froodle: (Default)
Well dudes, I am writing this on a windy Sunday morning, sitting on a penthouse balcony overlooking all of Leeds and fighting the urge - no doubt caused by having watched the Goonies at a tender age - to make puking noises and then pour some gross shit over the people walking below me.

The Family von Froodle has descended upon Yorkshire and rather than make an ill-advised attempt to cram more than one person and three rabbits into my homey hovel, we have rented a top-floor apartment in the Chambers in Park Place.

And dudes, it is epic. When you walk in, the foyer is all marblelicious and there's "tasteful" displays of modern art in all the alcoves (note: these are not alcoves suitable for hidin' when employed in the killin' of dudes, these are alcoves for the tasteful displayin' of tasteful modern art) and there's a twenty-four hour concierge service and, dudes, if you want a DVD or some groceries or whatever, you just ring down to reception and they go and get it for you! How awesome is that!

And the apartment itself is even more awesome - it's got floor to ceiling windows on all the outside walls, and a balcony that runs all the way around and has blue spotlights in the floor that you can turn on at night, and sliding doors in each room that open on to the balcony and one of those jzacuzzi-baths and hardwood floors and lights in the wardrobe that come on when you open the door and a TV in the bathroom.

And oh, my God, the TVs! They are so big, I think they are giving me AIDS. AIDS causes you to want to steal stuff, right? I was watching SGA last night (on DVD, but it was my DVD that I brought with me, not a DVD I randomly made the reception dude run out and get for me because that would make me feel uncomfortable and jerklike) and, okay, Joe Flannigan and Major Lorne are beautiful even on my small old-school piece of shit TV, but in 40-inch hi-def with surround sound, their combined beauty is enough to melt your face.

I always make fun of James for working ridiculously long hours, figuring that nothing could make a seventy-hour week worthwhile, but when I see this place, how some people live, I can understand it a little bit better. Don't get me wrong, my character flaws are such that I am a lot more lazy than I am materialistic, but I do get it a bit now.

Anyway, we went to see Dreamboats and Petticoats on Friday and it was marvellous - it's about this dude who enters a song-writing competition, and his writing partner is in love with him, only he is in love with this slutty hot chick, who is in love with this slutty hot guy who, and this is the most important thing, was played by a total bargin basement Jensen Ackles. And it was all set in the fifties and there were awesome old-school rock and roll songs and those beautiful circle dresses and it was made of win. And! Nobody even died or exploded or shot some dudes, and I still loved it, so that should tell you how great it was.

Anyway, Mama Froodle just got out of the shower so I'm going to put the laptop aside and go see what the plan is for the rest of the day. Later days!
froodle: (Default)
Well dudes, I am writing this on a windy Sunday morning, sitting on a penthouse balcony overlooking all of Leeds and fighting the urge - no doubt caused by having watched the Goonies at a tender age - to make puking noises and then pour some gross shit over the people walking below me.

The Family von Froodle has descended upon Yorkshire and rather than make an ill-advised attempt to cram more than one person and three rabbits into my homey hovel, we have rented a top-floor apartment in the Chambers in Park Place.

And dudes, it is epic. When you walk in, the foyer is all marblelicious and there's "tasteful" displays of modern art in all the alcoves (note: these are not alcoves suitable for hidin' when employed in the killin' of dudes, these are alcoves for the tasteful displayin' of tasteful modern art) and there's a twenty-four hour concierge service and, dudes, if you want a DVD or some groceries or whatever, you just ring down to reception and they go and get it for you! How awesome is that!

And the apartment itself is even more awesome - it's got floor to ceiling windows on all the outside walls, and a balcony that runs all the way around and has blue spotlights in the floor that you can turn on at night, and sliding doors in each room that open on to the balcony and one of those jzacuzzi-baths and hardwood floors and lights in the wardrobe that come on when you open the door and a TV in the bathroom.

And oh, my God, the TVs! They are so big, I think they are giving me AIDS. AIDS causes you to want to steal stuff, right? I was watching SGA last night (on DVD, but it was my DVD that I brought with me, not a DVD I randomly made the reception dude run out and get for me because that would make me feel uncomfortable and jerklike) and, okay, Joe Flannigan and Major Lorne are beautiful even on my small old-school piece of shit TV, but in 40-inch hi-def with surround sound, their combined beauty is enough to melt your face.

I always make fun of James for working ridiculously long hours, figuring that nothing could make a seventy-hour week worthwhile, but when I see this place, how some people live, I can understand it a little bit better. Don't get me wrong, my character flaws are such that I am a lot more lazy than I am materialistic, but I do get it a bit now.

Anyway, we went to see Dreamboats and Petticoats on Friday and it was marvellous - it's about this dude who enters a song-writing competition, and his writing partner is in love with him, only he is in love with this slutty hot chick, who is in love with this slutty hot guy who, and this is the most important thing, was played by a total bargin basement Jensen Ackles. And it was all set in the fifties and there were awesome old-school rock and roll songs and those beautiful circle dresses and it was made of win. And! Nobody even died or exploded or shot some dudes, and I still loved it, so that should tell you how great it was.

Anyway, Mama Froodle just got out of the shower so I'm going to put the laptop aside and go see what the plan is for the rest of the day. Later days!
froodle: (Default)
Man, what the hell is going on with parsnips in this city? There is like a Leeds-wide shortage of parsnips. All Morrisons had were two lonesome prepacked bags of the most tiddly and pointless parsnips ever to be dragged from Gods green earth, and at my local greengrocer? Three. THREE! How am I supposed to make roast parsnips if the Parsnip Gods conspire against me in this way?

