potentialities

Oh my God, people!

You know those American Girls books, and they were cute and stuff and so you read them when you were, like, nine. and you sent away for the catalogue and spent hours poring over over Samantha's petit fours and Kirsten's Saint Lucia dress and and Felicity's pet lamb and you made up five hundred thousand wishlists and no one ever bought you so much as a hairbrush? I never even had a Barbie doll and I never even wanted a Barbie doll, because I had Legos, but by God I wanted all those little dresses and desks and books and dolls (because dolls have to have dolls!) and everything.

I dragged satyadasa to the American Girl Place in Manhattan when it opened and he was either strangely fascinated by the plethora of miniaturized paraphernalia (which exponentially increased with the creation of the modern American Girls to go with the historical ones, since they can do everything ever, like tapdance and climb mountains) or doing a really good job of humoring me. More recently, I got to help set up the American Girl doll display we have at our library, which is very popular with pretty much everybody, especially now that we have Kaya, who has five times as much loot as all the other dolls with her tipi and her horse and her wolf and and her fur rugs and her her campfire on top of her dresses and doll and food and the other usual stuff. Naturally, I reminded my mother of the angst and woe and deprivation I suffered during my childhood. Because, you know. That is what you do.

So this morning she comes home with ( these two ). Who are just so gosh-darned cute that I am powerless to resist brushing their hair and and hugging them and squeezing them and calling them George. (Notice approximately one-third of my BSC collection in the background there, to complete the whole actually-I-am-eight effect.)

Somebody send help! Airdrop tennis players if you have to!

EDIT: ( Dolls who play dressup )

There's a gorgeous stripey orange cat stalking its prey through our backyard. I've seen it a couple of times in the last week now. I wonder how long it would take my brother to kill me if I tried to adopt it. (Asthma; allergic to cats; already sniffling and wheezing and bitching that I don't understand his pain because, most of the time, I manage to breathe or perform a respectable imitation thereof. Sigh.)

I have now been awake for, like, four hours. I woke up at 4:30 this morning and could not fall asleep again so I got up and wrote some more of Boys Who Wear Glasses instead. (Which, like, what was I thinking? I sucked at writing questions when I was playing scholar bowl. I suck at writing questions now. If I were smart, I would have skipped directly to the making out. On the plus side, however, Wikipedia was invented in the meantime, and it is pretty much ideally suited for seeking question fodder.) It's like some kind of strange inverted insomnia.

EDIT: Oh, how I love dorking about things like Japanese honorifics. Before I discovered shipping and hormones, my primary fannish mode was dorkery. I hope we still have the extensively cross-referenced compilation of all the songs that appear in the Laura Ingalls Wilder books that I made when I was seven somewhere in a box or something.

I found the cord for my digital camera and I thought I'd put some of these up. Includes apocalyptic hail, puppies, Easter, my brother being a dork (but I repeat myself ...), poker, and scholar bowl.

( Pictures! )