This icon is actually a picture of me IN REEEEL TIMEZ.
BACK FROM THE LAND OF DRUNK. DID YOU KNOW IT WAS RUN BY ELVES? WHY DID NO ONE TELL ME?
Okay, quick moment here before I actually write about shit that matters (or rather, does NOT matter). SOMEONE UP THERE IN SPACE/OTHER METAPHYSICAL LOCATION OF GOODNESS AND/OR MERCY, has decided that I have gotten enough shit in my life, and has lifted the three day hangover punishment that I have been inflicted with ever since emquilxy made me that creamy cat when I was 20. I know, I know, it was probably the baby Jesus, punishing me for drinking underage, but ever since that moment, every time I have gotten drunk, I experience migraine vomit hell like you wouldn't believe for at least two days after.. IMAGINE PROJECTILE VOMITING AS R2-D2 DOES THE ELECTRIC SLIDE IN YOUR BRAIN WHILST DEEP THROATING A BLENDER. Yes. Well.
THE POINT IS that since the beginning of this year, I have...been drinking a great deal more. And getting drunk. And with the exception of one RWH, every morning I wake up fucking chipper and SO VERY MUCH NOT HUNGOVER. That's right, bitches! I paid my dues! ::shakey fist::
Srsly. Let me translate last night's post for you, so that you can see THE MADNESS. I'd like also to say that from a cold clinical standpoint, I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to say, and I knew how to spell it, but when I would be reaching for the W key, say, all I could do was stare in mock horror as my other hand hit the P key. There's only one conclusion I can reach regarding this:
I have an evil hand.
I'm trying to type this with my left hand, because I don't want to alarm the hand or anything, let it know that I'm on to it, but there's definitely something going on there. It gets twitchy. Sometimes it selects bad songs on my ipod, and sometimes I catch it calling 1-900 numbers on the cell phone outside of our budget evening minutes. I'm not sure what I should do about this, but I'm sure that if I emailed Christian Kane and asked him what he does to control his evil hand, he could tell me. OTOH, it's hard to tell, because I'm fairly sure that his evil hand was behind this. WTF, Christian? Iron Maiden? No. No no no no.
I WON AN AWARD AN I AM DRNK AND YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPEL. DOING AEFRIAL FINGWER DYTPCMN. FER SRS., LOVE YOU ALL. B BL TTYL. LOBVE WIGTH THE SXC AND WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
WEVERYTHGIN IS MADE FO GOLD. YOU all rule.
ALSO? WON A HET AWEAFRDED? WTF,M MASTE? WTF.
Why hello there people. I won an award and I am drunk and you are all beautiful people. Jolly good! Pip pip! Doing aerial finger [DYTPCMN-I am at a complete loss. It think it was supposed to be "typing", but then that doesn't explain what 'aerisl finger typing' is.] For serious. I love you all. Be back later. Talk to you later. Love with the sex and wheeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Everything is made of gold. You all rule. Apparently I am very complementing when I am drunk as fuck.
Also? I won a HET award? What the fuck, mate? What. The. Fuck.
It got a little more complicated after this, so I'll have to break it down here.
it to me five minutes to sober enogh to type this last line. I won and award. I love you all. You are all made of win. Tripper funstaer, you mde my drunk ass cry. And moe thanthe ass. But I have a nice ass, so i'm con=mfortable with it.
It took me five minutes to sober up enough to type this last line. [A blatant lie. It was more like five seconds.] I won an award. I love you all. You are all made of win. [Wow, what was I trying to do? Crawl up everyone's arse?] tripperfunster, you made my drunk ass cry. [Trufax, I think I did cry about that.] And more than the ass. [I was concerned that you might interpret 'made my drunk ass cry' literally, so I had to explain that no, really, I was really crying.] But I have a nice ass, so I'm comfortable with it. [I can only assume that I forgot about my previous concern about the whole crying-ass visual and moved on to the sexy aesthetic part. Who knows.]
Nt so much with the sober thn. Spell check has just gone tachy. admininstering hre AEWD now. CLEAR! Spell check dead. TOD: 2:04 am EST. goodbye spellchekc, we will miss you.
