Grass Loves Bare Feet

2006-09-26T17:04:00.000-07:00

Blog has moved to LiveJournal. For now. I like their format more, now that they've upgraded everything.

But will come back again.

Some time.

2006-09-23T11:41:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, I wonder if I believe in destiny, that we're all predestined to meet who we do and become who we are. It's a silly idea, sure, but I think the human life is so complex that things can't just occur by chance. I can't imagine my life without any of you, and it all seems by chance that I even met you guys.

If I didn't go to PV's office to tell them I didn't get my student directory, they wouldn't have found out I moved, and I would have gone to PV all three years. Which means, by now, I would have a voodoo shrine of JH. Most importantly, I wouldn't have met P (both of you).

If Carolyn had never gotten to know me, she would have still hated me. We would never have become best friends. I would have never met K through her.

In ninth grade, if Cam and I weren't put in the same health class, then be placed in seats that were right next to each other, would we have become friends or just passing acquaintances?

If you step back and think about it, if my parents never divorced and just hung on to their pathetic relationship, my mom would have never married my stepdad. I would have never come to SR. I would have stayed in LA, and maybe eventually go on to date James in highschool.

If I'd stayed in NY instead of moving here, how rich would I be by now from modeling?

B, if you weren't born with such abnormally large eyes, I would never have stared at you during orientation. And you wouldn't have become my first friend there.

So, I can't figure it out. Is life a string of accidents or are we all marching along our preordained road?

This is a Public Announcement

2006-09-21T21:22:00.000-07:00

Attention Please:

I have less than twenty-three hours to fix my VCR and find an empty tape so I can record Grey's Anatomy at eight pm tomorrow. If I can't do this, then all Friday plans are cancelled. Yes, that means you, P. And you, B.

I hate to sound like a obessive fangirl, but....

2006-09-21T17:06:00.000-07:00

...Tom Felton was born today!!! Let's have a look at this gorgeous man (er...boy):

.........................And that was all I could find because he's not really photogenic and most of his pictures remind me of Aaron Carter.

Happy Thursday :D

Where's the rum gone?

2006-09-19T20:13:00.000-07:00

This is what I'm doing instead of hw...

2006-09-18T18:26:00.000-07:00

So, I was looking at my past diary and I thought I'd share a few entries with you guys.

There's no other way to say it. JH was...a disappointment. In a way, I'm happy he disappointed me. That way, I don't have to obsess over him any more.

:)

M
(some time between 2000 and 2004.)

Hi James (J was the name of my diary),
I don't feel like writing anything. We are taking the Sat 9 test, well ofcoarse I finished already. I don't feel like doing anything actraully. I just want to go home and then watch Tv and eat then repeat that (obviously, this was when we had cable).
J <3 M
or
M<3 J
The person James, not you.
(2001-ish)

Sunday
1. Wake up and don't watch TV!
2. Take a shower/spa (Awww, I remember that was the period I would take all of Saturday, or Sunday in this case, doing masks and spa things and stuff)
3. Make bed
4. Turn on TV & do coloring homework
5. Before 4 eat
6. Study
7. do EC is u want to
5 (yeah, don't know how that figures...). go for a swim

1-17-03
U know what James? I don't like anyone at PV. The closest boy friend at school is J (Haha...right. Just shows how erroneous and misguided I was)...and I can't like him again knowing that he's a player (Playa!!! Yo, that's right, dawg). Maybe K is right; I can't push these things.
But that do not stop me from doing what I can (I get one in hole. I speak good English. Who writ the bible?)! I will choose different hairstyles...choose different outfits (really, the only thing I remember wearing back then were stupid T's and jeans)...and not be so tense around boys (well, I've achieved that alright)...look at people's eyes when I speak...be nice to everyone...and be smart!
*Big Smiley Drawn Here*

2006-09-17T13:33:00.000-07:00

You Should Date An Italian!

You love for old fashioned romance, with an old fashioned guy
An Italian guy is the perfect candidate to be your prince charming
If your head doesn't spin enough, just down another espresso with him
Invest in a motorcycle helmet - and some carb blocker for all that pasta!

Which Foreign Guy Should You Date?

Um, which foreign guy should I date? The foreign guy, of course. We'll even watch porn together. Not on his friend's cellphone though.

I wanna be able to squirt water out of my vagina like Sugar.
"So, what's your deepest, darkest secret, something no one else knows?"
"I can shoot water from my sex! And take great aim! Hey, watch out there, I'm gonna squirt you next!"

Yes, Faber. Yes.

Pocky

2006-09-15T22:54:00.000-07:00

I've written another story for competition. It's about the troubles of teenage life, and isn't meant to be a very uplifting story.

If you're reading this blog, then this story probably has you in it. I won't tell you which person you're supposed to be. However, keep in mind that the situations are dramatized and changed according to my will. It's not supposed to be strictly just you so don't be offended or anything. You guys were just the inspiration for each character.

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

It was the transitioning period from the bloated warmth of happy summer to dreary autumn; dreary because it meant school, the annual storing of nice summer dresses, and red flaky noses that tissue companies forget to mention in their advertisements.
“Have six,” he said cheerfully.
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want any of that,” she tried to say, her voice softened by one part frustration and three parts exasperation.
He gave her the kind of grin she was now used to receiving from him. Before, years ago when her mom had just met him, she’d been afraid of that smile. The movement of muscle started at two opposite points of his lips and moved upward until the fine lines and deep valleys on his face began to move upward as well. Like plate tectonics, it rearranged his wrinkled visage. Formerly smooth planes of skin congregated to low hills and steep mountains of flesh. Valleys deepened or separated. His whole face shifted with his smile. It required so much movement that she hoped he would stop doing it. For his sake.
“Have six,” he said again insistently as he stacked two more on the existent four. She cleared her throat. “But I don’t want-,” she tried again.
“Four is an unlucky number, did you know that?” he told her.
Yes, she knew. And she showed as much by nodding. The word for four in Chinese was pronounced almost (almost, but not quite) like the Chinese word for death. The si sound applied to both ‘four’ and ‘death’, a completely random assignment by the studious caveman who invented the language, doomed the number four—and innocent enough number in English—to a life of being shunned and avoided. Even telephone numbers with repetitive fours were considered back luck among the traditional Chinese.
“Six is a lucky number. So,” he concluded, “you either should have six or nothing.”
“I’d rather have nothing,” she said as he walked away, louder so he could hear her speak those words clearly. But of course, she was ignored.
She looked down. It was an uneven lattice of chocolate covered Pocky sticks. Four sticks were laid vertically on the bottom. The newly added two were placed, horizontal but slightly slanted, on the top.

Elaine looked at herself in the mirror. Her shirt wasn’t fitting properly. She was sure of it. Her mom, who was standing next to her and critically examining the mirror, was even more sure of it.
“Your shirt isn’t fitting properly,” her mom told her.
She blew her chocolate-Pocky colored hair out of her face, which was damp from perspiration. Next to her, her mom’s face was as cool and calm as ever, but wrinkles of frustration and distaste were showing.
“You need a large,” her mom concluded.
“I’m a medium.”
“She needs a large,” her mom said, turning to the scurrying teenage girl rushing around the fitting room, face hidden behind an armful of discarded clothes. Her mom was ignored.
Elaine swallowed the bitterness in her mouth and shrugged off the shirt. Her cell phone vibrated inside her pocket and she quickly put on her own shirt (the one that sagged around her upper body much like jeans sagged on the cool guys at school), before answering.
“Hello?” she answered in an unfriendly half-sigh, even when she was restraining herself from showing her vexation.
Munch, went the other side of the phone. Munch. Munch.
“Hello?”
“F-shea, ‘m here,” said a blurred female voice on the other side of the phone. There was a quick succession of munching, and then a pause (in which Elaine guessed she swallowed whatever she was eating). “Sorry, I’m eating.”
“Oh?” Elaine asked tightly. Conversationally. “What’re you having?”
“Pocky sticks,” her friend answered her from the other side of the radio waves, or whatever it was that phones used to transfer voices from one place to another. “You know that Japanese snack?”
Her mom came back into the fitting room, carrying a large, tan long-sleeved shirt. “They only have an extra-large. Try it on.”
“Sorry, Jackie, I have to go,” Elaine said quickly, and then hung up. She turned to her mom in the reflection of the mirror—the surface on which she could see the both of them at the same time with side-by-side comparison. There was a difference. Her mom was tall and thin. Standing next to her, she suddenly started to see fat tacked on her body. They were everywhere. Her body screamed thighs! And hips. And arms. And stomach.
“I don’t need to try it on.” Elaine took the shirt from her mom, shouldered her purse, and broke open the magnetic door of the changing room. “I know it’s going to fit perfectly.”
Her mom watched her from behind, and then followed her to the line at the cash register.
As she stood behind a group of giggling girls (all measuring about four feet and carrying lingerie shopping bags for their flat chests), one thought went through her mind.
Fall shopping sucks.

“I really need to do my shopping for fall,” Shelly sighed into the phone, trying to explain her infuriating predicament. “There’s just nothing to buy. I’ve gone twice, and I’ve only just gotten two shirts.”
The other side of the phone munched sympathetically. “F-shea.”
Pause.
Munch.
Pause.
“What are you eating?” Shelly asked, watching her ceiling absently. If she squinted, the shadows on the white plaster resembled a man with a big, hooked nose. She squinted again. The tortured voice of her favorite singer garbled softly in the background.
“Nothing, now,” said Jackie, finally answering her. Her voice seemed oddly depressed. “I’m all out. I only had six to start with. I think we still have some more, though.” Jackie was speaking to herself now. “In the cabinet, maybe? Hmm…”
“Six what?”
“Nothing. Pocky.” The topic fluidly reached a junction, and turned. “You know what?”
“What,” Shelly echoed obligingly.
“I’m so ignored by my stepdad,” Jackie explained, the pace of her voice picking up as the subject excited her. “Take today, for example. I mean, I tell him something. I say it once and twice and three times and he acts as if he can’t hear me.”
“Aw,” Shelly cooed as her mind searched from something appropriate to say.
“Call waiting,” Jackie suddenly said, saving Shelly from having to console her. “I’ll call you back.”
Shelly hung up the phone and sat up on the bed. The house was freezing. Her room on the second floor was hell (literally) in the summer and Antarctica once the weather turned cool. It was perfect. Really, really perfect.
She couldn’t see why she couldn’t move into her sister’s room. After all, her sister had gone on to bigger and better things. Like college. She’d shed her past life in this town like shedding an extra layer of clothes.
New York, she thought glumly. She’s in New York and I’m stuck here.
Dinner had been sizzling on the kitchen stove downstairs, but by now, it was reduced to a rich, warm aroma.
“Shelly, dinner!” her mom yelled up the stairs, ringing the small, silver dinner bell she’d bought at a recent shopping expedition.
She glanced at the time on her cell phone. Six fifteen on the dot.
All I want is Anarchy. When will they ever stop being so rigidly precise?

Crisp, cold air whipped her cheeks as she stepped out to the curb of the empty street. Silently, a black vehicle glided down the street, and stopped smoothly in front of her. The mirrored window came down.
“Get in.”
She complied and hurried around the car, reasoning that the wind will stop piercing through the loose wool of her sweater if she was quick about it. Also, the voice wasn’t friendly.
“Lois, you’re late by fifteen minutes!” her mom reprimanded at once as she ducked into the car. “You said to pick you up at six fifteen and I was here at six fifteen. It’s now six thirty.”
“Breathe,” Lois said slowly, stressing each syllable. She looked at the car’s digital clock as she lugged her backpack into the seat next to her. “It’s six twenty-five. God, seriously, if you can’t even get the time right, what justifies your authority to tell me about keeping track?”
“Okay, six twenty-five,” her mom ceded crisply. “I was worried, Lois. If you’re going to be late, you have to call me. You have your cell phone with you, don’t you?”
“Oh my god, this is not a colossal issue. Seriously.” She tried to explain and took a deep, deep breath. She released it in a series of quick, loud sentences, whizzing through the air like darts. “I was in the library, mom! What could have happened to me? What, some rapist-“
“Okay, okay, okay,” her mom said quickly, hitting her palm lightly against the steering wheel as she steered away from her daughter’s short fuse.
There was quiet in the car but the sound of the metal hitting against plastic as she absently tried to buckle up.
“So, how was studying? Didn’t you say Mark was going, too?” Her mom’s voice: conversationally light, tinged with warm, maternal inquisitiveness. The bad, frizzling air had dispersed almost immediately after the short-lived argument.
“Yeah.” The answer was offhand and uninterested, like trying to throw hunting dogs off the scent of their catch. In this case, it was her mother’s catch. “Studying was alright. We completed most things.”
Her mother gave her a sidelong glance before turning her eyes back towards the road. It was six thirty, and everywhere, there were cars. It was a Friday. People just wanted to go home.
They stopped. Two parallel lines of unblinking red backlight glared back at them as if challenging them to a staring contest. Lois could only see the backlight on the right side. Her mother could only see its parallel brother. Neither the woman nor the girl realized they were looked at, essentially, the same thing, only flipped the opposite direction.
Lois traced her finger around the dashboard, mentally making a list. She had to remind her mom to stop by Jackie’s house to drop off the chemistry book she borrowed. And so they waited, twenty feet away from the stop sign, moving one inch every second.
Lois calculated that it would take them four minutes to reach the sign.
“Mark is a nice boy,” her mom suddenly said, her voice still very light. Again, that sidelong glance. “Do you see him often?”
“No,” Lois said flatly. “He’s always studying.”
“Like you.” Her mom beamed.

