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Jul. 15th, 2003 06:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosDamn. I so need a better picture online than a five-year-old Polaroid. Even if it is a perfect example of how blindingly pale a person can be who isn't dying of the Mary Sue virus of the week. If you're going to click the link, grab sunglasses first. Or, you know, don't stare directly at it. Me and solar eclipses ... yup. (By the way, that's me with a tan. Told you so.)
Theoretically, I'm supposed to be writing right now. But one of the disadvantages of having so many characters in my head is that at times like this, they tend to argue for screen time. And because they're my characters, original or fanficcy, their arguments get ... well, they get a little weird.
You want to know what it looks like in there right now? My punk wizard's trying to beat the undead PotC monkey to pieces with a pool cue, my Armageddon-causing time traveler is sitting in Richie Ryan's lap and won't bloody leave, my one-handed vampire is having a "Jaws"-style "Who's got the better gruesome murder story?" with Angelus, my sex-crazed human-shaped dragon is currently handing out numbered tickets to the entire female cast of X2, and John Connor keeps poking his head out of the fallout shelter and begging for Mina Harker to bring him Jell-O shots and buffalo wings. Plus, there's about twenty guys in there who look just like Methos -- picture the restaurant scene in "Being John Malkovich," but with Peter Wingfield replacing Malkovich. Hee. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, I'd just wish I'd have gotten fair warning, as my knees have now turned into vanilla cheesecake and the urge to chow down instead of waiting for them to resolidify is just. Too. Strong.
Oh, and Will Turner's making out with my Orly-lookin' immortal serial killer and Legolas, but I think that's just because they're all incredibly horny and they're all prettier than any of the female characters in my head anyway. And it's totally disregardless of the fact that I've been constantly reminding Serial Killer Boy that he is absolutely, irrevocably not gay.
He countered that one by pointing out that Rastafarian Vampire Boy isn't gay, either, but my brain's had him crawling in the sack with every Tom, Dick, and Jack Sparrow lately. So now I get to sit in the corner and sulk while the Trio of More-Orly-Knockoffs-Than-You-Can-Shake-A-Stick-At heads into the nearest broom closet and rodgers each other senseless.
This is sad. My brain's getting more action than I am. I'm going to end up having to put lit cigarettes in both ears if this keeps up.
Theoretically, I'm supposed to be writing right now. But one of the disadvantages of having so many characters in my head is that at times like this, they tend to argue for screen time. And because they're my characters, original or fanficcy, their arguments get ... well, they get a little weird.
You want to know what it looks like in there right now? My punk wizard's trying to beat the undead PotC monkey to pieces with a pool cue, my Armageddon-causing time traveler is sitting in Richie Ryan's lap and won't bloody leave, my one-handed vampire is having a "Jaws"-style "Who's got the better gruesome murder story?" with Angelus, my sex-crazed human-shaped dragon is currently handing out numbered tickets to the entire female cast of X2, and John Connor keeps poking his head out of the fallout shelter and begging for Mina Harker to bring him Jell-O shots and buffalo wings. Plus, there's about twenty guys in there who look just like Methos -- picture the restaurant scene in "Being John Malkovich," but with Peter Wingfield replacing Malkovich. Hee. Not that I'm complaining, mind you, I'd just wish I'd have gotten fair warning, as my knees have now turned into vanilla cheesecake and the urge to chow down instead of waiting for them to resolidify is just. Too. Strong.
Oh, and Will Turner's making out with my Orly-lookin' immortal serial killer and Legolas, but I think that's just because they're all incredibly horny and they're all prettier than any of the female characters in my head anyway. And it's totally disregardless of the fact that I've been constantly reminding Serial Killer Boy that he is absolutely, irrevocably not gay.
He countered that one by pointing out that Rastafarian Vampire Boy isn't gay, either, but my brain's had him crawling in the sack with every Tom, Dick, and Jack Sparrow lately. So now I get to sit in the corner and sulk while the Trio of More-Orly-Knockoffs-Than-You-Can-Shake-A-Stick-At heads into the nearest broom closet and rodgers each other senseless.
This is sad. My brain's getting more action than I am. I'm going to end up having to put lit cigarettes in both ears if this keeps up.
