*climbs onto pedestal* *signals trumpets* *TRUMPETS BLAST* *clears throat*

Ladies and Gentlemen. I have an announcement.

It is very hot.

*clears throat* *TRUMPETS BLAST* *climbs do-*
*climbs back up* *TRUMPETS BLAST*

Oh, I forgot. It is very hot. And Lulu hates the world. She hates it a lot. My dad's office hates me. As does most of my house. I am leaving for Virginia tomorrow morning. I'm fairly sure my mother is on her way to hating me.

Also. I would rather have brie with the apples, pears, and honey stuff. Creamy blue cheese just isn't my style.

*TRUMPETS BLAST* *climbs down* *falls over*

*kicks crackrabbits*

Well, that was interesting. I'm really going to have to change the design here, because this color scheme makes me squint and think of Thanksgiving (mmm, cranberry sauce...), and that's really just not at all conducive to healthy blogging.

...No, really. *kicks crackrabbits again* Y'know who my new hero is? Tony Shalhoub. Monk. Neurotic. I *heart* neurotic characters, I really do...it's the real life neurotic people that frighten me. (At times I suppose I can be categorized there as well...)

*twiddles thumbs* I ought to go to sleep. I really ought to.

Hey, have y'all seen UHF? With Weird Al? And WHEEL OF FISH!? Muha, 'tis funny indeed.

Moot, says I. Moot.

(Oh, he's doing the Mik Jagger sketch. I *heart* the Mik Jagger sketch! *squeal*)

Right, so the chicken and the egg? I used to think it was the egg, until someone pointed out that even if a chicken hatched out of it, it was still a lizard's egg, so it really couldn't have been an egg that came first; the chicken must lay the chicken's egg.

But then someone else brought god into the equation. And that just screws everything up, you know? And naturally it brought up that joke about God and Eve, you know the one where Eve is sitting around bored and asks God for some company. And God makes her all these nifty animals, but Eve's like "Hey, God, these goldfish are great and all, but do you have anything with opposable thumbs?" And then God says "Well, what I can do is create something for you that'll have thumbs, be able to satisfy you sexually and emotionally, and in general be a better conversationalist than a goldfish. But, it'll be loud, noisy, stubborn, prideful, and it'll look pretty silly when its aroused. So, if I make you this creature, we'll call him man, since I made him out of woman. But you have to promise not to tell him that you came first. It'll be our secret- you know, woman to woman."

And then we went back to chickens. Since it was rather late, I can't quite remember the logic following this discussion, but I was eventually convinced that the egg came first again. It went something like: God created the chicken, but the chicken did have to hatch out of an egg, but then someone had to hatch those chicken eggs...

And so, god ended up sitting on a bunch of eggs, which I can't imagine he was too pleased to be doing. I mean, major deities have better things to do than sit around on a bunch of eggs, right? So then we decided that god must be wandering around with a chicken stuck up his ass. And wouldn't you be pretty damn pissed with a chicken up your ass? And wouldn't you then, feeling rather annoyed, decide to visit plagues and punishments upon humanity, because they don't have chickens up their asses?

There you go. The reason for millenia of biblical misery and punishment: God has a chicken up his ass.

Someday I will expunge the crackheadedness from my brain. Someday.

Until then, Liam is a really purdy name for a guy. What? Would you rather I babble about slash pairings in Boffo and explore the truly disturbing implications of the angels' androgeny? (Serena, should you happen to read this, don't answer that.) Didn't think so.

The Triadic Enneagram Test
Seven
Primary Intelligence: Mental
Coping Style: Positive
Social Style: Assertive
Hierarchical Style: Ideals

Sevens use their mental intelligence to create a positive spin on life by coming up with various utopian possibilities about how things could be. They can be very inspirational as they assert their utopian ideals about how people can live better lives or make the world a better place. Robin Williams is a well-known Seven, and his character in the movie Dead Poets Society is an excellent example of this. By regularly imagining how things can be good or made better, Sevens tend to be very optimistic, and their optimism gives them the confidence to assert themselves in the world, going after whatever it is they want.

Ngaaah! Mike Meyers in tights! (I only get to watch SNL at the shore, thus the squealing. No, that was *not* a fangirlish squeal. That was a frightened squeal. Ngaaah!)

Hm.

There's a story in everything; in pregnant women running hot sauce stores in Saratoga Springs and sad advertising specialists who won't eat shellfish, and grungy ex-hippies renting movies. There's a story in the little round white pebbles at the beach and drummers in the sunset. In the dolphins dancing and girls with walkie talkies strolling along the water. There is a story in every single grain of sand.

Maybe the most inspiring thought of all is that no matter what, there will always be another story to tell.

