I am crying because I am just so ridiculously broody at the moment.

Normal service will resume after I push these hormones away somewhere.

Ship's dog Charlie had his first evening at doggy school on Thursday. We discovered that the kind, almost obedient, loving dog that he is turns into the Squeaking Staffie of Hell. He gets so overexcited by other dogs that he starts producing white scurf from his coat, and it took three quarters of an hour of the hour session to calm him down. Personally, I think the lessons are too advanced for him - they are working towards Bronze Canine Good Citizen and so it is tailored for that - but the nice doggy lady thinks that he'll be okay. Apparently we make Charlie think he's the boss...we'd love for her to come and see him in his comfortable home environment, when he does sit so beautifully, and is just a much calmer, happier dog. 

Apparently he's had his lower canines removed. The only reason for this, given the rest of him, is that they didn't want him to bite the dogs that were being trained on him. He's too delicate to be a fighting dog, so...yeah. Something I don't like thinking about, and it explains his dislike of a) other male dogs and b) black dogs (apart from Vinnie, he doesn't like dogs smaller than him). No wonder my little man is going to be strange around other dogs. He was wary of black Staffies in the rescue centre. Personally, I just want him to have a few more manners about him rather than certificates. As long as he comes when called (we'll probably never be able to offlead him because of his reaction to other dogs) in the house, sits, cuddles nicely, and is gentle with people, then we'll be happy.

And this little scruffy black terrier thing came and jumped on him when she decided not to do the recall exercise. Charlie was rather upset by it all. She barked constantly as well, which set him off every time.

In other news, I have Primeval steampunk Victoriana plotbunnies living in my head...

I went and saw Sherlock Holmes last night, and since we were with two of rynar 's friends, I managed not to squee about the entirely slashy goodness that is that film. It's great, I love it, I need a tiny little pet Robert Downey Jr. to follow me about and be toustle-haired and adorably snarky, and we came to the conclusion that Jude Law was - surprisingly - really good. First Mate isn't keen on him, but thinks he's pretty kick-arse now. It had all the Guy Ritchie goodness in it, and there were sexy wounds. All in all, a rollicking romp that I highly recommend, especially the tasty plot twist at the end. Om nom nom!

It did make me want to get an 1880's/90's dress though. Preferably in grey and black pinstripe. Dammit.

In other news...

Hi, I'm the Minorca. I bring cuddles to the world.

You may be wondering why the Minorca is updating on a Thursday, when she should be working, but since it's Christmas, my asthma went 'right, you bugger, I'm going to REALLY flare! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!' and therefore I am in my lovely warm cottage, with my beautiful warm dog, with a raging cold and asthma so good that I'm being taken the steroid route. Well, at least I'll be completely untouchable and wheeze free, so I'm liking that. I thought they'd just throw amoxycillin at me, but this being Not Wales means they start with the hard stuff.

Things to do:

Wrap First Mate's prezzies.

Do things to vegetables

Poke duck/goose and wonder how it works

Possibly get a little tipsy after 6pm (check to see if steroids are okay with el vino)

Try and tidy a bit, but not die in a mass of wheezing blubber

Clean out Armitage and the Rambunctious Hoodies (that is a good name for a rat rock band)

.....

So yes, stuff to do. I am, however, going to indulge in three of my favourite vices. Blankie, sweet tea, and Jeremy Kyle. If this makes me a chav, then a chav I shall be!

Second week into the job, and I have to admit that I'm a bit worried. I've gone from sedentary to spending nine hours on my feet (ten hour shifts suck), and I was hurting so much by the time I got home that I was completely wiped out for the evening. Everything below my neck hurt, apart from my arms. And yes, I am disgustingly unfit, and I am very fat, and I have very small feet which have to lug 17st about, and it's...agonising. I can do the job, and I think I'll be good at it and there's a possibility of training up to being a pharmacy tech (one step below a pharmacist) at it, but I'm incredibly worried that my body will mean I won't be able to keep up.

