Here begins a brand new line.|
[Most Recent Entries]
Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in
Joey Andromeda's LiveJournal:
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|Saturday, January 12th, 2008|
posted two parts of a fic that features Lupe Fiasco, Tyga, and Jay-Z. I remarked upon how there needs to be more hip hop slash, and how I would definitely read Big Boi/Andre 3000 if anybody wrote it. She suggested that I picspam them. So, really, this is her fault.( So Fresh, So CleanCollapse )
|Wednesday, October 31st, 2007|
|Because This Fandom Needs More Girls
Why has Lyn-Z not started showing up in fanfiction? Surely people are not bitter about Gerard's marriage to this fine, fine lady. Maybe they're just not familiar enough with her yet. I intend to remedy that situation.( Picspam!Collapse )
|Friday, June 15th, 2007|
Today was my very first Crutchless Day. I gimped downtown in my big plastic boot to hang out with Jasmine and Mirinda. We had lunch at Seva (roasted veggie and goat cheese wrap--delicious) and did some shopping. At The Getup, Jasmine bought a tennis dress and a pair of roller skates, both magnificently '70s, and I absolutely cannot wait until she posts pictures of herself wearing them on Myspace or Facebook, because it will be amazing. I bought a nifty plaid hat. We wound up in Borders, where I got Father's Day gift for my dad (The Yiddish Policeman's Union
by Micheal Chabon, which I really want to read. Is it bad to give someone a present on the condition that they must lend it to you at some point? Maybe I'll just get it out of the library). I hadn't planned to buy anything else for myself, but we were sitting in the poetry section, as is often Mirinda's wont, and a copy of William Blake's The Marriage of Heaven and Hell
caught my eye, and it was only five bucks, so I figured why not.
Anyway, the real point of this entry: I can walk! Slowly!
|Tuesday, April 3rd, 2007|
I have written genfic, and I don't know where to put it. Can't use patrickxpeter or slutrick due to the lack of slash. It's not a bookverse crossover, which exempts it from fahrenheit_0101. So I'm just gonna post it here. Which means, oh my god, a public entry.
(Okay, to fahrenheit_0101
it goes. But I'm just gonna leave it here and link to it there because I am lazy.)
I think my mind has some sort of mechanism to insure that, in the odd event that I write gen, it is always crack. After all, the last one I wrote was a crossover between MCR and Sandman
. And this one...well.( Apocalypse PleaseCollapse )
|Saturday, December 30th, 2006|
|Friday, February 24th, 2006|
In light of recent events, this journal shall henceforth be friends-only. I didn't want it to come to this--it feels like a cop-out--but let's just say I have learned the importance of discretion, and I want to be able to say what I want in this thing without fear. At some point, I'll have to go back and change the security on all my old entries, which is going to be a pain in the ass, but it needs to be done.
Lovely Thursday night. I brought Joe to the Garg meeting, which was another staplefest, but fun just the same. 'Twas followed by Café Ambrosia with him and She-Alex and Valerie--chocolate chai is liquid happiness. Then back to East Quad, where we hung out in Alex's room and listened to some music (the girls weren't digging RENT
) and comedy (they did, however, like George Carlin and Bill Hicks). Next came alone-time with Joe after Val left and Alex kicked us out. I caught a bus back to north campus that was filled with drunken fuckers. Came in here to find a stern note from Abby; her pissedness at me is fully justified, but I think it's a bit much that she's looking into terminating her rooming contact. I mean, come on, what's a few more months? I need to write her back to apologize and explain that Joe and I were not screwing around below her and the shaking of the bed was caused only by our shifting around as we tried to go to sleep.
Tomorrow I only have one class--the other was cancelled. This makes me happy.
|Thursday, February 23rd, 2006|
Last night when I was feeling like shit, Joe came over again and gave me good advice, which I may not have wanted to hear but probably needed to, and sympathy. We went to the grad library to get some work done, then came back here. We hung out for a while with Dorm Keith, who happens to be a friend of Joe's. We found out from him that Abby apparently thinks we were having sex with her in the room night before last--what the fuck? Yes, I know she can't see what we're doing when we're on the bottom bunk and she's above us, but if we'd been having sex, she would've known beyond the shadow of a doubt. First, I don't bone people within a week of meeting them, and second...with my roommate in the goddamned room
? I think I need to set her straight on that at some point. Also, it bothers me that she didn't say anything to me about it, but freaked out to Caitlin and was overheard by Rohit, who told Joe about it on the bus, who told me that she'd freaked out but didn't know exactly what she said, prompting us to ask Keith about it. Anyway, Joe ended up spending the night again, which is probably not good for the roommate dynamics, but I'll only be living with her for another few months anyway.
