twenty belching llamas
Tigger has returned to us. She shall meet Ender this Saturday in what I hope will be an entertaining evening. Spazz and I argued on her petting my dragon backwards and on my cheese. I am woefully inept when provided with some dinky knife resembling a chisel, as opposed to a normal cheese slicer, so my sandwich was bizarrely speckled. So sue me.
Tourmaline visited to give me my divinely beautiful birthday gift--soon enough I shall be old enough to vote drunk, even south of the border...not that I am registered to vote there, of course...which reminds me, I need to set up to vote here before I return back to Kingston.--It was a lovely calendar of my dearest obsession...well, one of them. The heir apparent caught me drooling at it in a lovelorn way and exclaimed 'my god, you obsessive freak, you'd even bathe in that stuff if you could!'
'mmmmm...with milk foam like bubbles...a lovely latte bubble bath...' I returned, smiling euphorically into the distance and sipping my seventh mug, which I was inspired to drink by the sight of my dearest love.
Again the heir apparent called upon her questionable god, and sauntered off to decapitate an apple or two.
I was reprehensibly lax in my hospitality, but her majesty's orders eventually prompted me to invite dear Tourmaline in properly, instead of getting absorbed in the conversation at the door and just nattering on and on for ever longer...sorry Tourmaline. The unquiet fiend was certainly welcoming, but Tourmaline's leg was mostly free of the overly exuberant embraces it usually recieves. I am sure she welcomed the change. It was a good conversation, anyway. So thrive my soul, I was not deliberately rude, merely clueless and spacey.
Apparently I am not the only one who leaves books in fridges accidentally. Tigger swapped a textbook of hers for a jar of pickles once. I'm not sure if the fact that I am not alone in this unfortunate tendency is comforting or frightening.
Her Majesty has put a great deal of old picture books and things in a box she almost labelled 'grandchildren,' only she thought that would be putting too much pressure on us. I told her I would feel none, as regarding something like that I bow only to my own whims. In any case, I have been saying I wanted only cats (the planned horde has varied in number and name over the years, but never in its feline nature) since I was, say, six. She's never believed that I'm serious; she still doesn't. optimist. She went on some rant how I have such a beautiful body it would be such a shame not to pass it on to a new generation: an argument in great vogue throughout literary history, many examples of which came to mind as I pretended to listen. Occasionally I changed the direction of my gaze so the lack of attention would not appear too obvious. Then I, gifted with a great deal of economy in speech when I choose to exercise it, summed up my position very succinctly: 'CATS,' I said.
The heir apparent's contribution to the furtherance of life will be a tree. In the front yard. Spazz is the only one who may possibly oblige in the progeny thing, although she has certainly taken no steps in that direction. I wonder how Their Majesties managed to raise such an antisocial family...it certainly wasn't for lack of effort, they're always exhorting me to get out more...
...only with the right sort of people of course...
...and no drugs, and little alcohol, preferably none...
...and later than ten at night is suspect...
...and it mustn't interfere with school...
...and be wary of Y chromosomes...
...and ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night...
...and never leave my booze unattended...not that I drink, of course, dammit, ye of little faith...
...and never do anything they'd be ashamed of...
...and don't do anything they did in their hippie days...
...and avoid television shows and movies that might influence me badly...
I don't know why they're always banning television; it's like they actually think that that's where I get my values or something.
I think that they have been watching too much television; it is affecting their sense of reality. It's the 'oh-I-know-you-teenagers' syndrome, methinks, though I am just past teenagehood. It is the stereotype that so worries them, not me. If anyone's earned trust, surely I have? Apart from an unfortunate tendency to get extraordinarily snarky when I lose my temper and some sibling feuding, what have I ever done?
I have been reading the latest Harry Potter today. Leprechaun and the floor mother claim I am spookily similar to Luna Lovegood. I think that similarity would have been even more marked had I not been blessed with the Gifted program. Special classes was the first time I'd ever had more than one friend..and I was never the best friend of any of those individuals; they always had multiples. I think I'd have been massacred in a normal school...although, I have to admit I have improved over the years as well. I probably didn't deserve many friends back then, and it still took a while to overcome many bratty tendencies.
I quite like the sixth book, actually, it's getting a little more focussed than the previous, and it's very good holiday reading. I adore not having to think to much. Does anybody else associate HP with green? I always think of it as a dark green story for some reason, even the happy bits. I like Ron, but I have to say, he is a bit of a prat, honestly.
Apparently I type too loudly, and t'others like this 'sleep' thing, so I shall have to end here, first copying out the heir apparent's inventive Christmas carol we were all gleefully and pointlessly yodelling a few hours ago. I don't know why.
Good King Wenceslas looked out
In his pink pyjamas
The snow was gone and all he saw
Was twenty belching llamas
'Something's wrong!' he cried in fright,
'For though the eve is mild,
There should be snow at shoulder height:
I'll have a complaint filed.'
Tourmaline visited to give me my divinely beautiful birthday gift--soon enough I shall be old enough to vote drunk, even south of the border...not that I am registered to vote there, of course...which reminds me, I need to set up to vote here before I return back to Kingston.--It was a lovely calendar of my dearest obsession...well, one of them. The heir apparent caught me drooling at it in a lovelorn way and exclaimed 'my god, you obsessive freak, you'd even bathe in that stuff if you could!'
