sigmastolen: (ter'angreal)
i didn't call you tonight. today was horrible and all i wanted was to ask if i could come see you and have a hug and pretend that i'm not so isolated and that people remember that i'm here and a person. but someone asked me to get a drink with her and a bunch of her friends that i'd never met and i was in the city where you live and i drove right past your apartment and i didn't call and i didn't text even though my thumb was hovering over the button and i had three separate crises about it and i almost cried. and i went to a new place and i met some new people and i had a fine time and i didn't call you and i can't tell if that's willpower or if it's just more crippling insecurity but i didn't call you and i had fun and tomorrow i'll do it all again.
sigmastolen: (bassoonists do it with their thumbs)
In which I critical media studies it up and end up panning Puccini. Oops. )

But yeah. Sumptuous set and stunning costumes, though with a preponderance of Generic!Asian details and the colour red (BECAUSE THE ONLY WAY WE'LL KNOW IT'S IN CHINA IS IF EVERYTHING IS RED); very well performed by orchestra, singers, and dancers alike (EXCEPT YOU, CHORUS. YOU WERE NOT SO HOT.); and enormous problems re: racism, sexism, consent. THANKS BUT NO THANKS, PUCCINI.

And now I have to be done because, damn, it's late, and my cat has dandruff.
sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear Next-Door Neighbor,

Thanks ever so for coming home at a quarter to three and being a noisy drunk girl while I'm trying to get back to a normal sleep schedule for school on Monday. STFU, h0r. Listen to your sober friend and "get in the fucking house."

Fuck you very much,
sigmastolen: (bassoonists do it with their thumbs)
Dear whoever writes episode blurbs on

"Dance troupe" ≠ "ballet company."

sigmastolen: (bassoonists do it with their thumbs)
Dear oboist who I don't like that much who wants to stay at my apartment when you are in town for auditions,

When I grudgingly tell you you can stay at my place and ask you, two weeks prior to your dates of travel, to send me your itinerary (including when you plan to drive your ass to a city in another state to take an audition there, while still using my apartment as your "home base"), you should probably DO THAT. You know, instead of not responding to my message in any way, whether it be to tell me your goddamn itinerary, or to tell me that I'm off the hook and you're booking a fucking hotel. You're supposed to be arriving in two days, am I supposed to house you or not? Are you even still coming??? UGHHHHHHHHHH.

Decidedly ungraciously,
sigmastolen: (octopus)
Dear Eighth Grade Me,

on body image )
Don't let the bullies get you down. Don't let moving away from Davis keep you away from horses & your bike. Keep in touch with your friends, they are good people and they love you and you love them. And for the love of god learn to dress yourself in shirts that aren't plaid and oversized, and stop wearing all that cheap jewelery.

Grad-School You.
sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear Snow,

OMG, what are you, I don't even. What. How. What. ♥.

I wish I had microscopic vision so I could see for myself how each snowflake is unique. I am still honestly amazed that it true, snowflakes have six points, and they make those cute spiky shapes like in the drawings on the Hallmark cards. (I love that water makes hexagonal crystals. I love hexagons. (See also: beehives.))

I love that it falls so slowly, slower than rain and gentler when it lands on your face. I love that it falls so silently, you don't even realise it's there until you look outside. (I do also love the rain, and the drumming of raindrops and the rumbling of thunder.)

I love that everything looks so soft and -- dare I say it -- warm (although it's really, really not) when snow blankets the world. A grass field becomes a smooth white cushion. Trees and bushes wear it like a shawl. It huddles on buildings and rounds their sharp edges. It crawls up the trunks of trees.

I can't get over how fluffy it is to the touch, how it clings to my hands and melts with their warmth. My brain expects it to be firm when I stick my hand in, like the crusty, iced-over snowdrifts of my youth, the rare times we drove up a mountain to see the snow on a sunny winter day and everyone got dehydrated and the glare gave us headaches. That it is yielding and powdery and light, mostly air, is surprising every time.

I'm just so fascinated.


p.s. It makes me really sad to see kitty footprints in the snow, though. I want the kitties to be warm and dry, not out in the cold wet snow :c


I guess I should amend this to, "I love snow when I don't have to spend long periods of time standing around in it waiting for the bus." Boo. Dear Full Buses and Late Escort Shuttles, YOU SUCK.
sigmastolen: (Default)

Dear Tenor Who Sounds Like A Goat:

What you just sang was definitely not the same thing as the arpeggio you played on the piano. Please go warm up somewhere else. Alternatively, quit school and go work at Burger King because you fail opera forever.

