Monthly Archives: August 2010

Prongs 2

Found this on someone’s Tumblr, as part of my new hobby, and I was so tickled by it I had to repost it too:


(Never mind that electronics can’t function inside Hogwarts)

like order of the phoenix.

harry could have called sirius and been all

“hay bro, you okay?”

and sirus would just be

“oh hey james harry. just chillin wit mah betches.”


sirius totally has harry in his contacts as “Prongs 2” by the way.

and harry could be calling dumbledore whenever he’s away from hogwarts to keep him up to date on the whole HOLY SHIT SORCEROR’S STONE IS UNDER ATTACK.

and when the entrance to 9 and three quarters sealed harry could have went “HEY WE R LOST CAN U PICK RON AND I UP. THX” to dumbledore

during goblet of fire he could of just texted fleur when he was with the mermaids and been all “hey. u OK? ur sister is here.” and instead of waiting and getting last place, she could of just been all “LOL GOT ATTACKED BY GRINDLOWS I’M OUT.”

also, bellatrix would have a fucking ball with a camera phone. she’d be sending nude pics of herself to voldy and trying to impress him and he’d be all


and snape probably sent pictures of his dick to lily after she married james with the caption “YOU’RE MISSING OUT ON ALL OF THIS, LIL.”

i can see sirius and remus sexting non stop.

and deathly hallows?

snape wouldn’t have had to fuck around with the whole LETS PLACE THE SWORD IN THE BOTTOM OF A LAKE AND HOPE HARRY FINDS IT. he could have just texted him from an anon number and been all “hey dumbass, go three feet west and get that fucking sword. BRING A COAT.”

when ron got lost he wouldn’t have to screw with the deluminator. he could have just texted harry “IM LOST CAN U TELL ME HOW TO GET BACK.” and bam, we wouldn’t have hermione crying or anything.

they would totally prank call voldemort too. “HEY UR MOM IS A WHORECRUX, TOM. LOLOLOLOL.”

and the luna missing thing?

“luna what can you tell us about Deathly Hallows.”

and she could have just told them and stuff without them getting nearly killed. again.

and those answering places where you text a question, hermione would be using that all the time. and ron would be asking them how to pick up babes.


Happy Tumbl(r)ing!

Because I like looking at pretty things, and I don’t have much to write about anything these days except the fact that I hate my job and love my boyfriend, I am now spending some time here:

You’ll be amazed how looking at pretty things can lift your spirits even just the tiniest bit. So bear with me while I go through what seems to be another bout of writer’s block. I will still post here when I have something of significance to say, or when I just need to find a place for the ever-snowballing effects of my job to crash into, but for now, I’m a right happy little Tumbl(e)r.

Life cycle, perhaps interrupted

One of the bad things about being in a relationship is age. Consciously or otherwise, we allow it to determine for us what stage of a relationship we should be at. At age 12, we are supposed to be much too young to have even heard the word. At age 15, we are told that we are not old enough to understand what the word really means, let alone experiment with it. At age 20, we are thought to have far more important things to do and accomplish than add one more name to our list of conquests. At age 26, we (especially the women) are warned that time’s a-tickin’ and we should start thinking about settling down before the eggs are taken off the shelf.

I will stop here, because at age 26, I will also be told that I am supposed to know no better.

Of late, when people hear that I am in a serious relationship, the question they like to ask next is: “So when are you getting married?” My reply depends on whom I am talking to — acquaintances get the noncommittal shrug, friends get a slightly more privileged “I don’t know” or “I haven’t thought about it”, and close friends get as much of the truth as they can. But the general response from those who absolutely must know or quash their curiosity is “But… don’t you want any children?” My answer is usually met by surprise, bewilderment or sometimes outright dismay: “Well… I guess… but I don’t have to. I can always adopt.”

I have nothing (much) against children — except those who resemble Jake from Two and a Half Men and who feel the need to scream, cry and vomit in full view of the public (hello, Madam Kwan’s KLCC!) — and have very occasionally considered taking my eggs (and age) a little more seriously. But, in an attempt to be as pragmatic as my age (there’s that word again!) — and perhaps society — will allow, I also have to embrace the very real possibility that I may never have children of my own. The beauty of this acceptance is that, after I told myself I may never anyone to will my bags and jewelry to and did not end up leaping out the window, I realized I could survive being childless, which may have made me a slightly rarer commodity to men whose biggest fear is the pressure of having to get married and reproduce.

I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t want to be too old when I try to have children. Not only will I not be in a position to support anyone but myself for a very long time, but I don’t want to be struggling at age 60 to put my children through college (when, let’s face it, I could be sitting at a mahjong table). Also, my scary age for childbearing is 30, which I have resolutely stood by ever since I watched my best friend back in Buffalo suffer pre-eclampsia at the age of 29 and my godson spend his first two weeks of life in intensive care because he was born several weeks early. It was nobody’s fault, but having seen for myself and knowing what I know now about the risks and dangers (and there is so much more than just pre-eclampsia that we may not know about) that come with having babies past a certain age, I could never risk putting my own baby through all that, or worse, rendering it motherless.

As for the adoption part, I have no doubt in my mind that I would consider it when the time comes. With so many orphaned children in the world, every case in which one (or even more) of them is accepted by a family or single parent is counted as a blessing, and dear knows this world could use as many blessings as it can get. I sincerely believe it is every bit as possible to love an adopted child and a biological child the same way, because at the end of the day, they are all children, untainted by sin and only trying to grow up among people who love them.

Who knows, two years down the road, I may actually have a change of heart and decide I simply must have a child to validate my existence, but for now, I’m perfectly happy owning a puppy — or a rabbit — and buying cute things for my friends’ children. Besides, sometimes it’s really not about what others think you should and shouldn’t do or what you think is the right, expected and accepted way of life, but about what will be good for yourself and the people around you who matter the most.

I should probably also tell you right now that before you even think of the nastiest name to call me for  not having a maternal bone in my body and having the cheek to put all this down in writing, you may want to go here.