various and sundry shenanigans
One does rather enjoy a lovely day once in a while. They probably ought to be kept on hand, in jars or folded up carefully in linen, to be taken out and worn close to one's breast on the days the sun doesn't come out.
So yes -- after a Thursday that beheld shenanigans at the city park and our very dull local Red Cross Fair (we were very suspicious about all of the money going to the blood drive; it is entirely possible that we are keeping the vampires of this town comfortable with our hard-earned money, especially as there is a Hellmouth in town, in the theatre, which oh sweet Eru is a block from my house), I was informed by burningstarsxe that I would be spending Friday night. Which I proceeded to do (after scoring a tripod for two dollars, hooray!). Oh, I do miss living in that house -- we spent about three years living in the house that Sarah's family lives in now, and had lived in before we did (it was a bit complicated, I suppose! but we rented it from them during the short time they didn't live there), and the neighbourhood is so old and lovely, with large, leaning trees, and so few lights that one can properly see the stars, especially if one goes out back and crosses the street to the hill. The sunsets, I remembered as I bicycled up to rain-wet sidewalks glimmering pink and gold, are so much more present, the light sharper and more intense. We three, Sarah and Hannah (goddessreason) and I, wandered out for a while, marvelling at the sky and picking wild strawberries and roses and me soaking the feet of my stockings.
Eventually, after much gabbing, we did settle down to watch The Young Victoria -- the second time, for me, and oh, flist, do yourself a favour and watch this film, okay? It will be good for your soul, I swear. It is so happy-making, what with Victoria and Albert being absurdly adorable, and Albert's hair being all epic (and his patterned cravats omg, and his lovely patterned suspenders!), and the editing and cinematography making me all shivery with glee. (That opening scene, with the shifting focus on the line of guards at the coronation, blimey!!) If you are sad, you must watch this film. If you are happy, you must watch this film and become even happier. It is awfully nice, because, as Hannah commented, biopics so often drag you all the way through to their subject's death, and even if they lived to be ridiculously old it still tries to milk as much sadness out of the viewer as it can manage, and you certainly do not leave the film beaming so fiercely that you are then forced to massage your aching cheeks. Which is how I have come out of The Young Victoria both times, so. IT IS LOVELY.
Moreover I cannot emphasise enough how much I love that it is canon, so to speak -- historical fact that Victoria and Albert were madly in love and also madly attracted to each other and Victoria's diary is full of "today I had sex with my husband again! HE IS THE BEST EVER!", because married people who are like that make me too happy for words. The Victorian Era may have been a byword for repression, but Victoria herself was not a bit repressed, at least not until Albert died and she let herself become a bit too cocooned in her mourning.
Also we watched Ten Inch Hero, which co-stars Jensen Ackles and his mowhawk. Oh yeah. :D
And while we are speaking of wonderful things that were watched: "Vincent and the Doctor"? Broke my heart in all of the best possible ways. I daresay I will need to watch it at least a dozen more times. And we all squeak-sighed simultaneously as it ended. It was funny and heartbreaking and deep, as well as visually stunning, and just... oh my heart. Oh my show; I am so happy that you have become so wondrous again.
This afternoon, we went to the mall, as girls of a certain age will occasionally do, and I acquired the best necklace ever (WEREWOLF NECKLACE, YOU GUYS. WEREWOLF. NECKLACE. I keep being giddy to myself about how this even exists) as well as several pretty odds and ends for a very small amount of money. Then to the library and various purveyors of chocolates! Then back to the Meholicks' to hobnob with other people and watch Doctor Who and for me to get my trousers and my waistcoat back! ("I thought we agreed that it was too small for you," Sarah said smugly when I asked for my waistcoat back. Naturally I had to throw it out the window -- well, dangle it threateningly, anyway. We do not have a bartering system.)
Now I am obscenely sleepy for it not even being ten o' clock yet, so I suppose I shall have to go clear my bed of the detritus it's gathered when I wasn't sleeping in it, and curl up with a book. Perhaps I shall have nice dreams again! -- I woke up all warm-glowy this morning from a dream that involved snuggles with Wesley Wyndham-Pryce -- it was a very complicated plot, with rogue slayers faking their deaths and Wes having to pretend to be in love with (one of?) them to lull them into a false sense of security, and also he owned a glacier for some reason. (It was inside? And had lumpy things in it? WHY, SUBCONSCIOUS, WHY.) But there was very tender hand-holding and face-touching and general snuggling, and I woke up squeaking gleefully to myself. Usually, when my dreams veer towards Angel Investigations (which isn't often; I have far too few fandomy dreams) Wes has mysteriously just left to get milk or the paper or something, including the time Angel-run Wolfram & Hart was giving out free hugs (?!?!?!) and we spent the entire dream circling the parking lot, waiting for my dad and trying to find a parking space. (Again I say: WHY, SUBCONSCIOUS. WHYYY. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.)