With bleeding eardrums,

sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear women whose pictures appear on The Sartorialist:

Can someone please explain to me the thinking behind the massive-heels-while-bicycling phenomenon? I don't understand. It seems highly impractical, and perhaps even dangerous -- like you're inviting some kind of grievous injury. I worry for your safety.

sigmastolen: (Default)
1. AWKWARD STORY!!! So remember bull-like percussionist (BLP)? Okay. So, rehearsal goes from 3:30-6 with a break in the middle. The Tuesday before the concert, we had been rehearsing Mozart 39, on which I played first bassoon and he played timpani. When Maestro Z let us go to break, he released the trumpets and timpani because we would be working on the slow movement for the rest of rehearsal. So I was sitting in my chair, maybe noodling? probably just sitting, and BLP comes over and is all, "So, how about getting drinks after this concert? You're not going to space out again, right?" Which, BY THE WAY: THIS IS EXACTLY THE WRONG WAY TO APPROACH A WOMAN. Because I didn't see him coming, and he got all up in my personal space, and the wording and tone conveyed a sense of entitlement and resentment failing to pass itself off as a joke, as well as left me no way to tactfully decline.

So I did the only thing I could do: "Suuuuuuuuure," I replied. Cue awkward conversation that I don't want to be in, in which I also misunderstand about half of what he says because he mumbles. *eyeroll* Aaaaaand then he left and I spent the rest of the rehearsal having a small "OH GOD THE AWKWARD" freakout.

The rest of the week I was polite when he initiated conversation but honestly I avoided him a little and exaggerated my natural social awkardness because I really wanted him to take a hint.

(fun fact: at the next rehearsal, Maestro Z tried to correct something BLP was doing and instead of accepting it (or at least pretending to accept it, as musicians WHO WANT TO KEEP THEIR JOBS do all the time), he said, defensively, "I'm just trying to accommodate everyone else," or something to that effect. And honestly, if I had been interested before that, I definitely wouldn't have been afterwards. PROFESSIONALISM/REHEARSAL ETIQUETTE FAIL. NEGATIVE POINTS.)

So anyway, I contrived to bring Comrades K and R along and possibly some other people as well and make it clearly a JUST BUDDIES OKAY kind of outing. We played the concert (and BLP and I definitely didn't discuss this having of drinks during the intervening time) and I was chatting with the clarinets going offstage and while packing up. When we made our way out of the hall, I found my bassoon comrades, but BLP was nowhere to be found. The clarinets asked if we wanted to get frozen yogurt (I really like saying "fro-yo" but it looks so silly in writing), but Comrade K wanted booze, so we went to a nearby bar instead. Crossing the street on the way there, we saw BLP walking ahead of us with a cellist (who, hilariously, has a very similar build to mine, but she's blonde. well, I was entertained, anyway). I guess he got the hint? Which I guess also makes me a bitch, but I'm actually pretty okay with that. My Comrades and I had a beer with the grad conductors, who are all precious. BLP and I have had zero interactions since. Oops.

2. Grad Conductor J is Czech, and he is conducting the Stravinsky Septet, which I am playing in, for this Contemporary Music Ensemble concert cycle. His English is not great, and he mumbles a little, and makes hilarious faces when he conducts, and for some reason thinks it's okay to wear a white bow tie and red cummerbund with his black tux when he is conducting a concert... But it's kind of awkwardly charming, mostly because of his accent (and because he's pretty sweet, and definitely well-intentioned). Anyway, I'd really only spoken with him very briefly in class, plus one awkward mumbled conversation on a crowded bus, so hearing him talk as much as he does in rehearsal is a novel thing. It fascinates me. He keeps saying the word slowlier -- as in, "we take it a little slowlier" -- which is an adorable word-formation. I don't remember my Origins & Nature of English Vocabulary as well as I would like, and I left all my old notebooks in Long Beach (how's that for cutting the cord, yo? except I didn't get rid of anything, it's all in a box in my parents' house...), so I don't know exactly what neologistic processes are going on, but it's clearly a conflation of "slowly" and "slower," yeah? Cute. Also, he says "bassoon" with a fun accent. It's a little like "bassyoon" -- not pronounced enough to be umlaut-u, maybe a little like French u? As well as "wiolin" and always "celli" (never "cello"). It's fun.

