Nnnggah. Too. Much. Cake. *falls over*
I love Easter, I really do, but I think I ate too much...and there is no water. I WEEP!

"That's it? No classes, games, no books- just naked laundry?"
"Uh...played video games."

"You suck."
"Yeah, well...so do you!"
"Yeah, but I'm supposed to."
"Oh yeah? Well- I have cookies! And cake! And bread!"
"That's why you're not supposed to suck."
"Gee, thanks. I think."

"You're buzzing."
"WHy am I buzzing?"
"I don't know."
"Am I buzzing now?"
"No."
"See, now you're short. Oh wait, you were before."

"'Cuz you're short."
"See no you're just getting redundant."
"Not my fault you're short. You don't have to take it out on me."
"Grrr..."

"You realize that would fulfil your purpose in life? A little black box that emits some strange and random noise every time you hit the button. Weird noises interspersed with the occasional pithy saying. You know- every eight squeaks, a repeatable pithy comment."

"I'm looking at it right now- my third eye. My third eye sees it. Or is it my fifth eye. I never can remember. See I've got eyes in the back of my head. But that's eyes plural, so it might be my eight eye. BUt they eighth eye isn't a very fortunous eye, so it must have been my ninth or eleventh eye."

"Arg, the hippies are singing and beating drums. Dammit!"

"Why are you beeping?"
"I'm beeping?"

"Are you mashing the buttons against your forehead again?"
"...no."
"Mmm. You sure?"

Kickass. *happy dance*

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention- I got my SAT scores yesterday. I should have done better. I think I need to get back to work, now- the house isn't going to clean itself and we've got sprogs coming over tomorrow. *sigh*

Hey, more musical interludes! Because I have nothing better to do on long car rides...and this still just bothers me for some reason...first "Roxanne", now this...

"Tomorrow We'll See"

The streets are wet
The lights have yet
To shed their tawdry lustre on the scene
My skirt’s too short
My tights have run
These new heels are killing me

My second pack of cigarettes
It’s a slow night but there’s time yet
Here comes john from his other life
He may be driving to his wife
But he'll slow down take a look
I’ve learned to read them just like books
And it’s already half past ten
But they’ll be back again

Headlights in the rainy street
I check, make sure it’s not the heat
I wink, I smile, I wave my hand
He stops and seems to understand
The small transaction we must make
I tell him that my heart will break
If he’s not a generous man
I step into his van

The say the first is the hardest trick
After that it’s just a matter of logic
They have the money I have the time
Being pretty's my only crime
You ask what future do I see
I say it’s really up to me
I don’t need forgiving
I’m just making a living

Don’t judge me
You could be me in another life
In another set of circumstances
Don’t judge me
One more night I’ll just have to take my chances
And tomorrow we’ll see

A friend of mine he wound up dead
His dress was stained the colour red
No next of kin no fixed abode
Another victim on this road
The police just carted him away
But someone took his place next day
He was home by thanksgiving
But not with the living

Don’t judge me
You could be me in another life
In another set of circumstances
Don’t judge me
One more night I’ll just have to take my chances

And no it’s just not in my plan
For someone to care who I am

I'm walking the streets for money
It’s the business of love, 'hey honey'
C'mon, don’t leave me lonely, don’t leave me sad
It’ll be the sweetest five minutes you ever had

Don’t judge me
You could be me in another life
In another set of circumstances
Don’t judge me
One more night I’ll just have to take my chances
And tomorrow we’ll see
-Sting, "Tomorrow We'll See"

Sting. Transvestite fun? I suppose, given my strange obsession with crossdressers, this song shouldn't bother me so much...but it's Sting. I like Sting. I like him fine without needing to picture him in a dress. I am, of course, the girl who thinks that all the members of Bare Naked Ladies ain't half bad looking, but I'm not alone in thinking that Sting is sexy. Do I like the song? Of course I like the song. But...ngah. Transvestite prostitution on the one hand, Sting on the other... I'm still having trouble reconciling the two. *sigh* I'll just listen to the silly gas station song after it. Woo! Silly gas station fun. Happy day.

Elevation
High, higher than the sun
You shoot me from a gun
I need you to elevate me here,
At the corner of your lips
As the orbit of your hips
Eclipse, you elevate my soul

I've lost all self-control
Been living like a mole
Now going down, excavation
I and I in the sky
You make me feel like I can fly
So high, elevation

A star lit up like a cigar
Strung out like a guitar
Maybe you could educate my mind
Explain all these controls
I can't sing but I've got soul
The goal is elevation

A mole, living in a hole
Digging up my soul
Going down, excavation
I and I in the sky
You make me feel like I can fly
So high, elevation

Love, lift me out of these blues
Won't you tell me something true
I believe in you

A mole, living in a hole
Digging up my soul
Going down, excavation
I and I in the sky
You make me feel like I can fly
So high, elevation
Elevation...
Elevation...
Elevation...
-U2

Oh, gad is that song fun. You've no idea- the lyrics don't give it justice, you have to actually listen to it. And if you were me, you'd either fall over giggling or start bouncing up and down uncontrollably. Because it's just a fun song. *boiiiing* I heart U2. *dances* A mole diggin in a hole diggin up my soul...

What is YOUR Highschool label?

Whee. Don't I know it. *chuckle* See, when I have nothing to say, I let other people say it for me and put it all in pretty little boxes. Put me in a box! I want to be categorized!
See? Every single one of these tests I take destroys a little bit of my originality. Of course if I didn't want to be classified and boxed in, I wouldn't take the tests. It's a little self-defeating thing I like to indulge in; what does it matter, really?

I'm an Anime/Game OST fangirl I only like the songs the seiyuu sing for their roles, and I like SonMay CDs because they're 'affordable'

What kind of fangirl are you?

Okay, actually I took the test six times and got three different things- this, SKA, and American Pop fangirl. I liked the way this one looked the best, even though it's probably the most innacurate. All three of 'em are pretty innacurate, actually. I'm not any type of fangirl. I'm just weird. :)

Whoo? Woo? w00t. *giggle*

Wow. I feel silly. Think I'll go for a walk- soon. Not right now.
I did, however, finally get dressed- I am no longer prancing about in flannel. (It only took me til three in the afternoon...such a slacker, such a slacker. But I'm a HAPPY slacker.)

It occurs to me that I probably seem a tad bit unbalanced at times...*shrug* Eh, well. You know the drill- don't mind me.

Okay, because today is such a beautiful day, and because my hormones are doing the Fuckitall I'mhappy Dance, I'm going to be horribly, horribly silly. Are you ready? Okay.

*hugs the world* I LOVE YOU ALL!!!
Yes, all of you, even you, in the corner. I thought I told you to go away- be off! I love you 'n all, but go away. As for the rest of you *hugs the world again* Yay. Share the love. *smooch* Love ya, man. Every last one of ya.

This bit of silliness was brought to you by baking and hormone induced happiness. Enjoy it while it lasts, 'cuz I'll be a royal bitch tomorrow. *tears* I love ya, man. *giggle*

Which Evil Criminal are You?

I think I may've done this one before...my dad used to look like Charles Manson, actually. Hm...regardless, I'm soooo drunk. (only I'm not, you know. I'm just me. That's bad enough, don't you think?) Right, right, I'm getting out of here, 'fore the plug gets pulled.

What kind of drunk are you?

My mom is hovering over me (well, not hovering over me, precisely, she's hovering over the stove and commenting on how much warmer it is over there) until I turn off the computer. Hah. That's funny. She'll be standing there fore a while yet.

"If I catch on fire, put me out."
What, no please? No politeness? Hmph. Her fault for standing in front of the stove for the love of Pete. (Not that I do, mind you. I don't even know anybody named Pete. I did once- third grade. He was this really tall (for a third grader) blonde kid with a very vague expression...I think his last name began with an "f". Can't really remember. Oh, wait- I've got an uncle named Pete. But I'd never swear by him, just like you'd never swear on the One Ring- it wouldn't be healthy, you know.)

And now for another Vera Talks About Romance Fanfic
Specifically, the stuff she hates. Even more specifically, the pairings that make her want to bash her head repeatedly against a wall. Or gouge out her eyes because of the mental pictures.
Since I'm currently on an FFVIII kick:
Quistis/Seifer- just one question, why? It just doesn't make sense- sure, she might go for him because he's like a more psychotic and dangerous and slightly less kinky version of Squall, but come on now.
Seifer/Zell- No no no no NO!! People, please. Just stop. The only way this could work would be as a torture/rape/similarly offensive thing- there is nothing, I repeat nothing warm and fuzzy between these two. NOTHING.
Rinoa/Squall- See, I can despise the cannon pairings- Rinoa creeps me out and she's annoying.
Harry Potter:
Hermione/Draco- *shudder* it's like Seifer and Zell. She slaps him. He calls her a mudblood. He more or less says he's going to kill her and Harry and Ron and the lot of them at the end of the fourth book.
Harry/Draco- see above.
Ron/Draco- ditto
Ginny/Draco- I could almost see this, it's certainly less offensive than the others, but ...she's a Weasly. She's poor. She's a Weasly. She's obsessed with Harry. She's a Weasly. Have you caught my drift? (I could only see this if she got posessed again, sorry...)
Anybody/Draco- okay, so I tend to think of Draco as either one of those rare assexual characters, or as a complete manslut. I don't see him doing the warm fuzzy cuddly thing with anybody, unless it's to break their heart or get them in bed with him. He's not a nice person.
Hermione/Snape- 0_0 Do I really need to explain why this one's bad? It just screams "Catholic schoolgirl"- and that's just sick. (I know, I'm really not one to talk about things being too kinky...*cough*)
Harry/Snape- *falls over* Sick, man, just sick. I can't even use the Catholic schoolgirl excuse on this one, because that just makes it even worse...
Harry/Hermione- ...I can't really articulate it any better than this: Hermione belongs with RON, Dammit!
Harry/anybody- ...um. See, in my mind, Harry's just an assexual character. Not in the sense that he reproduces by budding, which I wouldn't be overly surprised to see Draco do, but because he's the Hero. And the Hero doesn't do the whole falling in love thing until he's got a Princess to rescue, and there hasn't been a Princess for him to rescue...so he doesn't get no lovin'. *shrug*
Final Fantasy X
Aurrikku- Aw, look, they've got a cutesy combo name. *gags* He's *SPOILER WARNING* dead *END SPOILER* for the All's sake! And she's 16! Statutory rape! Eeew! And it's Auron- he's way too cool for the perky one.

