your-stewardess

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Welcome to TAYLAIR! Your pilot today will be Blake, and helping us along this flight is the wonderful stewardess Renee. 

Your flight will depart on August 14th, and the return flight will depart on August 15th from Levi’s International Airport. Your seats will be B-stage on the 14th, and section 205 on the 15th!

Have a wonderful flight on TAYLAIR, where we never go out of style. 

the signs as katya tweets
  • Aries: @katya_zamo: Your elbow is close but you cannot bite it
  • Taurus: @katya_zamo: Not enough dick and butt pix in the insta DM's ppl. Don't you dare use the term "mom" to desexualize me smh
  • Gemini: @katya_zamo: Am I a trap queen
  • Cancer: @katya_zamo: I didn't get to where I am today by being selective about what I put in my mouth
  • Leo: @katya_zamo: When guys on Grindr ask me for nudes I send them a link to the Air Bud Wiki page
  • Virgo: @katya_zamo: Life hack: get upgraded to 1st class by loudly name-dropping Hindu Gods while crying to the stewardess about your dead brother
  • Libra: @katya_zamo: Fog is just mother natures way of saying 'bitch mind your business'
  • Scorpio: @katya_zamo: Sometimes I just pretend the penis is my cousin Donny at the '06 family reunion -- looks good but don't wanna engage
  • Sagittarius: @katya_zamo: I know that being stuck in traffic is a good opportunity to pause and reflect but it just makes me want to kill myself
  • Capricorn: @katya_zamo: If I get another email from Southwest Click N Save I'm gonna burn down an orphanage
  • Aquarius: @katya_zamo: I wanna get married just so I can cuckold my husband with a ninja turtle
  • Pisces: @katya_zamo: I'm quitting drag to become a Holiday Inn swim-suit priest

Re: Ghostbusters, a queer autistic female lead character? A kick-ass woman of color with encyclopedic historical knowledge of her city? Two high school friends who helped each other through constant bullying, wrote a book together, and help each other get over craving approval from the academic establishment?

I’M IN LOVE. Saw it last night, going again today.

Of Titanic’s entire crew, only 23 were female?

From Titanic’s crew of around 900, the 23 female crew members consisted of:

  • 2 A La Carte Restaurant Cashiers
  • 1 Matron
  • 18 Stewardesses
  • 2 Turkish Bath Stewardesses

Of the 23, Catherine Wallis, Lucy Snape, and Catherine Walsh were the only three to be lost in the sinking.

Additionally, the two cashiers were among only three out of Titanic’s 69 A La Carte Restaurant staff to survive. A few of the stewardesses who survived were originally turned away from the lifeboats by Second Officer Lightoller because they were crew, not passengers, but found their way into other boats. One of them was urged into a lifeboat by J. Bruce Ismay, who said “Never mind, you are a woman, take your place” after the stewardess had expressed surprise at being allowed in a lifeboat, saying “I am only a stewardess.”

‘Did You Know’ is courtesy of the Facebook group ’The White Star Liners. Click here to visit the group and join if you’re on Facebook.

so i woke up to 405 followers and 6 messages

I’m so glad this blog has taken off. You are all absolutely wonderful, and I’d like to thank each of you so very, very much for following. I’ll keep working to make this blog a helpful (and, hopefully, squee-inducing) resource for Loki fans.

Found poetry via media-player shuffle:

Put your MP3 player on shuffle, and then write down the first line of each of the first twenty songs. Post the ‘poem’ that results.

The first line of the twenty-first song is the title.

Pardon my editorial intervention (all I’ve done is add punctuation).  I did this back in 2008 and posted the result as a Facebook note; only on clearing out my archives tonight have I rediscovered it and realized the resulting composition is actually rather fascinating…

*

you caught me lingering

'i am not senorita,’
the old man told me by the pool
when rainy nights are soft with tears
maybe i didn’t like to hear
you said things i wouldn’t say―
'try to walk slow, try to walk slow’

i’m not a sailor
those days of warm rains come rushing back
in this dream of life and death
the mighty continents divide for a second time―
'mad girl, can you believe what they’ve done to you?’

(did you know, sometimes it frightens me
ambling madly all over the town
you don’t feel damned between sunrise and sunset?)

this garden that i built for you
changes the color of your eyes
when all the numbers swim together―
fear no more the heat o’ th’ sun’
you and i for so many years

(indian sky, let me lie here)

Guys, I’m dying. “Those are Crowley meets Hannibal Chau,” said my partner in abject horror as I opened these. Who bought them for me? My mother-in-law *_* I LOVE THEM.

ETA: Now that I’m sober enough to answer those of you who love these and want to know where they came from, these boots appear to be by a label (designer?) called Enzo Angiolini.  My mother-in-law says she got them at Macy’s.  They’re leather patterned like snakeskin rather than actual snakeskin, but, wow, very convincing.

Dear Good Omens Folks:

I see an incredible amount of distress on my dashboard regarding the following claim: namely, that all of the fic in this fandom is so goddamned angst-ridden and depressing.  

This makes me blink, because the stories I read (and have recced) have no more baseline angst than the novel does, and, furthermore, with the exception of CoS, none of my own stories contain any more baseline angst than the novel does (or at least I try incredibly hard to keep them that way, because, unless I’m setting out to deliberately construct an AU, I prefer to stick to the tone of canon).  In fact, I think that the novel on the whole contains far more angst than my own stories or any of my recs do!  Seriously, I had no idea there was an overarching impression amongst fans that there’s a serious dearth of non-angsty GO fic until I arrived on Tumblr.  Color me mystified.  Can I offer you a hug?

In short: there are places you can turn if you’re sick of angst.  Really ♥

youtube

Okay, why the hell is this not all over Tumblr and everywhere?

I have not seen such a moving piece of film-making in ages.

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I’ve kept what you might call a Good Omens shrine for several years now.  The framed linocut of two angels is a Baltimore artist’s reproduction of a 15th-century carving somewhere in Westminster, London (I wish he’d kept track of where, as I did ask).  The model Bentley was a pain in the arse to track down, and when I finally did get it, I had to paint it myself.  The snuff-box isn’t Regency, but it is solid silver; it’s hallmarked WFG inside the lid, indicating that the maker was London’s own William Francis Garrud, who was a silversmith operating out of Holborn Circus in the late 1880s.  The entwined A and C engraved on the lid really clinched it for me (it might be an A and B, but, as a palaeographer, I can tell you that letter-forms are often an imprecise science).

Case in point regarding the inherent strength of working from a place of anger, at least according to my personal experience: I wrote two poems this year that were very definitely provoked by someone who was not only rude to me, but who also engages in a great deal of activity that pisses me right off.  One of these poems was written back in the spring; my anger was still so fresh then as to be incandescent, so while I was funneling a great deal of it into a prose writing project I had on at the time, I vented the more personal vein into verse.  The second piece, much shorter, was written in July; it has more of a retrospective air, but there’s a certain vigilance I feel in the wake of a situation settling (nothing is ever really settled, and there are certain arenas in which I consider myself perpetually on-call against asshattery).  The shorter piece sold to the first venue at which I submitted it, and in under twenty-four hours.  The longer piece from springtime is so oddly-structured and scathing that most places I’d been sending it, although they told me they considered it spectacular, didn’t know what to do with it genre-wise.  I’m happy to say, though, that it’s found a home as of today.  I’m talking about this because a) a few of you have seen the poems in question, and b) this topic seems timely given Gaiman’s stunning Guardian piece on the fury in Pratchett’s belly.  Anger is only destructive if you let it destroy you.  Set the world you abhor on fire and mold a new one from the ashes.  It works