Feh

Head feels like someone filled it with cotton. Coughing fits kept me up all night and now my throat hurts. I don't have a fever yet, I don't think, but it seems to be close. Grar. Stupid work ethic not letting me go home and die. Why am I unable to make myself not go to work unless I've a considerable fever? Fucking.

Sigh.

On the up side, BonoMuse kept me entertained through the night by telling me details of the other three's sleeping habits. Twas insufferably cute. The images and bunnies Nette and Molly gave me from it are gooooood. Larry/Adam images + snuggling my girlfriend = feeling slightly better. ^_^

Also, I seem to be ice cream, while Molly is a carrot. It's best not to ask.

Damn you, Chuck and Brad!

All this tlk of jambalaya's made me hungry. Unfortunately, it's morning and I'm not at home (and my kicthen is still Disaster Area 51) so i can't make any. Not that I could in the first place, y'know, what with my limited cooking abilities. Chuuuuck, wanna come cook for a nice Belgian girl? I'll pay. ^_^.

Anyway. Food run. Yeah.

Finally!

Someone who understands what "lots of mayonaise" means.

This is a freaky-ass song.

And only Steve will fully understand the freakiness.

(It's an Irish version of a Belgian song. WTF, yo?)

Embrace your lameness -- A 12-step program for boyband slashers.

Step One: Admit they're cute.
Step Two: Admit they're hot.
Step Three: Pair them off in your head and run screaming from the idea.
Step Four: Get dragged back kicking and screaming.
Step Five: Hunt for fic. Even bad stuff works, because you don't know any better yet.
Step Six: Become disgusted with a lot of the bad fic.
Step Seven: Be attacked by plotbunnies.
Step Eight: Resist bunnies.
Step Nine: Scream as they attack even more.
Step Ten: Write!
Step Eleven: Realise you actually did write that, yes.
Step Twelve: Embrace the lameness!

This Community Program brought to you by Melle and Molly. Because we care.

Feh again

The cotton is mostly gone, but my thorat still aches. And Netscape Communicator is not cooperating. *kicks it* Work, bitch! If hotmail can give me my email, so can you.

My boss just called to say she won't be in until one o'clock this afternoon, which means I'm at least alone in the office. Small blessings.

(Weren't there supposed to be people in the meeting room today? Better check.)

Soungs that've been in my head in the course of the past 15 minutes:

• U2 - The Ground Beneath Her Feet
• Radiohead (?) - Creep
• U2 - Wild Honey
• U2 - With or Without You
  Fuckers. Must put on other music so it at least stays on the same song for more than 5 fucking seconds!

Reactions to the *NSync Primer:

I can't not like a man who says things like "I had a pet tree once. I would take it for walks, and it would pee on dogs." Fuck, Chris. Stop that. Stop being funny, stop being JC? You're a freak. But you're nice.

Joey has a tatt? Why was I not informed? No one ever tells me anything! And yet more humour. Dammit, cut that out. You're bandboys, you're not supposed to be funny.

Yo. The Infant is only 41 days younger than me I? (Huge grammar goof corrected but preserved to show my shame.) Eeek! I still have the right to call him Infant, right? And: a poodle? Poodle? Laughing my arse off here.

Lance. Lansten. A Ferret? Ack. (Dude. Chris + ferret = disaster. Keep the pet away from that man!)

(no subject)

I wonder if Hugh Hefner secretly wants to be Arthur Dent ...