msktrnanny: (Default)
Can anybody tell me how to find people here? I am old and, apparently, stupid. :)

ETA: okay, was poking around and found several entries here that I know I only put up at LJ, so, it appears I should instead be asking how to use this thing! Holy cow.

Time for this elderly person to take a nap.
msktrnanny: (I am a monster)

There are tons of things about my childhood I would love to repeat- summer's off, no worries about finances, Verdolini's Pizza- but this whole Russian Scare bullsh*t is not one of them.

Anyone care to weigh in on the LJ stay/go thought trolley? All opinions respected.

msktrnanny: (nice one Nietzsche)
[livejournal.com profile] turps33 asked about shows I was currently grooving on )

She also asked what shows turned me on in the past )

I would love a current show or two to fall in love with.... what do you guys recommend?
msktrnanny: (tweedly-deedly-deet!)
and that of course means [livejournal.com profile] nopseud should get her request about my favorite cheeses )
msktrnanny: (Can I go now?)
[livejournal.com profile] topaz119 asked about my best souvenir discovery at Disney World.

My answer is pretty lame, I think. I love making those Gimme! boxes, searching through stuff to buy little surprises for the intended recipients. The year people got Christmas ornaments was fun, knowing they would soon be hung on tress around the country; debating one ornament over another. There was the edibles trip- delightfully purchasing scads of snacks and candies guilt free! Packing that to come home was tricky, but it probably amused the TSA agent x-raying my bags! I think I remember a Heroes or Villains theme once, too. [actually just a giant excuse for me to spend loads of time in the now gone Villains shop]But since I don't ever get to see you guys opening the boxes, it's a bit tough to list one of those as a best find. Though, your shot glass comes close.

Personal souvenir best is a sweatshirt I bought back when I was working at The Disney Store and taking all advantage of my discounted room, free gate pass and merchandise discount. Ah, the good ole days, I do miss them. Anyway, there was this sweatshirt that I thought was too expensive. it cost a whole 60$! But it was gorgeous, sort of a sun-bleached color scheme with an all embroidered appliqué on the front depicting each of the four parks and a Leonardo DaVinci-esque Mickey in the middle. It was gorgeous. But the money! I hemmed, hawed and went home without it on more than one trip. Finally I just 'saved' up the money and bought it. Still love it today when I put it on, makes me feel just as happy as it did when I saw it in stores. And I've never seen anyone else wearing it!

Kinda' lame, hunh? But, will be hitting the left cost Disney in April.... should do gimme's for that trip. Haven't done those in ages!
msktrnanny: (JS: what's this?)
[livejournal.com profile] kira_j also asked for my fav photo/photographer and my favorite One Direction song.

Am completely unaware of One Direction songs, so no favorite there. Flip side is, I don't have a least favorite either! ;-)

Photography... I am bad with favorites. There isn't one particular image, or photographer that strikes me. There are some I don't care for... Annie Lebowitz does dip-fiddly for me. Also not a fan of Ansel Adams. Though, I recognize his talent. Simply prefer color photography. Especially in landscapes. Which are my favorite kind of photos, actually.

Any kind of landscape works for me. Rolling hills green with growth, mountains with hovering cloud cover, beaches dusted with foam. Saw a collection of images once from a birch grove. Same grove at different times of day and seasons. So cool to see the changes those made to the photography.

While I am a nature lover and easily drawn to those, urban 'scapes are equally awesome, when handled well. Enormous cities cluttered with buildings and people teeming in the streets, candy colored rows of houses with white trim reflecting the sun, street shots of people of every kind... all that stuff is fascinating to me.

'Urbex' style shots are also very cool. Images of life gone by, sometimes abandoned sometimes escaped from. The things people are willing to let fall into decay, so interesting. And how the elements creep in, marking the space, taking it back inch by inch. Single buildings, entire towns or facilities. And the lore they gather, which can almost be captured by a camera in the right hands.

