I didn't want Sista Beavah to find out about me messaging Author S M Johnson. Or whatever.
Crappppp...
Or I guess, turrrrrrrrd.
The exact reason I didn't want her to know is because I'm a total freak/infatuated friendwhore when it comes to these things. I feel this adrenaline to stick up for my friends. Whether I've met them or not.
Ahem.
Anyhoo, the past is the past...at the present...agh.
Haircut.
Dunno if I should love it or hate it...
I guess school on Tuesday will let me know.
Which leaves a bigger problem:
WHAT TO WEAR ON THE FIRST DAY.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-PROBLEMS ALL,
BEAVER
Saturday, August 21, 2010
FЯED.
I know it's being unloyal to nigahiga, but I watch Fred.
Actually, I've only watched like one Fred video in the past six months.
But I still feel dirty.
Speaking of loyalty, Beve is like a friggin' labrador.
And I think you know why.
*wink wink*
Oh yeah.
We have inside non-jokes.
Actually, I've only watched like one Fred video in the past six months.
But I still feel dirty.
Speaking of loyalty, Beve is like a friggin' labrador.
And I think you know why.
*wink wink*
Oh yeah.
We have inside non-jokes.
Why do you call yourself a beaver, Beve?
When you so obviously are a leprechaun.
You're five feet.
And eighty pounds.
That is what I call "I'm jealous of your weight but not your height".
As you know, I tower over you with my 5'5''-ness.
But I weigh... 109 pounds.
I suppose it'd be a bit unhealthy for someone as Sears Tower as me to be eighty pounds, but then I could finally please Kate Moss.
But dude.
That's tiny.
You should be a model.
You're five feet.
And eighty pounds.
That is what I call "I'm jealous of your weight but not your height".
As you know, I tower over you with my 5'5''-ness.
But I weigh... 109 pounds.
I suppose it'd be a bit unhealthy for someone as Sears Tower as me to be eighty pounds, but then I could finally please Kate Moss.
But dude.
That's tiny.
You should be a model.
Giant, mega epiphany.
I was a total jerkface prissy prickwad of baloney in sixth grade.
I'm probably still that way.
Sixth to seventh grade was when I was at the peak of my rudeness. I just reread a whole bunch of my old chats, and one of the ones from when I was in sixth grade basically went like:
Friend: hey!
Me: hi.
Friend: so what's up?
Me: im busy
Friend: oh ok...but can i show you something? plzzz its important
Me: no, im busy
Friend: plzzz?
Me: OH. MI. GOD.
Friend: ...
Me: WHAT THE FREAK DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT AWAY GOD UR SO ANNOYING
Friend: i didnt say anything...................
Me: OH MY GOD IM AWAY STOP BOTHERING ME
Yeah, it's safe to say that that's probably the reason I kind of had a reputation for being a tightass in school.
Although I do hope that I've changed now. "Changed" meaning completely and utterly changed. I don't want to be that girl that has the reputation for being really, really rude.
On another note: FISH BOWL!
Here's the general gist of what happened:
Went
Signed up for clubs
Got free candy from signing up
Decided to sign up for Red Cross for the free Milky Way bar
Decided to sign up for StuCo because it's just amazingly awesome
Decided to sign up for Science Club because...okay, seriously, what the hell was going on in my mind?
Wandered around
Found some friends
Latched onto said friends like superglue
Said friends literally tried to ditch me by walking very fast
Said friends claimed it was a joke
Said friends try this process about five times
Bell rings and we all go to the assigned homeroom
Seniors take roll ("Er...alright, you gotta help me with this one...Wuh..."; "Does it start with W? Because that's me. Just call me Michelle, though.")
Seniors explain about Westwood
Homeroom students play on phones
We go out of our homerooms and attempt to find our way downstairs
I lead everybody to a dead end
I'm booted off the Head Navigator position
We find our way downstairs
Everyone is packed into the gym
Cheerleaders start dancing for a "pep rally"
Boys ogle at cheerleaders' short miniskirts
Girls glare at cheerleaders for capturing boys' attention
Cheerleaders attempt to teach the class body a cheer that basically consists of shaking your butt/hips
Senior class president Rishi announces the "Party is onnnnnnnn!"
Senior class president Rishi starts pelvic-thrusting all the poor fishies
I get pelvic-thrusted
I gag in the corner
Senior class president Rishi takes off his shirt (don't worry, he was wearing two...which does strike me as a little odd)
Senior class president Rishi chases two girls around the gym
Everybody decides to steer clear of senior class president Rishi for the year
I lamely stand here, there, outside, eating, drinking, "dancing"--WHATEVER it is, I perform the action lamely
I mingle
I chatter
I watch boys play ping pong (yeah, they had ping pong tables set up)
I eat strawberries
I dance a little
I curse myself for wearing super skinny jeans
I drink some Sprite
I lose Kolencherry in the crowd, which is bad because I'm giving her a ride home
Found Kolencherry!
We go home
Er, she goes home and I go to my home
...I watch "August Rush" with my mom while trying to imitate the cheerleaders
Alright, maybe that last part wasn't totally related to Fish Bowl, but it was part of my eventful night. Gosh, can't wait for school to actually start, huh?
I'm probably still that way.
Sixth to seventh grade was when I was at the peak of my rudeness. I just reread a whole bunch of my old chats, and one of the ones from when I was in sixth grade basically went like:
Friend: hey!
Me: hi.
Friend: so what's up?
Me: im busy
Friend: oh ok...but can i show you something? plzzz its important
Me: no, im busy
Friend: plzzz?
Me: OH. MI. GOD.
Friend: ...
Me: WHAT THE FREAK DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND ABOUT AWAY GOD UR SO ANNOYING
Friend: i didnt say anything...................
Me: OH MY GOD IM AWAY STOP BOTHERING ME
Yeah, it's safe to say that that's probably the reason I kind of had a reputation for being a tightass in school.
Although I do hope that I've changed now. "Changed" meaning completely and utterly changed. I don't want to be that girl that has the reputation for being really, really rude.
On another note: FISH BOWL!
Here's the general gist of what happened:
Went
Signed up for clubs
Got free candy from signing up
Decided to sign up for Red Cross for the free Milky Way bar
Decided to sign up for StuCo because it's just amazingly awesome
Decided to sign up for Science Club because...okay, seriously, what the hell was going on in my mind?
Wandered around
Found some friends
Latched onto said friends like superglue
Said friends literally tried to ditch me by walking very fast
Said friends claimed it was a joke
Said friends try this process about five times
Bell rings and we all go to the assigned homeroom
Seniors take roll ("Er...alright, you gotta help me with this one...Wuh..."; "Does it start with W? Because that's me. Just call me Michelle, though.")
Seniors explain about Westwood
Homeroom students play on phones
We go out of our homerooms and attempt to find our way downstairs
I lead everybody to a dead end
I'm booted off the Head Navigator position
We find our way downstairs
Everyone is packed into the gym
Cheerleaders start dancing for a "pep rally"
Boys ogle at cheerleaders' short miniskirts
Girls glare at cheerleaders for capturing boys' attention
Cheerleaders attempt to teach the class body a cheer that basically consists of shaking your butt/hips
Senior class president Rishi announces the "Party is onnnnnnnn!"
Senior class president Rishi starts pelvic-thrusting all the poor fishies
I get pelvic-thrusted
I gag in the corner
Senior class president Rishi takes off his shirt (don't worry, he was wearing two...which does strike me as a little odd)
Senior class president Rishi chases two girls around the gym
Everybody decides to steer clear of senior class president Rishi for the year
I lamely stand here, there, outside, eating, drinking, "dancing"--WHATEVER it is, I perform the action lamely
I mingle
I chatter
I watch boys play ping pong (yeah, they had ping pong tables set up)
I eat strawberries
I dance a little
I curse myself for wearing super skinny jeans
I drink some Sprite
I lose Kolencherry in the crowd, which is bad because I'm giving her a ride home
Found Kolencherry!
We go home
Er, she goes home and I go to my home
...I watch "August Rush" with my mom while trying to imitate the cheerleaders
Alright, maybe that last part wasn't totally related to Fish Bowl, but it was part of my eventful night. Gosh, can't wait for school to actually start, huh?
Friday, August 20, 2010
We're the comic dream team.
That's right, Beavis. We're pure gold. Pure, funny gold. We should get our own show on MTV. Because we're just so damn awesome!
Hey, wait. Who the hell are you? Why're you—why're you here? How'd you get on this blog? What is wrong with humanity?
Sorry. That was Butt-head up there. I've no idea how he got here. But he wasn't talking about us. Psh, we ain't a comic dream team that's deserving of a show on MTV.
But we did have someone read us. [Leik ohmagawrsh no way :O]
But you already knew that, didn't you? Kat messaged you on inkie, too.
I saw the messages.
I can't believe you're cheating on me, Beve.
I feel so betrayed.
But addressing your posts that I'm too lazy to comment on individually:
No, my true last name is not Briare scrambled up. It's my true last name scrambled up with a couple letters omitted and the addition of an extra r.
Makes Wenzhao seem not as omg-roll-call-it's-armageddon, huh?
And my Facebook settings are the default ones. Sorry if you can't message me, but honestly, do you think I'd want your useless literary flatulence harassing me on Facebook, too?
And your phone conversations are lame. My friend and I never do that. When it's time for us to hang up, it goes something like this:
Me: So... How's it going?
Friend: You asked that already.
Me: Okay... So... How's life?
Friend: That too.
M: Alright. So... How's—
F: I'm hanging up now.
M: Don't leave me.
F: I think I will.
M: Don't. Please?
F: No.
M: Fine, be that way.
F: I will.
M: Fine.
F: Fine.
*fast forward seven minutes*
M: Fine.
F: Fine
M: Fine.
F: I'm seriously hanging up now.
M: But whyyyyyyyyyyy?
F: You annoy me.
