A week ago I begged sister to buy me Sherlock on DVD.
It took one picture too many of a snappily-dressed Sherlock for me to break and declare ENOUGH I MUST WATCH THIS SHOW ALREADY. It took approximately one minute of Dr John Watson being a failtastic blogger for me to decide that this was going to be a quality show. And a mere 12 minutes to determine that I was watching the BEST SHOW OF MY ENTIRE LIFE.
By admitting that she “LOVE[s] sherlock”, my poor Wendy unknowingly doomed herself to gushing texts at 4am on how beautiful Sherlock’s bony wrists are. Honestly, I have no clue how she puts up with me, especially since for the first few days of escitalopram I was so manic that it made this obsession an extreme one (worse than my Assassin’s Creed addiction). My little brain was whirring and buzzing and felt so uncomfortable being trapped in my skull. The side effects have eased now, but in this vulnerable time I nonetheless developed pre-Reichenbach disorder, just like rest of Tumblr (OR THE ONLY PART OF TUMBLR THAT MATTERS). It shouldn’t be possible after less than a week of exposure to the fandom, but that’s the sort of wretched show we’re dealing with here.
The new episode came out yesterday and I have banned myself from Tumblr until I see it. In the original story Sherlock takes a dive off the Reichenbach falls with his mortal enemy and uh, SHERLOCK DIES. HOW CAN THEY DO THIS TO ME. I’m not so emotionally invested that I’ll sob for the whole thing ala Return of the King when I was fifteen, but then again, all I know is, if John cries, I’ll be crying along with him. ;__; Even worse are Sherlock‘s creators. Moffat and Gattis? They’ve been enjoying messing with us. They’re going to be responsible for my death, just by building up my stress to unbearable levels.
You see? NO ONE WILL SURVIVE. NO ONNNNNNNEEEEEEEEEE. I’m probably the last Sherlock fan alive, in fact. It’s already aired in the UK, after all.
What’s more pathetic: every few pages on the “sherlock” tags are posts of people who have just discovered Sherlock. Scattered amongst the hysteria of the more seasoned fans. Oh happy fools with no idea what they’ve stumbled onto! Dear reader, listen to me. Listen now. For the love of God, don’t watch this show. Don’t. Even if you have a Sherlockian friend threatening to “make you into shoes” if you refuse. Even if they try tempt you with just the first 12 minutes – it’s all a trap. Especially if you’re new to escitalopram.
The average person gets married at 30. I read this on the internet, so it must be true.
This means I have 8 years before society realises something is wrong with me. People with an indifference to relationships are weird and are obvs defective amirite?? I once tried explaining to the pervs on Omegle. They were horrified and didn’t get it. But then again, they were pervs on Omegle.
Plus, when I told them I was fat with frizzy hair and glasses they still insisted that I was hot and wanted noodz… so okay.
It’s not surprising that this plus my neverending cynicism would have people thinking I will be that lonely spinster. I’m not sure marriage would work for me either. Unless it’s with James May, who still doesn’t live with his girlfriend after ten years, and likes girls with small hands. And cats. And once dated a New Zealander. We are so destined for each other… where was I?
This not wanting marriage/kids thing. It’s a lie.
I saw kids today. A fluffy blonde one brushed past my leg and I had to crush the maternal feeling that started pining. See, I just want a job at the Law Commission (…I’m not ambitious) and to be able to buy expensive stuff online. It’s just a fluttering that instructs me otherwise, “ABANDON EVERYTHING FOR VARICOSE VEINS“. I’m not sure that I’d want to have them around me all the time! I just want them as pets, so I could get away with ignoring them when they bore me.
Maybe I could rent kids, and take them to parks. Force them to play musical instruments they hate. Admire their messy artwork. I could be a part-time Tiger Mom. Just three years ago I was indifferent to children – how did this happen?? I can’t imagine how bad it’s going to be when I’m 40 and still woefully undesirable!
Wedding photos on Facebook also make me weak. I think a lot about the hypothetical wedding. I am that girl who goes “window shopping” on Tiffanys’ website. My engagement ring is quite simple by the way (I’m disappointed at my lack of extravagance), and I’ve spent ages trying to pick the cut of a diamond which would best suit me. A princess cut would just emphasise my knobbly fingers, for example.
So, I’m pretty much ready to accept like, any offer at all right now. Especially if you don’t mind cats and minature horses living in our house. Oh – and if you’d be okay with wearing a top hat to the wedding, because that would be dreamy.
I also want an elaborate cakes and pretty flowers and OH MY GOD COLOUR SCHEMES. Can we please have lavender, Mr Future Husband? Lavender and turquoise? Swoon! It’d go so well with white, although I think I’d want The Dress to be slightly creamy, and oh isn’t it divine that Kate Middleton brought back sleeves?? If I ever see the perfect dress I’m buying it as an investment. And if I never get married, I’ll have pretend weddings in my living room (YOU’RE ALL INVITED BTW).
