HAPPY BIRTHDAY WOMAN!

A bunch of us wanted to give you a wittle something special today. We hope you enjoy it.

*hugs/foozles/lix*

(p.s. oh and yeah, totes stole that awesome pic from Twitter this morning. hehe)

Happy Birthday Yoga! From PerfectlyPersuasive!

What to say about YogaGal? Yoga, my sweet friend who sends me scary pictures of destroyed baby dolls when she doesn't get her way... but, uh, wait, no she doesn't. She's never done that. *nervous chuckle* I mean, I love my hair, and she would never ever threaten to cut it off with scissors... um... just pretend I never said anything, ok? *look around in fear*

So, happy birthday, Yoga! I'm going to brush your hair 200 strokes today instead of just the normal 100. :)

This is a little stoner/geek/slashy fic that I wrote for you. It jumps between the present and ten years ago when the boys were a senior in high school. I show this with some doo-da-loo's a la Wayne's World. Please enjoy.

-------

Jasper & Edward's High School Reunion

He picked up the piece of mail again, examining it with hazy eyes. This was a joke, right? I mean, it hadn't been that long...

Or, had it?

He held up his hand to do the math on the fingers. He just turned what? Twenty-eight...

You graduate high school at... eighteen? He thought, at least, so... one.. five... ten.

Shit!

Jasper was shocked that it had already been ten years since high school. Ten fucking years! He wasn't really sure where the time had gone.

He then brought the joint back to his lips and took a puff, holding the bitter sweet smoke in his lungs for as long as he could before releasing the smoke through his nose.

Damn, he thought, this is some good shit. Then, he tried to remember what he was so worried about just a moment before. It couldn't have been that important, he guesses, but then a figure flashed through his mind.

Ten...

Was it the time? Nope, he thought, it's 4:20. He snickered to himself, and then actually looked over at the clock. Ah, it was noon, so not ten.

Ten...

Was it the tenth of the month? Wait, what month was it? Christmas was over. He knew that for certain. He thought it was March, and he was more than content to just go with that.

Ten...

He lifted his hand to scratch his face in poderment, and a piece of paper crinkled in his fingers. He looked down in search of the offending noise, noticing the Forks High letterhead.

“Oh, fuck,” he remarked outloud to himself. “Why the hell is my high school sending me letters?”

do-da-loo... do-da-loo.. do-da-loo

“It's practically a travesty!” Edward exclaimed, bringing his fist down hard on the plastic table top. “George Lucas has lost his mind.”

“It's just a movie,” Jasper told him, immediately realizing that these are the quite possibly the worst words he could ever deem to string together. Edward's eyebrows raise almost off his forehead. Yes, Jasper thought, he should not have said that.

“Just a movie!” Edward practically yelled, closing his eyes and shaking his head in disbelief. “When Vader revealed that he was Luke's father at the end of Episode VI, no one was saying, 'it's just a movie!'” Edward then proceeded to grumble about light sabers and special effects.

Jasper turned his face away and rolled his eyes as Edward continued his tirade. “What about when they finish The Fellowship, huh? What if Peter Jackson ruins the books with his movie? What if Frodo ran off with Gollum and lived happily ever after?”

Now, Jasper thought to himself, Edward was just being ridiculous. “That would never happen. I mean, Gollum is a complicated character, but...”

“Nerds!” some large jock shouted as he walked past their table, interrupting Jasper's speech. Edward scowled at him until the larger boy turned around, and he quickly droped his eyes to the table.

“I hate this place,” Jasper hissed under his breath.

Edward chuckled humorlessly, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I know. They're idiots. I doubt they would no the difference between the Death Star and the Enterprise!”

Jasper snorted in agreement.

doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo

Realizing once again what he held in his hands, Jasper laughed. What a fucking joke. Why the hell would he want to go back to that shithole? Not only was Jasper a band geek, but he was also a Sci-Fi nerd. Now, those are normal things, but Jasper also had to deal with acne. Let's not forget the year he had to wear that headgear all day every day. No highschool had definitely not been the highlight of his life.

He lifted the joint to his lips and took another puff. Not that it had been all bad, though, he remembered as he exhales. There was a small group of people that he considered friends that he wouldn't mind seeing.

Plus, it was the first time he met his sweet lady, Mary Jane.

doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo...

