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Mar. 13th, 2008 03:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
adiva_calandia*blinks* Hey, I totally have a YW fic idea that works along broadly these same lines -- that is, insemination by a process that looks nothing like sex to humans. Hmm, bites. I'll have to keep that in mind.
For once, in the battle in my head between "Gwen is a romantic and that's cool" and "Gwen is a romantic and an IDIOT," romanticism wins.
Jack and Ianto find the WEIRDEST things to flirt about. *cackling* Oh, boys.
Also, Tosh wins at brushing off guys. Although am I missing something about this Banana guy? Is that slang or is that really his name or what? *confused!*
... Okay, romanticism just lost, because now she's telling her father. GWEN. I would say you need your own personal Haitian, but every one of your loved ones would have aneurysms by now.
However, question: if the last DW Christmas special is to be believed, isn't it fairly well accepted -- in London, anyway -- that aliens exist? Well enough accepted that people avoid the streets on Christmas because weird shit always goes down on Christmas. So why is it still always such a big deal for people?
--Oh right, they're Anglican, they can have a female minister. :D!
.... Oh, Jack. *head. on. desk.* Gwen -- or hell, Rhys -- please punch him. For having the WORST TIMING EVER.
Rhys: *stands in background, looking awkward* I, ah -- methinks the lady doth protest a wee bit too much.
Oh, RHYS. <3 "Don't I get a say in it?"
Man, Tosh is pretty nimble in heels. *approves!*
... DUDE, OWEN, IT'S A SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPESHIFTERS MEAN YOU TRUST NO ONE, OKAY? GAH.
Okay, Gwen wins.
Dear Jack: I will slap you, you bastard. --Oh, never mind. Love, me.
Dear John Barrowman: You're kinda awesome. Love, me.
Mmm, gunporn.
Actually, Eve Myles is pretty awesome too, I have to say. Sometimes I hate Gwen, but that's the writers' fault, not Eve's.
Dude, where did the egg's mass go?
HAHAHA CHAINSAW.
How's that for a lame closing line?
Oh, good for you, Jack. *hugs*
OH OWEN. YAY YAY YAY.
Nnn fuck off, Jack, this is Rhys' night. Go ask Ianto to dance.
--*cracks up* "What will you do while I'm gone?" "... Ianto." SEE, NOW GO DANCE WITH HIM. (Ianto is due for an ep, come to think.)
YES. YES. SEE? THERE. DANCING. YES. THANK YOU, SHOW.
... Aw, Jack. Nice little touch, there, with the photo.
So I picked up a very nice leather trench for $25 at the Santa Monica Goodwill today. \o/
Break has been fun, and I wish it could last longer -- but I'm looking forward to getting back to school, and for the oddest reason: I want to be back where I can work out. I'm feeling really out of shape, and wandering around beaches with svelte babes everywhere doesn't help. LA is mostly not conducive to walking, and besides, I'm walking with my parents, and Mom likes to take things leisurely. Dad and I both think that strolls do not really make for good exercise, though they're lovely in their own right.
Yesterday we went strolling along the Venice canals, and I took a ton of photos, some of which I will be posting shortly.
For now, on to download 2.10!
For once, in the battle in my head between "Gwen is a romantic and that's cool" and "Gwen is a romantic and an IDIOT," romanticism wins.
Jack and Ianto find the WEIRDEST things to flirt about. *cackling* Oh, boys.
Also, Tosh wins at brushing off guys. Although am I missing something about this Banana guy? Is that slang or is that really his name or what? *confused!*
... Okay, romanticism just lost, because now she's telling her father. GWEN. I would say you need your own personal Haitian, but every one of your loved ones would have aneurysms by now.
However, question: if the last DW Christmas special is to be believed, isn't it fairly well accepted -- in London, anyway -- that aliens exist? Well enough accepted that people avoid the streets on Christmas because weird shit always goes down on Christmas. So why is it still always such a big deal for people?
--Oh right, they're Anglican, they can have a female minister. :D!
.... Oh, Jack. *head. on. desk.* Gwen -- or hell, Rhys -- please punch him. For having the WORST TIMING EVER.
Rhys: *stands in background, looking awkward* I, ah -- methinks the lady doth protest a wee bit too much.
Oh, RHYS. <3 "Don't I get a say in it?"
Man, Tosh is pretty nimble in heels. *approves!*
... DUDE, OWEN, IT'S A SHAPESHIFTER. SHAPESHIFTERS MEAN YOU TRUST NO ONE, OKAY? GAH.
Okay, Gwen wins.
Dear Jack: I will slap you, you bastard. --Oh, never mind. Love, me.
Dear John Barrowman: You're kinda awesome. Love, me.
Mmm, gunporn.
Actually, Eve Myles is pretty awesome too, I have to say. Sometimes I hate Gwen, but that's the writers' fault, not Eve's.
Dude, where did the egg's mass go?
HAHAHA CHAINSAW.
How's that for a lame closing line?
Oh, good for you, Jack. *hugs*
OH OWEN. YAY YAY YAY.
Nnn fuck off, Jack, this is Rhys' night. Go ask Ianto to dance.
--*cracks up* "What will you do while I'm gone?" "... Ianto." SEE, NOW GO DANCE WITH HIM. (Ianto is due for an ep, come to think.)
YES. YES. SEE? THERE. DANCING. YES. THANK YOU, SHOW.
... Aw, Jack. Nice little touch, there, with the photo.
So I picked up a very nice leather trench for $25 at the Santa Monica Goodwill today. \o/
Break has been fun, and I wish it could last longer -- but I'm looking forward to getting back to school, and for the oddest reason: I want to be back where I can work out. I'm feeling really out of shape, and wandering around beaches with svelte babes everywhere doesn't help. LA is mostly not conducive to walking, and besides, I'm walking with my parents, and Mom likes to take things leisurely. Dad and I both think that strolls do not really make for good exercise, though they're lovely in their own right.
Yesterday we went strolling along the Venice canals, and I took a ton of photos, some of which I will be posting shortly.
For now, on to download 2.10!
RP journal? What RP journal?
Date: 2008-03-15 01:10 am (UTC)Which, you know, is kind of annoying, because you know what? I'll bet the marriage'll get lip service at best in coming eps. No noticeable effects on the team, Gwen, or that fucking Jack/Gwen vibe.