One Time I Wrote Fanfic

It was awesome. There’s something really exhilarating about writing absolute tripe on the internet…maybe that’s why I like blogging. Anyway, it’s some of the most ridiculous nonsense I’ve ever written but I thought I’d share it with you here, because…because it’s Downton Abbey fanfic and Carson is sassy in it. So you’re welcome.


Midnight in the Library

In which Carson keeps it tight. Meow.

“Carson.” Thomas leaned against the doorframe, his sleeves rolled to the crook of his arm, vest buttons undone. His chest rose and fell quickly over labored breath. “Carson, I need you.”

Charles Carson looked up from his desk, his glasses at the tip of his nose. He pulled them off to chew tenderly on the end of his wire frames. “Oh?”

Thomas walked forward, leaning on the desk and pushing his face toward Carson’s. A small trickle of sweat ran down his temple, his hair disheveled, chest still heaving. “You’ve got no idea.”

This had become a common occurrence lately, as Thomas became more and more stressed with his duties serving Branson, so Carson was not particularly surprised to see him in disarray, panting above him. At first, Carson had disapproved of Thomas’ growing familiarity, running into his office at all hours of the evening, constantly needing advice or support of some kind. But loneliness gets the better of even the most upstanding men, and he’d begun to find Thomas’ adoration difficult to eschew. Carson was leaving tomorrow, anyway, without a word to anyone, not even Thomas. So no, it wasn’t surprising that Thomas arrived in Carson’s office at midnight, as the last bits of his candle flickered weakly. What was surprising, however, was that a desk still separated the two men.

Thomas led him into the library, fingers lightly grazing Carson’s hip through his jacket while he spoke. “I just can’t get these books straightened.” Never mind that book-straightening had never been an actual duty around Downton. Never mind that, had it been, Carson would have been even less capable of the task than Thomas. Never mind that they could be caught at any moment, suspiciously wandering the upstairs while the family slept. Nothing mattered now. Not now that Carson was leaving Downton forever. This was their last night together, and it would be spent in their place. It would be spent in the library.

It was too much. Carson found no reason to stay at Downton now, not now that he’d sullied his position and all it stood for. He’d loved every moment of his mischief, loved every warm breath that had passed from between Thomas’ beautiful lips, loved every second they’d spent alone in this darkened room. But he could no longer look Lord Grantham in the eye at dinner with these secrets ricocheting through his head. Given his propensity for telling the truth, no matter the cost, Carson knew he wouldn’t make it much longer without outing Thomas and himself as the sinners they were. The incandescent, passionate, sinning lovers they’d become.

It had been the false premises that intrigued him, always gave him that giddy fluttering in his stomach that he’d never experienced before. The questions Thomas had needed to ask him in the wee hours of the morning, drawing him from his bed in just a nightshirt. Before, he’d walked a tightrope of perfection that had thrilled him; polishing candlesticks had made his heart race in a way no woman ever had. But Thomas was an enigma, the most beautiful enigma, and now that he’d tasted freedom with Thomas, staying at Downton felt futile.

So he stood in the library, that same candle glimmering away in all its dying glory, his arm against a bookshelf as Thomas stood between him and so many classic pieces of literature, his breath catching in his throat, passion choking him as it never had before.

“Thomas,” Carson breathed. Thomas’ eyes twinkled wildly, his lips curled into the most glorious smirk he had ever seen. He exhaled heavily, leaning closer.

The candle flickered and, in a tiny burst of light, died.


What’s the Point of Simon Cowell

So, I was about to write a really really super sassy post about how Simon Cowell is a jerk and what’s the point of walking around with a huge scowl on your face because does nothing please you?!

But then I googled him (because I couldn’t remember how to spell his last name, to be honest) and came upon his twitter and…is Simon Cowell nice now? He says lovely things and posts pictures of his doofy dogs (they’re named Squiddly and Diddly…you have to be nice to name dogs that way) and now I’m just confused about the world.

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But then! (You’re on this journey with me, people) Then I read an interview he did with Jay Leno and he said something about not initially wanting to sign a band because the guys were all really ugly and I threw up on my computer.