“I don't know if we should,” Edward worrieed aloud for the umpteenth time that evening, crossing his arms over his "Nerds Do It Better" t-shirt.

Jasper nodded, understanding his best friend's concerns but ultimately more curious about the new experience than nervous. “It's just that we have it, and we're all alone," Jasper reasoned. "You leave for Harvard next week, Edward, and then I'm at MIT the week after that. We're going to be so busy with school. Let's just have this night to be reckless.”

Edward let out a shaky scoff. “I don't think it's even possible for me to be reckless... it's like programmed into my DNA.”

“I know you practically failed biology,” Jasper started, but Edward is quick to interrupt, throwing his hands into the air in outrage.

“I don't think a ninety-five can be qualified as practically failing!”

Jasper laughed. “I was just pulling your leg, man, but recklessness is not written into the code. Let's just do it.”

Edward closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. “God, I never knew really until this moment of time what a b-i-t-c-h peer pressure is,” Edward retorts with an exasberated sigh.

Jasper held the small joint up between his thumb and forefinger, a lighter cocked and ready to go in his other hand. "So, does that mean we're on?" he questioned.

Edward buried his face in his hands but then peeked through his fingers. "Light it," he prompted. Jasper smiled and held the flame to the end of the rolled joint he stole from his older sister, Rose. Nothing happened.

"It's not working," Jasper remarked, removing his thumb from the lighter.

Edward removed his hands from his face. "Jasper, have you ever smoked anything before?" he questioned. Jasper shook his head in answer. "Well, my father likes to have cigars with his brandy, and I've seen him light them. You have to suck in while you light it," he explained.

"Ah!" Jasper chuckled, following Edward's advice. After a few rounds of coughing and starting again, it was finally lit! Jasper choked on the smoke and passed it to Edward.

"How is it?" Edward asked and Jasper grinned.

"Beautiful."

doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo...

Jasper frowned. This trip down memory lane was becoming kind of depressing. No, it wasn't the thoughts of the year he was slammed against the lockers or the time Tyler What's-his-name dumped water on the front of his pants, making it look like he peed his pants. None of that mattered anymore. Jasper could care less about those idiots.

There was only one person that Jasper cared about from high school...

Edward.

Fuck, he hadn't deliberately thought about Edward in years. It was a point of survival for him at this point. Only when he was lapsed into a state of almost semi-concious did his mind ever wander to that blue-eyed boy that was his best friend.

Or, well, used to be best friend. Everything changed the night before Edward left for Harvard.

doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo...

"I can't believe you found more pot!" Edward exclaimed with excitement, grinning broadly at his friend. "I also can't believe we're getting high... again!" he snickered. He sat down on the floor next to Jasper who was leaning against his bed.

"Well, I doubt anyone smokes weed at Harvard or MIT," Jasper replied, taking another hit. "College is serious business."

Edward nodded in agreement, his eyes red and heavy. He rested his hand on Jasper's shoulder. "Harvard," he sighed, shaking his head. "It's f-u-c-k-ing awesome."

"I'm really going to miss you," Jasper murmured, handing the joint to Edward. Their fingers brushed together, and a tiny shock of electricity ran up his hand. Edward didn't move his hand away and neither did Jasper. After another second, Edward shook his head, dropped his hand from Jasper's shoulder and took the roach, bringing it to his lips. Jasper's eyes widened from the images of Edward's lips that were rushing through his head. He ran his fingers through his curls as he blew out a loud hiss of air.

He turned his head back toward Edward to find him staring at him, his brows furrowed in confusion. Jasper laughed like nothing was bothering him and moved to grab the small joint from Edward's lips. His fingers brushed against his best friend's mouth, lingering there for a beat too long.

Jasper gulped, not looking down as Edward bit his bottom lip between his teeth. "Jasper," Edward whispered. "I'm going to miss you, too."

Jasper leaned in, not sure what he was doing, but he couldn't stop for the life of him and pressed his lips to Edward's.

doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo... doo-da-loo...

Jasper frowned and put his joint down. Thinking about that moment always made him a little sad.

His first kiss.

It was amazing. Edward's lips had felt perfect against his. They kissed for hours in his childhood bedroom, their hands roaming through hair and over cheeks and chests, never venturing any lower. Jasper had awoken the next day with a giant grin on his face, and he had no doubts to why.

