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i told my friend’s dad that he was hot (it was in context with the conversation, he was complaining that he was feeling old, etc), and he said a very genuine thank you and the conversation moved on to other topic, my friend was now talking about something else entirely when his dad goes
“i think if i were born in your generation i might have been bisexual”
I come out of a very serious Austen seminar genuinely pondering the similarities between Catherine Morland and Carrot Ironfoundersson, not only in terms of their personalities, but also in terms of their role within the narrative.
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Buck put their bottles on the table. ”We have a problem.”
Eddie glanced around. ”What kind of problem?”
”Tommy is here, with a date, and I'm going to kill him.”
”Which one?”
”Yes.”
Eddie looked around the bar, trying to spot them. ”Do we know it's a date?”
”It's a man, what else would it be?”
Eddie looked at him for a beat. ”Isn't that homophobic? Assuming they're together, just because they're both men?”
”… Shut up.”
Buck slumped in his seat, doing everything he could to angle his body in a way that meant he couldn't catch an accidental glimpse.
Of course Eddie couldn't leave well enough alone.
”Wasn't gonna say anything–”
”Then don't.”
Eddie looked at him pointedly. ”You dress like him.”
”Like who?”
Eddie dialed the look up. ”I don't think dressing like your ex-boyfriend is healthy.” His eyes went up, then down. ”Or doing your hair the way he likes.”
”I'm not wearing his clothes.”
”Oh, so you went out and bought clothes that your ex would wear.”
”When it comes to exes, you don't have a leg to stand on.”
”…Fair.”
Buck dug his nail into a gouge in the wooden table top. He felt a little guilty for being in a pissy mood, but not enough to stop.
Eddie didn't seem bothered.
”What are you do– Stop looking at them! They're gonna notice!”
Eddie slapped his hands away. ”The guy – don't we know him?”
”What? No.” Buck followd Eddie's line of sight. ”No, we don't,” he said, even though he looked familiar. Why would Tommy's date look familiar? How could Buck – and Eddie – possibly have met him?
”He's a captain.”
”No, he is not,” Buck scoffed. Yes, he was. It was the fucking captain of the 122. Tommy was dating the captain of the 122. ”I need to piss.”
”What?” Eddie said, then more urgently, after Buck was already moving, ”Wait!”
Buck didn't heed him any mind. He needed a second, and starring at a bathroom wall was a good an option as any.
Just as he got his dick out, someone stepped up to the urinal two spots down from where Buck was standing.
Oh, christ.
The guy did a double take. ”Buckley.”
”Do I know you?”
He frowned. ”What's with the attitude?”
”What attitude?” Buck muttered and looked at his dick, willing his bladder to empty faster.
”Wow, OK,” he huffed. ”I suggest you get it out of your system, so you don't pull this shit in the field.”
Buck shook himself off and did his pants back up. ”It's Deluca, right?”
”Captain Deluca,” he said over his shoulder, standing at the sink. ”Although,” he said conversationally, ”Tommy only ever calls me shithead.”
Buck washed his hands with a single minded focus. ”Weird thing to call your boyfriend.”
Deluca looked at him for a long moment. ”I'm gonna tell him you said that.”
”What? No.” The bathroom door was already swinging shut, and Buck's hands were dripping wet. Hastily, he wiped them on his thighs and his overshirt, and tried to touch the door handle as little as possible.
It was a small bar. Deluca barely needed a head start to make it to Tommy's table before Buck did. Deluca was all smiles when he made it.
Buck pointed, ”He's a liar.”
”Evan?” Tommy looked surprised.
Oh, fuck. Well. It didn't take much to outsmart Buck. Made sense Deluca was the captain and not him.
”Hi.”
”Hi.” Tommy sat forward in his seat. ”What're you doing here? Who are you with?”
”Eddie.” Buck flapped is hand in the general direction of where he'd left Eddie. ”Who's your friend?” he asked and made eye contact with Deluca.
”Oh, this is Sal,” Tommy said. Sal grinned. ”Was gonna say he's my best friend, but your standard is Eddie and I'm not sure we're there yet.”
Deluca's smile fell. ”The fuck is that supposed to mean?” He glared at Tommy.
”If you die, I'm not getting your kid.”
”I don't have a kid.”
”You have a dog.”
Sal gripped the back of Tommy's chair and said, ”If she outlives me, you're taking her out back and burying her with me.”
”You want me to kill your dog?”
”Yes.”
”You're a firefighter who smokes. She's gonna outlive you.”
Deluca put his finger in Tommy's face. ”Every one of my grandparents made it to a hundred.”
”Christ, I've got fifty years left of this shit?”
”How fucking old do you think I am?”
”Oh,” Buck said.
Both of them looked at him and said, ”What?” in unison.
”This is why you didn't introduce us.”
Tommy looked a little embarrassed. Deluca looked between them. ”What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
”You're crazy,” Buck said.
Deluca looked at Tommy. ”Thomas.”
