wakka wakka bang splat.

Uh...I probably shouldn't be broadcasting my adoration of Vimes any more than I have to...but...I was listening to Thud! today and my little heart just about beat out of its chest. Multiple times. Specially when he was tearing down the street and hijacking the carriages of little old ladies in order to get back home and read Where's my Cow? to his son. The most cuddled book in the world. Heh. Seriously, if I were a fictive, Sybil and I would have a serious throw-down for her husband. (Only I like Sybil too. Whole bunches. She's such a bloody rocker.) She'd kick my butt, of course, but it'd be...you know...wossname...worth it. Yeah. To get called an idiot by the Commander. The only bloke I go weak in the knees for. Give me a moment to swoon. Thanks.
*Ahem*
ANYHOW! Now that's out of the way, we can move on to more important things. Yeah. Like...oh, I got my nape pierced finally. I win at life! Hurrah! Thanks to Chris at Electric Art who coached my whiny ass like a shiner.
(I actually didn't whine. I moaned a little, but not so much that anyone could hear. Bragging rights, yo.)
I shall give piccies when I have pritty jewellery to show. Right now there's just a healing bar barely sticking out of the skin by about three milimetres. I've discovered that the edges of band-aids cut me (fragile blossom that I am), and that a warm-bordering-on-hot saline soak for ten minutes in an upended shot glass makes all the ouchies feel just that much better. It's mondo delish.
Buglit. I has runned out of things to say to peopulz.
No fear. I'm not actually speaking lolcat language. Cause trying to sound cuter than you actually are is a hanging offense, and I'm terminally (ha bloody ha ha) aware of my level of cuteness. It's limited to banging on about cynical, fictional Watch officers more than a half-century old.
Uhhh...my back hurts.
And I have found the only sexy trolley boy in the world. He has big gauges and dark eyes and a great smile.
And he's probably about seventeen.
Great.