Well that killed my boredom for all of five minutes. My attention span is about as long as...so anyway, I'm quite sure I'll add to this list as the whim hits me. *innocent grin* Whaaat?

There's a primetime special on teenaged drivers on the telly right now. Sixteen year olds in particular. I took one look and started laughing.
I live in New Jersey. Even before they implemented Cinderellas, the driving age was 17. Now I can get a liscence when I'm seventeen, but it'll be restricted until I'm 18 anyway. I know people who live in states where they get their liscences at 16- whenever they talk about driving I just shake my head.

If it weren't for the fact that I already know I'm a loser, I'd wonder why the fuck nothing is working properly today.
Good night. I've given up for the day.

If you ever need someone to scream at, I'm listening.
I can always listen, you know. I just never have anything to say. Ever.

We weep because we've forgotten how to laugh.

Quick update:
The toe.
It HURTS.
*mutters* where'd my do-it-yourself amputation kit go?
Remember, kiddies, don't try this one at home.

This feels odd...


Everything is falling apart. Have I only just noticed this, or was it always this way?

Maybe I should pay a bit more attention to things.

Hey, everybody...everything's gonna be okay, you know. It will, I promise. Just don't give up, and it will all work out...

*worries* I can't tell if I'm generous or selfish sometimes. But that's not why I'm worrying. Maybe you know, and maybe you don't, but I'm willing to bet you don't. It's okay, though. I can talk to the empty air if I have to. I like it better that way, really.

only i don't. *worries* seeing how long you can stand it isn't the point...but i never knew anything to begin with.

It's not my style to be prophetic
I'm more at home being just pathetic
I've always liked to do what I'm told
I'll take your order; I'm not that bold
But once you've stepped on my toes
Well, baby that's one thing that everyone knows
Don't mess with me-
I may look nice but I'm not
Don't mess with me-
You don't know what I've got

Hey why don't you come out and play
I'll make the sun come out today
I don't know how to get through to you
It makes me so mad I don't know what to do
You laugh and you cry and you scream and you sigh
But I'm gettin so sick of you I wish I could die
Don't mess with me-
I've played this game before
Don't mess with me-
I'll hit you so hard you'll come back for more

But I'll stil push you away.
I don't want to play today.
I just wish you'd all go away
Things aren't supposed to be this way...

I think I would make a very happy Jesus. You know, just because. "Hey, I'm the Messiah and all- don't mind me, I'll just be sitting over here with the wild animals. Salvation? Oh, yeah. Could you give me a minute? I'm trying to meditate."

Okay, so I'd make a crappy Jesus. But still...

G'ah!

Oh, wow. Life of Brian, anyone? I thought so.

Okay, so Freeservers is sending me the emails telling me to upgrade my site package (but I'm cheap and lazy so I'll stick with the freeservers, y'know) that say "10 Reasons to Upgrade!" Plus the Bonus Reason at the end of the list:

Take a DREAM "Vacation" - Close your eyes and imagine yourself on the beautiful beaches of the South Pacific, on the uncrowded ski slopes of the Colorado Rockies... wherever you want. Whenever you think of that dream vacation, remember who brought it to you, Freeservers.com.
(NOTE: Actual vacation not included. This is merely a suggestion that you take a vacation in your mind. We provide top-notch Web hosting and may prompt you to take a vacation in your mind from time to time. Do not expect a free actual vacation from Freeservers, but feel free to take a vacation in your mind, courtesy of Freeservers.com!)

Oh, damn, I think I'm gonna crack up now. Never mind that they cut my space from 20mb to 12, I'll forgive them for the moment because they amuse me so very much. Tee hee, says I, tee hee.

How much wood could a wood chuck chuck? I mean, assuming that they can chuck wood in the first place, and assuming also that the wood chuck in question would want to chuck it, and that we would care to know what exactly "chucking" is.

That's far too many ass-you-mes, so I think I'll just derail this train of thought right now and kill all of the passengers in a rather bloody conflagration. Doom, you know.

Ooh, hey, has anyone else seen those GI Joe movie commercials?
Yeah, you have?
Okay, so did anybody else see them and go "Whoa, cool."?
...Oh, shut up. I know I'm a dork, dammit.

Okay, who wants to go to the movies with me to see Blade II? Come on, there's gotta be somebody who can put up with my squeakiness- I gotta see that movie! (I have *dork* tattooed across my forehead, did you know?)

Good news: I have not yet died of carbon monoxide poisoning. Woo.
Bad news: Fanfiction.net is down.
Good news: it's raining
Bad news: I don't have a handy list of favorites on the laptop and therefore must search long and hard to find my usual sites.
Good news: Hotmail is being kind and is giving me my sketches. I will do ART. Woo.
Bad news: I'm bored.

It's raining.

Note how I did not say 'drizzling'. It's raining.

*whoops for joy*

I could lie awake all night and just listen to you breathe, and it would make me happy. I could lie awake all night and reach out my hand and let it hover, just a fraction of an inch away from the warmth that is your skin, and it would make me happy. I'm always so happy when we're here, lying like this, side by side. I can curl up against you and feel you there, and know that I'm not alone. You have no idea how happy this makes me.

I just wish...I just wish I could see you, sometimes. I miss that, miss seeing the way your hair fell across your shoulders, the way your eyes caught the light and held it until they glowed; I miss that sometimes. I can feel you, even when you aren't near, but I can't see you. And my memories are growing so old, and faded, and fuzzy around the edges.

I dream, sometimes- you know that. I've woken up screaming so many times just to find myself in your arms- and you never said a word, you never had to. I'd dream of that night, the bright lights and the sudden shock and the screams, oh God, the screams...Even after I couldn't see anything, even after I lost consciousness, I still heard the screams. Still heard your screams, and Jacob's, and Jordan's, and Joeseph's. And even though I know I must have imagined it, I could hear the baby, six months not yet born, screaming. But then I wake up in your arms, and the nightmares are just dreams, only they aren't, they are memories...the last memories I have of them, of my husband and your husband and Alethea's husband...and of your face. My last memory of all of you is colored with screams of pain.

It hurts, you know. Everything hurts- the places where my eyes used to be, they ache when I lie awake like this, with my head turned in your direction. I can stare at you as much as I want and listen to you breathe, but I can't see a thing. And it hurts, that place inside me where I once held a little girl. Funny how I would be the first of the three of us to give birth- me, the youngest, the unsure one. But maybe I was being cocky, trying to outdo you and Alethea; my punishment is this. Blind and barren, and all I can do is lie awake and listen to you breathe.

It's all I have left to make me happy, sometimes.

--Excerpt from "Stories from the Sunny Hill Cafe"

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

If I ever really do become a writer, Sunny Hill is what I would write. Until then all I will do is work out scene fragments and characters- it's far too big of a project for me to even think about attempting now. The above fragment is from Athena Jenkins' point of view- she's a blind waitress, and I still haven't quite figured how that actually works. But it made even less sense to put her in the kitchen or at the front desk, (actually, that would have made more sense, but Alethea sure as hell does not wait tables) so Tina got stuck waitressing. But it's not like Sunny Hill gets more than five to ten customers a day, anyway. It isn't a real cafe, after all. It just pretends to be one.

Um...there's thunder and lightning and cars burning rubber and skidding so that it sounds vaguely like we're being bombed or something.
*cowers* I'm scared.

"So I said to her, mama, why do you cry so much? And you know what she said? She said, oh, it makes my eyes bright. That's what she said to me. It's what makes my eyes so bright."

"I do it to keep my fingers working- I may put it down for a few days and cry, but I never give up. And I can always laugh- if you don't laugh, then you may as well commit suicide!"

It seems so odd that laughter should sound so much like tears. This post is dedicated to Eleanor, because she laughed.
*Ifuckinghatehospitals*

So I'm supposed to be abed rather soon, but I'm working on updating with a bit of Sporno, and it's slow going because I'm stupid. You know what I am very, very tempted to do? Write smut, and hide that in Sporno, just to see if anybody finds it and either a) complains loudly because I said it wasn't porn, or b) ask where I hid the rest of it.

Because I am so very easily amused. I don't think I will, though, so don't get your hopes up. ('Sides, given that this is me we're talking about here, any smut that I write would probably be far too kinky and deranged for most people's tastes. So I'd get a c) what the fuck is wrong with you, you sick, sick little girl? response from most people. And it would make me laugh a great deal.) Or down, whatever.

Hey, "In Absence of the Sun" just came up with the Snape skin. That amuses me. I luv winamp. *huggles*

Aw, lookit that, I'm being stupid again. SOMEBODY HIT ME WITH A BOARD!

Every thing's gonna be alright
Rockabye
Rockabye

But you know what? I'm happy. I really am. I'm happy with my too-low self esteem and my stalkerish male friends who think they love me and my friends that I can walk from the brink of suicide only to have them run off and try to kill themselves a few months later and then not even email me for another five months after that; I'm happy. The long silences that make up most of my phone conversations bring me some relative amount of peace, and the empty silence that echoes back at me from the words that I type here only serves to make me laugh. Because I can always laugh at things, you know. I've always been able to do that. So I'm happy, despite my chronic apathy and my procrastinating tendencies and the knowledge that I'll never be "driven" enough to become anyone special. I don't want to be anyone special; I don't really want stalkerish male friends who think they love me, or suicidal friends, or long distance friends or friends who make me feel petty and worthless. But I've got them, and for some strange reason that I have yet to comprehend, they make me happy.

