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Hoooomigod, I'm BORED as FUCK.
Talk to me, guys. Say whatever you want. Seriously. Do it anonymously if you want. (Just...this is an important caveat...don't be mean? This week, of all weeks, I can't handle anything mean. Even if it's well-intended. I know it all, anyway. Trust me.)
So, come on. Do it. TALK. This is a total free-for-all. Do you like monkeys? Harry Potter? Due South? Fisting? Do you hate your neighbors? Did you accidentally trip and fall and sleep with a hooker? With your mother?
ANYTHING. I'm totally serious. Free. For ALL.
Also, seriously, post pictures, if you want. Of naked or dressed or weird people. Of puppies at play. Give me a picture of grass growing. Yes. I am desperately bored.
ETA: You people are the fucking BEST. I mean that. You helped ease the pain of the last two hours of my job, and I've been sitting here, cracking the hell up the entire time. I'm home now - YAAAAY! - and soon to be off for my, you know, Friday Night Festivities! so I may not be able to reply as quickly after that. So, um. Felt the need to have that out there, so I don't feel guilty. You know how it is. But THANK YOU.
And, here, have an insta-rec:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
brooklinegirl's "It Never Rains But It Pours".
It's, um, Frannie/Everybody...meaning, Frannie/RayK, Frannie/Elaine, and Frannie/Turnbull. But not at the same time. It's hilarious. (And hot. And there's GIRLSLASH! Who doesn't love that?) Seriously. It's kind of priceless altogether.
They'd been sniping at each other all day, because he was annoying her, making fun of her skirt and how short it was and how it was a police precinct not a pool hall. She'd retaliated by losing every file he asked for. "Oops," she'd said, smiling up at him real nice, and crossing her legs, making a show of smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.
He'd stormed away. She chalked that one up as a win.
He'd left the coffee pot in the break room empty. She kept sending his phone calls to Dewey.
He asked her if she'd needed special lessons to walk in those heels. She very carefully stacked his unfinished reports on Welsh's desk.
It was pretty much business as usual.
See? What's not to love.
Talk to me, guys. Say whatever you want. Seriously. Do it anonymously if you want. (Just...this is an important caveat...don't be mean? This week, of all weeks, I can't handle anything mean. Even if it's well-intended. I know it all, anyway. Trust me.)
So, come on. Do it. TALK. This is a total free-for-all. Do you like monkeys? Harry Potter? Due South? Fisting? Do you hate your neighbors? Did you accidentally trip and fall and sleep with a hooker? With your mother?
ANYTHING. I'm totally serious. Free. For ALL.
Also, seriously, post pictures, if you want. Of naked or dressed or weird people. Of puppies at play. Give me a picture of grass growing. Yes. I am desperately bored.
ETA: You people are the fucking BEST. I mean that. You helped ease the pain of the last two hours of my job, and I've been sitting here, cracking the hell up the entire time. I'm home now - YAAAAY! - and soon to be off for my, you know, Friday Night Festivities! so I may not be able to reply as quickly after that. So, um. Felt the need to have that out there, so I don't feel guilty. You know how it is. But THANK YOU.
And, here, have an insta-rec:
brooklinegirl's "It Never Rains But It Pours". It's, um, Frannie/Everybody...meaning, Frannie/RayK, Frannie/Elaine, and Frannie/Turnbull. But not at the same time. It's hilarious. (And hot. And there's GIRLSLASH! Who doesn't love that?) Seriously. It's kind of priceless altogether.
They'd been sniping at each other all day, because he was annoying her, making fun of her skirt and how short it was and how it was a police precinct not a pool hall. She'd retaliated by losing every file he asked for. "Oops," she'd said, smiling up at him real nice, and crossing her legs, making a show of smoothing her skirt down over her thighs.
He'd stormed away. She chalked that one up as a win.
He'd left the coffee pot in the break room empty. She kept sending his phone calls to Dewey.
He asked her if she'd needed special lessons to walk in those heels. She very carefully stacked his unfinished reports on Welsh's desk.
It was pretty much business as usual.
See? What's not to love.
