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frightened 
cranky
Women don't have abortions for fun, and they certainly don't have later-term abortions for fun.
The idea that women go "ah, well, I could use contraception, but I think I'll just have invasive surgery in my most private and delicate body parts instead"? Yeah, how much do you have to hate women to believe that's true? Believe it or not, we're not actually completely fucking stupid.
Seriously considering going down to London for the protest May 20th. I feel the need for a t-shirt with an arrow pointing to "MY UTERUS. NOT YOURS." You take on this period pain, bitches, and you can decide what to do with my womb. Till then, not so much. D'you want my cystitis as well? Cos that's pissing me off right now.
spellfeckercaira cackotopia n. A place overflowing with cheap, tacky crap, esp. if it's either for sale or intended to make you buy something. Examples: the city of Las Vegas, outback Australian tourist shops, professional footballers' mansions.
oxfordslacker spellfeckerdeathboy Nwigger: Black wigger.
Passing awareness of NWA, no idea who Malcolm X might be.
Prevalent in British council estates, trying on accents and attitudes they have no cultural connection to.
bad_science footpad It's astonishing that it took me over thirty years to learn that even despicable opinions are highly instructive. For instance, discussing economics with ![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small}
megadog may reduce me to spitting annoyance, but it's what I needed to get me to appreciate the virtues of a market economy. collabi and other gun-wielding maniacs (now now, don't deny it—it was one of you Americans shot my grand-dad on a grouse shoot) have eventually persuaded me to appreciate the arguments in favour of gun ownership, at least as they pertain to societies I'm happy not to live in. From a blog contact in the US Navy, I've found a certain beauty in the American armed forces' cult of militarism. And strike me down if I didn't recently develop some sympathy for radical feminism despite labelling the author I was reading "a fucking hysterical bitch."
Drunk on my new-found broad-mindedness, I ordered a copy of Dinesh D'Souza's What's So Great About Christianity?, eagerly expecting to be exercised with contentious and invigorating new arguments against the Dawkinses and Pinkers and Smolins I've been reading recently. But from what I've been able to stomach of it so far, it's so crushingly devoid of significant new insight that I might as well have routed it straight to the recycling bin with all the other crap that drops through our letterbox.
footpad akeela went away to a convention yesterday, and I quickly descended into a mire of grouchy sloth. It's not that I'm worse off; it's just that for a day or two I can be my gloomy little paranoid-android self around the house. I've been wearing a mask of joviality, and frankly it's been wearing thin.
On Tuesday I had my first ever appointment with a psychotherapist. He made an immediate good impression. He has a round, bearded, likeable face and a sane courteous manner. He was quietly reassuring and dispassionately sympathetic. All in all, I have a good feeling about him. Unfortunately he speaks English about as well as I speak German—usefully, but without the fluency and subtlety needed for spoken therapy, so we'll be looking for someone with better English.
Best of all, he said that yes, my symptoms seem typical of a depression. What a relief: I'm not a hypochondriac or a fraud. We made another appointment for ten days later and he gave me a booklet to read in the meantime. And that was that.
So now, given a couple of days all on my own with no major obligations beyond Mischa's well-being, I can go right ahead and let myself crash. I can hide behind these four walls and be useless, and for the moment that's all I want out of life. I don't have to worry about annoying, worrying or depressing anyone else. I don't have to skulk in my room to avoid the difficulty of socialising. I don't have to do my bit to keep the house clean (who cares anyway?). I've abandoned the constant worry about keeping myself busy. Read if I want. Cry if I want (I don't want, but I could, and that's what matters). Walk Mischa when needed. (The rest of the time he's getting pretty bored, poor guy, but I don't do anything about it—I can't tell if that's "can't" or "won't".) Numb my brain with mindless little computer games. Stare into space. Mull. Eat low-effort food out of tins and packets. Try not to chew on myself too much. Be. Be more or less nothing. But be.
I can't say I'm a happy puppy, but somehow it feels like I'm getting something I need: some more or less total down time.
catalana So, Anime Central is in a week and I'm cosplaying with some of my friends. Since they were going as Rukia and Renji from Bleach, I decided I might as well go as a Bleach character. I am, in fact, going as Matsumoto.
There are two problems with this. First, her hair. Second, her breasts. Her hair is, well, kind of orange. Somewhere between blonde and redheaded, but more orange. I have not yet managed to get this shade - I've got a light red now, but it's not really her color. I have to decide whether I'm going to try to make it blonder (and risk ending up some random possibly worse color) or go with it as it is. I'm not sure what to do, but I better do it soon as we leave on Wednesday.
Second, Matsumoto has anime breasts: they are large and squashed together into an impressive amount of cleavage. Now there is really no earthly way for me to end up quite like her, because she's probably a DD and I'm a B. (Furthermore, I like breathing, and I'll be wearing this for about 3 days.) However, I can get closer to it by the clever use of a pushup bra. The problem is, I can't decide which of the two I've bought is better. One of them gives more cleavage; the other gives bigger all-around cup size. I'll probably take them both and see which looks better under the kimono (which, naturally, you aren't silly enough to think are actually done, right?)
It's a little weird, though, to be amassing quite such a collection of push-up bras. However, if there are ever any ladies in need of them, I recommend J.C. Penney's. Especially if you're looking for something weird, like a 40B.
cleanskies venta Hmm. I thought singing the number of motorway junctions left, to the tune of Ten Green Bottles, would be helpful. Apparently it's not.
rysmiel In re first para of last post; no it hasn't.
Cheering distractions welcomed.
megadog Apparently, some upstart calling itself Gordon Ramsay has been opining that restaurants should be fined for having non-seasonal foods on their menus.
I'm told that this Ramsey creature is a person who appears on the television. I don't really hold with such things. If and when we actually get television here in Lower Witley Scrotum, I will make a point of not listening to his programme. Meantime, my suggestion to him is that I really don't think it appropriate for a cook to tell me what I should and should not eat.
His job is to cook what I tell him to, and be ecstatically happy so to do.
rysmiel Louse population process pulled out of ground, bits appropriately redone, and seems to have been brought home to a point where manual curation can begin; furthermore, because the failure is only in one set of aspects of how the whole thing works, despite all the messing around this is still a very clean release and the remaining bit should go both very fast and very smoothly.
Other things still up in the air; even more things than in the previous post, actually. But feeling better about them and have a better handle on them.
Also, it amuses me somewhat that in the process of aiming specifically for a single-city-culture victory in my current Civ 3 game, I'm doing better at early conquest than I have in either of my more conquest-oriented games. Maybe I'm temperamentally suited to play the Sumerians, or maybe just getting better at it.
livredor 
cheerful
Author: Steven Brust
Details: (c) 1988 Steven KZ Brust; Pub 2002 Ace; ISBN 0-441-00894-1
Verdict: Taltos is a fun read.
Reasons for reading it: I enjoyed the first three in this setting and was very willing to pick up some more. Then I lent the first set to cartesiandaemon, who got on well with them, so I promised him I'd read the next pair before I next see him, so that I can then lend him the volume.
How it came into my hands: I like the series enough that I was willing to splash out for the next couple when I was buying books from Amazon.
( detailed review )
frightened 
ugh, period cramps
Train station ticket-checking guy: "Fight the power by any means necessary! Malcolm X."*
Me: "...Cool?"
I have no idea whether he said it because he thought I'd be sympathetic or because he thought I was a BNP member. My hair's longer than usual and my scarf was over my Amnesty tattoo.
* True. White people idolise Martin Luther King because he's safe and Christian and non-violent and therefore doesn't scare us. Which is bullshit, when you think about it.