WHF: Onwards and Upwards, Ho!
Hello, Gentle Reader. How are you doing today? I'm fine, thanks for asking. Today, I woke up and --
No.
Stardate 04152004: Captain's Log
Uh-uh.
Dear Diary:
Ugh. I sound like a dork.
How about:
Junior Watcher Andrew D. Wells' Personal Log
To Do List:
The $35 dollars I put towards this desk set is going to be put to good use. Technically, the set was a two-fer, so it really only cost ... $17? Or something? I gave the other one to Mr. Giles as a thank you present for all my training in the U.K. He said it was very "handsome"... but then he flinched when I said "cheers." I wonder why he always flinches when I talk?
Anyway, the desk sets each came with several parts: a pencil holder, something called a "blotter" and a tray for pens/pencils/whatever, as well as these clever little leather-bound journals. I aim to use mine, especially the journal. In it, I will record all the lessons I've learned and taught over the course of the day, as well as pithy observations about the new Slayers, the members of our organisation, and, of course, tips and pointers that I might garner from old Rupert and Robin. Perhaps I will even record some of the more colorful expressions used by Faith and her little Band of Hardasses. Oh, those girls. Xander is always a wealth of amusing anecdotes, as well. Just yesterday, while he was attempting to sand a railing, we had a fascinating discourse about Jean Gray's nature as the Phoenix. He's got a wonderful perspective on transformation, probably stemming from his years of Scoobiage, and, urgh... yeah. The whole eye thing. But I don't like to think about things like that. I really don't like the idea of my eyeballs being touched in anyway.
Once, when I was in fourth grade, my older brother Tucker pinned me down and held my eyelids open and tried to touch my eyeball. It was some kind of experiment, I guess, but it was horrible. Really, really bad. I cried so hard that he couldn't keep my eyelids open, and he got super mad and gave up. Later that summer, I kept having nightmares that there was something burrowing under my mattress and, SURE ENOUGH, Tucker had summoned these disgusting creatures called Ghuytlwyrms that had already made it through the boxspring.
My brother Tucker was a total a-hole. If he could see me now, he would ...well, he'd definitely still kick my ass. Who am I kidding? Even with all the Pilates I've been doing, I still wouldn't be able to hold my own against him. We're just really different. I mean, that whole demon summoning phase I went through at Sunnydale H.S. was really just a way to have something to talk to him about when he came home from college. Well, and so I could serve a purpose in the Trio. I was probably the DJ in the Trio, but Warren (R.I.P.) was definitely the Rapper. And Jonathan? Oh, sweet Jonathan -- he was, like, um... maybe the guy who would chime in with the Rapper during the last word in a phrase? You know like, blah blah blah blah ... STYLE!? What's that guy called? Do they have special names?
Anyway, neither Tucker nor Warren would ever admit to liking tweed suits, but Jonathan would have. If he were still around.
Yeah. This journal isn't really starting off too well. I'd made up my mind to move forward and not dwell on the past, or Jonathan, or... whatever, so much. And I'm hella dwellbot right now. So. Let me clear my head for a moment with a deep cleansing Yoga breath.
I've always loved tweed suits. I look really dapper in a suit. Maybe I should get some glasses. Maybe when Dawn is actually my technical Slayer, and we work out some of the financial stuff with W&H, I'll get a raise. And then, I could get some really smart-looking specs.
That's it for right now. I have to get some work done on my errands before the Summers girls show up.
Cheers,
Andrew
No.
Stardate 04152004: Captain's Log
Uh-uh.
Dear Diary:
Ugh. I sound like a dork.
How about:
Junior Watcher Andrew D. Wells' Personal Log
To Do List:
- Pick up Mr. Giles' dry cleaning from Happy Clean Cleaners.
- Ask Mr. Giles when I can just call him Rupert. Try not to sound petulant, as this would be my third warning for petul..ance? -ation? Is petulation a word? (I'm fine with keeping everything on a strictly professional level in mixed company, as he's my Watcher's Mentor, but, he introduced me to everyone in England as Andrew and not Master Wells. Why do I have to call him Mr. Giles? I think being introduced to new people -- especially new Slayers -- as Mr. Wells would sound way more distinguished than his usual "... and this is... well, Andrew." It makes me sound like an afterthought. At least, like, 24% less manly.)
