Did you like the little touch with the underwear?

mmmm… andrew scott (sherlock bbc - s01x03 - the great game)

“I can open any door, anywhere with a few tiny lines of computer code. No such thing as a private bank account now. They’re all mine. No such thing as secrecy. I OWN secrecy. Nuclear codes? I could blow up NATO in alphabetical order. In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And honey… you should see me in a crown…” (Jim Moriarty - The Reichenbach Fall)

God, I LOVE that line.

(It’s so hard to hate Moriarty when Andrew Scott is so fucking adorable.)

——

It’s been a week since my interview with the industry company and nothing. I’m assuming at this point that I probably didn’t get it. *sigh*

——

For the archives:

Duke of Stud: I fucking adore you.

Me: Because I’m in a pissy mood?

Duke of Stud: No… because you have so much vigor… such passion… it amuses and inspires me simultaneously. (I originally read that as AROUSES and inspires. *sigh* No more homoerotic fan fic for me today! Although, considering the source, it’s not too far fetched. *ahem*)

Me: Most people would tell me to piss off or up my meds.

Duke of Stud: Not me… I understand you. I’m the same way about certain topics. It’s actually interesting to see it in another person. I’m learning more about myself in the process.

Me: You’re the Watson to my Holmes.

For what it’s worth… after all the shit we’ve put each other through, for the past 20+ years, I’m so glad that we’re both determined to figure out a way to make this work. The better he gets, the more I see what I lost in that apartment in Windsor Locks all those years ago. I may have talked him out of the suicide attempt that night, but the boy I knew, the boy I loved, died that night.

I guess, when I put it that way, he’s kind of the Holmes to my Watson.

Either way, we’re two halves of the same whole.

My dad knew it.

I knew it.

The Duke knew it.

It’s taken us forever to get back to that point, but it’s been worth it. The hole he left behind all those years ago isn’t easily patched, but we’re working on it.

It’s going as well as I think it could be, although I’m still prone to keep my walls up and not let myself get pulled back into Teh Crazy.

We’ll never have the conversation we need to have, but we’re having the ones that matter.

I can’t ask for anything more.

LIBERTEA!

i am literally crying, i’m laughing so hard

I was going to blog about something completely different, possibly some more about why the Supernatural fandom is awesome, but then THIS showed up on Facebook.

WE HAVE SHIPPERS!

The sad thing is, as one of those Americans who would be poking the already poked hornets nest, I totally get it. It’s hard to fall in love with something outside of your ‘world’. Doctor Who, Sherlock, Cabin Pressure - all British things loved by Americans, all seeming to require fan fiction written by Americans who are trying their hardest to nail something completely foreign to us. (Wow. That came out weird. Fuck it. I’m leaving it as is.) A lot of what’s out there is not brit-picked and as my most recent experience proves, finding brit-pickers is hard work. Finding beta readers are just as hard… So we try.

I’ve googled, Mapquested, and otherwise used every avenue available to ensure that I get as much right as I can, but it is hard work. I’m starting to wonder if the other side has it easy. Throw some nonsense words together. Talk about New York, maybe Boston, possibly something on the west coast like LA. Lather, rinse, repeat.

OK. Enough about that…

Tuesday ended up getting kicked in the nuts after all.

We were doing so well, Tuesday and I. Brilliantly, in fact. (Too much Cabin Pressure. See?!?)

And then it went and fucked it all up.

1) Still no word about the industry job.

2) The cost job has gone *poof* - they stopped talking to the recruiter. (WTH?)

3) And the oddest bit of all:
I applied for a full time job at this company I found on my own. Three things happened with this company:

a) I applied for the job because I found it on Monster. It was close to home. Skill set was in my wheelhouse (Fuck me. I hate business speak.), and it paid what I need it to.

b) Jimmy the Pimp calls to tell me they’re hiring a temp, possibly temp to perm, because they’re desperate right now, and would I be interested. I say, why not. Then it dawns on me that he can’t help me out because I’ve applied outside of his company. (He wouldn’t get a commission because they could argue that he didn’t place me. His company doesn’t play that game. I can’t say I’d argue with them…)

c) Tony the Pimp calls me with the SAME EXACT position. Temp to perm, etc. I tell him that I sent them my resume on 6/6. He tells me he doesn’t care. He’s the owner. He’s OK with waiving the placement fee if they take me on.

So, I applied for a job, and haven’t heard squat from the company. Now I have a recruiter pushing me on them. It’s odd, happy news, and frustrating all at the same time. Plus, I have to tell Jimmy the Pimp that he got screwed by the other headhunter… *sigh* FML.

And in other, other news…

I have been FREAKING OUT about the GORUCK Challenge. I’m not sure I’m strong enough. I’m not sure I’m in good enough shape. I’m frightened that I’m going to be the weak link and responsible for any extra “good livin’” our team may require. It’s not a good feeling.

It’s mostly mental - if you can shut up the voices in your head and become a team, the PT is supposedly not that bad. SUPPOSEDLY. Guess who is not in a healthy enough place to get the voices to shut up?

Yep.

July will be hot, too. I don’t do hot. My father enjoyed sweating like a pig… I don’t. I’m assuming I got that from my mother, because my father would wait until he sweat off a thousand pounds before going in the pool. During the summer, when my mother got overheated, the first thing she did was run to the pool. (Not one of her worse traits, so I guess I’m OK with it. But still…)

I’m going to try to grab J and head to the beach early one morning. EARLY. Like pre-tourist early so I can get used to being submerged with the ruck on. And get used to the cold water. And get used to being soaking wet. And find out how long it takes for my moisture wicking clothing to wick away the moisture. I suppose I can go to the boat launch around the corner… but again, that silly fear of something happening to me while I’m alone is pretty powerful.

