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holidays continue apace
So, apparently I share an official birthday with Sirius Black! How cool. I mean, before this the only person of note to also be born on the 12th December was Frank Sinatra, and I don't even particularly like Frank Sinatra. Sirius Black is far more exciting. You leave my priorities alone.
Today I finished Corfu (one of these days I will remember to read something fun - I keep picking up these intellectual semi-nonfictional thingies, and the next three books in my pile are no different), watched some more Deadwood and ohhhh man I only have three episodes to go and then I will be DEADWOODLESS and the world will be a dull and gunslingerless place, and I went to choir. Whereat it was determined that Gloucester Wassail is in fact a Capitalist Metacarol, the basses did a fantastic job of belting out the testosterone-laden BRING ME FLESH AND BRING ME WIIIIIINE in Good King Wenceslas, and I somehow ended up agreeing to be President for the first semester of next year, as the current President can't carry out her full term.
*flails*
HOW. WHAT. Someone needs to surgically remove that part of my brain that keeps putting its metaphorical hand up and volunteering for positions of authority. I am going to die of stress. Die.
And somehow I keep forgetting that I'm leaving for Queensland on Saturday. Legs & bikini line being waxed tomorrow. I own enough clothing. I have enough sunscren. I'm going to go make a List of things to pack. Lists, I am good at.
The Big Damn Crossover is 11000 words and shows no sign of stopping. PLZ HELP, I AM TRAPPED INNA FIC.
Today I finished Corfu (one of these days I will remember to read something fun - I keep picking up these intellectual semi-nonfictional thingies, and the next three books in my pile are no different), watched some more Deadwood and ohhhh man I only have three episodes to go and then I will be DEADWOODLESS and the world will be a dull and gunslingerless place, and I went to choir. Whereat it was determined that Gloucester Wassail is in fact a Capitalist Metacarol, the basses did a fantastic job of belting out the testosterone-laden BRING ME FLESH AND BRING ME WIIIIIINE in Good King Wenceslas, and I somehow ended up agreeing to be President for the first semester of next year, as the current President can't carry out her full term.
*flails*
HOW. WHAT. Someone needs to surgically remove that part of my brain that keeps putting its metaphorical hand up and volunteering for positions of authority. I am going to die of stress. Die.
And somehow I keep forgetting that I'm leaving for Queensland on Saturday. Legs & bikini line being waxed tomorrow. I own enough clothing. I have enough sunscren. I'm going to go make a List of things to pack. Lists, I am good at.
The Big Damn Crossover is 11000 words and shows no sign of stopping. PLZ HELP, I AM TRAPPED INNA FIC.
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*flies into sunset, avec Hippogriff*
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Where is this? What is your source? *runs in tiny circles*
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Maybe she confirmed it in an interview? People tend to ask about him.
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Dream so pretty!