I'm losing weight. It's going slowly, but it's coming off. If I wanted to, I could lose it faster, but I have seen the effects of that when my mother lost eight stone in eight months - she put it all back on, and more, in spades. So losing it slowly, getting my body used to it slowly, is the best way.

But this has been a shock to me, and part of me is frightened that I will just collapse. There's a beeper on the sliding door into the pharmacy that sets me slightly dizzy when it goes off, and it goes off a lot. I've never had that happen, I hope I was just feeling hungry and light headed by racing around.

I'm just hoping I get used to it, but since I only work one day a week, I've got the suspicion that I'm going to end every shift in agony.

Still idly looking for other jobs. University is being a bastard over references (and never call back). It might end up me doing a councelling diploma at nightschool rather than doing the degree. Part of me is a bit upset about that since a degree would have more leverage, but then if I do councelling I could work for the CAB or another voluntary organisation and that would be my choice career move. I could possibly go to clearing and try for something, but I've been nixed for Midwifery (apparently, if you don't just apply for Midwifery, you're not dedicated enough...) and Mental Health looks in difficulty.

Least it's almost Christmas. But then I'm working on Christmas Eve, when I was going to prep everything.

W00t :)

Today is an important day. Today is Shoe Day.

I'm addicted to shoes. I love them. They are like crack. I swing between gothy booty things, and very old-fashioned Mary Jane styles, via impractical ones that I just get because they are so pretty (and can never walk in them). I never buy any, so I hoard the ones I have away to keep forever and ever. But today, I have to venture forth and find comfortable work shoes.

This means one place: Clarks.

This also means having my feet measured. At the moment I wear a size 3, but I can swing anywhere between a 2 and a 3 1/2. I've not had my feet masured since I was about twelve, so it'll be interesting to see how ridiculously teensy my feet actually are.

But hurrah! Shoes!

In other news, Charlie has decided that his favourite place to curl up is in front of my open-sided computer (Beast was overheating, I had to make him naked), under my desk, with my feet on him. This means I have to remove his tail from the innards of the Beast sometimes, or my graphics card fan might try and nibble on the twifty bit at the end of his tail. Silly dog.

Silly. But he's my heart *smile*

Got the job got thejobgotit......ARGH!

I'm EMPLOYABLE! I'm WANTED! I'm going to have MONEY!!!!!

Oh God, I have champagne, and a squeeing fiancee, and a happy Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and cheerful rats, and EEEEEE!!!!!!

Four years out of work. First interview. And I'm wanted!!!!!

Okay, strictly too many exclamations, but screw it. MY JOB NAU!

...I have a job interview tomorrow. I only heard about it at 5pm this evening, and apparently it's going to be a chat rather than a proper interview.

I'm stoked.

Yes, it's only a one day a week job. Yes, it's retail (it's in a local pharmacy). Yes, it's not a huge amount of money. But it's money, and I actually got an interview when I didn't think I would, and it's done a whole lot to kick my self esteem forwards even if I don't get it. And, by God, we need the money. £200 a month would pay for a whole lot of things. We could put money in savings. I could sit my CBT and save for my motorbike (much cheaper than a car). I could put money towards whatever uni course I end up on, as well as hopefully still keep the job for a bit of extra cash.

And on Thursday, I'm having all my hair cut off. Yay!

This calls for the 'Oh...COCK' icon.

Hmmm. Cut hair off, or keep hair bobbed? Cut hair off or keep hair bobbed?

ARGH! I do not KNOW!

How can I decide?!

*retires for the night, as is going to look at Christmas trees in six hours *beam**

My quota of James May icons has gone up to five. I am glad to include semi nudity, banana fellating, drinking, and being soggy in this. After all, everyone needs a man who can semi nakedly fellate an alcoholic banana split while in the bath, don't they?

This entry is unlocked. It's a big step, I know. I know! But it's nice not automatically friend's locking, especially when there may be some lovely people around to talk to, who can't say hello because I lock down like a submarine about to go under the Arctic.