Jasper was into boys, but Jasper was confused. He also liked girls. Then, there was the issue that he had never really noticed boys before that day. Then, he thought about Edward and his strong jaw and his blue eyes twinkling behind his glasses and Jasper had an erection. Well, apparently Jasper liked girls and Edward.

All he knew for sure was that he didn't want to stop kissing Edward, and that he wanted a lot more than kissing.

Too bad, Edward didn't feel the same way.

If only things could have worked out the way Jasper would have liked. He can't even think about that first Christmas break of college when Edward had kissed him again every day and then not spoken to him for a month without wanting to punch something.

That's how it was with them, though. Jasper wanting more and Edward giving in and then pulling away over and over again. Each break they grew closer and each time they went back to school, Jasper was never certain how long it would be before Edward started talking to him again.

Then, after the time they had sex for the first time the summer before their junior year, Edward never spoke to Jasper again.

Jasper shook his head, trying to clear out the ugly. God, this was killing his buzz. He hated that Edward still had this power over him.

Well, he remarked smugly to himself. There is one way to deal with this once and for all.

Jasper was going to his high school reunion.

-----

Um... so... yeah, I don't know exactly what this is, and it wasn't meant to be angsty, but it seems to have kind of turned out that way. My bad, Yoga, my bad. I hope it's more bittersweet than angsty, though. You probably have some unanswered questions, and I actually have them myself. Also, I just kind of ran out of time. Oh, imagine that, I procrastinated. *sigh*

Just tell me though, Yoga, and I will add more to this mess I wrote for you. Let's call this TBC. mk? Also, this is unbeta'ed. Judge me not.

Happy Birthday! I heart you big time, girl. Oh, yeah, someone else wanted to wish you a Happy Birthday, as well.

Happy Birthday Yoga! From Zigs!

A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I created you some crackfic hipster slash. Oh yeah, I went there.

Hope you had a great one bb! *hugs*

--------------

This outfit is just made of win, if I do say so myself, I thought as I strolled down Second Avenue with my Captain Kangaroo cone of Rocky Road and marshmallow fluff mixed in with peanut butter cups -- thanks to the lovely, talented ladies at Cold Stone Creamery. I totally tipped those gals a pretty extra penny, and they totally sang to me as I moseyed out the door. Awesome.

Why Captain Kangaroo? Well, cause he's just kick ass, and why the fuck not Captain Kangaroo? Ray-Ban sporting marsupials are the shiz nit, dawg.

I caught my reflection in a store window and smiled. Ohhhh yeah, I nodded at myself with the universal head bob that all guys throw out as their go-to sign of greeting. The perfect bit of body language to convey thoughts like: "sup?", "yo", "how's it going?", and "catch ya later, home skillet." Yes, it could say all that, and yes, I just shot myself a head nod in acknowledgment of my decked out to ze max threads that were currently gracing my mad groovy bod.

I didn't grow up working out to my sacred VHS tapes of Mousercise for nothing. I was a lean, mean, Mouse karataaay chopping machine.

In a fit of pure, sugar-high induced joy, I did a little spin kick on the sidewalk and almost took out a poodle. I shook it off and walked on, ignoring the glare of the frizzy haired owner. Whatever, lady, I gots me cone and me hoodie. You gots a poodle. I so win.

I smiled again at myself as I walked past another shintastic store window that reflected my hilariously awesome testament to hipster fashion:

Yellow Transformers hoodie, with the Bumblebee racing stripes shooting down my back? Check. Eat my dust, Megatron.

Plaid tie that I stole from Grandaddy's closet? Check.

Day-Glo neon kicks that give just enough retro flare adornment on my person to sate my need for all things nostalgic? Double check. That's right, cause there's two: Lefty kick and Righty kick. Score.

My sister's Seven jeans? Totes, and check. I stole those direct out of the dryer that morning too. Bitches were hella snug in all the right places.

The only drawback to this mad awesome look? My glasses. My sister's boyfriend had accidentally (on purpose) elbowed me in the nose last week, and my poor Buddy Holly's just went crashing to the floor in two pieces. I'd been keeping them together with electrical tape, much to the amusement of my sister's BF. Dude still calls me Potter.

