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Date: Monday, September 1, 2008 | Time: 6:39 AM
I've been having these strange William Beckett dreams.
For a few months now, it's been just a still image of William smiling holding up his hands to show bracelets like Ryan Ross' but since I watched the vegemite episode, It's been an image of William but Chizzy's voice saying 'Vegemite'
In other, non-related news, Ryan Ross has turned 24.
Happy Burpday to you.
Yeah, the burp was caused by something other than delicious Ryan Ross birthday cake. thank-you-very-much.
Weren't you suppposed to send it to me in the mail? huh? huh? what happened to all the moments we shared together?? have you forgotten about your friend all the way back here who needs a bite of birthday cake from the Ross?? huh? huh?
In better Ryan Ross news, I think I saw a pic of him wearing the bracelet I gave him.
GAH.
In other news, Joey's hiding under the buffet table as mom's bending to try and get him out and put him in bed. So far, she hasn't succeeded. There's a lot of crashing involved and... okay, now she's got him. She's saying 'you ace hole terd' as she carefully strokes him while she takes him downstairs to his kitty bed
Oh, and happy birthday Joe, yes, he also hasn't sent me a cake in the mail. Then again, we didn't have the long 10-second converstaion Ryan and I had so he's forgiven. LOL.
For a few months now, it's been just a still image of William smiling holding up his hands to show bracelets like Ryan Ross' but since I watched the vegemite episode, It's been an image of William but Chizzy's voice saying 'Vegemite'
In other, non-related news, Ryan Ross has turned 24.
Happy Burpday to you.
Yeah, the burp was caused by something other than delicious Ryan Ross birthday cake. thank-you-very-much.
Weren't you suppposed to send it to me in the mail? huh? huh? what happened to all the moments we shared together?? have you forgotten about your friend all the way back here who needs a bite of birthday cake from the Ross?? huh? huh?
In better Ryan Ross news, I think I saw a pic of him wearing the bracelet I gave him.
GAH.
In other news, Joey's hiding under the buffet table as mom's bending to try and get him out and put him in bed. So far, she hasn't succeeded. There's a lot of crashing involved and... okay, now she's got him. She's saying 'you ace hole terd' as she carefully strokes him while she takes him downstairs to his kitty bed
Oh, and happy birthday Joe, yes, he also hasn't sent me a cake in the mail. Then again, we didn't have the long 10-second converstaion Ryan and I had so he's forgiven. LOL.
Labels: joe trohman, joey the cat, ryan ross, william beckett
Date: Saturday, August 30, 2008 | Time: 11:29 AM
…Caleb pulls the lighter out of his back pocket, leaning against the chipped white rail on his mother’s front porch, hair cutting contrast compared to his nearly clear pale skin, and lights his cigarette.
The grass is dewy, and from his angle, the sun only accentuates the otherwise subtle sparkle. He takes one last drag deep into his lungs, and carelessly, with a quick flick from his thumb and forefinger, sends the butt sailing into the center of the perfectly kept front lawn.
“Where the hell is Crystal?” he wonders, impatiently waiting for the four-door Ford to come flying around the corner.
“One more day of high school hell,” he thinks to himself, contemplating another cigarette.
In the distance, almost as if piggybacked by the late spring wind, the faint, low droning sound of double time drums blares from an average at best car stereo, sweeping over the street as it’s vessel turns the corner. Finally. 20 minutes late.
As usual, she refuses to pull into the driveway. "I refuse to drive backwards,” she always says.
Caleb starts towards the car, skipping all three porch steps as Crystal lays on the horn, beeping out the bpm’s to whatever song she’s obsessing over today.
Crystal barely acknowledges her jettisoned friend, as her off-key, singled out sing-along she feels so empowered to carry on with, continues.
“I can’t believe you actually enjoy listening to this shit,” he says as he sticks one foot up onto the dashboard.
She playfully gives him the finger and smashes the off button on the dial.
“Good morning sunshine. Where the hell did you go last night? Why didn’t you answer your phone? I was worried about you, jerk.” Caleb swallows hard, and accepts the fact that he’ll never be able to tell her where he went last night. Never be able to tell her what his parents have done. So he paints a smirk where his woe should be, and turns the music back on…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man loves to torture us. Cliff-hangier!!
The grass is dewy, and from his angle, the sun only accentuates the otherwise subtle sparkle. He takes one last drag deep into his lungs, and carelessly, with a quick flick from his thumb and forefinger, sends the butt sailing into the center of the perfectly kept front lawn.
“Where the hell is Crystal?” he wonders, impatiently waiting for the four-door Ford to come flying around the corner.
“One more day of high school hell,” he thinks to himself, contemplating another cigarette.
In the distance, almost as if piggybacked by the late spring wind, the faint, low droning sound of double time drums blares from an average at best car stereo, sweeping over the street as it’s vessel turns the corner. Finally. 20 minutes late.
As usual, she refuses to pull into the driveway. "I refuse to drive backwards,” she always says.
Caleb starts towards the car, skipping all three porch steps as Crystal lays on the horn, beeping out the bpm’s to whatever song she’s obsessing over today.
Crystal barely acknowledges her jettisoned friend, as her off-key, singled out sing-along she feels so empowered to carry on with, continues.
“I can’t believe you actually enjoy listening to this shit,” he says as he sticks one foot up onto the dashboard.
She playfully gives him the finger and smashes the off button on the dial.
“Good morning sunshine. Where the hell did you go last night? Why didn’t you answer your phone? I was worried about you, jerk.” Caleb swallows hard, and accepts the fact that he’ll never be able to tell her where he went last night. Never be able to tell her what his parents have done. So he paints a smirk where his woe should be, and turns the music back on…
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The man loves to torture us. Cliff-hangier!!
Labels: the academy is..., william beckett