3. The Stravinsky Septet is a lot more fun (and a lot easier to read) with more than four parts accounted for. No joke, for the first rehearsal last week (at 9 a.m.), I was the first person to show up, at maybe 20 of? Grad Conductor D, the CME manager, arrived soon after, and we set up the chairs (as we were doing so, someone from the rehearsal crew, which I guess is a work-study deal? they do set-up and tear-down for all the "large ensembles" -- orchestra, wind ensemble, and CME -- poked his head in but we were all, "we got this" so he left), and then Grad Conductor J came as well, and I warmed up. The violinist and violist were also essentially on time, so Grad Conductor D covered the piano part, and we started reading (we'd only gotten the parts scores (the parts are on back-order, bah) the night before, okay? I only remembered to pick mine up that morning). The pianist arrived 45 minutes late. The clarinetist and cellist never showed up at all, and Grad Conductor D had forgotten to put a horn player on the roster. This morning's 9 a.m. rehearsal had everyone but the horn, which, eh, not cool, but it was still much easier to put things together and get shit done. Yesterday's 8:30 a.m. rehearsal of the Stravinsky Concertino for 12 players was also pretty pathetic -- four people (violin, clarinet, oboe, trumpet 1) never showed up, trumpet 2 arrived halfway through the rehearsal, trombone 1 even later, and we started about 10 or 15 minutes behind schedule because we were waiting for people to trickle in.

I understand that this is college and it's hard to get up for things that early, but we are musicians and this is rehearsal. This shit? Is how grownups get FIRED. Dammit.

4. So I'm working with Tall Composer on a project for Research Seminar (which is something that happens to All Masters Students Everywhere, I'm told), because his joined-at-the-hip roomie is working with his new bestie, the oboist from my quintet. And it turns out he's kind of a douche (so props to you for calling it, Jeff). Best of all, it's in a way that reminds me unpleasantly of DIAF. Now I'm extra glad I decided I don't actually want to date anyone.

5. I am crocheting! I am crocheting "convertible" gloves -- the fingers are full-length, but they have a slit about halfway up, so you can stick your fingers out and be dextrous while the top of the finger flops around behind, and then when you're done you can be warm again! But you guys, I have remembered why I switched over entirely to knitting: crocheting sucks. Completely aside from the fact that I had to RE-LEARN EVERYTHING (except for how to chain, I guess), it is very slow going, and I have to look at what I'm doing all the time because I can't find where I'm supposed to stick the hook through by feel, and while the left-hand glove feels warm when I try it on indoors (it's the finished one; I've only begun the cuff on the right-hand glove so far), it is rather bulky and I'm sure the wind will cut right through all the GAPING HOLES that crocheting creates. Ah, well. I'm enjoying it well enough, I guess. And I LOVE the yarn I'm using! It's Elsebeth Lavold BAMBOOL (so named because it is 80% bamboo viscose and 20% merino wool) in midnight blue, to match my corduroy blazer (that it's probably already too cold to wear YAY). AND AND AND it's only $6.99 per 50-gram ball at the AWESOME AWESOME AWESOME yarn store near my flat, Knit One. It's deliciously soft (one of the owners confided to me, while I was checking out, that she had passed it off as cashmere in a hat for a friend, because they had no cashmere yarn in the colour he wanted), and pretty, and warm (I hope). MY NEXT PROJECT: convertible mittens (this is where it's "fingerless" (properly half-fingers, here) gloves underneath and a big mitten flap over the top) in a grey tweed wool, to go with my peacoat. And my trench. And, you know, everything. (Freedom Spirit by Twilleys of Stamford, $5.95 per 50-gram ball, score! srsly some of the yarn there, like the silks or the actual cashmere, was upwards of $30)

