(no subject)

Someone made a brilliant photoshop of the Tenth Doctor and all his Companions. I captioned it. Because I am evil.

(no subject)

Last night I left the ultimate groveling stickeynote on our fridge, telling R how sorry I was I didn't go to his show. This afternoon Bluesgirl was over when I came home and said she forgives me because the stickeynote of apology was sufficiently heartbreaking. Looks like those fifteen years as a writer are paying off after all!

She and R were rehashing the concert and then the Ratpacker came over (note: as in, member of the Rat Pack, not someone who packs rats, yeesh) and they all trundled off to karaoke.

R: Trader Todd's is an exercise in masochism. Every time we go there it's a fucking disaster.
Sam: So...why do you go there?
Ratpacker: The hotties.

*facepalm*

OH AND ALSO. I went to see a doctor about my leprosy (which due to the stuff he gave me is now cracking and falling off, ew). And I mentioned that, because we were talking about how great health insurance is.

Bluesgirl: Yeah, my dermatologist [Long but familiar sounding name] is awesome.
Sam: Wait -- I think that's the man I went to. At [address of my dermatologist]?
Bluesgirl: YES! Oh my god, that's too funny. Isn't he great?
Sam: He's very efficient --
Bluesgirl: And so incredibly gay!
Sam: Was he gay?
Bluesgirl: Uh, did you not notice his overt flamboyance?
Sam: I thought he was just condescending. (Note: My gaydar? Permanently broken.)
Bluesgirl: No, honey, he's very, very gay. He brings his boyfriend to my shows all the time. Oh, and I saw him at the gay porn awards last year!

At which point I said nothing because I was torn between "My dermatologist goes to the gay porn awards?" and "There are gay porn awards?"

Although it's not like I can talk. I believe I've myself won awards for writing gay porn.

My life is definitely not what I expected it would be.