Oddly enough, what I like to take pictures of is people, architecture and garden close-ups. Instagram perennials. Ah, well.
msktrnanny: (12/25:tannenbaum au natural)
Today we have two requests by [livejournal.com profile] kira_j. She asked for my favorite Hitchcock leading lady )

and my favorite dessert )

I am determined to finish these. You have been warned. ;-)

How're the holidays treating you all?
msktrnanny: (12/25:simply said)
[livejournal.com profile] suzy_queue also asked about my favorite Christmas ornament and Disney ride.

It shouldn't be hard to pick a favorite Christmas ornament, right )
Favorite Disney ride. Wow. Every Disney fan knows that's not an easy question )

Now aren't you glad you asked? lol

oh my gosh, would you look at Lance all grinning and happy! mood theme fun! I had no idea that was still there!
msktrnanny: (12/25:Snoopy & Woodstock go electric)
[livejournal.com profile] suzy_queue asked me about the book I've reread the most and the movie I was most surprised by. [and two other things, which I'll do another day]

First, the book )

And now, to the movie )

I'm late to getting started with this, but still have plenty of days to fill, so give me something to talk about!
msktrnanny: (12/25: trim the tree)
Borrowed and slightly edited from [livejournal.com profile] topaz119

Pick a date in December and give me something to talk about. TV, books, music, photography, movies, fandom, writing, food, travel, fictional characters, real people, cuddly animals, stuff about my life, whatever. -

You don't have to be following me or ever have commented to request a topic. If you're playing and want me to leave something for you, drop me a link! Feel free to suggest multiple topics/dates. - Feel free to just leave a topic and no date. I'll fill it in.
msktrnanny: (12/25:Snoopy & Woodstock go electric)
People. I have what can only be described as a staggeringly large selection of Christmas cards. Help me out and give me your address so I can send you one? You guys are the best.



if I've screwed up the comment screening thing, just let me know
msktrnanny: (mystery tapes)
Any of you nice Europeans or UKers awake and able to assist me with some mobile phone testing?

Sorted, thanks to the fantastic [livejournal.com profile] saba1789!
msktrnanny: (sum-sum-summertime)
Top 5's seem to be going around again! Always been one of my favorites, so- hit me. Top fives, fandom or otherwise!
msktrnanny: (bucket of brollies)
Think quick! When I say convertible, what song comes to mind?
msktrnanny: (Tea in the Sahara)
It is Fat Tuesday and that means Ash Wednesday and Lent loom. I'm sure we're all at least familiar with the idea of giving something up for Lent, so here's my question.

What are you giving up this year? [Not giving something up this year? Make something up!]
msktrnanny: (twitterpation)
Because what works for one doesn't always work for another, I'm curious.
What's your favorite love song?
msktrnanny: (5: dressed like Lance)
JC clicked off the television, silencing the obnoxious Australian women selling Nad's as quickly as he'd seen them appear. His hotel room was a mess, and he made a mental note to straighten it up, seeing as how he was stuck in it for nearly a week while they were in L.A. working on the album. It made more sense just to stay at his home but he wasn't quite done moving it in yet - no living room furniture or food in the kitchen; only a bed and some of his clothes were there thus far - and the truth was that he'd come to love hotel beds and hotel smells after so many years.

"Are you tired?" he heard, and he shifted on his bed to see Lance stretched out beside him, eyes closed but obviously not asleep. Complaining of boredom, Lance had come in around eleven o'clock that night, and they'd spent up until then watching cable and counting all the dead people on the Saturday Night Live reruns that Comedy Central pimped unabashedly. There had been a few beers passed around as well, but neither were drunk enough to even have it show up on a breathalyzer.

"Nah," JC replied, and he stretched out beside Lance. "Bored, still."

He watched Lance smile, and his eyes opened to search the roof. "You're usually asleep by like ten," Lance said. "It shocked the shit out of me when I found you awake in here."

JC grinned, and he picked at the hem of his shirt. "Well usually I can sleep if I'm not bored, but when there's nothing to do I just can't call it a night."

"That makes no sense."

"I know. I just can't go to bed bored."

They stayed quiet for a little while longer, and JC's eyes went to the roof as well in search of whatever Lance was looking for.

