zoetrope

15:32

Have come to the airport to meet 1TL. Sadly, his flight is delayed, so I'm killing time by using the MOST EXPENSIVE INTERNET IN THE WORLD. £1 for ten minutes. I suppose it's to discourage people from hogging it, but still. I could have used the net on my phone, but my battery is flagging (as always, it feels).

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure if I'm in the correct terminal. For reasons that don't need explaining at this juncture, I'm winging it a little. 1TL doesn't actually know I'm going to be here.

14:40

I dreamt last night that I was in Jurassic Park. Not the movie, the place. And I kept getting nibbled on by velociraptors. I remember very clearly in my dream complaining that why didn't they take the killer dinos out after the last disaster, but clearly no one cared.

13:03

By the way, before I forget AGAIN... thanks so much to all the people who gave me snowflake cookies. They warmed my heart as only a snowflake cookie can.

11:35

I feel like I'm wishing my net time away with this countdown thing. Also, the more my minutes go down, the more the flight delay goes up. I hope everyone had a pleasant Christmas. I spent it with my friend E, who is getting married in April in Las Vegas and wants me to go. I'm havering, mostly because of my horrendous fear of flying.

10:13

This may be my most boring journal entry ever. Perhaps the spelling errors will make up for it. There are interesting people using the computers beside me. One man is just tapping the keyboard. Not hitting keys, just tapping it. Another is swinging in his chair. I'm not sure I'd pay 10p a minute to spin in a chair. Maybe that's just me.

08:35

TV shows I'm enjoying at the moment: Gavin & Stacey - which I'm including even though it just ended, because I'm still rewatching; Merlin - ditto; Better Off Ted; Psych - can't wait for the season to resume; Chuck - can't wait for the season to start. And probably more, but those are what spring to mind now.

06:24

I'd like to see a Merlin/Arthur AU of Gavin & Stacey. Could be charming.

05:57

Ok, I've resorted to checking out the talent coming through the gates. Of which there is not much. Argh, his flight has been delayed by another three minutes, making 47 in total. I suppose it could be worse.

Outside it is snowing gently, but thickly. As I drove along the A4 flyover with Radio One crackling on my poor car radio, it felt like one of those perfect moments.

04:08

I'll stop spamming you now, and start poking the people on my chat list for a little while. Happy New Year!

So the marvelous, wonderful and enthralling rageprufrock is coming to London! We're thinking of organising a fannish meet-up for one of the nights - if you'd like to join us, please fill out the poll below! It will be in the evening on one of the following dates:

[Poll #1385154]

Right now, there is a window to my right, and through it I can see the Albert Bridge. The sun is starting to set, and the lights on the bridge have come on.

I've got two hours and twenty-one minutes left of work (and counting). In that time I'll switch between Shake and Safari.

I'm also going through the Yuletide Merlin entries on my iPhone.

Work!crush is gorgeous as ever. I'm going to French Girl's on Friday for dinner, to see her new place. She's trying to get me to move in, but I'm not sure yet. Had raspberry Martinis in the Oxo Tower Bar on Saturday night. A round of three drinks cost £30. I love London by the river, best of all.

When I leave work I'll catch the bus to the station, and then sit on the floor of the train home (there are never any seats), fighting my OCD all the way. I'm winning so far today.

Conversations I have not had with workCrush:

1.
Crush: Hey, Z, can you come over to the main table? We're going to have a quick meeting.
Me: I love you.

2.
Crush: I think you just need to saturate the colours a bit-- and put a couple of greenscreen--
Me: I love you.

3.
Crush: I think those prawns were off. I feel really sick.
Me: I love you.

It's been a close thing, though.




Yesterday, my Grandmother and I went to visit my 90 year old Great Aunt.

"I've got something for you," she said, handing me an old photograph. "It was taken by my friend Muriel."

"Oh, yes," my Grandmother said. "I met her once!"

My Auntie Cecily looked delighted. "Muriel Dearlove?" she beamed. "She looked like a boy?"

"That's right," my Grandmother nodded. "She came down to visit us in Surrey once, and her car broke down."

"Motorbike," Aunt Cecily corrected, still beaming.

This would have been in about 1950, I think. I'm completely infatuated by the idea of this woman. Muriel Dearlove, boyish photographer, riding around the country on her motorbike. A hot, female James Dean.

Later, in the car:

"What was that about her friend Muriel... what was it? Dearlove?"

"Yes, that's right," Gran said. "She never married."

"What a surprise," I laughed. "She looked like a boy and rode a motorbike. You don't think she might have been... you know... a lesbian?!"

