ilfirinmorcath

Yesterday at work, I was in the backroom getting go backs, when one of my friends says, "Whatshisname says you watch Sherlock, and now I love you!"  And there was this weird squeeing noise, and I realized it was coming out of my mouth.  So we were gushing over it, and I started jumping around like a five year old with a sugar rush.  One of the older coworkers told me, "Little girl, you are so crazy, honey," and that got us all laughing.  I was in such a good mood for the rest of my shift.  Apparently, there is a secret underground society of Sherlock fans at work; you learn something new every day. 

My friend asked if I was going to buy Sherlock, and I frantically texted Nat asking if I could, and she gave me her blessing.  "You just couldn't resist, could you?"  "He was calling me in his sweet, baritone voice!"  Right away, I watched the commentary for "A Scandal in Belgravia," and everyone is just lovely; all the cast and crew have such brilliant chemistry, no wonder this show works.  I love Mark Gatiss a hundred times more now, and the banter with Moffat is just as great as what happens on camera.  I wish they had a gag reel though.

Still in hysterics over Cabin Pressure.  They should market this as therapy.

I've decided that the most effective form of torture is witnessing someone fail to properly use his own language.  Am I Grammar Police? I am fucking Grammar Swat Team.  It is bad enough seeing my beloved language mangled at work on misprinted signs and notes, but the torment does not stop there.  No, because I stupidly accepted some coworkers on Facebook, who wouldn't know a comma if it slapped them in the face (though I desperately wish it would). 

This really bothers me.  Not in a "oh no, look at that, tsk tsk" way.  Rather, in a "THE INCOMPETENCE BURNS MY EYES" fashion.  And now I have to see it at home on the computer because I am a twit who can't say no to save my life...or sanity.  I guess it doesn't help that one of the criminals has been disastrously flirting with me for weeks.  Like, a serious train wreck of attempted flirtation.  Like, I'm embarrassed for him (but not as much as I'm embarrassed to be hit on in such an awkward way).  If you were curious--and I'd pity you if you truly were--three of our initial conversations centered around him telling me how he wasn't gay what and the most recent telling me he wants to be a doctor, but "not a gynecologist because vajayjays look weird."  Hokay, thanks guy.

It's not like we didn't all attend twelve years of mandatory education where English is taught EVERY YEAR.  GOOD LORD.

In other news, Cabin Pressure hnnnng, my heart goes squishy when I click play on those videos.  "Molokai" made me laugh so hard that I was weeping into my blanket, and then at work today, I recalled the stewardess line-up and laughed so hard that a customer swerved out of the way to avoid the crazy Walmart associate laughing at the Kleenex shelf.  Dear Benedict Cumberbatch, let me build a shrine to your voice.  Oh wait, it's called Cabin Pressure.

In other other news, Lin made me go to this English pub with her, and now I've tasted Sticky Toffee Pudding.  I've been craving it like a pregnant lady.  There is only one solution, and it involves a move across a large body of water to a wondrous land of tea and jumpers. 

On that note, our second Highly Anticipated Event is coming up...Sherlock Series Two on DVD.  My lungs seize up every time I think about it.  Which is unhealthy.  Because if I stop breathing, I cannot watch Sherlock.  This is a problem.  A very serious problem.  Also a problem: Nat promised she would buy me a Sherlock series for my birthday and made me swear on pain of death that I wouldn't buy it, because every time she tries to buy me something I'm obsessed with, I've already purchased it first.  But I'm kind of sweating a little, since my birthday isn't until June, and I cannot physically wait that long but how do you demand someone buy you a birthday present and simultaneously insist it be delivered a month in advance?  That's just not on.  As a warning, I might die before my birthday at this rate.

So The Avengers was pretty much the most epic thing ever.  THE BROMANCE.  HOW CAN THERE BE SO MUCH BROMANCE IN ONE FILM?  I AM UNDONE.  Every line was perfect, the timing was perfect, the character interactions were perfect.

PERFECTION.

Dear lord, this is going to be one of those movies I see twelve times in theaters, isn't it? *sigh*

I think I'm just going to marry my work.  And by "my work" I mean fanfiction.  And by "marry" I mean have a polyamorous relationship where we sometimes have tea over for a threesome (teasome?).  We're going to have lots of cats and tv shows, and we will be very happy.

I am ridiculously okay with this.

THINGS
Avengers--May 4th
Sherlock Season Two dvd--May 22nd
Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows--June 12th

STUFF
Job search--Sucks
Grad school search--Exciting super secret project
UK fund--Slow but saving (and scheming)
Sleep--What?

HERE
Sine Qua Non by beyondinsane (on AO3)
Summary: Post-Reichenbach; Mrs. Hudson brings John a box of Sherlock's things.
This fic brought me all the feelings.  I wanted to be appropriately sad through the whole fic, but Sherlock is, well, Sherlock, so there are plenty of laughs and exasperated sighs.  Absolutely fantastic.

