Angela P. Wade:|
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|Sunday, August 28th, 2011|
|Because Cracky FanMash is Good 4 LOLZ:
The Fan-Fic of the Damned . . .
(Or, Angela’s Grand Unification Theory, subject to change w/out notice)
A long time ago, in Johns Hopkins Hospital, I was born. Then I learned to talk. Then I learned to create fanfic. And no cult SF series has been safe since. This is the current iteration of my dual universe, combining Doctor Who, Star Wars, Star Trek, and anything else I can get my grubby mitts on. Read ‘em and laugh. Or weep. Your choice. Just don’t point out the inconsistencies. I already know about ‘em and don’t care . . .
In the Space-time continuum I will refer to from now on as "Prime," in the year the Old Republic fell, an 11-year-old Han Solo discovered a newborn baby girl abandoned in an alley behind a Corellian shopping mall. No one knows who her parents were, though they were probably Force-sensitives on the run from the Emperor’s Great Purge. Han brought the baby back with him to the pirate ship he was crewing on, and gave her to the Wookie cook to raise (no, not to barbeque, I said Wookie, not Androgum!). The child was named Anja Solo, and grew up to have a more than passing resemblance to Lara Croft (hey, it’s my fantasy!).
Knowing that, since she was a hottie, the pirates would be after her virtue, at the age of 14 Anja allowed herself to be caught committing armed robbery and went to juvie. At the age of 16, as a ward of the government, she became a student at the Corellian School of Science and Math. There she met Wedge Antillies, son of a space fuel-station owner and an Alderaanian painter. (Why would a sensitive, talented painter fall for a guy who ran an deep-space truck stop? Wait and see . . .) Anja and Wedge became best friends, because they had two things in common: 1. They were unpopular with the other kids, and 2. They were both fans to the point of obsession of a holographic serial about time travel called Doctor Who, a series they believed, at least intellectually, to be fiction . . .
Then one day when Anja was about 17, she ran into the TARDIS while jogging. Literally. It landed in front of her, she careened into it, and fell on her shapely ass into a mud puddle. Doctor #4 and K-9 came out to ask directions and where they could pick up some jelly-babies and ginger beer (and what the heck, Mary Whitehall’s probably dead, non-ginger beer too!). Once she decided she wasn’t being punk’d, Anja led them to the local gourmet market. The market’s surveilance tapes were the last place anyone in the Prime universe saw Anja for several years . . .
Anja had many adventures with the Doctor in his universe. They freed the mining world of Taquseem from its Dalek overlords (finding time to make mad, passionate whoopie in a cave during a slow plot point. Hey, like I said, Whitehall’s dead. And she was 18 by then. And she initiated it). They spent a wonderful, Bohemian summer in a garrett overlooking the Seine in 1890's France (lots of whoopie and nude portrait-painting). And they prevented an army of Cybermen from hijacking the Hyperion II. During this last adventure, they met a time-agent whose real name escapes me, but whom we all know as Jack. He hit on Anja. She demuured, saying she was with someone. He said he didn’t mind a threesome. She pointed out the Doctor. He backed off. He doesn’t do ugly. Silly, silly Jack.
Anja was very clever in this adventure–realizing that when the baddies started pulling folks’ gold teeth that they must be working for the Cybermen, she swallowed her earrings and then masked their scan signature by stuffing the Doctor’s watch down her blouse. Later, she vomited up the earrings–instant weapons! Only problem was, she felt queasy for the entire rest of the adventure. Secretly, she borrowed a pregnancy test from Jack. When it came up positive, she blurted out "Paris!" Jack said that sounded like a good name . . .
The TARDIS found its way back to Universe Prime, but not into a nice neighborhood. They landed in an Imperial prison camp, at the point of revolt because they hadn’t been resupplied in several years. One of the inmates was a rather dissilusioned would-be Rebel named Biggs Darklighter, who was forced to eject from his starfighter in his first combat, was picked up from the debris field, and has spent the entire war in prison. The Doctor helps the inmates escape in the TARDIS. Then they do battle with alien lizard dudes whose name escapes me (quick, John, Truce at Bakura . . . ). The former inmates triumph and, re-naming a captured alien ship the Homeward Bound, begin a journey back to civilized space. The Doctor returns to his own universe. Anja chooses to stay on the Homeward Bound. She doesn’t tell him why, but six months later she gives birth to a son with two hearts. She names him Parys Solo. He’s an ugly little mug, but she loves him anyway.
