Of Towels and Vampires

If I were to choose a way to die, death by static electricity is only two rungs higher than being pecked to death by a baby ostrich. Or drowned in chocolate pudding...no, wait. That's a good way to die.

 Mom bought a bunch of new towels since our green ones are old and raggedy and stringy, so I washed them last night and set about folding this morning. (After, of course, I took great delight in throwing away the old green ones that were in the pile to be washed. Why wash something that's destined for the dump? Besides, saves me some work, and why save something for tomorrow what you can get someone else to do for you today?) New towels, apparently, are pissed about being new and being washed and sent through a hot dryer, so they suppress a little bit of their own brand of vengeance. The first time I got shocked, I thought nothing of it. The electricity was slowly heightened, though, and progressively going up on the pain meter. By the time I was done, my hair was sticking out. Yee, cute. Shelby eventually took pity on me and came to help me, but I felt very slightly as if I were shoving a well meaning pagan into the arena so that I, the Christian, might go free.

Aubrey came over to work on Spanish with me on Saturday night (after we saw Defiance. My advice? Go see it. End of discussion) and by the time we were done, we hyper and loopy. So what did we choose to do to amuse ourselves? Oh, yeah. We starting watching the first season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 

I know you're laughing. So was I. Despite the fact that the show was created by Joss Whedon, (which probably saved it from being downright laughable instead of merely Elmo-esque silly) the acting of Sarah Michelle Geller was laughing and the creatures were goofy. You've gotta wonder after a while why nobody noticed that the students of Sunnydale High School (*snickers madly*) are dropping like flies with virtually no explanation. Not to mention the principal that got, I don't know, EATEN. Although Armin Shimmerman playing the replacement principal is hysterical. Hello, fascist Quark!

I've heard that the show gets better after the third season, but I really have no interest in watching it after the third season. Why? The reason I'm watching the first season of all would be gone. Here's my reason for watching it:

David Boreanaz. 

The almost ultimate in hotness, only bested by Jensen Ackles and possibly Daniel Craig. Although I must admit, he has Robert Pattinson beat hands down for the whole vampire with a tortured conscience thing. I'm only watching the season for him. If the episode doesn't have Angel, a good episode it is not. Oh, and I won't be watching the second season either, when Angel predictably loses his soul and becomes a soul sucking fiend with the rest of his barbecue fork-ed teeth buddies. So I'll laugh my way through the first season and call it quits. 

Farewell, my friends! I'll be in my room, avoiding my Spanish homework. Toodles!