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femgeeks.net has a new layout, for the anniversary of Black Tuesday. It's been a year since the attacks, a year since I put the vigil up, a year we've had the black (or red, in the last layout) band up on the frontpage.

Doesn't feel like it's been that long.

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For Katie and David and anyone else who'd like to torture poor Lee with pictures illicitly obtained from his sisters:

Baby!Lee, in skirt, playbacking Madonna.

I'm so mean to the poor boy.

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...

Could somebody please explain to me why the Slytherin Quidditch team is doing YMCA in my head?

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Site updated. New entry, new quotes, put the Draco drabble and the new wallpapers up.

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The real differences around the world today are not between Jews and Arabs; Protestants and Catholics; Muslims, Croats, and Serbs. The real differences are between those who embrace peace and those who would destroy it. Between those who look to the future and those who cling to the past. Between those who open their arms and those who are determined to clench their fists.
(Bill Clinton)

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I seem to be on a roll today. (Watch me slip on the butter in a moment.) Not only am I doing oodles of actual work, I'm also getting a lot of non-work work done.

Am not, however, writing. Rserz.

Cannot stop staring at my wallpaper. Dear Draco: Stop smirking at me. Love, Melle.

Must ... write ... First Kiss .... story!

Wabt teh deth.

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Eeee! There is actual 90210 slash that I didn't write!

<= Excited!Melle

*skips off to read*

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And for some reason, every other thing makes me cranky today.

Well. Not things. People. Things people say.

I can't even blame PMS, either.

Edit: Bite me, bite me, bite me bite. me!

Fuck, I hate this. I hate when everything anyone says makes me feel like I'm not good enough, like I'm not living up to their idea of what people should be like. And oh, look, passive-aggressiveness again. Nice one, self. Hypicricy, too.

Even this, lovely as it is, can't make me feel better.

I just need to get my ass in gear. Doing things I'm supposed to be doing makes me feel better. If nothing else, I can always work up a sweat cleaning. Because it's not like I have the opportunity to work up a sweat any other way. (Well, yes, there's running, but that's not that much better, and at least cleaning will take care of the death threats I've been receiving from my dishes.)

Ha ha. See, I'm funny. Laugh, dammit!

Dear brain: Go away.

(no subject)

Random pimp.

Note to self: Starting tomorrow, and with the stories on your recs page, emulate Silvia and start feedbacking everything you read. No, I mean it. At least everything you read and like, for starters.

Have random urge to write story in Latin. Or at least play around with Latin. Pity that the 5,000+ hours I spent in Latin class don't seem to've actually left any traces on my brain.

Feeling slightly less likely to kick random people on the street.

Still utterly random, though.