Well, my four day weekend was a veritable cornucopia of joy, cake, joy, pastries, joy, potroast, joy, Colin Farrell and joy. It was joyful. Went to A&Js, where the four of us cooked a big roast dinner, (well, three of us. James mostly just got in the way) watched TV and discussed such mind-boggling questions as

  • Could Sunny Baudelaire bite through Dalek battlearmour?
  • Is it possible to build a robot capable of defeating Mister T?
  • What were the people responsible for the new Rocky movie thinking?


Of course, the rest of the week was the usual round of stupid customers, rude customers, customers who can't speak English and customers who for one reason or another are just plain annoying. Still, it is now Saturday, I have in the bag at my feet three parsnips and batteries for a remote control Dalek (which I shall be using to chase Bellatrix around the room until I get bored or she stops freaking out), and the sequel to Elizabeth Knox's fantastiful book, the Rainbow Opera, so if the idiot in the computer booth next to me would just stop his wittering, I'm pretty much set for 48 hours of gleeful lazification.
froodle: (Default)
Man, what the hell is going on with parsnips in this city? There is like a Leeds-wide shortage of parsnips. All Morrisons had were two lonesome prepacked bags of the most tiddly and pointless parsnips ever to be dragged from Gods green earth, and at my local greengrocer? Three. THREE! How am I supposed to make roast parsnips if the Parsnip Gods conspire against me in this way?

Well, my four day weekend was a veritable cornucopia of joy, cake, joy, pastries, joy, potroast, joy, Colin Farrell and joy. It was joyful. Went to A&Js, where the four of us cooked a big roast dinner, (well, three of us. James mostly just got in the way) watched TV and discussed such mind-boggling questions as

  • Could Sunny Baudelaire bite through Dalek battlearmour?
  • Is it possible to build a robot capable of defeating Mister T?
  • What were the people responsible for the new Rocky movie thinking?


Of course, the rest of the week was the usual round of stupid customers, rude customers, customers who can't speak English and customers who for one reason or another are just plain annoying. Still, it is now Saturday, I have in the bag at my feet three parsnips and batteries for a remote control Dalek (which I shall be using to chase Bellatrix around the room until I get bored or she stops freaking out), and the sequel to Elizabeth Knox's fantastiful book, the Rainbow Opera, so if the idiot in the computer booth next to me would just stop his wittering, I'm pretty much set for 48 hours of gleeful lazification.
froodle: (Default)
Alan and Jess came over tonight. They ended up watching about half an episode of Smallville, since it was on when they arrived. I don't think they were very impressed...

Alan: You are such a geek. How can you make fun of me for watching Stargate when you watch bloody Superman?
Froodle: He's not Superman yet and anyway, Smallville's good.
Candyman on Smallville: WHERE'S THE ELEVATOR?!
Alan and Jess: *hysterics*
Froodle: Shut up.
Alan: They have a whole episode about not being able to find an elevator, come on!
Froodle: Shut up.
Jess: You're only watching this because the box has a picture of a shirtless bloke all tied up on the cover.
Froodle: Shut up!

*later*

Big Daddy Luthor: *arrives*
Jess: Aaaahahahaa, he looks like Geriatric Fabio!
Big Daddy Luthor: *tosses his fabulous mane of hair*
Alan: Here comes the science part; concentrate!
Jess: You know he only keeps it that long to annoy Lex.
Alan: Yeah, I bet when Lex was a kid he'd come down for breakfast and his dad would be like, "Oh, I'm having such a bad hair day... oh, hi Lex."
Jess: And Lex would be like, *sob*
Alan: He's lucky, I would have made him wear a wig. Like, for fuck's sake, nobody wants to see your naked head!
Froodle: You know, this is how kids grow up to be evil supervillians.

*later still*

Clark: GET TO THE ELEVATOR!
Alan: What the fuck? There is no elevator! Has he not been paying attention? That was like, the entire point.
Jess: Oh, they found it in the end. It was behind a wall.
Alan: What the... okay, why can't he pull that guy up even though he's Superman?
Froodle: The guy is made from Kryptonite.
Alan: This is retarded.
Froodle: You're retarded!
Alan: He can't even fly, what the hell. Boo!
Jess: And why is he saving Lex Luthor?
Froodle: Because they're boyfriends.
Jess: I knew there was a reason you watched this.
Froodle: ...shut up!

Later we put Red Dwarf on while we made dinner; it was one of the ones with the line about Rimmer adding "BSc" every time he signed his name and it standing for Bronze Swimming Certificate:

Alan: Oh man, can't you just imagine James doing that?
Froodle: Are you fucking kidding me? I bet he adds "LLB (Hons)" to everything he writes now. Even like, Christmas cards and credit card slips.
Jess: Do we even know what LLB stands for?
Froodle: No idea. Probably a Latin tag for "Baccalaureate of Law" or something.
Alan: At least you have something cool to go after your names. I'm just going to be "DIP".
Froodle: You sound like a sidekick in a superhero comic. "Dip Man".
Jess: You have a little symbol on your chest of a bowl of dip with a crisp sticking out of it.
Alan: Until some lazy parents get all whiny about their fatass kids and make me change it to low-fat dip with a stick of celery.
Froodle: That's way too phallic. You try that in America, the religious right will crucify you.
Alan: Fuck them then, I just won't save them from my enemies.
Jess: You could have Doritos instead of throwing stars, and an advert like, "Does your party need something extra? Call DIPMAN, for all your Sour Cream and Chive needs!"
Froodle: And an underground lair with like, a giant Fondue set.
Jess: Do you think you can insure underground lairs? I mean, if I was like, Batman, and some asshole blew up my Batcave, I'd be so annoyed if I couldn't get the insurance to cover it.
Froodle: Yeah, but if you were Batman you'd be super-rich anyway.
Jess: Batman can't be super-rich. That's for Supermans. Batmans have to be like, Batrich.
Froodle: Do they go to the Batbank to draw out a couple of hundred Batdollars?
Jess: Yes.
Alan: *sadly* I wish I had some Dipdollars.
Froodle: Well, insure the Dipcave and then get some enemies to blow it up for you.

Finally we watched Mansfield Park, which is much improved by pretending all the characters are in fact characters from Revenge of the Sith. Fanny is Anakin; Edmund is Obi-Wan; the Crawfords are Sith Lords; Ickle Midshipman William, while not actually in the film, is Padme; Lady Bertram is Yoda; Sir Thomas is Mace Windu and Mr Rushworth, of course, is Jar Jar.
froodle: (Default)
Alan and Jess came over tonight. They ended up watching about half an episode of Smallville, since it was on when they arrived. I don't think they were very impressed...

Alan: You are such a geek. How can you make fun of me for watching Stargate when you watch bloody Superman?
Froodle: He's not Superman yet and anyway, Smallville's good.
Candyman on Smallville: WHERE'S THE ELEVATOR?!
Alan and Jess: *hysterics*
Froodle: Shut up.
Alan: They have a whole episode about not being able to find an elevator, come on!
Froodle: Shut up.
Jess: You're only watching this because the box has a picture of a shirtless bloke all tied up on the cover.
Froodle: Shut up!

*later*

Big Daddy Luthor: *arrives*
Jess: Aaaahahahaa, he looks like Geriatric Fabio!
Big Daddy Luthor: *tosses his fabulous mane of hair*
Alan: Here comes the science part; concentrate!
Jess: You know he only keeps it that long to annoy Lex.
Alan: Yeah, I bet when Lex was a kid he'd come down for breakfast and his dad would be like, "Oh, I'm having such a bad hair day... oh, hi Lex."
Jess: And Lex would be like, *sob*
Alan: He's lucky, I would have made him wear a wig. Like, for fuck's sake, nobody wants to see your naked head!
Froodle: You know, this is how kids grow up to be evil supervillians.

*later still*

Clark: GET TO THE ELEVATOR!
Alan: What the fuck? There is no elevator! Has he not been paying attention? That was like, the entire point.
Jess: Oh, they found it in the end. It was behind a wall.
Alan: What the... okay, why can't he pull that guy up even though he's Superman?
Froodle: The guy is made from Kryptonite.
Alan: This is retarded.
Froodle: You're retarded!
Alan: He can't even fly, what the hell. Boo!
Jess: And why is he saving Lex Luthor?
Froodle: Because they're boyfriends.
Jess: I knew there was a reason you watched this.
Froodle: ...shut up!

Later we put Red Dwarf on while we made dinner; it was one of the ones with the line about Rimmer adding "BSc" every time he signed his name and it standing for Bronze Swimming Certificate:

Alan: Oh man, can't you just imagine James doing that?
Froodle: Are you fucking kidding me? I bet he adds "LLB (Hons)" to everything he writes now. Even like, Christmas cards and credit card slips.
Jess: Do we even know what LLB stands for?
Froodle: No idea. Probably a Latin tag for "Baccalaureate of Law" or something.
Alan: At least you have something cool to go after your names. I'm just going to be "DIP".
Froodle: You sound like a sidekick in a superhero comic. "Dip Man".
Jess: You have a little symbol on your chest of a bowl of dip with a crisp sticking out of it.
Alan: Until some lazy parents get all whiny about their fatass kids and make me change it to low-fat dip with a stick of celery.
Froodle: That's way too phallic. You try that in America, the religious right will crucify you.
Alan: Fuck them then, I just won't save them from my enemies.
Jess: You could have Doritos instead of throwing stars, and an advert like, "Does your party need something extra? Call DIPMAN, for all your Sour Cream and Chive needs!"
Froodle: And an underground lair with like, a giant Fondue set.
Jess: Do you think you can insure underground lairs? I mean, if I was like, Batman, and some asshole blew up my Batcave, I'd be so annoyed if I couldn't get the insurance to cover it.
Froodle: Yeah, but if you were Batman you'd be super-rich anyway.
Jess: Batman can't be super-rich. That's for Supermans. Batmans have to be like, Batrich.
Froodle: Do they go to the Batbank to draw out a couple of hundred Batdollars?
Jess: Yes.
Alan: *sadly* I wish I had some Dipdollars.
Froodle: Well, insure the Dipcave and then get some enemies to blow it up for you.

Finally we watched Mansfield Park, which is much improved by pretending all the characters are in fact characters from Revenge of the Sith. Fanny is Anakin; Edmund is Obi-Wan; the Crawfords are Sith Lords; Ickle Midshipman William, while not actually in the film, is Padme; Lady Bertram is Yoda; Sir Thomas is Mace Windu and Mr Rushworth, of course, is Jar Jar.
froodle: (Default)
Oh, such a busy Froodle am I.

