So. We all know I have shitty hair. It’s always been fine (the strands are skinny) and thin (there’s not a lot of strands). Then I started balding because yay. Of course. So I’m pretty open to playing with my hair. I mean, it already sucks. So when K said she was putting pink streaks in her hair and asked if I wanted to join — of course I did! K’s mom was doing the work and we didn’t have any actual beauty salon type tools so she was hesitant to try highlights in my hair. So we decided on an undercut. We bleached it out and dyed it pink. Awesome. So I’ve been rocking that for a few months.
So here I am living my life with a pink undercut. Problem: I’ve got a court case that’s been winding its way through the court for three years. I have to appear in court. I’m the plaintiff. I have to testify that I’m a professional and a god damned good one at that. According to my lawyer, juries don’t think professionals have pink hair. Which is obviously a stupid stereotype. However, I want to win my case and my lawyer said the pink had to go.
Well. I could dye my hair back to brown. That would be unfortunate as to get it back to pink, we’d have to strip the color and bleach it again. This would most certainly damage my shitty hair so not a good idea. So if I went back to brown, I was committing to leaving it that way for months. I had already given up on this court case anyway, so fuck that. I’d fake it. People spray paint their hair different colors all the time! Well, kinda.
I knew there was temporary hair sprays out there for conventions and Halloween. That’s all I needed. Fake it for a few hours and back to pink we go. The only problem was, apparently, people don’t spray their hair brown a lot. Pink, blue, purple, green? Twenty plus options for you to choose from. Brown? Not so much. Only one option that I could even find, in fact. Salon Grafix High Beams Intense Temporary Spray on Haircolor. I read the Amazon reviews and I knew one can wouldn’t go for more than one coloring so I ordered two just in case. It was a good thing because this trial took THREE DAYS.
So when the day came, I woke up freakishly early so my bestie could come color my hair on her way into work. This isn’t something you can really do yourself. From the previous reviews, I knew this stuff would get everywhere so we sprayed it outside with a towel over my shoulders and gloves on our hands. I also knew that this would easily shed everywhere. So my best bet was for my hair to move as little as possible. So I had put in hair gel the night before. Then heavy set mousse the morning of. Then we pulled it back and pinned it in place with bobby pins. My hair was solid. K sprayed me down with brown spray. Even with just covering an undercut pinned back, we used half a can. So yeah, order a lot.
The coverage was amazing! This stuff is solid. The brown was a richer redder brown than my natural mousey brown, but not enough to be egregious. Certainly not something that would jump out at the casual observer. The first thing my lawyer said, I shit you not, was “you fixed your hair!” No, lawyer, it’s Halloween paint.
This stuff was so solid that after an exhausting day of court proceedings, I considered just sleeping in it. When I changed clothes, however, it was obvious that it had shed a lot throughout the day onto the back of my shirt. Ok, wash it out it is. The shower water was a disgusting brown, but it came out 100% in a single shampoo! (Note this picture is after the third day of washing. The pink is a semi permanent dye so it was washing out a lot by this time. The blondish roots are the pink washing out, not from the brown spray staining).
The trial went on for three days. K came over every morning and sprayed it down. Every night I washed it out clean. It did get on the back of all of my clothes, but I ran them in a load by themselves in the washer on cold and it came out completely.
So yeah, I’d recommend the hell out of this stuff. Just make sure you have enough cans because you need a lot. Make sure your hair is an up-do that isn’t going to move a lot. The more it moves, the more it sheds. Expect it to get on your clothes. Oh, and maybe where a face mask when you spray it. We both inhaled way too much brown. Think brown snot. Probably not healthy.
