gatezilla: (Daddy's Girl (filmfreak))
Dude. I fricking love Spy Daddy. He can kill, maim, torture, wear a Tribble on his face. Whatever. He is my very favorite tv dad, ever.

Ev. Er.
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So I finally did that evil color quiz that made everyone's journals look like they were on crack, and it told me I was lavender. So I said to myself, "Self. You like lavender and you don't like the stark white background on your journal. Why not make it lavender?"

Only I'm not sure I like this lavender. It's sort of ... bright. I want reeeeally light lavender with more cool blue in it than red. Must experiment.

It's crazy snowy outside. I went out for chocolate out of sheer desperation - both for chocolate and to get out of the damn house - but I'm not setting foot outside again until they've plowed. Not that they know how to frelling plow in this city. They drive around with their big ass trucks, but do they actually plow anything up? I'm pretty sure the plow blades aren't anywhere near the pavement. What kind of sense does that make? None, I tell you.

Before I went to work yesterday, I stopped in at my video place but they were all out of PotC. Damn! When I stopped to get Dew at the Store 24, they were selling the DVDs but they're 30 bucks and I just can't afford that right now. Not if I want to buy the Firefly DVDs at some point this month. So sad. I guess I'll have to resort to many many hours of Stargate to make up for the lack of pirate-y goodness.
gatezilla: (Default)
Here's my question (read: rant): Why do people go to work just to screw around and then get pissy when other people have a problem with that? I mean, if you're AT work, aren't you there, theoretically, to work? Grar. I shouldn't have to have my headphones on so loud that they risk busting an eardrum just to keep from being distracted by the asshats in the next cubicle. And they should not have the audacity to give me dirty looks and make snide comments about me when I suggest that they might try getting something - anything! - done for a radical change of pace.

But it's Friday. It's Friday and my roommate's gone for the weekend and we're gaming on Sunday. Breathe deep and move on.

This amusing thing happened today at work:

My friend Leni said to me, very matter-of-factly: "You have to stop drinking Mountain Dew. It's not good for you."

To which I replied: "What are you, my mother?"
(And tangentially, is there something about me that brings out the Mother in people? I mean, am I giving off some sort of pheromone that raises people's estrogen levels? It seems to happen almost immediately when I make friends - suddenly they're reminding me to wear a coat and drive carefully and eat healthy. For crying out loud, the woman that actually gave birth to me doesn't harass me as much!)

James, who spends most of his time listening to P Diddy at the decibel level of a jackhammer, instructs me thusly: "Just tell her to get her nose out'cher business. You gotta say to her 'Get off my back, yo.'" There was some sort of wavy hand gesture in there, too, that I couldn't emulate if I tried.

So I took a poll of my surrounding co-workers - could I or could I not get away with ending a sentence with 'yo'? The general consensus was that I could, if I practiced. So I spent the rest of the evening punctuating various sentences with 'yo'. You know, like "What batch number are we on, yo?" and "I'm going on break, yo." I'm pretty sure it just made me look even more like a dork than usual. Fortunately, I'm accustomed to that.

I pulled this off the Enterprise boards at TWoP and it just might be the funniest thing I've seen all week.

I'm very sad that I missed both Tru Calling and what sounds like a kickass ep of Angel this week, but I'm psyched for my triple play of Joan of Arcadia, Stargate and The Handler. Whee! To the TV, Robin!


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January 2013



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