Thought I'd better draft this one to try and avoid too many more woe is me posts. Staggered home in the burning heat to find my pics from S&P had arrived. Took only 3 weeks ordering over the net, yet when I order via the post it usually takes 6 months to over two years. I'd ordered up a whole mess of MB pics as a consolation prize for that extremely crap week I had where I worked right through with the flu and they made me cry. There are places that have much better MB pics, but they don't sell outside the US (insert rant about insular US policies here). So I have some pretty MB pics to drool over. Or I would be busy drooling if I didn't look and sound worse than Doc Holliday. I was so sick today Mater bought me an Angel book for a present, with Wes on the cover, which reminds me of the best lines ever from DoW:
Since When did Wesley qualify for the Highlights of Existential Dispair?
He got them with a six month refill on the Contacts of Moral Amiguity.
Lost two more plants I'd enjoyed for a long while to the drought. That'll learn me to take to my bed and forget to water them. sigh. My deep deep purple daisy like thing. whimper.
At least I got home in time to watch Buffy, as I couldn't stand another hour of work. The first Evil Willow episode. After Buffy I flicked onto the end of some weirdarse British art film. Your lottery dollars down the drain. I have no idea what the hell it was about, if it was about anything, nor do I care. It had Daniel Craig in the nuddy and that was enough for me.
After resolving to get on the joy train, as advocated by Willow, I was bitten by my roomie spider (my Michael Biehn photo album!) and now my arm's all puffy and it hurts like buggery, so bad it's making me puke. Like I wasn't feeling wretched enough before hand. I'm really in the wars here. Before I wanted a week off to go and have fun, or write, now I just want a week off to lie in bed and sleep.
Tee hee. The new Fox8 promo features Michael Shank's pixelated botty as per Andromeda. Hey, it amuses me but I'm still sniggering over the line of Winnie the Pooh brand fruit juice they have in the shops now. Pooh juice (insert more infantile sniggering here).
Roswell. Pretty boys. Almost as good as chocolate (what Buffy recommends when the joy train invariably fails to motivate). The episode where they through in some Native American hokum (or should that be Hohokum) and Michael has a vision of the rocks from Arena (and Bill and Ted II). Much Max/Michael slashiness ensues.
24: still valiantly sticking my fingers in my ears and humming loudly as spoilers spring up everywhere like some cartoon nightmare sequence. Or I would if I hadn't folded my bedsheet over and fashioned it into a makeshift sling and my arm feels much better for being all wrapped up tight. Not good, but I've stopped the need to throw up. I'm so impressed I remember this stuff under pressure. I have several first aid certificates but they're all junior certificates, ie non CV worthy, cause I did them at school. Used to be a member of the Red Cross and everything. I used to do lots of stuff at school: book club, library monitor, chess club, choir, drama, photography, debating, public speaking, school council, community service - anything that would keep me under supervision or off school grounds so I wouldn't get beaten, kicked, stabbed or thrown down flights of stairs, and that's when they weren't assassinating the character which I didn't learn until 1998 was gentically hardwired and therefore unlikely to be moved, even with constant criticism and rebuke. I bet those bullies aren't as multiskilled as I am. I'm still a complete moron at work though.
But I digress. Jack's idiot daughter is kidnapped again. Come on, guys. I get accused of over-egging the pudding but surely you can come up with something new. Maybe they're hoping casual viewers will still think she's kidnapped from the last time. Lou buys it and Dennis chews scenery. To be continued next week.
Had my ensemble looked out for today and it's cold again. It's awfully hard to dress when it's 8C when I leave, not counting the wind chill factor, and about 30C during the day. Can't really go the layered look in office clothes, not that what I'm wearing passes as office clothes today. More I'm miserable, I might as well be comfortable. They're a bit more relaxed here than at the DoT, but not by much. I'll get comments but I don't care. As I once said to a manager at the AG's, if you can find me a nice suit in my size for under $500 I'll wear it tomorrow. I never heard another peep. Alas, my shabby chic is the best I can do for my girth on my budget: nice, proper office blouse over cheap but expansive peasant skirt and scuffed shoes. I can't help the shoes cause I have to walk everywhere and shoes I've owned for a week sport the scars of a decades worth of normal wear and tear. I can't understand girls who just shop for shoes, though I rember I once had a shoe collection. When I was a young lass and had no income to speak of I used to put together items of vintage clothing, ie op shop rejects and I figured I could carry it off if I saved up for the right shoes and to a large extent I think I did, with a few glaring misteps, I will admit. My nickname was 99 cause I preferred 50s and 60s clothes above all else. So I used to have a collection pretty shoes and danger boots but I also used to have gentlemen friends with cars. Somewhere over the years I stopped dressing for fun and started dressing for the long slog home, just walking to lose weight, and all the young men and friends vanished from my life. Oh well...I couldn't get half of me in those little floral shifts now, anyway. I look like a bag lady today, feel like one too. I used to look and feel half my age. Seven very hard years later and I look and feel twice my age. Sigh.
"Not only does the English Language borrow words from other languages, it
sometimes chases them down dark alleys, hits them over the head, and goes
through their pockets." -- Eddy Peters