needsaparrot: (phone)
Xander and Bridge had meant to catch the same portal to Fandom's homecoming that Z did, but, er...

Moving on.

There were other ways of catching up with people, anyway, both in and out of Fandom. Say, for instance, by pulling out one's phone while chilling outside SPD headquarters watching the D-Squad cadets do mud-runs.

Technically, Xander was supposed to be power-washing the windows, but he knew from experience that they'd manage to splat mud at least two stories high by the time they were done, so there was no point in cleaning anything until they all trooped back into the building. Hence, the punching of familiar numbers, and the munching of familiar golden spongecake goodness while he waited for an answer.

"Hey, Will. How's it hangin' in--"

"How many times do I have to point out that I don't have anything that hangs, Xander?" He'd be more worried about fitting a foot down his throat alongside that twinkie if she wasn't snickering.

"Well, not at thirty, you don't. Though the way you're built, even when you're sixty--" You know, there was no earthly way this could go anywhere good.


See? "I just mean you'll probably still look bangin' even as an old lady! What's wrong with that?" Sadly, that's actually what he did mean.

"I'm twenty-nine!"

Whoops. Mmm, toes. "Fine, fine, twenty-nine. I gained six months on you somewhere in the nineteen thirties. Point is, only you, me, Buffy and your driver's license know you're robbing the cradle, and it's not like I can talk."

He was actually risking some anklebone gnawing here, depending on whether the onagainoffagain was offagain or onagain this month, but the distraction was worth it, and last he'd heard, things were On with a capital DEAR GOD, WILLOW, NEVER LET YOUR GIRLFRIEND HAVE ACCESS TO YOUR TWITPIC ACCOUNT AGAIN.

"How is Kennedy, anyway? Did I mention I met a tiny version of her in Fandom this summer?"


"...Off again again, huh?"

"Sweetie, I have no idea what you're talking about."

Wow, when those two fought, they really fought. Xander just hoped for her sake and possibly that of his imagination shut up that the epic make-up would be worth it.

[ILU SHANIE (AND TBQ) DUN HURT ME. Also open for calls/texts/invitations to Count Duckula's party/people in the FUTURE, as desired.]
needsaparrot: (construction)
Doing maintenance and reconstruction for SPD wasn't exactly like being the construction crew for Team Buffy, but it was still a small enough staff that Xander was pretty sure nobody would be around to yell at him for having a seat on the bottom rung of his ladder and making some calls. It sure as hell beat actually watching the paint dry.

[OOC: Open for twinkiephone contact, the singular of spice, or anybody else who happens to be wandering the hallways of 2024.]
needsaparrot: (z-wee-play)
You know what you should probably take away from an almost-six year old person who, after a very busy day (and a very busy week) has already had dinner and dessert?

A phone that makes Twinkies.

For several reasons, all of them obvious.

[OOC: Making a specific call, but open for anybody who wants weetiny Xander to ring them.]
needsaparrot: (sprawl)
There's popcorn, there's soda, there's two guys sprawled on the couch on a work-free Thursday evening. Everybody knows what that means, right?

Right - it's Call And Torment Parker Night!

After all, there've been a few minor changes in plans, and while some people waited to leave the island until after they'd heard about them, some people left last year. So they deserve to get tormented.

Or possibly it's just fun.

[OOC: This post is brought to you by the letters B and P, and the number aleph-null. Someday when it grows up it will be a linkdrop.]
needsaparrot: (sprawl)
Break week is nice. Break week without a boyf-- huh. Xander can't call him the B-word-person anymore, can he? Anyway, break-week when the person who used to be your b-word-person is fifteen years and a dimension away is kind of... b-wordy. The kind of b-word that -- without threats of vengeance, work to do or other people's good news to help celebrate -- ends in oring.

At least until his phone starts playing a certain Simon and Garfunkel tune.


[For the, um. F-word person. Which yes, sometimes is you, Jamie, but not this time. Will also be a linkdrop when I get around to it.]
needsaparrot: (sitting)
There's a Galaxy Quest marathon on Xander's tv, which is a fancy way of saying he tossed the S2 dvd in and hit play-all, but he's only half paying attention to that, while futzing around with various apartment-building designs on his laptop, and once again not staring at his cell and waiting for a certain ringtone.
[For, shockingly, a phone call, but if anybody wants to wander by after, sure, it's open.]

November 2011

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