"Did you ever see those pictures of Prince when he would write the word 'slave' on his face?" Lance asked. The oddness of the question made JC's brow wrinkle.

"Yeah, why?"

"If you could write anything on your body, what would it say?"

Immediately the thought of a tattoo entered his mind, and he shivered just from the visual of it.

"I ain't gettin' a tattoo, Lance," he said, and Lance laughed at the way the thought made his friend shake.

"I'm not talkin' about a tattoo, silly!" Lance said. He sat up then, shifting into an Indian-style sitting position and turning towards JC. "I'm talking about just writing. I read somewhere that in Japan it's considered really sexy to write poetry on someone." Lance shrugged, and his eyes left JC's for a moment. "If you could have one poem written on you, what would it be?"

JC sat up too, leaning back against the wall, and he began to think.

"Well, there was this one sonnet we had to read in high school that I really liked," JC said, rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "It was Shakespeare, but that's too typical. Probably something romantic like McKuen or something."

Lance just nodded and patted his pocket, and he looked back at JC with a slight blush in his features.

"Take off your shirt."

JC blinked at the request. Did Lance plan to write on him? Why has he producing a marker from his pocket, and why was he removing his shirt too?

"Lance, I don't know about this-"

"Relax," Lance said, and he crawled around to hop off of the bed and kneel beside it. JC looked down at his friend, his friend with hopeful eyes and a wide smile. "I just wanna try it, that's all. And you know I don't have a girlfriend or anything, I figured I could use one of you guys."

"Well, why me?"

"Because you've got the nicest skin."

And all of that nice skin was blushing now that JC was removing his shirt.


"Justin's got nice skin too."

For a moment, JC thought that Lance hadn't heard him. The tip of the marker tickled JC's skin with every pass it made on his back, and he could feel Lance's gentle breathing gliding across his back with every breath he took. JC had laughed at first when he saw that the marker was one of those scented Crayola ones, but now he didn't mind the blueberries that littered his back as Lance would write two or three words in each area before moving on.

"And he's got freckles too. On his shoulders. You coulda played 'connect the dots'."

JC laughed at his joke, but Lance didn't. He couldn't see Lance, he could only feel him, hovering inches away from his skin.

"So what," Lance said. "Your skin's the nicest."


JC stood up and went to the mirror, taking a seat on the dresser and craning his head around so that he could read everything that Lance had written. Words and phrases littered his back, simple utterances of whatever Lance had been feeling at the time - ennui, warmth, skin like silk, aren't you ticklish?, this curve is beautiful (and that was written right in the curve of his left shoulderblade) - and right at the bottom of his back, right above the top of his boxers, it read, I love to play in the rain, but sometimes I'm afraid that lightning will hit me. JC burst into laughter, clapping his hands briskly and turning to face Lance, who was pretending not to be embarrassed by JC's laughter even though he was turning bright red.

"Lightning won't hit you," JC said. "You'd just as soon get killed by Russian terrorists as you would get struck by lightning."

Lance shook his head and turned away, crossing his arms over his pale chest. "It was a scare tactic used by my dad to get Stacy and me to come in out of the rain," he explained, and he tossed a smile over his shoulder at JC. "I guess it stuck."


Lance's back was like a clean canvas. Like a fresh piece of sheet music. Ready to be creative on, played with, and produced on. JC hopped up and sat on Lance's thighs, leaning down over his back and taking a moment to enjoy the scent his skin held. The boy smelled like laundry detergent, shampoo, soap. Soon he will smell like blueberries, JC thought, and he grinned as he lowered the marker to Lance's right shoulderblade. Like me.


Lance strained to read every word that JC had written, all much like what Lance had written earlier - peekaboo, you should read the Tao Te Ching, you're ticklish too, I'm hungry - and he had even gone so far as to write one long sentence at the bottom of Lance's back as well: Don't worry about the lightning. It tickles.


