Sixty seven. SIXTY SEVEN!!!!

i love the wholock fandom

So… as I posted on Facebook last night, today would be my father’s 67th birthday.

I can’t picture him as an old man. He’s frozen in time at the age he was when he died, and I guess that’s a good thing. Just weird to think about how much has happened - how much is left to happen - since he’s been gone.

Yeah, I’m bumming pretty hard today.

But, I have good friends, REALLY good friends who have been reaching out and making me laugh, or giving me warm fuzzies, or just making me feel like I matter, like I’m still important. I don’t know how to put it better than that.

Thank you, guys… maybe one day I’ll be able to thank you in person. (Why do you all have to live so far from New Hamster?!?!)

 

I’m going to have to find and replace all the ginger…

the cumberbabe with his natural hair colour

“I’m not ginger… I’m auburn and there is a difference,” he says firmly.

“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.

*sigh*

David Tennant, Scottish accent, fencing sabre… BOOM!

ahhhh… a little gingerbatch

The nice thing about having TiVo record everything with a certain actor in it is that you get exposed to things you might otherwise miss.

Like this PBS documentary about “Hamlet” narrated by David Tennant, with scenes from his version.

I’m dying here.

And - he’s running around London in a long coat, reminiscent of Ten’s.

And - And - AND! He fences sabre in it!

With the jacket and everything.

Nerdgasm.

Big time nerdgasm.

Two kinds of friends…

the ninth doctor is definitely underrated

I had two different friends message me today.

One told me that if I didn’t shut up about the bipolar and the obsession with moving to the UK, I’d never find another job in the States because a) I’m crazy and b) it’s obvious I’m not going to stay there long.

One told me that we should start our own company and that I could run the UK branch.

Well… let’s look at this realistically.

I can’t do anything about the bipolar. I really can’t. It’s there. It’s being treated. I do the best I can with it.

As for the move, well, I can try and do something about that, but the pessimistic part of me knows it will never happen.

Because. Really.

Let’s pack up an entire house, two people, two dogs, and a cat.

Let’s try to sell a house in a neighborhood full of foreclosures.

Let’s find a job without being able to do in-person interviews.

The list goes on.

The optimistic part of me assumes we’re going to be there by the end of 2014.

Of course, now that Sherlock has been rumoured to start on Halloween, I’d love to be there by then. I’m not sure if I can pull it off, but it’s worth a try. *grin*

Part of me is terrified about making this change. I mean, I’m moving across the fucking ocean! That’s huge.

Part of me is raring to go. It’s time for a new adventure. A new life.

I don’t know how that will affect me working (killing time) at another job in the States… I can’t say anything about it, because I simply don’t know.

The goal is to find a job with an international company and use that as a stepping stone. But if I can’t, I can’t.

In the meantime, I’m just going to keep throwing my resume out there and wonder what it’s going to take for me to find a place I can stay for longer than a month.

This time, it’s for reals, yo.

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.

Not yet.