And all stories are worth telling, even the ones that aren't.

(Shite, there's a damn good story in Mike Meyers hosting SNL. A funny and pointless one, at any rate. And sometimes those are the best stories to tell, anyway.)

*SCREAM*

The other comic idea (aside from The Revolution is Over and Seventh Sword) that I've been playing with is for Sleeping Sentinel, which needs a complete overhaul from when I first thought it up in eighth grade. I never planned on making it a comic, but it would make a really cool comic.

It takes place somewhere between The Dragonstaff Cronicles and The Hunter's Sea in terms of time (Someday I'm gonna figure out this place's history, since it goes back rather far, but that'll take a while...), before the Six Elementals split into the thousands of little gods that Rothcar is known for. Basically, there are these seven really evil things, and the Elemental Queen of Darkness, Evil, and all things Not-So-Nice wants to harness their power and kick her sister, the Elemental Queen of Light, Love, and Shiny Butterflies in the ass. Sibling rivalry. oi. However, when she tried to do this the first time, she got herself trapped in a large rock by six Avatars of the Elements. It was the Avatar of Darkness who sealed the spell that trapped her in. The six Avatars then went to sleep. For a while.

Now it's six hundred or so years later, and someone let Adarial, Lady of Darkness, free. And she really hasn't had an original idea in a while, so she tries to harness the power of the sleeping Sentinels again, only they corrupt her and take over her body and trap her soul in a rock again. The Lady of Light, Celesianna, wakes up the Avatars and tells them to get back to work- it's a pretty rough drag. But it is six hundred years later, and they've all been treated as heroes and such for a while, which means that they really can't admit to being who they are, because for some reason, that would be bad. (I told you this needed to be reworked...)

I never cared too much about the plot- I just loved the characters to pieces. The Avatars were all normal (relatively) people before they were touched (in the head) by their respective Elementals.
Earth: The Wyrm. Jora'di Deethanas, a demi-human known as a malestri, also a thief wanted in several countries, received her call just as a bunch of forest elves were about to execute her. Lucky break, but most of them still haven't forgiven her. Jori's rather over confident and bitchy; she doesn't get along very well with Edrana, who is also over confident and bitchy. Siegfried thinks she's the best thing since sliced bread, but that hasn't been invented yet in Rothcar, and he feels that way about everybody, so that doesn't account for much.

Water: The Leviathan. Auridulujeeraysidenshas al'Seeshlan, a manic depressive water elf with the bad habit of ending up wherever it is that elves aren't welcome. Even in places that are normally friendly towards the fae, he'll somehow wander into the one part of town where elf-haters get together to get drunk. He's got chronic bad luck. Since no one can pronounce his first name without being fluent in the tongue of water elves, they all just call him Blue or Auridien. He's a nice guy when he's feeling normal, but rather frightening when he's manic or depressive. Things tend to die when he's at either extreme, regardless of his bad luck. (He's got a mean right hook.)

Air: The Wyvern. Redea Stormcry, last surviving member of a race of winged people. Adarial killed them all for resisting her; Redea has sworn vengeance, but she really is a very nice girl. Technically she's a princess of some sort, but the point is moot with her people dead. She's almost saccharine, but not quite; the fact that she and Blue are lovers makes up for this, because it's impossible to be radioactively nice when your boyfriend is severely manic depressive. She's rather suspicious of magic and has an affinity for pointy things and can occasionally be described as an 'airhead'...

Fire: The Salamander. He won't tell anyone what his real name is, but he goes by the handle 'Gladius'. He's a Gathare, or a Desert Raven; they're a fairly reclusive sort of people with leathery wings and bird-like claws. Gladius is an albino, and for various reasons was an outcast of his tribe. Something to do with bringing a curse down upon his people and angering the gods, he won't really talk about...much, at all. He's very closemouthed (the only one in the entire group who is) and a very skilled shaman/mage. He doesn't travel well, being about eight feet tall, covered in leathery white skin, with glowing red eyes and a perpetual scowl. It should be noted, though, that when he communes with the Salamander, the two of them ususally crack very bad jokes at each other.

Light: Lady Celesiana. Since I couldn't let any of the main characters have happy pasts, the Avatar of Light is Siegfried al'Rothcar, crown prince of Rothcar, technically the king after his parents and older brother were killed by Adarial. Of course, six hundred years later the country has reverted to democracy, but during the original battle against Adarial, he had it pretty rough. He's about 16, very naive, cheerful, and cute. Everybody calls him Sig, or Ziggs, or, in Edrana's case, Fried Eggs. He does remarkably well for someone who never learned to fight- he didn't have to, since he wasn't supposed to take the throne. He was the scholarly type, but when Adarial attacked and Celesiana saved him, he didn't have much of a choice. The Lady of Light gave him a natural affinity for any weapon, but he still hates to fight. His best friend, Derrin Blaze, was also killed by Adarial, but Derrin still haunts him in the form of dreams and a small falcon that speaks in Latin only when talking to Blue. (Someday I'm going to figure out what sort of drugs I was on when I thought this up, I promise.)

