Nog, tree, roast beast... or: Look what food poisoning bacteria did to my brain!

Merry Christmas my beloved f-list, or Happy Hanukkah, or merry winter solstice, or whatever it is that you're celebrating with lots of food and booze and presents, I hope you all have a whale of a time with your loved ones. Please try not to kill anyone.

Ok. The nice bit is done, now brace yourself for the piece of unwelcome news that I have to share. Braced? Alright, here we go:

Since I'm once again laid low with food poisoning (I think we're safe to say it's a time-honoured Christmas tradition now, and I can't even blame my mum because the responsible dinner wasn't made by her this year), I regret having to inform you that the only reading material I'm able to concentrate on inbetween bathroom runs (I'll spare you the details. Suffice to say the toilet and I have got real pally today) is, in fact, Stephenie Meyer's Twilight.

*waits for the boos and avalanches of rotten tomatoes to stop* I know, I deserve this.

Now, I have been meaning to read this piece  of crap   of really popular teenage fiction for a while now, simply because I don't want to hate it on the basis of what I heard about it. If I want to point out to rabid fans the poverty of their choices, I need facts. So far, I have reached page 138 and I have to say, you know what? It's not that bad.




HA! I almost had you there, didn't I? I could feel your heart stop for a second (and not because good ol' Ed kissed you. Snigger.). This bit of literary (using the term in the loosest possible interpretation) candy floss is so astonishingly horrendous that it actually works quite nicely with my current condition, because it helps tremendously with the "better out than in" approach that I'm trying. Seriously, I've ploughed through one third of the book, there is NO trace of a plot besides Bella's obsession with Edward and making dinner for her dad, and I have already lost count of the number of times she refers to him as "perfect", "godlike" or "angelic" (listen, girlfrien', there is only ONE vampire who is allowed to claim that adjective for his face, and he most certainly does NOT sparkle in direct sunlight!). In a way I'm almost sorry to have left this book unattended for so long because now all the jokes about it have already been made, so all that remains to say is that if this is what teenagers of the post-Harry Potter era are reading, the future of humankind fills me with dread.

IWRY Marathon, or: I might be going mad.

It is the 8th of November and that means it is MY DAY for the  IWRY marathon ( ). I've spent days and nights of my life working on my contribution and I've been alternately dreading this day and waiting impatiently for it, because while I'm not new to the world of fanfiction, I am new to the world of B/A and I found it very, very difficult to grasp the dynamics of this epic couple. No matter what I wrote, they still sounded much too normal to be Buffy and Angel, and whenever I came up with a phrase I liked, I had to realise (or be made realise) that someone else had already used it before and I was basically stealing. I had to reread the e-mails from my beta taaroko and internalise the kind words she said about my writing before finally sending it off.

Of course, the minute I pressed "send" I found a million faults with it again and I spent last night tossing and turning in my bed, convinced that one (or all) of the other writers that I admire so much will flock together and have an intervention ("We have to stop this hubris RIGHT NOW!") and have "Stages" removed from the site by force. Of course, I deserve no less.

Why I love Twitter, or: OMG! fan girl moment!

I can't believe I have to post this on LJ because shamefully, in the real world no one appears to grasp the shere awesomeness of this, but: I JUST GOT A RETWEET FROM CHARISMA CARPENTER!!! Ok so I know she seems to be rather desperate these days but I still think this is pretty awesome and it totally made my day.

The whole exchange went as follows:

@CLCarpenter1970: Guys, I'm dying! Soaked in Epsom salts and still am affrays to sit on toilet! Painful!

@squirrla: @CLCarpenter1970 is affrays stronger than afeard? I wonder.

@CLCarpenter1970: @squirrla I like that! I'm afeard! Affrays! Then there's good ol' afraid. Lol

I'm still pu-retty psyched (with a hint of sadness for Charisma). I love Twitter and I hereby vow to write a fic in which I'll have Cordy say "affrays" at some point.

The Joys of Being Single

I don't know if it's just me (I'm guessing not), but I'm after repeatedly experiencing a certain dichotomy when it comes to the topic of relationships. Anyone ever notice how when you're in one, you sometimes (not all the time, of course, unless there's something very wrong with your fella) secretly envy your single girlfriends their freedom? Somehow, when you've been with someone for a long time, and you've both put on a stone from all the pizza-ordering and DVD-watching Saturday night routine, suddenly the idea of getting dolled up and going out with your girlfriends to maybe, just maybe meet a new man in that new club starts to seem strangely alluring. And then, when you've suddenly been catapulted out of that relationship and, slap-bang, you find yourself out there, the prospect of sweaty, gyrating male bodies (as enticing that may sound in theory) and paying extortionate sums for "just the one" V&T just seems too much and you end up staying in, ordering pizza, watching episodes of your favourite TV show with your flatmate and putting on a stone anyway.

I know all that because I've been there. Twice. As a matter of fact, I. Am. There. Right. Now. It's Sunday afternoon, I'm in bed with my laptop on my knees, I have a dissertation to write but all I do is browse the internet for B/A fanfiction that I haven't read yet. With my flatmate gone (she's visiting her parents this weekend) I'm finding it quite the achievement that I actually got up this morning to go for a 20 minute run that had me huffing and puffing because (do I even need to say it?) I've been neglecting my running for the last few weeks and the only reason I left the flat yesterday was because there was no cat food left. I haven't spoken to anyone in two days except the lady at the cashier (no automated ones in Germany yet) and even so I managed to reduce our interchange to the most basic level of communication possible (grunting and vowel sounds, mainly). I am wearing my ex-boyfriend's old boxers and a grey tank top and frankly, the amout of hair on my legs is disgusting.

I know it's a phase and I'm going to snap out of it in a while (always have in the past), but right now I'm a bit grossed out with myself.

Writer's Block: Neat, sweet, groovy songs

So now I've got this neat, sweet, groovy LJ account even though I wasn't planning on getting one, I don't know anyone who actually uses this and to add insult to injury, I'm getting writer's block before I've even completed the first entry. Bloody great!

However, to give you a clue as to the sort of person I am, I chose to answer one of LJ's "questions of the day" - but not the most recent (i.e. today's) one, because that would be too simple. Brace yourselves, now, this is not gonna be pretty.

From the ages of 8 to 12, the band that I worshipped with a passion that bordered on obsession was called The Kelly Family and if you haven't heard of them before, you obviously didn't grow up in Germany. And if you have and you didn't - well, congratulations, then you were an even dorkier kid than I was, because admitting to liking the songs of this bunch of degenerate Irish neo-hippies could have made you the Ralph Wiggum of your school, if you hadn't simulatneously joined the girls' football team and, on account of being twice their size, been in the happy position of being able to beat up all the boys in your form (that was, of course, back in the day when it was still acceptable for girls to be taller than boys, i.e. before the onset of puberty). Anyway, I was blithely unaware of my terrible lack of street cred and happily listened to the album "Over the Hump" over and over again on my walkman (because after all, this were the nineties and iPods (and good music) hadn't been invented yet), upsetting the ecological balance by rescuing doomed insects from spider  webs and my parents by lecturing them about eco-consciousness and becoming a vegetarian out out of spite.

Honestly, I'd beat up the little swot too.