Here's what's got me worried.

This morning, I got up, got dressed, put very little make up on and went to town. I went into every clothes shop there was and bought absolutely nothing.
Then, I went on the internet specifically to check my team's league standings in Fantasy Football (which has eaten my brain, and for the first and probably only time in my life, makes me concerned about the state of Steven Gerrard's groin.)
Then I managed to get ready for a wedding in less than 20 minutes, including a change of clothes and re-doing my hair and makeup.

To top it off, when I got to the wedding my brother was wearing a kilt, which as masculine as it sounds, is still a skirt, which he looked better in than I usually do.

I've never been a girly girl, but I think it might actually be time to resign my female status.


I don't want to be a man, though. Is there a third gender?

Morning all.
(Well, afternoon, really, but most of my f-list is at least 5 hours behind me, so the law of averages says it'll be morning for most of you.)

lily_st_regis has gone mad, but in all fairness, she is having a very very bad time of storyboarding. And now she's progressed to Projectile Pencils in my living room. I maybe should have said no when she said, 'shall I make more coffee?'
Too late now!
Mwaa haa haa haa! (That's my caffeine overdose laugh, btw.)

I'm having Life Disillusionment Issues. I'm fairly certain that about three weeks ago, I really liked my job. And I do still like my job, the parts that involve talking to people and all the books, but the backstage stuff is driving me right up the wall and across the ceiling a little bit.


Oh, and I'm so over this Twitter thing.
Actually, no, that's not quite accurate, cos I like sneaking little glimpses into real people's lives.
I'm over the Z-list celebrity Twitter thing.
Partly because I don't I understand how you can say anything in 140 characters, but mostly because, if you've only got 140 characters to think about, HOW COME YOU STILL CAN'T SPELL?? And why is it suddenly the only way of getting a point across in the ongoing saga of your terrible marriage breakdown, or what ever self induced crisis you're inflicting on the public at this particular moment.
We get all the info - at great length, whether we want it or not - anyway, so how much light does your mispelled e-blip shed on the situation?
Mindless celebrities +Twittering = Twats.
ARGH!

Ok, off chest now.

And my brain won't behave. I need it to knuckle down and write some more of it's stupid new story and it doesn't want to. it wants to play on the internet and watch Veronica Mars and drink too much coffee and generally piss me off!
GRR!
It's enough to make you wish for bio-tech, or to be a cyborg, cos then at least you could program yourself to do want you wanted.



Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know.



I'm getting help, I promise.

Jz x

I came online today to fill my post with random inane rubbish, but in wandering through cyber space I just got sucker punched.

David Eddings, fantasy legend, died on June 2nd at the age of 77.

I've loved David's work since I was probably too young to read it, and can think of no other writer whose stories inhabit my head so completely. David and his equally brilliant wife, Leigh, who died in 2007, managed to pick my brain out of my head, turn it inside out and give it back to me absolutely transformed.
It was The Belgariad that opened my eyes to fantasy, and to the reality of unreality. Without it, I'd have never read Lord of The Rings, or explored the Discworld. I'd have never opened my brain to the likes of Neil Gaiman, and I'd be a poorer person for it.

Rest in peace, David. You were utterly brilliant, and you've left us a legacy that shines.

When I grow up, I want to be Calleigh Duquesne.

Can someone sort that out for me, please?
Cheers!

Yes indeed, after having moved into my new house and said at least 3 times a week since October that I needed to get the internet in my new house, I finally did it.
And it's lovely. I can check email, and watch the BBC for the news, and do research for work, and arrange  for the plumber to come to my new house and of course, LJ can creep back out af the ether and chew absently on my cerebrum for evermore.
*sigh*

So anyway, I'm still here, in my new house I'm still grouchy, sarky, prone to hysterics, likely to be more worried about everyone else than myself and still completely totally bat-shit crazy bonkers madMADMAD.


Jez  x






Oh, and did I mention,  I bought a house?
(NEW HOUSE! NEW HOUSE! NEW HOUSE!)

