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pop_tartsI was going to play my favorite game in the world, which is the Awards Season Drinking Game. because tonight is the grammies, and dude, if that doesn't call for drinking I don't know what does. but then I realized that would be bad for my health, because the last time I watched the Grammies I ended up passing out on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
strandia's floor right after Eminem.
"Do you wanna watch?" Paris asks. her nails are drying, bright purple, and the nail polish bottle is threatening to spill all over the carpet.
Nick's reading some book. It looks long and probably recommended as a 'real' book. "Do we have that much Malibu left?"
"Uh." her backpack, her bag from last night, rather, is nearly under the bed, and with a glittery hand she manages to open it, pull out the full Malibu bottle, and grins. "We'll order more."
Because really, the fucking grammies needs more than one bottle of anything. Nick puts the book down. "we could probably still get tickets if you really want to watch them."
Paris shakes her head. Her toes squish into the carpet, and she has to hold them up in order to keep the polish from smudging. "No, I wanna watch them with you." she pulls out some plastic cups, fills them with orange juice. "Here." adds some malibu to each. "possibly naked."
Nick raises an eyebrow. "You want to have sex to the Grammies?"
Paris shrugs, hands him his cup, and takes a big swallow of her sweet drink. He's barely dressed as it is, just boxers, and she undoes her pants with one hand while she drinks with the other. "maybe." Her jeans come off easy, kicked into the corner, and she takes her hair down, out of its ponytail. "would that be so bad?"
Nick starts to say, "have you heard the performer's list yet?" but she's already on top of him, carefully balancing herself on his lap and her flimsy cup in the other. Paris is careful not to knock his hand; Nick gulps down some Malibu and juice so that there's less to spill. "okay," he says.
strandia's floor right after Eminem."Do you wanna watch?" Paris asks. her nails are drying, bright purple, and the nail polish bottle is threatening to spill all over the carpet.
Nick's reading some book. It looks long and probably recommended as a 'real' book. "Do we have that much Malibu left?"
"Uh." her backpack, her bag from last night, rather, is nearly under the bed, and with a glittery hand she manages to open it, pull out the full Malibu bottle, and grins. "We'll order more."
Because really, the fucking grammies needs more than one bottle of anything. Nick puts the book down. "we could probably still get tickets if you really want to watch them."
Paris shakes her head. Her toes squish into the carpet, and she has to hold them up in order to keep the polish from smudging. "No, I wanna watch them with you." she pulls out some plastic cups, fills them with orange juice. "Here." adds some malibu to each. "possibly naked."
Nick raises an eyebrow. "You want to have sex to the Grammies?"
Paris shrugs, hands him his cup, and takes a big swallow of her sweet drink. He's barely dressed as it is, just boxers, and she undoes her pants with one hand while she drinks with the other. "maybe." Her jeans come off easy, kicked into the corner, and she takes her hair down, out of its ponytail. "would that be so bad?"
Nick starts to say, "have you heard the performer's list yet?" but she's already on top of him, carefully balancing herself on his lap and her flimsy cup in the other. Paris is careful not to knock his hand; Nick gulps down some Malibu and juice so that there's less to spill. "okay," he says.
