This is a finding homoerotic subtext in even the most dark and straight of situations blog.
My name's Chloe, but I will also respond to Papa Meep. Rabid fangirl, pixel pusher, and advocate of the written word. I like making lists and I hate writing bios. Accents, football and sci-fi turn me on. Team Free Will is where it's at, you guys. My computer is my best friend and when it comes to the outside world, I'm completely inept. The line between where works of fiction end and I begin has become basically non-existent. I live for television and food and porn.
I express my feelings through my tags, although most of my feelings are of intense hatred towards beautiful people.
Links!
Goodreads // Amazon // Facebook // Formspring
Sometimes I like to write serious things so if that sort of thing is your cup of tea, go right ahead.
“Then, one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life… you give them a piece of you. They don’t ask for it. They do something dumb one day like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”
- Neil Gaiman
(Source: profoundly-bonded)
I shall forever remember these five weeks as my glorious vacation away from boob sweat.
France update:
- Eating cheese
- Eating yogurt
- Crying every day over how great my life is
- Yep.
(Source: katiemacbook)
Okay so!
I have a lot of feelings about being back in France and most of them are feelings of anger and frustration at the arrangement of the keyboard keys, which were seemingly placed where they are by a blind monk who was never taught the meaning of practicality. Why do I have to hold down shift for a fullstop? Why?
Mostly though, I just have a lot of emotions coursing through my agile young body at the thought of rediscovering my country and my identity as a woman of France. I bought a red coat which, aside from making me feel closer to Rory Gilmore circa season four, allows me to fit in. Also, wow, I’m surprised at how well my French has survived seven years of being squashed by English. I haven’t spoken a word on English since I got here.
My cousins keep taking me out to little restaurants and showing me delightful corners of the city that I didn’k know about, it’s altogether marvelous. My grandmother, who is made of the tough stuff they all were two or three generations ago, is 80 years old, has been unable to walk for three months, and still has the killer wit she’s always had. Seeing all my family together in her room, catching up on the last fve years, you’d think we were in the middle of a bad soap opera. It’s a beautiful thing.
I won’t mention the weather or the food or the men because they don’t need mentioning - they’re all fabulous and I cannot do them justice. I have a cold that is threatening to steal my life away from me and yet I feel happier than I have in a very, very long time. There are just times when one needs to pack up at the last minute and travel 35 hours (something else I won’t mention because the horror of my voyage was unspeakable) to be with family.
I guess that’s it from me for a while. I don’t even miss the internet anymore, that’s how much fun I’m having.