M: But howwwwwww?
F: I'm going to end this call now.
M: Fine.
F: Fine.
You get the picture, I hope.
Hey, wait. Who the hell are you? Why're you—why're you here? How'd you get on this blog? What is wrong with humanity?
Sorry. That was Butt-head up there. I've no idea how he got here. But he wasn't talking about us. Psh, we ain't a comic dream team that's deserving of a show on MTV.
But we did have someone read us. [Leik ohmagawrsh no way :O]
But you already knew that, didn't you? Kat messaged you on inkie, too.
I saw the messages.
I can't believe you're cheating on me, Beve.
I feel so betrayed.
But addressing your posts that I'm too lazy to comment on individually:
No, my true last name is not Briare scrambled up. It's my true last name scrambled up with a couple letters omitted and the addition of an extra r.
Makes Wenzhao seem not as omg-roll-call-it's-armageddon, huh?
And my Facebook settings are the default ones. Sorry if you can't message me, but honestly, do you think I'd want your useless literary flatulence harassing me on Facebook, too?
And your phone conversations are lame. My friend and I never do that. When it's time for us to hang up, it goes something like this:
Me: So... How's it going?
Friend: You asked that already.
Me: Okay... So... How's life?
Friend: That too.
M: Alright. So... How's—
F: I'm hanging up now.
M: Don't leave me.
F: I think I will.
M: Don't. Please?
F: No.
M: Fine, be that way.
F: I will.
M: Fine.
F: Fine.
*fast forward seven minutes*
M: Fine.
F: Fine
M: Fine.
F: I'm seriously hanging up now.
M: But whyyyyyyyyyyy?
F: You annoy me.
M: But howwwwwww?
F: I'm going to end this call now.
M: Fine.
F: Fine.
You get the picture, I hope.
I'm in love.
I've already said this before, but I'm totally in love with Joseph Gordan-Levitt.
 |
| There's him for his SNL debut poster. Sigh. I wish he could make a debut in my life. |
Sappy moment time!
I've even Chinese soap opera music in the background to accompany.
So maybe you guys can't hear it, since it's in my house (blame it on the gramma), but it's loud over here.
Loud.
So back before school ended in May, my friend who I shall only address as The Fox wrote me a letter. She wrote all of her close friends a letter, but it's still special, okay? And because you all love me and totally care about what I have to say, here's the letter. Ahe-ahe-ahem.
A Letter to Michelle 5/26/10
Dear Michelle,
Looking out over a crowd, it's easy to find the one person who stands out. That person is you.
The one person unafraid to stand alone, the one person who won't give up. The one person who can go wild on a dance floor, and the one brave person who charges into battle on their own.
You're gorgeous, beautiful, and clever. But what I admire most in you is your bravery. You're FEARLESS. Still, coming with your bravery will be problems. Fights you can't win. Remember this: standing alone can earn you respect, but if you push too hard in life, you'll find yourself standing alone for good.
Know what you have already, and don't go looking more. Value all you hold in your hand.
Dream BIG and go FAR.
Just don't leave me behind.
<3 [no, like an actual heart, not the text heart thingy]
[the actual name of said friend]
Anyways, there's sappy time. And bye-bye sappy time.
Sigh.
I love Foxy. *tear slips down face*
Of course, the tear thing would never actually happen. I was watching Season 6 Episode 1 of Grey's Anatomy on my phone this morning, the one where [SPOILER ALERT] George dies and Izzy wakes up and everyone's all bitter and morose and downright depressed, and I didn't even tear up. Alright, maybe a little. A teensy bit.
My point: I never cry at movies/TV/etc. It's technically not real. I mean, it feels real, but hey--I didn't even cry when Dumbledore died in Harry Potter! (Book and movie, fellas. Booya.)
And technically, that wasn't a spoiler, because if you don't know that already, that's just sad.
Alright, I'm gonna leave now. Because this is getting as awkward as my phone coversation with Kolencherry last night.
ME: ...and so I'll call you when Phoenix calls me.
HER: Yeah, okay.
ME: Okay.
HER: Ohhhhkay.
ME: *cough* Yup. Okay.
HER: Alrighty.
ME: Yeah.
[silence]
ME: Okay, then see you.
HER: Oh, yeah, bye.
ME: Buh-bye.
HER: Uh huh.
[silence]
ME: Seriously, bye. [hangs up]
Yeahhh, I'm not so smooth in the telephone call area. But when it comes to real life--ka-pow! I'm as smooth as yo momma's leg after I shave it for her. *wink*
Alright, yeah, that...that wasn't even...I'll leave now.
DAM IT I'M-SUCH-A-LOSER ALL,
BEAVER
So maybe you guys can't hear it, since it's in my house (blame it on the gramma), but it's loud over here.
Loud.
So back before school ended in May, my friend who I shall only address as The Fox wrote me a letter. She wrote all of her close friends a letter, but it's still special, okay? And because you all love me and totally care about what I have to say, here's the letter. Ahe-ahe-ahem.
A Letter to Michelle 5/26/10
Dear Michelle,
Looking out over a crowd, it's easy to find the one person who stands out. That person is you.
The one person unafraid to stand alone, the one person who won't give up. The one person who can go wild on a dance floor, and the one brave person who charges into battle on their own.
You're gorgeous, beautiful, and clever. But what I admire most in you is your bravery. You're FEARLESS. Still, coming with your bravery will be problems. Fights you can't win. Remember this: standing alone can earn you respect, but if you push too hard in life, you'll find yourself standing alone for good.
Know what you have already, and don't go looking more. Value all you hold in your hand.
Dream BIG and go FAR.
Just don't leave me behind.
<3 [no, like an actual heart, not the text heart thingy]
[the actual name of said friend]
Anyways, there's sappy time. And bye-bye sappy time.
Sigh.
I love Foxy. *tear slips down face*
Of course, the tear thing would never actually happen. I was watching Season 6 Episode 1 of Grey's Anatomy on my phone this morning, the one where [SPOILER ALERT] George dies and Izzy wakes up and everyone's all bitter and morose and downright depressed, and I didn't even tear up. Alright, maybe a little. A teensy bit.
My point: I never cry at movies/TV/etc. It's technically not real. I mean, it feels real, but hey--I didn't even cry when Dumbledore died in Harry Potter! (Book and movie, fellas. Booya.)
And technically, that wasn't a spoiler, because if you don't know that already, that's just sad.
Alright, I'm gonna leave now. Because this is getting as awkward as my phone coversation with Kolencherry last night.
ME: ...and so I'll call you when Phoenix calls me.
HER: Yeah, okay.
ME: Okay.
HER: Ohhhhkay.
ME: *cough* Yup. Okay.
HER: Alrighty.
ME: Yeah.
[silence]
ME: Okay, then see you.
HER: Oh, yeah, bye.
ME: Buh-bye.
HER: Uh huh.
[silence]
ME: Seriously, bye. [hangs up]
Yeahhh, I'm not so smooth in the telephone call area. But when it comes to real life--ka-pow! I'm as smooth as yo momma's leg after I shave it for her. *wink*
Alright, yeah, that...that wasn't even...I'll leave now.
DAM IT I'M-SUCH-A-LOSER ALL,
BEAVER
Dude.
I used my super amazing stalker skills (and Sista Beavah's email) and I think I found Dilina A.
Booya.
You never told me your last name was so long, Dildo. Sigh. And here I was thinking that your last name was "Briare" scrambled up. Thanks a lot.
Anyhoo, fish bowl is tonight and I think I'm gonna go wearing a trash bag.
Just kidding, I'm gonna go nekked. Wearing a giant fish bowl. Or something to that extent.
Alright, all joking aside, I have no idea what I'm wearing. It's not formal, like homecoming, yet not casual, like a regular day at school. And what the hell is semi-formal supposed to mean anyways?
In other news, I'm writing a new story. I have no idea what it's called, but it's about an overweight girl wearing letters to her loves. (So far I have Rocky, M, Dudley, and Roger. AKA Rocky Road Ice Cream, M&Ms, Milk Duds, and Jolly Ranchers "Jolly Rogers".) Help me think of a title? I typical entry goes like
Dear ___,
[her life story with that certain candy]
Love,
Patricia [a.k.a. Fatty Patty]
It's actually kind of pathetic that I'm writing from the narrative of an overweight person, since Wii Fit always tells me I'm underweight, but hey--I've grown! I'm now 5 ' 3/4" and 80 lbs! (No, I'm not a fourth grader.) (No, I'm not anorexic.) (No, I'm not a leprechaun!)
You'd be surprised how many people gave me funny looks at schedule pick-up yesterday.
Lina, you're even more cautious than me. Seriously, I can't even send you a harmless message on Facebook? Geez Louise.
The songs that are posted on my bulletin board:
"White Houses" - Vanessa Carlton
"Lucky" - Colbie Caillat/Jason Mraz
"Fix You" - Coldplay
[Little post-it note saying, "If it makes you happy then why the hell are you so sad?" Kudos to you if you recognize the song lyric.]
"Numb" - Linkin Park
I suppose it's time for quote of the day...agh. I don't have any quotes today.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Booya.
You never told me your last name was so long, Dildo. Sigh. And here I was thinking that your last name was "Briare" scrambled up. Thanks a lot.
Anyhoo, fish bowl is tonight and I think I'm gonna go wearing a trash bag.
Just kidding, I'm gonna go nekked. Wearing a giant fish bowl. Or something to that extent.
Alright, all joking aside, I have no idea what I'm wearing. It's not formal, like homecoming, yet not casual, like a regular day at school. And what the hell is semi-formal supposed to mean anyways?
