#I said what i fucking said about it this city's layout is garbage and anyone in their right mind with a chance to leave takes it

[mayra-quijotescx]

I looked up the logistics of getting to five other galleries, all inside the loop like I am, and good news! The one I'm already working with is reachable in under an hour and 15 minutes one way, requiring only a 13-minute walk from [LANDMARK].

'jeez mayra if that's the good news what's the bad news?' None of the five other 'nearby' venues I checked were. Two clocked in at sub-25min. by car (which is still pathetic, it's embarrassing that even the shitty, expensive, and dangerous transportation method this bullshit city was designed for takes so long to get around it) (not to mention that's assuming you won't get stuck behind a parked train, as often happens), but getting in cars is what I'm trying to avoid.

#the gulf of mexico can't atlantis this garbage heap of a fake city fast enough imo #'isn't that a little harsh-' most of my life has been wasted in near-isolation in/bc of various bumfuck pseudosuburbs of this 'city'. #I said what i fucking said about it this city's layout is garbage and anyone in their right mind with a chance to leave takes it #whatever I'll bring a book or two whenever I go and that'll just be What I Do That Day #I used to have a 1h45m daily commute. (again this city is a garbage heap) at least this is just a once in a while thing. #people moving to houston on purpose: why. what is wrong with you.

[one-of-us-must-be-crazy]

stained.

So I doubt any store or fad will last this long into the future, but it was brought on by a tumblr post “cute date idea: go pick out a bathbomb with your S/O and use it together” and then a conversation I had about said horrible idea with OutreOtter (”how don’t they stain the bathtub?”), who said I needed to write it. 

It didn’t snow on Luna. The artificial climate didn’t allow for it. More than that it was August, which was why it was so concerning to Christopher to see it outside of the shopping mall window: small white flakes falling from above.

“Amy, why are they making—“

“Snow? They do that sometimes, it’s a Christmas advertisement I think.”

“That’s months away.”

“I know,” she said, looking at a window display of colorful gift-boxes, “The godforsaken world of retail wants people to get excited for Christmas early, it’s bullshit. I try not to go near big shopping areas after July,” she said. Gods this place is turning into a theme park… When her mother was born, Luna was a mechanical station and a three-building campus for low-gravity research. When Amanda moved there for work, there was a major Colonial Marine base, complete with a hospital that served the entire lunar colony; military, corporate, and private docks at the ship yard, and dozens more research facilities. A small city building up around the number of full-time citizens that were needed to run both the base and the mechanics of preserving the crater fields on the front of the moon while maintaining a stable atmosphere. At first the place was a refuge from holidays and current events and current trends, but within months she noticed the change, noticed the city developing more into the kind of small city-town that she had lived in as a little girl: shopping and a library, cafes, and tourists. Gaudily dressed upper middle-class families and couples there to see the Earthrise. Hotels and bars (the latter she didn’t mind so much; if there were other people in the bar it didn’t count as drinking alone), more fucking shopping stores and then the mall. Holidays were the worst, but the screaming tourist children weren’t the reason.

Before moving to Luna Christmas was a miserable season of constant reminders. Advertisements of big, happy families mocked her openly wherever she went. The respite from it barely lasted two seasons. In the malls and departments stores it began early. Everywhere else it still began early, but not until October or so. Damn shame too, Halloween’s about the only holiday that doesn’t guilt you for not having anyone in your life. Though this upcoming Halloween had occurred to her, and in the process of wanting to give her lover as much experience in the human social world as she could, she planned on finding something for them to do. Maybe even hand out candy to the kids in their apartment building.

“What,” Samuels asked, looking over Ripley’s shoulder into the store, “are those?” An employee was dropping a soft-ball sized blue and green globe into a clear glass tank: it spun around in the water and began to froth.

“Bath-bombs. Expensive little soap balls that fizz and bubble when you drop them in water. Some of them have dumb prizes inside, or a fuck-ton of glitter.”

“I want to go in and see,”

“I’m not stopping you.”

“Can you come with me?” They had reached a point that they weren’t bothered by splitting up while out. For him to ask her to watch him wasn’t usual anymore; she had already been poised to cross the hallway into a Wallace computer store.