It got me thinking…does he live his entire life being an ass for the cameras? Has he decided that the only way he’s memorable is by treating other people really terribly? That just sounds so tiring. And lonely.

I think the energy we put into the universe is the energy we get back, and if you decide (even falsely) to put out a whole load of negative energy, that’ll catch up to you somehow or another. Maybe Squiddly and Diddly pee in his bed every night, or bite his feet a lot or something.

Anyway, I love you all, my cheeky little muffins! Finals week is killing me, but I somehow managed to put this post together, even though it’s tragically insignificant and incoherent. Cheers!

Porches Are For Brownie

I’m all for smiling
but that woman is baring her teeth at me.
Why, Giada? Why? They…sparkle…
And Ina, I know that France
with its shops and street corners, berets and baguettes
is enchanting
but why must you tease me like that?
Hey, you. Sandra Lee
What’s in a name? You might as well be called
Sandra Dee, with your spiffy cooking ideas and
adorable cocktails.
Why does your outfit match your kitchen?
And who told you to put moss on that table?
As a “centerpiece”– more like
centipedes are gonna crawl outta that moss.
Paula! I love you, boo!
Needs more butter.
Rachael Ray, with your EVOO, you do realize that
fine dining establishments have
adopted that
Bobby Flay, I don’t wanna barbecue with you.
And Masaharu Morimoto, you iron chef you,
that’s some scary seafood, bro.
But I watch you all
and love you all
if only to pass beautiful afternoons
on the porch
playing cards with my grandmother
with sizzling steaks and — “I wish you could smell this”
existing quietly in the background.
Porches are for Brownie, my grandmother.
Porches and The Food Network.


So concludes part three of my childhood poetry series. Cheers, and all my love to my grandma, Brownie, whose delightful ring of “Cappy, darling!” brightens my day every time I call. xoxox.

And Sean Cried…

Hopefully you guys don’t mind my rants about The Bachelor, cuz heeere comes another one! I just finished watching the most recent episode online and I shall summarize it for y’all in case you don’t follow the nonsense that is The Bachelor.

Sean goes to the hometowns of the 4 remaining girls and meets their families:

He meets AshLee’s parents and she cries and tells them that she loves him and it’s weird and they’re all drinking sweet tea. Sean is probably wearing some sort of weird sweater and too much gel in his hair.

Sean then goes to the army base that Lindsay’s family lives on and she pretends to be his drill sergeant. She yells “straighten up” and “get it together!” a lot, and she slaps his butt more than necessary.

He goes to Seattle (woot woot!) with Catherine and tosses fish (lucky bastard) at Pike’s Place, then meets her family. Her sisters tell him Catherine’s messy and Sean looks entirely too constipated the whole time.

Then Des makes dinner with him at her house and he meets her brother, who basically calls him out for being on a show with 25 women and sweet-talking them all. Then Sean leaves with a wedgie and Des is embarrassed, crying the next night to him during the rose ceremony. Chris, the host of the show, stands awkwardly in the background. I think.

Sean sends Des home (after awkwardly looking at her picture a lot in some other room), because her brother has found him out! Also, because he is a vampire. I don’t know what that has to do with anything, but it’s obviously important.

And here’s what I predict happened next:

Sean went back to the picture room, picked up Des’ photo, and caressed the small image of her face. A single tear slid down his cheek.

“No, Sean,” he muttered to himself. “You won’t do this. You won’t be weak.” He paced the room a little, the picture still in his shaking hand, and finally, when he could stand it no longer, he ran outside and chased after the limo, but it was too late. He’d sent her on her way and he’d never see her again. The picture fell from his hand, the glass from the frame shattering on the asphalt. He walked back to the house; someone from the crew would clean up the broken glass, but no one could fix his splintered heart.

No one but Des, and she was long gone.

Chris was waiting for him in the picture room when he returned, and they shared a long, silent embrace. Chris patted Sean’s back, noting how muscular it was. As they hugged, he let his hand wander downward, finally allowing it to rest on the small of Sean’s back. Sean flinched a little, but realized it didn’t feel that weird, so he let it happen. After a moment, he pulled away slightly, meeting Chris’ gaze.

