[

mood

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chipper

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I. Fangirlsquee. 'Cause I definitely just got Seasons One and Two of Oz in the mail. I definitely did.

You know, Oz, the deeply meaningful (though werewolfless) HBO series? The one show bold enough to cover such impactful topics as shankings. Ass-brandings. Forced penis-suckings. And Adewale Akinnouye Agbaje's pectorals. Such dazzling things.

Aieee. Beecher/Keller was my first heart-wrench of an OTP; I broke my teeth on that shit. That terrible violent ache... It's still my most favoritest romantic storyline ever. Sorry, Whedon. Maybe if there'd been actual anal penetration on your shows, y'know? Ooh, and lock-downs and shankings.

II. Also. Shaun of the Dead is still awesome. It's awesome at this very moment. So awesome, you all should probably see it. If you know what's good for you. *shakes fist*

Wait, here's a track from the soundtrack -- it blends dialogue (from my favorite part) with music from Grandmaster Flash and Melle Mel and it pretty much vibes for the movie. I'm using 'vibe' as an operative verb, there. White Lines (Don't Do It) -- it's not electro, it's hip-hop. Snerk.

III. And um. That ficlet I posted the other day? Here's the song that -- I refuse to say "inspired me" because it seems corny. Eh, fuck. Lions, by Tones on Tail.

IV. Uh. I have a crush on Cytherea. The person. Not the goddess. And if you know who she is, then you're vurry naughty.

[

mood

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paranoid

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Uh. My cerebrum has dessicated into a burnt-up little seed. This journal is atrophying. And on. Thus, random!fic happens wherein I mightily dick over a) BtVS Season 2 canon, and b) the logic of starting fires. For a good cause, I assure you.

Title: Lions
Words: 1,312
Summary: Lions always hit the heights.

( 'Cause we take this world by storm / We don't look backCollapse )

* Also. My brother sponsored a zombie double-feature last night. Shaun of the Dead? Worth every second I waited for the US release and every cent we (okay, he) paid without my student ID. Nevermind the paroxysmal seizures of zombie fear -- I bask in the warm, coppery rinse of Shaun's genius. Plus, Simon Pegg. Is gorgeous.

Now, I must download episodes of Spaced because I can't find Region 1 DVDs.

In contrast to Shaun, I felt justifiably shamed in watching Resident Evil: Apocalypse. I love Milla Jovovich with a fury, an unapologetic fury -- that singing voice, those dramatic caterwauls, the vienna sausage nipples. *C'mon.* -- but I also love cohesion. No, really.

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mood

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dead

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Well. Shit.

I was dead, but thank goodness for that groovy toxic chemical spill out back. *roars, shambles*

( Re-animated room temperature spam.Collapse )

( Nightmares and the Angel series finale.Collapse )

Continuing with this post's theme, I'm doing pre-release recs for both Shaun of the Dead and Saw. And possibly Cube Zero, though it will suck. Eh.

When is it too late to respond to comments? I don't want to be creepy and surprise!I'm-still-dwelling-over-this-casual-thing-you-said-to-me, but I hate looking ungrateful. Because I love, oh how I love.

Carry on.

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mood

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full

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Um, this is just me gathering Oakland Con links, sose I can memory it and have it neatly at my disposal. Yessiree. And also, PSA, everyone must love Nick and Kelly, because that is the way of things. You know what I'm sayin.

( Oakland Convention LinksCollapse )

And remember, Google is watching.

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mood

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damp as a cellar

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Sweet Christ. The CVS photolab has eaten my life. Heh, but I rang up a photo sale for one "Lindsey MacDonald" today. I bit my cheek to keep from giggling, because I'm just that professional.

Now, I try to write porn while nursing a White Russian (I'm taking babysteps towards my own Lost Weekend), but the porn's trickier than I remember. Plus, I want to hump Nick Brendon so bad it's making me have to pee, or maybe that's the other way around, but there's all this distance and circumstance between our groins, and holy shit, why is Kelly Donovan a guest at the Vulkon Oakland Convention? I weep for-ever.

Random Olympic note: Poor, poor melon-headed Paul Hamm. All that terrible booing. *cradles, strokes*

NB, I hate you. Call me.

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mood

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exanimate

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Cut-tagged because -- spam.

( porn and prejudiceCollapse )

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mood

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mellow

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( I'm a bummy, unresponsive sucktardCollapse )

I got my Vegas pictures back. They fill me with happiness. And the deep, bitter sludge of loss. Boy, it's lucky that I'm always tired and vapor-brained, or I might have the wits to recognize the crushing depression that is life apart from you fabulous girls.

( God, the true horrors of Las VegasCollapse )

Yo, thanks to saussy's mad pimping, I finally bridged the gap between me and a showing of Napoleon Dynamite. I have a whole new appreciation for 'tater tots. And that last dance scene? Could bring world peace.

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mood

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sleepy

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Um de dum. raking_leaves and I are hiking up to NYC today for the Concerts for Victory Comedy Night, at the Knitting Factory, a benefit gathering featuring the likes of Demetri Martin, Michael Showalter, Zak Orth *fans*, Eugene Mirman and some other boffo folks.