6. So it turns out I might be good at what I do? I always feel awkward when people compliment me. Which happened after pretty much every rehearsal for Mozart 39, be it from the clarinets, the grad conductors, or Lipstick Lesbian Horn Player (I like her, she's from NorCal and is pretty cool, even though Comrade P and Metal Oboist say she's a bitch. I suspect this is almost entirely because she does not like the cock). And now it's happened after a couple wind ensemble rehearsals as well (OH GOD WIND ENSEMBLE HERE KILLS MY SOUL. AS ANNOYING AS IT WAS AT UCLA, AT LEAST DR. DIRECTOR OF BANDS STILL LOVES HIS JOB), and Wind Ensemble Directator tossed off an awkward, "I love your playing," in rehearsal once (SO AWKWARD). And, while I am reasonably happy with the quintet I was assigned to this semester, I have been propositioned for next semester by three other groups so far: a trio wanting to become a quartet, the quintet that Comrade P is leaving, and a quintet that is trying to form (this one probably has the least chance of being graced by my presence, because the clarinetist is douchey and the oboist, though excellent and hot like burning, was one of the people who didn't show up to the Stravinsky Concertino -- although to be completely honest I really don't like the way the oboist in Comrade P's quintet plays. at all). So, uh. I seem to be in demand. Which is actually a little uncomfortable. But I really shouldn't be complaining, because, hey, the more I get to play, right?

7. Uh....... was there a 7? idek. WHATEVER, YO, IT'S 0040 AND I WANTED TO WATCH SOME BSG TONIGHT :\


sigmastolen: (Default)

So... Lady Speed Stick keeps changing their formulas, and the scents in each kind of deodorant change with them. Now, it took a while, but I had finally created a united scent front of products that smell warm but not floral or fruity, which included LSS's Pure Cashmere deodorant. Then they made a slight change to their product and suddenly Pure Cashmere smelled different, and it made me sneeze, but only a little. I didn't want to smell like fruit, flowers, baby powder, or Lever 2000, so I toughed it out and got used to the new scent.

Toward the end of the summer, they must have changed their line again, and suddenly my Pure Cashmere simply didn't exist. I had enough to last me through the move, but after arriving in Pittsburgh I found I had to try something new (quelle horreur!), so I sifted through the shelf until I found their new version of something that didn't smell like fruit, flowers, babies, or a locker room -- Daringly Fresh, it claims. After using it for a month, I am extremely dissatisfied; not only does Daringly Fresh not smell particularly pleasant (I remember it giving me headaches when the weather was still hot, even!), it simply does not perform.

That's right, boys and girls. I smell distinctly of armpit right now, and have done for several days.

Dear Lady Speed Stick,

Quit fucking with my deodorant already, you whore.

Yrs odiferously,


Also: warbly soprano across the hall is really distressingly warbly :( :( :(

sigmastolen: (mallow)
OMG you guys, I just softened my frozen butter by defrosting it in my microwave. I have been using this recipe for years, and have muddled through the quandary of how to soften the butter (which my family has always stored in the freezer, since forever, okay?) for just as long.

We have always had a microwave. There has always been the option to "defrost by weight." And, guys, it's so easy. It works so well.

You remember all that arrogance from a couple hours ago, about how awesomely smart I am?

I take it back.


also: I am mailing homemade cookies from scratch to a dude who I'm not even dating -- not even interested in dating. You guys, I'm seriously a really good girlfriend. What newspaper do I have to leak that to, to get some play already?

No! No, I should shut up, there is hope. Because Hot Tuba Guy is hot, and Cute Tall Composer is cute, and they're both really chatty. (Geeky Oboe Guy would be setting my standards too low, I think, and Bull-Like Percussionist is unfortunately not remotely my type...) (Am I allowed to date more bass players? Because there are a couple who are pretty attractive.) (p.s. dear cmu, where are you hiding the cute butches with fauxhawks? this is a demographic i sorely miss. yrs cordially, s.)
sigmastolen: (Default)
Watching Blade Runner.

Dear filmmakers,

Why is the future always so damn poorly-lit? Get some fucking lightbulbs in there, Ridley Scott; maybe if I could see what was happening, I would be more engaged with your movie.

sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear Flatmate,

Thank you for completely filling the dishwasher with your nasty, smelly, dirty tupperware, accumulated over the entire week, and then not running it. You know I love it when you're simultaneously a moron, inefficient, and inconsiderate. Also, moving my dirty dishes from the sink (where they belong) to the counter (where they do not)? What a stroke of genius! How did you think of it? And not to mention, leaving an orange on the counter until it molds. That is truly masterful.

