101 Ways (Or lack thereof) to tell if you're FOCUSED!
This all started as a joke, really it did. Thru e-mail, we were being really... not sane, and discussing our *GREAT* lil' RP. This little discussion led to our creating a list (and a nifty motto, "We're not Obsessed. We're FOCUSED."), and making you, the public, afraid. Very afraid.
Anywho, you must pardon the odd-ness of this list. It's mostly based on our RP, so part of it may not be as funny to you, as it is to us. BTW: Feuilly and Enjolras are *SO* off-limits. <motions to a well-brandished Stan> Any arguements?
~~Ses and Jai~~
You're attracted to a character.
You fantasize about marrying a character.
You actually pick out the wedding gown.
You actually RP (roleplay for you people living under a rock) the wedding.
You consider yourself a married woman.
You find yourself registering at a department store.
You're *REALLY* jealous of others who fantasize about your 'husband'.
You find yourself writing lists to find out if you're obsessed with a character, when you *SHOULD* be doing your homework.
The TAC video is the newest member of the family.
Real boyfriend? Yea right - Matthew Cammelle and/or Michael Maguire is *YOURS*!
Your friends (if you have any by this point) ask you who your favorite singer/actors are... need we type who you reply with?
Friday and Saturday nights, you stay up 'till the really early hours of the morning roleplaying with your item of lust.
The National Guard is a bunch of evil (CENSORED) for killing your 'husband'.
You've read 'The Friends of the A-B-C' at *LEAST* twenty to thirty times. To the point when you can memorize it completely.
You hate Marius for living when all the *GOOD* characters die.
You've memorized every line that your 'husband' says/sings.
You *FINALLY* get tickets to see Les Mis on Broadway, and your family teases you with them.
Your mother doesn't want to know you once you get to the theater where you're about to see Les Mis, as you're wearing the tricolor around your waist, and you've got the musket.
You bawl everytime 'Drink With Me' comes on.
You've dubbed the word, 'Barricade' as 'Hell'.
The word 'Barricade' is no longer in your vocabulary.
The word 'Barricade' has been crossed out of your dictionary.
Your political knowledge goes as far as 'The Battle at the Barricades in mid-1830'.
You run out of the classroom when your Social Studies teacher tries to teach you about the French Revolution.
You write angry letters to the editors of textbooks who don't include the uprising of 1832 (that would be when the insurrection takes place, for those of you who don't know) in their book.
Even semi trailers start reminding you of your husband or Les Mis in general.
You've given your husband a first name. This doesn't count for Jean Prouvaire.
You've given your husband a middle name.
You've named his parents.
You've *MET* his parents.
You *FEAR* his parents.
You perk up every time the name "Michael/Matthew/insert-name-of-your-personal-Mizzie-God-here" is mentioned.
Everytime somebody says something about disparaging about the French Revolution/revolutionaries you take it personally.
You defend the revolutionaries, mainly by shouting, "The men of ninety-three were giants!"
You have children with your husband.
You've named your children.
They look *just* like their father!
You've managed to induce your husband to use cute little pet names.
You give your husband cute little pet names. (i.e. 'Enjypoo')
You consider the day you met the Mizzie God of your choice the best day of your life.
You fantasize about meeting the Mizzie God of your choice.
You know perfectly well that should you meet the Mizzie God of your choice, you would make a perfect idiot of yourself.
Your Foreign Language teacher wonders *WHY* you know so much about France, and the French Revolution.
You've made feeble attempts to get your name to sound more French, just because.
You find it a shame that the Mizzie God of your choice is probably - no definatly - too old for you.
You pair up your evil, possessed, hyper, psychotic, strait-jacketed friend (::Jai looks to Sara quickly, and then back to the list::) with either (a) Grantaire or (b) Courfeyrac in your little world.
You have memorized *EVERY* line your husband says thru the entire show.
When you get asked out by the hottest guy in your school, you refuse, saying you're already married. Needless to say, you put up with the taunting later that week.
You claim you don't need the friend you've 'lost' in being so obsessed. Hey, so long as you've got a computer, and weekends, you're more than happy.
You've answered 'Yes' to more than twenty of these examples. (::Ses and Jai wave frantically::) LIKE US!!!
You pray that your dance company would even *THINK* of doing Les Miserables for the end of the year performance.
You beg your dance instructor to do Les Mis for the end of the year performance.
You contemplate singing 'Do You Hear the People Sing?' for the school-wide talent show.
You've taken up wearing either vests, or Red and Black clothing.
You know *EXACTLY* where your item-of-lust sits during the TAC performance.
You know *EXACTLY* when your item-of-lust takes drinks from his waterbottle.
You know what page your husband comes, dies, and makes any large speeches in the book.
June 5-6 are the two most sacred days of the year.
You have signed up to take French for the next... many years.
You wait outside a stage door in a skimpy, red skirt and halter top with a black sash to see the actor who plays your item of lust.
Despite the snow and horrid winds you insist upon waiting.
He never comes out the door, but you manage to catch a glimpse of him.
You're quite content with the memory of your glimpse, despite the fact you've got the signatures of two of the lead performers.
You stole a piece of the 'L' from the back of the Trailer behind the theatre.
The Almighty 'L' is sacred.
You bring the Almighty 'L' to school.
The Almighty 'L' has a special place right by your bed.
You blink many times when you discover the word 'feuillies' ('sheets' for those who don't know French) on the cover of your notebook.
You highlight this.
You write trashy fiction (Refer to Jai's 'Les Amis: Welcome to the Future!') about your favorite men with weapons.
You create nifty shrines with RPing buddies in the memory of your beloved.
You are constantly made fun of for being so damned focused.
This, amis, is the result of insanty. (With more to come!) If you have agreed with more than ten of these statements, please remember.. there is help. For the small price of $99.99, we'll refer you to our kind, forever patient (Yea... right), doctor that even we... waitasec... there is no doctor. But we'll take the money. ^.^
Thanks for reading! And many sincere apologies for those who never return to being sane again.
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