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Dear All -

If needed you can find me over at unravelingfast now. Add me, or don't, it's all pretty much public so have fun spying! XD

Thinking Aloud (A KKBB Journey) -- UPDATED

A little sleepless…

It’s not that I’m not tired, I’m actually quite sleepy but the impulse not to sleep because of the typically high volumes of information flooding through my brain at any and all given moments, is so very present that I just can’t ignore it.

So instead I’m watching the commentary of Kiss Kiss, Bang Bang and idly wondering things as chatterbox Val Kilmer rants away about points to which I am curious and for some reason have forgotten (blasphemy I know for this being one of my favorite films). I’m also taking intermittent screen shots for some sort of use later on, I’m not sure what yet but I know I’ll figure it out when I get there.

As usual when I get this kind of awake-sleepy I’ve cooked up over analytical questions that probably don’t matter…such as… How can someone visit someone else’s house and during a party just meander off, raid the bookshelf, and pass out. I’m sorry but, what? I couldn’t do that I can tell you now, I mean granted it’s the perfect setup for Hero!Harry, and of course following Wounded!Harry and Nurse!Perry, but still…Captain Obvious much? I mean pick something more realistic? Unless Hollywood broads are so lazy and careless they can just pass out anywhere without fear of repercussions from sleazy anonymous males (whom they later saunter off with, again, the fuck you say?). Sorry this movie tends to make me bathe in rivers of sarcasm.

And then of course when Nurse!Perry shows his face I’m wondering to some degree if this isn’t contradictory. Considering the fact that Perry is (and understandably so), a cynical, life hardened bastard of a gay man (boy do I know that feeling, and yes I AM providing my own commentary to my commentary…hate it? Fuck you, cupcake. Leave.) who seems to have a sort of ‘I don’t care, no I really don’t’ take to the rest of life…why then would he go out of his way to pick up poor straggly Harry, plop him on that table and start to clean him up like someone’s mommy? Answer: he probably thought he was going to get laid. I’m not going to lie, on occasion it just happens that way with people, they see some poor schmoe down and out and they figure ‘if I aid them, dust them off, maybe, just maybe, something sexual may come of this. Highly illogical I know, but I’ve always been a Perry and Harry fan, and nothing would thrill me more then to see polished posh Perry get all grungy and rumply with sweet hoodie donning Harry. Imagine it…a D & G coat thrown over here, a sneaker abandoned over there… shirt buttons ripped off, a pair of old jeans kind of barely hanging off one ankle. Sweaty, table supported, sex… hot. Yes. Hot. (Bedroom Roleplay anyone?).

I’m getting ahead of myself, back to the film. So he’s all into mopping up every little injury when low and behold Old Dude comes and spoils all the fun. I think what’s more alarming about this whole thing is that Perry can’t keep his eyes off his banged up new little friend, they kind of travel away and then back again with a kind of ‘Hm’ interest. I notice no one doing the commentary keys into it so my sleep deprived brain could be cooking up things OR, not.

And now I’m noticing that Harry’s height seems to vary from scene to scene… perhaps the difference between lifts and no lifts? Hm… with lifts he seems maybe an inch or two shorter than Perry while other times there seems to be huge GAPES in height. Inconsistency is rampant. I still love this movie though, it oddly stimulates my brain and feeds me pleasurable Noir type things, not to mention I identify with Perry richly…(I wonder why that is, oops! Sarcasm again!... I know of at least two people who love to call me Perry, and I love them for it… love… yes you know who you are, you know I love you…)


Part II is off to a gallop.

Why is the word ficus so damned funny? I say it aloud and it feels like there’s some unknown thing collapsing in the back of my throat. It sounds almost as sinfully harmonic as the word fuck which I’ve been told actually sounds less vulgar as I say it. I can only attribute this to my white-boy enunciation skills. Let’s face it, if I try to speak slang it always sounds like I’m doing math. My words become constipated and something that’s supposed to be easy ends up sounding like I put too much effort into it. I’m not very good at not speaking with clarity. Say that five times fast.

Pressing forward, anyone notice the sincerely disgusted look Perry gives the gift bag he’s been presented with from being part of the party? It’s as though someone handed him a sack full of cheeseburger wrappers and used condoms, and this leaves him with the expression of ‘oh, I just threw up a little’. It’s got me wondering what’s packed in there behind the tissue paper… granted there probably IS nothing in there because it’s a movie…still.

