Iron Man. I somehow missed this at the cinema. Neo-american-imperialistic-guns-and-glory-foo-rah.
Just when exactly did Robert Downey Junior become hot? *boggles* He has facial hair of the not-just-stubble variety for crying oh loud. AND he isn't even Johnny Depp.
Either validate my perceptions, or better, please be telling me it's the migraine meds. Else my hormones may need rebooting or something.
Dear god, the UST. *dies*
(Or insert your other non-denominational-festive-seasonal-type-greeting-of-choice-here)
The message is the same anyway - hope you are all well, and happy.
I am now 30, dear god people can you believe it? Also: not terribly sober. Blame my sisters - they thought the vodka / baileys / rum / mulled wine / ??? (don't recall) was a good idea. I am attempting to blame them for the 30 also, as I was asked for ID three times tonight - clearly, lying about being 30 would still be possible if it weren't for them existing and being, yanno, pushing 30 and younger than me. *ponders ways round this*
Anyway, much love to you all, and here's hoping your yuletide will be merry and bright. &hearts &hearts &hearts
So my mobile is dead. And because I am made of epic fail, I haven't synced my contacts for months, relying instead on saving contacts to sim and phone. Sadly, when it died, it took the phone memory AND the sim card memory with it, leaving my data unrecoverable. Yea, and verily that strange custom where you write numbers down on actual paper in that thing called an address book... I didn't do that either. I said I was made of epic fail, omg. *headesks*
So, if you think I ought to be able to call you - plz to be calling / txting me nao or yanno emailing me your number at some point. Because, as we all know, expecting me to remember numbers is a lose/lose situation. And right now, *counts* I has exactly five numbers in my phone. And all but two of those are work ones. *contemplates hari kiri*