(no subject)

West Wing is ending.  I'm going to cry.  This means I won't be able to get my every-few-weeksly Cheno fix.  I just wish she was in every episode.  I do understand why they're ending the show, seeing as how they'd need a whole new cast, but I thought keeping familiar faces for the next season was the point of bringing Josh in as campaign manager for Santos.
This makes me sad.  I love the Cheno.  And I got to see her in a West Wing episode usually about every month.

I watched 5 Firefly episodes last night.  And I started at about 12:30.  So I got something like one hour of sleep.

Still have 2 pages of my opening statement for mock trial to memorize.  I think since I know the intro and I can learn the closing, I can fake the middle part just because I know the case.  We're leaving at 4:15 tomorrow, so I've got to learn it fast.

Hee, just found out Cheno's birthday is the day after mine!  Yay.  Which makes her half-birthday today. (the 24th; it's 12:06 here)  I totally missed my half birthday.  Didn't even think about it. 

Idina's song "All of the Above" is v. cool.  I especially like the last lines: "And if you want/ I'll be the president's wife."  I think it's a reflection on the state of society today (or my TV obsession) that I didn't think of Laura Bush.  Oh, no.  I thought of Stockhard Channing.  And CJ/Abbey.

And I just wrote a double drabble.  My first RPS, w00t!  Will post.

Firelight (CrashCart9, Chenzel, G)

Firelight
Author: Alexandria (CrashCart9[at]Yahoo[dot]com)
Rating: G
Pairing: Chenzel (RPS)
Notes: Angsty fic, written for my adorably slashy little sister who agreed with me when I said that it sounded like Cheno was singing about Elphaba when I made her listen to Cheno's cover of “Witchy Woman” and in honor of Kristin Chenoweth's (and, a day belated, my) half birthday. 200 words including the song line.
1/24/2005

Sometimes, late at night when she can’t sleep, she curls up by the fire in her living room. She grabs her iPod on the way, skipping through until she finds the tracks she wants. She navigates the mess of songs until she finds the only section organized by artist, somewhat hidden among the randomness.

Most of those songs make her cry. So she does, lips forming the words as tears stream down her face. She knows them all by heart. Because she does this far too often.

He found her once, having woken up and seen that she wasn’t in their bed. She made something up about PMS, or a headache, or both.

She thinks he knows what she’s really doing, and simply loves her too much to comment. She hates him for that.

The next one is her favorite. An upbeat, sultry remake of an old song.

She hates herself for loving it. She hates having to pretend that the blonde’s singing doesn’t make her stomach clench and warmness rush through her body.

She hates how she wants to believe the song is about her.

“She held me spellbound in the night/ dancing shadows and firelight.”