Completed Raffle Prompts!
Okay, there are three raffle prompts left. The numbers 1, 2, and 5 are all that's left. Pick a number (it corresponds to a random fandom), and give me an opening sentence. C'mon, y'know you want to!!
Title: Old Age and Treachery
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Connor gen
Rating: G
He had read somewhere that 'old age and treachery will triumph over youth and skill every time'... now he believed it.
Not that he'd be telling Angel that. Not any time soon, anyway.
Angelus or no, Connor now knew that showing the vampire any sort of weakness was as good as slitting your own wrists and offering yourself up as a blood sacrifice.
Didn't mean that he couldn't appreciate the work of a master.
Master vampire. He'd never really understood what that meant before. His own demonic nature had begun with two master vampires, so naturally he'd thought that he was more than capable of taking on Angel.
Forged in the fires of Quar'Toth, and it had meant nothing. Angel had moved his large bulk so quickly, so gracefully, a part of him had wanted to stay still, to stop fighting, just so he could watch in awe.
Connor had mistakenly believed that Angel was dim-witted, stupid. That if he could not match his power, he could certainly outmatch his brain. That was not the case. It was so beyond the case that Connor almost couldn't wrap his mind around it.
He had been duped. He had been played for a fool, and then beaten into the ground. For the first time, he felt respect for the vampire, for the man. For the first time, he could see the possibility of love, of family, tenuous but still possible.
There was so much he could learn. He could see that now, but he didn't know how to ask for it. Not with all that was between them, all that had been spoken, all that should remain unspoken.
He would bide his time. He would wait, and watch. He would learn.
Just like his father.
.....................................................................
Title: Seeing Clearly
Fandom: Firefly
Warning: BDM spoilers
Pairing: Mal/Simon (if you squint); River
Rating: G
'An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, but you see him clearer than you ever have before.'
River was always saying things like that, but last night, she'd whispered the line over and over in his ear as he'd tried to calm her enough to get her to doze, but she had refused any sort of sedative. Violently.
Before Miranda, these episodes were the norm, part of the everyday hazards of dealing with post-Academy River. Lately, though, she'd seemed almost sane, although she had certainly retained all of her Reader abilities. She had always had them, he supposed, latent inside her, so it didn't seem likely that they would fade.
This was the first fit (there were medical terms, better terms, but Mal's vocabulary had seeped into his vernacular and didn't appear to be leaving any time soon) that she'd had in months, but there was a pattern to them now, discernible and somewhat-predictable.
She would get an idea in her head, plumb some emotional current that no one else could even put words to, much less hope to navigate, and then she would obsess over it. She had few bad habits, but she indulged in other's emotions and feelings, and the Serenity crew was a well-stocked larder of pain and grief and regret.
He couldn't figure out who he was supposed to be seeing clearer, or even if she was referring to him when she said "you". With River, you never could tell. She was a genius, and as such, frequently expected everyone to make the same astounding leaps of logic that she did. And got extremely upset ("pissed right off" in Mal terms) when they didn't.
Except...that it did make sense. In a River sort of way. He wasn't anywhere as near as good as Mal at picking up on what River was getting at, the fact of which never seemed to stop, well, pissing him off.
Because they had been fighting, he and Mal, a dirty, pitched battle waged for the heart of River Tam.
It wasn't that Simon thought Mal wanted River romantically, or even sexually. But she was his pilot now, and she was now a part of Mal's crew, Mal's family, in a way that Simon would never be.
And, if he were honest, it was killing him. He wanted to be a part of it, of Serenity, of the closeness that he saw growing between them all...except for him. Perhaps it was because he and Kaylee had parted company, back to friendly talks and half-hearted flirting.
Simon rather thought it was just because he was Simon Tam.
He was jealous, and he reacted badly, having never really had anything in life to be jealous for, and it was killing him.
He wanted River's attention, and he wanted Mal's regard, and he didn't want the two of them laughing and joking together in corners.
He wanted them to love him.
.....................................................................