“Why?”

“Because most of the patrons inside are teenage girls.”

“Afraid one of them will try flirting with you?” it wasn’t likely; thus far the only women she ever noticed giving him more than a passing glance were usually older than her.

“No? I’d only feel out of place.”

“Alright,” she smiled, not wanting him to think that the request bothered her, and followed him in; she was immediately assaulted by a few hundred horrifically clashing scents of fruits and flowers. “What was so interesting about—“

“If I could get a closer sense of one of them, I could tell their chemical make-up,” he returned her smile, “I’m curious.”

“Epson salt, soap, and acid of some kind—I think.” She watched him pick up a few different ones, smell them and set them down. “Do you want one?” she asked picking up a small robot-shaped block.

“You aren’t funny, luv.”

“It’s called ‘ickle-baby-bot’, it’s adorable.”

“It’s insulting.”

“Ickle baby,” she laughed, pressing a slight, quick kiss on his cheek. “Still wish you could blush,”

“Ah, the only attribute of mine I am thankful for: that I can’t.” Though he was hardly recognized this far from the marine base and Weyalnd-Yutani’s Luna offices, he was more concerned that someone would notice that Amanda was kissing a synthetic. He was far from being embarrassed by her affections, though still a little flustered at the idea of getting drawing attention.

“I’ll buy one if you want,”

“Not really, I was curious, that was all.” A large purple one stood out, emitting a heady amount of lavender perfume; he picked it up, and handed it to her. “What do you think of this one?”

“I like it,” she smiled. “Let’s get a couple of them, we could use one tonight.”

“Should I leave?”

“Why?” she asked.

He lowered his voice to answer: “We’re an obvious couple looking at them together, and if we purchase them together…”

“We’re wearing wedding rings. Those girls by the front window are holding hands, they’re not separating to sneakily buy anything.”

“Alright, alright. Then at least let me buy them,”

“Whatever you want.”

An absurd amount of money later, they boarded the shuttle back to the old side of Luna. They lived closer to Tranquility Base, closer to the offices and austere military buildings, and the older laboratories—which meant that at least once a week he was recognized as a synthetic.

To those who recognized his make, the ring told them nothing: they never noticed and he might as well be invisible. Still, for Amanda’s sake (though she didn’t know about it) if going out on his own he put his ring in his pocket, or didn’t wear it out at all. True, he had a suspicion that the building manager and front desk attendants all knew what he was and that he and Ripley were together, but he didn’t want it becoming common knowledge for the sake of her reputation and dignity.

At least holding out a hand, and gently taking her forearm to help her off the shuttle could have also been read as an action of servitude rather than genuine care. Unlike her insistence on kissing him, even chastely while they’re in the city center, these were quiet and unnoticeable gestures that felt strangely freeing.

Touching her in general felt freeing.

Once to the front door of their building, Amanda held it open for him: her sense of courtesy rather than chivalry. If someone was behind you, you hold the door, even if that someone was actively insisting that he had it along with all the day’s shopping bags and her jacket over his arm. She showed her card at the front desk and used it to activate the lift. The design of the place was dated, half three-star-hotel like any nicer-than-garbage building she had ever seen, and half gimmicky-retro-space-station. She repaired a historical roller coaster in Florida once with a similar design after Weyland-Yutani bought the theme park. Walking the whole way around to the other side of the building after arriving on their floor was just the tip of the “bad layout” architecture, but that did mean that their corner apartment was in the price range of Weyland-Yutani’s payout. Didn’t matter, it was endlessly better than the dormitory-style place she had lived before.

Christopher set the bags down on the kitchen counter bar, and Amanda flopped onto the sofa across the flat.

“I’m too tired for all that we did,”

“You lasted through five stores though,” about where her limit was now. They’d taken a trip like this the first day in the flat—mere weeks (excluding cryo) since the disaster of Sevastapol—and she could hardly take the crowds, having to sit in corners, tug her partner aside, and eventually apologizing that she had to stop and go home. A lovely day shopping for ‘new home’ items and groceries had driven her to a breakdown. Now she was only crashed on the couch, only as worn out as anyone might be if they’d been up late the previous night.

