Friday and a little trade off

It's Friday, and for some reason, it's come none too soon this week. I've just been tired, itchy and irritable, in deep need of hibernation.

I also need desperately to go to Target and clean my house, so maybe the weekend could have held off a little longer.

A friend of mine has my DVD's with LGM on them. I want them back!! And yet I sound bitchy when I ask for them, and I can't actually go 'round and harass him for them. His girlfriend haaaates me, and he and M. used to be close friends and no longer speak, and dude, frelling boys and their just inconceivable unspoken issues.

Am looking forward to watching BSG in real live time tonight:)

And wow, watch me bounce from topic to topic. In that vein, high on over to farscapefriday and write me a fairy tale, dammit!!

I have a fairy tale I want to write, the actual version of the one started ages ago in rubberneck's LJ, which at the time had been intended to entertain her, but had been based on an idea I'd had for quite some time. It is the drawback for me of writing fiction, the way ideas slip in and out, flit and dart and tease, the way putting them into words is so frelling hard, the way the words come stiff and uneasy instead of liquid smooth. I can shake my head at some of my ficcy sentences, say that phrase telegraphs, that paragraph is all tell, no show, but it doesn't embarrass me, doesn't make me doubt myself, doesn't stagnate me into not writing. So much to fear in writing original fic and I get stymied and wretched, not following my own advice.

Which is to "Just Write It, Dammit!"

I will continue the archetype/mythology/genre TV as an exploration of our culture story later. Today, it appears, is all about the ramble.

So, for crankygrrl, who has already seen this, a little BSG fic. It was my bribe to get her to finish the LGM porn.

It is plotless, really plotless, but sadly porn free. And I'm sorry, while Frack may sound substantially more like Fuck than Frell does, it does not trip off the fingers quite as easily. It may develop into something once I've had a chance to rewatch the eps. Now that it's done I have a sense of it's potential.

Title:You Can Call Her Bessie, But You'd Better Hope She Doesn't Talk Back
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Well, there are vague spoilers to everything from ep. 5 on, but I don't unveil too many of the major plot points.

( You Can Call Her Bessie... )

Sudden realizations and random chortling

M. taped Jack and Bobby this week, and it offered up one of those true moments of realism that TV occasionally brings.

Jack asks Grace if she bought Hot Pockets and she says that she bought the organic kind, to which he replies, "The organic kind taste like ass."

I was rolling on the floor, literally, it was just such perfect teenage boy delivery, that edge of whine, that utter hopelessness and snark. No pretension, no oversophistication, just ass.

My cousin was exactly the same about food, about everything. To this day my mother cannot hear the word jackass without cracking up:) It was his favorite word. Really anything that began, circled, or ended with ass.

And I realized, talking to rubberneck, that The Shining is a retelling of Bluebeard. Dude, they're gonna take away my Lit Major secret decoder ring. 'Course, if they ever find out I right ficcy porn, they might do that anyway:)