Things that merge and bubble on a hot, sunshiney day...

Hot day + shopping = *eh*

Granny + shopping = *siiiiiiiigh*

Granny + new store layout = *I feel a headache coming on*

Granny + shopping + new store layout + hot day x the fact that she's not been allowed out for 2 months and is therefore completely barmy = (Please, I beg you... just kill me. It'd be more humane x headache) / stress + you just stabbed me in the hand with the sharp corner of a plastic vacuum pack I'm fucking BLEEDING!



Yeah...

Mathematically, there's a reason that I hate Wednesdays.

An argument with fictivies

LT glares at her assembled muses. She's been pacing up and down in front of them for a while now, a stormy look on her face.

A couple of them do at least have the good grace to look a little cowed.

"You're all bastards, do you know that?" LT snaps. "Complete, total, and utter bastards!"

VanHughsling opens his mouth as if about to say something but LT cuts him off. "And don't you try to worm your cute tush out of this either, you're as bad as they are."

The Wolvies pout and VanHughsling gives them an accusing glare.

"One more time," LT declares, waggling her finger at them. "One more time, I swear... the next time any of you decide that you're going to inspire nothing but dramatic set-pieces without any goddamn narrative framework I am absolutely going to THROTTLE you!"

"You!" LT points at Ulti!Wolvie. "Want to explain what that whole big scene with Magneto is about? Cause I can tell you're angsting about something but I sure as hell don't know what. And you..." She points at Eddie. "You better work out how the hell you get from that bar to that bedroom, buck naked with the baby oil, cause as far as I know you've not yet mastered the art of nudie teleportation."
The Eddie!muse just smirks.
"You, VanHughsling, you better figure out why that vampire babe is sinking her fangs into you in that particular place and you better figure it out now because as it stands it's just fucking WEIRD..."
The Wolvies all look at Van Hughsling and snicker as he blushes up a storm.
"Aaaaaaand you..."
LT stops in front of her Leo!muse. She sighs and tugs on his collar, straightening his tie and carefully arranging his hair before thoroughly discheveling him all over again. "You, my lovely little Leo... have left me a whole fic outline... but no damn fic! Half-assed work. Sloppy job. And it'll be entirely your own fault if you don't get to the sex bit in the stables."
He presses his lips together tightly and tries to take this reprimand with a stiff upper lip, but fails miserably and does a lovely turn with the big, watery, disney-eyes of DOOM.
LT sighs and goes back to hammering away at one of the many MANY WIPs, roping in for once an otherwise often-neglected Rogue!muse.

"Useless men," she grumbles. "All, bloody useless..."

small-time concerns

Am I allowed to find it deeply ironic that a company called Crimson&Blake make probably the world's least-crimson crimson acrylic paint...?

This is not crimson. It says it's crimson on the tbe, but it's not even printed on a crimson coloured swatch.
This is brown. Brown, pretending to be crimson...

This amuses me strangely.