Well...it isn't the physical form of being a cat that would propel me to involve myself in a governmental organization. Rather, it's the idea that cats have live(s). Many of them. Some kid told me they have nine. I said "nahh"(jokingly). He turns to me with a death stare on his face and goes "REALLY." So I said ok.
Though I'm not sure which life I would use to fulfill my destiny as a member of the CIA, I'd be willing to compromise one of them, in case my head got cut off, or if I accidentally shot my own foot off. I am obsessed with crime novels and detective stories and oddly wish I had the higher cheekbones to match the physical profile of said lead characters. Contrarily, my cheeks remain low and a sly grimace is as close to physical sass as it gets. Someone did tell me I could be Nancy Drew, though...if I wanted to categorize myself as any leading lady. Wait a minute-isn't she 16?
As I watch the BBC show Sherlock, of course named after the books and the Robert Downey Jr. movie, my head spins and I promptly twirl off of my seat to catch up to it. The mental manipulation this show plays on me is painful, and today, I ache for pain. Sherlock always gets the last word and I, more than ever, want to do the same. Would I lose a few friends? All of them. Would I live in constant fear? Sounds great. At least I could cozy down to the Dr. Watson whom I so frequently direct my condescensions. He is a bad boy and today I feel like wearing my biker jacket. It's made of pleather. Oh.
This brings me to talk about my father. He so ironically told me that I should stray from bad boys the day I started watching the Sherlock. I had never thought of myself as yearning for hell and striving to singe my fingernails on fire, but you know what, I do. I'm enticed by Sheldon Cooper, have a thing for Robert Downey Jr., and am an uncomfortably fierce fan of Loki's. So, we'll see how many lives I end up with after I spend some time with these fellas.
Grandma wants me married by 25? You know, CIA members can really only marry each other. Who wants to marry someone with a fake boring job?...except someone else with a similarly dangerous "fake boring job."Check.
Though I'm not sure which life I would use to fulfill my destiny as a member of the CIA, I'd be willing to compromise one of them, in case my head got cut off, or if I accidentally shot my own foot off. I am obsessed with crime novels and detective stories and oddly wish I had the higher cheekbones to match the physical profile of said lead characters. Contrarily, my cheeks remain low and a sly grimace is as close to physical sass as it gets. Someone did tell me I could be Nancy Drew, though...if I wanted to categorize myself as any leading lady. Wait a minute-isn't she 16?
As I watch the BBC show Sherlock, of course named after the books and the Robert Downey Jr. movie, my head spins and I promptly twirl off of my seat to catch up to it. The mental manipulation this show plays on me is painful, and today, I ache for pain. Sherlock always gets the last word and I, more than ever, want to do the same. Would I lose a few friends? All of them. Would I live in constant fear? Sounds great. At least I could cozy down to the Dr. Watson whom I so frequently direct my condescensions. He is a bad boy and today I feel like wearing my biker jacket. It's made of pleather. Oh.
This brings me to talk about my father. He so ironically told me that I should stray from bad boys the day I started watching the Sherlock. I had never thought of myself as yearning for hell and striving to singe my fingernails on fire, but you know what, I do. I'm enticed by Sheldon Cooper, have a thing for Robert Downey Jr., and am an uncomfortably fierce fan of Loki's. So, we'll see how many lives I end up with after I spend some time with these fellas.
Grandma wants me married by 25? You know, CIA members can really only marry each other. Who wants to marry someone with a fake boring job?...except someone else with a similarly dangerous "fake boring job."Check.