While en route back to the Corellian Sector, the crew of the Homeward Bound encounter–ta da!–General Wedge Antillies, commanding a re-commissioned Star Destroyer. They learn that the Empire’s been defeated (explains the "no supply ships to the prison" thing), and all the relevant rebel gossip. Sorry, Ceribri, I ain’t re-capping 3 movies here. Come over to my place some weekend and we’ll watch ‘em. Anyway, Anja is re-united with her brother, confesses the truth about her baby, and learns that he’d actually spent a few days in the Whoniverse himself, courtesy of a faulty dimention door at Lloyd’s Pizza. And Wedge tells Anja that his mother wasn’t really from Alderaan at all; she was from the future, part of some sort of time-traveling group calling themselves the Heritage Foundation, which is funded by some inter-stellar corporation called Industrial Light and Magic. Ceribri, I’ll explain later. Wedge’s birth turns out to have been what’s known as a "predestination paradox"–if his mother hadn’t married his father, the Rebellion would have lost, I’ll explain later, yadda, yadda.
Meanwhile, back in the Whoniverse, the good Doctor at least tells himself he ain’t broken up by Anja’s dumping him. After all, she was only human. Then he meets Lady Romanadvoratrelundar, and, once she regenerates into a little Lolita hottie, they begin about 100 years of mad, passionate love affair that burns across the stars. Yes, in my hands, Doctor Who becomes a soap opera. JNT better not dare to spin in his grave, though, or I’ll fly to England and pound a stake in him.
Anyway, the Doctor thinks, "This is it, true love at last, my soul-mate . . ." Then things start to go all pear-shaped. Are the events of the Whoniverse being manipulated by revoltingly sordid events playing out on the casting couches of the CBC (Corellian Broadcasting Company) in Universe Prime? Or are the events of the Whoniverse influencing bad decisions made in Universe Prime? Not even Anja knows. But she’s volunteered to hold the stake while I pound. And edit. My verb tense has slipped. Dammit.
"I Left (one of) My Heart(s) in E-space," or,
"Hey, Look, Isn't that Haley's Comet?" Current Mood: silly
|Tuesday, February 22nd, 2011|
|Not fan fic, but fan blogging
(will make some sense to old-school DW fans, the rest of y'all can skip, LOL!)
Last night, on my fifth attempt, I managed to produce a sweater-vest that both Adric and I find acceptable. It had to fit over a pair of courduroy trousers without looking too lumpy. The trousers are very loose and will need to be held up with suspenders--partly because of the famous Goodreau Bubble-Butt, and partly because Adric refuses to wear anything with a tight waistband. Understandable. Tegan always said he ate like a Tasmanian Devil--1/3 his own body mass at each meal. His metabolism can be a gift, as it allows him to heal quickly and think in ways most folks can't, but it's also a curse--he's constantly hungry, can't operate boimetrics tuned for human brains (the Mecha in "Kinda"--not his fault!), and even barring dinosaur-related accidents, probably won't live long past 50. If you recall, in "Full circle" they said that Mistfall occured every 50 years--and was beyond the memory of most living Alzarians. Indicates a relatively short lifespan. Oddly enough, even though coherent story arcs and well-developed companions were the exception rather than the rule before RTD's re-boot, most of Adric's quirks/failings make biological sense, if one starts from the assumption that Alzarian life forms evolve, grow, and change at an acelerated rate compared to what humans would consider normal.
"I burn my candle at both ends,
It will not last the night.
But oh my foes, and oh my friends,
It gives a lovely light."
