Hi, have a fucking brilliant and delicious constructed-reality vid about the epic love of Steve and Tony. Contains clips from the Avengers movie, so watch out for spoilers. But oh my god, oh my god. I cannot stop watching this.

Today I was supposed to go shopping for new clothes (because I've gained about 15 pounds in the last nine months from eating my grief), and then have a doctor's appointment, and then go to a hip hop class, and then go to a tango milonga. Instead I woke up with a righteous cough, walked along the beach at Fort Funston, went to a doctor's appointment, and then went to Walgreens and completely failed at casually buying condoms like an adult.

Why did I need condoms? No ACTUAL reason, except I have decided I want to date somebody sometime, and I want to be prepared. Prepared, in this case, consisted of me standing in front of the condom section and whining, "Which ones should I buuuuuy," to my friend R. She only mocked me a little, which is why I love her. It's been probably in the neighborhood of four years since I had to buy condoms for myself, and I am just as much of a hilarious failure as I was when I was 24. Here's to making no progress!

(Apparently they sell disposable vibrating cock-rings in drug stores now.)

This is not to say that my date last Friday went fantastically well. It was nice. He's very cool. My crush is completely gone. He kisses well, and he has lovely eyes, and if he asked me out again I'd say yes, but if he never asks me out again I'll be okay.

In other news, I am going to go see A Cat In Paris on Saturday, and then R is going to cut my hair, which has gotten far too long.

Um, I still haven't written the story where Sid likes touch more than he likes banging ladies, so after he hooks up he'll drive over to Geno's and they'll rub each other's wrists and bite each other's bellies and it's all clumsy sophomore moves and heavy breathing and Sidney is into it like you would not believe, and then there are feelings.

I also haven't written the story where Thor and Steve play themselves in the Columbian telenovela, "Sin Avengers No Hay Paraiso". Steve stumbles over the pronunciation but he's game enough, and Thor technically knows Spanish because of the allspeak, but Columbian Spanish is so full of slang that it almost doesn't even matter. Darcy, of course, comes along to wrangle them, and for an independent study credit toward her abandoned Poly Sci degree (she got offered a job at SHIELD and took a leave of absence from school to save the world). Tony comes along to laugh.

Stiles Stilinski, have my babies.

I went to a jazz club in the Fillmore district to watch a man from my program perform capoeira with his mestre and the rest of his group. Capoeira looks like this.

My friend W is five feet tall, and perfectly formed, like a tiny statue of David. He's lightening fast with the capoeira moves. It was amazing to watch him and the others; everyone had their own strengths. One person would be good at flips, and another good at kicks, and another very responsive and good at dodging. They all sang and beat sticks and touched hands with each other to show respect, and it was amazing to watch.

I caught a cab on the way home, and the driver and I struck up a conversation. He's Bedoin, originally from outside Be'er Sheva -- he told me he was born in a cave, of all things. We got to talking about the Quran and Judaism. This driver told me that the first word of the Quran is "read", and I told him how the word "Israel" means "one who wrestles", and how the messages from the two texts seem to be the same. We talked about the Dead Sea, and how hot Bedoin tents are in winter.

I feel like lately I've been truly connecting to people, almost for the first time since my father died. I mean, I know that's not true, I've been making friends all along. But there's this glow that I feel right now, where before I was too sad. I'm happy to be back in the world.

Today I went to Golden Gate Park with three men from my grad program, and it was excellent. We ate Hawaiian barbecue and walked around Stow Lake and talked about sex, sports medicine, language, yogurt, and everything else in the world, and we made a lot (a lot) of nerdy therapist jokes -- like referring to our process, or saying that the Hawaiian dish loco moco was just like collectivist cultures, where the hamburger patty was enmeshed with the fried eggs, ugh, god, too nerdy for words -- and basically had a very chill, very nice time.

Then I went to my very first hip hop dancing class, where we learned about toprock, which is basically a dance battle. We did a dance sequence across the room, and then did the sequence in battles with different partners, trying to out-attitude each other, and I had the most amazing time. I love dancing, I love the way my body can learn things, and I love the way my body feels when I'm moving, and I love the way it feels afterwards, when I'm loose and tired and my arms and legs are buzzing.

In conclusion: today was awesome. Here, have a mash-up.

This past Monday I got a crush on a man I've known since last August. I don't know how it happened. A switch flipped somewhere inside me, and I thought, Okay, yes, him. Last Friday, we cuddled at a party, and shared a tiny, tiny kiss, and I fantasized all weekend about asking him on a date, and all the touching we could do, because how I roll is I future-trip like crazy.

Tonight I went to my regular Monday blues dancing venue, and he was there, and we exchanged brief words and then kept just barely missing each other, and -- I was so cranky, you guys. I was convinced he was ignoring me, and I was so so cranky and it completely ruined my night.

Finally, I decided to leave, and asked him if we could talk before I left, because I wanted to make my intentions clear and see exactly where he stood. We walked outside a little ways, and he said, "I had a really good time on Friday."

I said, "So, if I asked you to dinner, what would you say?"

He told me, "I'd say, 'When?'"

