mockturtle (hellblazer06) wrote,

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here there were dragons

I have decided that the chances of getting a document that went something of the lines of "Penis, penis, penis, penis, penis...etc" rubber stamped all the way up the chain of command without any body actually bothering to look and the ruddy thing extraordinarly good (see also the Brits and their papal visit doc).

In other words, the cretins good gentlemen are out in force today and that coffee I've had has just made me jittery and crankier still. It all started with a stupid dream/nightmare about what a crap day I was going to have (not terribly prescient, given the odds) and it's just gone downhill from there, really.

And somebody went and beheaded my dragon. It was a ceramic dragon given as a gift from a friend for my garden. Not the sort of thing I'd pick normally (I couldn't even show you a photo of the fresco that'd make a Pompeii brothel owner weep in envy that proudly adorns my garden trellis) but I grew attached to his ugly mug, sadly now detached. The corellas were playing soccer with it but I'm not sure if they did the deed 'cause he was looking at 'em funny or just having convenient sport with the head. Not sure who did it. Certainly the cockatoos were so infuriated that the local shops ran out of their preferred brand of seed brick that they utterly destroyed and shredded three of my prized geraniums that used to ornament the veranda into two centimetre/inch long pieces, just the other day, just so as I knew it just would not do, so they're definitely in the frame, as are the feral cats (who are just evil). Harumph.

Meanwhile, the last vestiges of adulthood seemed have slipped through my fingers. In other words, I had a great many grown up things to do yesterday, none of which involved sitting on the counch watching last Sunday's Dr Who, yet that's what I did. Oh, that was fun. It wasn't a perfect episode, but it was far superior to any RTD space station set stories (Big Brother? Really?) and the creepy sideshow dummies were a very nice Neil Gaiman-esque touch. The kiddies in peril thing was a bit whatever and the whole in the belly of a whale, well, really, but otherwise, I liked. Come to think of it, the Liz 10 and the Winders were very Gaimany, too. Fie on those who dare to miss the burping wheelie bins. At last my Doctor has gone all Vertigo comics on me and I couldn't be happier.

Hence the enraptured watching and complete lack of doing. Dr Who is indeed a cure for pretending to be a grown up (not that I had any firm grasp on the concept, but I tried). So, recycling not sorted, wardrobes not cleaned out, spare room still looking like Tut's tomb (ie stacked with crap and ephemera), backyard still jungle enough to daunt Dr Jones. Sigh.

Didn't get any writing done, not even getting across to the park today, either. I knew my muse would be off sulking after I got mean the other day. Couldn't be helped, I was having a day and couldn't see why anyone else should have a good time. So now even my muse isn't talking to me any more. Sigh. Highly strung boy.

Oh yes, why wasn't I watching Dr Who on Sunday (or Merlin or Bones or Castle or anything else for that matter)? Well, I wasn't being a grown up, that's fer sure. I wasn't even going to mention it but they were so bloody good and I bloody loved it. So there.

Also found a wee cafe with red paper lanterns that sold congee, my fave with pork and preserved egg. Well, it's been a while.
Mind you, there was a bit of a wardrobe malfunction. Don't know what it was, perhaps hailing a taxi a touch too enthusiastically (certainly the driver thought I was drunk but I was just me) but the old bra went sideways and by the time I walked through the door I looked like Eccentrica Gallumbits, the triple-breasted whore of Eroticon Six. Oh well. I hate that bra, anyway, was only wearing it on account the the stupid top I was wearing. I counted over a dozen spangly tops that night. Heh (not that I would stoop to spangly, yet, I just wanted to count them cause I figured there'd be a few out and about).

That was Sunday. It was wet so gardening/laundry was on hold. I mostly just cleared out the IQ and muddled through the "I haven't read that yet" pile.

Monday was the public holiday and I tried my best (I did do some gardening, just a little) but, well, you know. High Chaparral was the episode where Buck catches the bouquet (and Sam plants one on him and says they're next, for serious, not making this up) and Maverick was the last one with Doc in it, being his usual duplicitious self but he does have a line as far as imperiled Mavericks go, which is good to know. Oh, those boys. Cracking episode (as if White Collar could ever manage over a dozen thieves all after the same safe, talk about your switch on a switch, never mind the railway barons, the biggest thieves of all).

Yesterday was late. Work stuff (high level angst) and childish distractions. Note to self: it's called recharging. Himself was waiting armed with swords when I finally walked through the door. Well, he was making shish kebabs but one still felt one was pushing it a bit with the tardiness (briefly imagining explaining 30cm of Damascan steel and a lemon wedge to the casualty department). Couldn't be helped. Well, it probably could, but there you go. Had weird Chuck inspired dreams all night. Btw, the love letter to Hart to Hart? Hilarious (Btw, Chuck: Noodles Romanov? Seriously? Heh). This makes leaving the telly on Fox Classics when I'm supposed to be working homework rather than mere idle distraction, right? And where for art the dvd, cause I suck at finding, you know, stuff.

Silly tv. Taking up a lot of precious hours, which is weird because I hardly watch it right now (watch being defined by my near undivided attention, multitasking while it plays away and glancing up at odd moments does not count as 'watching', imho). TV: it's extra-curricular and requires homework, maps, legwork, technology and all sorts. How did the once passive box come to this?

Oh, and it's sunny and if I play my cards right, the muse may yet come out to play. Nearly finished another notebook. Utter never to see the light of day drivel, but at least it keeps me off the streets. Mostly.

I've also decided to renounce my slender grasp on sanity (as well as adulthood). Today I'm wearing a purple striped shirt with my purple swirly skirt, which I would normally never, ever do (with a vest to try and tone it down, so not working) but I just couldn't be bothered today. My best office gear yesterday and everybody puts their bags down on the bus seats so I can't sit next to them and it gets old after a couple of decades, let me tell you. But today I'm pat on the head and smile crazy cakes and everyone is being a touch more civil (and in some cases, almost nice). I kinda like it. This is not the sort of positive reinforcement I should be getting, but it's what I've got.

Peter Burke's got a new ride in season 2


On Location For "White Collar" - April 24, 2010

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On Location For "White Collar" - April 24, 2010

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Tags: chuck, doctor who, high chaparral, maverick

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