'mmmmm...with milk foam like bubbles...a lovely latte bubble bath...' I returned, smiling euphorically into the distance and sipping my seventh mug, which I was inspired to drink by the sight of my dearest love.
Again the heir apparent called upon her questionable god, and sauntered off to decapitate an apple or two.
I was reprehensibly lax in my hospitality, but her majesty's orders eventually prompted me to invite dear Tourmaline in properly, instead of getting absorbed in the conversation at the door and just nattering on and on for ever longer...sorry Tourmaline. The unquiet fiend was certainly welcoming, but Tourmaline's leg was mostly free of the overly exuberant embraces it usually recieves. I am sure she welcomed the change. It was a good conversation, anyway. So thrive my soul, I was not deliberately rude, merely clueless and spacey.
Apparently I am not the only one who leaves books in fridges accidentally. Tigger swapped a textbook of hers for a jar of pickles once. I'm not sure if the fact that I am not alone in this unfortunate tendency is comforting or frightening.
Her Majesty has put a great deal of old picture books and things in a box she almost labelled 'grandchildren,' only she thought that would be putting too much pressure on us. I told her I would feel none, as regarding something like that I bow only to my own whims. In any case, I have been saying I wanted only cats (the planned horde has varied in number and name over the years, but never in its feline nature) since I was, say, six. She's never believed that I'm serious; she still doesn't. optimist. She went on some rant how I have such a beautiful body it would be such a shame not to pass it on to a new generation: an argument in great vogue throughout literary history, many examples of which came to mind as I pretended to listen. Occasionally I changed the direction of my gaze so the lack of attention would not appear too obvious. Then I, gifted with a great deal of economy in speech when I choose to exercise it, summed up my position very succinctly: 'CATS,' I said.
The heir apparent's contribution to the furtherance of life will be a tree. In the front yard. Spazz is the only one who may possibly oblige in the progeny thing, although she has certainly taken no steps in that direction. I wonder how Their Majesties managed to raise such an antisocial family...it certainly wasn't for lack of effort, they're always exhorting me to get out more...
...only with the right sort of people of course...
...and no drugs, and little alcohol, preferably none...
...and later than ten at night is suspect...
...and it mustn't interfere with school...
...and be wary of Y chromosomes...
...and ghosties and ghoulies and things that go bump in the night...
...and never leave my booze unattended...not that I drink, of course, dammit, ye of little faith...
...and never do anything they'd be ashamed of...
...and don't do anything they did in their hippie days...
...and avoid television shows and movies that might influence me badly...
I don't know why they're always banning television; it's like they actually think that that's where I get my values or something.
I think that they have been watching too much television; it is affecting their sense of reality. It's the 'oh-I-know-you-teenagers' syndrome, methinks, though I am just past teenagehood. It is the stereotype that so worries them, not me. If anyone's earned trust, surely I have? Apart from an unfortunate tendency to get extraordinarily snarky when I lose my temper and some sibling feuding, what have I ever done?
I have been reading the latest Harry Potter today. Leprechaun and the floor mother claim I am spookily similar to Luna Lovegood. I think that similarity would have been even more marked had I not been blessed with the Gifted program. Special classes was the first time I'd ever had more than one friend..and I was never the best friend of any of those individuals; they always had multiples. I think I'd have been massacred in a normal school...although, I have to admit I have improved over the years as well. I probably didn't deserve many friends back then, and it still took a while to overcome many bratty tendencies.
I quite like the sixth book, actually, it's getting a little more focussed than the previous, and it's very good holiday reading. I adore not having to think to much. Does anybody else associate HP with green? I always think of it as a dark green story for some reason, even the happy bits. I like Ron, but I have to say, he is a bit of a prat, honestly.
Apparently I type too loudly, and t'others like this 'sleep' thing, so I shall have to end here, first copying out the heir apparent's inventive Christmas carol we were all gleefully and pointlessly yodelling a few hours ago. I don't know why.
Good King Wenceslas looked out
In his pink pyjamas
The snow was gone and all he saw
Was twenty belching llamas
'Something's wrong!' he cried in fright,
'For though the eve is mild,
There should be snow at shoulder height:
I'll have a complaint filed.'
posted by Athaira at 8:12 PM
2 Comments:
Which one is older, the heir apparent or Spazz?
And you are right, Half-Blood Prince is dark green. Order of the Phoenix is kind of pinkish. Goblet is golden-brown. P of Azkaban is blue.
C of Secrets and P's Stone I have not read in a long time, so I can't remember what colour they are, and I try not to have the colour of the cover influence me. 'Tis good to read them in PDF.
P.S
No page was there to be seen
Anywhere around.
Where the good boy had been
Was only empty ground.
The king yelled and the king called
Till he felt like roaring,
While the good page far away
In his bed was snoring.
So the king set out alone
To face the vile creatures,
When one of them spat in his face,
Marring royal features.
"Dreadful beast!" he cried in rage,
"I should have you strangled.
Too bad I don't have my good page
Who is in bedsheets tangled..."
(c)1998.
The right of Tourmaline to be identified as the author of this work is upheld by the International Copyright Act.
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