November 22nd, 2005

fumbling through - dog was star

Take a little trip with me.

Ahh, thanksgiving. I used to love thanksgiving. I mean, I loved it in a kind of "I will inevitably lose money and be thrown into a swimming pool" kind of way, but I loved it anyway. It was about my big huge crazy family all congregated in one room, completely unstoppable arguments about absolutely *nothing* at all, about 3/4 of the people there sneaking outside to smoke and covering it by saying "I - uh - have to get something. From my car." all of us from the fifteen year olds up to the fifty year olds. Most people probably wouldn't find that as endearing as I do, nor the amount of underaged people who sneak bloody marys from the communal pitcher, but I always have, and do. I mean, I get that it's all about the ongoing cycle of our family's dysfunction or whatever, but come on. Me, two uncles, my mother, three cousins and an aunt or two hiding outside smoking away and watching our feet so we don't have to see one another smoke and therefore have a very thin kind of plausible deniability talking about things like jogging so as to make up for the smoking we're doing right then -- that's family, man.

At thanksgiving, when I go home, a lot of the time I'm referred to by everyone present as the "together" one. Who wouldn't miss a place where that's true?

It's funny that I'm so close with my family and yet this thanksgiving, I'm going to be kind of putzing around my apartment more often than not while they're hundreds of miles away enjoying sunshine and bloody marys and pools without me.

Sometimes it seems like every year that goes by there's another holiday that loses its shine a little. If that's growing up, man, I want none of it. Especially if I'm ever going to lose a taste for Halloween, because that one is my favorite hands down. I always want to be running around like a ten year old on a sugar high grabbing at masks in Target and saying, "Ooh! No! You should get this one because it looks like your eyes are filled with blood!!" at the top of my lungs and be stared at by toddlers as I fill my arms with bag after bag of candy. Most of which I give away. Honestly. And pumpkin carving! It's gloopy and messy and I like to take the insides and wave them at people and say "Braaaaaaaiiiiiins!!!!" That better not ever stop being as cool as it is right now is all I'm sayin'. It's one of the very few things that's remained a consistent level of totally fucking cool since I was about five.

At home right now, it's in the mid eighties and my family is packing up their massive SUVs for the drive to my grandma's. Not that it's over a river and through the woods, more like across a swamp and over the ocean, and really, gators have got to be a cooler type of animal than anything lurking in woods. (Don't anyone even say bears. Seriously. Gators are way fucking cooler than bears. Bear v. Gator goes to GATOR!!!)


Slapstick Nifra moment of the day: It is pouring outside. Buckets of rain and all that, right? So I go outside in my little red hooded slicker, and the guy who lives in my apartment who thinks I'm hot and has used an interpreter to tell me this more than once, is standing by the steps to the sidewalk. We both nod, casually, and he says "hello" which I say back, and then the rain suddenly *worsens* and I'm walking down the stairs in slippery newish sneakers and then my arms are windmilling in the air and I've skidded down about three steps into a lack of a puddle and I'm staring up at his concerned face.

He says something in Portugeuse and my first thought is, "Oh God I'm so concussed I can't even understand English anymore." Which I was actually pretty calm about, until I realized that he *never* spoke English, and I *knew* that, and so I pretty much race upstairs and go inside and grab ice and put it on my head.

My roomate, who has just woken up, stumbles out of her room, stares at me all bleary eyed and says, "What did you do?" I tell her about the falling and the English thing and she just keeps looking at me, puts her hand on my forehead and says "Well, you don't have a fever" and stumbles back to her room.

So. Rest at ease. I don't have a fever. (I'm not concussed either, but really: no fever.)
  • Current Mood
    nostalgic nostalgic

Oh jesus.

I have, sitting in my lap, War & Peace. I'm pretty far into it, I need to finish it for Wednesday at the latest. Let me repeat that I have to finish War & Peace for Wednesday, which is like eight hundred pages of reading, because the books is like fifteen hundred pages long. And that's only just one thing of the five million things I need to be doing.

Excuse me, I'll be at the supermarket buying out their stock of Red Bull. *covers face with hands* You've entered the Crazy Times, Livejournals. I apologize in advance.
  • Current Music
    Ohimè! Di guerra fremere-Aida-Perlea, Milanov, Bjorling, Barbieri, Warren, Christoff-Verdi Aida
a line allows progress - dog was star

Question for all y'all.

So for the past hour or so my lights have been flickering on and off. It's seriously starting to annoy the fucking hell out of me, and I've come to the conclusion that it's either 1) poltergeists, in which case, I need someone to send me Sam and Dean Winchester STAT, 2) the end of the world, because aliens are approaching to suck me up into a massive basestar type thing and watch me run around like a hamster on a wheel or 3) a blown fuse or something.

The question is this: what the hell do I do about this? Is this a 'call your landlord' kind of a situation? I've tried him twice and he's not home, and this is really just not on at all. It needs to end, poltergeists, alien or fuse needs to be dealt with, and how.
  • Current Music
    Fu la sorte dell'armi-Aida-Perlea, Milanov, Bjorling, Barbieri, Warren, Christoff-Verdi Aida
jake gyllenhaal is sexy and mysterious -

(no subject)

Okay y'all, I am really really bored and the lights won't stop flickering (called the landlord, and nothing happened, and I am now convinced I am magic and making it happen with my mind, though why I'd choose to be magic in that way, I can't really tell you) but because I am bored and anticipate boredom tomorrow as I power through hundreds of pages of reading, I give this meme that was going around a while back:

If you want to ask a character from one of my stories something, go for it, and I'll answer (in character? I'm not sure if that's the thing of it, but it's what I'll try to do) for you.

Also, the DVD commentary thing is going around. So if you want a DVD commentary on any of my stories, drop me a line and I'll (maybe) do it.

Yes, yes, procrastinating is not becoming of a end-of-the-semester crunch student, but sometimes you really don't have a choice.
  • Current Music
    Fu la sorte dell'armi-Aida-Perlea, Milanov, Bjorling, Barbieri, Warren, Christoff-Verdi Aida
john - slod

SGA Fic: Bullets by the Door

So, I don't know if this counts as fusion or *what* but I had a long talk with seperis about how John reminds me of Prince Andrew in War & Peace, which then led inevitably to fic, as I wrote to prove my point. I feel like this isn't even really a story, so much as me proving a point. But here you are.

Title: Bullets by the Door
Author: nifra_idril
Summary: Afghanistan was fucking beautiful.
Thanks to seperis, and to Patrick Park for the title from his song of the same title. Title, title, title. Woot.

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  • Current Mood
    cheerful cheerful