Which she had been.

…Quite late.

“Do you still want to try one of the bath bombs tonight?” she asked.

“If you’re exhausted then no,” he was unpacking the day’s prizes: an odd looking blender that he thought he could use to make her fruit smoothies breakfast—pestering her to actually eat fruit might be easier if she didn’t have to sit down, seeing as she preferred to roll out of bed less than half an hour before she had to be at work. Really anything other than those toaster pastries and cold coffees. There were also other things, more foreign to him, more strange and surreal: a cake knife and server engraved in elegant script an intertwining AC. He had picked them out, chosen the script, gave the initials, and paid for them. Amanda didn’t care about material things, she didn’t even need the ring he bought her but they were all things that she would have if she had a real engagement, a real marriage. It’s been hardly eight months; if you were human you wouldn’t have bloody proposed to her yet, you overthinking, overdramatic, overexcited idiot.

“Earth to Christopher, where the fuck did you go? I asked you something.”

“Hmm? Sorry, I was thinking…” he played over the last moments of audio in his head, heard her question: “I’m fine as long as it’s just the bath, sounds relaxing. What about you?”

“Just relaxing sounds nice; you can run it as you see fit,” he walked over and handed her the bag of the bathbombs.

“If you’re good then I’ll get on that now, before I pass out.” she stood up and stretched, and then walked down the hall. A wayward glance at the bags on the counter and he followed her; he could put them away later.

Amanda gave another yawn, and stretched out as she pulled her shirt off. Despite seeing this often he wasn’t used to it yet, the look of her skin, the curves, lines, scars and freckles. Red, mean looking indents where her bra-straps had dug into the skin. She stepped out of her jeans too as the water in the bath rose.

“You can drop the thing in if you want,” Amanda said, slipping in the water contently. The soft vanity lights gave enough of a glow to see, but without the harsh light of the ceiling lamp, he’d have to keep an eye on her to be sure she didn’t fall asleep in the water. He undressed slowly, bordering on shyly, and followed her, reaching for the paperbag of the purple-hued balls and dropping one in the water between them. Amanda had rarely used any before—too expensive, too temporary—and watched with interest, though less interest than he took. Christopher was strangely fascinated by it. However, unlike Amanda the first time that she used one, he didn’t prod at it until it fell apart. The quiet fizzing and the scent of lavender lulled her even more and she stretched out her legs beside her lover’s, leaned back against the edge of the tub and shut her eyes.

Christopher smiled at the sight of her, up nearly to her neck in the water. They had taken to showering together somewhat often, and baths a little less. Some days still Amanda would need the company if not the contact and they’d sit like this until the water grew cold, her with her eyes shut and he usually reading on his waterproof-cased datapad. It wasn’t inherently sexual, but seemed all the more intimate for it.

The thin layer of foam dissipated quickly on the water’s surface was less exciting than he had hoped it would be, but the water was dyed a gentle purple.

“Amy?”

“Mm?”

“This won’t stain the bath will it?”

“Oh no, the color rinses away,” she sat up, the water now barely to her chest, and shivered at the contact of air on wet skin. “Fuck, I’m gonna pass out; sorry...I have to go to bed.” She climbed out of the bath but spoke up when he made motion to follow, “No, don’t. Relax and enjoy it,” she dried off and let her hair down.

“Are you sure?”

“Mmhmm,” Amanda knelt by the bath and leaned over to kiss him.

Of course she probably didn’t mean for it to be serious, she’s tired, she’s going to bed to sleep, she was just trying to kiss him good night. Still Christopher’s voice of reason was shut down by a flare of mischief and he reached up behind her with a hand on the back of her neck, soaking her hair and tilting her enough that she deepened the kiss with a deep sigh.

Ripley enjoyed the bit of an ornery streak he was having, between this and initiating the previous night’s activities, and didn’t pull back until he moaned softly, and let go of her hair. She drew back slowly, catching a second, nearly imperceptibly quiet hum of pleasure from him.

“Good night,” she whispered, her eyes still half shut.

“Good night, darling.”

The light was dim, but his arm was still resting on the side of the tub, not under water as before, and she could note something not right about—

“Um…?”

