fume and fret. (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} feraldolce) wrote,@ 2009-03-14 01:25:00 |
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THIS BEAT IS SICK.
So I'm definitely supposed to be editing this behemoth novel of death, but Skyler turned fifteen an hour and a half ago, so half the high school's population of boys are in my backyard acting like hooligans and I can't concentrate. This is a half truth, really, because I just got in five minutes ago, anyway. OH, LIFE.
There's nothing really interesting on teh internetz these days except crack pairings and really clever fanfic that I "don't have time" to read. I seriously don't. I have no idea where the hours go. Liv Tyler said there are 24 usable hours in every day, right before that squinty bitch, Renee (accent aigu somewhere) Zellweger, picked her up in a convertible. NAME THAT FILM AND I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. Or write you something really nice, I swear.
In other, less retarded, news: YOUR SEX IS ON FIRE.
Clearly I was kidding about the less retarded part.
I don't know, really, except I wanted to show you this:
This, friends, is not what you want your first novel to look like when you pass it over to an editor. You want your first novel to know where a comma goes and how to spell your character's name consistently. I don't know why I do these things to myself. Oh, except for the money part. Seriously, what person objects to READING FOR MONEY? And talking shit for money, when it comes down to it. HAY, YOUR NOVEL. IT SUCKS.
I get paid to do that.
I'm definitely on a new fandom kick lately. Reading a lot of manga and staring at a lot of porn. Because hot boys fucking hot boys is always golden in my book. I'm interested in Death Note and Gin Tama and Katekyo Hitman Reborn! and Code Geass. I want to know about them all, baby. Code Geass pretty bad rite nao because that Lelouch kid is sexy (here's looking at youeverworld2662 [hiatus? nooo!]: you've been posting about the most awesome shit ever [FFXII included--been playing forever, still haven't finished], but I can't read it because I don't want to get spoiled D:).
Do you remember that kid that used to talk about grad school 24/7? I kind of miss her. She always had something intense to say about Hot Novel of the Week. Miller's Tropic of Cancer has been sitting at the side of my bed for about eight weeks now. It looks sexier and sexier by the minute. I just have no TIME. I could study all night if I was chowing down speed, too. OH, LOOK. It's that movie again. I wasn't kidding about the writing you something nice thing. I swear to god, I dropped Faulkner and Peter Pan in LB, and no one caught them. Major bum out, kids. Where the fuck did all the slightly geeky, unpretentious lit majors go? To Yale, probably.
I have more pictures. They are
These are kind of old. Been sitting in my camera for a month. I meant to show you my hilarious little hovel I'd been sleeping in while I was in Palm Springs, but I forgot to shrink it, and Photoshop is so many clicks away. So have these instead.
Three Points is what we call this place. Chillspot that we end up at right before we say our goodbyes for the night. During the day you can see out toward Santa Monica and the golden piss of the Pacific. To the left, obscured by darkness and a shitload of million dollar houses, is where downtown Los Angeles is.
Rimcrest, and this time that lovely tree is obscuring the beginnings of downtown L.A. Mostly what you're seeing is Glendale and some of Burbank. This was on a random rainy night I decided to drive around with some kids and blast some CIWWAF like a twelve year old so we could scream our lungs out. We're at a stop sign taking a long exposure, but if I had a tripod set up or something, you'd be able to see it better. On the other side of the mountains on the right is Hollywood.
Annnd this is some demon beast wearing sunglasses over her glasses. 99.9% of the Palm Springs pictures are too embarrassing to see the light of day, so I screencapped an equally incriminating early morning video of me and some kids spilling lattés on brand new carpet, smoking cigarettes, doing ridiculous things with blankets, and reading dirty text messages. My lips are chapped from kissing, I have morning hair, and my nose looks totally Filipino. I only tell you these things because I love you. Remember that.
Now BACK TO EDITING.
So I'm definitely supposed to be editing this behemoth novel of death, but Skyler turned fifteen an hour and a half ago, so half the high school's population of boys are in my backyard acting like hooligans and I can't concentrate. This is a half truth, really, because I just got in five minutes ago, anyway. OH, LIFE.
There's nothing really interesting on teh internetz these days except crack pairings and really clever fanfic that I "don't have time" to read. I seriously don't. I have no idea where the hours go. Liv Tyler said there are 24 usable hours in every day, right before that squinty bitch, Renee (accent aigu somewhere) Zellweger, picked her up in a convertible. NAME THAT FILM AND I WILL LOVE YOU FOREVER. Or write you something really nice, I swear.
In other, less retarded, news: YOUR SEX IS ON FIRE.
Clearly I was kidding about the less retarded part.
I don't know, really, except I wanted to show you this:
This, friends, is not what you want your first novel to look like when you pass it over to an editor. You want your first novel to know where a comma goes and how to spell your character's name consistently. I don't know why I do these things to myself. Oh, except for the money part. Seriously, what person objects to READING FOR MONEY? And talking shit for money, when it comes down to it. HAY, YOUR NOVEL. IT SUCKS.
I get paid to do that.
I'm definitely on a new fandom kick lately. Reading a lot of manga and staring at a lot of porn. Because hot boys fucking hot boys is always golden in my book. I'm interested in Death Note and Gin Tama and Katekyo Hitman Reborn! and Code Geass. I want to know about them all, baby. Code Geass pretty bad rite nao because that Lelouch kid is sexy (here's looking at you
everworld2662 [hiatus? nooo!]: you've been posting about the most awesome shit ever [FFXII included--been playing forever, still haven't finished], but I can't read it because I don't want to get spoiled D:). Do you remember that kid that used to talk about grad school 24/7? I kind of miss her. She always had something intense to say about Hot Novel of the Week. Miller's Tropic of Cancer has been sitting at the side of my bed for about eight weeks now. It looks sexier and sexier by the minute. I just have no TIME. I could study all night if I was chowing down speed, too. OH, LOOK. It's that movie again. I wasn't kidding about the writing you something nice thing. I swear to god, I dropped Faulkner and Peter Pan in LB, and no one caught them. Major bum out, kids. Where the fuck did all the slightly geeky, unpretentious lit majors go? To Yale, probably.
I have more pictures. They are
These are kind of old. Been sitting in my camera for a month. I meant to show you my hilarious little hovel I'd been sleeping in while I was in Palm Springs, but I forgot to shrink it, and Photoshop is so many clicks away. So have these instead.
Three Points is what we call this place. Chillspot that we end up at right before we say our goodbyes for the night. During the day you can see out toward Santa Monica and the golden piss of the Pacific. To the left, obscured by darkness and a shitload of million dollar houses, is where downtown Los Angeles is.
Rimcrest, and this time that lovely tree is obscuring the beginnings of downtown L.A. Mostly what you're seeing is Glendale and some of Burbank. This was on a random rainy night I decided to drive around with some kids and blast some CIWWAF like a twelve year old so we could scream our lungs out. We're at a stop sign taking a long exposure, but if I had a tripod set up or something, you'd be able to see it better. On the other side of the mountains on the right is Hollywood.
Annnd this is some demon beast wearing sunglasses over her glasses. 99.9% of the Palm Springs pictures are too embarrassing to see the light of day, so I screencapped an equally incriminating early morning video of me and some kids spilling lattés on brand new carpet, smoking cigarettes, doing ridiculous things with blankets, and reading dirty text messages. My lips are chapped from kissing, I have morning hair, and my nose looks totally Filipino. I only tell you these things because I love you. Remember that.
Now BACK TO EDITING.
