Dear iTunes and LJ:

Who labelled Cory Branan as Disco in my iTunes? Seriously.

My mood ring says: distracted

Apparently I have sufficient access privileges to create sub-folders in my folder on our shared drive, but I do not have sufficient access privileges to change the names of those folders once I create them.

ooooookay, then.

My mood ring says: annoyed

You know how i said I was in meetings all morning? Well, I was also in meetings all afternoon planning out our editorial calendar through next year, after which we all just looked at each other and said "So...we should start putting in for all our vacations for the next YEAR AND A HALF right now, is what you're saying?"

This is the to-do list I just made for myself as a result:

--Art log for Book 1 to PE
--Book 2 email to R
--organize shit
--update calendar
--freak out
--clean off desk


I plan to do it in that order, too.

My mood ring says: busy FOREVER

So I had meetings all morning today and didn't even have a chance to *turn on* my computer until about 45 minutes ago. And then I log on to LJ and see that fandom has managed to seriously piss off about half my friends list. Way to go, fandom! Stay classy now!


Blanket statement: I agree with all of the rants and I am applauding you all. Well, mentally. In reality I'm typing this and eating sushi and my coworkers would look at me funny if I started randomly clapping at my monitor. But you get it, don't you?

Uh, just in case any of you are wondering, I made it back safe and sound from my weekend of, as it turns out, debauchery (no really) and some of you may have noticed that, no, in fact I was not entirely joking about the friends on standby with bail money!

(No bail money was, in fact, required, but it may have touch-and-go on that one, briefly.)




...sooooo how is everybody?

My mood ring says: content

My stepmother just sent me this:

http://vodpod.com/watch/1548742-sweden-got-talent-naked-guys-dancing


Consider the URL your warning, fyi.

Perhaps you should reconsider some of the choices you (or your loved ones!) have taken in life when you have a conversation like this:

Friend: Have fun at the beach and call me if you need bail money!
You: oh jesus, don't even JOKE
Friend: ...I wasn't


YEAH.

On the plus side, I know she's good for it?

My mood ring says: chagrined

Okay, so Evan in glasses and working on a car?

Totally HOT.

So, after yesterday's grappling with random computer issues, I decided to work from home today, hoping that, since my computer at home works just fine, that should help me be a little more productive.

HAH.

I now can't get in to the intranet for work, nor can I log in to the timecard system to check on whether something else that has gone wrong is now fixed. This is the universe's way of getting me to sit around all day and read fic, isn't it? If you insist, universe! (Er, and also beta fic, I haven't forgotten you, Trin!)

In which case, let me rec something that I never, ever in a million years would have imagined I'd be recc'ing EVER.

Lost and Found by mediaville for spn_j2_bigbang, and it's, well, here's the description:

Jensen Ackles is a shy, overweight songwriter whose body issues have prevented him from forming any real personal connections, and at thirty, he's still unsure of his sexuality, and still a virgin. But when he signs up for an experimental obesity research program, he meets Jared Padalecki, a stunningly sexy fitness guru who slowly but surely changes Jensen's life.

I know, right? I was totally skeptical too! For one thing, I had to bend my brain in uncomfortable ways to picture Jensen Ackles as overweight. Seriously, I'm not actually very good at visualizing things (ask lyra_sena about trying to rearrange the furniture in our living room once, she was *so patient with me* and maybe had to draw diagrams), so this was not easy. (I had no problem picturing Jared Padalecki as a personal trainer, though, what can I say?)

Anyway, my point is that this story at first glance seems like something that would never work and possibly be something really uncomfortable to read, and if you have seen it recc'd (if j2 is your thing in the first place) you might have passed right on by. DON'T. It's captivating and real and funny and, yes, rather uncomfortable in places, and also really quite ridiculously hot. Like, guh.