In other news, I'm writing a new story. I have no idea what it's called, but it's about an overweight girl wearing letters to her loves. (So far I have Rocky, M, Dudley, and Roger. AKA Rocky Road Ice Cream, M&Ms, Milk Duds, and Jolly Ranchers "Jolly Rogers".) Help me think of a title? I typical entry goes like
Dear ___,
[her life story with that certain candy]
Love,
Patricia [a.k.a. Fatty Patty]
It's actually kind of pathetic that I'm writing from the narrative of an overweight person, since Wii Fit always tells me I'm underweight, but hey--I've grown! I'm now 5 ' 3/4" and 80 lbs! (No, I'm not a fourth grader.) (No, I'm not anorexic.) (No, I'm not a leprechaun!)
You'd be surprised how many people gave me funny looks at schedule pick-up yesterday.
Lina, you're even more cautious than me. Seriously, I can't even send you a harmless message on Facebook? Geez Louise.
The songs that are posted on my bulletin board:
"White Houses" - Vanessa Carlton
"Lucky" - Colbie Caillat/Jason Mraz
"Fix You" - Coldplay
[Little post-it note saying, "If it makes you happy then why the hell are you so sad?" Kudos to you if you recognize the song lyric.]
"Numb" - Linkin Park
I suppose it's time for quote of the day...agh. I don't have any quotes today.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Here's Dildo!
Okay.
That was a creepy title.
But we all love Stephen King book-adapted movies, do we not?
But yeah.
High school.
I went there.
And I survived.
Extree, extree! Read all about it!
Uhhhhhh.
That's it.
By the way, Beve:
Of course you can't Facebook search Lina Briare and expect to find anyone.
Well, you might find someone. Some prostitute, perhaps. Her status could be "Lina Briare would like some customers."
Not that I would know.
You can search for Dilina. There are about 300 of those. Which came as a surprise to me. I thought I was unique. :[
And my last name starts with an 'a'. And the second letter is a 'b'.
That was a creepy title.
But we all love Stephen King book-adapted movies, do we not?
But yeah.
High school.
I went there.
And I survived.
Extree, extree! Read all about it!
Uhhhhhh.
That's it.
By the way, Beve:
Of course you can't Facebook search Lina Briare and expect to find anyone.
Well, you might find someone. Some prostitute, perhaps. Her status could be "Lina Briare would like some customers."
Not that I would know.
You can search for Dilina. There are about 300 of those. Which came as a surprise to me. I thought I was unique. :[
And my last name starts with an 'a'. And the second letter is a 'b'.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Can Geico save you 15% or more in car insurance?
I don't care, but there are woodchucks in this video look like beavers. (Or are they the same thing? Who knows. Not me.)
Click it.
Clickity.
In fact, click here.
DAM IT WOODCHUCKS-BE-TRIPPIN' ALL,
BEAVER
Click it.
Clickity.
In fact, click here.
DAM IT WOODCHUCKS-BE-TRIPPIN' ALL,
BEAVER
Mulan Quote Party!
Fa Zhou: Mulan...
Mulan: [kneels] Father. I brought you the sword of Shan-Yu, and the crest of the Emperor. They're gifts, to honor the Fa family.
[Fa Zhou drops the sword and crest on the ground and embraces Mulan]
Fa Zhou: The greatest gift and honor... is having you for a daughter.
Mulan: [kneels] Father. I brought you the sword of Shan-Yu, and the crest of the Emperor. They're gifts, to honor the Fa family.
[Fa Zhou drops the sword and crest on the ground and embraces Mulan]
Fa Zhou: The greatest gift and honor... is having you for a daughter.
~*~
Grandmother Fa: Great. She brings home a sword. If you ask me, she should've brought home a man.
Shang: Excuse me. Does Fa Mulan live here?
[Grandmother and Mother dumbly point to the garden]
Shang: Thank you.
Grandmother Fa: Whoo! Sign me up for the next war.
Shang: Excuse me. Does Fa Mulan live here?
[Grandmother and Mother dumbly point to the garden]
Shang: Thank you.
Grandmother Fa: Whoo! Sign me up for the next war.
~*~
Mushu: The truth is we're both frauds. Your ancestors never sent me, they don't even like me. But you risked your life to help people you love. I risked your life to help myself. At least you had good intentions.
[Cri-Kee chirps sadly at Mushu]
Mushu: What? What do you mean you're not lucky? You lied to me?
Mushu: [to Mulan's horse] And what are you, a sheep?
[Cri-Kee chirps sadly at Mushu]
Mushu: What? What do you mean you're not lucky? You lied to me?
Mushu: [to Mulan's horse] And what are you, a sheep?
~*~
The Emperor of China: A single grain of rice can tip the scale. One man may be the difference between victory and defeat.
~*~
Female Ancestor: My children never caused such trouble. They all became acupuncturists.
Male Ancestor: Well, we can't all be acupuncturists.
Old Female Ancestor: No! Your great-granddaughter had to be a cross-dresser!
Male Ancestor: Well, we can't all be acupuncturists.
Old Female Ancestor: No! Your great-granddaughter had to be a cross-dresser!
~*~
[on the troops]
Mushu: Beautiful, isn't it?
Mulan: They're disgusting.
Mushu: No, they're men.
Mushu: Beautiful, isn't it?
Mulan: They're disgusting.
Mushu: No, they're men.
~*~
Mulan: [to Shang] Would you like to stay for dinner?
Grandmother Fa: [Yelling in the background] Would you like to stay forever?
Grandmother Fa: [Yelling in the background] Would you like to stay forever?
~*~
The Emperor of China: The flower that blooms in adversity is the most rare and beautiful of all.
Shang: Sir?
The Emperor of China: You don't meet a girl like that every dynasty.
Shang: Sir?
The Emperor of China: You don't meet a girl like that every dynasty.
~*~
Fa Zhou: My, what beautiful blossoms we have this year. But look, this one's late. But I'll bet that when it blooms, it will be the most beautiful of all.
Song Lyric of the Day
It's actually a whole song, because I think this song is sort of representative of now.
Song (Lyric) of the Day - All Star
The video has the lyrics, so it's all good, man.
Song (Lyric) of the Day - All Star
The video has the lyrics, so it's all good, man.
A beaver ate my thumb.
A Beaver Ate My Thumb. Click this. Clickity click.
I saw it on Gilmore Girls today, and thought, "Beaver has to listen to that."
Just bear with me through the first minute and forty-nine seconds. It gets better.
I saw it on Gilmore Girls today, and thought, "Beaver has to listen to that."
Just bear with me through the first minute and forty-nine seconds. It gets better.
Yo.
Instead of "the unholy mind of Lina", you should make it the unholy mind of dilina the dildo.
By the way, I may very well post a real picture of myself soon.
Gasp!
Real!
Life!
Pic!
It's because I feel like you're the only one showing off snazzy pics.
Jk, it's because I feel like showing you I'm not a forty year old man who pitches tents every time he looks at your picture.
Ahem.
It's also to show you that not all 13ers look like total beeyotches.
By the way, I may very well post a real picture of myself soon.
Gasp!
Real!
Life!
Pic!
It's because I feel like you're the only one showing off snazzy pics.
Jk, it's because I feel like showing you I'm not a forty year old man who pitches tents every time he looks at your picture.
Ahem.
It's also to show you that not all 13ers look like total beeyotches.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
What the frack.
How the hell are you so talented?
I love your blog. Love it. The background, however, is a little distracting from your amazing words. I have to move the post around to read it.
Just sayin'.
Does it have to be transluscent?
Anyways, I don't start school until Tuesday. Next Tuesday. But on Thursday I pick up my schedules and stuff, and on Friday it's fish bowl, a.k.a. a big orgy of awkward pimply freshmen.
Wish me luck.
I love your blog. Love it. The background, however, is a little distracting from your amazing words. I have to move the post around to read it.
Just sayin'.
Does it have to be transluscent?
Anyways, I don't start school until Tuesday. Next Tuesday. But on Thursday I pick up my schedules and stuff, and on Friday it's fish bowl, a.k.a. a big orgy of awkward pimply freshmen.
Wish me luck.
I am no longer a free woman.
Because I am a man.
Anywho, tomorrow/Wednesday/the 18th is my last day of freedom before I'm off to the land of hell in concentrated form.
And there's my new blog... I'd give you the link, but I'll probably change the URL in a bit so just go find it please, Beve.
Tell me what ya think.
And also, you can't seem to be able to leave a comment on the posts. I can't find the little comment box. [And yes, all the settings are correct. I checked the settings twice, and they're normal. Maybe it's the template. Maybe the universe hates me. I dunno. Help?]
Anywho, tomorrow/Wednesday/the 18th is my last day of freedom before I'm off to the land of hell in concentrated form.
And there's my new blog... I'd give you the link, but I'll probably change the URL in a bit so just go find it please, Beve.
Tell me what ya think.
And also, you can't seem to be able to leave a comment on the posts. I can't find the little comment box. [And yes, all the settings are correct. I checked the settings twice, and they're normal. Maybe it's the template. Maybe the universe hates me. I dunno. Help?]
I feel lame.
Because I need help.
I need help with witty.
So my description for that blog is still undecided. I can't finish this phrase:
"The ever unholy mind of ____"
Of who? Lina? A dildo? GAH.
Sorry to sound so needy and pathetic.
And you still haven't explained what a Kolencher(r)y is yet!
I need help with witty.
So my description for that blog is still undecided. I can't finish this phrase:
"The ever unholy mind of ____"
Of who? Lina? A dildo? GAH.
Sorry to sound so needy and pathetic.
And you still haven't explained what a Kolencher(r)y is yet!
QUOTE OF THE DAY!
"Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you"
- "Fix You" by Coldplay
Sorry, dude. I totally just stole Song Lyric of the Day. :/ Wasn't an purpose, I promise. I just really love that song right now.
And ignite your bones
And I will try to fix you"
- "Fix You" by Coldplay
Sorry, dude. I totally just stole Song Lyric of the Day. :/ Wasn't an purpose, I promise. I just really love that song right now.
I love my father.
Honestly, who else stays up until one in the morning working/playing iPhone games?
