#threewords

Bricks. Boston. Interviews. Bricks. Did I mention bricks?


May 09, 2013 :: 4:59 PM

this scene gives me the giggles every time i see it.

I’ve got two interviews in Boston tomorrow with two different recruiters.

It seems that my new idea of finding the recruiters with multiple interesting positions and sending a resume for something that’s a little bit of a stretch gets me more attention than if I apply to one I’m actually qualified for. I’m not quite sure why that’s working but in this recent job search, I’m four for six. That’s not too bad.

Shit. Yesterday, I applied for a position at 10:02 and got a call at 10:06. He’s interview # 2 tomorrow. Of course, I’m not the right fit for the job I sent my resume in for, but he’s got several I might be a fit for…

Jackpot.

Since there will be walking, I was planning on bringing my brick filled ruck. I’m a little nervous about that, though so I probably won’t. I mean, it’s bricks. In duct tape, and bubble wrap, in a black backpack. Bricks in duct tape and bubble wrap and that kind of look like a bomb. In a city that just had, um, issues with bombs in backpacks. Oh, and I’m going into the Financial District. I wonder what security will be like…

Maybe not such a good idea after all.

It’s one thing to explain the GORUCK Challenge, it’s another to whip out my brick-bomb and be all nonchalant: Yeah, these bricks? They’re my BFFs. I’ve gone everywhere with them for the past six months. I never leave home without them.

I’m going to miss them.

After Boston, I’m off to Albany. It’s a much needed break from reality on what would have been my parents’ 44th anniversary (assuming the divorce hadn’t happened in 1992). Actually, I assume all the time that they’d still be together. From what I can gather, my father was crushed they got divorced and I think it was a last-ditch chance to get my mother to smarten up. Of course, then she up and died days after the stupid thing became final, so they never got a second chance.

Way to go. Now I’ve depressed myself. AGAIN.

Here’s some more Sherlock because I need to giggle. The death Frisbee!

Your face, sir, with that crunching thing it does… Here, please watch as my ovaries explode.

Also, yet another CANON hint that Johnlock may indeed be a real thing, despite Moftiss claiming that it’s not like that between the two men.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.


May 08, 2013 :: 6:48 PM

image

yep. the milk. it’s practically a thing.

Remember that Johnlock fanfic culture thing I posted a few days?

I’m proofreading my Johnlock brOTP fan fic and what do I spy with my little eye?

John looked around the kitchen and saw all new appliances. The old ones were piled in the corner, each one neatly labeled “EXPERIMENTS ONLY.” Sherlock was sitting at the table calmly eating a scone, a mug of tea at his side. “I did some shopping. I hope you didn’t want to pick anything out.”

John opened the fridge. There wasn’t a single body part in there. Just food. And milk. Lots of milk. He fought to keep the smile from taking over his face. “No. It’s fine. I’m just completely gobsmacked.” He turned to the cabinets and drawers, opening each one in turn. “New silverware, even.”

“I replaced everything. Even scrubbed the shelves and cupboards.”

Yep.

Sherlock bought some fucking MILK.

My demons include a ruck filled with four bricks…


May 08, 2013 :: 10:37 AM

image

oddly fitting (which i originally spelled as oodly. no more doctor who for me.)

GORUCK published a training guide and a post-Challenge review. Here’s the light version’s review.

THIS is what I’m in doing in July.

This makes me feel slightly more psychotic than I usually do.

The best part of all this?

If I survive the Light, I’m going to do the full-on Challenge towards the end of the year.

Then, I think, I’m going to retire… but who knows?

Although, if one more person tells me I’m going to die trying and I definitely wouldn’t survive a Tough Mudder, I just going to laugh at them. I’m not interested in doing a Tough Mudder and it’s not that I’m afraid of them. It’s just not my thing. I’m going to figure out how to survive this. I still haven’t figured out how, but I’m going to survive it.

I still can’t explain why the GORUCK challenge is so important to me, but it is.

I’ve been married to that damn ruck since it arrived and I’ve filled it with my bricks. I honestly can’t recommend walking around with a ruck filled with bricks, but I can tell you, I’ve never had a bag break in nearly as quickly. It’s VERY comfortable to wear.

*sigh*

After all my tumblr/Cumberbatch obsession here, it feels weird to write a personal entry. But here’s a personal one for you. I hope you enjoyed it…

C’est fini…


May 04, 2013 :: 9:24 PM

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johnlock… what else?

I want to throw a party.

My Johnlock fic is DONE.

(And I didn’t revert to writing pr0n when I got stuck. It’s strictly brOTP!Lock!!!)

In thirty-ish years of writing various stories, this is only the third one I’ve finished (outside of school assignments).

Seriously.

It’s definitely the longest at 13K+ words. (I’ve never been able to wrap up a NaNoWriMo project in 50K words, although I probably could have been able to.)

And if I submit it to FanFiction.net, it will be the second one I’ve ever let other people read.

The first was “Scott and Kate” - a heavily dramatized retelling of a night with Soulmate Boy - and only C-Rollz got to read it. He’ll be the only person to ever read it because his reaction… OMG. I can’t even… he killed me. With kindness, but still. It was intense. Maybe because it’s such a personal tale? I don’t know, but damn. He had me in tears.

I’d like to have it beta’d and brit-picked before it goes live, but I don’t know how realistic that goal is.

In the meantime, I’m just going to sit here and be proud of myself.

He’s such a child


May 04, 2013 :: 11:26 AM

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perfect benedict is perfect

The more I learn about this man, the less he surprises me.

——

Let’s talk self-harm, shall we?

I’ve never been one for blood, so conventional self-harm is something I’ve never been interested in.

But. I bite the shit out of my nails. My pinkies, usually.

The number of days I walk around with one of my pinkies covered in a band-aid wrap of my own creation is astonishing. I’ve actually managed to lose count of the number of times I’ve done it recently.

Thursday morning, I ripped off the ENTIRE pinky nail on my right hand. Like down to the cuticle. Gone, baby, gone. Just like that.

Can you believe I was pissed that it didn’t hurt? PISSED.

Isn’t that the whole point of self-harm? To replace mental pain with something tangible? To distract you from what’s really going on?

The only thing I got out of it is a band-aid on my pinky that gets in the way when I type.

The most ironic part of this?

A few years ago, I went to see a hypnotist about breaking my nail biting habit. Under hypnosis, and I mean completely under, she asked me why I bit my nails.

I told her it was a comfort thing.

And that I wasn’t going to stop.

Maybe I should have seen someone about curbing my self-harm habit instead…

I’m a little over trying to type with band-aids on my pinkies.

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