If I recast Hello, Dolly with

Ryan as Cornelius Hackle
Spencer as Barnaby
Jon as Irene
Brendon as Minnie



...on a scale of one to ten, how good is the crack I'm on?
There are many adorable and failboaty things about the new desert pictures, and I am completely not denying that in any way, it's just, personally? I cannot get past the OMG JON WALKER, YOU LOOK SO MUCH LIKE DANIEL JACKSON IN GLASSES AND DEWRAG, FR SRS.

Literally, I keep thinking people have posted SG-1 pics and then I look one over to where, instead of a gigantic man with a gold stamp on his head, I see a tiny adorable lead singer, and I'm all, oh, it is a band picture...

ETA: [ profile] shihadchick, see the comments, will you?
I hate security questions, and my bank just added three to the website before I can access my accounts. I never know what to say...I don't remember the street my best friend in high school lived on, I don't have pets, gah.

One of them was for "spouse's mother's name."

...I put "Ginger." Hey, fantasy spouses count, right?
Okay, stolen from [ profile] cadhla

Make a list of the characters in your icons. Alphabetize it. Make a pairing of 1/2, 3/4, 5/6, and so on, and explain how it would go.

Cut for length. And...bizarrity. )
So: Around four this morning I took two migraine pills that are basically extra-strength Tylenol plus caffeine. Which means that when I arrived at work at six-thirty I was high as a kite--it felt like my arms and legs were floating, not attached to my body, and I was singing "It's a Beautiful Day in the Neightborhood" and stumbling a lot. Luckily, it wore off to just making me feel like I was supposed to be awake just in time for the influx of many thousands of children.

I will mostly be living off these pills until I finish everything I need to...until tomorrow night, probably, which is when my deadline is for catch-up work. I'm hoping I'll build up a bit of an immunity...I need to feel like I'm supposed to be awake, not like I'm not actually connected to the ground.
I am NOT ALLOWED to write fic until my homework is done. NOT ALLOWED.

Not crack!Spn. Not crack!crossovers.

Not even my Yuletide.

I was supposed to be writing papers this afternoon.

Instead, I spent, um, four hours flying all over the place for Supernatural fic.

Jess, I know. I know addicting someone to VM is evil. I know I deserved payback.

But man.

But! The first of, I am sure, many rec lists:

Latitude and Longitude--OMG. Best little Winchesters. Because they are not solemn and sweet and wise. No. They are obnoxious, and violent with each other, and ironically foreshadowy. Sheer awesomeness.

And Baby Steps--Baby Sammy learns to walk. Full of self-entitlement and baby-reasoning and those first tiny wedges between him and ten months old! Sheer awesomeness.

(P.S. OMG somebody find me an icon community.)
Really must sleep more. Can't get back into college time-management habits. Brain not functioning well enough to produce paper on responsibilities of media in bringing up children. (That media does this: sad but true.) Should be completing two papers in next half-hour. Instead wistfully contemplating a) sleep b)caffeine c)self-asphyxiation d)dropping out of college to become hermit. Price of real estate terrifically high these days, however...doubt could afford cave in mountains without college education. (Find self in sympathy with Tim in Soap, except have not fathered possessed baby or hiding from Devil Himself in cave previously occupied by bears.)

Cn i hv sm rtln plz? 'll b gd & ly dwn ftr cls. Mk?
Dear Subconscious:

I realise you are not the smartest or most aware bit of my brain. I realise that you are often oblivious to the facts, such as the ones, right now, where I had a horrible day at work yesterday, and tomorrow and Friday are going to be even worse, and I need my sleep, a good sound sleep, without waking up every five minutes because my brain cannot just sleep through the events in my dreams. I'm sorry for my logic, but I just have to sit up and go WTF? I realise you don't understand that this will make for a cranky day tomorrow, and I forgive you for the craziness.

That said...I didn't know I was this crazy. Steamy Robert Pattinson dreams in the Eloise universe with characters from Third Rock From the Sun, the All Things RPG *waves to Juice and Fabian as they tango by*, and Mister Roger's Neighborhood passing through? Involving melted FrootbytheFoot and hair gel?

...WTF, subconscious? Seriously, DOUBLE-YOU TEE EFF?????????

LU: *comes back from fabulous movie Cars, which everybody should see immediately, and then make her icons*

LU: *flops down on bed to check flist and e-mail with her neck crooked funny because she had to move the desktop monitor over by her bed and the nightstand is too short*

LU: *thinks cross thoughts about laptops going missing and irreversible neck injury, begins to refresh and check flist*

LU'S DESKTOP: *goes insane* *pings repeatedly* *tries to scan up when mouse is going down* *tries to scan down when mouse is sitting still* *pings repeatedly some more*

LU: VILE, VILE instrument of chaos and outdated technology! I cannot wait for you to stop going insane so that I can write a wrathful LJ entry about you! Where is that keyboard so that I can do it?

LU'S WIRELESS KEYBOARD: *is under her knee, trying to make the computer open iTunes fifty times and force the internet to page up and down simultaneously, leading to pinging and insane mouse movements*


LU: Stupid desktop.

