Posts Tagged ‘fail’

post regret

January 9, 2014

I have just posted a new story.  It’s a genderbend het.  It’s explicit.  It’s nervewracking.

I should never post while there is time during the day that I can worry that nobody likes me, that they really  hate me and I should go eat some worms.

I don’t know why I post when I feel so terrible the day of posting.

*goes to hide*

Note:  I had a lovely comment for another fic which while it doesn’t exactly make me feel better about my current issues, it does make me feel better in general.



June 28, 2013

I’ve been getting into a new fandom recently.

It’s on the small side, and there isn’t a lot of genderbending fics out there.  (Internet rule 63 – if it exists, there is genderbending.)  I’m not hugely into genderbending, but I do find it interesting, especially if done well.  Anyway, I was wondering about this lack and went through some mental exercises, because I immediately got snagged on it.  But the thing is, it also made me really uncomfortable.

Main characters are male.  The one who’s POV we follow is a guy in his middle-30’s who is a career superhero – let’s call him K.  K’s career is in the dumps, he’s in the cusp of being replaced by a  younger guy (the other main character, whom we shall call B), he’s been a widower for some time, his daughter is back in the small town he grew up with his mother.  K’s also a bit of a drinker, he doesn’t cook, he’s socially oblivious and loud.  I’m trying to make him a woman, and suddenly, all of these traits which are acceptable in a man become more difficult to accept in a woman.  (Which just goes to show how entrenched I am in gendered thinking, I guess.)

I don’t think I’m alone in this.  A woman who drinks a little, is devoted to her job to the exclusion of her child and yet is unsuccessful at said job, has no domestic abilities, and can’t handle herself socially (but has a really big heart) would be much more harshly judged.  I judge that characterization quite a bit.   Same personality, different genders/sexes, different reactions.  Each one of these things, especially the child piece, I find difficult to accept in a woman.  (I mean, I find this sort of hard to accept in a man, but less so.  I think I just failed feminism.)

( It kind of sort of brings up a comparison to Cagney and Lacey (I think the Sharon Gless character, Cagney?), and while I never really watched the show, I was definitely aware of the characters.  Maybe I’m thinking about that because there aren’t a lot of other shows that feature two women as protagonists (as opposed to two men, or a man and a woman).)

I think it’s easy to make the foil character, B, a woman, perhaps too easily.  B is career driven, calculating, sort of mean to the main character, revenge-driven.  It’s funny because those things are unlikeable in either gender/sex, but somehow, less likeable in a woman.

Eventually, though, they learn to work together through the Power of Friendship and Trust.

I may actually write this, but it would definitely only be an exercise for me – a little bit to see where I could take the story, a little bit to see if I could actually do it, and a little bit to see if I can get over myself and my gendered way of thinking.  I’m leaning toward the theory that if something makes you uncomfortable, you should write it, because there’s going to be a lot of juice there.

One thing’s for certain.  Nobody, maybe not even me, is going to like it.

And that’s a bit of a shame.

(W thinks I just put too much thought into it.)

status check

March 6, 2013

I’m a bit embarrassed, but this brioche stitch hat is kicking my ass.


I spent the better portion of my shower yesterday wondering if I could post a poll on Facebook that went like this:

If you were me, and knitting this hat, and found the numerous errors that I see in this brioche stitch hat (one indicated by the orange stitch holder, one next to the orange stitch holder, and others, one of which I found after taking this photo), and the laddering up where the circular needles are, what would you do?

1) ignore it and keep going.  It’s a hat for a kid who will probably lose it within a couple of weeks.  Take the learning experience for what it is.


2) give into your barely contained OCD and try to fix it.

If trying to fix it, should I:

2a) ladder down and work from there (knowing well that I have no idea how to ladder this baby back up)

2b) rip-it all out (and forget the incredible annoyance you suffered from having to rip back the brioche several times at the very start), and remember your smarter self and lifelines and think about all the mistakes you’re fixing.  You’ll have to rip it back once you’ve f*cked the laddering up anyway.  Save yourself the hassle.


c) brioche?  Is that like croissant?  (And wander off to find sustenance.)