I got my anthro midterm written. It's due in lecture in half an hour. 'Tis not my best work, but something beats nothing.
|Wednesday, February 22nd, 2006|
| Before you read the rest of this entry, a disclaimer of sorts. I know that saying these things probably makes me appear to be a horrible, spoiled person, but really I am just ranting, providing myself with much-needed catharsis, which is just one of the many delightful purposes of this journal. You have the option of not reading this, as opposed to if I were directly talking to one of you.( Guilt-trip e-mails from my mother do not make me happy....Collapse )
Lyric from a new (leaked-to-internet) Flaming Lips song, aparently:"Every time you state your case
The more I want to punch your face"Jeph Jacques
thinks that it is stupid. What the shit, man? That's one of the best lyrics I've heard in a long time. Maybe just 'cos those altered Spiderman comic strips
made me fall in love with the expression "punch your face."
|Bitches love me 'cos they know I can identify morphemes.
Mighty christ, it's nice out again today. I now fear what kind of hellacious weather the rest of the winter will bring. Plagues of ice-locusts, perhaps.
Joe came over here last night. We learned that the study lounge in this dorm is not a good place to study if one actually wishes to get any work done. But I got my laundry done, which is something. Joe ended up sleeping over, and this morning we skipped our respective first classes in favor of more enjoyable activities.
My linguistics midterm was a fucking breeze. I got there about five minutes late and finished the test fifteen minutes early.
Abby wants me to sweep the room. I hate sweeping; I'm allergic to dust, so said chore makes my nose turn into a working model of Mt. Vesuvius. But I suppose it shall have to be done.
|Tuesday, February 21st, 2006|
If food were sex, the chocolate bread pudding I just ate would be a three-way with David Bowie circa 1976 and Salma Hayek. And this is dorm food
we're talking about. What would this confection be like when baked by a high-end professional chef?
The weather today has been ridiculously beautiful. Of course, this being the crazy land of America's Hand, tomorrow it is sure to be freezing-ass cold with 600-mile-per-hour winds and hail the size of turkey carcasses.The Crazy Land of America's Hand
. That's what Sufjan Stevens should have called that album. I'm glad Sufjan has only made albums about Michigan and Illinois because now all the states that actually have multiple redeeming characteristics are jealous of us for a change. Or at least they should be.
From a comment I wrote somewhere in mychemicalslash
:"My theory is that Mikey's inhaler will keep getting written into fics even if/when everybody knows he's not really asthmatic because male vulnerability is a key element of slash fics (which is why everyone cries so damn much), and not being able to breathe occasionally is a wonderfully vulnerable characteristic."
I wonder if "Professor of Slashology" is a viable career choice.
So last night, Joe called me up and asked if I wanted to study together, I said yeah, and we went to the grad library and did so. 'Tis lucky he had that idea, 'cos otherwise I wouldn't have done any studying for my linguistics midterm (which is tomorrow). I've never spent much time in the grad library before; I now know that I should go there to do homework more often because the atmosphere somehow forces one to concentrate. Anyway, after we both got tired of the subjects we were reading about, we got Y Tu Mama Tambien
from the media library and came back here to watch it. Fucking great movie--realistic, emotional without being melodramatic, and erotic as all hell. Even the heterosexual bits completely failed to disgust me. And even if they had, the delightful boy-kiss towards the end would have made it all worthwhile.
At the end of the movie, we of course were both in a certain frame of mind, so certain developments occurred, and while we were...in the middle of something (I was sans vêtiments
, which should give you some idea), we heard the terrifying sound of my roommate's keycard in the lock. I shouted, "SHIT, don't come in!" and scrambled under the bedspread with all due haste. Once I was covered, we both called out that she could enter, but she'd gone.
Disaster averted, we re-dressed and went back to East Quad--just to sleep together, not to do anything further. For the rest of the night, we kept repeating, "SHIT, don't come in!" and laughing uproariously. Now I'm back home (uh...I mean dorm), and I haven't seen Abby yet today. I'm really curious as to how she'll behave around me. Incidentally, I think Joe's roommate is starting to wish we'd both die, or at least fall off the loft bed and get injured.
|Monday, February 20th, 2006|
|Only thing to do is jump over the moon.
