charmed, charmed, charmed.

i didn't write my dreams down soon enough upon waking. now i can't remember them well enough. there may have been a plane trip and a car trip and being locked in the bathroom at an airport and my friend brooke. oh, yes, and trying on a hideously ugly black dress sprigged with daisies, long and rayon and layered, in front of those slatted doors with no windows, in the dark by flickering candlelight. i was tying those waist-ties behind my back in a very detailed manner. i got every struggling finger-movement in this friggin' dream. why can't i have dreams this detailed about interesting things, or even about nice clothing?

i wrote a nice long email to my betamander and deleted some spam, and read my friends list, which is thankfully not a lot longer than it was last night. my mother apparently will be personally insulted if i don't get a job. just disregard the fact that i've already registered at two temp agencies. apparently that doesn't count. and working occasionally for $6/hr isn't good enough even though that's what they would pay me. someone call and tell my mother she's a freak? and like she would really make me pay her back for her college loan. yeah. right. ...*thought* like she even could make me.

yeah, i'm pissed. that's because i itch. we ate dinner outside last night. damn mosquitoes.

there's a new part of "void" up, everyone. go adore wax_jism as she deserves to be adored.

mmm, stiv and stii <3

we're going to have a trek movie watching orgy night soon. on the agenda: first contact, the voyage home and the wrath of khan. the motion picture contains the next-slashiest moment (spock strokes jim's hand, draws his face close and gasps as though about to die, "this--simple--feeling--is outside v'ger's comprehension") after The Farewell in twok, which is so horrible that it just. ugh. spock! is dying! and jim! and they can't touch, and they can't read each other's thoughts even in that touching position because THE GLASS--!

*cries*

um. i'm ok. so anyway, soon. guinevere33 is back now, so soon, very very soon. tonight, though, i'm going to

a) make costumes
b) adore this utterly delightful angstmuppet.

edit: my answer to the horrible despair of spock's death was this little bit of conciliatory slash, written earlier this spring: [what i am to you]

(no subject)

the odd coincidence of pop lyrics being deep, or at least bordering on it. it happens so rarely!

you're everywhere to me, and when i close my eyes it's you i see

--huh. who is that, anyone?

(no subject)

finished con costume--a long black dress, raglan-sleeved, with bell-shaped cuffs covering the hands but very tight through the arms. relatively fitted through the torso, flaring out to a wide skirt. with a gold chain belt i look sort of evil and enchantress-ish. exactly what sort of things would, say, morgana le fay-type priestess paint on their faces?

(no subject)

the cute probable-gay couple?

they are.

EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE