i hope katrina lenk becomes the hayley kiyoko of musical theatre
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i hope katrina lenk becomes the hayley kiyoko of musical theatre

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I’ve found that my weird Southern pastiche accent is coming out more and more as I inch towards moving to Virginia... except mine is more Georgia, which is weird because the most I ever spent in Georgia was a week at Fort Benning pre- and post-deployment, and most of that was spent doing rifle quals or running obstacle courses in full battle rattle or feverish from all of those damn shots. (Six immunizations in the space of an hour, jesus christmas.) It comes out when I’m drunk or flustered or pissed off, in which case I’m capable of elongating the word “asshole” into four or five syllables without even trying.
Or maybe it’s mostly Georgia with an eensy bit of the four years that I spent in Texas? Idk. All I know is that when I was doing an MI:6 watch party with @brassmama a while back and she asked “What tf is Henry Cavill’s accent here?” I said “I don’t know, but... wait... it’s what I sound like when I’m drunk!”
So yep, that’s a thing. And who knows what I’ll sound like after I’ve lived in coastal Virginia for a few years.
I’m currently splitting brain cells between writing a wedding in my current fic and pondering what savory herbs would go well in a lemon-raspberry cake. (I’m thinking basil and cardamom, and I’ll test tomorrow. These are the perils of having a formidable spice rack.) What I wouldn’t give to have someone close to me to make this with me.
Aw man whenever i drink i just remember the fact i domt have friends besides my bf and its honestly just super depresso aw man aw rats. Shucks. I just want platonic relationships that i can send memes to amd make jokes with but i hate myself why dont i ever reach out to othe rpeople
Social anxiety is a Plague guys
In building up the characters of my canon Inquisitor and his sister - the Chantry-certified Disaster Gay and a hot-headed apostate, respectively - I’ve realized that they are both very much me... just different aspects of me. Except the fire thing. God knows that if I could destroy things with magical fire, life would be very different. But anyway, no wonder I’m Too Much for some people...

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Sandstorm (Derrida, 2000)
I generally try to avoid horror films. I’ve got enough going on in my head to begin with and I don’t need to add to it. But, through a series of schemes which I will not detail here, one of my dearest friends has convinced me to try out camp horror. She’s a Vincent Price fan, so she suggested one of the Dr. Phibes movies. The only one that I could find available for rental was Dr Phibes Rises Again. Here’s some of what I had to say while watching it.
death by rats... just about the only case where snakes on a plane might be a good thing
and of course they have him playing an organ within the first ten minutes of the movie... while monologuing... to his dead wife
Peter Cushing as the boat captain. I’d recognize those cheekbones anywhere
hmm. more villainous monologuing with organ music, this time enhanced by the presence of a falcon of some kind
and the assistant mysteriously clad in flowing fuchsia robes, accessorized with floral garlands and... a giant tuba
because nothing spells fear like a low "bwaaaaaaaaah" from a tuba played by your silent, sexy assistant
god, this brings a whole new meaning to the expression “putting my face on”
and then... bagpipes
Overall, this one wasn’t bad... silly enough so as not to be properly scary, but not as much of a waste of time as my foray into Troma films. (Toxic Avenger? Never again. The guy who asked me to watch that one got smacked, and not in a fun way.) I’ll continue my journey into camp horror as I have the available funds.
it’s
margarita time