I debated giving this a 4 or 5 stars. It deserves 5 stars for being amazing but I half wanted to give it 4 for not being absolutely perfect. It’s so close though! The specs:
Page Number: 150 Sheets/300 Pages
Page Weight: 80g/m²–Ivory Color
Metal wire-o twin loop wire binding
Cover is waterproof frosted plastic
Five movable subject dividers with pockets
Perforated pages with three ring punched holes
Available in graph paper or college ruled
So I needed a notebook for work. I was using a three ring binder but I quickly found out that it takes up too much room on a crowded table in meetings. So I needed a ringed notebook I could fold over. I prefer engineering graph paper. It’s super light colored so still easy to read over and gives you a million options for what you want to write, how large, drawing tables, endless possibilities. This came in graph paper so close enough. It’s also smaller than the average graph paper squares at 5 per inch so not too bad.
I also work on a lot of different projects. So I decided to look for something with multiple subject dividers. This not only has 5 subject dividers — they’re also movable and have pockets! Pockets are an obvious win for handouts and notes from meetings. And the movable dividers mean I can devote more of the notebook to larger projects. It also had something I didn’t realize I wanted: 3 hole punched pages. This means if I need to save something long term, I can pull it out and put it in my binder of things to keep for reference. Excellent addition.
When I received my notebook I was very pleased! The black plastic cover is understated enough to be professional without looking like you tried too hard. The subject dividers do not stick out past the book width as they do in the product photos which means it won’t get messed up when I toss it in my bag. I’m pleased with the thickness of the wire and the style of the double wired spiral. The first thing I did was stamp the front and back pages with a big “unclassified” stamp, as one does. I was sad to see that I could see the ink through the other side of the page. It didn’t bleed through completely, but it’s obvious that I won’t be writing double sided on this with my favorite gel ink pens. That said, if one were using regular cheap pens or pencil, this is certainly thick enough to work double sided in that case.
So for this to be the perfect notebook, I’d want it to be the engineering graph paper and thicker paper weight. Maybe an ostentatious cover as well. That said, however, it’s the best notebook I’ve ever found. I will most likely buy another when I need it. I also added it to my list of “Things I recommend 100%” (click for link).
Yall. This post on NextDoor is sharing a bad review. So to do it, they took a photograph of their computer screen displaying the post and posted that photo. Oh I’m serious:
Yall. How does this even occur to someone? They had to use two different devices to make this happen. They didn’t even get the whole post in the picture. My head hurts. I get maybe a screenshot is advanced but there are options. You could even just copy and paste the text. WTF?
And there are 11 comments and no one is asking about this fuckery. I’m lost.
My trial is tomorrow. The trial by fire. No, really though — it’s the trial over the car accident I had back in 2019. Yep. Over THREE YEARS AGO.
So I’m not gonna go into huge detail about it cause I’m not sure I’m even allowed to. But yeah. So I have to go defend my honor or something to even attempt to recoup my lost wages. Which isn’t going to happen because of lawyers and fees and stuff. Much less any pain and suffering — like we aint even gonna touch that.
So I have acquired a vegan leather briefcase to hold my notes and drinks and snacks. I mean, I do need a notebook to take notes and I do need to keep reviewing my — whats it called — deposition! My deposition. Because this accident was over three years ago and I’ve forgotten so much. Which to be fair, I did sustain brain damage, which was the problem. But there’s also gonna be a lot of snacks in there. This is going to be all day for multiple days. I can’t eat out of a vending machine ’cause keto so I’m gonna take some quest cookies and beef jerky and bottles of water and I might even put a tiny cooler with some yogurt in there.
K is coming over on her way to work to spray my hair brown. Because respectable people, apparently, don’t have pink undercuts. And lord knows I have to look respectable because I got rear ended AT A RED LIGHT.
Wish me luck. I’m gonna go shower and put a ton of gel in my hair. And dry shampoo. I need my hair to be pretty solid so it doesn’t move much with the brown spray paint on it. That spray paint better work or like my lawyer will die.
This is a post about gingerbread houses. And Mom. And Jack. And how Mom got her groove back through gingerbread. Just go with it.
So back in 2006, I had just moved into my own place on Golf Road. Lovely shitty apartment of my own. $545 a month. Just me and Jack. And mom visited a lot. I worked at the police department as a dispatcher and was less than a year away from starting my career (though 5 years from graduating — not the point). It was Christmas! My first Christmas in my OWN place. This called for something special. This called for … a gingerbread house!
