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Because I Don't Do This Enough

My mum has roped me into co-authoring a blog. I seriously doubt anything will come of it, but hey. It makes her happy. It feels like I should make the effort, since I'll be moving across the country soon. 

Christ, the look on her face when I told her about the job interviews I have lined up. I think it's finally sinking in for her that I'm really leaving. I don't think she likes it one bit.

Next step: driver's license.  


Just popping in to say that if you're interested in my writing, I've started a secondary LJ where I'm keeping my current projects. Currently, there's just the one story because it's gonna be a hellish task to transfer everything and get the formatting right.

Right now I'm doing fanfiction, playing around in the Sherlock sandbox. I enjoy it there, even if some of the prompts I read from other fans make me want to run away and hide in a very remote hole in the ground. For the most part, though, I'm having fun.

I do have a couple of original works as well, but they're pretty much on stand-by. Anyway, if you're interested, my secondary journal is pennin_ink , and it's where my stories live. I'll be transferring the best of Project Kilo as well, so if there are any PK stories you particularly like, drop me a line and I'll make sure they're in the line-up.

Please be aware, I do utilise adult subject matter in some of my stories. Warnings will be posted before every link, and while I never set out to be offensive, I know not everyone wants to read everything, so please pay attention to content warnings before you read a story. I also use the LJ adult content filter in case of errant clicks, just to be safe.

Ciao per adesso! 


Productive, or insane?

 Honestly, almost four in the morning and I'm uploading a new chapter to my fic! For the love of cheese!

I need to sleep. Sleep is essential, and I cannot keep avoiding it. I love sleep. Sleep makes me snuggly and warm. So why, exactly, do I feel the need to postpone sleep until the very last possible second?

Come on, self, I have day shifts next week!


 So, I haven't posted in...oh, three millenia? But I have been doing stuff. A lot of that stuff involves Sherlock from the BBC. Specifically, writing fanfiction for Sherlock from the BBC. Here's a link:


Check it out if you've scads of free time, because I'm just as verbose in fiction form as I am in blog form.

In OTHER news. Planning to move to Oklahoma. Tentatively at the end of May/beginning of June. Pray for me. Sacrifice a goat if you have to. 

Largely back because, apparently, my pseudo-not-quite-kinda-almost-brother-in-law says I'm funny. And, hey, if you've got one fan you've got an excuse to keep on. 

Also, I have a whole bunch of new Sherlock icons gathered from the far corners of LJ, and I want an excuse to use them. See! Here's one now! Hi!

Ooh, this is harder than I thought. Stupid twitter, training me to keep updates 140 char. or less! Ooh! I know! Stuff I'm into right now.


This nifty site is chock full of peoples who review things and make me laugh. I'm especially fond of The Nostalgia Critic and Linkara (Linkara largely because he shares my love of Power Rangers and proves just how legitimate the show can be!) 


Because you can never have too many sulky bats. Defies concise description, you'll just have to mosey on over yourself. 

Stephen Fry.

Dude. It's Stephen. Bloody. Fry. If you're not into him you need your head examined. In fact, these days I'm just into England in general.

The new Doctor.

How, Moffat? How on EARTH did you manage to find an actor who could make me forget all about David Tennant? Well, okay, I'll never forget about David Tennant, but Matt Smith ensures that I don't really miss him. Speaking of:

Steven Moffat. And Mark Gatiss. And Paul McGuigan.

No links for these, but they are the two primary writers of Sherlock as well as the DP...or possibly just the Director, I'm not sure. Anyway, I already ADORE Moffat's writing on Doctor Who, and I'll have to keep an eye out for Gatiss episodes now, as well. I don't know which ones he's done off hand. But together they made Sherlock into something spectacular. But the real astonishment here is Paul McGuigan. I have never, and I mean NEVER genuinely felt blown away by the artistic direction of a film or television programme in my life. Sherlock changed all that with McGuigan's unbearably gorgeous vision. Everything from the transitions to the wipes to the lighting to the set design to the bloody wallpaper in 221b Baker Street is breathtaking and memorable. I don't know who is responsible for the score off-hand, but that's remarkable as well. 