Darkness: Lady Adarial- but Celesiana chose the Avatar. Edrana Coralin, Eddy to her friends if she had any. After murdering her mother and being killed by her people, she came back as a vampire, died, came back as a wraith, exploded, came back as a zombie, burned to ash, returned as a Byerol Demon, and finally gave up and killed herself. Then Celesiana brought her back in her original form, as a 15 year old girl to fight Adarial. Eddy has all sorts of crazy power and knowledge from her thousand odd years as an undead monstrosity, and thus it's a little understandable that she doesn't always get along very well with the other Avatars. She has yet to explain to them that the reason for her inability to die stems from the fact that she's been posessed by one of the Sentinels, and not even Celesiana could get it all the way out of her head. She enjoys teasing Siegfried mercilessly, getting on Jori's nerves, testing the limits of Blue's bad luck, and staring up at the stars with Gladius. Definitely my favorite character in terms of being all around screwed-up.

Yeah. Crack rabbity. I seriously would love to draw it, but it definitely needs some work...but Auridien just looks cool when he's crazy.

I.Q
It either stands for "Idiocy Quotient" or "I Quit!", I haven't decided which. It's basically a silly idea I got somewhere around the end of sophomore year; that's when I got most of my ideas, I think. Junior year wasn't all that great, creativity-wise. I was too busy feeling the urge to kick people in the shins.

IQ was originally called "Too Smart", and it revolved around a girl named Royal Chan, her best friend Jaquelline, and her pet snake, Fluffy. Royal, or Roy, was some sort of crazed genius; she ran experiments in her basement, raised poisonous snakes, and lived on fresh cabbage and Evian bottled water. She had pigtails. Jaquelline, or Jacky, or the Rabid Ferret, was psychotic and slightly sociopathic. She had very long nails, very large hair, and very scary boots. I'm not sure why she and Roy were friends, but they were. Fluffy was one of Roy's experiments, a super-intelligent pocket snake. Her name for it, not mine. (At one point, Roy planned on taking over the world with pocket snakes, but that fell through when she ran out of funding.) Fluffy was original the straight man to Roy and Jacky's antics, but that doesn't work too well when your only straight man in the entire story is a six inch long talking snake with sunglasses.

So, right now I'm reworking the characters, but keeping the plots, which involve Frooty Pop!, the drink of the devil and all human beings between the ages of three and fourty seven. Good for melting teeth, brain cells, and slime aliens bent on world destruction. If I do get around to drawing it, I'll probably go for two strips a week, on monday and Saturday, or whenever I feel like it. Of course, drivers for my scanner would help. (No, I'm not going to stop complaining about this. Ever.)

And...hopefully, hopefully we will be getting tickets to Sheryl Crow at PNC in September. Why will we hopefully be doing this? Because my mom, of all people, really likes her. Sometimes members of my family pull some delightfully surprising shit. It would certainly be kick ass cool if I got to go, no?

Yet another side effect of my hormones going out of wack: Everything is funny. I know, this doesn't sound much different from my normals state, but believe me, it is. Everything. Even things I would not normally find even remotely funny have me laughing on my ass falling out of my chair. This amuses me. But, that should have been obvious.

Originally this was supposed to be a writing blog. I think. Maybe. I don't really remember. Instead, it's babble. Lots of babble.

I despise Bruce Springstein. That is all.

I really, really miss Photoshop. *whines* And my scanner. I wanna update stuff...but I can't because Lulu's a bitch. *kicks Lulu* Wow. It's so much more satisfying when you give things names- *kicks computer* just doesn't cut it anymore. I suppose I ought to be slapping Lulu, though. But kicking her is far more fun. *kicks Lulu again*

Yes, I'm perfectly aware of the fact that I'm off my rocker. Bugger off, unless you've got a scanner and a working copy of Photoshop 4.0 you want to give me.

Hmm...new Duncan Sheik song sounds quite 80s-ish. I think I like it.

The wind isn't blowing. He doesn't sigh, doesn't look up at the nodescript sky that isn't any particular color at all, doesn't wipe away the sweat that crawls its way down his temple. He doesn't care.