So mom came to visit and help me make my very own gingerbread house. There were issues. We couldn’t find any gingerbread mix. So it was really a sugar cookie house. It counts, OK? It had windows! Mom showed me how to crush up jolly ranchers and melt them to make stained glass windows! We had a peppermint roof and a full length chocolate chip chimney. I cut up gum drops and made a wreath. It was glorious. This was before cheap battery-powered lights, but if we had had those, it would have glowed gloriously through my translucent blue and purple sugar windows.
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Then the next few years we’d always do something special for Christmas. Usually treats. Like chocolate dipped Oreos, or chocolate covered Ritz Crackers with peanut butter, or those fancy treats where you melt a Rolo on top of a pretzel and smush it with a peanut M&M — or if you’re going somewhere fancy — a half a pecan. Sometimes we even did gingerbread cookies and decorated them with icing.
Then, in 2009, I was feeling adventurous. I was in a much nicer apartment with a guest room and dating a cute guy who would become my husband. It was time for another gingerbread house. We had to outdo our previous effort. This had to be magnificent. We would do something with more grandeur. We would make a church.
How does one make a gingerbread church? Well, you just make the front and back taller so the roof is steeper and put a steeple on top. We’re not on the Food Network here, aint nobody got time to make templates and stuff. But don’t you worry, we got this. It would have even more jolly rancher windows! More icing! The M&Ms would be Christmas colors to look like Christmas lights! And best of all: Shingles. We would use Cinnamon Toast Crunch cereal and put individual shingles on that shit. Boo-yeah!
Now, I would like to say, we kept improving on our gingerbread game. We got so good we could do competitions! But we didn’t. The church was actually the pinnacle of my gingerbread greatness. Sad, I know. But that’s not where the story ends. Those were merely flights-of-fancy in the gingerbread game of my own. Mom would take gingerbread houses and flip the script.
So take a step back. I moved away from my text-book codependent family in 2003 and got a shit ton of therapy. In my evolution of self, I turned from my father. Fuck that asshole. No, not God, my real father. THAT asshole. Sometimes the pendulum has to swing really far to right itself. Now my beloved mother had been beaten down by that motherfucker for decades. And you can be damn straight I turned my pot-stirring self to getting her to realize it. And she was really coming around by the time she kicked the bucket. I think she might have had the gumption to skip Christmas by the time she died. I’m sad I never got to see that and sneak her a wink and a high five. OK, back to the early 2000s:
So dad always controlled every holiday. Though they divorced when I was two, dad always controlled everything. Holidays were at his house. We’d go over the weekend before and scrub it clean cause he’s kinda a hoarder. Mom would make every single dish and we’d go over to dads and pretend to be happy. Even after he got a girlfriend — who thankfully took over the cleaning part. Mom would still cook for a week and haul it all over to that bastards house so he could have his happy family holiday (yes, with his girlfriend and my step brother — the kid he had while he was still married to my mother). Every Thanksgiving and every Christmas — even Easter.
At some point, she started making extra to “hide.” Is it hiding if you make it yourself, in your own house, and just don’t take it over? Not really, but in my codependent family it was rebellion. I think this started when the girlfriend would start making to-go meals for her friends and for my step brother (the affair child). We stopped having leftovers left. Mom stopped having food to eat off of for the next week after she’d spent all week cooking for everyone. No more turkey casserole! You know, where you shred the turkey and mix it with the dressing and cream-of-chicken soup? None. So mom started making extra dressings and extra mac & cheese and keeping it at her house. Come 2014 something had changed.
Now I’m not sure what triggered the change. And I wouldn’t dare say “something snapped” — nay, something clicked into place is what happened. Maybe that was after dad started putting rules on presents — how much we could spend, and then one year declaring we weren’t allowed to give gifts at all (yeah no, fuck him — yall know I didn’t listen to his shit). But 2014 was a new era. In 2014, mom decided to have her own Christmas.