Seriously, if you haven't seen Sherlock yet, you need to. You're only hurting yourself. And by the by, if you've seen the Doctor Who Christmas Special, you know what Sherlock's deductions are like, only without the arrogance. That scene with the chair and the portrait? That's Sherlock. Only...cuddlier. And minus the fantastic floating text.

Well, I've gone on enough now, speak your piece and I'll catch...you...later.

P.S. Also, I have a sonic screwdriver. You wish you were me.

The Pits of Insanity!

 Or, you know, just the pits.

So I'm doing something phenomenally stupid and reading Dracula again. God help me I don't know why, except that I have this notion that it somehow gets better with age. Like Kafka. 

So far it's okay. Just like I remember, the beginning of the story with Jonathan Harker in Transylvania is perfect. If the whole novel were reduced to just a novella and only included that part, it would easily be one of my all-time favorites. But, sadly, it isn't, and it doesn't, and I find that once more I have been trooped off, recluctantly, to England with Mina and Lucy and all the merry gang of cardboard yutzes. 

To clarify, I'm not actually reading the book. I'm listening to the audiobook from Blackstone Audio, who did a PHENOMENAL job with P.N. Elrod's first two Vampire Files books, so they know their way around a supernatural narrative. The narrator is good, and his voices are very appealing, except for when he tries to play Quincy Morris. Dude cannot pull off an American accent, and certainly not Texan.

I'm proving myself right so far. I don't hate it as much as I remember from high school, but the object of my deepest rancor hasn't really shown up yet.

That would be the insanity-inducing gasbag that is Abraham Van Helsing. 

Oh my God words cannot contain my hatred for this character. Forget sexy Vigo Mortenson characters, pay no heed to dark and edgy anime titles, disregard any portrayal of this man that has ever existed on stage or screen or sequential art! Bram Stoker's Van Helsing is the most irritating, self-righteous, arrogant blowhard I have ever had the misfortune of reading!

Oh, he starts out tame enough. He's this old professor from Amsterdam. The Shrink used to take his class. Poor, frail Lucy is ill with some mysterious vanishing-blood disease! Call him in, and he'll save her life!

And at first that's all he does. He shows up, talks to Lucy, talks to a two of the three cardboard cut-out men, and goes home. Then Lucy, that insensitive bitch, goes and gets all bloodless again and this time they bring Van Helsing in permanently.

We first get a glimpse of how utterly moronic this character is when he prescribes blood transfusions for Lucy from each of the young, strapping Cullens who love her for some reason. I have to figure Lucy is AB- or whatever the universal reciever is, because somehow the three divergent blood types don't make her cells explode. It works, somehow, and Lucy get's better then gets worse, yadda yadda. 

But the point is now that Van Helsing has decided (based on his extensive knowledge of eastern European folklore) that there's a vampire lusting after Lucy too, and stays in England for the duration of the novel. Wherein he starts talking. 

And he never shuts up!

I cringed when his name first showed up in this re-read (I'm reading along on my Kindle, don't ask me why), because I vividly remember having to force myself through his endless, pompous speeches that meandered on and on for pages and pages. I had to read this for school, so I didn't have the option of closing the book and walking away in disgust. More than once, I had to flip back to that glorious beginning to make sure I was still reading the same book. Yep, there it was, good ol' Johnny Harker in the scary castle with the psychotic demon count. I kept begging Stoker to bring back that part of the book, to give some intimation that he still knew how to write entertaining prose! This was torture!

Sadly, I have now reached the point in the story when Lucy has fallen victim to Dracula's bite, and she's had the first of three (I think it's three) magic blood transfusions. That means Van Helsing is in the story to stay. And it just goes downhill from here, folks.

Pray for me.


The Books! I read them!

 The BBC believes most people will have read only 6 of the 100 books here. How do your reading habits stack up? Bold the ones you’ve read! Italicize the ones you’ve partially read!