So, yeah. I will miss and love you all while I am gone. All of you. Forever.

The song "Sound and Vision" makes me cry, if you wanted to know.

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mood

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horrified

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I wanted my next post to be all fun with the Writercon recounting, but I've lapsed into the old "wah, I'm too tired to post real content" pattern. So, in lieu of detailed recollections and/or Jane Espenson...

While furiously unpacking just now, I pulled out some shirts and a large piece of lint that arced through the air and landed a few inches away. This lint then skittered across the carpet before my eyes because it was not lint at all, but a GIANT FUCKING SPIDER. Startling. Yes.

I brought a spider back from Vegas. This horrifies me on many levels.

To anonymousdi and 4yourdionly: See, I was all drunk and confused so I packed the spider instead of you two. Goddammit, Di.

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mood

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pleased

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Well. I'm back in dreary Philly. *crickets chirp*

Er, there's no way I can do writercon justice. I'm not talking the panels here, because I'm horrible and didn't attend that many--I'm talking the physics-defying dimensions of kickassishness that is hanging out with so many wicked cool girls at one time. More succinctly--it rocked hard. Talk about finding love through the internet.

Now I go to 1) overdose on squee and endless love, and 2) rack my tipsy cerebrum for my favoritest moments from Vegas. *sloshes*

And, to exorcise my two counts of Christina, the Asshole: I will never again sing in public, and I will refrain from telling people they should friend me back. But I will always have White Russians.

[

mood

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sore

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( my uterus goes bangCollapse )

A few little thoughts.

* I wish there more well-written Angelus fics.

* I suspect that I've overpacked. Or possibly, my suitcase is too small.

* I have an inexplicable crush on John Kerry. I'm really, seriously entertained by the Convention coverage going on; the Democratic good cheer makes me squee. And Kerry/Obama would be teh hot.

* I want to marry someone in Vegas this weekend. Anyone interested in making a lifetime committment for a few days?

[

mood

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good

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Excited. Very excited. Writercon. Also known as, the-event-wherein-I-fawn-over-numerous-girls-without-regard-for-my-dignity. Oh yay.

The only suckage? I work 3-10 the night before I fly out. Blergh. And I think I'm five minutes from getting my period.

Excited again. Now with the happy panic of having a million things to do. Including hunt down the Ibuprofen.

Eh. I really need to inject some content back into this journal. I apologize. psst. jen. hey.

eta: Hee. I admit, the picture I used for my Writercon intro is more-than-slightly terrifying. My eyes will swallow your soul.

[

mood

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lethargic

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Son of a --

In the past week, I have 1) been given a job at CVS, 2) cried over a lack of Lucky Charms, 3) grumbled and whined, and 4) kinda sorta written terriblebad slash.

It makes the baby rhesus weep, but I miss working at the movie theater. Free movies and free popcorn are great job perks. Also, I've decided these are the magic "Avoid me, I'm crazy" words: "The one thing I love about retail is the customers." Dude. No. I will slap that positivity off your face.

I'm much too amused by threats of violence. Argh. I miss LJ. My only comforts in this too troubled, wintry world are the Walker, Texas Ranger lever on the Conan O'Brien show and the voluptuous heft of my wallet.

I love flist. I, I, I, I. Bleh.

[

mood

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nostalgic

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Demetri Martin was hysterical. Large-nosed, self-deprecating, and alarmingly introspective in an "oh, oh, so we're talking life lessons now" sorta way. Spiral bound... That guy's brilliant, I'll tell you.

And really hot. Hot times ten, on account of the intellect. Smarts make everyone sexier. Like Stephen Hawking. Whom I crush on, rather inappropriately.

Eh. I miss New York. There's a comforting tangibility there. I'd love to get an apartment in Brooklyn, with raking_leaves and kittens. Or, I could go for an apartment in Hawaii. Palm trees and shit. Li Hing Mui. Real ocean.

I hope, I wish.

eta: A link to oldish clips of Demetri telling jokes on top of a building. They don't show the magnitude of his funny, but you get the idea.

[

mood

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sore

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Palindromes. Yay. This Saturday, raking_leaves and I shall journey to NYC to partake in the glory of Demetri Martin and his sexass wordplay.

Of course, this comes the weekend after the party. The East Coast slasher convention. Which is not a clever name, no, but my brain's futzy and I can't think clearly on anything not involving chocolate cake. I having want for cake. Meeee. Youuuuu. Cake.

On the writing front, can I just... give my half-finished stories to other people who can make sense of them? What's that? No? I have to do it myself? Oh. Okay.

[

mood

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hungry

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Today, I watched Ghost and Rocky IV and cried during their respective tragedies. The best part is that I was also waxing my bikini line in the buff.

Yeah, that shit hurts. And I'm never wearing a bikini anyway. So. Right. That's a taste of my boredom. I tried writing more of this post-Chosen thing I wanted done before Writercon, but the meta got out of hand. So I just. I decided to remove some hair.

( unprompted Anchorman squeeCollapse )

This month, I've been weirdly, uncharacteristically busy. Forecasts show this trend may increase over the next two weeks. Frown wince sigh. But--Writercon! Tremble smile.