What he does do is flick open his lighter and watch the flame for a moment. Butane sloshes sleepily as his hand shakes violently. He drops it, the flame extinguishing a moment later- but a moment is all it takes for the gasoline soaked wood to catch, burning blue for a moment. The doorframe goes up first, varnish bubbling and popping, the smell of smoke and cedar filling his nostrils. He stands on the threshold, an old slab of marble, and watches the house burn around him. The heat sears his eyelashes, and the scars on his forearms stand out in shiny white contrast to the rest of his skin.

It might have been an hour later, maybe a whole day, maybe a week, when he finally turned away from the ashes that had once been a fire that had once been gasoline soaked wood that had once been a house. The wind isn't blowing, but the ashes scatter themselves.

He doesn't look backwards when he walks away; the scars on his arms still stand out in stark relief on his burnt skin. The sky is faintly blue above the gray ash plains.
****

Those're the images to go with the confusing poem, more or less. Not too much color, really. Just skin and fire; the scenery is flat, stony, and bare. Just a house in the middle of nowhere. And yeah, he prolly shoulda been burnt worser, but I ain't to sure *what* he is...

"Vera's got toys that have cigarettes!"

...my family has such a wonderful grasp of the obvious, sometimes. It's just a Spike figurine, yeesh!

Eeeeeee!!! The radio just told me it's going to play a new Duncan Sheik song! Eeeee!!!
*coughcough* I mean, yes, I'm quite excited and happy about this rather random turn of events.
(Eeeeee!!!!)

See, up until I read a certain FFVI fic, I had never really given Duncan Sheik a thought. But at the beginning of this fic were the lyrics to "Barely Breathing". It was a good fic, and good FFVI fics are rare. So I downloaded the song, because hey, I actually liked it anyway. Then I decided to download some of his other stuff...and "Wishful Thinking", which can *only* be found on the Great Expectations soundtrack (bugger...), is now one of my absolute all time ever favorite songs, sharing space with "Don't Dream It's Over" by Crowded House, which has been my favorite song ever since I was...five. I had to go to Oslo, Norway, to pick up their first album. I do occasionally do extreme things for my music. Anyway, I luuuurve Duncan Sheik's music with his sheksy sheksy voice (the man has crazy range, I swear- *shiver*) and melancholy melodies and sometimes twisted lyrics. It's good stuff, perfect rainy day (or any day) music. I picked up his first album at Bryn Mawr, and I'm saving up to get Whispers (I know that's not right, but I think that's what it's called) and his third album, but in the third one he didn't write any of the lyrics, just the music; they got someone else to write the lyrics for his music because he felt like sticking more to the instrumental stuff. He plays many many instruments.

And, in addition to the wonderful music, he's a New Jersey native (much as I hate this place, I do feel a little bit of pride for it, occasionally), and he's damn hot. So...naturally I am excited that the radio says it will be playing something new from him, as I've not heard anything else but Barely Breathing since it topped the charts in '96.

Uh...I suppose it's a little bit scary that I know all this stuff about this rather obscure, one-hit wonder artist (what is it with me and one-hit wonders? All my favorite singers/groups, I swear...). But hey- there are girls who know at what age each of the Backstreet Boys hit puberty, so I think my minor expertise on my one-hit wonders isn't that disturbing.

I realize now that I'm turning into a fluff-headed little fangirl at the drop of a hat. I blame it on...you. Over there, no, the one on the left. Yeah. S'all your fault. *whistles innocently*

Depravity is a delightfully fun word. Mmm, depravity.

*toothy grin*

Oh yeah, one last fangirlish giggle: Ryuuichi Sakuma? Crackrabbit. Crack rabbit. Pikapika!
No, really, I'm done. (pika!)

"After shave and smoke
And the same unfunny jokes
They say they'll take you
Anywhere but there
Believe every half whispered
Half remembered lie
THe truth is a luxury
They can't afford to buy

Scapegoats, looking for our scapegoats
Scapegoats, looking for our scapegoats
There's always someone else for you to blame
There's always someone else for you to blame
There's always someone else for you to blame

Backed into a corner
He barricades his life
Fastens up the shutters every night
This island is big enough
For every cast away
But most of us are looking round
For someone else to blame

Scapegoats, looking for our scapegoats
Scapegoats, looking for our scapegoats
There's always someone else for you to blame
There's always someone else for you to blame
There's always someone else for you to blame

-Chumbawamba, "Scapegoat"

I suppose it would take way too long to explain why I love this song so much...Christmas eve, birthday gifts, old friendships, track 12, up until midnight, waving my arms...yeah. Way too long. Tis a nifty song, though. Bouncy-happy tune, fun lyrics. Hmm.

Oi...I'm tired. Long weekend, but oh, so fun. No porn, though. *sigh* Damn underaged-ness. I *seriously* need to work on that not-being-able-to-read-Japanese thing. Seriously.

