Oh, goodness gracious! Does anyone have the Colbert Christmas Special soundtrack? I can't find it anywhere!

Note: Don't try to restring a finicky fucking electric guitar when you're goddamn pmsing.

It only ends in tears. Yours.

I cut my own hair again. Figured if there was any kind of good karma, it'd be on Christmas. Not sure if I like it yet. It's now this wee little bob, with shorter bangs. Not that any of you know what it looked like before, but that's NOT THE POINT.

On with the show!

[7] Random Stock/Botticelli
[6] Keith Olbermann
[2] Moar Spock
[1] Partridge in a Pear Tree



( FIVE GOLDEN RIIIINGS )

Use abuse, whatever. Credit optional, but leave a comment, yeah?

OH, OH. WHAT DID EVERYONE GET FOR THE HOLIDAYS? I gots me a sewing machine and an ipod.

I AM SO EXCITED.

How-dee~! (Mm, phonetic.)

So, uh, anyone want a little doodle portrait thinger of themselves? All cartoon-y like? I'm having a major artistic dryspell. Post/send a picture, and I'll be more than happy to doodle you.

Also, drabbles. DRABBLES. Anderkeeeef.

( I'm gonna tear your ass up like we just got married and you're all mine now. )

NNnrrgg... I can't sleep. I bring you these.

( Hugh icons! )

All of them are woefully simple because I'm only just getting used to Corel PSP X. I miss my PSP 7. ;____;

( Andy icons! )

( THESE ICONS ARE ILLOGICAL. )

( And moving on to further Trek... )

Use, abuse, whatever you like. Credit, don't credit, I don't mind. But leave a comment, yeah?

That's right, bitches. Because I could use some cheering up, and I feel like it, and really, do I actually need an excuse to give you hot pictures? Really?

( The Hot. )

( The Funny. )

This is a pic spam, barely contained by the fences of lj-cuts. Like a fat girl with a too-small bra. (Hey, I take offence to that!)(Hey, buddy, I like IHOP!)

Because I thought it was high time there was a picspam. Of hotness.

That's right, people (or, alternatively, person-- I'm not too sure how many will read this). This is a "picspam the hottest hotties in hottown" thread. And because I'm OCD, I'm going to list mine in descending order. (I fuckin' hate ascending lists. I always read them backwards anyway.)

Post! Post your own lists, with lots of pics and reasons, in whatever order you like! It needs no rhyme or reason, you shan't be judged here. ;]

( Number one. )

And speaking of things that make hookers blush, moving on to...

( Number two. )

And in regards to steely abs, onward to...

( Number three. )

I love Jon Stewart more than I could possibly say.

If you haven't seen tonight's episode of the Daily Show, then I highly suggest you jump on that. Jon's interview with Mike Huckabee is calm, mature, and reveals the immense intellect that tends to hide behind the Bush impersonations. He is so articulate, so very erudite and non-accusatory, it's shocking considering the subject matter is one that is highly volatile that generally degrades to little more than shouting matches.

It's that good, guys.

Or: How To Deal With Life and Fancy Minimalist Salads

Step One. Botch your dinner and explore the wonderful world of olfactory adventure that is burnt garlic. Light incense and simmer lightly for five minutes. Eat your shitty burnt chicken anyway, with one cup soy sauce and one generous glass of red wine.

Step Two. Long for a fancy balsamic vinegar salad. Add another glass of wine.

Step Three. Realise you have balsamic vinegar. Look up what to do and hope vinegar can't suddenly alight, scarring you for life and subsequently burning all of your worldly possessions to the ground. Take a drink every time you imagine your untimely but morbidly amusing death.

(For the record, it can't.)

Step Four. Add 1 cup of balsamic vinegar and 1 tablespoon of brown sugar to a small pot at medium-low. Fret over stirring mixture every two minutes for about ten. The moment you realise it will likely take forever (30 minutes), take a drink.

Step Five. For the love of god, do not get impatient and up the heat. When you do, though, freak out at the spitting noises and pour yourself another drink.

Step Six. Resign yourself to the long haul and curse television for your inability to focus on anything ever.

Step Seven. Simmer mixture for approx. 40 minutes, or until it meets your viscosity/taste needs. Every time you burn your tongue, take a drink.

Step Eight. Long for a fancy cheese like feta or mozzarella to be drizzled in your newly made caramelized balsamic vinegar. Revel in your clear and obvious superiority.

Step Nine. Your entire first floor now smells strongly of vinegar and you're pretty buzzed. Enjoy.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday! All new memes at low, low prices!

I dunno. This was jacked from peapods42. Because she's wicked.

