Lee Jordan

OOC comments, questions, and suggestions go here! All comments are screened. You can also reach me at:
AIM - sonsofregret
Email - voicessayhello (at) gmail (dot) com
CDJ - thebodypolitic

Supposing for a moment that you had mates. (You'll have to imagine REALLY hard if you're a Slytherin, I know, since no one likes you except your mum, and that's iffy.) Now imagine that you had years worth of memories between you. Tears, and hugs and love, and several very earnest exchanged Valentines. (One-sided exchanges, but still.) A foundation of shared experiences and friendship and childhood adventures and that one time when you snogged, and that other time when you accidentally flashed someone.

Now imagine that you had mates like that, and you got liquored up one night, and married the first pretty face you see.

I ask you, would you tell said friends, or would you leave them to find out from the ramblings of idiots?

Hypothetically speaking.

[Private to Weasley Twins, but Katie, and other Lee-Friends not named Angie can see]
We need to talk. Or actually I need to talk, and you need to shut up and listen. If that's possible

( Private to the Order )

( Private to Friends (Angie/Katie/Twins/Jules/Etc - if you think your character would be on it, feel free. )

A question, intrepid journal-readers.

If you ask someone to lunch, and don't take them somewhere where the burgers have wrappers, and they did, in fact, agree to go, and you brought them flowers that you might, theoretically, have found in the bin of the looney old woman down the hall who calls you "Theodore" and smells of mold, but were still flowers of the plastic variety, would you then be shocked when it was considered a date?

Hypothetically speaking.

( Private to the Order )

( Private to Order Friends )

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm tired of takeaway.

[Order & Dumbledore's Army]
We're throwing a broadcast together, it'll go on in a couple of hours. Password is Hobgoblins. After that, we'll try to keep to the same night, as often as we need to, so you can check in regularly at midnight, on Thursdays to see if we're running.

[Order and Dumbledore's Army]
Listen in Sunday, at eight am. Password is Truth.

((Attached is frequency information for Phoenix Radio.))

( Private to Order )

( Private to the Twins )

The bloke down the hall who only owned one shirt and smelled of fish has moved out. I worried he died when I walked by his flat, but the landlord said it always smelled like that.

So, Quidditch is starting up soon. It's a special time of the year. There's magic in the air, you might say. A certain smell of promise and hope and probable bodily harm. Maybe a whiff of tosser cologne, since McLaggen is playing this year.

It's the sort of time you should treasure, and share with loved ones.

In particular, you should share by giving loved ones free tickets when you're their mate and you play for a Professional team.

It's the kind of gift that keeps on giving, because it means you get to share the high of victory and the agony of defeat with someone who was there because they loved you, and probably didn't cheer against you unless you were really rubbish.

I know a lot of people have too much pride to accept gifts, but I think it's important we put aside our pride for the people we care about. So I'll take the first step and say that if anyone wants to send me free tickets, I'll accept them with humble gratitude and understand that it's your way of trying to share your life with me.

You know how sometimes if you get hungover, then you get drunk again, the hungover bits go away and everything is brilliant until the second hangover comes, and then you want to die, and wish you could just be drunk again.

This is how people become alcoholics. Just avoiding the hangover. I am STILL in pain.

But that aside, this was a brilliant bloody weekend. And I get to do an actual on-air segment this week. Not anything fun, mind you, just reading off the adverts because the bloke who usually does it is down with a pox. But beats coffee.

So I didn't do anything I should know about this weekend, right?

( Private to Order )