You and Me and Not Much Between

roxymissrose , tabaqui and catdancerz ,

Thank you for the lovely snowflakes. I write to you now from the ICU...I was told the snowflakes were cookies. I do love cookies. I suppose deep down I knew you couldn't eat a laptop, but the snowflakes did look exceptionally delicious. Oh well.

Despite thousands in medical bills and a few keyboard letters lodged in my small intestine, I am grateful. You made me feel awful spe</span>cial. I have to go now, I think I'm passing a w...

oh god...

Love,
toldthestars
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no, seriously, thank you =)

Come closer.......closer........closer still...a little bit closer...closer then that....CLOSER.

( ACK. Too Close. )

Shh. Don't tell.

How long has it been since I've posted fic? Too long (since July--can you friggin believe it?!). It's unhealthy to hold in fic for too long--scientifically proven.

The following work of fiction proves that. Enjoy my fic-deprivation side effect.

Title: Computer Love
Fandom: SPN
Characters: Dean/Sam
Rating: R, for Roboto-Raunchy
Word Count: oh, very few
Summary: SWM meets SWM for ACE (awkward sexual encounter)
Disclaimer: I don't own them. But I have put in a bid (2.97 and a half-eaten cookie).

( Click Here to Chat With Hot, Sexy Men! )

It's 2pm.

Do you have any idea where I am?

I am in bed. Still. It's been almost 11 hours since I put myself here.

Do you know I feel about that?

Like a queen. Like a glorious, resplendent queen who has servants and wouldn't know how to dress herself if you paid her. A queen surrounded by luxury and lethargy. A queen who will eventually be turned upon by her people because the country has gone to seed in her negligent rule, and will be slaughtered by the "National Razor" and have her well-groomed head put on a pike. Down with Monarchy. Viva le poor people.

...I should probably do something today. It's a little bit easier, since none of the stories I'm following like a hawk (Non Timebo Mala by roxymissrose and TKO by vamphile ) haven't updated yet. *siiiighhh* No excuses to continue my slothlike ways. I guess I should get up now, there seems to be some persistent people with pitchforks at my door.

My favorite part of a journey is lift-off: the moment when the plane breaks the laws of gravity, when you can spit in the face of nature and fly, when all the possibilities are still as fresh and unspoiled and exciting as snow-blanketed earth, before everyone wakes up.

( Still, there's nothing quite as nice as coming home. )

Last time I wrote, I was in an airplane bound for Austin. As far as you know, I may never have come down.

I wanted to do a post about, you know, Life, but as always, the show comes first.


Now...can we hug it out? I promise not to make any inappropriate gropes. You know you want to. *grabby hands*

I BLOG FROM THE SKIES, BITCHES!!!

Livejournal just got airborne.

No, for serious, this plane has wifi. TECHNOLOGY TAKES MY MIND AND BOGGLES IT.

So, yes, just caught my connecting flight from Atlanta to Austin...will be there shortly. If you happen to live somewhere between these two points, wave and say hi to me.

I slept for all of an hour last night. This is how I do. I prepare for long journeys by thoroughly exhausting myself. Makes sense, doesn't it? *shakes fist* Say it doooooessss...

I always have to have the window seat on planes. I'm afraid of flying, and I love flying. I think I need to window because I want to PERSONALLY make sure there no....thing...on the wing....

But really, if a plane taking off doesn't feel like scary ass freedom, I don't know what does. Now this is living. (Unless the plane crashes, then of course, this would be dying).

Okay, now I'm just abusing the wifi.

Time to fulfill a dream I didn't even know I had: reading slash in the clouds. Vacation is off to a good start....

I'm leaving for Austin in 4 hours.

It is 1:13 AM.

Ask me, am I ready?

You know that part in the Princess Bride where Wesley's had a year of his life sucked away and then the evil dude asks him how he feels and Wesley weeps like a tiny baby?

( Yup, that'd be me right about now. )


Does Wesley have to choke a bitch?

( My Two Cents...okay, more like twenty bucks...About Last Night's SPN.  )

HEY! Where are you going?! Come back, I haven't even gotten to how all this relates back to my suspicion that Bobby is God...oh fine.