I am a hypoglycemic with a high IQ who had poor social skills and few friends as an adolescent. My first day of Junior High I was laughed at for asking, when a teacher called for questions, if we were allowed to use the Coke machine. No, it din't involve art (the class subject). But I was hungry, dammit! Adric is my inner child, so I must save him, heal him, and care for him. This involves fiction and dolls. Really, more people ought to turn to BJDs as therapy. Current Mood: thoughtful
|Friday, January 7th, 2011|
|My New Year's resolution . . .
for 2011 is to be more generous with my artistic talents. With that in mind, I am returning to LJ after an insanely long time for the sole purpose of posting my fanfic. To start, here's a short piece I wrote last summer:
"This next one’s a real case," said the older guard to the younger as they pushed the meal cart along a corridor. "Gotta go in the cell with ‘er while she eats, in case she tries to steal the silverware."
"She’s not screaming like the others," said the young guard. "I s’pose that’s good, right?"
The older man laughed. "Dunno– Mum always said, it’s the quiet ones you’ve got to watch out for. Don’t touch the door," he warned, "it’s electrified. She attacked a guard through the bars and got out at least once before . . ."
"At least once?" the young guard repeated.
"Her file’s sealed," explained the older guard as he began punching a series of codes on a wrist-control.
The young guard peered cautiously into the cell, careful not to touch the door. A woman stood at the far side, staring out the window, murmuring nonsense in a husky voice:
" . . . the mosses, the red and yellow mosses,
They hurt me.
I grow older . . ."
"Teatime, Doctor Song," called the older guard as he swung the door open.
"Already?" said the woman, tuning to the door. "Good."
"You hungry?" asked the guard.
"No. I’m just glad it’s nearly night. Another day over."
Now the young guard could see her face: broad, handsome features in a pale, wan face. Tears were rolling silently down her cheeks, mirroring the rain on the window.
"Sorry," said the woman, brushing the water from her face. "You’re new here? Afraid you’ve caught me on one of my bad days. Usually I put up a better front. And of course it doesn’t help that they’ve taken my make-up . . ."
"You know why they had to do that," said the older guard.
"I’m sorry," she said. "I had no idea that poor boy would react so badly. The effects were supposed to be temporary."
"He’s still on disability," countered the older guard.
The young guard backed towards the door, just in case.
"I said I’m sorry," said the woman, taking the lid off her meal tray and beginning to push food into piles with a fork. "I had to get out. I had to see him."
"Oh, I’m sure you did," said the older guard condescendingly.
"And not for the reason you’re thinking, naughty boy!" she continued with a wink and a sudden smile. "We had work to do. I didn’t even get a snog off him . . . Here, this is all I want, take the rest back."
"Watching your figure, Doctor Song?" teased the old guard.
"Go ahead and laugh," she said, "You don’t have to compete with every young woman in history. I’m in here rotting away, and he’s out there being irresistible . . . Besides, I told you, I’m not hungry."
"Who . . . who are you talking about?" the young guard asked.
Doctor Song turned her eyes on him. "Have you ever been in love?" she asked.
The young guard smiled shyly. "I’m married . . ."
"That’s not what I asked," snapped Doctor Song. "I asked, have you ever been in love?"
"I love my wife," the young guard protested.
"But have you ever loved so hard it ached?" she asked. "Have you ever been sick and heart-sore for love? Have you ever wanted someone so badly the desire is like a fire in your veins, and you think you might have to slit them open, if only you could get him to bleed out? Only you don’t, because that pain, that suffering, that exquisite torture is the only thing filling the emptiness inside you, the only thing that makes you feel alive?" She turned back to the window. "I’m sorry. This is one of my bad days. Usually I’m not like this. It’s just . . . sometimes . . . the rain on the wall reminds me of the times we made love, and I fear that it will never happen again. I am growing older, and he is growing younger, and someday I shall look at him and he will look at me and see nothing, nothing at all . . ."
"Doctor Song, we can’t stay here all night," the old guard put in. "Eat your tea, there’s a girl."
"Leave it," she said, still staring out the window.
"I can’t leave the utensils," said the old guard. "You’d have to eat with your hands."
