Today was a day
for thirteen hours of X-Files
and junk food. That's it.

Last night was the Afterglow party at Floyd's, which roughly translates into, "Let's throw some foam on people and watch them rave with glowsticks and possibly have sex on the dance floor!"

I went in jeans, tennis shoes, and a t-shirt, as I was too goddamn lazy to shave or anything, I met friends, and a good time was had by all. While waiting for the foam to actually be dispensed, we used the empty dance floor as a fighting rink, sparring with glowsticks for knives. Once the dancing started, things got fun, and then surreal. We were either chest-deep in foam or standing in ankle-deep water stained with crushed glowsticks. There were some couples on that floor that were... into it.

::snerk::

Anyways, after we ditched the party, we came to realize that our perfectly white shirts had become slightly less so. We camped out at the Mickey D's next door, and then went to go jump in a friend's grandparent's pool. We tossed the extra glowsticks in to illuminate the water.
What this friend failed to mention was that the water was FUCKING FREEZING.

I went home in my underwear, something that might constitute a walk of shame, except that I cared for nothing other than getting a shower.

Awesome night, anyway.

Mon prefere, c'est la frommage. Ah, j'adore la frommage.

A la France, normalment, c'est ne pas pasturize, donc la gout est magnifique.

La brie, la bleu, la frommage blanc... Ah. merde, je manque la frommage.


If that made any sense, kudos for me.

Dear Sarcasm,

I love you. You are the sole reason I can stand talking to people, pretty much ever. You let good situations get better and bad situations get worse as effortlessly as pressing a button. Properly wielded, sarcasm can cut, maim, and in the hands of a master, castrate.

You are the icing on my cupcake. The fairy wings on my inner queer. The cream that I do not actually take in my tea. I am your disciple. Your cousin, snark, is my dearest friend. If you so will it, I will continue to enrage, embarrass, deflect, and amuse to the end of my smart-ass days.

Yours forevs,
Z



idk, my bff crack?

My Brother: HUGGLE ATTACK!
Me: AUGH. ::is huggled::
Brother: ::GLEE::
Me: ::noms his head:: Hey, Mom? Can I eat him?
Mom: ::frowns:: Here... ::shakes a salt shaker over his head:: There. Now you can eat him.

LATER

Brother: ::in the midst of guerrilla warfare with unseen enemies:: Pew! Pew! Pew! BWOOSH!
Me: Are you the Rebels, or the Empire?
Brother: ::stops:: Hunh. ::thinks about it:: Probably the Empire. They had better weapons.
Me: Less lightsabers.
Brother: Deathstar.
Me: Touche.

That boy has too much energy.

THERE IS REAL, HONEST-TO-GOD SUPERNATURAL LARP.

LIKE, FOR SERIOUS.

GIVES IT TO MEEEEE. ::grabby hands::

On a less awesome note, Pandora! Get your head out of your ass. You have more than five songs, I promise you!

Oh, oh, oh, it's that time of year again! It is the time of SPN/J² Big Bang fics! I've got a screenful of tabs to read, but here's what I've got so far:

Caught Inside by topaz119.
CWRPS AU surfer fic! A perfect summertime kind of fic, especially for a hippie like me. Sweet and well-characterized and funny and I wanna go to Hawaii.
Jensen/Steve/Chris, Jeff/Jared (with bonus Jensen/Jeff and Steve/Chris)

And now? I'm reading a J² adaptation of Splash!. Elle oh elle zee.

EDIT: Ahahaha. AWESOME.

We Flow Together (Once And Forever) by balefully.
It's J². It's Splash!. It's HOT. An' yes, there is some sexin. And by some, I mean a lot. And it rules.

LOL FANDOM.

It's been posted everywhere, but it drives home why I am going to see New Moon, but refuse to read the book.

28 Reasons That 'Twilight' The Movie Is Better Than 'Twilight' The Book

Saw Drag Me To Hell.

( In a word? Unnecessary. )

On top of that, I came to a realization. The story I'd been writing like a mad thing is back, only this time the main male is black and there is a dog involved.

Should be interesting.

Damn, I had a good time!

My birthday started about three hours before it actually was my birthday. My friends took me to Aladdin's, a hookah bar, where we sat, drank tea, ate baklava, smoked hookah, talked about religion, watched the Micheal Jackson memorial, and had a very good time. At midnight, they sang Happy Birthday to me and I got free chocolate cake. And immediately afterwards, they played the Aladdin soundtrack over the loud speakers. We all sang and got up to dance to A Whole New World. I've never waltzed before. It was a lot of fun.

After I woke up the next morning, (dodging a sign strung up over my doorway, reading 'Happy 20th, Jerkface') my sisters fed me blueberry pancakes with awesomesauce (read: blueberry syrup). My youngest sister set about making a double batch of snickerdoodles for my birthday present as I replied to an electronic card I received from my family in France, something that never ceases to make me smile. Replete, I lounged around the house until my mother took me UNDERWEAR SHOPPING!!!!

This may not sound very birthday-ish or exciting, but I was thrilled. I'd not done a big underwear shop since before I went to France, so it was a bit overdue. Wandering from store to store, my mother and I found enough attractive (and fitting!) bras and underwear for me to wear a new pair every day of the week! YUSS.
In between stores, we stopped at Starbucks, where I sucked down a Mocha Frappachino and ate la madeline. La madeline is a cookie that I made in France and ate with great relish, covered in whipped cream. Very decadent, and I got to indulge this birthday. I was a happy camper.

