from now on, i will consume all my meals in bar form

Dear Lynn,

Things look more important when they're in epistolatory point form.

. I noticed today that the tall heritage tower that I can see from upstairs has dying-slave-like figures under the, uh...pediment? It's been a long time since I took Art History, sorry. Anyhow, they're rather grotesque, frozen in their agonized writhing. I can only assume that the architects wanted to approximate gargoyles, or somthing. In any case, I don't like to look at the tower for too long, because I keep feeling William Mariner's up there scribbling out "eromitlab" and sighting me down his rifle.

. I had a bunch of leftover and slightly stale donut holes, so I made bread pudding from them last night. The result was delicious, but a wee bit softer than I usually like bread pudding to be; since some of them were cake donuts I suppose that was inevitable. I'm thrifty, Lynn! I bet you are too. Or used to be, when it mattered.

. I was downstairs on the second floor filling my big cobalt blue water bottle, and I noticed a sign on one of the classrooms reading, "Creativity Has Been Cancelled," which amused me. I hope the maker of the sign did it unintentionally and not as a wry "artsy" statement, because then it wouldn't be as funny.

. The elevator and everybody who rides it smells of cigarettes. I've got this huge window next to me, why can't I smoke in the office? Are those Virginia Slims any good, Lynn? I don't even know if they sell them in Canada, so I suppose my asking is pretty pointless.

All in all, Lynn, I can't wait for the long weekend. It makes more sense to me to have Thanksgiving in October, thus allowing a month's respite between the two biggest feast-days in the year, but I understand that you Yanks are bound by Mayflower history to have yours in November. Which reminds me, I should look up why we have ours in October, because I'm sure it's not Pilgrim-related.

Anyhow, things progress, and some things plod, but you remain constant in my affections.

Love,
Maggie

[EDIT]: And now I know.

simpsons christmas boogie!

I feel all fulfilled! I managed to finish writing my entry for cherry_lips's Exquisite and Unsatisfied challenge. It feels so good to have actually finished something; the last full fic I wrote was at the end of June, man. June!!

And, yeah yeah yeah quality over quantity, but I like to write at least one thing per month. They may not all be gems, but keeping constantly writing helps me refine and improve better than labouring endlessly over a few pieces and feeling like I'm not getting anywhere with any of them.

I got a cut on the cuticle of my right index finger, and it's this perfect little slit. It looks like an ad for Nu-Skin. I'm kind of enchanted by it.

Anyhow! I'm tired of pussyfooting around and being leery to say anything popslash-related. Unfortunately, I have no opinion about anything right now, because nothing is happening. Heh.

Oh, wait -- I can cuss out Cappuccino, because she made me want to listen to the *nsync Christmas Album, and that thing's a piece of crap. Funny crap, but crap nontheless. Damn you, woman!

if rubbing frozen dirt in your crotch is wrong, then hey i don't wanna be right

I have become totally addicted to Most Extreme Elimination Challenge. Like, seriously -- obsessed. I watched a couple hours of it yesterday while flipping through the latest Martha Stewart magazine, and --

-- okay, wait. I have to talk about Martha for a minute. Have any of you seen her show lately? It's been a while for me, but I caught one the other day, and -- what the hell's up with the credits? They do that creepy demon jump-cut thing, like in horror movies when they're close-upping on something particularly freaky. And each shot ends with Martha facing the camera dead-on and smiling soullessly, her eyes blank and sapped of will to live. That poor woman. She even flubbed her lines a little when she was talking about how to make lovely corn prints on wrapping paper.

Anyway! Back to MXC -- it was playing when I came home from buying cigs and Hello! magazine, and it's still playing. I got up to get a cup of tea and that's it, folks, the only time I left the show all evening. If there's anything better than a dubbed Japanese game show in which the contestants strap on butterfly wings and swing over a pit of sewage in an attempt to adhere their velcroed pelvises to a velcro wall decorated like a spiderweb while a man in a big red spider costume dances nearby, then it has beardhorns and answers to "Chris."