Title: Never Boring
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G
Warning: Julie's in this one. Not much. But she is.
There was a painting on the wall of a hot air balloon over snowy mountains that Wilson had come to know intimately during the last several hours. It was supposed to be encouraging, or life-affirming, or something trite and ineffectual like that. It did nothing but make Wilson's head pound that much harder.
If he were alone, he'd have turned out the lights two hours ago, but Julie is reading, and it's hardly fair to ask her to stop just because his brain is on fire. He would hate to put her out. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, wishing like hell that he'd thought to fill his damn prescription. There was nothing for it, he was heading for a world-class migraine.
"Stop squirming," she says, her voice somewhere in between maternally irritated and wifely bored. He hated that tone. In fact, she could have done him a favor and put an axe through his skull. It would have been far less painful.
He doesn't argue. He's being supportive, and he's going to continue to be supportive, even if it kills him. Let it not be said that James Wilson doesn't try at his marriages.
Except for the cheating. Then again, he's never really had to try at that.
So he stops squirming, and leans his head back, massaging at his temples as surreptitiously as possible. Oh, how he hates hospitals. Other hospitals, rather. He loves HIS hospital, because it's comforting and he knows everyone and he doesn't feel like an intruder. And House is there, and that's an improvement on any situation.
But Julie's sister-in-law has taken ill, and Julie's brother is out of town, and Julie is here, reading her magazine, and pretending that she cares.
Wilson is pretending that he's a good husband. It isn't working very well.
With House, he doesn't have to pretend.
She's eyeing him, and that look is there, speculative and annoyed. It's her usual look as of late, and it doesn't become her.
She knows.
She knows, and he knows she knows, and she knows that, too. But here they are, playing Dr. and Mrs. Wilson, and he's so unbelievably tired of playing this damned part.
His cell phone rings, and he answers it without looking to see who it is. He has a feeling.
"Playing the part of Good Husband will be, insert dramatic pause, Jimmy Wilson..." House says, by way of greeting.
He hates it when House echoes his thoughts, it gives him a strange, dizzy feeling.
Wilson doesn't answer him, but he does whisper "House" in response to Julie's mouthed question. She rolls her eyes, and her subvocalized "Typical" makes him want to throw the phone at her.
"What are you wearing?" is House's next question, and Wilson laughs, his first laugh of the day. Julie jerks her head up, frowning, and Wilson takes the hint. Oh, he's sure she wants him to hang up, but that's not going to happen. He needs this.
"What do you want?" he asks, clumsily avoiding the question as he stumbles blearily from the waiting area.
"You. Naked. Bed. Not necessarily in that order."
Wilson flushes, grinning, "Pervert."
"Guilty."
There is friendly silence as Wilson steps outside into the cool air. He folds his arms, holding the phone tight to his ear. "I'm assuming you didn't call just to tell me things I already know."
"Why isn't she dead yet?" House actually sounds irritated.
"Excellent hospital care?"
"Not the sister-in-law," House growls, "Her."
"Because killing is wrong?"
"What kind of half-assed cancer doctor are you? You're always killing off people."
"I'M killing off patients? I AM? Shall I name names, Dr. Kevorkian?"
House continues, as if Wilson hadn't said a word, "I mean, all of that good cancer you've got, just lying about, not doing anyone any good. Inject her with a little of that, see how feisty she is then."
Wilson surprises himself by laughing, loudly, causing a nearby group of smokers to turn their heads and stare. "Inject her with cancer. This is new."
"Just one of my many plans to off your wife."
"There are more?" Wilson asks innocently. He's having fun with this, the absurdity of it, and the slight frisson of the almost-taboo.
"Many. A lot of them messy." House's familiar rumble is light and airy, and Wilson thinks he may be seconds from hearing a giggle.
God, they're like fifteen year-old girls. Horny fifteen year-old girls.
"I feel like a teenager," he says.
House doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Yeah, I know." His voice is somewhat wistful. Wilson wonders what he's thinking.