As they slowly leaned toward each other, eyes locked, Sean’s thoughts — and heart — raced. “What’s happening?” he thought. “He’s my bro. But…he’s somehow more.” So Sean let it happen. He let it happen so good, and when their lips finally met, electricity shooting up his spine, he realized that maybe it wasn’t Des he’d been looking for. Maybe it had been Chris all along.

Chris, who had been there for him when Tierra was a crazy mofo. Chris, who knew how to count roses (“There’s one rose left, ladies”). Chris, who kissed better than any of these pansy-ass girls could.


The Bachelor Taught Me…

The Bachelor is all about real love, and it is teaching me so much! Like:

1. The definition of a “fairytale” is competing with 24 other girls and being as catty as possible while at the same time pretending to be normal in the company of the man you’re trying to woo.

2. It’s totally normal to compete with said 24 girls because love is a battlefield.

3. When you feel upset, you should throw yourself down the stairs.

4. Daddy issues are always appreciated.

5. When the guy you like takes off his shirt, it is completely appropriate to cat call at him. On that note, the minute he walks into the room you should wolf whistle.

6. When you see a guy you like on a date with another girl, it is completely appropriate to interrupt and ask if you can “cut in.” They will not object, but probably will bitch about it behind your back.

7. The more vapid you are, the farther you’ll go…as long as you have a tattoo with a lot of meaning.

8. Even when he’s got 20 other women he’s kissing, you’re special. You’re so special.

9. Women should fight each other for a man.

10. Men should feel great when women fight each other for them.

11. You can be a terrible kisser as long as you’re The Bachelor.

Basically, this show is a lot like my life in television form. Be jealous.


The Bachelor: Everything That’s Wrong With America

I watched the Bachelor for the first time tonight with my sorority sisters. At first, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to last 10 minutes, much less 2 hours. He kept standing in front of cliffs and looking sultry, and wandering along the beach alone while talking about how he wanted kids, blah blah, blah…I will admit, he’s not bad to look at. Meow.

After an hour, I was cheering for people. Honestly (loudly) cheering for girls to get roses from some idiot with gelled hair. It was a low point in my life, guys. I think I need to cleanse myself, and to do that, I have to list all the reasons why The Bachelor is everything that’s wrong with this country.

1. It turned me into a bitch. Seriously, I was judging people harder than I have ever judged before. I was judging their faces, hair (there were a few hair mistakes goin’ on, for sure, but my hair looks like crap right now so I should probably shut up), teeth, clothing choices…I guess we do that every day, and especially when we date, but, er…it got a little out of control. At one point we decided that a girl looked like Shirley Temple and Brandy had a lovechild (it was a very accurate description, actually, but still).

2. Love doesn’t work that way. Enough said.

3. They get all worked up over things that don’t even matter. They don’t know him, yet they fight over him like animals. They act like their worst selves in order to “fall in love.” Honestly, I’ll bet most of those girls are really nice and normal, and then they enter this competition and turn into me in middle school (which is not something anyone needs to experience). I don’t understand what they think they’re getting themselves into, because they end up fighting amongst themselves because they want to be the only one having a relationship with this man. But the entire (ridiculous) concept of the show is that there are TWENTY of them, all courting one idiot wearing a skinny tie. Honestly, it all seems too stressful to be worth it.

4. Love doesn’t work that way. I guess I need to say it again, because some of you didn’t believe me. Love is not something you sign up and enter a contest for. Love is not something that unfolds in front of half of America on television. Love is not something that you compete with 19 other women for. Love isn’t as false as all that, believe it or not. And shows like this deceive us into thinking that it is.

5. It really showcases how far we will go for something stupid. We’re really materialistic in this country, if you haven’t noticed, and The Bachelor kind of makes us strive to possess people as if they were a commodity. Which they are not.

