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(no subject)
Oct. 29th, 2004 04:00 pmJust got back from the doctors. Apparently, source of earpain is neither ear cancer or a nest of spiders, but an infection caused by water getting in my ear.
*sobs*
I knew my love of bathing with hobbitsoap would one day bring me pain. Curse you, hobbitsoap! Curse yooooooooooooooooooou!
Ahem, anyway. Have been to pharmacy to pick up prescription and yet more pain killers, and to smoothie shop for liquid honey and oats goodness:
Otomize ear spray: £6.40
Breakfast boost smoothie: £1.95
Knowing for certain that I don't have spiders nesting in my ear: Priceless
*sobs*
I knew my love of bathing with hobbitsoap would one day bring me pain. Curse you, hobbitsoap! Curse yooooooooooooooooooou!
Ahem, anyway. Have been to pharmacy to pick up prescription and yet more pain killers, and to smoothie shop for liquid honey and oats goodness:
Otomize ear spray: £6.40
Breakfast boost smoothie: £1.95
Knowing for certain that I don't have spiders nesting in my ear: Priceless
(no subject)
Oct. 29th, 2004 04:00 pmJust got back from the doctors. Apparently, source of earpain is neither ear cancer or a nest of spiders, but an infection caused by water getting in my ear.
*sobs*
I knew my love of bathing with hobbitsoap would one day bring me pain. Curse you, hobbitsoap! Curse yooooooooooooooooooou!
Ahem, anyway. Have been to pharmacy to pick up prescription and yet more pain killers, and to smoothie shop for liquid honey and oats goodness:
Otomize ear spray: £6.40
Breakfast boost smoothie: £1.95
Knowing for certain that I don't have spiders nesting in my ear: Priceless
*sobs*
I knew my love of bathing with hobbitsoap would one day bring me pain. Curse you, hobbitsoap! Curse yooooooooooooooooooou!
Ahem, anyway. Have been to pharmacy to pick up prescription and yet more pain killers, and to smoothie shop for liquid honey and oats goodness:
Otomize ear spray: £6.40
Breakfast boost smoothie: £1.95
Knowing for certain that I don't have spiders nesting in my ear: Priceless
(no subject)
Jul. 16th, 2004 04:12 pmAnd in the "Further proof that you barely have to leave the house to have it brought home to you that people are scum" catagory, we have today's joyous experiance.
I'm a person of few needs. Comfy bed, big TV, lots of chocolate, large stack of DVDs, and I'm fairly content. However, I do have one or two minor addictions (slash is a major addiction, and one I have no intention of changing), one of which is a fixation on Lush's "Honey I Washed The Kids" soap, which is as close to being hobbit-scented as anything can be without actually kidnapping Dominic Monoghan and harvesting his bodily fluids. Which I have thought about doing, but decided it was too much effort.
The Lush shop in Leeds is about twenty minutes walk from where I live, and since I needed to tell my bank that I'd moved anyway, I decided this afternoon would be a good time to leave the sanctity of my (oh so cool) new apartment and buy myself a slice of creamy hobbit goodness.
After all, what could possibly happen in a short hour-long trip into town?
Oh, foolish, foolish Froodle. Will you never learn?
I've gotten about two hundred yards from my front door, and am waiting at the traffic lights to cross the road, when some asshole walks up behind me, puts his hand on my ass and whispers, in what I can only assume that his mother told him - during intercourse involving them and the family dog - was a sexy, lascivious whisper, rather than the out-of-breath slobbering of an inbred fuckwit: "Nice, nice. Hello Sexy."
Excuse me? What possible response could these mouth-breathers be expecting other than "Here is my knee, excuse me while I aquaint it with your crotch"?!
Fucking hell, I hate people.
I'm a person of few needs. Comfy bed, big TV, lots of chocolate, large stack of DVDs, and I'm fairly content. However, I do have one or two minor addictions (slash is a major addiction, and one I have no intention of changing), one of which is a fixation on Lush's "Honey I Washed The Kids" soap, which is as close to being hobbit-scented as anything can be without actually kidnapping Dominic Monoghan and harvesting his bodily fluids. Which I have thought about doing, but decided it was too much effort.
The Lush shop in Leeds is about twenty minutes walk from where I live, and since I needed to tell my bank that I'd moved anyway, I decided this afternoon would be a good time to leave the sanctity of my (oh so cool) new apartment and buy myself a slice of creamy hobbit goodness.
After all, what could possibly happen in a short hour-long trip into town?
Oh, foolish, foolish Froodle. Will you never learn?
I've gotten about two hundred yards from my front door, and am waiting at the traffic lights to cross the road, when some asshole walks up behind me, puts his hand on my ass and whispers, in what I can only assume that his mother told him - during intercourse involving them and the family dog - was a sexy, lascivious whisper, rather than the out-of-breath slobbering of an inbred fuckwit: "Nice, nice. Hello Sexy."
Excuse me? What possible response could these mouth-breathers be expecting other than "Here is my knee, excuse me while I aquaint it with your crotch"?!