He's surprised to find that his head no longer hurts. He feels better than he has in hours, perhaps days. House, panacea for all that ails James Wilson.
Not that House doesn't have his ways, doesn't piss Wilson off regularly, but it isn't boring, never boring, and he's always bored with Julie, always waiting for something interesting to come along and save him from the mind-numbing nothing that exists between them.
He opens his mouth to say thank you, to voice his appreciation, but what comes out shocks him to the core. "I'm filing for divorce."
"Again? Your lawyer must need a new boat."
"Twin daughters in high school. Somebody has to pay for their college," Wilson jokes, nervously, trying to figure out why the hell he just came out with that. To House. Over the phone.
"Well, divorce is one way to get rid of her. I was partial to a stake and holy water, myself, but if you want to do it the hard way..."
They don't say anything more on the subject, making plans to eat lunch together the next day before hanging up. House sounds pensive as he mutters "Good night", and Wilson doesn't know what to make of it. He needs time to process, most likely.
Divorcing Julie will open up a whole new level to their relationship, and House is and has always been extremely cautious when it comes to change in a relationship.
Wilson wonders if they'll move in together, if they'll ever be ready to make that step. House will drive him crazy, of course, and they'll probably fight every day of the week, and twice on Sunday.
At least it won't be boring.
.....................................................................
Title: Disgusted
Fandom: Bones
Pairing: pre Booth/Brennan
Rating: G
It was all she could not to throw up. And that was saying something.
Some of the things she'd seen would make grown men cry. She had waded through mounds of corpses, she had sifted through putrefacting bodies, she had stacks of bones in her office, for heaven's sake.
This, however, was disgusting on a level that she couldn't even begin to process.
"Stop that!" she hissed, smacking Booth's hand.
He jerked away from her, with a look of intense betrayal. "HEY! What was that for?"
"That's the most awful thing I've ever seen," she said, stabbing her finger in the direction of the offense.
Booth set down his fork, and sighed, wiping his mouth with his napkin with an air that suggested supreme patience and restraint. "What are you talking about, Bones?"
"That!" she pointed again, this time with her fork. "That concoction you've made."
"So what? I like to mix my peas and mashed potatoes. It's not the worst thing you've ever seen, Bones."
She shuddered, and covered her eyes, "They aren't mixed, they're mashed. It looks like...gah." She couldn't even come up with something bad enough to convey her feelings.
Booth rolled his eyes heavenward, in his now-daily prayer for strength. He often felt like his grandmother, annoyed to distraction by Grandpa, muttering her frustration into a sinkful of dishes, 'Nearer my God to thee, O Lord, nearer my God to thee." Apparently, masochism ran in his family.
"Fine. If it's that bad, I'l stop eating them."
"Doesn't matter," she said grumpily, "They'll still be there."
He didn't react, only pulled his napkin from his lap, and placed it demurely over the remains of his lunch. He had a long-suffering look, though, which prompted their waitress to bring him a cup of coffee, on the house.
Brennan's smile was blinding, as she said, "Thank you, Booth."
"Don't mention it," he said, tipping packets of sugar into his cup. As he stirred in the creamer, he caught her eye and smiled.
"Do you want some of my fried mushrooms?" she queried, holding one out to him, hand cupping underneath it. She was always trying to feed him like a child.
Booth shook his head, smiling. "Now, that's disgusting." The coffee was still bitter.
The company was nice, though.
.....................................................................
We went and watched Jackass 2 today. (We being me, Kare, Rayce, Ryan, and a couple of their friends) I seriously fell out of my seat, I laughed until I was in pain. I was holding onto Kare, and even he was dying out laughing. Seriously, go watch it. That is some of the funniest shit I have EVER seen in my life. If you liked the first movie at all, I'm telling you, it's better.
I got a new mp3 player! I didn't take a vacation, so I cashed mine in, and that's what I decided to get. It's a 4GB Samsung, nothing too terribly advanced, but I love it. It's just perfect for what I use it for. So, REC ME SOME MUSIC.
