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I have too many books for my single bookshelf.
[So naturally, instead of extending my literary collection to a random wall-display-shelf-thing, I put my magazines on display.  All three complete years of monthly issues, plus an additional half-year of 2oo2, and another random one from 2oo1.  It makes sense.]

And the cat is on Valium.  Again.  He walks just like a little drunkard [one covered with black fur] -- it's so sad!  "I'm from Scotland, here's my mother's telephone number," and all.

New Current Favourite Quote:
Never give up what you want most for what you want right now.

Live it, love it, serve it on toast, etc.

Come on, MTSU, a little room assignment action would be wonderful.  Thank you.

OH!  Haircut.  Thursday.  I am so excited.  You have no idea.  It's been too long.  This whole "growing out" concept is a pain.  XP  Blech.  Snippy-snippy!

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At my mother's inspiring, a rant about the location of the computer in her bedroom.  *Rant.*  ((No mothers were harmed in the making of this rant.  All rights reserved, printed on 100% recycled paper.  "This bill is legal tender for all debts public and private, all rights and privileges thereto pertaining." <-- That was hers.))

Hmmmm, so I went to my friend Leland's apartment to let the TV guys in (Leland being at work), told to be there at 2:00.  Soooo I'm waitinnnnnn', and I'm waitinnnnnnnnn', sitting there with my little magazine.  Long story short, the movers never came, but my phone is missing, so I couldn't know that.  Two very funny moments:

A.) Sitting on the couch w// my magazine, all of a sudden I hear an arrow whistling through the air.  Proceed to fall of couch and try to climb under coffee table.  Turns out to be his "email received" soundclip, which is the "*TWANG*  Message for you, sir," from Monty Python and the Holy Grail.

B.) Now stretched out on couch, relaxing, magazine utterly exhausted of all content.  Door flys open and someone comes in.  Aiiiiiiiii!  ...Just the owner of the house.  Heart rate returns to normal at the speed of dormant fungus.  TV men never showed up, so Leland treated me to coffee ((woo-hoo)), fries, and You, Me, and Dupree.  Fun film, highly enjoyable.  :)

Wooooooooooow.  Try going off coffee for several weeks ((too effin' hot)), then having two cups of potent regular within, mmmmmm, sayyyyyy, six hours.  DAMN!  Phew.  I could run around the block... Or do horrible things to Tori while she's asleep.  It's been tempting lately.  I'm thinking something involving fur clippers...

You ever really randomly had a huge craving for a glass of wine, and maybe a cigarette?  And you don't smoke??  More the glass of wine, than anything.  Something juicy, with berry notes.

Okay, I should probably stop confessing things like that in a public venue.

And nattering on about inconsequential things, like sibling vendettas and the restorative powers of coffee.

By the way, if you have a chocolate craving and consider making frosting out of regular sugar, cocoa powder, butter, and milk... Don't.  I am seriously contemplating sticking a spoon down my throat, or something.  You will regret this decision, feel generally gross, and your mother will have no sympathy ((she'll regret this when I die early, mark it)).  Make, like, a spoonful-worth.  Not a soup-bowl's worth.

I'll regret every single above paragraph in the morning, when I'm sobered of caffeine.

But right now, dammit if it isn't fun!

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Bored After Being Awake for Only Two Hours. Crap.

Bush vetoed the stem cell research bill.  ( ... )  The one (there were three, after all) which would employ excess embryos taken for in-vitro fertilisation that would've been thrown out, anyway.  Which in that case technically classifies them as a gamete, and kinda negates the 'murder argument.'  Just when we finally get most everybody up there to agree on something...

Link to Relevent New York Times Article

I had a really weird dream.  It involved my future (unknown) roomie, Kroger, and driving around at midnight.  And webcams, but not in the skanky way.

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PotC 2 is decidedly more enjoyable when viewed on a decent amount of sleep, at a decent hour.

Lord Jerkface's real name is Lord Cutler Bennet.
And I think I know how the dice game works.

Still vastly displeased by the ending, however.  That ruling was never expected to change.

I've started compiling a folder of Renaissance portraits for costume-y references when March rolls around.  It is a much larger undertaking than I had anticipated.  Egad!  Because, well, there are a bloody lot of people who insisted on having portraits made, to say nothing of the vast quantity commissioned by our very own Elizabeth I.  And then there are people from different countries, and laa-de-laa-de-laa.  It's insane.  But conquerable.

This, in addition to a new costume-y fetish revolving around the late 18th century.

Calm, calm.

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And It's A Red Card for Zidane! ((Barely Relevent for Only the Latter Half of this Post)).

So with this post I am officially smudging with virtual burning sage to cleanse any negative energies from my little Phusebox home.  Or sublet, one.

Though I must confess, it's sometimes difficult not to be irritating for irritation's sake.

*Sigh*

*Sage*  *Sage*  *Sage*  *Sage  *Sage*

Hahaha, so we visited my Dad's parents today and found a photo album from back in the day.  ...Dad's hair has not changed since he was six years old.  *Snirkle*  Close-cut, parted on the left, and what God has put together, let no man put asunder, lalala.

And, due to popular request, photographs of referee Horacio Elizondo, the extraordinary gentleman in neon jersey of the FIFA World Cup finals.  Apparently he's Argentinian and 42; who knew?  Soccer seems to have Fountain-of-Hottness capacities.

The classic Baywatch run...

Uhhhh... Macarena?  Insert your own caption here.

I don't know what to say for this one, either.

"Who's your daddy?"  ((Hey, I wouldn't object to having a badass referee for a father.  That'd just be awesome.))

There would be more, but most of my Sources just had the same ones over and over.  Sadness.  :'(

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