Happy Anniversary, siriaeve!

siriaeve and I first met a year ago today! We met in front of Trinity's campanile, recognizing each other thanks to her purple coat and my stripy bag. We went to Dublin's first Starbucks (which, since it appeared not long after my arrival, I still blame myself for), where I ordered a Frappuccino and she (foolish newbie!) had tea. Then she told me about her gay cows and thus, a friendship was born!

Siria, I'm so, so glad I met you this year. I can't quantify it. In fact, I'm going to be very John-like and do almost anything to avoid actually having to talk about my feelings, so instead, I wrote you fic.

Well, a ficlet. A very sad attempt at Rodney/Teyla. But I tried!

*huge transcontinental hugs*

Title: Lingua Franca
Rating: PG
Pairing: Rodney/Teyla
Length: ~700 words
Summary: "Does it bother you that we do not speak the same language?"
A/N: For siriaeve, on our anniversary. And in memory of pot holders and presses.
A/N2: I may have committed a major Stargate fandom faux pas in writing this. More notes at end, but if it really bothers you, just pretend it’s AU.

( Lingua Franca )

Stuff hanging around forever at non-regulation angles

God. I didn't sleep at all last night, and I'm practically comatose, just waiting for the work day to end so that I can go to chele74's house and make yummy food with her and her friend Liz and drink the weird bottle of tequila I found in my office. Yes: found in my office. Before the other Associate Editor and I were hired, this place had such high turnaround that our offices are like little shrines to the people who have worked here before. I've also found: someone's scarf, a bottle of "luxury" laundry detergent, a fake ambulance light, and some fancy footcare products that I think I am likewise going to liberate and give to Liz. Every day I come here I can dig into a different corner and find something new. It's like Atlantis, in a way.

Anyway, I'm glad that I can go to chele74's for a while tonight because I need to avoid my Absent Roommate, who unfortunately last night made herself not-so-absent. I hate it when she comes home. She's such a passive-aggressive neat freak. I left one mug in the sink—one mug—so of course she had to make a big production out of finding it and scrubbing it out with like half a bottle of soap. Riiiight. Because someone would have died if we'd left it there over night. Not to mention that if I leave a book in the living room, she'll freak out. Last time she was home, I left a book on the coffee table—y'know, just kind of tossed down there in the middle maybe, because I'd been reading it while I was eating breakfast—and when I got home, she'd moved it so that the corners were perfectly aligned with the corners of the coffee table. Because angles other than 90 degree ones are tools of the devil. Okay!

I hope she leaves again soon. Or at least that Cool Roommate comes home from her boyfriend's, because then we can roll our eyes at AR together.

Anyway, speaking of...stuff hanging around forever at non-regulation angles, here's what's in my messenger bag. (Yes, I carry a messenger bag, not a purse. Thus when I showed up at a recent work event carrying a handbag and wearing a pretty dress (thanks again, chele74!), I caused a coworker to exclaim, "You're not carrying your knapsack! [Note: it is not a knapsack.] You clean up nice!" Wow, thanks. How shitty do you think I look the rest of the time?)

Whoa. I must be feeling cranky today as well as tired. Anyway, here are ( the scary contents of my bag )