"They keep taking things from me," she said, almost to herself, "and soon I shall be locked in here naked, waiting for my God to descend upon me in a shower of gold, like Perseus’ mother . . . And I shall hold a strange, wild thing to my breast . . . Lord of the Sihdhe, Prince of the Seelie Court . . ." She laughed oddly. "Now I’m mixing my mythology. Perseus was Greek, the Sihdhe were Irish. But everyone has stories about strange men who would vanish away your womenfolk. I was an archaeologist once," she said, turning to the young guard, who started at the intensity of her stare. "I had a career. I had a life. And then I met a man, a man like no other. And everything changed."
"Yes, Doctor Song," said the old guard. "I’ll take the utensils and leave you your tea. Don’t be trying any funny business with the dishes, though, or you’ll have to start scraping your meals up off the top of the cart."
After the cell was locked, the young guard turned to his colleague and whistled. "That’s some lonely woman in there . . ."
"And she’s gonna stay that way, if you value your life," said the old guard.
"What’s she in here for?"
The old guard shrugged. "Don’t really know. Like I said, her file’s sealed. Still, folks do talk."
"What do they say?"
"That she killed her lover." Current Mood: creative
|Friday, June 5th, 2009|
Once again, I’ve dropped off the face of LJ, surfacing only to make certain no one on my friends list is in the hospital. Looks like everyone’s OK.
If anyone’s interested, here’s what I’ve been doing:
Working on a story with (marginal) media-tie-in potential. Hey, I’ve sold tie-in stuff before, it’s not impossible. Unlikely, but not impossible.
Sending "Ed" off to an agent who’s agreed to read him. Cross appendages.
Working on new doll patterns, and selling off some of my old stock.
Dabbling in jewelry making.
Spending time with my family. My dad turned 70–both sisters came to town for the party, and sister #2 brought my nephew, who is 3 and thinks Sam can walk on water.
Saw the new Star Trek movie. Not terrible, but not great.
And Sam is joining the Cub Scouts and starting to have some of his permanent teeth come in. Yup, they grow up fast. No wonder I don’t have time to post.
I haven’t been to an SCA event since Baronial B’day. It’s just too hard for me to try and keep up with Elizabeth by myself. We’re making plans to go to the Berley Cort event in October and camp. Everyone there is like family, and they have no problems playing "Lizzie Soccer"–she wanders out of bounds, you chase her back into play. Whether or not I come to any events between now and then depends on if there are any nearby, and if John will keep Liz and let me go with Sam. Sam’s no problem. He’s old enough to play with the other kids as long as I’m sitting where I can see him (and remind him to go to the bathroom! Boys!). Unfortunately, I know we won’t be able to make Marinus B-day because of family plans *pouts*.
BTW, just because I don’t log on here often doesn’t mean I’ve died *grin*. If you post a random comment to my blog, it will go straight to my e-mail. I love e-mail. Please send some.
Oh, and I’ll be at FantaSci this weekend. Still don’t know what to wear. Still can’t find one of my costumes. Maybe I’ll wear garb. I do have nice garb, made of nice fabric. I just don’t wear it to events because of the kids. Hmm . . . I wonder how my BJD would look in boy’s garb . . . Current Mood: busy
|Tuesday, April 28th, 2009|
Not been reading or posting lately, as blogging takes time from the other things I've been doing: writing, sewing, working, and, as always, taking care of my lovely little varmints, whom I adore.
Oh, and my Mom had surgery (gallbladder out). That was a bit distracting. She's doing much, much better now.
I hereby apologize profusely if anyone on my friends list has had an illness, job loss, or other crisis for which sympathy, prayers, and/or virtual hugs are needed. Will go chech fiend's page now to make sure y'all ae all O.K. . . . Current Mood: busy
|Sunday, March 15th, 2009|
|This week I:
Went to the zoo with the kids and my parents (last Sunday). Best use I've found for my brother: carrying tired toddler on his shoulders.
Sold 1 BJD outfit & two doll kits.
Mailed doll suits to designer.
Swapped eyes in 2 of my BJD's--now the elf has blue eyes and the vampire has brown.
Worked 2 days as a sub, one day in the store, and one night on ghost tour.