P.S. When you were washing your dishes, you missed your water glass and the paring knife, which you've used every day this week to slice apples and leave the cores on the counter all fucking day for my cats to drag into my room and hide, and never washed. Good call! Go to hell.


Feb. 27th, 2010 08:29 am
sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear Dunkin' Donuts,
You win at greasy hangover breakfast.
sigmastolen: (mallow)
I was meant to be either packing or doing homework right now, both of which I forgot about for approximately the past hour and suddenly remembered as I decided to write this post. Ugh. Sooo much packing to do. And so much homework. And I'm sooooooooo tired. Also, I kind of despair of ever getting caught up with explicating my "here's what I want to remember to post about" lists. But! I have 2 things:

1) So remember how my passenger-side mirror was duct-taped on? (in case I didn't actually mention that... well, it was.)
It's not anymore.
It fell off my car the other day. While I was driving 50 mph on the 405. So no, I didn't stop and fetch it. It's gone. It was very sad. No, really, I almost cried.
It had been rainy, and then it was really hot, and I think maybe the adhesive melted or something.
Imma try to get my parents to get it fixed while I'm away on my Final Epic Audition Extravaganza.

2) Driving to school this morning, I was behind a Nissan from a dealership in Hemet (or so proclaimed the license plate frame), and I was overcome with nostalgia for Idyllwild and stargazing and "our" traffic light in Hemet -- the one we could see from the Other Point, and which we watched change colours for ages.
Dear Oon Mafia,
I miss us. Can we be 16 again pls?
sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear LJ,

Happy New Year!

Winter break came and went, and tomorrow my student teaching indentured servitude to SaMoHi Orchestra Teacher begins! Also, classes, although the only one I have tomorrow is vocal pedagogy with Super Cool Grad Mezzo, which I'm way excited about (and btw, way to go, music ed, the professor for our 1.5 classes this quarter hasn't e-mailed to set up a meeting time/place, but the meeting time on the schedule is during wind emsemble -- in which most of the class is enrolled). Also also, I'm tipsy-posting at 00:30 despite having to get up in about 5 hours, because I lurrrrrrve youuuuuuuuuuu....

I had a really lovely, really lazy break. No, seriously. Three weeks from the beginning of intersession to today, and I think I only practised 4 times (gigs at korean churches and quartets at john's don't count). I also didn't figure out traffic school, didn't finish my application for Roosevelt, and didn't make travel plans for my upcoming PLETHORA OF AUDITIONS. (mmmm, plethora.... words taste good...) Nor did I actually complete any reeds, much less any halfway decent reeds. And I haven't figured out when I can have a lesson, either. Dammit.

What, then, did I actually do?

I re-watched Firefly and Serenity with my mum and my brother (my brother was also re-watching, but I think he was happy to have it on the big TV instead of watching it on the little computer through Hulu). Mum really liked it, which made me happy. (I also showed them a couple episodes of Torchwood, which they found less engaging -- as I expected. I was actually really reluctant to watch it with them, for whatever reason. I guess I'm protective of it or something, I didn't want them to react badly because I love it so much, even though I'm perfectly aware of its corny, campy, low-budget, inconsistently-written flaws.) It's definitely gotten me pretty amped up about SDCC this summer with Kat and Malia.

I hung out with people I don't get to see for 10 months of the year, which was gorgeous. I love you all!

I completed a scarf that I started over three years ago (happy late late late birthday malia, i hope it keeps you warm in wisconsin)!

I read about a year's worth of threads in a Torchwood RPG (in which pretty much all the characters are played by writers I really like). Shut up, it's really engaging and well-planned.

I played with the cats. A lot. (no, seriously, like 10 times more than I usually do. they're gonna be so sad when school has started and i don't have time to play that much anymore.)

