E-mail, December 6th, 2001

[soldtoarmenians]

To: bridge.carson@fandomhigh.net
From: xharris@ucsd.edu
Date: 12/6/2001
Subject: Happy Birthday and continued non-killination

Hey, 18's a big deal - you could totally vote if the government didn't think you were... what, two? I guess you could go home and vote, if that's still the voting age in the future. Or you could just stay in Fandom and tell everybody you're two and demand a huge birthday party with toys and pony rides, and eat so much ice cream you make yourself sick. ...I want a birthday party like that. Can I be two too? Not that mine wasn't good in, um, its own way, but ice cream. Just sayin'.

On the not-deadness front... Actually that joke's getting kind of lame even to me, since the fact that Faith hasn't killed me yet kind of pales in comparison to Buffy Summers, Miss Not Dead 2001.

It's weird. Which duh, but you'd think with the number of not-dead people who show up in Fandom it wouldn't be *that* weird, but this isn't Fandom and none of them are Buffy. So...weird. She's still kind of quiet, and she's *here* but sometimes it feels like she doesn't know what she's supposed to be doing with that? And we're all *glad* she's here - I mean glad is a crazy word to use, even. She was *gone*, we thought forever, and now she's not. But maybe the rest of us don't know what to do with that either, a little. Aside from just try to do the stuff we usually do, you know?

Help her kill vampires, complain about homework, watch for Hellmouth wacktasticness. Somebody ripped off a huge diamond from the museum and freeze-rayed the guard, or maybe teleported him to Antarctica for an hour and then zapped him back, who knows around here. We're trying to track down who or what but not so much with the leads.

It's driving Willow nuts to do it the old-fashioned way instead of just sticking her hand into the internets and wiggling her fingers, I can tell, but she's trying to just use magic for stuff that can't be done any other way, now. She zoomed right past miserable-cause-my-girl-left-me to how-do-I-fix-this without stopping to breathe, so now she's checking with Giles or Tara before she *does* so much as breathe, when it comes to the magic stuff. I guess that's a good thing. At least it means she and Tara are talking to each other again; believe me when I say miserable Willow tends to mean miserable everybody.

And yeah, ok, lame or not, I'm still not dead. Obviously because hi. And still....whatever. Whatever whatever is. It's not dating because there'd have to be actual dates for that, and it's seriously seriously on pain of getting stuff thrown at you like, say, couches, not that a certain roommate learned that the hard way, not anything that starts with a g and ends in friend. Except we actually are kind of that f-word without anything tacked onto the front, which again with the weird. Not *bad* weird, just...weird in the same way that telling any of this to *you* is weird, but it's you or Spike, and you at least won't snicker at me for being girlier than my absolutely-not-g-word and then bogart the beernuts. Not that you're here to, but you get the point: if you're actually reading this, you're not rolling your eyes.

Possibly you're bogarting the beernuts, but it's your birthday; you're allowed.

love, Xander

--
[ooc - Aaaand yeah, one assumes there were intervening e-mails, at least following up on the dramatastic one from the night they brought Buffy back. There just isn't anything particularly entertaining to say in them, thus I wave my hands in a completely un-Jedi-like manner.]