It’s Megamind going into stores and pretending to be a masked mannequin
Staying still 95% of the time but occasionally jumping out at people
“Why a dinosaur mask, though?” Roxanne asks, later.
“That,” Megamind says, “was camouflage.”
“Camouflage?” Roxanne says, lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “How was that camouflage? Mannequins–ah–they generally don’t have dinosaur faces, Megamind.”
“Exactly!” Megamind says triumphantly. “Which means, Miss Ritchi, that people were so distracted by the dinosaur mask that most of them didn’t even stop to wonder why I was blue!”
He changes the mask up every once in a while to throw people off their game
Ok but this is the first time I’ve realized… she chose that dress because of the way it looks when she’s tied to a chair. It’s a beautiful dress anyway, and if she wore it for Megamind that’s great, but she also anticipated him kidnapping her. She knew she’d be sitting down, ankles crossed, hands behind her back, and the dress she chose frames that beautifully. Just look at the way her shoulders are spread, and the black band around her waist looks like a restraint, with a skirt juuuuuust the length of the chair.
Presentation!
LOL now I’m imagining Roxanne going out clothes shopping and trying out each prospective outfit by sitting down in front of the mirror with her hands behind her back– much to the confusion of the salespeople and other shoppers.
i don’t know who decided that happy endings were boring but i wanna fight them. happy endings make all the bad shit that characters go through worth it, there’s nothing boring about that.
I’ve always thought that sad endings were lazy. Sad endings are almost always “someone dies.” There’s no nuance, you don’t have to understand your characters to fuck up the ending.
But a happy ending? you have to know your characters SO WELL to give them an ending that is truly happy and appropriate for them specifically; one that reflects their struggle and aspirations and personal characterization while recognizing the limitations of the world you built.
i keep mentioning the bread pudding incident and not telling the full story and at some point i really should
Yes you should.
im procrastinating so i will tell the story.
despite the incident in question happening about a year and a half ago, it has two preceding incidents, the contents of which are needed in order to understand the full scale of the bread pudding incident.
two facts about me:
1) i recently found
out i have what was described to me as “the worst case of adhd that
(my therapist) had ever seen”, totally unmedicated and,
2) i cannot reliably
count to ten.
so a couple years
ago, i tried to get into box-baking. my husband is an incredible
baker, and has made some awesome things (including one time a
pancake-based strawberry shortcake for my birthday because i hate
cake? he’s a gem) but he doesnt always have energy to bake and i
crave brownies literally at
every minute of every hour of every day, so i was like ok sick ill
bake box brownies. thats easy. (i have since, with a liberal amount of help, learned how to reliably box bake precisely one brand of brownie)
the
first time, i misread the instructions and made them with the oil and
water reversed and only one egg. they were inedible. the second time
i realized we had no eggs ¾ of the way through, panicked, put in
applesauce but only half the required applesauce, and they came out (mostly) inedible.
so
at the time my sister sensibly decided “you cannot bake any more”
and i sensibly agreed with her.
last year in the deep swings of my masters-induced depression i
figured i had forgotten about a loaf of french bread in my fridge for
weeks and it was approximately the same hardness as a stone. i should
use it for something! bread pudding. that is what you use stale
bread for.
i
cook to taste—i rarely use recipes, because of the aforementioned
“i have the attention span of a gnat and i cannot count to ten”
so using a recipe? pretty much useless. this does not work
to bake. so i googled a recipe,
figured, okay, i can get the ingredients, and pretty much guess? i closed the recipe immediately afterward, and forgot my laptop even existed within minutes.
things
bread pudding requires: stale bread. butter. milk. sugar. cinnamon.
raisins. eggs. vanilla. and, if you are southern™, alcohol.
things
i had in the house: stale bread. margarine. sugar. pumpkin spice. one
egg. vanilla. alcohol.
first
i broke up the bread. with a hammer! like you do, for weeks-old
french bread. i put it all in a casserole dish, because that was what
was clean. no milk? water is fine! throw that shit in! how much
water? i dont know. enough to get it wet! submerge all the
ingredients. how much sugar? i don’t know. the recipe said brown
sugar.
me:
can i use the brown sugar to make bread pudding? james:
sure. but don’t use much. me:
ok. (takes less than a teaspoon of brown sugar, one of the big-ish
clumps) that’s enough, right? throw that in there. that’s enough
sugar! i don’t need more white sugar.
pumpkin
spice is essentially cinnamon! can’t use too much vanilla. just
shake a little bit in there. that’s good, that’s enough. how much
was that? two drops? plenty! that’s how much vanilla it needs,
right? how much margarine? i don’t know! i closed the recipe. let’s
get three or four big pats. i don’t have any stick margarine. crack
that egg in there.
can’t
forget the whiskey! just slop some in there. i’m southern. a
dollop? a dollop. a dollop sounds right.
what
temperature do you cook bread budding at? i don’t know. this
casserole dish is only barely like, a tiny bit full. just coating the
bottom. not much, then. 250 is probably right?
and
then i forgot i was cooking until the kitchen began to smell.
the
object which was removed from the oven was approximately the same
size and density as a bowl full of very, very burned sand. two square inches of it was the correct texture
for bread pudding—i.e, soft, squishy. the rest of it was as
like unto hardened lava, and the same color. a single taste revealed
it to taste like wet, disgusting bread or almost sort of exactly-unlike-bread-pudding but in the saddest way imaginable, the potential had been there, and had not been achieved. the brown sugar had not even dissolved it was just there. in a chunk. burned into the bread. it
all smelled strongly
of whiskey. it took about three weeks to soak totally off of my
casserole dish, full of daily-replaced soapy
boiling water.
so
i’m not allowed to bake any more.
This is the most “Cooking while ADHD” thing I’ve ever read and I feel much better about Switching “3 Eggs & 4 cups flour” to “4 eggs and 3 Cups flour” earlier this morning.
@setepenre-set thought you could probably relate to this too
setepenre-set 