...if it were a laptop the keyboard would be attached
You know your wardrobe is unique when it is possible to pull the wrong polka-dot dress out of the closet.
I had a totally wierd-ass Firefly dream last night, and I blame [ profile] copperbadge and [ profile] srichard in more or less equal measure.

There was titme traveling, and Mal as a space pirate (like, complete with bandana across head and sword in teeth) and Mal/River, and River being utterly River about the fact that one of their business contacts was friends with sharks. Like, actual fishy sharks, who killed him.

And Miranda wasn't Miranda, it was Meredith.

And there was some other stuff I've lost now, but...seriously wierd-ass dream.
So McKay wrote a new fic. And no, I haven't read it yet, but the summary is "just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip..."

And it got me thinking.

HP=Gilligan's Island. C'mon! So totally!

Like, Snape is SO the Professor. Except snarkier.

And Remus is SO Mr. Howell. Except poorer.

And Fleur is SO Ginger. Except blonder.

And is Molly is SO Mary Ann. Except older.

And Narcissa is SO Mrs. Howell. Except angstier.

And Dumbledore is SO the Skipper. Especially in movie!GoF. Except skinnier.

And Neville is SO Gilligan. Except circumferentially-enhancedier.
My sister just recieved something in the mail.

A money order.


From someone she's never heard of.



In other humdrum updates, including Christmas )
I've got the croup, and I'm on heavy cough syrup of the puts-you-to=sleep kind, as well as steroids for the inflammation. Either the cough syrup is raising my temp or it's going up on its own...I seem to be sweating out the sickness, which is good, but I'm also fairly delirious. Just as it starts to wear off and I leave my coma-like state for somewhat wakefulness--means it's time for another dose--I have wierd dreams.

Flatmate asks me to take care of the cat. "What cat?" I ask. "This one," she says, looking puzzled and dumping a black and white monstrosity with bits missing out of its ear into my arms, where it purrs and cuddles. "The one that ate Keats, of course."

Soulmate gets home, she's mad at me because some wierd blonde girl in a green cloak keeps sending a hlogram of herself to the back door and it keeps trying to talk to her when she comes in.

Soulmate walks in through the front door, squees with flatmate, then turns to me, gently kisses me on the cheek and says, "I'm pregnant."

Friendiest waves over her shoulder without loooking back while I call to her, trying to pull my foot out of cement.

Talkative, a large purple dragon, sits with her hands folded over her belly and dispenses sage advice.

Redheaded Kid (currently South American country, the name of which escapes me but it starts with P) is floating in the air, lounging and tossing popcorn into the air to catch in his mouth.

...and more. *sways drunkenly for next dose*
I got dressed for church this morning in a slinky black velvet dress with a lace top.

When I got upstairs for breakfast, it was snowing. We already had a good six-eight inches on the ground, and it's been beautiful...the orchard in the back means that when I look out the window it feels like I live "in a small cottage in the snowy woods, deep in the forest." I suddenly wanted to either go out and catch snowflakes in my hands like a little girl--or else die, sprawled on the ground, leaving a pretty black outline against the snow.

I appear to be in a fairly wierd mood.
I had a terrifying dream this morning, involving My Little Ponies who grew old and as they grew old developed fangs and batwings and a taste for human flesh.

There were storm clouds.

...I think I just advised my mother to become a Gothic!Chick.

In other news, I have my app for DM and the last bit will be betaed tomorrow and then I will send it in and with any luck I will be accepted and have a fun interest in life. Scoping out this character has been a blast already. *g*
Now, see, the thing not many people know is that my handle is the name for a character that I once played in a kindasorta RPG thing. A computer program, to be precise. (I mean, Elucreh, played by me, was a computer program. She ran the ship and made snarky remarks, mostly.)

Funny thing?

Funny thing )
The whole sticking-to-canon bit? HARDEST THING EVER. Especially since I can't seem to get in a canon mood, or find the time for it. (Drat being short-handed, my morning reading time is gone.)

Today was the Mondayest Monday that work has turned out in a long time. But after work--oh, after work:

--Jen was Lily, then she was Arabella, then she was Sibyll, then she was Winky, then she was Dobby. Dobby stuck.

--We created life in a glass bowl. Amelia got primordial goo all over her hands. Then she ate it. (We found out later that she had prematurely removed the goo from the kangaroo, depriving it in her impatient greed of its ability to hop forward. Bad goddess of creation, bad!) Then I tucked the kangaroo over my ear, Amy pressed the starfish to her nose, and we got back to work.

--We made a machine to answer profound questions, powered by an ant walking a treadmill. One question we asked was, "Are you dead?"

--Cheap divine rats were devoured while Alastor's identical twin owl was born.

--Many hysterical phone calls were made, involving squeeing, sex scenes, and Amy getting permission to be Shelley for about fifteen hours.

Also hair dye, cheap Evian, and dowel rods.

Do I have great friends or what?



April 2017



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