The girl who thought Kate Spade was a person and not a brand knows:
John wears jumpers that Martin Freeman picks out.
Moriarty wears Westwood.
Sherlock wears Spencer Hart suits, Dolce and Gabbana shirts, and that coat? That amazing, wonderful, coat? A Belstaff.
——
Applied for a UK accounting job. 99.9999999% sure I’m not qualified, but maybe the recruiter might find something I’m a fit for.
I have a job interview on Tuesday, and I’m meeting with Jimmy The Pimp’s boss on Monday.
I don’t even care any more… I don’t want to be unemployed, but I am so done with looking for work.
——
Aaaaand, since someone asked:
The most adorable lisp. EVER. (Once it’s been pointed out that he lisps when he’s tired, or animated, or that he flat out struggles with ‘sp’ sounds, you can’t help but notice it. After repeated viewings. Of course. What? It’s research. For science, Jawn!)
——
I’ve taken to walking on the furniture. I do not know why, but when I do, I yell, “THE FLOOR IS LAVA, JAWN!” (Original image here.)
The neighbors must think I’m out of my fucking mind.
“I’ve got very good friends and relatives who are ginger and trust me, there’s a difference. And they ain’t ever gonna see the proof!... I have hair that is auburn. It’s got streaks of red in it, definitely. It’s also got streaks of bronze and lighter colours and darker brown colours. When I was a kid I was as blond as the young Julian in our film.”
If you say so…
——
In other news, I’m not meant to be unemployed. For a third time.
I’m so nervous about finding a new job, that my head is firmly up my ass.
My dad’s one rule when driving was “Listen for pop, then turn key.” The pop would be the sound of your head being removed from your ass. (Didn’t dad just have a way with words?)
Yeah. Well, I forgot that.
I tried to pull out of the garage while the car was still moving. The garage door went up (I thought all the way), and then it came down. ON MY CAR.
I haven’t been able to force myself to look at the roof of the Forester to see the damage, but I did manage to get the door ‘fixed’. I’m still having someone come out and make sure there isn’t any real damage. The guy lives around the corner from us, so hopefully I get a “stupid neighbour” discount.
——
In other, other news, I fucked up the shoulders on the sweater I’m knitting pretty badly and I need to frog about two inches of it. Ain’t happening today, that’s for sure. I wish I had noticed it last night at knitting when it could have been frogged by someone who knows what they’re doing…
——
In other, other, other news, I rewrote ALL of “This Week: HARTFORD!” which is Episode One of the Cabin Pressure fan fic from hell. From scratch. Every single word. In a new document. I like this version better. All the bits and pieces from the first two drafts that I was planning on recycling fit better into the new storyline.
There’s a ridiculously fluffy moment towards the end, and I’ve been obsessed with it. Like I dreamt about it last night and the night before. It kicked me right in the feels which I wasn’t expecting, but it is a really tender moment between Douglas and Martin. (No citrus was harmed in the making of that moment.) I think it sets up what happens in the next two episodes perfectly. Fucking “Paris” is next (I hate Paris and if I wasn’t so hell bent on using “le bear polar” / Qikiqtarjuaq, I’d move it, but I need a zoo, particularly one in France…) and that’s also getting a complete rewrite. It gives us the next tender moment between the two men and sets the stage for the final episode of the trilogy where we finally get the Marlas relationship that’s been so carefully and slowly set up in the first two . Yes. I’m bringing it back to a trilogy. I don’t know where episode three is going to be set, since it combines “Fitton” and “London”... maybe Zurich since Y-L-B is definitely part of the third chapter’s rewrite.
I suppose since I’m all job searched out for the day and freaked out about breaking anything new, I’ll try to work on Paris… It’s not like I can fuck that up any worse than it already is.
i don’t know which version of the cumberbabe is cuter…
OK… let me start off by saying FUCK YOU, BBC2, for not airing “Starter for 10” on the BBC iPlayer… Seriously. All this girl wants today is a little Cumberbatch and Gatiss goodness. Guess I’m going to be forced to watch some “Sherlock”... Gee, that sucks. (Not really, but I was hoping for some new Cumberbatchian yumminess.)
While I’m embracing the cranky, guess who got let go yesterday? After two months, I was told simply that “it wasn’t working out.” I have no idea what that means. Not once was I ever told I was doing anything wrong. He did verbally attack me on Tuesday for no good reason and made me feel like I was a half inch tall. I let it slide… we had our good days and our bad days but, if anything, it was minor compared to The Bitch I Used to Work With.
And that’s just one of his many managerial missteps.
#1 on his list of fuck ups would be calling a female co-worker a “C-word” while on the phone with another female co-worker in front of a third female co-worker, but let’s not go there. That one I didn’t let slide, and he knew full well how inappropriate I felt that was, but then he proceeded to justify his use of the word.
Yeah.
In retrospect, I probably should have quit.
However, in an effort to cheer me up, the husband reminded me that this is a new chance to look for a job overseas.
A third try to get it right.
Last time, I had shit luck. All the companies with European offices were in Boston, and those were the ones that turned me down due to my commute. Maybe, just maybe, the third time will be the charm.
Dog, I fucking hope so.
So. Yeah. I’m going to dig deeper, look harder, and bug every single company I’m the least bit interested in if they have a UK office. Plus, I’m going to get even better educated on the ways of the UK visa procedures. There has to be a loophole somewhere. If people can illegally immigrate to the U.S., there has to be a way for people like me to get across the pond, right? (I may be rereading this a few more times, a little more carefully, and a hell of a lot more seriously.)