Now is time for the story of my weekend.
On Saturday evening, Joe and I went out to dinner at a really good pan-Latin restaurant that I forget the name of. Then we went back to East Quad, listened to some music, and messed about. I was scheduled to watch a movie (Born Into Brothels
) at 10:00 with some people from my women's studies class as part of a group project we're doing, so I left shortly before then. Unfortunately (or not), due to either my own lousy sense of direction, the evil of Mapquest, or both, I was unable to locate the house at which we were supposed to meet. After wandering lost for about half an hour, slightly unnerved by the lack of streetlights (it was a fairly safe-looking residential neighborhood, but I still get freaked out by city darkness), I came to the junction of East University Street and the unfamiliar street I was on, thought "Fuck it," and followed East U. back to East Quad to rejoin Joe. I told him of my misadventure, and we planned to rent and watch Born Into Brothels
sometime later. We listened to the entire soundtrack of RENT
(original Broadway cast recording), which was magnificent, and now I really need to see the movie when it comes out on DVD or the play if I ever get the chance. We messed about more, and I ended up spending the night there again. This time his roommate voluntarily kicked himself out, so it was a bit less precarious, although there was still the danger of falling off the loft bed.
In the morning (well, early afternoon) we went to brunch at the East Quad cafeteria and were joined after awhile by members of the Mafia crew (She-Alex, Jesse, E-Beth, and Adam) and hung out there for a few hours. This period of time, I think, was when I failed to notice that it was time to catch the performance of The Vagina Monologues
that my women's studies group had also agreed to see as part of our project, and that I had already bought a fucking eleven-dollar ticket for. I did not kick myself for this until much later; at the time, I was having too much fun.
A little later in the afternoon, the two of us travelled to my dorm, listened to some of my music, and did things. Around seven, we went back down to central and ate dinner at East Quad, where we ended up sitting at a table with Jesse and two girls and a guy who I did not know. The girls, one of them in particular (Sarah, I think her name was? Maybe not, sometimes I suck with names). Fun was had. David Bowie was brought into the conversation at one point, and I wasn't even the one responsible for that. And we talked about sex a lot, probably causing the people at surrounding tables to wish we'd keep our voices down, but this is never something to care about. Sarah (?) was talking about her pretty-boy significant other, and I asked if he'd ever make out with guys for her entertainment. She said no and was rather displeased about this. Jesse, at one point, used the expression, "Bone her like you mean it." Also there was much talk of swollen vaginas. Around this time was when I realized I'd missed The Vagina Monologues
and cursed my own idiocy.
After Joe and I left, as we were walking down East U, he said, "Just for the record, since we were talking about it at dinner, I would make out with a guy for you." That merited squealing and hugs from me. Shortly afterward, I reached into my jacket pocket for one of my gloves and accidentally whipped out my bra that was in there (don't ask). How is it that I am past being embarassed by such occurrances? I laughed my ass off and felt no shame. It reminded me of the unexpected-bra-in-sleeping-bag incident from that one time at Kat's house.
We went to the undergrad library to check out Born Into Brothels
from the Askwith Media Library, but that particular part of the building was closed. So we went to Liberty Street Video to see if they had it; they did, but it was checked out, and the only other copy they had was only available for purchase rather than rental. We rented Boys Don't Cry
instead, just for the hell, and brought it back to my room and watched it. 'Twas very sad at the end, very disturbing at other times, very emotionally affecting all 'round. After we finished it, Joe stayed with me until just before the buses stopped running.
Other than the whole missing-importang-women's-studies-stuff thing and the fact that Kat and I had meant to talk on the phone at some point but didn't, I couldn't have asked for a better two days.
Ungh. Great weekend. Long post later. Really fucking tired right now. Only the fact that I haven't updated in what feels like a really long time is motivating me to type this.
|Saturday, February 18th, 2006|
|The Case for Destiny
What a strange and wonderful night I have had.
