So it turns out re-watching The Fountain at the hormonal nadir of the lunar cycle is a baaaad idea. I mean, I nearly burst into tears over a murder-mystery on TV earlier. Life/death/eternal love is not going to do me any favours right now.

I have a job! Temp retail work over the Christmas holidays, but IDGAF this is totally going to save my financial ass in some small way, at least.

Every time I watch The Queen and we hit the bit where the little girl with the flowers says "No, they're for YOU." and slowly people along the front rows begin to smile and curtsey one after another and I just burst into the sloppiest, snortiest sobs, ever.

Video thanks to aquamonet



Mine?

"Chronically pop-culture-impaired Austen fan seeks companion for kareoke, eating my cooking, protection from ghosts, tree-climbing and time-travel."

In a close second to narwhals for terrifying aquatic species, we have the Amazonian river dolphin.

Seriously, what the FUCK?
( Kiiiiill aaaaall huuumaaaans! )

If you have to ask, the answer is probably yes.

Sort of. I mean, my dreams are turning into videos. Kind of.

between the rye and the Raglan Road and the sleep I'm getting o' nights becoming shorter and shorter...

Narwhals.

Heathcliff. What can possibly be said about Heathcliff?

( Well... )

I can't go into any coffeeshop in this town. There is bad juju, and it taints everything. If I haven't worked there and left things awkwardly, then I have been in to apply for work and had management jerk my chain for all of three months before I gave up, or else they are too far from my bus stop, or else they have poor service, or else I can't even go buy a sandwich without having fricking demons from my past confront me in the awfullest sense.

I thought Assy McAssface had left the country. Well, he's back.

I made chit-chat. I made fucking CHIT-CHAT with the son of a bitch who put me into therapy for a year and crazy depression for five before that.

Because I'm still not assertive enough to tell him he's a bitch and turn on my heel. No, we caught up on the bloody good ol' days for longer than was really necessary because I didn't have the balls to say "you know what, I don't want to even buy anything from you." So I farted around for five minutes and took some address he gave me so I could come out and support some venture of his and then I spent six-fucking-fifty on a sandwich so I'd have a reason to end it all.

I threw away the Post-It, but that hardly exonerates me from being such a dipshit deer-in-the-headlights.

And now I have a sandwich I don't really feel like eating, despite being hungry.

Oh, angst-ridden video blogs. Where would I be without my ability to combine my love of camwhoring and the everyday maudlin crises of my life?

<3

No, I'm not posting it here.

So I did the re-cap of episode two. It's...not all that good. Like, not even good for snarking, aside from pretty much the same jokes as we've had all along because it's utter, utter shite with wonderful set-dressing and production values.

Here, I'll post the screencaps and you can draw your own conclusions. The plot is meh and nothing really good happens, ever.

( You're welcome. )

So I had the idea to pull and all-nighter and just push through the next episode of The Scarlet Pimpercrap, rip the bandage off quickly, git 'er done, etcetera; but then I realized that it was a horrible, HORRIBLE idea to start something like this at 11 at night when my eyes are already twitching and achey and my right wrist is sore from crocheting with a fury all day (why, yes, I AM The Everygrandma packed into a twentysomething body!)

It'll have to be tomorrow.

Not that anyone Out There will mind, because really, I'm doing this for Me. For Tony. For Canon.

(Mel Gibson: FOR FREEDOOOOOOOM!)

You know what? I'm going to bed before midnight, tonight. For once. I'll wake up at 8, anyway. Might as well try to tack on more sleep at this end of things.

Episode Two - The Clone Wars Mademoiselle Guillotine (it's supposed to be MADAME, but whatever. Or if we're going by book titles, it's actually Mamz'elle Guillotine. Again--W-ever bitches.)

What's going to be great/horrible about this is that you just KNOW they're going to be making shit up from hereon in. We wept over the tattered shreds of canon in the last film, of course, but now we can kiss it entirely goodbye. Bonus - if anything remotely canonish shows up in here, we shall have a shot to celebrate. Sadly, I fully expect this will leave us far too sober, in the end.

( oh my gosh I have such a headache... )

...the end.

Yeah, no, that's it. For the episode, at least. I mean, this makes more sense as part of a series than the first one does.

Geez. Two days and plenty of sanity-saving breaks to get through an hour and a half.

Oh, chickens...

So the 1999 Scarlet Pimpernel was an atrocity, there cannot be two opinions on the point as far as canon goes.

But--and prepare yourself, for this is quite dreadful, and can only get worse--it's a television series. Certainly the only way to make it more ghastly is to put out more of it. Evidently the horror that was the stand-alone film was also episode one. Of six, according to imdb.

So far I only have in my possession episode two and three, but I don't think I could honestly, mentally, emotionally handle it if I had all the other five laid out before me. I would just boggle myself into oblivion. My head is swimming with terror, now. Also the urge to waaatch. Because in between crying and screams of rage, I will doubtless laugh harder than I have in six full months.

(If anyone is wondering, no, I am not "over it" insofar as they killed Lord Tony in the first "episode". I will never be Over It. I will never forgive them that. They could pump out dramatic gold that pays every kind of obedience to the God of Canon, every line and twitch of an eyebrow dripping with wit and charm and utter cracktastic fantasmagoria, and I would still hiss and spit in the quietest of moments "you killed him". Because they did. And fictional or not, he was my favourite, and I will never let it go. Ever. There is just no way you can bring someone back from being shot in the head at close range unless you pull an "It Was All A Dream" of Dallas-ean proportions.)

Just got home from seeing Julie & Julia. Have a sudden urge to cook something. Am going to go to bed, instead. Bother it.

Had a bit of a crap day for reasons I'm not going to get into, but suffice it to say that there has been considerable emotional upheaval in the past six hours that is probably going to turn into a useful life lesson but right now it's just draining all my energies and not really giving me any resolution. There's no way out of this that isn't going to sting in some way.

"Did you see my rose in my ginger bottle beer?"
"...?"
"I mean, in my ginger beer bottle?"
"Oh! Yes, it's very pretty. Where did you get it?"
"The garden, after I finished watering. As I am a vengeful god, I took one of their own in retribution."
"..."