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Hi there! You might remember me as elf_fu, the sparkly foul mouthed all-caps child-like annoying live journaler from such hits as...Uh..Well, anyhoo--I don't post very often here anymore. I don't plan on deleting my LJ, but I am not sure if I will be able to keep up with it fully since I am so distracted and I've become a G+ fan girl.

There are a few other places you can keep up with me if you really miss my special sort of derp and writing, and they are:

I am all over both and post daily (....sometimes SEVERAL BILLION TIMES A DAY SORRY, especially on Tumblr). So if you like, come on over and say hi! (And let an old lady know who you are 'cause I can't remember for poop.)

I am a super genius.

In other news: decided stupidly to quit smoking today.

Looked at my phone's notifications...my little period tracker app notified my that my period starts in two days.

Oh. This seems smart.


Hi Christmas, I'm Dad

No Christmas cards this year, but I hope that you all know that I am grateful for all of you still in my LJ life that followed me to G+, Tumblr, or FB, for those of you who stayed active here on LJ and still post (and let me stay on your friends list) and that you've carried me through many great times and bad times...And I hope this Christmas and this year, all of you make and keep the wonderful LJ friends that have become internet-family.

You made it!

Happy birthday plantmom. You made it! You made it one more day and I hope today is as filled with reminders of love, of strength, of support and of fishy sock-hugs! 
"You find someone to carry you."

Life is difficult, for everyone. We each struggle day-to-day with our issues and problems. We have bills. We have loss. We have joy. We have love, we have each other, or we have just ourselves to lean on. Financially, it’s tight for a lot of people I know and love. They’re struggling to come up with mortgage payments, car payments and groceries.

Imagine, however, this: you’ve always struggled. Your whole entire life has been a struggle. A struggle to get out of a place that poisons you. Away from a situation that may have broken you. Imagine the strength and the self-will, the pride it takes and breaks—to get out on your own and find your way. Imagine that, now you have a loved one. You have a child. You have a friend that offers you a home to rent and while things were never, ever perfect—you think, “Finally. A step in the right direction. I can do this.”

And then imagine everything that could go wrong, does go wrong.


Cross posted from my Dreamwidth journal. Comment wherever you like: http://elf-fu.dreamwidth.org/701676.html

A Poem For Rebecca Meyer, 2008-2014

theferrett at A Poem For Rebecca Meyer, 2008-2014

I mourn with my online friends and Rebecca's family.



My thoughts have constantly been with Rebecca, Rebecca's family, Gini and Ferrett today. (Read: http://www.theferrett.com/ferrettworks/2014/06/all-the-love-in-the-world-is-useless-all-the-anything-in-the-world-also-useless/) In between grocery shopping, in between petting cats, in between paying bills and in between stressing out over a septic system--in between, in the little cracks of something good, I think of this little girl I have never met and I think of her family and I feel an unforgiving fist-lump at the bottom of my throat. I feel tears and frustration: that I know my tears don't DO anything. And that I HAVE to do something. No armchair or social activist posts will help.

And so, I have made up my mind.

I can't cure this. I can't do anything to help the family where I am. I can't comfort them so far away.

But there is something I can do. There is something YOU can do to hasten the dream that someday childhood cancer will be a myth: https://www.stbaldricks.org

Cross posted from my Dreamwidth journal. Comment wherever you like: http://elf-fu.dreamwidth.org/701269.html
This is the ENTIRE story of dealing with having to LEGALLY be in contract, in Florida, with a Septic company if you own an Aerobic Septic System. This is what we've been dealing with. This is why you're gonna hear about that crazy lady in Florida who kills people with glitter.

