pure FORESHADOWING (nifra_idril) wrote,

  • Mood:

I am feeling fiesty.

So. The thing is this: I literally absolutely have no choice about laundry anymore. I don't have the money to go buy new socks and underwear so I can keep going for a while (shuttup, we've all done it), and it's reached epic proportions. It's just that laundry is my most hated of all chores. I know you all know this. I know I have said this many more times than perhaps one should. I just shudder even thinking about doing it, and it's dumb, I know it's dumb, but really. I have hate in my heart for laundry. Hate in my heart.

Things I haven't talked about recently:
1. Ioan Gruffudd: Still totally retardedly sexy.
2. Bears: Stephen Colbert agrees with me -- they're a danger to national security.
3. Zombies: The most American of all horror movie monsters.

Things I would like to say to this month:
1. Fuck off, February.
2. No, really, February, I want you to feel free to go straight to hell as soon as you want to, or mostly just right fucking now.
3. If the world could stop blabbering on and on and on about love? I'd appreciate it, thanks ever so.

This is not to say that I'm anti-love, or even a real curmudgeon but I really hate the vomitous mass of heart shaped frilly things that get shoved down my throat in February, and the way that it's completely impossible to listen to the radio with someone, anyone, informing you immediately that you and your "honey" should be getting ready for a snuggle fest of epic proportions, with nose rubbing, and wine and flowers and chocolate and jewelry and stuffed animals and then sex on red sheets.

I like for people to be happy. I like for people to be in love. I like for people to have nice times. I mainly like for them to do these things in such a way that it is not designed to fill the entire world with a frantic, grasping need for some idealized ridiculous relationship that may or may not be right for them. Because God knows, that if I had some kind of special Valentine's day thing I'd probably be all weird and anxious about it and wish instead that me and whoever were on a couch somewhere, watching The Night of the Living Dead, and eating ramen in our regular clothes and arguing about the relative merits of various Alan Moore comics.

But in conclusion: Fuck you, February.

Things I would like my creativity to comprehend:
1. It's really not okay to not wake up from the nice little rest you've given yourself at this point.
2. You're killing me with your absence, creativity. Killing me.

Ultimate point of post:

James Lipton sucks cocks in hell.

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