My company, who does all matters of post-production stuff for movies and television, was bought by a big LA company last February, and that company is really into ~team spirit~ and whatnot, so they cater lunch for us every Friday. I've been here for 1.5 month and so far we've had Indian, Greek, Mexican, and some epic deli spread. All from local restaurants, all super tasty. Next week it's sushi, and I may not be responsible for my actions ie potential trampling and/or biting off of people's hands that get to close to the food. Is there any better combination of words than "free sushi"? Picture a re-enactement of the goat scene in Jurassic Park.

So today we go upstairs to grab lunch (this week: spectacular pizza) from the third floor boardroom, and upon seeing us the Office Manager goes, "Heeeeey, it's the captioning team from downstairs, who we never see!"

So yes, pale basement dwelling weirdo for life, apparently. Professionally.

Kelly and I went out for dinner last night and hit the Local after I got home from work. Bartender (who is one of Kelly's regulars and looks like a younger hotter David Byrne that brings me beer and sometimes doesn't charge me for it) goes, "So what are you two up to tonight?"

... Uh, this? It's 9pm on a Thursday night and I'm old. I didn't immediately take off my pants and become one with the couch upon getting home. I get points for not even being in bed right now.

Tonight is another story altogether, though, for tonight is GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY night! I don't get home till after 8pm (not super fond of the late shift, meh) and since we're leaving for the cottage the next morning we have to hit Target for a few things, so we're hitting the 10:45pm 3D showing in Etobicoke. Because obviously we know how to party.

No guarantee re: pants, though. You're welcome, GTA.

Kelly and I are driving to the Thousand Islands on Saturday morning to spend the long weekend with my mother. And by extension, my step-dad. I love my mother and I tolerate my step-dad but any length of time spent with both usually drives me up the wall one way or another, so I'm currently sitting here trying to decide if I should spend all weekend drunk off my ass OR brutally sober so that I can drive to town as needed, for a breather. It's nice to have that freedom now, with a car. They live on an island (a big one, but an island nonetheless); the closest thing you can walk to is... the Coast Guard station "next door". With a car at least I can escape to the closest Target, two towns over.

My step-dad has the habit of inviting his friends over whenever we're there. Like he wants to show us off or something. Or show them off. Or hope we'll become ~friends. But you know what - even at 34, the last people you want to "get to know" are your parents' friends. I'm full up on friends, yo. I can barely stand to make new ones of my own.

We threw down last time. I had asked prior to my visit that he maybe not invite people so that my mother and I could spend quality time together. But as with so many things, he just did what he wanted anyway (lol old white cis straight Republican men). I cried. He yelled. I hid. It was terrible. My mother popped up on Google Hangouts just now and I asked her to make sure my stepdad knows not to do that again. She promised to make sure. And that if people showed up uninvited anyway, we could fuck off and hide with her. Mom ♥

People do that there; show up uninvited. It's a small town thing and it drives me bananas. I need at LEAST a full day's warning if I am to socialize. Two days if it's new people. A full week for drunk Republicans.

Once upon a time (earlier today) philosiraptors linked me to a Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes fanvid made with MCR's Ghost of You video, and that might've been the hour of my demise, to the minute.




If you're at all invested in either, you're probably all



right now.

But if you're a lost cause re: both, then enjoy the sheer agony of it all.



Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuugh.

Look, I came of age around the same time the internet did so I can usually figure out most basic-to-intermediate things if I really want to, and even occasionally explain them to my mother, with varying degrees of success.


But figuring out how to make it so that emails with a certain label are filtered into a separate inbox below the main one in Gmail is FLUMMOXING me. Surely this is a thing that can be done?? I've googled it a million times, read a bunch of supposed how-to's.

But I think I need a growner-up to sit down and explain it to me like I'm four.

Man, our August is BOOKED. We went camping at Glenrouge with Fred & Emma last weekend (can that be my weekends always? ♥camping!♥) and we're going to see my mom in the Thousand Islands this weekend, then Ivana is visiting from Ottawa the following weekend, then BFF (now in med school in Calgary!!) is coming back to town briefly the weekend after that. Somewhere in there is my wife's birthday and our wedding anniversary and I suppose I should find time to eat and shower at some point. I love August :3

The main attraction in September will be Gerard Way's solo record coming out on the 30th and he's naming Carrie Brownstein as one of his guitar heroes and how is a girl supposed to deal? How? She simply cannot.

Just like I can't with these (most of which I require for my collection ffffffuuuu) and this little girl who's crying because she realized her brother wouldn't stay a cute baby forever. I don't even have a kid yet and I know those feels, girl.

AND SPEAKING OF BABIES OH MY GOD.

Scott Caan and his girlfriend Kacy Byxbee (whom I am obsessed with, don't look at me) had their baby girl and named her Josie James Caan. *lies down* *writhes* *moans extensively*

I am somewhat okay with showing you the full extent of my Scott Caan fixation on here, you should feel blessed. Or terrified. Both sentiment would be valid and appropriate tbqh.

Sometimes my job is really cool and I caption Guardians of the Galaxy trailers all day.

Other times, like today, I spend hours transcribing a corporate safety video for a nuclear plant and I want to die, simply die.



Then I sat in my car stuffing a cheeseburger into my face while watching joggers run in the rain, then swung by to get my wife and we raced to the liquor store four minutes before it closed to get cans of Somersby Blackberry Cider.

Now I am finally home and it is 10 o'clock and Tumblr exists and all is right with the world.



Her = me, who gets to ogle Chris Pratt's sweaty stomach for actual money, sometimes, though not always.

Hey so I heard LJ was putting back subject lines in comments, so I came running back. Just kidding, I'm back here because I couldn't be bothered learning WordPress.

Since we last spoke over a year ago, my wife and I moved to Toronto where I work full-time as a closed captionist in a post-production company and take the occasional contract as a movie/television set production assistant. Kelly runs a café and freelances as a queer/trans consultant with advocacy non-profits. We've also been delivering feminist/queer/fatpos workshops to youths and grown-ass adults, which is my favourite thing to do and I hope to do more of it. We are also trying to conceive via donor. Two lovebirds have been added to the menagerie and my oldest cat Basil has gone to live with a friend, where he reigns Cat Supreme. We bought our very first car.

Fandom-wise, these days I'm all about Hawaii Five-0, with the occasional geek out over Teen Wolf (which is horrible, fuck you Jeff Davis), Hannibal (formerly flawless and now - fuck you Bryan Fuller), The Good Wife (actually flawless), Parks and Recreation (I have entered a Chris Pratt spiral, nice knowing ya), The Newsroom (I cannot resist Sorkin, I am weak), and this Grey's Anatomy rewatch we just started (Denny Duquette is about to die all over again; no one look at me).

That's me. What's up with you?