Dear Subconscious,

I fed you a sandwich last night. You have no excuse for giving me such insane dreams! I love the Codex Alera and I enjoyed Project Runway, but YOU CANNOT CROSS THEM OVER, NO MATTER HOW YOU TRY.

Also Max is straight. He would not hit on Tim Gunn.


Dear Various Taxes Associated With Living and Working In New York City,

You suck.

No love,

Dear Microsoft,

You know that project from last semester I’ve been slaving over? It sure would be nice if your Automatic Java Update didn’t BREAK THE SOFTWARE I WAS USING TO WRITE IT. *downloads the JDK6 and prays that the newest version of DrJava, released back in January, works with it*


Edit: Nope, didn’t work. I’ve emailed my tutor. Hissssssss.

*blasts “Doctorin’ the TARDIS” obnoxiously*

Doctor Who is back, and OMG SO MUCH LOVE! Can I marry Ten and have seven thousand of his human/Timelord hybrid babies? Or if not, can I at least marry his hair?

Oh, and:

Dear All Writers Ever,

Adults are 15 compressions to 2 breaths. Children are 5 compressions to 1 breath. If you’re going to write CPR, get it right already! It’s not hard! Has there ever been a TV show to get this right, EVER?


Dear Dresden Files TV Show,

Finally, a female guest star I don’t find annoying! Well, not very annoying, at least. Maybe “Finally, a female guest star Harry doesn’t hit on!” better summarizes my feelings. Is this actually the first episode where Harry doesn’t kiss someone?

Also Bob is love.


Dear Battlestar Galactica,


P.S. Also my roommate is the fifth cylon. I have photographic proof!

Dear Universe,

How hard is it to spell my name? I mean really! Especially when you have it written down in front of you!

Prescila Pricella Purcella Brasille ah, never mind.

It’s ridiculous. A friend’s mom still thinks my name is “Sally.” And even weirder, I’ve read two books in the past week with minor characters named “Priscilla,” when I rarely ever encounter the name outside the context of Me. The second was in A Canticle or Leibowitz, a book we had to read for my Sci-Fi class. Priscilla is a yappy, six-legged dog owned by a two-headed woman. The first was White Night, which includes a bitter, frumpish, middling-magical-talent hag of a minor character that wears turtlenecks in the Summer, named Priscilla. How Jim Butcher was able to write an entire book properly spelling her name, but suddenly lost the ability to spell it when personalizing my copy, defies all logic. I spent the entire book wondering if there was some joke about weird spellings of stuff. Of course, to be fair he was trying to spell “Priscellie,” which can be a bit more confusing. Oh well.

My name is great, but also freakish and confusing! Woohoo!