Marcus came 'round on Monday night - we had hot chocolate and I introduced him to the campy wonder that is Big Wolf on Campus. Much giggling at time-travelling Russian villians ("In future American pro wrestlers becomes governors. Is true! I am from future!"), gelatinous cubes, fire-breathing devil dogs, boybands from outer space, male pregnancy and of course, Vince. Also, I await the day somebody slashes Devon and Chad from N'sipid. "When we're alone, call me Admiral". It practically writes itself!

Yesterday Jess and I went to the new Chinese resturant that's opened near the train station - was very tasty and shall probably go again. Alan's working night shifts at the moment, so rather than have her drive back to Halifax at gone midnight and have Alan catch the morning rush-hour train home, she stayed at mine overnight. We went to a new bar called Cocoon, which was nice, being of the non-crowded, plenty of seating and no drunken morons variety. Also watched an episode of Highlander, despite Jessica's vehement protests (she Will succumb to the power of sexy Duncan, damn it. I'm not going to be the only one Fangirling him) and an episode of Firefly.

Jessica's latest scheme to make millions and avoid working ever again has taken the shape of creating a comedy sketch show based on the exploits of all the people we know. So we're sitting there in the lounge, scribbling down ideas, and Alan walks in.

Jess: Alan, help me think of something weird Catherine does.
Alan: *looks around him, taking in the rabbit pen, doll collection, comics strewn all over the floor and anime posters covering the walls* ...Is this a trick question?
Jess: Haha. Okay, you can make notes on James. That's going to be a goldmine.
Alan: Normally I could slag him off all day, but I'm just too tired.

Company is now called "The production company, for fucks sake!", based on Alan's reaction when we told him about Jess's plan.
froodle: (Default)
Oh, such a busy Froodle am I.

Marcus came 'round on Monday night - we had hot chocolate and I introduced him to the campy wonder that is Big Wolf on Campus. Much giggling at time-travelling Russian villians ("In future American pro wrestlers becomes governors. Is true! I am from future!"), gelatinous cubes, fire-breathing devil dogs, boybands from outer space, male pregnancy and of course, Vince. Also, I await the day somebody slashes Devon and Chad from N'sipid. "When we're alone, call me Admiral". It practically writes itself!

Yesterday Jess and I went to the new Chinese resturant that's opened near the train station - was very tasty and shall probably go again. Alan's working night shifts at the moment, so rather than have her drive back to Halifax at gone midnight and have Alan catch the morning rush-hour train home, she stayed at mine overnight. We went to a new bar called Cocoon, which was nice, being of the non-crowded, plenty of seating and no drunken morons variety. Also watched an episode of Highlander, despite Jessica's vehement protests (she Will succumb to the power of sexy Duncan, damn it. I'm not going to be the only one Fangirling him) and an episode of Firefly.

Jessica's latest scheme to make millions and avoid working ever again has taken the shape of creating a comedy sketch show based on the exploits of all the people we know. So we're sitting there in the lounge, scribbling down ideas, and Alan walks in.

Jess: Alan, help me think of something weird Catherine does.
Alan: *looks around him, taking in the rabbit pen, doll collection, comics strewn all over the floor and anime posters covering the walls* ...Is this a trick question?
Jess: Haha. Okay, you can make notes on James. That's going to be a goldmine.
Alan: Normally I could slag him off all day, but I'm just too tired.

Company is now called "The production company, for fucks sake!", based on Alan's reaction when we told him about Jess's plan.
froodle: (Default)
James still getting on my nerves. At lunch today, we were talking about where we see ourselves in five or ten years time. Jess was lying in the sun in a villa in Spain while Alan chased a toddler in waterwings around their garden. James was living in an apartment building with a doorman in London. I was about to describe my house with it's huge library, squishy sofas of Doom and three kitties, when James says, in the most obnoxious "hoho, look at me embarrass and discomfort you" voice known to man, "And Catherine of course will be playing with her vibrator".

Okay, asshole. I realise that you are bitter because I have steadfastly rejected your sickening advances since some time in October. I realise that you "need" a relationship in order to justify your pathetic existance. I realise that a lot of this comes from your control freak of a mother, whom you lack the testicular fortitude to stand up to on even the most basic of issues. I even acknowledge that the collective jokes about you being gay probably didn't help, although, to paraphrase Alan, "it was alright when you were just a ponce, but I don't like you now you've turned into a pervy hetro", and also, I realise that I can't stop you having these revolting thoughts about me any more than you can stop me entertaining vivid fantasies about knocking your teeth so far down your throat that you'd be shitting molars until graduation.

But I'll thank you to shut the fuck up and stop going out of your way to make me uncomfortable or angry in public. I tolerate you at the moment because we have the same friends, but I am very, very close to losing my temper with your inappropriate touching and even more inappropriate comments.