And you know I ought to have gone to sleep a long time ago when I start getting this sappy. So, uh, I'll just, y'know, stop now. Yeah. This is me stopping, because I'm being stupid. Woo.

See, I feel better now. There's nothing like an hour of listening to your older brother die while playing Deus Ex to cheer you up after a session of pity and self loathing. *whistles cheerfully* At least I don't constantly set myself on fire, you know?

"I owe you my life- ngaarrgleanfgh!"
"Not anymore- I collected."

"Did I save it before I did that?"

*falls over laughing*

See, what's great is that he said he was gonna let me get back to whatever I was doing and hang up- about half an hour ago.

"Try not to die again. I'd have to laugh at you. A lot."
"Wanna hear him die a horrible horrible death?"
"Your guy or the other one?"
"Does it matter?"
"Nah."

"...We don't want the hostages to die in the crossfire....says who?"

"Did you hear him scream?"
"Mm-hm."
"Did I save it before that? ...no. It's been a long night."
"That's the third time, you know. Silly silly Kev."

"That guy's firing rockets at me- I don't need to be scared of him."
"Basically he just got hit upside the head with an exploding rocket, and down he went."

"Oh, shit I"m on fire. Dammit, now I'm more on fire. Get away, get away! Where's a water fountain!"
"No, don't set me on fire, you bastard!"

"...it hits the sky."
"And it blows up!"
"..."
"Did it, did it? Did the sky blow up?!"
"Nah, just chunks of it came raining down."
"Oh, damn."

"Ah, the sound of constant grenads raining down on them. Ooops. I almost hit the wall standing next to me, and that would have sucked. You know why? There would have been lots and lots of pain."

"What are you doing?
"Oh, I'm being radiated. But I've got my regeneration on, so sooner or later I should turn into a mutant."
"You can do that!?"
*splutter*

"Oh, damn, it's locked."
"So blow it up!"
"...It's made of steel."
"Blow it up anyway!"
"Dude, the only thing that can blow this up is a torpedo."
"And?
"They weigh like a ton. Not exactly the thing you carry around on your person at all times."
"That's no excuse. Blow it up!"

"I'm going to end your life in a shower of fiery fiery death. Why? Because my little sister requests it."
"Yay!"
"Now lets put a mine right here, and one right here, and one right here..."

"No, you don't blow yourself up, dear."
"It was fiery fiery doom, though!"
"Be that as it may..."

"Can't you just shoot him in the head?"

"Whoa. My screen whited out. Too many explosives. And there's nothing left of him but a few- very few bloodstains."
"Was it fiery fiery?"
"Probably, but at the very least it was bright."
"Woooo..."

"Oh shit, too close to use a rocket launcher, too close to use a rocket launcher."
"The little bastards!
"Alright, got my machine gun out. Somehow they avoided all my traps. They will not avoid my machine gun...of doom."
"Yay!"
"Heh. My machine gun is a machine gun of doom."
"Woo!"

"I like having a stealth copter. Stealth copters are nifty. Come on, fly, copter, fly!"

"See, this guy, he like all of a sudden runs- like Jet Li in Legend. And he wears sunglasses at night. Badass."

"Did you hear them die?"
"No..."
"Okay, I'll do it again."
"Yay!"

"You know, dying is not the point here."
"Yeahyeah. Sh!"

"Is it burning?"
"No."
"Aw. Try harder!"

"Ahah he's on fire!"
"Whee! Wait, who's on fire?"
"Aw, they go out when they die."

"Okay, should I go in there with guns blazing, or should I be sneaky about it?"
"Sneaky sneaky doom!"
"Sneaky sneaky with an automatic weapon!"

Boo.

Y'know what amuses me to no end? (aside from singing nonsense songs and staring at the wall while slowly rocking, that is)

A girl says nothing
with more words than it takes
most to say something

A Haiku for you
Because I love you all so
Damn my head to hell

I shall kick the world
Laughing joyfully, happy
But I am not mad

I'm just tired and vaguely hysterical. Because I can really only be vague and hysterical. If I were concrete and hysterical I wouldn't be able to fall out of my chair laughing/crying. Because concrete doesn't move all that well, you know.
Besides, if I weren't vague, I'd have to actually think about why I was hysterical, and when I think about things, reason strikes, and then I'm not hysterical anymore.
Not that I'm hysterical right now. It's just late and I've been told repeatedly to turn off the damn (shiny) laptop and go to bed.

Connecticut, I love you. *smooch*

Oh, it's late and I am tired
ba dada da da
And I've gotta get up early in the morning
ba dada da da
To look at colleges, yeah
ba da dada
In the New England snow
ba dada da da
'Cuz they get real weather here yeah
ba dada da da
Not that crap in NJ, doncha know
ba da dada
It's getting later, yeah
ba dada da da
And the clocks make too much noise
bchdgaaaa
They're like birds on caffeine
ba dada da dadadada
And now I oughta go to bed yeah
bada da da
Because mama says I should
bada da da
But I don't really want to, no
baadadada
Cuz I've got the bluuuues
yeah da da
The late night college search blogging at grandma's bluuues
ba da da dada da da
Somebody hit me!
Upside the head!
Cuz I'm being stupid!
I wish that cuckoo clock were dead!
Ohhh, yeaaaahhh!

Thank you, thank you.

I seriously need to find out more about Pilot Candidate. There were some yummy yummy character designs there- those that didn't crack me up horribly, anyway. To see the concept of a school uniform brought so low- and on the boys, no less. I could understand if the female characters were wearing next to nothing, but for the boys to be wearing vests and speedos and not much else- it was just odd, especially for a mecha anime. I suppose a similar phenomenon happened with Heero's spandex in GW, but that was just one character. This is five characters, and I'm reasonably sure they were all within the 11-13 age bracket. Impossible to tell, of course, but....

It appeared to be a stereotypical post-apocalypse mecha type thing; the characters were standard fare with the plucky rebel, the mysterious silent one, the goofy one, the bookworm, and the sidekick, along with their female counterparts. But the concept seemed kind of neat, and the art was very pretty. And I'm a sucker for pretty art. Oh, I wish I had the Cartoon Network...*sigh* I'm a spoiled brat, but I've yet to get my parents to give in to this one request. *sniff* My grandma gets CN and I don't...*weeps for the umpteenth time over the unfairness of it all*

Ah, the helplessness of the old. I would feed upon your pitiful mewlings like a leech but it would annoy me too much.

I believe I have been reading James Joyce with far too much intensity lately. I can see the blind cords hanging like nooses, to choke from me the breath of life and creativity like grasping fingers around my throat.

....
Aw, fuck. It's late, I'm tired, and I'm in no mood to put the laptop away. It's shiny, I tell you. SHINY!!!

Ladies and gentlemen (and my friends), this is what happens when I blog from Connecticut. I love Connecticut. I'm going to marry it and keep it in my pocket along with Nathan Lane and the Lord of the Rings.

Because I have Ian McKellan and Elijah Wood in my pocket. Don't you wish you did? But they're mine, all mine, and you can't have them! Get your dirty mitts offa my pockets!

What'sss that, my precioussss? We wantsss Russssel Crowe, too? But there'sss no room for hisss ego, my precioussss, no room in my pocketsesss.

"We kid the rich because we love them so."

Nathan Lane, would you marry me?

The Oscars are more fun than an exquisitely written Good Omens fic involving fish and tequila. Oh, wait, no they're not. But they come very, very close.
By the way, if Russel Crowe is found dead by morning, I swear I had nothing to do with it.

It takes about two glasses of wine before my parents will start to talk about how useless my brothers are; two glasses for my mom, at any rate. My dad doesn't need any alcohol for that.

Family gatherings, even small ones, never fail to be fucking hilarious.

When my mother was very young, she had a pet chicken she would stick in a baby carriage and wheel around. When I first heard this, I wondered if the chicken had objected to this at all. Apparently it didn't; it just sat there and allowed my mom to wheel it around.

I want a pet chicken.

"The solution to the world's petrochemical problem is in our refridgerator."

The sad thing is, that's probably true. That was not salad dressing that I just threw out...*shudder*

What right do any of us have to expect others to give a damn about us?
What right do we have to ask another individual free thinking being with their own beliefs and cares and worries and thoughts and dreams and problems to put down their lives and help us deal with ours?
Why do people act as though that right is something God/dess given?
Hello, reality. Guess what? Very, very few people give a fuck.
And you have no right to expect them to.

Ah, I have thought of something to talk about:
The majority of teenagers suffer from some form of low self esteem, or so I have noticed. Quite a few of them ought to be on medication of some sort and aren't, and others are like me: we have no problems, honest. We just like to whine a lot.

The thing with people who loudly declaim themselves in public, continuously going on and on and on about how much they suck at everything and have no talent, is that deep down inside, most of them know this is not true. (I'm making generalizations here, don't hit me over the head or anything. In all honesty I'm just talking about myself, as that's what I'm good at and what I enjoy doing. But this might apply to you, too.) They just need reassurance of this, they need their egos stroked.

So when I'm sitting around doodling and I suddenly say "Fuck, I can't draw to save my soul", it's usually because I want someone to tell me "Hey, that's not true. That looks pretty good." Because I (and many other people) am really just a quietly raving egomaniac and I feel the need for compliments and kind words. I know I'm not a half-bad artist; certainly I'm no where near professional, or even really good, but I can manage something beyond a stick figure. I also know that I'm not an awful writer, though I could certainly use a little work in that area- but I consistently put down my own work in the hope that someone will tell me I'm wrong.