This fuckery is long so I put it behind this cutCollapse )

Cross posted from my Dreamwidth journal. Comment wherever you like: http://elf-fu.dreamwidth.org/701073.html

Premeditated birthday

My birthday is next month, July 2nd. I'm not going to bandy around the bush. There are things I would really, really like for my birthday, so here is what I want this year:

~~Hug someone you don't normally hug (but are comfortable in doing.)
~~Remind someone that you love them by doing something small but recognizable.
~~Donate cans of pet food, used but clean towels, blankets, kitty litter, dog/cat toys, garbage bags to your local no-kill shelter and or rescue-er.
~~If you get a pet or are looking for one around this time, DON'T SHOP. ADOPT!
~~Send me a birthday selfie on July 2nd of you wearing something pink.
~~Anything, anything at all from this wish list: http://amzn.com/w/21CLMEYFWS8ZM

In an effort to make a better game stream and be able to play more games, I am faced with the reality that my computerybits are starting to age. With the newest $1000 dolla dolla septic bill, all plans at upgrading are put off indefinitely. Now I DON'T expect anyone to actually buy any of this. Really. But you know I am putting it out there because I can dream and dreams are like sparkle-farting unicorns: you just never know.
~~Graphics card upgrade
~~Stand alone mic with pop shield (for streams)
~~Processor upgrade: for better games, better graphics, better game streams
~~Additional RAM, for recording gaming and to become more powerful than any fart-sparkling unicorn ever.
~~Digital Downloads/Collectors edition/Computer games
~~All of these can be found in my Mels Computery Daydream wish list here: http://amzn.com/w/2O40DYJ6C785W

So there you have it. These are the things I dream. (Other than riding across the sky on a pink glitter carpet shoving shinies in peoples eyes.) 

Cross posted from my Dreamwidth journal. Comment wherever you like: http://elf-fu.dreamwidth.org/700866.html

Mother's Day

There is always a light.
Right beside your favorite rocking chair in the middle of my mind,
cluttered like your favorite table.
You filled your table with nail-file swords and lip-gloss unicorns,
nail polish knights that came to life because
these were 'big girl,' things.
And as I lay back,
your arm a pillow for my dreams, the rocking chair's sway
making the light a bobbing lantern carried in the night--
I thought I could be like this forever.

The first time I saw the needle I marveled.
How this plastic numbered vial with metal entered your body
to save you everyday, as if it were some soul-resurrecting insulin god
come down to touch its gloried warrior on the battle field filled with
test strips. Jabs. Alcohol wipes.
I laughed when they made you test on an orange.
There was light streaming from the hospital door when we left.
It made the curls of your hair into angel halos.

The first time I came home and you weren't there, my father played it off.
A chance to relax, he said.
We'll have fun and visit her as much as we can.
Just keep the house clean.
When you came home you spoke of sugar-comas as if you were shopping for new shoes.
How the EMT's with you began shaking you and calling your name.
How you said it felt like you were at the bottom of a lake, seeing their faces
wavering through distant light.

The last picture I have of you
staring blankly ahead, above you.
Your skin reminds me of jellyfish beached; there's no color.
I am afraid of your arms.
I am startled by your legs.
The coffee cup in your hand has more substance in the entire picture than you do,
it looks more real than the woman laying prone.
I don't know who she is.
I don't know how to keep looking at this picture.

Dad asked me to write something for your funeral.
As if asking a daughter to pen something quick for her dead mother could ever be easy.
As if a single word could erase the fact that I won't be paying out my asshole for flowers sent from one country to the next and not even care because I love you, and,
that's what daughters do.
As if a single speech represented all the mistakes I made, shooting us into the past where a picture of you, laying blue-lipped and grey shell-skinned didn't send me into a panic attack that kept me up for three days straight.
I never wrote anything. I never wrote anything good enough.
He said he read something of mine, anyway.
He said there were over one hundred people who packed into a church made centuries ago to handle no more than fifty to hear him speak.
To remember you.
He said you would have loved what I wrote.

And I remember.
There is always a light.

Cross posted from my Dreamwidth journal. Comment wherever you like: http://elf-fu.dreamwidth.org/700362.html