I know that you know that I know that you are desperate to know about my days
Friday
So, lorielen has this completely drool-worthy lj background with a slight flash of pubic hair that I totally forgot about when I went to check her comment section at work Friday morning (while someone was in the room); my gut-reaction was admittedly not the most subtle course of action I could have taken-I literally lurched halfway up out of my seat to bodily conceal the picture, which, upon reflection, was more likely to draw attention to the situation than anything else. I quickly clicked the back button and rocked back in my chair with what I hoped was a sort of calm ease after something that could have been written off as a slight seizure or spasm. I decided that this would perhaps not be believable, so I began a bit of vigorous stretching-of-the-arms and moving of the body while in my chair, as if only working out the considerable tension of sitting in front of a computer and checking lj for an hour and a half. My cover-up skillz rule! ^__~
My mom picked me up for lunch and it somehow happened (through my urging, if I recall) that we ended up at Mr. Gattit’s Pizza, which, as it turned out, was not the best decision we have ever made.
When we got there we were immediately a part of a building line to which there was little to no movement; the place was packed and they weren’t letting any more people in until some seats had been vacated. Fortunately, the place had good music playing, and I enjoyed publicly humiliating myself by dancing discreetly (or not-so-discreetly…) to the songs; I particularly enjoyed lowly yowling some of the high notes to a favorite Prince song as I observed the glass wall to one of the dining areas.
By the time mom and I had reached the front of the line, there was another pause in it, and something terrible happened.
A ravenous wave had emerged from the game area; a mass exodus of children. The gates of Hell and Gattiland had opened to let loose a wild swarm of ill-controlled midgets from their tumultuous and fiery depths, quickly packing the previously empty buffet area with a horrifying influx of schoolchildren under the age of ten.
It was actually one of the rare occasions in my life where I was actually taller than a majority of people within an area; it was a heady feeling, though I quickly found that one had to be particularly careful where they put their elbows, a fact that was stressed in a drink-line encounter that left me checking for sauce on the sleeve of my dressy shirt.
I made due, at first, by visiting the curiously-empty salad bar and getting drinks and a bit of bread and quickly-cooling and congealed pasta.
When the pizza line had waned slightly, I scavenged, patient; hoping; wishing and wanting for some small precious scrap, some sustaining marrow to gnaw and devour for my own.
When at long last I had obtained my meal, I savored that pizza; I had undertaken a perilous journey for it, a quest fraught with rude little gnomes that would try to cut in front of you and look surprised when you told them that they did, in fact, have to go to the end of the line like everyone else-I had braved a line longer than the one you would find at Space Mountain, had snatched up any salvageable thing, and I had come out valiant, heroic.
I was a Pizza Warrior.
When I got home, the t.v. was on some cheesy Spanish soap-opera that I was about to change, but I paused. Because there were, like. Schoolboys, man. Really attractive ones. In preppy schoolboy outfits. Guh.
I did not understand what they were saying, but the concept of hot schoolboys that should be shagged is universally understood, I think. I was brave, however; after about a minute I mustered up enough willpower to change the channel, but not before consoling myself with the fact that I would later go searching for some pretty-boys-in-uniforms pics.
So later on my cats go up to me, and one lies down on the floor and the other hops up and lies on the counter, and they both start grooming themselves and studiously ignoring me. So I look from one, and then to the other, and back again, and my cats are both working away at keeping themselves posh and presentable, and I was, like, wow, my cats are exceptionally vain.
It’s true: I have caught one on several occasions looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, and the other regularly poses as if he is a statuesque model on the cover of Cat Fancy magazine and he’s wondering why it’s taking me so long to start snapping pictures. Bwah, theyaresocool. #squishes#
Saturday
I slept an obscene and non-disclosed amount of time on Saturday; I think I went into some sort of pseudo-hibernation mode or something to catch up on some of the denied snooze hours from this past week, or something. I literally slept through a huge, consecutive chunk of time without waking or stirring or moving much at all, and probably wouldn’t have gotten up when I did if my mom hadn’t woken me.
I sleep like a log, man, seriously. You can have a marching band gallivanting up-and-down my room and I won’t be disturbed one whit.
I read somewhere that it is not the quantity of sleep you get that is important, but the quality; it seems, then, that mine is the metaphorical Don Perrion of sleep, and I am drunk on it.
I also watched a Shirley Temple movie (The Little Princess), and now have sort of an urge to watch the 90’s remake that was, wow, really very good.
Today
Heh heh, you know it’s awesome:
Random
Have I mentioned how much I love Yahoo? Because, yay, free upgrade to 1 GB inbox storage space, bitches! #victory dance#
Yes, I understand that you Google-ers have had 1 GB free storage since it started offering mailboxes. Yes, I know it is unreasonable to be so pleased at Yahoo’s belated response of upping their own offered inbox storage so as not to be outdone by a competitive source in the virtual market. Yes, I understand you are not bitches. BUT I DO NOT CARE, W00T! 1 GB!
When did the term “Drarry” start getting popular? Was it during my hiatus? Because I completely never saw that before, and now it’s showing up pretty regularly, so there’s obviously been some sort of shift that I was not informed of.
All my senses tell me I should despise the term and maybe boycott it or some-such, but I actually kind of like it, because bottom!Draco squicks me a little, and when a story is listed as "Drarry" I'm assured some bottom!Harry with top!Draco, which is nice. Mmm, yummy.
I do not live in Australia, and I am working on a completely legit chanfic. It would so get me locked up and prison-molested down under, it’s not even funny. I guess I’ll see where that goes, then (not the prison molestation thing; I’m talking about the fic-writing).
And that is all I have to say for now. ^__~
Thank you and good night morning!
