I hate men in turtlenecks. That being said, I? Am this photo's bitch. And this one's too.
Thanks to Auditrix for sending me the link.
Sunday, January 30, 2005
Saturday, January 29, 2005
New Toy
Now this is worthy of viewing "House" on. Dimples in High Definition? Yes please.
(I've been television shopping and am SERIOUSLY considering the upgrade to plasma/LCD.)
(I've been television shopping and am SERIOUSLY considering the upgrade to plasma/LCD.)
I am in Mourning
I was unable to secure tickets for the upcoming U2 concerts. Only in Boston would three U2 concerts sell out in thirty minutes. I should have just put up the forty fucking bucks and subscribed to their website so I could have done the presale.
I shall be hanging a "Scalpers Welcome" sign outside my door.
(Remember, this is "current infatuations." Bono has been an infatuation for fifteen years.)
I shall be hanging a "Scalpers Welcome" sign outside my door.
(Remember, this is "current infatuations." Bono has been an infatuation for fifteen years.)
Friday, January 28, 2005
House Limericks
Well, due to health issues I'm too distracted to write real fic, so in the meantime here's some limericks to keep you all entertained:
There once a man named Greg
Who only had one good leg.
Whether polite or not
He still was hot
For sex with him I would beg.
-----------
Doctor House may be a cripple
But he still has a sexy dimple.
All the girls turn to mush
Because of their crush
On he who likes to belittle.
-----------
House gets all the tough cases
But hates to see patient's faces.
Everyone is aware
He's starting to care
Although he still shuns Georgia's embraces.
There once a man named Greg
Who only had one good leg.
Whether polite or not
He still was hot
For sex with him I would beg.
-----------
Doctor House may be a cripple
But he still has a sexy dimple.
All the girls turn to mush
Because of their crush
On he who likes to belittle.
-----------
House gets all the tough cases
But hates to see patient's faces.
Everyone is aware
He's starting to care
Although he still shuns Georgia's embraces.
Thursday, January 27, 2005
My Latest House Fic (WIP)
This isn't quite finished yet, but what the hell....
-----------------------------------------
last night’s sleep rating
House was lying strapped down in an operating room. He was shaking in pain and screaming as his leg visibly tore apart: skin, fatty layer, muscle, tissue while Dr. Engel calmly said, “We’re not sure what’s causing your pain, Gregg. We can give you some Vicodin for it.”
It was gore beyond even what a doctor could stomach, and the smell…
House woke with his heart pounding and tears in his eyes. His hoarse throat let him know that the screaming hadn’t only been in his dream. Throwing his blankets aside, he shoved his right leg over the side of the bed. He followed it with his left and shakily placed his head in his hands.
His right elbow dug painfully into his bad leg, causing him to look down at the offending body part. By the time he had been correctly diagnosed, a majority of the muscle tissue around the infarction had died and had to be surgically removed, not to mention the artery cleared and repaired. The result was a large sunken scar that ran horizontally across his thigh, now clearly visible below his boxers.
House grabbed his cane from the side of the bed and slowly rose with a groan. His leg was always stiff when he first woke up so it felt like an eternity getting across the bedroom and into the bathroom. He leaned against the sink as he filled a glass with water, studiously avoiding his reflection. He knew that he was sporting the “Haven’t slept since Reagan was in office” look without getting the mirror’s input. He caned back to the bedroom, glass in hand. With his throat not quite so raw, he was able to focus on other things, including his sweat-soaked AC/DC t-shirt. He quickly ripped it off and grabbed a clean one off the top of his dresser.
I should sleep in this for another…he glanced at the clock, which blared an apologetic 3:56…two hours to get it properly wrinkled and wear it to work. I do believe that if I then wear it with only a jacket over it we’ll get to see if it is actually physically possible for someone to shit a brick.
House couldn’t help but smile. Finding small ways to annoy Cuddy was one of the entertainments of his day. She was so uptight it was almost too easy. She didn’t realize it was his way of saying, save the bluster and stress for the things that really matter.
House eyed his bed, trying to decide whether to attempt sleep or not. It would be nice to grab a couple more hours of shut-eye. He could even set the alarm another half hour forward. The flock would wait if he were a little late to rounds. On the other hand, once he had a nightmare, it tended to come back every time he fell asleep for the rest of the damn night. House shuddered, recalling tonight’s gem that had woken him.