Fern couldn’t have them see her tears, so she went outside. The air was cold, gripping her like the clammy fingers of the dead. Or at least what she imagined dead fingers to feel like. From inside the pocket of her jeans, she fumbled out a crushed cigarette and lit up.
Usually, she would’ve been more careful with smoking, just in case someone saw her. But tonight, she didn’t care. She shut her eyes and breathed in deep, taking into her lungs every last drop of sweet tranquility that thin cigarette had to offer.
Almost twenty paces away from the house, she could still hear the screaming coming from inside. It was her youngest sister’s voice—shrill, frustrated, and loud enough to shatter most eardrums.
Arguments in their house were most like fire. It could be very small, flicker, and just die. Or, if it catches on to a dry stalk, it might swell and swallow everything around it like the wildfires she’d seen firefighters try to extinguish on TV. They never do extinguish them. Most times, they just had to let it burn itself out.
“I’m not breaking up with him! Everybody stop minding my fucking business!”
She didn’t even bother to glance back, but just winced. That was loud enough for the whole street to hear.
When they were younger, her mom would take her sisters and her swimming. She would pack fruits. Kathleen would pack plastic packages of instant noodles. Elsie, her youngest sister, would pack Pocky. Personally, she thought that stuff was disgusting. Kathleen thought fruits were disgusting. Elsie despised instant noodles, and thought it below her.
But still.
They’d gotten along. She didn’t know what happened, but somewhere along the way of growing up, things started unraveling faster than she could put it back together.
She wished she could remember what it had been. But her memory was nothing like it used to be. Even if she racked her brain until her temples started hurting, no magic would happen. It was a pity because she had once considered her memory her greatest asset. She could remember things down to the very minute detail.
“Don’t you remember?” she used to ask people. Nowadays, people were asking her that question.
She was frustrated with herself, yes. Her only condolence was the fact that she would turn eighteen in just two years. Then, she could get out of this place and maybe go to New York instead of staying in the hellhole she was in (it was the opposite side of the country, and she figured that would be far enough). And maybe then, her memory could improve.
The frigid wind was giving her a headache, and she ducked behind a car to escape the assault. Sitting down on the asphalt, she reached inside her back pocket, took out her cell phone, and dialed the numbers with her numb fingers.
Munch, answered the phone. Pause. “Sorry, I’m having a snack.”
“Jackie?” Her voice wavered and broke. “I just really need to vent right now.”
After she cried, she wiped her eyes carefully before going back to the house. Inside was instantly warm. It was almost too warm and made her frozen limbs tingle. Everyone was silent, mutinously ignoring one another. Her mother impatiently banged pots and pans together in the kitchen as she started to prepare dinner.
After shutting the door to her and Elsie’s room, she sank down on the bed and took out the pills from underneath the mattress.
They were only sleeping pills.
She took her nightly dose of three, then paused and decided to add one more. She had a feeling she would have trouble sleeping tonight.

Nessa lay in bed, unable to drift off. Soccer practice should have left her exhausted and thirsting for shut-eye, but it hadn’t. Some things never did as they were expected.
A box of Pocky was balanced on her stomach. She’d never tried it before Jackie gave some to her, and now she felt that they were kind of addictive. She was thinking about the kiss. Yes, the kiss. Not a kiss.
Actually, she’d had neither, yet. That was probably the reason she was thinking about them. People didn’t usually keep thinking about the things they’d already uncovered the mystery of.
Anyways.
The kiss. Nessa couldn’t imagine the guy in the picture. Inside, it made her a bit guilty. Most girls would see their boyfriend in the kiss, wouldn’t they? So why couldn’t she?
Before she could fully understand the complexity, her cell phone burst into life on her desk—vibrating, flashing, and ringing all at once. It was a hell of a ruckus, especially late at night.
She leapt up, cracking her back and sending Pocky sticks flying. Her hands were slippery with sweat as she tried to flip open her phone as quickly as possibly.
In a dead whisper, she answered, “Hello?”
“Hey.” It was a raspy voice and very distinctly male.
“Hold on.” Putting down her cell phone, she tiptoed to her door, opened it, and peeked out into the hall. No one had stirred, thank God. She went back to her phone in the same manner and picked it up. “It is kind of late, Justin.”
“Aw, man, I know that,” he agreed wholeheartedly on the other end. She heard the starting of a car engine. “Listen, Nessa, I know this is kind of a lot to ask, but can I crash at your house tonight?”
Nessa paused, wondering if she had heard correctly. Then, she felt the urge to laugh at his stupidity. She wasn’t even allowed to have a boyfriend and now this said boyfriend wanted to ‘crash’ at her house? She’d be a dead woman before sunrise. Nevertheless, she was curious. Then, curiosity turned to worry. “Why? Did something happen?”
“I just got kicked out, man,” he sighed, slamming closed the car door.
“For what?” she asked naively.
Another sigh. This time, it was long, and drawn out. “Look, can I stay at your place or not?”
“Can’t you stay at one of your friend’s house?”
He laughed softly. “Nah, can’t.” His voice then turned pleading. “Please, Nessa, it’ll only be one night. It’s fucking freezing out here and I don’t want to have to stay in my car.”
Nessa panicked. She couldn’t refuse him. The words simply declined to tremble on her vocal cords. “I’m…uh…what? Oh, damn, I can’t hear you… Er…” Then, she hung up, heaving a deep breath. Quickly, she turned off her phone.
Love was trouble.

The next day, Jackie received a call from Elsie, and cried. Elaine put on her new shirt and found it too baggy. Shelly moved her lamp to her sister’s room and saw that as the first step towards total domination. Lois found Mark throwing stones at her window with the sign: Come down. Fern opened her eyes and found herself in a white, sterile room, her sisters and mother assembled tightly around her bed. Nessa got her kiss. But it wasn’t the kiss.

My muse has poofed the grounds.

2006-09-14T17:03:00.000-07:00

I am now so desperate to find something to submit to upcoming writing competitions. I haven't written anything in...well...forever. I have nothing.

But am I desperate enough to enter something I wrote for English class? Read on and give me your honest opinion.
Seriously.
Submit it anonymously if you must.
-----------------
If David Copperfield can begin with, “Chapter one: I am born,” then I can certainly begin with sentence two.
I was named.
I was a few minutes old, swathed in golden cloth and bathed in the melodic river of an angelic chorus, when my parents (beaming with joy, mind you) proclaimed me Eugenia Victoria Anastasia Virginia.
Except not really. There was no golden cloth. If you must know, there was no angelic chorus, either. Eugenia Victoria Anastasia Virginia was fabricated as well. The story of my name began before I was even born. My father and mother, pregnant with me, flipped through the Chinese dictionary and gave me the name Xin He. It means ‘to be like a lily’.
But even that doesn’t tell the whole story of my name. The real story, the one that leads to my name now, began when I was five years old. My father is dropped from this third version of my story and replaced with a man of minor ecclesiastical position. This story takes place in a time when my mom and I—having recently moved to the United States and wanting to be closer to western culture—went to church on Sundays. As we were passing the grand church doors on our way out from a sermon, my mom paused in front of the priest.
“What do you think her name should be?” she asked the priest, perhaps not in those exact words.
The priest, in my memory, didn’t even pause to think about it. “M,” he told her. And M I became.
In elementary school, I was “Hey M*male form of my name*o!” in that laughing, teasing voice of cootie-ridden boys. At home and to my mother, I am very fondly, “Niu niu”, a Chinese term of endearment that my mom herself invented. I am “Ma xiao jia” to my father (“Mistress Horse” because I was born in the year of the horse and because he thinks I am spoiled). I am “He He” to my grandparents, “ Jie jie” to my baby cousin (“Sister”), a shy, silent smile to admirers, and “Mamasita” to the produce workers in front of supermarkets.
In the future, I plan on changing my name every year. I’ll be Magdalena, the woman who reportedly hooked Jesus’ heart. I’ll be Lilith, the woman who hooked Satan’s heart. I’ll be Delilah the third year, just to keep up the sexy, biblical trend. Then, I think I will switch to boy names I like. Claude, fourth year. Drake, fifth year. Luke, sixth year.
For the next few decades, I’ll go through names alphabetically. When I’m old and almost out of names, I will probably became “Grandma Zyta”—the last name I will ever own.

The Perks of being a Muse

2006-09-08T22:32:00.000-07:00

Alright, so my dad really didn't want me to take this painting with me because he wanted to fix the face (my loverly, loverly face). I'll admit that my eyebrows look a little weird. He thinks that he made my lips too pouty. Anyways, I like the colors and plus I'm very proud of the fact that I have a painting of me. There's a lot of symbolism in this painting that my dad explained to me, but the only one I can remember are the closed doors (it means that I'm not in tune with playing the guitar yet).

Rotten.

2006-09-07T16:32:00.000-07:00

I am a joke.

I mulled over some stuff on my walk back home, and this is what I realized. I'm not going to explain it to you, and don't bother calling me to find out (because, frankly, it's just too embarrassing and I'll only get mad talking about it).

Just know that your friend is a joke to some people.

Poof!

2006-09-06T18:12:00.000-07:00

1. Poof!
-My sanity. Look, I'm even writing my blog like my notes. If I could do cornell
note format, then I would.
-My sanity is mainly disappearing due to the stress from:
------------------*growing up
------------------*college
------------------*SAT (Which doesn't even stand for anything. Jeez.)
--------------------*I was looking at the calender and spotted 'Sat'(which is
---------------------Saturday, for anyone who's unaware of this) and I cringed and
---------------------freaked out before I could realize that it was only a day of the
---------------------week.
2. Poof!
---*My crush. Yep. Gone.
------*I can't say the exact reason for its disappearance. He's still as nice as
-------ever, and his smile is just as sweet, but somehow...hmm...nothing there.
3. Unrelated to *poof!*.
---*I had a cool dream where I read a book. But wait! It wasn't just any book. It
----was a book written like a dictionary.
------*Every single word was written as a dictionary entry complete with tense, use,
-------and, of course, definition.

Hmm, alright, so my cool note format totally isn't showing up on the actual blog. But I assure you it looks cool when I'm typing it up in this window.

2006-09-04T22:34:00.000-07:00

I've hopped onto the Little Miss Sunshine bandwagon and watched the movie. Let me just say that it is one brilliant work. I mean, they only had mediocre actors. But somehow, they did an awesome job at conveying emotion. And the script and story were great. I hope I can write something like that one day.

Anyways. Great movie. Laughed and cried through the entire thing.

Zoom! The pigs are flying!

2006-09-01T19:31:00.000-07:00

I think I might have a crush. I know, I know. Crazy idea, right?
So, I don't really have a crush on him as much as...being curious about him. And liking his smile. And feeling my lips tug up whenever I talk to him. His name is Spanish Guy II. Hopefully, he'll be different from Spanish Guy I. Spanish Guy I was rather...nice. I mean, he was a really really nice guy. Just...no. I'd rather not think about Spanish Guy I.

I'll just keep my mind of Spanish Guy II. :)

Your Vibe Is Somewhat Sexy

On a good day, you're the sexiest woman in the worldBut on a bad day, you can't help but feel a little averageTry to remember the times you've felt the sexiest...And keep that attitude even on the worst of days

Um, are you kidding me. I am the sexiest woman in the world.

Throw rocks.

2006-08-30T21:09:00.000-07:00

So, it's becoming blatantly clear to me that I should avoid all things and all people when I'm pmsing. I punched some annoying freshman on the bus today because he kept insulting me. Normally, I probably would've ignored him. But since I'm pmsing, I slapped his head. And then punched him. Two of my knuckles still hurt. But seriously, he was such a dumbass. Anyone can testify. I really don't feel like typing out the whole story, since it was just so stupid. But basically, there was a lot of 'bitch, flat-chested, fuck, she's a dude!' thrown around (on his part) and also a lot of 'fuck, shut up, I'll hit you if you don't shut up' (on my part).

I think this describes my mood right now pretty well.

2006-08-29T17:49:00.000-07:00

Thinking Positive!

2006-08-27T19:35:00.000-07:00

So, I figured out one good thing about my period. It may make me think I'm fat, make me feel like crap, and make me surly, but it also makes my boobs a hell of a lot bigger. At least I think it does. It looks that way.