And look, I don't have a weight problem, I've never been in the position that Jensen's character is in here, but god did I empathize with him through so much of this story. Because everyone has insecurities, NO ONE is totally 100% confident in their own sexuality and desires and self-image and this story addresses that both implicity and explicitly. Jensen's self-consciousness and insecurity are so understandable and believable and so is his frustration, both with himself and with Jared. And you know, I, too, would have wanted to kill Jared's perky, Pollyanna-ish personal trainer self too, on a number of occasions. In fact, I probably would have punched him, if it were me (I don't think it's irrevocably spoiling anything about the story to say that Jensen does not, in fact, punch Jared at any point). But the author manages to write Jared so sincerely and honestly that he totally won me over as he was winning Jensen over. Also, did I mention it was hot? Because there is some smoking hot sex and almost sex and UST as well.

ETA: One other thing that I really liked about this fic that I almost forgot to mention: One of the reasons I was hesitant about reading this was the potential for a squicky power dynamic issue between Jensen and Jared. I mean, it seems kind of obvious that there could be some weird power issues/hero worship going on between someone in as vulnerable a position as Jensen is and someone in such an emotionally, well, dominant position as Jared's. I was afraid that kind of dynamic could be fetishized in the fic to the point where it was uncomfortable to read, or, on the flipside, just ignored completely to the point where I'd be unable to suspend my disbelief. But the author does neither here. Instead, she weaves the issue, the power imbalance and the dominant/submissive dynamic into their sexual relationship in such a way that it's clear this is what works for these two people and that's part of their attraction to each other. And it's actually NOT particularly kinky while still being totally hot.

So like I said, I highly recommend you check this out. I recommend it even if you don't read j2 or RPS, or aren't into Supernatural. If you know me at all, you know that I don't normally read j2 or any kind of RPS on a regular basis, and I loved this a lot, clearly.

Also, if you know me even a little bit, you should know what it means when I say that this is the only fic I have ever read that made me actually consider going out and joining a gym and getting a personal trainer. Except I don't think I'd get one that looked like Jared Padalecki. Shame, that.

My mood ring says: pleased

So, this morning I went to make myself a fried egg sandwich and when I cracked the egg into the pan, the egg has blood in it.

...That's supposed to be a bad omen, right?

Regardless, I lost my taste for eggs for breakfast. Turkey sausage FTW!

AHAHAHAHA, OF COURSE.

So we've been having ridiculous amounts of computer issues at work, to the point where it's basically farcical, and today pretty much sums them all up:

I'm in the middle of editing a file when my keyboard and mouse spontaneously stop working. It was like they just didn't exist all of a sudden. So, after lots of futzing around by me and the production person and the lone competent IT guy remaining in this building, we determine that for some reason my Mac is no longer recognizing the switch that lets me use the same keyboard and mouse for both my Mac and my PC. So I plug the keyboard and mouse directly into the Mac, so at least I can use them, and I go to submit a tech support request ticket via the (really annoying) online system. I get all the way through typing up the request and go to submit it and what do I get?

A message that says: SERVICE NOT AVAILABLE



OH YEAH? YOU DON'T FUCKING SAY.

My mood ring says: frustrated

"It was that succubus in Canarsie..."


...Where is the Dean Winchester hunting evil in Brooklyn story? WHERE, people?

Wait, wait. Seriously?? I may laugh myself to death.

My mood ring says: amused

I am unreasonably turned on enchanted by misha collins name-checking Xhosa on Twitter. No one who knows me is at all shocked by this, I guarantee.

So, in the latest installment in the life of Someone Who Is Not Me, last night I went to a cocktail reception celebrating the (re)opening of this restaurant. I do wish the website had the menus and the pictures of the finished property up, because I'm not sure words can do it justice.

