I'm sick of trying to figure this out. I KNOW you used to be able to pay people for this "interior design" bullshit.

Honestly, who CARES, as long as things are functional? So, shoddy furniture's a no-go, obviously, but do I really need to care about what matches what? UGH.

I give up. I am SO paying someone for this.

I've come to the conclusion that living in an apartment is much like living in a tent. Except the walls are solid, and probably less flammable but I haven't checked yet. Alright, so it's a lot more complicated, but the idea of cramming as many people as possible into the smallest space isn't entirely new. It's just that everything's always had it's place--it just wasn't ever a big boxy room next to another boxy room with all of these anonymous numbers.

Uh, some of these numbers have people behind them, thank you very much.

And this whole making your own furniture thing? I could do it, but...where do you even start? Can't you just...I don't know, pay someone to do it for you, like the way it used to be?

I have better things to do than learning carpentry or wasting time on interior...flow or whatever the fuck they say that is.

...I almost miss the tent.

the MAN;
NAME: Kate
LJ: katenator
CONTACT: YELL REALLY LOUD. | {AIM} Achaean Strings
CURRENT MUSES: Apollo the Sparkletard

( Sing, Goddess, of the rage... )

To anyone left at fallenpedestals who may have this account friended, all posts from here on out (until otherwise announced?) are going to be used for incardiff mythstreet.

If you want to de-friend so this doesn't get stuck on your friend updates, feel free. If you want to stick around and watch, I won't mind that either.

Cheers!

I'm not a scholar by any means, and fuck all if I want to be, but has anyone actually watched the History Channel? How can they get it right for a half an hour and then completely contradict everything two minutes later?

Aren't they claiming to be experts?

It's like a trainwreck.

Patroclus, why the hell didn't we play the lottery last week? Honestly. We could be famous for doing NOTHING; that's the way things are supposed to work around here, isn't it? It's what my coaches all want to do. Lack of hard work, I want to be fabulous and entitled, blah blah.

...

I'm joking. Though a weekend off would be nice.

Oh and um. Gods, it sucks to be some of you~ Hospital bills, cracked ribs, gods, that shit must HURT. I've never had broken bones, what does that feel like?

[Spam me. Seriously.]

This week has seriously been too strange for words. I shouldn't be able to get away with leaving early, though never take that as a complaint; I like this dictating my own time thing. And the random propositions are just...I'm flattered, but since when did I become my mother? Since never, which is...

STRANGE. Maybe I should try this lottery thing...

Also, General, SIR: I hope you get your ass kicked for that. I mean, godsdamn, I've heard of you being a dick, but that's low even for you.

Hold on, I need to get something straight. Now. So, say someone, a born and lived mortal, right, said that they loved the attention of the gods and that due to their ginormous hypocritical ego, they simply expected the love and awe of beings formerly known as holier-than-thou, but at the same time, this same mortal RESENTS the very nature of what that means, because power corrupts, kids--stay in school--and so they expect the love but don't like the idea of being a plaything?

That's like loving the gods when things go right, and damning them to a Hell that doesn't exist for us when everything goes up in smoke. Or like going to war to punish an adulterer and becoming one yourself. Am I the only one who sees this as petty?

Fuck, I don't like the idea of being a plaything any more than the next guy, but aside from a few key exceptions (stay out of this, Apollo), it's that same attention, love, and awe from the gods that puts men where they are. You respect that, and it's returned in kind. Is there a reason why this is so hard to fucking accept?

I mean, some of us are granted to egos and entitlement, but you have to, oh, I don't know...earn it first.

You're only a sheep (or in this case, I guess, an insect) being led to the slaughter if you make yourself one. Gods, and I have the high horse? PLEASE.

I'm flattered. Really. Hell, it'd be hard not to be but...

Okay, so apparently these magazines hold up with more than just people like me who complain about them, and the aspiring jockstraps who subscribe to them. I haven't even competed yet, and...well, I got this offer in Oregon.

For the ducks. Fucking retarded mascot, since I don't even get the point of mascots. You can pick anything. And you pick a DUCK. People shoot ducks down and EAT THEM, and then you want this to symbolize your athletics.

Fuck, that's like saying you want to be a TROJAN.

Anyway, I've been given a week to "decide" even if I've already said no about a hundred times. I don't WANT to coach, I hate most coaches, and I certainly can't be in two places at once.

...and fucking ducks. They can't be serious. DUCKS?!

How's My Driving?
If you have any questions with where I'm taking Achilles, where he's gone, or have any crit., leave him a message, and we'll get back to you ASAP.

(This thread also works for contact, if you need to get in contact with the mun, or if you want to discuss plotting.)

