every Starbucks should have a polar bear (scoradh) wrote,
every Starbucks should have a polar bear
scoradh

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to sleep but not to dream

The net certainly is a-hoppin' with approval for the Star Trek film. I am almost tempted to see it on that basis alone, but t'internet has led me wrong before! Due to its raptures over Transformers I had to sit through THAT mucky travesty of robots fighting each other for endless hours while a mechanic's calendar pinup and Even Stevens frolicked in the background, doing nothing that a CGI of them couldn't have done better. I was staunch all through the raving about Iron Man too! Yet, despite having watched a whole episode of the original Star Trek struck with wonderous horror over the shortness of the skirts and the cardboardness of the sets, I am still intrigued.

I read an article about Elle MacPherson. She said some delicious things.

I wanted to be more green, so I swapped my Range Rover for a Lexus.
Laws! Next she'll be telling us she only eats pate on alternate days and makes sure they wash the blood off her diamonds extra carefully.

I'm not a skinny girl. I've always been a size eight to twelve, depending.
Say it with me! The definition of a skinny girl is ...? UGH.

My parents have been married twenty-eight years today. I bought both of their presents. Maybe their real present was in producing a child who would do this for them? (Out of my own money, too.) It got me thinking about marriage and kids. I watch the Wedding Channel with the avidity of a shark for a surfing tourist, yet I have no real interest in getting married. I once told a friend that I'd like to get married, but not stay married; she didn't stop repeating this bon mot to everyone we met all day. It's the same with kids. I think they're cute, like doughnuts are cute and kittens. I recently babysat two little girls while their parents visited with my parents. They adore me and I have no idea why - perhaps because I still share their appreciation for pink and Barbies - so I must perforce listen to them performing renditions of Camp Rock songs and sharing their plans for marrying Zefron. I suggested kidnapping as being the quickest route to the altar.

Man, it was exhausting. And boring. I mean, little kids are boring, okay? So are most adults, but they don't keep pulling you by the hand so you'll come watch a plastic cat pee on fake kitty litter made of green sand. That kind of thing tends to pall with repetition. I follow a number of mothers of bbs on here - helenish, bicrim and serenia - and it's of particular interest to me, as obs&gynae is on my list for future specialties, to read about what it's really like to own a small human of your very own. But while I advocate breastfeeding strenuously, for example, the idea of doing it myself freaks me the hell out. So does the prospect of growing a baby INSIDE ME. Twenty-three is not so young to be broody, and indeed most of my friends are, and have plans for mekkin' baybees when they have the time to settle down and do the whole married with two point five kids thing. Me, I'd kind of rather ... not.

I don't think I've posted fic in all of 2009! It was an astonishing realisation as I haven't stopped working on fic in 2009 - BBB, doctor AU, future AU, my languishing Harlequin Band fic and lately, Firefly AU with softlyforgotten ♥. I am too, too excited about BBB. Fests in HP got to be a trial in the end - everyone complained about how there were too many - whereas here they're necessary, to encourage fic-making, and I'm genuinely invested in that happening. A lot.
Tags: bandom rules ok, just don't trip over the furniture, random cat is random
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