6. Love. Doesn’t. Work. That. Way. Now that I’ve listed all the things that love isn’t, let me tell you what love is. Love is raw, spontaneous, and wonderful. And I think beyond that, it cannot be described. But love is not something that you can win. Love is something that happens to you. You don’t run after love, love catches up to you. Maybe. I guess I wouldn’t really know. But I like to think I’m smart enough to be able to guess.

I’ll probably end up watching the next episode, so you can look forward to my brain falling out of my ears by next Tuesday.

Why I’m Destined to be Tina Fey

People tell me I remind them a lot of Liz Lemon (for those of you who don’t know, that’s Tina Fey’s character on 30 Rock). While I pretend to be offended that people compare me to a single, middle-aged woman who eats her feelings, I’m not…I’m not offended at all. In fact, it’s pretty much my crowning glory.
Here is a list of why I will become Tina Fey. Not hope to become, mind you. Will.

1. Her brother is 8 years older than her. My sister is 7 years older than me. In her book, Bossypants, Tina/FutureMe wrote, “my brother has always looked out for me like a third parent.” Laurel treats me that way every day. Not that I don’t love her for it, because I love being taken care of. But sometimes it gets to the point where I want to tell her to just get a pet fish to take care of instead…not that I compare myself to a fish…uh…

My little Midge.

2. “One of my five hundred nicknames for my daughter is Midge, which is short for Midget, because she was a very small baby.” When we first got my cat, Mickey, I wanted to name him Midge so badly. He was the tiniest thing I’d ever seen and I coud practically fit him in my palm. So I still call him Midge, even though he is now the hugest cat on the planet.

3. The woman is a genius, and obviously I am too.
Here are a few random samplings of that genius (hers): “No one ever says, ‘You really, really must deliver the baby during labor.’ When it’s true, it doesn’t need to be said,” and “There’s a drunk midget in my house.”

Just so you can properly compare, here are a few random samplings of my genius: “People will come and go, but sour candy…that stuff’s forever. Literally. I think it’s radioactive,” and “Give a man a fish, and he’ll eat for a day. Give a man a Big Mouth Billy Bass and he’ll regift it to you next Christmas.”

4. She claims that now that she’s 40, she needs to take her pants off as soon as she gets home. “I didn’t used to have to do that,” she writes. “But now I do.” Well, Tina, I already have to do that. I guess I’m just preparing to live your fly, fancy lifestyle before I turn 20.

5. She remembers the pamphlets she got that were about her period. While mine featured really weird cartoons that asked questions such as, “Can I go swimming while on my period?” and “Will I bleed to death if I’m on my period when I get into a knife fight with Mike Tyson?” hers had the “vaguely threatening” title of “Growing Up and Liking It.” She thought her period would come out as a blue liquid like in maxi-pad commercials; I always thought those commercials were a marketing nightmare. As I’ve asked many times before, what twit thinks that I’m gonna want to buy a maxi pad that could double as an umbrella on a rainy day?

I think you can all see that I am exactly like her. And if you can’t see it, maybe get some glasses…or just keep your mouth shut.

Seduction So Dangerous

I was flipping through the channels the other day at lunch and came across an ad for Degrassi: The Boiling Point.  Many of you probably know of Degrassi (apparently it was popular in the early 90’s) or, if you’re older than that, The Kids of Degrassi Street which aired in the 80’s. Stay with me here, because there has also been a long running series called Degrassi: The Next Generation, which has been running since the early 2000’s. These shows are all apparently related, each subsequent series following a new generation of Canadians in the fictional world of Degrassi Middle School/High School, etc.

I have no clue why this show is still on the air.

The Next Generation, with a name uncomfortably close to that of the good Star Treks, addressed the teenage issues of homosexuality, eating disorders, dating violence, teen pregnancy, and mental disorders, along with a host of other problems. But it seems so unrealistic to pile it all into one television show, especially since so many of the conflicts occurred in the same episodes. The characters lived through some of the most traumatic ordeals I’ve ever come across, whether they be on television, in books or in real life. The point is, it seems as if the writers of this show have gone through just about every problem a child could face in their entire lifetime, not just in the 4 year span of high school. It’s become an extreme exaggeration of real life, and it’s getting pretty heavy.