And yay!Mary and yay!Hussanah and yay!Emily were there. yay! After not saying three words to each other all school year, it was pretty hard to get us to shut up at the con. Fun.

Oh yes, and just for the record, Takaya Ougi is mine. Mine I say. And Naoe. They're from Mirage of Blaze. Gotta love the whole reincarnation, lost memories, old lovers thing. Mmm. Also in my box, from Gravitation, Hiro and K. Did I mention K was a psychotic man-bitch? No? He is. And he's mine. Him and his sniper rifle. ("I really think we're being sniped at." "You're just imagining things.") Seguchi Touma might end up in my box, but only if he stops being an evil little bitch. I swear, me 'n Emily spent way too much time hissing at the screen during Gravitation. Touma is evil. I could go on and on and on about this...but all I'll say is...Eiri. *WAAAAAHHHHH!!!!!*

Sunday, you see, was shounen ai day. I missed the dealer room because I was too busy in the Strawberry Pocky video room. And I didn't even get any pocky! (I got chocolate Pretz, though. Are they the same thing? *clueless*) I wish I were 18. I wanted porn, dammit! *sigh* Oh well. VHD made up for it, I guess. Can't wait to watch Black Jack. (Why, at shoujocon do I buy horror anime? I just don't understand...)

What really sucks is that both Mirage of Blaze and Gravitation won't be out in English until next year. *weeps* I want more of K's psychotic-ness! (Seriously, the man's off his rocker. He's American, you see. And he's Bad Luck's manager. And he speaks in English at random intervals, when he's not attacking poor Shuuichi and Eiri. *giggle* Maaah, crazy!) And I want more angst!Eiri and cuteness!Shuuichi and semi-flirty "You mean you're talking about Ayaka?!" Hiro. (Whom I still think ought to get with Fujisaka, or K, or anybody else but the girl. That's no fun at all. *grin*)

And as for Mirage of Blaze...very pretty character designs, not cute at all, with a much darker storyline than Gravitation, but I only got to see three eps, which means that the only shounen ai I saw was in the opening credits where Naoe has his arm around a shirtless Takaya, and when Naoe hints at Kagetore's lost memories. *sigh* It seems like a coo' series, though. Dark fantasy-ish, almost, not quite...more my usual style than Gravitation's awww inspiring cuteness.

Maaah! Today was a good day. Wish I'd bought a Tonberry plushie, though. Oh well. *glomps everyone* 'Twas fun anyway.

"You're not a bad guy. You just dress bad."
"Well, what's the sound of one hand yapping?"

Hee, Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust kicks much ass. 'Specially Lefthand. But oh, such pretty, pretty animation...*drool*

Douse it all in varnish
Set fire to the wood
When your scars begin to tarnish
Turn back home again

Watch the flames leap higher
Watch them reaching for your soul
If you choose to love the fire
You won't be taken back

Scatter all the ashes
It's all just dirt and grime
Even tarnished silver flashes
We're still waiting for your voice...
----
Hmm...nope, doesn't make sense to me, either.

Oh yeah, guess who got a 4 on her AP test? ^_^ bwa!

Blaaaahhh. I'm going to have to reset my tracker, because I was stupid and lost it. And just because I'm stupid. Blaaaaarg.

Yes, I'm very tired. It was a busy day, and tomorrow I've got to be up at an insanely early hour. Like, seven. Waaay too early.

"What is the weight of 1 munchkin from dunkin donuts?"
Zen koan, or really weird search engine query? I leave it to you to decide.

Okay, so now, we're going to work, okay blogger? Yes, that's right, work. Correctly.

doot?

or not.

Hmm...I love not having to do any work.

...

I have absolutely nothing to say.

...

Oh, stupid computer...

See, we reformatted and reinstalled windows, but now everything's back up again...and supposedly, it should be running faster, only the damn thing crashed three times yesterday. Irritating. The CD burner and the scanner aren't hooked up yet, and my copy of Adobe refuses to accept that the serial number I'm giving it really is its serial number, but I've got winamp and all my music and skins, and I've got all my roms and such, so I'll survive for the time being.

When you reinstall windows, it asks you to give your computer a name; the default is some random string of numbers. Kev insisted that I give it an actual name, so...

Everybody, meet Lulu. Lulu, the world.

I'm sorry. I couldn't help it. "So then I says to Lulu..."

How can the ringing of a phone bring such panic to my mind? How can that single, shrill, artificial sound make the entire world seem to stop, and pause, and hover for one breathless moment on the brink of something nameless and terrible and disorienting, as though it were about to slip over the edge of the universe and fall, fall down towards forever with no break in sight?

The phone rings; the radio seems to stop, and I can't breath as my vision spins. Why? I can't get up to answer- I can't even move.

