mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,
mockturtle
hellblazer06

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Thursday


Heh heh heh...yesterday an MP accused our snivelling PM of being an arse licker. Today Adam & Will are doing impersonations of lil Johnnie where he sounds like Kenny from South Park, ie he's got his head so far up Dubya's arse everything he says is unitelligibly muffled. Too bad it's true. Ah well, at least Will isn't playing with his Crocodile Hunter doll today. I worry about that boy.

Managed to catch some Michael Biehn last night in Magnificent Seven, first season. Oh my, that man can be fucking gorgeous when he wants to be. It was like the clouds parted and I had a Louvre moment - it was like that moment I have when I catch sight of art I really really like (though I'm still annoyed at being limited to an hour in the Louvre while a friend waited outside. I took two, but it was still me racing around checking off the greatest works in seconds. I did love the wall of St Sebastians though. Oh my. S&M au go go, but I digress). Then he smiled, and like Mary in the first episode, I think I ovulated on the spot. Oh my, the man is just fucking gorgeous.

So I was ill all night after that, clearly a woman not in control of her own oestrogen (once upon a time the measure of a man was if he made my glasses steam up or not, now it's how many hours I spend throwing up), and then I was hormonally homicidally craving a doughnut this morning. So much so a gentleman stepped back and let me served first, obviously knowing a desperate woman when he sees one. I barely thanked him. This is no good, when I can't even be civil to the civil ones, but I needed sugar, stat (even though I know I shouldn't. It was one of those do or die cravings). Not that I think it helped. Now I'm just twitchy and my PC is twitchy too, never a good combination. Cup of tea time I think, before I attempt to build my first database from scratch in eight years. Ay me.

Stuff on the web:

It might have been more last night's dinner than lusting over Mr Biehn that made me so poorly last night as I just heated up the leftovers for lunch and I've come to the conclusion that mother has poisoned me again this week. "'Murder! Bloody Murder!' yelled the man from Ironbark", as the old poem goes. You might also be wondering why, when I lust so badly over Chris Larabee, that Buck ends up the hero of my fic. Well, possibly because I'm the servant of my muses and never the other way around (they'll go away and pout for weeks if I ever dare try to write the story myself) and possibly because Buck's the talker. He's Mr Exposition, plot dumper extraordinaire and he's the only one of that taciturn lot to actually admit to his inner life in public. Yes, dear Buck is a SNAG, ladies and gentlemen, in touch with his feelings and not afraid to share. This makes him a useful character because I can watch the rest of the seven through him. At least, I think that's how it works. Either that or I've turned him into an enormous Mary Sue and I should be ashamed of myself. I think Mary Sues prefer the term Avatar these days. J


 

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