you try and you try and you try....

The following have occurred:

1.) Child's new computer was assembled to everyone's satisfaction except the computer's. So waiting for a part from Amazon to convert the power supply. The computer's name, for you playing the home game, is Stiles. Yeah, welcome to my life.

2.) My birthday Kindle Paperwhite has arrived and is not named Derek for reasons, most of them Child's. Due to reasons, I am out of active fannish names so this one is Destiel. Screw it, it was this or American Horror Story and I'm not naming my Kindle after a character on a show I have to watch from behind the couch.

3.) Child may or may or not be starting to develop a crush on Pete Wentz. This is new.

I have been a good parent and carefully kept him secluded from emo during his formative years, concentrating his attention on Breaking Benjamin and Skillet and Rise Against and Metallica--guitars broken in fits of mindless violence and sometimes teenage angst rather than from inner turmoil with messages written in tear-smeared eyeliner. Child was already a MySpace poet in the making like, from birth, and while MySpace is deadish, bad poetry never dies. He's already a surly geek who hacks his X-Box and whose clan is filled with inner teenage drama-angst. Like, why stack the freaking deck, you know?

This is really all Mikey Way's fault, let's just put that out there, or at least, my inability to stop reading tumblr about it. Child read over my shoulder, asked for a summary, then suddenly, his playlists are looking suspicious. I'm just saying, what the hell, Child. I introduce your ass to death metal--I cant' even pronounce some of those names in polite company, or around people who can issue federal warrants for persons of interest--and you repay me with pulling my album lists? This isn't happening.

If anyone needs me, I'm going to be failing as a parent somewhere else. At this rate, he's going to be a Republican investment banker or something and I'll never be able to show my face among humanity again.

richard iii is found!

Also, forgot to put this in last entry:

Richard III found under parking lot.

I'll be completely honest; I had tears in my eyes reading that he's been found. Richard III is my number one historical crush, with Caesar and Elizabeth I taking second and third (I have like, forty of these, but they're mostly unnumbered, but these three are the loves of my life, okay?).

For all your woobie Richard III professional novel needs:
The Sunne in Splendour by Sharon Kay Penman - this is one of my buy-in-all-formats books. I have bought it twice in paperback and once in ebook for my Kindle. This is the epic story of Richard III, who is the bestest brother, husband, and father ever, and everyone who hates him is just like, stupid, okay? Stupid.

I have many varied feelings on Richard. All of them are about how everyone else sucks.

Dear Henry Tudor (and Stanley, you fucker),

Suck it.

love,
seperis