Feb. 12th, 2017

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sugarspiceandcursewords replied to your post “Dude just said, “While you’re writing postcards you can write to the…”

Yeah, we’re having a constant low-key version of that argument in my house. I think things are worse than he does, which ends up feeling like we’re on opposite sides even though it’s really more like moderate-left vs really left. It mostly results in fewer conversations about current events and more stewing on my part.

I’m getting it kind of all around– all kinds of dudes (it’s always dudes) keep telling me I need to chill. I’m not particularly vocally freaking out, but I have been writing postcards like they’re going out of style. 

I saw an excellent article on Twitter about how women are far more attuned to early signs of radicalism because their rights are almost always the first thing targeted. Oh, here it is– it’s brief, and doesn’t go into much depth, but just reading the headline really crystallized things for me. 

It doesn’t help that dudes are basically constantly telling women that they’re overreacting, but if it’s any consolation, our freakouts are pretty definitely justified.

I mean. Women are currently dying from lack of prenatal care access, and this administration explicitly wants to extend Texas’s condition to the rest of us. I’ve never been pregnant and don’t plan on ever becoming so but I am still a menstruating woman. This is personal. My dude doesn’t understand, no matter how good his imagination might be. (He thinks he understands, but he keeps telling me to chill out. No, he doesn’t understand.)

My mother just mailed me a handful of pre-stamped postcards to send to politicians. She gets it. 

This morning Dude was like but why do you care so much if immigrants are being deported and i’m like they’re people and he’s like it sucks but why care so much and I’m like because this is not my goddamn country and he didn’t really know what to say. I think, to his credit, he was just upset that i was upset. His family were refugees! He’s not unaffected by this, he’s not unworried. He just thinks worry is unproductive. Which, fine, sure, but I can’t just turn that off. 
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quiz for myself: do i just post the first 10k of this bodhi/cassian thing in an attempt to make it go somewhere and motivate myself or do i try to muscle through until it resolves

but really does anything matter at all and why am i not writing something that means something etcetera etcetera

i need to make more people send me stories about their dogs because i want stories about dogs. 
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OH MY GOD dude’s family beagle used to do that! They called it “neckies” and she’d get excited about the word. She knew a lot of words.

If you lay on the floor she’d run over and flop her neck-wattles onto your face for raspberries. She about suffocated Dude once, it was hilarious. SHE LOVED IT SO MUCH. She also seemed to sort of hate it? Like, she’d recoil and shiver and make a hilarious face, but then she’d lunge right back at you so you’d do it again. 

That is so funny. 

Bertie was great, she lived to be quite old, and went mostly deaf and approximately blind but you could still communicate with her by scent. If she was in the yard and wouldn’t come back, you could crinkle a bag of ham cold cuts and she’d come running. Unclear whether she could really hear the crinkle, but it worked anyway.

Dog once ate a whole bunch of tinfoil-wrapped loaves of bread. Pooped glitter for days, but lived many more years, so. 

She love/hated neckies. It was an ongoing thing, her whole life. 

She knew a ton of words. She was dumb as a box of rocks but she understood a lot of words. My favorite, though, sort of late in life, was if you said “Head-tippies?” she’d tip her head in genuine confusion so far she’d almost fall over.
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DOGS I LOVE DOGS. I haven’t answered this ask before now because I’ve been too busy rereading it. 

I’m trying to research German Shepherds because Kaytoo’s going to be one in this AU and I’ve never had one. My BFF in high school always had shepherd mixes in her house but I never did; ours was a German Shorthair Pointer, and they’re big dogs but totally different body type and personality, I think– they’re sighthounds, and she was never trained to do anything but run around like an idiot and steal candy from babies, literally. (I loved her so. The short hair meant that she was not stinky, which I appreciate a lot in retrospect. She was very tolerant of our shenanigans; we definitely got our revenge for the stolen candy.)

