![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
aruanI feel much less like the big, glaring dork that I am knowing that Miranda's looking forward to our first trip to Publix when we get back to school as much as I am.
Thamiris is seriously making me reconsider my offhanded dismissal of a career in cinema critique.
It's Chris/Joey night.
Jenn posted a new long fic that wasn't listed in her WIPs? Must be an inspired writing binge.
I am Michael Rosenbaum's hockey jersey. Cool. Just for kicks, go see what you contribute to covering up all that silky skin and chest hair. The Wardrobe Test.
What kind of crazy, mixed-up world did I tap into where Lance pacifies Lex? You know, the second sequence was supposed to mix it up. I might have to claim chemical impairment for this.
The Cheesecake Factory's Spicy Cashew Chicken can rock my tastebuds anytime.
For the love of god, shield your ears! My father's droning has severe consequences. I'm now utterly convinced that cutting my hair to about two inches in length and dyeing it hot pink with black tips is the way to go when I see Christine on Saturday.
All his life, Lance has wanted nothing more and has been working his ass off for the past three months to live it, so everyone at Pepsi and RadioShack get your asses in gear and foot the goddamned pocket change to make it happen already.
Pictures make me happy. Video footage reduces me to giggles and hiccups when the air runs out.
It still makes me blush that Ig foretold my venture into the bodice-ripping genre. Except for the part where it involves boys. And how its turning more Hemingway than Hawthorne by the line.
I am fossilizing as we speak.
That spiffy new scrapbook is calling. All recycled-color paper and rustic charm.
An audio recording of just Lance singing in that ridiculously sexy (capital)bass voice would so much more than make my week. Even counting that.
Spreading the good word: if you read but one fic in all of Smallville fandom, let it be jenn's Sleep While I Drive, summarized no better here than with her own words - "a CLexian fairy tale."
I hereby ban the concept of "obligation" from civilized society.
Damn that WireImage for their consistently sublime photography.
Messing with pictures = geeky fun. And pretty new icons. Problem there is paying for something you're getting for free now is a No Return road.
I wonder if my new conservative Christian roommate will go for the "I'll read your literature if you read mine" line.
I keep going back to pop_tarts's cold comfort fic. Anyone who has tasted disappointment can understand.
There's songfic in the works. At this rate, Hell's gonna become a lot more hospitable than early-August South Florida in no time at all.
Tearin' Up My Heart. Definitely.
What kind of instant-kick substance can you feed an otherwise healthy young man with minor heart palpitations?
Love the rentboy past trend. Makes me want to write a Ben Folds Five parody.
I used the phrases "boylove" and "angsty lovemonkeys" in writing today.
Hee. Everyone wants to have coffee with me.
This looks damn scary. Anyone for a ride?
The more I think about it, the more I come to the realization that I want to be part of the ski resort life. Someplace with a decent-size paper within driving distance of a notable performance venue. Starbucks probably goes without saying even in the Antarctic nowadays.
Long-sleeved black tops do nothing but favors for all who are wise enough to invest in them.
Can it be scarf season yet?
Baking is never a bad thing. Unless you leave out ingredients. Don't do that. Nothing like a disappointing brownie.
More fleshed musings to come. Not everything I do as of late echoes anorexia you know.
Thamiris is seriously making me reconsider my offhanded dismissal of a career in cinema critique.
It's Chris/Joey night.
Jenn posted a new long fic that wasn't listed in her WIPs? Must be an inspired writing binge.
I am Michael Rosenbaum's hockey jersey. Cool. Just for kicks, go see what you contribute to covering up all that silky skin and chest hair. The Wardrobe Test.
What kind of crazy, mixed-up world did I tap into where Lance pacifies Lex? You know, the second sequence was supposed to mix it up. I might have to claim chemical impairment for this.
The Cheesecake Factory's Spicy Cashew Chicken can rock my tastebuds anytime.
For the love of god, shield your ears! My father's droning has severe consequences. I'm now utterly convinced that cutting my hair to about two inches in length and dyeing it hot pink with black tips is the way to go when I see Christine on Saturday.
All his life, Lance has wanted nothing more and has been working his ass off for the past three months to live it, so everyone at Pepsi and RadioShack get your asses in gear and foot the goddamned pocket change to make it happen already.
Pictures make me happy. Video footage reduces me to giggles and hiccups when the air runs out.
It still makes me blush that Ig foretold my venture into the bodice-ripping genre. Except for the part where it involves boys. And how its turning more Hemingway than Hawthorne by the line.
I am fossilizing as we speak.
That spiffy new scrapbook is calling. All recycled-color paper and rustic charm.
An audio recording of just Lance singing in that ridiculously sexy (capital)bass voice would so much more than make my week. Even counting that.
Spreading the good word: if you read but one fic in all of Smallville fandom, let it be jenn's Sleep While I Drive, summarized no better here than with her own words - "a CLexian fairy tale."
I hereby ban the concept of "obligation" from civilized society.
Damn that WireImage for their consistently sublime photography.
Messing with pictures = geeky fun. And pretty new icons. Problem there is paying for something you're getting for free now is a No Return road.
I wonder if my new conservative Christian roommate will go for the "I'll read your literature if you read mine" line.
I keep going back to pop_tarts's cold comfort fic. Anyone who has tasted disappointment can understand.
There's songfic in the works. At this rate, Hell's gonna become a lot more hospitable than early-August South Florida in no time at all.
Tearin' Up My Heart. Definitely.
What kind of instant-kick substance can you feed an otherwise healthy young man with minor heart palpitations?
Love the rentboy past trend. Makes me want to write a Ben Folds Five parody.
I used the phrases "boylove" and "angsty lovemonkeys" in writing today.
Hee. Everyone wants to have coffee with me.
This looks damn scary. Anyone for a ride?
The more I think about it, the more I come to the realization that I want to be part of the ski resort life. Someplace with a decent-size paper within driving distance of a notable performance venue. Starbucks probably goes without saying even in the Antarctic nowadays.
Long-sleeved black tops do nothing but favors for all who are wise enough to invest in them.
Can it be scarf season yet?
Baking is never a bad thing. Unless you leave out ingredients. Don't do that. Nothing like a disappointing brownie.
More fleshed musings to come. Not everything I do as of late echoes anorexia you know.