”No.”
”Thomas.” Tommy tried valiantly to keep Deluca out of his face, but it wasn't happening. ”Explain to me what your boy toy is saying. I know it's an insult.”
”You don't think crazy is an insult?” Tommy asked.
Buck didn't feel like killing either of them anymore. He hooked a thumb over his shoulder, ”You know what, I'll just … Eddie.”
Tommy looked a little stricken, but he had to pay attention to not end up on the floor, so he couldn't follow Buck.
If his mood wasn't so shit, Eddie's face would've been hilarious. ”I tried to warn you.”
He slumped into his seat. ”Warn me about what?”
”I saw him go for the bathroom right before you did.” Eddie touched his shoulder. ”What happened?”
”They're not dating, they're friends. It's captain Deluca of the 122,” he muttered. He drank the last of his beer and reached for Eddie's. Eddie pushed the bottle into his hand.
”122? We work with them all the time.”
”Yeah,” Buck pouted.
”Why the face, man? If they're not together?”
Buck shrugged and put his head in his hand. ”They're best friends and I never met him. I didn't even know his name.”
”That sucks.”
Both of them jumped when the table was jostled. Tommy looked harried. ”Sorry,” he put his hand on the table, even though it was too late to hold it in place. ”I, uhm,” he pushed a hand through his hair. ”Sorry about him. He's not fit for polite company. Hi, Eddie.”
”Hey.”
Tommy turned to Buck. ”Can we talk?”
Buck winced when Eddie kicked him under the table. ”Sure,” he pasted on a smile. ”Why not.”
Buck followed Tommy outside and a few paces down the sidewalk, where Tommy turned to him.
”I never meant to– Why are you wet?”
Buck looked down at himself. Oh, it looked bad in the light. ”Don't worry about it.”
”Right. OK,” Tommy nodded. ”Sal and I … It's not that I didn't want you to meet him, I did, but not– Not now. Or you know, then. We've been friends for a really long time and-and he knows things about me that I didn't want you to know.”
”Like what?”
”He knew me in the closet,” Tommy said. ”He didn't know I was in the closet, but he knew me when I was.”
”OK?”
”That was not a nice time in my life. Not just for me, but for everyone who knew me.”
Buck shifted on his feet. ”You couldn't have told him not to share that?”
”No,” Tommy shook his head. ”You can't really tell him what to do. He used to be worse, if you can believe it. This is him on his best behaviour.”
”How did he make captain?”
”He's good at his job.” Tommy took a breath. ”It's not just Sal, it's a whole … thing.”
Maybe Buck should have paid more attention to the ABV on his beer, because Tommy was making no sense. ”What?”
”I hid a lot from you, when we were together. I'm not proud of it, but I didn't know how not to.”
”Like what?”
”The messy parts,” Tommy said, not taking his eyes off the pavement. ”I only wanted you to see the nice parts, the parts of me that made you want to invite me to your sister's wedding, not the, you know.”
”The real parts?” Buck offered.
Tommy winced, but nodded. ”You're so put together, I didn't want you to look at me and think I fell short. I don't do the whole family dinner thing, there are no children in my life, no nice people, nothing like you have.”
Buck looked down at him. ”Are these your going out jeans?” There was a hole on the knee.
Tommy looked at himself. ”I mean, yeah.”
Buck blinked at him. ”Tommy. Did you buy new clothes to impress me?”
”Yes.”
”I watched you work on your car.”
”I made you believe those were my garage clothes, not my everyday clothes.”
”Why?”
”Why? You iron your shirts.”
He could feel himself pout. ”Only the ones with buttons.”
”I don't own an iron. I pay the nice man at the dry cleaner's, when I need my dress blues.” Tommy pointed at he bar, ”That in there? That's what my life looks like. It's … it's crass, it's gallows humour, it's … it's a far cry from you.”
”So?”
”I wanted to be nice to you.”
”You were,” Buck said. ”You are. Why would you think you'd have to change for me?”
Tommy shook his head. ”I've seen your exes, with their made up faces, and their nice hair. I've seen your family. You're a nice boy.”
”Oh, so you're stupid.” Tommy blinked. ”You know how many times I've jerked off to your flight suit? Your dirty flight suit?” Buck asked. ”Do you not remember me blowing you in those slutty little Muay Thai shorts? While they were dripping with sweat?” He took a step closer. ”I like you, Tommy.”
Tommy didn't move.
Buck gestured with his hands, ”I'm worried about the structural integrity of this whole situation here, but that doesn't mean I'm not into it.” Christ, the inseam of those jeans was frayed to shit. ”So, what, you have a whole drawer full of new jeans now?”
”Kind of.”
He looked at Tommy's legs. ”Sounds to me like I could rip those off of you and you'd have backups at home.”
”I like these jeans.”
Buck met his eyes. ”You have jorts, don't you? Home made ones.”
Tommy frowned in confusion. ”Who doesn't have jorts?”
”How many t-shirts sleeves have you cut off?”