“Everything alright?”

Amanda turned the ceiling lamp on as well, and Christopher was in full, bright color. Bright purple, to be more specific.

“oh hell, Amy what am I supposed to—“ he try to rub a patch of the purple off his arm under the water, reached around for soap and tried that, and still, his skin was the same pale violet that the water was.

“Try to shower it off under hotter water?” Amanda didn’t seem as bothered as she did amused, and the more frantic he became, the funnier she found it.

“Are you laughing? God, this is—this is—I have to be at the office tomorrow.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“It won’t come off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Amanda I’m periwinkle!”

She didn’t know which was funnier, the look of terror on his face or—

“PERIWINKLE? Why not say blue or purple or—“

“Oh does it matter?” he shook his head, trying to think of a solution, something as an excuse to not report to the office the next day. “Alright, I have to dry off, can you leave?”

“What, why?” she managed between bouts of laughter.

“Because, dear, I think it’s safe to assume that all of me is ‘blue or purple,’” he quoted her with a meticulous copy of her accent, “And I’m afraid that you won’t ever stop laughing then.”

“Ffff….S-Sorry, it’s just so—“

“I know, it’s my fault, I’m the one that wanted to see the damn thing—“

“You’ve sworn twice, you are upset.”

“You think so?” he turned his respirator fans on high, and then gradually slowed them until he was back to a workable internal temperature. “Please leave?”

“Alright,” she left her towel on the floor, nudging the door half-shut behind her as she retreated to the darkness of their room. Only after he heard her open a dresser drawer for a night shirt that he got out of the water.

A quick glance and the damage was surveyed: from the middle of his chest down, and on his arms from just under the elbows, he was stained purple. His lover wasn’t, their bath wasn’t.

“Wonderful…”

“I’m sorry I was laughing,” said the Ripley-shaped bundle of blankets on the right side of the bed.

“Apology accepted, please help me figure out what will take this off in the morning...”

“Can I see?”

“I’m not turning the lights on,”

She rolled over and reached out to him in the dark, purred softly when her hand made contact with bare skin; her hand drifting gently down until meeting the waistband of his pants. She withdrew in favor of leaving her hand over his core; about where a human’s heart would be. “How d’you think it happened? Your skin isn’t porous.”

“I am thoroughly convinced that the reason this happened is because you are the only stroke of luck I have had in eight years,” his hand covered hers, and he continued softly “And you are so amazing that to even it out, the rest of my life is going to continue to be a series of absurd misfortunes.”

“That’s very sweet. Still don’t think I can take you seriously until you don’t look like background ghoul in Beetlejuice.”

“When have you ever taken me seriously?”

“I did before.” The slight emphasis on the last word made it clear what she meant: their entire mission of Sevastapol. Unless it was the subject at hand, Ripley never mentioned the place, or anyone involved by name.

“I need an excuse not to go to the office tomorrow.”

“Use me as an excuse; or say you need servicing, it’s not like you’ve ever cost them a sick day before. We’ll go to the hardware store, find a solvent that might lift that stain out.”

“Could you go alone? I’d have to wear gloves to hide this and I would rather not attract the attention.”

“Understood,”

“God I hope something works,” he said in as close to a mumble as his audio system would allow. “I’ll bleach it if I have to.”

“Wouldn’t that take out the flesh tone too? You’d look like a ghoooooost,” she was quiet, tired but still sounded mirthful. “Better than the purple people eater.”

“The what?”

“It’s an old, old stupid Halloween song about a purple monster.”

“Please go to sleep before you come up with any more flattering remarks.”

“Then please stop sounding like you’re fucking dying.” Amanda tugged their duvet up to her shoulders, and shut her eyes.

“Dear.”

“Hm?”

“Was that a pun on dyeing as in to give color to something?”

“No, but let’s say that it was, make me sound more clever,” she shifted slightly, her arm over his torso hugged him tight for a moment and then relaxed. “‘Night…”

Earlier that year, he would wait until she was asleep to leave the room and sit awake in the center of the apartment, ever on guard, paranoia tearing him away from her side. Now he waits until she fell asleep before starting partial shut-down, a sleep of a kind. The last fully conscious act was a soft kiss on her temple, before the quiet exhale of his respiratory fans turning off.