I love how absolutely ignorant Harry is, he sort of can’t help messing everything up and when Perry sleeks off he’s left looking like a lost puppy that was bailed on by his master. I know it’s probably because he’s hopelessly displaced and out of his league amid the cold and arrogant world of the Hollywood film industry, and Perry had shown him some fraction of kindness despite it being sheer pity but still…it feeds slash friendly perverts like me the idea that maybe, just maybe, there had been a brief dependency there.

This of course is only fueled by the entire stakeout scene and the incident thereafter but I’m getting ahead of myself.

Harry’s first exchange with Harmony leaves me to believe she’s a bitch, honestly, I mean she toys with him then mocks him and openly let’s her friend stomp all over his ego. And yes I know most people believe that girls run around with ugly friends and that if you try to pick her up, ugly friend acts as defensive wingman in this fashion but it just doesn’t happen. The fact that Harmony has such a bitter ‘ugly friend’ makes her shallow to me, probably trying to ‘pretty’ herself up by comparison and of course again the idea that she lets someone she knows viciously and jealously tear into Harry just makes her another reason why I’m not so fond of her.

Native American Joe Pesci gets me every time.

Harry’s wake up scene confuses me on some levels. For starters, bitchy ugly friend suddenly likes him? And where was she when they were having their lovely awkward conversation away from everyone else? (P.S. anyone notice the height change yet again for Harry? They keep trying to make RDJ seem taller). HOW did the whole thing happen?

Okay so Harmony the high school slut is going to bitch at Harry about fucking her friend, especially when she did it and CONCIOUSLY too (oop sorry that comes later)… so now, add some lovely hypocrisy to the deal.

Pushing on before I go off… The stakeout scene… can I just ask what is with Perry and Velour jumpsuits? I confess he makes me want one rather badly. When they’re both peeking out from behind the wood pile, (RDJ Trucker hat?) I have the impulse to laugh. And then they’re off. Car drives off into water and… what is it that Perry hears exactly that makes him think there’s someone in the trunk? If she was dead prior then what would he hear? It’s not like she’s pounding on the roof of the trunk right?

Anyone know how hard it is to shoot underwater?

And Harry up there trying to clear away years worth of muck with a hand swipe to see his new BFF wading around in the water. He’s so senseless it’s cute.

I think what I love the most about this movie is things like what’s about to happen with the gun. In just about every film they always throw the gun away, this one addresses why exactly it’s bad. It even manages in my favorite ‘idiot’ scene to take a really old joke, and refresh it by stating the obvious. This is why I love Perry; Captain Obvious for sure, but he makes YOU look the fool while giving the statement.

More To Come.

This Journal is going to be under some MAJOR construction, I'm actually going to get into making my own layout again. My god, you mean I'm not taking the lazy way out?

Well, we geniuses need to take time to have a little fun after all (sarcasm).


The urge to write.

Sometimes it strikes me without any kind of material what-so-ever to back it up. The impulse could be completely charged my something in my life or something I saw and make me want to express myself in the only way I know how. In this case I don’t know that it’s some-thing as much as some-one.

Say you’re out and about, flying around online at a billion miles an hour hitting up social sites, art sites, random sites rather like I do when I ‘surf’ online; gobbling up visually and mentally stimulating things faster than most can process information. You’re cracking through the web universe at the speed of light, jumbling over fandom after fandom and skimming for something that looks interesting when you see…photos… images of something so striking you freeze in your tracks and have your vocabulary skills even those in your mind melt instantaneously.

I did that once, a while back, and I met someone who in every aspect made me backpedal, wonder, and become thrilled with the prospects. We started talking this stunning thing and I and though I assumed it’d never evolve beyond friendly chit-chat (especially after I showed him my picture), I was happy just to know someone like him. As it turns out his reaction to me was much different than expected, he liked me I think, and it startled me. We’d play around, flirt, discuss a number of things and while I daydreamed I never took him seriously. After all my experience with people is that they lie, that’s the majority of what they’re able to do … lie, and hurt you.

Still I was feeling things, things that as usual I couldn’t quite understand. I’m bad with emotions; I feel them but they don’t translate into anything logical that I can grasp and comprehend. So instead I just followed the ‘river’s path’ so to speak and where it was ending up was something I never really had before. I didn’t want to fight it; the adventurer in me was showing me something different. So as it evolved I began to wonder…was this actually going to go somewhere or were we fooling ourselves.