It was lovely. We made plans to go out to dinner this Friday, and we stood there almost kissing for a full minute, just breathing each other's air and pressing our faces together, because the anticipation of the thing is just as good as the thing itself, the anticipation is incredible, and I'm so glad he understands that, and I'm pretty happy about Friday, but, but but but --

I don't like that I story I spun in my head made me so miserable. I'm kind of turtled up right now, and not as happy as I was this weekend, and I don't really feel like it's safe to open myself up -- because, who's to say I won't do this again, if his smile is one degree less wide than I was expecting, or if he likes yellow labs instead of chocolate labs, or whatever insanity my brain will devise? Just, ugh. I don't like that I always, always do this.

I need to stop thinking about this, and go calm down, and think about puppies and rainbows and dead baby jokes, and take a hip hop dancing class, and write my novel, and ignore men, and then go to dinner on Friday and just enjoy myself. Simple.

Right.

A car just crashed into the concrete barricade surrounding the stairs up to my apartment. Nobody's hurt, everyone is safe -- but the wall is demolished, and the car's engine busted open and started spilling gasoline and oil and antifreeze onto the sidewalk. There's rubble and plastic everywhere, and randomly people will stop their cars or pause on the sidewalk to stare.

I was brushing my teeth when it happened, and I ran outside with my toothbrush in my hand, wearing see-through pajama bottoms with hot pink underwear, and bare fucking feet, and proceeded to flit around the responsible adults, who were busy collecting each other's insurance information and not panicking, like a complete crazy person. Then the fire trucks showed up.

Happy Wednesday, everybody!

Mike Smith, what the fuck was that bullshit?

well, let the drum beat drop by pollyrepeat. Avengers, teamfic, spoilers for the movie. Fantastic! The team bonds over food and ridiculousness.

That’s pretty much the end of that particular Team Victory Lunch. (But not of the world! Yaaay.)

Darcy Lewis / Bruce Banner is the best idea in the world.

Possible movie spoilers? For Bruce Banner characterization? I don't even know anymore. Somebody please write more of this, because it's the best.

Holy fuck, fandom. You just keep getting better.

The rise of Creamsicle. ETA: more Creamsicle.

Storytime, kids!

Today I was at Dolores Park, basking in the sunlight and drinking beer at midday, chilling with some of the kids in my grad program. I had my shirt off, like you do, and took one toke of pot laced with rose petals and sage and spearmint, like you do if you're in fucking San Francisco. So I was feeling a little sexier than usual, and a little braver than usual.

While I lay basking, shirtless and mildly stoned, I beheld, in the distance, a man playing a guitar, looking like the loneliest hipster with his flippy hair and his grocery bag full of beer. He was also fantastically beautiful.

I was getting up to leave anyway, so I put my shirt on, wandered over and said, "Hey, I just wanted to tell you I really appreciate how good-looking you are."

The Loneliest Hipster seemed surprised and flattered, and he told me I was nice to say so, and I said, "I'm not really that nice, I mostly just wanted a closer look at you."

And then we talked about science for a half an hour, and I gave him my number, and I am halfway between writing it off as a fun interlude with a stranger I will never see again, and hoping that he puts his mouth on my mouth.

(I hope he puts his mouth on my mouth, you guys.)

I went to see The Avengers yesterday with a crew of about 8 dancer friends. Much fun was had by all, of course, but afterwards we were all standing around in the lobby of the theater talking about which Avenger we'd like to bone, and when I was asked I said, "All of them."

Because, really, why not all of them?

My friend said, "So, you're poly, then?"

Which, jfc, San Francisco, why are you filled with such excellent weirdos? I said, "No, I'm not, but since they're all fictional characters anyway I don't see why I can't imagine fucking all of them."

Somebody else in the group said, "No, but really, who would you sleep with?"

I said, "I'd sleep with all of them."

The second friend said, " . . . so you're poly?"

*facedesk*

Things I have learned since yesterday morning:

1) My grandfather has Alzheimer's.

2) Journey's lead singer Arnel Pineda is my fucking hero.

3) I love my darling grandmother, but prolonged exposure to her will always, without question, drive me bonkers.

4) I want to get married or civil-unioned. Soon. To a good person who will be a partner to me. This isn't an urgent thing, I'm not going to order myself a husband/wife out of a catalogue or go around proposing to strangers. But, I want to start looking for someone to spend my life with, not just someone to hang around with. It feels good to know this about myself.

"Personally, I think I like the shape of a parity League, but then again, I like unpredictability. I like broad talent distribution and the hopeful thought that absolutely any team could win the Cup in the next five years. I like overtime, and underdog victories, and game 7s. I like stories about heroic individual efforts, buzzer-beating goals past momentarily upended goalies with everything on the line. For mine own part, I can live quite happily in a world without dynasties, where GMs are forced to fight bitter wars over the tiniest scraps of potential edge and often go mad in the process."

Thoughts?