To get clean, they both stripped down to their boxers and climbed into the spacious shower of their suite, taking soap and rags and washing each other's backs clean. Lance frowned as skin like silk melted away beneath his washcloth, and he used broad sweeps of his hands to make JC's back the clean pallet that it had been earlier.

"I enjoyed this," JC said as he wiped at Lance's shoulders and arms. "We should do this again."

"Yeah," Lance replied, and he looked over his shoulder and through the steam of the shower to smile big at JC. "Let's do that."

-----------------------

Lance bought several books of poetry the next day - Alice Walker, Langston Hughes, Nikki Giovanni, Alan Ginsburg and JC's favorite, Rod McKuen - and when JC came back from the studio sleepy and exhausted, Lance told him to lie on his stomach and just go to sleep. He climbed JC's thighs, leaned over him with his books and began to transcribe single lines of poetry onto JC's body, letting, 'Let's walk in the streets of Harlem together,' run from his shoulderblades around and down to his elbow and writing, 'Sunlight still. A little more. The afternoon ahead might not stop or come at all,' right along the edge of his underwear. This time JC would smell like strawberries. When Lance was done, he leaned down and kissed JC's back, then slid off of him and slept beside him.

-----------------------

Before they went out some nights, JC would write 'hung motherfucker' right above Lance's crotch where no one would see it, and Lance would laugh out loud as he wrote 'ghetto booty' on JC's left asscheek.

"What if people see these?" JC asked as they entered a club one night, surrounded by bodyguards and their friends.

"If anyone sees these," Lance replied, "then we've got bigger problems than poetry on our asses."

-----------------------

Lance's entire body tensed when he felt a marker, this one green apple, walking up the small of his back. JC, who was already covered in Lance's innermost thoughts, had never written anything there before, and Lance had not been aware of exactly how sensitive that part of his body was. He could feel JC's free hand resting on his side, sliding up slowly with his other hand as it painted words onto his skin.

"What are you writing?" he asked, and he couldn't hide the shiver in his voice.

"Something original," JC replied, and he leaned over and kissed the back of Lance's neck.

Lance shivered, but his body relaxed then, and JC smiled as the tension left Lance. He continued to write, all the way up to the nape of Lance's neck.

"You've got freckles too," JC said softly. "Right here." He leaned over and kissed right at the bottom of Lance's back, the place he always saved for long lines of poetry until now.

When JC dotted his final I, Lance's eyes were closed, and his eyelashes were wet.

"Shh," JC whispered, and he kissed Lance's neck again. He stretched out on his belly, letting his chin rest against Lance's side as he began to read what he wrote.

Sometimes I blush when my thoughts wander about you

They bathed that night instead of showering. The bathroom was a mess by the time they got out of the tub. Almost half of the water spilled out as they rolled around together, pulling at each other and kissing wildly, their fingers smudging beautiful words that they'd penned on each other's bodies.

-----------------------

JC woke up beside Lance early that morning, while L.A. was just turning bright orange and gold. His boy was painted those colors as well, and JC silently wished that he could make Lance that shade of gold.

He picked up a marker off of the bedside table and removed the cap, grinning at the citrus scent as it greeted his nose, and he leaned over Lance and began to write again.

I love you.

He wrote that along the boy's shoulder.

Sometimes I blush when my thoughts wander about you.

Up the small of the boy's back again.

Do you love me?

That went adjacent to the first sentence.

JC laid back down, sliding himself into Lance's arms and going back to sleep.

-----------------------

JC woke up a few hours later, still in the same position as earlier, and he looked on his forearm and saw one word written there.

Yes.

JC had never seen Lance smile in his sleep before, but he was doing it right then.
msktrnanny: (4:treasurer of the board)
ome nights the bodyguards would let them wander around unattended in Wal-Marts and Targets all over the country, around 3 a.m. when no one would be in the store except for them and the stock boys. Justin would buy new blades for his hair clippers and Chris got No-Doz to keep him hyper when he needed it. Joey looked at baby toys or massage gels so that he could rub Kelly's swollen ankles when he got back on the bus. JC and Lance always went straight to the art supplies, picking up thin paintbrushes and washable paints, and always plenty of scented markers.

