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music would not go awry
Mel: Both my parents have really good vision - my mom wears reading glasses sometimes, but that's still better than me.
Eye Doctor: [tinkling laugh] Ah, yes, well most people have better vision than you, don't they? Obviously there are the blind, but you're right up there, aren't you? Hah hah hah! Look up, darling, I must numb your eyeballs now.
Rock. \m/ So now I can't wear my contacts for a while until my eyes start, you know, feeling smaller than golf balls. I look like such a geek in these glasses, man. They're huge and they have...tortoise shell coloring. I need a cool pair of glasses with black frames or something. I could totally pull it off, right? Right? Ah, well. In other news, I have a on pair of red galoshes with white polka dots. This, I feel, is beautiful, and completely adds to my dorky image.
Dear friends, join me in my rain boot frolicking.
And also, prompt me. Don't know how many I'll get to, but leave as many as you'd like! Woo.
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The club is disgustingly populated by the time John gets there at midnight; he supposes that someone - who isn't him - would call it "hoppin'". Tugging on the bulky yellow chain around his neck that Ronon insisted was "bling bling", he steels himself for what is about to come. He can already feel how uncomfortable it's going to be, anxiety creeping up his spine.
"Oh, for god's sake, can't you horrible people go live in New York and leave the rest of the world some peace and quiet?"
John nearly falls over himself trying to see the source of the voice, and if he looks uncool, at least everyone else is doing the same thing and won't notice. The man - who can't be a day older than John himself - is stocky, but primly dressed in khaki pants that fit a little too well around the crotch and a long sleeved shirt. He's not ugly by any means, but he's not exactly fit either.
Uncomfortably, John wonders if he's about to witness his first public beating.
For some reason, though, the crowd disperses even as the man keeps spouting indignant, angry words and waving his arms around like a man-shaped windmill. John steps closer, very aware of the strange clothing he's wearing and how his pants are hanging low on his hips.
"What, you want a piece too, bucko?" the man all but yelps, red in the face.
"Um," John says slowly, "are you all right, sir?"
The man gapes for a few long moments, obviously taken aback.
"Right, forget I asked." John quickly turns and heads back towards the line into the club, pulling out his cover fee and shoving it at the bouncer. Hopefully the man won't follow him into the club and blow his cover.
-
Less than an hour later, John's wormed his way in next to one of the guys he's supposed to be sticking close to, and he's honestly wondering if MTV really does have it right and anyone willing to show their boxers to the entire world and wear a gold tooth is a complete moron.
"Yo, yo, yo," John says stiltedly, "I'mma gonna go smack me a bitch, er, get some beer."
No one at the table seems to think this is strange, and he escapes the VIP lounge with his life, but his sanity has already taken a major hit. At least the people nearer to the bar seem to be more normal - one of the men sitting close to the tap is wearing glasses and gazing out over the crowd sedately.
"I'll take one of whatever he's having," John tells the bartender, nearly shouting to be heard over the music.
He doesn't even look to see who he's shouting at until a glass slams down in front of him, drink sloshing over the side. When he looks up to complain, familiar, indignant blue eyes are staring back.
"YOU!" they say in hilarious unison.
John sighs, because this is his life, and lets his head hit the bar a few times.
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And hey, I hadn't read that glasses-fic before, so it's like I got two for one! I understand Rodney's fixation; John in glasses is a thing of beauty (*cough*especially when he's on his knees*cough*).