Washed lots of clothes.
Washed a few dishes.
Wrote a little.
Sewed a little.
Found the darn check that vanished in my last post--I credit the prayers of my on-line doll club.
Decided that sometimes the Tenth Doctor is a little too woebegone to tolerate and needs a good swift kick in the seat, pref. administered by River Song.
Must go start next sewing project while kids are happily devastating their rooms (instead of my workspace). Current Mood: tired
|Friday, March 6th, 2009|
First of all, real snow trumps everything, esp. LJ updates. Monday was great. I have pictures of the kids and their toys in the snow. Might even put them on-line someday. Godzilla in a snow fight was epic.
Secondly, I’ve gotten back into subbing for high schools. Why? Simple. I need the money. Will be doing it on days when I’m not working at Jo-Ann’s. Can’t quit Jo-Ann’s. It’s year-round. Am also still doing the ghost tour thing–it runs in the summer when school is out. Yep, I have 3 jobs and am officially Jamaican (SNL skit reference). Not counting articles, patterns, and doll clothes. But it could be worse. J.K. Rowling was living in a trash can (so to speak) until she got a publisher. I’m still counting on Ed to support me & John some day. (Ed needs to sober up and get off his chunky butt, ha, ha!)
Speaking of patterns, I got my new one on-line and started the next. If I can get one new pattern available per month, it will be a "Good Thing". I finished the last of the detail work on the %&$#$%^%^& doll suits I was making for a designer (tailoring = pain in the butt). I submitted my monthly article to DC & C. I paid bills. And I went to a party for one of John’s gaming buddies. A couple of his gaming buddies have daughters, which means playmates for Liz. Current Mood: tired
|Sunday, February 22nd, 2009|
So this week, what did I do?
Monday: Went shopping & hung out with family
Tuesday: Made a skirt for a comission. Went to work.
Wednesday: Went to my mom's w/ kids and cleaned her catboxes (whoopie. thrilling.)
Thursday: Liz was at her grandparents', so I typed up a set of instructions and took photos for a new pattern. Just need to finish drawing pattern pieces and sketches. Went to conference at Sam's school. Made turban for comission.
Friday: Shopped at work, picked up paycheck, sewed for my own doll. Went to work. Question: Why do folks think it's a good idea to dash into a store 5 minutes before closing?
Saturday: Finished a new skirt for one of my dolls. Went to a "belly dance swap meet" and sold two belly-dance-esque dolls. Danced. Didn't suck. Had friends over to watch Black Adder.
BTW, check my new userpic by RubyFox, by way of my sister Elle. I think it's a lamb chop he's got there. Wonder if he's looking for someone to curry it. I'll bet there are lots of fans who'd be happy to curry his big freakin' chop for him . . . Current Mood: silly
|Sunday, February 15th, 2009|
|DID I do ANYTHING this week?
Monday: Took Sam & myself to dentist. Current Mood: exhausted
Tuesday: Made gifts for doll club secret Valentine's swap, shopped for Liz's birthday party. Worked P.M.
Wednesday: Got filling in (sequel to Monday), fifnished party shopping, mailed package to Marina & to doll club secret swap buddy.
Thursday: Interviewed for substitite teacher position.
Friday: Mailed comissioned 70's outfit to client, finally. Worked.
Saturday: Made dress for Liz, made 3 dozen-plus mini-cupcakes, and threw a party for Liz and three little girls (also invited mothers, and one eleven-year old who likes kids and HER mom).
Sunday: Church. Living Museum Reptile show. About to head to dance class. tired . . .
So, why doI feel like I did nothing all week? Because none of the above involves writing, and very little of it involves actually making money. If I don't get paid for doing something, I feel like I've wasted my time . . .
|Sunday, February 8th, 2009|
|This week's accomplishments (???)
So this week I managed to:
1. Submit my mystery novel to another publisher.
2. Re-arrange the living room to accomodate more kids' toys
3. Almost finish a comissioned outfit (have to put on snaps & buttons tonight).
4. Wrapped up the main section of the fan-fic I've been working on (interested? Inquire within).
5. Gave some of the kids' old toys and clothes to Goodwill.
6. Washed a million loads of laundry, most of which are already dirty again.
This really doesn't seem like much to me. I really need to get more done. Sigh.