It actually started around 2:30 yesterday afternoon, when I met up with Brian and Ben. These are two guys I knew in middle school, at my old
school--Ben was one of my best (well, only) friends in seventh grade. Brian goes here and lives in Bursley; Ben goes to a private parochial college in Illinois and is up here for the weekend. Anyway, I went with them to Meijer so that Brian could return some bottles, and then we went to Arby's for fatty goodness (it's amazing how good mozzerella sticks and curly fries can taste when one hasn't eaten them in yonks). We talked a lot about random and funny things, made a lot of lame "your mom" jokes, and sang along with Green Day in the car.
Our excursion finished, we went to Brian's room and ended up watching Cannibal: The Musical
, which was fucking hilarious. The movie was over just in time for us to go to East Quad to meet up with She-Alex and Valerie and watch some improv theatre in the dorm's basement auditorium. The performance was by a troupe called Motoprism, and 'twas fabulous.
Then it was time to gather up the rest of the Mafia group and head back up north. The former activity took awhile; there were a lot of people to hunt down. As a bunch of us congregated in a hallway, some people walked through our midst. One guy seemed curious as to who or what we were; I told him that we were Mafia and asked if he would like to join us. He asked if he needed to kill anyone to be initiated. I said, "No, the killing comes later. Can I touch your hair?" (He had longish curly hair, almost a Ray-fro but not quite.) He consented, and I found that his hair was very soft, and I told him that he was now Mafia.
When the group was finally all assembled, we ran en masse to the bus stop. I felt as though I was in the scene that accompanies the opening credits of Velvet Goldmine
, except it was night, and "Needles in the Camel's Eye" wasn't playing. On the bus, I struck up a conversation with the random guy I'd recruited (name: Joe). We talked about music (he likes a lot of good stuff), art (he said Van Gogh makes him cry), and our respective hometowns (he hates his as much as I hate mine), among other things. The conversation never really stopped. We stuck together throughout the Mafia activities, talking of this and that. Somebody initiated a Rocky Horror-themed game (to which my response, of course, was "ZOMGILOVEYOU,"), at which point I learned that Joe had gone to see the movie at the State Theatre this past Halloween dressed up as Dr. Frank-n-Furter (yes, I asked if he had pictures, and no, he doesn't). He also admitted to being attracted to Tim Curry, despite being straight.
After several games, he asked me if any food places on central were open. I named the Fleetwood, and he suggested that we go. We left in the middle of the game, for we had no interest, took the bus to central, got off on State Street, and traversed the long distance to the Fleetwood in the freezing-ass cold, huddling together as much as we could while still being able to walk. When we got there, it was crowded as hell and we had to wait for a table, but at least it was warm. When we were finally able to sit, we got water to heal our throats (our voices both were dying by this point) and breakfast food.
Fragment of conversation:
Him: "I want to go to Greece."
Me (completely mishearing and misinterpreting him because of the noise, staring at my hash browns): "Well, there's such a thing as good grease and bad grease...."
Him: "No, I meant the country."
When we finished, it was past the time when the buses stopped running, so Joe said I could crash in his room. We walked back to East Quad, stopping at the undergraduate library on the way to get warm. We walked up to the third floor, found a secluded hallway containing a table and chairs, sat down, and...started making out. When we left the library and continued on our way, I had a strange, ethereal feeling due to the combination of sleep deprivation and post-snog high.
Upon our arrival at the dorm, he suggested that we go down to the basement because it was the warmest part of the building. We ended up making out again on the floor of the laundry room, and again when we got up to his room. On his narrow loft bed. With his roommate sleeping in there. We contrived to enjoy ourselves anyway.
Then we slept, and in the morning, he walked me back to the bus stop.
Fragment of conversation (we'd been talking about Rocky Horror again):
Me: "I feel a certain affinity towards Columbia for some reason."
Him: "Columbia the country?"
Me: "No, Rocky Horror."
So...yes. We're planning on getting dinner together this evening.
It's all very odd. I'm not sure what my motive was in recruiting him in the hallway; it was probably just, "Hey, that guy looks interesting." We were talking about it at the Fleetwood, and he suggested that it was fate.
|Friday, February 17th, 2006|
It just occurred to me that if you translate the word "homeboy" literally into French, you get "garçon de maison." Which rhymes.
Yeah, that's pretty much it.
Wooo. Another Garg staplefest, followed by Ambrosia with Alex and Valerie (cinnamon roll, orange-peach Italian soda--I like to get a different flavor combo every time I have one of those), East Quad, silly short movies and internet things.
I am hyper-tired. 'Tis a weird feeling--I used to have it more often.