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Jul. 8th, 2003 07:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosI knew I'd been spending waaaaay too much time LJing with ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pretty_fish (though that's definitely not a bad thing *user waves hi to pretty_fish*) when they debuted Clay Aiken's new single on the local radio station last night and I squeed in my car. (Boy, that sounds lovely, don't it? Like I spent all of my breaks at work scrubbing frantically at my driver's seat with soap and water.)
I'm so embarrassed. I never literally squee. I'm usually so much more dignified in my fangirlness. The worst you can usually expect out of me is a low-level wheeeeeee with a dash of eek and a pinch of aaaaaaa. So basically, not quite loud enough to shatter the windows, but just the right level to send my mom running out into the backyard positive that the house is on fire. (And this would be why I'm not allowed to watch The-Orly-And-Viggo-Comedy-Hour/Buddy-Movie that is FotR anymore when my mom's in the shower.)
*******
Today's Wicked-Cool Real Name of the Day -- Velvet Medlock. Isn't that the best? It sounds like the quiet yet seductive nanny in a Regency romance novel. Well, either that, or a serial-killing 80-year-old Las Vegas showgirl. (Ack. Suddenly getting a very vivid mental image of a really, really old stripper trying to seduce a poor, defenseless rake. May go wash brain out with Clorox.)
******
I want to go buy two kittens and name them Kibbles and Bits. Then I want to buy a really hungry Doberman. Is that wrong? (Kidding, Mom! Please don't kill me.)
******
Open letter to the guy who drove past me in the grey sports car as I was walking to work last night:
You schmuck. Did you honestly think screaming compliments at me while you were doing 65 mph in the city was going to work? Dude, if I was impressed enough by your classy catcalls to chase after you and I actually managed to catch up, it'd be the single lamest origin story in the history of comic book superheroes.
Also, I know I'm 5'2", but "Yo, shorty!" is not an acceptable opening line unless it's followed by "It's your birthday!" and you tossing me a gift-wrapped set of winning Powerball numbers.
Plus, your hair stands up straight and you're bloody stupid, yet you're neither Angel nor David Boreanaz. One of these is good, one is bad. You figure it out.
Oh, and that spiky hair? When you stick it out the window of a grey sports car like that, you end up presenting a total appearance of a giant diseased penis with a hairy mole on the side. Just thought you'd like to know.
P.S. Playing Eminem at those levels has been known to cause sterility in lab monkeys. And it totally turns off women with brain cells, but I'm getting the picture that was your goal.
pretty_fish (though that's definitely not a bad thing *user waves hi to pretty_fish*) when they debuted Clay Aiken's new single on the local radio station last night and I squeed in my car. (Boy, that sounds lovely, don't it? Like I spent all of my breaks at work scrubbing frantically at my driver's seat with soap and water.) I'm so embarrassed. I never literally squee. I'm usually so much more dignified in my fangirlness. The worst you can usually expect out of me is a low-level wheeeeeee with a dash of eek and a pinch of aaaaaaa. So basically, not quite loud enough to shatter the windows, but just the right level to send my mom running out into the backyard positive that the house is on fire. (And this would be why I'm not allowed to watch The-Orly-And-Viggo-Comedy-Hour/Buddy-Movie that is FotR anymore when my mom's in the shower.)
*******
Today's Wicked-Cool Real Name of the Day -- Velvet Medlock. Isn't that the best? It sounds like the quiet yet seductive nanny in a Regency romance novel. Well, either that, or a serial-killing 80-year-old Las Vegas showgirl. (Ack. Suddenly getting a very vivid mental image of a really, really old stripper trying to seduce a poor, defenseless rake. May go wash brain out with Clorox.)
******
I want to go buy two kittens and name them Kibbles and Bits. Then I want to buy a really hungry Doberman. Is that wrong? (Kidding, Mom! Please don't kill me.)
******
Open letter to the guy who drove past me in the grey sports car as I was walking to work last night:
You schmuck. Did you honestly think screaming compliments at me while you were doing 65 mph in the city was going to work? Dude, if I was impressed enough by your classy catcalls to chase after you and I actually managed to catch up, it'd be the single lamest origin story in the history of comic book superheroes.
Also, I know I'm 5'2", but "Yo, shorty!" is not an acceptable opening line unless it's followed by "It's your birthday!" and you tossing me a gift-wrapped set of winning Powerball numbers.
Plus, your hair stands up straight and you're bloody stupid, yet you're neither Angel nor David Boreanaz. One of these is good, one is bad. You figure it out.
Oh, and that spiky hair? When you stick it out the window of a grey sports car like that, you end up presenting a total appearance of a giant diseased penis with a hairy mole on the side. Just thought you'd like to know.
P.S. Playing Eminem at those levels has been known to cause sterility in lab monkeys. And it totally turns off women with brain cells, but I'm getting the picture that was your goal.
