Rain Dog @Leucrotta@awoo.space

Thought; given that a tikbalang is a horse-anthro smoking a huge stogie, it’s kinda weird nobody has one as a fursona.

Shlach li malach
Sheikach, sheikach oti le lev
Sheoev
V’michalkaeli v’otsebi
Kol azman.
Whooooaaaaaa
*bass drops *

hey, before I fall over and go boom; an art hero has an Instagram, give her stuff a look if you like?

https://www.instagram.com/claire.wendling/?hl=en

Probably will be up with insomnia later but right now I gotta fall over for a bit. It's sort of nice that now that I'm older, I think sleeping is a pretty valid and good activity.

My folks are New Yorkers, I’m usually very conscious of code switching, and my normal accent evens out to vaguely Ohio/Michigan. There is however one phrase I literally can’t say without going straight into southern accent, unless I actively try.

That phrase is “the war of northern aggression,” y’shouldn’t know from it.

A favorite creator I follow on birdsite posted something intended as light hearted which hit me hard in the PTSD. We’re talking “suddenly I want to unfollow you” stuff.

My housemates are actually doing dishes for a change, so I swapped out clothes and am vaguely trying to study off Terryl Whitlatch.

Hungry, tired.

da DWEE dum doo duh
dum dum dum dee da
da DWEE dum doo duh
dum dum dum dee da
DA DWEE DUM DOO DUH!
DA DWEE DUM DOO DUH!
Duh.... dum!

meanwhile on birdsite;

they’re learning how to open .rar files https://twitter.com/etrenzik/status/1043995277609377792

Btw, I actually have fenced an Olympian, *once*. She was something like an alternate for a less big team, like Paraguay; she never actually got to compete in the Olympics. This made her really bitter.

Tbf I probably wasn’t trained enough to have a chance, but I didn’t even come close to scoring on her, she beat me with no effort. My takeaway remains that these athletes really are the best in the world, and I do mean all of them. They’re fucking amazing!

I went to college as an emotional wreck, but that year of fencing seriously made even that possible. I gave up fencing in college but was in a theatrical fencing group afterwards- and knowing I could do it is part of why later I felt I could try wing tsun, capoeira, weight lifting.

So now you know.

That was apparently the reaction Gene was looking for. He talked to my parents and money changed hands.

And during senior year I’d go to Five Points and fence after school once a week. Suddenly even though I wasn’t *that* good, I was good at something. And it was *my* thing, not something like the GPA or SAT scores I was doing to make someone else happy. I was a little like a D&D character, like D’Artegnan and the Grey Mouser. God that was cool!

So the summer before I was a senior, my parents let me try this cool thing. The student scored a point on me; I scored three on him. That caught Gene’s interest, and he asked if I wanted to fence him, and of course I wanted to! I think it was testing whether I might make a good student, because I scored on him while he was toning it WAY down- and then he fenced like someone with years of experience including training Olympians, and wiped me out. I was star-struck.

And then a miracle happened.

My parents will occasionally be REALLY generous and helpful, entirely at their option and unpredictably. *Most* of the time they forget I exist or they can be real assholes, and it’s always been this way. Fencing or going to Ren Faire were some of the “suddenly we’ve decided to be incredibly indulgent” things.

My Maitre d’Armes ran a booth at the Renaissance Faire, to drum up interest. You’d pay to fence a student for a few rounds.

This is also pre-internet, so I had no perspective on ANYTHING. All I knew was that I was ugly, physically incompetent, incredibly stupid, socially unacceptable. The highlights of my life were monthly game club meetings or getting to the mall, I had only one friend within 5 miles, and I was constantly depressed, which nobody noticed or cared about. Having been repeatedly forbidden to even mention suicide may be the only reason I didn’t off myself.

My GPA was 4.0.

Some autobiography; in 6th grade we moved to another area so rural that grade school ended at 7th grade. Only one other kid was zoned for the same high school- so my new associations effectively disappeared. I was badly bullied, we lived a 30+ minute walk from the nearest bus stop, and my parents effectively isolated me by not issuing any allowance, not letting me work (since my “job” was to get into college), and later refusing access to driving lessons and car.

Should I feel ashamed that I remember the current lich-queen of the Githyanki is Vlaakith XXVIII? I was listening to The Sword and thinking about not-leases.

Okay it’s #TMITuesday, so if you have questions ask, or I can keep telling stories- again probably about how fencing saved me, how I got interested in and nearly lost interest in comics, maybe how I started playing D&D.

“goes to cons that aren’t just a drive away,” first- and those would be huge!- but if I ever got a suit ensuring it was in good condition would be vital, I’d be using it to clown around and present female primarily, and I know I’d worry about Getting It Wrong if I somehow got the fantasy.

I think this one gets filed in the not happening category, like transforming into a dolphin or screwing mid 90s vintage Tim Roth.
#tmituesday

For a while I’d fantasized about slutting out at a party or con in fursuit head and gloves. (I have a mixed relationship with fursuit sex vids; the animal play and anonymous aspects are way hot, the pretty people with suits at cons having amazing sex aspects get me feeling old, poor, boring. I now avoid ‘em cause I can feel that bad after watching.)

I now feel it’s not a practicable fantasy. Not only do I need to work on the “has fursuit” and

very good orgasm, makes me feel actually really relieved. I feel like sharing overmuch, but I also feel like sleeping so... yeah. Dream of wonders.