Or, 'What happens when my cracked brain, and the cracked brain of my very best friend, spills out in text message form.'

Right, so lily_st_regis  and I have a tendency to watch mad TV programmes. Currently, the ‘House Of Crack Fuelled Programming’ that is ITV is showing a series called ‘Lost In Austen’, where a girl not all together dissimilar from ourselves finds a door in her bathroom, and ends up in the middle of Pride and Prejudice.

Honestly, it is a real show, I promise.

Anyway, I’m English, female and single. Pride and Prejudice is practically my second bible. Therefore, I want an invisible magical door next to my toilet that deposits me amongst the fictional inhabitants of classic literature. Like any other sensible girl, so does Lily, which is ( where THIS conversation started. )
(Bonus points for anyone who can spot all of the pop-culture references. We’re actually turning into the Gilmore Girls, it’s a little worrying.)

I've got a new LJ, especially and only for my random wordy outbursts!
No longer will random ass crack fuelled prose clutter up this page - now it gets to clutter all over northern_ink, where it won't get in the way of my thrilling and deeply interesting life.

(I am actually delusional tonight, because I made pie, it's a full-on sugar coma in a graham cracker crust, and I ate 3 pieces. Bad Jez.)

All mad fictitious rambles are there from now on.

That's all.
Jez x

Uber uber quick, because I'm all twitchy today, and because I'd been drinking when I watched Doctor Who, so it's all a little hazy anyway...

In other slightly exciting news, I won the internal short story competiton at Waterstones, which means my story goes into the postcard book along with a whole bunch of people who are infinitely more brilliant and talented than me.

I'm a little bit proud. (OK, so I'm stupidly over excited, but I'm trying to be humble here.)


And... that's it.

Jez x

Ok, so most of you probably know this already but the fabulous J K Rowling has written an 800 word snippet of a Potter prequel for a charity auction, held by the company I work for, Waterstone's.

It's classic Potter, or original Potter, i guess you could say, but I'l not spoil it.
She's not the only author to have done so- there are 13 stories in total, including stories by Neil Gaiman, Sebastian Faulks, Tom Stoppard, Lauren Child, Irvine Welsh and others, and I just think the whole idea is brilliant!

It must be said, I'm very proud to have the job I have today.

But it doesn't stop there!
Oh no sirree Bob!

There will be a book prduced, containing all the stories, plus three that are written by the winners of our What's Your Story competition,
To finally get round to the point, (yes I know, shush,) those of you in the UK and Ireland can still enter this competition. Details are here, get your plot bunnies out of their cages and get writing!

That is all.

Jez x

I intend to ramble for a fair while about the new Indiana Jones movie. If you haven't seen it, and want to...

It just wasn't a cohesive whole. Bits of it were good, but it never really gelled as a movie, and I found it hard to care about anyone, including Indy, and I pretty much wanted him to be my dad when I was 9.

Should have left well enough alone, guys.



In related news, another thing that's pissing me off is Eurovision, and the pointlessness of us competing each year.
Only the British will really understand what I'm talking about, so to all you non-Brits, which is most of you, ignore this random rant: Eurovision is a yearly exercise in stupidity, and I so do not have the strength to explain it fully, since I'll weep, but basically, it's like European Idol, but less Simon Cowell and more really dodgy dancing.

Mind you, it is worth YouTube-ing the entries from Latvia, Bosnia Herzegovina, Azerbaijan, Finland and Ireland.
Yes, these are all real.
No, we are not cooking up a continent wide April Fool.
Yes, we do this every year.
No, mad cow disease has not broken out again.

Anyway, I got annoyed - again - and wrote to the BBC - again.

Dear lovely BBC people,
I've just spent the evening watching Eurovision, which teetered, as always, on the fine line between madness and brilliance. And I have to admit; I was really quite enjoying it, though the Azerbaijani demon-angel hybrids might well give me nightmares.
Until the voting, when it all went horribly wrong. Even Sir Terry seemed a little depressed and who can blame him? Andy Abraham did a great job, with a good song and deserved far more recognition than he received.
All this is a roundabout way of asking exactly why we still compete in this Eastern European ego boost, and how much are we paying for the privilege of being ignored?
Without Sir Terry, whose commentary is always the highlight of this daft political circus, I'd have switched off after the Bosnian brides on laundry day.