Stringplay by PrettyArbitrary (on AO3)
Summary: John secretly plays fiddle. Sherlock and his violin seduce him into a threesome.
Oh God, I'm reccing violin porn.  But Jesus, who can resist?

Dress Sense by PrettyArbitrary (on AO3)
Summary: Sherlock only wants the same thing everyone wants: to dress John up in a £1000 suit and then strip it right back off him.
Yes.  This author understands me.

Sherlock's Man of (Endless) Mystery by asterie_smiles
Summary: When Sherlock hears that “love is an endless mystery”, he concludes that falling in love would mean he’ll never be bored again, and begins an internet dating mission to find his One True Love. As John follows him from date to date, he hopes Sherlock will realise that the perfect man might be a little closer to home.
If the idea of Sherlock attempting to date doesn't give you chills, nothing will.

Goodness, it's been at least a year since I've done a fic rec.  Maybe I should have done one for XM:FC?  Next time, baby.

Last night (rather, I should say this morning, since I didn't shut off my brain until five AM) I had a dream that John gave Sherlock an ocarina, and Sherlock's all, "What the bloody hell do I want this for, utter rubbish!" And John gets this BAMF look on his face and says very very firmly, "Sherlock, this is the key to life itself."  I have major issues.

Got into a slight row with Dad over breakfast, but when I came home everyone acted like nothing happened, which was a) probably unhealthy but b) a relief.  That's how we roll.  The last thing I want to do is fight with him right now.  I think he felt bad; he was very easygoing when I got home, joking around.  I wanted to say I was sorry, but it kind of stuck in my throat, and I knew if I said it, I'd start crying, and then what?  I don't know why I'm so terrible at saying things I really want to, things I'll turn over in my brain for weeks. I don't know where I went off taking all of Dad's logical, reasonable talks as personal attacks; I can't tell if it's that I don't want to listen to him and face facts or if it's the way he says things.  Nobody likes to be reminded that their life is basically pointless; I certainly don't need that reminder.  I just need a little luck, a little push in the right direction.  One good break that tells me, Yes, this is the right way of things, yes, you are going to be all right.

I'm seriously apprehensive about this month.  Just a feeling.

Wednesday, Mom and I went to the zoo.  It was some pretty weird times, watching a tortoise try and get it on, watching two tiger cubs play fight like our cats, mocking whiny children.  Mom was the worst.  I forgot which of us was the snarky daughter and which of us was the socially-aware parent.  So did she, apparently.  It was fucking awesome.  The only weird thing (well besides the turtle sex) was we had brunch at a restaurant that I have only ever eaten at when my grandma was going with us.  I've never stepped foot inside that place without her, and walking in that day, I got so overwhelmed; I could feel myself tearing up, and I got that anxious, not-hungry feeling in my stomach when we sat down, but I had to compose myself before Mom saw, or she'd be worried.  I wish I could visit my grandma, but I don't have the money for it.  Holidays don't really seem important without her; I already know Easter will be a wash.

Work is crazypants.  I don't know what they are thinking, but it's time for the Resume Fairy to drop by soon and help me out.  I saved my last paycheck from two weeks ago; haven't cashed it yet, but now I have this paycheck too.  I want to try and save a full one, but I don't know if I can stretch it.  That England Fund just invades my thoughts.  Now it's something of a challenge in addition to being a goal.  I want to prove to my dad, if only the one time, that I can stick to something, that I have the willpower to succeed when I want to.  I mean, the whole College Degree thing should have clued him in, but I guess that doesn't count since he made me?  I don't know how that brain of his works. 

I did miss Dad terribly the past few weeks.  I just don't know what to do with that.  I love being around him, but I get so nervous, like do I annoy him because I talk so much?  I'm afraid if I don't say something than we'll end up not saying anything at all.  And some day we won't have the chance to.  I don't know where this melancholy attitude sprang up from, but it's persistent.  I keep having this twinge, in the back of my mind, in between my shoulders, like I could die at any minute--which is true, certainly, but it's so damn invasive to the point of being unhealthy.  I feel like every time I leave the house, I have to say "Love ya!" to my parents in case it's the last thing I say to them.  I don't know what's wrong; I didn't have some weird brush with death, no one close to me died recently.  I guess in some ways it's positive; I rarely pass up an opportunity to see my friends when they ask, I think about what I say/do more.  I get kind of maudlin though, by myself. 

I think it's time I went back to school.

I can't believe how long I've put off this post, but I assure you it was all for an excellent reason.  The reason being that I finally watched BBC's Sherlock.

