It's a bad hair day. I mean, every day for me is a bad hair day, but today is worse than most. You see, I woke up the other day and my hair had gone all Exxon Valdez on me overnight. It's a hormone thing, but it's icky. So I washed it. But it was still all sticky and greasy, so the next day I washed it again. Big mistake. We now have a case of the frizzies so bad I look like Krusty the Clown. Wail.
Worse, I don't have a hat to hide my sins. Well, I do, but it's Special Hat. Now I love Special Hat. It's just a cloth bucket hat that lives in the bottom of my bag and gets dragged out whenever I get caught in the sun and the rain and I've had it for years and worn it in all weathers, I've even worn it swimming (because fair Celtic skin was not made for an ozone free tropical sun).
Of course, as you might expect, this means special hat is pretty, well, special. When I wear it I don't just look as idiotic and gormless as Gilligan, I look like the fat stupid sister Gilligan's family never talked about and kept locked in the attic.
So when I wear this hat while I'm travelling, which I have to, peolple treat me like I'm special. At first it's annoying and insulting, but now I kinda like the fact that folks will tell me how clever I am for being able to catch a train by myself, instead of giving me a hard time. Or they just leave me alone, which is also good.
But still, not exactly a look I want to foster at work where they already think I'm a moron. Of course, if I had more than three hours sleep a night I might actually achieve some higher brain function here.
I could blame Wesley, but I won't. I simply couldn't sleep, my jaw was still clenched tight after a bad evening's chaos at work, then there were the squadron of low flying planes, stompy Bro (tm) and the neighbours who wash their dishes at midnight (and their kitchen window is mere centimetres from my bedroom one). Sat through two SVU's and then it was Lineage on Angel.
Poor Wes. No wonder I feel for him. Cold, distant, exacting and belittling parent: check. Cranky boss who rags on you for everything: check. Friends who'll turn on a dime: check. Love of life who sees you only as a friend, if they see you at all: check. Self esteem in the basement: check.
Poor, poor Wesley. Still, he was way cool, even with Angel & his RoboDad both riding his case and making him all nervous and walking into doors. Poor Wes. Poor, poor pitiful Wes.
Still, Alexis did a great job, ranging from DarkWes to MasterfulWes to NervousWreckWes, BelittledWes, MiserableWes, Horrified Wes and GuiltWes and AngstWes. Not to mention LovelornWes and JealousWes. Lovely.
The RoboNinjas were a bit pointless and silly, and very Daredevil/Tick, but nevermind. Second batch of murderous maniquins I've sat through this week (you know you watch too much SF on tv when...). And they didn't bounce.
It's just occured to me that POTC has anachronistic apples. At least, weren't they Granny Smiths? In which case, then, they'd be anachronistic, because there were no Granny Smiths before the 1860s, the very apples first grown on a farm that once occupied land I can see from my window. Okay, I so need a life...
But see, lookit. Sure looks like a Granny to me. Tsk. Oh, according to pages I flicked past, there's no way you could get fresh apples on a ship in the Carribean anyway and the pesky Aztec chest is actually more Incan, but never mind...(repeating to myself it's just a silly Hollywood movie and I should really just sit back and drool over the hotness that is Johnny).
This is what three hours sleep does to me, random rambling and babbling about apples. Yeesh.
In other news, I'm bored, as I have to wait til late for the 6pm special tonight (ie all the news that's fit to be buried while every self respecting journo is off down the pub). I've read all the fic I paperbagged in today. Sigh. Mump. I wonder what Alan and Billy are up to...(the poor boys will probably have a cramp if I left them where I think I left them).