I have a deep suspicion about my real-life non-knitting friends.  They’re all c.  (Regardless of whether or not they actually enjoy French food.)

Edit: Yarn is Cherry Tree Hill Supersock Select Semi-Solids in Rosewood.  100% superwash merino.


January 15, 2013

I like to listen to podcasts.  Especially comedy podcasts.  They’re great for when I’m knitting or cooking or doing a little housework.  I like the voices, the different viewpoints, the surprise of guests, the whole thing.  I like not being distracted by the picture, like I would be with television.  Plus, I can carry the thing around from room to room if I need to.

And if I like the speaker/guest I will go see if they’ve got stuff on the Internet.  Often, I’m really surprised when I actually see what the speaker looks like.  Just the reality of that person – the individual characteristics of hair and face aren’t usually what I picture.  Because I think the voices give a clue as to what the person looks like, a clue that is often false.   The off-set in my head was a weird thing.

Then I realized what it is that I do.  If I like what the person is saying, and I think it’s funny or deep or interesting, I imagine the speaker is really attractive, man or woman.  (To me.  Other things could vary.)

When I said this to W, he looked at me and just *twinkled* – like I had give him the compliment.

Because I’m a lady…

May 11, 2012

Warning: post contains talk about female body functions. (Which I hope will turn off no one, because all of my 2 readers are women.)

So, I went to the bathroom today and found out I had started my period. No biggie. (Although it seems ridiculous, I’ve been having a period for nearly 30 years of my life, paying my biological dues, and there really isn’t a better way of figuring out I’m having a period than going to the bathroom and looking down with an “Oh?”)

I pull up my underpants and do that little scuttle you do to the dispenser. (We have dispensers that dispense sanitary items for free in the bathrooms of my workplace.) I turn the crank, get a box and go back into the stall.

I pull down my pants, prepare to place sanitary item in my underwear, and then open the box. Nothing is inside the box. I actually stick a finger in the box while looking inside to make certain nothing is in the box. What the – ?

Are they kidding me? This is not something very nice to do to someone starting their period – I’m just saying. It’s sort of infuriating. It’s like a trick, or something.

I pull up my pants again and scuttle over to the dispenser again. (I’m hoping nobody sees me. It’s awkward enough, really, when I’m by myself.) I turn the crank, get second box. Go back into stall, and this time, I do not pull down my pants. I will not be fooled!

I open the box and it is only after I make sure there is something in there that I proceed with this most delicate of operations.

Anyway, even though the sanitary items were free, I still sort of felt ripped off.


May 8, 2012

My mother guilted me into going home this weekend and attending the first birthday party of my sister’s twins.  Yes, it’s very important.  It’s also a bit annoying to discover I am so easily moved by guilt into doing something that is really inconvenient for me.   Then my mother guilted me into buying gifts for the twins, when I had a perfectly good check to give, so I ended up giving both things – all the things.  Then I ran around a bit running errands for her (my mother/my sister – it doesn’t matter in this case as the end result was the same).  No matter how old I get, I am never going to be immune to my mother’s guilt-inducing powers.

It was an okay weekend for other reasons.

I had a couple of conversations with my father about what it was like to live in Korea after the partition but before the war.  He tried to explain about the  mandatory ‘critical sessions.’  Once a week, everybody in the village would go to the meeting hall and there somebody would be selected to be criticized.  “You’re bad!” or “You’ve done bad!”  is what he said lots of people would say, and he demonstrated a lot of pointing.  He still remembers this, having attended these meetings from when he was seven.  He said it didn’t really matter how old you were, you still got yelled at by everybody in the village.  Also, you had to speak quietly in your own house, because you didn’t know if somebody from outside would report you.  People also disappeared from the village.   He said that years after they had crossed into South Korea, his father, my grandfather, caught up with some people from their home village.  It had been rumored that my grandfather’s name was next to be “disappeared.”  (I’m not remembering it exactly, but some people might have shown up a day or two after my grandfather had crossed over, presumably to make him disappear.)

