My Killjoys bandana is coming to good use right now.
Jesus, I'm bad at posting again. But on the upside I'm actually commenting a wee bit? So, you know, that's gotta count for something, right? Yeah, I suck, but I'm actually pretty okay with it.
Anyway! Tumblr is driving me bananas AGAIN -- fixing the queue should mean improving it, assholes, not turning it into an even bigger exercise in frustration and FFFFFFUUUUUU memes -- but on the upside it's giving me lots of pretty pictures of MCR. Between LJ and tumblr, I'm pretty covered in the concert footage area.
Speaking of MCR, Mikey and Gerard have both been replaced by pod people, and I know I should be searching for the actual them with a fine tooth comb and a candle, but I'm enjoying myself way too much. THE RIPPED SHIRTS. THE TANK TOPS. THE SHORTEST SHORTS. Seriously, I never thought I would quit capslocking after that particular reveal. Gerard Way's pasty white thighs on display. Surreal.
I mean, this fandom has always been a bit like Victorian porn where those Ways are concerned. You got all flustered from a flash of ankle or even shoulder and a sliver of belly made you look for your smelling salts. Now all of a sudden... Mikey has lovely collar bones. I mean, we always SUSPECTED, but we never really KNEW. Also, who goes to the gym at 5:30 in the morning? Gerard Way apparently.
In non-fannish news, I am hopefully getting operated on tomorrow, despite a pretty whopping head cold. I rang the hospital and the nurse told me that it doesn't matter if I'm snotty as long as I don't have a fever and my throat doesn't hurt. And it doesn't, I'm just hoarse as hell. Two days ago I couldn't speak properly. But nothing is hurting -- aside from my sinuses after blowing my nose four billion times a day -- so we're going for broke. If the anaesthesiologist says it can't be done the worst thing that'll happen is they'll send me home and I have to wait another little while for the operation.
It's not actually all that bad right now. They flushed it out with salt water and since then it's closed up completely. I haven't had to use a bandage in weeks, which is nice. But they're still moving forward with the operation because the chances of this happening again will be greatly reduced, and I for one am pretty okay with this never ever popping back up again.
NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, and if all goes well, I'll be in surgery when it does, which is a bit of a bummer as you can understand. However, as I don't expect to get a novel out of Angels in either case, this doesn't really bother me much. I am thinking about it a lot, though, where to start, which stories to tell, who the POV characters have to be, and so on. I've even collected a bunch of chapter titles, because I'm a dweeb (lyrics this time around, and as it turns out, My Chemical Romance songs are VERY good for this purpose).
I may have started a bit early on it, and I think I might sit down and write something today. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to sit long enough to produce anything worthwhile the first couple of days anyway, so I figure it evens out.
So that's me, what's going on with you?
Also, lastly, happy birthday, Frank Iero, you adorable motherfucker, you. I still love your ass, even after three years and change.
Anyway! Tumblr is driving me bananas AGAIN -- fixing the queue should mean improving it, assholes, not turning it into an even bigger exercise in frustration and FFFFFFUUUUUU memes -- but on the upside it's giving me lots of pretty pictures of MCR. Between LJ and tumblr, I'm pretty covered in the concert footage area.
Speaking of MCR, Mikey and Gerard have both been replaced by pod people, and I know I should be searching for the actual them with a fine tooth comb and a candle, but I'm enjoying myself way too much. THE RIPPED SHIRTS. THE TANK TOPS. THE SHORTEST SHORTS. Seriously, I never thought I would quit capslocking after that particular reveal. Gerard Way's pasty white thighs on display. Surreal.
I mean, this fandom has always been a bit like Victorian porn where those Ways are concerned. You got all flustered from a flash of ankle or even shoulder and a sliver of belly made you look for your smelling salts. Now all of a sudden... Mikey has lovely collar bones. I mean, we always SUSPECTED, but we never really KNEW. Also, who goes to the gym at 5:30 in the morning? Gerard Way apparently.
In non-fannish news, I am hopefully getting operated on tomorrow, despite a pretty whopping head cold. I rang the hospital and the nurse told me that it doesn't matter if I'm snotty as long as I don't have a fever and my throat doesn't hurt. And it doesn't, I'm just hoarse as hell. Two days ago I couldn't speak properly. But nothing is hurting -- aside from my sinuses after blowing my nose four billion times a day -- so we're going for broke. If the anaesthesiologist says it can't be done the worst thing that'll happen is they'll send me home and I have to wait another little while for the operation.
It's not actually all that bad right now. They flushed it out with salt water and since then it's closed up completely. I haven't had to use a bandage in weeks, which is nice. But they're still moving forward with the operation because the chances of this happening again will be greatly reduced, and I for one am pretty okay with this never ever popping back up again.
NaNoWriMo starts tomorrow, and if all goes well, I'll be in surgery when it does, which is a bit of a bummer as you can understand. However, as I don't expect to get a novel out of Angels in either case, this doesn't really bother me much. I am thinking about it a lot, though, where to start, which stories to tell, who the POV characters have to be, and so on. I've even collected a bunch of chapter titles, because I'm a dweeb (lyrics this time around, and as it turns out, My Chemical Romance songs are VERY good for this purpose).
I may have started a bit early on it, and I think I might sit down and write something today. I'm pretty sure I won't be able to sit long enough to produce anything worthwhile the first couple of days anyway, so I figure it evens out.
So that's me, what's going on with you?
Also, lastly, happy birthday, Frank Iero, you adorable motherfucker, you. I still love your ass, even after three years and change.