So in chat tonight after the Caps beat the Rangers, myricarubra and I discovered that we are sadmazing lit nerds together. It started with a foray into English Renaissance drama (incest! syphilis!), with a detour past fairytales (human id with its hands cut off shoved into a gold dress), and then Effie said, "Can you explain poetry? Because it's kind of like looking at a wall for me."

I have sadly lost the transcript where I try to explain why Gerard Manley Hopkins is a sexy beast, and what a villanelle is, but after all of that I managed to remember the beauty that is Jubilate Agno, and, reader, we went insane.

( cut for ridiculousness )

1) I have a new icon! Isn't it gorgeous? It's the first new icon I've had since -- it has to be 2008, ahaha.

2) I've finished 2 [ETA: 3!] papers and aaaaaaaaaalmost finished another 3 papers, out of 10 due by May 9th. SOB.

3) One presentation finished! One left, and it's just 10 minutes of me talking about therapeutic communication and why I suck less at it than I did in February.

4) Everything is making me cranky! Stupid people on the internet! Judd Apatow's ridiculous-looking new movie! Cabbie Richards' attitude toward women! Long walks on the beach! The smell of bacon! I don't know what's wrong with me.

5) Jordan fucking Staal.



THAT'S RIGHT. BRING IT.

So sometimesalways is discovering a love of Sid/Geno, and of course the pairing is catnip to me. She posted in her journal entry: How is there not fic in which Virgin!Sid is arranged to marry a russain male mail-order bride? and I had a seizure and wrote commentfic about Sid needing to marry Geno to keep him in the country, and pretty much every shenanigan happened.

( spring is here / the sky is blue )

Oh man, grad school. Through a beautiful combination of burnout, avoidance, instructor fuckups and the simple passage of time, I have 10 papers due in the next two weeks. Most of them are short, but all of them are obnoxious. Yesterday I wrote 1, and today I made a start on 3 others. If I can at least start the rest, I think I'll be good for the rest of the day.

And then I have summer vacation, the best two words in the English language. I will be so happy in May, oh my god.

In other news, the Hawks won last night while I was writing about therapeutic communication, self-disclosure, and transference/counter-transference. This means there is yet another chance for heartbreak and alcohol poisoning, as they play the Coyotes again on -- what is it, Tuesday? GO HAWKS.

still officially lost by pollyrepeat. Avengers, gen, the early years of Clint Barton and Phil Coulson. Fucking amazing.

“If I could erase the memory of Deputy Director Fury saying the word erotica,” Phil says, when he stomps back into their suite and finds Barton curled up in his usual spot on the couch, “that would honestly improve my quality of life.”

Barton curls up a bit tighter but actually cracks something close to a real, genuine smile, which makes Phil experience a surreal mix of rage and warm fuzzies. He shuts himself in his bedroom and looks in the mirror and says, “What is happening to me?”, before going back out to promise Barton that there will be hell to pay if that credit card does not reappear and also tell him no, Fury will not give his bow back yet, and yes, Phil asked.

So maybe Barton’s grown on him a little. Like a fungus.

I'm having an interesting time in Teen Wolf fandom, because I completely buy Derek/Stiles as a pairing.

( cut for rambling Derek/Stiles meta )

It's been almost exactly a week, and I can't get over the guy I kissed at the house party I went to. The legal guy, not the sixteen-year-old. Because I have to make that distinction. Because FUCK MY LIFE.

We've been chatting on Facebook, and he's a nerd and painfully beautiful, and he doesn't want to date anyone right now -- which is cool! I'm making a friend! It's just that I can feel desire thrumming in my body, desire for the insides of my arms to be touching his skin, desire in my legs and my hands, desire in my neck. I only feel this way maybe once a year, once every couple of years, so I'm not used to it at all. It's miserable. I don't want it to stop, because who knows when I'll feel this again? I don't.

Tonight I am going out to Bootie with a bunch of dancer friends, and I'm dressing up like Betty Grable and my ass looks magical and I'm about 70% excited to be dancing like a goober in a polka dot bathing suit and 30% bummed that this guy is going to miss me looking amazing. The guy who doesn't want to date. The guy who wasn't underage. Because I have to make that distinction. Because fuck my life.

Yay!

Ugh, why do I keep reading Teen Wolf fic?

Oh, right, because Dylan O'Brien ships Derek/Stiles.

I just went to a blues house party where I made out with two dudes at the same time. One of them was sixteen years old.

I'm going to hell.

This is amazing!



sinsense! Diplo lives in your city. Can you convince him to marry me? Possibly in a three-way ceremony with Nicky Da B.





I can dream, okay?

Peeta Mellark's Favorite Things To Bake, The Hunger Games, Peeta/Katniss.

I got to this line

A few months later, a beautiful dark-skinned boy wearing almost-rags and timid eyes walked into Mellark Bakery, and said that he was the brother of Rue, from the 74th Hunger Games, and he was getting married. He wanted his wedding cake to be covered in flowers.

and I started to fucking cry.

Because, okay, The Hunger Games was a beautiful movie, made from a beautiful idea, and this story takes everything poignant and rich, the small in-between moments and the memory of huge world-shaking sadness, and sprinkles confectioners sugar on top, and serves it still warm. Highly, highly recommended.