naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Travis Tame)
While trying to write a summary for Witches' Mark:

Me: MAN. It's really hard to summarize a paranormal romance in such a way that it doesn't sound like every other paranormal romance out there. I have to try to emphasize what makes it different.

Sargon: There's fucking.

Me: There's fucking in lots of paranormal romances. What sets this apart is that it's actually good.

Sargon: Well, yeah, it's not all overwrought feelings and crashing metaphors.

Me: Well, let's be honest. There is some of that.

Sargon: Yeah! But we also have ass-licking!
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Travis Tame)
While trying to write a summary for Witches' Mark:

Me: MAN. It's really hard to summarize a paranormal romance in such a way that it doesn't sound like every other paranormal romance out there. I have to try to emphasize what makes it different.

Sargon: There's fucking.

Me: There's fucking in lots of paranormal romances. What sets this apart is that it's actually good.

Sargon: Well, yeah, it's not all overwrought feelings and crashing metaphors.

Me: Well, let's be honest. There is some of that.

Sargon: Yeah! But we also have ass-licking!
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Tootsie Pops!)
Sargon: *opens Netflix envelope* We got Revenge of the Ninja.

Naamah: Cool! What's it about?

Sargon: . . .

Naamah: . . . That was a stupid question. I'm sorry.

As it turns out, this movie is horrible and absolutely hilarious. There is nothing cool about it at all. We are not even ten minutes in and I've already barked at the screen three times. There's a blonde chick with no pants karate practicing, and I swear she just flashed her badger.

What inappropriate things would you put in your ninja movie?
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Tootsie Pops!)
Sargon: *opens Netflix envelope* We got Revenge of the Ninja.

Naamah: Cool! What's it about?

Sargon: . . .

Naamah: . . . That was a stupid question. I'm sorry.

As it turns out, this movie is horrible and absolutely hilarious. There is nothing cool about it at all. We are not even ten minutes in and I've already barked at the screen three times. There's a blonde chick with no pants karate practicing, and I swear she just flashed her badger.

What inappropriate things would you put in your ninja movie?

Pwned

Jun. 9th, 2010 01:46 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (El Dorado: Little Voice)
And of course after writing the last entry, my husband would have to go and write some really excellent Victorian-era porn that resorts to lots of euphemisms and uses the word "buttocks" in a way that didn't make me wince. He had the same basic set of restrictions (inexperienced character, Victorian era, narrator unlikely to use profanity of any kind) and he's acing it.

I did get him, though. He came in a few minutes ago and said "An old man in a hat. Fuck you." and walked out. Highlight of my day!

He's awesome, by the way. I don't usually go for stating the obvious, but it's true.

Also, have a link to something related directly to word choice in porn that is so funny it truly did make me laugh out loud.

Sailor Jim's "On the Subject of Penises."

Pwned

Jun. 9th, 2010 01:46 am
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (El Dorado: Little Voice)
And of course after writing the last entry, my husband would have to go and write some really excellent Victorian-era porn that resorts to lots of euphemisms and uses the word "buttocks" in a way that didn't make me wince. He had the same basic set of restrictions (inexperienced character, Victorian era, narrator unlikely to use profanity of any kind) and he's acing it.

I did get him, though. He came in a few minutes ago and said "An old man in a hat. Fuck you." and walked out. Highlight of my day!

He's awesome, by the way. I don't usually go for stating the obvious, but it's true.

Also, have a link to something related directly to word choice in porn that is so funny it truly did make me laugh out loud.

Sailor Jim's "On the Subject of Penises."
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Dude Breakdancing Stripper Emergency)
Sargon: *SKREEEEEK!*

Naamah: What the fuck was that about? No, really, what the fuck was that?!

Sargon: I wanted to make a noise like a pterodactyl. What's complicated about that?
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Dude Breakdancing Stripper Emergency)
Sargon: *SKREEEEEK!*

Naamah: What the fuck was that about? No, really, what the fuck was that?!