{{Screening is ON; Anon is OFF.}}

Dear Sports Illustrated,

My coaches are not that great. At all. In fact, the waterboy would make a better coach. HELL, a high school cheerleader would make a better coach and I don't think I could complain about that. Do some godsdamned research first, or hey, shut up about the coaches and trainers to begin with.

No love,
Me.


Since when was fame a pain in the ass? At least I didn't have to do the interview while singing. Though it might have made those incessant questions more tolerable. Honestly, I don't know why all interviewers are apparent idiots who really never have a grasp of the situation. Whatever.

I'm also apparently being bartered for by another track team, which is cute. Thought we'd surpassed the whole people being bought out a long time ago.

Also: Patroclus, I know it's been forever since we talked about it, but I heard back from the guy at the fencing studio today.

It's a little late in coming, and feel free to skim over this if you don't care. This is more being posted to clear up some miscommunications, or at least exist for my private reference.

( CUT TO SAVE YOUR SANITY, I PROMISE. )

Inches behind you feel me breathing right down your neck,
I hope you like the taste of blood;
It will be your own...

Novel way to brag, really.

I have an open door policy
When it comes to blame...

But getting old already and...where in Hades did this come from?

Damn all of this introspective crap. I had my reasons for that "idiotic" war, and I do not have to, nor do I particularly feel like having to justify that to anyone. Especially if you're not willing to listen the first five godsdamned times I explain it.

I.E.: Agamemnon, stay the hell away from this.

Between this, another client accident at the gym, and trainers finally coming to the realization that they need me around more often, this is just...shaping up to be a fantastic week.

Which just means Cronus is waiting in the wings, doesn't it?

[Locked: Iphigenia]
...Please tell me you're okay. I...tried to get to you, but the door was locked, and...Iffy...

[Locked: Patroclus]
Are you still planning that...I don't remember what you called it. The thing with the...you know what I'm talking about, right? I need to know when so I can tell Jackie the Insistent Asshole over here to stuff it for a couple days.

This is ridiculous. I miss maybe a week, and suddenly we're back to square one? Errands and sideline benches? Someone has to be kidding. Not for much anything above or below Gaia am I ever doing that again. Hell no.

I'm sorry. I was under the impression I was an ATHLETE, not a pony boy. Hire a house bitch, this is not my problem. I can always hire new trainers...right? At least I still have the gym...

Fuck doctors, I need a session at the gym with a very VERY strong beer and a punching bag.

Dear Trainer with-your-head-up-your-ass.
Piss off. It's a sprain, not a fucking spinal injury. Fucking moron.
No love, Me.

The brace comes off tomorrow. TOMORROW. As in a matter of hours. And this...idiot...just...

I know what I'm doing, okay? Gods. Asshole needs to make up his mind. either berate me, baby me, or get the fuck on with your life. Choose one so I can act applicably. PLEASE.

Is a boot to the throat a solution here? I may just feel the need to beat something. Anything.

I can honestly say that I have never been happier to be back home. Ever. Not even when the building did that thing with the condensing and the roommate switching? Nope. This definitely beats it. By a long shot.

Because nothing it worse than a hospital. Not even Trojan beaches.

Of course, being back home means I'll have a slew of VERY pissed off trainers and coaches on me tomorrow--undoubtedly angry at the time I missed...

And that I'm going to miss more of it. They'll get over it though, won't they? They have to. It's ME. They wouldn't dare say no. I mean, it's not like this is debilitating enough to kill a career and force me to look into coaching high school football, or something. Gods, this ankle is going to be the death of... [VERY deleted.]

...And I'm burning this brace the second I get a chance. And no, Patroclus, you cannot stop me. I'm burning it, and that'll be the end of it. Burn it, and then burn that guy from Sham-Wow. And you have no idea how I am totally not kidding.



Did I miss anything important?

Cassandra, HOW DID YOU DO IT?

I just...how did you just sit here not doing a godsdamned thing?
I think I might be going insane. Lack of places to go, things to do...certain people named Agamemnon to beat the shit out of...

Yeah, Mom, the heel was a great fucking idea. WONDERFUL idea.
So wonderful that I'm hobbled, and STUCK HERE, and godsdamn, I might really really want to choke something.

And if I have to watch that...Sham-Wow infomercial sober AGAIN, I just might.

For the record:
Don't get injured.
EVER.

[Filter::Patroclus]

Patroclus.
You know that trip we talked about?
Sooner is better. Meaning the kind of sooner in which I might kill things if we don't make it, sooner.

Because I very VERY MUCH want to kill things.
And no, the gym is not going to fix it.

Why in Hades did she have to be RIGHT? Like always?


[[ooc; Just an attempt to give the log actual context within the scope of recent events~]]