I’ve always loved German Shepherds, though. They seem so earnest and sort of sensible. Everyone else seems to love labs and I just don’t really appreciate the Big Dumb Sweet aesthetic the same way. My family’s always gone for sight hounds– my sister’s dogs are Springer Spaniels, which are lovely and beautiful and graceful and sort of not super bright and also kind of dicks. (They have a pair of sisters, and one is big and dumb and sweet and poorly-behaved, and the other is sort of clever and anxious and a little bit mean, but grudgingly well-trained.)
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Aww! Yeah, I love that You Have Been Chosen feel!

My mom’s dog, when she was a kid, stole socks. (She was another Springer.) She’d just pull them off the drying rack and carry them around balled up in her mouth. Once Mom noticed and was like, Muffin, give, and wound up pulling like five socks out of the dog’s mouth. She never swallowed any, she just really loved to carry them around.

This same dog loved to bark frantically at squirrels, and they’d let her out and she’d race around to the bird feeder and the squirrels would run away long before she got there, and it was kind of a game, until the squirrels got too used to her. One day she actually caught one, and was HORRIFIED. 

She never did it again.
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*insert the crying emoji* I love/hate stories about rescue dogs! You know, how wonderful it is when they learn new things, but how awful it is that they didn’t know them before or knew other terrible things. You know? Not my most articulate saying. Anyway. That’s so sweet.

The farm dog, Dini, is a rescue, and I actually was so relieved to read recently that a lot of times when rescue dogs are disproportionately terrified of men, it’s not necessarily that they were beaten by a man, but that they were poorly-socialized in general, and the larger and deeper-voiced a human is, the more terrifying he is to a dog unaccustomed to close contact with humans. Women are less threatening inherently. Because poor Dini was so terrified of men, and of enclosed spaces, and it seemed like something horrible must have happened to her– but what is probably the less-horrible truth is that she just never had much close contact with humans, was probably kept outside, and then after rescue was stuck in a small room for far too long.

After five years, though, she’s friendly, even to strange men, and comes into the house, and behaves herself, and is very loving, so. It’s quite a startling change from when I first met her and you couldn’t look straight at her. (Dini is short for Houdini, because you also couldn’t keep her in any kind of enclosure.)

(She’s a Lab mix and is very stinky most of the time, but my god, she’s so athletic, she’s really beautiful at a full run.)
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the worst thing about spending your life on the internet is that when you’re playing a game like cards against humanity at a party you’re the person who has to explain what things like bukkake are

I’m the guy who literally explained what felching is to his linguistics class (and then had to clarify that no, gerbils are not involved, no that is not a real thing, wtf) as well as the guy who had to explain furries to his working group in a professional meeting. 

I once had to explain to colleagues what teabagging is when a discussion of the Tea Party went awry.

I had to explain teabagging to my MOM.

I have by now forgotten the context of almost all of the story, but I have a very vivid recollection of someone impersonating an older relative asking, “What’s boo-cake?” and the collective group all groaning in unison because oh no, we’ve all been there, and how terrible is this world that this is a place we’ve now all been?

Whatever the generation after Millennials is, though, in about 10-15 years there’s going to be comment threads on sites like this where they all talk about how they learned about golden showers. Thanks, 45.
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Am on wee local road trip to test new car. Disappointed to report that Grand Island has not updated any signage. Should say, “Welcome to Grand Island, Home of the President of Somalia”. Have some hometown pride you guys.

I’m not even being goofy, I think Grand Island should be enormously proud of itself for having been a safe haven where Mohamed Abdullahi Mohamed could spend thirty years being educated, raising a family, being a good neighbor, doing good work for the government of the State of New York, and also doing an enormous amount of work for his native country. It’s a genuine American success story, the more poignant for how it flies in the teeth of the policies of the current administration. 

Also yesterday I just sort of casually drove past one of the wonders of the world and kind of waved at it and then went back to texting because I mean, it’s just Niagara Falls, it’s right over there. WTF, me!