True to my nature though I became a worrier once more, the Alpha Wolf in me flared it’s teeth and paced the parameter of my ‘pack’ wanting to protect him among them even from himself. And that’s what lead to the misunderstanding that killed our communication. He’d taken to a habit that was worrying for me and when I found out he was doing it even at the wee-small-hours of the morning I finally snipped. This done over text lead to a host of misunderstandings which pushed us apart, and we didn’t speak for a rather long time, much to my obvious regret.

Then, impulse, I wrote him, another impulse I texted… I don’t know why, I just felt like it was right, and I felt like I was missing out on something vitally important by allowing us to be apart because of something so stupid. It came together slowly at first, until last night. Last night I blinked when I saw him sign online, that familiar old SN we flirted on for a time, and then…we talked. He told me he wanted to cling to me and I told him he could… secretly I wanted it; I wanted that closeness with him again.

I was rewarded and we talked and said things maybe we were both repressing before. Now the start is fresh but with more of an understanding…I actually missed him, a concept foreign to me save for with one other person… now that he’s back I sort of feel right again. It’s renewed my energy and I’m eager to see where this will lead…if it will progress beyond the realm of what we’ve known or stay at a tongue-tied distance. Either way, I’ve elected to continue following my best instincts and taking this clever little imp by the hand. To say I’m pleased is an understatement, as is it to say I am more than a little cautious… but I like this feeling I get when I talk to him, and I hope that he feels this too.

For now I’ll just keep an eye on things, nudge him into my protected circle again and hope this time I prove a proper master and take care of him the way he needs to be taken care of.

Broken a.k.a. A One Legged Journey

Reposted from my Wordpress Account for those of you who want the details.

Friday night a month ago now I waited impatiently for my pizza. It was coming on 10 PM and still no notification from the pizza place, the driver, or anyone else. So I made a phone call, and the service told me that the incompetent delivery boy was somewhere nearby unable to find my very obvious apartment. I should have stayed inside, but instead I asked the man on the phone if it might be more productive if I went outside to sort of flag down the lost, dumpy little vehicle.

Thinking it would only take a moment, I put on a pair of shoes and, sans jacket, slid outside. We finally found each other, the ignoramus and I, and as he handed me my goods I slid off the sidewalk and landed on my butt. No big deal initially, I laughed it off… I gathered up my things and headed inside. Once I set my things down I realized that in my little slip I’d lost my cell phone. Sighing, I turned away from my late dinner and headed back out in attempt to find the old lime green buried somewhere in the snow. I stood on the sidewalk brushing my foot over the packed down white stuff when suddenly I slid and… CRACK, CRACK!. I dropped. At first I assumed I’d twisted my ankle and popped a joint, but as I leaned up to move my leg I found I couldn’t pick it up… my thigh would move but the lower half of my leg lay without real inclination to shift along with the direction of my muscles. I felt nothing…but I knew…I’d broken my leg. Animal confusion overwhelmed me and I yelled out… but I went ignored for what seemed like an eternity. Until one of my idiot neighbors saw fit to holler out “CALL AN AMBULANCE THEN”… What? I was laying in the snow, no coat, a broken leg, and no ability to do anything other than try to pull myself closer to my front door. “I BROKE MY FUCKING LEG” was my unintelligent response. I was laying outside for somewhere between ten and fifteen minutes hollering until my lungs felt like bursting, when a girl from the building across the parking lot ventured out and asked me if I was okay… I wasn’t… she called 911 and allowed me to call my Dad, who for some reason didn’t understand me the first three times I told him I was laying in the snow with a broken leg.

After a few minutes of me talking with this girl my neighbor emerged and brought with him a stack of blankets a mile thick that he threw over me as I shuddered in the cold. By now my leg had begun to spazam bringing with it wave after wave of complete agony. Finally the police and an ambulance arrived pulling me out of the snow and dragging me to the hospital. Admittedly I howled with every jerk of my calf muscle around broken bones and begged for pain medication or for the world to blacken around me. But of course owing to my remarkable tolerance I stayed conscious the entire time. Hours of being shifted around on beds still wrapped in my soaked clothes, flooded with medication as everyone stared at my mangled right leg which had served for so long as my stabilizing force owing to my unique movement difficulties.

Now it was useless, torn to bits. After some agonizing x-rays from the worst person I’ve ever met, I was transported to another room where I met a woman who’s world was made cynical by years of dealing with Flint’s lowest of the low. She and two other women were trying to figure out how to get me out of my wet garments which were still packed with snow, and into a dry bed…imagine her surprise when despite my pain I huffed and hoisted myself over to my new space and sat up to remove the rest of my clothes. She remarked with astonishment to my parents as to how I’d helped them and stroked my pained forehead.

