Okay, um, so, apparently GoogleDocs has made some changes they were kind enough not to mention to me! According to iambickilometer, some people have been getting the option to view docs in the old version or this new version, but I haven't been getting that message, and neither have a number of the other folks I've been PANICKING AT calmly and rationally discussing this with on tumblr. shadesofbrixton has pointed out that if you use this link, you can create a new doc in the old version, but a) it's probably a temporary fix and b) it's not really any good for the docs you've already got in existence, as in copy/pasting the contents you lose any changes/comments/etc made within. Which is, you know, THE ENTIRE FUCKING POINT OF GOOGLEDOCS.

The change I have noticed/been freaking out about is the fact that there are now fucking pagebreaks in my docs. You can kind of get rid of them by switching to what's called compact view, but there are still dotted gray lines indicating pagination. If you're a normal person, this probably isn't a big deal--if you're like me, and avoid working in documents that give you a pagecount because it makes you anxious and self-judgmental, YOU APPEAR TO BE SHIT OUT OF LUCK.

Anyway, point of post being: this is happening, GoogleDocs is different, and it wasn't announced anywhere that I heard about it, so I figured I'd let you guys know. If you come across any other changes to the interface, or--please please please--a fix for the page thing, please leave them in the comments for reference? And, yeah, okay, I'm going to go back to trying not to freak out about this now.

In conclusion: Danny still hearts Steve, so it's not all bad. But boo, GoogleDocs. Very much boo.

gyzym:
DUDE
DUDE
HOLD UP
IT'S THE TEAM +JENNA
AS PENGUINS.

leupagus:
YEAH IT IS
STEVE AND KONO IN FRONT
DANNY IN THE MIDDLE BITCHING
CHIN'S ON THEIR SIX
JENNA'S.. GOT A HUNCHBACK?

gyzym:
JENNA'S A LITTLE DISTRACTED

leupagus:
IT HAPPENS

gyzym:
SHE'S LOOKING FOR WO FAT

leupagus:
He's the photographer in the distance
ENEMY PHOTOG

gyzym:
DUN DUN DUN DUNNNNN
THE SECRET INGREDIENT IS LURKING

leupagus:
THREE YEARS AGO HE TOOK A PICTURE OF MY FIANCE

gyzym:
JFDGJHDFJKGDF
STEVE IS LIKE
THOSE FEATHERS YOU WORE
PLAYING GROWN-UPS IN MY OFFICE
PROBABLY COST YOU TWO WHOLE FISH

leupagus:
ALSO ACCURATE PORTRAYAL OF STEVE/DANNY DYNAMIC:



leupagus:
I would feel shame except my shamedar got broken at muskrat jamboree

gyzym:
NO SHAME.

leupagus:
ONLY PENGUINS

YOU GUYS

YOU GUYS

This time I dreamed (non-lucidly) that I was at some kind of like, I don't even know, Hollywood...outdoor party thing...that I think started out as my high school reunion...whatever, WHATEVER. The point is, Alex O'Loughlin ordered a bunch of strange little banana drinks and kept trying to like, go behind the bar and make them himself, and then once he was drunk he started asking me questions.

Questions about what women want.

And so I told him, right, we had this whole conversation about asking ladies out and the right way to do it and confidence boosters (and at one point I was like, MY ADVICE IS TO GO LOOK IN A MIRROR, SERIOUSLY, DO YOU NOT KNOW WHAT YOU LOOK LIKE) and the whole thing. Which, incidentally, is a conversation I've had many times with many guys, because I have brothers and I must send out some kind of "I will not mock you for not knowing the answers here" signal. So it's pretty rote, right, and finally O'Lough like, thanks me for my help and says he feels ready to do it now.

And I say, "So, who's the lucky lady?"

AND HE SAYS, "SNOOKI FROM JERSEY SHORE"

SO, I was going to do a whole post about what happened to me last night, but in the light of day I kind of want to never think about it again. The short version of a long story is: there was a blizzard in Cleveland last night that gridlocked downtown traffic, and as such the normally 25 minute drive home took me FIVE AND A HALF HOURS. For the first hour and a half, I didn't leave the block my office is on.

