Sad Snowy Musings

Here’s the thing. At the end of the day, I’m not an advocate for anything. Oh, like most folks I do enjoy a spirited debate, but I prefer to debate topics like sweaters, or Shakespeare.

I don’t like conflict, and strive to avoid it whenever I can. Now, to the people who know me, I admit I can be abrasive and a loudmouth…but that doesn’t mean I seek out conflict, but rather I don’t shy away from it, should it happen to find me.

Now this morning, which could hardly be considered different from any other Tuesday morning,  except that this Tuesday morning,  my dear friend’s roommate was attacked and beaten in the street.

His only crime? Walking to class. Apparently something about the way he walked inspired a follow twice his size to grab him from behind, call him a faggot and beat him nearly unconscious.  In broad daylight. On a crowded street. Nobody did anything.

This event leaves me angry and confused. Has my life really become so sheltered that I find it bizarre that nobody would say anything? He called 911 himself. Nobody sat with him while he waited for the paramedics, concussed and alone.

Again, I seldom use my soapbox these days, but maybe I should dust it off. I noticed in HFB yesterday somebody mentioned it would be better to be ‘Gay behind closed doors’ but I didn’t say anything.   I worry that I spend so much energy debating things of little importance, that I’m forgetting bigger issues.

So I sit, angry and confused. Mostly with myself.

Lions and Tigers and Bears

Have you ever felt like you had to watch your every move?  Not like in a teen aged, 'Mother knows best' kind of way, but more of a 'We see you and know what you're up to' kind of way?

I work for a high security company; I try my hardest not to talk about it and it's weird and wily ways. But sometimes everything in my world just comes crashing together in an epic smashing of crap. They now count our rolls of paper towel; each bathroom is only allowed one a day...keep in mind there are 1300 people in my office.

They've also decided to cut down on energy costs so all blinds must be closed all the time...there are signs posted everywhere in case we forget. So now on top of working in cubicle Hell, we have to work in a no natural light cubicle Hell.

I've worked there for nearly ten years...I've seen alot of things...keystroke programs we sign waivers for...bosses who like to count how often we go to the bathroom...it's fair to say my tolerance for crap [or perceived crap] is fairly high.

So understand me when I say, sometimes I just feel like pulling out my hair at the sheer volume of bullshit that occasionally comes spewing out of the various facets of the fandom.

Good grief. It feels like a soap opera...a really bad one, where the heroes are insipid, vapid liars, and the villains are people just trying to go about their Sunday afternoons in peace. Being vilified for questioning things that needed clarification is not a redeeming feature for anyone; don't ask me to set aside my intelligence just to further your agenda. Donating to causes is great, but the motivation behind the act matters as well.

I'm old. I try really, really hard not to rock the boat. But I do like to poke the bear once in a while...sue me, a girl's gotta have some fun.

Beaver Unplugged

Okay, so tonight I had my first true troll experience on Twitter. Now, I've been involved in online fangirling for nearly fourteen years now [yes, I'm THAT old ;)]...ever since Buffy came along, so I'm no stranger to trolls. When I was younger it always seemed like some extra excitement to shake up our message boards.

But now that I'm older, and not necessarily more mature, I found the experience rather upsetting. Not in a you-hurt-my-feelings kinda way...just sort of, really, REALLY? Did you really just send me not one, but FOUR DMs?

Tiny bit 'o personal information; I work in a high security environment...nothing terribly interesting, but still security is involved. I'm also the Social Media and Communications Champion so I'm in charge of the company's Twitter etc. among other things. What this means is, as an individual, I'm not supposed to be on Facebook, Twitter...or Blogger [oops].

After much back and forth with the company, I got permission to use Facebook, provided I didn't post or join inappropriate things/groups.  When I wanted to join the Hiddlestoners group I had to draft a memo...yes, an actually memo, outlining why I wanted to join the group. Which, I'm positive my VP didn't actually read, because the first response came back, 'Rejected. Relates to Drug/Alcohol'.

Ah, bureaucracy at its finest! 

Now, I make no secret of the fact that I joined Twitter [without my company's permission] largely because I found the Hiddlestoners  group to be such a glorious bunch of people. They were the first people I spoke with on Twitter, and everything has always been great. I love participating in my own little way, even though I don't really have much to say.