Wait a second...
The background for your Teri-Chellers blog is a template!
Gah!
I thought you took a picture you got online and used it.
But I was wrong.
Grrr.
You infuriate me, Beavis.
Please don't accept the author request I sent you.
You've made my life a living hell.
-___-
Gah!
I thought you took a picture you got online and used it.
But I was wrong.
Grrr.
You infuriate me, Beavis.
Please don't accept the author request I sent you.
You've made my life a living hell.
-___-
Bevey!
Blog Help:
Need description.
Need header.
Need background.
How, on your Chainsaw blog, did you get that picture of lips as your background? How'd you work your magic?
Other:
You never did tell me what a Kolenchery was.
Need description.
Need header.
Need background.
How, on your Chainsaw blog, did you get that picture of lips as your background? How'd you work your magic?
Other:
You never did tell me what a Kolenchery was.
Monday, August 16, 2010
I need an editor. Nudge nudge, ahem Lina.
I need twelve short stories done by next Tuesday, and I've got no time to edit.
That's where you come in.
(By the way, the italics aren't in there, so just imagine all the thoughts/flashbacks in italics...)
CHALLENGE EIGHT: Bronze Girls
The clatter of the 8 ball hitting the striped orange into the hole sent a rush through his body. Jamie loved billiards, he thought. Except she called it 'pool'. I hated that. She laughed when I told her.
He hit 8 ball again, this time aiming for the striped green. It sailed clean down his imaginary line, straight into the hole. Score.
Setting down the stick--he never actually took the time to learn the equipment names, he just called them as he pleased--and picked up the Red Bull from the billiards table side. Letting out a satisfying "ah", he set it back down and closed his eyes.
He breathed. Not just oxygen, but he breathed life. Red Bull gives you wings, my ass, he thought, because I've already got 'em.
With his imaginary wings intact, he opened his eyes and picked up the stick again. But just as he leaned down to hit the magic 8 again, his line of sight picked up another object.
A blonde.
He smiled to himself. A platinum blonde, even. My, my, what a figure. She's definitely what Jamie would have called a Bronze girl. Bronze girls were what Jamie considered to be the worst type of blondes. She was stereotypical, yes, but who wasn't? Jamie just happened to voice her stereotypes. Loudly.
"Bronze girls are like my mother," she explained to him in sophomore year. "Their hair has a subtly brown color, which is the proof of their natural hair. Also, they're complete bitches."
He had never heard her cuss until that point. Jamie didn't usually swear. She had started to just recently.
Setting down the stick again, he picked up the Red Bull to take another gulp before approaching Miss Blonde--only to find the can empty.
"That's convenient," he muttered to himself. Then, to the female bartender he regarded as Tattoo Chick, he called, "Another Red Bull, and make it quick."
Tattoo Chick nodded back and disappeared under the counter for a total of two seconds before popping back up and throwing him a can. That was the thing he loved about The Palm Trees bar--the workers fully understood what impatience was.
It was a trait he didn't like in himself.
With a twist of the wrist, he poped open the can and gulped down frantically. It was a bad omen, having to get a new can of Red Bull before approaching a blonde. An omen, but not something he would take seriously.
Just then, the blonde turned around.
He nearly choked.
Her eyes...they were green. Cat-like green, just like Jamie. I can't do it to this one, he thought. This time, I...she's too much like Jamie...
Setting the Red Bull down, he leaned against the wall and shut his eyes again. Breathed. Reminisced--though he didn't want to.
Why did she call me first? he wondered. Couldn't she just have done it in her room, all by herself...why'd she drag me into it?
It was senior year of high school, a year until they'd be free. Free from parents, namely. For Jamie, being free from her mother was like going to heaven.
In a way, she got it.
Though I doubt she's in heaven if she committed suicide, he thought. I doubt there's any heaven at all. If there was a God, He wouldn't have taken Jamie away.
Needless to say, he wasn't religious after Jamie's death.
She got the gun from her father. Well, not from him. From his locked drawer. She knew where the key was. She was determined.
It was dramatic. Jamie was always dramatic. First, she dyed her hair blonde. Very blonde.
"I bet Mother would like me now, wouldn't she?" Jamie had cried, the streaks of mascara covering her face like symbols of death. She was stark naked, and didn't care at all. He'd seen her naked before--he was her first, after all. But never naked like this, never naked like...like she was embracing Death, making it easier for him.
"Helen loves you," he murmured, trying to walk closer to her. She shooed him away with the gun in her hand.
"No, no she doesn't!" she cried louder. If only his parents had been home; they would have heard all this commotion, especially at two in the morning. But no, they just had to go to India on the very weekend Jamie planned to off herself. How convenient, eh? "No, Mother loves who she thinks is me. She loves Andrea Jamille Montgomery. But I'm not her."
He couldn't get used to her with the blonde hair. Jamie hated blondes. That's why she had cut off her own blonde, luscious hair in seventh grade and replaced it with a croppy vibrant red number. It was what first attracted him to her.
Her green eyes shined with intensity as her grip on the gun tightened. Her last facial expression was a smile.
Green eyes. That's what brought him back.
The same green eyes that were glancing at him from across the club.
For the first time, he took in her image. Athletic physique, tiny dress, and of course the green eyes. She kept looking at him. It was a flirty, "come get me" look.
He knew he'd oblige.
What am I doing? he asked himself. I never actually look at the blondes.
It was true. He didn't. The only time he actually ever absorbed their image was afterwards, when he was standing over their cold, limp body. Sometimes he'd be dramatic and cut off their hair. Throw it in the pool of blood. Other times he'd keep it simple, with the trademark that made him famous in the ten o' clock news--he'd just dip their fingers in the bronze paint.
Bronze girls...they're complete bitches.
He still remembered her voice.
Walking towards the blonde, he felt his jacket for the knife. Still there. Like always. With each confident step, his heart pounded in time.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Their screams were always the same, once they felt the knife in their stomach. Once they realized he wasn't there to screw them, he was there to kill them. They were all the same. All the blondes had that distant look in their eyes, the O-shape as their mouth, the flaring of the nostrils as their breaths grew quicker and shorter...
He was only a couple feet away now. The blonde was now on full flirt mode, giggling at his sight and twirling her hair.
He was disgusted with her.
And that's why, on a Friday night in The Palm Tree bar, he approached the blonde and gave her his best smile, saying,
"Hi there. I'm Liam. Say, are you a natural blonde?"
Horror – Pool – Losing a Friend
Wings, palm trees, the color bronze
Thank you, darling.
That's where you come in.
(By the way, the italics aren't in there, so just imagine all the thoughts/flashbacks in italics...)
CHALLENGE EIGHT: Bronze Girls
The clatter of the 8 ball hitting the striped orange into the hole sent a rush through his body. Jamie loved billiards, he thought. Except she called it 'pool'. I hated that. She laughed when I told her.
He hit 8 ball again, this time aiming for the striped green. It sailed clean down his imaginary line, straight into the hole. Score.
Setting down the stick--he never actually took the time to learn the equipment names, he just called them as he pleased--and picked up the Red Bull from the billiards table side. Letting out a satisfying "ah", he set it back down and closed his eyes.
He breathed. Not just oxygen, but he breathed life. Red Bull gives you wings, my ass, he thought, because I've already got 'em.
With his imaginary wings intact, he opened his eyes and picked up the stick again. But just as he leaned down to hit the magic 8 again, his line of sight picked up another object.
A blonde.
He smiled to himself. A platinum blonde, even. My, my, what a figure. She's definitely what Jamie would have called a Bronze girl. Bronze girls were what Jamie considered to be the worst type of blondes. She was stereotypical, yes, but who wasn't? Jamie just happened to voice her stereotypes. Loudly.
"Bronze girls are like my mother," she explained to him in sophomore year. "Their hair has a subtly brown color, which is the proof of their natural hair. Also, they're complete bitches."
He had never heard her cuss until that point. Jamie didn't usually swear. She had started to just recently.
Setting down the stick again, he picked up the Red Bull to take another gulp before approaching Miss Blonde--only to find the can empty.
"That's convenient," he muttered to himself. Then, to the female bartender he regarded as Tattoo Chick, he called, "Another Red Bull, and make it quick."
Tattoo Chick nodded back and disappeared under the counter for a total of two seconds before popping back up and throwing him a can. That was the thing he loved about The Palm Trees bar--the workers fully understood what impatience was.
It was a trait he didn't like in himself.
With a twist of the wrist, he poped open the can and gulped down frantically. It was a bad omen, having to get a new can of Red Bull before approaching a blonde. An omen, but not something he would take seriously.
Just then, the blonde turned around.
He nearly choked.
Her eyes...they were green. Cat-like green, just like Jamie. I can't do it to this one, he thought. This time, I...she's too much like Jamie...
Setting the Red Bull down, he leaned against the wall and shut his eyes again. Breathed. Reminisced--though he didn't want to.
Why did she call me first? he wondered. Couldn't she just have done it in her room, all by herself...why'd she drag me into it?
It was senior year of high school, a year until they'd be free. Free from parents, namely. For Jamie, being free from her mother was like going to heaven.
In a way, she got it.
Though I doubt she's in heaven if she committed suicide, he thought. I doubt there's any heaven at all. If there was a God, He wouldn't have taken Jamie away.
Needless to say, he wasn't religious after Jamie's death.
She got the gun from her father. Well, not from him. From his locked drawer. She knew where the key was. She was determined.
It was dramatic. Jamie was always dramatic. First, she dyed her hair blonde. Very blonde.
"I bet Mother would like me now, wouldn't she?" Jamie had cried, the streaks of mascara covering her face like symbols of death. She was stark naked, and didn't care at all. He'd seen her naked before--he was her first, after all. But never naked like this, never naked like...like she was embracing Death, making it easier for him.
"Helen loves you," he murmured, trying to walk closer to her. She shooed him away with the gun in her hand.
