Just where did I leave that scalpel?
l
...in the worst possible way. And not only that, but this was the one twelve hour day I was working this week. I should know better by now.
Which means, of course, that I'm going to be significantly less than eloquent tonight, You'll forgive me, I hope, but I need to go feast on the flesh of the inocent, and it's getting so very hard to find them.
For those of you who don't know, a tryst of mine accidentally put her foot through my beloved Evil Shoebox last September, and shortly after I moved here I discovered I was almost entirely without reliable internet. Cellphones make for poor communication, so I've been even more insular than my preference. My preference, for the record, is comparable to an agoraphobic turtle hiding in a dark box at the bottom of my wardrobe. I apologise to those who were offended by this, in a manner that's almost genuine.
At any rate, after a six week shipping company disaster I got her a new screen, to replace the demure and dahing hoof imprint she'd been sporting for so long. Fashion is a form of ugliness so vile, et cetera. Four hours with a screwdriver, a soldering iron, a scaple and a whole mess of blood has her good as new.
By good as new, I mean broken in a manner I find significantly more pleasing. Which, quite frankly, will suffice. Communication is, if not a certainty, significantly more plausible. I'd be happier if my neigbours were less security conscious and left their wireless networks charitable, but I'll live. I promise.
Now, I'm going to throw up for a week. Have a good night, lovelies!
l
...in the worst possible way. And not only that, but this was the one twelve hour day I was working this week. I should know better by now.
Which means, of course, that I'm going to be significantly less than eloquent tonight, You'll forgive me, I hope, but I need to go feast on the flesh of the inocent, and it's getting so very hard to find them.
For those of you who don't know, a tryst of mine accidentally put her foot through my beloved Evil Shoebox last September, and shortly after I moved here I discovered I was almost entirely without reliable internet. Cellphones make for poor communication, so I've been even more insular than my preference. My preference, for the record, is comparable to an agoraphobic turtle hiding in a dark box at the bottom of my wardrobe. I apologise to those who were offended by this, in a manner that's almost genuine.
At any rate, after a six week shipping company disaster I got her a new screen, to replace the demure and dahing hoof imprint she'd been sporting for so long. Fashion is a form of ugliness so vile, et cetera. Four hours with a screwdriver, a soldering iron, a scaple and a whole mess of blood has her good as new.
By good as new, I mean broken in a manner I find significantly more pleasing. Which, quite frankly, will suffice. Communication is, if not a certainty, significantly more plausible. I'd be happier if my neigbours were less security conscious and left their wireless networks charitable, but I'll live. I promise.
Now, I'm going to throw up for a week. Have a good night, lovelies!
VIEW 14 of 14 COMMENTS
klaatuveratanato:
Um, no. Just a belly piercing. And if my weekend hadn't gone as well as it did I might be feeling rather self-conscious now. 
mat8drb:
I think I shall have a try, I will just get one more bit of advice before I do.