Hell, I wouldn't have been surprised either.

Damn. Just read an amazing Buffy/Angel story by Glossina, and now I'm hankering to write my Fifth Thing That Should Have Happened in Sunnydale.

But first I need to write the Fourth Thing, and I have no clue what the Fourth Thing actually is.

And now that the mood's right...Munchkin again.
I've spent twenty minutes staring at a closed door. The Princess and Dru have been shut up in there picking Darla's outfit. Or something. I was thinking vampire ablutions would be shorter, with the absence of sweat and all. But the Princess primps a lot. She's already tried on and rejected three different things.

For a karaoke bar. Do you know what kind of losers go to those things? Whee, forty-seven horrible renditions of "My Way". And at this place, a few won't even be in languages I recognize...well, that's a blessing, anyway Can't wait. But I guess she is trying to meet the people, even if I didn't mean those people.
"Whatever you have on is fine," I say. " Can we get this over with now?"

"I'm not wearing anything now," she calls back.

Predictably, I reconsider my wish to get out of the house...I'm such a cliche.

"Do you have a long overcoat?"

"It's in storage...this is L.A."
Right, because when a guy asks a question like that, he really wants your coordinates. Maybe some longitude and latitude...the weather report. "But babe, you're always cold. I am too...it's part of the undead...uh, package. So to speak. Who cares what it's like outside?"

"If we stand out, we don't eat." she says flatly. I hate that tone, it's her lecture voice. "And you don't want me to look like a freak, right?"

"Just my freak." I say, trying to get back to where I'm comfortable. Dru giggles. I've been trying to pretend she doesn't understand me when I come on like that, but of course she does. Being crazy doesn't make you stupid, and my having the same material since I'm seventeen, with a few more quotes thrown in, doesn't hurt. Can I really face two hundred more years of this? Maybe if I get a new act. Someday.

But for right now, I heave a sigh that would make my guiltmonger mother proud and say "Take your time. I really love this view I get of your doorway...very stimulating".

Maybe she was a princess...I can't imagine Princess Di felled by guilt bombs, even if she wasn't meshugana already. "Never mind I'm a stranger in a strange land here...starting a whole new life that I didn't even know I was starting. I hope that doesn't bother you."

"It doesn't." she called back, simply. She didn't even throw a fit right.What am I doing with a woman who doesn't tantrum? Even Kay would've opened the door and flipped me off by now. Getting sentimental won't change anything, though.
And after all that? She wears the black dress with the cleavage. If she didn't look so amazing, I'd be pissed.

Hunh.

People are making comments about one of the Yuletide stories I wrote, and the comments are making me feel kind of... angry and a little hurt.

I know it's not unintentional, but the fact remains. Authors don't get revealed until Jan 1, and I'm kind of stewing in frustration.

Anybody else had a bad Secret Santa experience?

Last year, I think it caused a big issue in Pop.

I haven't yet, but I am guilty of obsessive checking to see if anyone has said anything, period.

shrift, could you link to it?

shrift, could you link to it?

Well, that's the thing -- it's anonymous until Jan 1, and I don't want to violate the rules. Plus, I know the people who organized it, and I respect them lots.

And I'm not saying that just because they can take me. Although I'm pretty sure tzikeh could. Heh.

I just felt like grumping and ruffling my feathers, and Dana, who already knows which story I mean because she beta read it, is off doing the holiday thing.

And serial-posting to add that the comments aren't mean-spirited or negative. Just. Frustrating me because I can't respond.

Oh, well, I'm glad they're not mean-spirited or negative. I was all indignant on your behalf. Now I have nowhere to send the dignant.

Okay, they're a little negative. And hee on the dignant.

I have worked out exactly what I'm going to post when the story authors are revealed, so grumbling a bit did accomplish something.

More Fledgling: "Hey, Wesley," I say, "instead of more beer, how about some nice Scotch or something. I haven't had any since I finished off the Oban Stanley got me for Christmas...surprisingly thoughtful guy, Stanley. Even if he thinks you need breasts to work a washing machine, huh?"
Reluctantly, he orders it, saying "Do you think that's wise? Considering your ordeal, I mean." These men and their puppy faces. Who says we're the emotional ones?
"I didn't drink it all myself, if that's what you're wondering. And you know what else is an ordeal? Life." And because that line sounded a little too Munchlike, I say "It's a lot of other stuff, too." And take another big swallow of Scotch. I know you're not supposed to drink that stuff so fast, but I already had a killer stage fright going. If I was gonna do this, I was gonna need some serious anesthetic. Nobody outside my family knew about the little routines we worked out. Carrie and I thought we were gonna be famous. Now I'm investigating stiffs and Carrie is busy getting to know half of Italy in a Biblical sense(Don't get me wrong...I'm glad she's now ex-Mrs. Braindead. And I get it about the cancer scare. But I thought the "Find a warm body to make you feel alive' stage would be shorter than this. And I've heard more than I should about Paolo and Vincenzo's salamis, huh? She's looking for trouble and one day she'll find it.) -more-