Now don’t get me wrong, it was still a secret. It didn’t replace dads Christmas. Mom would just have her own Christmas on a different weekend with only her own children and we’d ACTUALLY be happy for real. There were kinks. Bitch sister banned pictures so there are no photographic memories to look back on with my blessed mother. Because god-forbid dad find out and get his wittle-feewings-huwt. So I’m a bit bitter that moms gone and I can’t go back and look at those non-existent-photos, but it happened. And I have the gingerbread houses to prove it. Recently, I took an internet deep dive to find them.
2014 was a learning year. What would we do for moms Christmas? She’d make a big meal but what should we do? Gingerbread houses! But we’re not going to be all difficult about it. This was before gingerbread house kits were a thing, mind you. Mom decided we’d make cardboard houses and decorate them! And we’d use hot glue and caulk because ain’t nobody eating these anyway. So we made cardboard houses in advance. And even one Pringles can which became a rocket of sorts. Then, when the night came, we exchanged presents and ate food and laughed and made merry in my sisters tiny house where mom lived. And after dinner, we gingerbreaded! We had tons of cheap candies and graham crackers, pretzels and cereals, all sorts of shit to glue to your box house!
I chose the biggest box house because I’m ambitious. I did not anticipate the sheer amount of time it would take to cover such a large house with graham crackers, cookies, and smarties. Much less how much time it would take me to caulk to entire roof and lay it with pretzels. It was all I could do to get a Twizzler door and butterscotch windows before the night was over. But it was a wonderful Christmas party! And mom was beaming.
I returned home with my house and eventually, I had to spiff that shit up. I had run out of time! So one night while my husband was playing D&D at the table with friends, I sat in the living room with hot glue gun and made that shit SPIFFY. Look at this. M&M Christmas lights! Lined windows! My signature gumdrop wreath — and Christmas tree Peeps. Fuck Yeah. Much better.
Oh now we had a tradition. And the next year, we found gingerbread house kits! 2015 brought a cookie roof and a ice-cream-cone tree (pretty sure mom made me that). We even started saving all the leftover candies because, again, nobody is eating this stuff. And we got better. Caulk is great for cookies and cereal, but don’t use it on the sugar candy — it melts it. Like, it never dries and the candy melts off it. Some kind of chemical reaction. I don’t know. Eventually we gave up on caulk anyway.
In 2016, I bought a whole stash of PREBUILT gingerbread houses. All we had to do was decorate. I went with a Chex roof.
By 2017, gingerbread house kits were becoming a thing. Not only were they easy to find, they started making weird shit. Mom bought me this sweet Mario castle kit! For some reason it didn’t come with a roof or second-story walls. But I’m an engineer so I hot-glued some wooden-skewer beams for supports and filled in with graham crackers. Fuck yeah. Add some Peep trees. Magnificent.
I should also point out that it started to become clear that this tradition was spreading in the family. And by family, I mean Jack. It became very clear that he was sneaking on the counter at night to eat the icing and marshmallows. I let him have at it. It was Christmas, after all. It was pretty evident on that red mushroom though.
In 2018, I brought back my cereal shingle technique. Notice the Mario-Coins saved from the previous year.
In 2019 mom really went all out. Sister had moved into a bigger house so we could set up in the downstairs game room. Multiple tables were set up and everyone was gifted an adorable little spruce tree in a gingerbread box. I’m gonna be honest, I don’t remember this year much. I had some pretty bad brain trauma and I probably barely made it there. That might also explain why the hell there is so damn much icing on the roof. Not my best showing.
2020 was one hell of a year. The party almost didn’t happen because — well, Covid. My husband wasn’t about to leave our house and he really didn’t want anyone here. But I begged and God was on my side. Everyone promised to quarantine and come up here for the party so I wouldn’t have to travel (I was still recovering). God really made that year special for us. Everyone came up. And everyone spent the night! It was so much fun. We had a full house. And mom had got us all matching PJs! We took one of the family’s most cherished photos that night. A family photo with us in our matching PJs and mom up front. Who knew it would be the last family photo we ever took? We didn’t even hardly have any family photos — maybe just my wedding photos, actually. I’m still so sad my sweet husband took the photo because that means he’s not in it. If only I had thought to ask CB to take one with him in it…
Well, we didn’t actually do houses that year. We decorated cookies to make things easier. J had bought an ugly sweater cookie kit and me and mom baked hand-cut gingerbread cookies before everyone got up here. I think it was December 19th? Just a week before she died on Christmas day. Fucking Covid.
The next year, 2021, not everyone was in much of a celebrating mood. But my sister-in-law and brother agreed to host. I found these spiffy fondant penguins at Target. My sisters didn’t come. But we kept the tradition alive. Hey, I even did a damn fine showing with a frosted miniwheats roof. And that was the last Christmas with my precious Jack. And damned if he didn’t go after that house in those dark mid-night hours. He nearly ate a whole damned Peep tree! And look how his tongue sanded down the wreath candies and the fondant door. And is that a Super-Mario star I spy from years before atop the tree?
This year, 2022 was a little better. My sisters still weren’t feeling the joy so I said I would host. And I bought us all fun kits from Publix! I honestly didn’t expect my sisters to come, but last minute they did! Not only did they come, but they stopped at the store and picked up their own gingerbread kits to make! Since I didn’t expect my sisters and I’ve been insanely depressed about Jack, I invited K2 to join us. She made her first gingerbread house in the form of a Publix. I made a moose lodge with a pretzel roof. Apparently, my husband doubted my pretzel roof. SHAME on you, husband! My pretzel roof is fantastic — I mean, there’s a lot of glue strands but whatever.
It’s not very traditional Christmas-look, but it’s there. I wasn’t feeling it as much this year without Jack. Last year we didn’t have mom, but it was still a tradition for me to make a house for Jack to eat in “secret.” This year was harder for me without mom and without Jack. But we kept the tradition alive. We KEEP the tradition alive. Long live mom and her rebellious Chirstmas parties!
Just so yall understand my life when I get home. I’m lazy. I just wanna sit on the couch and watch youtube. Youtube is because I’m too lazy to commit to a show or movie. Right now, it’s not playing cause any minute I’m gonna get up to go pee and get a yogurt. I’ve been about to get up to go pee and get a yogurt for over half an hour at least. Probably close to an hour if we’re honest. And I’m just sitting here scrolling going ‘”holy shit, is that TOUCAN?”
Do I like toucans, or care about them, or need a toucan ornament? Nope. But apparently some part of my brain cares. Maybe I don’t see toucans a lot or something.
And now that I’m posting this — why does that ornament say 2023? It’s not 2023! What the fuck? Now I gotta go click the damn ad I just screenshot so I can read the fine print on it.
Just a second…
Oh. Ok. It’s an ad for you to buy their yearly membership to get exclusive ornaments. So you’re buying next year which is 2023.
So you’re horrified that I’m getting tattoos because they’re sinful and now I’m a heathen going to hell. Right? I willing to bet the arguments you’re going to make are that the Bible says tattoos are bad and that our bodies are a temple? Am I right? Let’s break these two down before I go further. (A) Bible says no tattoos. (B) Bible says body is a temple.
(A) Bible says no tattoos:
Leviticus 19:28: “Do not cut your bodies for the dead or put tattoo marks on yourselves. I am the Lord.”
OK, first of all, the word for tattoo didn’t exist until the 1700’s. The Bible wasn’t written in English. Second of all Leviticus? Come on. If we’re going full Leviticus, it says not to eat shellfish (Lev. 11:9-12), use mixed fabrics (Lev. 19:19), or harvest the edges of fields for some reason (Lev. 19:9). So how’s it going in that cotton blend you’re wearing? Comfy? Wanna throw on a polyester blend and go get some shrimp at the Red Lobster? I’ve totally seem you eat a lobster, BTW. It’s not worth all that effort.
“Not all of Leviticus is written to everyone. There were abominations that applied only to the Jews such as eating shellfish, rabbit, and pork, etc., which were things that typologically represented purity before the Lord. We know this because God says, “Speak to the sons of Israel saying…” He gives instructions to the Israelites, not to the rest of the nations.”