Another tactic of those of us with "low self esteem" is to keep our (and everyone else's) expectations low. We make sure that no one expects our work to be good, and that way we earn even more praise when we do do well, thus stroking our egos like little love starved kittens. Also, this keeps people from getting too annoyed at us when we do actually screw up; we told them we sucked, didn't we? Case in point: When playing badminton, a person might say "Ah, I suck at this so much!" every single time the birdy even comes near said person, just so that they can feel proud and accomplished whenever they successfuly score a point, and have a legitimate excuse every time they really do mess up.

So you see, when I (or anyone else, really) start to whine about my lack of talent, it's because I would like someone to tell me that I'm wonderful and useful and talented and all those other good adjectives. It's also an indication that I need to be smacked upside the head for being stupid, because being a perfectionist and insisting upon being the best does not necessarily mean that one is utterly worthless just because one can't live up to one's own expectations.

*whispers* in other words, it's just a fucked up apple. i told you i was a bitch.

*kicks the world*
Well. I need to cheer myself up, since eating cake is only making me feel worse. (stupid parents)

Hm. I'm feeling a little self conscious now, since I've given the link to this thing to quite a few people- I mean, there are quite a lot of things about me that I honestly don't care if my friends know about, since it's a good idea to not take me seriously ever, and if they confront me on anything I'll just shrug and say whatever. But still...we all suffer from stage fright once in a while, eh? I do hope I perform admirably well for ye all *bows*...

(I suppose it's just that certain cynics with points of view that rather wildly contradict my own have been given the link here, and I feel self conscious enough in school as it is; this is only going to make it worse.)

I am an idiot

It's not much, these little things
These things that we ask for
These things that we need
It's not much, is it?
Not to you, not to anyone but me
All these things that we ask for
All these things that we want
They don't mean much
Only the world to me, of course
If it's such a little thing
Such a crying shame of a little thing
Do you think...
That maybe you might
Find some way, some reason
-Do you think you might indulge me?
It's not much, what I ask for
Just a little kindness
Just a little joy
It's not much, not really...

Aw, cheer up little ducky. Why so glum?

Find your inner rubber ducky.

*snort* ...I WEEP!!

*moody sigh*

Such is the burden of the creator; we cannot live but through our creations. We feel their hopes and joys, their sorrows and pains, and no matter what, we cannot simply watch them live and die impartially. We must feel, and we must live and die as they do; agony and ecstacy indeed. To be a writer is to be a god, but in being a writer we finally realize that god...was most certainly a madman.

Here we are- I was wondering where I put this quote. It's garbled, of course, as so many things that come out of my mouth and off my fingers frequently are- but I think it quite adequately captures the whole spirit of being a writer. Not that I have any sort of delusions of being a writer, of course. I wrote that in response to Mike's email on the last day of the NaNo- "agony and ecstacy". He finished his story; I wonder if he's still in love with his main character?

I'm in a very pensive mood- it's the weather, the bloody weather...if my room weren't such a mess I'd give up over here and just go sit and stare at my computer screen and hope for inspiration. But I've only got an hour left, and damn am I feeling apathetic...

Bloody weather. Happy spring, bloody weather. Someone must've stabbed it in the back of the head.

I luuurve winAMP. Oh, do I ever love it, and love it good.
*cackles*

"It's a perfectly normal straight street; it just has a dead end in the middle of it."

"You know where Gerard Street is?"
"AAAAIIIIIEEEE!!!!"

Hey, I suppose the serial killer thing makes sense; I have this severe objection to impersonal death. It's why I hate guns so much; if you're going to kill, maim, or otherwise injure someone, you'd better have the guts to do the dirty deed right in thier face, clsoe enough to see the look in their eyes as they realize their lungs are going to stop working in just a moment and they wonder if they've made a good enough peace with god to get in to heaven. If you feel the need to kill someone, you'd better be able to stand the feeling of their blood running all over your hands, the sensation of bones cracking and pulverising beneath your fingers, the stench of bowels voiding as muscles suddenly relax; if you don't think you can deal with all of that, then what on earth are you doing trying to kill someone? This whole "death from a distance" thing that you get with guns- it ruins the whole point.

The point is that death is not impersonal and distant, it's in your face, dirty, ugly, and painful. If you feel you absolutely must kill someone, at least be respectful enough to the corpse-to-be to let them see your face and feel your hands and the warmth from your body even as the warmth from their own leeches away. A gun is so much less personal, so much less honest than a knife or a club to the back of the head, even. If you aren't willing to deal with the immediate consequences of what you've done, then you shouldn't be doing it in the first place.

Yes, that's my argument against guns: not that they kill people, but that they do it impersonally. *puts soap box away* Don't collect guns, children, collect knives. It'll be better for your soul in the long run.

Take the High Yield Killing Method Test Now!!

Smallville: It's Scooby Doo meets the X-Files. "Those darn kids!"

still checking my e-mail...like I've been doing for the past SIX HOURS. *falls over and dies*

Okay, maybe not six hours, but still...so much junk...*dies again and begins to twitch as rigor mortis sets in*

Hellbent:
It was mid morning, Sunday; for some reason it seemed like an even more beautiful day than usual, this time of year. It was late spring; the weather hadn't yet turned oppresively warm and the gardens outside were already aflame with color. The only drawback to the season was the severe case of allergies it gave him, but today even that seemed subdued in deference to the utter beauty outside. Dei watched Tyler for a moment, suddenly struck with a rare, severe attack of sentimentality. At seventeen years old, he wasn't supposed to feel any sort of sentiment towards his little brother; Ty was a pest, no doubt about it. But right now, sitting in the cascading sunlight with a look of deep concentration on his face, Tyler looked vaguely angelic. His golden hair refracted the sunlight into a halo around his head, and against the backdrop of riotous color outside the window; the ten year old looked positively ethereal.

Then Tyler raised his gleaming new trumpet to his lips and blew a note that completely and utterly shattered any illusions of the angelic about him. Dei flinched. Well, he had only been working at it for a few weeks...

Tyler looked up from the music stand and saw his older brother standing in the doorway. "Hey. This thing sucks. I can't get it to work."

Dei shrugged, repressing a grin. "Take a break from it; I'm going to church right now- you wanna come?"

No one ever commented on his habit of attending Sunday Mass; in fact, the entire dysfunctional family avoided the topic of religion altogether. But if no one commented on his going, it was highly doubtful they'd comment on his taking Tyler with him. Of course, the kid does have a mind of his own; wonder where he got that from...

Tyler gazed at his brother with surprisingly lucid blue eyes and was silent for a moment. "No."

"Are you sure? It'll only be an hour; you never know, you might like it." The room suddenly seemed dangerously quiet; not even the ceaseless birdsong seemed to penetrate the sudden haze of silence that surrounded them.

For one moment, Tyler's childish face seemed ancient; he had their father's eyes, and the same force of will. "I don't care how long it is. I won't go. I don't need to; you can believe what you want, believe who you want. I don't have to, and I won't."

Dei felt a sudden surge of anger, but that quickly subsided. Then he felt a sudden stab of sadness, and an absurd feeling of rejection; why should he care whether or not Tyler went to church, anyway? The hurt didn't subside as quickly as the anger had, though. He shrugged. "Whatever. I'll see you around."

Tyler blew another shrill blast on his trumpet in response and smiled sunnily, his serious demeanor gone. Dei cracked a smile and turned to leave, his car keys jingling in his pocket.

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

Um. It's not just because we're reading James Joyce, honest! That scene's been kicking around in my head for a while now- Dei isn't quite what I'd call deeply religious. He's very spiritual, certainly, but he has his own take on Christianity. I suppose the best way to describe it would be as a very left wing-ish radical version of Catholicism. (That whole Reconciliation shiz, yeah, he's into that- and the cathedrals- he really just does it for the cathedrals.) Neeerp. This was less about Dei than it was about Tyler, actually- he was a weird kid. So annoyingly cute that y'just want to kick him in the head- but weird in the sort of deep down intrinsic way that will either leave you being the one who gets sand ground in your hair on the playground every day, or the one rallying the other six year olds to battle against the adults. Tyler was the latter sort, the little instigator.

That didn't make much sense, I realize. It wasn't supposed to. Just suffice to say that this scene has been bugging me for a while and it won't show up in the story until the rehaul (if ever) and I felt the need to write it.

Ah-hah! I have a quest. *pulls out cocoanuts* That's right, I'm going on a quest. *clopclopclopclop* Onward, ho!

Really, I'm just going to find some pretty winamp skins, preferably ones that work and don't just collect dust as a pile of bitmaps. Those sorts of skins make me unhappy. Pretty skins that work, now those just make my day. *clopclop, clopclop* Skins with Spike, or Ed, or Vash would be nice...and any sort of CLAMP type of thing...perhaps a few sexy guys lacking shirts...Rikku or Lulu would be coo', even...and a Tactics skin or three would kick ass. So, wish me luck! I go, now, to search! On my quest! For WINAMP!!!

*cough* That is, I have too much free time and I ought to be studying for precal.

Going through my email oh so slowly...*bashes head against wall and falls over* oi.

Oh, good, it's not. *pats blogger on the head.*

fuck, don't do this to me, blogger.

Nanonanonano Shtoof

Okay, so I know my writing style isn't particularly refined or polished or any such thing like that. The NaNo thing only sort of emphasized that, 'specially my incredible (lack of) talent at exposition and similar things. I also tend to come up with weird ways to describe things; surreal is a good word for it. I like writing surreal. Which is probably why the NaNonovel is mostly dream sequences- eventually it gets to the point where there is no distinction between dreams and reality, and that's when I just go crazy and fuck with the imagery like a rabbit on crack. But in the five chapters that I have posted, the whole surrealism thing is really nicely showcased in the first and fifth chapters...I really like those two. The first one's better than the fifth one, but I feel that I started out well and then the whole thing just went downhill from the first chapter. (I've got twenty or so chapters of varying lengths done; the story is nowhere near finished.)