Whatever, I've got the Captain and Bumblebee on my side today, and I look fucking swank!

Twenty minutes later, my kanga-cone happily in my belly, and my hoodie now unzipped to accommodate the noon day sun, I was strolling along St. Marks Place just off 8th street, flashing the pearly whites for the adoring tourists. Such is the nature of my profession: I'm a walking mannequin.

That's right, I wear clothes for a living, and then when curious peeps ask where the hell I got my rockin' threads, I point them in the direction of the fine establishments that have dressed me for the day.

Needless to say, my job was awesome. Sending hipsters on a wild goose chase for too-expensive clothes, that they could probably make in their kitchens with some spray paint and their parents old rags if they even exercised the one iota of creativity they all pretended to have, was one hell of a fun way to spend the day. And bonus! free Cold Stone, cause I gave the ladies behind the counter discount cards for UO, AA, and BI.

Speaking of Cold Stone... Mr. Kanga wasn't tiding me over in the slightest. It was time for a pudding snack pack. Oh yeah!

I had some shiny Sacagaweas weighing down my pockets from the subway ticket booths eating up my sweet Jacksons and pissing out coins at me after picking up a new metro card for the month. Might as well put these lovely little Lolitas to good use and pick up some fine rice pudding from the Automat...

There has never been a finer establishment erected on St. Marks than the BAMN! Automat.

Well, actually, that's subject to opinion. But right then, my tummy was a'grubbling , and the pink monstrosity was staring me in the face. Perfect.

As I walked into the glorious, open air, fuckhuge vending machine I stopped short. There, backlit by the glow of the florescent pink walls, was a vision; a man.

Nay, a man-boy. (Perfect for me, since I was of a similar pseudo-ambiguous age ) Tall and lanky, with wide shoulders and a tapered waist that barely held up his 501s. His hair, a shock of pink. Well, everything was a shock of pink in this place. It felt like you dropped acid and decided to spend your trip inside a Pepto bottle, but I digress....

His hair looked red, and dirty. But a good dirty. The kind of dirty that makes one want to pronounce the word with two R's like that bleach-blonde ho did with the crazy good pipes. The kind of dirty that makes one want to grab a'hold and never let go, while yelling obscene things like "Ride 'em cowboy," and "I am Spartacus!"

The kind of dirty that had my fucktight jeans suddenly that much more uncomfortable to stand in.

I shifted from neon nike to neon nike, performing a subtle pee dance, but really I was attempting to ride up my erection into my waistband, so I could hide it beneath my belt. Thank god I liked to rock a buckle the size of a double-wide to hide my lonesome dove behind.

Oh don't worry, lonesome dove, you won't be lonesome much longer. Watch papa work. Time to release the Kraken -- and by the Kraken, I mean the swagger. Oh yes, the swagger is deadly, the swagger is bold, the Swagger. Is. Sex.

But, I only managed to enact about two steps of my sex swagger when the dirrty-man-boy turned and I saw the full force of his beauty. Between the pink florescence and the house music pumping through the speakers in the ceiling, it was almost as if Brian-Fucking-Kinney, himself, had just descended from syndicated Showtime Heaven and bestowed upon little ol' me my own fuckhot man made in his image. Except, he was... just... UNF! Can we say pretty?

Please, Brian, don't smite me, but the dirrty-man-boy was so much more. A jaw so sharp that it could probably elbow someone in the chest and they wouldn't know the difference. Eyes so piercing, and broodily intense, the Bronte sisters were jilling in their graves and squirming in their long ago decayed skirts. Sideburns so perfectly trimmed to exude a turn-of-the-century feel, I would have to ask why the fuck he didn't shave them because they were douche-tastic, and yet, he made them work. They fit his face. His beautifully large, square shaped face.

I was in love. I was in lust. I was in... the Automat on St. Marks Place. This was not the correct venue to propose to your future husband--who technically wouldn't be able to marry me anyway since New York state wasn't "liberal" enough to pass that whole equality law. But whatever, I'd still get down on my knees and "propose" to him. Oh yes I would.

I hadn't realized it, as I blatantly ogled and fantasized about finding my source of protein for the day elsewhere from the many options laid out in front of me behind glass, but I'd apparently fallen onto the vending machine wall during my stare-fest. The jostling had jarred free a packet of Jell-O. It was sitting at my feet.

