![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Jan. 29th, 2002
![[If I were an actor in FOTR, I would be Sean Astin]](../../actastin.jpg "Click to find out which actor you are")
I'm Sean Astin!
I am Sean Astin, the cute and squishy one and a fabaroonie child star. I had to put on weight to play the part of Sam and I am NOT a HAPPY BUNNY! I may well kill Peter Jackson in the night. Why, I can never look at a Shepard's Pie the same way again...
(no subject)
Jan. 29th, 2002 04:32 pmThe "How Should I Kill My Next Victim" quiz says I should BURN THEM TO A FUCKING CRISP. Fair enough. I'm sparing you the picture, 'cause, ick.
http://www.geocities.com/helter_skelter8/KILL_quiz.html
http://www.geocities.com/helter_skelter8/KILL_quiz.html
(no subject)
Jan. 29th, 2002 10:50 pmToday...oy. Sometimes my own stupidity comes back and bites me on the ass. Well, biting me on the ass wouldn't do much damage. Imagine it biting me on the snout and refusing to let go, the way big cats bring down speedy herbivores. Like that. Yeah.
Took Mary-Viedma's advice and got some Frances Hodgson Burnett. Stop laughing, you bastards. Also some Jane Austen, because in spite of everything I've been told she's really not to blame for Bridget Jones, and I have to get over that.
Engaging in epic struggle with acrylic varnish and gold thread. Advice to the kids out there: Never become involved in any sort of artistic endeavor, ever.
Susan phoned. She has two zines planned, requiring covers, possibly color. Well all righty. She then mentioned something about a Victorian-style Where's Waldo-type picture, the very thought of which made my frontal lobes seize up, so I had to ring off and take half a Valium to make it go away. Or maybe I just like Valium.
Speaking of which, since when does a rich white girl need to fake a prescription for Xanax? Getting a scrip for that shit is about as difficult as...as some really, really non-difficult thing.
Am I rambling at all? Sorry.
Took Mary-Viedma's advice and got some Frances Hodgson Burnett. Stop laughing, you bastards. Also some Jane Austen, because in spite of everything I've been told she's really not to blame for Bridget Jones, and I have to get over that.
Engaging in epic struggle with acrylic varnish and gold thread. Advice to the kids out there: Never become involved in any sort of artistic endeavor, ever.
Susan phoned. She has two zines planned, requiring covers, possibly color. Well all righty. She then mentioned something about a Victorian-style Where's Waldo-type picture, the very thought of which made my frontal lobes seize up, so I had to ring off and take half a Valium to make it go away. Or maybe I just like Valium.
Speaking of which, since when does a rich white girl need to fake a prescription for Xanax? Getting a scrip for that shit is about as difficult as...as some really, really non-difficult thing.
Am I rambling at all? Sorry.