July 23, 2002 :: 8:24 p.m.
You can't see the stars, love. That's the ceiling.
Hanging out, watching Buffy. It's been an uneventful afternoon. My mom and grandma took Adam out for a light years late birthday dinner, to which I was invited, but Red Lobster isn't really my kind of restaurant. Much like the House of Bull. Any eatery with a commonly eaten animal in its name is probably not the best place for a vegetarian. So I made some microwaveable pizza and hung out here instead. I'm staying at Amanda's tonight, I believe, after she gets off work. We're going to make stuffed shells in preparation for her soiree with this Brian boy and have some girly fun. Talking about our respective boy, body, and personal issues. Eating lots. That sort of thing.
Aww, sad. Angel just lost his soul. The end of season two is so sad. It makes me cry. And pout. And want to change the shows. But alas. I know very little of what happens in the other seasons, as I haven't seen them yet, but I've heard that he comes back somehow. That would make me all happy and stuff. I'm waiting with baited breath for season three. Oh yes, friends. Come January, or sometime thereabouts, extreme joy will come in the form of another six discs od Buffy goodness. I can hardly contain myself, and I'm not being sarcastic this time. Fo' serious, yo.
Hmm. I have nothing else to say. How pathetic. That could be because I haven't done anything today. Makes for very boring entries. My apologies to all the poor souls enduring this. As penance, I offer you this. It looks to me like two cats chasing a frightened piece of poo. Yourself?
back & forth
Wait, there's more!
I like pina coladas - March 30, 2005
must... finish... projects... - March 22, 2005
Mr. Postman delivers the good stuff - March 18, 2005
when everything is bad - March 16, 2005
of fruits and menstruation - March 15, 2005