Dirrty-man-boy was also sitting at my feet, his face directly in front of the lonesome dove in my pants and my double-wide buckle. I groaned unexpectedly.

How did he get there? When did he get there? How long had he been down there?

Oh sweet baby jesus eating leftovers, he's on his knees in front of me. I closed my eyes and swayed on my feet. "Whoa!" I heard somewhere outside my intoxicated brian, high on dirrty-man-boy lust, and felt two strong hands hold on tight to my hips. They bucked forward.

It was an involuntary reflex; I couldn't help it.

"Ha," the voice chuckled lightly, and I opened my eyes. There he was, still at my feet, holding my hips and smiling up at me. I must have died and gone to heaven. Brian Kinney, the god of all gay men, really did give me the man of my dreams on a coin operated platter.

"Marry me," I said, dazed and confused. Oh wait no, that was just the Led Zepplin song that had started to play at exactly that moment. Perfect! Zepplin is fuckhot boom-boom music.

"Edward!" Someone with a sugar-sweet voice shouted towards us, and I turned my head away from my own personal Jesus boy.

God must have been fucking with me for all my inappropriate usage of his name, because there, standing next to a white, legitimate Rolls-fucking-Royce was a nun. No, not a nun, a woman dressed as a nun? She was wearing a habit, complete with the whole Sound of Music tunic, and had paired it with fuckhot red heels.

I had a sudden urge to pull a ruler out of my back pocket, bend her over my knee and ask: "Sister Mary, have you sinned today?" for kicks.

Regardless of the strange imagery my mind was making up, during my ponderings I felt the glorious pressure of dirrty-Jesus-man-boy's hands leave my hips and my entire body slumped from the loss. I turned back to see that my dirrty-Jesus-man-boy was no longer on his knees in front of me (a travesty) and was, instead, walking towards Sister Mary.

What the... ?

"Wait!" I shouted, not ready for my future husband to abandon me so soon. We hadn't even had the chance to fight or complain about money problems to each other yet.

Dirrty-Jesus-man-boy, stopped at my request and waved me over with his beautiful long fingers, a crooked smile and a wink. It was casual, it was camp, it was... the closest I'd ever been to receiving an eye-fuck. Guh!

I almost jizzed in my pants.

"Edward, who's this?" Sister Mary asked with her sugar-voice and bright eyes, as I practically fell into the boy from my urgent scramble to get back into the same vicinity as him so I could share his oxygen.

"Dunno, I haven't asked him yet, but he wants to marry me," Edward responded, smiling. Sister Mary gasped and put a hand over her rosary-covered heart.

"Awww... Get out! I've always wanted my boy to marry someone pretty." She then stepped forward and hugged me.

The nun is hugging me... it's about time to wake up now, Jasper.

But I didn't wake up, the nun continued to hug and I continued to boggle. The nun was a mother? The nun wanted her boy to marry someone pretty? The nun was a mother!? Wasn't that against protocol in the Sister's handbook? Like, I'm pretty sure they all jilled off every once in a while, but actual fornication didn't seem like something the Pope would be chill with for his ladies in waiting.

That, and I'm pretty sure she'd just called me pretty.

"This is your mother?" I mouthed to Edward over her shoulder. He chuckled silently and nodded in the affirmative.

"So, what's your name then?" Sister Mary--aka Edward's mother superior--asked me.

"Jasper."

"Oh! I love that name! Okay, well, you must come for dinner," she said, turning from me before opening the front door to the Rolls. "Charles," she called to the driver--fuck the Rolls had an actually driver! "We're bringing Edward's boy home for dinner. Be nice to him."

"Hop in sweetie," she said, before she stepped her sinful heels back into the Rolls and disappeared behind it's massive door which I'm sure had been buffed by some form of man-servant that morning.

I looked over at Edward. He looked at me. I smiled. He smiled back.

"Your mother's a nun?"

"Long story. I'll tell you at dinner."

And with that, my dirrty-jesus-man-boy-fiancé named Edward put his beautiful ass into the air and crawled into the back seat of the Rolls, gesturing for me to follow once he was comfortable.

I turned to the glorious pink facade of the Automat, saluted my departure and dove in, head first, onto Edward's lap. Hallelujah!