I'm going to finish it, someday. It's important to me, and I love it, the way a mother loves her three eyed, one armed, mutated and retarded child that was dropped on its head too many times. I created a monster with that thing- the world it takes place in has a more in depth history, and the characters are better fleshed out (in my head- the story is wack, but I know my characters) than anything I've ever created before. Thirty days of intense writing connects you to your work- not to say that working slowly, carefully on something won't give you a connection, too. But it's a different sort of connection; when you've got a limited amount of time, you almost have to force things into place. I guess the closest thing I can think of comparing it to is an arranged marriage; you're stuck with this world, with these people, and you either learn to live with them and love them, or you end up miserable. There's no time to get to know them slowly, before hand; it's all immediate, right now, and you just have to shove things into place until they work.

As a result of all of this, I've got a mass murdering alien psychopath, a Russian addict-prostitute, a pair of psychically bonded millionair biological experiments, the physical manifestation of chaos as it relates to time, an ex-hippy Hindu-Pagan god of Retribution, and a depressed doctor who throws pots in her spare time living in my head. And they don't get along very well at all. But I love them all dearly, despite the high aggravation level. It works, somehow...

I will put up bits and pieces of the different chapters in SporNo as I get around to editing them...but I am lazy, and it's not in an easily formatted form, so it might take me a while. I will have pictures of Leto in drag somewhat sooner, though. Because that boy is so messed up in the head it almost makes me cry. But he does look damn sexy in a dress. ;) *cough* leave me and my minor obsession with crossdressing guys alone, okay? *grin* It could be worse, you know...I'm not sure how, but I'm sure it could.

Ah, so I was thinking NaNoWriMo thoughts the other day, even before B emailed me about it, and so I'm going to introduce a new concept to the Blog:
NaNoWriMo Shtoof
You know, kinda like Boffo Babble and Random Character Spotlights. Only not.
(Methinks I ought to stop acting like a crackhead...but it's just so much FUN!)

What Pattern Are You?

MWAHAHA!! Mellow- yeah, I used to be mellow. Before I turned into a squeaky rodent of DOOM!!!

Okay, so I know I'm a little strange...but I really don't understand the appeal of soda or other carbonated beverages, or coffee, unless its espresso, and in that case, I'll have another cup, thank you. But I honestly just don't like soda or coffee (actions at RUn-a-MuC notwithstanding). I do like tea, but we only have decaff stuff in the house because caffeine, along with beef, real eggs, large quantities of salt, and ice cream, is on the list of things my dad is not allowed to eat. So what dad can't eat, the rest of us can't eat. I never liked eggs much anyway, and the only beef I really miss is beef stew, but the ice cream is just a travesty. We eat frozen yogurt instead, and there's just such a huge difference...but I digress.

I drink a lot of water- there's an office water cooler sitting in the corner of the kitchen with a stack of plastic cups on top of it. It's the greatest thing since sliced bread, I swear. I also drink chocolate soy milk, because I'm strange like that. (I heart tofu *cough*) Apple cider and grape juice make up the rest of my beverage consumption, along with the tea- I hate orange juice unless it's fresh squeezed.

I sort of drifted away from the point of all this, which is the fact that apple seeds are mildly poisonous, but I'm sure I've built up a resistance to them. I don't like to waste food, which may or may not have something to do with the fact that when I eat an apple, I eat the whole thing, seeds, pips, stem, and all. The only problem with eating the stem is that the fibers frequently get stuck between my teeth. :( Other people seem to find this strange, but I've been doing it for so long that it's second nature.

*cough* Well, I said I was a little strange...

Uh...in case you couldn't figure it out, the mashed potato comment was Kev's fault. He was drinking the glaze for the ham. *shudder* It's never a good idea to talk to your brothers when they're trying to cook dinner and trying to lecture you about metalurgy, the physics of. *pats Kev on the head* I'm sure he'll figure out what year he's in eventually. (It's a very large power of four!)

"Expand what you learn, start with what you see."

And he claims he's going to burn that notebook. Damn philosophical-confused-mind-reading-irritating-pretty-eyed boys. Oh, wait, I gave him the link to this thing...*waves* You see? Babble is good for posterity. When it's legible babble, it's even better.

"On the plus side, my microphone is mashed potato flavored."

"You don't have enough of a will to demand your own point of view. I impose my point of view on you."
"Hey! I object!"
"To what?"

"If I wanted a good story, I'd pick up a book."

I don't much like physics. I'm not going to become a mechanical engineer. I don't particularly care about the cross-sectional tensile elasticity of an irregularly shaped plate with a hole in it.

Possibly this is why I'm being lectured on it. Long distance, no less.

Multiple choice like rabbits.

Mechanical engineering in a nutshell: Basically it's just a big headache. "...as long as your elements are polyhedrals and not triangles- square or better- you'll get an answer. Otherwise it'll give you a false answer." *_*

"We do all these things to get it more and more exact, and then what do we do? We add a really, really big fudge factor at the end."

"So you sit there and calculate things as precise and accurate and nitpicky as possible- and then you just say 'screw that, make it twice as safe just in case'. Gad, what's the point then?"

"The point is, is that is works. The things that engineers design work, yes? The things that engineers don't design end up breaking, or warping, or blowing up, or get sued because they didn't work."

(The point is, he lost me when he started talking about elasticity. Now he's talking about ultimate strengths and fatigue strengths and rotating beams. *head h u r t s*)

"So that's what I'm doing in my fourth year of engineering."

"Your ...fifth year, you mean."

"Shh! It's an extremely large value value of 4. That's engineering for you."

A quick translation of my speech:

carp: depending on the context, it can mean "shit" or "crap" with the letters rearranged; when used in "I am the Keeper of the Sacred/Holy Carp!" it can be translated as "I am your Lady and Goddess, now worship me, bitch!"

*kicks something* : An expression of annoyance, usually directed at whatever the kick is being directed at. In the case of *kicks something* the annoyance is generalized and undirected; not to be confused with *kicks the world* in which case the subject really is annoyed with everything in particular, and not just everything in general.

Fork : as with carp, it is a modified version of "fuck", most often used to get away with profanity in school around the teachers that actually give a fork about things like that. Notable uses: in Latin, as "I hate this forking language" written on homework assignments.

spiffy/nifty: equally emphatic expressions of interest/happiness- on about the same level as "oh, that's cool", only not used as often.

Snifty: a combination of sweet/spiffy and nifty; generally more emphatic than spiffy or nifty alone.

Spiff: not to be confused with spiffy, this is the superlative form of the word.

I WEEP: an exclamation of anxiety or just plain angst, accompanied by dramatic swooning and pouting. Usually a response to constant poking or losing something.

You live in a box!: Can be translated as "You are so completely and totally out of it, like dude!" or "You are isolated from the world; even I know what they're talking about, and we all know how clueless I am." Generally a derrogatory statement. The aforementioned box is not a Klein bottle, despite the insistence of certain delusional characters. It is, in some cases, shiny and brown, and frequently only has one air hole, which must be sat upon. There may or may not be a twig.

I want to put that in a box!: NOT to be confused with "You live in a box!" the box in question here is a box of spiff and awww-inspiring things. This is a complement- if one is told by the subject that she wishes to place you in a box or something of yours in a a box, it is an indication that there is something about you the subject admires. Typically things that go into this box are "cute".

woo: A more ironic sounding version of "yay". It is the shortened form of "woo-hoo", which may also be heard; generally an exclamation of happiness.

Gad, I have too much free time. So, there it is, just in case some of you were wondering.

Boffo Babble part (i could never count very well to begin with...)

So, why Boffo? Well, the actual title of Birds of a Feather came to me after Jubal started molting all over the main characters. *cough* I mean, "blessing" them...originally, as with just about all of my stories, it didn't have a title; I was just writing it. (This is a huge problem that I have, because I don't use an outline or a story board or any sort of vague organizational tactic; I just sit down and write and I have no fucking clue what it is that I'm going to write until I've written it. Well, for the most part. Generally once the story has gotten going, it'll have told me what it's doing but in the beginning...woo...) The first working title I had was "Only Human" but that was the working title for about five other stories I was tinkering with at the time as well. (Okay, more like two, but still- I like the way it sounds way too much.) But then the whole thing with the angels and demons and Jubal was revealed to me in a flash of semi-divine inspiration (or semi-bovine, but that's another story altogether...*cough*) and Birds of a Feather just seemed to fit, given the way each of the characters interrelate. It'll all be made a little bit clearer soon...and once the whole thing is done, I'm tearing it all down and rewriting it so that it makes sense. And I'll put in a prologue and chapter interludes and things, just to amuse me and to make it all make sense. Since it really doesn't right now. (Part ten, by the way, is fermenting. Right now it's apple juice, but I don't want to post it until it's at the very least cheap cider; apple brandy would be great, but my writing generally doesn't reach the brandy stage- it just goes right on in to vinegar. *sigh*)

As for the nickname, "Boffo"- that has less to do with the fact that it made more sense than calling the story "Feathers" than with the fact that it's a very obscure reference to something that amused me a great deal a great many years ago. I mean, I could have just referred to the thing by its initials: Boaf. But that looks and sounds awkward. "Boffo" works, and I like the way it sounds. But I also first heard the word in a (I think) made for TV movie quite a while ago...I can't even remember what it was called, but it basically parodied all those sci-fi epics like Star Wars and similar things- it was really something of a parody within a parody, and I was probably about ten or eleven when I saw it, but I remember the weirdest things...It was about this sci-fi actor in the forties (I think) who got zapped to the world that the sci-fi drama he acted in took place in. You know, your typical "hero from the other world" type of thing. The guy was clueless- he was an actor, after all, and a bad one, at that. And on his TV show, which was really just a glorified way of pushing this breakfast cereal that sponsored it, had a catch phrase: "Chocco Socco! It's Boffo!" Chocco Socco being the source of the TV persona's power, of course. And for some reason, the memory of this movie and that catch phrase just stuck with me, and now it serves as the shorthand for my story, which doesn't involve aliens or sexy prophetesses (it was a hilarious movie, it really was), or guys with goatees (I may be getting my made for TV movies mixed up now, but who's counting?), but it does involve quite a few clinically insane people who wouldn't have been all that out of place on a forties black and white TV sci fi drama.