The first time they used paint was three or four days after JC woke up with the word "yes" on his forearm. Lance had gotten the idea one day and came back to the suite that no one knew they shared with acrylic paint and thin brushes, laughing as JC's eyes widened with excitement. They both stripped down naked and JC lay on his stomach, shutting his eyes and sighing as the brush moved cool and smooth along his thighs. Lance would kiss each inch of skin right before the paint touched it, and then he'd blow along the paint to dry it quickly. His breath made JC shiver every time.

"Be still," Lance would whisper, but then he'd send that smooth wind right across JC's skin, and his brush would go askew as the body beneath him quivered.

---------------------

JC woke the next day to an empty room, bright with the color of the sun, and written in felt pen on top of his hand was, "Look in the mirror."

He went to the mirror and saw painted red on his chest, Forgive me for loving you while you sleep. See you tonight.

---------------------

JC stood downstage with Wade working on choreography, and behind him Justin was watching his shoulders carefully. Not because they were stronger or thicker than his, but because he could almost swear that there was something written on them. He squinted. One word. You. It was faded away, as though it had been written there in a marker or something, and it peeked out at him every time JC's tank top moved over his skin. One word. You.

A few days later while they were at dinner, Lance rolled up his sleeve to reach across the table for steak sauce. Before he rolled it back down, Justin saw something on his forearm. Two words. Like this.

Beside Lance, JC was smiling.

---------------------

Chris and Joey were toughing it out on Playstation when they heard Justin say, "Hey, y'all, I think someone's been writing all over JC and Lance."

Justin waited for a chorus of 'shut up' and 'whatever,' but instead he just heard Chris mumble, "You know what? I noticed that too."

On the TV screen, Brazil was pouncing France in World Cup Soccer.

"You think it's some kinky thing they've got going on together?" Joey suggested, and he angled his body to the right as he scored another goal for France.

"I'd like to think not," Justin replied, and he looked down to his notebook that he wrote his lyrics in. "There's just something kind of odd about them writing on each other."

---------------------

As weeks passed, the other three guys would catch moments where JC and Lance laughed a little bit too loud or stood a little too close. Some evenings Chris would notice that JC would go to Lance's hotel room and not leave until they were loading the bus in the morning. Joey nearly yelped when Lance stretched languidly at the breakfast table one day, and his shirt raised up to show I always liked summer best written in faded blue ink along his abs.

"Something wrong?" Lance asked him.

"No," Joey said, and he continued to eat as though he'd never noticed those words in the first place.

---------------------

JC went home to Mississippi with Lance while they had a tour break, and they spent most of their days nude and eating fruit in Lance's bed, smearing the soft meat of strawberries on each other's faces and doodling out single words on each other's skin.

JC leaned over Lance and kissed his collarbone, then wrote one letter.

K.

Kissed between his breasts.

I.

Kissed his stomach.

S.

Kissed his belly button.

S.

Lance was singing, low and soft, and outside it was raining. His voice was soft but loud enough to be heard over Mother Nature, and he wrote in golden letters along JC's back, Hallelujah!

---------------------

One day Justin was suffering from a tiny bout of insomnia, so he decided to walk around the halls of their hotel. Bodyguards waved politely as he walked by, just moving back and forth up and down the hall. He passed JC's room and the door was cracked open, a sock wedged between the door and the jamb. He imagined that whatever was going on behind those doors was none of his business, and he most certainly should not go into that room because that wasn't his room, and JC would kill him if he snooped around in there....

Justin was happy that the hinges didn't squeak as he let the door ease shut behind him. He tiptoed in, carefully stepping over shopping bags and jackets, and when he rounded the corner, what he saw knocked the breath out of him.

There were two naked boys lying in bed together, Lance on his side with a leg arched carefully over JC's hips. His arm was around JC's shoulders, and JC slept with his face towards the ceiling. Written along Lance's hip, a sentence that moved all the way down his thigh, was no no no, this curve is beautiful. Exquisite even.

