(no subject)

You know how when the boss leaves, it's usually the underlings who cause unrest? Well, my boss left for a three-week vacation, and now the district manager, his boss, has decided to change my hours. And of course, he did so without asking me what I thought or how I planned on getting home. That should be fun, because he shifted them just enough to be outside the realm of being able to catch the bus from work.

I was sorely tempted if he planned to pay for my teleportation lessons. 'Cause, urgh.

In other news, tonight my laptop and I shall battle to the pain in the gladiator ring. If I win, I get to lower it slowly into a vat of molten steel while the love theme to "Terminator 2" plays. If it wins, it gets to walk up behind me quietly and poke me over the edge of the Cliffs of Insanity when I least expect it. Ours is a forbidden love ... mostly because too many innocent bystanders have been maimed.

EDIT: I should not give as much of a rat's ass as I do about "Charmed" spoilers. And yet ...

I'll give credit where credit is due, though. Every time "Angel" or "Charmed" or any of those shows pull some weird plot twist out of their ass, I get a new idea for the DMIDS stories. Which then get another novel longer, which then mean I have to write them, which then means I should get my ass in gear and finish the rewrite of book one ...

ARGH. Would you people throw things at my head so I can finish the goddamn rewrite?

Aw, jeez.

So qnotku is a very, very bad person who put the idea of a story collage-type thingy for my novel in my head, so yesterday I started printing out photos to work from with the different characters and such.

Anyway, I had a nice little Jude Law photo to work from for one of the main characters when these pictures showed up, inciting my brain into a hummina-hummina-hummina litany. And suddenly, Jack perked up.

Jack: Hey, I want to look like that.
Me: No, I already decided --
Writing muse: Fuck what you decided. I want to curl up in his lap and make purring sounds.
Me: Oh, not you, too.
Jack: Hey, I never said anything about curling up in that guy's lap, but the ability to make women's underwear spontaneously combust can't be all bad.
Me: Except for the flaming crotch.
Jack: ... true enough.
Writing muse: You can't tell me your panties didn't burst into flames the second you saw that photo.
Me: Yes, I can.
Jack: That's because you weren't even wearing panties today.
Me: Oh, shut up.

So, anyway. Your sexy Orlando pictures. Give them to me. Now. (I know you have them, damn it. Pleeeeeeease? *innocent eyelash batting*)