brandywine28: (sad-polka dots)
[personal profile] brandywine28
It looks like my Christmas gift to my fellow commuters this year is going to be strep throat. (Sorry I didn't have time to wrap it, guys!) I sound like some kind of Lindsay Lohan/frog hybrid and I'm coughing like my father, who was a pack-a-day smoker from time immemorial. (Sidebar: is it possible to inherit someone's smoker's cough? Like, the exact same pitch, timbre--everything? I've been told I have my mother's laugh, but I swear, I swear, I have my father's cough, which is so weird I don't even know what to say about it.)

So my building's super (or whoever it is who's in charge of these things) has decided it'd be a really boss idea to play Bette Midler's Christmas album on an endless loop and pipe it not only into the elevator and lobby, but the laundry room as well. I was down there this morning and I think I must have suffered through Bette's version of "In the Cool Cool Cool of the Evening" (?) about five times in a 40 minute period. Surely this must be the music that serial killing clowns hear in their heads 24/7.

My MtYG story is...probably best left undiscussed. I wrote about 1000 words today, which would be great--if I didn't hate 900 of them. :( T-minus 10 days to create a timeless work of art! Let the panicking commence!
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