JC's handwriting. On Lance's nude body. Lance's handwriting. Sprinkled in sentence fragments all over JC's chest and arms. On his belly. Kiss you here and you shout like a schoolgirl. Such a pretty boy. Shout it now for me.

---------------------

Kelly eased carefully from under Joey's arms and out of bed, waddling over to the bathroom. The baby was sitting right on her bladder now, and apparently the kid really liked her resting place because Kelly had to pee every other hour or so. She was careful on the slippery tile in the hotel's bathroom, holding on to the counter and the doorknob as she exited the room.

She passed the full-length mirror. She stopped. Something was on her stomach, and not just stretch marks. The raised up the "Pooh Triathlon" T-shirt that she slept in and nearly jumped back, because there was nearly a paragraph of prose written on the curve of her belly.

You will grow up to be healthy and strong.
You will be beautiful.
You will be smart.
You will laugh big and loud, like me.
You will be tone-deaf but still sing loud and happy, like your mother.
You will be brave.
You will love everyone.
You will always be ours.
You will be all of these things, because even if I am not a good father, I want you to be a good child.

In the darkness she could make out the figure of Joey Fatone snoring in her bed. On the bedside table lay a marker. Kelly walked over and picked it up, and she wrote on the tender skin of his forearm, You will be an EXCELLENT father, Joseph Anthony Fatone, Jr.

---------------------

"Okay man. Thanks."

That was the third time JC had said that, but Justin still stood there with his feet stuck to the carpet of his friend's suite. He had done everything he was supposed to do, such as return JC's brand new Sade CD and make small talk. But he couldn't ignore the word Hallelujah!, exclamation point and all, peeking at him every time his friend leaned over to put away his clothes. He should leave now. They had to be out of the hotel in fifteen minutes. Justin hadn't even packed yet.

"Dude, is there anything else?" JC asked with a soft laugh, and Justin jumped as he was yanked out of a daydream. JC had an armful of dirty clothes and was trying to shove them into an already full laundry bag. "We gotta be out of here in like thirty seconds, and I know you probably haven't even thought about packin' yet."

Justin laughed, and he heard JC groan as he walked over to the bed and sat down on it. The sheets were smudged with a myriad of colors, green and red and blue.

"Well, I do wanna ask you something," Justin mumbled. He twirled the edge of that sheet between his fingers.

"Go for it," JC said, cheerful. He was whistling.

"Who's writing all over you?"

The whistling stopped, and for a moment so did everything else in the world. Justin watched a million and one expressions cross JC's face - from shock to horror to fear - and then his expression settled on something calm and cool. JC stopped packing his bag and stood up straight, looking down on his friend in front of him.

"Why?" he asked.

"Well, I just keep seein' all these words on you," Justin began. "And Lance. I was just thinking how crazy that is, and...well...why do you write on each other?"

JC crossed his arms over this chest, his lips forming a thin line. His eyes met Justin's for a brief moment before he said, "It doesn't concern you." He leaned back over, continuing to pack his bag.

"JC, dude," Justin said, and he stood up beside him, "do you have any idea how all of this looks? I mean...just, look. You and Lance, you're not...funny, are you?"

Funny.

JC dropped everything into his suitcase and shut it, and he turned to Justin.

"I said that it's not for you," he said. "It's ours, mine and Lance's. You already know everything else about me, so why can't I just have something for myself?"

Justin blinked. Had he upset his friend? "Josh, I didn't-"

"You didn't mean to," JC interrupted. "But you did." He looked down at his messy bag and frowned. Markers and paintbrushes were still in the bathroom, by the tub. He'd need to get those. "Look, Justin, it's not that I'm trying to shut you out or anything, but it's special to us, okay? It's fun, it's interesting, it lets us be creative...it's intimate, personal, sensual, sexual sometimes. So yeah, I guess it's a little funny too. But it's ours, and I would really like to leave it at that."

The door opened and Lance walked in with his bags slung over his shoulders and shades on his face. He nodded to Justin and walked past them to pick up a few clothes he'd left in the room. There was a word, faded and gray, on the back of his leg. Love.
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