Julian made lasagna. I know, I know, I didn't think his snobby ass could make it, either, but it was GOOD. He's so cute, we've gotten him obsessed with Firefly. He'll sidle up to one of us, and give us this adorable little sideways glance, "Can we watch Firefly?" He's only got about three episodes left, but he's been rationing them out. Isn't that the sweetest thing?
Of course, he's back to worrying me to death over the "Call me Dad" thing. You would think by now he'd just shut up about it. I think it kinds bothered him because his business partner's sons were around, and they were all "Dad this" and "Dad that." He gets all upset about it, though. And, I've said this before, I kinda feel bad about it, but that doesn't mean I can make myself call him that.
My eyeball is twitching. Random, yeah? I'm sleepy. It's not even ten and I'm sleepy. I'm an old man. I should be put out of my misery.
Netflix was kind enough to send me the first three discs of Season 2 House. I just have to find time to watch. *excited* I've seen them all, but it's been awhile.
Okay, random recipe time. Get you one of those premade graham cracker crusts. Mix up a container of Cool Whip, a small can of sweet milk (condensed milk), and a package of Koolaid (any flavor). Pour into your crust, chill and serve. I haven't tried it yet, but Miss Ashley swears by it. I don't argue with this woman about pies. She KNOWS her pies.
Me and Cyndi are having a WAR at work. She beat me to decorating for Halloween, and has scoffed, SCOFFED, at my ability to decorate. Being a guy and all. Which, is throwing down the gauntlet, yeah? I may not know a lot about decorating, but Halloween? That's my holiday. I got started Friday, and it looks so freaking good. She can KISS MY ASS. *evil laughter* We're so dressing up for Halloween. I've already got Little Red Riding Hood and a Genie. I'll probably have to beat Sage to get him into a costume. I haven't decided what I'm going to do.
And, that's about it. I'll probably have a new writing project up tomorrow or thereabouts, whether I get any more raffe prompts or not. I don't have much homwork this week, and I only have to work one twelve-hour shift, so I should have more time than last week.
Whoa. What a long post. Sorry. ^^
Title: Old Age and Treachery
Fandom: Angel
Pairing: Connor gen
Rating: G
He had read somewhere that 'old age and treachery will triumph over youth and skill every time'... now he believed it.
Not that he'd be telling Angel that. Not any time soon, anyway.
Angelus or no, Connor now knew that showing the vampire any sort of weakness was as good as slitting your own wrists and offering yourself up as a blood sacrifice.
Didn't mean that he couldn't appreciate the work of a master.
Master vampire. He'd never really understood what that meant before. His own demonic nature had begun with two master vampires, so naturally he'd thought that he was more than capable of taking on Angel.
Forged in the fires of Quar'Toth, and it had meant nothing. Angel had moved his large bulk so quickly, so gracefully, a part of him had wanted to stay still, to stop fighting, just so he could watch in awe.
Connor had mistakenly believed that Angel was dim-witted, stupid. That if he could not match his power, he could certainly outmatch his brain. That was not the case. It was so beyond the case that Connor almost couldn't wrap his mind around it.
He had been duped. He had been played for a fool, and then beaten into the ground. For the first time, he felt respect for the vampire, for the man. For the first time, he could see the possibility of love, of family, tenuous but still possible.
There was so much he could learn. He could see that now, but he didn't know how to ask for it. Not with all that was between them, all that had been spoken, all that should remain unspoken.
He would bide his time. He would wait, and watch. He would learn.
Just like his father.
.....................................................................
Title: Seeing Clearly
Fandom: Firefly
Warning: BDM spoilers
Pairing: Mal/Simon (if you squint); River
Rating: G
'An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind, but you see him clearer than you ever have before.'
River was always saying things like that, but last night, she'd whispered the line over and over in his ear as he'd tried to calm her enough to get her to doze, but she had refused any sort of sedative. Violently.
Before Miranda, these episodes were the norm, part of the everyday hazards of dealing with post-Academy River. Lately, though, she'd seemed almost sane, although she had certainly retained all of her Reader abilities. She had always had them, he supposed, latent inside her, so it didn't seem likely that they would fade.