#mine #once I clean it up i'll put it on ao3 probably #outreotter #ripuels

[autisticadventurer]

Unedited Excerpt

As some of my readers may know, I have been working on putting together a memoir. It’s not as fancy as it sounds and it’s actually been a very difficult project but it is a labor of love. If anything, I hope that it will be my contribution to ensuring that future generations of Autistic people are treated with dignity and respect, and also to help build a bridge in helping non-Autistic people to better understand us. Anyway, I have also talked a lot about my affinity for spirituality. It’s been my main special interest for my entire life but I had a very real turning point in my young adulthood. What I am about to share is rough copy, unedited, I literally just shit it out through my fingers just now... but within it is nestled some of the general experiences that have colored my spiritual journey. I hope that my readers take from this two things: 1. Rough drafts are usually terrible, disorganized garbage. They get polished up later. If you want to write, remember that you have to shovel sand into the sandbox before you can shape it into the castle. Editing is where the magic happens and I haven’t done any here yet. 2. Spiritual development takes a really fucking long time. This point of interest happened nearly 10 years ago. Everything I’ve done since then to get to where I am now has taken work, blood, sweat, tears, and all kinds of other nasty pain. Please Enjoy.

We spent a short time in Wyoming, after returning from Costa Rica. I felt a kind of culture shock upon our return. Never had eight lane highways seemed so decadent as they appeared after seeing the compact cars of Central America, crowded together in narrow lanes. Things felt too big, too wasteful, too modern. Richard was happy to be back in the land of convenience, at least. After a while, I adapted too. We loaded a moving truck with our belongings and made for Seattle. It was a twenty-two hour drive. I asked if we could take the slightly longer route through Yellowstone as I’d never had a chance to visit before. It would add two hours onto the drive time but surely the view from our first hotel would be worth it. The answer was no and there was to be no argument. Instead we took the route through Utah and up through Oregon. When we arrived in Seattle, we stayed in an extended stay hotel with a kitchenette while we searched for an apartment. The contents of the moving truck went back into storage and we were back to zipping around in his car. We found a place to live pretty quickly. It was the basement apartment of a house. The top of the house was also rented out. The upstairs neighbor had a cat and so did we. Sometimes they would play with each other through the crack in the door. There was another apartment that we looked at that I can still remember because the general layout was in the shape of a square. If we had lived there, I could’ve easily walked to school but it turned out to be lucky that we didn’t have a traditional lease agreement with a traditional landlord. I loved the school. I loved the program. My grades were as high as ever, although I earned a B in Human Anatomy. The food in the cafeteria was wonderful and healthy... But there was also a lot going on that was difficult for me to understand, both inwardly and outwardly. Every once in awhile, I meet a girl who I feel romantic feelings toward but have no sexual interest. I met one of them during this time. I still feel a little ashamed of myself for making the friendship awkward but she probably doesn’t even remember me. Besides, she was the age I am now as I write this; there were ten years between us. I spent a lot of time with her but not much else. Perhaps I over exaggerate in my memory how awkward I was. I was married and controlled my behavior but I wanted to hold her hand. I asked her if she ever liked girls. She said no. There were many eccentric characters on Campus, though none of them seemed genuinely eccentric. Their eccentricities were all based in appearances. If you spoke to any of them for any length of time, their interests, habits, and beliefs were well within the range of normalcy. We all had mentors, but I never really knew how to connect with mine or what to ask. At one point, one of the upperclassmen told me that eventually, my classmates and I would have to needle each other in the perineum. I was twenty years old. I had already had much body trauma, and I had no idea how to cope with putting a needle in another classmate’s perineum. It was hard enough for me to cope with the idea of practicing by putting a needle into myself. I didn’t know who to ask about this because nobody seemed to be a reliable source of information as we were often told that we’d get to things as we went along. I decided to quit the program. After finishing my first and only quarter in attendance at such a beautiful school in a prestigious program, I withdrew. During the entire time we lived in Seattle, the sun came out only twice. I was as heavy as I’ve ever been in my life by the time we left. I was lacking in friends, confidants, sunshine, and purpose. I was also beginning to struggle more internally. One thing I learned while in school was Qi Gong, a practice which I have carried with me since I left. My teacher barely spoke english, and had learned the forms he taught to us while still living in China. I believe in English, the form I still practice is called, “Small Heaven.” Obviously, we took Chinese (Mandarin) lessons as well. Learning the language and the practice from cultural natives helped me to understand them better. I had tried meditation before this, with no teacher and no idea what I was doing. After a few lessons in Qi Gong and daily practice, I began to experience some strange things. I think anyone who was raised with a strong sense of self, a nurturing family, a safe and comfortable home, and reasonable guidance would not have had such an extreme experience. My affinity for spiritual study, while it led me to study acupuncture in the first place, also more than likely magnified what happened. The only way to explain it is that the universe seemed to be rippling around me. This was not all at once apparent. It did not happen overnight or with only one practice. Instead, it was like sand shifting on a hillside, followed by a few pebbles and maybe a rock or two. This was enough to catch my attention, and I was ready when the boulders finally gave way much later. At the time, my communication skills were very poor. I had no idea how to describe what was going on and the only thing I knew to say was that God was talking to me. Everyone I discussed it with had their own interpretation of what this meant. Nobody helped me to understand it. Instead, what was once a life, barely held static by threads, became a wind swept storm with no level ground or shelter. I was much more easily overwhelmed by things. I couldn’t keep pretending that I was somebody that I was not but I didn’t know who I was either. At one point I fainted and went into convulsions because I was so stressed out about forgetting something at the grocery store and didn’t want to return. I didn’t have the vocabulary to say, “The grocery store is overwhelming me with the lights and sounds.” In fact, I didn’t even understand that I was experiencing sensory overload. I just fainted. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, but it was the first time it had happened in the absence of a hypodermic needle. A neurologist told me that it was a nonepileptic seizure and just to be careful. I was afraid of riding the bus. I was afraid of driving my husband to the airport. I was afraid to go out and explore the city alone. I was pushed to do all of these things but still avoided them. I once went to a Taoist temple to see what it was all about, but I am too solitary for religious services. It wasn’t for me. I returned to quiet meditation by myself. When I quit school, my husband was upset at me and so was my mother. Nobody knew how to take it. They had been dismissive of my struggles throughout the passing years and I didn’t know how to talk to them in a way that they would understand. I can only tell someone something so many times and be ignored so many times before I give up on telling them anything. We packed up our belongings and returned to Wyoming, forgetting the contents of the storage room; we just never went in there and forgot our extra stuff. We paid the landlord for the removal service, of course. This was the point in my life where I completely and totally lost my way. I came to the realization that following other people’s goals for me had not worked and would not work. I realized that my entire personality was a charade meant to appease my mother and husband and his mother. I realized that I had no idea who I was or what I wanted out of life. I had been denied any clue that might have helped me to find level ground to stand on, and finally gave up walking over a shaking, crumbling stage. Reaching my limit of being misunderstood and confused, and refusing even to crawl, I sat down.

#long post #spirituality #memoir excerpt

[butts-bouncing-on-the-beltway]

Okay so you reblog these amazing houses all the time but i have to ask, what would your own dream house look like if money was limitless? Also where would it be located?

Oh man. You sure have asked a question to which I have way too well thought out an answer.

I like our city. We moved here because we wanted to be here and I honestly would not give it up. That said, we live in the more crowded part of it and I wouldn’t necessarily object to moving to another section so that we had more land. I grew up out west and so I’ve always really wanted an acre or two to kinda sprawl lazily out on. I’d want to have it planted with lots of local trees and shrubs and other such things that I can just kind of minimally manage and otherwise leave to flourish on their own.

I kinda miss stucco and clay, but Hubby really loves their New England brick, and I’ll be honest I’ve grown fond of it too since we moved into our current place. So odds are we’d either do something brick and clay, or something stone and stucco. It’d probably depend a lot on how flamboyantly we built the actual footprint of the house.

If you’ve followed me for a while, you may have seen the floor plans I draw up and post from time to time when I’ve been fantasizing. But even those I try to keep to a somewhat existent (if indulgent) budget. If money was no object at all?? Oh boy.

Well, to start, I’d want a fully stocked restaurant grade kitchen times two. I cook for armies and I actually would like to be able to keep Kosher at some point when I want to. So my dream kitchen would be huge. At least 20’x20’. It’d have three large pantries (5’x5’ min) and a cellar (8’x8’ min) attached to it. One pantry for each set of cookware (meat and dairy), and one pantry for seasonings and dry goods. The cellar would be for keeping vegetables cool and dry, as well as for the drinks cooler and the deep freezer because buying in bulk is both responsible and spoons efficient. Aesthetically, picture the worst, most offending McMansion style kitchen full of black stainless steel appliances (2 of each), a massive kitchen island with a huge double sink and garbage disposal and bar stools to boot, and a giant hanging rack in the middle of the room with all my most used pots and pans. The major difference between my dream kitchen and McMansion hell is that my cabinets would be this gorgeous dark red-black cherry color wood, and my counters would be gorgeous black (either slate or granite) speckled with red, gold, and white bits. I’d prefer a nice cream-to-tan range for the floor tiles, but I’ve become so fond of my little Spanish missionary tiles, that I’d probably try to do another lovely little mosaic all around my stove insets and my backsplash. Kitchens should be warm colors, huge, and HIGHLY functional.

I didn’t used to care about having a dining room, but I admit that it’s existence is growing on me. I’d still rather have a less ostentatious one tho. Just enough for a big dining table (has to seat at least 8, I like to entertain) and a hutch for dishware. It’d be awfully nice to have a little bar cupboard set up in there too, locked of course because there’ll be kids in the house. I’m still in love with our first dining room table and sad as heck that it had to be gotten rid of. Assume that whenever I’m talking about wooden furniture I’m thinking the same lovely dark red stain as those kitchen cabinets by the way. It’s a thing.

The dining room frankly shouldn’t be much more than an extension of the living room space which absolutely should also be huge. A giant, soft, squishy couch, one of those U-shaped fiascos with the chaise lounges at either end and lots of pillows. Woodsey colors. Deep browns and rich reds and greens. A giant hutch with the TV/computer/video game console/DVD/Cable set up all wired in, with room to put away all our movies and games. A giant TV. I’ve become so spoiled. We bought a 46” (I think? Something around that number) a while back and I just can’t fathom the idea of going back to anything smaller. Did you know they’ve got stuff even past 60” these days???? I can’t even imagine. I think maybe we’d stick with a nice, indulgent 55” most likely. Only TV in the house. I’m old-fashioned that way I guess. I really really hate hardwood floors, but carpet is allergen heavy and hard to clean, so I’ll probably lay that gorgeous fake-wood-looking stone tiles throughout the house. Everywhere but the kitchen and bathrooms I think. That way it looks all fancy and “traditional” but I don’t have to deal with caring for wood floors. Stone is so much simpler, lord.

There needs to be a big laundry room. Two washers and two dryers, a specially made doggie shower that won’t make my baby boy cry, and a small people shower for when folks come home muddy and filthy as they often do. Another big island in the middle of the room for folding clothes on and a big stone dirt sink that I can use for hand washing. Lots of lighting, and preferably on the first floor by the entryway. I hate this whole “laundry room in the basement” thing.

I want a guest bedroom downstairs with it’s own bathroom en suite. Something simple and functional, but pretty. I actually really like the layout for the bathrooms in our house now, a sink and toilet on one side of the room, and a bathtub/shower combo next to a roomy linen closet on the other. I think the main difference is I’d just like to scale them up slightly, make the shower/tub area roomier so it can be a proper tiled in set up rather than one of those plastic pre-fabs. And lots of counter space in all the bathrooms there’s just no such thing as too much counter space.

I’d want one more bathroom downstairs too. Just a half bath, something that can be easily accessed by anyone who’s over regardless of living arrangements.

Upstairs, I’d want four more bedrooms with bathroom en suites, all built around a lovely, open room that can be a playroom when kids are little, a study space when they’re in school, a sleepover kingdom when they have company. Just…..a space where the kids can really be out of their rooms and have creative license, you know?