And even if I feel like I can't stop I know I've got to because if I don't I'll just end up hitting the wall.

Winter

Snow can wait
I forgot my mittens
Wipe my nose
Get my new boots on
I get a little warm in my heart
When I think of winter
I put my hand in my father's glove
I run off where the DRIFTS GET DEEPER
Sleeping beauty trips me with a frown
I hear a voice
"You must learn to stand up for yourself
Cause I can't alyways be around"

He says when you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna CHANGE so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Boys get discovered as winter MELTS
Flowers competing for the sun
Years go by and I'm here still waiting
Withering where some snowman was
Mirror mirror where's the crystal palace
But I only can see myself
SKATING around the truth who I am
But I know dad the ice is getting thin

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna CHANGE so fast
All the white horses are still in bed
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Hair is grey and the fires are burning
So many dreams on the shelf
You say I wanted you to be PROUD of me
I always wanted that myself

When you gonna make up your mind
When you gonna love you as much as I do
When you gonna make up your mind
Cause things are gonna change so fast
All the WHITE HORSES have gone ahead
I tell you that I'll always want you near
You say that things change my dear

Never change

All the white horses
-Tori Amos
................I think it's just about time for a new layout 'round here. Something black. With snow. .........

The two most common keywords that people type into search engines to find my blog are...
fanfiction
shirtless.

...I'm sure this says something about my blog, but I'm certain I don't know what.

my comments have disabled themselves. I weep. repeatedly. gaaarrrr.

Oh, I ought to be at shojocon...I'll be the one *without* a costume, chatting with the despondent security guard, followed by someone else *without* a costume...(unless he decides to go as Sailor Jupiter. 0_0 ...eep.)

"I see turkey...do you see turkey?"
"...Why turkey?"
"What, didn't you look in the mirror and see a turkey?"
*glare*
"Oh, did I say mirror? I meant fridge."

Look, people, just because I dyed my hair doesn't mean I'm some sort of strange freakish animal hybrid. Honestly, some people! (BTW, my hair is quite shiny, and I don't care what anyone else says. So blaaaahhh!)

Oh, sadness!

This is my last five minutes in the computer lab. I'll never come back. (Well, I might, but it's doubtful.) *sniff* Oh, nostalgia!

(In all honesty, I won't miss it much; I've now got far too much to do packing-wise to worry about never seeing this damn lab again.)
Regardless, I won't be back until tomorrow.
I can't believe it's over! *weeps*

What
kind of LJer are you?

Been a while since I did one of these, eh? Hmm...*stares off into space*

When my camera film gets developed I am so posting before and after pictures. Crazy

And, since no one has any clue what I'm talking about, I'll just smile.
A shame it won't last long, though. That'll suck, but I'll have plenty of picutres.

Pictures and a huge splotch of blonde in my hair.
*wicked grin*

I tell thee now, that thou mightest know it;
I be a changed woman, s'truth.
There be no doubt of't.

Stupid blogger. Fix your server, dammit!

So much for actually getting any real work done this afternoon...
Ah, well. I'll still have tonight and tomorrow.

Time to make this into the writing prompt that will not die. I'm reading it tomorrow at Borders, and it's going into my portfolio, and now y'all can read it. Best if read out loud in a sarcastic, angry half-shout in front of a bunch of people who've only known you for 2 1/2 weeks.
"Think about a place where you questioned the worth of your life, or life in general. Draw this place, and then write about it. Try to capture the mood you were in at the time in your description of your surroundings. Tell at least one lie or secret, but NEVER tell what they are."
The picture, which I may scan when I get home, is of a couch and a chair, two tables with tissue boxes, and a purple wall. The chair is labelled "not my chair" and the wall is labelled "awful". I know. Just let me write.
-----------
I hated that couch, with its three square cushions and soft but uncomfortable armrests. I can't even remember what color it was, only that I hated it. Some non-descript shade of brown and gray, perhaps. I don't want to remember. I do remember the walls, much as I wish I didn't- an awful shade of not-purple that reminded me of so much rotting brain tissue, picked apart and spread across the walls to dry. It puslated repusively if I glanced at it out of the corner of my eye, beneath the spastic, unhealthy flourescent lights.

There were never any windows open; too chill to allow any refreshing breeze in. It was winter, not only for me, but for the rest of my world. I still don't understand why he couldn't have at least opened the blinds a little- to let some light into that tiny, cave-like room with its indifferent couch and his chair.

His chair. Probably the most traumatic thing ever; being told to sit elsewhere on the first day. It was my time, I would sit wherever I damn well pleased.

But I didn't. I got up and sat on the far end of that couch, next to the tissue box.

