Slacker

I went to a party last night. It's an exhausting affair, the gathering of dozens of people I barely know with the intent to... mingle. It was a good time, all things considered, but I don't think I'll be up for socializing for another year or so. In the course of the night, the majority of the partygoers consumed copious amounts of alcohol, sang loudly, and made a respectable mess. One lady, included in the "majority of partygoers" mentioned previously, called me pretty. I'll have a large head about that for a couple months, to be sure, but I wonder about the word choice. Despite being quite male, that's not the first time a stranger has directed the same word at me. I'm afraid I may have an unconscious habit of... batting my lashes or something. Odd.

Another day passes with nary a word written of the fic I'd fancied writing this month. Does thinking about it count?

In other news, I'm hooked on a new song. If I get everything together, I may record and post that. That'd make for some amusing content, at least.