Mozart Poopzart

2006-08-22T01:51:00.000-07:00

I must be musically challenged. As I sat in my guitar lesson today, I suddenly remembered why I quit piano and violin. I never feel so helpless, stupid, and frustrated as I do when I'm learning to play some kind of instrument. The only advancement I made musically in my fifteen years is learn to sing on key (and that was only discovered very recently when we went karaoke-ing.) Usually, I excel in everything whether or not I put in actual effort. But music is really my downfall. I just don't get it. I see my teacher getting less patient, I see that look in his eyes that accepts that I'm slow. If I were in a classroom setting, I'd be the pothead sitting in the back. The sad thing is, I try. I really, really do put in effort, but when I'm sitting there, I can't concentrate, I can't understand, and I can't even hear him. I feel myself tearing up and the only thing that keeps me from crying is my pride. He's so nice, too. I'm just an idiot student.

Sausages and Women

2006-08-17T10:06:00.000-07:00

I have decided that if I should ever marry and have children, I will never let my looks decline to that of my aunt. She's...what, in her early thirties? She never really lost the weight from her pregnancy (although she's dieting now) and she looks exhausted and messy from day to day. Her curly hair's always in a messy bun. She's always wearing unflattering, baggy clothes, and she's always running after the baby. It's just so unappealing. I mean, if I was my uncle, I totally wouldn't have sex with her. So, my decision is that my husband will NEVER see me (a) without any makeup, (b) fat, (c) unsexy in any way or form. If I have a kid and I'm still fat after childbirth, I'll just tell him I'm going away for two months so I can lose weight. I'm not going to let him see me run on the treadmill at home, sweating like a pig and with my fat jiggling everywhere.

In sort of relation to that: My cousin has finally won me over. His one and a half year old cuteness if just too much to resist. The weird thing is, even though I ignore him most of the time, he seems to really like me. He keeps calling, "Sister, sister!" all over the house with that sweet little voice of his (cousins are not cousins in China, but more of a sibling relationship). And although he's the meanest, most stingy kid I know, he always shares his toys with me. He'll just randomly walk up to me, hand me a car or something and I'll just look at it and be like, "Okay..."

P.S. You can have sex in my house any time you want. Just buy me new sheets afterwards.

My Heart is a Black Hole

2006-08-14T04:17:00.000-07:00

I bought a guitar today.
I'm becoming more and more the epitome of an angsty teenager. I already have black hair that gets in my eyes. I'm writing a masterpiece novel that's never going to be finished. I dabble in poetry. And now, I have a guitar. You bet I'm going to strum all my pain in that thing. Jesus, I should just go slit my wrists and commit suicide.

I've noticed that there are three types of hair popular among Chinese girls.
1. The 'I just stuck my finger in a electric socket': This type of hair is exactly like it's name. Girls are walking around with frazzled, poofy, electrocuted hair a mile high in the air.
2. The Nice Girl Ponytail: A plain ponytail with sideswept bangs. All nice college girls sport this.
3. The Baby Doll: Long hair with bangs cut straight across the forehead. They're walking around looking like cute little porcelain dolls.

And now I'm being kicked off the computer.

The Sword's Got Nothing on the Pen

2006-08-13T19:28:00.000-07:00

Ambition is looking more and more like killing spree conducted by a crazed author.

Characters dead within the last five chapters: 1
Characters dead so far: 5
Characters to die in the future: 7

Characters left in the story by the last chapter: 2

And, also, I've decided to chronicle my dreams because they are just too damn interesting. This is the one I had last night.

My mom and I and some other random people are alone in a house in LA. A mass murderer comes along in his car (you know, one of those with personality disorders) and asks us if he could use the phone. Naively, we agree. Thus, we set this murderer loose in the house. He starts hunting us down one by one, but the thing is, he's really very friendly. He becomes really attached to anyone who is nice to him. So that's exactly what my mom and I do. We pretend that we're totally buddy buddy with him while I go off to call the police. The police comes, takes him away (we breathe) and then we find out that they set him free. The murderer comes back and stays in our basement. He's really angry that we called the police came, so I explained to him that I was still totally friends with him, and that I just called the police on accident.
He accepted this explanation.
And since he won't leave our basement and we can't get him to leave or be mean to him, we call the police again. They come again, and they set him free. Those bastards. But here's the interesting part:
I start plotting to escape our house and go elsewhere (since the murder won't let us leave). We drive off, and first go to the mall to get disguises. The murderer follows us in his car. And then, suddenly, I notice that the murderer is strikingly like my stepdad. Who then tells us to save gas money when driving.

So, what does that mean? Any interpretations? Why is my stepdad the mass murderer and why do my mom and I risk our lives to escape him? If I were Freud there'd be a lot to be said about my subconscious feelings toward my stepdad here.

Snug as a Bug in the Bowl

2006-08-12T21:46:00.000-07:00

I found a worm in my porridge today.

"Ew," said my cousin's nanny.
"Maybe the cornmeal has grown worms," my uncle worried.
"Just take it out," my grandma said. "Worms that grow in grains are inconsequential."
"Eat it," my mom grinned diabolically. "It's full of protein."

Mom, Dad, and that Random Girl

2006-08-11T20:07:00.000-07:00

I should be eating lunch, but instead I'm writing this.

2006-08-09T21:38:00.000-07:00

The weather here likens the aura of the capital--stuffy, gray, and shackled from glimpsing the sun, which stands not too far above the somber overcast. In my grandmother's house, there is a neverending cycle of life. They rise at dawn, move about the house like busy ghosts, cleaning, washing, and directing the girl here that works from them. A few hours the sky turns from black to light gray (ie. mid morning), my cousin, nicknamed Yuan Yuan wakes up with cranky babbling of, "Nononononono! Don't want!" Along with him rises the rest of the household. His live-in nurse, a chubby, kind-hearted young woman waddles after him like a concerned shadow. My uncle will also wake up and sit on the couch with his computer, working on god knows what. They move about the day, chasing after the baby, cooking for my mom and I, shuffling from room to room in their slippers, all the while turning the air conditioning on and off. They're scared they'll catch a cold, but also impatient with the stuffy heat.

It's starting to rain outside. The moisture in the air is rising to an unbearable level--to a place where I think I'm breathing in liquid. I want to go to the art exhibition with paintings by Renoir (my favorite artist) touring in Beijing, but I'm too lazy to get off the couch. I was supposed to go tour the Imperial Palace this morning. But it rained.

Forget December...er...September

2006-08-08T21:50:00.000-07:00

Alright, so it's only August and I'm already posting. My hiatus ended a lot sooner than I orginally intended. I am now in China. It's the land where food is entertainment, alcohol flow like rivers, where red lights mean go and green lights mean go faster. Good place, this is.

Attention Passengers

2006-07-13T19:53:00.000-07:00

Coming Again: September, 2006

Originally, I had this big long post about why I'm taking a hiatus from blogger. But it got deleted so now I'm too pissed off to write another one.

Here's the essential information:

I'm taking a hiatus from blogger.

Goodbye friends and readers. Goodbye stalkers. Goodbye, goodbye.

FAQ

2006-07-13T13:00:00.000-07:00

Okay, so here's a question for you guys:

Is it illegal to bring alcohol back to the States from a foreign country? PLEASE don't just bs your answer.

2006-07-12T01:51:00.000-07:00

-Oh my god, I'm crying because so many people died in India. I don't know if it's because I've become a good and sympathetic person, or because my period hormones are messing with me.

-I think it's your period.

-Thanks, Buddy.

-no problemo.

I am so loved.

Pretty Woman

2006-07-09T18:29:00.000-07:00

I saw a woman on bart a few days ago. She sat there with lilac eyelids, compact in one hand and mascara wand in the other. I watched as she brushed her eyelashes for a good ten minutes, her hands precise, efficient, and fastidious. She squinted into the mirror, dectected an imprefection, and quickly fixed it. After her lashes were perfection, she gave her eyebrows a finishing sweep with the wand.

The bart stopped.

She snapped her compact shut and donned on a pair of heavy, oval glasses. Now, she no longer had to squint. Tossing everything into her bag, she stood up and left. I realized, as she walked passed me, that she really wasn't attractive. She had a faint double chin. Her underwear line showed through her black pants. But I wondered how long it took for her to put herself together that morning. What pains did she take to look like she did?

Then, I rediscovered a truth. Every girl--whether fat, petite, tall, or short--want to be considered beautiful. We add extra touches to ourselves to stand out. Rhinestone studs. A necklace. Charms.

All we really want is to be pretty. So, next time you see a girl, let it be a friend or friendly stranger, notice something about her and compliment it. Chances are she's been waiting the whole day for someone to notice.

Las Vegas-- The Worst/Best Vacation

2006-07-04T12:24:00.000-07:00

Las Vegas was a lot more different since I last visited. There are some renovations, some new hotels, and also a massive change in the treasure island show. It's no longer about pirates blasting the hell out of each other. Now, there are sirens and they sing and dance in underwear. Which is okay, I guess.

Overall, this was a pretty sucky vacation, but with some major highlights.

Within the first two hours of the car ride, SD and Mom got into a huge fight. From then on, they barely spoke to each other (except to argue). SD tried to drag me into it by making me say which one of them was right (in my opinion, they were both wrong), but I refused. Seriously, during the entire trip, both of them were acting so immature. I felt like I was dealing with two feuding siblings.
Major Suckyness.

Food. Good, glorious, life giving food.
Yayness.

Ear infection. Could not hear how loudly or quietly I was speaking.
Suckyness.

Bought a pair of beautiful, beautiful, beautiful Ferragamos.
Triple Yayness!

Stuffy, running nose and headaches b/c of sinus infection.
Suckyness.

Phantom! This show held some major surprises. A lot of lines were cut out. Christine Daae could not sing for the life of her. I feared for the poor girl. Carlotta was too Carlotta. The Phantom could barely act in Act I and made me snort during Music of the Night. And most surprising of all, the chandelier didn't fall at the end of Act I. It just didn't. For me, that was a mind blowing shock, but I guess you guys can really care less.
The very best part of the show was the Phantom. Sure, his acting could use a little shaping up, but his voice was amazing. And during the final scene, he really really knew how to gain the audience's sympathy. So I cried.
Yayness/Suckyness

No one could really tell how old I was, so I got away with gambling. My mom was sooo tense, especially when a (barely clad) waitress came along. But she only asked us if we wanted drinks. I almost laughed.
Yayness.

I got groped during the Treasure Island show, which sucked since I really didn't want to be there in the first place. We just wanted to go to the Mirage so we could see Cirque du Soleil, but managed to get stuck while passing TI. First, this really muscly guy was trying to get in front of me. I mean, the guy was like eight feet tall so I really didn't think it was fair for him to be shoving a little girl like me, so I shoved back and got in front of him. Then, he coughed on me. I was about to shout at him, this girl-shoving, tattooed, eight feet bastard, but my mom called me away. And then I got groped while I was making my way out. I couldn't even tell who did it. Stupid, horny bastards.
Suckyness.

A Korean guy tried to get us (my mom and I) to sleep with him and he kept following us. My mom starting swearing him out in public and he was shouting back at her.
Yayness cuz it was just too funny.

There were a lot more happenings, but I'm sure you're bored at this point. I'll just conclude this here.

But why, you ask, was this the best vacation?

The shoes, baby. The shoes.

It must have something to do with the hot water.

2006-06-29T00:21:00.000-07:00

I, MS, now formally declare that I will not grow up to be a gold digger. I came upon this decision in an life altering fifteen minutes (during my shower).

I mean, for me, money has the equivalence of happiness. One can assume the role of the other, and they are completely interchangeable, if not meshed together. But, really, I'd rather spend my own hard-worked money cuz I think I'll just feel guilty if I use others'. Plus, depending on other people for money has that unstable factor of them leaving you. Why walk a tightrope when I can reap what I hoe? No pun intended.

It's not that being an arriviste fazes me (even though I'll rhyme with 'hairy beast'), it's really the stablility factor. And how can I possibly be happy if I have to manipulate others for an income? Cue the sentimental music. I'm going to follow where my passions lead me, instead of tramping behind my avarice. Again, no pun intended.

Some other interesting, short-term life-altering things happened in the shower.

I shampooed my hair and piled the whole mess on top of my head, then yelled for my mom to come in.

"This," I declared as I appeared to her stark naked with soap dripping down, "is what I would look like with short hair. Waddya think?"

"It makes you look like you have man shoulders."

Ignoring this, I looked into the long mirror directly opposite my shower. My carefully cultivated waistline from the last few weeks of dieting has disappeared under recent lax eating habits. "Look, I'm streamlined," I complained.

"And you're kind of sagging." She glanced briefly at my chest.

I snapped the shower curtain close.

You know what? As soon as my nose unclogs itself, I'm going to return to my exercise routine.

Oh, and I have a candidate for the summer fling. Well...I have candidates in consideration. Until I have more info on them, nothing is sure.

Impulsive little me

2006-06-25T19:22:00.000-07:00

New summer goal: Have a summer fling.

Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth.

2006-06-24T14:52:00.000-07:00

There's really a lot to love about this book, and the villain/protagonist Humbert Humbert. Despite having an unfortunate name, the character is sarcastic and employs dry humor in narrating this book. When reading this, and when understanding bit by bit his obession with nymphets (or underage girls that carry what he deems as a demoniac aura), I can't help but feel sorry for him. What is worse than having desires that go against the very grain of modern society?