This was the first fit (there were medical terms, better terms, but Mal's vocabulary had seeped into his vernacular and didn't appear to be leaving any time soon) that she'd had in months, but there was a pattern to them now, discernible and somewhat-predictable.
She would get an idea in her head, plumb some emotional current that no one else could even put words to, much less hope to navigate, and then she would obsess over it. She had few bad habits, but she indulged in other's emotions and feelings, and the Serenity crew was a well-stocked larder of pain and grief and regret.
He couldn't figure out who he was supposed to be seeing clearer, or even if she was referring to him when she said "you". With River, you never could tell. She was a genius, and as such, frequently expected everyone to make the same astounding leaps of logic that she did. And got extremely upset ("pissed right off" in Mal terms) when they didn't.
Except...that it did make sense. In a River sort of way. He wasn't anywhere as near as good as Mal at picking up on what River was getting at, the fact of which never seemed to stop, well, pissing him off.
Because they had been fighting, he and Mal, a dirty, pitched battle waged for the heart of River Tam.
It wasn't that Simon thought Mal wanted River romantically, or even sexually. But she was his pilot now, and she was now a part of Mal's crew, Mal's family, in a way that Simon would never be.
And, if he were honest, it was killing him. He wanted to be a part of it, of Serenity, of the closeness that he saw growing between them all...except for him. Perhaps it was because he and Kaylee had parted company, back to friendly talks and half-hearted flirting.
Simon rather thought it was just because he was Simon Tam.
He was jealous, and he reacted badly, having never really had anything in life to be jealous for, and it was killing him.
He wanted River's attention, and he wanted Mal's regard, and he didn't want the two of them laughing and joking together in corners.
He wanted them to love him.
.....................................................................
Title: Never Boring
Fandom: House
Pairing: House/Wilson
Rating: G
Warning: Julie's in this one. Not much. But she is.
There was a painting on the wall of a hot air balloon over snowy mountains that Wilson had come to know intimately during the last several hours. It was supposed to be encouraging, or life-affirming, or something trite and ineffectual like that. It did nothing but make Wilson's head pound that much harder.
If he were alone, he'd have turned out the lights two hours ago, but Julie is reading, and it's hardly fair to ask her to stop just because his brain is on fire. He would hate to put her out. He sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, wishing like hell that he'd thought to fill his damn prescription. There was nothing for it, he was heading for a world-class migraine.
"Stop squirming," she says, her voice somewhere in between maternally irritated and wifely bored. He hated that tone. In fact, she could have done him a favor and put an axe through his skull. It would have been far less painful.
He doesn't argue. He's being supportive, and he's going to continue to be supportive, even if it kills him. Let it not be said that James Wilson doesn't try at his marriages.
Except for the cheating. Then again, he's never really had to try at that.
So he stops squirming, and leans his head back, massaging at his temples as surreptitiously as possible. Oh, how he hates hospitals. Other hospitals, rather. He loves HIS hospital, because it's comforting and he knows everyone and he doesn't feel like an intruder. And House is there, and that's an improvement on any situation.
But Julie's sister-in-law has taken ill, and Julie's brother is out of town, and Julie is here, reading her magazine, and pretending that she cares.
Wilson is pretending that he's a good husband. It isn't working very well.
With House, he doesn't have to pretend.
She's eyeing him, and that look is there, speculative and annoyed. It's her usual look as of late, and it doesn't become her.
She knows.
She knows, and he knows she knows, and she knows that, too. But here they are, playing Dr. and Mrs. Wilson, and he's so unbelievably tired of playing this damned part.
His cell phone rings, and he answers it without looking to see who it is. He has a feeling.
"Playing the part of Good Husband will be, insert dramatic pause, Jimmy Wilson..." House says, by way of greeting.
He hates it when House echoes his thoughts, it gives him a strange, dizzy feeling.
