Alas, Poor Cam (But Not Really)

It's official. I'm bored during this house-sitting.

3 a.m. in Norway. Nothing on TV. My DVD player is at my flat. My books are at my flat. If I read more of mum's romance novels, I'm gonna start writing about heaving bossoms and Warrick clad in loin-cloth stomping about the moors angrily. I could write even more fanfic, but I've already writen more this week than I usually do in two months. I could read fanfic (and have), but I'd probably have to plow my way through piles of crap to find anything good. I could read GAFF and mock badfic but something's going on over there and it flashes me back to an American high school I never went to. I can't chat on IM, since this laptop of dad's has install function blocked. It doesn't have any funky games where I can hack 'n slash computer hordes. I could go to bed, but I don't want to, since I'm a stubborn old brat. I could stalk the Norwegian night and pretend to be Lady Camilla, Mistress of the Night, stumbling into a loin-cloth clad Warrick and my heaving bossom would press itself against his finely toned chest and...

Ahem. Right. I was being bored.

So dears, while Cam is this bored and will do anything not to be so, smack her with anything you've ever wanted to ask, a meme you've wanted her to do, a subject you've ever wanted her opinion on, a fanfic you've wanted her to read (and review. You may offer your own work), general silliness, pretty icons or whatever else occurs to you. This will last until Cam does go to bed.

Yes. She is that bored.

She'd even watch cricket.

Hoo Boy

I think I have vaguely committed myself to writing a CSI foursome smutfic of doom and unconventional pairings. I even drew stickfigures to help me figure out how it could work. How did that happen?

Obviously, this is the Universe's way of punishing me for daring to make a post on being bored. And for touching the vodka.

I think it's almost time to snooze off.

I so need help.