kitchen_kink: (kate brick)
I am apparently Promotion Girl this week!

Next weekend, in preparation for the 2010: Our Hideous Future Summer Tour, we will be having a CD release party at the Burren! It's gonna be excellent good fun.

Join us on Sunday, May 22 at 3 PM at the Burren, 247 Elm Street, Somerville. $15 cover.

Featuring the "2010" cast and our special guests:

--Violinist Mei Ohara
--Br1ght Pr1mate
--Andy Hicks's The Pluto Tapes

Come on out, and share the event on FB:!/event.php?eid=125095214235047

This show is also a fundraiser for our ongoing efforts to take the musical on tour to other cities. If you can't make it to the party, please, support homegrown theater in Somerville by clicking on our fundraiser link below!

Thanks all,
Kate Motherf*@#ing Brick
kitchen_kink: (love)

Four years ago today, [ profile] imlad and I walked into a blazing circle of loved ones and extended community and declared our undying devotion to one another in front of them and the gods. It was kind of an awesome event, the culmination of two and a half years of growing knowledge, love, and trial.

The times since then haven't always been easy. Other loves in our lives have come and gone. We've moved house twice, struggled with our careers, and had periods of closeness alternating with periods of distance.

In other words, we started a marriage.

On this day, though I'm stuck in New York doing my training, I couldn't be happier to declare again to the world how much I love this beautiful, fragile, strong, maddening, brilliant man. And we'll be doing the celebrating when I get back, on Sunday, at the place where he proposed to me.

And I plan to continue doing so, for many years to come.

Happy anniversary, [ profile] imlad, my love.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
At long last, pictures from the wedding, taken by the inestimable [ profile] mmayhem, are here:

Enjoy, and let me know if you want any of them bigger!
kitchen_kink: (energy)
I'm a lapsed Catholic; it's true. And right now I identify more as pagan than anything else; hell, I even have a regular spiritual practice. But one thing that has been so gratifying to me during this transition from agnostico-vague-spiritualist to practicing pagan is the reclaiming of Christmas.

At last, I know what it is that has been so appealing to me about the holiday for all these years. I've watched as mainstream (read: Christian) America has tried, in vain, to "put the Christ back in Christmas," only to see it grow more inflated and commercial every year. It doesn't work, because the holiday has been stolen: it was holly and ivy long before it was a baby in a manger, and the more it tries to be forced into that mold, the more the perverted pagan traditions pop out, devoid of all spiritual meaning, and devolve into an orgy of spending and inflatable plastic Santas. I've watched some of my Jewish friends recoil in disgust at the way the holiday takes over the hearts, minds, and front yards of their neighborhoods, and listened to people complain about everything from false holiday cheer to endless Christmas music to yet another painful few days with their families, pretending to be happy while tensions seethe.

And yet, through all of this, I have always loved the smell of Christmas (cinnamon, pine, baking meats and pies, snow, and woodsmoke), the specials on TV, the caroling (only in the past couple of years have I actually begun participating in a door-to-door tradition), the tree with its white lights and beautiful ornaments (I decorated mine tonight), egg nog, gifts, the Rockefeller Center tree lighting ceremony, the sound of bells in shop windows, and the Mormon God-damned Taber-fucking-nacle Choir.

And I've realized over the last few years that all - not one, not two, but all - of the things I love about Christmas aren't about Christmas at all.

They're about Yule.

Yes, the winter solstice. It was fun tonight singing a gorgeous arrangement of "The Holly and the Ivy" - a pagan carol if ever there was one - and seeing the way it had been warped into a Jesus carol. The words of the first verse and the chorus are as follows:

The holly and the ivy,
When they are both full grown
Of all the trees that are in the wood
The holly bears the crown

O the rising of the sun
And the running of the deer
The playing of the merry organ
Sweet singing of the choir

Come on, now. "The rising of the sun and the running of the deer"? This is a solstice song! But in the next verse it goes on to compare the attributes of the holly to Mary's bearing of Jesus. Whatever.

In any case, there are many, many, many beautiful carols that celebrate the birth of Christ. And many, many more that celebrate Christmas as a general time of love, peace, and good will toward men. And a few that are left over from them pre-Christian times. Deck the Hall with boughs of holly, and all that jazz.