That tissue box came to be my friend over the next few months. As if I didn't know already that I was a failure, he had to drill that message into my skull with his monotone voice and Paintings at an Exhibition and PDQ Bach. Just another whiny little girl with money to throw away, crafting lies for teachers and parents until someone got mad. Or until someone went mad- that was why I was there, after all.

Mad. Crazy. Messed up in the head. Sitting in a shrink's office bawling my eyes out with the Brandenburg number three, first movement playing in my head as though my life had become a demented and PG rated form of A Clockwork Orange.

I hated everything.
----------------------------------------
I told two obvious lies, and one less obvious. I'll never tell which they were, though.
Writing that and reading it aloud was probably one of the most cathartic experiences of my life.

Grr...you know what? You people suck. *sulk*

Somebody talk to me...anybody...
I'm *bored*. And not particularly happy, and cooped up in a computer lab writing an essay on *liminality*.

Go on, look it up in a dictionary. You won't find it.

...Yeah, I should've stayed in yesterday. I so should have stayed in yesterday.

Have you ever had one of those days where you really, really don't want tomorrow to come? Not because today was all that wonderful, nor because tomorrow will be all that awful, but just because you don't feel like wasting any more time.

I'm feelin' that right now.

Oh yeah, I forgot; I'm quite happy right now, and I'll even tell you why.
Cardcaptor Sakura, volume 1: Toya is even cuter in black and white! *fangirlish giggle*
Duncan Sheik. *drools* Oh, blessed goddess, that man's voice! And his ass, mmm, even better. *fangirlish leer* I love his music, love it good...and the CD was only 12 bucks at Borders. *sigh*
So, yes, I'm happy. Whee.

I couldn't help it. We're reading Orlando.

Come on, tell me that line isn't great. "..,alone in a boat with a biscuit."

And tell me it isn't hilarious that noone really notices that s/he not only is a s/he, but s/he also doesn't die

And everyone else in the book has gender issues too. It's ironic, it is.

But I don't feel like telling you why. ;)

I'm having a hard time thinking of anything to say, to say.
I was feeling pretty shitty today, today
At this point I'd really just like to go away, away
And if I get the chance I think I may, I may
Even if it's only to go outside to play, to play
But if I don't I guess everything will be okay, okay
Things really aren't that bad, anyway, anyway.

I suppose I'm bored and I'm just avoiding thinking about my paper...*sigh* I'm going now. I've got a topic conference in half an hour, and I still have no forking clue what to write my paper on. Oi...

No more computer until monday! I WEEP! (Only I don't. But, I just thought I'd let y'all know.)

Oh, and the Boffo rewrite ought to happen...sometime before I'm thirty. I'm not making many guarentees. (I've gotta finish the stupid thing first, yanno.)

Idiot boy, if you want a return comment, I'll give you a return comment. But only if your comments are actually pertinent to something. Next time I start being a dictatorial bitch at you, slap me. Virtually, seeing as I'm in PA and you're back home. Whatever. Don't let me dictate your life; we'd both hate each other if you allow that.

*rubs eyes* I'm waaaay too tired and grumpy from this paper to keep writing because I know I'll say something I'll regret.

Stuuuupiiiid paaaapeeerr. *burns down, falls over, then sinks into the swamp*

Fuck, everything I try to type keeps coming out sounding very wrong. Like, very wrong. So, on a higher note, Star Wars. There, that's safe. I'm going now.
*_*

Hm...ack, I'm stupid. But...I'm cuuuuute. :)=( *cheese*
Did you know that when you leave listerine strips in the sun, they melt together into a mass of listerine-y goodness? Mmm, minty.
Uhh...I'm listening to Hampsterdance right now. Just thought y'might like to know.

Hey! Are you ready to dance?
Cuz I'm ready to dance!
So get on up
And dance to the music!
Dance to the music
Dance to the music!

And so it goes, hey? A little depressing, a little AU (for now), a little look on the inside of the glass...(Opal's fourteen or fifteen here; a little more cynical than we see her in Boffo, but this is what is supposed to happen to her. Effin' depressing, no?)
--------

She was bleeding this time; that worried her, almost. It didn't happen often, they were always too careful. But this time she was bleeding, little scratches on her arms weeping red. She sighed and rubbed at one of the scores, her mouth twisting to the side when her finger smeared red-brown across her skin.

Her parents had left, taking her little brother and sister with them. They'd gone 'out'. Opal absentmindedly licked her finger as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. She hadn't cried much this time, but she still looked like a wreck, swollen and red. Not from bruises, no; they never hit her face. I look like shit. I feel like shit. That would lead to the obvious conclusion...that I am shit. Worthless. Her mouth twisted upwards again, a wry parody of a smile.

