October 28th, 2003


New Jersey wants more goats

It's articles like these that make it worthwhile reading the news. I've underlined all my favorite parts.

Collapse )

I feel restless. I've got a yen for something I can't name, something just outside the grasp of my understanding....

Could be porn.

The sky outside is grey today and I wish someone around here made this Viennese cafe au lait that I used to get in State College. I'm feeling dissatisfied with my coffee options lately.

Last night I dreamed I was a helicopter pilot, carrying the Wolfram & Hart team on a mission high above the glittering panoply of Los Angeles. Spike and Angel rappeled. I am sure that's very meaningful.

soft, burly men have love to share with you

My right arm is wrapped in an Ace bandage because it hurrrrrrrrrrts. Hello, I am a whiner. Four pain relievers are apparently not enough. Hello, random pain! Hello, pretty little pain! I'm not doing anything differently but my body still gets a giggle out of tormenting me. It's like a bratty four-year old, except thirty-four, so it's behaving kind of like Jonathan Winters dressed up as a giant, horrifying baby.

Why am I having these images? Do you think there's erotic fan-fiction about Jonathan Winters? Google seems to think not, but my search did yield Jonathan/Joyce fiction for BtVS. I was going to let you all find that on your own, but you know...here you go. I love you.

There also seems to be no fan-fiction about Redd Foxx.

I am terrifying myself and feel faint. Must stop.


I steal recs from others so that I may appear shiny. Recced by justacat, I rec astolat's amazing--no, not amazing; brilliant--Sherlock Holmes story, The Maiden Voyage of the Tiresias. Astolat's not-so-secret identity is Shalott and I've dug her writing for a long time now, reading her stuff in Sentinel and Stargate, and by the way, if any Stargate slash fans have somehow managed to miss Reveille...right, you've probably read that already. Plus, she's a sweetie. Go give her feedback.

I am depressed tonight. Depression sometimes seems like a virus, spread through virtual exposures as much as real ones. But I know it's just me. I get down. I let tiny triggers that should be meaningless get me downer. I listen to myself talking and I wonder why the fuck. Shut up, me, shut up.