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Okay, that idiotic tab on comments pages, the one that pops out when you hover over it to let you go to the next or previous post? The one that OBSCURES THE LAST WORDS OF WHATEVER COMMENT IT IS OVER?

How the fuck do you get rid of that thing? Anyone know? I've Googled, but I don't even know what to call that damn thing, and searching for shit you hover over on LJ gets me the hover-over-user-icons references.


Does anybody know a good place (besides my journal and you wonderful people) to do a fic-finder on profic?.

Because my memory's going and now I'm trying to remember who the hell wrote this silly sci-fi short story that I swear I read ten years ago, and it's driving me bugshit.

In the story there was an AI warmachine designated ROM-L (or something very similar) that they nicknamed Rommel. His pilot had to do an emergency shutdown due to a virus, but thanks to the fact that the warmachine manual was literally all he'd had to read for months on end, he managed to find the third redundant backup and get his buddy back online with all his memories. When the Tank (I think that's what they called the machines in the fic, so creaaaaative, right?) booted up, he was ready to have a damn party. The Tank asked how he'd managed it, he shouted "Rommell, you magnificent bastard! I read your book!

So that's what a good doctor is.

Through much nagging and bribery *waves to Shai* I finally got through my crippling self-worth issues and anxiety and got to a doc that a buddy reoc'd.

He was awesome. So so so awesome. I've got samples of Cymbalta to see if that helps, though I'm a little concerned that there's no generic. That shit's expensive, yo. I've also got little purple pills that I'm supposed to use so if I have an ulcer as I suspect, it'll have time to heal.

Also? My headaches have a NAME, omg. They're not just "the headaches that lay me out for three days" they're "occipital neuralgia". He said when one gets really bad, he can give me a shot in the back of my neck that'll hurt like fire for about fifteen seconds, then everything will go numb and the pain will stop. I said "I think I can probably handle that." His response: "Looking at how long you've had these and other complaints? Yeah, I'd say so."

He TOOK ME SERIOUSLY. Like, from the start!

If any of you want the name of a Damn Good Doctor in the DFW area, let me know. I'll hook you up.

Has anybody read this?

I swear to god I think I read this last in *highschool*, but it's been wanting to be re-read, lately.

(And if you don't know what that means, I'm not sure I can help you. X-D)

It was, I *think*, a young adult book.

It was set up in a very Old-Fashioned Fairy Tale style. There were rumors of a Something that was taking beautiful women, so all the really beautiful girls started staying home. The protagonist was only average, so thought she'd be safe. Unfortunately, she was the prettiest girl *out* on the night she was taken. Dark of the moon, I think?

It felt kinda like Diana Wynne Jones, maybe? But I don't think it was her.Collapse )

Ugh. Ow.

*resets 'days since a headache made me throw up' counter to 0*
So.  I've been working on this utterly bizarre what-was-I-thinking Jeeves and Wooster (Written originally by PG Wodehouse, for those of you unfamiliar) /Cthulu mythos (Lovecraft, duh) fic.  It's... maybe half done or so.

I see a link to http://iwl.me , a text-analysis page that is supposed to tell you who you write like.  (Which is fun, btw.)

My result? 

I write like
P. G. Wodehouse

I Write Like by Mémoires, Mac journal software. Analyze your writing!

I cannot begin to say how hard I laughed. I must be Doing It Right somehow, I guess.
Some days it really fucking sucks being one of Loki's chew toys.

I am made of Ow.

Yesterday went out for my first Parkour meetup/training session.  Bear-crawls and balance work and vaults and jumps and... ooooooow.  It was so much fun that I pushed myself way way way beyond what I should have, and I'm certainly paying for it today. I think... my chest, my forearms, my neck, and my head are the only things that aren't sore. I took a chunk out of one hand doing controlled-landings on wood chips, bruised my left shoulder doing safety rolls, clocked the side of my shin on something (I don't even remember what) and have one of those deep bruises that barely shows up on the surface, and can hardly walk I'm so stiff and sore.

I can't wait to do it again. :-D

Thanks for nothin'

Dear Brain,

I really had already figured all that out.  Making me dream through a scenario where I argue with Mom and tell her what I really think about the way she treated me when I was growing up, only to have her react precisely as dismissive and contemptuous about it as I'd ever expect, really wasn't necessary.

Though on second thought, I suppose "dismissive and contemptuous" is probably as close to a best-case-scenario as exists in that situation so... uh, thanks for that I guess?

Very minimal love,