So, lorielen has this completely drool-worthy lj background with a slight flash of pubic hair that I totally forgot about when I went to check her comment section at work Friday morning (while someone was in the room); my gut-reaction was admittedly not the most subtle course of action I could have taken-I literally lurched halfway up out of my seat to bodily conceal the picture, which, upon reflection, was more likely to draw attention to the situation than anything else. I quickly clicked the back button and rocked back in my chair with what I hoped was a sort of calm ease after something that could have been written off as a slight seizure or spasm. I decided that this would perhaps not be believable, so I began a bit of vigorous stretching-of-the-arms and moving of the body while in my chair, as if only working out the considerable tension of sitting in front of a computer and checking lj for an hour and a half. My cover-up skillz rule! ^__~
My mom picked me up for lunch and it somehow happened (through my urging, if I recall) that we ended up at Mr. Gattit’s Pizza, which, as it turned out, was not the best decision we have ever made.
When we got there we were immediately a part of a building line to which there was little to no movement; the place was packed and they weren’t letting any more people in until some seats had been vacated. Fortunately, the place had good music playing, and I enjoyed publicly humiliating myself by dancing discreetly (or not-so-discreetly…) to the songs; I particularly enjoyed lowly yowling some of the high notes to a favorite Prince song as I observed the glass wall to one of the dining areas.
By the time mom and I had reached the front of the line, there was another pause in it, and something terrible happened.
A ravenous wave had emerged from the game area; a mass exodus of children. The gates of Hell and Gattiland had opened to let loose a wild swarm of ill-controlled midgets from their tumultuous and fiery depths, quickly packing the previously empty buffet area with a horrifying influx of schoolchildren under the age of ten.
It was actually one of the rare occasions in my life where I was actually taller than a majority of people within an area; it was a heady feeling, though I quickly found that one had to be particularly careful where they put their elbows, a fact that was stressed in a drink-line encounter that left me checking for sauce on the sleeve of my dressy shirt.
I made due, at first, by visiting the curiously-empty salad bar and getting drinks and a bit of bread and quickly-cooling and congealed pasta.
When the pizza line had waned slightly, I scavenged, patient; hoping; wishing and wanting for some small precious scrap, some sustaining marrow to gnaw and devour for my own.
When at long last I had obtained my meal, I savored that pizza; I had undertaken a perilous journey for it, a quest fraught with rude little gnomes that would try to cut in front of you and look surprised when you told them that they did, in fact, have to go to the end of the line like everyone else-I had braved a line longer than the one you would find at Space Mountain, had snatched up any salvageable thing, and I had come out valiant, heroic.
I was a Pizza Warrior.
When I got home, the t.v. was on some cheesy Spanish soap-opera that I was about to change, but I paused. Because there were, like. Schoolboys, man. Really attractive ones. In preppy schoolboy outfits. Guh.
I did not understand what they were saying, but the concept of hot schoolboys that should be shagged is universally understood, I think. I was brave, however; after about a minute I mustered up enough willpower to change the channel, but not before consoling myself with the fact that I would later go searching for some pretty-boys-in-uniforms pics.
So later on my cats go up to me, and one lies down on the floor and the other hops up and lies on the counter, and they both start grooming themselves and studiously ignoring me. So I look from one, and then to the other, and back again, and my cats are both working away at keeping themselves posh and presentable, and I was, like, wow, my cats are exceptionally vain.
It’s true: I have caught one on several occasions looking at herself in the bathroom mirror, and the other regularly poses as if he is a statuesque model on the cover of Cat Fancy magazine and he’s wondering why it’s taking me so long to start snapping pictures. Bwah, theyaresocool. #squishes#
Saturday
I slept an obscene and non-disclosed amount of time on Saturday; I think I went into some sort of pseudo-hibernation mode or something to catch up on some of the denied snooze hours from this past week, or something. I literally slept through a huge, consecutive chunk of time without waking or stirring or moving much at all, and probably wouldn’t have gotten up when I did if my mom hadn’t woken me.
I sleep like a log, man, seriously. You can have a marching band gallivanting up-and-down my room and I won’t be disturbed one whit.
I read somewhere that it is not the quantity of sleep you get that is important, but the quality; it seems, then, that mine is the metaphorical Don Perrion of sleep, and I am drunk on it.
I also watched a Shirley Temple movie (The Little Princess), and now have sort of an urge to watch the 90’s remake that was, wow, really very good.
Today
Heh heh, you know it’s awesome:
Random
Have I mentioned how much I love Yahoo? Because, yay, free upgrade to 1 GB inbox storage space, bitches! #victory dance#
Yes, I understand that you Google-ers have had 1 GB free storage since it started offering mailboxes. Yes, I know it is unreasonable to be so pleased at Yahoo’s belated response of upping their own offered inbox storage so as not to be outdone by a competitive source in the virtual market. Yes, I understand you are not bitches. BUT I DO NOT CARE, W00T! 1 GB!
When did the term “Drarry” start getting popular? Was it during my hiatus? Because I completely never saw that before, and now it’s showing up pretty regularly, so there’s obviously been some sort of shift that I was not informed of.
All my senses tell me I should despise the term and maybe boycott it or some-such, but I actually kind of like it, because bottom!Draco squicks me a little, and when a story is listed as "Drarry" I'm assured some bottom!Harry with top!Draco, which is nice. Mmm, yummy.
I do not live in Australia, and I am working on a completely legit chanfic. It would so get me locked up and prison-molested down under, it’s not even funny. I guess I’ll see where that goes, then (not the prison molestation thing; I’m talking about the fic-writing).
And that is all I have to say for now. ^__~
Thank you and good night morning!