"Well, yes, I did wonder."

This is the story of how being head over heels for someone at work can lead directly to being hungover, in Camden, typing on a French keyboard.

Woke up in Camden this morning with my liquid eyeliner halfway down my face. Went out with French Girl last night, started out in Soho, in Trash Palace and the Candy Bar, then on to World's End in Camden (which of these things is not the same?)

This is all because after work on Friday my colleagues invited me to the pub (shock! horror!) and I sat there as they all discussed the amazing and wonderful things they were doing this weekend with their husbands, wives and lovers. I realised what a total saddo loner I am, and panicked for a while.

So I was proactive: I phoned French Girl.

"I am watching Battlestar Galactica!" she exclaimed down the phone: "I am so in love with Starbuck! She is so butch!" (don't forget to imagine the French accent. It makes it all that little bit more interesting.)

"Let's go out drinking!" I pleaded.

"I will take you to gay bars in Soho," she said: pleased, I think, that I was finally coming out from under my duvet. Her text message the next day read: We re gonna have some fun :)x

And it was fun, though it all went a little crazy around the time we got to Camden. We walked into this old-man-style pub and it was like one of those anarchic scenes in a St. Trinian's movie - hundreds of people just... rioting, basically. I immediately felt about 100 years old and grouchy. French Girl got straight up on one of the rickety tables and started dancing. I hoped the table wouldn't collapse.

Luckily, because I'd slept all day at home, I didn't fall asleep on the bar. We left at about two and made it back to her place, which continued the tradition of the evening: there being NO toilet roll in the whole of Camden.

French Girl has woken up now. She started talking about BSG immediately:

"Shit name, Starbuck, though. It makes me think of the coffee and I prefer Caffe Nero."

♥

I still owe people comments on my last post, which I'm still giving some thought to: it was extremely interesting reading people's thoughts on feminism and sexism; thanks to those who took part.

In the past few months I've been busier than I've been in my life before, hence the length of time since I posted regularly. However, the worst is (hopefully) over, and I wanted to get back into LJ.

I've seen a photos meme by various people, and since I see the same bloody things day after day didn't think a week's worth would make sense, but here, have a

( Day in the life of me (in pictures) whilst very busy )

This evening, driving:

Me: And now Dan's living in that old house where Nan's doctor used to work-- what was his name again?
Mum (with complete, calm certainty): Doctor Dyke.
Me:... Er, no, I think I'd remember that.
Mum: No, really, it was!
Me: Mum, Doctor Dyke sounds like a lesbian comic book supervillain.
Mum: Well, that was his name.
Me: Are you sure it wasn't Doctor Rugmuncher?
Mum: Don't, I'll wet myself.
(later)
Me: Bye Nan (ringing off) Mum. His name was Doctor Horsley.
Mum (as though she is not completely insane): Oh yes, that's it.

I honestly want to start a comic strip with Doctor Dyke as the protagonist.

Ok, so it's 7:27 on a Sunday morning. I went to bed at 2am. I'm violently hungover, to the extent where it's painful to even lie in bed and you know that there will be no relief whatsoever for hours. Fucking white wine.

So, why am I up at 7:27 on a Sunday morning when I could be having a nice little sleepy? That would be because 2am_optimism is an evil hag sent to torment me, and set her alarm for 7am.

She is now insisting that I get out of bed and, in her own words, "tidy the fucking room".

And she's also now insisting that I type this: (Or, in her words "the truth")

I owe her everything for taking a video clip - to be shown later - of Aaron Douglas cuddling a baby in a Superman costume. The baby, not Aaron. To this end I hereby promise her unspecified favours for an indeterminate span of time.

I'm adding to that a "pffffft". And also an Oh, Aaron. I LOVE YOU.

2am: "Ladon is MINE"

A friend's nephew recently had this conversation with his Dad. The kid is about four:

Dad: So, what do you want for your birthday?
Little boy: I want a Transformer... that turns into a Barbie
Dad: Er, well, you can't really get those. They usually turn into something like a car or an airplane...
Little boy:... Then I want a Barbie.
Dad: Well, you can't. You see-- Barbie's are really for girls.
Little boy:... Then I want to be a girl.

***

In other news, I've been having a major West Wing fest in the last few days, and a plot bunny has taken over my mind. Weir as the President, Rodney as the Chief of Staff, Zelenka as his Deputy etc etc... John as the hooker Rodney accidentally sleeps with, then tries to reform, and ends up falling in love with. *Sigh*