Of course, his fucktardery did lead to inadvertant hilarity when I announced that I planned on owning a whole harem of vibrators, and that I would give them all names:

Froodle: And every time I got a new obsession with a character or an actor or something, I'd buy a new one and name it after them.
Jessica: Would you have an Erik one?
Froodle: Of course. Fifteen inches of black latex, with an ickle white half-mask over the head.
Jessica: Heehee, oooh, he could have a little soundchip in him so that when you're using him, he goes "Sing, my Angel of Music!" in Gerard Butler's voice.
Froodle: Oh man, that would rock So Hard.
Jessica: You'd have to buy him a Christine one, though. So he wouldn't get lonely.
Froodle: Aww, that would be so cute! They could go on little dates to the underwear drawer!
Jessica: I wonder what a Christine vibrator would look like... probably those pink and sparkly jelly ones.
Froodle: Ewww no, those remind me of Orlaris*. I don't want an Orlaris vibrator. Blue and sparkly would be okay, though. Or purple.
Jessica: What would you call them?
Froodle: I dunno, I'd have to get to know them first, so I can pick out a name that really suits them. I totally want an Erik vibrator now, though.
Jessica: Him and Christine could have little baby vibrators.
Froodle: Oooh, like those ones that are about three inches long and you can put them in your bag and carry them around with you?
Jessica: If you get one that's three inches long, I insist you call it Raoul.

And at that point, we laughed so hard that the thread of the conversation was lost and we went back to discussing Foucaultian constructs. Poor Raoul.

*Orlaris: Orlando Bloom as Paris. See also Bradchilles, Alexarrell and Jarphaestion, among others.
froodle: (Default)
James still getting on my nerves. At lunch today, we were talking about where we see ourselves in five or ten years time. Jess was lying in the sun in a villa in Spain while Alan chased a toddler in waterwings around their garden. James was living in an apartment building with a doorman in London. I was about to describe my house with it's huge library, squishy sofas of Doom and three kitties, when James says, in the most obnoxious "hoho, look at me embarrass and discomfort you" voice known to man, "And Catherine of course will be playing with her vibrator".

Okay, asshole. I realise that you are bitter because I have steadfastly rejected your sickening advances since some time in October. I realise that you "need" a relationship in order to justify your pathetic existance. I realise that a lot of this comes from your control freak of a mother, whom you lack the testicular fortitude to stand up to on even the most basic of issues. I even acknowledge that the collective jokes about you being gay probably didn't help, although, to paraphrase Alan, "it was alright when you were just a ponce, but I don't like you now you've turned into a pervy hetro", and also, I realise that I can't stop you having these revolting thoughts about me any more than you can stop me entertaining vivid fantasies about knocking your teeth so far down your throat that you'd be shitting molars until graduation.

But I'll thank you to shut the fuck up and stop going out of your way to make me uncomfortable or angry in public. I tolerate you at the moment because we have the same friends, but I am very, very close to losing my temper with your inappropriate touching and even more inappropriate comments.

Of course, his fucktardery did lead to inadvertant hilarity when I announced that I planned on owning a whole harem of vibrators, and that I would give them all names:

Froodle: And every time I got a new obsession with a character or an actor or something, I'd buy a new one and name it after them.
Jessica: Would you have an Erik one?
Froodle: Of course. Fifteen inches of black latex, with an ickle white half-mask over the head.
Jessica: Heehee, oooh, he could have a little soundchip in him so that when you're using him, he goes "Sing, my Angel of Music!" in Gerard Butler's voice.
Froodle: Oh man, that would rock So Hard.
Jessica: You'd have to buy him a Christine one, though. So he wouldn't get lonely.
Froodle: Aww, that would be so cute! They could go on little dates to the underwear drawer!
Jessica: I wonder what a Christine vibrator would look like... probably those pink and sparkly jelly ones.
Froodle: Ewww no, those remind me of Orlaris*. I don't want an Orlaris vibrator. Blue and sparkly would be okay, though. Or purple.
Jessica: What would you call them?
Froodle: I dunno, I'd have to get to know them first, so I can pick out a name that really suits them. I totally want an Erik vibrator now, though.
Jessica: Him and Christine could have little baby vibrators.
Froodle: Oooh, like those ones that are about three inches long and you can put them in your bag and carry them around with you?
Jessica: If you get one that's three inches long, I insist you call it Raoul.

And at that point, we laughed so hard that the thread of the conversation was lost and we went back to discussing Foucaultian constructs. Poor Raoul.

*Orlaris: Orlando Bloom as Paris. See also Bradchilles, Alexarrell and Jarphaestion, among others.
froodle: (Default)
Such a very sleepy Froodle am I.

Last night was the Law Ball. It was... meh. Totally not worth £47. The hotel rooms were shitty and there were blankets on the bed. When I rule the world, I'm outlawing blankets. Duvets for all! The food wasn't great and, as usual, the Law Society took it upon themselves to bore us all with tales of their drunken exploits under the guise of "Most Memorable Law Student Moments of 2004/5". Because, you know, there's nothing so amusing to a room full of 400 people than an anecdote involving someone known to maybe ten people in the whole room.

On the plus side, there were balloons filled with helium, so we amused ourselves by inhaling said helium while waiting for the Law Soc to shut the fuck up and let us have our damn dessert. Alan wrote all our email addresses on a piece of paper, tied it to a balloon string and let the balloon go outside. There were also these weird little gift boxes on our tables - gold present-shaped ones with love hearts in them for girls, and tuxedos with chocolate footballs for guys. In the face of such blatent retardery, I was forced to rebel by setting fire to my love hearts and stealing a bunch of chocolate footballs instead.