After another slow sip of water, House eased himself back into bed. Even his damn sheets were sweaty. Great. Because laundry is such a fun thing to do. The thought of something as mundane as household chores relaxed him and made the nightmare seem miles away. Maybe I’ll get some sleep yet.
An hour of tossing and turning later, House finally gave up the cause as hopeless. It was better than slipping back into nightmares but still frustrating as all hell. One good night’s sleep. Just one. Guess that’s too much to ask for.
He repeated the process of getting out of bed and eased himself into the shower. He hated the bars and bench that screamed “handicapped,” but a nasty slip a couple years ago had convinced him. That and the lecture that Wilson had given him the entire damn time he was stitching up his head.
After that, he limped back into the bedroom and threw the acceptably wrinkled shirt back on. He added jeans to the ensemble and grabbed a jacket out of the closet. His hand hovered over the button-down shirts next to the jackets, but he grinned and decided to go with his original plan.
House was lying strapped down in an operating room. He was shaking in pain and screaming as his leg visibly tore apart: skin, fatty layer, muscle, tissue while Dr. Engel calmly said, “We’re not sure what’s causing your pain, Gregg. We can give you some Vicodin for it.”
It was gore beyond even what a doctor could stomach, and the smell…
House woke with his heart pounding and tears in his eyes. His hoarse throat let him know that the screaming hadn’t only been in his dream. Throwing his blankets aside, he shoved his right leg over the side of the bed. He followed it with his left and shakily placed his head in his hands.
His right elbow dug painfully into his bad leg, causing him to look down at the offending body part. By the time he had been correctly diagnosed, a majority of the muscle tissue around the infarction had died and had to be surgically removed, not to mention the artery cleared and repaired. The result was a large sunken scar that ran horizontally across his thigh, now clearly visible below his boxers.
House grabbed his cane from the side of the bed and slowly rose with a groan. His leg was always stiff when he first woke up so it felt like an eternity getting across the bedroom and into the bathroom. He leaned against the sink as he filled a glass with water, studiously avoiding his reflection. He knew that he was sporting the “Haven’t slept since Reagan was in office” look without getting the mirror’s input. He caned back to the bedroom, glass in hand. With his throat not quite so raw, he was able to focus on other things, including his sweat-soaked AC/DC t-shirt. He quickly ripped it off and grabbed a clean one off the top of his dresser.
I should sleep in this for another…he glanced at the clock, which blared an apologetic 3:56…two hours to get it properly wrinkled and wear it to work. I do believe that if I then wear it with only a jacket over it we’ll get to see if it is actually physically possible for someone to shit a brick.
House couldn’t help but smile. Finding small ways to annoy Cuddy was one of the entertainments of his day. She was so uptight it was almost too easy. She didn’t realize it was his way of saying, save the bluster and stress for the things that really matter.
House eyed his bed, trying to decide whether to attempt sleep or not. It would be nice to grab a couple more hours of shut-eye. He could even set the alarm another half hour forward. The flock would wait if he were a little late to rounds. On the other hand, once he had a nightmare, it tended to come back every time he fell asleep for the rest of the damn night. House shuddered, recalling tonight’s gem that had woken him.
After another slow sip of water, House eased himself back into bed. Even his damn sheets were sweaty. Great. Because laundry is such a fun thing to do. The thought of something as mundane as household chores relaxed him and made the nightmare seem miles away. Maybe I’ll get some sleep yet.
An hour of tossing and turning later, House finally gave up the cause as hopeless. It was better than slipping back into nightmares but still frustrating as all hell. One good night’s sleep. Just one. Guess that’s too much to ask for.
He repeated the process of getting out of bed and eased himself into the shower. He hated the bars and bench that screamed “handicapped,” but a nasty slip a couple years ago had convinced him. That and the lecture that Wilson had given him the entire damn time he was stitching up his head.
After that, he limped back into the bedroom and threw the acceptably wrinkled shirt back on. He added jeans to the ensemble and grabbed a jacket out of the closet. His hand hovered over the button-down shirts next to the jackets, but he grinned and decided to go with his original plan.
------------------
Complete and utter props and gratitude to auditrix for the inspiration. Read http://housemd.blogspot.com . You'll want to throw out your keyboard too.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)