"No, no she doesn't!" she cried louder. If only his parents had been home; they would have heard all this commotion, especially at two in the morning. But no, they just had to go to India on the very weekend Jamie planned to off herself. How convenient, eh? "No, Mother loves who she thinks is me. She loves Andrea Jamille Montgomery. But I'm not her."
He couldn't get used to her with the blonde hair. Jamie hated blondes. That's why she had cut off her own blonde, luscious hair in seventh grade and replaced it with a croppy vibrant red number. It was what first attracted him to her.
Her green eyes shined with intensity as her grip on the gun tightened. Her last facial expression was a smile.
Green eyes. That's what brought him back.
The same green eyes that were glancing at him from across the club.
For the first time, he took in her image. Athletic physique, tiny dress, and of course the green eyes. She kept looking at him. It was a flirty, "come get me" look.
He knew he'd oblige.
What am I doing? he asked himself. I never actually look at the blondes.
It was true. He didn't. The only time he actually ever absorbed their image was afterwards, when he was standing over their cold, limp body. Sometimes he'd be dramatic and cut off their hair. Throw it in the pool of blood. Other times he'd keep it simple, with the trademark that made him famous in the ten o' clock news--he'd just dip their fingers in the bronze paint.
Bronze girls...they're complete bitches.
He still remembered her voice.
Walking towards the blonde, he felt his jacket for the knife. Still there. Like always. With each confident step, his heart pounded in time.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
Their screams were always the same, once they felt the knife in their stomach. Once they realized he wasn't there to screw them, he was there to kill them. They were all the same. All the blondes had that distant look in their eyes, the O-shape as their mouth, the flaring of the nostrils as their breaths grew quicker and shorter...
He was only a couple feet away now. The blonde was now on full flirt mode, giggling at his sight and twirling her hair.
He was disgusted with her.
And that's why, on a Friday night in The Palm Tree bar, he approached the blonde and gave her his best smile, saying,
"Hi there. I'm Liam. Say, are you a natural blonde?"
Horror – Pool – Losing a Friend
Wings, palm trees, the color bronze
Thank you, darling.
What exactly is a Kolenchery?
And I'm working on another blog.
But I can't think of a clever description, can't come up with a cool header, and can't find a cool background. The title is That's What Lina Said, and the URL is unholylina.blogsp—oh, you know the drill. So, if you have any ideas... *wink wink hint hint nudge nudge*
Soooooooo.
Yep.
But I can't think of a clever description, can't come up with a cool header, and can't find a cool background. The title is That's What Lina Said, and the URL is unholylina.blogsp—oh, you know the drill. So, if you have any ideas... *wink wink hint hint nudge nudge*
Soooooooo.
Yep.
asdfghjkl;
I just did a keyboard glissando.
Like a piano glissando, except on the keyboard.
Booya.
Anyhoo, I'm a mega mofo when it comes to editing. I'm helping TK with her new project, "Oh, the Life of a Kolencherry". It's awesome. It has a guy named Cole in it. And a girl named India.
I've always wanted to name my children after countries. I.e., India, Korea, Afghanistan.
Maybe not the last one.
Whatever.
Aghified. That's like "Agh", but -ified. Booya.
Booya.
Booyaya.
Boobooya.
^Ha ha, that's like BOOBooya.
Boob-ooya!
Boob-ooya!
Huzzah!
Huzzah!
I may or may not have eaten gummy vitamins with extra sugar tonight.
They're yummy in my tummy, oh they're gummies.
BOOB-OOYA!
BEAVERBEAVER <--double beaver
That'd look a little weird, wouldn't it?
D.I.A.,
BEAVER
Like a piano glissando, except on the keyboard.
Booya.
Anyhoo, I'm a mega mofo when it comes to editing. I'm helping TK with her new project, "Oh, the Life of a Kolencherry". It's awesome. It has a guy named Cole in it. And a girl named India.
I've always wanted to name my children after countries. I.e., India, Korea, Afghanistan.
Maybe not the last one.
Whatever.
Aghified. That's like "Agh", but -ified. Booya.
Booya.
Booyaya.
Boobooya.
^Ha ha, that's like BOOBooya.
Boob-ooya!
Boob-ooya!
Huzzah!
Huzzah!
I may or may not have eaten gummy vitamins with extra sugar tonight.
They're yummy in my tummy, oh they're gummies.
BOOB-OOYA!
BEAVERBEAVER <--double beaver
That'd look a little weird, wouldn't it?
D.I.A.,
BEAVER
Double Quotes!
I used to think that the brain was the most wonderful organ in my body. Then I realized who was telling me this.
- Emo Phillips
When we remember we are all MAD, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.
- Mark Twain
- Emo Phillips
When we remember we are all MAD, the mysteries disappear and life stands explained.
- Mark Twain
Hell.
Just.
Hell.
I read chapter two of Cept.
And.
Hell.
It's so much better than HJ. I mean, it's better written, better thought-out, better described, and cleverer. That isn't even a word, and yet I use it because it's the truth.
Ria is like Jenna. But better.
Damn.
Thanks for making me feel suicidal, Beve.
Now I'll just go to bed shameful that I can't write worth a damn.
I think I might have to start re-rewriting.
Hell.
I read chapter two of Cept.
And.
Hell.
It's so much better than HJ. I mean, it's better written, better thought-out, better described, and cleverer. That isn't even a word, and yet I use it because it's the truth.
Ria is like Jenna. But better.
Damn.
Thanks for making me feel suicidal, Beve.
Now I'll just go to bed shameful that I can't write worth a damn.
I think I might have to start re-rewriting.
Where. The hell. Am I going to put a crystal ball?
CHALLENGE ONE
Adventure – Yacht/Boat – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
They named her Bacon.
Who the hell names a boat “Bacon”?
“Darling!” The Steps call to me in unison.
Apparently, unnaturally blonde twins do.
Step #1 continues, “Could you help us with opening the ice chest?”
“Yes,” Step #2 adds. “You know we just went to Ella Nails and we can’t risk another hangnail.”
I peel my eyes away from the awe-inspiring world of water before me and attach it to the new picture: Two bimbo blondes struggling to open an EZPeezy © Ice Chest. I have a feeling that somewhere, my father’s rolling around in his grave right now.
Well, not somewhere. I know exactly where he’s buried—Kensington Cemetery in the dingy abandoned town that I, too, abandoned two months after William Fitzgerald died of a heart attack. He would be buried in San Francisco, in a special place in a special cemetery reserved just for special ol’ him, but Kendra thought he’d like to stay in Novi, Michigan.
“’Ling!” my mom calls out to me from the cabin down below. I hear the clackity-clack of her brand new Prada heels as she makes her way up the steps.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter to myself, ignoring The Steps’ frantic waves of help.
“What?” Kendra asks, approaching me with a paper in her hand. “What’d you say?”
I slump onto the plastic red chair next to me. “Nothing. What’s that?”
Kendra raises her right hand, the one with the paper. “This? Just tickets.” She breaks into a wide smile, one that’s practically screaming, “ASK ME WHAT THE TICKETS ARE FOR!”
I, being a good (albeit lazy) daughter, obey. “What are the tickets for.” I drawl it out so much that it doesn’t even sound like a question.
“Rome!” Kendra squeals. Kendra Hoffen-Fitzgerald-Meyer, who didn’t even giggle hysterically when she met her favorite celebrity at a restaurant in New York, just squealed.
Who is this woman? And where can I find directions to get my mother back?
“Can you believe it, Darling? Ed bought us plane tickets to go see Rome! My dream vacation! This is everything I’ve always wanted and more, you know? Of course you know, I’ve been rambling on about it for ages now.” She looks at me expectantly. Like she’s waiting for me to squeal and giggle with her as well.
God no.
“Kendra, don’t you think you’re being a little…I dunno, childish?” I ask. “You’ve got work to think about, and didn’t you say that your boss is mad at you for writing those op-eds on makeup at the last minute?” I can see why, too; I read them and they were C-R-A-P.
She puts her hand on her hip and gives me a look. “Honestly, Darling, don’t be going on about that ‘Kendra’ stuff now. I’m your mother, and you should respect that.”
“I’ll respect it when you stop screwing random guys and then having their babies,” I snap.
“Darling Charlotte Fitzgerald,” Kendra warns in her Don’t Mess With Me voice. It doesn’t really work to its fullest, though, when you have a name like “Darling”. Kind of ruins the moment of “Darling, you get your butt downstairs!” (a constant Kendra threat) and “I hate you, Darling, I really do!” (a constant 8-year-old cousin threat).
“Ladies!” Ed approaches us, sensing the tension, and hands Kendra a glass of white wine. “Ladies, this is a family vacation, and I want you two to behave. Alright?”
My response is a glare at Kendra, and a brisk march out of the tense arena. Red plastic chair and all.
As I’m heading towards the back of the boat, I smell something strange—and it’s not Step #1’s new perfume or the smell of Step #2’s burning hair as she crimps it.
Adventure – Yacht/Boat – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
They named her Bacon.
Who the hell names a boat “Bacon”?
“Darling!” The Steps call to me in unison.
Apparently, unnaturally blonde twins do.
Step #1 continues, “Could you help us with opening the ice chest?”
“Yes,” Step #2 adds. “You know we just went to Ella Nails and we can’t risk another hangnail.”
I peel my eyes away from the awe-inspiring world of water before me and attach it to the new picture: Two bimbo blondes struggling to open an EZPeezy © Ice Chest. I have a feeling that somewhere, my father’s rolling around in his grave right now.
Well, not somewhere. I know exactly where he’s buried—Kensington Cemetery in the dingy abandoned town that I, too, abandoned two months after William Fitzgerald died of a heart attack. He would be buried in San Francisco, in a special place in a special cemetery reserved just for special ol’ him, but Kendra thought he’d like to stay in Novi, Michigan.