Wilson doesn't answer him, but he does whisper "House" in response to Julie's mouthed question. She rolls her eyes, and her subvocalized "Typical" makes him want to throw the phone at her.
"What are you wearing?" is House's next question, and Wilson laughs, his first laugh of the day. Julie jerks her head up, frowning, and Wilson takes the hint. Oh, he's sure she wants him to hang up, but that's not going to happen. He needs this.
"What do you want?" he asks, clumsily avoiding the question as he stumbles blearily from the waiting area.
"You. Naked. Bed. Not necessarily in that order."
Wilson flushes, grinning, "Pervert."
"Guilty."
There is friendly silence as Wilson steps outside into the cool air. He folds his arms, holding the phone tight to his ear. "I'm assuming you didn't call just to tell me things I already know."
"Why isn't she dead yet?" House actually sounds irritated.
"Excellent hospital care?"
"Not the sister-in-law," House growls, "Her."
"Because killing is wrong?"
"What kind of half-assed cancer doctor are you? You're always killing off people."
"I'M killing off patients? I AM? Shall I name names, Dr. Kevorkian?"
House continues, as if Wilson hadn't said a word, "I mean, all of that good cancer you've got, just lying about, not doing anyone any good. Inject her with a little of that, see how feisty she is then."
Wilson surprises himself by laughing, loudly, causing a nearby group of smokers to turn their heads and stare. "Inject her with cancer. This is new."
"Just one of my many plans to off your wife."
"There are more?" Wilson asks innocently. He's having fun with this, the absurdity of it, and the slight frisson of the almost-taboo.
"Many. A lot of them messy." House's familiar rumble is light and airy, and Wilson thinks he may be seconds from hearing a giggle.
God, they're like fifteen year-old girls. Horny fifteen year-old girls.
"I feel like a teenager," he says.
House doesn't say anything for a moment. Then, "Yeah, I know." His voice is somewhat wistful. Wilson wonders what he's thinking.
He's surprised to find that his head no longer hurts. He feels better than he has in hours, perhaps days. House, panacea for all that ails James Wilson.
Not that House doesn't have his ways, doesn't piss Wilson off regularly, but it isn't boring, never boring, and he's always bored with Julie, always waiting for something interesting to come along and save him from the mind-numbing nothing that exists between them.
He opens his mouth to say thank you, to voice his appreciation, but what comes out shocks him to the core. "I'm filing for divorce."
"Again? Your lawyer must need a new boat."
"Twin daughters in high school. Somebody has to pay for their college," Wilson jokes, nervously, trying to figure out why the hell he just came out with that. To House. Over the phone.
"Well, divorce is one way to get rid of her. I was partial to a stake and holy water, myself, but if you want to do it the hard way..."
They don't say anything more on the subject, making plans to eat lunch together the next day before hanging up. House sounds pensive as he mutters "Good night", and Wilson doesn't know what to make of it. He needs time to process, most likely.
Divorcing Julie will open up a whole new level to their relationship, and House is and has always been extremely cautious when it comes to change in a relationship.
Wilson wonders if they'll move in together, if they'll ever be ready to make that step. House will drive him crazy, of course, and they'll probably fight every day of the week, and twice on Sunday.
At least it won't be boring.
.....................................................................
Title: Disgusted
Fandom: Bones
Pairing: pre Booth/Brennan
Rating: G
It was all she could not to throw up. And that was saying something.
Some of the things she'd seen would make grown men cry. She had waded through mounds of corpses, she had sifted through putrefacting bodies, she had stacks of bones in her office, for heaven's sake.
This, however, was disgusting on a level that she couldn't even begin to process.
"Stop that!" she hissed, smacking Booth's hand.
He jerked away from her, with a look of intense betrayal. "HEY! What was that for?"
"That's the most awful thing I've ever seen," she said, stabbing her finger in the direction of the offense.
Booth set down his fork, and sighed, wiping his mouth with his napkin with an air that suggested supreme patience and restraint. "What are you talking about, Bones?"
