Life's a Party

I was image searching on google for pictures of belly buttons when I traumatized myself (yeah, I know—that's what I get for googing navels).

And, because I'm such a good friend, I'm spreading the trauma around.

( you probably don't want to see what's beneath this cut, but if you're like me, you won't be able to resist looking )

I was going to post about the bread pudding I made for breakfast today. Something tells me this is the wrong journal entry for a food recipe.

I'm in the student lounge of the admin building at my school using their wireless because I haven't gotten around to buying internet for my studio apartment. The security guard has a crush on me. He keeps smiling this "I want to hold your hand" smile at me (no, that's not a euphemism for something dirtier, it's actually that precious) (too bad I'm not attracted to him at all).


I'm, taking a moldmaking class this semester. I'm a sculpture student. We'll learn how to make molds and hardcopies of, well, anything we want, really, but mostly our sculpture projects, to later be cast in plaster or bronze or resin or what have you.

I have a specific art project planned for the class already. The Many Bitchfaces of Samuel Winchester. Little face sculptures about two inches long, cast in durable hydrocal plaster. I'd package them in sets of four and send them to slash conventions. You could use them as paperweights! Glue on a magnet and stick them to your fridge! Mount and frame them! Leave them on top of that dresser where you keep all your other vaguely horrifying and yet hilarious fannish collectibles!


In other news, no real progress made with the hot Scottish checkout guy.

Oh wait. I haven't talked about this one with the flist, have I?

Right. So I've had a crush on this checkout guy at Whole Foods for ages and then at the beginning of the summer we went out on two awesome dates and then, like, nothing. Which is to say, either I'm out of town or he's working or I don't know what, but nothing. And I don't think he lost interest because he still looks happy to see me whenever I drop in to the store where he works (and I'm generally good at reading people, so I'm pretty sure he's not faking being happy to see me). But he has not called and it's totally his turn, like, twice over.

I'm just bitter I haven't had the chance to suck his dick, really, is the thing. We slept together that one time, but it was just sleeping because 1) I didn't want to rush into anything with a guy I actually like and 2) I'm pretty sure he was too drunk to fuck anyway. I mean. He woke up with a hangover. And he's Scottish. So clearly he must have drunk his entire body weight in cheap beer.

He was all clinging to me in his sleep. I had to pry his arm off me in the middle of the night so I could get up to pee. It was so sweet. And now I'm bitter. I think about how long it's been since I've sucked dick and I, like, get depressed, and waste a whole day masturbating to really filthy fanfic porn.

My life is SO HARD.


But, enough with the TMI.

Fannishly:

I haven't been getting much vidding done. I've been getting some writing done. And some songwriting, even! Not that the songwriting is particularly fannish.


I splurged and bought myself a $75 dollar bottle of 16 yr old Lagavulin Single Malt Scotch Whiskey. I won't be opening it till my birthday (Oct. 4). Until then, I'm just going to stare at the bottle and smile dreamily to myself.

I'm going to visit my parents this weekend.

I'm going to a Supernatural party for the season premiere @ mistressace's next Friday.



I have this whole political meta journal post planned where I talk about how I'm voting for Barack Obama because he's a sparkly unicorn. No, seriously. That is literally what the post is about.

Uhm.



Hey! I have some new people reading my journal! Hi new people! Come forward and introduce yourselves if you like.