Sargon: I wanted to make a noise like a pterodactyl. What's complicated about that?
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian Awesome)
"I'm a werewolf."

There's only three possible statements that can follow this revelation.

"Chain me up!"

"Run!"

"Check this out!"
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Lucian Awesome)
"I'm a werewolf."

There's only three possible statements that can follow this revelation.

"Chain me up!"

"Run!"

"Check this out!"
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (IQ)
I just got back from the clinic, and now I have new holes in me. The tech popped the vein on my right arm, giving me a nice bruise. Not her fault, though. My veins are very small, and they roll, and now that I've put some weight on, they are difficult to find. Also, I hadn't had much to drink.

At least I'm a cheerful patient. Sometimes I think they could hang baby sharks off my nipples and I'd just smile, I love the bloodwork so much. And hey, if you had low thyroid levels, you'd love it, too. I can feel my feet.

Also, the needles they use at the Red Cross are so much fucking bigger it's not funny. I barely feel the blood draws at the doctor's.

Anyway, while I was out, I made some old guy's day.

I was going back out to my car to get something I'd forgotten, and I stopped at the crosswalk. Yeah, pedestrians have right-of-way, but this is Oklahoma, and we all hate pedestrians. Better safe than sorry.

This old guy in a van waved me across, and so I loped to the other side. (This, of course, meant my boobs* were bouncing all over the place.)

He leaned out of his window with a grin. "You don't have to run!"

I pointed to my chest with both hands. "I gotta exercise my boobs!"

He fucking lost it. When I came back out five minutes later, he had parked, and was still laughing. I might have made his week.

Then I came home and shared my Arby's roasta beefs with Tazendra, and all is well.

* See icon, though the icon is no longer accurate. I put on weight and my boobs grew. Now it's 40 D. It's pretty awesome, yeah.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (IQ)
I just got back from the clinic, and now I have new holes in me. The tech popped the vein on my right arm, giving me a nice bruise. Not her fault, though. My veins are very small, and they roll, and now that I've put some weight on, they are difficult to find. Also, I hadn't had much to drink.

At least I'm a cheerful patient. Sometimes I think they could hang baby sharks off my nipples and I'd just smile, I love the bloodwork so much. And hey, if you had low thyroid levels, you'd love it, too. I can feel my feet.

Also, the needles they use at the Red Cross are so much fucking bigger it's not funny. I barely feel the blood draws at the doctor's.

Anyway, while I was out, I made some old guy's day.

I was going back out to my car to get something I'd forgotten, and I stopped at the crosswalk. Yeah, pedestrians have right-of-way, but this is Oklahoma, and we all hate pedestrians. Better safe than sorry.

This old guy in a van waved me across, and so I loped to the other side. (This, of course, meant my boobs* were bouncing all over the place.)

He leaned out of his window with a grin. "You don't have to run!"

I pointed to my chest with both hands. "I gotta exercise my boobs!"

He fucking lost it. When I came back out five minutes later, he had parked, and was still laughing. I might have made his week.

Then I came home and shared my Arby's roasta beefs with Tazendra, and all is well.

* See icon, though the icon is no longer accurate. I put on weight and my boobs grew. Now it's 40 D. It's pretty awesome, yeah.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (LMAO)
Me: "Will you still love me even when I'm old and saggy?"

Sargon: "I'm looking forward to it. You'll get that fluffy, wiggly skin on the backs of your upper arms."

Me: ". . ."

Sargon: "Before I die I will know for sure that an old lady's arm fat has been jizzed on."

Me: ". . . Oh my god. That is so gross. I'm going upstairs. I don't believe this."

Sargon: "What?! Wouldn't you be happy I still want to--?"

Me: "AAAUGH! Jesus Christ. You are so sick!"

Sargon: "We'll be married. To each other, even. It's not like there's anything wrong with it."

Me: "I wish I were recording this conversation."

