Big Bummed Me
How many posts have there been in the last few weeks about when/where BBM is coming out?
So I’m applying to grad school, and two applications were due last week. And they want this “statement of purpose” thing, this “what I’m gonna do at grad school” thing.
So, naturally, I want to go to grad school to learn how to be a better writer. First of all, gay vampire porn. Is it better to spell out manly grunts and moans? Is “vampire stamina” a cliché? Etc. Second, AU vs AR vs pieces set “in canon”. Third, so back to that porn thing. Is blood as lube too squicky?
Then there’s this stuff about “accomplishments,” which I’m guessing means like how I got linked to metafandom that one time, or how I know at least four people who were on f_w, or that one fic where I got away with crossdressing, incest, pedophilia, and non-con in something still rated R (I think).
But all I could think of were the unfulfilled plans, the things I hadn’t accomplished, dreams I hadn’t chased. That Buffy/Connor fic. Not having read the new version of FFG yet. Those eps of Bones I missed where DB was shirtless.
That decided it, really. I wasn’t taking any more. I was doing what I wanted with my life. I was following my dreams. I was Maria off to jump Captain von Trapp’s bones, I was Morgan Freeman’s character going to have hot sex with Tim Robbins’ character in Mexico, I was Tyler Durden . . . in rubber gloves . . . what was I doing? Oh yeah, I was going to see Brokeback Mountain.
All my friends work Friday nights, so I had to try to convince my mom to go with me.
Two weeks ago:
Me: Want to go see BBM? It has pretty boys kissing.
Mom: You kind of disturb me.
One week ago:
Me: Want to go see BBM? It has hot guys.
Mom: Maybe.
Friday, the day:
Me: Want to go see BBM? It’s supposed to have a great script, a superb cast, and a fab director.
Mom: Sure!
Now, BBM is only showing at one theatre, the artsy one next door to the Starbucks, across the street from another Starbucks, and down the road from Starbucks. And I live in the suburbs, around the corner from a Starbucks and two blocks from another Starbucks. I’m guessing that between the artsy theatre and my house there are about seventy-three Starbucks stores, and maybe twenty-five miles.
Houstonians know you should pick your time and destination very carefully due to traffic concerns. So if you want to go to a movie at 7.00pm in River Oaks, leave plenty of time. Leave so much time it gets a wider release so you can see it at 3pm in Katy.
So an hour and a heart attack after my application is submitted (my mom is just anxious; I’m an excellent driver) we’ve triangulated the three Starbucks and are at the artsy theatre. Which has a line wrapping all the way around it in the freezing, biting, fifty-five degree blistering cold. We have not dressed warmly. I don’t know about Mommy but I was expecting to get hot in that theatre.
Due to a small and suspicious miracle we’re able to park close by and hop into line. Turns out we didn’t need to worry about being cold, as the line is really pressing in on itself. Also, being around men always makes me feel hot, warm, and blushy with barely concealed feelings of dread and panic.
And dude, were there a lot of men. I haven’t seen that many men since my dad’s (engineering school) yearbook. Can’t even say there are that many males in the gay male bars near my university, because straight women at my university went to gay male bars so they could dance with their friends without being hit on (which leads to straight males going to gay male bars, which reequalizes the number of boys v. girls). Or so I’m told.
So it occurs to us that all these people in line might already have their tickets. We quickly console ourselves, though, by listening to the conversation behind us in line:
Guy1: Lucius Malfoy was numbr 15.
Guy2: You mean Luscious Malfoy.
Guy3: Mmm.
Guy1: Guess who was number one.
Guy2: Oprah.
Guy1: I said fictional richest people! God!
Guy2: Oprah is fictional. Daddy Warbucks?
Guy3: He can be my daddy any time.
No, not that conversation. This one:
Guy4: I hope we get in!
Guy5: I hope we get in!
Guy6: I hope we get in!
Mom and I figure, if guy4, guy5, and guy6 are hoping to get in, they can’t have tickets yet. So, the line starts moving, and it’s moving fast, and here’s where it gets sad.
CAUTION: Angst, character death! tissue warning!
Okay, so no one died (except for maybe a little piece of my soul), but we didn’t get in. Not only did everyone else already have tickets, everyone else knew what they were doing when they stood in a line half an hour, exposed to the cruel and blistering elements. We felt really, really stupid. And the box office lady looked at me like I was really, really stupid when I asked for two for 7pm. They were sold out until 11pm. Now, I’d be all for sticking around that long. Not like I ever get to sleep before 5am anyway. But Mommy, she was already kinda beat. Still:
Mom: We should do something fun while we’re down here. We drove all this way.
Me: What time is Capote?
Ticket lady: There aren’t any more showings of Capote, you twit. Also, you are really, really stupid.
Me: It’s true, we should do something fun.
Mom: We should.
Me: Yeah.
Mom: I know! I have the best idea ever!
Me: What! What!
Mom: Let’s go to the grocery store! We need cheese.
We got cheese. Then we went home.
The End
In the sequel:
tkp reads the sequel to crazydiamondsue’s “Rodeo” and feels better!
tkp watches a Harry Potter Dance Troupe and feels better!
tkp reads this about writing sex and says, Barbara Kingsolver, you sweet, innocent child, I hope you’ve discovered the internets since then!