The show has recycled the same themes for the past 8 or so years, and it’s time it finally ended. Especially since none of the old characters are still on the show and all the new ones creep me out. And look 12. And still make out and send each other dirty photos. I don’t remember doing that at that age…

The trailer for this new 8 episode series, Degrassi: The Boiling Point, shows exactly how weird it’s gotten when the announcer

Learn from this, Degrassi. But you might want to switch out your cast of small children first.

describes the show as containing “seduction so dangerous” that…well, apparently someone might be shot, there will be a war between the gays and straights of the school, or the chick who got pregnant by the ADD-riddled boy (who is apparently popular but looks tremendously awkward) might have a total meltdown. While these issues could be serious in real life, I am totally unsympathetic toward the characters. And I think a lot of it has to do with the “seduction so dangerous” line. It creeped me out.

When is seduction ever that dangerous? my friend asked.

When it runs around wielding a knife.

The Decline of the Barney Empire

I watched a few minutes of Barney today on PBS and was severely disappointed. Barney is not a good television show anymore, and I am sure it’s not because my tastes have changed. My tastes have not changed – I still love Elmo, the Teletubbies, and Mr. Rogers. Yeah, at least I have the guts to admit to it, unlike all you closet-Teletubbies-watchers out there.

But Barney has really let me down. I remember singing along to rousing choruses of “John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt” (because his name is my name too) but am now forced to hear songs like “Shapes.” I’ll give you a little snippit:

Shapes, shapes, it’s easy my friend.
You can tell a shape by the shape it’s in.
Shapes, shapes, sing it again…

What does that even mean? It’s like they’re trying to tell me something…Of course shapes are shapes…I don’t understand. If I can’t understand, I don’t think a 5 year old can. Please don’t argue with me on that.

Barney and Riff sounding annoying together.

And Barney’s new voice is really annoying.  It always kinda was, but this guy needs to listen to himself a little, because it’s terrible. Or maybe it’s been the same guy since 1991 and he’s just gotten steadily more…and more…and more annoying. His new pally Riff (added to the show in 2006) is pretty obnoxious too. We all know that every dinosaur on the show is a human in a costume, right? But I think it should be noted that the actual voice of each dinosaur is the voice of a completely separate actor. So these people are selected specifically for their voices. I think the Barney people need to get their ears cleaned out before auditions or something.

While I’m on a roll bashing television shows for small children (oops), I should probably add that Barney’s reputation was ruined by the rumors (I call them rumors because I don’t think they could possibly be true) that the old Barney actor used to hide heroin needles in his tail.

But then again, I got that information as a child from another child who thought that Kokanee beer was actually cocaine.

Jersey Shore: The Jerk Boyfriend I Never Wanted

Jersey, baby, I’ve tried to stay away. I know you’re no good for me. But just when I think I’m over you, I see you at a party and I’m mesmerized. So I sit down and watch you from afar. I think I’m addicted.

I am way too good for you. I’m classy and you’re trashy. But you know what they say about good girls always wanting bad boys? Well, I have that. I’m intrigued by your different way of life. You show that side of humanity that says, “Yo. I want to do what I want to do. Everyone else is just a side-show.” It’s exciting. You are just a baaaad boy.

Every night, you’re out with hundreds of other girls. In their living rooms, bedrooms, dining rooms, kitchens…you’re everywhere. Hasn’t anyone told you not to be so easy? Don’t you ever want to be exclusive and just show yourself for one girl? Bad boy, people will start to use and abuse you. They will play and replay you, and I don’t think you want that.

Every time things start to get exciting between us, we’re interrupted by all your friends calling you and telling you about new movies, new shows on MTV, and fast food restaurants offering deals. Can’t you tell your friends you’re busy? I just want you and you alone. No interruptions.

And people have started copying your style, baby. You should tell them to back off, cuz they’re just knockoffs. High schoolers make theme parties trying to be like you. They steal your dance moves and your hairdos…baby, show them who the real deal is.

I love you baby. Even though you treat me bad.