breaking all your laws, one at a time. (aefallen) wrote,
breaking all your laws, one at a time.
aefallen

it's crazy and it's not my fault.

majokai, if you do that again, I am calling you from London AGAIN.


That aside, I hope the cosplay tomorrow turns out fine. And you looked absolutely gorgeous in the "Book Crossed" video you shot for sarahcoldheart, with ranchelle. sarahcoldheart did a fantastic work. The only problem is, there were only 25 seconds of the video, and to quote Maroon 5, somehow I want more.

Also, ranchelle, this really is your fault, because didn't I tell you this would happen when you called and you said I was getting so high that I should go to sleep? Well, I couldn't. Hamsters!

I <3 giaan, because, in the midst of Constantine, I told her about the way Constantine sold his soul to three demonic entities, and she asked, "Who has title to his soul?" Which sparked off absolutely hysterical laughter in the way that only happens to singularly geeky lawyers. Sam has said she and I have a language all our own, because we can carry out an entire exchange using only the word, "What" in varying tones of voice. And also because, after watching the film, she turned to him and said, "If I see new fanfiction tonight, I will blame you."



Chi,

Where would I be without you?

You, with your priceless expressions, with the way you think olives taste vulgar, with the way you think the way no one else thinks. You, with the way you can keep my secrets, with the way you can make me feel better when all I want to do is crawl into a a dark place and hide. You, because we can want to set fire to his hair together, with the way we have our own language. "But I'm not an iguana." "The question is, who has title to his soul?" All you have to say is "Dinosaurs jumping around" and I'm laughing hysterically for the rest of the night, the way all I have to do is think of what you say and I burst out laughing, even if it's in the middle of the night. You and your strawberries, that Eeyore Expression (my God, I love the Eeyore Expression), and because you made me listen and love "London Underground" and That Gay/Straight Song. (Yes, he is completely bisexual. No two ways about it)

Thank you for being there. I don't forget people like you easily. And, oh God, I hate what I am doing, but I have always been so bad at hiding the way I feel, and, whatever I do, whatever I feel, whenever I don't want to talk about what's bothering me, nothing of what I've written above changes. Nothing. I'm so sorry for being so messed-up sometimes, but underneath everything that completely makes me completely Wednesbury, I heart you very much, and that is not going to change. (This sounds so Rebecca, but, I don't have any other way to put it?) Please remember that, however it is I am acting at the moment? It is completely my problem, but I will deal? It will be all right? I will be? *hugs*

risax,

Thank you. You've saved my sanity so many times, and been there for me when I needed you. *hugs you tight* You know how long I take to trust people enough to tell them about my problems, and I thank you for always, somehow, knowing when something's wrong when it comes to me, even when I'm not conscious of it myself, because you can somehow tell from the way I look that something's up. Thank you for never making me feel bad about the things that eat me up inside, no matter how silly I think they are. You know - it's the people who are the closest to me who know just how screwed-up I really am. Or, can be, sometimes. *wry smile* Dubious honour, eh? *hugs you* I treasure the way I can be all of myself when I'm with you. Thank you for putting up with me through all this. *hugs you again*

You're still going to throw candy at Chas when we get to see him, though, aren't you? I WILL EAT ALL THE CANDY BEFORE YOU DO.

Do you remember that question that passed around LJ, asking, "What would you do if you woke up and I was in bed with you?" Seeing as how I never like doing things the way I should, I'll ask, and answer it, this way.



Image hosted by Photobucket.com



</center>I was out of the house from 9.30am to 12.30am (yes, that makes it 15 hours) today, and I spent all of them in movieverse Constantine's outfit, minus the tie. This was not by my own choice and is a reason to be slightly insane. At least I got chocolate out of it. And learnt that feminist geography exists. And

Learnt that there was a delightfully famous case in Britain about Stanley Sturgeon. No, I do not name these fish. A fisherman caught a sturgeon in Britain. The sturgeon is an endangered fish, but it is not an offense to catch them. It is only an offense to sell them. Therefore, when a fisherman catches a sturgeon in Britain, he must offer it to the Queen. This was not done. The sturgeon wound up in a wild-fish chase between the policemen, the man to whom it had been sold, and somewhere in between was the Daily Mail, a publication best described as "spurious" in this country. Suffice to say it came to a thrilling climax in which the sturgeon was in a house, with the police at the front door and the Daily Mail at the back. The sturgeon got away.

Then, several days later, the National History Museum gets a call. "Don't ask me who I am," says the mysterious caller, "But I have a fifteen-stone sturgeon in the back of the van. I would like to donate it to the museum." Sensing a fair measure of publicity is to be gained by this event, the museum consents.

However, the museum is subsequently served a letter from a lawyer claiming to represent the fisherman who caught the sturgeon. The letter accuses the museum of the tort of conversion, which is the civil wrong of treating another's goods as their own.

However, the lawyers at the place I was at served a letter in reply, stating that in order for the mysterious caller to be in possession of the sturgeon, the fisherman must have sold the sturgeon to him. Which, of course, was an offense. And since a plaintiff cannot rely on his own wrong as a cause of action, Stanley the Sturgeon now belongs with the National History Museum.

</center>*is disowned by anyasy for this* I was telling risax how much Hellblazer's Chas Chandler reminds me of Mr. H, and you see, he's British, grouchy, grumpy, complains a lot - *is stoned*

You know, Mr. L and Mr. C put together are a lot like John? But remember how I said Mr. C would make a great Gandalf?

Oh God, Mr. H. Mr. H taught me Literature. Mr. H, on one occasion, when we were locked out of a classroom, hurled himself against the door in an attempt to broke it, then backed off, horrified, because he said, "I heard something cracking." We made off right away. Mr. H was in a habit of wandering around and leaving things and forgetting where he'd left them, such that he once wandered by the stone table and asked, "Did anyone see a piece of papaya around here? I left a half-eaten papaya around here..." He was in the habit of senselessly crushing our prawn crackers. (And being very well drawn by anyasy!) Once, Mr. H wandered into our classroom during a Chaucer lecture happily consuming fruit and was accused of being a frutestere ("fruit seller" - in Chaucer parlance, this meant "prostitute") by Mr. L (Hey, you know, his name can be J. Lo, REALLY, his name is John!).

</center>Despite what nescienx, tinted_glass and earenwe might say,
Image hosted by Photobucket.com
.

A friend from Oxford called up and she's coming to stay with me from today all the way until next Tuesday! So if I'm kinda not-online, that's why! AND AND AND YEN. *clings to yukihyou* *BEAMS*
Subscribe
  • Post a new comment

    Error

    Anonymous comments are disabled in this journal

    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 26 comments