On the bright side, I've gotten my sister into watching Doctor Who. She called today and left a voice-mail of her reaction to the Season Four finale: an impression of RTD smoking a bong while trying to write the script. Current Mood: tired
|Monday, February 2nd, 2009|
|Cross Fingers . . .
toes, and any other body parts. I've just sent Ed out to another publishing house. And be pepared to offer virtual hugs if he's rejected again. Current Mood: determined
|Saturday, January 31st, 2009|
|What I've done this week
Lately I've been feeling like I'm just spinning my wheels, so I've decided to try and keep track of what I actually do all week. In adition to catering to Elizabeth's almost every whim, of course.
1. Made 2 dreses to fit BJD's and sent them and one other to the International Doll Expo in hopes they will sell there.
2. Finished the handbags for my comissioned set of doll suits.
3. Began the shirt for my 70's commission.
4. Wrote two magazine articles.
5. Added a page to my current fan-fic.
6. Finally put away all the Christmas decorations, including the dolls'. Current Mood: tired
|Friday, January 23rd, 2009|
|I'm alive . . .
but still sewing madly. Hence the lack of posting.
Mars con Rocked! Highlights:
Best Game Terrain: Syr Q's massive pirate battle. Remember folks, Cryx faction isn't evil, they're eco-friendly. After all, isn't re-animating corpses into weapons recycling?
Most Patient GM: The young man at Visible Dungeon who put up with Sam ("Baby's First character Sheet! Aww!")
Best Impression of a Rock: Sam, who fell asleep during Coyote Run, and stayed sleeping even when the piper danced by him.
Best Candid Moment: Guy cosplaying Doc 10, on Sunday morning, sitting in a panel with two-day's stubble and an expression that looked like he was thinking "Last night . . . I remember bananas . . . and dancing . . . and then it all goes fuzzy . . . " If I'd only had a camera . . .
Best Cosplay Moment: OTHER guy dressed as Doc 10 (yes, like the end of Season 4, we had two of 'em) "unlocking" my hotel room with a sonic screwdriver. Sam's awed whisper: "Now I think maybe Doctor Who's real . . ." (he figured out it was just Evil Tom the next day when he turned up dressed as a giant hobbit ). Current Mood: exhausted
Best Dealer's Room Score: erasers shaped like tiny food! Squee! Now my dolls have dumplings, curry, cake, and bananas!
Best Panel Surprizes: Discovered I was on two BJD panels with Ophelia, who was cosplaying Rose. This meant I got to do doll panels with "the Doctor" in the audience. Hee, hee!
Best Game Room Co-ordinator EVA! : My husband, who worked his butt off to keep the game room running smoothly, and created the God-Emperor of All Schedules.
Best Boy: (though maybe not Key Grip) Sammy, who is such fun!
Best Babysitters: Nana & Pop-Pop, who kept Liz.
Best Bestowers of Cool Stuff: Bob & Kat, who brought lots of nifty presents for the kids. BTW, Sam has decided the GI-Joe gun is now a Dalek spaceship, so we've had Godzilla vs/ the Daleks all week. The batteries are still good . . .
|Wednesday, January 7th, 2009|
|Writer's Block: Doctor Who? (spoilers ahead!)
26-year-old actor Matt Smith was anointed as the eleventh Doctor Who this week. If you were in charge of casting, who would you cast as your ideal Doctor and why?
Wow, how can I resist--this made the LJ Writer's block, and used the word "annointed"--I thought I was the only one out there who thought this was a religion, ha, ha!
No idea who I'd cast. Someone else said Alan Rickman, and yeah, that would be interesting, in a squirmy kind of way, in that then I'd end up writing romantic fan-fic while visualizing Professor Snape *AUGH! MY INNER EYE!*
I would have liked someone older. I'm worried that with a 26-year-old who looks so very emo, we're going to end up with more of what my husband calls "Doctor Whip-it-Out"--too much sex for what is supposed to be a family show! I kinda liked the nutter they had in the Christmas special. And, I know it's not possible, but it would be nice if Colin Baker could give it another shot with a real costume and real scripts, instead of the crap he had foisted on him in the '80's. He's a good man and deserves better.