What is socially accepted is really defined by people, and not by any high authority. So what if he likes underage girls? What is so 'unacceptable' about it? Is he killing them, hurting them, or otherwise treating them unwell? Instead of being able to express his desires, he's festering in them. I'd go insane, too, if I was in his shoes.

So, instead of thinking of him as a pervert, I like him. I really don't care that no one else accepts him. Even his creator, Nabokov, stated that Humbert was sick and perverted man. Poor Humbert. Poor, misunderstood man.

Shakespeare's turning in his grave.

2006-06-21T23:02:00.000-07:00

My Poem's So Savage It Probably Puts Fear

In Shakespeare

I'm a little past fifteen,

And life's being kinda mean.

It sucks to be me.

Happiness is what I'm looking for, but I can't find the key.

Thank God I'm still young and beautiful.

With boobs like mine, life can't be too dull.

Actually, my boobs are smaller than they appear.

But people hold them pretty dear.

I'm really actually a B.

Although Carl guessed a C.

Really, that's fine with me.

Don't you love my rhyme?

Man, if I could get a dime

Every time I commit a literary crime

I'd be...er...

Rich.

That's right, bitch.

That's the way uh-huh uh-huh...I like it uh-huh uh-huh

2006-06-20T19:02:00.000-07:00

Somehow, I pulled off straight A's this year. Everyone, bow at the feet of your Goddess. The Queen of Procrastination pulls through again.

In other news, I went to Berkeley for my psych class today. It was fun (except for that small part on statistics where I almost fell asleep). I have a feeling this class is going to make me gain back the weight I lost (which is four pounds so far). I mean, it's Berkeley. There's an ice cream place every five paces, a gelato place every ten, and a pizza place every other step I take. Temptation! Today, I went to Ben and Jerry's for a vanilla ice cream on a waffle cone, then got Stracciatella and watermelon at the gelato place I forget the name of.

I saw a tourist lady taking a picture of a homeless guy.

2006-06-19T22:48:00.000-07:00

Oh my fucking god I have a 90% in Spanish.

FUCK!!!
(this is a good fuck)

A- baby. A-.

It's so sad I'm happy over this.

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

2006-06-15T22:58:00.000-07:00

It's the end of the schoolyear, and I've been hiding a lot of secrets. I think it's time for...

Confession

I don't think Spanish Guy is that bad looking, though sometimes I look at him and I think, "What compelled me?"
Bastards don't turn me on like I say they do.
I get intimidated by people more liked/more popular than I.
I like the way I walk (so stop bothering me about it).
I've come to terms with the fact that I like attention. I'm an attention whore. I see that now.
I hit on a disgusting guy once in front of a liquor store so I could get a cigarette.
I gifted myself with an extra $1,000 worth of stuff this year.
I fantasized about him instead of listening to his lectures.
I stole a chocolate bar from See's. The lady behind the counter was super nice, but I still didn't feel guilty.
I wanted to have sex with three of my friends at different points of time this year.
I'm still looking for that guy I saw in my dream two years ago. He's the real reason I like blond guys. My eyes are drawn to wispy gold tones when I enter a room because I still hope one of those fair haired people is him.
I kissed four people this year, bringing the number of people I've kissed to an even ten.
I'm still mad at her for copying me.
I made a neopets account recently. But I don't go on it, so shut up.
I have a myspace, I just don't use it.
I asked four people to have sex with me. I was serious for three of them. (Though I can't say I was exactly myself when I asked them.)
I've stopped liking Tiffany's.
I don't think much of her taste in movies.
I like my stepdad. Most times, I think he's right, but I side with my mom in arguments anyway.
I don't have anything to say to my dad.
I went insane a total of two times this year. The first time I screamed and screamed until my throat became hoarse and tore at my skin until I started bleeding. I second time I picked up a pair of scissors, blacked out, then came to a few seconds later with part of my hair cut off.
The three lines of discoloration on my wrist are actually from the time I got bored at night and cut myself. No, I'm not emo. I just like the sight of my blood and I thought it'd be funny to put it on my wrist.
At times I still think I can fly. I'll try to by jumping a little bit because I get confused with the reality.
I think roses are cliche, but I adore them.
I've never stolen a book, though I came close once.
I laugh when I don't know what to say.
I think my mom is a bit pathetic, but I still can't measure up to her.
I can no longer sleep at night because I keep writing in my head.
If some people died, I wouldn't care at all.
I pushed him away at school because I was embarrassed to be seen with him.
Talking on the phone with you cheers me up. :)
I'm starting to think maybe I've confessed too much. And that I have too much to confess.
I don't mind it at all when you guys make fun of my cheeks, but sometimes I do wish they were smaller.
I no longer love myself.
No, scratch that.

I'm too special to not love. =)

To Love or Not to Love. That is the Question.

2006-06-13T21:28:00.000-07:00

B's confession got me thinking. Why don't I ever get a crush? I haven't liked anyone this year (except for Cherub, but that was more of a 'be my bitch' obsession). I don't believe in abstinence until marriage, I don't believe in true love, I don't believe in 'til death do us part', or in any of that stuff. What's wrong with me?

There's a kind of giddiness to love that I can't remember. Love's warm, comforting, fun, exciting... Love's what most people live for. Love's what poets (haha, bards) try to compose with words. I mean, Love is pretty goddamn important in one's life. Okay, taking it a step down, I'm too young to think about love. Let's just go back to crushes.

Once you get a crush, you can whisper to all your friends about him (or her). There's a freshness, and kind of hopefulness in the air that nothing else can compare to. You lay in bed, thinking about your crush, letting him occupy your thoughts like a good dream. You think about him constantly, tortured by the fact that you can't have him, and paranoid about every single girl he looks at.

Ah. I see why I swore off love in sixth grade, now.

Love is stupid. I mean, affection is just a waste of time. It's a masochistic act. Love is pleasure in pain. Who wants to feel pain? Pain = bad.

Oh God, I'm afraid of love. Jesus, this is so cliche. But, I think I have a point here. Love's definitely to fear because if that's love's not returned, you're just suffering. So you might as well not risk it and not fall in love....

Shit, I'm afraid of rejection as well. I'm afraid of love because I'm afraid of rejection. Wow, I'm like my own therapist.

Okay, so this is great. My final conclusion is this: I'm a coward, so I'm condemned to live as a loveless spinster for the rest of my life (but with lots of fuck buddies!).

Not too shabby.

Guess the Disney song!

The key to all heaven is mine
My heart has wings, Mmmmmm
And I can fly
I'll touch ev'ry star in the sky
So this is the miracle that I've been dreaming of

All I Wanna Do

2006-06-12T19:42:00.000-07:00

...is take B's music quiz thing and not study for finals.

But before that, a comic (whose ownership remains solely with the artist and not me)!

1. How does the world see you? Nothing Left to Lose - Mat Kearney (Hookay, I'll take it to mean that I'm so skinny I shouldn't lose any weight.)
2. Will I have a happy life? Be Prepared - The Lion King (Whoo! I'm ready, baby!)
3. What do my friends think of me? Twisted Every Way - Phantom of the Opera (Original London Cast) (Gee, thanks guys.)
4. Do people secretly lust after me? The Internet is for Porn - Avenue Q (I'm like porn? Or maybe I'm so uninteresting that people would rather look at porn... Nah.)
5. How can I make myself happy? Dead Wrong - The Fray (I promise I'm not happy when I'm wrong.)
6. What should I do with my life? Le Toi du Moi - Carla Bruni (Yo no hablo frances. Yo no hablo espanol tambien.)
7. Will I ever have children? Paul (skit) - Eminem (I'll have a son and name him Paul. Okay, I can deal with that.)
8. What is some good advice for me? Now That I've Seen Her - Miss Saigon (Okay, okay...so this means I'll fall in love with a U.S. Marine, have his kid, then find him years later to discover that he's married to another woman. And when this happens, I shouldn't yell at her.)
9. How will I be remembered? I'm Not Wearing Underwear Today - Avenue Q (I do, I swear! I just sometimes sleep naked, but that's all.)
10. What's my signature dancing song? Yellow Brick Road - Eminem
11. What's my current themesong? Gymnopedie No. 3 - Pascal Roge (I'm classic. :) )
12. What do others think is my current themesong? Take My Breath Away- by that one girl (That's right, bitches. Look at me and swoon in my presence.)
13. What shall they play at my funeral? I Still Believe - Miss Saigon
14. What type of men do I like? Stoned - Dido (I'm into drug addicts.)
15. How's my love life? So This is Love - Cinderella (*inspects* So this is love.)

(current song) + in my pants = "Never Felt This Way" in my pants. Haha, how appropriate.

By P's demand...

2006-06-11T20:17:00.000-07:00

Reply with your name and
1. I'll respond with something random about you.
2. I'll tell you what song/movie reminds me of you.
3. I'll pick a flavor of jello to wrestle with you in.
4. I'll say something that only makes sense to you and me.
5. I'll tell you my first memory of you.
6. I'll tell you what animal you remind me of.
7. I'll ask you something that I've always wondered about you.
8. If I do this for you, you must post this on your journal. You MUST. It is written.

Here's Peggah's:
1. I wish you luck in getting into UC Stanford.
2. You remind me of the flick One Night in Paris because our sex life is so much hotter.
3. Jello? Erm...I'll wrestle you in banana jello because if we end up tearing off each other's clothes and having sex, then at least we can tell people there was a banana between us.
4. The OUTSIDERS!!! Ride 'em hard, Ponyboy.
5. First memory....er...this one's hard. Oh right. In Core. Padoan. Friday Power.
6. You remind me of a donkey cuz you have the best ass I've ever seen.
7. What is your favorite color? I've known you for so long, yet I don't know this little fact about you.

Fire's a beautiful sound.

2006-06-11T16:57:00.000-07:00

I looked around today and found that my life is in shambles. It's fallen apart to unmanageable pieces that I'm too lazy to pick off my carpet and set right. So what if I burned it all? I'll strike a match, watch the flames engulf my life. I want to start afresh from ashes, but I'm no phoenix.
So I have to work with what I have, but how many tomorrows can I push my dreams to? There's an end to tomorrows. There's an end to opportunity, and a time where I will step in the land of 'it's too late'.
I can already see my future. I'm a dreamer, and the gilded life I fantasize about will only exist in the caverns of my mind. One day, I'll wake up old, worn out, and it'll be too late. Too late... I'll doom myself to the hell of 'coulda, woulda, shoulda'.
My stepdad talked to me about the centralized idea of business. The first question a business owner should ask is 'Who am I?' The next question is 'What is my destination?'
Who am I?
I'm just a girl who's too lazy and too scared to live life. I reside inside my mind, spinning letters into golden stories. That's how I live. I sustain myself on fantasies, on my imagination. My characters are the only things I have control over in my life. I can make them do what I can't. I create new worlds to explore. I create makeshift love for them so I can have a taste of what it feels like. It's love without heartbreak. It's perfect. I take risks without taking them. I live without living.
What is my destination?
I want to be a writer. I want so much money I can spread them into acres and acres of Benjamin Franklin. I want gold enough to swim in, clothes enough to warm the entire world, shoes enough to walk to Mars. I want to taste the world. I want to feel the caress of Africa. I want to smell the exquisiteness of Europe. I want to stoke every blade of grass and tread every road. I want to stand on the peak of Mt. Everest and scream out my lungs, then pass out from the thin air up there.

I think I'll never achieve my dreams.
I'll never become a real writer because once I close my stories with 'the end', I'm too frightened to send them off for publishing. I don't know why, and I can't explain it. I've only sent it once. It wasn't hard. I got rejected, but I don't mind. So it's not rejection that I fear. I don't know what I'm so afraid of.

I've made a list of publishers to send Ilia too. Maybe I'll start there. Maybe from this second of this day, I'll take one tentative step towards my dream. I'll just tell myself there's nothing to be petrified about.

2006-06-09T00:19:00.000-07:00

It's about 12:30 am and B just told me "[Present tense] It's usually more... artsy, I guess. Because it takes more talent to write in anything other than past tense."

Key words I picked up: more talent to write in anything other than past tense.

So now, I proudly present to you my short story written entirely in future tense.
***

I will close my eyes and listen to the creee, creee, creee of the wheelchair as they take me down the hallway. I will listen to my mother as she tells me not to be scared. She’ll tell me not to panic at the darkness when she lets go of my hand. When she says that, I’ll laugh.
“I’m used to the darkness,” I’ll say.
When she wheels me into the operating room, I’ll say goodbye to her. She’ll give me a kiss, and I’ll say, “I’ll see you soon.”
She’ll chuckle at this.

The sky will be blue the day after my operation—that dark, dazzling cobalt with iridescent clouds in veils of golden mesh. People will talk about that sky for years.
“Did you remember that blue?” they’ll ask one another, sitting on porches in the twilight years and years later.
“Yes,” will be the answer. “Damn prettiest sky I’ve ever seen.”
And it will be the prettiest sky. The prettiest sky in history because it will be the first sky I’ll see after living in darkness for sixteen years.