The point, though, is that the silent night, holy night that I love has very little, if anything, to do with the birth of the king of the Jews. And further: that's okay with me. I don't need the Christ in Christmas. Because before it was Christmas, it was very much celebrated in the ways that I find most rewarding about the season: with holly, pine boughs, lights held together against the darkness of winter, feasting and drinking with friends, song, presents, and fellowship.

Happy holidays, everyone, whatever you celebrate. I'll be off enjoying my Yule vigil in front of a 15-hour roaring fire on Thursday night, celebrating Christmas with my biofamily on the 25th, and feasting with my dearest friends here in Boston on New Year's Eve. May you all be so multiply blessed.
kitchen_kink: (wedding)
It's been over three weeks, and it's probably time for me to post about the wedding, before the events lose all of their freshness, before I forget a day that was, all cliches aside, the happiest of my life to date.

I should probably begin, in typical narrative fashion, with all of the things that went wrong leading up to it. Everyone talks about how all weddings are just small disasters that somehow come together in the end, and I'd gone into the wedding pretty much viewing it as a huge show I was opening on October 7. I've acted, directed, stage and assistant stage managed, costume designed, and participated in just about every aspect of theatre production, and I know what it's like to put on a show. My favorite thing in the wonderful film Shakespeare in Love is the theatre manager's continued insistence that when everything finally comes together, "It's a mystery." I know only too well the truth of this: pretty much every show I've worked on has been hanging by a thread a week before opening, with everyone stressed to their limits and mortified that it's going to be a total disaster.

This production was no exception; in fact, it was probably the worst I've experienced in this regard. Add to it that fact that along with [ profile] imlad, I was acting as producer, director, and lead actress, and it would be difficult for my stress level to be higher. I don't want to dwell on the negative, but to give a sample, I'll cite just a few of the events of Friday, the day before the wedding:

1. I was still waiting for the FedEx truck to bring the final pieces of everybody's clothing from Colorado.
2. When [ profile] imlad picked the programs up from the printers, all of the pages were in the wrong order.
3. I picked up my dress, which had been worked on very quickly and thoroughly, that morning, then went across the street to find a dress that would fit [ profile] entrope and match the color scheme.
4. Given all of that, we did not arrive on site until well into the dark hours of the evening, when we had intended to arrive around 2pm.

Add to this that my ring was not delivered until the Wednesday before (they broke it twice trying to make it), the store that was supposed to order the clothes [ profile] imlad was going to wear never bothered to do it, the linens cost more than twice what I was quoted and my dear friend who was going to do my hair and makeup got food poisoning the morning of the wedding day, and by the time of the ceremony, I was nothing but a huge ball of walking nerves.

Huge, I tell you.

But in the midst of this, there was [ profile] zzbottom, who bought food for Friday night's barbecue and acted as head chef, then, along with his girlfriend, set all the tables on Saturday morning. There was [ profile] macthud, who loomed in that incredibly calming way he has and lisped at me to make me laugh and feel like a princess. There was [ profile] wurmwyd, who was ready to do anything needed, and also did a spectacular job looking after my mother. There was [ profile] imvfd, who just took care of all kinds of things almost invisibly. There were the silk monkeys who showed up and provided the most spectacular show and equipment for people - it added so much. There were my official officiants, [ profile] redheadedmuse and [ profile] _cazador, and the wonderful addition, [ profile] queenofhalves, who made everything happen, ceremony-wise, without me having to think about it. There were all the attendants, who did everything imaginable to keep me sane. There was [ profile] shu_al, who did more than I thought possible to keep the entire operation running. And [ profile] sunspiral, guiding the crowd with his fine heraldic presence, and [ profile] jirikido, moving silently and making things happen. So many people to thank that I can only begin here, and hope that I can include everyone by the end of this already lengthy post.

And then, there was the wedding.

At 2pm on Saturday, October 7, the stated start time of the ceremony, I was sitting in a chair in the bathroom of the Lodge, having my hair done. Darling D showed up, looking pale, and while I had to take care of my makeup myself, she managed a quick and magnificent 'do incorporating [ profile] ayalanya's magnificent headpiece. We were running late, just to add to the stress, but as I watched myself in the mirror and fretted, the vision I had had of myself as bride began, at last, to come together. Quite suddenly I felt that I looked almost perfect, and as that moment of rightness washed over me, I had a chance to get nervous. I had been so consumed up until that point with the concern that everything wouldn't happen properly that I hadn't had a chance to reflect on what I was about to do.