So I’m applying to grad school, and two applications were due last week. And they want this “statement of purpose” thing, this “what I’m gonna do at grad school” thing.
So, naturally, I want to go to grad school to learn how to be a better writer. First of all, gay vampire porn. Is it better to spell out manly grunts and moans? Is “vampire stamina” a cliché? Etc. Second, AU vs AR vs pieces set “in canon”. Third, so back to that porn thing. Is blood as lube too squicky?
Then there’s this stuff about “accomplishments,” which I’m guessing means like how I got linked to metafandom that one time, or how I know at least four people who were on f_w, or that one fic where I got away with crossdressing, incest, pedophilia, and non-con in something still rated R (I think).
But all I could think of were the unfulfilled plans, the things I hadn’t accomplished, dreams I hadn’t chased. That Buffy/Connor fic. Not having read the new version of FFG yet. Those eps of Bones I missed where DB was shirtless.
That decided it, really. I wasn’t taking any more. I was doing what I wanted with my life. I was following my dreams. I was Maria off to jump Captain von Trapp’s bones, I was Morgan Freeman’s character going to have hot sex with Tim Robbins’ character in Mexico, I was Tyler Durden . . . in rubber gloves . . . what was I doing? Oh yeah, I was going to see Brokeback Mountain.
All my friends work Friday nights, so I had to try to convince my mom to go with me.
Two weeks ago:
Me: Want to go see BBM? It has pretty boys kissing.
Mom: You kind of disturb me.
One week ago:
Me: Want to go see BBM? It has hot guys.
Mom: Maybe.
Friday, the day:
Me: Want to go see BBM? It’s supposed to have a great script, a superb cast, and a fab director.
Mom: Sure!
Now, BBM is only showing at one theatre, the artsy one next door to the Starbucks, across the street from another Starbucks, and down the road from Starbucks. And I live in the suburbs, around the corner from a Starbucks and two blocks from another Starbucks. I’m guessing that between the artsy theatre and my house there are about seventy-three Starbucks stores, and maybe twenty-five miles.
Houstonians know you should pick your time and destination very carefully due to traffic concerns. So if you want to go to a movie at 7.00pm in River Oaks, leave plenty of time. Leave so much time it gets a wider release so you can see it at 3pm in Katy.
So an hour and a heart attack after my application is submitted (my mom is just anxious; I’m an excellent driver) we’ve triangulated the three Starbucks and are at the artsy theatre. Which has a line wrapping all the way around it in the freezing, biting, fifty-five degree blistering cold. We have not dressed warmly. I don’t know about Mommy but I was expecting to get hot in that theatre.
Due to a small and suspicious miracle we’re able to park close by and hop into line. Turns out we didn’t need to worry about being cold, as the line is really pressing in on itself. Also, being around men always makes me feel hot, warm, and blushy with barely concealed feelings of dread and panic.
And dude, were there a lot of men. I haven’t seen that many men since my dad’s (engineering school) yearbook. Can’t even say there are that many males in the gay male bars near my university, because straight women at my university went to gay male bars so they could dance with their friends without being hit on (which leads to straight males going to gay male bars, which reequalizes the number of boys v. girls). Or so I’m told.
So it occurs to us that all these people in line might already have their tickets. We quickly console ourselves, though, by listening to the conversation behind us in line:
Guy1: Lucius Malfoy was numbr 15.
Guy2: You mean Luscious Malfoy.
Guy3: Mmm.
Guy1: Guess who was number one.
Guy2: Oprah.
Guy1: I said fictional richest people! God!
Guy2: Oprah is fictional. Daddy Warbucks?
Guy3: He can be my daddy any time.
No, not that conversation. This one:
Guy4: I hope we get in!
Guy5: I hope we get in!
Guy6: I hope we get in!
Mom and I figure, if guy4, guy5, and guy6 are hoping to get in, they can’t have tickets yet. So, the line starts moving, and it’s moving fast, and here’s where it gets sad.
CAUTION: Angst, character death! tissue warning!
Okay, so no one died (except for maybe a little piece of my soul), but we didn’t get in. Not only did everyone else already have tickets, everyone else knew what they were doing when they stood in a line half an hour, exposed to the cruel and blistering elements. We felt really, really stupid. And the box office lady looked at me like I was really, really stupid when I asked for two for 7pm. They were sold out until 11pm. Now, I’d be all for sticking around that long. Not like I ever get to sleep before 5am anyway. But Mommy, she was already kinda beat. Still:
Mom: We should do something fun while we’re down here. We drove all this way.
Me: What time is Capote?
Ticket lady: There aren’t any more showings of Capote, you twit. Also, you are really, really stupid.
Me: It’s true, we should do something fun.
Mom: We should.
Me: Yeah.
Mom: I know! I have the best idea ever!
Me: What! What!
Mom: Let’s go to the grocery store! We need cheese.
We got cheese. Then we went home.
The End
In the sequel:
tkp reads the sequel to crazydiamondsue’s “Rodeo” and feels better!
tkp watches a Harry Potter Dance Troupe and feels better!
tkp reads this about writing sex and says, Barbara Kingsolver, you sweet, innocent child, I hope you’ve discovered the internets since then!