Speaking of things British, my Cabin Pressure fan fic has been called “Series 5” (draft #1), “The Missing Episodes” (draft #2), and now, draft #3 is going to be called “WHY WON’T YOU JUST FLOW SMOOTHLY, YOU ASSHOLE? WHY DOES THIS HAVE TO BE SUCH A STRUGGLE? AKA Series 3.5”
I’m not ready to walk away from it, but holy fuck… I honestly can’t remember the last time I worked this hard on a piece. Most of the time I write fiction, ANY fiction, I get to a point similar to where I was creatively before draft #2 and just leave it to die. I don’t know why I’m obsessed with finishing it, especially since it’s obsessed with finishing ME.
In other news, the Johnlock is slow going. Not because I’m struggling with that, too, but because the Cabin Pressure one won’t leave me alone.
I dunno… I know I’ll get through being unemployed (AGAIN), and I know I have some decent distractions (*cough* Cabin Pressure fan fic from hell *cough*)...
But right now, more than anything, I’m especially grateful to a certain platypus.
Thank you so much for texting me today even though it had to cost a small fortune.I’ll never be able to tell you just how big a smile it put on my face, but there’s a reason you’re my very favourite platypus.
——
Completely no-quite-so-unrelated… there’s a “how to” guide floating around teh intarwebs about writing fan fic based on British TV shows (mainly Doctor Who, but some Sherlock references made it in). One of the things the girl pointed out was that she really hated to read stories set in the UK that were written in American English. She basically said it ‘killed the mood’. It was an interesting point, and honestly, one that I’d already thought of AFTER writing “It Was Always There”. Before I started writing more fan fic, I made sure that all my computers were set to the UK standards (keyboard, clock, date formats, etc.), and my dictionaries are British English. It’s still screwing me up a little bit, but I knew I was in trouble when I started to write an email to a co-worker that used the British spelling of several words.
I felt a little ridiculous, but decided to shrug it off and leave the spelling alone.
It’s just who I am now… A UK resident in heart and mind, but not body.
How fitting is it that Martin Fucking Freeman is 42 today? FORTY TWO!
(And - again - if you don’t understand the significance, get the fuck off my blog and stop calling yourself my friend. Seriously.)
——
I put the Cabin Pressure fan fic aside, because all it’s doing is pissing me off.
I was itching to write today, so I started writing the new Johnlock one I’ve had on the back burner.
It’s kind of cathartic writing a good ol’, pissed off, John Watson. Martin Freeman swears so much in real life, that a cussing John Watson - one that, at times, seems to have only the word ‘fuck’ (and variants thereof) in his vocabulary - has become canon. It was pretty fun to write John Watson with the censor off.
I didn’t mean to write this, but it just kind of slipped out: There had been a case where John and Lestrade had been arrested for solicitation. Mycroft had stepped in, made sure the charges and everything else, except for Greg’s school girl outfit, went away. Mystrade and cross dressing… two things I never thought I’d put in my Johnlock fics. I think there’s something seriously wrong with me. I’m definitely keeping it, though. It does need some polishing, but that will come in time.
(OMMFG! Spell check wanted to change Lestrade to straddle. NAUGHTY SPELL CHECK!)
——
I used my UK iTunes account today (which I am no doubt going to get busted for, eventually) to purchase the Cumberbatch movie “Wreckers” among other Cumberbatchian goodies, like a reading of “Jabberwocky” and the UK version of his episode of “Top Gear”. Can I just say that the £10 gift card someone AWESOME sent me disappeared way too quickly? It did. I’m down to 53p or something stupid like that.
Anyhoo - I just finished watching “Wreckers” and wow… that movie wrecked me.(HA!)
I… just… can’t. It’s not particularly good, and there isn’t enough Cumberbatch in it, but the ending shook me. I hate when that happens. Guaranteed I dream about it tonight.
——
I started to move the contents of my FOUR backup hard drives (and six thumb drives) to a newer, much larger, hard drive. (I swear to Dog, if I run out of room on this one, I’m going to pitch a hissy fit. However, I should probably point out that two of them are tiny little drives, one is full of photos and music and the other is a backup of three computers and the other big backup drive. The thumb drives I can’t explain. I think they fuck like bunnies when I’m not looking. Last I knew, I had exactly three: a SIMS plumbob, one I got at the GTD summit, and one with a friend’s pictures from BOSCON. However, I found six… SIX!)
I had a pretty good scare the other day when I couldn’t access the drive that had my iTunes library and Lightroom backups on it. Thankfully, it was just unplugged, but it made me realize (again) that there’s a lot of my life that’s been digitized and I don’t want to lose it. I was also thinking about how much room I take up by doing certain things I should probably never admit to. (I’ve given up being a web design dork to engage in other, more colourful aspects of the web. My inner fangirl has taken certain things and run with them. I’ve learned things I never thought I’d want to learn…)
At any rate, I’ve got a completely ridiculous, completely paranoid, back up plan.
It makes me feel better.
——
Speaking of feeling better, after 10 years, we are finally replacing our mattress. It’s been a long time coming, but those things are freaking expensive, and I haven’t wanted to spend the money on it. (That’s our London fund!!!!) However, it’s gotten to the point where I wake up in pain every morning.
We had a blast shopping for a new mattress. More fun than any two people should have, that’s for sure. (And no… there was none of THAT going on. I was just manic. I’m FUN when I’m manic.)
If I’d known it was going to be that much fun, I wouldn’t have put it off for as long as we did.
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This entry had a point, at one point, but I’ll be dipped if I can remember what I was going to write about…