(We drove the new car in a large circle, along the southern shore of Lake Ontario and back along the Erie Canal, and I amused myself by trying to guess the ages of the houses lining the road in the small towns. Lots of Federal-period Greek revivals with their heavy pediments, some horribly vinyl-sided. One tiny town offered a phenomenal micro-vignette into a local argument with wide implications: a placard in front of one house bore an image of a wind turbine with a red X through it and said “Too big, too close!” On the way out of the village, the last house had a sign next to the mailbox, clearly handwritten, that said, “NOT BIG ENOUGH, NOT CLOSE ENOUGH.”)
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oh I love this! A German Shepherd/Husky sounds like Quite A Large Floof. 

I have some friends who have a husky and he’s… a Lot of dog. Just. A Lot. He’s super great but dude rode in their car one (1) time and got dog hair on his winter coat and we had white dog hair all over his car and our house for an astonishingly long period of time. From one (1) ride in their car! Amazing. I was really spoiled by having a shorthair for so long. 

(Not that we didn’t have a lot of animal hair in the house. We also had two horses, and Let Me Tell You what it’s like when you have two pale-colored horses and it’s springtime and you didn’t put blankets on them in winter. Holy shit. It looked like it had snowed in our mudroom.) (In retrospect maybe this also is why I never registered the dog as being smelly, because we also had horses and let me tell you something, horses sweat. They’ve got thick coats like dogs and then also they sweat. They smell wonderful, being herbivores who mostly have excellent mud-and-chewing-based hygiene, but they really do smell a lot.)

I wonder why she felt so protective of you? It must have been since you were the youngest? 

FarmDog has a particular relationship with my sister– she follows her obsessively a lot of the time, including just around the house. if there’s a choice of being on a side of a door that’s going to be closed, she will pick the side my sister is on, basically every time. She’ll go do fun things with people, but if there’s ever a choice of being glued to my sister she’ll take that choice. 

But it’s clearly not protective, she just really loves my sister and wishes she could merge her entire body with her. Dini is a deeply weird dog. 
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So I put the Bodhi/Cassian thing I’ve been desultorily working on through the depths of winter up on AO3, and I still don’t really know what to call it or what I’m doing with it. It’s in the same universe as Found Cat but doesn’t cross over with it yet. It’s– I mean, it’s nothing, but it’s something, it’s unintentional but it’s deliberate, and I’m not sure what it all means yet. I was going to just do some kind of fluffy trope, and Bodhi outright rejected that. He doesn’t do fluff, I guess.

But it’s if nothing else atmospheric, and it’s mostly about Bodhi dealing with the coldness of winter while being very lonely and also very smart. 

I put up the first two chapters right away, and I have another two or so written, but I’m about to get to a point where I’ll need to make some hard narrative choices, and I’m recognizing that for me, in fanfic, this is when I maybe need feedback. So I’m going to start with what I have, and see what kind of way it makes people feel. 

As ever, titles are my kryptonite, so it’s named pragmatically. 

The Sled Dog Guy Mystery

Bodhi Rook sat in his delivery van watching the defrosters and wipers try and fail to make any appreciable dent in the frost on his windscreen. He was trying to update his logbook but his fingers were too cold to properly hold the stylus, and he was approaching a crisis point of existential despair as he realized that the frost was on the inside and so the wipers weren’t going to do a bloody thing, now, were they, and what was the point of continuing to live in this godforsaken wasteland – but there was no real heat behind it, because there was really no heat in anything, and he was a kind of dried-out shriveled-up husk of a human, now, wasn’t he.

Into that spiral of mental non-function came a sudden interruption, that of his unlocked passenger door suddenly opening and closing, and a man got in with a burst of cold air, startling because it was already fucking freezing in this van, and it was only after he’d had this incredulous thought that it suddenly struck Bodhi that surely, he was being carjacked.

“Shit,” Bodhi said, staring at the man, who was wearing a fur-hooded parka and giant gloves and looked something like a sled-dog-musher, only if he had sled dogs why was he carjacking a van– of course he would be carjacking a van, sled dogs were a horrible form of transportation surely, especially in a city?

“Shh,” the man said, “don’t mind me, I’m just hiding from someone.”

