LightAlysCity

Little Green Dashes

Hank said
Yes, it does mean that.

I love them.

Typing speed

Hank said
112 words/minute.

I'm not surprised.

Little Green Dashes

They mean I've posted in that thread, right?
I love them.
I'm in love with them.

It's getting close to that time...

Hank said
This woman truly has her priorities in order. Marry me?

Wasn't that already the gameplan?

My roommate keeps opening the windows.

Deck him in the nose.

It's getting close to that time...

Dear Squee,
When I got my wisdom teeth out I tried to bite my own tongue off when I woke up. Then, my mom had stuff to do and my step dad was on a business trip, so my friends were in charge of taking care of me. Needless to say, I obtained lockjaw for about three weeks and I couldn't open my mouth more than a centimeter or two. I was convinced I'd never be able to give another blowjob.
But it got better.
Love,
Aly

P.S. All four?

Typing speed

62 but I just woke up as well. Gimme a little while.

Edit. 72 that time.

I had this crazy dream last night

You know, I had a dream very similar to that last night. It wasn't similar at all in that it was set in an old abandoned amusment park. However, my dad was one of the targets for one of those games where you spray clowns in the mouth with water guns. So, when I tried to reach across the counter to save him he kept getting further and further away until all of the water from all of the guns started going off. They errupted into this big ocean and I kept swimming towards my dad to try to save him, but he kept getting further and futher away. Eventually my dad started morphing into a clown. I have a pretty irrational fear of clowns so I started swimming the other way and he started swimming after me. He kept getting bigger and bigger and bigger until he popped and candy came out like a pinata. So I sat there and ate dad-candy.

Patience - Modern/Drama - A cautionary tale of getting exactly what you want.

Parker hardly watching his hands as Kevin showed her where to place her fingers. Her asking him to teach her to play these songs had nothing to do with any desire to become a guitarist. Instead, she paid close attention to how effortlessly he picked and strummed; never looking down to make sure his fingers where in the correct place - like it was something he had been born doing. Parker had picked up a few things but nothing had really been committed to her long term memory. She knew enough to be able to pick at the choruses of some of her favorite songs that he had taught her.

"Once you have that, I'll get mine and play the other part," he told her.

“Actually, Kev, can you show me that one more time?” Without hesitation, he started from the beginning and played it again; picking and strumming slower than he had before. This time, Parker’s eyes carefully followed his finger placement. He released the guitar to her as she placed her fingers on the frets where his had just been. As she strummed the sound came out much less melodically than it had for him. Just like he had told her hundreds of times, she pressed down harder on the strings. It helped a little, but as she moved her fingers to the next position something sounded a bit off. She glanced up at him quizzically; without having to say a word he moved her fingers to where they were supposed to be. She strummed again. Much better.

After a half dozen failed attempts, she finally got the general idea. Despite the choppiness, Kevin apparently thought she was ready to move on. He hopped up and disappeared into his room, presumably to retrieve another guitar for himself. Parker continued to play the same riffs over and over to herself while she waited for his return. She sank further into her seat and readjusted the guitar so that it was supported more by the arm of the couch than her hip. After such a stressful week, she couldn’t think of a better way to unwind. In the small two bedroom apartment, the rest of the world seemed to melt away. It was there that her nagging boss and her hopeful academic advisors ceased to exist. Even her boyfriend, Adam, knew that Sunday mornings were specifically reserved for unwinding.

As Kevin was making his way back to the couch there was a faint knock on the door. She hadn’t been expecting company and she knew that most of his friends felt comfortable enough to let themselves in. After a second knock, she looked up at him and claimed “not it,” something they had done as children in order to be immune to the responsibilities of being “it” when playing games like tag or hide-n-seek. She continued to mindlessly strum Kevin’s guitar while he went to get the door.

“Hey man, is Parker here?” It definitely wasn’t like Adam to show up unannounced.

Patience - Modern/Drama - A cautionary tale of getting exactly what you want.

The day began just like every Sunday morning had for the past year in apartment 42c. The mid-morning sun made its way through tall curtainless windows serving as a natural alarm clock. Parker emerged from beneath a sea of blankets, stretching her shoulders and rubbing the sleep from her eyes. She gathered a mess of long, blonde waves into a knot on the top of her head, securing it with a ribbon. However, it didn’t take much more than the few steps to her bedroom door for various strands to make their way back into her face.

Just like every Sunday morning for the past year in apartment 42c, her roommate Kevin – from whom she had kidnapped the oversized Guns N’ Roses tee-shirt she was currently wearing as a nightie - had planted himself on their couch, mindlessly picking away at one of his many guitars. She slinked past him and into the kitchen, acknowledging him with no more than a groggy glance. If he had learned anything from their years of friendship – it was that Parker was not a morning person. He knew to give her at least twenty minutes before uttering a single word directed at her. Half consciously, she pulled a couple mugs from the dishwasher and set a pot of coffee to brew.

Just like every Sunday morning for the past year in apartment 42c, she poured two cups – one with cream and sugar for herself, and the other black with two sugars for Kevin. She made her way back to the couch – dragging her knee-high sock clad feet with every step. She sipped from her own cup and dangled Kevin’s as he took it with a gracious half-grin. Parker sat and leaned against the arm on the opposite end of the couch, propping her feet up on Kevin’s thighs and grabbing a book and a pair of glasses from the coffee table across from the pair.

Just like every Sunday morning for the past year in apartment 42c, Parker sat flipping through some book she had probably read a million times while humming along to the various classics Kevin would fool around with.
“Did you cash your paycheck yet?” She asked, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Simply dismissing the question and asking one of his own, Kevin replied “How’s what’s-his-name?” Parker rolled her eyes. Kevin had met Adam numerous times; she knew his indifference was more intended to get on her nerves than anything else. Instead of answering him, she moved to his side of the couch and shoved his arm, disrupting his previously seamless guitar solo.

“Teach me somethin’,” changing the conversation once more, she pulled his guitar so that it was sitting half way on her lap and half way on his. It was these mundane Sunday morning rituals that had kept Kevin and Parker so close over the past year. Although their lives were becoming increasingly different, Sunday morning’s unwritten traditions persisted.