don't you know that they're out of touch

My family, besides being frustratingly computer illiterate, is in the process of digging up our entire backyard because, I kid you not, my uncle dreamed there is some sort of treasure (either of Mafia or slave origins depending on who you ask) buried there.

...

However, they are also happy and pleasantly drama-free, and so things are generally of the good. Sadly, our George Foreman Grill bit the big one in the middle of dinner preparations this afternoon, which spells imminent disaster for a household as dependent on steaks as ours.

We are not, I repeat, not even close to talking about the class-A disaster that is my room. *hides* Oh, there'll be pictures later just to prove I'm not exaggerating. It'll make your great-great-grandaddy dead and twice removed cry.

Badfic continues to have me wrapped around its inane little finger. Raving lunatics! All of them! And yet, like watching a mushroom cloud blossom or a trail of ignited lighter fluid leading to a tower of dynamite, I cannot look away. I think it's my inner sadist's version of self-flaggelation for the guilt.

Dinner!