Saturday, wait

I've been rereading Pride and Prejudice for the thousandth time and obviously I had to watch the BBC version and Bridget Jones because. Colin Firth I adore you.

Keira Knightly, I do not adore you. You just rub me the wrong way but don't worry, were we ever to meet you probably would not like me very much either, so I just avoid you and that's that.

However. Today I woke up to the sound of someone yelling in through my window whilst ringing the fucking doorbell continuously even after I shouted out that I'm coming (I'm so angry that this that's what she said does nothing, not even a snicker from me, pffft). She then, without a fucking good morning or - god forbid - sorry for waking you, went on to order me to go down with her immediately because her ceiling is leaking and it must be my fault.

Now, I have had my fair share of broken water pipes and clogged toilets and shitmonsters that I do not even know the name for that my first reaction was to check all our water stuff to see if there's a problem on our side. Everything was fine so down I went to her apartment where there were a few drops of water on the wall (not the ceiling) that, frankly, did not warrant waking me the fuck up at 8 am on a Saturday. I proceeded to very politely tell her to call a professional and if the dude determines that it is somehow my fault then obviously I would pay for everything but there's nothing more I can do at that moment so just stop yelling at me.

I then ran to get cash from an atm because these things are expensive, especially so if you are a woman (they ALWAYS cheat you, no matter what you say or do, fuckwits) and waited around smelling like a sick person usually does after a feverish night (and no, no doing the nasty this time, I am genuinely ill).

At this point I knew it was going to be a fucked up day and there was zero chance of it getting better, so decided to do something I've been putting off for seven years: watch the movie version of Pride and Prejudice.

It's bad. So very bad. Still, there are some small things I do like about it, plus it passed the time and gave me something to work out my frustrations on.

After flushing the toilet at least fifty times as per the request of the handyman guy (who did not try to bang me, what has this world come to, I don't get it) it turned out that the shouting witch-lady effed something up and I had nothing to do with the whole thing whatsoever, so I did not go broke. Needless to say she did not apologize for all the yelling and you know, ruining my Saturday, making me run around with a fever. Nah-ah, she did not even utter a polite goodbye, she just turned around and walked the fuck away.

But really, the whole point is that I am obviously in love with Mr. Darcy (both the William and the Fitzwilliam edition) and I adore Colin Firth and that the Keira Knightly version is so bad.