I also learned that this one adult from my childhood wasn’t just a random friend of my father’s.  He was actually a kind of cousin.  (Head, meet desk.)  I am so oblivious, somebody should just whack me on the head periodically, just because.   My brother and sister did a bout of eyerolling because I just am so clueless.   But this explains so much!  Why he felt so free to drape an arm around me and pat my head.  It seems suddenly less  weird (it wasn’t very really creepy, because he wasn’t a creepy guy, but just I had no idea who this guy was which was what made it weird).

Talking to my parents make a lot of my childhood seem less random.  Perhaps I should talk to them more, but because I want to and not because I am guilted into it.

This post is getting long, so I’ll just end it with this:  remind me to tell you the story about my grandmother – it’s like something out of a soap opera.


January 11, 2012

(Title of post from my college off-campus experience, where someone was camping and spent much time and effort, comically, trying to find fuel tanks for the trip, which I remember being called something like “bumblos” but I’m not certain.)

New Year’s is a big deal in my family.  One of the things that happen is the young bow in respect for the elders and wishes for luck, and the elders give the young some cash money.  There’s also a lot of eating of traditional foods and thinking of the year past and the year ahead and the dead and all that.  The important thing, though, especially to the young, is the money.

My fail (my first of the year, go me!) was that I forgot that.  We were on our way back from DC, on Saturday, the day before New Year’s, literally on the NJ Turnpike, and I’m suddenly thinking, “oh, crap, I forgot New Year’s money.”  W and I have been elders since we had kids.  Maybe since we got married?  (It seems dumb, but I should remember when I turned into an elder, right?)

Anyway, I worry until we get to my parents’ house.   I ask my mom if it’s okay to not give.  She says it’s okay, but W notes that it’s never okay to be those people who don’t have New Year money.   I ask her how much to give, and she says it’s up to me.  I say, “$2?” and she says that’s cheap and makes a face.  So no money is okay, but $2 is too cheap.  Go figure.

I ask my dad if he’s got any spare small bills.  (He used to have lots because he ran a store.)  No.  My brother’s not around, so he’s no help.  So W and I strategize and we go over to the local strip mall and proceed to break a number of 20 dollar bills to get enough singles and fives to give away the next day.  W called it “shaking down the immigrants and natives.”

We get back to my parents’ house.  I check with my mother about the number of kids showing up.  At least 27.  Damn.  Still not enough money.  (Although we are well fortified with single cans of soda, granola bars, battery packs, single serve chip bags and yogurt cups.  I felt like one of those people passing counterfeit bills.)  Although my mother kindly reminds me that if I don’t have enough fives, I can give tens.  Everybody loves tens.  (Sure they do.  I’m not giving away that much money – mostly because I don’t have it.)  My brother shows up, and he’s got some fives.  (He’s really sympathetic because he’s done the exact same thing, but because it was before my parents retired, they had the money.  Then I make a threat to take the money people give my kids and give that away.  My brother laughs, because he’s done that too.)  Then the next morning, my mother coughs up $20 in singles.

The lucky money thing goes well enough.  Some people didn’t show.  We’ve got some singles left over.  Oh, thank goodness.  Safe.

Then some people show up at my mother’s house after the big event.  There go the rest of the money – and still, my mother’s going on about how I should stop counting and just give it away – which is easy for her to say.  I just didn’t want to give an unequal amount of money when it’s obvious that I’m counting out singles, and I might not have enough anyway.  Which I do.  Barely.

I should just take my brother’s advice and if I’m even thinking about being in the vicinity around New Year’s get a whack of money and just leave it with my parents.  It’ll be so much easier than the night of the bumble-o’s.