Not so much with the sober, then. [Why is it that drunk people like talking about how sober they are NOT?] Spell check has just gone tachy. I am administering the AED now. [See, I was trying to make a joke that was too complex to be conveyed by poor spelling, ironically because the spell check , was apparently, dying, because of the drunkenness. I think that's called a vicious circle. At the very least a vicious triangle or something. Watch out for vicious triangles-they're pointy.] CLEAR! Spell check is dead. Time of death: 2:04 am. Goodbye spellcheck. We will miss you. [For those of you concerned, a cursory glance at the document as I type reveals that reports of spellcheck's demise have been drunkenly exaggerated.]
it's like now that a heva my wind i cannot stop tyoing. i shoulf make a whole essay out of this. It;'s as if I KNOW what kets I should be typing, but even as I look at the,. my fingers refuse to hit the mark.
It's like now that I have my wind, I cannot stop typing. I should make a whole essay out of this. It's as if I know what keys I should be typing, but even as I look at them, my fingers refuse to hit the mark. [OBVIOUSLY, at this point, evil hand was worried about being discovered, so it got me to write some bad poetry, which I shall not be translating.]
And that is that.
That award? It's this one:
I'll tell you, I'm surprised. I don't really know how the CoT awards work (they're voter decided, right?), but there were other stories in there that I really thought were better.
THAT SAID, I really love this fic. I LOVE IT, and I wonder if I didn't do it an injustice by not pimping it more when I first posted it. It has so many things that I love: head-of-Torchwood!Ianto, an alternate world in which Tosh doesn't die, Jack's Mpreg abortion, Jenny being as wacky as the doctor, poor poor Donna and the tragedy of not knowing why. Yeah, it's kid!fic in a way. Or not!kidfic, actually, since there are no children in it at all.
So if you like genfic, and you you'd like to read about the reproductive issues of the Doctor Who and Torchwood crew, hie on over and give it a read.
[/shameless whoring]
I have no idea what to do with the rest of the day. Hrm.
Okay, quick moment here before I actually write about shit that matters (or rather, does NOT matter). SOMEONE UP THERE IN SPACE/OTHER METAPHYSICAL LOCATION OF GOODNESS AND/OR MERCY, has decided that I have gotten enough shit in my life, and has lifted the three day hangover punishment that I have been inflicted with ever since emquilxy made me that creamy cat when I was 20. I know, I know, it was probably the baby Jesus, punishing me for drinking underage, but ever since that moment, every time I have gotten drunk, I experience migraine vomit hell like you wouldn't believe for at least two days after.. IMAGINE PROJECTILE VOMITING AS R2-D2 DOES THE ELECTRIC SLIDE IN YOUR BRAIN WHILST DEEP THROATING A BLENDER. Yes. Well.
THE POINT IS that since the beginning of this year, I have...been drinking a great deal more. And getting drunk. And with the exception of one RWH, every morning I wake up fucking chipper and SO VERY MUCH NOT HUNGOVER. That's right, bitches! I paid my dues! ::shakey fist::
Srsly. Let me translate last night's post for you, so that you can see THE MADNESS. I'd like also to say that from a cold clinical standpoint, I knew EXACTLY what I wanted to say, and I knew how to spell it, but when I would be reaching for the W key, say, all I could do was stare in mock horror as my other hand hit the P key. There's only one conclusion I can reach regarding this:
I have an evil hand.
I'm trying to type this with my left hand, because I don't want to alarm the hand or anything, let it know that I'm on to it, but there's definitely something going on there. It gets twitchy. Sometimes it selects bad songs on my ipod, and sometimes I catch it calling 1-900 numbers on the cell phone outside of our budget evening minutes. I'm not sure what I should do about this, but I'm sure that if I emailed Christian Kane and asked him what he does to control his evil hand, he could tell me. OTOH, it's hard to tell, because I'm fairly sure that his evil hand was behind this. WTF, Christian? Iron Maiden? No. No no no no.
