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I'm rambling...oh, I'm rambling...

I keep going "Kate, Kate, Kate, you have got to write in this."

And then my brain goes "yeah, yeah -- hey! Shiny object! wheeeee!"

And then that's what happens. I don't write in here, I don't write in general, I just sort of stare blankly at shiny objects.

It's a curse.

So yesterday was an exciting-ish day at work. Everyone's getting psyched for Lord Of The Rings, and with free movie tickets, can you blame them?

And there's that whole "high fantasy being what we produce and high fantasy being almost what we live for" thing. Of course. I'm not really getting into it, I swear, but I've been enjoying the books.

Beats a kick in the teeth. Or really bad high fantasy.

Still camp as Christmas and still overwrought, though. I laugh and laugh.

But now I'm almost tempted to buy the game for my own personal use. I bought one for Dad, for Christmas, and a couple of the figures, but now I'm like "Hmm...I sure would like to paint some figures. Yes, sir."

But then the lizardmen stare at me with their beady beady eyes and guilt trip me. Aw, I loves you bitches. I'd never let you go.

God, I feel like I'm swimming through jello in my brain. Thoughts just ain't comin' out and all I want to do is curl up in bed and stare blankly at the ceiling while little creatures around me tend to my every need.

Or not. I don't know.

Had a mini-Christmas party at work yesterday, which was amusing. We weren't allowed to have an actual Christmas party because it was apparently looking "elitist" that our section had parties and other sections didn't, but, hell, with the money they saved on not having a party, they were able to give us booze for Christmas.

There is now a very nice bottle of Southern Comfort sitting on top of my wardrobe thanks to my company. God bless 'em, every one.

Although I gotta wonder about the meaning behind giving bottles of booze out. Are you saying that work is such a miserable place, you'll need to drink, or are you attempting to continue the university-boy-tradition of binge drinking? Is there a hidden meaning? Hmm?

Saw Zoolander yesterday. Laughed, enjoyed, but it was braindead fluff, much like the lead. Snickered at the cameos, but I think I got the best laugh when Winona Ryder was on the screen telling Derek Zoolander how cool he was. And all I could do was lean over and whisper to the husband "Hey, Winona, is that a coat in your pocket?"

Man oh man, waking up to the sound of BBC Radio One news and hearing that the main story was Winona Ryder being arrested for shoplifting, how I laughed and laughed. Curled up next to the husband and fell back to sleep giggling uncontrollably while he hit the snooze and thought it was all a dream.

Best way to wake up, baby. Laughing at tawdry celebrities.

Today, went and got my hair cut at a fancy schmancy salon that had twenty ga-zillion options for beauty treatments, but didn't take credit cards, which was a serious damper on my dreams of beauty. I was gonna go the whole route, man. Day spa, facials, fuck all....but, no, not if I have to pay in cash.

So I'm on the hunt for a new hair salon. I like what they did, even though they just trimmed off the ends and "shaped" it a little, but it looks good. Almost makes me not want to dye it, 'cept there's a big ol' chunk of red in the back, despite all the bleach I threw on my head.

I got L'Oreal's new dye -- Open. (which just sounds totally pervy to me, and that whole pretentious "it's natural!" malarky they've been spewing out) I like the names, though. Almost went with Osiris (what kind of name is that for hair dye! Dye your hair and come back from the dead!), but ended up with Zenith. Maybe my hair will look like a television.

Also found out today that Superdrug is selling Girl Cosmetics. Fuckin' right. They may not be calling it the Velvet Goldmine collection, but their glitter eyeliners blow my freakin' mind, kids. They're just ace.

Got home, ate pizza hut, spending the evening alone, 'cause the husband's off at a progtastic concert. Looking at my absinthe with a raised eyebrow -- the raised eyebrow of "Hey, wanna try it?"

Yeah, what the fucking hell...



Gah! This is like licorice on fire! Fucking excellent!

Damn, Twin Peaks and absinthe. Throw in a dancing midget and my life is fucking complete.

Jen-o is currently shorting out my mind. First she decides to start a list called EdgyBuffy which is like a big "fuck off" to middle america and their fascist fanfiction values (which is funny, since both of us are southern californian suburban brats, but at least we're mostly workin' class chicas). And I've been told that it's cool to be sort of the Hunter S. Thompson of fandom, long and relentless drunken diatribes against the world.

And then she starts in with Twin Peaks/Buffy crossovers that involve Cordelia Chase and Audrey Horne getting down and dirty and while she starts working out the fucking logic of it all, I'm permanently and totally stuck on Cordelia Chase in a tight sweater, plaid skirt, and fucking saddle shoes.


Sneakin' cigarettes and climbing into FBI agents' beds naked. Heading to over-the-border brothels and slipping on the high heels instead of the saddle shoes.

My word, it's freakin' delish.

Eh, The Brood's on in a bit, and the husband just got home, so I think I'm going to get offline to spend quality time with him.

Just a bit of random trivia before I go:

The negatives of The Wicker Man are believed to be filler on the M3 highway.

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