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aruanToday did a complete one-eighty on my mood. Somewhere past the two-day long panic attack about classes (shouldn't finally having even a vague notion of what one wants to do with one's life make said process easier?), I had my first MMC2100 lecture with graffiti-happy Jimmy and adorably nutty Professor Dodd, a Vanilla Frappucino, and met a bunch of very cool new people at my first LiveJournal MeetUp. Downtown Gainesville was where the party was at tonight, and did we ever have a time of it. Moment of the evening? "Hi, my name is Jules and I write gay porn." Except I said it kinda loud. Right there on the sidewalk in front of Starbucks, smack in the middle of a downtown in the American South. We like it here on the edge, thanks.
There is to be free food and spirits to go with the big screen presentation of the 2002 MTV Video Music Awards in Murphree Commons this Thursday night. After which I hop a Greyhound for Atlanta for the four-day dorkstravaganza known as DragonCon. No classes on Friday plus Labor Day equals guilt-free indulgence in the geeker side of me.
I am addicted to fake celebrity livejournals. Yeah, that's about the short and sad of it. Not that there was ever any doubt, but the boyband kids do absolutely nothing but dance and fuck. It's like all the world's a stage and there's really no good reason to do anything but suggestive performance art aside from the already egregious amounts of sex you're clocking.
You should've seen us last night though, shopping for sharp kitchen utensils and writing implements but detoured by the Beach Boys-singing cookie jars in WalMart. Oh man. It's hard for the body to stay depressed when it's most immediate issue becomes oxygen deprivation. No matter what they tell you kids, laugh therapy works. Although it having been about midnight, it is entirely possible that we were merely in dire need of sleep and the amusement factor wouldn've been much lower in the light of lucid day.
Nah. Serenading cookie jars? Come on. You know you've got Surfin' Safari in your head too.
There is to be free food and spirits to go with the big screen presentation of the 2002 MTV Video Music Awards in Murphree Commons this Thursday night. After which I hop a Greyhound for Atlanta for the four-day dorkstravaganza known as DragonCon. No classes on Friday plus Labor Day equals guilt-free indulgence in the geeker side of me.
I am addicted to fake celebrity livejournals. Yeah, that's about the short and sad of it. Not that there was ever any doubt, but the boyband kids do absolutely nothing but dance and fuck. It's like all the world's a stage and there's really no good reason to do anything but suggestive performance art aside from the already egregious amounts of sex you're clocking.
You should've seen us last night though, shopping for sharp kitchen utensils and writing implements but detoured by the Beach Boys-singing cookie jars in WalMart. Oh man. It's hard for the body to stay depressed when it's most immediate issue becomes oxygen deprivation. No matter what they tell you kids, laugh therapy works. Although it having been about midnight, it is entirely possible that we were merely in dire need of sleep and the amusement factor wouldn've been much lower in the light of lucid day.
Nah. Serenading cookie jars? Come on. You know you've got Surfin' Safari in your head too.
