At least it isn't a photograph of a moodily-lit tube of toothpaste.
Am listening to trance music so loud I couldn't hear the phone ring just now. Heh.
Am also wearing lovely self-reward-for-fitness-goal cowboy boots, which are so gorgeous and comfortable that I'm shocked. The heel slip is always alarming, but they will break in fine if I just keep walking around the house in them. Boots! I love wearing boots! I haven't had cowboy boots since I was a little kid. I loved those boots, and I remember the heartbreak of discovering I could no longer put them on because I had outgrown them. The upside of adulthood is that one does not outgrow one's beloved shoes.
It is a bit weird to switch from the Vibram Five Fingers to these boots, though. They're sort of polar opposite footwear.
I can bench-press 105, but I cannot press 115. Pushup-related program activities do seem to have some side effects.
The only fandom that seems to have stuck for me recently is Top Gear fandom. The more fantastical and whacky it gets, the more I like it. Despite thirty years of shipping McCoy/Spock in my head, apparently I cannot read fanfiction about it. At all. Nor can I read movieKirk/movieMcCoy, another ship I am 100% behind in theory. I cannot get within 50 yards of Doctor Who fan comms without wanting to hurl because of the wank and entitlement, much as I enjoy the various Doctors themselves. And I have read all the Ace/Seven fic there is, I think, and have no desire to wade through miles of Ten/Rose babyfic to find more.
Oh, woes.
The husband has just announced that we're going out to dinner tonight, for the first time in a couple of weeks. He's felt abandoned recently. Which is weird, since he's the one who just gallivanted off and spent four days at a con running into all of my friends from [workshop]. I have no idea why I didn't go. Probably because I'd have spent four days running into all my friends and feeling horrible that I don't have a writing career and they all do. My neuroses, let me show you them.
Though I got an utterly lovely piece of email this morning from somebody who read all my stories in one big gulp and apparently enjoyed the experience. And that makes me sort of glow. Especially from the ears, which went very red.
drsquidlove's "Xander and the Accidental Demonic Tattoo" is a fine, fine piece of utterly shameless kinky prawn.
Now I have to finish this dinner conversation followed by a different sort of utterly kinky prawn. Buffy's got some exploration to do.
Am also wearing lovely self-reward-for-fitness-goal cowboy boots, which are so gorgeous and comfortable that I'm shocked. The heel slip is always alarming, but they will break in fine if I just keep walking around the house in them. Boots! I love wearing boots! I haven't had cowboy boots since I was a little kid. I loved those boots, and I remember the heartbreak of discovering I could no longer put them on because I had outgrown them. The upside of adulthood is that one does not outgrow one's beloved shoes.
It is a bit weird to switch from the Vibram Five Fingers to these boots, though. They're sort of polar opposite footwear.
I can bench-press 105, but I cannot press 115. Pushup-related program activities do seem to have some side effects.
The only fandom that seems to have stuck for me recently is Top Gear fandom. The more fantastical and whacky it gets, the more I like it. Despite thirty years of shipping McCoy/Spock in my head, apparently I cannot read fanfiction about it. At all. Nor can I read movieKirk/movieMcCoy, another ship I am 100% behind in theory. I cannot get within 50 yards of Doctor Who fan comms without wanting to hurl because of the wank and entitlement, much as I enjoy the various Doctors themselves. And I have read all the Ace/Seven fic there is, I think, and have no desire to wade through miles of Ten/Rose babyfic to find more.
Oh, woes.
The husband has just announced that we're going out to dinner tonight, for the first time in a couple of weeks. He's felt abandoned recently. Which is weird, since he's the one who just gallivanted off and spent four days at a con running into all of my friends from [workshop]. I have no idea why I didn't go. Probably because I'd have spent four days running into all my friends and feeling horrible that I don't have a writing career and they all do. My neuroses, let me show you them.
Though I got an utterly lovely piece of email this morning from somebody who read all my stories in one big gulp and apparently enjoyed the experience. And that makes me sort of glow. Especially from the ears, which went very red.
drsquidlove's "Xander and the Accidental Demonic Tattoo" is a fine, fine piece of utterly shameless kinky prawn.
Now I have to finish this dinner conversation followed by a different sort of utterly kinky prawn. Buffy's got some exploration to do.