kitsjay: (Woo)
In fiction, you always read that the heroine smells of "lavender and chamomile" or the hero tastes like "chocolate and mint".

Just once, I'd like to read a romance that is realistic.

"They kissed passionately, until the sounds of her gagging broke them apart. Pushing him away, she gasped.

'What did you eat for lunch?" the lady demanded as she held him at arm's length.

The strapping, handsome peasant boy frowned. 'My favorite,' he said. 'Tuna, garlic, and onion sandwiches.'

She subsequently married the rich duke her aunt picked out for her who subsisted solely on mint leaves, parsley, and gin and tonics with too much vermouth."

Just once.
kitsjay: (Woo)
My British Literature midterm was completely undeserving of my stress.

That said, I ran low on coffee this morning and was a tad out of it, so I cannot absolutely promise that I did not unwittingly write "fish fish fish" across the page and think it was an absolutely brilliant discourse on the nuances of Shakespearean sonnets. I'll get back to you on that when blood starts to filter through the caffeine in my veins.

Also, I've made a resolution to become an English professor for the sole purpose of assigning Clive Cussler as reading in the midst of fine literature.

The test would be something like,

"13. How does Dirk Pitt escape from the Cuban prison? (3 pts.)

a. MacGyvers a rocket launcher out of gruel and a crashed blimp
b. Seduces the mistress of Fidel Castro*
c. Al saves him, with witty banter ensuing
d. Chuck Norris comes to him in a dream "

Bonus points if you spot where Clive Cussler inserts himself into each novel. I almost wish I were kidding.

...Almost.

* Wait, am I going to have to start making Raul Castro jokes now?
kitsjay: (Archie Confuzzled)
I woke up at a leisurely 2:00 this afternoon, yawned, stretched, made muffins, hereby referred to as The Most Amazing Muffins Ever. I also made pumpkin spice bread and in the midst of my mixing, I discovered something queer.

The water wouldn't work.

I turned it off and on about twenty times in the manner of someone who is faced with something unexplainable and not mechanically inclined enough to figure out the problem. With a sudden burst of insight, my eyes narrowed. I bet the cows have something to do with this.

Our cows, affectionately called "those little bitches" by my father, and our bull, Howard, think it great fun to find the water line and destroy it in some convoluted, nefarious plot. They are probably quietly gathering as I type, crying out, "The Cows shall rise again!" and inciting revolution. No doubt their scheme involves taking the water hostage and demanding unlimited quantities of hay and feed.

So for now, I am silently contemplating the virtues of beer versus pico de gallo juice.

Or, as I prefer to call my new drink, Cerveza de Gallo.*




*That's Beer of the Rooster, for those not in the know.

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January 2014

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