Oh, for crying out loud.

I was trying to put off cleaning until I got my apocalyptothon assignment done, which I was blocking on, but then I stopped at the store to pick up groceries after dinner, started putting them away when I got home, and didn't stop until everything but the last of the dishes and my bedroom was clean.

Then I went back to the computer and brought the word count on the story up by two thousand words. Hmm. Probably should have cleaned earlier then, I suppose. (But, look, I see an ending! *points*)

(no subject)

IT'S WARM AND SUNNY AND GORGEOUS AND NOT RAINING OUT AND WHY THE FUCK DO I STILL HAVE A GODDAMN COLD ARGH.

Ahem.

Last day to nominate in the Lawrence Awards. *pokes you all*

Seriously?!

I haven't written porn in three weeks. THREE WEEKS.

This must be rectified YESTERDAY.

I don't care if I'm not done with my apocalyptothon assignment by tonight, I'm writing some fucking porn after the barbecue.

*growls the growl of the hard-up*

(no subject)

Okay, for some ungodly reason I'm watching the 100 Funniest Movies list, and it's still pissing me off.

So name me your favorite funny movies. Not the best comedies, but the movies that make you laugh hysterically every time you see them.

( My favorites )

(no subject)

I said I was sick, to which my uncle asked me if I were pregnant, to which my mother said it would be cool if I was.

"Cool." Her word, not mine.

*points at icon*

Not that I don't want to be pregnant, because I'd really, really like to be, but come on. Getting there's half the fun, and that's the part of the fun I'm NOT HAVING. *sigh*

Dear family ...

Here are the reasons why I'm not still at your barbecue.

First off, I told you I was sick. I felt like crap and looked like it. Yet you continued to ask me in annoyed voices why I was lying down, why I stayed upstairs in my brother's room with him (who heard me say I was sick and did me the best favor in the world when he believed me), why I barely ate anything, and at one point offered my chair to someone else while I was sitting in it hacking up a lung.

Second off, you made a point of asking me why I didn't like The Da Vinci Code just so you could collectively pat me on the head like I didn't know what I was talking about when I said I thought it was badly written. There isn't a one of you who doesn't know that I know more about books and writing than every single one of you childish dumbasses (and I'm not saying that to brag, I'm saying that because it's the one thing I do best and I'm damned proud of it), so FUCK OFF.

And thirdly, pretending like you've never seen the fucking tattoos before is really goddamn old, since I got the last one three friggin' years ago. And saying that the One Ring tattoo looks like I wrote the alphabet on my arm to remember it does not make you witty, especially after you ask me for my opinion on a book and then treat me like I don't know what I'm talking about.

And those are the reasons I'm not still at your barbecue.

(no subject)

I may have just finished my apocalyptothon assignment.

OH THANK GOD.

Granted, it's not as long as I wanted to write it way back when, but it's open-ended enough so that if I want to play in the universe later, I totally can.

You know what this means, though. It means porn and recaps and fic and PORN AGAIN.

EDIT: Except not right now, because I'd really like to get some sleep in before I hack up another lung.