2006-06-07T18:23:00.000-07:00

I hate life.

I know how utterly ridiculous that sounds and how teenage cliche it is, but dammit, I say I hate life and I mean it. I don't want to hear that other children my age are less fortunate and are starving in Africa because I don't fucking care.

I can't explain this feeling. It's like I've created a bubble for myself and I'm forcing myself to live in it. The thing is, I want out, but I'm too scared and too lazy to find the exit. It's a bubble made of thin glass. I can watch the people outside, but I can't talk to them. It's really kind of lonely this way.

Yes, that's what I feel: lonely. And hopeless. And bored. And frustrated. (yay for correctly identifying feelings)

Lonely: I have no one to talk to and when I do, I'm too pissed off at them to talk.

Hopeless: What the fuck am I doing with my life?

Bored: There is nothing more to talk about. I'm turning so introverted that it scares me.

Frustrated: I'm not making an effort to cheer myself up. I'm lethargic and I hate it.

And another thing. I am so fucking bipolar. This morning I was tired, but content. By the middle of the day, I was ready to commit suicide. Then, in the afternoon, I was super hyper and happy. And I mean really, really, really happy. And now I'm pissed off at the world.

I'm going to stop ranting now. Just reading this makes me roll my eyes at myself, but at the same time, I can't help that I'm feeling all these things.

And in something completely unrelated...

David Copperfield!

(from the Holybibble.net people)

2006-06-05T16:27:00.000-07:00

I have the bad habit of taking a bite out of every single chocolate in a box. It's horrible.

Quote of the day:
"Yeah, she's so smart! And guess where she went? UC Stanford!"

Finals are upon me and I find myself having to devote time to actually studying. I have a feeling my finals this time won't be as easy as last time since I haven't been really paying attention to anything this semester.
Here are the things I need to study for (weakest first):
-Math (this is weird since I really love geometry. I haven't been doing so well on my tests recently, though.)
-Spanish (Okay, yo no hablo espanol. Period. I have to relearn spanish for this final.)
-Biology (This is going to be an easy final. I'm just going to skim over the material to make sure I know everything.)

English and History can't make my study list. English = one big vocab test. And in History, Mr. Bowling's basically giving us the entire test.

Life will always let you down.

2006-06-04T17:37:00.000-07:00

I was so exicted when I finally got a garter belt. Today, I went out to get stockings for it.

Garter belts are the stupidest things ever invented. Do not use them. I repeat: DO NOT USE THEM. They are useless and they are frustrating and they make me look like a dominatrix (but that might just be because my entire outfit thing was black lace). First, you have to put the stockings on (that is, if you can get them on without (1) tripping and (2) putting a run in them). Next, you basically have to spend fifteen minutes trying to clip the garter on the stocking. After you finally do the front, you have to spend another fifteen minutes doing the back. Finally, you have to find something that will actually look good with stockings. All my skirts are too short and the entire garter belt + top of stockings are visible, making me look like a slutty idiot.

Burn garters, people.

I hate being a girl.

2006-06-03T22:29:00.000-07:00

My period is freakish. I mean, the concept of having blood come out of one's vagina is freakish enough, but this is just weird. Why is it tormenting me like this? It came for one day. Now it's gone. Scamooshed. Flittered away like the evanescence of youth. What the fuck?

(yes, I'm talking about this online, but I've always been rather odd now haven't I?))

I can already see you laughing at this. Pathetic, you'll say. Just teen angst. But pffffft. I shun you if you shun my poem.

2006-05-30T21:56:00.000-07:00

So, I'm iron deficient and my hair's falling out.
Also, my eyesight went down .50 bringing it down to a blind -3.00.
My mom tells me to sleep. So does my dad. In a moment of desperation, I wrote a poem. I hate my poems. I can never find rhythm or rhyme.

Glimmering sunsets and firefly nights

Pass by me in a haze I can’t define.

You tell me to sleep

You lay the choices flat out in front of me:

Rest or rename my Ambition to The Story in Which the Author Loses Her Sanity and Hair.

Climbing into the covers,

I close my eyes.

In the perfect, sterile darkness my dreams snake around me,

Binding my ankles,

Constricting my breath.

They’re misplaced prophesies,

Expectant futures named for the wrong person.

The dreams I can’t live up to.

They’re the questions I can’t answer,

And the answers I can’t face.

So you tell me to sleep.

But I can’t face the darkness.

2006-05-30T20:05:00.000-07:00

He hasn't called me. I haven't called him either. This isn't unusual, and I don't miss his voice.

Sometimes, I think I'm a horrible person for doing this to people--teasing them, breaking them, then teasing them again. Then, I look at them: the people who don't deserve my affection. The clingy creatures that don't deserve anything in life except to be teased and I think, I'm not so bad after all.

Blah

2006-05-28T22:06:00.000-07:00

So, I (we) tried to start this post five times. They all sounded lame, so I'm (we're) going to make a list.

This is what PMS did today:
-shop
-shoplift
-swim
-tan
-eat dirt tasting pasta
-laaaavaaaaaaa caaaaaaake (with chocolate!!!)
-play
-play secret agent (with empty water guns)
-play hide and go seek (I covered P with a pillow while I ran out of time and jumped in a tub)
-be tackled and abused by toddlers (it was cute, and I have the bruises to show for the uber cuteness-the evil kind)
-P made a little three-year old girl pee under her bed because she threatened to take away her blanket
-I then (accidentally) hit the little girl's head into the wall, crying persued (I have great maternal instincts) but she likes me still, so it's alright

Yep.

Count Doogoo (or something like that)

2006-05-25T21:24:00.000-07:00

Went to the JM concert.
It was AWESOME. I almost died, literally. I don't know where to start with the stories (okay, so I didn't meet them, but I do have crowd stories), so I'll just upload this funny pic of Andrew that I caught. Will be showing off much hotter pictures later.

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRhrrrrrrrrrrakwhesjfdlkjalsrrrrrrrrrrr (B, mine is sooo better. look at all those caps.)

2006-05-22T16:38:00.000-07:00

*sings* Tomorrow, tomorrow, I love you Tomorrow. You're only a day awaaaaaaaaaay!
Hello Cam
I like Sam
(jk. Don't get your hopes up, P)
Which rhymes with cram
and spam. *end singing*

Listening to Jack's Mannequin full blast. Over and over.

But she won't sleep with me
oh Miss Delaney
What's the matter?

The Vampire Chronicles, Vampire Classes, and Other Things

2006-05-20T15:07:00.000-07:00

11:20 am
Location: Tennis Courts
Having arrived late to class, the instructor tells me he has no more space. I play with a class of little 5-8 year old boys. The dark, rosy cheeked boy with striped t-shirt beats me 0-4 all four games.

12:30 pm
Location: Outside of Cold Stone
I have a scoop of Sweet Cream on a cone, listening to Dido.

12:35 pm
Location: Library
Reading is unparalleled by anything on Earth. Cupped between two doors is a new world waiting to be unleashed, a lover waiting to be indulged.
Read the first line. The second. The first page. The world quietly and unassumingly slips away, allowing you room to enter a realm delicately constructed of words. But no...they are not just words. Every phrase is a caress, every character has a gentle heartbeat like satin fluttering in the wind.
Settle in. Indulge. The pages feel thin and soft--the fibers stroke the pads of your index finger and thumb with each turn of the page.

1:15ish
Location: Borders checkout
"Oh!" Her face brightens. "The Vampire Chronicles! Wow, this is so convenient. Is the whole series in here?"
"No. Just the first three--Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, and The Queen of the Damned."
"So there's more? Do you know how many are in the whole chronicle?"
I flip open my book and tap the page that lists everything written by Anne Rice. "There. See? It lists everything."
"Ah, I see. Wow, so there are a lot more, then, huh? Yeah, in my Vampire class, we studied Anne Rice a lot."
Silence. I'm not sure what to say to that, but I feel the overwhelming urge to ask her what exactly is taught in a Vampire class.
"Do you want a plastic bag?"
"No, it's fine, thanks. I'll carry it."

UUuughgh!!

2006-05-20T09:17:00.000-07:00

I don't know what's wrong with me. I woke up today feeling like shit. Actually, I still feel like shit. My nose is stuffy. My throat is sore. My eyes are puffy. My lips are cracked. And I can only bend my neck in one direction. WTF? I feel like I have a hangover.

I had a new resolution that I would try to post about truths in human nature/humanity/world. So here are some truths: (1)A waterbottle's not going to feel like a ribbed dildo (for guys out there who are thinking about this). (2) A man's penis can move up and down at will (at specific times and situations). (3) Girls have wet dreams, too.

And, here's the second chapter of Heaving Bosoms:
http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2161864&chapter=2

The things she tells me.

2006-05-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

She tells me that she doesn't know how she's going to get the money to pay for next month's rent. She's been telling me that every other month for as long as I can remember, but somehow, this time, it seems more urgent.

She has been running around like a crazy woman because her shipment is held at a place in Oakland, its status unknown. There are $20,000 worth of products inside, she tells me. Food products. In this 90 degree Californian heat, she tells me she has nightmares that all the food will be spoiled when she finally gets her tow her shipment back.

If she tows her shipment back. Its status is unknown.

How is she going to pay them back if she loses $20,000 worth of her merchandise, she asks me? I don't know, so I say nothing and continue to spray sunscreen onto my arms.

She tells me she doesn't know how to pay for my prep classes. $760, she complains, I don't know where I'm going to get that money. Her voice continues. The smell of sunscreen chokes me, so I leave the bathroom, but her voice follows me outside.

And then there's that trip to Vegas in the summer, she tells me. Her tone turns bitter--panicked, almost. Another $300. At least.

And the Disneyland thing's going to cost, she tells me.

I'm going to have to miss a prep class and a tennis class for that, I mumble. The sunscreen feels oily.

How much are those tennis lessons?

$50, I think. My answer makes her tighten her lips.

For how many lessons?

I shrug. Dunno. Three? Four?

I don't want you to keep shopping, she tells me. Especially not with K. I know what it's like--that irresistible lure of shopping once you step into a store--so I can't blame you. But you can't go shopping anymore. Money's going to be tight for a few months. My shipment's status is unknown.

Finally, I turn to her, my lips twitching in irritation. I won't go to the prep classes, then. That'll save a lot of money.

No.

Brisk. Firm. No room for arguments.

Look, I don't have to take the SATs 'til junior year and-

You know yourself, M. You can't study on your own. You can't just turn into P overnight. So we'll just have to take lessons.

Inside, I boil. I'm so sick of this everlasting talk of poverty that the fear of it has turned to annoyance. If we don't have money, then why does she agree to the POTO show in Las Vegas? Why is she letting me go to Disneyland? Why is she signing me up for lessons? Why is she buying movie tickets, pumped to see the Da Vinci Code?

I know she's a good mother. She doesn't want it to seem like anything's wrong. She wants everything to run smoothly, and she'll somehow manage. She'll make ends meet. She'll rise above the continuous waves of financial problems. But I hate listening to her.

I spray on the sunscreen with more vigor than necessary.

I don't want you shopping anymore, she tells me.

Don't cha love these things?

2006-05-16T18:28:00.000-07:00

I had an epiphany this morning. In the words of Cassandra Claire, "If I knew I was going to have an epiphany, than I would've dressed for it."

This is the one line that sums up my insanity--------> I am a guy trapped in a girl's body.

2006-05-15T12:21:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I just found out there's a kind of award for fictionpress stories. It's called SKOW or Some Kind of Wonderful Awards. Round two starts in the summer of '06 so it's approaching!!

Here are the categories (I'm just copying and pasting from their site here):
-
Categories:

Best Horror Which story still makes a butterfly flutter in your stomach, yet makes you shiver in fear?

Best Makeout Scene Which hot, steamy makeout session did you absolutely love? Or was it just the sweet, tender kiss that made you feel fuzzy inside?

Most Creative Plot Was the story created of lions, tigers, bears, pixie sticks, and absolutely crazy things? Or was it just so out-of-this-world that it wasn't very hard not to love it?

Best Overall Romance We all love these romances, for they are the classics that we are always tempted to read and reread over and over and over...

Most Humorous Which story split your side with laughter? Made you laugh so hard you began to cry and your mother thought you were choking for dear life?

Best Fantasy/Sci-Fi They tell tales of kings, queens, and sorcerors... Also of battleships, cruisers, and gadgets that will blow your mind away -- quite literally.

Best Love Triangle In which the heroine has to fight another woman for her the man dreams are mad of, or is torn between two men vying for her affections. Which one is best?

Best Portrayed Hero/Heroine The ever imperfect lead character, who struggles through hard times and eventually finds an unorthodox way to overcome his/her obstacles.

Best Cliche The shy girl and the bad boy, the Ice Queen and the Womanizer, Miss Normal and Mister Out There... they're all cliches, but we all love them anyways.