Also there were these really fancy star-shaped balloons which Verity spent all night trying to steal, but all her attempts kept being foiled. Eventually we managed to liberate one from the clutches of the evil Balloon Bitch from Planet Drunkenslutonia, which we named V'jjacs (Verity, James, Jessica, Alan, Catherine and Steve) in honour of our collaberative effort.

While queuing for our pictures (which took about a thousand years, thanks retards), there was one guy in front of us who, while posing for his picture, decided to answer his mobile phone and yakk to his shitty, insignificant friends, holding the rest of us up even more. Was quite funny as Jessica started yelling abuse at him, telling him he was banned from having his photo taken and that he should shut the fuck up and get out of the Goddamn way instead of holding the rest of us up with his insignificant conversations.

But even after the Samsung Spackwit was vanquished, our quest to claim the "free" professional photos which the Law Soc so deftly negotiated for us was impeded by our old enemy, the Balloon Bitch. She and a group of her shitty, shrieking friends (hailing from both Planet Drunkenslutonia and it's close neighbour, Smashedfucktard) took about twenty minutes to get in position to have their picture taken, during which time we could hear Balloon Bitch shrieking "Boys in back, boys in back!" over and over again, which of course sparked another torrent of abuse from us.

James was really annoying me all evening - there was this chubby girl sitting on a table near us, and she was wearing a pink dress, and every time she walked past us, he had to make some comment about how "people that fat shouldn't wear pink because it makes them look like pigs." I was like, first of all, pigs don't usually come in pastel shades, so that's fucking retarded, and secondly, since you don't know her and she's done nothing annoying (and believe me, I'm the first to get annoyed with people I don't know, usually for being loud or smelling bad), how about you Shut The Fuck Up and stop acting like such a small-minded, petty moron? Also he kept making comments about the reletive merits of the breasts of all the girls at the table, and making these oh-so-hilarious innuendos about Verity and I sharing a room. Eventually I snapped and was like "You're not funny, James. You're fat," and while he was still gaping like a landed fish, Verity comes out with "Oh Catherine, don't be mean! He's not fat. *pause* Anymore." To which I laughed loudly and with youthful abandon while James spluttered indignantly in the background.

On the plus side, there was giant Connect Four and Jenga, and Alan brought his X-Box, so the evening wasn't a total loss. As long as you don't think too hard about the fact that we could have done that sort of thing at home and without being forced to mingle with filthy law students.
froodle: (Default)
Such a very sleepy Froodle am I.

Last night was the Law Ball. It was... meh. Totally not worth £47. The hotel rooms were shitty and there were blankets on the bed. When I rule the world, I'm outlawing blankets. Duvets for all! The food wasn't great and, as usual, the Law Society took it upon themselves to bore us all with tales of their drunken exploits under the guise of "Most Memorable Law Student Moments of 2004/5". Because, you know, there's nothing so amusing to a room full of 400 people than an anecdote involving someone known to maybe ten people in the whole room.

On the plus side, there were balloons filled with helium, so we amused ourselves by inhaling said helium while waiting for the Law Soc to shut the fuck up and let us have our damn dessert. Alan wrote all our email addresses on a piece of paper, tied it to a balloon string and let the balloon go outside. There were also these weird little gift boxes on our tables - gold present-shaped ones with love hearts in them for girls, and tuxedos with chocolate footballs for guys. In the face of such blatent retardery, I was forced to rebel by setting fire to my love hearts and stealing a bunch of chocolate footballs instead.

Also there were these really fancy star-shaped balloons which Verity spent all night trying to steal, but all her attempts kept being foiled. Eventually we managed to liberate one from the clutches of the evil Balloon Bitch from Planet Drunkenslutonia, which we named V'jjacs (Verity, James, Jessica, Alan, Catherine and Steve) in honour of our collaberative effort.

While queuing for our pictures (which took about a thousand years, thanks retards), there was one guy in front of us who, while posing for his picture, decided to answer his mobile phone and yakk to his shitty, insignificant friends, holding the rest of us up even more. Was quite funny as Jessica started yelling abuse at him, telling him he was banned from having his photo taken and that he should shut the fuck up and get out of the Goddamn way instead of holding the rest of us up with his insignificant conversations.

But even after the Samsung Spackwit was vanquished, our quest to claim the "free" professional photos which the Law Soc so deftly negotiated for us was impeded by our old enemy, the Balloon Bitch. She and a group of her shitty, shrieking friends (hailing from both Planet Drunkenslutonia and it's close neighbour, Smashedfucktard) took about twenty minutes to get in position to have their picture taken, during which time we could hear Balloon Bitch shrieking "Boys in back, boys in back!" over and over again, which of course sparked another torrent of abuse from us.

James was really annoying me all evening - there was this chubby girl sitting on a table near us, and she was wearing a pink dress, and every time she walked past us, he had to make some comment about how "people that fat shouldn't wear pink because it makes them look like pigs." I was like, first of all, pigs don't usually come in pastel shades, so that's fucking retarded, and secondly, since you don't know her and she's done nothing annoying (and believe me, I'm the first to get annoyed with people I don't know, usually for being loud or smelling bad), how about you Shut The Fuck Up and stop acting like such a small-minded, petty moron? Also he kept making comments about the reletive merits of the breasts of all the girls at the table, and making these oh-so-hilarious innuendos about Verity and I sharing a room. Eventually I snapped and was like "You're not funny, James. You're fat," and while he was still gaping like a landed fish, Verity comes out with "Oh Catherine, don't be mean! He's not fat. *pause* Anymore." To which I laughed loudly and with youthful abandon while James spluttered indignantly in the background.