At any rate, I find it funny, because whenever I write "Boffo", I think of that movie (I'll figure out what it was called eventually) and I share a discreet chuckle with myself. Basically it's just me being silly and rather unoriginal. *shrug* That's what I'm good at, y'know?

"I'm a little out of the loop right now."
"Loop? You're out of the 5-dimensional hyper-Möbius-loop."
"Gee, thanks."

Right, so my hair now parts to the center, and I'm not quite sure how I feel about that, but the weather is now cold and miserable and therefore delightful, and today is Saturday and things are looking moderately better overall. So, woo.

i'm elena x reeve!

i'm goofy and het, but i don't care, because damn if i'm not having more fun than anybody else. and on top of that, my boyfriend can make custom sex toys.

what could be better?

take the which bishink pairing are you? test,

by tenshi and llamajoy.

*cackle*

*kicks the world* I don't wanna do anything remotely social today! Waaaahhh! ;_; *sniff* Aw, bugger. I'm going to get my hair cut now- I'll come back and whine about ballets and similar things later. *kicks the world again*

Oh, yes, just thought I'd mention (since I know B reads this- I haven't figured out why, though) that the picture that's been giving me trouble (mostly because I'm horribly lazy...) is a picture of Ilyan. (I finally did get the pose right, but now his face is bothering me. I can't win.) I'm drawing Ilyan because every time I try to draw Cleran or Dysis, my mind comes up blank. It's really, really annoying; even when I'm reading the story, the only mental picture I get of either of them is a vaguely masculine figure with a blurry question mark topped by something vaguely hair-ish that is a sort-of-reddish color where their faces ought to be. It's horrribly frustrating, because I would draw pictures of them, only I can't figure out for the life of me what they look like! I sit and stare at the descriptions in the character bios and in the story and I come up blank.

The SATs should die. Painfully, preferably in some method involving fire and/or red hot pokers to the eyes. *_*

I'm an idiot. Blooooo. But I'm going to the mall now, so I need to put real clothes on. *sigh* Not that I'm the type to run around stark naked, mind you.

Well, not in public, anyway. ;)

I want something else
To get me through this
semi-charmed kind of life
Baby, I want something else
Not listen when you say
Goodbye...

Green bagels. What were they thinking? Ha! Not that it wasn't good, mind you, but that's taking the whole Spirt o' Ireland a wee bit too far...

Look, I'm being good and looking at colleges. Be proud of me, dammit! ...Oh, dear me. They've put heels on sneakers. Madness, I tell you, sheer madness.

I'm a Wind Spiriti


Hah! Take that, you fucking Virgo-earth sign bitchiness within my horoscope! I really am a Libra at heart! BWAR!!

*cough* Sorry. Me 'n my horoscope have a few differences of personality to work out...

I've just realized how truly pathetic I really am; no, really. See, I've always been rather shy- one of those people who just blends into the walls. The thing is, when I'm around people that I trust, I do a complete turnabout and start acting like a rabid chinchilla or an angry gerbil. Seriously. I bounce, I squeak, I scream, I hiss, I make perverted comments in annoying voices, I basically turn into an annoying, happy, morbid bitch. So all of my friends have a really hard time reconciling the me they typically see and the me that the rest of the world gets to view; they all assume that I'm loud and outspoken around everyone. But I'm not.

A really long time ago (relatively, I'm still just a kid and probably will be until I'm 33 1/2 (just seventeen years, one month, thirteen hours, and 36 minutes from now!)) I wanted to be president. I'm not shitting you, I really did. Wait, actually I wanted to save the president (who would be one of my friends from elementary school but would have forgotten me by this point in time) from assassins or something, and I would be publicly awarded or something like that and eventually we would get married. I think I was 11. I had this horrible crush on this guy who probably will become president, if not of this country then of some small island nation from which he will go on to take over the world- but that's not really relevant. The point is that I used to want to do something important or be somebody important. But then it ocurred to me (not that long ago, but a few good years) that I don't want to do that. I like blending in with the woodwork. I don't want to be noticed. I want to live my life peacefully, own a bunch of cats, have a few very close friends, an on-again-off-again boyfriend who won't take me too seriously and who won't take himself too seriously either (who is also emotionally stable enough to take care of himself), a nice computer and a comfortable job with plenty of room for creativity but not too much stress. I don't want to be the president's wife, I don't want to save the world- I just want to, you know, live.

And eat cookies, but that, too, is beside the point.

"Devon, what color would you say my sound was?"

That new Natalie Imbruglia song? I like. 'Specially the first few bars of what sounds like cello or some other low strings...I do really really like her music, you know. Something about Australians, I dun know. (She is Australian, right? *goes blank*) Fork, I don't really care. I think I need more tea. And the Stupid Cat is walking all over the keyboard again- she nearly broke my glass of orange juice already. Stupid Cat.

Why in the name of the All is it so fricken difficult to draw somebody on their knees? *kicks lack of artistic talent and lack of models* I really should be working on that damn picture while I've got the free time before mom comes home...or I should be playing FFX. Because that game has stolen my soul, I swear.

Well, chocolate calcium chews, too, but they go without saying. Mmm, peacy goodness...

Peach yogurt and Lady Grey tea. *SMOOCH*

I really, really wish I didn't have to go to school. School sucks majorly. If I didn't have to go to school, I wouldn't have to get off the computer right now. *pouts* Damn...

*ahem* I just want to state that I'm not half as weird as my blogging makes me out to be.

I'm twice as weird.

See, the reason I wanna be my English teacher when I grow up is because he's just forkin' cool. He had a Jesuit education, and he's utterly insane (kids on Halloween, large sacks, screaming children. It's so much worse than it sounds.) and he's utterly oblivious to everything. (The tomatoes. Oi.) His wife is in Mensa. Okay, so maybe I don't want to actually be Mr Job, since he is a teacher...I wanna be Job's wife, where I can live in a fat ass house, be the global director to some multinational company, be in Mensa, and be tall, blonde, and leggy. Job kicks ass.

No, not really. But still- it'd be pretty cool to be Job's wife for a day- aside from the whole, being married to Job thing. Cuz, y'know, it's bad enough dealing with the man for 45 minutes a day. *pats Job on the head* Not that he isn't coo' and all, but...

Okay, kitty, we do not walk all over the keyboard when Vera wants to blog. Is that understood? *throws cat off desk* Stupid cat. (Her name is really Suzy, but she only answers to Stupid Cat. It ain't my fault, honest!)

Ooh, hey, I've decided that I wanna be either Mr Job or James Joyce when I grow up. I'll have to add that to my goals list, along with soft core porn writer. (Hey, it worked for Anne Rice. Come on, don't tell me you didn't see all the rampant homoeroticism in Interview. The movie was better, in terms of rampant homoeroticism, that is.)

Mmm, I did love that movie so very much. The first time I took the test I got Dracula. Dun know what that says, other than that I'm confused and probably suffering from a mild version of MPD. (Because I don't care if schizophrenic sounds better, it's incorrect.)

You're Brad Pitt. You're not really a vampire, but you play one in a movie.

Find your inner vampire.

Yes, that's some of my really old crap that I promised to scan in. Doesn't it suck horribly? The rabbit picture cracks me up, though- most of those were drawn between three and four years ago...the grim reaper one (probably the picture that subconsciously started it all) I drew three years ago while at the beach (go figure) and then went over with better pencils later on...Still, it's rather nice to look at the stuff that I do now and see how much I've improved. For your viewing pleasure, a bunch of unfinished sketches:

Leaf Call him pineapple head and he'll get mildly pissy.
Cloud Neh. She looks rather laid back, don't she?
Opal I don't draw her often enough...this is not her actual outfit for part ten, mind you- the actual outfit will require at least twice as much cloth. And I tried to draw her holding a cello bow, but I can't draw hands and...well...um, yeah. Can't draw cello bows either, apparently.

really old Or: Before I knew how to draw.

just as old this still makes me giggle, actually...yes, I'm sick.

a few months later I actually love this picture- probably the only thing I've drawn from that point in time that I actually really like.

Tybarra Ooh, this sucks. Not just because it scanned crappily, but because it sucks.

Many are cold but few are frozen. Also known as "Why I do not draw scenery to this day."

BWAR.

...Kenneth Branaugh is going to be in the second Harry Potter movie as Gilderoy Lockheart.
...
I don't know whether to swoon out of joy and happiness, or to fall over laughing. (On the one hand: Hamlet, Road to El Dorado, Midsummer Night's Dream...*drool* On the other hand: Gilderoy Lockheart. *eyes cross* Butbut-nooooo...they can't do that to him! *sniffle*)
Hm. Swoon or laugh, swoon or laugh...A dillema.

Ah, so am I the only one not watching that 9-11 tribute? Other than the rest of my family, that is? It's not that I'm squeamish and don't think I can take the horrifying truth of what happened...it's just that I feel rather...(here goes me being inarticulate again) angry, almost, at the whole thing. It's in the past- you don't harp over it obsessively and expect it to get better. You move on. That's a lesson a lot of people need to learn, I think...

Life isn't fair, you know. If it were, I'd be able to set fire to FF.net. As it is, all I can do is glare and/or pout. *shrugs* Oh, if I were Empress of the World for just one day...

Would you survive a horror movie? Find out @ She's Crafty
Aw, man...can't say I'm surprised, really. (I have far too much fun with these things, you know...)

