notes in no random order

Dear Reproductive System:

We need to have a discussion, if you intend to carry on in future months like you did yesterday.

You haven't always been comfortable for me, but you've at least been largely predictable and, thankfully, not as much of a problem the past few years as in many years before. However, you were a right bastard yesterday and completely showed your ass - AND DURING A WORKDAY. For six hours I kept flipping back and forth from the agony of various physical ailments I shall not trouble my readers with in detail, to wanting to throw Ace Rimmer into my office chair and rendering him incapable of walking straight for a few days (involving details I shall REALLY keep to myself).

I DO NOT LIKE EXTREMES. For the love of Brian, Body, please convert food, snacks, drinks, vitamins, etc. to useful things such as fingernails and hair and brain synapses from now on, rather than a thick stream of estrogen directly to the Joy Department. Ace is not real, Will Turner is not real, and I'm fairly sure it would be illegal to take steps to make either of them appear before me for my entertainment.

KTHXBYE,
Me

Dear Muses:

Oh, there you are. Have a good holiday, did you? If I'd taken as long a vacation as you have, I would have been fired LONG AGO. Consider yourselves lucky to have a place to come back to. (And might I add, you certainly don't look very rested for having been gone for so long. You look ridden hard and put away wet, which means you've undoubtedly had more fun than I've been having for a while.

Welcome home, Smegheads,
Me
P.S. Thanks for giving Sense of Humor a ride home, I suppose, even if she is still clutching her luggage and darting glances at the front door every so often, dreaming of Jamaica. Maybe the cats can lure her to stay.

In other news, thanks to suggestions from ainsoph15 and others, I have begun watching "Brittas Empire" online. I wasn't too sure for the first third of the pilot episode, but then the absurdity slowly began to show itself, and I started enjoying myself. It's sort of like "Three's Company" with a cast of hundreds of bodies slowly churning through a big comical set of crunching gears. This clip, particularly, has been stuck in my brain for the last few days since I watched it, and I do not like this song. (Watch for Barrie's little leg kick toward the middle, and the guys behind him trying not to laugh:

"Tomb Raider" fic: "Hardly Proper" - G

Title: “Hardly Proper”
Rating: G, genfic
Fandom: “Tomb Raider”(the movies, not the games)
Disclaimer: Property of Paramount Pictures and related producers; I just play here free of charge.
Summary: The relationship Lady Lara Croft has with her butler isn’t what a woman of her station would call typical – but then again, neither are they. A much-younger Hillary makes the acquaintance of his future boss while interviewing to eventually replace her deceased father’s retiring butler, Winston.
A/N: I know what you're thinking – I too am wondering What the hell? But when the Muses decide to do their job, I’ve learned to shut my mouth and transcribe. (You don’t need any great understanding of the movies to read this, but it does help if you’ve seen at least one.) Thanks to metalkatt for beta duty; errors remain my own.
A/N2: I really need a Hillary icon ...


( Had she been anyone else, he would’ve felt comfortable using his age to call her on impertinence, but the question wasn’t even confrontational – it was just a curious kid )