“I don’t have any money,” Bodhi said, something reasonable finally winding its way through his brain’s nonsensical chatter about sled dogs. The man looked at him, and Bodhi started to get mad that he was surely going to be shot to death over six dollars and twenty-three cents and a wrapped hummus and cheese sandwich, which were the entire contents of his messenger bag. Oh, and a smart tablet, but it was totally a proprietary one with like zero resale value. And his phone, he had a phone, but it was like, four years old and the camera was all scratched up. “I mean it! We’re not paid in cash for these jobs, I’m a delivery driver and it’s all billed remotely, it’s mostly paperwork, I don’t have anything–”

“I’m not mugging you,” the man said, and he had the nerve to sound offended; he wasn’t even looking at Bodhi, he was peering out the fogged window. “Jesus Christ! I’m just trying to avoid somebody seeing me!”

Bodhi stared at him. “What?”

“I’m not mugging you,” the man said, as if it were an outlandish suggestion. “Christ, just because I’m Mexican– we don’t steal from everybody , you know!”

“Now hold on one fucking minute,” Bodhi said, “you’re dressed like a fucking sled-dog musher , I thought you were a local. I don’t know shit about Mexicans but the locals here are fucking savages . But who the fuck leaps into people’s delivery vans and then doesn’t carjack them? What the fuck kind of backwards hole is this goddamn place anyway?”

The sled-dog musher peered at him uncertainly, maybe a little incredulously, through the enormous fur fringe of his hood. “Oh,” he said, “you’re not from around here either.” He did have an accent, come to think of it, but so did Bodhi, as far as everyone around here was concerned. (Bodhi talked like a normal person, but nobody else here thought so. British English, real English, was his native language and he was getting really fucking sick of explaining that.)

“No fucking shit I’m not from around here,” Bodhi said. “I’m from civilized places where you can park your van at the curb and not get accused of racism by random sled-dog mushers who just let themselves in and judge you for reacting to that like a person who knows they live in Hell now.”

The sled dog musher started laughing; through the ridiculous fur fringe Bodhi could make out that he had a long straight nose and dark eyes and there were crinkles around them like a nice person had. 
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Talking bras with Racked

Oh fascinating. True and good article, but also, the interviewed expert is from my city. However! She’s mistaken: there are TWO local specialty bra boutiques.
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@bomberqueen17, I am making you a thing.

*incoherent shrieking*
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#wait I do spend my life on the internet and i only know what 1 of these things is#thanks to David Baddiel in the early 90s I can define felching no trouble#ok and i know what furries are#i think#can i trust you guys to fill me in on teabagging and bukkake without being gross?

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.- Hamlet (1.5.167-8), Hamlet to Horatio

I would say something about disbelief at having missed such gems of the beautiful spectrum of human sexuality but honestly I learn new stuff all the time and am a little blown away by some of it. I assume someone else has already filled you in, but. 

Fanfiction is the only reason I know what felching is, or docking, and honestly I don’t think I’d know what rimming was specifically if not for slash. However, alas, teabagging and bukkake are both things I know from real-life conversations with people who were trying to be gross. (Actually, I don’t remember when I learned about bukkake.) At least I’ve never had to explain either of them to my parents. 

Teabagging is when you put your balls in someone’s mouth, which honestly I can’t imagine why it comes up so much in everyday conversation but it really does. (I’ve also seen references to just in general putting one’s balls on someone in some vaguely humiliating or dominance-display kind of way, and it makes me think of my brother-in-law’s exasperated tales of his college education at West Point, the US Army’s military academy, where it was just balls on everything, constant ball jokes, constant practical jokes involving getting people to touch your balls or look at your balls or whatever, and I was like isn’t that… kind of gay? and he was like no, here’s the really stupid part– if it was your dick, it was gay, but if it’s your balls it’s just funny, and no it doesn’t make sense but I learned to just shut up and never ever open the pizza box if someone was holding it in their lap.)

Bukkake is a Japanese word that just means “to splash on” or something; because of censorship laws that forbade showing genitals in porn but had no restriction on semen, the pornographic practice developed wherein multiple dudes ejaculate onto one receiving partner, male or female. Originally just a censorship workaround, now it’s kind of a fetish on its own. And it’s an English word now in pretty frequent usage in my social circles, so, there’s that. 



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