I readed!Collapse )

I've actually read more of these than I thought. Hm...

The Ow and the How

It's weird, but ever since the Incident detailed in my last blog, I've been an exemplary employee. I smile and chat with literally EVERYONE I wait on. I volunteer to do the milkshakes. I haven't complained, whined, moped or tantrumed in DAYS! This is unheard of! Maybe getting called out flipped a switch, and I'm reverting to two-years-ago me, only with more experiance and speed.

Of course, in the grand tradition of me, not all is well. Apparently I have BO issues. This may have something to do with the fact that there's a farmer right across the street who's into liquid fertilizer in a Big Way, thus making my room smell like a septic tank all day because it's Too Damn Hot to take the fan out of my window. Bugger. 

Also, my feet are killing me. I got new shoes today and apparently my feet are not appoint. They're those new rock-n-fit thingies that are supposed to tighten your ass and such as you walk, but I was mainly interested in the support and impact reduction they're supposed to give you. I hope that'll kick in once I've broken them in. 

Well, I guess I've wasted a good fifteen seconds of your life with this senseless update. I feel all accomplished now!



Man I Suck at This

Tonight, for the most part, went fairly smoothely. Until five minutes before close. I had the primary drawer counted down and ready to close up, and two repeat customers/headaches came in. Obviously, I was less than pleased.

Man, a year ago I would've put on my fake-ass smile and gotten through it. After two years at This Job, though, I just can't keep my stupid mouth under control, and I ended up mouthing off where they could hear, thus incurring the asshat holier-than-thou lecture. I mean, I hate this woman, hate, loathe and despise her. She's one of those jerks with a martyr complex whose day isn't complete until they feel they've been victimized in some way. It's irritating enough just having to deal with her.

It's a billion times worse when she's right . I really, truly hate the person I've become since working at This Job. I hate having to eat crow and apologize to customers I really can't stand. I hate feeling constantly marginalized, irrelevant, and overlooked. I hate having to face the same people day after day, with a smile on my face, and pretend they don't disgust me.

I hate that there are people who disgust me.

I never used to be like this. I used to be incapable of feeling disgust toward another human being. I never used to be this irritable, this critical, this quick to anger. There was a time when my biggest problem was being slow at the register. Now I treat my customers like crap without even realizing it, and I don't want to be that kind of person. I don't want to be this person. I'm so much better than this.

I have to get out.

Not as good...

I finally posted a video earlier and it's rife with editing problems, poor filming, and crap writing.

But it's about the Dresden Files and it has some Mexico footage,so I put it up anyway. 

I don't have much to add to this one. But I do have a video of a dancing cockatiel, so enjoy that:


Teotihuacan was our last stop of the trip, and it was miserable. I got on the bus only because Teotihuacan was THE destination point of the entire trip, but in truth I was not up to it.

There's this thing called Altitude Sickness. It manifests as a mild cold, but with the energy-sapping powers of a double shift at This Job. Oh, man it sucked. I stayed in the hotel room rather than go to Mexico City's Anthropology Museum, which was annoying 'cause I really wanted to go, and dragged my sniffly, achey ass out of bed the next day despite a newfound tendancy toward extreme vertigo.

Let me make one thing clear. I am not afraid of heights. Over the course of this trip I climbed pyramids, temples, mounds, and even clambored about a ruined city perched atop a massive hill. And yet climbing a mere 20-30 ft to the top of the Temple of the Feathered Serpant in Teotihuacan left me dizzy, winded and unsteady on my feet. I ended up having to scoot down on my butt for most of the descent.

Which is why I never got to climb the Temple of the Sun. 

I felt like a wimp, but not too badly because three or four other students had the exact same symptoms as me, and either opted out of the climb or stayed in the hotel all day. And there was, of course, a handful of students who were too chicken to even consider the climb.

But the day wasn't a total waste. I spent 50 pesos (about 30 cents) and got a little flute shaped like a turtle.

I love turtles.