Best One-Shot Those few heart-tugging words that will forever remain ingrained in your memory as it leaves a lasting impression and constantly pressures you to read over again just to grasp that fuzzy feelings once more...

I want to be nominated for best cliche. Yep. Maybe I can get a few more chapters of Heaving Bosoms up before the summer starts, and someone can nominate me *hinthint*! Or maybe Land of Red can be nominated for best cliche... Hmm...

Anyways, that's not up to me. I'm just all excited now because of these awards. I actually have a purpose to posting my stories now!

By this time '07, M will be the Queen of Cliche.

Oh, and chapter fourteen of Land of Red is up. There lays the infamous sex scene (in which no one was surprised I wrote).
http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=1890075&chapter=15

This is kinda good in a sad, pathetic way.

2006-05-12T21:00:00.000-07:00

I've concluded that I will never be able to develope an eating disorder. I tried the anorexia thing once. It lasted two hours. Then, I felt deprived and went to eat sake. I just tried being bulimic tonight. I got the binging part down pat (I mean, really, I ate so much). When it came time for me to throw up, I half heartedly tried to gag myself, then found it to be disgusting. And uncomfortable.

So...it's back to the whole curbing my appetite thing. *sigh* I did so well up until today. I let myself go alittle, and now I've exceeded the weight I'd been before I even started this diet thing.

It's back to square negative one. Now for the (hopefully) steady decline towards my ideal weight!

2006-05-10T22:00:00.000-07:00

I found a bunny tonight, hiding out behind someone's potted plant.

He could have fit into the center of my hand. He was just...a tiny ball of fur with big black eyes, two toe-sized ears that stuck out, and a brown, twitching nose. He was alone, and obviously orphaned. My mom wouldn't let me have him.

:D

2006-05-10T18:39:00.000-07:00

New resolution!

I will not be mean to anyone.

Such a nerd

2006-05-07T21:47:00.000-07:00

I just spent four hours at D's house working on a ecology project. It was D, L, P, and I and it was...fun. Or at least interesting.

I told them about my drinking escapade at Applebee's and L started dancing and going down on the floor (this was weird, considering he's a guy...but I always suspected him to be gay). D and I talked about Summer's more stupid moments. Apparantly, the poor girl once said, "Oooh, I wanna know how to speak Black." As I said, poor girl.

And guess what I found out while I was there? Apparently, google has a ghetto version of itself. It is so fucking funny (It's called Hoegle). Here's a sample search:

The Realm uh...Pamela Anderson Lee
Welcome to a page devoted to da most beautiful sista in da wo`ld!! Click on da pictures to explo`e da different isas uh da Realm!! ATTENTION!! Click HERE to vote fo` dis page as a Startin` Point Hot syte. Our fust two awards...thanks everyone!!
http://www.geocities.com/Hollywood/Lot/1603/page.html Translate To Ghetto

And here's another sample:

Biography uh President Geo`ge W. Bush
... President uh da United States - Geo`ge W. Bush. crib News besues Photo Essays ... Geo`ge W. Bush be da 43rd President uh da United States ...
http://www.whitehouse.gov/president/gwbbio.html Translate To Ghetto

For shizzle, my homies. It's da bomb, yadda mean?

Aardvark

2006-05-05T22:03:00.000-07:00

Alright....!

Dead body in the corner.
Heh heh heh.

Alright, so it's Friday. Fuck the dance show, I say.

ARRHGHGGHGHH!!! I don't know what to write. But I found my true love today. :D
And I'm bi! Whoooo!!!!

Okay, okay, done.

She

2006-05-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

I remember now

Those glass eyes of hers,

The burgundy of her blood,

The thrill of her screams.

I remember now

Her pearly tears

That shone so sweetly

Against the night.

I remember now

The feel of concrete

Cold and wet—

Splattered.

The powder filaments

Of chalk that outline the

Sprawling mass of her body

Can’t define her curves,

The silk,

The screams,

Or She

With her glass eyes.

Down With Allergies

2006-05-01T22:15:00.000-07:00

I am on a diet.
Goals:
-Drink 62 oz. of water per day.
-Lose 4.5 lbs.
-20 min. cardio at least three times a week

So, not very hard to achieve. Ideally, I can accomplish the weight loss by the end of this month, and keep the water/cardio crap for the rest of my life.

On another note, I wrote a haiku!

I don't like haikus--
They are too brief, don't you think?
I can't fit all my

Ta da!

2006-04-26T17:31:00.000-07:00

Presenting to you...

the hottest...

sexiest...

lustiest...

passion novel of this day and age:

Heaving Bosoms

Bosoms will heave and pants will rise!

Read it here:

http://www.fictionpress.com/read.php?storyid=2161864

You Are Most Like Samantha!

For you, dating is the ultimate sportYou're into guys with power, looks, or a lot of money.You rather have a great two weeks than a great forever.But even you fall victim to love from time to time. :-)
Romantic prediction: You'll find love in the next few months...
But you'll be the last one to realize it.

Which Sex and the City Vixen are you?

http://ynr.blogthings.com/whichsexandthecityvixenareyouquiz/

Bitch Librarian

2006-04-24T18:05:00.000-07:00

From the Bleed My Heart Drys:
Presenting.........

BITCH LIBRARIAN

You need to get laid
You anal bitch!
I will go rape you
and then kill you
and then wrap your body in a black bag
and then stuff it in a cave!!!

Chorus:
Bitch Librarian!!! (x3)
The B in librarian stands for bitch!!!
Cuz that's who you are!!!

Can I grab your ass?
Or will I be smothered by it?

Fuck fuck fuck you
You bitch!
Bitch Librarian!

See this dagger?
It will go throughyour heart
or do you not have one
like me?!?!?!?!

Choo choo trains go choo
Stab stab my dagger goes stab
Rip rip my heart goes rip
Slit slit my razor slits.

DIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I want you dead
more than I want myself
dead!!!

(random screaming)

ROARWA!!!!!
HROHARRRRA!!!!!

WHO LET THE BITCH OUT??????

Thanks for supporting our work, you wondeful fans! Come out to see us whenever we have a show! I'll keep you posted. Meanwhile, I just have to thank From First to Last's Kiss Me I'm Contagious--our inspiration.

P.S.
I got a Gold Key!!! Whoo! I totally wasn't expecting that from the writing competition. I'm just crossing my fingers now for the national competition.

2006-04-23T01:09:00.000-07:00

Alright!
Chapter Thirteen of Land of Red (my sentimental outlet) is updated and online!
Here it is, for anyone who follows it.

No title. Is that fucking okay?

2006-04-21T23:51:00.000-07:00

Alright, so when did everyone in the world get together and decide that not being nice to M is okay? It's alright to step all over her. It's perfectly acceptable to insult her and not apologize. Oh, ruin her self esteem. She's too egotistical anyways.

You know what? No. I'm not. It's a front, in case no one saw. Yes, I like myself, yes, I don't think I'm completely worthless, but that doesn't mean I don't have insecurities. I hate my thighs. I hate the way I garble out keys when I sing. I hate that I'm no good at Spanish. I hate how I have hair on my fucking fingers. I hate my cheeks. I hate my personality. I hate my inability to show that I'm hurt unless in private (or when I'm experiencing a brief sentimental moment with my absolute closest friends). I hate, hate, hate most things about myself. But of course, hardly anyone knows that. It's my own damn fault, too. I never tell people I'm upset, and when I do, hardly anyone ever takes me seriously.

"Oh, it's only M. She'll get over it."

Yeah, I laugh when you insult me. But do I think it's funny? No. I don't want to laugh, but that's just my personality. I'm genetically engineered to constantly keep a smile on my face. I can't confront people. I hate confrontations. My last confrontation was with a guy in my math class who pissed me off. I told him I wanted to screw his head off, cut him to bits with a saw, then set his remains on fire. He laughed. I mean, when someone wants to do another that much violence, you'd think there's something seriously wrong with the relationship.

And then there're the people out there who tell me I'm stupid. "M, you're so dumb." "Omg, just slap yourself now and save me the trouble." "How does anyone not know that? You're so retarded." "God, you're so /stupid/."

Fuck you. Fuck all of you. All I want is for people to like me. I want people to see that just because I make stupid comments sometimes, it doesn't mean I'm of a lesser intelligence. It doesn't mean I don't have feelings. If you prick me do I not bleed? You know what? Fuck Shakespeare. Fuck all of you.

Skateboard Kid

2006-04-20T16:58:00.000-07:00

A writer's the medium that translates the poetry of life into print. To be such a translator, the writer must be familiar with both languages. The language of the written word is easy to master. Anyone can do it with a little bit of effort. It is the language of Life that presents the difficulty. How does the writer learn this vague, chimerical language? It's by observing.
To observe is to practice an art form. Everyone is self centered, yet observing and recording what one sees is a very selfless act. So that is why to play the spectator, to step out of one's shoes and move into others, to acknowledge but not experience it is hard to achieve.

I guess that is why I have decided to write about Skateboard Kid: to practice this art.
Skateboard Kid is in the apartment parking lot with his skateboard very afternoon around four without fail. Most days, he wears a thin sweater with a collared shirt beneath. On windy days, his wavy black hair flops back and forth--sometimes blowing over his eyes, sometimes straining back. Jumping on his skateboard, he will halfheartedly attempt a trick, mess up, roll around the parking lot, try a trick, then mess up again. He has never gotten any better since the first day. There's no improvement, but he keeps trying. Everyday at four, I'll see him with his skateboard. Sometimes his hair will blow. Most times he'll wear a sweater.

(I feel hypocritical, writing about selflessness on a blog named Narcissistic Rantings.)

Tee hee.

2006-04-19T22:01:00.000-07:00

I got a new haircut today. Hahahaha, only I will ever get what that means.
In other news, I took a quiz. I got my favorite color. Yay!

You Are Emerald Green

Deep and mysterious, it often seems like no one truly gets you.
Inside, you are very emotional and moody - though you don't let it show.
People usually have a strong reaction to you... profound love or deep hate.
But you can even get those who hate you to come around. There's something naturally harmonious about you.

What Color Green Are You?

Woman Once a Bird

2006-04-18T18:33:00.000-07:00

I'm looking at a feather fluttering in the wind. The perfect individual strands are dancing to the force that pushes it. Somehow, this makes me more sad than I can describe. This feather once took flight on the wing of a bird. Now, it's retired.

eltiT

2006-04-18T18:15:00.000-07:00

So, it kinda stopped raining, so I took down my 'Rain on me' template. Goodbye, goodbye. It's out with the new and back with the old.

Sup.

2006-04-17T19:22:00.000-07:00

Here's a new game I learned. You take the song you're listening to currently, and add the words 'in my pants' to it. So, for me now, it'd be:
Ruthless in my pants.

It's a great game for bored perverts.

Die.

2006-04-16T23:44:00.000-07:00

School tomorrow. The end of spring break is in fifteen minutes. Dammit.

Lifetime Lessons

2006-04-12T21:55:00.000-07:00

Here's a lesson, loves. Cigarettes + vodka + brandy + cavorting in the rain is not a brilliant notion unless you have the ambition to have a partial blackout, throw up for hours, then gag in your mouth for another few hours.

Another lesson to be observed:
Store clerks will not sell you cigarettes if you don't have ID. Neither will they budge if you're reduced to lying or begging. Isn't it nice to know that our federal law is so rigidly in practice? It's enough to make any good American feel proud.

Fuck

2006-04-06T23:16:00.000-07:00

Alright, so Ambition due date is tomorrow. What do I have done? 1 1/12 of a chapter. How much did I need to have done? 18 chapters. If I could not talk to myself, I would. God, I honestly have never been so disappointed in myself.

Inspiration

2006-04-06T22:55:00.000-07:00

C and I became inspired again on the bus. We now have a new song to put in our album, which we've decided to title "Dear Livejournal, My Teen Angst". The new song is called "Bitch Librarian" and the lyrics will be released here shortly. In the meantime, I thought it'd be appropriate to give you the lyrics to the song that gave us our inspiration.

Kiss Me I'm Contagious

By From First to Last

i break hearts like the west was won

(they call me the rattlesnake)

im hung like an outlaw baby

(like an outlaw baby)

play poker all day at the saloon

(you cheating bastard)

ill get you in the saddle soon, oh yeah

*chorus*

we wont back down

(bang bang guns go bang)

from a fight

(bang bang guns go bang)

90 paces west

(bang bang guns go bang)

at noon we draw to death we draw to death (x 4)

oh yeahthere was a man from way back west

(desperado aint got shit on me)

he took 12 rounds straight to the chest

(thats two six-shooters to be exact)

at night the town lays awake

(with their eyes wide open)

in terror of the rattlesnakei bite it but i dont light it

(this town aint big enough for the both of us)

ill use the rope and ill ride hertwo barrels and a whole lot of bang

and when im down with it this town will never be the same

*chorus*

can i touch your legs?do i make you sweat?(x6)

I started * when I was ten.

2006-04-01T13:49:00.000-08:00

Everyone has a secret. What's yours?

Postsecret.