I WON AN AWARD AN I AM DRNK AND YOU ARE ALL BEAUTIFUL PEOPEL. DOING AEFRIAL FINGWER DYTPCMN. FER SRS., LOVE YOU ALL. B BL TTYL. LOBVE WIGTH THE SXC AND WHEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
WEVERYTHGIN IS MADE FO GOLD. YOU all rule.
ALSO? WON A HET AWEAFRDED? WTF,M MASTE? WTF.
Why hello there people. I won an award and I am drunk and you are all beautiful people. Jolly good! Pip pip! Doing aerial finger [DYTPCMN-I am at a complete loss. It think it was supposed to be "typing", but then that doesn't explain what 'aerisl finger typing' is.] For serious. I love you all. Be back later. Talk to you later. Love with the sex and wheeeeeeeeeeeeee.
Everything is made of gold. You all rule. Apparently I am very complementing when I am drunk as fuck.
Also? I won a HET award? What the fuck, mate? What. The. Fuck.
It got a little more complicated after this, so I'll have to break it down here.
it to me five minutes to sober enogh to type this last line. I won and award. I love you all. You are all made of win. Tripper funstaer, you mde my drunk ass cry. And moe thanthe ass. But I have a nice ass, so i'm con=mfortable with it.
It took me five minutes to sober up enough to type this last line. [A blatant lie. It was more like five seconds.] I won an award. I love you all. You are all made of win. [Wow, what was I trying to do? Crawl up everyone's arse?] tripperfunster, you made my drunk ass cry. [Trufax, I think I did cry about that.] And more than the ass. [I was concerned that you might interpret 'made my drunk ass cry' literally, so I had to explain that no, really, I was really crying.] But I have a nice ass, so I'm comfortable with it. [I can only assume that I forgot about my previous concern about the whole crying-ass visual and moved on to the sexy aesthetic part. Who knows.]
Nt so much with the sober thn. Spell check has just gone tachy. admininstering hre AEWD now. CLEAR! Spell check dead. TOD: 2:04 am EST. goodbye spellchekc, we will miss you.
Not so much with the sober, then. [Why is it that drunk people like talking about how sober they are NOT?] Spell check has just gone tachy. I am administering the AED now. [See, I was trying to make a joke that was too complex to be conveyed by poor spelling, ironically because the spell check , was apparently, dying, because of the drunkenness. I think that's called a vicious circle. At the very least a vicious triangle or something. Watch out for vicious triangles-they're pointy.] CLEAR! Spell check is dead. Time of death: 2:04 am. Goodbye spellcheck. We will miss you. [For those of you concerned, a cursory glance at the document as I type reveals that reports of spellcheck's demise have been drunkenly exaggerated.]
it's like now that a heva my wind i cannot stop tyoing. i shoulf make a whole essay out of this. It;'s as if I KNOW what kets I should be typing, but even as I look at the,. my fingers refuse to hit the mark.
It's like now that I have my wind, I cannot stop typing. I should make a whole essay out of this. It's as if I know what keys I should be typing, but even as I look at them, my fingers refuse to hit the mark. [OBVIOUSLY, at this point, evil hand was worried about being discovered, so it got me to write some bad poetry, which I shall not be translating.]
And that is that.
That award? It's this one:
I'll tell you, I'm surprised. I don't really know how the CoT awards work (they're voter decided, right?), but there were other stories in there that I really thought were better.
THAT SAID, I really love this fic. I LOVE IT, and I wonder if I didn't do it an injustice by not pimping it more when I first posted it. It has so many things that I love: head-of-Torchwood!Ianto, an alternate world in which Tosh doesn't die, Jack's Mpreg abortion, Jenny being as wacky as the doctor, poor poor Donna and the tragedy of not knowing why. Yeah, it's kid!fic in a way. Or not!kidfic, actually, since there are no children in it at all.
So if you like genfic, and you you'd like to read about the reproductive issues of the Doctor Who and Torchwood crew, hie on over and give it a read.
[/shameless whoring]
I have no idea what to do with the rest of the day. Hrm.