Tommy looked at his lips. ”More than I can count.”
”How low do you cut them?” Buck stepped closer. ”Are your nipples out?”
”What's the point if my nipples aren't out? It's plausible deniability.”
Buck didn't know what the hell he was thinking, all he knew was that he wanted. ”Do you have underwear with holes in them? Are you wearing them right now?”
”I'm not wearing any.”
They were close enough for their chests to touch. Buck made a hungry sound.
”It's laundry day, but Sal wanted to go out.”
”Dump your friend and take me home,” Buck demanded.
this is so late renaissance early mannerism. the controversial male nudity? the lighting and value on the figure of emphasis?? him bathed in light and placed ABOVE while the police are clad in dark and BELOW?? Uh HES HITTING THE CONTRAPPOSTO??
On one hand: this imagery touches on themes of freedom vs oppression and how in shedding the various layers of shame placed upon us by the regime we can transcend to a higher place above the forces that seek to hold us to unjust societal standards.
On the other hand: cheeks out at the Krispy Kreme.
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one day a rookie is gonna flirt with yuna hollander not knowing who she is. her response will be "oh i'm flattered but you are young enough to be my son who, by the way, will KICK YOUR ASS in this next game." and during the game he will get slammed into the boards at approximately the speed of sound.
when the blackberry bushes have thorns to discourage mammals from monopolizing the consumption of their fruits and encourage birds to spread their seeds but they don’t know that the mammal in question is ME #notdiscouraged
God will see you at the lowest point of your life, and say "what the fuck I thought I killed that thing." But you skitter too fast and you are too creepy.
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signs at stores? émail? menu ?? instruction ? post online ? caption with andswer to question ? group hand outs ??? street sign ??? no. The Written Word Is The Enemy
#The number of compliments i have gotten for reading a thing
The ability to occasionally Read A Thing will make you a hero in your workplace, especially if it is for example an error message that tells you what you need to do differently, or instructions on unjamming a printer.
I work in tech, and much of what I do is support sales reps within the company by resolving errors with the software they use.
There is one sales rep who, every single time I send her a message or email with extremely specific instructions that will resolve her issue, does something completely different from what I tell her. Every time. Without fail. It is so glaringly obvious that she has never read even a single word that I have written to her.
So one day, she sends me a message that says little more than "(software) is broken, help"
So I do my standard song and dance of asking her what she's trying to accomplish, and what specifically is stopping her from doing that. And eventually, after much unnecessary back and forth, she tells me there's an error message. I ask her to send me a screenshot of the error message. She does.
The error message basically says, "these two required fields are blank. To resolve this, please fill in these two specific fields, and then click save."
So I take a few deep breaths.
Then I lie to her.
I message her back, saying "hey yeah, for some reason it's not loading that screenshot on my end. Could you type out the full text of the error message for me?"
Client is reporting that Some Thing Program doesn't work. I ask if there's an error message with further information about what's not working. Client says "no". I go over and ask Client to open Some Thing. Client double-clicks on the icon for Some Thing, it starts to boot, an error message dialog flashes up on screen, Client closes error message before I can read it, Thing closes after the error.
"What did that error message say?" I ask.
"What error message?" asks Client.
I tell Client to open the Some Thing again and then not click anything else. Client opens Some Thing, error message appears, Client clicks it away again.
I tell Client to stand up, step away, and give me physical control of the computer. I open Some Thing, start looking at the error message without closing it, and Client says "You should close that." I tell Client that I am reading the error message. Client is apparently accustomed to treating error messages as a kind of spam email that should be deleted as fast as possible, and gets agitated that I'm reading it.
I read the error message. It tells me what the problem is. I fix the problem. Some Thing works now.
---
Later, I start thinking about how such an error message might perhaps be engineered to be more attention-grabbing and close-resistant as a way of making people read it. It's not important for some random program here, but there are more important systems (medical, etc) where it would be reasonable to demand the user's attention because people's lives depend on paying attention to the error message.
But then people with a perverted intellect would still be thinking about ways to avoid reading the message, like dragging it off edge of screen or hiding it behind another window. So maybe the dialog box could have an always-in-front feature to override other windows, and the alert could use the computer's hardware "beep" functionality that can't be switched off by muting the regular sound system, and keep beeping... shit, I realize I'm reinventing pain, and get philosophical about it.
She was a computer programmer / analyst, a... Long Time Ago. Called in for a system she'd installed before, the office folk said they kept having problems where it Didn't Work Right (no error, a malfunction)
She investigated, and told them that could only happen if they did 3 specific things in a specific order, which they should not ever do.
So, she asked, did they ever do that?
No! Of course not, was the answer.
So she made a couple of small changes, packed up and said that should be fine, but they should call her if there were problems.
The next week
She had a call saying "We're getting a strange error message on the system, can you help?"
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
s-u-f-j-a-n-s-t-e-v-e-n-s
origamiaround
germansingergirl
prguitarman