Sometimes I think being FOREVER ALONE is more entertaining than caving to those biological cravings. In fact, this very blog post started off as a journal entry but it just spiralled into irrelevancy until I decided it should go on here instead. Sort of pathetic given how likely a wedding is for me – I’m gonna go stomp on my wedding dreams a little bit more…
I always felt sorry for Altair. He was alone all the time. Few spoke very nicely to him. He was always running around the city, climbing up buildings, and mercilessly punching beggars in the face… What did he do in his spare time? Was he happy? Did he ever smile? Was he really born with that perfect nose? My poor Altair. Maybe brooding was his hobby. By the end we still don’t know anything about him, even though his colleagues are convinced that he’s undergone this magnificent change of character (“Hooray, you’re less of a dick now!”) during the time this game spanned. So… okay.
Still, I was thrilled to realise that Desmond was his descendent. Which means ALTAIR HAD BABIES. Ackk, so he did settle down and get all happy and have a wee wifey, etc, because obviously that is the only way babies happen. And marriages and relationships are only ever wonderful and happy.
…I try not to think about all the ways Altair could be miserable.
Then the sequel happened. In addition to the main storyline, you also have to find pages that Altair had written. Essentially, it’s Altair’s whiny diary. Amidst the scribbled mountains of angst he’s drawn pictures of his girlfriend surrounded by flowers, and it turns out Altair is the cutest little moody thing ever.
The plotline in Assassin’s Creed 2 involves a statue of Altair (and thanks to Law, I will forever typo statue as statute). And. And. And. Sometimes I send Ezio there just to look at him, and baaawwww suddenly I rather miss him, and what, now I have a crush on a video game character? He wasn’t even that great. His voice actor did an atrocious job. He’d drown instantly. His muscles were nearly bursting through his sleeves (yees, that is a bad thing). He recklessly climbed buildings in spite of how worried I was that he’d fall, too. He was bland.
…But apparently I was. Because when Desmond hallucinated all over the place and we were following Altair’s memories again, I was ecstatic. That is, until I somehow witnessed the moment that those babies of his started happening (don’t kiss people or you’ll get pregnant!!!!).
ALTAIR HOW COULD YOU DO THIS TO ME.
He’s not even as goodlooking as the flamboyant Ezio. Or as kindly and intelligent as my Leonardo. Oh, Leonardo! I am in love with him now. He wears a silly floppy hat and solves puzzles for fun, nyaww. It’s just too bad Leo has it bad for Ezio (EZIO/LEONARDO FOREVERRR), but I’ll keep pining away nonetheless. WHATEVER ALTAIR YOU HAD YOUR CHANCE.
…What has my life become.
P.S. I realise that throughout this post I may have implied Altair was the one getting pregnant. I have no regrets.
P.P.S. Pictures from here and here.
Though this isn’t a new thing, I was only recently accused of having a nose fetish. I feel it would only be responsible to have a coming-out-post. …And have an excuse to compile a list of noses I swoon over. Whenever someone mentions on of these people, probably the first thing I think about is their beautiful nose. I’m so shallow.
My favourite nose of all time. I even think he’s to blame for all of this.
His nose was the highlight of Slumdog Millionaire, I tell you. Now I’m in a moral dilemma until 23 September, when The Last Airbender is finally released in New Zealand. Protest racism or indulge in Nosefest “10?
Spoiler: I probably won’t go, since I have no one who likes Avatar (MY FRIENDS ALL SUCK) and going to a movie solo feels rather depressing. Also, I heard Appa’s barely in it, which is a total slap in the face for my OTP. Sigh.
I also think Dev Patel is all kinds of gorgeous. To the point where I felt oddly guilty looking for a nice photo. I WAS JUST DOING IT FOR THE BLOG OKAY, ONLY FOR THE BLOG. (His ears are making me giggle.)
I’ve often heard people calling Lady Gaga ugly because of her nose, whereas I just cannot agree. It’s my favourite part of her face. Even if saying so is pretty weird.
..Now that I think about it, whenever I see photos/video clips of Lady Gaga, I’m constantly looking at her nose. While I adore her for wearing the most flamboyant, ridiculous costumes non-stop, the nose is the best part of Lady Gaga.
For a long time, I wanted a nosejob more than anything else in the world. — (source!)
I subscribe to a couple of fashion blogs. I adore her style, her tattoos, her hair… She’s one of my (two!) e-crushes. Ooh I just read she went to the same high school as one of my friends (Samuel Marsden, hollaaa!).
I’m so glad that nose job never happened, because it’s part of what makes her really beautiful. People have got to embrace their quirks. I’ve decided this should be the point of this post (instead of my creepiness). If you cringe because of your nose, I’m probably secretly infatuated with it (and I’m still creepy).
I'm a mediocre law student at Otago and future cat lady. This is my blog thingy.