Meanwhile, I asked my confidential informant what the policy was on the whole no flash photography deal during the day for the plebs, but when they hire out these venues at night for the beautiful people, it would appear that anything goes? He just shrugged and tsked at my idiocy for not being fully aware that there is one world for we mere gutter dwelling morlocks, and another for the radiant gods above us. A world where flash photography is permitted, apparently (and delicate artworks be damned).
Harumph. (ps, just been advised that they have indeed been formally instructed to stay at their desks and avoid scuttling into sight while the Eloi enjoy their canapes in the atrium, oh, poor Morlocks, they).
While still harumphing, I fear I must beg to differ from the flist (again). Clearly, I'm watching it wrong, but the lying and back stabbing and dropping him right in it hijinks that everyone else finds so hilarious and heartwarming, I still find quite horrifying. Clearly my baggage. Clearly I've been burnt by more crap 'friends' than was healthy. Clearly this is the way the show is and I need to get with the programme, put up and shut up, and all that. Indeed. Correct.
Sit down, shut up and just look at the pretty. And, clucking bell, it is so very, very pretty indeed. I'm going to have to put paper down if I look at those GQ pictures again. Lawks.
Hee. Speaking of girlish crushes (that I should well and truly be over by now), there's a song on the radio, and yesterday it just cut across my consciousness, because I usually just have the radio on as background noise, and I listened and loved it and, well, if it isn't Mr Oh My God I was So In Love With Him When I Was Fourteen OMG!!!.
Oh yes. Him. On my radio right now. And you know what? OMG I'm still so much in love with him. I'm nothing if not consistant (and, oh boy, do I have a type). You know it. I do.
It's actually been a week of girlish crushes, as I had the telly playing away in the background as I was typing (always with the typing, going nowhere fast) and I heard a voice that made my head snap up instantly in pavlovian fashion. It was the end of Criminal Minds, which I loathe, but I was waiting for Covert Affair, which I'm hugely disinterested in and only barely watching for occassional glimpses of man candy, and anyway, yes, him. The wreck of Michael Biehn? No way, man. No, him. Him. Good grief, I think I last had the girlish vapours over him when I was like six or seven but man, he still got a reaction (and still tasty, imho). Heh. Well, there he was.
And oh, did a box set of series two of that show he was on just arrive in inexplicably timely fashion from Amazon? Ignore that, it wasn't meant to be his week, but it is, and I'm having fun, which is the main thing. He cheered me up no end, so well done (because while the week hasn't been one of calamity, it has been one of needless irritation and incovenience).
Heh, the ghosts of crushes past. Oh to be young and...stuck in a dead end job where everyone hates me with a too long and too exhausting commute of unttterable misery and no time to write or doing anything positive with my life. Same old, same old. Right, I'm going to sharpen my pencil and attempt another job app.
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