Speaking of the cats, they had an eventful break. They completely took over my parents house, and learned the joy of sitting in windows. They had their first Christmas (my mum spoiled them rotten, they have so many toys now!). They got neutered (oh god i felt so bad. Baxter actually hissed at the veterinary assistant so I had to put him on the scale to be weighed, and then carry him to their kennel; Ducky was much calmer, but apparently both of them were hissing and struggling when we came to pick them up. and then they said to keep them separate so we shut baxter in the downstairs bathroom and ducky in the upstairs bathroom and they were both anxious and bawling and when i let baxter out he ran upstairs and sat outside ducky's door and it was so sad that finally i let ducky out too and they just curled up together and washed each other's faces and went to sleep.... they were sooooo groggy the whole evening, and i sat with them nearly the entire time). Dad carried Baxter outside again and he got scared and cried (Dad keeps insisting that they want to be outside. No, Dad, I tell him, they really don't. He usually counters by suggesting we get them leashes and harnesses and take them on walks, or by spouting a lot of pretend veterinary research he made up on the spot). Ducky adamantly refused to sit on my brother's lap. And both of them suddenly became huuuuuuuuge -- both of them weigh just over 9 pounds now! Crazy.

Anyway. Now it's been nearly half an hour and I'm properly sleepy, finally. Wish me luck today!

sigmastolen: (Default)
APPLICATIONS STATUS: 7/8 SUBMITTED (8th not due until 15 Jan omg)

*throws party*

and by party, I mean I'm announcing it to LJ, and in a few minutes I'm probably going to shift my clothes heap from my bed to my desk again, so I can go to bed, because it's fucking 1:45, motherfuckers.

Also, I don't think I even have to fill out applications for graduate assistantships right now, which is awesome. I hope my Kind Professors (particularly my bassoon teacher) submit all their letters of rec really soon.


p.s. My untimely crush on Orch Manager gallops apace. She's just... so cute. Plus, today she reassured me that Winston-Salem, North Carolina, isn't such a bad place to be, after Collaborative Piano Prof talked smack about it last week.

oh gawd, did I really never post a list of where I'm actually applying?
1. Northwestern University Bienen School of Music - Evanston, Illinois
2. Roosevelt University Chicago College of Performing Arts - Chicago, Illinois
3. University of Michigan School of Music, Dance & Theatre - Ann Arbor, Michigan
4. Carnegie Mellon University School of Music - Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
5. Temple University Boyer School of Music & Dance - Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
6. Mannes College The New School for Music - New York, New York
7. University of North Carolina School of the Arts - Winston-Salem, North Carolina
8. San Francisco Conservatory of Music - San Francisco, California

Roosevelt is the one that isn't due today. Well, technically UNCSA isn't due until 4 Dec, Friday, but I've already finished it and sent everything in. *shrug*

*random shiver*
sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear Flatmate,

The plates don't get clean if you load them so that the biggest plate is right in front of the smallest plate and touching it and blocking it from getting any of the spray. They also don't get clean if they are caked with food when you load them.

I hope the dishwasher that I just reloaded and started running keeps you awake tonight.

sigmastolen: (Default)
Dear Sirs,
I would like to submit for your consideration the possibility that, if one is incapable of wiping up one's own spills in the kitchen, one cannot with any credibility call oneself a "grown-ass woman."

srsly i don't know what it was but it was congealed and it went all the way back to where she keeps her vitamins against the wall and it came up into little squishy strings and balls when i tried to wipe it up. disgusting.

In other news, still sick. Staying home from work and class, but I'll go to orchestra rehearsal because there's today and a short Mozart wind sectional tomorrow (OMG SOPHOMORE FLUTE FAILS AT COUNTING. FAILY FAIL FAIL. I DON'T KNOW WHY SHE'S ON THIS PIECE BECAUSE THE FLUTE SECTION FOR IT IS JUST HER AND SHE IS FAIL) and the day after that is the dress and the concert, so I have to be there. Even though just walking across the alley to the post office (to pay my electricity bill -- significantly more than the gas bill) made me want to take a nap. Here's hoping I can (a) survive the uphill trek from my parking lot to the music building and (b) fumble my way through rehearsal without incurring the conductor's wrath.

Also: Flatmate's chicken soup is uncharacteristically and disappointingly bland. Vastly improved with liberal amounts of salt. :c Still, v. kind of her to take pity on my pathetically ill self and share. More happily, Saturday's pumpkin mush is delicious :)


sigmastolen: (Default)

April 2017

23242526 272829


RSS Atom

Most Popular Tags

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags

No cut tags
Page generated Sep. 25th, 2017 01:34 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios