GeorgeGlass

Happy New Year from NYC, and good riddance to 2025…  🎉🍾
(As a friend said last night, he’s giving 2025 zero stars on Yelp—does not recommend)

Happy New Year to everyone on the Gregorian calendar!
Just happy to be here to everyone else!

This year has just started, and it can already can go straight to hell and stay there. We’ve lost our little guy. Woozle. My sweet orange mama’s boy. He’s gone. Fuck cancer, fuck losing cats, fuck death, and fuck this year. Woozle didn’t deserve this.

Pro tip: When it comes to burying bodies, remember to call 811 before you dig!   

For all of us who celebrate, may the light return after this longest night. Solstice Blessings!
🌅

Happy Birthday!

Winter Holiday 2025 is UP! 

It’s the holiday season again. Celebratory times down in the village. The lights are up, the tinsel’s out, Old Tup and his fellows are a’roaming for beer money. Locals keep thanking me for ensuring the sun will come back over the next few years. Not really sure what they mean, but as I’ve been invited to be guest of honour at the seven yearly village feast I’ll put up with the local turns of phrase. Last feast was just before I moved here, actually. Oddly enough, the guy who rented Blot Cottage before me was guest of honour then. Poor guy tripped and fell on a “flint knapped biface”,whatever that is, up Ritual Rock on the moor where they have the feast, I heard, so it became available at a great price. I hope you all have a nice time as well! Seasons greetings to all of you!

The people who leave negative reviews on e-books reporting sex scenes are my heroes. It’s easy enough to filter in smut when you’re reading fanfiction, but the e-book writers get coy about it in their descriptions. If not for sex-averse reviewers, we’d risk reading a “spicy book” that never passes first base, get clam-shelled over the lack of smut, and have to go start a fight with our husbands or something. ...not that I’m speaking from experience, or anything. 
But yeah. Someone left a squicked one-star review on a book I was considering. Granted, the review was just the word “sex” written three times – like they’re starring in a demonic possession porno or something - and shoop, there the book went. Right into my cart. I hope it’s filthy. People like that are heroes.

This just in: some school districts in the US are banning books about cats. Apparently, somebody needs to have a chat with the administration and tell them those books “aren’t about that kind of pussy.” 

What I said: “7 oz can of chipotles in adobo.”
What the phone heard: “7 oz can of Chipotles in a dildo.” 
Even my grocery list is not safe.

The great thing about writing Star Trek fanfic is that there’s almost nothing canon about Vulcan and Orion genitalia, so you can pretty much make their bits work however you want.

The great thing about writing Star Trek fanfic is that there’s almost nothing canon about Vulcan and Orion genitalia, so you can pretty much make their bits work however you want.

The great thing about writing Star Trek fanfic is that there’s almost nothing canon about Vulcan and Orion genitalia, so you can pretty much make their bits work however you want.

The great thing about writing Star Trek fanfic is that there’s almost nothing canon about Vulcan and Orion genitalia, so you can pretty much make their bits work however you want.

What I said: “7 oz can of chipotles in adobo.”
What the phone heard: “7 oz can of Chipotles in a dildo.” 
Even my grocery list is not safe.

What I said: “7 oz can of chipotles in adobo.”
What the phone heard: “7 oz can of Chipotles in a dildo.” 
Even my grocery list is not safe.

What I said: “7 oz can of chipotles in adobo.”
What the phone heard: “7 oz can of Chipotles in a dildo.” 
Even my grocery list is not safe.

What I said: “7 oz can of chipotles in adobo.”
What the phone heard: “7 oz can of Chipotles in a dildo.” 
Even my grocery list is not safe.

Superman is now on that rather exclusive list of action movies whose best fight scene doesn't involve the main character. (The best fight being that between Mr. Terrific and Lex Luthor’s armored goons.) The only other examples I can immediately think of are both from the '80s: Total Recall, whose best fight scene is between Rachel Ticotin and Sharon Stone’s characters, and the James Bond movie The Living Daylights, which included an amazing fight between a random MI-6 agent and Necros, an assassin who strangles people with the wire from his Walkman.

When I was a kid, one of my favorite (age-appropriate and modern) books described a place as “a screen door town.” The explanation was that every time something happened, no matter how trivial or innocuous, every screen door up and down the street would open and slam shut twice in a ripple effect—once when the occupants came out to snoop, and again when, having discovered it was unimportant, they went back inside. 
Last year, Cold and I moved into “a lawnmower neighborhood”—meaning every day, there’s at least one person outside mowing somewhere on the block, and most days, their neighbors join in whether or not they need to mow, and the ripple travels further and further until everyone in earshot is mowing. Cold and I sleep during the day and we can only deal with the lawn very early or on his days off, so the constant mowing is a sore point. 
Well, earlier today, I heard the mowing start up again while I was trying to drudge through beta-reading a chapter from someone who might not have proofread first. As close as the mower sounded, I figured it must be that one neighbor who has an overpowered mower and an undersized lawn. I suffered through reading the same sentence half a dozen times, then stormed into the kitchen to get some tea and wait it out. When I heard Cold come through the door, I started ranting about “whatever asshole is mowing this time can kiss my ass” and a few things otherwise.
Then I saw him and I froze. My husband was sweaty and covered in grass clippings. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Asshole. I mowed your lawn. Prepare to give me butt.” 

Cicadas when I’m trying to write late at night: “I respect you and want you to succeed, so let me sit on your window and scream about it.”
I just opened my office window and told the damned bugs on the screen to go get laid somewhere else because I couldn’t think straight from their noise. Our neighbors probably think I’m nuts. Meh. They drive ugly cars; people who drive ugly cars don’t get an opinion on my sanity or lack thereof.

Just since Friday, my number of recommendations in the archive has shot up from 108 to 121. This is after it took me 12 years to get to 100. So either I’ve gone viral and am completely unaware of it, or there’s a bot creating accounts in the archive and favoriting me over and over for some reason.

Just since Friday, my number of recommendations in the archive has shot up from 108 to 121. This is after it took me 12 years to get to 100. So either I’ve gone viral and am completely unaware of it, or there’s a bot creating accounts in the archive and favoriting me over and over for some reason.

If life could just take a break from randomly skull-fucking me for once—or at least schedule a time and ask consent—yeah, that’d be great.  (In which Ghost is a cis-woman who gets sick like a man and requires medical intervention on the regular and inevitably ends up with horrible cramps AND yet another random household crisis, all at the same time.) I’ll live. I feel like roadkill, but I’ll live.