On the plus side, there was giant Connect Four and Jenga, and Alan brought his X-Box, so the evening wasn't a total loss. As long as you don't think too hard about the fact that we could have done that sort of thing at home and without being forced to mingle with filthy law students.
froodle: (Default)
Soo... I got back from seeing Phantom for the third time today. Obsessed? Me? Nooo. Jess wanted to. All her fault. Yes. Bad Jessica. Alan and James were there too, but they don't count because they had nothing to add to the conversation and James was sulking because we compared him to Raoul. Afterwards we were discussing the Age Old Question of whether we'd pick Erik or Raoul at the end of the film:

Jess: Well, it's not like choosing between a fop and a psychopath is much of a choice... but probably Raoul. You?
Me: Oh, Erik, definatly. I mean, Raoul shoots kitties.
Jess: Erik's a murderer.
Me: But he doesn't shoot kitties! Plus, Raoul's about as interesting as dry toast. At least with Erik, I wouldn't be bored.
Jess: Only because you'd constantly be looking out for his Stranglin' Rope(TM)! Plus, I bet life with Erik would get boring eventually. I mean, every time you had a fight, he'd say it was because of his face and start screeching.
Me: HAH! Yeah, I can just imagine that: I'd be all, 'Erik, can you take those dead bodies out of the torture chamber, please?' And he'd be like, 'BITCH! I'm writing my opera!' and I'd be all, 'OMG No Sexing for you tonight!' and he's be like "WAAAAHHHH OMG you hate me because of my face!" and start crying and then I'd feel guilty.
Jess: And you'd have to get rid of the corpses AND give him guilt-sexin'.
Me: Nah, I'd totally tell him to fuck off and play with his monkey.
Jess: He'll just screech about his face until you give in. He's totally a manipulator. And I bet he'd never take you anywhere.
Me: Urgh, yeah. Anniversaries... at the opera. Birthdays... at the opera.
Jess: Christmas... at the opera.
Me: Only his mask would have ickle Reindeer horns, so that would be quite fun.
Jess: Nah, he'd probably think it was a hint that you'd cuckolded him or something. Whiny prick.
Me: Oh God, he's like the male equivilent of those girls who are always going on about how fat they are and demanding reassurance from their boyfriends.
Jess: Yeah, only at least guys can say "You're not fat" because they're generally not, but it's not like you can say "Oh Erik, there's totally nothing wrong with your face, I mean, it's not like you're hideously scarred and have to wear a mask or anythi- Oops."
Me: *sigh* No Phantom sexin' for me tonight.
Jess: Hah, see? Raoul never denies me sexin'.
Me: Yeah, but Eriksexin' is better. He's a genius.
Jess: He's a psychopath.
Me: Raoul shoots kitties.

And so it went on.
froodle: (Default)
Soo... I got back from seeing Phantom for the third time today. Obsessed? Me? Nooo. Jess wanted to. All her fault. Yes. Bad Jessica. Alan and James were there too, but they don't count because they had nothing to add to the conversation and James was sulking because we compared him to Raoul. Afterwards we were discussing the Age Old Question of whether we'd pick Erik or Raoul at the end of the film:

Jess: Well, it's not like choosing between a fop and a psychopath is much of a choice... but probably Raoul. You?
Me: Oh, Erik, definatly. I mean, Raoul shoots kitties.
Jess: Erik's a murderer.
Me: But he doesn't shoot kitties! Plus, Raoul's about as interesting as dry toast. At least with Erik, I wouldn't be bored.
Jess: Only because you'd constantly be looking out for his Stranglin' Rope(TM)! Plus, I bet life with Erik would get boring eventually. I mean, every time you had a fight, he'd say it was because of his face and start screeching.
Me: HAH! Yeah, I can just imagine that: I'd be all, 'Erik, can you take those dead bodies out of the torture chamber, please?' And he'd be like, 'BITCH! I'm writing my opera!' and I'd be all, 'OMG No Sexing for you tonight!' and he's be like "WAAAAHHHH OMG you hate me because of my face!" and start crying and then I'd feel guilty.
Jess: And you'd have to get rid of the corpses AND give him guilt-sexin'.
Me: Nah, I'd totally tell him to fuck off and play with his monkey.
Jess: He'll just screech about his face until you give in. He's totally a manipulator. And I bet he'd never take you anywhere.
Me: Urgh, yeah. Anniversaries... at the opera. Birthdays... at the opera.
Jess: Christmas... at the opera.
Me: Only his mask would have ickle Reindeer horns, so that would be quite fun.
Jess: Nah, he'd probably think it was a hint that you'd cuckolded him or something. Whiny prick.
Me: Oh God, he's like the male equivilent of those girls who are always going on about how fat they are and demanding reassurance from their boyfriends.
Jess: Yeah, only at least guys can say "You're not fat" because they're generally not, but it's not like you can say "Oh Erik, there's totally nothing wrong with your face, I mean, it's not like you're hideously scarred and have to wear a mask or anythi- Oops."
Me: *sigh* No Phantom sexin' for me tonight.
Jess: Hah, see? Raoul never denies me sexin'.
Me: Yeah, but Eriksexin' is better. He's a genius.
Jess: He's a psychopath.
Me: Raoul shoots kitties.