I was doped and allowed to sleep.

At nine the next morning I headed down to wait in line for surgery…I had a tib-fib break and a partial fracture… I would have a metal rod inserted in my leg along with plates and screws. A week and a half of Physical and Occupational Therapy followed all of it… during which I lost a large amount of weight and gained a lot of muscle (definitely not a diet and exercise plan I’d recommend following) until finally being sent home to stay with my parents the rest of my recovery.

I still can’t walk, I spend most of my time in a wheelchair learning how to operate things from chair-level…it’s put a lot of things in my life in perspective… and I’ve already begun operating on another path, though the pain medication occasionally offers up a massive emotional setback. My days are filled with obstacles and overcoming them, and it’s put a lot of my friendships into question owing to the fact that many people who I thought cared didn’t even spare me a phone call during those long and lonely nights I stayed in rehab. Those people have definitely earned a new place in my life, on the absolute lowest rung.

I am most definitely grateful for every phone call, no matter how brief, every visit, and every get well soon item I received… the whole thing has given me a deeper appreciation and realization of those friends in my life. I am very, very thankful.

I’m off now to relax a while and rub the tension out of my leg.

Changes and Online Dating? :-/

I’ve had odd dreams lately, usually involving me and some anonymous partner engaged in strangely bonding sexual congress. This person is faceless, genderless, and comes with an exotic array of emotional connections I’ve never experienced before. I’m always disappointed to wake up to the soothing chimes of my alarm clock in the morning.

My mornings are as always a ritual, something that needs to be stepped up to incorporate some kind of exercise in the morning I think…but with it getting colder it’s hard to rouse myself from my nature’s hibernation tendencies to push myself into an earlier waking time. Still, after I’ve preformed three of my usual objectives for the morning a new addition does exist. I ease the bathroom open shortly after Reggie has had his morning treat, and out bounds a tiny, patterned puffball with a musical little purr.

Rorschach is always happy to wake up. He meows at me in a loud (but curiously raspy) way, and circles my ankles repeatedly, curling his white dipped tail around my leg and setting back on his haunches…outstretching his front paws like a child begging to be picked up, which I of course do without hesitation. He tucks his furry little kitten head under my chin and rubs then snuggles against my collarbone for a moment before asking to be put down. Then this happy little creature awkwardly bounces off to play and make noise while I shower and finish the rest of my ritual.

I’m almost remiss to put him back in the bathroom while I’m gone, but his penchant for wire chewing isn’t completely broken yet and I’d rather not have him electrocute himself or destroy things. Despite all that he is a good little boy though, just like any other child in need of learning new things.

In other news, I’m realizing how much of a peculiar creature I really am. My brutally honest opinion of my own attitude has been placed out there for everyone to see once again on OkCupid, something that’s always a mistake for me to invest my time in (but it’s free so, meh). My inability to lie about my personal attitude to an almost brutal overanalyzing serves me well in terms of friends. They’ll tell you I am always consistent… but when it comes to relationships this severity proves to be most assuredly toxic.

I suppose that’s why I’m finding warmth and comfort in unknown specters of dreams…the accepting null… who takes this severe male with an unconsciously arched eyebrow and says ‘it’s alright to be you’… still it’s not proving to complete my needs or really satisfy as much a physical person with needs that I can also meet.

I hate it when depression looms overhead in me especially during this time of year…my favorite time of year, where I can really feel the rumbling beast of nature shifting under my skin and smell the power in the air. I know I’m just slipping on this idea of being a lonesome and bitter old man, but it will pass…it always does. Meantime my OKC profile remains unexplored by people… my personality continues to be a huge shove-off for others. I could try to change, but I have the distinct feeling that trying to be something I’m not would be even more soul-crushing than being honest about who I am and remaining alone.
Anyone in the Frankenmuth, MI area looking for a feline companion, AVOID at all COSTS the place known as ‘Pet Angel’. This business is no kind of animal rescue and I’ll tell you why.

Not quite a year ago I purchased a cat from the business owner running her ‘rescue’ thinking not only would I be getting a quality pet but that all of his shots would be taken care of and I could use the extra cash for food, toys, and all the things a new pet would need to make him feel comfortable and secure in his home.

I couldn’t have been more mistaken.

