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| 2008-12-10 00:17 |
| Of Men. And Mice. |
| Public |
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I'm looking forward to actually living with people instead of mice that have a deep appreciation for my breakfast cereal. I don't know what'll happen when said people end up having a deep appreciation for my cereal too. Each man for himself in the epic battle for the last grain. It'd make a fantastic children's story. It'll be about hunger and poverty, primitive human nature and the grace of human compassion. Featured in mice. And watercolour.
And, funnily enough - even though I'm not entirely serious, that's the best idea I've got so far in my writing career.
Drinks, anyone?
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| 2008-12-02 10:02 |
| Of Work. |
| Public |
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I didn't fucking lose the negatives, alright? I wasn't even responsible for them. So stop taking it out on me, you sexually frustrated bitch.
This is one of those bad days at work. And no, it's not because of the snobby models or whatever smart-arse reason you might try to come up with.
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| 2008-10-29 04:49 |
| Of Mice. And Men. |
| Public |
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There is a mouse. In my cupboard. It is not my mouse. It's a pest mouse. And it ATE all my cereal. I just want to humanely dispose of it. Or, you know, set it free in my neighbour's kitchen downstairs so it can eat HIS cereal instead and perhaps pay him back for the fact he's been having ridiculously loud parties all week.
Speaking of neighbours, I spoke to the Sexy Spaniard again today. But he didn't seem inclined to want to grab a drink. Apparently, he doesn't drink. What the fuck?
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| 2008-10-23 23:43 |
| Of Male Bonding. |
| Public |
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PRIVATE TO KEVIN:
I need a drink. You need to get out. You like drinking anyway. We need to catch up. I need to get away from all these women.
Tonight, the Leaky, meet me there? Please, say yes. It's a rhetorical question. I'll be the one holding flowers.
Kidding.
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| 2008-10-13 10:59 |
| Of Wild Screaming. |
| Public |
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Are they serious? Dates with Sir Watch Me Pout And Cue Wild Screaming? BE STILL MY BEATING HEART.
Forget what I said before about wanting to leave. The offices of Witch Weekly is daily entertainment, better than any soap on the bloody wireless. Speaking of, mine's gone and effed up and I don't know why, but as it's not actually mine - I'm resisting the urge to pull it apart and check it out.
Can we scratch that and say "barely resisting" instead? You know what? Does anyone have an old wireless they mind owling my way to be desecrated at my hands? I'd greatly appreciate it. Direct them to Mr. Stephen Cornfoot, Art Department, Witch Weekly.
( PRIVATE )
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| 2008-10-08 14:18 |
| Of Unfulfillment. |
| Public |
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I'm getting tired of work. After a while you get sick of all the girls that come in, and photographing bits of make-up splashed over a white counter compromises my sanity more than it does my masculinity, I reckon. Question is, what do I move on to next?
My writer's block unblocked in the middle of a meeting. If Gianna's super pissed, I'm the reason why.
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| 2008-09-20 22:55 |
| Of the Fair and Foreign. |
| Public |
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I'm in love.
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| 2008-09-10 08:45 |
| Of Demons. |
| Public |
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Parvati, Megan:
Do we seriously have to go?
People With A Fashion Sense:
I need help finding something pink.
Anyone Who Wants To Save Nogtails And Would Like To Be Escorted To The Save The Nogtails Gala By A Handsome Young Man:
Leave a note for Mr. Stephen Cornfoot, Photography Department, Witch Weekly
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| 2008-09-01 14:28 |
| Of the Fairer Sex. |
| Public |
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The last lass we photographed didn't seem to think much of my offer of a dinner. But then again, I have a sneaking suspicion that the last lass we photographed didn't seem to think much at all.
And you can't call me out for being cruel, either. What she said doesn't bear repeating.
Had an owl from my Uncle Angus arrive last night. Little minger nearly bit my hand off. How hard can it be for the bird to drop the letter off and zip right back out again? Or if it's going to rest, it doesn't have to do it with that much disdainful hooting, now, does it? I even offered the thing owl treats, but it's either blind, or has a somewhat disturbing taste for flesh.
Anyway. So the letter turned out to be a bunch of boring yadda-yadda about getting my life together and so and so forth. He seems to be under the impression that just because I got fired left my last position at Flourish and Blotts for something else far more interesting and suited to my nature, that I'm just a shifty sod with no clue as to what I want.
Well.
Just goes to show, eh.
I managed two more paragraphs, but I'm not sure I like this character anymore. Even working in a building where the ratio of women to men is something close to 10:1, I'm not getting any deeper insights into how they might possibly think without going all stereotypical. And we all know if I write in stereotypes, I'm going to get hexed to pieces for, what I suppose would be contrived as misogyny.
So, for the benefit of my novelling and only a little for myself. Okay, fine, mostly for myself. The novel's just a really good and valid excuse, ladies – help?
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