First of all, we were greeted upon entrance with a tray of blood orange margaritas (hello!) and then by a tray of some kind of pate with strawberries. Then, because the only people my stepmother really knew were the maitre d' and the owner, who were both, you know, busy, we pretty much just parked ourselves at the bar and people-watched while waiting for more food to come by. OMG THE FOOD. Let me run down the laundry list of what we had (then, alas, I will go heat my leftover lo mein for lunch and cry into its flimsy plastic container):

--smoked salmon mousse in teeny little ice cream cones with capers on top
--gazpacho with lobster and avocado
--tuna tartare with wee little egg yolks, hot sauce, and basil on top
--three different kind of pate
--artichoke black truffle ravioli topped with crab meat
--mini pork belly sliders with coleslaw
--free-range roasted chicken breast with some kind of balsamic vinegar sauce and green beans
--some kind of prosciutto and crawfish...thing that I actually can't describe
--little gourmet versions of snickers bars
--truffles
--mini marshmallow sandwiches
--mini lemon meringue tarts
--lots and lots of delicious wine

Yes, everything was in miniature (except the wine) and it didn't matter because we were *stuffed* by the end of the evening.

And we are totally going back for the grand opening gala in September. Which, we are told, is going to be even more fabulous. I BELIEVE IT.

I did NOT see anybody who I recognized as famous in any way, which I'm kind of pleased about. But I'm pretty sure that the staff of every Conde Nast magazine still in existence was there, except for Anna Wintour (thank god). Luckily, I saw no models, so I didn't feel like an underdressed leprechaun. Also, this time my skirt was from Banana Republic.

My mood ring says: cheerful

http://notalwaysright.com/an-offering-to-the-literary-gods/2093

So, liverjournal, my life is sometimes very strange. Perhaps it seems stranger at these times because I can spend weeks or months doing not much more than sitting around watching HGTV--because I can't be bothered to click over to the DVR and clear out the backlog of Battlestar Galactica and Pushing Daisies--and occasionally drinking too much and coming home and making mildly embarrassing drunk posts about how I've gone stupid for Supernatural, and then all of a sudden POOF, I am in some weird Bizarro world where if I, like, accidentally spilled vodka on Misha Collin's shoes I wouldn't be surprised. I don't know.

In any case, I think it's safe to say that an evening involving a swanky jazz/piano hotel bar, $300 worth of wine and shrimp cocktail, and a sidetrip to an even swankier UES socialite/ex-pats/models'/Russian mob hangout in the company of five women who all carry AARP cards, one of whom is a former Playboy bunny, is not a typical Friday night for me.

I KNOW, you're shocked, right?


Okay, anyway, I had this whole post I was going to write about it, but my wrists are tired today. Short story:

My stepmother and her friends LOVE Bemelman's and go there as often as they can (which is really not that often). The stepmom and her husband went there a lot when he was alive and are good friends with the staff and the guys who play piano and the in-house jazz trio. So we went, along with the stepmom's friend Phyllis, who is 78, looks like Judi Dench only better, and is the kind of lady I want to be when I'm 78. Hell, I'd like to be her when I'm 38. She's had several husbands, at least one of which was about 20 years younger than her, raised her kids all on her own back when people didn't talk about it, goes out just about every night of the week, even though she's only three weeks out from back surgery, and does things like go on safari. By herself.

Then there was Trish, their friend who is the former Playboy bunny and is, frankly, still a knockout even though she's almost 60. Like, a tiny version of Jacqueline Bissett with a Jersey accent type knockout. Then their two other friends came along, all of whom are ALSO at least 60. It was like the Real Housewives of New Jersey, plus me.

So we sat and listened to fantastic jazz standards and drank $300 worth of booze (seriously, three glasses of wine or prosecco a person--for the three of us on the same check--plus shrimp cocktail, a cheese plate, and a Caesar salad = almost $300. I can't even). Then around 11:30 we decided to leave. As you do when (almost) everyone is at the age where they're calculating their Social Security, you know?

