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the word of the day is "oi"
First things first: Happy Birthday, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
bejiin! I've known you for almost ten years now, a very long time indeed, and I'll always buy you coffee and play video games with you, even if you persist with the rest of the universe in making me writing Regency-era Bring Back Black fic. *grins* Love you!
And, oi, my job suckth the most today. I had to make drinks and take a test to be certified as a barista today, in spite of the fact that 1) I have been working at the bookstore coffee shop for eight months now and 2) my last day of work is April 30th. *makes face* Much love to my boss Michelle though, since she bought me Cadbury Creme eggs to try to make for my sucky day. Mmmm, sugar high...
Oi, half of my flist is talking about genderfuck and the other half is talking about the Libs. Therefore, I cannot be held responsible for this:
Carl woke to the sound of someone saying over and over in a high-pitched voice, "Boobies! Boobies!" In hindsight, he should just rolled over and gone back to sleep right then and there. But his back hurt like a football hooligan had stomped on it and the only thing he could think of over his pounding head was shit, he's still high?
"Boobies!"
Carl groaned. With ease of long practice, he manged to squint his eyes open wide enough to see what was directly in front of him, but not wide enough to hurt. Though he wouldn't have arsed to if he knew what he was going to see. Where the fuck did we get the fake tits anyway? Why does Pete have them stuffed down his shirt? And for fuck's sake, why is he bouncing? Pete giggled in a pitch that was reserved for Japanese schoolgirls and Carl winced. "Oi, Pete, stoppit," he mumbled, carelessly waving a hand in Pete's direction.
Big mistake.
Pete jumped onto the bed, and before Carl could make a move to defend himself or even curl up into a ball and hide, Pete clambered on top of him, crooning, "Boobies, booobies..." And Carl realized in those few seconds, that, one, his chest felt strangely heavy, two, that Pete didn't seem to be holding up his tits with his hands anymore, and three, he couldn't feel his cock. There was something else where his cock should have been, and how the fuck do you you misplace a cock and pick up - it's not like picking up the wrong set of keys the end of party, he thought wildly.
But by then Pete had climbed on top of him, his dilated eyes staring into Carl's panicked ones. He pressed his chest against Carl's and kind of rubbed. Then he (she?!?) said, in a distinctly huskier tone of voice, "Boobies."
bejiin! I've known you for almost ten years now, a very long time indeed, and I'll always buy you coffee and play video games with you, even if you persist with the rest of the universe in making me writing Regency-era Bring Back Black fic. *grins* Love you!And, oi, my job suckth the most today. I had to make drinks and take a test to be certified as a barista today, in spite of the fact that 1) I have been working at the bookstore coffee shop for eight months now and 2) my last day of work is April 30th. *makes face* Much love to my boss Michelle though, since she bought me Cadbury Creme eggs to try to make for my sucky day. Mmmm, sugar high...
Oi, half of my flist is talking about genderfuck and the other half is talking about the Libs. Therefore, I cannot be held responsible for this:
Carl woke to the sound of someone saying over and over in a high-pitched voice, "Boobies! Boobies!" In hindsight, he should just rolled over and gone back to sleep right then and there. But his back hurt like a football hooligan had stomped on it and the only thing he could think of over his pounding head was shit, he's still high?
"Boobies!"
Carl groaned. With ease of long practice, he manged to squint his eyes open wide enough to see what was directly in front of him, but not wide enough to hurt. Though he wouldn't have arsed to if he knew what he was going to see. Where the fuck did we get the fake tits anyway? Why does Pete have them stuffed down his shirt? And for fuck's sake, why is he bouncing? Pete giggled in a pitch that was reserved for Japanese schoolgirls and Carl winced. "Oi, Pete, stoppit," he mumbled, carelessly waving a hand in Pete's direction.
Big mistake.
Pete jumped onto the bed, and before Carl could make a move to defend himself or even curl up into a ball and hide, Pete clambered on top of him, crooning, "Boobies, booobies..." And Carl realized in those few seconds, that, one, his chest felt strangely heavy, two, that Pete didn't seem to be holding up his tits with his hands anymore, and three, he couldn't feel his cock. There was something else where his cock should have been, and how the fuck do you you misplace a cock and pick up - it's not like picking up the wrong set of keys the end of party, he thought wildly.
But by then Pete had climbed on top of him, his dilated eyes staring into Carl's panicked ones. He pressed his chest against Carl's and kind of rubbed. Then he (she?!?) said, in a distinctly huskier tone of voice, "Boobies."
Re: i'll fight like hell to hide that i'm giving up
I'm usually okay with emails, though I do get a bit paranoid about grammar and spelling when I'm writing to English profs/departments - since I'm an English major, I feel like they're expecting perfection in any sort of written communication. *g* But phones are the scariest. *cowers before the phone*
I'll try to be online tomorrow night, though I'm going to be helping my mom prepare to be the house on the market and packing for my trip to Atlanta. Chatting with you would be defintely spiffy!
Oh, and I got your postcard! *grins* Loved the explantion of why you didn't write me a drabble on it. *laughs* Of course, you realise that you must actually write me a drabble now...*is evil* And you do the same thing that I do with using emoticons in print. *g* Would you like postcards from my travels this summer? If you do, you could email me your snailmail addy at ekaterinn @ hotmail.com
Thanks for all your kind words! *hugs you again*
Re: i'll fight like hell to hide that i'm giving up
But yay you're online and so am I -- so let's chat a bit.
I've forgotten some of my excuses for drabble writing, but I do recall I promised porn, didn't I? I make absolutely no real promises, because I am terrible at keeping them, but I will see if you can't get 100 words rated at least R out of me...
And I would love postcards! Only that I have no address for the summer yet, what with this whole being abroad thing -- but I will give it to you as soon as I have it!
*hug hug*