I also have five My Little Ponies on my desk, watching me. It's strange, but I'm used to the first generation, which were chunkier and cuter, these are longer legged and thinner, and so not as sweet. But then I am going to cut them into pieces, rejig them, and make them into famous gaming characters, so I don't think it matters.

OU course lady gave me 77% on my first assessment. Considering I know bugger all about science and less about maths, I'd say that's pretty decent.

Uh...no other news. Think my raidgroup just got eaten by wild and rampant bears, but they're mostly made of 100% prime Tauren beef, so it's to be expected. Us muscly green Orc types tend to survive by not being made out of finest fillet steak.

I love this film. It makes me a very happy person, to the point where I now have to go and get Spaced since I adore Simon Pegg. But I also adore Nick Frost, and they are never better when being in films together.

But, it was capra_maritimus that made me drabble about it. Bit of Nick Angel/Danny Butterman, very non-porny, but awww. Sweetness. I blame that wench for giving me plot bunnies...grrrr.

( Underneath here )

In other news, I got a pair of £90 knee high black Doc Martens for £36. Yay!

Title: Here There Be Dragons
Author: black_minorca  (formally the artist known as serpentis_redux)
Pairing: None at the moment
Rating: PG
Summary: Anomalies. They always lead to prehistoric lands, don't they? But what would happen if that theory was incorrect? What would happen if the team stepped through a portal that took them to somewhere that they'd never expect? After all, in the age of knights and ladies, there are always dragons to hunt, aren't there?

Are you sure about that? Dragons don't exist, after all. Unless you're a small group of medieval dragon hunters, that is. And sod the knights and ladies, they're all bloody useless anyway.
Disclaimer: Primeval and the lovely characters it has does not belong to me. My OCs do (poor buggers). The medieval period should belong to me, but I'm not allowed to claim history for me. However, I only put dibs on 800-1215 (but that includes Scandinavia) so ethelfleda can claim the other bits if she wants.
Author's Notes: I've had writer's block. I started this about six weeks ago, more probably, and I've just finished this part. Which is weird, but there we go. This is an AU, though the relationships between the Primeval characters set it vaguely in series one. This is before Connor and Abby, anyway. I tend to write AU's, I know, though I have got a cracking plot bunny about a friend of Lester's that I had in the shower a week ago.

The dragon thing came, of course, with the whole Sarah Mythology Thingy from the start of series three.

Any historical inaccuracies you may beat me for. I will be contrite.

( Here There Be Dragons... )

I comment porned poor Titch, so decided to bring my little porn here. Drabblific!

Fandom: Top Gear
Pairing: Richard Hammond/Oliver/Jeremy Clarkson by proxy/Bugatti Veron (voyeur)/special guest
Summary: Richard is a very bad man, and refuses to eat anything that's made of foreign rubbish i.e. nothing apart from burger and chips. Jeremy decides that enough is enough and Hammond needs to be punished! Bad Richard! Bad!

( Read more... )

Title: Anger Passion Play
Author: black_minorca 
Pairing: Cutter/Stephen
Rating: 18 (language and sex)
Summary: So many conflicting emotions for Nick when it comes to Helen, and she knows exactly how to tear them from him, but when they grow too great, he always turns to Stephen. But why does the erstwhile Hart always allow it?
Disclaimer: Not mine at all.
Author's Notes: A few interrelated drabbles that make a fic, since I said to Fred that I was finding it hard to write my proper stuff when porny drabbles were wandering around in my head. So porny drabbles ended up being a story, and here it is. Oh, and the necessary disclaimer that I need for rynar .

DAN! Do NOT read this. You know that thing with gay men, that I write about? This is one of them. AVOID! AVOID!

I don't want his brain melting, poor love.

( Anger Passion Play )
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I've decided that apart from my fics that I'm going to be going friends only for the forseeable future. I'm still about, just you'll have to be logged in to read me. I'll make a banner up at some point. If you wish to friend me, please do so, but I will be screening who is. Just so you know.

Merry Christmas/holiday of your choice, everyone.

*eats salmon*