A Week In Pictures

2006-03-31T17:48:00.000-08:00

Here are little windows into my past week.
This was me on Monday. I needed sleep.

Tuesday, I was isolated and indifferent. Also very, very busy procrastinating.

Wednesday. My nerves were shot and I was bitchy.

On Thursday, I stopped lusting after Cherub and went back to idolizing myself.

And finally...Friday. Today, I was, well....I mean, it's Friday!

The F Bomb

2006-03-29T19:45:00.000-08:00

Presenting to you the oh-so-coveted Fendi B. Bag...

Some predicted the rise of the Fendi B. Bag as the next big thing and they are not disappointed. This beautifully designed bag came out on eluxury and, as monumental moment in fashion, was sold out within minutes. Named as this season's new 'it' bag by iVillage, and described as making it "B-I-G" on the Purse Blog, this is truly a bag worth your drool and daydreams. I can almost go as far as to say that this is worth its retail price. Almost.

The Fendi B Bag comes in diverse fabrics and styles--creamy, tan calfskin trimmed boldly with patent leather, white linen contrasted with black trimming that hints at mod, glamorous bitch-black leather, and so, so many more--all which comes with its signature oversized buckles.

Its price is dear ($1,200 to $5,000+) and competition fierce. To order it now on eluxury, you will receive it some time in the middle of June. Good luck with that.

However, don't let that stop your daydreams. Stare at it all you want. Pictures are posted all over the internet, and if it's too expensive to possess, at least there's no fee to ogle at it.

*sigh*

Grammy Material

2006-03-27T22:20:00.000-08:00

In light of current trends and some...erm...interesting music choices on my ipod, C and I formed a band so we too can jump into this new, threatening tsunami of 'emo kids'. We had some trouble on coming up with a band name, but in the end, we decided on something original and sincere. We really wanted our name to represent us as musicians, and more importantly, as people other kids can relate to. In a spark of inspiration, the next 'it' band was born.

We are The Bleedmyheartdrys.

Quickly following the success of our name, the lyrics for our first song was conceived. Now, I must admit that the lyrics had been in the works for some time now, but it was never completed. In the slightly overheated environment of our schoolbus, C and I put our heads together and really worked on this. Finally, we produced something that we both agree is profoundly deep.

Since neither of us really play an instrument, we're having some trouble getting represented by labels. However, I really feel that our music needs to be shared and not hoarded. Thus, I will now post the lyrics our first ever song, My Dark Abyss.

*When performed, the lyrics are to be sung in what we call our very own creative way. However, if you insist we explain our genius, then I will say that the lyrics, when put in song, is a cross between Silverstein and...um... a pissed-off basketball coach.

My Dark Abyss

but The Bleedmyheartdrys

*Guitars*

*Drums*

Life is a piece of shit!

My life's drenched with my dark tears of despair!

This isn't gonna be a hit!

Because my broken heart needs repair!

*guitar solo*

Chorus:

Pick up your razors,

let's slit our writs!

YEAH YEAH YEAH

Because my life is a dark abyss!

YEAH YEAH YEA-

DIE!!!

I hope you guys enjoyed that. Comments are welcome.

FAQ

Are you guys touring?!?!?

No. Sorry.

Omg, I love you guys. Do you have an album out, yet?

No. Our album is still in progress.

In progress? What sort of songs should we be expecting?

That's a secret. Wouldn't want to ruin the surprise. ;)

M's Favorite Things

2006-03-24T15:06:00.000-08:00

So, I got shoes last weekend with K when we went bargain-shopping. Since the weather is plotting against me by raining and being unpredictable, I decided to wear my shoes at home and take pictures. Shutup.

P.S. Just look at them!!! *drool*

Oh, and by the way... Cowboys are the next hottest thing. They're gorgeous and talented. The following clip will confirm my statement:

[Do not watch if prone to heart attacks]

http://youtube.com/watch?v=nkp9OXAVD88

Thoughtfulness

2006-03-22T23:22:00.000-08:00

There are a few kinds of people out there that I don't like.
1. Arrogant people. I know what you're thinking...I'm arrogant, and almost everyone I know is arrogant. What I mean is the kind of arrogant that's blind to criticism.
2. This leads me to my next one. I don't like ignorant people--the ones who look about the world with eyes wide shut. They can travel the world, tread every road, and look upon every phenomenon, but still manage to gain no wisdom whatsoever.
3. I don't like people who look down on others, but those types sometimes amuse me because their faces turn pale when you send back retorts. It surprises them so much that other people can actually...gasp...Challenge their power.

Okay, whatever. The above really isn't what this entry is about. I'm just trying to make a point here. There are a lot of irritating types of people here on earth, but do you know which type I hate most out of all those kinds?

This kind of person is a little hard to explain. He's arrogant, but impishly so. He's ignorant. He's also condescending, but in a way that suggests he's actually out there to help you...a philanthropist of sorts.

He's manipulative.

You can attack him. He lashes you back. But here...here is the essence of it all: Once you're licking your wounds...once you've backed off...this person will then go back and turn the other cheek, letting you hit him.

Now, how do you fight someone who turns the other cheek? You can't. You feel guilty. You start to reprimand yourself for attacking a poor, helpless person who really doesn't mean harm. But you know what? It's all bullshit. A facade. This person is far from helpless.

This person is like the vine that wraps around a strong tree. He doesn't give back. He takes what he wants and wraps his arms around you like he's trying to be good and keep you warm.

He's the kind of enemy you can't fight. He will break your defense lines, and once he's there, you can't get him out.

You won't be able to detect him until it's too late. But once you recognize him, keep him around. Don't get rid of him. Let him be the magician at a little kid's birthday party. You'll be the adult in the back, rolling your eyes at all his tricks, but outwardly acting fooled and impressed. Observe his habits. It's actually quite interesting.

Down With Procrastination!

2006-03-22T18:04:00.000-08:00

This is an attempt to be organized. I will make a schedule for myself.

-Science Lab Writeup 6:00-6:20 pm
*Break
-Math Hw #64 6:30-6:45 pm
*Break
-Spanish Workbook pg. 109,110 6:55-7:15 pm
*Break
-English Extra Credit 7:20-7:40 pm
*~*~Dinner~*~*
-Print App. 8:02
-Sign Response 8:05
-Guided Reading 8:05-8:25 pm
-Study for Spanish Test (aka Doom!) 8:25-8:45 pm
-Clean Room 8:45-8:50 pm
-Shower 8:50-9:10 pm
-Write 9:13-10:30 pm

Alright, I'm crossing my fingers that this schedule will help me.

Crash, goes my sky.

2006-03-21T17:30:00.000-08:00

I hate this. Sometimes, I'm so frustrated I want to tear my hair out and cry. I wish I never discovered the joys of writing. Where's the future in it? Where is the fucking future in Ambition? Even, if by some obscure chance, I finish this novel, who would publish it? It's about a cold, avaricious bitch who goes to extreme means to obtain the crown of some made up country in some made up time period. It's just so stupid. No one would want to read it just by that summary, and certainly no publisher would be interested.

I should stop wasting my time with Ambition and start a new, sensible historical fiction. But I'm so close to completing it. I can see a glimmer of the finishline off in the horizon. If I don't finish it, I would be wasting two fucking years of material. Two years of staying up nights, tossing and turning while structuring the story inside my mind. Two years of continuous typing, competing in a race against time. Two years of tears and frustration and writer's blocks. Do I just want to throw that away and start afresh?

This story is sucking out my energy. It's clouding my mind like a drug, stopping me from concentrating on anything else. There's a life past writing, you know? There's a life without worries and writer's blocks and Ambition.

Now, I'm starting to think that even after the labor of writing is over, I'll be faced with nothing but bleak failure. I'm just a fucking failure at everything. I can't even write that well. Everything I write is just dreadful. There are people out there with true talent. How the hell am I supposed to compete against them?

I want talent. Is there a pill to take? A God to pray to? Tell me because I think I'm going to go insane. I'm pouring my soul into this book with no comfort to patch the void. Everything I believe in is contructed of paper. All the characters, the setting, the plot...all ink on paper. They're not true. They're just my imagination. Why do I bother with them? They're...nothing.

My work is crap, all of it. All of it is fucking crap! Astrophel, Amantius, Callistus...Just get the fuck out of my mind. I hate you. I hate all of you. You're not real. You're just wisps of my overactive imagination.

God..god...god, why do you torture me like this? Death is better than this delirium of pain. You give me thoughts, but no talent. You give me words, but no poetry. You give me lips, but no voice.

I'm insignificant, small, and worthless. Why should I have such an unquenchable desire for success if the reality is that I'll never achieve it?

Ambition should burn in hell for being the leech that slowly sucks away my life. In the end, I'll be nothing but a empty shell with the pages of my novel scattered around me, inked with failure.

"Look," they'll say, pointing, "there's the girl who put everything in her work, and was wrecked by her own Ambition."

Productivity

2006-03-17T00:49:00.000-08:00

I finished the twenty-first chapter.

Finally.

I'm probably going to have to kill myself to meet my self made April 7th deadline. There are a few more chapters needed to tie up Part II, then I have to write an entire Part III. Kill me. Kill me, now.

In other news! B is officially the female power figure of the moment. I deduced this after seeing the following comment she left on her ex's blog-

"It's not rationalizing, it's me being angry at you. There's a major difference, you clueless asshole."
Note: B, I swear I'm not stalking you and everyone you know online. I found his blog through a comment he left.

And as for me, no current boyfriends at the moment, though everyone thinks I like S. These are the facts at the moment.

-People think I like S.
-I like fantasizing about S, but not actually carrying a conversation with him.
-S expressed he wanted to see my hands inside my pants.

This concludes my lonely, pathetic love life. And this post.

I'm a Rake. Yea-ah.

2006-03-15T19:47:00.000-08:00

Your Seduction Style: Sex Pot

Tradionally known as a "siren", "rake", or "femme fatale." You exude sensuality.And while your sexiness is part of what makes you an incredible seducer...Your ability to make others feel sexy is what really makes your seduction skills shine.
Most people don't feel attractive or desired enough - a need which you tap into.You have the ultimate sex appeal, and getting attention from you is a total self esteem boost.Your confidence is contagious, and you help others unleash their own sexuality.
Your sex pot seduction skills are so intoxicating that you can get away with... well, almost murder.Lovers feel like your sensuality is in your blood, so it's only natural if you flirt a little.And if you stray, that might be okay as well - as long as you make your lover still feel hot.

Okay, so I think the personality test [below] is pretty close to how I see myself.

Your Five Factor Personality Profile

Extroversion:
You have high extroversion.You are outgoing and engaging, with both strangers and friends.You truly enjoy being with people and bring energy into any situation.Enthusiastic and fun, you're the first to say "let's go!"
Conscientiousness:
You have low conscientiousness.Impulsive and off the wall, you don't take life too seriously.Unfortunately, you sometimes end up regretting your snap decisions.Overall, you tend to lack focus, and it's difficult for you to get important things done.
Agreeableness:
You have medium agreeableness.You're generally a friendly and trusting person.But you also have a healthy dose of cynicism.You get along well with others, as long as they play fair.
Neuroticism:
You have medium neuroticism.You're generally cool and collected, but sometimes you do panic.Little worries or problems can consume you, draining your energy.Your life is pretty smooth, but there's a few emotional bumps you'd like to get rid of.
Openness to experience:
Your openness to new experiences is high.In life, you tend to be an early adopter of all new things and ideas.You'll try almost anything interesting, and you're constantly pushing your own limits.A great connoisseir of art and beauty, you can find the positive side of almost anything.

Don't Burst My Bubble

2006-03-14T22:37:00.000-08:00

I wish I had my own bubble of space that I can crawl into, and escape.

No, that wouldn't be escaping. That'd be hiding.

Beside the point.

The point is, I'm finally getting inspiration, but I don't have a place to work in peace. My ideal novel completion date is April 7th. I have to write ten-twelve chapters. That means (from the time I started calculating, which was last week), I have to write one chapter about every three days. It been 7 days since I made this promise. What do I have done? Half a chapter. Four pages. Twelve point font.

I'll never finish this book. Sometimes, I'm just so sick of it, you know? I've been working on this for more than a year. I've written twenty-one chapters. The first fifteen chapters still need to be revised. That's going to take another few months. Just thinking about this gives me a headache. I want to be rid of all this. This book started as my jewel and my pride, but now it's become a heavy iron clasp around my neck.

I need to finish it. I need to finish it. I need to finish it.

I chant those words unconsciously, every second I'm awake. It gets annoying after awhile.

Unsent Letter

2006-03-14T17:03:00.000-08:00

I have a picture of you in my mind. There, you are still perfect, not the tired Caesar you’ve become. Your hair hasn’t grayed yet in this make believe photograph. Your face isn’t swollen. Your eyes are bright, and young.

This image is your apogee. It’s how I see you when you’re not there. So, when I saw you latest, I stood there shocked and speechless. The foundations of my belief collapsed. I never knew gods aged. Now that you’re not in front of me anymore, I try to rebuild these crumbled remains, piecing together my deep devotion for you, a nonpareil.