Sargon: "You could do your best to transcribe it."

Me: "I probably will."

Sargon: "I'll deny everything."

Me: "They would believe me. They wouldn't believe you. Especially people who know you."

Sargon: "Yes, well. It's already been established that you're a terrible liar. Naamah, have you been in the chocolates?"

The scary part is that I am not entirely sure he was kidding. I guess in another 40 years, we'll know.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (LMAO)
Me: "Will you still love me even when I'm old and saggy?"

Sargon: "I'm looking forward to it. You'll get that fluffy, wiggly skin on the backs of your upper arms."

Me: ". . ."

Sargon: "Before I die I will know for sure that an old lady's arm fat has been jizzed on."

Me: ". . . Oh my god. That is so gross. I'm going upstairs. I don't believe this."

Sargon: "What?! Wouldn't you be happy I still want to--?"

Me: "AAAUGH! Jesus Christ. You are so sick!"

Sargon: "We'll be married. To each other, even. It's not like there's anything wrong with it."

Me: "I wish I were recording this conversation."

Sargon: "You could do your best to transcribe it."

Me: "I probably will."

Sargon: "I'll deny everything."

Me: "They would believe me. They wouldn't believe you. Especially people who know you."

Sargon: "Yes, well. It's already been established that you're a terrible liar. Naamah, have you been in the chocolates?"

The scary part is that I am not entirely sure he was kidding. I guess in another 40 years, we'll know.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Gay Apocalypse!)
I posted this memory as a reply in [livejournal.com profile] metaquotes, but I don't want you guys to miss it. The story has some deep relevance, and I think it might help you to find some kind of meaning in life. It says important things about art and communication and true love and snowballing your girlfriend. Failing that, it's funny as hell, and I don't want to lose track of it.

*Scene: several years ago. Sargon and I are in a car going 65 mph down the highway. I turn on the radio. Merill Bainbridge's "Mouth" comes on.*

Me: "Oh! Oh! This song is about lesbians."

Sargon: "No, dude, you're high.*"

Me: "LISTEN. IT IS ABOUT TWO GIRLS SIXTY-NINING."

Him: "No way. It's about, like, kissing and stuff."

Me: "Heh. Kissing POON, maybe."

Him: "Noooooo . . ."

Me: "Listen. I'm serious. There is a whole fucking story here. The girl gets her girlfriend to go down on her and then they kiss after the photo finish, and she tastes it. You know. Because you CAN taste it."

Him: "Whoa. There'd have to be a lot of it."

Me: "Well, maybe she's a squirter. Or, it could be more complicated. Like, these two chicks have a threesome with a guy, okay? And he comes inside one of them, right? And the other chick is totally into it, and goes down on her. You with me? And the song is sung by the first chick--"

Him: "The one he came in."

Me: "Right. About how she wants to taste his come in her mouth. Or the second chick could've just swallowed, and cut out the middleman."

Him: "Snowballing."

Me: "Yeah. But I like the first way better. Because it's just dirtier that way. Hmm. Or it could be a guy going down on her."

Him: "Oh, man, sloppy seconds. Ack!"

Me: "Hey. You know, if a guy sang this song, it could be about a couple of boys who--"

Him: "Where exactly are you going with this?"

Me: ". . . Wrongsville?"

Him: "Right. Can we . . . not?"

Me: "Look, if it's making you uncomfortable, I'll turn the song off."

Him: "I LIKE THE SONG. But, man, you're reading too much into it."

Me: "Honey, what do I do for a living?"

Him: "You write really freaky porn."

Me: "Ergo?"

Him: "Um. Gotcha."

*Fast forward, two weeks later. Husband turns on radio, same song comes on.*

Him: "Oh, hey, I love this song. It's about lesbians, you know."

Me: "You fucking dick."

*I spitefully change the station. Sixpence None The Richer's "Kiss Me" comes on.*

Both: AAAAAAAH! LESBIANS!

