On Sunday, we finished printing our wedding invitations. And the fiance and I turned to each other and said, "That took much less time than we expected."

Last night, we finished addressing the invitations. And we collapsed on the couch and said, "That took so much longer than we thought it would."



*exhausted, but with completed invites*

Saw the World War Z trailer today. (Also saw Iron Man 3 (the movie not the trailer), which totally rocked!)

Was expecting to be annoyed by action scenes, explosions, and Brad Pitt being his movie-star-ish self.

In the end, wasn't annoyed by any of those, because I was too busy restraining myself from yelling angrily about the FAST ZOMBIES.


The zombies were running. RUNNING. In WORLD WAR Z. Running. It was like it was an action movie or something. An action movie with FRELLING FAST ZOMBIES.


Do they not understand the point of the book at all?


*weeps for humanity*

Elf is extremely hungry - and complaining bitterly at me - because he hasn't eaten anything since 10am.

I know he hasn't eaten since 10am, because that's when I filled up his bowl. And he hasn't touched it since.

Which means, basically, that he's meowing at full volume and trying desperately to get me to feed him bikkies, while standing in front of a bowl that is ABSOLUTELY FULL of the very bikkies he's asking for.

(Elf would, no doubt, maintain that they are, in fact, totally different from the bikkies he's asking for, because the bikkies in his bowl are old, used bikkies. But I'm ignoring him and his insane feline logic.)



He's actually been fairly upset with me all week. First Prince moved out, then his secondary patter-and-feeder (dr_carrot) moved out, and now, horror of horrors, he doesn't have a second bowl of (Prince's) bikkies to snack off, so he's feeling starved and ill-treated.

I remain hard-hearted. I will calmly ignore my cat's piteous meows, and read the internet instead.

A fly just suicided in my honey jar.

I missed the moment of impact, but it's quite clear what happened. While my back was turned, focusing on my pikelets, a fly flew in, found the open, inviting honey jar, thought "Score!", dived in with great enthusiasm, and then discovered its mistake.

By the time I turned around, pikelet in hand, it was wriggling its little legs frantically, no doubt shrieking "Help! Delicious sticky death! HELP!!!" in whatever language flies speak.

I was powerless to help it. And I would have felt bad for it – but mostly, I was just annoyed about it ruining my honey.

House Hunting

So far, we've put in offers for two houses. Didn't get the first; waiting to see if we got the second.

Buying houses is this weird kind of psychological torture in which you guess random numbers until you hopefully get one right. It is like no other buying experience on Earth: it would be so much more convenient if houses came with price tags attached, or at least with the ability to bargain with the seller. I know how that works; but this? Not a clue.

The house we're currently after is an absolute wreck, but a salvageable one. It would require an awful lot of immensely difficult work – and I would so enjoy watching it turn into something better. (Also one of the reasons I like editing, so...)


Parties and So Forth

Had an engagement party last weekend, at my parents' house. We packed out the house, with heaps of people ...who I mostly remembered the names of! Go me!

My sisters organised for every person at the party to have their photo taken holding a sign or a funny prop. I would really recommmend something like this for anyone having a similar party; it was so much fun getting to see what everyone did, and now we have a guest book full of photos.

I don't think I have to send thank-yous about people giving us cards – which is good, because we have the most enormous stack of cards, matched only by the enormous number of comments on our facebook pages.

Despite saying 'no gifts', we also have a table stacked high with presents from everyone who decided to give us something anyway. Rather fun, looking at all the pretty things and figuring out how we'll use them...



Still so much to organise – but we'll get there.

I wrote slash! Me! Weird, huh?

Title: On the Other Foot, or Hand, Whatever
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1195
Pairing: Spike/Angel
Warnings: Dub-con

Summary: Angel's ready to forget the past. Spike's got other plans.

( getting his attention )

I'm managing to confuse the world with name-change stuff.


(For the purposes of this post, my last name will be Smith, and the fiance's last name will be Jones.)

Most people seem to think that there are two options. Either I can be stuffy and traditional and change my name to "Mrs Jones", or I can be radical and feminist and keep my name as "Ms Smith".

Occasionally, someone allows for a third option, where I am hip and modern and take the name "Mrs Smith-Jones".


I am... doing none of those. Which seems to be confusing everyone.


My plan is to change my last name from Smith to Jones. And to change my title – from Miss to Ms.

The pro-"Ms Smith" people are worried that I'm subsuming my identity into the fiance's. The pro-"Mrs Jones" people are baffled that I don't want to be a Mrs. A smaller selection of both groups are still stuck back on my current title – weirded out by the fact that I'm a thirty-year-old professional and still going by Miss instead of Ms*.

* Except on those forms which don't give me an option, but simply expect me to tick "Mr", "Mrs", or "Ms", even though my title is none of the above.

All in all, I'm apparently confusing.


I've seen a lot of internet discussions about name change recently, and in almost every discussion at least one person will say "Well, I decided not to change my last name, because I don't want to be a Mrs." No-one ever seems to point out that it doesn't have to be all or nothing.


So, why am I doing it the way I am? No grand philosophical reasons; it's just that I thought through all the possible permutations, and "Ms Jones" was the one that sounded most like me.

Rewatching Battlestar Galactica, and doing lots of squeeing.

Or at least I WAS doing lots of squeeing, until the Battlestar Pegasus showed up. Now I'm trying to restrain myself from throwing heavy objects at the television.

...at least I'm invested?


I really hate these episodes, because they're pretty essential for plot purposes, and yet watching them is horrible in every way, what with snooty Pegasus guys, Cylon rape, and Cain being downright EVIL. It's painful.


BRB, searching for kitten gifs so I can maintain my inner happy...

So, um...

*coughs*

*glances at tags*

*coughs again*

I'm not much of a fan of WIPs. But part one of this story has been sitting on my computer for a couple of years now, and I have little hope of part two ever appearing. And, frankly, I rather like part one. So, I thought I'd post it anyway, and let it sit here for an eternity of WIP-ing.

This is an RPF of the Buffy writers, set in the middle of season 6. Each (theoretical) part from the perspective of a different writer.

(Because, really – season 6? Two shows, split by the networks! Rivalry! Forbidden Willow/Wes romance! The distractions of Firefly! The ridiculousness of the Trio and their real-life counterparts! Passion! Heartbreak! It's just glorious!)

Anyway...

( writer's block )

Tune in next time for inter-show spy rings, sabotaged vending machines, Joss Whedon singing country-and-western, Marti Noxon tearing her hair out, and more in the campaign for high heels!