“’Ling!” my mom calls out to me from the cabin down below. I hear the clackity-clack of her brand new Prada heels as she makes her way up the steps.
“Speak of the devil,” I mutter to myself, ignoring The Steps’ frantic waves of help.
“What?” Kendra asks, approaching me with a paper in her hand. “What’d you say?”
I slump onto the plastic red chair next to me. “Nothing. What’s that?”
Kendra raises her right hand, the one with the paper. “This? Just tickets.” She breaks into a wide smile, one that’s practically screaming, “ASK ME WHAT THE TICKETS ARE FOR!”
I, being a good (albeit lazy) daughter, obey. “What are the tickets for.” I drawl it out so much that it doesn’t even sound like a question.
“Rome!” Kendra squeals. Kendra Hoffen-Fitzgerald-Meyer, who didn’t even giggle hysterically when she met her favorite celebrity at a restaurant in New York, just squealed.
Who is this woman? And where can I find directions to get my mother back?
“Can you believe it, Darling? Ed bought us plane tickets to go see Rome! My dream vacation! This is everything I’ve always wanted and more, you know? Of course you know, I’ve been rambling on about it for ages now.” She looks at me expectantly. Like she’s waiting for me to squeal and giggle with her as well.
God no.
“Kendra, don’t you think you’re being a little…I dunno, childish?” I ask. “You’ve got work to think about, and didn’t you say that your boss is mad at you for writing those op-eds on makeup at the last minute?” I can see why, too; I read them and they were C-R-A-P.
She puts her hand on her hip and gives me a look. “Honestly, Darling, don’t be going on about that ‘Kendra’ stuff now. I’m your mother, and you should respect that.”
“I’ll respect it when you stop screwing random guys and then having their babies,” I snap.
“Darling Charlotte Fitzgerald,” Kendra warns in her Don’t Mess With Me voice. It doesn’t really work to its fullest, though, when you have a name like “Darling”. Kind of ruins the moment of “Darling, you get your butt downstairs!” (a constant Kendra threat) and “I hate you, Darling, I really do!” (a constant 8-year-old cousin threat).
“Ladies!” Ed approaches us, sensing the tension, and hands Kendra a glass of white wine. “Ladies, this is a family vacation, and I want you two to behave. Alright?”
My response is a glare at Kendra, and a brisk march out of the tense arena. Red plastic chair and all.
As I’m heading towards the back of the boat, I smell something strange—and it’s not Step #1’s new perfume or the smell of Step #2’s burning hair as she crimps it.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Oh, holy jeebus sauce.
I just had an epiphany.
HJ has no plot.
No direction.
No bread crumb trail.
LIKESERIOUSLYWHERETHEHELLAMIGOINGWITHITMAN???
I am now freaking out.
Deep breaths. It'll all be fine with a couple—
Save your mo-foing breathing exercises, I'm having a pre-life crisis here.
I was just trying to help you, you ungrateful son of a—
I'm a vagina-possessing female, thank you.
*And schizo scene cuts.
WHATAMIGOINGTODO???
HJ has no plot.
No direction.
No bread crumb trail.
LIKESERIOUSLYWHERETHEHELLAMIGOINGWITHITMAN???
I am now freaking out.
Deep breaths. It'll all be fine with a couple—
Save your mo-foing breathing exercises, I'm having a pre-life crisis here.
I was just trying to help you, you ungrateful son of a—
I'm a vagina-possessing female, thank you.
*And schizo scene cuts.
WHATAMIGOINGTODO???
(24) Days of Insomnia
I'm gonna die.
In a moment of sheer stupidity, I decided that I'd write the list options on slips of paper, then mix them up and match them randomly.
You wanna know what I came up with?
CHALLENGE ONE
Adventure – Yacht – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
CHALLENGE TWO
Mystery – Desert Island – Summer Job
Bicycle, porcelain doll, fake flowers
CHALLENGE THREE
Tragedy –Summer School – Zombies
Dim sum, newspaper hat, notebook
CHALLENGE FOUR
Romance – Ice Cream Shoppe – Food
Sea glass, hand mirror, pocket watch
CHALLENGE FIVE
Comedy – Beach – Misusing magic
Sunglasses, banana bread, the color black
CHALLENGE SIX
Bio/Memoir – Shopping Mall – Dieting
Dragons, Aston Martin, barbed wire
CHALLENGE SEVEN
Superhero – Foreign Country – Falling out of Love
Sword, paper lanterns, castle
CHALLENGE EIGHT
Horror – Pool – Losing a Friend
Wings, palm trees, the color bronze
CHALLENGE NINE
Fantasy – Fast food eatery – getting lost
Topiary, lace, glass dome
CHALLENGE TEN
Non Fic – Home – Moving
Milkshake, socks, fingernails
CHALLENGE ELEVEN
Gen Fic – Cave – Sneaking out
Trenchcoat, leather boots, fish tank
CHALLENGE TWELVE
Western, BBQ, over indulgence
Steel, silk, snow
Yay me and my eight days of writing. Nonstop. Every night. 'Til 4 AM. Or later/earlier.
Agh.
In a moment of sheer stupidity, I decided that I'd write the list options on slips of paper, then mix them up and match them randomly.
You wanna know what I came up with?
CHALLENGE ONE
Adventure – Yacht – Family Drama
Bacon, the color red, crystal ball
CHALLENGE TWO
Mystery – Desert Island – Summer Job
Bicycle, porcelain doll, fake flowers
CHALLENGE THREE
Tragedy –Summer School – Zombies
Dim sum, newspaper hat, notebook
CHALLENGE FOUR
Romance – Ice Cream Shoppe – Food
Sea glass, hand mirror, pocket watch
CHALLENGE FIVE
Comedy – Beach – Misusing magic
Sunglasses, banana bread, the color black
CHALLENGE SIX
Bio/Memoir – Shopping Mall – Dieting
Dragons, Aston Martin, barbed wire
CHALLENGE SEVEN
Superhero – Foreign Country – Falling out of Love
Sword, paper lanterns, castle
CHALLENGE EIGHT
Horror – Pool – Losing a Friend
Wings, palm trees, the color bronze
CHALLENGE NINE
Fantasy – Fast food eatery – getting lost
Topiary, lace, glass dome
CHALLENGE TEN
Non Fic – Home – Moving
Milkshake, socks, fingernails
CHALLENGE ELEVEN
Gen Fic – Cave – Sneaking out
Trenchcoat, leather boots, fish tank
CHALLENGE TWELVE
Western, BBQ, over indulgence
Steel, silk, snow
Yay me and my eight days of writing. Nonstop. Every night. 'Til 4 AM. Or later/earlier.
Agh.
I heart Teri Cherry.
So I asked her for advice on what the campaigning thingy should be. What she suggested isn't exactly great for Cept, but I think I'm gonna write a short story/book solely based upon what she gave me.
)()(
okay so they get a girl to tutor Cept.... she falls in love with him and he gets really close with her so she's like his bff (other than donut), so then he starts getting accepted by his peers again.. He runs for fish king, but ends up bein...g the runner up... Who cares anyways because he and his friends are now popular... so he kinda forgets about the girl... until he starts failing again... and then they have this arguement that goes something like
Her-Oh so now you're failing you acknowledge me?
Him- what's taht supposed to mean?
Her- Wow bryan you really don't remember?
Him- No! If I knew then why would I be asking?
Her- The parking lot... you acted liek you didn't know me
Him- That? That was just a stupid game.... I was fooling around
Her- yeah right...
Him- If I make it up to you with dinner will you tutor me?
Her- why should I even help you?
Him- because... *inserts some inside joke*
Capishe? :)
)()(
And that, my friend, will be the plotline for whatever new thing I'm gonna do.
But that'd be amazing for Cept. Amazing, if I didn't already have a plotline for it.
A plotline that you're not allowed to know.
Ha.
(Sigh...who am I kidding? You don't even care.)
)()(
okay so they get a girl to tutor Cept.... she falls in love with him and he gets really close with her so she's like his bff (other than donut), so then he starts getting accepted by his peers again.. He runs for fish king, but ends up bein...g the runner up... Who cares anyways because he and his friends are now popular... so he kinda forgets about the girl... until he starts failing again... and then they have this arguement that goes something like
Her-Oh so now you're failing you acknowledge me?
Him- what's taht supposed to mean?
Her- Wow bryan you really don't remember?
Him- No! If I knew then why would I be asking?
Her- The parking lot... you acted liek you didn't know me
Him- That? That was just a stupid game.... I was fooling around
Her- yeah right...
Him- If I make it up to you with dinner will you tutor me?
Her- why should I even help you?
Him- because... *inserts some inside joke*
Capishe? :)
)()(
And that, my friend, will be the plotline for whatever new thing I'm gonna do.
But that'd be amazing for Cept. Amazing, if I didn't already have a plotline for it.
A plotline that you're not allowed to know.
Ha.
(Sigh...who am I kidding? You don't even care.)
On the topic of Lady Gaga...
I just got a call from my fish bowl counselor.
Alright, so maybe that's not very on-topic, but it works for me. So ha.
Okay, so fish bowl is this freshmen orientation thing on August 20, and it's basically a meet-and-greet dance. The day before, the 19th, you get your schedules and stuff. Fish Bowl is a term I'm most probably going to use instead of "Freshmen Dance" in Cept.
Thank you, real life, for giving me inspiration.
But anyways, the fish bowl counselors are all seniors who sound very awkward on the phone. Mine, a guy, said "Uh" too many times, and I almost laughed out loud when he mentioned "package". I don't remember why.
I'm pretty sure that while I'm over here making fun of him, he's making fun of my responses.
HIM - And so on August 20th, you'll come to school from six to nine, but please arrive at 5:45...
ME - [thinking] Oh my god, I'm pretty sure this is the only time a 12th grader is gonna call me deliberately to tell me something other than "I hate your guts". What do I say? Do I giggle? Just simple Yes and No's? What?