Around hour four, I decided I had died and gone to hell. I'm still not...entirely convinced that that didn't happen.

My point being: if I was supposed to email you yesterday, or reply to something, or get something done, I apologize. I pretty much got home, smashed on as much food as I could get my hands on, got incredibly high with my brother to mitigate the boiling rage, and passed the fuck out. I am dealing with shit now! I am getting on it! But still, apologies etc.

HOW ARE YOU GUYS??

Ahahahahahaha, work, how so surreal?

Okay, so, the thing is, my job is essentially Do All Of That Shit No One Else Has Time To Do. This sounds less hectic then it actually is, until I explain that our firm has offices all over the country and our marketing department consists of three people. I am included in that count. As such, the tasks I get assigned vary wildly in tedium level and difficult, and some of them are ridiculously awesome, and some of them suck a lot, because that is the nature of having this kind of job.

TODAY, one of the things on my to-do list involved distributing some materials to like forty different attorneys, so before I left for lunch, I popped over to the mail room to procure some inter-office envelopes. I am pretty tight with most of the people who work in my office, because I have this policy about, um, general kindness, and a number of the people I work with do not have this policy, so I am pretty well-liked as a result. However, there is one woman who works in the mail room who either really, really hates me or...well, no. I'm pretty sure she just really, really hates me, and I cannot figure out why, but such is life! Generally I do not let it get me down.

However, when she is the only person in the mail room, things can get...a little odd.

Me: Hey, can I swing back behind the counter and grab--
Angry Coworker: No. Only mail room personnel can come behind the counter.

NB: this is not true; I have been behind the counter many a time! Several of those times I was allowed back there by the director of the mail room. However, I pressed on.

Me: Okay then! Sorry, I just need like forty inter-office envelopes, and I didn't want to make you get--
Angry Coworker: You need HOW many inter-office envelopes?
Me: Um. Forty? I know it's a lot, and I didn't want to be obnoxious--
Angry Coworker: Too late.

Okay. Guys, at this point, I am annoyed. However, a) lots of things annoy me and I have learned to pick my battles, and b) I spent a number of years working several jobs in the customer service industry, and have as such developed the default response of you're-pissed-off-so-smile-harder-instead-of-committing-murder while in the workplace. I smile harder. I smile so hard it hurts.

Me: I'm really sorry! I'd be happy to just grab them myself--
Angry Coworker: Well, why didn't you offer to do that to begin with?
Me: I...but I...that's what I...
Angry Coworker: Not that it would have mattered, since you can't go behind the desk, but you could have at least offered.
Me: ....
Angry Coworker: Whatever. It'll take about forty-five minutes, you're just going to have to wait. I'm really busy.

Please note: I can SEE THE STACK OF ENVELOPES. THEY ARE WITHIN MY REACH. And she is busy, by the way, reading an Us Weekly magazine. But I swallow my irritation because I am a professional and I do not scream at people for being irrational and I certainly do not throw myself across counters and run off with a handful of envelopes, cackling madly.

Even when I really, really want to.

Me: Okay! That's fine. I'm going to go to lunch, then.
Angry Coworker: Well, fine. Forty, you said?
Me: Yeah, if you've got them. Thanks!
Angry Coworker: Whatever.

I go to lunch. I eat a delicious sandwich and try not to think about the fact that getting envelopes is apparently a trial now. And when I get back, the envelopes are at my desk.

Correction: the envelopes are all over my desk.

I count them. She's brought two hundred.

Alright, I think to myself, alright, whatever, at least they are here. I do what I need to do with the forty envelopes I had originally sought, explaining to a friend of mine who works in the mail room what happened while I work. He laughs hysterically (Angry Coworker is like this with everyone, it's not just me, her continued employment is an ongoing mystery), and helps me return the one hundred and sixty extra envelopes to their rightful spot. When we get to the mail room--and keep in mind that my arms are full of envelopes--Angry Coworker gives me a very unimpressed look.

Angry Coworker: What, do you need more?

GUYS. YOU GUYS. HOW IS THIS MY LIFE??????

