I have substandard shoulders coated in teflon and built with mini ski slopes at the tops of my arms, and there it was. A series of images which suggests you stop slipping straps by connecting them together in the middle of your back with one of those giant metal paperclips, making a makeshift racerback bra. There was, coincidentally, a giant metal paperclip on my desk right in front of me. A couple of minutes of undignified groping later, and voila! No chance of slippage, and for some bizarre reason actually comfortable in a way I never find bras to be at all under any circumstances. (Invariable ritual arriving at home: open door, fall over cat, dump bag on chair, go into bedroom, kick off shoes, do the 14-year-old girl thing of unhooking bra and pulling straps out of shirt sleeveholes to get the fuck rid of the wretched thing because I loathe wearing them and only do so because attempted professional). Honestly, it quite made my month, which has otherwise been more or less uniformly horrible.
In other news, I have discovered Inquisition fanfic, which is surprisingly entertaining and rather overly endowed with BDSM and hot elf-sex. Fanfic, literature of spaces, etc. Also, subliminal Freudian metaphor, apparently.
My subject line because I have just played through the entirety of the Magnetic Fields in the car and have embarked, with inexorable alphabetical logic, into Manic Street Preachers.