And so, I breathed.

D left for the audience, and I walked out of the bathroom. [ profile] shu_al's husband was standing there, waiting to give the signal. It was about 20 minutes past 2.

I looked out the door into the field and saw the circle of chairs. I saw the attendants waiting with their elemental representations. I saw [ profile] imlad, my love, standing at one far corner, his anachronistic finery waving in the wind.

And in the center of the circle, my friends were dancing.

The drummers, who were there to raise energy and accompany the firespinners, had begun playing. [ profile] regyt was spinning bright gold flags. [ profile] water_childe, [ profile] danceboy and [ profile] dreams_of_wings, among others, were dancing in the circle. As I looked, [ profile] dreams_of_wings was being lifted into the sunlight to the sound of drums and spontaneous singing.

In that moment, and in every moment after that and since, I could not have been more moved, grateful, and thrilled to be a part of the community that was there around me. Their love, their joy, their effort, their participatory spirit would not even allow them to be bored waiting for a late ceremony to start: they found a way to begin celebrating right away. In that moment, I knew that everything was going to be perfect. And I wished, as I did many other times that day, that the rest of my family were there.

The message was conveyed and the circle grew silent as people returned to their seats and waited for the ceremony to begin. I propped the door slightly so that I could hear the choir sing. They broke beautifully into Delius' "To Be Sung of a Summer Night on the Water," a wordless expression of ethereal pastoral joy, as the officiants cast. It was a mighty circle they made: I could feel it from where I was.

Then, a moment of silence before the processional. The choir sang "The Heart's Cry," and the attendants, with their elements, processed from the four directions, one pair at a time. The piece ended, and [ profile] imlad and I ended up entering the circle in the small space of silence that followed: it seemed somehow appropriate. As I approached the edge of the circle, shaking, grinning my face off, trying not to cry, holding my grandfather's letter that he wrote to my grandmother from the Air Force when my mother was born, [ profile] imvfd stood up, and the whole crowd followed. Joy burst in me. I approached the altar, and took [ profile] imlad's hand.

[ profile] danceboy, invoking the Fey, leapt and flipped and pinched me and kissed the groom and broke the solemnity of the moment in exactly the way we hoped he would, and the spell was not broken but intensified.

[ profile] redheadedmuse's invocation of the Star Goddess was one of the most powerful magical things I have felt; I'm sure the choir's haunting, quiet chant of "You Who Open the Vault of Heaven" helped. [ profile] _cazador invoked the Boatman, and the usual heavy, dark, forbidding and loving presence entered our midst. And we were ready to do the work.

My lovely bridesmaids. The handsome groomsmen. They stepped forward one by one and offered such beautiful blessings and readings that I was overwhelmed. I was so happy to be able to involve them in a way that was more than simple witnessing, and I don't think I imagined what beauty they would bring.

We accepted the Boatman's challenge, and drew two cards, whose meaning we have still to divine.

Then came the charging of the rings. We wanted to involve everyone in this process, and so [ profile] queenofhalves taught the chant, and encouraged everyone who felt called to to join in with the choir in singing, and to dance, too, if they wished.

The chant began. The drums started. And then, everyone started to stand up.

The spiral dance that [ profile] redheadedmuse had wanted somewhere in our ceremony happened spontaneously, joyously, beautifully, and in lieu of a receiving line, I got a chance to look into the eyes of nearly everyone at the wedding as they passed, as we spiraled toward the center and out again, as we raised our voices and our bodies toward sending good vibes toward those wedding bands. I could hardly believe that it happened as it did; I'm still marveling at the pictures. I'm still marveling, too, at [ profile] bbbsg, whom a guest I did not know drew into the dance in her wheelchair. I think I almost shouted as she passed in the spiral, dancing with the rest of us, smiling in wonder.

Finally, we read our vows. We decided to write one short text and have both of us read it, changing only the names and husband/wife designations. [ profile] imlad got through it solemnly, with a kind of choked up grace. I got to the end before I broke and said the last words, "and maintain a constancy of the highest devotion for as long as I live," in a sobbing cadence, then laughed as I couldn't get the ring on his finger. [ profile] redheadedmuse bound our hands and pronounced us married, we kissed the way you do, and the choir sang [ profile] sen_no_ongakyu's incredible new piece. Then, drumming by [ profile] _cazador, [ profile] macthud, [ profile] greendalek and the aforementioned composer, with firespinning by [ profile] regyt and [ profile] buxom_bey, during which everyone sat silently and watched, though they were encouraged to join in dancing.

At the end, though, applause and cheering broke out, the wedding party escaped to photographs, and our guests started the party without us.

Pictures and a few minutes at the Lodge after the photographs tell me that a veritable circus took place there before dinner: silks trapezing, hula-hooping, contact improv dancing, labyrinth-walking ([ profile] pheromone actually brought a portable labyrinth!), sangria-drinking (thank you, [ profile] tisana!) and munching happened simultaneously.

Dinner was a blur of hellos and hugs and tears and love and excellent food (which [ profile] imlad and I wisely enjoyed before everyone else came in to dinner), provided by [ profile] deadwinter, [ profile] fanw, [ profile] doze_e_fish, [ profile] rosif3r, and non-LJ Andi. The hall looked lovely (thanks ever, [ profile] lifecollage and [ profile] doeeyedbunny, who couldn't be there, for the favors, and [ profile] rule30 for the decor help), the wine flowed, people stuck leaf-shaped confetti to their foreheads, the music rocked (thank you, Nutz and Dex!), and, strangely, everything went according to plan, only better.

The night wore on, the cake was cut, people started to leave, and then everyone carried the candles from the tables back up to the Lodge. There was a bonfire, more dancing, psytrance, and mostly low-key merriment well into the night, and I felt over and over again rocked in the arms of my loving community.

I want to make a couple of things clear before I end this far-too-long chronicle.

One: if you haven't been directly named here, it is oversight and not ingratitude. Oh, how I love, and how I endlessly thank, every one of you that was there that day.

Two: I don't think I ever fully realized, until that day, the extent of this community's love, support, and commitment to me, to [ profile] imlad, and to our union. I don't know if I'll ever stop being profoundly moved by all of you, and by how I felt that day, seeing the way you all made everything happen. There's a part of me, that childish part that's still the little girl nobody is friends with, who still can never quite believe that so many amazing people could ever be more to her than casual acquaintances - or, on worse days, that they're not thinking or saying bad things about her when she's not around. If I'm ever cold or distant, or quiet, if I ever disappear for a time, if I ever seem difficult to reach or hard to be close to, that's why.

And for the first time, at this event, I felt the full force of how much you all care for me, and us, and for each other, and the totality. I felt open to love of all varieties and levels in a way I never had before. I felt, if this makes any sense at all, that the event itself was a vindication of everything I've wanted my life to be: you all made it possible, and made it real. And I didn't shy away from anyone, because I knew you were all here for us, and I could finally feel, without doubts and insecurities, the full measure of your love.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for that, forever.

And for those of you who were invited and couldn't be there: we missed you. We love you. And thank you.

And go here for some pictures (thank you, [ profile] mangosteen, [ profile] rule30, and [ profile] queenofhalves!):
kitchen_kink: (Default)
As you might recall, some days before the day known to some only as "Christmas" (if that's it's real name), I was struck by the sock elves. After much package opening and crack detective work, I have solved the mystery.

But not before a great deal of poetic mayhem had ensued. Thank god no one was hurt.

First came the fuzzy purple sock, all alone, muppet-like and unadorned.

Next, the rainbow striped toe sock, with the following mystifying message:

winter wind blows cold
safely nestled in rainbow
the cozy toes rejoice

An innocent enough message, you might think. Perhaps even friendly. But the intrigue continued.

A sparkly, thin trouser sock appeared next, again in the same cool-hued wrapping paper. This fairy was slick.

feet, oft neglected
sigh and pine for adornment
sparkle, princess foot!

I began to sense we were dealing with some kind of foot worship cult here. I couldn't be sure just yet, but my footy sense told me that something here smelled.

Next came another trouser sock, purple striped, with the sticker, "Space Knit" on it, shaped like the prototypical flying saucer. Stranger and stranger, and just a whiff closer to the truth:

purple striped socks
extraterrestrial made
enjoy on the ground

There it was, I thought, at last the clue I'd been searching for. Clearly this was the agent of some extraterrestrial civilization that held feet up as their gods. Human feet. I could only guess what would happen next, but I feared a ritual sacrifice of some sort.

Sure enough, the next day a white-leopard printed sock appeared, complete with pale blue toes.

jungle noises ring
a sock stalked through green fronds
now presented with love

Could it be that it wasn't feet they would sacrifice, but socks? Could it be that in their culture, socks were living beings, stalked and massacred to appease their misplaced gods?

The next day, tragedy struck.

happy yellow ducks
float on cerulean sock
cheer for chilly feet

A blue sock, speckled with the grisly image of yellow duckies. Who knows what they'd been through before being slaughtered. Cheer for feet, indeed, but what about the socks who had to suffer?

I waited and waited for the other sock to drop. Surely there would be repurcussions, a revelation, some kind of meaning to all of this madness! But I received only another expression of slavish loyalty to the foot-and-sock cult:

oh majestic sock
in you are met the colors
black and crimson red

Black with the horror of death. Red with the blood of innocents. And very, very, very snuggly.

I couldn't sleep. The ghosts of the lone socks haunted my dreams, their mates tramping alone through vast wildernesses, crying out for succor. Beneath my Christmas tree, the lone socks writhed, wailed, and I woke, sweating, my feet cold and unadorned.

I thought surely madness would take me.

Finally, the moment of truth arrived. On my doorstep, a large box, rather than a small package. I barely dared open it; I was breathless as I tore the paper, certain that this, at last, would be the solution I had awaited.

I peeled back the tissue paper protecting the creature inside. I at once recognized the knitted remains of the mates of all of the socks I had heretofore received, twisted in a kind of cultish agony, forced into a vague representation of the god to whom I now, nay, all of you, must pay allegience...

No, not Chthulu... )
kitchen_kink: (Default)
It looks like Sockmas has struck, and I couldn't be more pleased. Or mystified.

For the past few days, small packages, each in the same sparkly lavender, silver and pale blue metallic wrapping, have appeared on my doorstep with my mail. The current tally:

One very fuzzy and loveable purple sock
One very sparkly thin purple sock
One rainbow-striped toe sock
One very fuzzy red and black striped sock
Three haiku about said socks

Note the number "one" before each socklike item. I also wonder why the fuzzy purple sock has no haiku attached.

Lone, fuzzy, purple
The first sock I received, in
Knitted mystery.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
Time on deck: 11:43 p.m. EST.

Words written: 50,049.

Number of those words written today: 8,907

Percentage of those words likely to be scrapped in revisions: 98%

Amount of actual novel really finished: about 75%

Feelings at this moment: rather anticlimactic

I had a lot of time to work on a novel, and I've completed one more than twice as long as this, so the sheer idea of creating 50,000 words in a month wasn't such a huge whoop. What was more important to me was to begin a habit of writing daily, to learn how to produce on command instead of only when inspired to, and to create something that I felt could be massaged into an actual, viable piece of work. And the result is that I have the bones of something that looks frighteningly like a fantasy novel.

And hey, check out my icon.

Now everybody go and congratulate anyone else you know who has managed to do this while also working a full time job.

Hell, congratulate anyone who even tried to do this with a full time job. (Hi, [ profile] imlad!)
kitchen_kink: (bliss)
So I walk onto my porch after coming from the gym today, and what do I see but a long 1-800-Flowers box on the porch! Sure enough, the damn thing's addressed to me, and I enfold it in my arms along with the other bags and books and things I'm carrying. I open the door, and there in the hall is...another 1-800-Flowers box - this one even bigger!

So after two trips up the stairs, I delay gratification for a little while by tidying up and getting ready for my shower. Then, I open the boxes.

The littler one has a bunch of carnations called Moonshadows, which are of the deepest blue-violet hue I've ever seen. Gorgeous, and simple, and just wow. A card is attached, expressing elegant and heartfelt wishes from my favorite housecat/high priestess, [ profile] catling. Much squeeage ensues.

I open the bigger box. Here, ensconced in much paper, each stem with a little water-filled stem-condom on it, are THREE DOZEN ROSES. Not one, not two ladies and gentlemen, but THREE. Three dozen. Thirty-six-freakin'-roses. They are gorgeous, and they easily fill the biggest vase in the house.

I open the card attached to the box. Where [ profile] catling's had a little message and her name, this card just says:

"Nice boots."

Okay, people, fess up! I have my guesses, but my first one was wrong. I'll reserve my second guess to avoid embarrassment. Just come forward, put the gun down, and we can forget any of this happened. Or, you know, celebrate that it did!

(Incidentally, [ profile] concrete is on his way to the Diesel with my present, which is apparently...more flowers. I am such, such, SUCH a lucky girl.)

It's done.

Jul. 29th, 2005 06:01 pm
kitchen_kink: (bookish)
Oh god, it's done.

I just finished it.

I said I would finish it, and I finished it.

It's done.

I mean, it's done for now. Only one other will read it before it's edited. It'll languish, probably for six months or so while I put together a short story collection and do NaNoWriMo in November.

But the first draft. The first draft of my first novel. It's 536 pages (okay, that was with 1.5 inch margins all around, because they wanted it that way when I submitted the first few chapters to a contest) - 480 pages with 1.5 inch top and left margins and 1 inch right and bottom ones. It's 122,953 words long. It's a mess. It's rambling, it's inconsistent and the plot makes very little sense to me anymore - but it's a novel. It's done.

It's done.

It's terrible.

But it's done.
kitchen_kink: (Default)
...if any of y'all need me between now and Tuesday I'm best reachable at, or my cell phone. Which, if you don't already have the number, chances are I don't want you calling me anyway. (Public posting, after all; take no offense.)

Happy birthday to my Mom.
kitchen_kink: (pleased)
So here's the meme: go back a year from today (or as many years as you've been using LJ) and pick a quotation from your journal entries of that day (or a day near it, I suppose). Link to the entries here.

Today is the day after my anniversary with [ profile] ert, so it was an interesting and fortuitous day for me to come across this meme. Here's what I found:

March 7, 2003:

I got to work and opened the novel on my desktop. I read a chapter: it's good. It's quite good. A few missteps in language, some overly literary self-indulgence, but it's intriguing, linguistically rhythmic, haunting, strange. And I think I'm ready to work on it again.

[Note: as of today I've written 280 pages.]


I went out with my love last night to the scene of the crime to celebrate a year together. Seeing him sit across from me at that restaurant brought back everything I fell in love with him for. I stared into his eyes and vistas opened before me.

March 7, 2002, Or, the Day After My Life Changed:

Everything was so open. There were none of the games people play, the information they omit, when meeting and trying to impress a new person. And yet somehow, none of the sense of romance was compromised. It was a strange and amazing soul connection, of the kind I've felt maybe twice before in my life.

Happy Annys, my love.
kitchen_kink: (elated)
I am off to Canadia until late on the 26th. I'll be intermittently online, but not reliably so.

Hope all of your holidays are bright!
kitchen_kink: (Default)
...this is where the coffee runs out...


Wah! Huh? Right!

Saw the Matrix Reloaded last night. I will say nothing, except that I left the theatre at 1 am all hopped up and wanting to go mosh in the pit at a Rage show. (Yeah, you may not know that bit of me, but that's me, too.)

I agreed to the expedition because dammit, I love watching movies on opening night. The excitement, the crowds, the APPLAUSE after certain scenes! (The freeway is suicide...) Ah...and then the getting up at 6:45 to go to work. (Boo!)

This morning I learned that one side benefit of breaking one's dependence on caffeine is that when one actually needs it, it works. So I spent the morning being focused and alert and operating quite well.

I've been the Scroungemonger for food today, though, and have at this point consumed: One (1) cup of strong coffee with half-and-half and sugar, one (1) Clif Bar, Black Cherry Almond, one (1) salvaged Dunkin Donuts maple walnut scone, one (1) slice of cold pizza (with mushrooms, no less), and one (1) packet of several (6 or 7) oatmeal fruity nuggety items, slightly stale. Did I mention we're a Food Bank?

I haven't spent any money yet. However, I also feel like I'm going to fall down on my desk.

Every time I go to the bathroom, though (for whatever reason, I can't think of the connection), I think about tonight, and I realize all the cool people I'm going to get to see! So excited! (No [ profile] longueur though. Poop.) (Previous parenthetical brought to you by [ profile] quinnclub and [ profile] tafkar.) So I'm alternately pass-outy and bouncy.





kitchen_kink: (Default)

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