ETA: Oh, also, because I said it in the comments somewhere the other day but then, uh, failed to mention it here: if you like, y'all can feel free to follow me on Twitter. I mention this NOT to be one of those people who is all AHAHAHAHA I NEEDZ FOLLOWERS YO but because I have this tendency to...um...mention that I'm going to try to finish a fic and then I get people going HEY I AM F5ING OVER HERE and sometimes things take longer than I mean them to and, uh. I thought a twitter account might be easier? Since, you know, people update their twitter feeds anyway and, uh. *Hands*

I make no promises about the content and actually mostly I use it as yet another medium through which to flail at angelgazing BUT I AM GOING TO USE IT TO LET YOU GUYS KNOW WHEN I POST FIC and, uh. Okay. Shutting up now?

Okay, here's the goddamn motherfucking fkdsfjsdfjsd wedding fic. It took forever. POSSIBLY BECAUSE IT IS ALMOST 20K? I just. I don't even know what happened here.

I have to tell you guys: I pretty much hate this fic right now, it's eaten at my soul, I have massive fucking doubts about it, but just. angelgazing says I have to post it, and I need it out of my damn to-do file, and just. *Tears at hair and makes pleading eyes* I CANNOT OFFER ANY...ANYTHING FOR THIS ANYMORE. I JUST CAN'T. I AM SORRY. BUT THERE'S LIKE 3K OF RIMMING PORN TUCKED IN IT? I JUST. I DON'T EVEN. NO MORE SPEAKING.

And, with that auspicious introduction:

Title: life long local foreigner, i
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 19,464 (JESUS CHRIST WHAT THE ACTUAL SHIT, SELF)
Summary: Arthur grins, lazy and relaxed, and Eames thinks that maybe this is how people get through these things, tethered to one another when they can't hold on anywhere else.
Author's Note: This story is the seventh in a series called Wherever You Will Be (That's Where I'll Call Home), also known as the domesticverse; the link takes you to the series master post. Specifically, it is the companion piece to pressed against the pending physics of my passed down last name; the titles are from the same song and everything!

( life long local foreigner, i [1/2] )

Okay, internet, I am having a problem and I AM GOING TO TALK ABOUT IT.

This is the thing: I am cursed. I have always been cursed. I inherited this curse from my mother, and someday, if I decide that reproduction is on my to-do list, my child will probably inherit it from me.

The curse of which I speak is The Curse of Approachability, and I possess it in spades.

I DO NOTHING TO ENCOURAGE THIS, YOU GUYS. I mean, okay, admittedly once people start talking I don't actively demand that they stop, because that would be rude and bitchy and sometimes they tell me horrible, horrible things and I feel guilty and I want to make them feel better, but that does not explain why THEY TALK TO ME TO BEGIN WITH. And I am not anti-social, I am not opposed to random conversation--I will happily strike up a friendly chat with someone in line with me at the grocery store, I am more than willing to engage in casual dialogue with strangers. That is not what I am talking about.

This is what I am talking about: people walk up to me, and, apropos of nothing, tell me their life stories.

No, look, I'm serious. THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED TODAY.

Me: Oh, lalalala, I am going to order a cup of coffee because I stayed up too late reading & writing Inception fic and now I feel like death. So I will just stand here quietly in line and--
Random Woman Behind Me In Line: I HAVE KIDNEY ISSUES.
Me: Oh! Um, I'm very sorry--
RWBMIL: LET ME TELL YOU AN EXTENDED AND GRAPHIC TALE ABOUT MY PROBLEMS URINATING.
Me: Oh my god, um, that sounds terrible--
RWBMIL: OH, DID YOU WANT TO GO TO WORK? BECAUSE I AM GOING TO CONTINUE TELLING YOU ABOUT THIS AT GREAT LENGTH WHILE PEOPLE AROUND US LOOK AWAY. I HOPE YOU DO NOT MIND BEING LATE!
Me: I...um. Um. Oh my god, um. Help?

I eventually escape her, go to work, and pull a half-day because my office is dead. I go out to the parking garage.

