last call, 2006, don't gotta go home but you can't stay here!
I been around the block a couple times this year; lost a car, got a car, lost housemates, got housemates, lost money, found money, la commedia continua &c!
This holiday season, my Shoemoney Girls are off in the snowy mountains, and I am alone in la ciudad de los angeles, avec mon chat noir. But I remain the luckiest, as wearemany and fmangel are my own chosen family, and I miss them and love them and our house and our joint bank account and our hypochondria and our writer's room and our family meetings and our chore wheels and our big gay singalongs. Shoemoney Haus in '07; apres moi, le deluge!
But now, tis the season for samdonne to be here with me, piled in blankets, eating pumpkin pie, watching L&O marathons, writing fic and debating this postmodern existenZ. Every year circa the holidays I get lucky enough to have a regalo del Francais show up on my doorstep, and then it's two weeks or two months of lattes and snuggling and crime shows and discourse. (fialka, N. got me hooked on Eureka. But you'll be happy to know I returned the favor and now she's hip deep in Bones.)
Tonight, if we're lucky, we'll get visits from the ghosts of Christmas lizlet and thassalia, and perhaps we'll pile on the couches and ring in the New Year, writing-style. (Which is to say, mes amis Anglais, who among you will be providing tonight's Torchwood before midnight PST, so we can watch the last Cap'n Jack of Ought-Six? With fluffyllama on holiday, my world is rocked! Rocked, I say!)
Tonight, if I'm lucky, I'll party online with kormantic and runpunkrun, and we'll toast the New Year with pancakes up and down the coast. Oui?
Tomorrow, we'll reveal Yuletides and I'll tell you a tragic story about a cat, and I'll send beta to Dawn and Punklet, as promised, and it'll be 2007, the year everything changes, and you gotta be ready.
I had a Doctor Who dream the other night, where an alien ship invaded, and the US sent a fleet of sekrit spaceships (all Galaxy-Class, FWIW) to meet it in orbit. But instead of blowing her outta the sky, we simply said, "hi, aliens. You're the first extraterrestrials we've met. We're new at all this. Could you come back in ten years when we've got a better idea how to deal with you?" And they said SURE, and they LEFT, and a happy holidays was had by all.
And so for you, my Christmas present to lizlet, who asked for Jack/Hand and got Jack/Ten/emo!hand instead:
[I really can't stay (Jack/Ten, Jack/Hand, Ten/Hand?)], a Torchwood/Who fic about Ten and Jack and the folks in the Hub, and the Hand. No sex, wankworthy or otherwise, just good old-fashioned gen about a boy and his hand-in-a-jar.
Bonne nuit! Bonne annee! Une annee sans lumiere! Une annee avec les yeux sensibles! Une annee avec touts les chats du monde! Une annee avec ma petite samdonne, sur le lit, comme mon petit chat, avec moi! C'est magnifique!
2007: It's Got To Be Better Than 2006
This holiday season, my Shoemoney Girls are off in the snowy mountains, and I am alone in la ciudad de los angeles, avec mon chat noir. But I remain the luckiest, as wearemany and fmangel are my own chosen family, and I miss them and love them and our house and our joint bank account and our hypochondria and our writer's room and our family meetings and our chore wheels and our big gay singalongs. Shoemoney Haus in '07; apres moi, le deluge!
But now, tis the season for samdonne to be here with me, piled in blankets, eating pumpkin pie, watching L&O marathons, writing fic and debating this postmodern existenZ. Every year circa the holidays I get lucky enough to have a regalo del Francais show up on my doorstep, and then it's two weeks or two months of lattes and snuggling and crime shows and discourse. (fialka, N. got me hooked on Eureka. But you'll be happy to know I returned the favor and now she's hip deep in Bones.)
Tonight, if we're lucky, we'll get visits from the ghosts of Christmas lizlet and thassalia, and perhaps we'll pile on the couches and ring in the New Year, writing-style. (Which is to say, mes amis Anglais, who among you will be providing tonight's Torchwood before midnight PST, so we can watch the last Cap'n Jack of Ought-Six? With fluffyllama on holiday, my world is rocked! Rocked, I say!)
Tonight, if I'm lucky, I'll party online with kormantic and runpunkrun, and we'll toast the New Year with pancakes up and down the coast. Oui?
Tomorrow, we'll reveal Yuletides and I'll tell you a tragic story about a cat, and I'll send beta to Dawn and Punklet, as promised, and it'll be 2007, the year everything changes, and you gotta be ready.
I had a Doctor Who dream the other night, where an alien ship invaded, and the US sent a fleet of sekrit spaceships (all Galaxy-Class, FWIW) to meet it in orbit. But instead of blowing her outta the sky, we simply said, "hi, aliens. You're the first extraterrestrials we've met. We're new at all this. Could you come back in ten years when we've got a better idea how to deal with you?" And they said SURE, and they LEFT, and a happy holidays was had by all.
And so for you, my Christmas present to lizlet, who asked for Jack/Hand and got Jack/Ten/emo!hand instead:
[I really can't stay (Jack/Ten, Jack/Hand, Ten/Hand?)], a Torchwood/Who fic about Ten and Jack and the folks in the Hub, and the Hand. No sex, wankworthy or otherwise, just good old-fashioned gen about a boy and his hand-in-a-jar.
Bonne nuit! Bonne annee! Une annee sans lumiere! Une annee avec les yeux sensibles! Une annee avec touts les chats du monde! Une annee avec ma petite samdonne, sur le lit, comme mon petit chat, avec moi! C'est magnifique!
2007: It's Got To Be Better Than 2006