Look what I made ...

skyhighfic

You know, if my brother would get his butt back to the house so he can give me a ride to pick up a couple job applications, I wouldn't be making stuff like this. Mmm-hmm. *nods solemnly*

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So I've spent the past few days working on and off on the Pairing List when I need a break, and sweet Jesus covered in chocolate and dipped in sprinkles, there are some gorgeous pairings on there. Not gorgeous as in beautiful, more like gorgeous as in, "Hot DAMN, that needs to be written." (There's at least one trio that I may in fact trade a firstborn to see written because it's just that brilliantly lovely and hot and perfect all at once. It needs a long, long, looooooooong story written about it. Oh, yes.)

In other news, I'm horribly tempted to ask if anybody could YSI me a copy of the first episode of Doctor Who, but honestly, the only reason I want it now is to show my brother and since I'm having so much trouble simply getting him to watch an episode of Veronica Mars, it's not even worth the trouble. *sigh*

I walked two miles today -- the last half-mile of it uphill at a forty-five degree angle -- and tonight I have to play Family Feud with my perverted family in a public arena. Kill me now. (You haven't lived until you've heard my cousin Laurie scream out the names of graphic sex acts and body parts as loud as humanly possible in preparation for a fake game show. Or ... well, it's possible you have lived through such an experience, in which case I can only commend you and politely inquire what daily vitamin you take.)

(no subject)

Okay ... so. The Family Feud thing.

First off, before I even tell you guys what happened, it was me, my parents, my pervy cousin Laurie, and my uncle (and Laurie's dad) Richie, who by the way is just as pervy as his daughter. For starters, my cousin has been excitedly tossing us "sample questions" for days. "Name something you eat with a spoon," etc. The one she's been throwing us all the time (mostly to set up dirty punchlines) is, "Name a sport you play with a ball."

So, what was the first question that the very first two teams to play got? Yup -- "Name a sport you play with a ball."

Laurie kept making comments afterward that we so should have gotten that question, until I pointed out that her immediate reaction to hearing it was to curl up and shriek with laughter.

Anyway, eventually we got up there (but not without a lot of whining out of me -- I was already terrified of being on a stage without being all hormonal to back it up) and my uncle and cousin decide we're naming our team the Shickaleenias. So now you're saying to yourself, "What the hell's a Shickaleenia?" Well, it's actually a word my uncle Richie made up so he could get away with referring to a woman's vagina in polite conversation without anybody knowing. So, for all intents and purposes, we were the Vaginas. I believe you can find that in the first lesson of How To Be Publicly Humiliated (If Only To A Select Few).

I thought it was going to be awful (especially since my body's nervous reaction to being near any stage whatsoever is to immediately need to go to the bathroom) so I crammed myself at the far end so I'd get the last question. So we get to the last question, and I go up to the podium, and I'm pretty sure I'm going to vomit before I hear those blessed words:

"Name a famous mystery writer."

And simultaneously I gasped, slammed down the buzzer, said "Agatha Christie," looked around at the other people on the stage and their dazed expressions, and realized that I was quite possibly the only person on the stage who had ever read a book for recreation. Or possibly at all.

Now, THAT'S a superpower I can get behind having.

Unfortunately, it turns out that one hundred average Americans don't read mysteries (or if they do, they're sure as hell not reading anything that's not written in the last fifty years), so when I told my family to go with "Sir Arthur Conan Doyle," his name wasn't up there. He was trounced by Dick Francis, Mary Higgins Clark, and Sydney Sheldon. No offense to any of them (because honestly, why I wasn't going with more recent writers anyway was beyond me), but I mostly just want to hit things, like my forehead against a wall. I turned out to be a ringer and I wasn't even a good one, damn it. Grrr.

In other news, do you know why my dad is cool? Because I came home and jogged upstairs to my brother's room to use his computer, and turned on the TV to see Empire Records is on. So I'm watching, and a few minutes later, I hear my dad call from downstairs:

Dad: Oh, Jennifer?
Me: Yes?
Dad: It's Rex Manning Day!
Me: I know!

HEEEEEEE.

Also, my new favorite saying comes from my brother, who said before he left the house this afternoon, "I'm going to make like a fetus and head out." *snerk*

EDIT: I should also point out that there's nothing like playing Family Feud in a public place to learn that what one hundred average Americans can come up with is a hell of a lot of shitty answers. I don't think there was a round of that game where we didn't say at least once, "... the hell?!"