Me: Lalala I will just stick my ticket in the machine and pay it there is not even anyone in here lalalala--
Lady Who COMES OUT OF NOWHERE: Aren't the prices at this garage outrageous?
Me: Yeah, it's a bummer--
LWCOON: I CANNOT AFFORD TO PARK HERE BECAUSE MY OLDEST SON IS IN COLLEGE GETTING A DEGREE HE'LL NEVER USE AND MY DAUGHTER INSISTED ON BALLET LESSONS EVEN THOUGH MY HUSBAND IS A GOOD-FOR-NOTHING DEADBEAT WHO NEVER DRIVES HER ANYWHERE AND I HAD TO PARK HERE THIS MORNING BECAUSE I WAS RUNNING LATE BECAUSE MY SISTER'S KID VOMITED AND I HAD TO TAKE HIM TO THE DOCTOR BECAUSE SHE'S NOT RESPONSIBLE ENOUGH TO DO IT HERSELF AND WE'VE NEVER GOTTEN ALONG BUT I'M STILL EXPECTED TO DO HER ALL THESE FAVORS AND I FORGOT MY LUNCH AND I HAVE A BLISTER ON MY FOOT FROM THESE STUPID SHOES BECAUSE I MEANT TO GRAB THE OTHER ONES AND--
Me: Jesus Christ, WHAT AM I DOING TO ENCOURAGE THIS.

I mean, look. I like people! I do, I genuinely like people, I find them fascinating and compelling and there are times--in bars, in waiting rooms--where I like hearing about their lives. I spend all my free time writing, be it original stuff or fic, and the more you talk to people better you are at writing about people. I don't deny this. And I feel bad, because I know someone who is unloading their woes on a random girl they've never met before is probably really lonely, and that sucks, so I try to be kind.

But, just, Jesus Christ. Sometimes I'll be writing in a coffee shop with my headphones in and people will tap me on the shoulder and make me take my headphones out and then will start talking. Random people! People I've never laid eyes on! I'm starting to wonder if I'm like, secretly blacking out and going around town making ~lasting connections~ I don't know about, because honest to god what what what. And while there are certainly times I'm happy to listen, there are also times--when I'm on my way to work, when I'm running errands, when I'm supposed to be somewhere--that I really can't. But how do I even begin to interrupt someone telling me about their battle with cancer to tell them I've got a dentist appointment in fifteen minutes? Their problems are clearly worse and more important than mine--but at the same time, I don't even know their name.

I don't know, guys. I just don't know. Maybe it's just my face?

I filled a hilarious kinkmeme prompt out of a need to take a break and write some crack. 900 words of ridiculousness later, I don't even know if I should post this to the comms angelgazing used her damned "I wrote the Inception team as Care Bears" argument and made me cross-post this. I just. I do not even. Wut.

Title: Shit Arthur Says
Rating: PG (possibly PG-13 for language)
Pairing: Arthur/Eames
Summary: Written for this prompt: Eames has a secret twitter called, "Shit Arthur Says." Well, secret to Arthur, that is.

( Shit Arthur Says )

...and then I stayed up until 4 AM finishing a crackfic so long I'm going to have to split it into two posts. I have nothing to say for myself, you guys. I have absolutely nothing to say for myself.

Title: A Whole New World
Pairing: Arthur/Eames (side Cobb/Saito)
Rating: Hard PG13 to light R
Summary: In which Cobb decides two babysitters are better than one, Saito proves that money can buy happiness, and Eames is excellent with children. Oh, and Arthur's a fucking Disney princess.
Author's Note: First of all, a MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU to elrhiarhodan, who let me send this to her bit by bit and assured me that I was not, in fact, crazy. Or not any crazier than usual, anyway. Also, this happened because I was browsing around on inception_kink and found several prompts casting Arthur as various Disney princesses. And then, because I'm irresponsible like that, I lost them. PLEASE LINK ME IF YOU SEE THEM, as I believe I filled, uh, all of them, and I'd like to post this/thank people for providing such a hilarious idea/etc.
( And now for a brief discussion about gender identity, because Sensitivity Is Important. )

And now, without further ado...

( A Whole New World )