alligator suitcase
No particular order:
1. Jesus, my skin looks bad lately. I don't know why, and I hope to god it's the lighting in the bathroom, because, yick. It's a tragedy. I look like an alligator suitcase. And I keep noticing new and prominent freckles, which makes me feel guilty, even though I wear the sunscreen, so. It's just that there's a limited amount you can do with the chunky melanin. Also, my eyes are really, really bloodshot. All the time. It's like a starburst of red around my iris. Now I tell myself that this couldn't possibly be because I spend 8 hours a day at work staring at the computer screen and then come home and fiddle around on my computer some more [with short breaks to eat food that's bad for me and watch television and maybe do some exercise] and stay up until ungodly hours of the night talkin' to schuyler about how Neville/Pansy is the new black. Never!
2. Clearly, there must be an Arthur Weasley/Frank Longbottom slash archive, called something corny like "These Golden Days of Yore", which which there would exist an infinity of variations on
a. A story wherein Arthur Weasley snuck into St. Mungo's under cover of night to sadly stroke Frank's gibbering cheek once a month or something, and remember their boyhood fling which meant the world, but then all went terribly, terribly wrong because of a sad misunderstanding.
b. A story in which Arthur Weasley kidnaps Frank Longbottom and performs crazy sex magic on him and HEALS the damage done by cruciatus, whereupon either they live together in a cute walkup in London and have weekend visitations with the kids [and find some obliging other person to deal with Alice - Tonks always seems to be the go-to choice in these situations, but I guess you could mix it up with some Cho, who's probably gotten tired of skanking it up with the chicks her age, and this is only the B-story, because if your Frank/Arthur story doesn't have at least 73% Frank/Arthur content, you will TOTALLY be kicked out of the archive, which would be ruled with an iron fist.] or, of course, Frank leaves Arthur for his wife, and Arthur shambles sadly home to hide out in the shed with his muggle artifacts.
c. Obviously, a story where Ron gets it on with Neville Longbottom, and Arthur watches them and his heart aches [ACHES] for his schoolboy romance with Frank. For extra screw-turning action, Neville and Ron could get married, and there could be a moment where Arthur's eyes POIGNANTLY meet Frank's [who would be cured, btw.]. Or, you know, for that extra fillip of incredible awesomeness, the whole story could just be a monologue, where Arthur shows up at St. Mungo's and tells Frank about it in excruciating detail, while Frank rolls around on the bed and sticks his toes in his mouth and such. This story could be called "Generations".
3. Last night I saw I Capture the Castle, which I enjoyed because it was pretty decent, and had interesting looking people and neat clothes, which is a hell of a thing to say about an art movie based on a book, but the - um, stableboy [except they were poor and had no stable, so he was really just the man-of-all-work] - was very, very hot. As in, so hot that I was forced to comment on it multiple times, out loud, while jumping rope. It's based on a book, it wasn't perfect, and if the Bandit had been there, he would have been flopping around like a fish and demanding to know what was WRONG with these people, but that's because the Bandit gets bent out of shape when girls ignore nice boys who love them and do stupid things, which is kind of sweet, in a way. Yet, if your netflix queue is anything like mine - eight movies, 51 cds of television - I recommend sticking it on the queue, because the parts of it are really lovely.
4. I had a terrible, terrible horrifying dream the other night, but it was broken up smack in the middle by this part where I was walking through an archway down a little narrow cobblestone street and Ryan Gosling was coming up the hill towards me, and he got closer and had this tremendous scar on his shoulder, and then he grinned at me and I realized that I had known him all my life and [we seemed to be residents of some sort of Chocolat-y WWII era French Village] and that he loved me as I loved him and then there was a lot of kissing and I think he picked me up. Unfortunately, the rest of the night-in-dreams was really crappy, so it kind of cancelled out my hot WWII French love affair.
1. Jesus, my skin looks bad lately. I don't know why, and I hope to god it's the lighting in the bathroom, because, yick. It's a tragedy. I look like an alligator suitcase. And I keep noticing new and prominent freckles, which makes me feel guilty, even though I wear the sunscreen, so. It's just that there's a limited amount you can do with the chunky melanin. Also, my eyes are really, really bloodshot. All the time. It's like a starburst of red around my iris. Now I tell myself that this couldn't possibly be because I spend 8 hours a day at work staring at the computer screen and then come home and fiddle around on my computer some more [with short breaks to eat food that's bad for me and watch television and maybe do some exercise] and stay up until ungodly hours of the night talkin' to schuyler about how Neville/Pansy is the new black. Never!
2. Clearly, there must be an Arthur Weasley/Frank Longbottom slash archive, called something corny like "These Golden Days of Yore", which which there would exist an infinity of variations on
a. A story wherein Arthur Weasley snuck into St. Mungo's under cover of night to sadly stroke Frank's gibbering cheek once a month or something, and remember their boyhood fling which meant the world, but then all went terribly, terribly wrong because of a sad misunderstanding.
b. A story in which Arthur Weasley kidnaps Frank Longbottom and performs crazy sex magic on him and HEALS the damage done by cruciatus, whereupon either they live together in a cute walkup in London and have weekend visitations with the kids [and find some obliging other person to deal with Alice - Tonks always seems to be the go-to choice in these situations, but I guess you could mix it up with some Cho, who's probably gotten tired of skanking it up with the chicks her age, and this is only the B-story, because if your Frank/Arthur story doesn't have at least 73% Frank/Arthur content, you will TOTALLY be kicked out of the archive, which would be ruled with an iron fist.] or, of course, Frank leaves Arthur for his wife, and Arthur shambles sadly home to hide out in the shed with his muggle artifacts.
c. Obviously, a story where Ron gets it on with Neville Longbottom, and Arthur watches them and his heart aches [ACHES] for his schoolboy romance with Frank. For extra screw-turning action, Neville and Ron could get married, and there could be a moment where Arthur's eyes POIGNANTLY meet Frank's [who would be cured, btw.]. Or, you know, for that extra fillip of incredible awesomeness, the whole story could just be a monologue, where Arthur shows up at St. Mungo's and tells Frank about it in excruciating detail, while Frank rolls around on the bed and sticks his toes in his mouth and such. This story could be called "Generations".
3. Last night I saw I Capture the Castle, which I enjoyed because it was pretty decent, and had interesting looking people and neat clothes, which is a hell of a thing to say about an art movie based on a book, but the - um, stableboy [except they were poor and had no stable, so he was really just the man-of-all-work] - was very, very hot. As in, so hot that I was forced to comment on it multiple times, out loud, while jumping rope. It's based on a book, it wasn't perfect, and if the Bandit had been there, he would have been flopping around like a fish and demanding to know what was WRONG with these people, but that's because the Bandit gets bent out of shape when girls ignore nice boys who love them and do stupid things, which is kind of sweet, in a way. Yet, if your netflix queue is anything like mine - eight movies, 51 cds of television - I recommend sticking it on the queue, because the parts of it are really lovely.
4. I had a terrible, terrible horrifying dream the other night, but it was broken up smack in the middle by this part where I was walking through an archway down a little narrow cobblestone street and Ryan Gosling was coming up the hill towards me, and he got closer and had this tremendous scar on his shoulder, and then he grinned at me and I realized that I had known him all my life and [we seemed to be residents of some sort of Chocolat-y WWII era French Village] and that he loved me as I loved him and then there was a lot of kissing and I think he picked me up. Unfortunately, the rest of the night-in-dreams was really crappy, so it kind of cancelled out my hot WWII French love affair.