Before we leave Leviticus, lets discuss the word tattoo — which, ya know, didn’t even exist. For this, lets hop over to BibleStudyTools.com:
“Leviticus 19:28 literally translates, “And a cutting for the dead you will not make in your flesh, and writing marks you will not make on you; I am the Lord.” [….] The background of this law was that Israel, after being rescued from slavery, was between Egypt and Canaan. […] In Canaan, evidence indicates that instead of marking the body with ink, more extreme scarification measures, like branding, slashing, or gashing the skin were used. Archeology, backed by biblical texts, indicates the Canaanites would customarily slash their bodies for ritualistic purposes (1 Kings 18:28), especially to mourn their dead and honor their gods. Leviticus 19:28 seems to imply this when it says, “you will not make cuttings in your flesh, for the dead, nor print marks on you.” In light of this information from Egypt and Canaan, it would seem God was forbidding scarification, not tattooing as we know it.””
Even with out all that, I think we can agree that Leviticus is a little out of date. Especially, being that it’s the Old Testament which was overcome by the New Testament when Jesus came because everyone was too inept to follow the rules. God threw us a bone (206 of them in the form of Jesus) and rewrote everything. So yeah, enjoy your cotton blend PJs.
(B) Bible says body is a temple:
Ok, for real — this is laughable. A CATHOLIC saying I can’t give my temple a paint job? Have you ever been in a Catholic church? For real? All that gold paint and gaudiness? Yall love gold paint and marble almost as much as Donald Trump. So don’t talk to my Lutheran ass about decorating a temple. Period.
(C) The Coptic Christian Cross
The Coptic Christians almost require a tattoo of the Coptic Cross. It’s usually on the inside of your wrist. This dates back to them being ostracized and marked when everyone was forced to convert to Islam. They refused to convert and were marked for it. This way they could be easily ostracized. In some churches, they would check for the tattoo before you could even come in to make sure you were a Christian. Coptic Christians make pilgrimages to this day to get this tattoo. It’s a religious experience and part of who they are. And yeah, it’s a TATTOO.
So as I start the week of my fortieth birthday, I am approaching midlife. Technically, I’m past midlife as, in the US, life expectancy is 77.28 years (by 2020 data, probably took a drastic fall with Covid). So I passed midlife slightly over a year ago. When I had a tummy tuck and new boobs installed and started getting tattoos. Could these be symptoms of a midlife crisis? Nope.
See, the thing is: Midlife just happens to coincide with the time in your life when you can finally afford to do the shit you’ve been wanting to do for two decades. A suburban husband buys a stupidly impractical sports car and we call it a midlife crisis and think he’s acting like he’s twenty. Nope. No, he wanted that car when he was twenty but he couldn’t afford it. He’s just finally getting the chance to live his dream. He slaves away his life at work and he just wants to enjoy his fucking car.
People hitting midlife and getting divorces? Well, that relationship wasn’t working for them. They have enough experience to go “yeah, I don’t wanna do this anymore.” That’s not a midlife crisis, that’s a midlife reckoning.
In a way, I think it’s the exact opposite of a crisis. It’s the age where you’re finally confident in yourself and who you are (or maybe you’ve figured out who you’d rather be). Plus you finally have security and money for the first time your life. Add it together and you get people making big changes.
Yesterday, I finally got to start my tattoo sleeve! It’s going to take a good while to finish because I didn’t book any more appointments in advance and we’ll have to break for summer (cause I’m not missing pool time to heal). It’s going to be the adorable bow-tie photo of Jack on a background of Fall leaves with pumpkins in front of him around the bottom. It’ll be a 3/4 sleeve. That way I can roll up my sleeves a bit and still not show if it’s for a job interview. Also, I just love raglan sleeves and the 3/4 length of them so yeah.
Reminder of the photo:
So I chose the absolutely fabulous Devon Greig in Nashville for the job (she did my goomba when we consulted for the sleeve). This is her first photo realism portrait but you’d never know it. She’s amazing. Look at this:
It looks like a painting! I’m blown away. I couldn’t have asked for better! I am in love with it. It’s my Jack!
