Please Ignore That I'm Using A Pencil

I was really bored tonight, but too tired from last night's middle of the night drama to feel like doing much of anything. I played Sims for like three hours, which, you know, always fun. Especially because my Legacy house right now is laughably dysfunctional - my 7th Gen heir, Mari, slept with her aunt (they, uh, aren't tagged as family for some reason), then got a girlfriend and moved her in, leading to much jealousy and drama. Every time the aunt and the girlfriend are in the same room they end up attacking each other. *grins* I love my Sims sometimes.

But I can only play Sims for so long before my computer throws a bitchfit, so I had to move on to something else. Which ended up being playing with my hair. Fun! And I have pictures!

1. Basic Cinnamon Bun (uh...sort of)

( pics under the cut )

2. Chinese Bun

( pics under the cut )

3. Braided Bun

( pics under the cut )

Next goal: learn how to French Braid.

ETA: also got a few pics of my hair down. First two are from a wash day, so my hair's actually really curly; second two it's only wavy b/c non-wash day+lots of combing to do buns.

( more pics here! )

I Did Not Watch The Oscars Tonight

If my untimely demonic demise is ever featured on Supernatural, it's going to happen while I'm doing laundry.

There is just something so profoundly, wonderfully creepy about going past the black wrought iron gate and down the narrow staircase into the dimly lit basement where the laundry room is. There's this long hallway before you actually get there; the floor is concrete, there are exposed pipes and electrical wiring running along the ceiling, and you have to go through three heavy doors that always seem to close behind you with that very final 'you are never getting out of here' slam. When you do get to the laundry room, it's always deserted and the lights are off. There's an old school desk in the corner by the soda machine, and metal bars on the windows. It never fails to creep me the fuck out.

It's very easy to imagine it as the set up for a bad teen horror movie with a crazed serial killer. Or a slightly better horror movie with slimy basement dwelling monsters. Or, you know, an episode of Supernatural where Sam and Dean shoot things and then Dean has sex with like half my dorm, much to Sam's disapproval.

My short story gets workshopped in my fiction class tomorrow. My short story that I wrote in one night on the force of sheer bloody-mindedness and lots of caffeine. My short story about the 20-something comic geeky office boy who buys a magic flower, finds the city suddenly changing around him, breaks up with his girlfriend, and has sex with a mysterious man tellingly named Fox.

OH GOD KILL ME NOW. I'm getting queasy just thinking about it. *whimpers*