It started out like this: me, frantically scouring the internet for RDJ!Holmes fanfiction, and becoming frustrated at the abundance of BBC Sherlock fanfic I couldn't read.  So, naturally, why not watch Sherlock so I could read more fanfic?  And then afterwards, it transformed into dear sweet God, now I MUST read fanfic because I've run out of Sherlock to watch!  It was very confusing, being utterly swept off my feet within fifteen minutes of an episode.  I knew it was good.  I knew it had to be good.  But it was more than good; it was a damn religious experience. 

I got lost.  I mainly forgot to eat and sleep for the three days I was off, instead rewatching the first series and burrowing into fandom.  And then I branched out, found series two online.  And I put off the last episode.  For a day.  That's all I could manage.  Now here I am, pacing the aisles at work as I mutter dialogue to myself, waiting for next year and series three, kidnapping my friends and forcing them to watch with me.  I had dinner with my aunt and uncle tonight, and she had her scarf knotted exactly like Sherlock's; I instantly blurted out this fact (luckily, she is a fellow anglophile and is preparing to watch for herself).

I was worried at first that I would twist up RDJ!Sherlock and BBC!Sherlock, but my brain easily resolved the situation.  Apparently, I only refer to RDJ as Holmes, and Cumberbatch as Sherlock.  That's...a relief.  In any case, God Bless England.

Everyone is talking about This Means War, and now I'm really glad I saw it with Yv; for some strange reason, I thought it was the Reese Witherspoon movie with Owen Wilson (which came out a long time ago, I have no idea what I was thinking), but then there was action and guns and super hot men, and I realized I was thoroughly mistaken.  So that was amazing.  Also, I adore Reese Witherspoon.  I wish all romcoms were that good.

Saturday was the Scrapbook Day at Aunt C's house; so there Nat and I were, in the midst of a bunch of older women, reminiscing about Vegas and slowly realizing that older women are much more bawdy than previously believed.  Hooray for them, all my new heroes!  I admire people with a bit of fight in them.  (And from Nat: "Did you just air-shank your mom?") Afterwards, I forced Nat to watch Sherlock Holmes with me, because she is evil and an enabler of the highest caliber.  We have all these dreams of England, and I feel like I'm never going to get there.

Went out with Lin and Cam; due to miscommunication with the waiter, I somehow ended up with a three tequila shot sampler (on top of the margarita I already drank).  This prompted a visit to our usual bar, with a pitcher of beer.  Apparently, I derailed all text conversations I was involved in to ask my friends to bring me tacos.  I talked about tacos quite a bit, with great emotional intensity.  To their credit, each and every one of my friends offered to bring me tacos because they are true bros.  But Lin got me to Del Taco, while we all merrily sang musicals.  It was pretty fucking sweet.  Thursday was bar night with Nat and Alex.  Saw a coworker there for extra weird; drank a gummy bear shot, which we now love.  There were quite a few shots, to be honest.  I think I'm developing some sort of tolerance.  I don't like it.  It's time for a break; alcohol is a truly expensive habit.

I was groped by a dirty, creepy hobo man at work while stocking Pharmacy.  I hate my job.

I have this bad feeling growing under my skin, the kind where I'm going to be curled up under the covers for a few days and be antisocial.  I hope it just goes away.  I'd say I need to keep busy to smother it, but I'm busy enough as it is.  I don't know what's wrong.  I should probably work on figuring that out.  Yay Psychology degree!  It's your chance to shine. *sigh*

It has officially been a year since J asked me out.  Boys seem to turn up in the spring.  Maybe I'll just listen to my horoscope and wait for autumn this time around.

It appears as though The Tire Saga continues...last time, the driver's rear tire finally had been patched, albeit suspiciously.  See, the manager of TLE told me he could not patch my tire because it had sidewall damage that made the tire unsafe to drive on.  But when they had my tires in stock, the technician only did a patch job.  Today, Mom was driving us down the freeway, and this awful noise heralded the demise of my passenger's rear tire.  So AAA got us a spare, and we drove to my Walmart, where as soon as I walked in the automotive doors, the manager looked up and went, "I'm replacing your tire immediately."  And I laughed and said, "Great, but it's another one that blew up."  So luckily my road hazard warranty covered both tires (the one they should have replaced earlier this month but didn't because of a miscommunication, and the newly flat one).  At the end of it all, my total was around $13 for a new road hazard warranty on the new flat tire and its recycling fee.  The old flat tire was 100% free.  I was pretty happy.  Plus, Mom paid anyways.  February is just not a good car month for me :/  (Oh yeah, and it started hailing like a motherfucker as soon as we had stepped inside the automotive office; the ground was covered in it.  Thank goodness we didn't get stuck on the road with a flat in that weather!  There is a God.)

Anyways, Mom was driving us home from LA, where we had taken the Warner Bros studio tour.  It was pretty cool; a lot of the stuff they talked about were things I already knew about "behind the scenes" (especially the history of the movie studio, which I knew from the LA segment of my Cities and Civilizations class in college, score one for 'pointless' courses!!), but I really enjoyed seeing the sets.  I remember when I was in elementary school, Dad had just started the Mounted Patrol (with horses for riots and parades and such), and he had to take our massive quarter horse, Skipper, to riot training at the Warner Bros studio.  They had an open lot with a gazebo, and the "bad guys" had taken "hostages" into the gazebo while throwing wet sponges at the horses (to prepare them from flinching away from projectiles during scary situations, but they were wearing protective gear to keep them from being hurt).  My best friend and I thought the hostages were really shitty actors, because they didn't yell or try to escape or anything; we could have done much better!  Anyways, as soon as we passed by that lot, I remembered that day, and it was kind of weird.  The lot looked like how I remembered, generally, although it gave me a silly feeling when I recalled wandering around the facades when I probably wasn't supposed to, thinking how weird all those "dirty empty buildings" were.  Also, I remembered finding a dead pidgeon inside one of the buildings, and being really freaked out.

The coolest parts for me were the inside of the prop rental building and the museum.  In the museum, I was checking out some Watchmen costumes, when suddenly over Rorschach's shoulder, I saw a newspaper that said, "Suicide Ghost Haunts Campus!" and thought, "Huh.  That sounds like the 'Tall Tales' episode of Supernatural."  So I slid on over, and sure as salt, it was the very same.  Also on display were an obituary from "Bloody Mary," a page from Sam and Dean's exorcism, and some kind of lore entry. Those were the only Supernatural items on display, but still--AWESOME, AM I RIGHT?  The rest of the museum had costumes/props for Batman, The Dark Knight, The Matrix, some older films...oh, and an entire floor of Harry Potter stuff.  I was in geek heaven.  So many of the props were absolutely gorgeous, very detailed, and it's a shame they don't have an entire film of just looking at the props, because they put a ton of effort into something that gets briefly panned over.  The most beautiful thing in the room was the Triwizard Cup.  I liked Gilderoy Lockhart's robes too, heehee.  They had the wax prop of Hermione Petrified from Chamber of Secrets, which was admittedly creepy.  Um...they honestly had so much cool stuff, I can't remember it all.  The neat Quidditch paraphernalia, the clues for Goblet of Fire, the proclamations from Umbridge, all the candies from the HP universe (included Weasley's Wizard Wheezes).  Oh, and the Sorting Hat, which the guide sat us down on a stool and placed on everyone's head.  It talked from a speaker in the ceiling.  I thought it was awesome; although the Hat said I was another Weasley, but placed me in Gryffindor of course, so that was alright.  I do believe I belong better in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, if I do say so myself.  Mom was also placed in Gryffindor, but for some reason the Hat didn't like Ryan and refused to say a damn word to him. 

And last night, Lin and Cam surprised me with a visit, in which we finished that last three episodes of season six, finally!  I admit to having put it off, because I knew it would be depressing, and I just couldn't handle it for a few months.  I am really glad Lin watched with me; it was just like the good old days.  We both loved the gag reel so much.  I think it's our just reward for enduring all the sorrow and agony of the season finale.  Haha, we had this really surreal moment during one of the episodes, where "Me and Mrs. Jones" is playing in the background incongruously, and Lin and I gave each other this odd look and both say, "Is that?...is that fucking 'Mrs. Jones?'  WTF?" (Unfortunately, this resulted in me singing it all day today, and I heard Mom humming it in Walmart, even though she hates it.)  And Cameron made a Taken joke, and I was so thankful they were watching with me to make the tough episodes better.  The Boys have been slaughtering my emotions this season, guys.

The night before that, I was supposed to hang out with Andi, and I figured it would be a quiet, chill evening.  Except then she texts me that she wanted to go to Dave and Busters with the girls, so we all booked it down to Irvine.  And drank.  And drank.  And they played some games while I people-watched.  And asked the bartender what was in all the dirty-named drinks--which we proceeded to drink.  And then we all went to KK's where they drank some more, and I avoided all alcohol to preserve my pleasantly tame buzz.  I don't know how they escaped massive hangovers, but I was quite proud.  Thank God I didn't get a hangover, because I worked too damn hard to be responsible so I could work like an adult the next day instead of being a pile of weeping jello...like last week. *Ehem*

Rain again today.  I'm trying really hard to suppress the urge to put in Sherlock Holmes.  It's kind of ridiculous, to be honest.  But at least I have an excuse this time--to get rid of the memory of RDJ's terrible film Only You.  The Wolfman was better than that piece of crap.  They should have eliminated all female characters and changed the title to Only RDJ, because he was the sole redeeming feature of the movie.  Yeesh.