After a long day of shopping, we went home and threw ourselves into preparing my birthday dinner (!!!!). The menu consisted of inch-thick grilled steaks, grilled baby bella mushrooms, baked potatoes, homemade bread sticks, broccoli, and for dessert, Zebra pudding. Zebra pudding is kind of a pudding, kind of a cake. You take Famous chocolate wafers, butter them (metaphorically) with heavy whipping cream (well beaten), and stick them together, standing them on their edge. Once you achieve the desired size, you frost the entire confection with the rest of the cream and top it with chocolate shavings, raspberries, etc. Once it sits, the wafers get so soft, it's impossible to tell them from the cream, creating an interesting and delicious zebra pattern. It's always been my favorite (and is criminally easy).

After dinner, my family gave me the remainder of their presents. From my brother I received new wrist braces (important!), from my sisters I received a great rainbow-zebra shirt and the Papercut Massacre album (!!!!) and snickerdoodles. My mother gave me underwear, which fit perfectly! a great coffeetea mug with "Go Away" written on it in every possible way, chocolate, AMAZING raspberry Earl Grey tea (Zhena's Gypsy Tea, I might add), and a demon USB drive. No, really. It's a USB drive shaped like a demon. He's so cute... And my father, amazing man that he is, gave me an external hard drive, something I desperately needed. I named it Jim (yes, because I could then yell, "Dammit, Jim!"). I got a "Happy Birthday" call from my grandparents, too!

After dinner, we played Name That 80's Tune on the DVD player, which seemed to consist entirely of videos from Wham!, Cyndi Lauper, and Duran Duran. Well, I say "80's," you say "too much hair."

All in all, I had a simply decadent birthday, in which I was spoiled rotten with good food and a lot of fun with my family and friends. And, as my mother said, "We're both feeling a lot better than we were, twenty years ago." True dat.

This morning, I got up, put on my assult-and-battery eyeliner, and went forth to go get interviewed. Which didn't actually happen... I spoke to the manager of the gas station, who remembered my name having crossed her desk, and told me that someone would call me for a more in-depth interview. I was like, "Okay, then!" I'm not discouraged, as she now has a face to put with my name, and she is now aware of how bloody close I live to this place. Transportation to work is not going to be a problem. Ah, well. We'll see.

In the meantime, I now am looking at the mass amounts of birthday wishes gifted to me via Facebook and laughing. I didn't think I knew this many people!

Yeah, the getting-older panic aside, I'm having a good time. I'll do a full write-up tomorrow, as I am too busy snitching fingerfulls of snickerdoodle dough to do so now.

I hate money. It makes people argue, its always on people's minds, and frankly, it isn't that great.

( So when my sister and I got into an argument over money, I almost immediately did not want to be there. )

mile high club by cambridged.

Karl Urban and Chris Pine get it on in a plane. YOUR ARGUMENT IS INVALID.

I have a birthday tomorrow. I keep forgetting that.

I'm not uber-excited, despite this being a big milestone kind of birthday. 20 years old. No longer a teenager.

Except that this feels much like my 18th birthday. No big achievement, other than continuing to breathe and stuff and, oh yeah, I could now go to jail!
With this birthday, I can still go to jail. But I still can't drink while I'm there.

I'm not having a party, nor do I want one. My friends are collectively too broke to do anything abnormal, even for a birthday. And I'm too lazy.

I don't know. Maybe I'll be more excited tomorrow. Or next year.

</apathy>

Just got a call back about an interview for a job at an extremely local gas station. As in, I could walk to it, if need be.

Not that I would. BUT. POTENTIAL MONEY = WIN.

CLEARLY I SHOULD HAVE DYED MY HAIR PINK MONTHS AGO.

I may never sleep again. Thanks, iconomicon!

I'm awake way too early, which is the other half of the norm around here. Either you stir at the crack of noon or you're up and out at Oh God o'clock.

Anyway, I'm not nearly as ill as I once was, my sore throat having retreated back to the hell from whence it came, leaving a chest cough in it's place. Charming, but nowhere near as painful.
Today I get to play chaperon to my little brother, the rising star. Okay, not really. My brother (who, I kid you not, looks exactly like this, 'cept blonder) auditioned to be on a will-call cast list for FSU student films. And, by jove, they have called. So, today and tomorrow, we get to drive out to the train tracks for filming. I'm not sure what my role is, other than looking pretty off-camera, but I'm sure I can handle it.

Tomorrow's the 4th. Dunno what's up with that, other than the fireworks show our neighborhood association guards like a national secret. I say pretentious, you say pricks.

And then, somewhere in there, I get older. I am looking forward to that day being over, because I have a theory. There is no 19 years of age. You're either 18 or 20, depending on what you want to get away with. 19 means nothing.

Pah.

Road trip!
The thing about the summer is that it actually does get too hot to eat, which I have always thought to be kind of cool. Combine that with mountain weather (hot in the day, cooler at night), and being on the road, that is just one awesome way to be, my friends.

Why, yes. It's called LiveJournal, perhaps you've heard of it?
Also? Diary of Anne Frank. Yeesh, people, kick her while she's down.