First off I had to make an appointment to visit and what I found was not a business, but a storage facility that had been converted into what I can only describe as a money farming operation for felines. The place stunk and cages lined the walls with sometimes up to three cats per small space with no room to move around or stretch their legs. I was informed they allowed small intervals of ‘exercise time’ for every feline but for the most part they were bound to three small rooms.

I tried to ignore the conditions at first thinking perhaps they weren’t very well funded, but with thirty or more cats present at a hundred dollars or more per animal I was beginning to wonder where all the money that was supposed to be used to assist in finding them proper care, was going…not to mention all their ‘workers’ were volunteers and went unpaid.

Holding my breath though I thought, well at least they must be medically healthy. The feline leukemia laden pets were kept in a room separating them from the other supposedly fit animals to minimize exposure that was good right?

My eyes raced over every penned up creature and I like any other responsible and loving pet owner felt my heart bleed for every one of them. If I had a house that day they all would have been going home with me…but it was a tenacious tabby, which reached out and smacked me with his paw as I passed that won my heart. George was his name, absurd name for a cat I thought but once I gathered him in my arms I knew this was the one for me.

I told the on hand woman he was the cat for me, and she said he was due to go in for a checkup… and that Nancy, the lady who ran the business wanted to have him checked over again before she let him go because his leukemia blood tests didn’t come out all together clean. Now that I look back on this situation I think ‘Wait, so they let a possibly contagious cat out with the general population when they think their might be a problem’? But at the time that was not an issue in my mind. I informed her even if he did have that dangerous condition I may still take him anyway… and began the process of learning proper care for a cat with this incurable disease.

I called every day.

Once with the doctor the cat fell ill and mysteriously died within only days of me expressing interest in him. My heart hurt but I was not deterred…I would have myself a cat.

Back to Pet Angel I went to look into another feline friend. I was taken back to a room where there were probably six to eight cats roaming around. These, I was told, were the cats prepared to go home with someone. Right away I noticed a young female with an infected eye and when I pointed it out, there was a small ripple in the chain of command and I was informed she had an infection. Strange, I thought, that she should be around with all these other supposedly healthy cats.

I looked around and there I met Owen, a young male who meowed at me and tapped my face with the pad of his paw, forcefully pushing himself on me. The decision was made and I picked him for my family.

As I bundled him up and filled out the paperwork I was informed that he might have a stress reaction upon going home that would cause him to have ‘the sniffles’ and that he should probably be taken to a Doctor. I took this to heart and received his papers, paying no attention to the fact that his ‘medical record’ contained no individual care but rather a single ‘cure all shot’ given to him and probably 8 other cats in the same day. I didn’t know one thing from another in truth…I shelled out a hundred dollars for my supposedly ‘up to date’ cat and took him home.

He developed the sniffles. Two days after I got him I made an appointment with my vet to have him looked over and upon inspection of my paperwork I was told he was fighting an upper respiratory infection that had plagued him for some time. He also gave me some not so great news…that the paper work informed him that my cat, now renamed Sherlock had been exposed to a Feline Leukemia positive cat… thereby upping the chances that he himself may have this terrible disease. A quick blood test proved otherwise at least for the moment. Further inspection of his records then told my doctor that his shots were completely out of date and I was forced to then shell out a few hundred dollars not only for the blood testing and medical treatment but also to update all his shots. Needless to say I was livid…if I had to go through all of this why would I have gotten a cat from a rescue facility as opposed to one from a ‘free kittens’ sign on the side of the road. Luckily I was given a ‘gift’ of a thirty day ‘pet insurance’ policy from Pet Angel to cover all his needs…right? Wrong. I was never refunded not only the cost of THAT doctor visit but of the second one I had to make a few weeks later when his condition didn’t improve.

My doctor then informed me that his sinuses may have been destroyed by him going months without proper treatment of the infection and being continuously exposed to other ill cats. At this point my fury had quelled some…there was nothing I could really DO about it. I tried reporting the business and their care to the ASPCA but they told me they wouldn’t even send an officer out there without photographical proof of neglect. Fine.

Needless to say this made no change in my love for the cat I knew as Sherlock…I made an investment in a humidifier for his sake and constantly cleaned out his nose and eyes along with using some medicated cream for his sinuses to try and keep him comfortable and aside from the breathing problems he had… he seemed for the most part to be a healthy, happy boy.

Then a few weeks ago everything changed. Sherlock, who ate so well usually…eagerly gobbling up treats and snacks of tuna and milk along with his usual bowls of healthy food…, stopped eating.

