happy 22 years to me
12.21.04 @ 11:44 p.m.
I guess a "don't feel obligated to come" disclaimer on an invitation is the sure way to make sure someone comes to your outing. Which is to say that Slavik came to my birthday outing today, which was quite nice.
I reek of Starbucks, as usual. I'd go mad if I worked there. That, or get really used to smelling like this.
After a nice, lazy morning, during which my mom and I decided on what kind of cake she would make, I got ready and got to the theater rather earlier than I needed to be there, but hey. Martha showed up soon after, then we went to check to see if her car is locked ("Mild OCD" she says), met Amy in the parking lot, and lo and behold, Slavik. Allegedly I offened him by not replying to an instant message asking just whose birthday it was, but I never got it. Probably during those couple of minutes where my modem hung up and didn't log out of AIM. (My cake, by the way, is chocolate orange, which will be eaten tomorrow. Grandma, buyer of an excessive number of cake mixes, had super chocolate mix and orange mix (orange cake mix? Whaaa?), so we innovated: One layer of orange and one layer of chocolate.) We saw The Incredibles, which is quite good. Maybe not as good as everyone was making it out to be, but really good anyway.
We went to Pizza Schmizza, because I wanted to, which is the nice thing about birthdays: you can be something of a dictator as long as it's not unreasonable. After that, Starbucks, where Slavik hung around until we went to look for a MadLibs book to entertain us. Maybe it is Slavik-Kryptonite. (WE KNOW YOUR SECRET, SLAVIK.) We also sent a text to Dumbrella Ryan, encouraging him to join us at Starbucks, mostly at the encouragement of Martha and Andrew. He sent a polite excuse, which came right as I was leaving for the bathroom. I guess they had planned to send a response while I was off peeing, but couldn't figure out how to write a message. I shudder to think what might have been written.
Amy gave me Henry V on DVD and Martha gave me a big set of desert themed army toys. I have a tan colored plastic gun, grenade, bowie knife, terrible binoculars, and a little silver dog tag. I think maybe my dad had more fun with the gun than we did at the restaurant. What I need to do is remember to tell my parents that we're all invited up to Andrew's place on Christmas eve. Also, we're going to meet up again on Thursday at the Beaverton 24 Hour Starbucks to see some of our other friends. I dunno, Andrew's planning it and kept suggesting that we all go to a bar. My friends are all starting to get drinky, which is okay since I'm pretty open minded about alcohol now, too. (Bailey's is delicious, I've discovered.)
All day long I've been thinking about how I want to start rewriting Madeline Whitby, but I think it's too soon. It was this year's NaNovel. Maybe it isn't such a bad idea, since the characters are still somewhat fresh in my mind. (Like Emma Rowland, I've already got a list of things that need to change with Madeline, and the top of both lists says "Make them poorer." Madeline, especially, needs to be more motivated by a sense of duty and obligation toward her family and monetary interests in marrying Sir Alistair. But it can't be so simple that Carrington can work equally as well. So she has to be engaged to Alistair Dalton before she even meets Simon Carrington, perhaps for a significant amount of time, so she can't just cry off. Like, the Season needs to be over or nearly over so that he has pretty much no chance of making another match, not that Dalton, if I have him obsessed with Madeline as originally written, would let her go so easily. Dang, I really do want to work on it now.
I just got a birthday email from Candace! So nice!
Previously
fuck it @ 08.01.05
fanciful imaginary sea voyages to come @ 07.20.05
*dies* @ 07.19.05
more ootp @ 07.17.05
harry potter: driving our children into devil worship @ 07.17.05