She chose to just focus on the face in this session since it was so detailed. It took just around 4 hours of tattooing. I scheduled appointments in February and in April to do more work on it. The plan is to get his body and pumpkins in before summer. Then finish it out Next Fall/Winter. I’m so excited! Here’s the progress shots I took while she worked on it. He kinda looks like a terminator Jack with half a face here:
Man, her skill just blows me away. I could paint this, sure — but I can go over spots again and again to get them right. I can’t imagine doing it with a tattoo gun and not being able to revise any mistakes! And her FIRST realism tattoo. Damn, girl! Amazing.
She’s a pleasure to work with too! I told her I wanted to cover up my elbow fat lump because I hate it so much. I feel like if we did the half sleeve above the elbow, it would stand out even more. She was like yeah, we’ll just put a pumpkin there! Excellent. I am psyched.
Also, this didn’t hurt half as much as my ankle tattoo. The ankle felt like having a freshly skinned knee for a few days and a lot of burning as it went in. This felt like scratching sure, but tolerable. I mean, yeah it’s gonna hurt, but I expected worse. The only part that hurt the most was the closer she got to my collar bone — so that ear. The mid face was totally fine. I suspect the REAL pain will be when we get to the elbow and especially my scar. But for now, it doesn’t even feel like anythings there. So awesome.
In between chatting with Devon, I watched Enola Holmes on my phone. It’s got Millie Bobby Brown, Henry Cavill, and Helena Bonham Carter. It took a good bit to get going, but once it did it was awesome.
FUCK
I just looked it up to get the spelling of the actors names and I watched the SEQUEL yesterday. No wonder if took a while to get going. Fuck me, I watched them out of order. I guess I’ll be watching the first one today then…
I’m so devastated that Henry Cavill announced he is leaving the Witcher. HE IS GERALT. He’s sex on a stick as Geralt. He’s gushed about this character. He wanted to be this character. He’s a big fan of this character and he’s quitting for Superman? Fucking Superman sucks.
But you know, I may be a naive idiot, but I truly believe Henry Cavill is a big fat nerd and would choose the Witcher over Superman. I think he’s leaving, not for Superman, but because Netflix isn’t remaining true to the source material he loves. Everyone fucking loves the Witcher — and Netflix wants that. But the books are about Ciri. And they’ve already deviated a lot from the books to keep Ciri and Geralt together (Ciri should have been sent off to lean magic at the temple and eventually train with Yennifer alone). And the next bit is Ciri getting lost and spending at least what would equate to a whole season on her own with little horse in the desert and then joining the rats.
It sucked reading the parts with just Ciri cause you’re watching/reading for Geralt. But that’s the source material. And I don’t think Netflix wants to do that. Not that it wasn’t still good. The books also switch to Geralt’s journey to find Ciri and we meet two of the most awesome characters — Milva and Regis because of it. But I don’t think Netflix wants to gamble on us watching the real story if it means leaving Cavill out for huge swaths of time. Which it requires.
I admit, I LOVE Cavill as Geralt. He’s insanely hot dirtied up with grey hair. Like hot. He does nothing for me as Superman. However, I think his nerdy ass self kept the Netflix show on track. Without him it’s gonna be a shit show that completely veers from the books. Netflix knows we wanna watch Geralt and not a whole season of just Ciri coming to age. But Cavill knows thats an important part of the story that needs to be told. So he’s bailing rather than bastardizing the material. IMO
Like I said, they’ve already changed a lot from the books. The monoliths weren’t in the books. In the books, Ciri grew up knowing about Geralt and loved him and wanted him to take her to be a Witcher but he didn’t want to. But now that it’s time to really commit to Ciri as the central character, I believe, Netflix is chickening out. And this makes me sad. I could skip the Ciri bits, sure — but the Geralt bits that come after are awesome! I wanna meet Regis! I fucking love Regis!
Dammit, Netflix! You suck and I hope the show doesn’t even finish now.