Fucking hell, I hate people.
(no subject)
Jul. 16th, 2004 04:12 pmAnd in the "Further proof that you barely have to leave the house to have it brought home to you that people are scum" catagory, we have today's joyous experiance.
I'm a person of few needs. Comfy bed, big TV, lots of chocolate, large stack of DVDs, and I'm fairly content. However, I do have one or two minor addictions (slash is a major addiction, and one I have no intention of changing), one of which is a fixation on Lush's "Honey I Washed The Kids" soap, which is as close to being hobbit-scented as anything can be without actually kidnapping Dominic Monoghan and harvesting his bodily fluids. Which I have thought about doing, but decided it was too much effort.
The Lush shop in Leeds is about twenty minutes walk from where I live, and since I needed to tell my bank that I'd moved anyway, I decided this afternoon would be a good time to leave the sanctity of my (oh so cool) new apartment and buy myself a slice of creamy hobbit goodness.
After all, what could possibly happen in a short hour-long trip into town?
Oh, foolish, foolish Froodle. Will you never learn?
I've gotten about two hundred yards from my front door, and am waiting at the traffic lights to cross the road, when some asshole walks up behind me, puts his hand on my ass and whispers, in what I can only assume that his mother told him - during intercourse involving them and the family dog - was a sexy, lascivious whisper, rather than the out-of-breath slobbering of an inbred fuckwit: "Nice, nice. Hello Sexy."
Excuse me? What possible response could these mouth-breathers be expecting other than "Here is my knee, excuse me while I aquaint it with your crotch"?!
Fucking hell, I hate people.
I'm a person of few needs. Comfy bed, big TV, lots of chocolate, large stack of DVDs, and I'm fairly content. However, I do have one or two minor addictions (slash is a major addiction, and one I have no intention of changing), one of which is a fixation on Lush's "Honey I Washed The Kids" soap, which is as close to being hobbit-scented as anything can be without actually kidnapping Dominic Monoghan and harvesting his bodily fluids. Which I have thought about doing, but decided it was too much effort.
The Lush shop in Leeds is about twenty minutes walk from where I live, and since I needed to tell my bank that I'd moved anyway, I decided this afternoon would be a good time to leave the sanctity of my (oh so cool) new apartment and buy myself a slice of creamy hobbit goodness.
After all, what could possibly happen in a short hour-long trip into town?
Oh, foolish, foolish Froodle. Will you never learn?
I've gotten about two hundred yards from my front door, and am waiting at the traffic lights to cross the road, when some asshole walks up behind me, puts his hand on my ass and whispers, in what I can only assume that his mother told him - during intercourse involving them and the family dog - was a sexy, lascivious whisper, rather than the out-of-breath slobbering of an inbred fuckwit: "Nice, nice. Hello Sexy."
Excuse me? What possible response could these mouth-breathers be expecting other than "Here is my knee, excuse me while I aquaint it with your crotch"?!
Fucking hell, I hate people.
(no subject)
May. 6th, 2004 02:22 pmBwah-ha-ha!
Have finally defeated the evil virus that was stopping me connecting to the internet. And by 'defeated', I mean 'paid a computer fixin' guy £40 to erase everything in my hard-drive in order to get Sanzo to work again'. Le sigh.
In other news: how fucking hard can it be to find honey-scented candles? In a world where you can buy candles that smell of pears, why am I having so much difficulty finding one that emits the delicious scent of young and tender hobbits?
'Cause you know that's the real reason Sherlock Holmes was into bee-keeping.
Have finally defeated the evil virus that was stopping me connecting to the internet. And by 'defeated', I mean 'paid a computer fixin' guy £40 to erase everything in my hard-drive in order to get Sanzo to work again'. Le sigh.
In other news: how fucking hard can it be to find honey-scented candles? In a world where you can buy candles that smell of pears, why am I having so much difficulty finding one that emits the delicious scent of young and tender hobbits?
'Cause you know that's the real reason Sherlock Holmes was into bee-keeping.
(no subject)
May. 6th, 2004 02:22 pmBwah-ha-ha!
Have finally defeated the evil virus that was stopping me connecting to the internet. And by 'defeated', I mean 'paid a computer fixin' guy £40 to erase everything in my hard-drive in order to get Sanzo to work again'. Le sigh.
In other news: how fucking hard can it be to find honey-scented candles? In a world where you can buy candles that smell of pears, why am I having so much difficulty finding one that emits the delicious scent of young and tender hobbits?
'Cause you know that's the real reason Sherlock Holmes was into bee-keeping.
Have finally defeated the evil virus that was stopping me connecting to the internet. And by 'defeated', I mean 'paid a computer fixin' guy £40 to erase everything in my hard-drive in order to get Sanzo to work again'. Le sigh.
In other news: how fucking hard can it be to find honey-scented candles? In a world where you can buy candles that smell of pears, why am I having so much difficulty finding one that emits the delicious scent of young and tender hobbits?
'Cause you know that's the real reason Sherlock Holmes was into bee-keeping.
