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Am I weird because I watch the new 0800 REVERSE advert and immediately think "dildo"?

When it shows those two women and reads "They'll be using it later", or the close up of the woman on the phone and she's got a massive grin, and reads: "She's using it right now". I bloody bet she is, a euphoric smile like that!

No-one seemed to understand why I was laughing though, which leads me to believe I'm wired wrong.

If I could find the advert online I'd link it, but alas, you'll just have to believe I'm not totally twisted.

Current Mood: weirdweird

Twilight arrived on DVD today!!!

It's not like I haven't seen it a gazillion times anyway but... squeeeeeeeeeeeee!

 - Bummer that I have to go work first though -

Current Mood: giddygiddy

So I found out today that one of my best friends has been diagnosed with a condition called Hypoplastic Myelodysplasia, which is difficult to spell and probably even more difficult to say.

From what I can gather, it develops when chromosome 7 mutates and causes an abnormaility to the bone marrow in some way. I'm no biologist but it sounds pretty nasty.

He told me that chemotherapy was an extremely likely route for treatment, but that a transplant was the way to actually cure it. Very brief research on the internet has told me that 20-40% of people who suffer from HM develop leukemia. Actual mortality rates depend on the transplant itself, whether the body takes to the new marrow or whether it rejects it.

He was actually very upbeat when he told me about it, which gave me no choice but to follow in his positivity. It makes me think that he must be braver than I am, but I won't let him know that. If he's to spend over a month in hospital, and closer to six to make a recovery, then he'll need us all to stay high-spirited to help him through.

I don't really know why I'm writing this here, but I suspect it's because it's all I can do right now. Hopefully, there'll arrive a moment when I can be more useful.

Current Mood: blahblah

This is serving only as a short rant. Therapy, if you will.

I managed to finish my team for the upcoming Pokemon tournament which is good, because it gives me two weeks to actually concentrate on my uni work. However, this afternoon I decided to test the team out.

But ALL the trainers on Wifi use frickin' legendaries, which is ok to begin with but soon becomes tiresome. There's only so many Kyogres and Mewtwos I can play against before I feel my brain forming a coup de resistance inside my head.

So I give one of the colosseums on PBR a shot - Rank 5 so nothing too extreme - and I'm met with a Rhydon of statistically impossible proportions. Two OHKO Horn Drills right from the start, followed by a crit-hit Stone Edge and then a defense lowering Crunch, before delivering the final blow. To back up my feeling of distinct persecution (and maybe a tad of bad sportsmanship, but I'd like to think that was understood considering) I figured out the possibility of that series of moves occuring as such is actually 0.18%, or a 1 in 556 chance.

I can see how incredibly pedantic this all is, but hopefully I'll look back at it one day and laugh. Unless I've been struck by lightning.

Current Mood: pissed offpissed off

I've been a bit weirded out the last couple of nights by my unswerving devotion to dreaming about right-wing politics, especially considering I've never voted Conservative in my life (despite the fact I live in an area pretty much dominated by Tory supporters).

It actually started on Sunday night when I dreamt I was handing out Quality Street at a Hillary Clinton rally. I don't even particularly like the woman, which might explain why I was trying to tell her it was a waste of time because the people who turned up to the rally were already guaranteed voters anyway, and we should be focusing on those still sat on the fence. But the silly cow was having none of it.

Then last night, I dreamt that Conservative leader David Cameron was the headteacher at my old high school. He hugged me for my A grade in English Literature and then asked that I try harder in Biology. Not a clue what that meant, but it was kinda nice to be back in school again, even with him as a headteacher.

I don't know how this all started and I don't know where it will end. But it is quite disconcerting.

In other news, I just watched the last couple of episodes of The OC (again) with Morgan and I'm sad. Goddamn Schwartz for sending the series to the chair by killing off Marissa. I will curse him forever. It does make me want to write more fanfic though, so I guess I'll get onto that in the next couple of weeks before I have to focus on my final year project.

Anyway, I'm being dragged to see I Am Legend tonight with Will 'Sellout' Smith by some friends so I'd better go do my hair or something. That way if it's crap at least I can check people out in the cinema - silver lining and all that.

Current Location: Ma Chambre
Current Music: Kreuzberg - Bloc Party

...  you're trawling the internet for something, anything, to do.

Temporary relief has been found in an introspective quiz, cheerfully 'borrowed' from

punkpoet. ^_^

 

 

Current Mood: pensivepensive
Current Music: Poetic Tragedy - The Used

Gah I hate Sundays. Every week I think "Oh, I'll get [insert job] done on Sunday, I've got a free day!", but when the sabbath (or is the sabbath Saturday now, I never know?) actually arrives I just end up kicking back and doing F.A.

