Patrick and babies make even Mondays brighter.
Yesterday was cursive's birthday (except really it was Saturday night what with Australian/US time zones and all--boo on time zones and being half a planet away from one of my favouritest people ever), so you should all go tell her she rocks. Because she does.
Procrastination last night lead to me ordering a vacuum cleaner (finally) as well as a two-foot tall silver Christmas tree, thirty-seven blue/teal/green glass ornaments and two strings of blue and teal lights with which to cover it. I am going to have a kitschy Christmas this year, yay. Perhaps I shall take pictures when it arrives next week.
However, I finally fell asleep last night at 3:30 after a five-hour writing frenzy in which I wrote five thousand words....and kept two thousand of them. *facepalms* Sometimes I hate the way I write. But, ah well. No sense in keeping scenes that just don't work. The delete key is a writer's best friend.
Due to falling asleep less than four hours before I had to get up, I slept through my alarm this morning, waking up exactly twenty-three minutes before my train left.
Which I made. I am just that good. Also yay for sloppily doubled ponytails.
----------------------
Dear Idiots on the T,
Trying to shove past me one on either side and then calling me a bitch because I, hi, have no place to move/levitate to let both of you past at the same time is not going to change the laws of physics, no matter how much you want it to. Trust me, I'd rather you both get off the train at this point so I can fucking breathe in this claustrophic mess. If one of you goes past, I will be more than happy to move into the vacated space so the other of you can then exit. Otherwise, you're fucking screwed.
Morons.
No love,
Femme
---------------------
Then I got to work, crankily, to find the heat off in the building. It had been off all weekend. It is currently 34 degrees outside with a wind chill of 24. I am currently huddled over a tiny space heater still wrapped in my Slytherin scarf, freezing my ass off.
BUT. I turned on my computer to find an all-caps email from supergrover24 saying HAVE YOU SEEN THE HATLESS PATRICK WITH BABY PICS on gigantic's journal?
I had not.
YOU GUYS.
HATLESS PATRICK WITH DIRTY'S BABY. (Also Dirty's wife=hawt.) AND PATRICK'S HAIRCUT EQUALS LOVE. OH MY GOD. I APPROVE. *two thumbs way up* THIS HAS MADE MY DAY AWESOME ALREADY.
--------------------------
Dear Pete Wentz,
Please to be knocking your best friend up any day now. I don't care if it's physically impossible. Consider it a challenge.
Love,
Femme
P.S. Tell him his haircut is hawt.
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Also, it is snow-flurrying outside! Before Thanksgiving! OMG. \o/
--------------------------
Dear God,
If I can't go home for Christmas can I at least have a white one because that would be awesome, plzkaythanx.
Much love,
Femme
---------------------------
I am going to make a hot cuppa, then knock a few projects out of the way and perhaps eke out some time to write more.
HATLESS PATRICK WITH BABY PICTURES. THIS DAY IS MADE OF WIN.
Procrastination last night lead to me ordering a vacuum cleaner (finally) as well as a two-foot tall silver Christmas tree, thirty-seven blue/teal/green glass ornaments and two strings of blue and teal lights with which to cover it. I am going to have a kitschy Christmas this year, yay. Perhaps I shall take pictures when it arrives next week.
However, I finally fell asleep last night at 3:30 after a five-hour writing frenzy in which I wrote five thousand words....and kept two thousand of them. *facepalms* Sometimes I hate the way I write. But, ah well. No sense in keeping scenes that just don't work. The delete key is a writer's best friend.
Due to falling asleep less than four hours before I had to get up, I slept through my alarm this morning, waking up exactly twenty-three minutes before my train left.
Which I made. I am just that good. Also yay for sloppily doubled ponytails.
----------------------
Dear Idiots on the T,
Trying to shove past me one on either side and then calling me a bitch because I, hi, have no place to move/levitate to let both of you past at the same time is not going to change the laws of physics, no matter how much you want it to. Trust me, I'd rather you both get off the train at this point so I can fucking breathe in this claustrophic mess. If one of you goes past, I will be more than happy to move into the vacated space so the other of you can then exit. Otherwise, you're fucking screwed.
Morons.
No love,
Femme
---------------------
Then I got to work, crankily, to find the heat off in the building. It had been off all weekend. It is currently 34 degrees outside with a wind chill of 24. I am currently huddled over a tiny space heater still wrapped in my Slytherin scarf, freezing my ass off.
BUT. I turned on my computer to find an all-caps email from supergrover24 saying HAVE YOU SEEN THE HATLESS PATRICK WITH BABY PICS on gigantic's journal?
I had not.
YOU GUYS.
HATLESS PATRICK WITH DIRTY'S BABY. (Also Dirty's wife=hawt.) AND PATRICK'S HAIRCUT EQUALS LOVE. OH MY GOD. I APPROVE. *two thumbs way up* THIS HAS MADE MY DAY AWESOME ALREADY.
--------------------------
Dear Pete Wentz,
Please to be knocking your best friend up any day now. I don't care if it's physically impossible. Consider it a challenge.
Love,
Femme
P.S. Tell him his haircut is hawt.
---------------------------
Also, it is snow-flurrying outside! Before Thanksgiving! OMG. \o/
--------------------------
Dear God,
If I can't go home for Christmas can I at least have a white one because that would be awesome, plzkaythanx.
Much love,
Femme
---------------------------
I am going to make a hot cuppa, then knock a few projects out of the way and perhaps eke out some time to write more.
HATLESS PATRICK WITH BABY PICTURES. THIS DAY IS MADE OF WIN.