- Train with Robin (See? I can call him Robin! We're... down. He calls me Andrew, and I call him Robin.) on the Spiked Flail.
- Pick up more Pilates straps, and maybe a couple more of those Yoga mats. Blue, not purple. Blue is calming. Purple is too... organ-like.
- Go to Trader Joe's and get the Dawnster Monster's favorite Strawberry Mochi for the Summers Girls' Welcome Back Party. A special request from her last e-mail from Europa, so... get two packages. Also buy approximately one hundred paper plates, because it's not like they go bad.
- Ask Mr. Giles to write up some kind of contract so I know I'll be Dawnie's Watcher as soon as she gets in.
- Get an advance from Rupert Mr. Giles, and put $50 towards the tweed suit's layaway.
- Ask if I can change my official title to "Associate Watcher," because the word "Junior" just isn't as classy as it should be.
The $35 dollars I put towards this desk set is going to be put to good use. Technically, the set was a two-fer, so it really only cost ... $17? Or something? I gave the other one to Mr. Giles as a thank you present for all my training in the U.K. He said it was very "handsome"... but then he flinched when I said "cheers." I wonder why he always flinches when I talk?
Anyway, the desk sets each came with several parts: a pencil holder, something called a "blotter" and a tray for pens/pencils/whatever, as well as these clever little leather-bound journals. I aim to use mine, especially the journal. In it, I will record all the lessons I've learned and taught over the course of the day, as well as pithy observations about the new Slayers, the members of our organisation, and, of course, tips and pointers that I might garner from old Rupert and Robin. Perhaps I will even record some of the more colorful expressions used by Faith and her little Band of Hardasses. Oh, those girls. Xander is always a wealth of amusing anecdotes, as well. Just yesterday, while he was attempting to sand a railing, we had a fascinating discourse about Jean Gray's nature as the Phoenix. He's got a wonderful perspective on transformation, probably stemming from his years of Scoobiage, and, urgh... yeah. The whole eye thing. But I don't like to think about things like that. I really don't like the idea of my eyeballs being touched in anyway.
Once, when I was in fourth grade, my older brother Tucker pinned me down and held my eyelids open and tried to touch my eyeball. It was some kind of experiment, I guess, but it was horrible. Really, really bad. I cried so hard that he couldn't keep my eyelids open, and he got super mad and gave up. Later that summer, I kept having nightmares that there was something burrowing under my mattress and, SURE ENOUGH, Tucker had summoned these disgusting creatures called Ghuytlwyrms that had already made it through the boxspring.
My brother Tucker was a total a-hole. If he could see me now, he would ...well, he'd definitely still kick my ass. Who am I kidding? Even with all the Pilates I've been doing, I still wouldn't be able to hold my own against him. We're just really different. I mean, that whole demon summoning phase I went through at Sunnydale H.S. was really just a way to have something to talk to him about when he came home from college. Well, and so I could serve a purpose in the Trio. I was probably the DJ in the Trio, but Warren (R.I.P.) was definitely the Rapper. And Jonathan? Oh, sweet Jonathan -- he was, like, um... maybe the guy who would chime in with the Rapper during the last word in a phrase? You know like, blah blah blah blah ... STYLE!? What's that guy called? Do they have special names?
Anyway, neither Tucker nor Warren would ever admit to liking tweed suits, but Jonathan would have. If he were still around.
Yeah. This journal isn't really starting off too well. I'd made up my mind to move forward and not dwell on the past, or Jonathan, or... whatever, so much. And I'm hella dwellbot right now. So. Let me clear my head for a moment with a deep cleansing Yoga breath.
I've always loved tweed suits. I look really dapper in a suit. Maybe I should get some glasses. Maybe when Dawn is actually my technical Slayer, and we work out some of the financial stuff with W&H, I'll get a raise. And then, I could get some really smart-looking specs.
That's it for right now. I have to get some work done on my errands before the Summers girls show up.
Cheers,
Andrew