Uni work is a real pain in the ass, basically because I've left it all until the last minute. 6000 words of articles for Specialist Journalism and 200 original pix for Photojournalism to get done in 3 weeks. Which would be easy if I just wanted to write crap, but if I want a decent grade it's gonna have to be on a bunch of interesting subjects. In Stoke? The most interesting thing about Stoke is the famous accolade of being the worst dressed city in the country. Myself excluded, obviously xD

To make matters worse, I stupidly went into town yesterday and bought myself a beautiful new copy of Super Mario Galaxy, so even if I wanted to get some work done I'd been drawn to my Wii in some inexplicable way. Goddamnit. The game itself is awesome though. Similar in gameplay to Mario 64, but rather than massive worlds, you travel through massive galaxies with inter-connected planets. I guess in that way the gameplay is more linear because there's not much scope for exploring off the beaten track, but then I am only a mere 21/120 stars through the game. The graphics are awe-inspiring too - finally a game that really makes full use of the Wii's capabilities.

And when I'm not performing basic survival functions or playing Galaxy, I'm breeding/training a Rotom to complete my challenge team for wifipokeleague, which re-opens for business on Tuesday. I'm looking forward to getting back into battling again after a month or so wait (not to mention how stagnant the league was before dual-typing came into play), but I just know it's going to distract me from doing more work. Maybe I have ADHD or something.

Before I disappear to something equally unproductive, let me share the best thing I've read this week at this link. Who needs porn?!

Jeez, this makes me sound like total video games dweeb.

That's right, finally the cut on my forehead is healed and I no longer look like a violent drunk. This is surely the silver lining of my weekend.

Now I just have to endure the final inevitable quips about cutting my head open during sex. On my own belt no less. If I knew shame, I'd practice hanging my head in it for tomorrow's sake.

Current Mood: embarrassedembarrassed

For the first time in 59683859 years, give or take, I checked LJ for some well needed updates. What I found was that everything's chugging along perfectly since I was last here, reminding me of why I do keep coming back.

What I DIDN'T expect was, in the middle of reminding myself that I have to vote in the Citrus Awards during the next few days, I found an old chestnut-fic I wrote a while back is actually up for a couple of awards!

To be even considered for nomination against some of the best writers I have ever had the pleasure of reading is gratifying yet utterly humbling. On these grounds I really just wanted to say a huge thank you to whoever it was that was crazy enough to put my name forward. It is a genuine shock of the nicest variety.

On the topic of shocks... Harry Potter! Due to an unfortunate array of shofts at work I'm only up to the eleventh chapter, but jeeeez is it heating up! I won't refer to specifics in case anyone is somehow further behind than myself, because there's nothing worse than having it ruined for you. But still. Incredible.

Right, time to stop jabbering and make myself useful. Voting time for the Citrus Awards. Good luck to everyone in each of the categories and here's hoping there's still enough people writing to keep the Awards running next year too!

If you've not voted yet, do so here: http://www.geocities.com/citrusawards/vote.htm

Current Mood: ecstaticecstatic

It’s come to my attention this evening that Gillian McKeith is a pompous, arrogant, self-righteous cowbag who honestly has no idea what it’s like to be none of the above eg. A regular, happy and emotionally stable human being.

Watching ‘You Are What You Eat’ this evening has spawned a hatred deep inside me that has been hibernating since Paul Burrell was finally chucked out of ‘I’m A Celebrity’.

The woman has lost all concept of human form, becoming a haggard health-Nazi she-wolf. She tells a young girl that if she wants to live she will have to give up cake forever. Who the hell lives like that? Ok, if you’re overweight then cut back a little, maybe do a spot of exercise. But to give up any sense of enjoyment so that you can strut around like a wrinkled string bean in a garish tracksuit? I pity the woman.

She further affirmed my belief that she has no sense of fun, or indeed anything other than a misspent childhood when she covered her face in despair that a sixteen year old girl once had a white wine spritzer at a party. Call out social services! Give her an ASBO! This girl cannot tell the difference between right and wrong!

She went on to say that this girl’s mother was totally ‘unfit to be a Mum’. Heaven forbid that looking after a child was about anything other than submerging it in a maelstrom of healthy foodstuffs – say emotional support and teaching key skills?

As if this idiotic extremist had not lowered herself enough, she later revealed the ‘perfect poo’ artwork she had framed in her bathroom to remind herself what a healthy bowel movement is supposed to look like. The woman needs medication. And I don’t mean any herbal crap.

And to think I could’ve spent the night at a Wheatus gig instead.

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