To me, you’re the man whose words everyone follows as law. You’re the man who makes everyone laugh. You paint everyone’s gray canvasses with careless strokes of your brush. I love you so incredibly much because you represent the very core of what I want to be. You’re the image of my future, as well as the source of my beginning. I love you as a friend loves a friend, as a man loves an idol, as a girl loves her first crush. I’m not sure you know this—that you’re the epitome of masculine beauty to me, that I love you, that no one will ever measure up to you. I never tell you this, and you never ask. Sometimes, I want to spill it all out to you, this river of love, so badly that I ache. But I’m not vocal when it comes to true love. You aren’t either, so don’t blame me. In fact, I probably got this fear from you.

Maybe it’s because of all these things that I forgive you for everything you’ve done. Sometimes, I wonder why I was even born if you never wanted me. Wait, no, don’t answer that. It’s because of Mom, isn’t it? Without her, the words I’m writing wouldn’t exist; neither would the trembling hand that holds this pen.

Even after I was born, in all my naked glory, you didn’t love me. It wasn’t until you saw I had Grandmother’s long fingers that you smiled. I was so close to becoming garbage, the second daughter that’s nothing but bulk. That misfortune was so closely avoided that I shudder, and thank God for my fingers, how they look like your mother’s.

I send you the pencil sketches I draw, the pictures I take, and try to translate the things I write. Once, I emailed these things to you. Then, I waited with bated breath for your verdict on these endeavors. Good, you wrote back to me. Period

Good. Four letters with a punctuation mark at the end. What is good? How long did it take you to come up with those four letters? Maybe one day, I’ll draw a picture with all your ugliness. I’ll write a story with all your sins. Maybe then, I’ll get a reaction.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not unappreciative. I know you haven’t gotten a paycheck in years and years. I know you put Yuan into my bank account, ten thousand at a time. I know that, to do this, you conserve everything you can. You wear worn socks and tatty shirts. You lead an austere life for me. But don’t you understand that I don’t want money? I want you. I tried to tell you this before, but your cell phone vibrated.

“I have to take this call. It’s important.”

I smiled, nodded, and bit back my words, letting opportunity shut its window.

All of this doesn’t fix all the mistakes you made. Scars will always be scars, and they don’t go away. Though, I do wonder sometimes if I don’t understand your pain. I wonder if it really just kills you to stay home. Perhaps there’s some secret, logical explanation why you’re not there for me everyday, but just for those bimonthly phone calls.

I don’t know why I bother to write this. These words will never get to you. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not next year. I’m just too cowardly to send it. But then maybe it’s because I already know the reply.

G-O-O-D

Period.

Will This Vicious Cycle Never End?

2006-03-13T23:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, so my post isn't going to be as dramatic as the title makes it sound.

I'm writing this so I can escape my math homework. My procrastination is really becoming a chronic problem. I probably get all the white hairs I do because of the constant stress I'm in. I'm always straining to finish my homework. I stay up really late every day so I can try to finish my homework. On the days that I'm fortunate enough to go bed by eleven, I lay in my bed, exhausted, but unable to fall asleep. And my memory isn't as it used to be. It takes me a lot longer to remember things now, and most things just slip away entirely.

I'm procrastinating even as I write this. How sad is that? I'm gonna get back to my math, now. I wanna be able to squeeze in seven hours of sleep. Ah, that might be too much to hope for.

Are you gonna be my girl?

Jumping for Joy

2006-03-12T19:19:00.000-08:00

So, I won the Student Recognition Project for Creative Writing.
WHOO!
And, the thing is, I beat out a lot of writers that I deem amazing..

And, to the left of us is a self portrait I drew. My super artistic friend said it was good, so I think it must be. Okay, so it's not really a self portrait. It's a portrait of moi after undergoing cheek surgery. Smaller cheeks=Yay!

Girl's Best Friend (Part I)

2006-03-12T12:24:00.000-08:00

Since this blog is called Diamonds and Dior, I decided...

Name: The Dazzling Miss De Young Red
Weight: 5.03 carats
Status: Taken. Hoarded by Smithsonian Museum.
Delectability: Third Largest Red Diamond in the world.

OooOooOooh!

2006-03-07T20:57:00.000-08:00

My Spanish classroom is really, really hot.

I mean, it has to be tipping into the ninety degree border sometimes. It's hot to the point that when I have to peel off every layer of clothes I can without appearing indecent.

So here I was in the middle of class one day, fanning myself with my Spanish workbook and lulled by the voice of my Spanish teacher when suddenly, my eyes started roaming the outline of the guy sitting in front of me. My mind started to work itself in a frenzy. I mentally traced the hard outline of his jaw, the surprisingly graceful curve of his neck, the lazy 'u' that sloped onto his broad shoulders. The temperature in the room seemed to rise by a few degrees. The freckled expanse of his skin seemed soft and powdery. I had an uncontrollable urge to touch him.

In my mind's eye, I was touching him. I was placing my lips on his neck, skimming the silky skin, gently nipping his earlobes.

The temperature of the room rose again.

My hands were slipped under his shirt and possessively touched his chest, the hard muscles of his abs, and traveled to the band of his cotton boxers.

It was here that I came to a mental barrier. My fantasy wasn't going any further. Ew, stop, I told myself. Am I so desperate to get laid that I'm fantasizing about him? And in the middle of Spanish? Have some decency.

I considered this voice meditatively. Then, I thought about the unbearable heat of the room, the hypnotic voice of my teacher, and the lump of pure want stuck in my throat, so thick I couldn't swallow. Fuck off, I told the voice in my head.

Now, I can claim that I've had sex in my Spanish classroom. At least mentally.

A Case of Champagne (or Just a Bottle)

2006-03-07T04:57:00.000-08:00

I've been having a pretty bad week. Contributing to this is the fact that I'm having problems with all my friends, I'm making bad grades for the first time in my entire life, I'm mad at myself for my lack of creative juices, and--most important of all--I'm pmsing. Some people get cramps before their period. I PMS like there's no tomorrow. My philosophy during these difficult times? Scream at as many people as possible.

Actually, I lie. My PMS officially ended this morning, sooo I've been feeling a lot more sane. Thank God. Anyways, getting back on topic, I've just been feeling depressed lately. Not as depressed as I once was, mind you, but unhappy all the same. Being unhappy makes me want to drink. Yesterday, I emptied out a bottle of champagne. It gave me the blissful high I needed, and the sleep that I craved.

But, of course, I have to wake up at three in the morning. So, basically, I slept like a log for...hmm...five hours? Bloody brilliant. And now I've turned British.

Here's what I really want to do. I want to scream. I can't do this in real life, but I'll do it here.

FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

God, it felt good to get it out of my system.

Disclaimer: If this somehow gets out, I deny everything. I'm just a lunatic, after all.

A Case of Absolute Shit

2006-03-03T02:02:00.000-08:00

Have you let it all out, and then feel like complete shit afterwards?

I feel like complete shit.

One of my best friends has been bothering me with an attitude I would label as ''selfish''. The only thing is that she honestly doesn't do it on purpose. At least, that is what I believe. I really love her with all my heart, but sometimes when I'm with her, I want to hold her still and tell her solemnly, "Can you stop thinking about yourself for a moment?"

The fact that she does it unconsciously makes me bear this taciturn resentment. Things that happen with her would keep me awake at night, and I would toss and turn, imagining different scenarios were I can tell her off. I never do it. I'm not into confrontations. And, the fact is, I'm not a patient person. If I start with a confrontation nicely, it usually doesn't end that way. So, I nursed this little demon of annoyance inside me until tonight where I attacked her completely over a miniscule disagreement.

I feel horrible, because this is not at all how I imagined I would finally talk to her about her conduct. I never meant to hurt her feelings so completely. I never meant to, but things never really happen the way you want them to in life, do they?

She apologized to me, but the problem is that she doesn't see what I'm exactly mad at her about. It's so exasperating I want to cry. I wish I can videotape her, and then show her the tape, pausing at places to show her and tell her that I'm not a complete bitch that likes to pick fights over nothing at all. She doesn't see herself like I see her.

I think she's beautiful. I think she's creative. I think she's arrogant. I think she's incredibly funny. I think she's insecure. I think she's selfish.

But, God, why can't she understand what I'm talking about? Communication is the most important thing in relationships, aren't they? I guess, in a way, I understand why she doesn't get it. Today, I was told I am an attention whore. It came to me as such a shock. I never thought of myself as someone who likes to hold the center stage. But I am. It's difficult to swallow, but true. I guess...I guess some things need time to sink in. I want her to understand her own shortcomings so that she becomes a better person. God, that sounds so ridiculous, but it's true. It's what I feel.

And it's not only that. Her selfishness is really eating into the affection I feel for her. I love her x 1,000,000,00 but this might be the thing that really finishes our friendship. I don't want it to end. I just want her to pause every once in awhile and think about what others might be feeling. I want her to realize that she is not the only person that matters in the world.

So, now I feel like complete shit.

I told her she was selfish.

I have what I wanted.

Are things going to change? If so, for better or for worse?

Brokeback Mountain

2006-01-31T16:20:00.000-08:00

Since everyone else seems to be doing a piece on this new movie, I guess I will, too. Ahem...

This movie, as many of you may already know, is a love story between two men--a ranch hand and an aspiring rodeo cowboy. While shepherding together during one summer in the 1960s, they inconveniently fall in love. For much of the beginning, it is set on the breathtaking Brokeback Mountain. With hot love session in tents, and intense make-out scenes, it's enough to make a girl sweat in her seat.
To my surprise, this movie spans over the summer of their love. After they part ways, it goes on to show their lives without each other. There's marriage, bills, sex, wives, and children. Four years later, they meet again. From there, the movie travels through their entire life, milestoned by their brief meets together under the lie of 'fishing with an old friend'.
All in all, this was an amazing story of forbidden love. I cried like a baby through more than half the movie. If you haven't seen it yet, run to your nearest theater. This movie is worth the trouble of leaving the computer to a trip to the...gasp...outside world.

I've found my blog. Rejoice!

2006-01-31T15:40:00.000-08:00

After losing my username for god knows how long, I've finally found my blog again. :)
I've been dodging school for two days now. I'll have to go back to it tomorrow, and I don't want to think about how much work I've missed. My teachers never really liked me because I always miss school. Now, I need to get a teacher recommendation from one of them for a summer course I want to take. I'm not sure which one I should ask. Plus, I've just missed two consecutive days of school. They can't be feeling all that warm to me.

On a happier note, it's going to be my birthday in three days. My friend is planning some secret thing for me on Friday. I can't imagine what it might be.

I've also got a story I have to finish for a competition by Friday. I can't imagine how I'm going to manage. I'll try to write a little this evening.

Grass Loves Bare Feet

This is a Public Announcement

I hate to sound like a obessive fangirl, but....

Where's the rum gone?

This is what I'm doing instead of hw...

Pocky

My muse has poofed the grounds.

The Perks of being a Muse

Rotten.

*Poof!*

Zoom! The pigs are flying!

Throw rocks.

I think this describes my mood right now pretty well.

Thinking Positive!

Mozart Poopzart

Sausages and Women

My Heart is a Black Hole

The Sword's Got Nothing on the Pen

Snug as a Bug in the Bowl

Mom, Dad, and that Random Girl

I should be eating lunch, but instead I'm writing this.

Forget December...er...September

Attention Passengers

FAQ

Pretty Woman

Las Vegas-- The Worst/Best Vacation

It must have something to do with the hot water.

Impulsive little me

Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth.

Shakespeare's turning in his grave.

That's the way uh-huh uh-huh...I like it uh-huh uh-huh

Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.

To Love or Not to Love. That is the Question.

All I Wanna Do

By P's demand...

Fire's a beautiful sound.

Life will always let you down.

I hate being a girl.

I can already see you laughing at this. Pathetic, you'll say. Just teen angst. But pffffft. I shun you if you shun my poem.

Blah

Count Doogoo (or something like that)

ARRRRRRRRRRRRRhrrrrrrrrrrakwhesjfdlkjalsrrrrrrrrrrr (B, mine is sooo better. look at all those caps.)

The Vampire Chronicles, Vampire Classes, and Other Things

UUuughgh!!

The things she tells me.

Don't cha love these things?

This is kinda good in a sad, pathetic way.

:D

Such a nerd

Aardvark

She

Down With Allergies

Ta da!

Bitch Librarian

No title. Is that fucking okay?

Skateboard Kid

Tee hee.

Woman Once a Bird

eltiT

Sup.

Die.

Lifetime Lessons

Fuck

Inspiration

I started ******* ****** when I was ten.

A Week In Pictures

The F Bomb

Grammy Material

M's Favorite Things

Thoughtfulness

Down With Procrastination!

Crash, goes my sky.

Productivity

I'm a Rake. Yea-ah.

Don't Burst My Bubble

Unsent Letter

Will This Vicious Cycle Never End?

Jumping for Joy

Girl's Best Friend (Part I)

OooOooOooh!

Poof!

I started * when I was ten.