The Multiple Choice Post.

Drat. Drat drat drat drat DRAT.

Was the above because:

a) I drew the exact same person for Secret Santa at work that I did last year? (Hopefully the similarities won't extend to my not getting anything again.)

b) I still haven't sent my parents Christmas cards?

c) There'll soon (well, in several months) be a mini-Jessica in the most "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!?!?"-generating-from-me celebrity pregnancy since Cindy's second kid?

d) Gossip outlets everywhere reporting about Cindy saying no to any more nude shoots?

You decide.

The TGIF Post.

Problem: In order to tell you my story, I have to tell you theirs...

Hmmm - I haven't shrunk, turned white, lengthened my hair, grown massive breasts and changed sex, and am therefore not Jennifer Love Hewitt. So let's try again.

Problem: In order to remove the implications of working on my Hilary Duff/Lindsay Lohan/Jewel and Cindy Crawford/Hayden Panettiere/Jessica Alba/Hilary Duff (again)/Rihanna/Katharine McPhee/Kellie Pickler stories at work, I decided to just not do them there. But now they've been gestating longer than the film versions of Dick Tracy and The Hitch-Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and the implications of that aside I really HAVE to get cracking. Gah. (All right, I'll post them here with NSFW warnings.)

Not that this week's been all that great anyway - wintry bug's affecting a lot of folks including me, and I've been feeling an ache in my right shoulder all week. Endless stress at work ain't helping, but finding out that I'm not the only person who won't be going on the Christmas do next month is (encouragingly, the only other holdout is also the only other person at work who I know for a fact watches this blog's favourite non-animated show still in production, Heroes).

And now that I'm a member of Fanderson at long last, I can... do not much I couldn't do before, really. But at least it ain't bad news.

And finally, for Butch:

"Twas the day before Christmas, and all through the den

Two creatures were stirring - one Kingston, one Gwen..."

The Long Week Post.

And it'll probably be the same next week. Less staff means more work for us all, including me. Not such a bad thing, but it sucks that I live so far away...

Falliinng asjeelep as I weritwe thiss,,;a,xzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

The Yes, But What About Dania Ramirez? Post.

The forthcoming issue of TV Guide Stateside has the women of Heroes (well, three of them anyway) on the cover, and a fine cover it is too - one for the collection, and what surely qualifies as "excellent late night inspiration" (a phrase I heard an ITV2 continuity announcer use to describe Gena Lee Nolin at the end of an episode of Sheena, and it worked so perfectly I've never forgotten it). Which would probably not be the case if the women were Ashley Crow (Claire's adoptive mother), Cristine Rose (Angela Petrelli) and Adair Tishler (Molly Walker).

But this is the opposite of Radar magazine putting "Coming out" on its overrated list - on the surface that sounds wrong, but when they point out that being de-closeted puts you in the same company as the likes of Perez Hilton it's hard not to see what they mean. Similarly, there's nothing wrong with Hayden and Kristen sharing cover space, but this was a golden opportunity missed to spring newbie Dania Ramirez (who plays Dominican newcomer Maya in season two) on people.

Here she is at the Emmys. I mean, daaaaaamn.

And more importantly, since Heroes is a show where major characters are non-whites and non-Americans (whereas most of the villains are decidedly WASPs), including her on the cover would have been a win-win situation all round; Dania would have contrasted well with the others, the readers would have gotten more hotties for their cash, and it would have reflected well on the show's outlook. What say you, folks?

Which is not to say I don't want the mag.

Many thanks to my bosses, by the way, for paying me on Thursday instead of Friday. I hope this continues.

The Cindy/Feltz Post.

Feltz: My main female boss. For simultaneously infuriating and arousing me.

Cindy: Intrada. For releasing three David Newman albums (Malone, Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey and now Throw Momma From The Train) in one year.

Additional Feltz: Me, for making too many short posts. :(

The Wait, That Was IT?!? Post.

As if this past week wasn't rough enough what with one person leaving in a pique and another just leaving (and increasing the workload thusly, though bless sweet Anna for letting me know that we're getting three new people on Monday), today I finally got around to watching the episodes of Ghost Whisperer and Veronica Mars that I'd taped last week. Except the former was missing and the latter was the last episode.

Not that Trouble bothered to advertise it as such, not so I'd notice. But anyway, I have to admit that I really didn't think it was going to end on such an abrupt note - no one was in danger but to leave all the main current plots hanging forever... dubbed "The Bitch Is Back" in tribute to CW programming head Dawn Ostroff, apparently. Subtle, Rob Thomas and Diane Ruggiero. Very subtle. (Less laudably, there is no excuse for having Kristen Bell sing James Blunt. None, you hear me? None.)