And so it went on.
froodle: (Default)
Heeheehee.

Hee.

Heehee.

Alan, Jess and James came 'round for the postponed post-birthday celebration tonight. Jess brought Cluedo, but this was no mere Cluedo. Oh no. This was the uber-special, one of a kind Us Cluedo.

Jess, Verity, Alan, James, Steve and I had all taken the place of the regular characters. A vibrator, whip, ballgag, pair of handcuffs, Jordan's breasts and Colin Firth were our weapons of choice. The locations became, among others, a sheep-shed, a dungeon, a confessional and an airplane.

I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time. Alan in the sheepshed with Colin Firth (the lucky bastard); Steve in the phonebox with the vibrator; James and Jordan's breasts in the copy room; and Verity in the graveyard with the whip were our final results. I never did get to visit the confessional with Colin Firth, and once again I lost every game (it's a lot harder to cheat at Cluedo than it is to cheat at Monopoly) but it was still genius. I want a copy.
froodle: (Default)
Heeheehee.

Hee.

Heehee.

Alan, Jess and James came 'round for the postponed post-birthday celebration tonight. Jess brought Cluedo, but this was no mere Cluedo. Oh no. This was the uber-special, one of a kind Us Cluedo.

Jess, Verity, Alan, James, Steve and I had all taken the place of the regular characters. A vibrator, whip, ballgag, pair of handcuffs, Jordan's breasts and Colin Firth were our weapons of choice. The locations became, among others, a sheep-shed, a dungeon, a confessional and an airplane.

I don't think I've laughed that hard in a long time. Alan in the sheepshed with Colin Firth (the lucky bastard); Steve in the phonebox with the vibrator; James and Jordan's breasts in the copy room; and Verity in the graveyard with the whip were our final results. I never did get to visit the confessional with Colin Firth, and once again I lost every game (it's a lot harder to cheat at Cluedo than it is to cheat at Monopoly) but it was still genius. I want a copy.
froodle: (Default)
Parental units finally left, though not before threatening, I mean, promising to return for a week in December so that Mother and I can bond over facials, makeovers, manicures and the like. *headdesk* I wonder if James will take her out to play if I give him £50...

Jess, James and Alan are supposed to be coming 'round tonight, but am absolutely exhausted after enduring parental inability to listen to anything I say for 48 hours, cumulating in Dad attempting to hoover up while I'm in the middle of changing Thlayli's cage, despite repeated explainations about why that is a Really Dumb Idea, ie, I haven't finished with the hay or the sawdust or the litter or the food yet, all of which have a tendancy to scatter, and Mother's aforementioned "girly activities" stupidness.

Shall curl up in bed with hot chocolate and listen to Paul McGann tell of the daring adventures of Sean Bean instead.
froodle: (Default)
Parental units finally left, though not before threatening, I mean, promising to return for a week in December so that Mother and I can bond over facials, makeovers, manicures and the like. *headdesk* I wonder if James will take her out to play if I give him £50...

Jess, James and Alan are supposed to be coming 'round tonight, but am absolutely exhausted after enduring parental inability to listen to anything I say for 48 hours, cumulating in Dad attempting to hoover up while I'm in the middle of changing Thlayli's cage, despite repeated explainations about why that is a Really Dumb Idea, ie, I haven't finished with the hay or the sawdust or the litter or the food yet, all of which have a tendancy to scatter, and Mother's aforementioned "girly activities" stupidness.

Shall curl up in bed with hot chocolate and listen to Paul McGann tell of the daring adventures of Sean Bean instead.
froodle: (Default)
Rarr!

Pre-birthday celebration with Jess, Alan, James, Scottish James and Verity. Went to see Finding Neverland, which was fantastic and made me cry like, well, a character played by James D'Arcy. Kid playing Peter had the biggest ears - no wonder JM Barrie imagined he could fly. Guy who played the guy who played Nana was Stupid Marine Bloke #1 in POTC, which filled me with gigglings.

Afterwards we went to Hard Rock for dinner, which was tasty. We had crayons and drew pictures on napkins - Scottish James playing bagpipes, Alan crying because he'd dyed his hair a stupid colour and had to shave off his beard again, Dominatrix!Verity with Penguin!Snape, Jess and I fighting over goblins and James and Steve sitting in a tree. Then back to Alan and Jess's for Cluedo, which Alan kept beating us at, even after Jess and I combined forces to defeat his Sherlockian evil.

Parentals arrive tomorrow. Shall update if I survive.
froodle: (Default)
Rarr!

Pre-birthday celebration with Jess, Alan, James, Scottish James and Verity. Went to see Finding Neverland, which was fantastic and made me cry like, well, a character played by James D'Arcy. Kid playing Peter had the biggest ears - no wonder JM Barrie imagined he could fly. Guy who played the guy who played Nana was Stupid Marine Bloke #1 in POTC, which filled me with gigglings.

Afterwards we went to Hard Rock for dinner, which was tasty. We had crayons and drew pictures on napkins - Scottish James playing bagpipes, Alan crying because he'd dyed his hair a stupid colour and had to shave off his beard again, Dominatrix!Verity with Penguin!Snape, Jess and I fighting over goblins and James and Steve sitting in a tree. Then back to Alan and Jess's for Cluedo, which Alan kept beating us at, even after Jess and I combined forces to defeat his Sherlockian evil.

Parentals arrive tomorrow. Shall update if I survive.

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