I told this story to a friend recently, and she thought it was funny, until we told her how many kids.  That brought it all into perspective for her.   Because 27 is a lot of kids.   Then she told the story of how she went to buy the red envelopes for New Year’s money (she’s a long-time Yankee recently married a Canadian-American-Chinese guy) and was thrilled at how many there were in the pack.  Because she could use the envelopes for year and years until they were all used up.  Until she realized that they all had the year on them.  I laughed, because if she were really ethnic, that wouldn’t matter.

Anyway, that’s my New Year story.  Here’s to hoping your New Year goes a little more smoothly than that evening did for us!

shutting down a thread

December 8, 2011

I am sort of infamous for shutting down conversations.  I either say the wrong thing, go off in an awkward direction, or say nothing at all.  I am spreading this tendency to the internet.  Here, in semi-redacted glory, is my finest attempt yet at communicating like a regular person.  (Things in <> are redacted.  Everything else was as posted.)

Friend is talking about not wanting to go to one of those parties that are covers for selling you stuff you don’t want.  Then the discussion gets onto those “lingerie” parties – I shall call it “Intimate Touch” but you all know what I’m talking about.

(And for the record, I was just trying to be funny.)

ME:  “Dear Saleslady, I’m afraid I shall have to decline going to your “Intimate Touch” party. I am looking for a venue more suited to my tastes. If you should become a purveyor of something like a F*ckin’ Freak Show, come back and I will be more than happy to attend. Thank you very much. 🙂 ”

ME:  I mean, honestly. Just call it like it is and you might actually have a chance with me. “Intimate Touch.” My ass. Yes. That’s right. I said it. (Although I have bought some nice things at a <Cooking Stuff> party once. But I am a cooking gadgets whore.)

ME: Although I probably would also attend something like a F*ckin’ Freak Show. Even though it might be hard to find babysitters. (ha.)

FRIEND OF FRIEND:  It sounds like you are more than just a cooking gadgets whore….

ME:  If one is attending a “Intimate Touch” party, I should imagine that one is also a whore. But perhaps one calls themselves “an escort.”

FRIEND:  <MKONGLISH7>, I heart you. Meet <FRIEND OF FRIEND>. I imagine the two of you would get along quite well.

ME:  ‎(Rant Here – please skip if you are easily embarrassed.) Late on television (which I watched an ungodly amount while my children were infants) there would be shows – young women dressed very nicely with good manicures who would try to sell things to you that were clearly adult materials. But then they’d go on and on about how nice the case is, and how-well known the manufacturer is. Are You Kidding Me? WHO CARES ABOUT THE CASE? I don’t care if it’s made from genuine nauga-vinyl from elf ears – okay? Sell THE THING! It’s your job – work it! Stop giggling and acting like you don’t know what it’s for. I have babies – I know what those things are for. SELL IT!

ME:  Oh, hi <FRIEND OF FRIEND>. Nice to meet you.

Aaand cue the crickets.  Oh yes, I have killed the thread.  If I went about it now, I’d probably mention something about only caring about the color of sale item if it glowed in the dark, say, or the necessity of mentioning battery life.  Sigh.

I always do this.  I mean, I think it’s funny, but it’s also sort of awful, because maybe they don’t think I’m funny.  Maybe they just think I’m an-honest-to-swearword freak.

It’s hard not knowing if people think you’re funny or they think they need to back away from you slowly when you approach them.

EDITED to fix redacted bits.

dear person

September 14, 2011

You have no idea how close you have come to making me quit this job today.

You think you can quote the specifics of my job to me?  What I am supposed to do for you?

You hole.

Instead, I will take my lunch early and walk it off.

EDIT:  I moved heavy stuff around my office and car for a bit.  Cooled down.  Feel better now.  😐


July 8, 2011

Just figured out that the singer of  Rock Mafia of the song “The Big Bang” is not Adele (of “Rolling in the Deep”) and is in fact, a dude.   orz.  (I can’t in anyway justify this thought that they were the same female person.)

Edit:  Now, it makes the song a little dirtier, I think.