And I swear that is how it happened. He claims he's the one who thought it was about lesbians first, but I distinctly remember that conversation, almost word-for-word. One of us is crazy.


*Normally everything is all about pussy with this guy. He must have been sick that day or something. Or just being a contrary ass. Which is, you know, one of the things I love about him.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (Gay Apocalypse!)
I posted this memory as a reply in [livejournal.com profile] metaquotes, but I don't want you guys to miss it. The story has some deep relevance, and I think it might help you to find some kind of meaning in life. It says important things about art and communication and true love and snowballing your girlfriend. Failing that, it's funny as hell, and I don't want to lose track of it.

*Scene: several years ago. Sargon and I are in a car going 65 mph down the highway. I turn on the radio. Merill Bainbridge's "Mouth" comes on.*

Me: "Oh! Oh! This song is about lesbians."

Sargon: "No, dude, you're high.*"

Me: "LISTEN. IT IS ABOUT TWO GIRLS SIXTY-NINING."

Him: "No way. It's about, like, kissing and stuff."

Me: "Heh. Kissing POON, maybe."

Him: "Noooooo . . ."

Me: "Listen. I'm serious. There is a whole fucking story here. The girl gets her girlfriend to go down on her and then they kiss after the photo finish, and she tastes it. You know. Because you CAN taste it."

Him: "Whoa. There'd have to be a lot of it."

Me: "Well, maybe she's a squirter. Or, it could be more complicated. Like, these two chicks have a threesome with a guy, okay? And he comes inside one of them, right? And the other chick is totally into it, and goes down on her. You with me? And the song is sung by the first chick--"

Him: "The one he came in."

Me: "Right. About how she wants to taste his come in her mouth. Or the second chick could've just swallowed, and cut out the middleman."

Him: "Snowballing."

Me: "Yeah. But I like the first way better. Because it's just dirtier that way. Hmm. Or it could be a guy going down on her."

Him: "Oh, man, sloppy seconds. Ack!"

Me: "Hey. You know, if a guy sang this song, it could be about a couple of boys who--"

Him: "Where exactly are you going with this?"

Me: ". . . Wrongsville?"

Him: "Right. Can we . . . not?"

Me: "Look, if it's making you uncomfortable, I'll turn the song off."

Him: "I LIKE THE SONG. But, man, you're reading too much into it."

Me: "Honey, what do I do for a living?"

Him: "You write really freaky porn."

Me: "Ergo?"

Him: "Um. Gotcha."

*Fast forward, two weeks later. Husband turns on radio, same song comes on.*

Him: "Oh, hey, I love this song. It's about lesbians, you know."

Me: "You fucking dick."

*I spitefully change the station. Sixpence None The Richer's "Kiss Me" comes on.*

Both: AAAAAAAH! LESBIANS!

And I swear that is how it happened. He claims he's the one who thought it was about lesbians first, but I distinctly remember that conversation, almost word-for-word. One of us is crazy.


*Normally everything is all about pussy with this guy. He must have been sick that day or something. Or just being a contrary ass. Which is, you know, one of the things I love about him.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (LMAO)
Upon returning from Borders:

Sargon: Go on. Put the damn CD in. You know you want to.

Me: *puts H.I.M. CD in player*

Sargon: *makes scrunchy face*

Me: *rocks out*

Sargon: Okay. All I'm going to say is -- and I swear this is all I'm going to say -- is that you should be embarrassed to listen to something this trendy.

Me: Hey, I never said it was metal.

Sargon: *grumpily* It's not.

Me: It's crappy goth-pop. Oh, oh, oh, listen to this!

CD: *overemotes* Rip out the wings of a butterfly for your--

Me: YEAH! YEAH! RIP ITS WINGS OFF!

Sargon: Oh my GOD. This is terrible.

Me: Yeah, I'm actually really ashamed to like it as well as I do.

Sargon: . . .
Sargon: . . .
Sargon: . . . Yeah. Me, too.

