It could've been a better birthday, I'm sure, but also it could've been a hell of a lot worse. None of the local bookstores actually coughed up on any decent tarot books, so Mom wound up getting me a couple of other books: Now We Are Sick (a small anthology of gross and/or morbid poetry edited by Neil Gaiman and this other guy whose name I forget
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Comments 18
Anything I can give ya?
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Unless you can magically zap another few years of good use into Barnabas from there so I can listen to more than one CD a day, I can't think of anything off-hand. As selfish as I am, it's surprisingly satisfying just knowing people care. :) (Granted, I would've enjoyed the opportunity to have a "fuck Monday, tonight we're celebrating!" sort of birthday dinner. Oh well, maybe another year.)
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Granted, I would've enjoyed the opportunity to have a "fuck Monday, tonight we're celebrating!" sort of birthday dinner. Oh well, maybe another year.
Awww, if my Speech teacher weren't a Nazi, I'd SO drive out there to take you for a night on the town. *curses the infernal being that decided 8am Monday classes were a good idea* When I turn 23, though, all fucking bets are off. I refuse to have my golden birthday ruined by petty things like "finances" and "responsibilities."
"Marissa, you have to--"
"FUCK YOU I'M FULL OF BEER AND MAGIC!"
*waves voodoo fingers at Barnabas and hopes*
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Will you shoot rainbows out of your ass or does that require gluing a beer bottle to your forehead so you can be a proper unicorn?
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Maybe your year be full of paranormal-sensitive dweebs playing board games.
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*boogies for you*
I hope the year in which you are 22 KICKS PATOOTIE. Just FYI. :D
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