I'm very aware my handle isn't pleasing to some, but it's close to my heart as it was a nickname given to me by a coworker who died two years ago...

I can honestly say in all my years, through various fandoms, I have never come across a more diverse, creative, giving group of people than them. I owe then alot. I was going through a really rough patch in my life, and they made me smile every day...even if I was just lurking in the corner :)

Wow. This is getting long.

At any rate, tonight, who should happen to tweet just as I logged in? Dear Mr Hiddleston.  Now, this never happens...I can't post from work and I don't have a phone, so I have to make due with reading about it after the fact. But tonight I was determined to post! In my eagerness {I am a beaver afterall} my tweet made absolutely no grammatical sense...I was so embarrassed, but my pride kept me from deleting it.
I moved on, made dinner for the kids, started a load of laundry...then the first DM arrived. It detailed my insulting behaviour and advised me to apologise immediately. Er, okay. But then the second arrived, more insulting, more demanding...plus two more which I wouldn't have wanted my kids to read.

I didn't realise until that moment how ferociously possessive some fans are. I didn't realise the sheer nastiness people were capable of venting to complete strangers. I won't name the person in question, but I've heard of her before.  I've never had to block a fellow fan, and the Mom in me hated doing it.

A great big thank you to everyone who wrote me afterwards; I never really thought anybody knew I was there. Thank you. It means alot.

A St Crispin's Day A Rant in Three parts

So begins a St Crispin's rant in three parts.

First of all, the Lack continues to rear it's very ugly head. The amount of self loathing I feel about even talking about it...well, I loath in a variety of mediums...alot. Birthdays for classmates have become an issue; how many birthday parties does Goose have to go to? I swear he has one every other weekend...
His school has an 'All or None' invitation policy; heaven forbid a child know what it feels like not to be invited somewhere! They might learn that life isn't fair or something...
At any rate, having to buy gifts nonstop for other kids isn't really my cup of tea, but I hate the idea of Goose being the kid that brings the less than stellar gift...and then I hate myself on all sides. I hate the other moms, then hate myself for not being the other moms.
Secondly, I need to address that dratted Hiddleston and his antics, which are beginning to inter fear with my day to day life. That man is far too lovely for his own good...I just like to watch him...again and again.
What becomes of fangirls as we age?  Are we supposed to retire?  Or go underground? Am I now a fanwoman? Now, I'm not terrifically old, but given how young most fangirls are I feel positively ancient...and rather creepy.  I still remember my glory days of James Marsters and Michael Rosenbaum  [some of you may have to look them up...please do. They were-and still are-lovely].  
But yes, Hiddleston...too cute for his [and my] own good.  No man should ever be able to sneeze like that and still be sensual; it must be criminal.

Today I happened to overhear several of the uppers at Big Green discussing the salaries of the incoming newbies. Image my surprise to discover that their salaries match mine. Interesting considering I've slogged away in this place for nearly nine years...four of which I haven't even been granted the standard 'cost of living' quasi increase companies give you to keep you quiet.
Well, I'm not sure if I can stay quiet [like I ever could]. I have an honors degree from one of the best universities in the country, I arrive early and stay late, I take on other jobs outside my comfort and training, I fill gaps when people leave, I put up with more shit in a week than most do in a lifetime.
All for, [wait for it]
36 400 a year.  Before taxes. 
Now, please realise this isn't intended to be one those I'm edumecated/hardworking/rescuekittens type rant, but rather a flailing of hands. Eat me, Big Green. Eat me.

How old are we again?

'Hey' Tiny says nudging her friend and giggling. 'You going for donuts?' Nudge. Nudge. 'Or the dollar store?' Nudge. Giggle. Nudge. No, this isn't Junior High or even Elementary school. This is the Big Green. My workplace. Multi-Billion, World Wide Corporation. 'Sure' I reply, 'Isn't that what I do?' I'm met with unsurprisingly blank stares. 'Didn't she get that I was making fun of her?' Tiny continues braying as I leave.

To quote the immortal Charlie Brown, Good Grief.

I work incredibly hard at my job, which, for the most part probably doesn't make much difference, but I enjoy it and am capable of deriving a certain amount of pleasure from it. So I keep it up, day after day, year after year. But, really. Really?  Do I really have to do the time warp? I was twelve once, and it was enough.