She carefully cleaned the scratches and applied bandaids; they would heal in a day or so, shallow as they were. No scars. There'd never been any visible scars. Just bruises and once, a fractured wrist. That had healed in a day or two, too. Her father was a doctor- he knew a fracture when he saw one. It was almost worth the pain to see the confusion on his face when she was fine a few days later.

She wasn't sure what hurt more; the pain that went with a broken her wrist, or the fact that he hadn't been sorry afterwards. His surprise at her swift healing had transmuted into more anger, more fear, more pain. She finished her bandaging and pulled down the sleeves of her bulky sweater. Tyler had teased her about it, claiming she was made of ice (for more reasons than one); he didn't know that her thin skin was only half the reason for her concealing clothing. She didn't want questions or stares. She certainly didn't want pity, thick and syrupy and saccharine sweet from everyone at school.

Tyler, of course, would only be angry. He'd go on a tirade, she was sure of it. And he would confront her parents and demand that they stop, and then he'd tell his father, who would go to the police and then social workers would come and take her away and her parents would almost certainly end up in jail, and then where would she be? Lost. In some foster home somewhere. And Jamie and Mike would be just as lost, and they'd hate me even more than they do now for taking mom and dad away from them.

In a way, she was lucky. Her parents didn't hit her to leave scars, or anywhere that would show. She could easily keep it a secret forever; bruises faded, and she never bled much. She would never have to deal with the stares and the pity.

Opal washed her face, cleansing away the last traces of abuse from sight and smiled at the mirror. It smiled back, cheerful and innocent; there were still dark circles under her eyes.
--------------
Yes, her parents are assholes, and yes, she's got a little brother and a little sister. (Of course, *spoiler*they aren't really related*spoiler*.) Her foster family situation gets explained a little bit later; basically, everything gets blamed on Shateiel, who apologizes profusesly for the rest of eternity. (Opal actually finds this amusing.)
So, yeah, slightly AU to the story that's actually posted; Opal's got a lot of nasty stuff in her background that I just didn't address in Boffo as it is; this and the Cara/Jance dynamic would be things that would get changed in the rewrite (I talk about this as though I were actually going to do it, isn't that amusing?). Whew, that was depressing.

Fuck. They turned off the printers. I fucking hate this fucking schedule. Hate it. I'm only like halfway through the shtoopid thing and the draft is due tomorrow. THE PRINTERS ARE OFF. I CAN'T FUCKING FINISH WHEN THE PRINTERS ARE OFF.

*kicks the computer center* Suckage.

Okay, so maybe I won't. I seriously don't know what to write for this for this paper.

Help?

WWAAAAAAHHHHH!!! I AM WOMAN WARRIOR! I SHALL DEFEAT THIS PAPER AND BE VICTORIOUS!!

...that is all.

*sigh* Yeh, I'm bored.

...still bored.

...

...

Guess what? No, actually, I'm bored. Can you identify? *falls over* Hate. That. Word. So. Much. *dies*
And I've been asked to lead a workshop on muses because I commented that Paige is very violent in workshop today. *sweatdrop* Well...I guess I can pretend to know what I'm talking about. Any suggestions? How do you explain to twenty girls that your inspiration comes from an Elvish librarian with a stick? Oi.

Okay, so I should get to work on my paper. And I've got to write about the people here soon. Things like Gretchen's incredible niceness, Molly's accent, Serena's perversion, Jess' sheer evil factor, Becky's smile, and Claudia's clothes. The people here are wonderful, you know. Even the annoying ones; I think I've fallen in love with them all.

Seriously, though, is it any surprise? I can't believe it's already been a week...

Oh, yeah. I almost forgot. My dad signed my guestbook.

...

Uh, yeah. Creepy. First, I wanna know how he found the damned site. Then, I wanna know how much he actually looked at.
*twitch* Y'know, I really don't like the idea of my parents reading my stuff...I guess as long as the only comment he's got is "nice pictures", I'm pretty lucky, but...ehhhh...it's just weird.

Hah! If I were a mary-sue, I would be...

name: Destiny del'Ortollio
eye color: Smoky Sapphire
hair color: Ripe Silver
signature scent: herbal sandalwood
paranormal power: force adept
specialized skill: astrophysicist
distinguishing mark: intriguing scar
newly revealed relationship to a major character: Yoda's favorite musician

Get your own here.
The sad thing is, it seems strangely appropriate, don't you think? Gad, I'm amused.

I feel so very retarded. But! There are now comments. And I will expect comments, you hear me? 'Specially if you visit this more than twice a day. I know who you are, sweetheart. ;)

okay, now let's see if the shtoopid thing works...

let's try this one more time...

testing testing?