"That!" she pointed again, this time with her fork. "That concoction you've made."
"So what? I like to mix my peas and mashed potatoes. It's not the worst thing you've ever seen, Bones."
She shuddered, and covered her eyes, "They aren't mixed, they're mashed. It looks like...gah." She couldn't even come up with something bad enough to convey her feelings.
Booth rolled his eyes heavenward, in his now-daily prayer for strength. He often felt like his grandmother, annoyed to distraction by Grandpa, muttering her frustration into a sinkful of dishes, 'Nearer my God to thee, O Lord, nearer my God to thee." Apparently, masochism ran in his family.
"Fine. If it's that bad, I'l stop eating them."
"Doesn't matter," she said grumpily, "They'll still be there."
He didn't react, only pulled his napkin from his lap, and placed it demurely over the remains of his lunch. He had a long-suffering look, though, which prompted their waitress to bring him a cup of coffee, on the house.
Brennan's smile was blinding, as she said, "Thank you, Booth."
"Don't mention it," he said, tipping packets of sugar into his cup. As he stirred in the creamer, he caught her eye and smiled.
"Do you want some of my fried mushrooms?" she queried, holding one out to him, hand cupping underneath it. She was always trying to feed him like a child.
Booth shook his head, smiling. "Now, that's disgusting." The coffee was still bitter.
The company was nice, though.
.....................................................................
We went and watched Jackass 2 today. (We being me, Kare, Rayce, Ryan, and a couple of their friends) I seriously fell out of my seat, I laughed until I was in pain. I was holding onto Kare, and even he was dying out laughing. Seriously, go watch it. That is some of the funniest shit I have EVER seen in my life. If you liked the first movie at all, I'm telling you, it's better.
I got a new mp3 player! I didn't take a vacation, so I cashed mine in, and that's what I decided to get. It's a 4GB Samsung, nothing too terribly advanced, but I love it. It's just perfect for what I use it for. So, REC ME SOME MUSIC.
Julian made lasagna. I know, I know, I didn't think his snobby ass could make it, either, but it was GOOD. He's so cute, we've gotten him obsessed with Firefly. He'll sidle up to one of us, and give us this adorable little sideways glance, "Can we watch Firefly?" He's only got about three episodes left, but he's been rationing them out. Isn't that the sweetest thing?
Of course, he's back to worrying me to death over the "Call me Dad" thing. You would think by now he'd just shut up about it. I think it kinds bothered him because his business partner's sons were around, and they were all "Dad this" and "Dad that." He gets all upset about it, though. And, I've said this before, I kinda feel bad about it, but that doesn't mean I can make myself call him that.
My eyeball is twitching. Random, yeah? I'm sleepy. It's not even ten and I'm sleepy. I'm an old man. I should be put out of my misery.
Netflix was kind enough to send me the first three discs of Season 2 House. I just have to find time to watch. *excited* I've seen them all, but it's been awhile.
Okay, random recipe time. Get you one of those premade graham cracker crusts. Mix up a container of Cool Whip, a small can of sweet milk (condensed milk), and a package of Koolaid (any flavor). Pour into your crust, chill and serve. I haven't tried it yet, but Miss Ashley swears by it. I don't argue with this woman about pies. She KNOWS her pies.
Me and Cyndi are having a WAR at work. She beat me to decorating for Halloween, and has scoffed, SCOFFED, at my ability to decorate. Being a guy and all. Which, is throwing down the gauntlet, yeah? I may not know a lot about decorating, but Halloween? That's my holiday. I got started Friday, and it looks so freaking good. She can KISS MY ASS. *evil laughter* We're so dressing up for Halloween. I've already got Little Red Riding Hood and a Genie. I'll probably have to beat Sage to get him into a costume. I haven't decided what I'm going to do.
And, that's about it. I'll probably have a new writing project up tomorrow or thereabouts, whether I get any more raffe prompts or not. I don't have much homwork this week, and I only have to work one twelve-hour shift, so I should have more time than last week.
Whoa. What a long post. Sorry. ^^