And then. There’s my suite. This place is my master piece. It is……insane and impossible, but if I had all the money in the world I would do it because it would be like a dream. The Master suite has got to be huge. It’s a whole floor to itself. It’s got so many rooms. The entry to it at the stair’s landing is a little sitting room with some comfy lounge chairs, bookshelves, and okay fine the only other TV in the house. It’s a place where others may freely enter my domain without invading or violating my space. Beyond this point, no one is allowed without it either being their room too or without express permission from someone whose room it is. The parts to this suite are: the bedroom, the bathroom, the spa, the closet, and the entertaining space. The bedroom will be simple and pretty normal sized. 11’x11’. Maybe 15’x15’ at the absolutely maximum. A bed, the night stands, a comfy chair in the corner, some lamps. The bathroom will be like all the others in the house. Practical and functional but pretty. I like sea colors in bathrooms, so maybe some turquoise’s and crystal blues. Lots of counter space. A double sink. The closet will be gigantic for a closet. The size of it’s own bedroom. Maybe 10’x10’? It’ll have fully built in and beautiful wooden shelving systems throughout it. All our clothes will be sorted and everyone will have their own section to the room. But the spa. My god the spa is my sanctuary. It is the size of the kitchen. Huge. It’s got a personal steam room, ready to be filled with heat and scented oils and the feeling of my muscles not crunching. It’s also got a gigantic open shower, maybe 6’x6’, tiled in, rain shower heads and soft lights, and a bench I can sit on while I’m washing my hair. There’s a hot tub. Party sized obviously. Built into the floor of the spa with stone tiles and jets and those colored lights and this gorgeous stone and fire feature hanging down from the ceiling above it - low enough to be stunning but high enough not to risk anyone hurting themselves in it. The whole room would have built in surround sound speakers and colored dimmer lights and there would be potted plants and glass tile mosaics all around. I want it to look like one of those beautiful, ancient Spanish-Persian bath houses. Lots of soft greens and rich golds and brilliant purples. And then the entertaining space. Well. That’s something better left described on my other blog. But suffice to say that it should be very roomy and with lots of custom built-ins to facilitate the sort of entertaining that a passel of adults getting together in the late night while the kids are at the sitter’s house would get up to.

There’s gotta be a nice big garage to park everyone’s car in, especially during the winter. The driveway would be one of those neat half circle drives that people can park along, and it’d be made of that fancy solar panel stuff that they can make roads out of so that even in the dead of winter it never ices. Plus that in combination with solar roofing tiles will make sure the whole house (and the electric cars) are powered cleanly. There’ll be a generator and emergency power storage unit to round it all out, make sure we’re not dependent on the city power grid for any of our power needs. Central heating and air conditioning (fucking hell do you need both in this place), a whole house multi-step water filtration system (not a fan of the city water, it tastes like hard metals), giant cat playgrounds built into the walls of the house so the fur children can romp. A big, insulated and winterized doggie house and play run out in the yard for BabyBug and his friends to race in. A nice stone patio with a built in grill and fire feature and seating. Swings and a clubhouse out back for the kids. A nice big patch of clover and wild flower lawn that has those fancy sprinklers embedded all through it so we can turn them on in the summer and have a little water park afternoon in our own backyard. I think that’s pretty much everything I’d ever possibly want. The only other thing is kind of a toss-up whether we’d want it or not, and that’s a guest house. A little vacation-y type place, two small bedrooms, two small bathrooms, a little kitchen and living room. That way when anyone’s parents come down to visit they can be safely stashed away in their own little world and don’t have to be to be interacted with when folks aren’t ready to. It might just be better never to have the in-laws stay over tho.

Anyway. I evidently have extremely expensive taste, but not the kind of expensive taste that rich people find fashionable. It makes it challenging to find pictures that exactly represent what I would want. Which is why I reblog so very many fantastically lavish house pictures I suppose.

Maybe I’ll give another go at trying to put together my own photo sets tho. Or at least another round of floor plans. It’s been a while.

This was a great question Anon! I really enjoyed getting prattle on about this!