I should stop bitching really, but my licence fee pays for this spectacle and I disapprove.
(And finding the right links for those songs has got them all stuck in my head, so I'm off to listen to Metallica.)

J x

ARGH! ARGH! AARRRGGGHH!

327 words out of 1500 with 3 hours to go equals ARGH!!

ARGH!





ETA - I rock. I am Queen Of All Things. particularly those thing that involve squeezing 1150 coherent words out of my arse in 3 hours and 18mins.

(And that includes 30 mins and a penalty shootout worth of men in shorts.)

(And a minor depression, because I was cheering for Chelsea.)

(Ok, so I've already said most of this to summersdream, but it should be said again.)

OMG with the whoop do doop and buckets of YAY for Iron Man, and the explosions and the shiny shiny things and the complete and unashamed lack of plot and the ridiculous amount of unexpected hotness that is Robert Downey Jr!!!
Ooh, he's all sweaty and sarky and deadpan and oooh!
Phwoar, as we say in my country. (Well, I don't, but that's not the point.)
And a cracking soundtrack, as well as bonus points to Gwyneth Paltrow for a) not being a completely useless sidekick and b) not falling on her ass in those huge skyscraper heels. Good on you, girl.

It's just so much fun.

See, that, right there, that is what a super hero movie is supposed to be like. None of this angsting over your girl-next-door true love, or stressing about touching people in case they die, or stupid green lumps of CGI bouncing about the place. *

Take note, all Hollywood Movie type peeps.
Once you've picked your classic comic book character, research them thoroughly (which means don't muck up the timelines and histories and yes I'm talking to you, people in charge of X Men.) Find the right director and actors, who may not be the ones the studio want in the roles, write a single, strong, focused plotline, and follow through on the promise of the early trailers.

Or, to simplify
Watch Iron Man
Do. It. Like. That.


* (Just  to point out, I very much enjoyed all the Spidermans and the X-Mens, but Hulk is two hours of my life lost forever in a godawful hell dimension.)

(it's about bloody time, mind!)

Summer is great!
And, yes, I know it's only may, and I'm counting my chickens while they're still inside the original chickens, but I so don't care.

Checklist of seriously good things about today -
Motorbikes.
Converitbles with the top down.
Wearing your sunglasses for the first time.
Walking to work in little more than a vest.
Sky so blue it hurts.
And not to sound shallow, but oh my god, hooray for boys in shorts!!


*sigh*

I love summer. (even when it's still only Spring.)

Hurrah!

Tis St George's Day!
A time to be patriotic, and wave flags and be proud that I'm the nation of Elizabeth I, II, and Victoria. Shakespeare. Churchill. The Who. Judi Dench. Jonny Wilkinson's right foot. All of Jonny Wilkinson, come to that.
(Apologies to Richard Curtis.)

Also a good day for vanquishing a large scaly fire-breathing dragon with a shiny broadsword!
(You know, if a large scaly fire-breathing dragon happens to cross your path and you happen to be carrying a shiny broadsword. )

Hurrah!

I'm off to the pub to do the whole St Paddy's Day drinking thing when it's actually relevant to the country I live in!
Hurrah!
Tea and crumpets all round, God save the Queen, Tally ho!

'And did those feet,
In ancient time,
walk upon England's mountains green...'

Who decided Mariah Carey was allowed a new album?
Seriously?

Can I has machete, plz?

Blagaghagblahah!!
The world is madder than anything has ever been ever.
Insanity is raining down from the sky, and drowning me in crazy.

Ok.
March the 17th is St Patrick's Day .
It has always been and will always be so. He's a Patron Saint, it's his day.

