Angel or Spike?

Well, I know the answer to that one. Spike is magnetic on my fridge. This is because a good friend who is older (and therefore wiser, I swear), shares my addiction to Buffy and Angel re-runs and sent me the magnet after we bravely and enthusiastically discussed the love which dares not speak its name. Honestly, I do wonder at grown women groovin' on a couple of shows which were aimed at young (very young) girls- maybe boys, too? Not sure of the intended demographics, but needless to say, I have been caught in that net and I've got good company.

Anyhoo, I like the writing. Maybe it's because I used to be a respected boohonkas kicker "...and now I'm a wounded dwarf with the mystical power of a doily." And, no, you probably don't get it. You don't get that or why James Marsters is the only male on television who has me rewinding my TiVo to hear him say something again. And, YES, that's kind of sad, but I'm all for honest acceptance of my crushes when I've got them. (And I do got them- one or more of them back burnered at almost all times. Multitasking as only a woman can.) And, of course, I never want to meet him in real life. I have a feeling if I like a character I'd probably really dislike the actor who created it- not sure, of course, but it's my theory and I'm sticking to it. So, I'll never go to some damn sci-fi convention and try to get an autograph like (more of) an idiot (than I already am.) I'll never buy his band's CD or attend one of their shows, if I can help it. (Have another theory that if I like a character, I'd definitely hate the band that actor is in.) No, I like my fiction left fictional fo' sho'.

Have heard some conservative/ Christian types complain about the occult, and etc., stuff in these shows. Which has me scratching my head, I guess, because Christianity is a religion which absolutely accepts the reality of the demonic and even expects that power plays will definitely occur between good and evil. And then there's the little fact that fiction is meant to have layers of meaning. A vampire isn't just a vampire. Maybe a vampire isn't a vampire at all. Maybe a spell is about an abusive relationship and breaking free of that. Maybe this whole nonsense about "the slayer" is about girls choosing to be strong. (Wow, I shouldn't have to spell that one out.) And on and on. But, mainly, since I'd internalized these messages long ago, in a galaxy not that far away, I just end up watching it for entertainment purposes.

Which reminds me (in a kind of non-sequitur way) of Hayden Christensen. Life As A House, people. I don't even think that crush was appropriate, but there you have it. I never said I was trying to make good sense (or that my attention was constant.) I don't know about the rest of you crazy M.F.ers, but I'd TiVo him.

Anytime.

Energy Reassignment Surgery

I swear, y'all, I'm an ass kicker trapped inside a Hashimoto's having body. So, I need the energy equivalent of a plastic surgeon, I guess. (Have recently become addicted to Nip/ Tuck on DVD and need Season 2 stat!) "Alright, H+P, what don't you like about yourself?" the kind doc will say. And I'll speak my truth. That's with a capital T, of course. And I'll hear about the procedure, the risks, the recovery time and I'll say this is really what I want. I won't be myself until I change what I've got going on right now. And the staff psychologist will say, "I think she's a good candidate because she was living as an ass kicker for most of her life until recently." And I'll think damn straight.

And somewhere along the way, someone will want me to understand that it's easier to dig a hole than it is to build a pole. And I'll scrunch my eyebrows together and try to figure out how that belongs in the analogy I'm running with. (Don't poke your eye out running with that thing.) Anyway, this is how I envision it- going under anesthesia, waking up to a somewhat "uncomfortable recovery" (that's doc speak for hurts like hell), and then going on my merry way despite the shocked looks and rude whispers of those around me who just don't understand who I really am. Who I really have been this whole time. That I'm only doing this to make things right. To make my outside match my inside.

Ah, well. I spoke to a friend today who pointed out that when I speak of the future, I sound a little afraid, I guess, and much more passive probably about my possibilities than I ever did before. I explain that I am and I amn't afraid, really. Hashimoto's has ruined my good time. Or at least the good time I thought was mine by rights. Now, I have to adjust my thinking to a much more zen kind of thing where sometimes I'm great and sometimes I'm dragging. Gonna have to wrap my head around "success" as an uneven or patchy proposition- or shall I say a fluid idea? Gonna have to figure out what I'll do for work that won't bore me to tears when I've got energy or kill me when I don't.

Hmmmmm. Romance novel writer, perhaps. It would make me laugh and could make me wealthier than I might reasonably deserve to be for exhausting a long list of euphemisms. I think about the make me laugh part and I like it. Plus, it would allow me to work wherever I am. I could travel a lot, which would make moi happy. Longmire can do my covers. Yep, I've solved my problems in a doctorless fashion.

And that'll do, pig.