ANYWAY, pleasing dreams aside, I have moderately important sleeping to do.
So yes -- after a Thursday that beheld shenanigans at the city park and our very dull local Red Cross Fair (we were very suspicious about all of the money going to the blood drive; it is entirely possible that we are keeping the vampires of this town comfortable with our hard-earned money, especially as there is a Hellmouth in town, in the theatre, which oh sweet Eru is a block from my house), I was informed by burningstarsxe that I would be spending Friday night. Which I proceeded to do (after scoring a tripod for two dollars, hooray!). Oh, I do miss living in that house -- we spent about three years living in the house that Sarah's family lives in now, and had lived in before we did (it was a bit complicated, I suppose! but we rented it from them during the short time they didn't live there), and the neighbourhood is so old and lovely, with large, leaning trees, and so few lights that one can properly see the stars, especially if one goes out back and crosses the street to the hill. The sunsets, I remembered as I bicycled up to rain-wet sidewalks glimmering pink and gold, are so much more present, the light sharper and more intense. We three, Sarah and Hannah (goddessreason) and I, wandered out for a while, marvelling at the sky and picking wild strawberries and roses and me soaking the feet of my stockings.
Eventually, after much gabbing, we did settle down to watch The Young Victoria -- the second time, for me, and oh, flist, do yourself a favour and watch this film, okay? It will be good for your soul, I swear. It is so happy-making, what with Victoria and Albert being absurdly adorable, and Albert's hair being all epic (and his patterned cravats omg, and his lovely patterned suspenders!), and the editing and cinematography making me all shivery with glee. (That opening scene, with the shifting focus on the line of guards at the coronation, blimey!!) If you are sad, you must watch this film. If you are happy, you must watch this film and become even happier. It is awfully nice, because, as Hannah commented, biopics so often drag you all the way through to their subject's death, and even if they lived to be ridiculously old it still tries to milk as much sadness out of the viewer as it can manage, and you certainly do not leave the film beaming so fiercely that you are then forced to massage your aching cheeks. Which is how I have come out of The Young Victoria both times, so. IT IS LOVELY.
Moreover I cannot emphasise enough how much I love that it is canon, so to speak -- historical fact that Victoria and Albert were madly in love and also madly attracted to each other and Victoria's diary is full of "today I had sex with my husband again! HE IS THE BEST EVER!", because married people who are like that make me too happy for words. The Victorian Era may have been a byword for repression, but Victoria herself was not a bit repressed, at least not until Albert died and she let herself become a bit too cocooned in her mourning.
Also we watched Ten Inch Hero, which co-stars Jensen Ackles and his mowhawk. Oh yeah. :D
And while we are speaking of wonderful things that were watched: "Vincent and the Doctor"? Broke my heart in all of the best possible ways. I daresay I will need to watch it at least a dozen more times. And we all squeak-sighed simultaneously as it ended. It was funny and heartbreaking and deep, as well as visually stunning, and just... oh my heart. Oh my show; I am so happy that you have become so wondrous again.
This afternoon, we went to the mall, as girls of a certain age will occasionally do, and I acquired the best necklace ever (WEREWOLF NECKLACE, YOU GUYS. WEREWOLF. NECKLACE. I keep being giddy to myself about how this even exists) as well as several pretty odds and ends for a very small amount of money. Then to the library and various purveyors of chocolates! Then back to the Meholicks' to hobnob with other people and watch Doctor Who and for me to get my trousers and my waistcoat back! ("I thought we agreed that it was too small for you," Sarah said smugly when I asked for my waistcoat back. Naturally I had to throw it out the window -- well, dangle it threateningly, anyway. We do not have a bartering system.)
Now I am obscenely sleepy for it not even being ten o' clock yet, so I suppose I shall have to go clear my bed of the detritus it's gathered when I wasn't sleeping in it, and curl up with a book. Perhaps I shall have nice dreams again! -- I woke up all warm-glowy this morning from a dream that involved snuggles with Wesley Wyndham-Pryce -- it was a very complicated plot, with rogue slayers faking their deaths and Wes having to pretend to be in love with (one of?) them to lull them into a false sense of security, and also he owned a glacier for some reason. (It was inside? And had lumpy things in it? WHY, SUBCONSCIOUS, WHY.) But there was very tender hand-holding and face-touching and general snuggling, and I woke up squeaking gleefully to myself. Usually, when my dreams veer towards Angel Investigations (which isn't often; I have far too few fandomy dreams) Wes has mysteriously just left to get milk or the paper or something, including the time Angel-run Wolfram & Hart was giving out free hugs (?!?!?!) and we spent the entire dream circling the parking lot, waiting for my dad and trying to find a parking space. (Again I say: WHY, SUBCONSCIOUS. WHYYY. WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU.)
ANYWAY, pleasing dreams aside, I have moderately important sleeping to do.