That may be the worst thing about growing up an only child. Not having a built in buddy makes life hard when you’re little. My mother was infamous for not letting me go anywhere alone. I mean ANYWHERE. I was driven to different neighborhoods if she had to leave before the bus so I could wait for the bus with other people. And this happened well into the pre-teen years. We moved out when I was 14/15, so probably I was 12 or 13 when she finally stopped.

Then again, it’s not completely her fault. My father had one child and that child was a female. The cop in him always wanted to make sure I was safe. He gave me a lot more freedom, but I also got a lot of lectures on “Stranger Danger”... always be aware of your surroundings, try not to go anywhere alone if you can help it, really try not to walk anywhere at night unless you’re in a group.

It’s funny. My first birthday after he died, I took off for London. I stayed there a week, completely alone, and had life worked out, I would have spent some time with a guy I met over the internet. Yep. Alone in a strange city, in a strange country, with an even stranger MAN. Dad would have shit. Repeatedly. As it was, I’m surprised he didn’t return from the dead just to kick my ass for going on this trip.

I was almost pick pocketed while heading back to the hotel, but I saw the guy in the reflection of a window and was able to stay safe. I walked alone through the Piccadilly area one night and this guy grabbed me out of nowhere. He worked for the HRC (got a business card to prove it) and wanted a picture of me in my hat. He was with a group of people, but it was painfully obvious that they were all gay and therefore not a threat.

I can walk around a strange city, by myself and not feel one bit of fear, but leave me alone in my very safe neighborhood and I’m afraid to leave the house by myself. Age? Bipolar? I don’t know, but whatever it is, it’s a bit not good. (And there’s a Sherlock reference.)

OK… since I worked out this morning, today’s gone off the rails and I need to get back on track and start looking for a job.

*sigh*

There’s always a U after a Q. It’s the law. Mrs. Dimand taught me that. Eventually.

roger allam, john finnemore, benedork cucumberpatch

Tuesday has redeemed itself!!!!!

I really can’t even… this is perfect!

(and here’s your context, from the episode “Qikiqtarjuaq” - which I have now quoted so many damn times, I can spell Qikiqtarjuaq perfectly. Every. Single. Time.)

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: It wouldn’t have mattered anyway; I’ve seen your website.

ARTHUR: Oh, have you? Brilliant! You see, Mum, I told you people would go!

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Ohhh, you did that, did you?

ARTHUR: Thank you!

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Are you a professional web designer?

ARTHUR: No, not even a bit! But there’s this website that makes it really simple, even if you’re completely clueless, you can make it play music, and the words flash, and, you know, put in things like a line of dancing aeroplanes – you know, make it look, make it look really professional.

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Okaaay, Ms. Knapp-Shappey, I’m going to ask you and your crew from now on at all times to refer to this flight as being an Unbeaten Track flight, not an MJN one.

CAROLYN: Why? It is an MJN flight.

NANCY DEAN LIEBHART: Yes, but my concern is that travellers may Google you on their return and discover, no offense, what sort of outfit you are.

CAROLYN: When you say “no offense,” do you in fact know what that means?

I never could get the hang of Tuesdays

everyone knows jensen ackles is the princess of tumblr

Once again, that line is DIRECTLY from the show. Yep. Cracktastic.

Yesterday was written off because of the headache, so I’m trying to hit the ground running today.

It’s weird because I normally take Tuesdays off from the job search. Otherwise, I get depressed when there’s not a lot of new jobs to apply for. Skipping Tuesday normally means that Wednesday is really productive. I like productive days.

But - so far today, I’ve tried to fill out my unemployment claim in Spanish (Je parle français, mais pas couramment.) and I’ve tried to drink from my stapler. I’ve also jumped off the couch and spilled my coffee all over myself when Brown rang the doorbell to announce the arrival of the much needed dog food.

*sigh*

Jimmy the Pimp’s well has run dry. I haven’t heard back from Tony the Pimp about the cost job. And I’m so desperate, I’m interviewing in NEEDHAM. NEEDHAM! (Je suis très stupide.)

About the only thing going in my favour today is that my Cabin Pressure fan fic is going well. I’m almost ready to print it out and edit the hell out of it. Almost. It’s going a lot faster than my Johnlock did, which is both nice and scary. Oh well, editing will take take of the scary. I hope.

And knitting’s tonight - so I get to see people who aren’t at day care, not my husband, and not my personal trainer - so there’s that.

Today will redeem itself, or it will get kicked squarely in the nuts.

The Gospel According to… Chuck.

incestuous gay fanfiction, anyone?

Had a really bad night.

Jimmy the Pimp called when I was on the way to my workout.

Sig Fucking Sauer is STILL hiring for kick-ass accounting positions.

If I could just suck it up and sell my soul, I’d have a job a half hour from home in the income tax free state of New Hamster.

But instead, I just scheduled an interview at a huge telecom company in NEEDHAM, MA.

Look it up on Mapquest, sparky.

The beautiful town of Needham is - straight highway, no traffic - an hour and fifteen minutes from my little home in the shadow of The Nuke.

Let’s do the math, shall we?

The Shadow of the Nuke + straight trip down 95 - Boston traffic = 1.25 hours commute

I have people in the city proper chucking my resume into the bin because they’re worried about my commute.

This commute is going to be much worse.

I’m starting to wonder if he even looked at my resume…