Hey, I also did some more work on part 10 of Boffo (go me, I bothered to link). I forgot to mention this before, and I feel like mentioning it because it amuses me: The reason the plot has turned out the way it has, with the angels and everything, is entirely and solely because of Dogma. Yes, the movie with Matt Damon and Ben Afleck and Alan Rickman (ssseksseee- all of 'em). Now, I loved the movie, don't get me wrong, not only because whatsername-Bethany insinuated that Loki and Bartelby were gay (oh, did I ever crack up at that point), nor because of all the delightful mockery of Christianity in general and Catholicism in particular, or because of the presence of Jay and Silent Bob; I loved it mostly because of Buddy Christ and the fact that Bethany put out the Metatron with a fire extinguisher.

So, what does all this have to do with Boffo? Well, a lot of the details in the movie were correct (Alanis Morriset as god, for instance)- *stops, looks at previous comment, and falls over* 'Kay, no idea where that came from, I'm sorry. I would delete it, but it amuses me. Right. Back to the details. Calling one of the Angels of Death Loki did bother me a little, but I do know that a lot of supposedly correct names of angels are pretty random- Rain, for instance. Guess what he's the angel of? Or Lucifer- that's one that will bother me forever. (More on that later, I suppose, as that's a rant for a whole 'nother time.) (Nnn, I realize I'm not making much sense, but bear with me.) So, while I know it is impossible for the makers of the movie to get all the details right because they conflict so much, there were one or two things that seriously got to me.

And the biggest thing that bothers me, and the reason for Boffo's plot's sudden sprouting of wings and haloes is this: In Dogma, the Metatron pulls down his pants to reveal quite definitively that he is genderless. (At an earlier point in the movie, Bartelby (I think) says, "If I had a dick, I'd get laid", which illustrates the same point, I suppose.) I first saw the movie after one of my Bible kicks, Genesis, to be specific. (Some of my previous Bible kicks: Revelations, Leviticus, Tobit, and Acts I and II.) To be even more specific, the part very near after the Fall of Humans where it talks about Nephilim. I can't remember chapter and verse, and quite frankly I'm too lazy to dig out my Bible and find it, but the gist of it was that the angels of heaven found the daughters of man pleasing to look upon and went down to the Earth and knew them...or something to that effect. And the results of their concourse were known as Nephilim.

According to the footnotes in my Bible, this was probably put in to explain the presence of giants like Goliath later on. Seemed rather blasphemous to me at the time; insinuating that morons like Goliath were the result of angelic interference. Anyway, I do know perfectly well that there are a lot of conflicting opinions on the matter, and I mean no offense to anyone, this is just my particular take on things...so, with the obvious conflict between Dogma and my Bible on my mind, I got to thinking, what if the daughters of heaven found the sons of man pleasing to look upon? I mean, hey, it's an equal opportunity world we live in here. And thus, Radueriel, Jubal, and Opal all suddenly had pasts and histories and a few more motivations than they did before.

Ta-daa! Now you know, and you probably didn't even want to, and chances are I've either offended or confused you at some point over the past few paragraphs. A thousand apologies, really.

Since Scribble is being one of those aforementioned bitches, I'm going to rant about my day here, since it's gotten to the point where if I don't, I'll snap and break something. Not to mention the fact that I am frustrated. So.

Yesterday I went to Sugarloaf and got Kris her Yule/Ostara present (just a little bit late or a little bit early, depending on how you look at it). There were a lot of photographers there, and a lot of foodmongers, and a lot less nifty crafty things. I mean, there was the usual pottery and clothing and such, but the only seriously noteworthy crafty things were the clay tiles and the clay flowers; the flowers were so well made they looked real; each petal was translucent, for all that they were made of clay. Regardless, it was fun, and I'll look forward to the next Sugarloaf, which either won't be till summer or won't be till autumn. I cannae remember right now.

Then the computer decided to be a bitch, and the internet now hates me; I do not want to have to wait fifteen fucking minutes for a 404 error or a 'sorry, you screwed up even though it's really our fault, and you can't view the page you want to' message from MSN. *kicks internet, computer, and various and sundry other things* So, rather than netsurfing, I played FFX last night, which was perfectly acceptable.

Then, today, I played FFX some more. And I spent the better part of the fucking day trying to kill Seymour Flux and failing miserably. Eight tries, eight attempts, eight times having to go through that stupid fucking FMV sequence, and I got annhillated every time. Even after an hour and a half of levelling up, he still killed me. Once, he had all of five hundred life left, and then he killed me and laughed. *kicks Final Fantasy X, Playstation 2, and various and sundry other things* I still haven't beaten him. I'm going to walk off Mt. Gagazet with all of my characters fucking sphere grids filled, because I'll just spend the next week levelling up until I can kill the fucker and laugh at his bleeding body and supremely evil hair. (Never mind that he'll probably come back, the rat bastard. This is the third time I've had to kill him in the game, anyway.)

And of course, when I finally decide, after attempting to kill him eight times, that it might be a good idea to take a break and check my e-mail, I've got to spend an hour going through idiotic messages from the idiotic mailing list that my dearest and most wonderful friend convinced me to sign up for. It used to be "wow, two new messages. Popular today, aren't we!". Now it's "Aw, damn. 63 new messages in the inbox. This is gonna waste a lot of time, for fuck's sake." *kicks mailing list, Hotmail, and various and sundry other things*

I also went driving today; it was a beatiful day, I mean utterly glamspanking-fabulous. So dad decided that I probably wouldn't want to drive in circles in the parking lot, and I got to cruise around all the back roads off Elizabeth Avenue. It rocked. I think I might like driving- who knows, I may actually decide to get a permit before I'm seventeen at this rate. Of course, it's really only fun when you're the only car on the road and you only have to slow down to avoid hitting injured geese and wild turkeys. Wild turkeys are beatiful, beautiful birds. Injured, bleeding geese are not- it was just sitting right dead smack in the middle of the lane, and I had to get within two feet of it beeping my horn before it finally managed to rouse itself and drag it's bleeding body to the side of the road. It was sad. *kicks reckless drivers who injure geese, other cars and traffic in general, and various and sundry other things*

*shakes head* So, you see, I've been very frustrated; the driving was calming, but then FFX kicked my ass five more times and the internet decided to be a bitch, but not my bitch, and it was all just very annoying. And I have school tomorrow and I promised Kurt that I'd lend him my Dido CD and give him back Good Omens, but I haven't finished rereading it and I don't know where any of my CDs are. And I'm supposed to be off the computer now, which means that my mom is "chirping" at me. My mom is not supposed to "chirp". It sounds frightening, and vaguely annoying. *kicks-* No, wait, I won't do it, I won't- *parents, time limits, and various and sundry other things*

I am weak. *falls over laughing*

D'you have any idea how frustrated I am right now? No? Well, good. You wouldn't want to. The internet, my computer, and various and sundry other things are all bitches. But they're not my bitches, and they ought to be. Stupid bitches.

*screams long and loud* Well, it could be worse, I suppose. I could have three extra heads and a nagging itch in those hard to reach places...

*points downward* *puts on eyepatch, funky blue clothing, silver wig, and grabs overly large chakram off shelf* DRIVEL

Take a deep breath; steady yourself. There's nothing to be afraid of. You don't need to feel any fear, any terror, any abject horror at what you are about to do. You don't need to worry about the consequences, or the future. All that exists is here and now, and there is no fear. Breath in, and out, and be calm. Deep breaths; steady yourself. You will need to be steady.

Be steady and calm, and perfectly balanced with yourself and the ground and the sky and the air. Feel the breeze; it is growing stronger now, cool and steady. You can feel it slide and whisper across your skin like raw silk or a lover's caress. Let the wind be your lover, now. Breath it in, take it in, feel it all around you. Now breathe out, and be calm and strong like the earth beneath your bare feet.

The ground is strong, as are you. You can feel each individual blade of grass, cushioning the crumbling black earth with its greenness. Be steady and calm like the ground, because you will need the steadfastness of the earth; you are about to leave it.

Open your eyes and look out at the sky, at the clouds that hang in the air like fruit waiting to be plucked and eaten. They are swollen, heavy and pregnant with rain, but they do not concern you yet. All there is is here and now; do not fear and do not think of the consequences. Lift your head and do not look down; the breeze is a breeze no longer. It is a gale.

Step forward. You can feel the edge of the cliff beneath your feet, and the grass curls and crinkles between your toes. The ground is a very long way down. Take one last deep breath and feel the gale pushing you towards the edge. Feel the earth beneath you giving up and stopping. See the clouds, waiting for you.

Now you take one last step, and you are falling, down, down, down...Do not be afraid. The clouds are waiting, and you are cool and steady like the wind, strong and calm like the earth. And there is no need to be afraid, even as you fall.

The air rushes through your ears, screaming in a dischordant key while the cliff blurs past you, melting into the green of the ground that will greet you in a moment, if you give it half a chance. Your head is still up, though the force of your falling threatens whiplash on your neck. But you are not afraid.

Because just as it seems that you are going to meet the strong and very hard ground, you remember how to fly. Up, up, and up you soar, towards the clouds that were waiting for you.

I know I said this was going to be a writing blog, and all I've done is make stupid comments for the most part...and for that I am sorry. However, I doubt that will change. Even if I knew for a fact that no one read this, ever, I would still do it. I would still do everything, the blog, the journal, the webpage; it doesn't really matter to me who reads it or who doesn't. It doesn't matter to me who cares about what I do; the simple fact that I have done something is enough. All I need to know is that I am the one who has done this, and it makes me happy; therefore I will continue to do it, no matter what sort of response, if any, I receive for my troubles.

I am downloading Jimi Hendrix. Karan would be proud of me. (And it was all because of the piercing harmonicas.) Oh, fork. Stupid WinMX just disconnected me. *weep* That sucks. *sings* "There must be some way outta here/ said the joker to the thief..."

Okay, so maybe Bob Dillon really is a great singer/songwriter. That doesn't mean I want to hear the strident, ear piercing wailing of the harmonica in the existential cowboy songs at seven fricken fifteen in the morning on my way to school. I'm sorry, but it's almost as bad as Dolly Parton and her songs about dead babies. Appalachia- it's weeeerd. *wriggles finger in ear* My eardrums are irreparably harmed, I swear.

