(no subject)

I've decided to join the sesa, despite the fact that I'm terrified about doing so. It's all very well writing for yourself but it steps up a level when you write for someone else. I must be mad. Especially as I have a MX story that *must* be finished and my languishing TS AU.

Last night James went clubbing. I waited up for him and had to laugh when he came home. The club he went to had cages on each corner of the dance floor, and in each cage was a buff guy dressed in a skin tight devil costume complete with tail and horns. He said at least there could have been a woman in one of them *g* I laughed then but didn't later when he told me he saw the guy who'd given him absanith (sp?) when he was at the ball last month. At the time he told me he'd fallen asleep in one of his friends bedroom, what he hadn't said was someone had bought him two drinks of absanith. I was so mad last night. He doesn't seem to realise how dangerous that stuff is, that's without how stupid it is to accept a drink from someone that he doesn't even know. I asked if he'd be happy if I drank stuff from someone without being sure what it was, but it didn't seem to sink in. Dragging the story out of him it seems that he ended up propped in a corridor drunk out of his mind, and luckily one of his friends found him. It's such a stupid thing to do. He only drinks occasionally as he prefers to be the designated driver, but when he does he drinks far too much, stupid idiot.

He's gone out again tonight with one his friends and Corey is up my mam's, so I'm going to have an uninterrupted night on my own. Half of which will probably be me staring at the sesa page, working up the nerve to join.

(no subject)

I've joined. I must be insane.

Map meme

I'm trying to get all my Livejournal friends' locations plotted on a map - please add your location starting with this form. Username: (Then get your friends to!)

Drabble for boyband 100 (dressing up/costume)

Spamming tonight, sorry.

As he pulled on expensive leather pants, he remembered the time he tore a hole in his school pants; and his mom’s face as she tried to mend them once again. As he laced his boots he remembered the plastic that lined his shoes, and the way water would still seep through. As the silk shirt slipped across his skin he remembered the embarrassment of charity clothes and the knowing smirks of classmates, memories still sharp years later. Chris could dress up how he liked now, but would always remember. It was the way he knew how far he’d come.