Not that the third season overall was as good as the previous two, anyway. But it was still a good show which deserved better than it got not only at home but over here... never mind, Rob Thomas will be back, and so will Kristen now she's gotten the spot of the most lickable person on Heroes not called Hayden Panettiere (the countdown to Maxim sniffing around to pair them up starts... now).

As for Ghost Whisperer, at least they're repeating the first four episodes tomorrow. Remember, in order to tell you her story, she has to tell you theirs.

I hate stress.

Flooding delayed my new debit card. Postal strikes delayed it as well. And I have to wait until after work to get paid tomorrow because they didn't get to do the direct payments into our accounts again. This is not good. Things have to swing upwards soon.

Rubber bands.

One of the things I do at work is clean up (after a fashion). Unfortunately the workers on the polywrapping machine fling the rubber bands that keep the letters together on the floor - and there are a lot of letters. And a lot of bands. And it's usually your friendly neighbourhood muggins who has to pick them up in the mornings. And it drives me completely insane. So messy (the place generally is, but the bands are the worst). Cleaning up if I'm there late on Fridays helps get the weekend off to a really bad start, but at least when I go in there on Monday morning it won't be so fucking depressing. Maybe that'll be the thing that drives me to move on; I'm not really sure I should be a glorified janitor. Then again, keeping places tidy is nothing to be ashamed of, and it makes you feel better if it's straightened up a bit.

Meanwhile, my bank card's expired and my new one hasn't come yet (according to the lady in the Abbey National up on Muswell Hill - cough, spit - things have been delayed because of the flooding, and the Royal Mail strikes can't have helped). You wanna hurry up?

Going back to work, I'm on one of my listening-to-everything-I-have jags (go to and from work listening to tapes... yes, children, before iPods there was an invention called a Walkman which allowed people to listen to cassettes, and since I have a hefty amount of soundtracks on cassette a tape player is of more use to me... and CDs at work), but annoyingly I decided to try and synchronise the tapes and CD, subject-wise. CDs are up to the great Danny Elfman, tapes up to Bruce Broughton, and it's one disc a day at work until I catch up. And it's very painful to put up with playlisted Radio 1 (the other stations are even worse). Especially with Scott Mills, the twat.

At least the sun's out.

Weekend again.

So what's on my mind?

Well...

1. My boss. A definite case of the more I dislike someone the more I want to engage in rough, angry sex with them (see also C. Aguilera, J. Jackson, N. Campbell, A. Lavigne, E. Cetera). Weird.

2. "How To Stop An Exploding Man." And thus ends Heroes Volume One, the first time I've watched an entire season online before it gets to broadcast UK television, digital or terrestrial. And damn, it was worth it... not only has it managed to fill the Buffy the Vampire Slayer-shaped hole in my life that Charmed, Desperate Housewives and Lost never quite managed (keeping me going from week to week, thinking about it between episodes etc), but if you've seen the illustration you'll know where I'm taking this. Too bad about the Sci-Fi Channel losing first-run rights to Volume Two to the BBC (bigger reach, but they had it first...). And to everyone moaning about the finale; a) he couldn't fly away because he was too busy trying to keep from exploding, b) the guy isn't dead, and c) it's called putting characters ahead of flash. August 1 on BBC2, apparently.

3. The ComicCon has had its dates changed, so I have to readjust my holiday (brought forward a week). Better that than a cancellation.

4. Bridge to Terabithia. Probably a better book than movie. But a good movie. (Too bad about the trailer for Are We Done Yet? however.)

5. Yay for Sharon for getting a break from AOL! She was going to transfer from them but they cut her a deal because she's such a good customer. Now ease up her burden on other things as well, fate.

This is an outrage.

Beyonce "Upstage me, will you? Suck on this, Hudson!" Knowles on the cover of Sports Illustrated's swimsuit issue is, as Edith Bowman would say, just a little bit wrong. Christie Brinkley belongs there. So do Elle Macpherson and Petra Nemcova. So do sportswomen who can pull off lounging on a beach (Anna Kournikova, Maria Sharapova, Steffi Graf, Natalie Gulbis etc). But not Beyonce... she is not a professional model, nor a sporty type. (Come to think of it, she also isn't an actress - witness The Pink Panther, Austin Powers in Goldmember, that terrible Carmen thing...)

Not that looking at her is a great hardship - certainly a lot easier to take than this past week at work (lots of throwing and sorting, lots of stress, lots of wondering when exactly I'm going to crack and get sick of cleaning up before everyone as opposed to after, etc), but man am I glad I've got a day off next week and the week after.

Even though King Butch already posted the one of Marisa Miller, she's still more deserving of the cover than Beyonce. Here she is and three others who share that honour. Good night.