At first I thought maybe he ate something bad and it made him ill, certain kinds of food had upset his stomach in the past…so I removed everything irregular from his reach and stuck to his dry cat food. But still he wasn’t eating. Over the course of only a few days he dropped weight drastically and I force fed him milk and sugar to try and keep him alert and around enough for him to go to the vet on Monday.

He made it at least then.

The doctors informed me he had yellowing on his gums and in his ears and certain chemicals in his body were elevated but that it could be an infection. Something sounded off about it but I put them off as the professionals.

Two overnight stays (a $560 bill) at the vet later and he was supposedly eating well and ready to go home. My beautiful singing cat was painfully thin and apparently their idea of ‘eating well’ consisted of him swallowing when he was force fed the baby food like glop they gave me to feed. So I began a routine…meds in the morning, two feedings of food which totaled a half a can of the mush a day, and another dose of meds at night. My now wobble-legged and no longer singing baby wasn’t improving. He followed me around when he could find the strength to walk, fell asleep during feedings, and the rest of the time napped under a pile of blankets.

Let me give you an idea of the time frame.

I picked him up on a Thursday, did everything I was told, called twice with concerns, and by Sunday morning he was barely lifting his head. This was not a well cat, but every time I called with a question I was told: ‘its normal’ and ‘just keep watch on him’.

Monday morning at 3 AM, I hear Sherlock going through his usual bowl tapping ritual that strikes him every time he’s gone to drink water since I’ve known him. The indication of this says he was burned by a hot drink at one point in his life and now heat tested before hydrating himself. I get up to check on him just out of instinct, and I find him sitting in a growing puddle of his own urine. My cat is literally pissing a river through my kitchen. Of course I don’t scold him it’s far from his fault…I lift his frail body into my arms and take him into the bathroom where I rinse off his back end before mopping up the urine. I tried to take him to bed making a note to call in the morning but he’d have none of it…at least not for two hours.

At 5 AM I feel him move up along my body in the bed, finding a space between my arm and my ribcage and laying down. This display of affection was something he hadn’t done since he got sick… I think I cried when I held him like that, running my fingertips along his prominent spine and feeling sick for him. The next morning I got up and called the doctor about what had happened the night before with his loss of control and they assured me it was normal. I didn’t feel very good about it but I gave him his meds and went to work. The whole day there was a dread feeling in the pit of my stomach and on my way home I decided to pick up some food to try and entice him to eat. Even treats would be good. I entered my apartment, put some things away in the fridge… and went looking for Sherlock.

What I found has stuck in my brain still… my little cat so sickly and small curled up next to my bed, at first asleep but on further inspection, cold and stiff to the touch. He had gone to sleep and died.

Kidney failure was the cause, kidney failure that should have been diagnosed…where he never should have been released from the vet with a big ‘Ok’ on his file… where he should have been treated at the Doctor or humanely put to sleep.

After all this happened, I was told this was not uncommon for the cats from that Pet Angel facility either, that every cat that my friends had purchased had died of varying infections, cancer, or leukemia that had gone undiagnosed, and they weren’t told about these preexisting conditions by Nancy, Pet Angel’s founder who had a habit of farming out ill cats who looked well, to people.

I’m still in the fight to get this facility shut down, but the first step is for me to get the stories out there that I’ve heard and maybe get more people involved in this war against animal abuse before someone else has to lose another family member.


Too busy to make my own layout at the moment like I planned to do, so as sort of a place saver I took one to use for you all to look at.

It works, for now...enjoy.

A fly by offering

Since I can't apparently write a proper entry at the moment... I offer you this as stolen from one of the clever little darlings from one of the RDJ communities:



I hate it when I take quizzes then get the impulse to show off the results:

You are a Romantic Seme!

A true romantic, you're safest sticking with a partner who is gentle and can appreciate your mature, loving ways and protective nature. Most often found with a handful of roses and wine, you are committed to your partner and their happiness, which makes you a perfect match for the Innocent Uke, who you will dedicate yourself to and lavish with gifts and attention.

Most compatible with: Innocent Uke, Clueless Uke

Least compatible with: Badass Uke, Dramatic Uke

What seme or uke are you? Take the experience at SemeUke.com, or find merchandise here.


Off to go write a fanfic now. Yes during work! I'm bored and the sore lack of RP in my life has lead me to the singular conclusion that I need to start writing fics again before I get some sort of weird... back up...and explode. I shall rant about other things at a later date *bares teeth*.