However.
The madness that is the Catholic Church has MOVED St. Patricks day from March 17th to March 15th, so that - wait for it - so that it doesn't fall in Holy Week, the official Catholic celebration of Easter.

All this boils down to the fact that - even thought I'm only about a quarter Irish -  I refuse to play along. Monday is the 17th, therefore Monday is St Patrick's Day, and no amount of dogmatic mumbo jumbo invented to retain the sanctity of a religious holiday based on the Pagan lunisolar calendar will make me change my mind.

(If anyone needs me, I'll be outside, waiting for a celestial bolt of lightning to strike me down.)

Jez x

Seriously, what the... ?

It's so wrong.

Gah.

Quick - if random - question.

Can any of you shoot a gun?
More accurately, can any of you describe to me how you would teach someone to shoot?

See, I've got this plot bunny that's gone off carrots in favour of my brain cells, and it wants me to have one character teach another to shoot.

But I'm british. Guns? A little thin on the ground, and I have no idea what I'm talking about.

Answers on a postcard, please.

Unceremoniously nicked from daphyn


1) Put $MUSIC_PLAYER on random/shuffle/other.
2) List the titles of the first 25 songs.
3) Append "in my pants" to each title.
4) Bold those titles you laugh at.


1) The More I Drink In My Pants
2) Roxanne In My Pants
3) I Remember Joe In My Pants - (oo-er missus!)
4) The Deadwood Stage In My Pants
5) The Song That Jane Likes In My Pants
6) Wipeout In My Pants (that's just a bit icky)
7) Hunger For The Great Light In My Pants
8) The Pretender In My Pants
9) County Line In My Pants
10) Cool To Hate In My Pants
11) The Wizard And I In My Pants
12) More Than A Whisper In My Pants
13) Monkey Wrench In My Pants ( ... nah, too easy!)
14) Kidnap The Sandy Claws In My Pants
15) Gravedigger In My Pants
16) Ventura Highway In My Pants
17) Desperados Waiting For A Train In My Pants
18) Voodoo Child In My Pants
19) Hands Open In My Pants
20) Footloose In My Pants
21) Teenage Wasteland In My Pants
22) Hate (I Really Don't Like You) In My Pants
23) Armageddon It In My Pants
24) Solsbury Hill In My Pants
25) The Boys Are Back In Town In My Pants


That was an amusing waste of time/displacement activity.

(I really can not be arsed to write this essay.)




(Yes, again.)

I was a little bit bad today.
I bought 4 books, none of which I needed to buy, and none of which I can really afford, but two of them were half price, which, when you take into account my staff discount, means I got the latest Stephen King and the latest Iain M. Banks for a total of £12.72! ($25 ish)
There's no universe where that is bad!
(Ok, I didn't need the Heroes tie-in, or Neil Gaiman's Eternals, but by then the bug had bitten me. Damn bug bite.)

On a much less happy and infinitely more annoying note, I've gotten myself caught up in a love triangle.
Let it be said, I am not a protaganist/corner!
And, in all fairness, it's not even really a triangle.
It's like a line, with arrows of affection travelling every which way.
2 girls, and a boy, as the most complicated of these things usually are, and it all stems from the fact that he's a shit!
It's not even a Helena loves Demetrius, who loves Hermia thing, cos the girls don't even like each other. Hell, they barely know each other!
Apologies to Shakespeare, but it's more Lysander and Demetrius both love Hermia, and if they find out that she's dicking around with both of them, there'll be hell on.

Or something.
I've confused myself.

Trying again without the waffle and Elizabethan playwrights -
Girl 1 - L - used to go out with Boy - A
L dumped A for an old boyfriend.
A hooked up with Girl 2 - E, and moved in with her.
Now A is hitting on L again, whilst E waits at home, cooking his dinner.
And because I'm friends with both girls, L tells me all this, and I have to smile and nod to E's face, when I know her boyfriend is planning to dick/has dicked around behind her back.

It's all very stressful!
I don't like it.
*pouts*

Oh, and what follows is the random ass crap that fills my text message inbox at 4 am.

Jz x