HIM - ...so that's what's gonna happen.
ME - Um. Crap! I ruined it. What do I say now?
HIM - And on the 19th, you'll--
ME - Okay. Agh! I spoke too late. Or early. Whatever. What now?
HIM - Uh...yeah, and so on the 19th, you can...
ME - What is he saying? Should I even say anything else? Compliment him? What? "Your voice is nice." Right.
HIM - ...and remember, I'm your fish bowl counselor so feel free to ask me any questions at fish bowl.
ME - Crap, he's waiting for me to say something. Um...uh...something cool...I'm a cool person...Alright.
HIM - Um. Yeah. And we'll blah blah blah blah package blah blah blah...
ME - Don't laugh. He just said "package". Nothing funny about that. Nuhhhhhhhhthin' funny at all.
HIM - ...so I'll see you there.
ME - He's waiting again? What am I supposed to say? Alright. I already said that! Brain, think of more creative responses!
HIM - Uh, okay. Thanks.
ME - Thank you! I SAID THAT TOO LOUD. WTF.
HIM - Buh-bye.
ME - [frantically hanging up the phone]
My life, ladies and gentlemen, in a blog post. Please hold the applause for when I run out of amazing posts. Meaning when I die.
*Ba dum CHING*
Sigh.
I'm pathetic.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Alright, so maybe that's not very on-topic, but it works for me. So ha.
Okay, so fish bowl is this freshmen orientation thing on August 20, and it's basically a meet-and-greet dance. The day before, the 19th, you get your schedules and stuff. Fish Bowl is a term I'm most probably going to use instead of "Freshmen Dance" in Cept.
Thank you, real life, for giving me inspiration.
But anyways, the fish bowl counselors are all seniors who sound very awkward on the phone. Mine, a guy, said "Uh" too many times, and I almost laughed out loud when he mentioned "package". I don't remember why.
I'm pretty sure that while I'm over here making fun of him, he's making fun of my responses.
HIM - And so on August 20th, you'll come to school from six to nine, but please arrive at 5:45...
ME - [thinking] Oh my god, I'm pretty sure this is the only time a 12th grader is gonna call me deliberately to tell me something other than "I hate your guts". What do I say? Do I giggle? Just simple Yes and No's? What?
HIM - ...so that's what's gonna happen.
ME - Um. Crap! I ruined it. What do I say now?
HIM - And on the 19th, you'll--
ME - Okay. Agh! I spoke too late. Or early. Whatever. What now?
HIM - Uh...yeah, and so on the 19th, you can...
ME - What is he saying? Should I even say anything else? Compliment him? What? "Your voice is nice." Right.
HIM - ...and remember, I'm your fish bowl counselor so feel free to ask me any questions at fish bowl.
ME - Crap, he's waiting for me to say something. Um...uh...something cool...I'm a cool person...Alright.
HIM - Um. Yeah. And we'll blah blah blah blah package blah blah blah...
ME - Don't laugh. He just said "package". Nothing funny about that. Nuhhhhhhhhthin' funny at all.
HIM - ...so I'll see you there.
ME - He's waiting again? What am I supposed to say? Alright. I already said that! Brain, think of more creative responses!
HIM - Uh, okay. Thanks.
ME - Thank you! I SAID THAT TOO LOUD. WTF.
HIM - Buh-bye.
ME - [frantically hanging up the phone]
My life, ladies and gentlemen, in a blog post. Please hold the applause for when I run out of amazing posts. Meaning when I die.
*Ba dum CHING*
Sigh.
I'm pathetic.
DAM IT ALL,
BEAVER
Song Lyric of The Day
It's a short one today.
And in visual form.
Should I even tell you what the song is and who the artist is?
And in visual form.
Should I even tell you what the song is and who the artist is?
Yo Sistah
You should most definitely add "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M. to your playlist.
It's definitely a total Nate thing. Jenna is definitely his religion.
It's definitely a total Nate thing. Jenna is definitely his religion.
And it was aaaaaaalll yellow.
I feel like I should be humorous and add "Yellow" to the playlist.
But that'd just be cruel.
Not to mention racist.
...Mostly just cruel.
But that'd just be cruel.
Not to mention racist.
...Mostly just cruel.
It's my turn to say "BRAIN BLAST!"
Because I've just had one.
Cept, get ready for heartbreak. Keep those Kleenex tissues in handy.
In other news, I've got ONE song for the Cept Playlist.
Yayyyyy...yay...yay?
"Superman" by Joe Brooks
Sigh. Alrighty then.
And in OTHER other news...
KNOWING IAN WAS PICKED BY KDBDANIELLE.
BOOYA.
Now it's 470.
FOUR. SEVEN. OH.
DOUBLE BOOYA. BOOYAYA. OR BOOBOOYA. <--That sounds like a rapper name.
DAM IT JUST-KIDDING-NOTHING ALL,
BEAVER
Cept, get ready for heartbreak. Keep those Kleenex tissues in handy.
In other news, I've got ONE song for the Cept Playlist.
Yayyyyy...yay...yay?
"Superman" by Joe Brooks
Sigh. Alrighty then.
And in OTHER other news...
KNOWING IAN WAS PICKED BY KDBDANIELLE.
BOOYA.
Now it's 470.
FOUR. SEVEN. OH.
DOUBLE BOOYA. BOOYAYA. OR BOOBOOYA. <--That sounds like a rapper name.
DAM IT JUST-KIDDING-NOTHING ALL,
BEAVER
I wish
that for my Cept playlist I could use "The Only Exception" by Paramore.
But it's not necessarily relevant.
I mean, it's all "I used to just date guys then kind of ditch them because my parents got a divorce and that ruined my life" and that's...yeah, that's not Cept.
Because he's straight.
Definitely.
Maybe.
I mean, there's Donut and all--
No, no, he's straight. It's just bromance.
But it's not necessarily relevant.
I mean, it's all "I used to just date guys then kind of ditch them because my parents got a divorce and that ruined my life" and that's...yeah, that's not Cept.
Because he's straight.
Definitely.
Maybe.
I mean, there's Donut and all--
No, no, he's straight. It's just bromance.
QUOTE OF THE DAY!
"Sucking the marrow out of life doesn't mean choking on the bone."
- John Keating of Dead Poets Society (1989) [In other words: The best teacher ever from the best movie ever.]
- John Keating of Dead Poets Society (1989) [In other words: The best teacher ever from the best movie ever.]
Hello, my name is Wenzhao.
It's on the attendance sheet.
Seriously.
What, you thought you were the only one with a horribly inconvenient legal name? No. Not a chance. I take the cake. At least people THINK they can pronounce. On the first day of school, depending on what kind of teacher it is, the conversation goes a little like the following examples.
Example One: The Quitter
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Wen...Wen...ahem, last name Zhang?
ME - Uh, here. And it's pronounced Wenzhao. Like, um, when-zow. Or when-joww. The proper pronunciation is when-joww, but--
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Two: The Stereotyper
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Uh...alright, you've gotta help me here. Wenadhfjahrewiuljfhnidsd.
CLASS - ...Who the crap is that?...Oh my god, are they some kind of freak from Poland?...I hope they're not anywhere around me...
ME - [sheepishly] Um, yeah, that's me.
TEACHER - That's lovely. Do--you--speak--Eeeeenglish?
ME - ...
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Three: The Rambler
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Oh. Oh, um...
ME - I think that's me...the W name?
TEACHER - Oh, yes! What ethnicity are you?
ME - Uh, um, Chinese.
TEACHER - That's wonderful! My son lives in China. Beijing, in fact. Were you born in China?
ME - Um. Yeah. Beijing.
TEACHER - Lovely! You know, my son's wife is Chinese. She was born in Guangzhou. Beautiful place, though a bit crowded. Of course, they live in Beijing now. He's a landscape photographer, darling occupation. She's...well, she sells purses on the street. Not exactly the best upbringing, but it...
ME - [thinking] "Beautiful place, though a bit crowded"? No duh. I mean, it's China; we spawn babies every Friday. And then get rid of the previously made babies by sending them to orphanages. We're a motherfreaking baby factory. Is she still talking? Oh my god, it's been half an hour. Might as well doodle on my notebook. La di da di da...TURD! She's looking at me. What...what did she say?! Um...uh...uh huh.
TEACHER - I asked where your grandparents reside.
ME - Oh.
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here. Wait, why am I saying "here" over and over for this stupid blog post? Seriously, Michelle, quit it out.
CISCO - I know! Why use me and Kevin anyways? Can't you use, uh, that weird kid in your old gym class!
TRISTAN YANEZ - Hey!
KEVIN - Jesus, I'm sick of the word "here" now. Thanks a lot, third grader.
KEVIN XIE (the creator of my very oh-so-creative nickname, "third grader") - Hehe. He.
Alright, so maybe some of that didn't happen. But it does in my mind.
That just makes me sound schizo.
I'm not.
Just a little.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-OF-SCHOOL-ATTENDANCE ALL,
BEAVER
Seriously.
What, you thought you were the only one with a horribly inconvenient legal name? No. Not a chance. I take the cake. At least people THINK they can pronounce. On the first day of school, depending on what kind of teacher it is, the conversation goes a little like the following examples.
Example One: The Quitter
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Wen...Wen...ahem, last name Zhang?
ME - Uh, here. And it's pronounced Wenzhao. Like, um, when-zow. Or when-joww. The proper pronunciation is when-joww, but--
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Two: The Stereotyper
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Uh...alright, you've gotta help me here. Wenadhfjahrewiuljfhnidsd.
CLASS - ...Who the crap is that?...Oh my god, are they some kind of freak from Poland?...I hope they're not anywhere around me...
ME - [sheepishly] Um, yeah, that's me.
TEACHER - That's lovely. Do--you--speak--Eeeeenglish?
ME - ...
