not actually it
short version: do you think we could get a good starting XI or a line-up out of people with visible facial scarring? Probably yes, I would think. I would not be on these squads, but I always thought I was awkward about this scar, and it doesn't matter in any direction any longer.
FAMILYTIMES BULLYING: let's watch the soccer! let's watch "Becket" and "The Mill and the Cross." let's watch "The Avengers," and "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy." Let me read that to you, and Hilary Mantel and John Julius Norwich as well. let's watch "A Cock and Bull Story," "Last Year at Marienbad" and "Black Books." let's watch the tennis, no not the bullriding. get me a drink. I wonder why I don't date? Why are my longest-lasting relationships with the people with whom I live? -- but that has got to be up to the nature of families.
And what has happened since then! We enjoyed the Euros very much, and everyone patiently sat through the opener so that I could have my (apparently quite real) thing for Alexi Lalas and Michael Ballack having quasi-arguments and pretending like the touch-screen video boards were not completely overdone. The Spanish MNT, or Team Christmas Gnome (they don't have tomtens or snow, but let's use our imaginations.) I of course, am pursing ridiculous fandom idea no. 3 (no. 1 was everyone/their partners, no. 2 was the abovementioned and below-posted Lalas/Ballack) where people become things they are not: presently it is cats and it is Barca. Because I have a lot of damned problems.
(but: Xavi "Jetpacks" Hernandez! and I hypothesize that Jordi Alba has a very fine ass, but I haven't yet guilted Kate into using the "Jordi Alba bum" search string as I have with "Corey Crawford's butt in jeans." This is how we do all things. And Kate, look I am asking you without even saying something -- anything! -- about Chris Osgood's nethers.) As you were. I liked it quite a bit, especially the bit where after everyone crowed about the Germans losing, I got to turn to my mother and say, "that is what Pirlo looks like when he cries." I love the crying scenes, all the time, I've absolutely got to watch (serious cultural generalisation time!) more Serie A.
The tennis as well. We had to go out a bit, so I did not see all of either the Ladies or the Gentlemens, but I was really only hoping for hilarious snackytears, which I very much received. A girlfriend of mine from high school came over later that evening, and she was pretty upset about Murray's loss, so we talked instead about who in our graduating class had lied on the Harvard application/gotten fat/stayed boring.
Today, though! Today I went to the museum with my grown-up beau. Okay so he is not my beau, but he is a grown-up, there. We had a very good time, doing a sort of "highlights and interesting thoughts about priming the mind for art, and then a little superheroes, culminating in the ugliest art in the whole place." He and I have similar art viewing habits -- 1. stare at picture, 2. read legend, 3. discuss how it illumines the world of the artist, 4. make dick jokes, 5. look at picture some more, 6. ignore four or five other pictures. repeat -- and it is much more enjoyable doing this with company. Plus we talked about the libretto reading we saw two weeks ago, about which no one else will speak to me, and his opera which is v good, and finally formatting some of my stories so they are not so hideous. NOTE THE ARTISTIC PRODUCTION, I AM THE SMALLEST MOUSE OF THE CULTURAL WORLD, yet for some reason (read: more bullying) my family want to read my stories. Not the kinkmeme fill nor the LADIES-edition stories -- wait no one wants to read those. How about some opera, I think I will go listen to some French sopranos.
here is a story:
"They hit Kharlamov." This, to Bure, is the deepest of slights - a grave offense not against himself, but another. It does not need to be avenged so quickly, but it must be done in thoroughly.
"We have heard," Mogilny tells him, "we talk to you."
"Also," Fedorov adds, unpeeling his sweater from his shirt, talking through the wool, "we watched the game." He shakes the sweater, twice, and folds it. Busy hands, always doing something.
"If I am ever on the ice with that Canadian, I will show him."
"Hasn't he retired?" Molgilny asks, as Fedorov lays next to him.
FAMILYTIMES BULLYING: let's watch the soccer! let's watch "Becket" and "The Mill and the Cross." let's watch "The Avengers," and "Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy." Let me read that to you, and Hilary Mantel and John Julius Norwich as well. let's watch "A Cock and Bull Story," "Last Year at Marienbad" and "Black Books." let's watch the tennis, no not the bullriding. get me a drink. I wonder why I don't date? Why are my longest-lasting relationships with the people with whom I live? -- but that has got to be up to the nature of families.
And what has happened since then! We enjoyed the Euros very much, and everyone patiently sat through the opener so that I could have my (apparently quite real) thing for Alexi Lalas and Michael Ballack having quasi-arguments and pretending like the touch-screen video boards were not completely overdone. The Spanish MNT, or Team Christmas Gnome (they don't have tomtens or snow, but let's use our imaginations.) I of course, am pursing ridiculous fandom idea no. 3 (no. 1 was everyone/their partners, no. 2 was the abovementioned and below-posted Lalas/Ballack) where people become things they are not: presently it is cats and it is Barca. Because I have a lot of damned problems.
(but: Xavi "Jetpacks" Hernandez! and I hypothesize that Jordi Alba has a very fine ass, but I haven't yet guilted Kate into using the "Jordi Alba bum" search string as I have with "Corey Crawford's butt in jeans." This is how we do all things. And Kate, look I am asking you without even saying something -- anything! -- about Chris Osgood's nethers.) As you were. I liked it quite a bit, especially the bit where after everyone crowed about the Germans losing, I got to turn to my mother and say, "that is what Pirlo looks like when he cries." I love the crying scenes, all the time, I've absolutely got to watch (serious cultural generalisation time!) more Serie A.
The tennis as well. We had to go out a bit, so I did not see all of either the Ladies or the Gentlemens, but I was really only hoping for hilarious snackytears, which I very much received. A girlfriend of mine from high school came over later that evening, and she was pretty upset about Murray's loss, so we talked instead about who in our graduating class had lied on the Harvard application/gotten fat/stayed boring.
Today, though! Today I went to the museum with my grown-up beau. Okay so he is not my beau, but he is a grown-up, there. We had a very good time, doing a sort of "highlights and interesting thoughts about priming the mind for art, and then a little superheroes, culminating in the ugliest art in the whole place." He and I have similar art viewing habits -- 1. stare at picture, 2. read legend, 3. discuss how it illumines the world of the artist, 4. make dick jokes, 5. look at picture some more, 6. ignore four or five other pictures. repeat -- and it is much more enjoyable doing this with company. Plus we talked about the libretto reading we saw two weeks ago, about which no one else will speak to me, and his opera which is v good, and finally formatting some of my stories so they are not so hideous. NOTE THE ARTISTIC PRODUCTION, I AM THE SMALLEST MOUSE OF THE CULTURAL WORLD, yet for some reason (read: more bullying) my family want to read my stories. Not the kinkmeme fill nor the LADIES-edition stories -- wait no one wants to read those. How about some opera, I think I will go listen to some French sopranos.
here is a story:
"They hit Kharlamov." This, to Bure, is the deepest of slights - a grave offense not against himself, but another. It does not need to be avenged so quickly, but it must be done in thoroughly.
"We have heard," Mogilny tells him, "we talk to you."
"Also," Fedorov adds, unpeeling his sweater from his shirt, talking through the wool, "we watched the game." He shakes the sweater, twice, and folds it. Busy hands, always doing something.
"If I am ever on the ice with that Canadian, I will show him."
"Hasn't he retired?" Molgilny asks, as Fedorov lays next to him.