Hmm, if I could pick anyone on the planet? Sean Astin. He's already on my fave list because of Goonies and LOTR. Sure, he's not British, but he pulled off the accent for Samwise. And he's cute--I'm a pervy hobbit fancier, after all! Current Mood: amused
|Tuesday, January 6th, 2009|
|Whew . . .
The last of the holiday guests left this morning. I love having company, but after all the entertaining I've done lately, I like to have time to myself.
Now it's time to sew, sew, sew . . . Current Mood: creative
|Tuesday, December 30th, 2008|
Guests left yesterday. Whew. No one sick--at the moment. Waiting for second round of guests.
|Saturday, December 27th, 2008|
BTW, did Imention that Robert the Red totally RULES? He knows why. But I'm waiting, trying to be good, 'til my BFF Lisa (only has dinosaur dial-up, poor thing!) can come up & join us. Unless we are all still sick, in which case, I shall employ the US Mail on her behalf . . .
And if this makes no sense to you, don't worry. it just means you have a life, ha, ha! Current Mood: silly
|Blegh, again . . .
And this time, it's personal . . .
So, lesse, in the last week, John got sick AGAIN on Christmas Eve and missed the church service and his family party. Boy, it was weird being at his family party without him--I kept waiting for him to say something about how great his dad's chowder was, or help me get the kids in the car to go home. Yeah, I guess our marriage is a good one, since I fel wierd when he's missing . . .
I finally came down with the crud Christmas night, after spending all day cooking so that "John wouldn't get his germs on it." So now I'm waiting to see if I've managed to infect my whole family--Mom, Dad, brother, sisters, sister's buddy from high school who dropped in . . . Curse you, rotovirus! Get out of my house already!
In between John being sick and me being sick, however, we did celebrate Christmas. My MIL bought both Liz and I collectible dolls from my favorite site--I have been undressing and dressing them both (hey, what else can you do when you're sick?) I really need to post more doll picks to this blog.
In other news, some really warm places have officially frozen over--my sister Elle has taken to watching Doctor Who with me.
Well, gotta go--I'm scheduled to work this morning. i hope I can spend all day at the cash register. Takes less effort and brain-power than the cutting table. Current Mood: tired
|Thursday, December 18th, 2008|
|Day Four . . .
of the Lizzie Ralfarama.
I called the doctor this morning, and after discussion of Lizzie's various symptoms, we decided she has moved from the actual vomit-virus to a bad cold, and the reason she can't keep solid food down is the coughing. So I'm giving her a little cough medicine, as per the pediatrician's instructions. She's coughing less. But I'm not feeding her anything but juice, lemonaide, chicken soup, crackers, and dry Froot-Loops.
If Sam and I seem healthy, we may go to the party with my folks tonight while John stays with Liz. John's not big on formal parties anyway.
BTW, I've been writing way too much fan-fic lately. I keep wanting to go back and capitalize "doctor," though I did NOT consult a Time Lord regarding my daughter's health. He'd probably just reccomend tea and chicken soup anyway.
|Wednesday, December 17th, 2008|
So Liz had a relapse this morning of the creeping crud that my family's had for a week now. Bleh. So far I haven't gotten it (because I've been washing my hands like a 1000 times a day and spraying Lysol on my Lysol), but I suppose I'll get it sooner or later, since Liz seems determined to puke on me.
What really bums me out is that we're going to have to miss the annual Rotary Christmas party tomorrow night. My dad's been in Rotary club since the Stone Age, and used to take us to the party to see Santa when we were small, and I love letting him take my kids. but puking on Santa is no way to get presents, so we'll have to bail this year. And I'd planned on Liz & me wearing matching hair bows, too. Phoey.
I just hope we all (read "me", as I'm the only one who hasn't had it yet) get over it before guests start arriving for Christmas. Current Mood: moody