the everyday adventures of sabrina

i'm happy, hope you're happy too

Time to hang it up, Anne.

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via ladytabitha — from either anne rice or someone claiming to be her in an amazon review of Blood Canticle (The Vampire Chronicles), entitled “From the Author to the Some of the Negative Voices Here, September 6, 2004″:

I have no intention of allowing any editor ever to distort, cut, or otherwise mutilate sentences that I have edited and re-edited, and organized and polished myself.

[Three particular passages from the book] can be read aloud without a single hitch. Every word is in perfect place.

well, isn’t that special. if you really posted that, anne, sweetie, this is your hint that it’s time to retire. y’all ain’t all that special, and sometimes your prose does stink.

this post also states my opinions for me in a far funnier way, drawing the allusions to bad fanfic writers: “Lurkers Support Me In EMAIL!”

and here’s a strikingly similar post on anne’s official web site that seems to support the idea that she really is, in fact, that big of a clueless wonder.

oh, brother.

(ObDisclaimer: i haven’t read any Anne Rice in ages. i was never a really big fan, and the stuff that i did like was not so much the Vampire Chronicles stuff — Belinda, Cry to Heaven, The Witching Hour. i didn’t have anything against the vampire books, i kinda liked RockStar!Lestat in whichever book that was, but i just never really got into it the way some people did.)

fashion sucks.

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so i wore a cute shirt to work today. accompanying the cute shirt were cute shoes and matching earrings and actual, honest-to-god eye makeup. (that is, for the record, your cue to go ‘my god! what is the matter with sabrina?!’ lip gloss is one thing, it’s practically expected. but eyeshadow? that’s just weird.)

this, naturally, meant that by the time i was on the bus on the way in to work i was reconsidering whether or not i should have worn the shirt, and shortly after my arrival in the office i changed into my pirate dan-authored “sketchy old men” t-shirt, which now i feel a little bad about actually wearing in the office because, after all, this is where the sketchy old man in question is…

and of course this made me feel like an idiot because i’m wearing this scruffy t-shirt with mary janes and eyeshadow, not to mention there’s no blue on the shirt anywhere to go with my earrings.

and now that i’m writing this, i’m feeling sufficiently substandard that what i really want to do is run over to the campus bookstore, buy a big ol’ 2XL grey Chicago t-shirt, and hide in it all day, which is sort of sad because i started out today feeling kind of happy, goofy, and cute.

maybe i’ll put the original shirt back on.

ow, ow, ow

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oh, i am in so much pain. and the ibuprofen is not helping.

i hate being shaky and twitchy.

i further hate pain that waits until you get to work and sneaks up on you.

… i really further hate pain that waits until you’re at work, sneaks up on you, and brings its friend nausea with it.

i am so going home. just as soon as i can make my legs move.

stories like this make me wish i knew more show tunes other than, like, the refrain to “Gary, Indiana” and a little bit to the opening song from “Pippin.”

flowers

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flowers