Of all my pants, cranky is my least favorite.

You have those times in your life, right, when you just don't want people to talk to you. Or ask you things. Or expect you to be helpful and friendly. And that's fine. Unless you're an Office Administrator. And people keep wandering to your desk to talk to you or ask you things, because they expect you to be helpful and friendly.

I consider myself to be a pretty chill and patient individual. But if I look over to see people helplessly milling around the printer one more time, my head will explode. It'll look a little like my current icon, except less pretty.

I say this with all the love in my heart....EVERYONE LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE.

P.S. Couldn't be more excited for the board meeting tonight.....................................

My tv don't work. Het wife's cable is canceled.



HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO WATCH MY SHOW THIS THURSDAY?!?!?!!?

*panic panic panic panic panic*









excuse me, I have a tv to steal...

Happy Anniversary to my dear wonderful Tanti roxymissrose !

My Tanti Roxy And Uncle Mr. Roxy are a great example of true love. Not the Kate-n-Leo-I'll-never-let-go-except-for-when-I-pry-your-dead-cold-claw-off-me true love, but the kind of true love where one of you can have baked bean casserole with onions on the side for dinner, and still not have to sleep alone. That's serious.

Let me share with you a lesson in romance from my Tanti Roxy...

Me: Do you think you and Uncle Mr. Roxy are soulmates?
TR: Well...I guess no one else in the world could put up with either one of us for a lifetime, so...yah, probably.

Warm the cockles of your heart, don't it?

*snigger at cockles*

Anyway, many happy anniversaryish wishes to my beloved parents. Say, must be a lonely anniversary celebration, now that the house is all empty...

:)

Take waking up to a crying light fixture and weeping walls (even though you've already HAD a leak in your apartment that's been repaired)...

Add it to a night of cursing the fact that you don't own a queen sized bed (I swear to goodness, the 6' 2" man that shoves into my twin bed is GROWING)....

Sprinkle in an itching need to read about/talk about/think about/rewatch/reimagine through the power of fanfic last night's stellar SPN fic...

Stir in a dollop of strung-out anxiety over artistic adventures...

Mix it all up with lack of direction and supervision...

Bake at why-is-the-heat-on-in-September for 8 hours...

Coat in a gray, rainy day that's created for napping...

And you get this. Me. On LJ. Instead of compiling mailing lists. Not brazenly procrastinating enough to work on the No Happy Ending SPN fan fic I've been so excited about finishing, but not mentally present enough to FINISH anything.

What you get in Lazy Me Pie, with a nice scoop of I Don't Care A la Mode. Ah, the sweet, wafting smell of blllahhh...

I reflect on the opening night of our show, which was fraught with "o shit" moments.

I figure, winning is nice.

But it takes a lot of balls to play the game at all.

And that counts for something.

For me to breath into.

This is stress on heroine.

It's not even stress, because there's only so much I can do, and then I have to let it go.

This is pure, unadulterated artistic terror.

Damn. Artists really are masochists.

T minus ooo about 44 hours to "Oh shit" time.

Our little show has it's own little promo.

Maybe not as good as Season 5 promos, but pretty dang swanky all the same.

Opening night in T minus four days.

Today in the office we all ate cupcakes, cookies, and Chinese dumplings. I also found out I'm getting a 6% raise (yay! slightly less poor!) and a bonus.

Man. Maybe I don't suck as bad as I thought.


On a more important note...

Dude. I may have watched that Season 5 Promo with "O Death" three times today. And that's showing massive amounts of self-restraint.


Furthermore, I am officially too senstive. I don't like clicking the tumbs-down button on Pandora because I don't want the internet radio service that I don't like the music it's selecting for me. I just skip instead. In my head, I say to Pandora, "Oh, I don't want to listen to this now, but maybe later. Thanks anyway!"

However, perhaps it's this very pathological niceness that gets people to bring me dumplings and cupcakes.

...

I think I'll keep it up.

It's one thing to dislike your job. To find it boring, to not have an interest, to not have a stake in whether the place you're working keeps trudging along for another hundred years or spontaneously combust tomorrow.

It's another to think that your organization is great, does fantastic work, and that you kinda suck at your job.










Why can't I just be a mechanic.