Except we're in Trish's car and we turn onto 81st to head toward the park, and we pass this row of townhomes, one of which is all lit up, and there's some guys in nice suits standing around smoking. So Trish rolls down the window and is all "Hey, what's going on? Is it worth coming in for a while? Is it a party?" And then men are all "Sure! Come in!" And I'm thinking "Uh, did he look in the car? Did he care?" The answer would be Yes, and No. So we park and go in to this restaurant/lounge that's one part Upper East Side mansion and one part brothel out of Moulin Rouge. Phyllis, the 78-year-old, has three men clustered around her buying her drinks within, I kid you not, 30 seconds of stepping up to the bar. Trish buys us all drinks and then quite literally drags me onto the dance floor (the tiny, tiny dance floor that was really no more an accidentally-empty space between the tables and the old fireplace against the wall) and proceeds to dance with me in ways that, uh, I haven't in all honesty danced with anyone since I was about 25. And it was in a very different, much less well-lit club. And it was with a guy (or two). And my stepmother was NOT FIVE FEET FROM ME.

Meanwhile, the other patrons are looking at all of us like "er, what are they? And what are they doing here?" Except for the Argentinian lady who thought we were awesome, but also thought we spoke Spanish. We do not. Mostly all I could think was "OMG, I am wearing a skirt from The GAP." At least it was floaty and good for...whatever the hell bastardized version of a samba I was doing at one point.

Eventually we had to leave, so I went to go use the ladies room. Which was downstairs, where there was a...photo shoot going on? Or something? All I know is that there were racks of clothing and many women whose legs were as long as, well, ME trying on clothes and yelling at each other. And some model was hogging the one women's bathroom to the point where they had to get her own person photographer/paparazzo to come coax her out. Meanwhile, I used what had to be the nicest and cleanest men's room I have ever seen in my life.

In the end, it turns out that it was some sort of party for the launch (I think?) of some glossy magazine/bundle of advertisements aimed at the "elite, private jet lifestyle" crowd. We all got magazines as we left.

Um. Thanks?



ETA: OMG it is raining AGAIN, WTF. And it is, literally, as dark as night outside my window. At 5 p.m. in the middle of June WELL INTO THE NORTHERN HEMISPHERE WTF WTF WTF.

My mood ring says: bemused

You know how everybody has their little grammar/punctuation pet peeves, the ones that just drive you crazy so that you want to take a big red pen everywhere with you to show people the error of their ways?

Or is that just me and the other people who do this for a living?

Anyway, my point is that OMG THERE IS A DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "INTO" AND "IN TO" AND NOBODY SEEMS TO RECOGNIZE THAT ANY MORE.


So you end up with headlines like this:

NJ Blogger Turns Himself Into Connecticut Authorities

and all I can think is, Really? You magically transformed yourself into multiple people in positions of authority in the state of Connecticut? Why yes, that IS news-worthy.

Except, no. Obviously. And now I really don't care what this dude has done at all, all I can think about is how much I hate, hate, HATE sloppy editing and proofreading. Some grammar and punctuation tendencies that other people call mistakes I just let go; I think of them more as lifestyle choices, you know? As long as you're all consenting adultsable to make your meaning clear and unambiguous, whatever! Go for it! Use "they" as a third-person gender-neutral singular pronoun! FINE, you can use "impact" as a verb already, if you really want to.

But for gods' sake, "into" does not mean "in to" there's a reason they both exist. USE THEM WISELY.


So ends my rant for today.

My mood ring says: annoyed

All right, so I think I agree with my stepmother, who is a former professional dancer and choreographer, when she says that that Tony kid is good, but probably doesn't quite have chops or experience to make it much farther in the competition. I take her word on that one.


But that has NOTHING to do with the fact that he is adorable and moves his body like it's a fucking piston and he's TWENTY and mostly I would just like to molest him for an hour or two. Yes.

One of the production people just emailed me to ask a question about a book we're working on.

...

She sits five feet from me. What, she couldn't have turned around and just said "Hey! Why did you do X when you usually do Y?" I mean, I know she's a generally antisocial person, but...really? I can't even, today.


*hands*

My mood ring says: wtf?