They won't stop, you know. Those people at work who harrass me daily to join a gym (and I can't afford it anyway and I've always found lugging home heavy groceries uphill for blocks worked just as well) have now stepped up their harrassment to making me march around the floor several times daily, like I don't have to do a complete circuit to go to the Ladies anyway. I'm beginning to wonder where the line is between concern for my well being and a shallow grave in a national park somewhere because my right eye is starting to twitch again and that's never a good thing. I'm starting to hum "You Think I'm Psycho Don't You Momma", which I hum a lot, perhaps too often, but it's such a good song. Of course, one should only listen to the Tex Perkins version - grin.
I'm sure they mean well but I've always found public humiliation always leads to a very stroppy me seeking solace in chocolate - hardly the desired outcome. Just leave me the frell alone. I'm down two dress sizes, I'm doing okay. Okay, so eight more to go before I'm Buffy size (ain't never gonna happen, realistically 4 more sizes is the best I'll ever be able to manage). Sigh.
Happily a friend sent me pics of the blond and the brunette (Legolas and Aragorn), asking if I had a favourite. As if I could choose. I'd be like the dog with two bones in that old Devo song. Aragorn is nicely swashbuckly but Elf Boy can be so appealingly catty. Heh, Aragorn for the boyfriend and Legolas for the girlfriend - snigger.
Worked back late. Knew I'd be working back late all this week, bugger. Got home with Relic Hunter, of all things, on. Oh no, Mock Jock! warns my Bro as we suffer through an episode allegedly set in Scotland, but more likely some uni campus in Toronto. It's bad, really bad, but the Romeo & Juliet meets Macbeth opening scene has us in giggles. We bitch and moan about Pre-Raphaelite paintings and Italianate architecture being passed off as medieval, but as most Scottish castles are 19thC follies built by American businessmen we really don't have a leg to stand on as far as bitching about authenticity goes. Still wondering what Scottish Heritage would have to say about some of the 'castle's' installations and I hate to tell you this but Scottish Rail carriages are nothing like the Orient Express, as depicted here. Heh, bet I wouldn't be able to criss-cross Scotland on Chuck's railpass these days. Nobody ever checked - lucky me (to have such friends and free travel). My god, this is so bad it makes Adventure Inc look good.
Next up: Farscape: Won't Get Fooled Again. Holy Hannah. That's all one can say about the episode, except perhaps an aside about Crichton being one sick puppy and how many episodes can they film at the Homebush carpark? I loved the scene with D'Argo wanting to "bond" with Crichton. They must have been reading the bad slash I've been studiously avoiding. I don't read Farscape slash because I fear it will be exactly that ludicrous and bad. Full marks to Anthony for throwing himself into the role, as usual. Everyone, actually. OTT and loving it. Crais being OTT was actually very Lani, or very Lani at 2am in the pub telling tall stories :D
Oh, I must print a retraction. I have been sternly reminded that Legolas is not the best Briton to be sewn into green trews since Robin of Sherwood. He's the best Briton to be sewn into green trews since Major Richard Sharpe. I apologise, I don't know where my head is these days. Out of sight out of mind, eh, Sean?