Things are in order, then. You see, for classes that are non-scientific (such as the Social Deviants class that I'm taking), this is how I go into an exam. I've attended class, read all the readings and made some flash cards. I'll go over them a few more times, but I just KNOW there are people from my class practically bawling over this exam. Me, not so much. A multiple-choice exam in a social science class? That's a bloody vacation compared to some of the exams I've taken recently!

So tonight, I'll finish the exam before everyone else, go and stand in the hallway waiting for more people to come out and then we'll go get drunk. It'll be pleasant. Particularly because this is my last final. My last act of The Semester that Shouldn't Have Happened. I'll be fucking glad to be rid of it, too!

In other news, that suspicion that I might develop a crush (I believe I said that I might become a fag-hag) for Stephen Fry has been substantiated. I have, indeed succumbed to the power of Fry. While I am, by no means declaring (like some of his more ardent fans) Fry for God, I am totally smitten.

It has a lot to do with the fact that I'm reading his autobiography (still! yes, I'm slow) Moab is my Washpot. It's written in a way that feels like you're having a (horribly one-sided) conversation with him. He's brilliant, funny and willing to admit guilt. In a word, charming.

Of course, because I'm just a stupid girl, I begin to think everyone that I admire is attractive physically. This was a slightly longer stretch for poor Stephen as he is prone to be fat, and has a (really, really) bent nose. But there's something sweet in his eyes. A kind of sad intelligence. I know I'm being shallow when I say that I prefer the younger Stephen to the older "please pass the clarified butter, bitch" Stephen, but I can't help the way I feel.

And just to bring you over to the dark side here is my current favorite picture of Hugh Laurie's large pal.