Marty was sure of several things:

1. He never owned a pair of Bermuda shorts.
2. He has never worn a pair of Berumuda shorts.
3. That his closet was now filled with Bermuda shorts.

"Angela? Are all my pants in the laundry?"

[Taking advantage of Fandom Weirdness now happening for Alumni! For the fake girlfriend or anyone who wishes to call]

There were exactly 216 chrysanthemums on the bedspread. 215, if she didn't count the mutant one in one corner ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

Marty paced the room looking like he was about to lose his mind. It was bad enough that Grocer was after him, but where the hell had Angela gone ( Read more... )

Marty would always remember when he got the phone call. Mostly because he was reading "What to expect when you are expecting" and seemed to be stuck on two words -- "mucus plug ( Read more... )

To: FH'rs ( Read more... )

Orientation for UNY was kind of annoying. It was too long, for one, and the city was hot, too hot to concentrate on the trust games the RA kept trying to get them to play. And this weird Goth chick kept giving Angela the hairy eyeball for no reason at all, as far as she could tell ( Read more... )

Angela licked the last of her cotton candy off of her fingers and glanced up and down the boardwalk. She and Marty had already bought the tackiest t-shirts she could find and a snow globe with glitter, gotten a sunburn across her nose, and played skeeball until she won a huge stuffed pink monkey, who had been christened Emil ( Read more... )

To: FH Buddies ( Read more... )

It was her first day back from Fandom, and Angela had thrown herself into her job as a hostess at her father's restaurant with uncharacteristic effort. If her parents knew she was trying to keep herself from thinking about what she had left, they didn't say anything ( Read more... )