::Stomps in, reeking of onions.::

Well, here I am, one month and one day later.  I think that might be a record!  (The sad part is that said record would be shortest lapse between posts, and not longest.)  It is most appropriate, I believe, to at this point state with vivid clarity: "I am well aware of the drama convalescing on other journals, and ( Read more... )

I am not in the habit of snagging snippits of stories from the internet and posting them here, but this was oh-so-amusing to me, and I was oh-so-bored, so I decided to oh-so-share it. It's from The Curse of Chalion by Lois McMaster Bujold. Eat that ( Read more... )

* Opening Theme: Rufus Wainwright, "Hallelujah" *

The coffee is flowing, the cigarettes are burning, the laundry is agitating (in more than one context), and Rufus Wainwright is buzzing in over the speakers.  It's another Tuesday morning reunion with my long lost lover, the internet.  And if ole' Rufie doesn't just say it all: Hallelujah!

Having ( Read more... )

So it's been almost a year since my last entry was made, a continuation of the Ribald saga which is going nowhere and in every direction all at once.  No, avid readers (which is to say: God and assuredly no one else), unless by some unforeseen miracle I am blessed with an epiphany--thus allowing me to unravel a story that was begun with far too ( Read more... )

Sir Ribald was aghast. "Surely you can't mean . . ." He trailed off, contemplating all possible avenues for what Lady Ashton was suggesting, and simultaneously reviewing all possible means by which he might extricate himself from the study as quickly as possible. A great many possibilities ( Read more... )

Sir Ribald chuckled as he stepped further into the drawing room, stirring up little flurries of dust as he went. His eyes quickly grew accustomed to the dim light. A cache of international treasures cluttered the study's tables and cabinet shelves. A mid-seventeenth-century Qing Dynasty sabre; the cartographer's compass of Marc Lescabot himself ( Read more... )

It won't be the first heart that you break
You won't the last beautiful girl
The one that you wrecked won't take you back
If you were the last beautiful girl in the worldThis probably isn't the best place to write about what's going on in my head right now. But then, is there any place well suited to these thoughts? These confessions? The answer ( Read more... )

Chapter One: Lady Ashton

Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock . . .Sir Ribald James snapped the face closed on his pocket watch and stuffed it into the folds of his vest. It was a quarter to seven, and he was early. He was always early--so often, in fact, that if he actually arrived on time, his friends would tease him about being late. As he raised ( Read more... )

A public service announcement ( Read more... )

Well, I did it. I went and climbed the Weatherford's climbing wall with my mother last week. I had forgotten how difficult it was, or maybe I've just lost the knack. Or maybe I really am just incredibly out of shape and in desperate need of exercise. When I step back and think about it, it's probably the lack of fitness. >.The boys are all ( Read more... )