OK, so I never watched One Tree Hill, but I heard it got pretty crack-tastic. This is the most genius/ridiculous plot point ever (it is exactly what you think it is).
Even Shortland Street can’t rival that. Speaking of, my favourite Shortland Street moment ever was one rote episode where Chris Warner walked down the hospital corridor and just slips over in this huge pantomime way for no reason. Perhaps I am a pie-in-the face girl after all.
Y’all know I read Twilight, but. Bella Swan is ridiculous and pathetic and Buffy would deal with the whole Edward situation far more appropriately. This video shows how.
She is shoelessly walking the street, and the threads in her stockings are snapping erratically. She’s curling a key in her hand, and it feels softer than her skin. A man, older, falls into step beside her silence and tells her about his job while she lets her teeth show. “Keep smiling,” he says, and she might have otherwise. She nudges the metal tip between her knuckles slightly and feels like she can sprout fangs.
Driving past, the cabdriver wishes he could wrap her in his metal cage and take her home whole. So pale she’s glowing at three a.m., so fragile next to that bull-of-a-man, so light she looks about to grow wings.
27 November 2006
I didn’t write this about Effy Stonem, obviously, but now it makes me think of her.
Sometimes, walking alone through narrow places at night, I feel invincible precisely because everyone looks at me like I’ll be a victim soon, and they have no idea.
I’ve realised the optimal way for girls to meet guys has got to be donating blood. Why?
– Are free of AIDS and Hepititis
– Are over 50 kg
– Are at least relatively straight*
– Are on display with their arms out in such a way that any wedding ring is easily discernable
– Are not in a position to get up and move away if you start talking to them
– Are either there because they want to hit on similarly minded girls / because they have hit on a clever way to get time out of the office / or because they are Good Guys Who Care.
These are all good things! Plus the blood donor people come to the top floor my office building, so they’re all presumably based conveniently nearby, and we could theoretically eat toffeepops and drink cocoa while we wait to recover, looking over the harbour. Swooon. Also, with all the blood drained out, I suppose I’m less likely to have enough spare to blush, so less chance of cute-boy-enduced embarassment.
It’s also possible I have romanticised blood donoring due to one Henry Parker who, in season 3 of Dawson’s Creek, exchanged so much of his blood for money (they pay you over there!) to pay for a super date with Jen, that he spent the whole magic night being all pale and shakey and eventually fainted.
- personally I have issues with the whole no gays giving blood rule and everytime I read that clause in the pamphlet it’s like getting hit in the face with the 80s stick – but anyway, for the shallow, shallow purposes of this post I suppose it’s not the point.