I hate the word epitome. Not because it's a bad word, mind you. I hate it because it inspires others to laugh at me. *weeps* It looks like it ought to be pronounced eh-pih-TOME. Not eh-PI-toe-me. Come on, you know it does, now stop laughing at me. At least I know what vicissitudes means. And I know how to spell it. Nyah.

The layout for this thing is already starting to annoy me, and I've only had it for two weeks. The only problem is, I suck at HTML and can't come up with anything original or attractive. At least this thing has happy colors; happy colors on a blog are good, they keep you from getting FUCKING DEPRESSED IN THE HEAD.

'Hem. 'Scuse me, I seem to have something caught in my throat. *coughcough*

Hm. I'm feeling tempted to scan in some of my really really old crap from three or four years ago, just so I can laugh at myself. Beware: I may start putting sketches and things here, and then it'll really be random and pointless.
I am, however, fairly serious about digging out the old shit to laugh at. It's funny; people actually think my art is pretty good, now. It used to be that all I could draw were stylized birds. Peanut-birds, I used to call 'em. I don't think I have any of my peanut-bird pictures anymore, though. So I'll just dig around under my bed for the old stuff for Blaze Wing and The Really Stupid Elf Story With Too Many Characters. It will amuse me.

You know how sometimes you feel the need to say something personal- something that's so completely and utterly no one's business but your own- out loud, just for the sake of saying it and knowing that it's true so you can't ignore it anymore? Well, that's kinda how I feel right now. Don't expect to see anything of the sort, though. I've done enough of that already, I'm sure.

Very small white text on a dark background should not be allowed. *squints* I think my 20/20 vision just gave up on me...

*eyes cross* 'kay, I feel like an alien is trying to claw its way out of my abdominal cavity...and it hurts to breath. This can't be a good sign...

Mmm...random blogs...they're so addictive...(bwa, I feel like a stalker. Nice not to be on the victim's end, I suppose. *chuckle*)

It has occured to me that I only do this because I enjoy the feeling of screaming in the dark. Only I hate to scream when I'm alone, especially if I know people are listening. Hm. A dillema, I suppose. Not that I much care, mind you, but still...

Moocow. I think I'm going to like James Joyce- even if he does think like a crack bunny. (So do I, so I can't really complain, can I?)

Really Quick Random Character Spotlight
story: The Hunter's Sea
name: n/a
alias: Silverlock D' Alestri
So he's this half-elven ex-slave with no family outside of the Guild except for the Clan that he belongs to- technically the Miryen Mountains are his home, but the last time he went home was thirty years ago or so, after that messy incident with the mystic and her brother...

Silver is a blood mage, so he gets his kicks out of causing pain- he's what they would call an 'empath' in Mercedes Lackey speak, but in the story I believe I will refer to them as 'emos' because it amuses me...possibly 'emopath', since it doesn't double as a normal thing and it sounds more like an actual power/ability...Right. Back to Silver. He's a sick and twisted little fuck, to be quite blunt and honest- all of his sado/masochistic tendencies plus his bard-like charisma that makes it impossible for people to say no to him just make him rather...frightening. Not to say that he isn't a likeable person, mind you. You can't help but like him- it's the manipulation and charisma thing again, but you would have to work very hard at not liking Silverlock if he didn't want you to.

I could say that his manipulative and twisted streak is the result of serious complexes and issues dealing with his childhood as a slave and the abuse and lack of love he suffered early in his life- but I would be lying. There are no hidden issues or doubts or anything like that; Silverlock is just as much of a smug SOB as he seems to be. He's not violent (in public, anyway), and his manners are impeccable. Fortunately, he is very loyal to his friends, and he'll only hurt them if they ask him to; he is also completely loyal to the Guild, which means that in some sort of disconnected way they are all his friends. Nice to know if you're an assassin, sucks to be you if you're not. He really is a nice guy, though, just a little...um...I suppose 'odd' doesn't quite cover it, but it's the best adjective I can come up with on short notice.

Blaine is the first person who can actually resist his charm, and there's nothing Silver likes better than a challenge...their relationship is decidedly un-fluffy in the begining, due to the fact that they are complete and utter opposites. For a while simply being in the other's presence would send them into spasms because they just clashed so very much. I mean, healer and sadist- it just doesn't work. (It does in the end, of course, but it does take quite a while- again with the lots of sex, shouting, crying, and throwing things- a few explosions, too, come to think of it...)

------Eh, for a short spotlight, that was fairly long. And I don't think I explained him very well. He's rather hard to explain, though- in a word, he's twisted. In a few words, he's mildly psychotic, twisted, and obsessively loyal. And powerful, of course...neh. I'm giving up. I'll figure it out later.

What is it about girls in wedding dresses and lots of black eyeliner that's so interesting? It's like watching a snake- you want to pull your eyes away, but you're fascinated anyway. Y'know that Volvo (I think) commercial with the guy in the car driving and the wedding and the very very green scenery and the sheep- he bursts into the chapel looking breathless, the bride and groom just look at him, and that transcendental high octave music plays in the background- you know the commercial I'm talking about. I love that commercial. It tells you only part of the story, only the immediate now and gives you none of the details...and that's what's brilliant about it. You get a thirty second window, a minute picture frame of the story and that's it. You can't help but wonder what went on- or shake your head knowingly and say to yourself "God, it must suck to be him." Wedding dresses, I tell ya...

Well, according to this I'm moderately schizoid, very schizotypal, very avoidant, highly dependant...hmph. I scored a low for 'antisocial'. Dunno how that happened. *snort*

I think I might like to take up photography. The only problem is that a lot of people object to this random little person snapping pictures of them, especially when she doesn't ask and gives no warning. Because that's what I'd do, you know. You can't capture the essence of people if you give them any warning. I just think it would be cool to take pictures and have people look at them and go...'like, whoa. nifty'. Of course, I feel the same way about the writing, and the art...but a photograph is a little bit more distanced from me while at the same time being a bit closer to the subject material. It's still mine but it belongs to the subject as well. With writing and art, it's all me- and that's sometimes a little uncomfortable to deal with. Plus photographs are just plain coo'.

*shiver* It's amazing how some people can pull off such a ...balanced (if you could call it that) mixture of bigotry and insight...Scary, really. If you always take everything you are told as gosphel truth, what will you do when you find yourself lying? Simply delude yourself into believing that it is truth, or do you find your own fortifications of belief shaking with every untruth? And then...on the outside you seem so calm, serene, and strong; on the inside are you crumbling slowly? It frightens me...

"See, you don't need a conductor for this song- it just plays itself. All the conductor needs to do is stand up here and..." *a great deal of highly amusing movement* "You know..."
"Wiggle?"

Gad, I do love Mr. Brown. He's so much more fun than Mr. O. And he's just so delightfully flaming- he really was wiggling up there, I swear...hilarious.

I have...(pause for drama) Sippy cups!

*falls over laughing* No, seriously, mom brought me some from Miami- two of them. Now I won't spill chocolate milk all over me in the morning when my dad is driving. Woo!

I am surprisingly uninspired. But today is Tuesday, and Tuesdays are usually good days...and that's funny, because I've always hated Tuesday on principle, but now I like it. I've got orchestra and tv and occasionally Doom or Latin, so it's usually busy...

Oh, yes, mumsy is back. Just thought I'd mention it, since she'll probably be demanding the computer so she can play free cell. (My mother, diagnosed free cell junkie.) doop.

"What do you mean if we resist? We can't just let him have his way!" Harry leapt up and slammed his hands down on the table, not caring that he was in a library and anyone could hear him. The beautiful girl's words had made him angry, and he couldn't quite figure out why. "This isn't some silly joke, people are going to die! People have died."

If anything, Cho only grew colder. "I know, Harry Potter, believe me, I know."

Harry sat back into his chair suddenly, feeling like an ass. Of course she knew. She'd been friends with Cedric, hadn't she? She went to the Yule Ball with him last year, after all...Cho neatly stacked her books and stood.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I really am. But you can't look at the world in black and white anymore. You and your friends- and I daresay Dumbledore and most of the teachers- you aren't fighting the war of good against evil. You can't just proclaim that you are right and everyone else is wrong."

"But- but Voldemort has killed, he killed my parents, he killed Cedric, he-"

Her smile extended only as far as her lips. "If it's vengeance that you want, Harry Potter, far be it from me to discourage you. But few people will agree that vengeance is a fine and noble purpose." He barely caught her last words as she walked away. "There are no noble purposes in this world..."

----------HP fic, yes, I know, I'm crazy, but I really really just want to write about Cho...and the fact that there had to be Dark Wizards from houses other than Slytherin. (Sadly, I can't write fanfiction to save my soul, but I'm going to give it a try anyway.)

Okay, I'd just like everyone to know that I'm grinning madly like a doped up lemur (though I really don't know what a doped up lemur looks like, nor would I want to know, nor would I really want to look like one; I just imagine that they must look rather silly when doped up, and since I look rather silly at the best of times it seemed appropriate. Only it didn't, I'm just really tired and babbling, and this parenthetical has gone on far too long.) and am feeling quite loved in the non-adoration sort of way, which I can actually handle without going into spazms (read: I've got issues. Big, nasty, snarling issues of DOOM.), and that usually tends to make me grin madly. Nothing out of the ordinary with that. (Aside from my unhealthy addiction to parenthesis, that is...)

I would also like everyone to know that if I weren't so bloody exhausted, I'd be drawing reams of fanart. Instead, I'm going to go to bed, and bring lots of paper and some good pencils to the HSPA tomorrow. And a nice eraser. And maybe cranberry juice, because, you know, water does get a little boring after a while. But I never said that; it would be out of character. (Then again, my life is out of character so hey, it can't get too much worse, can it?)

Right. Bed. I'm going, honest. *falls over, asleep already*