Monday, February 21st, 2011

radiumgirl: (keep calm)
My office was closed for President's Day.

I know.


I had Awkward Birthday Lunch with My-Mother-the-Convict.  I think she was trying to connect or something by telling me about the day I was born, but it mostly consisted of "I wanted to sleep and the nurses kept trying to get me to feed you and you wouldn't eat for me but OF COURSE when your father picked you up, you ate just fine."

Oh. "And then he always wanted you in the room with us. I couldn't get a minute to myself."

In conclusion, "How old are you again?"

"24, Melinda."

"Jesus Christ. You're getting old."

Um. Thank you. That was touching. I think. 

Then I cursed the snow, went grocery shopping because I needed cat food and milk, chatted with Arlo and Jason about our zombie movie script, and now I'm trying to write some fic because I need more cuddles in my life. I have a half-finished draft of a new For Keeps-verse story that I started two or three weeks ago, and I read through what I have, made some edits, and really like it...but can't seem to get it past the place where I stopped. So that sucks. 

I opened up the Island of Misfit Prompts folder for some ideas. Most of those prompts are ideas that I hoard for future prompt memes, things that I have no real intention of writing myself because I don't know if I could do them justice, but I'm a little desperate for inspiration. Here's what I've got (and seriously, this is the Island of Misfit Prompts for a reason, so if anything speaks to you, feel free to run away with it):
  • "Appointment in Samarra" fic: Robosam shatters his leg when Bobby springs the trap door on him. It's a compound fracture, but Bobby is content to let him stew in his pain for a little while because, well, it's Robosam.  But then he starts to notice Robo drifting into shock, and, dammit, Dean will be so pissed if he comes back with Sam's soul and finds the body dead, so, fine, FINE, Bobby will go tend to Robosam. Except...well...Robosam still really wants to stab Bobby in the neck, so things get a little awkward. 
  • "Dark Side of the Moon" AU: Walt and Roy are considerate guys. It really wasn't anything personal, and Sam and Dean were legendary hunters in their time, you know? They deserve a proper hunters funeral, despite it all, and it shouldn't come from two guys they barely knew...especially when those guys were the ones who blasted them full of buckshot. But John Winchester's been dead for years, and Walt and Roy have no idea who else would give a crap about the they call Singer, because Singer knows everything. A heartbroken Bobby recruits Rufus to help him go get his boys. Whether or not Sam n' Dean come back or you go total AU is up to you. 
  • Sam has a terminal heart condition. Dean rents a beach house. (I'm sorry. I was drinking wine and watching Beaches.)
  • Sam and Dean are vengeful spirits. Bobby has to put them to rest. 

Yeah. I don't know, kids. Force me to work on one of those, or throw me something else you have in mind, or pick up one of those yourself for my entertainment. Whatevs. 
The day off really screwed with my internal clock. I keep thinking it's Sunday. 
radiumgirl: (chuck bartowski)
 Ok. So. When Chrissy and I lived together, we would get drunk and watch movies. It was practically a weekend ritual. Audrey Hepburn and Alfred Hitchcock flicks were favorites.  We had a Heath Ledger marathon when he died. And a Brat Pack marathon just because. But inevitably, I would get sloppy and demand that we watch Beaches.

Yeah. I don't know. Chrissy would cave to my demands maybe once a semester, come home from one of her campus ambassador meetings to see me halfway through the movie and a bottle of Chardonnay maybe three times a semester with a "You have a problem" and a "For the love of god, don't start reciting lines."

One of the prompts from the Island of Misfit Prompts is heavily influenced by Beaches and after I posted that list, I decided to watch the "Wind Beneath my Wings" music video because I'm a fail. Then I stumbled across the original theatrical trailer.

Tell me what is wrong with this:

Look. I totally think that Beaches is a feel-good movie in it's own screwed up way, but more than anything else, it's one of those movies that makes you bawl like a bitch. Or, in my case, flop down on Chrissy's lap and blow my nose in her hair while drunkenly telling her I "wuv" her and she's totally my Hilary and if she gets some incurable heart condition I will end her.

"Wait. Why am I the one who dies in the end?"

"Because you're a repressed brunette and I'm a tacky diva with a drinking problem."

"I...hate you a little." But she'd pat my head while she said it, so I knew she was lying.

Yeah. I'm classy. I can't believe that girl willingly shared an address with me for four years and continues to answer my phone calls after the fact.

Anyway, that trailer makes my brain melt. I feel like the women who saw Beaches in theaters in 1988 probably left the theater rubbing their cheeks and looking for welts and wondering if there was, in fact, a god.

June 2011

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