( Das Meme )

Had a minor breakdown earlier in the week. I'm assuming I'm going nuts like my mother, but I wouldn't fret if I were you. I'm quite alright. ;]

All my room-stuff is back and such, with the freshly painted walls all orange and awesome. I've started writing little drabbles again, woo~ I may or may not contact some of my realfic friends to trade-off muses. :o

Two people are in love (their words) with me. I have known one for thirteen years, the other for six. And I'm pretty sure I'm wholly out of my depth. I don't do emotions. This is fuckin' weird.

On the bright side, I've got a spike through my lip. It makes me happy.

Shit, bitches. I just took a dirty-indie-kid turn for the worse.

Definitely just cut my own hair with a broken shaving razor.

Go ahead. Tell me you have a hard-on for that.

So maybe I haven't been sleeping again. Fuck.

Uh, I wrote a new song. I was going to say something here, but now I've forgotten it.

Damnit! American Beauty makes me fucking cry every time.

She takes me by the hand outside to the patio and asks me what's wrong.

"Nothing," I say. "I'm just tired." I am, though my mind is admittedly preoccupied. The music from the bar is giving me a headache. I smile.

"C'mon, tell me." She wheedles in a manner which I assume she thinks to be convincing.

"No, really, I'm just tired."

"Yeah, right, because you become all emotionally distant and detached and spacey when you're tired." She says.

"Incidentally, I do." I say, calm.

"Stop lying to me." She's smirking, like she's figured me all out. I think about how much I fucking hate people who do that. I think about telling her exactly where she can put her pseudo-psychological assessments.

"I never lie." Said with a calculated smile, joking eyes. Evasive maneuvers. She regards me for a moment.

"You think you're this big, dark, mysterious person, don't you?" She's still smirking. I still want to flip her off and leave.

"I'm not particularly any of those things. Why, do you think I am?"

"I meant, y'know, mentally."

"I know what you meant." I pause, look into my gin and lime. It says nothing. "I think we're all just little people, Danny."






And on that pointless bombshell, I present you with a song

If you haven't seen Keith's Campaign Comment for tonight, I strongly suggest you head on over to MSNBC.com right now and check it out. I was... moved. More on that later.

So hello anyone and everyone! Er, hopefully I'll be on more often at this point. Done quit my job that had me working evenings. X]

I know. Let it never be said I'm responsible or, y'know, whatever. Anyway.

Anyone watch the Report tonight-- last night? Am I the only one who was silly-thrilled about the mere mention of another of the pundit posse?

( Stephen/Keith, PRT 'verse... )

What is love but, like religion, a vast, complex, man-made excuse for living?

I'm curious.

So I've been buried in a new job and an even newer illness. I'm getting better, thankfully, on both accounts. The new job is just dandy (I do telephone surveys) and the illness is slowly receding. Not much has happened. I dyed my hair. My distaste for male companionship was once again reawakened.

I was on the phone with my friend Katie this evening and, on a whim, started writing on the side of my desk in permanent marker. She was telling me about something that happened on her trip to Sweden and an odd sort of stream-of-conscious came out. I've been neglecting my writing and it was a relief.

( If only all problems were so sweet and easily consumed, forgotten. )

ALSO: For those of you as of yet uninformed, visit The Evil League of Evil. (Bad horse-- he's bad!)

I've been watching intense amounts of Star Trek Original Series lately, ever since I downloaded the full three seasons of it.

Spock is so fucking painfully awesome. I want to be him when I grow up. And shit.

... I had a really shitty shift today.

So I was awake at about 4 am this morning/last night?, watching a Planet of the Apes marathon, and I decided to make my own chocolate. My house is always totally devoid of sweets, which is total hell for a sweet-fiend such as myself.

So I slopped in about 4 tbs of cocoa, 6 tbs of icing sugar, oodles of vanilla extract and about 2 tbs of melted butter in a bowl, mixed it around then stuck in the freezer. Not too shabby, actually.

Karaoke night!

Peapods: I've not forgotten about you! You'll be getting that portrait at some point before the weekend. C:

What follows is more like a story than a journal entry, though the events are taken from my rather interesting start to the day. This is likely very dull. ;]

( A storyjournal centred around religion. )

So, yeaaah.... Just, y'know, a note for future reference.... When sneaking alcohol into a movie theatre with your under-age cousin? Bring a bottle opener for the coolers. Genius.

In case you're curious, I eventually opened two bottles. Because I'm made of fucking magic.

And now for random imagery! Huzzah?

( A fixed-up doodle. )

( Hesitant sketch for my quarter-sleeve. )

( A self portrait for facebook. )

( And finally, in case anybody missed it... )

So, uh, guys? If I don't make it back and stuff... you guys can have my stuff.

I'm about to shuttle out to Folk Fest (sweetchristyay) and a roll of thunder that SHOOK THE WINDOWS IN THEIR SILLS just, well, rolled.

So, like, might die and stuff. Alternatively, might live, swee the Weakerthans again. Live! Live! We're doin' it live!

*dances off*