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here.
Example Three: The Rambler
TEACHER - ...Francisco Yang.
CISCO - Here.
TEACHER - Oh. Oh, um...
ME - I think that's me...the W name?
TEACHER - Oh, yes! What ethnicity are you?
ME - Uh, um, Chinese.
TEACHER - That's wonderful! My son lives in China. Beijing, in fact. Were you born in China?
ME - Um. Yeah. Beijing.
TEACHER - Lovely! You know, my son's wife is Chinese. She was born in Guangzhou. Beautiful place, though a bit crowded. Of course, they live in Beijing now. He's a landscape photographer, darling occupation. She's...well, she sells purses on the street. Not exactly the best upbringing, but it...
ME - [thinking] "Beautiful place, though a bit crowded"? No duh. I mean, it's China; we spawn babies every Friday. And then get rid of the previously made babies by sending them to orphanages. We're a motherfreaking baby factory. Is she still talking? Oh my god, it's been half an hour. Might as well doodle on my notebook. La di da di da...TURD! She's looking at me. What...what did she say?! Um...uh...uh huh.
TEACHER - I asked where your grandparents reside.
ME - Oh.
TEACHER - Kevin Zhuang?
KEVIN - Here. Wait, why am I saying "here" over and over for this stupid blog post? Seriously, Michelle, quit it out.
CISCO - I know! Why use me and Kevin anyways? Can't you use, uh, that weird kid in your old gym class!
TRISTAN YANEZ - Hey!
KEVIN - Jesus, I'm sick of the word "here" now. Thanks a lot, third grader.
KEVIN XIE (the creator of my very oh-so-creative nickname, "third grader") - Hehe. He.
Alright, so maybe some of that didn't happen. But it does in my mind.
That just makes me sound schizo.
I'm not.
Just a little.
DAM IT FIRST-DAY-OF-SCHOOL-ATTENDANCE ALL,
BEAVER
Hello, my name is Dilina.
-Hello, Dil-ee-nuh.
-No, no, it's dil-nuh.
-Dil-nuh?
-Yeah.
-But shouldn't it be dil-eh-nuh or something?
-No. It's DIL-NUH.
-Dil-nuh? Oh. Gee. Yeah. That's. Um. That's a delightful name ya got there.
-...
-Alright, take your seat now, Diana.
Now that school is about to start, I get to go through at least three weeks of THAT.
It's the same each school year.
And better is when I'm sat in the back of the class, and the teacher has to come directly to my side to hear me because I've a soft voice. "Come again?"
And I try to say it louder and by then everyone's looking at me. "Dil-nuh."
"I didn't catch that. One more time?"
"It's dil-nuh, you motherfucker."
"You're going to have to speak up, dear."
And one of these days, I just might have to go Columbine on these people.
My life summed up in a blog post.
Gee, I'm bored.
:
-No, no, it's dil-nuh.
-Dil-nuh?
-Yeah.
-But shouldn't it be dil-eh-nuh or something?
-No. It's DIL-NUH.
-Dil-nuh? Oh. Gee. Yeah. That's. Um. That's a delightful name ya got there.
-...
-Alright, take your seat now, Diana.
Now that school is about to start, I get to go through at least three weeks of THAT.
It's the same each school year.
And better is when I'm sat in the back of the class, and the teacher has to come directly to my side to hear me because I've a soft voice. "Come again?"
And I try to say it louder and by then everyone's looking at me. "Dil-nuh."
"I didn't catch that. One more time?"
"It's dil-nuh, you motherfucker."
"You're going to have to speak up, dear."
And one of these days, I just might have to go Columbine on these people.
My life summed up in a blog post.
Gee, I'm bored.
:
Book Playlists
I'm making a playlist for HJ. And I believe Beavis should make one for Cept...
Songs I have so far
Somebody's Watching Me - Rockwell
Grand Theft Autumn - Fall Out Boy
A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More "Touch Me" - FOB
Of All The Gin Joints In All the World - FOB
She (For Liz) - Parachute
I'm a Believer - The Monkees
Songs I'm thinking of using:
Crushcrushcursh - Paramore
Our Time Now - Plain White T's
Won't Go Home Without You - Maroon 5
Sugar, We're Goin' Down - FOB
Nobody Puts Baby In the Corner - FOB
So.
Yes.
Songs I have so far
Somebody's Watching Me - Rockwell
Grand Theft Autumn - Fall Out Boy
A Little Less Sixteen Candles, a Little More "Touch Me" - FOB
Of All The Gin Joints In All the World - FOB
She (For Liz) - Parachute
I'm a Believer - The Monkees
Songs I'm thinking of using:
Crushcrushcursh - Paramore
Our Time Now - Plain White T's
Won't Go Home Without You - Maroon 5
Sugar, We're Goin' Down - FOB
Nobody Puts Baby In the Corner - FOB
So.
Yes.
Vanilla Bliss.
I was sort of inspired by the WWC (24) Days of Summer thing, and so I wrote this at 1:30 last night. Or rather, this morning.
I'm thinking the title should be Cherry Kisses and Vanilla Bliss. [It's set in an ice cream shoppe called Vanilla Bliss.]
I twirled the stem of the maraschino cherry between my fingers, gazing outside at the least opportune time imaginable. Because at that moment, Caleb was walking right past the huge window of Vanilla Bliss. With his new whore draped over him.
And it had only been three days since he said the words I now know as bullshit.
I love you, Olivia. Forever. I promise.
I’m not sure why they had me convinced when they were only spoken as he was trying to unfasten my bra.
When thoughts of the bastard flooded my mind, I squished the maraschino cherry. The red juice dripped into my banana split. The couple rounded a corner and were reaching for the door of the ice cream shop. I tried to calculate an escape plan, but unfortunately there were no windows to jump through in the girls’ restrooms. I tried to hide on the stool I was sitting on at the front counter. To my relief, they fell into a booth at the back. To my dismay, the booth was located next to the door.
I’d just have to live with them sucking on each other—and that’s putting it euphemistically.
I watched. It was one of those displays where you feel that you should cover your eyes but can’t pull yourself away. I wondered if the girl was just naïve or a slut. Twenty bucks that she was both.
I remembered our first date. Caleb took me here, too. This place was probably special to him. His first blowjob in the corner perhaps. Something sentimental.
But on our first date, we didn’t need to have our faces surgically separated.
I'm thinking the title should be Cherry Kisses and Vanilla Bliss. [It's set in an ice cream shoppe called Vanilla Bliss.]
I twirled the stem of the maraschino cherry between my fingers, gazing outside at the least opportune time imaginable. Because at that moment, Caleb was walking right past the huge window of Vanilla Bliss. With his new whore draped over him.
And it had only been three days since he said the words I now know as bullshit.
I love you, Olivia. Forever. I promise.
I’m not sure why they had me convinced when they were only spoken as he was trying to unfasten my bra.
When thoughts of the bastard flooded my mind, I squished the maraschino cherry. The red juice dripped into my banana split. The couple rounded a corner and were reaching for the door of the ice cream shop. I tried to calculate an escape plan, but unfortunately there were no windows to jump through in the girls’ restrooms. I tried to hide on the stool I was sitting on at the front counter. To my relief, they fell into a booth at the back. To my dismay, the booth was located next to the door.
I’d just have to live with them sucking on each other—and that’s putting it euphemistically.
I watched. It was one of those displays where you feel that you should cover your eyes but can’t pull yourself away. I wondered if the girl was just naïve or a slut. Twenty bucks that she was both.
I remembered our first date. Caleb took me here, too. This place was probably special to him. His first blowjob in the corner perhaps. Something sentimental.
But on our first date, we didn’t need to have our faces surgically separated.
I'm going to bed.
And I'm going to bed prideful that I got 56 whole entire words written.
If there’s one thing I dread more than my mother, it’s having to watch The Bachelor. But if there’s one thing more painful than that, it’s listening to my mother lecture me on various subjects.
When she opens her mouth, you can physically feel all of your very essence and/or sex drive draining from your body.
If there’s one thing I dread more than my mother, it’s having to watch The Bachelor. But if there’s one thing more painful than that, it’s listening to my mother lecture me on various subjects.
When she opens her mouth, you can physically feel all of your very essence and/or sex drive draining from your body.
Dudedudedude
I totally get to read the new chapters first, right?
*smile*
But seriously. Go work your butt off, missy. Now.
I would give you an ultimatum, but I keep rejecting each one I think of.
Take HJ off my Picks --> Nonononoo!!!!!
Stop posting on the blog --> I couldn't. I'm addicted.
Post n3wdz --> I think you'd rather enjoy it, which would defeat the purpose.
You see? I'm falling on my knees for you.
*smile*
But seriously. Go work your butt off, missy. Now.
I would give you an ultimatum, but I keep rejecting each one I think of.
Take HJ off my Picks --> Nonononoo!!!!!
Stop posting on the blog --> I couldn't. I'm addicted.
Post n3wdz --> I think you'd rather enjoy it, which would defeat the purpose.
You see? I'm falling on my knees for you.
I've aged considerably since... Thursday.
It's only 12:24 and I want to go to bed.
I feel like one of those people as old as antique lamps that need to glue their teeth on with paste and shit in diapers. The ones that aren't coherent ever, and are even less coherent after 6 pm because it's past their bedtime.
On the bright side, flickr decided to stop being an ass long enough to upload this picture.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lialove/4892461703/
But now, it won't upload any pictures of Klondike. :[
Pho' sho, man.
Pho' to the sho.
I feel like one of those people as old as antique lamps that need to glue their teeth on with paste and shit in diapers. The ones that aren't coherent ever, and are even less coherent after 6 pm because it's past their bedtime.
On the bright side, flickr decided to stop being an ass long enough to upload this picture.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/lialove/4892461703/
But now, it won't upload any pictures of Klondike. :[
Pho' sho, man.
Pho' to the sho.
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