--3 songs later--

Sargon: . . . This guy can actually sing; he doesn't overstep his bounds. And their melodies are quite hooky and proficient.

Me: Are you saying it's not crappy?

Sargon: I'm saying it's pretty good crap, is what I'm saying. And I'm humiliated to admit this.

Me: Wanna borrow my eyeliner?

Sargon: Fuck you. *makes metal face*

Me: I'll take it out now. I've heard the song I was stuck on. *reaches for button*

Sargon: No, no. You don't have to. Really.

Me: I'm not your enabler, Beeyotch. If you like it, just say so, and I'll leave it on.

Sargon: You enjoy humiliating me. Is that it?

Me: It's cute when you squirm.

CD: *does something cool*

ALL 3: *rock out*

Fade and exit.

And so goes our bizarre form of bonding.

So far, we've agreed that Dark Light sounds like: The Cure, U2, Oasis, FLOWING TEARS, The Gin Blossoms, Depeche Mode, The Clash, Kyuss (major lyrical reference . . . "Burning in water, drowning in flame . . ."), Loverboy, SISTERS OF MERCY, Love and Rockets . . . the list goes on.

"Nightside of Eden" sounds almost exactly like a Flowing Tears song off Serpentine, and I may upload them both later, just to amuse you all with the resemblance.

I'm still embarrassed, but, hey. What can I say? I can't resist. The gothy vampire ennui goes up to eleven.

You know, I had a sickening hunch he'd like it.
naamah_darling: The right-side canines of a wolf's skull; the upper canine is made of gold. (LMAO)
Upon returning from Borders:

Sargon: Go on. Put the damn CD in. You know you want to.

Me: *puts H.I.M. CD in player*

Sargon: *makes scrunchy face*

Me: *rocks out*

Sargon: Okay. All I'm going to say is -- and I swear this is all I'm going to say -- is that you should be embarrassed to listen to something this trendy.

Me: Hey, I never said it was metal.

Sargon: *grumpily* It's not.

Me: It's crappy goth-pop. Oh, oh, oh, listen to this!

CD: *overemotes* Rip out the wings of a butterfly for your--

Me: YEAH! YEAH! RIP ITS WINGS OFF!

Sargon: Oh my GOD. This is terrible.

Me: Yeah, I'm actually really ashamed to like it as well as I do.

Sargon: . . .
Sargon: . . .
Sargon: . . . Yeah. Me, too.

--3 songs later--

Sargon: . . . This guy can actually sing; he doesn't overstep his bounds. And their melodies are quite hooky and proficient.

Me: Are you saying it's not crappy?

Sargon: I'm saying it's pretty good crap, is what I'm saying. And I'm humiliated to admit this.

Me: Wanna borrow my eyeliner?

Sargon: Fuck you. *makes metal face*

Me: I'll take it out now. I've heard the song I was stuck on. *reaches for button*

Sargon: No, no. You don't have to. Really.

Me: I'm not your enabler, Beeyotch. If you like it, just say so, and I'll leave it on.

Sargon: You enjoy humiliating me. Is that it?

Me: It's cute when you squirm.

CD: *does something cool*

ALL 3: *rock out*

Fade and exit.

And so goes our bizarre form of bonding.

So far, we've agreed that Dark Light sounds like: The Cure, U2, Oasis, FLOWING TEARS, The Gin Blossoms, Depeche Mode, The Clash, Kyuss (major lyrical reference . . . "Burning in water, drowning in flame . . ."), Loverboy, SISTERS OF MERCY, Love and Rockets . . . the list goes on.

"Nightside of Eden" sounds almost exactly like a Flowing Tears song off Serpentine, and I may upload them both later, just to amuse you all with the resemblance.

I'm still embarrassed, but, hey. What can I say? I can't resist. The gothy vampire ennui goes up to eleven.

You know, I had a sickening hunch he'd like it.

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